#Losing my fucking mind. Felt like i was healing that entire raid by my own damn self

[automatayaoi]

Absolutely shaking please for the love of god don’t do end game content if you don’t understand your class

[astringofmadhousefloozies]

On Illness and Recovery, or: Sickfic, Baby!

You know the drill! Please let me know if you liked it, and check my Twisted Wonderland fanfiction tag if you want other shit I’ve done.

Contains coarse language and emotional whiplash.

~*~*~*~

Some things stay true no matter where you are; the truest, right now? Schools are disgusting fucking petri dishes, as your miserable cold will tell you. Your cough had only been getting worse as the days went on, with it came exhaustion and a chill that wouldn't leave your bones. You should probably be holed up in your dorm instead of going to class, but that had it's own issues that you were struggling to solve.

"Are you done yet? I want to eat." Grimm's nose, and little else, poked out from a pile of blankets on your bed.

"Nowhere close. Shh." You taped the last bit of plastic over the balcony entryway, and swapped the roll of tape for a heavy duty stapler. "Hold that right there."

The skull-faced ghost held a packing blanket over the plastic as you stapled it in place. By the time you were done, you couldn't see much, which at least meant you could no longer see your own breath. Maybe now, you would be able to feel your own fingers.

Ah, they joys of your own rotten, ancient place - you wake up with frost on your bedsheets and your washbasin shattered from the ice within it. There were other rooms in the place, but most had holes in the ceiling or were too big to heat effectively. So now, you were going to live in one room, that you'd yet to figure out how to run electricity to, and only leave for class or the bathroom. Even if you were ill, could anyone blame you for still going to class when your own home had a nasty quirk of being even colder than outside?

Anywho, it was time to do some homework. By the light of an oil lamp. In five layers of clothing. Curled up so close to a tiny fire you might as well be inside of it. While your not-a-cat complained the whole time.

Yaaaaaaay.

~*~*~*~

"You really should be resting."

You scoffed. "You just feel bad because you're the one who got me sick."

"You can't prove that, everyone's had a cold the past few weeks."

"No one else has been exploring my tonsils, dude."

Idia clapped a hand on your mouth, which you did not lick solely because you were wearing a cloth mask. "Quiet! That's secret intel."

"What? No it's not, everyone knows."

"I don't want to advertise. Then I'm a raid boss and you're the rare loot drop."

You elbowed him in his boney ribs. "No one's going to kick your ass out of jealousy. Just because I'm the hottest bitch in this place doesn't mean I've got universal appeal."

"You're still the only girl and people are weird about it." He placed the back of his hand on your forehead and winced. "You're too warm."

"How can you tell? You've got gloves on."

"That's how bad it is. I'll make some tea."

"I'm not drinking anything out of the damned lab equipment."

He frowned. "I've never had anything bad happen, it's cleaned correctly."

"You're smarter than that. One of these days you're going to grow a tail due to residue in the glassware, and I'm going to haul you around in front of god and everyone by it, going 'I told you so' the entire time."

He blanched, knowing that that was not an idle threat, and someone laughed. "I think I should make that happen, just so we can see that."

"Jade, no. No magic mushrooms for my man, or any other concoctionary bullshit either."

Idia looked ready to die, so to take attention off of him you leaned over and poked Silver awake before he fell face first in the potion he was working on. Logically, you know his narcolepsy was debilitating. Right now, you wish you could have borrowed it last night. You don't remember walking up during the night, but you must have, because why else would you be so tired?

He started up, mumbled "thank you" and went back to stirring as if he hadn't been about to drown in dubious magichemicals. God, you wished that was you right now.

"Idia, deal. You help me get through this class, I'll grab some hot food and go home."

He made a show of hemming and hawing before saying, "Grimm needs to let me hold him when I drop you off, and I will."

Ordinarily, you would have just said "Ask him yourself and don't be weird about it," and Grimm would have simply told him no until sufficiently bribed. But Grimm was still in bed at home, saying you kept him up all night, so instead you bumped Idia with your hip and said "What, you can't think to ask for better pussy to fondle?"

Of course, you just had to say something crass at the moment where everyone went quiet. Even Crewel raised his head and both eyebrows at you. The only reason you didn't get a riding crop to the face and a week in horny detention (where, you assumed, they punished you for being a bad girl indeed) was Idia, rapidly going through every stage of confusion and grief, with a few currently unknown to man. You'd intended to tease him, but that sheer amount of confused, horny misery on his face was just too much, and you laughed so hard you bent over.

And coughed. In a short time, there was no laughter left, only miserable coughing from the depths of your chest that left you on the floor with your eyes watering. Someone thumped your back a few times, and when you yanked your mask off to catch a proper, if shallow breath, your mask was full of a red-streaked, pus coloured slime.

A fur coat was draped over your shoulders as everyone made various noises of disgust. "Class dismissed. Let's get you to the nurses."

~*~*~*~

"How in hell are you still mobile."

"Pettiness and a desire to not freeze to death."

Crewel narrowed his eyes at you. "Both lungs."

"That is what double pneumonia means, Professor."

You could see his whip fingers itching. "Yes, well. You can't come to class like that. And... Is it really that bad in Ramshackle?"

Idia raised a hand. "It was really cold the last time I was there."

"Ugh. I told Crowley we should have razed the place for an expansion on my dog run." He looked at you with a curious mix of genuine fondness and even more genuine disgust. "I'm not putting you up until your place gets fixed, you'll leak all over my furniture. Anyone here going to babysit?"

"I've done perfectly fine in my own dorm, I don't need to become the pet of another dorm."

"Those little fairies said that if you don't stay on bedrest and stay warm, you will die. I am not filling out that paperwork." He looked to you classmates. "Speak up or I'm docking a letter grade."

Silver raised a hand. "I think we could do it but I don't think D- Lilia would let me. Malleus would end up trying to play nurse and skip class."

"Oh god, no, we don't tell him I'm sick until I'm safely ensconced somewhere, he would lose his damn mind and I'd try to strangle him after a week of it."

"There are no spare rooms in Octanivelle. However, I could try some experimental medicines I've been-"

"Jade, no."

Idia was quiet, before speaking up. "I... I don't know if Ignihyde has a spare room, or would be good for healing."

He'd not left your side since your collapse, and gone so full of writhing, barely concealed anxiety he'd broke through the other side and simply shut off. You didn't get it, it wasn't actually anything serious. The nurses had pumped you full of medicine, you'd be up and about a week or two at the most, instead of the month's worth of hospital rooms and bad food it would have been.

Crewel sighed. "Time to start checking the files to see where you can be squeezed."

There was a cough, from the fifth student so quiet despite his size. Everyone had honestly forgotten he was there.

When he spoke up, it was to you, and not anyone else. "There's an unoccupied room down the hall from me. I think the weather in the Savannahclaw dorms will be good for your health. You shouldn't have to stay where you won't be wanted, or get sicker. Would that work?"

You looked at him, assessing. You and him hadn't talked overmuch, and he didn't seem to mind. But as severe as he looked? You could see the sincerity in his offer.

"That should work. Jack, right?"

His ears flicked, and his tail twitched. "Yes."

"Thank you, Jack. You're very kind."

~*~*~*~

Easy to see why the room was empty. You suspected it might have been a storage room, or that there had been a monastic order in the dorm at one point. A single bed just fit the far wall, with a chair, a desk, a bureau, and little else. But the far wall had a large window, and the room felt... nice. And a hell of a lot warmer than than your room in Ramshackle.

"It'll make an excellent sickroom." You set your schoolbag and an entire case of tissues on the desk. "Thank you again, Jack. You sure it won't be any trouble?"

"I've already cleared it with our dorm leader, he said he doesn't care as long as you don't rub phlegm on his things." Jack was a solid block of frown and muscle in the corner. "The window does open, you should keep it that way for circulation. There's a bathroom down the hall, there's showers in there. If you need anything or anyone tries to bother you, please let me know."

"Will do." You were already unpacking the few things in your bag, trying to get them arranged before another coughing fit took you.

"I can help get your things, if you need?" For a dude who was very do-that-shit-yourself, he was being very helpful.

"Idia's grabbing Grimm and anything else I'll need. He'll know what I want."

"I see." Silence, and more interesting ear flicks. "So."

"So?"

"You and him are..." He made a guesture with interlaced fingers.

"Yeah. Jealous?"

He snorted. "No. Just curious. He's a bit..." Hand wiggle.

"I'm a bit too. It works. Would have been nice if he'd gotten the hint before I had a ghost turn me inside out in front of him and everyone else."

"You know that's why you're so sick, right?"

You made a noise that was hard to decipher, that he used as cue to continue. "You never smelled quite right after that happened. Even after the healing. You're always a little..." He moved his hands, trying to grasp the right simile. "Like when a flower's starting to drop petals. Overripe."

How in the hell were you supposed to take that. What do you even say to that? Does everyone know you smell? Does - 

"Oh god, you all know when I'm on the rag."

A single, curt nod, and you put your head in your hands and groaned.

~*~*~*~

A knock on the door

"Who is it?"

"Your worst enemy."

"Get your ass in here, Vil."

Vil had on... good lord. Mask, gloves, face shield. An absurdly fashionable CDC agent. "You look like shit."

"Thanks, Vil. Means so much coming from you."

He stayed by the door, ready to flee if a spare germ came floating towards him. "Heard you're out of commission. Thank the seven, I'll get some peace in my life."

You flipped him the bird, but smiled as you did. "Don't say that. I'll made a sheet ladder and mix sputum in your cold cream."

"If you do that I will personally burn your clothes and replace them with something decent that you will hate."

"Try. Come to gloat?"

"Just a bit." He set a large cup with a straw at the very edge of the desk, straining at arm's length as he did. "This should unfuck your throat somewhat."

"Such language!" You waited until he retreated to the door before you took the smoothie. It was... very, very purple, and smelled minty. "Trying to poison me, finally?"

He rolled his eyes. "When I decide to poison you, it's not going to be through something that obvious. You will never see it coming, and then I'll sell your corpse to Floyd and everyone will just think he finally decided to go full crazy and Riddle is next."

You snorted. "Honestly? I think he'd shit his pants if I actually returned the affection. One time I saw Riddle give him a genuine smile and he had to go sit down because he started shaking so bad." That might have been because the smile was caused by Floyd cracking his head on a doorway and falling flat on his ass, but the point still stood.

When he stopped laughing, he turned to leave. "Take at least an extra week to get better, for my sanity. And don't give the creature any, it won't agree with him."

"Shh, I just got him down for his nap-"

Grimm made a horrible snort from your feet and say up. "Food?"

You made a look-what-you-did guesture at Vil, but he left instead of helping you deal with your beloved yowling idiot.

~*~*~*~

You woke up coughing in the dark. It took entirely too long for you to figure out where the hell you were, and why, and you took the offered tissue with great-

"JaySUS FUCKING CHRIST" You jumped back so much it was only Malleus's grip on your arm that kept you from going through the open window.

"People are sleeping, please do not yell."

"Don't yell my ass, how long have you been there?"

He shrugged. "Since before sunset. Ortho was here first."

You leaned around Mal, to see Ortho sitting on the desk, scritching the belly of a drowsing Grimm. "Hello, Yuu. Your fever has gone down half of a degree since I took over."

The audacity of these idiots, you swear. "Both of you go home and go to bed."

"No. You need watching." Mal had not blinked once since you'd woken up, and how about that? His eyes glowed in the dark, or he had very strong eyeshine; either way, there was no iris around the blown out pupil. "You are very ill and need taken care of. I can do that, I took care of Silver when he was ill."

"Mal."

"Yes?"

"Do we need another boundaries talk?"

He frowned. "But you are ill."

"Mal, I will call Lilia and tell him what you are doing right now. I will personally write your grandmother and tell her you're neglecting your studies. I will get Leona down here and he will call you a simp until you go outside and fight him on compulsion."

"Those all sound terrible!"

"Ortho, don't kiss up because you're next. Why are you here and not home charging?"

"Idia wouldn't go home to sleep until I said I would let him know if you got worse."

You opened your mouth, and shut it again. Why's he so worried? You had to physically shove him out the door to go to his next class, looking like his heart would break, and he'd still skipped board games to fidget miserably in the chair Mal now sat in, looking ready to burst into tears every time you coughed.

Ortho seemed to read your mind. "He gets worried when people get sick. I got sick once."

Ah. That explained a hell of a lot that you were too polite to ask.

"... Okay, you can stay."

Mal perked up.

"You go home. I'll never go back to sleep if you keep staring all night, and you do need to sleep some."

Mal's face fell.

"You can come back tomorrow, after class."

He perked back up. "Goodnight, Yuu. I will see you tomorrow!" A brief kiss against your sweating temple, and he was out the same window he most likely came in.

"Hey, Ortho?"

"Yes?"

"If you can dim your lights a little, you can come lie down with me."

~*~*~*~

You were rudely poked awake by a giant asshole.

"Why are you in my nap room." Leona hovered over you with obvious displeasure.

You blinked and sorted yourself. Ortho was crammed between you and the window, hopefully dreaming of electric sheep, and Grimm was still dead asleep, the little bastard. "Jack put me up here because my dorm's a block of ice and I can't stay there on doctor's orders." Crewel might have a doctorate, it's not a lie.

"Why didn't he tell me?"

"I did." Jack was behind him, his own link in a chain of hovering displeasure. "You said it was fine as long as she didn't make a mess. I brought yogurt."

"Thank you-" More miserable coughing, with now everyone either rubbing your back or passing you tissues. Except Leona, who simply held back and watched. By the time you were done, he just nodded.

"I'm not moving you, but..."

"What."

"I'm calling in a favour next time Cheka gets pawned off on me. He likes you."

You'd argue that, but you liked the kid. "Aight. Everyone get out, there's too many fucking people in here and I'm discovering new and interesting depths of claustrophobia."

Leona didn't need to be told twice.

"I'll be back after class with your homework. Maybe at lunch with something. Not before then. Stay put."

"Oooo, oo. I'm going with you, big guy." Grimm scampered over. "I'll get bored here all day. You can just nap."

You rolled your eyes "I can just nap. Jack, if he sticks with you, he's going to want to eat everything you do."

"I'll manage."

"Would you like me to stay?" Ortho was finally up, or maybe you hadn't noticed him exiting screensaver mode.

"I'd like you to tell your brother that I'm not going anywhere. Use those exact words."

He nodded, a faint whirr as he did.

"I'll see you guys later, okay? I need more sleep."

~*~*~*~

Someone gently shook you awake, and said someone was leaning in the window.

"Hey, Kalim." Why'd you have to be the center of attention when sick, and therefore couldn't kiss anyone to thank them for said attention.

"Hi! I asked Jamil to make extra lunch for you!" He set a covered dish on your knees.

"Thank you. Was he okay with that?"

"He was when I said it was for you. Everyone's heard that you're laid up!"

"News travels fast. Am I about to get even more popular?"

"You're always popular because you're great. Feel better! Jamil said he'll have extras tomorrow too. See you!" And off he went.

You needed to tell Jamil thank you, but he would probably just tell you to just stop talking about abolishing the monarchy instead. (Not because he didn't support the idea, but because he didn't want to be punished for not keeping the idea from Kalim.) What did he make, anyway?

"Oh, curry. Sweet."

~*~*~*~

The days progressed roughly the same. Drowsing most of the morning, lunch, more drowsing in between laptop stuff, maybe actual sleep. Coughing up far less gunk as the days went on. And entertaining an absurd fucking amount of people. Everyone seemed determined to check on you, even people who you'd never seen before in your life; Ruggie made something like 10k madol charging people to try and see you through the window before you cursed him out. Your Heartslabyul boys dropped in every couple of days to relate shit that they hadn't simply texted you (along with a pile of pastries from Trey and handwritten instructions on recovery from Riddle, the latter far less appreciated than the former). Floyd dropped in once to mostly complain about how you weren't around to eat the mushrooms he picked out of his food, tried to convince you to let him carry you over to the Monstro Lounge himself, and when you refused, kissed the tips of your fingers and left pouting. Jack, true to his word, dropped in at least twice a day to deliver food and homework, and once spent forty-five minutes glowering at anyone approaching the bathrooms while you took a shower that ached on your oversensitive skin.

Some people were far more regular. Every day like clockwork, Malleus perched in your window and was the world's friendliest, most affectionate vulture. Twenty minutes after that, Idia would come in, sit in the chair, and exude such concentrated grief that you were at a loss for what to do beyond asking if he wanted to talk about it, to which he would shake his head and simply resume sitting there, tapping away at his screens until the next panicked flurry of activity every time you made a unhealthy noise.

"You are allowed to go home. I'm not going anywhere, and I'm much better than I was."

He just shook his head.

"I will come get you if something happens," Mal offered.

More head shaking, and a "no" from his tablet, before adding, "Never again."

"I'll call Ortho and make him tag you out."

"I said no. And Ortho is with Lilia."

Lilia, small, beloved pest, has what you like to think of as a compulsive need to parent. He was god knows how old, had raised at least three of your classmates that you know of, and seemed to consider you his newest fledgling. After hearing about what happened, he'd taken it into his own hands to fix Ramshackle to... well, not OSHA compliance, but you wouldn't be cold.

"Does he know how much I appreciate it? Appreciate all of you, really?"

"Of course he does. He loves talking about you. He wears that shirt you made all the time."

"Which one? I've made him seven so far."

"When do I get one?"

"When they make T shirts that'll fit over your horns." Something drooped in the corner of your eye, and you looked over to see Idia shaking himself upright. "Hey, babe. When was the last time you slept?"

He took an embarrassingly long time to lie through his teeth and say "Last night" through his tablet.

"Yeah, no. Get over here." You took a moment to drag Mal's hand down before he could just do a sleeping spell, or something equally well meaning but deeply inappropriate.

"No."

"Please?"

You held your arms out until he couldn't resist, and soon you'd arranged his head on your chest.

"You hear anything more sloshing around in there?"

He shook his head.

"I am on the mend. I... don't really know what happened before. And I sure as hell don't know what you did to get him back. But I'm not going anywhere. So rest." 

He gave a faint nod.

"I will wake you, if need be?"

To both yours and Mal's surprise, Idia answered him with a pat on his leg.

"Thank you."

Idia was already asleep.

~*~*~*~

"Mal?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know what 'cyanosis' is?" You’d been stroking Idia's head for hours. Or minutes. Time flies, and you could not tell the difference.

"Not immediately, no."

"It's caused by a few different things. Hypoxia, hypothermia, that sort of thing. The blood in you doesn't have enough oxygen. So little that, instead of red, parts of your body turn blue or grey due to the lack of oxygen."

"I see." He looked intently, much as you did, at Idia's greyish nails and blue lips. "That doesn't seem survivable."

"Not if it's severe, no." The flames from Idia's head curled around your fingers, grasping at you even when he's not aware of it. "It's not something you see on someone as... lively as him. It's something I think about a lot. Whether it's to do with his magic, or that curse he won't elaborate on."

"I've heard rumours."

"Oh?"

"The Shroud family curse. Nothing concrete, for an origin. Madness, misfortune, and illness have plagued the family throughout history. Add in a trend of cousin marriage beyond the norm for upper-class families due to people not wanting to subject their loved ones to a cursed bloodline, and the tree is more of an notorious, ingrown shrub."

"That just sounds like shitty genetics and what happens to every family as the years go on, not a curse."

Mal shrugged. "is there a difference? Even in the sleeping curse my grandmother bestowed so easily, much of the power came for the fear of it. A girl grew up without her family because of the fear of it."

"True." You leaned down and kissed the top of Idia's head, feeling an unconscious smile as you did. "There must be a little hereditary something. He gets so anxious about this beautiful hair! He hates people looking at him, and he doesn't even realize it's because he's the most beautiful thing in any room he walks in."

"Thing?" Mal raised an amused eyebrow.

"Even the finest art in a museum doesn't have the benefit of being actually alive."

"Your capacity for love and beauty is enviable. Hunt would be jealous." He reached out and brushed a stray lock away from Idia's face, and you could feel another smile against your chest.

~*~*~*~

"Aight, so we've patched up holes in the walls, insulated the windows - Idia here," Lilia clapped Idia on the small of his back, causing him to make a distressed squeak - "smart boy, found some solar panels and we've got electricity up in your room, the kitchen and the bathroom by your room, not just the front room anymore! The rest we got the ghosts to help seal off to hold the heat in. I got you a space heater for your room, so you don't have to do a fire the whole time, and as long as you don't open the windows back up before spring, you won't freeze."

"Thanks, guys. One question."

"Yeah?"

"What did you do to my room."

Lilia smiled. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're a walking prank and can't keep out of there, what did you do."

"Nothing this time! I promise!" He held his hands up. "At least you can stay home for the next few days, Crewel says you gotta be back Monday or he's going to start making funeral prep."

"I'm literally better, but if he does that I get to help. Always wanted to plan my funeral, I have very specific ideas about what flowers to use and preferred corpse disposal."

"Maybe you should go upstairs and not talk about funerals and their associated things."

"Sure thing, dear."

After settling in your room, most everyone cleared out, even Idia. The only person still there was Jack, looking this way and that with a stern look.

"Hey, Jack?"

He grunted in assent.

"So like, why'd you put me up and help take care of me? We've hardly talked before then."

He sighed. "You've been very nice to me."

"You sure? I'd remember you."

"Uh."

"Jack?"

~*~*~*~

It was a beautiful day, if chilly in the wind. The sun was warm, the trees turning, and you just came across one of your best friends.

"Hi buddy! Are you lost today?"

The very large dog shook it's head and pressed into your knees.

"Okay, you wanna walk with me? Come on."

You'd found this enormous white Malamute wandering campus the first time a few months ago, and after checking in with a few other students who kept laughing when you asked if he was their dog, simply decided to enjoy your new friend and run and play. He was very smart, and initially standoffish, but could not resist a friendly face and good ear scritches. Today, you and Buddy here simply ran around like a couple of idiots after a lost soccer ball until it was time to go eat.

"I'll see you later, buddy. Bye!" You held out a hand, and after a firm shake, kissed the point where his snout met the rest of his face. "Stay safe, I love you."

Buddy made a low grumble and rubbed his paws over his face, and you went off to supper.

~*~*~*~

"You couldn't have told me?"

"How do you explain that? 'Hey, I run around as a wolf sometimes and you mistook me for a lost dog so you lovebombed me and I was at a loss and by the second time it was too awkward to say anything'?"

"I've been playing with you for months! I let you run with Crewel's dalmatians!"

"I run with them as a person, too, that's nothing special."

You pinched your nose. "Everyone must think I'm an idiot."

"I'll deal with them. I'm sorry, Yuu."

"I know. You are my good boy, after all."

His tail started wagging in spite of itself, and you laughed.

[eivorsjawline]

Tw: alcohol, blood, open cuts

Chapter 6: At Sea

Eivor’s POV

Sailing at high speeds and with a blow of my horn, sounds of the waves collided with the ship. The familiar sound of bells ringing in warning in the distance. Civilians rushed to safety as we pillaged and set flames to any nearby building. Their God watched as smoke from their church ignited in the sky. Cutting down men one by one, we gathered as many resources as we could and quickly loaded up the boat. With every swipe of my axe, the thoughts running through my head began to cloud.

“Unsatisfied” is the word that came to mind as the blood from others soaked my clothes. Years of defeat and victory numbed me, death has become a necessity of life. Rollo approached with villagers bound together by rope and ties. Overcome with fear, they watched as Rollo guided them to the ship. With a kick into the back of one of the peasants' knees, he brought them all to the ground and they fell one after the other.

“Rollo, have you gone mad?”

I started to cut loose the ties binding their hands together with one of my daggers. The ropes were so tight that red marks were left on their wrists. They ran off with a speed unlike any I had ever seen. Rollo stared in awe of my actions.

“The only mad person I see here is you, we could have used a few of them!”

“This is not what we came here for.”

“Oh, I see. Eivor is a saint now, even after setting an entire village on fire and stealing from the people.

Our shoulders brushed against each others, and thoughts of rethinking our friendship crossed my mind. I ignored his lewd comment and boarded the ship. The successful raid proved beneficial with shimmering jewels, fine furs and plenty of raw materials to build up the settlement.

“A pity none of It is truly ours, remember that as you live this life. Or has that deranged madwoman I caught you plundering cause a change of heart?”

“It's a pity you’re an ignorant bacraut and always will be.”

His words and actions caused a bout of rage throughout my body and suddenly I couldn't tell the difference between right and wrong. I drew my axe and held it up to his chin, the people on the ship grew quiet and Rollo appeared taken back. Perhaps, he suddenly regretted his words. However, I could not stop myself from expressing my anger and I tossed a bag of plunder at his feet.

“Get the fuck off my ship, find your own way back home.”

Readers POV

I sulked in bed with one of Eivor’s tunics in hand, searching for comfort in the faint scent of her. She left suddenly, with no further explanations. The thought of something happening to her irked me beyond all means. In a perfect world we would have met in the present day, but fate wove a more difficult path. In an attempt to make peace with this life, I explored the new settlement further before stopping in to see Randvi once again.

Randvi laid down sipping on a potion Valka made, with her auburn hair free from the confining braid she always wore. A new glow radiated from Randvi even though she cheated death, she seemed at peace with herself. Cautious eyes perched from the bowl she sipped from when I entered. With a look of disapproval, Randvi motioned for me to come closer towards her and started to eye my hair.

“Oh, what is this?”

With my back turned towards her, she began to place one long delicate braid down my hair. The braid was loose and didn’t require as much tugging as the last braid she made for me. I pulled the braid over my shoulder to take a look, flattered by the kind gesture. Me and Randvi both smiled at one another and I felt a possible friendship forming. The smile quickly faded from my face as I thought about Eivor on yet another dangerous endeavor.

“Hmm, what has she done now?”

“It's silly, really. Part of me hopes that she would one day find it within herself to settle down.”

Randvi laughed, as if she found the statement ridiculous.

“She will never settle down. Trust me, I know…”

Never.

Though I searched for words of comfort, my hopes quickly crashed. In my heart I knew no one knew Eivor like Randvi therefore I knew her words rang with truth. I changed the subject in an attempt to keep my feelings at bay, asking her about how she’s progressing and what she will do next after she is no longer bound to the hut. Randvi attempted to stand up with me, caressing her bandage with her hand. I held her below her elbows trying to support some of her weight, she then looked up at me obviously in pain.

“Stop, I’m perfectly capable…”

With a weak voice she took a few steps before stumbling and almost falling. I shouted her name and caught her before she could fall to her knees. She mumbled a few curse words in her native tongue and then finally submitted to my help. I guided her back to the palette Valka made for her and covered her with a fur blanket. Her head met a feather pillow and she let out a sigh.

“You have much healing to do still, Randvi. I know you think you’re ready but you can hardly hold yourself up.”

Randvi tried to argue with me but I had none of it. Eventually, she submitted to me and I left the room to leave her to rest. Though the sunlight is still young, I can't help but feel tired. Without Eivor, I seem to lose myself more with every passing moment. As the day dragged along I tried to keep myself occupied.

I found myself at the back of the longhouse. The visible disturbance of the patch of flowers that Eivor picked from. It was hard not being able to have contact with her, the days seemed to drag on whenever she wasn’t there. Fortunately, I saw Eivor’s ship sailing nearby getting ready to dock. My heart raced in hopes that everyone was safe. A crowd gathered around the docks and people waved from a distance.

Eivor returned looking proud, and her people proud of her. I ran towards them trying to push through people so I could see her and give her the biggest embrace but it was seemingly far too crowded. I noticed Rollo was nowhere to be found, something felt off and Eivor didn't even make any eye contact with me. Perhaps, she was feeling overwhelmed. We all gathered in the longhouse to celebrate the successful raid.

I couldn't help but feel like I was being avoided. Our conversation ended on strange terms and I figured she might be feeling nervous to continue further. Immediately, Eivor filled a jug in her hand and chugged the ale down fast. Sigurd pulled Eivor up to the front of the throne for her to say a few motivating words to the settlement. Afterwards, music started to play whilst cheer and laughter filled the room. I figured she would come and see me afterwards but as time passed she only stuck to the group of people surrounding her. If anyone was going to make the next move It was going to have to be me. I walked up to where Eivor was laughing and telling jokes and finally our eyes met but a different feeling overcame me. Eivor abruptly left the group and gave an odd smirk, my fingers began to fidget with the braid over my shoulder.

Eivor stared me deeply in the eyes, any doubts I had were erased by the familiar feeling that surged through my body. As aggressive as she tends to be, her hands met my waist slowly, she moved patiently this time. My head clashed with her chest and her hands ran through my hair before she gave me a kiss on the forehead. No words were needed for our greeting, we both knew it may be best to choose our words wisely. Our hands clasped one another and she brought me to our bedroom and closed the door. The boisterous noise of the longhouse now muffled by the division between the walls.

“Everything went well, I returned in one piece…”

“That's clear to see.”

Eivor sat down in a chair by the bed and I moved a stray piece of her hair away from her face, grazing the scar on her cheek with my fingers. Her head dropped down and she cupped the hand I had on her cheek then placing soft kisses on my knuckles. I noticed the usually full of energy woman now had an exhausted aura around her, much like the first night she completely gave herself to me. There was a cold breeze in the air that sent chills down my spine. It was obvious there was something unspoken between us.

“Eivor, you push yourself too hard…” I dropped to my knees and placed a hand on her knee.

“I don't push myself too hard, I do what I need to do. Why can't you understand that?”

Clearly that was the wrong thing to say.

“You’re mistaken, I do understand that. I just don't understand why it's you who has to put yourself at the front of the line and risk your safety everytime. There are plenty of warriors who-“

She cut me off.

“You don't understand a thing about my life and you never will. Maybe you’re better off where you came from.”

I didn't know what to say, I’ve never seen this side of her.

“Eivor, can't you see It doesn’t have to be like this? I'm not saying give up everything, I’m telling you to take things at an easier pace.”

“Wherever, whatever time you come from… You do not understand true sacrifice, your culture is too fragile. I put myself at the front because that is my honor at the front! Honor that you lack any knowledge of...”

“Well, It seems we were wrong about each other.”

“So it seems.”

She tilted her head, a dead look in her eyes. Absolutely shocked, I scoffed at her words that hit sharp as knives. I stood up tall and gathered myself in search for any more words to say. Words that will be my final ones to her.

“The last thing I will allow is to be disrespected, I’m not as ignorant as you think. The only reason I remained here was for you, and that time here is done.”

I grabbed my few belongings and held back my tears. An apology didn’t slip from her mouth, and she couldn’t even look at me. She pushed me away as fast as she lured me to her. She knew about me and why I act the way I do, why would she escalate the relationship further if this is how she felt all along? Both anger and sadness filled me, and I left the room. This isn’t worth it, I'm going back where I belong.

Valka will know how I can find my way back.

Eivor’s POV

Push her away…

The situation I’ve found myself in has become a difficult one. I must choose between my true happiness and my fate. I'm not sure If I even deserve happiness at this point. There’s no way I could live a normal life, yet I keep sabotaging my relationships for just a taste. The look on her face with every blow I threw at her pained me. She deserves something more solid, more than anything I can offer her. I took a sip of ale from my mug and a stabbing pain struck my abdomen.

The wound I hid from her because I knew it would only prove her point further. This wound was unlike any other I ever had. It sucked any remaining energy from me like a parasite. My vision was still blurry from being intoxicated but my mind started to clear up quickly.

What am I doing? I can't let her leave alone like that.

I braced myself to put on a face for the crowd but my wound gushed and bled. The pain began to numb me completely. Taking a deep inhale and stepping outside, I made sure my walk looked peppy rather than tired and nodded and smiled to anyone passing by. The bite of the bitter cold hit me once outside, temperatures seemed to drop low during the night here. There was still light coming from Valka’s hut and when I stepped in, [y/n] was nowhere to be found.

“You’re far too late, I know why you’re here. Drink this.”

“Valka, I’m hurt bad.”

The mixture Valka made for me tasted bitter and sour. I took a seat and lifted my undershirt to reveal the large gash spanning from the top of my ribcage to just above my hip. Without proper care, the wound was becoming infected. Valka quickly pulled out a jar of herbs and rubbed them on the slice and I clenched my eyes tight from the sting before letting out a groan. She wrapped a clean linen around my torso with a worried look in her eyes.

“This wound is beyond even my knowledge… I can't fix It but there is someone who can. The girl is at the stones, you need to find her. Now, you don't have much time.”

[callmeunstable]

Angels & Demons - Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Characters: Reader, Godling, Savilla

Summary: Alva tries her best to adapt to her current lifestyle. Savilla helps her by teaching her the ways around this world. But some dangerous forces are on their way. And a familiar face shows up.

Warnings: Monsters, Cursing, Blood

Words: 2.000+

A/N: Hey! This is the third part of my fic. I accidentally deleted this part as well as the second part so I had to reupload. I hate myself and I cried .

Disclaimer: GIF’s and PNG’s are taken from Tumblr and are not mine! Credits to the creators!

Tags: @marvelbrat @charliestuff

Song: I thought this fitted the scenery

Alva adapted slowly. It was important that if she wanted to pass as a villager she had to develop. Where she came from, who her parents were and why she came.

And they came up with an easy background story. Alva was the daughter of two Medics, Drarnoz and Isada of Verden. Verden is one of the minor kingdoms in the North, located at the very mouth of the river Yaruga, with Kerack and Brokilon on its northern borders and Cintra in the south, just on the other side of the river. After her parents died in a brutal raid of their village Alva sought a sanctuary by a family friend Savilla living in Riverdell. She took the orphan in.

James brought Alva the Ducates he had collected over the years which made up a small fortune. He promised to bring her every coin he’ll find in the future.

That’s how Alva started her life in a small village. Savilla had an extra bed for her and she didn’t mind sharing her food and clothes.

“You are pretty bad at healing you know that? You’ve been here for almost a month.” Savilla always made fun of the way the girl was bandaging or trying to figure out which plant was good for the specific treatment.

“I just don’t understand how you can separate all of these. They look all the same.” Alva sighed and took a seat. Trying to figure out which herbs were able to calm a burn.

“This isn’t your desire and I get it. It’s not your fault. And I maybe have something set up for you.” The mage smirked while she picked big orange blossoms from her garden. “Merigold, Alva. One of the herbs that can potentially save lives.”

“Don’t change the subject. What did you do?” The girl gave her a doubtful look while watching her picking even more blossoms.

“The tavern in the village. They need a servant. The old one got scared off because the olds kept trying to seduce her and she felt uncomfortable. But I figured you’d be perfect for the job.” She walked inside with a full basket in her hands.

“Are you insulting me or what are you trying to say?” Alva hurried after her, stumbling while getting up.

“You need to get better at walking when you want to serve the folks.” The maid laughed and started to cut the flowers into small pieces.

“But to get back to your question, no. But you are tough and have a huge temperament. Exactly what a good servant needs. The old douches won't have it easy with you.”

Alva let out a loud sigh.

“And I should warn you. They acquire you to look … a certain way.”

“I’m not going to dress like slut and shake my booty.”

“Yes…alright. Anyway, that was not what I was trying to say. They want you to wear your hair down and a dress that will make you look pretty but still can get stained.”

“That’s fine by me but why exactly do they want me to keep my hair down?”

“Maybe they liked it. You know the time we got some bread? That’s when the tavern owner offered me this position.”

The girl hummed in agreement.

“They’ll pay you well. You need that money if you want to find a way back. Mages aren’t cheap. They usually work for kings and queens.” Sevilla stopped with the chopping and went still for a couple of seconds. Her gaze went up and she looked Alva straight into the eyes. She hated that look. It never meant something good.

“You want me to find a different mage?” The girl was confused. How was she supposed to find one? She has no contacts whatsoever and it’s not like she could call the information desk to give her a number.

“I’m not sure who I want you to find for now. It's dangerous out there. I need to find out who I can trust with you. I don’t want you to get captured.” The mage was serious. She liked the girl and felt the urge to protect her. She was sure it was her duty in this life. To help this girl around her world and keeping her safe until she found a way to get back.

“Why would they? I mean I’m not that special and I pretty got at acting old like you.”

“I know. But if they see anything strange in you, just some glance. They don’t need a good reason anymore to imprison the people. It’s getting rough out here. Cintra will lose the next battle. Nobody in this kingdom wants to hear it but you can feel the tension in the air. The Niflgaards are coming and we need to be prepared when they do.”

“Are they like Germany in the Second World War?”

“You do know that I have no information about that.”

“Let me explain. World War II was a global war involving fighting in most of the world and most countries. Like shit went down. Most of the world's countries, including all the great powers in our world, fought as part of two military alliances. They fucking hated each other. World War II was the largest and deadliest conflict in all of our history. It involved more countries, cost more money, involved more people, and killed more people than any other war in our history. About 80 million people died. It included massacres, the Holocaust, strategic bombing, starvation, disease, and the only use of nuclear weapons against civilians in history. Like they could fly bombs from one country to the other through the air and just let them explode wherever they wanted to. It was horrible but I wasn’t alive when that happened.”

The mage had listened carefully only to realize that their worlds aren't that different. “You have to understand that the Nilfgaardian Empire is the most powerful in the history of the known world. It is located in the southern part of the Continent and boasts both a thriving economy and a strong, well-trained army with talented commanders.

It has expanded mostly through the conquest of foreign countries, which were then turned into provinces of the Empire. The Empire's inhabitants believe that "real" Nilfgaardians are only those born in the heart of the Empire and not those born in the conquered provinces. All of them are ruthless. Killing anyone and anything that’ll come in their way. We need to be careful and prepared.”

“So you think they’ll just walk in here like they own this place.” The girl felt she was pulled into something like Lord of the Rings style. Everyone wants to kill the other race. What was happening in this world?

“They won’t pretend that they own these lands, they will fight until they own the whole continent. Saying they want to protect the citizens but slaughter the like an animal for fun. I want you to be prepared that not everyone in our world will respect you, especially because you’re a woman. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Sevilla meant every word she said.

“That’s why I want you to be protected. Here.” She opened the wooden closet and pulled out a silky cloth. “Take it, I have my own. And I won’t need it, I still have the chaos inside of me that’ll help me if needed. I hope you never need it.”

Alva received the loth and lifted the cloth. Underneath there was bedded a silver dagger. It was heavy, but still manageable with one hand.

“Come on, I’m not going to stab anybody. This is not Assasin’s Creed.” She held up the dagger and inspected the weapon. It was beautiful, looking exactly like something a video game character would keep under their robe.

“I’m not joking around Alva! I want you to work so we have enough Ducates in the case of an emergency. If you’re not willing to protect your one life no one else will. I can protect you as far as my power goes but everything is limited. At this point, you don’t have a choice. If you want to get back to your world you need to adapt completely! Do you understand?” Sevilla handed her a scabbard possibly fitting for the dagger.

“No need to be rude.” Alva took and let the weapon slide smoothly into it.

“Attach it to your belt. It's best if you keep it on you at all times. Even while you sleep.”

The girl nodded and pulled her dress up to gain access to the pants she was always wearing underneath. She tied it around her waist and let loose of her dress.

“I understand but I hope I’ll never have to use it.”

“Me neither.”

-

The next weeks went on smoothly. Alva tried her best to lie to herself. If she realized that she left her entire family and friends behind, everything she loved. She didn’t know if she could handle the pain and panic that would appear again. She remembered her first week here. It was exhausting. She didn’t want to stand up and live in a world she didn’t belong. The only thing keeping her from ending it all was the promise Sevilla gave her.

She will bring her back. No matter what is going to happen. She’ll find a way out. And if she could get back, she can’t give up. That wasn’t an option. But she couldn’t think about it anymore. The pain that would crawl up into her chest even if she only thought about it for a second. It was unbearable.

Alva tried to act like new her role this life. At least for now. Her dad was Drarnoz of Verden and her mother was Isada of Verden. She was an orphan. Currently serving at the tavern where she was allowed to live with a family friend. Sevilla. That’s all she needed to remember.

Usually, no one asked about her past. That wasn’t a thing in this village. As soon as Alva said the word ‘orphan’ no more questions were asked.

She liked her job at the tavern. It was an easy way to meet new people and experience the world fully. Adapting day by day. But still being herself. Everyone loved the way she talked. Foolish but skeptical. No man was able to win her or flirt with her. She shut them down real quick.

Today was such a day

It was an afternoon and everyone was ending their work for the day coming to the tavern to get a well-deserving drink and sometimes a meal, but Alva knew by experience you shouldn’t eat the food of this tavern. Dossar, the owner, didn’t know how to cook but he surely wasn’t giving up on an opportunity of getting more money.

The folks around the area knew never to ask for a meal but it was always a pleasure to see the look on a travelers' face.

Alva was serving everyone with a kind smile but some men interpret this as a sign to flirt with her. Woldor, a farmer, decided to try his luck today. He was trying to gain her attention by whistling at her and holding up his cup of beer. Only for her to come and check if he needed a refill. But at his point, she was ignoring his calls and gestures.

But the man didn’t stop. So Alva thought it was her time to shine.

“I’m not an animal! You can’t win my attention by whistling at me and calling me with sloppy pick-up lines! Cut it before I start acting like one.”

“I’ve never been threatened so adorably before.” Woldor and the men sitting beside him star to burst out into laughter and continued drinking.

“Yes well, I’m about to adorably kick your fucking arse.” The laughter silenced and the men stared at the girl.

“This isn’t going to end well is it?” Her coworker Cozlo walked up to her and tried to calm her down, by laying his arm around her shoulder. Alva liked him. He was a good friend and was amazing at keeping her out of trouble when she had a tantrum. This was one of them.

“Fuck no.” The girl wanted to jump at the man and rip his eyes out. He was the one that couldn’t take no for an answer. He was harassing her since the day she started to work as a servant.

Getting ready to throw some punches Cozlo grabbed her by her waist and picked her up.

“Let me down! Let me show this bitch what my adorable hand can do around his throat! I want to see if he still thinks their pretty when I choke him!”

“I think I’m in love with you my dear!” Woldor called out for her while sipping on his beer.

“That’s fucking unfortunate!” Alva was yelling across the tavern while trying to fight her way out of Cozlo's grip.

“You are significantly more destructive than I was anticipating.” That was Cozlo's response after Alva successfully freed herself and was ready to throw fists.

“Enough!” The dark voice of Dossar echoed between the walls. “Woldor get your arse out of here before I tell your wife that you're harassing my servant again!” The tall and bear-like built man stepped in front of the counter and was ready to throw him out with his own hands.

“Can’t take a goddamn joke, can ya?” The farmer grumbled some swearings under his breath and tossed his payment on the table before leaving the bar with his men.

“Next time leave a fucking tip, bastard.”, Alva shouted out through one of the windows and held up her middle finger. “Fuck that dude.”

“You did well Alva, let me admit that.” Dossar gave her a thumbs up and headed back to the kitchen area.

The conflict calmed down and the girl started to clean the table the men had left as a mess. Scrubbing the sticky beer of the top.

“May I compliment you on your skill of handling this rude of a man, my beautiful Lady.”

Alva turned around and in front of her stood unmistakably a bard. The usual costume they were wearing gave it away in an instant. But the lute that was strapped on his back made it even clearer. The man wasn’t older than probably 30 years old. His clothing had seen better days and his brown hair was all messed up.

“Thanks, I guess.” The girl wasn’t in the mood for a conversation so she continued scrubbing the table.

“My name is Jaskier if I may introduce myself. I’m the new bard in town.”

“What brings a bard like you in a village like this?”

“I expected a job, which was me kindly offered by the master of this tavern. A nice man. Allowed me to show off my talent every evening.”

“Good for you Jaskier.” She wasn’t trying to be mean but the bard was definitely flirting and she just wasn’t in the mood for another thirsty mean.

“That makes us workmates if I’m not mistaken? I look forward to seeing more of you…?” It was obvious that he waited for her name and the girl let out her sigh while turning toward him.

“Jaskier, I don’t mean to be rude but I had men trying to marry me at least 4 times today. And a dozen of them were just trying to bring me to bed. So please, if you stop that flirty behavior I will see you as my workmate and friend. But that’s all I can offer.

“Of course, Alva. I didn’t mean to upset you in any way. I’m glad I found a friend already. My last company wasn’t that welcoming.” A half-hearted smile was on his face and he scratched the back of his head.

“Why? Were you trying to flirt with them too?” Alva smirked and put her hand friendly on the shoulder of Jaskier.

“Oh no. Trust me. That would have been very … disturbing, may I say so. I see around Alva.”

“Yes, Jaskier. I’ll see you around.”

[jaskierswolf]

The (un)Helpful Mage (pt.1/3)

Summary: After assisting a mage with a contract, Geralt finds himself being cursed (some may call it blessed). The mage ties Geralt's soul with that of his soulmate rendering him unable to move more than twenty feet away from him. It's just Geralt's luck that his soulmate seems to be the most annoying person in the entire tavern.

Geraskier soulmate AU

On AO3 __________

Geralt pinched his nose and he tried to drown out the noise of the mage’s never-ending wittering. It didn’t help that the tavern was brimming with life and frivolity, thanks to the local bard. It wasn’t that the bard was necessarily terrible it was just that Geralt’s senses were still god damned sensitive following the hunt. The mage that was sat opposite him had hired him to track down their partner following a raid from the Temerian Army. The mage had been beside themselves when they’d realised their precious lover was missing and Geralt was hired to track her down.

Geralt had tried to explain that he was a monster hunter and tracking down loved ones was really not his area of expertise unless said loved one was a wraith or vampire or werewolf. In the end the heavy bag of coins dumped in front of him and swayed him and he’d changed his mind. It had nothing to do with the heartbreaking tale of romance.

Nothing at all.

The mage gazed longingly into their wife’s eyes and they squeezed the woman’s hands fondly. Geralt barely concealed an eye roll as he swiped the coin purse from off the table.

“If you’ll excuse me.” He grunted and stood up to leave the ruckus of the tavern behind.

The patrons of the tavern were now yelling at the bard and tossing food in his general direction. The brunet was ducking behind his lute to take cover from the flying rolls. He was snapping back at the crowd sarcastically, the fool, he was clearly looking for a fight.

“One moment please.” The mage grabbed his hand to stop him from leaving.

Geralt repressed a snarl but pulled his hand free. The mage was brave to touch a witcher like that. Geralt could probably snap them in half in his sleep. They weren’t a particularly powerful sorcerer, otherwise they would have been able to track their wife on their own accord rather than hiring a witcher. Perhaps they specialised in other types of magic. He knew many mages focussed solely on healing, for example.

“My kind aren’t welcome here. I should leave.” Geralt grumbled.

The mage waved their hand and smiled serenely at their wife. “Coin cannot repay the debt we owe you. To lose one’s soulmate in this cruel world is a tragedy that you simply cannot comprehend.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at the pair. “Soulmate. Really?” He scoffed. “I don’t really believe in that shit. I’ll take the coin but thanks.”

“Carwyn.” The girl breathed softly as she gazed adoringly into her partner’s eyes. “He is more lost than even you had thought.”

The mage, Carwyn, nodded sadly. “I will fix this, Amala, my dove.”

Geralt felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Things never went well when mages decided to meddle in his personal affairs. “The coin is more than enough.” He insisted. “I can repair my armour and buy a room in an inn at the next town.”

“But dear witcher. The one your soul calls for is here, not in the next town.” Carwyn smiled sweetly at him. Too sweetly. “You must go to him.”

“I’ll take my chance.” Geralt shook his head. “My soul will be fine.”

“Carwyn.” Amala pleaded.

“This is for your own good, witcher. You will not leave here without the other part of your soul. I have tied them as they were always meant to be.” Carwyn’s eyes rolled back in their head and their voice shimmered metallically.

Geralt growled. “Fuck. No. Stop it.” His hands reached to the sword on his back.

“This is not a love potion though, dear witcher. I cannot influence the feelings of either you or your beloved.” Carwyn hummed still in their trance. “I don’t fucking have a beloved.” Geralt grumbled but found he couldn’t move from where his feet where glued to the floor. He couldn’t escape whatever curse the fucking mage was putting on him. “But you will be unable to move more than twenty feet apart until the spell is broken.” Carwyn gasped and slunk forwards onto the table. Amala stroked their hair and sang softly in their ear as blood began to trickle from their nose. “How do I break the curse?” Geralt growled menacingly at the mage. They whimpered, weak from the magically exertion. “I cannot say. The bond must reach its full potential. For some it is rather like brother’s in arm, others will have an unbreakable friendship, and then of course. There is love.” “Enough now, Carwyn, my love.” Their wife cooed. “You have done your part for Destiny.” “Fuck Destiny.” Geralt snarled. “If most idiots don’t get tied to their soulmates then why did you curse me?” “I blessed you.” Carwyn coughed and wiped a trickle of blood from their nose. “All soulmates find each other eventually but I could see your soul had grown dark over the centuries of loneliness and it would have taken your soulmate years to lighten it enough for you to let him in.” “This is fucking nonsense.” Geralt groaned and stormed out of the pub towards the stables. He didn’t get far. The closer he got the the stables, the more he felt like he was walking through thick mud and his heart began to burn in his chest. “Fuck!”

__________

Julian had been in the middle of tuning his lute strings and munching on stale almost mouldy bread, when his heart clenched and felt like it was about to give out. He cried out and collapsed to the floor clutching his chest. “Fuck!” He cursed, spluttering precious bread crumbs over the floor. His lute clattered to the floor as it slipped from his hands. “No. No. No!” He groaned and pulled himself towards it to check for damage. One of the pegs had come loose and the paint work was scratched but it was still playable. Thank God. If only he could breathe again. He gasped for air as he scrambled towards the door of the tavern. He didn’t know why but he knew he had to get outside and fast. He burst out of the door with a cry and fell onto his back. The pain in his chest subsided and he could breathe normally again. “What the fuck was that?” He murmured to himself. Had he unknowingly been cursed? It wouldn’t be the first time such a thing had happened, sleeping with married people caused more problems than it was worth but to the gods was he addicted. The thrill of forbidden love. He couldn’t get enough of it and his lovers never seemed to have any complaints. He was a generous lover thank you very much! So generous that he gotten himself out of a few scrapes by sleeping with both parties in the marriage to square things out a bit. He grinned. The life of a travelling bard was suiting him just fine. Although he was looking forward to his big break and not living off of bread crumbs thrown at him from angry patrons. The pain in his chest seared again and he doubled up, clutching his legs to his chest and sobbing at the excruciating burning pain in his heart. He heard a man curse nearby and the pain released him once more as the silver-haired witcher, who he was pretty sure was Geralt of Rivia from the stories he’d heard, approached him. He’d noticed the man talking to an odd looking couple after he’d finished his set. Geralt was an extremely handsome man with his scary swords and moonlit hair but Julian had left him alone. He wasn’t sure he liked the look of the robed person that Geralt was talking to. Julian had not had good experiences with mages so far in his eighteen years and he was not about to start seeking them out. That was just asking for trouble. “Are you alright, Bard?” Geralt growled and pulled him to his feet. Julian took one look at those glorious amber eyes and promptly fell head over heels in love with the man. Again that wasn’t exactly an unusual occurrence for him, but this time felt different in a way that he couldn’t put his finger on. “Bard?” Geralt asked again, still keeping a firm grip on his wrist as if he was worried that Julian might fall over again. “I am now that you’re here.” Julian winked. Geralt rolled his eyes and walked away from him which was really a shame because Julian was a curious fellow and he was determined to find out more about this mysterious and gorgeous witcher. He trotted after the man, with his lute slung over his shoulders. “Wait up! I want to ask you something!” He called after Geralt. “Fuck off, Bard.” Geralt snarled. “I’ve had enough questions today.” Julian wasn’t put off and followed the man into the stables, asking him whether he’d heard his performance in the tavern and what he thought about it but the witcher only responded in tired grunts and hums. Julian was a graduate of Oxenfurt University and he was used to his peers having a little more eloquence. It seemed that witchers spoke in an entirely different language to troubadours and poets. Julian noted the head tilts when Geralt adjusted his horse’s tackle or inspected his swords before mounted the beautiful chestnut beast. Julian saw the way the man’s body language shifted and relaxed whilst upon his mount, he saw the way his beautiful eyes never stopped flitting about, constantly scanning the surrounding area. He saw the way the man’s calloused hands threaded into the dark mane of his horse and heard the low murmurs of encouragement as he spurred the horse on. “Come on, Roach.” He called and galloped off down the road. Julian ran after them but he was too slow and Geralt easily put distance between them. Until he stopped as suddenly as he’d started. The witcher was thrown backwards from his horse just as Julian’s heart spasmed in his chest and his fell to his knees.

“Fuck!” Geralt swore loudly and crawled back to where Julian was struggling to catch his breath on the dirt path. “Are you alright? He asked for the second time that day. Julian nodded. “Now that you’re here.” He repeated breathlessly. “What’s happening to us?” The witcher stiffened and refused to meet his gaze. “I got cursed. You got dragged into it.” Julian laughed. “What was it? Being tied to the most annoying person in the room?” Geralt’s lips twitched which Julian assumed meant he was smiling. “Something like that.” “Makes a change really.” Julian rambled as Geralt pulled them both to their feet. This time the witcher didn’t ride off and walked along side Julian. “Normally it’s me being cursed. One time I got turned into a bird and couldn’t turn back into a human until someone complimented my singing. Of course that one didn’t last that long” He lied, “and being able to fly was pretty cool. Another time I got cursed by some Lord so that I couldn’t fuck any women, that one wasn’t really a problem for me though. He lifted the curse after we spent one memorable evening together to make up for me shagging his wife.” Geralt sighed loudly and pressed his fingers to his forehead. “Don’t you ever shut up?” Julian snapped his mouth shut. Geralt looked like he was in pain. Julian noticed how small the man’s pupils were. The narrow slits were almost invisible against the bright yellow amber of his irises and he was blinking frequently. Perhaps witcher’s could experience some kind of sensory overload? Julian smiled apologetically and tapped out a rhythm on his lute strap instead of his usual chatter. They ambled the rest of the way towards Posada in silence until dark fell and they were forced to make camp. They were still unable to move more than about twenty feet away from each other. Julian delighted in the development. He’d always struggled to keep friends. He made them easily but there was always something he did or said that made them leave. Now he had a friend who couldn’t leave. He frowned, his delight short lived. The witcher must be desperate for his isolation. Julian didn’t know much about the mutants but he knew that you rarely saw more than one of them in one place. They weren’t sociable by nature, not like humans were, Julian was probably driving this one mad. He wondered what he’d done or said that had made the mage tie them together in this way. Perhaps the mage had really hated his singing that much.

_________ Next

[junkyardlynx]

Pt. 6

“Why would I tell you? You were - fuck!” 

Miss Lewis’ words were cut off with her hiss of pain as she attempted to squirrel out under from Sarisa’s malingering foot. Her blood joined that of her associates, and the stench of death began to permeate the room, fresh as it was. I couldn’t stand it anymore. Self-loathing squirming in my stomach, I knelt down in front of Lewis, black mana gathering in my fingertips and running down my palms like a viscous ink. Sarisa took a few steps back, moving behind me.

“W-what are you doing?”

Her fear was justified, really. Most magical spells have an elemental component that tints the mana, and black was the realm of necromancy and bodily change - life reversed. 

“Shut up. I already regret this.”

My voice was thick and heavy, and it seemed to bludgeon the air from her lungs. Nobody seemed to comprehend what was happening until a sound like a wet bandage hitting the floor reached their ears. Sarisa watched, halfway between amazed and amused, as ribbons of flesh began to peel themselves from the dismembered corpses, slowly and almost lazily drifting through the air. They hovered in front of my face for a moment before twisting and melting together into a wet and tumescent mass.

Diane’s face reflected only horror.

“I said, what are you doing? Don’t do it. Don’t do that, don’t you fucking put that in m-”

The mass of flesh leapt from the stagnant air, filling the sizeable hole in her knee and spreading through. Sickening sounds of crunching and squelching filled the sanctum, and Diane’s screams of pain and terror only served to heighten the horrifying atmosphere.

This was the healing side of necromancy, using the dead to preserve life. Considered an ultimate taboo by those outside of the necromantic arts, it allowed the caster to shape and repair most any body part as long as there were...materials around.

It bothered me in the past, but not any longer. Life is life, and the dead aren’t sticking around inside the shells. It seemed stupid and downright disrespectful to not use what was left if it was needed. My dad taught me that.

“Stand up.” 

Sarisa gave her the command, barely hiding her lopsided grin. For some reason she really, really loved watching me utilize that dark magic. Maybe it was the thrill of the unknown, or the bewilderment that ensued. Diane had time to process and deal with the event, but she seemed unsure. I rose, shaking my hands a few times to bleed off the excess mana.

“C’mon, coach. Those that can't do, teach. Those that can’t teach, teach gym. You should be able to stand up and give us some Suicides or some squats, at least, right?”

At Sarisa’s prodding, unsteadily and bracing for pain, Diane Lewis stood. 

It was rather uneventful.

“So what were you saying about Jeal and I?”

“You...were always complacent kids in P.E. You sure turned out to be cruel.” If you asked me, she seemed confused at her own words. Diane had been bouncing between terrified and vengeful so much that I felt exhausted listening to her. She’d screamed at us to stay away. Most people in a death cult under their own will weren’t reduced to hysterics after the loss of their fellow cultists. Something in them was broken. Unfortunately for Diane, her mind remained whole and mostly her own. 

There was just something directing it down the darkest path.

Deciding that this game of torture and treatment had gone on long enough, I fixed Diane with an almost impenetrable stare before reaching my right hand out, placing it on her neck.

I could feel the confusion and annoyance radiating off Sarisa. Was she...jealous? Wh-oh. Oh. I have my hand on the neck and shoulder of an adult woman. That probably looks pretty uh, tender from her point of view. Miss Lewis seemed stricken by confusion and hadn’t batted my hand away. That’s not. I. I better just wrap this up before it turns ugly.

Before she could regain her senses, raw mana pulsed through my hand with an ugly red and black crackle, prompting a new series of screams from Diane as it seared the Mark of Soritoroth off of her skin, leaving an admittedly ugly scar. With heaving breaths, I removed my hand from her skin, sweat collecting on my forehead.

I’d used far too much magic today. It felt like every nerve in my body was on fire. I’d be damned if I showed weakness, though.

Sarisa, having understood after the fact, walked up behind me and slung her arm over my shoulder before addressing Diane, unable to hide her lopsided grin any longer. It felt possessive.

I didn’t hate it.

“This big idiot just freed you from your Mark. No more dark whispers in your ear or weird dreams about fire and a never-ending queue at the DMV. He’s too kind, really. I’d have just left you locked in here with your fellow teachers until the Mark consumed you. Guess he figured it out because of uh, well, how scared you are. Real believers usually aren’t terrified out of their minds.”

We were met with a cascade of sobs. Slipping down to the blood-stained floor again, Diane was reduced to tears as pain and regret wracked her seemingly fragile frame.

“Let me guess. They knew you were a mage of some talent. Told you big things. Scared you, and right after, promised you safety. Then they dragged you into some pit, put that Mark on you and began to twist you. I mean, no one really likes P.E., but we all liked you. Didn’t really think you’d turn evil at the drop of a hat. Mr. Morrison though...man, we should have seen that coming. Haughty english teachers are the worst.”

I wonder how many times Sarisa’s penchant for humor saved me? I always ended up walking down dark lines of conversation, saying the wrong things at the wrong time to anyone but her. She managed to be my voice, and she understood me better than anyone.

Honestly, I don’t think I’d have even made it this far without her. I would have tried to save my parents if she wasn’t around. She was my guidepost.

“I gotta admit though, you made me really mad. So in exchange for all these wonderful things Jeal’s done for you, can you please tell us where our friend Thom is and what he’s told you?”

Diane was quiet for a time as the sobs shriveled up. Her head rose from her knees, and she looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time.

“They’re all dead, aren’t they?”

A barely audible whisper.

“Yes. Mr. Morrison, Mrs. Takao, and Mr. Krenick are dead. So are fifty people your little cabal brainwashed into raiding this place. So I really, really need you to tell Jeal and I what’s going on.”

Sarisa hid no facts, but a sort of warmth leaked into her voice, gently urging Diane on. 

“Please,” I said. 

“Thomas...he, two weeks ago, he came to us. Said he knew we were mages, and that you two were mages and that Jeal was actually a Culaine. Last thing he told us before we stuck him in that hole was...was that you’d be coming back around 7 today. Dunno how he knew that. Guess he was watching you.”

“Where is he, Miss Lewis?”

A long pause, as if everything that had happened since receiving her Mark was finally setting in.

“He’s in hell. He’s burning. He’s burning in hell. He’s gone, I think.” She stopped for a moment, eyes glassy and distant, finally free of that dark passenger and unable to collect herself in the aftermath. We were losing her.

“They already moved him. I don’t know where. Just the shell. Nothing left inside, all empty, ready to be filled up. The materials are still good...”

Lightning cracked on my fingertips, but I gripped my hand tightly. The torrent of images and impulses, no longer channeled and directed by the Mark, began to leak over every thought she had. They’d bleed out like mere bad dreams in time, but time was not on our side. 

“He was in that square hole. Seven feet deep, a tiny prison for a god. The abandoned observatory to the west. From the 80′s. I wonder if they knew? A cocoon as a prison for god. I wonder if we could have seen him...?”

Her voice trailed off as her head lolled to the side, shock finally pulling her consciousness under. I grappled with myself for a moment before flicking my wrist, a lash of red thunder removing the last traces of the three dead teachers. Leaning on Sarisa a little as she kept her arm slung around me, I made my way to the desk in the sanctum. Sarisa seemed to understand what I was getting at and began preparing one of the cots. My shoulder and neck seemed somehow lesser for the absence of her weight and warmth.

Penning a note to Diane on a piece of paper, I gathered a few materials and reagents from the cabinet beside the desk. Setting to work with practiced movements, I began to prepare a tincture using thornblood, the teeth of an imp, water, mint, and ethyl alcohol inside of a reinforced flask. She’d need it, after what she’d been through. For myself...well, for myself, it was going to be less pleasant than anything with alcohol in it. Too bad I also needed it.

Forcing a gelatinous black mass into my dry mouth, I began to chew hurriedly, ignoring the bitter taste and oddly crumbly texture that followed the jelly-like outside as I pawed around blindly for a bottle of water, draining nearly the entire thing in one gulp. I turned around to find Sarisa on the verge of laughter, having just set the bloodied Diane down on the cot.

“Oh my god, did you eat that? You actually ate that dragon eye? What the fuck, Jeal.”

“Everything hurts, Rissa.”

“Oh, c’mon. Don’t sound so annoyed. I mean, I know it’s a really good pick me up, but oh my GOD, that had to have been like, 800 years old! And you just ate it! In one bite!”

“... probably still kiss me.” 

“Hmm?”

“Nothing. Let’s go.”

I don’t know if she actually heard me or not, but it didn’t matter. We needed to check out the old observatory, even though he was probably gone. Thomas had been wrapped up in all of this, somehow. He knew who I was, what I was. He knew who Sarisa was.

Everything hurt. Body and soul.

[illumynare]

Red vs Blue Fic: First Name Agent, Last Name Washington

Summary: Five times Caboose called Wash “Church,” and one time he didn’t.

Parings: None.

Warnings: Canon-typical language.

Notes: Also available on AO3!

@redvsbluesecretsanta fic for @all-my-fandoms-are-killing-me, who requested Caboose + Wash. Huge, HUGE thanks to her for being so patient as I flailed my way through finishing this story. <3

1.

The first time that Caboose calls him “Church,” Wash just says, “Yeah?”

It’s 18 hours after Sidewinder. They’ve found an abandoned Sim Trooper base to hide at, and Wash is—

He’s tired, with a paralyzing weariness that he’s never felt before. The “looks like you aren’t going to prison” adrenaline has all worn off. Even with the healing unit running at full power, he still hurts almost everywhere from fighting the Meta.

(Meta. Maine. He can think the name, now that he’s dead—now that Wash doesn’t need to use him. Now that the Meta is not another obstacle between Wash and freedom, he can let himself wonder if his old friend was really all gone, or—)

He’s tired, but he can’t rest. The Reds and Blues gave him a suit of armor and helped him dodge the UNSC, they promised him a place on Blue Team, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t going to stab him in the back.

So he’s sitting at the kitchen table, head in his hands, trying not to sleep and trying not to panic and trying to understand what’s happened.

You helped us, Wash—sure, but he’d helped South. He’d given the Project his entire fucking life. He’d given Epsilon—

“Hey, Church!”

“Yeah?” says Wash, turning around, only a little twitchy, because he knows that voice. It’s Caboose—out of his armor for the first time that Wash has ever seen, dark curls damp from the shower.

Then his mind stutters, freezes. Rewinds.

Hey, Church.

That wasn’t his name.

It wasn’t his name, but he said yeah because he forgot. He forgot and answered to the wrong name and fuck fuck fuck they know they finally know—

He realizes that he’s on his feet, gun drawn.

“Oh!” says Caboose. “I did not know we were playing hide and seek.”

“What?” Wash demands, his voice cracking. “What the hell—what are you—”

“DROP IT, MOTHERFUCKER,” Tucker yells, charging in through the doorway with his sword drawn.

He’s not trained like a Freelancer. It should be laughably easy for Wash to drop him, despite the glowing energy sword, and without even firing a bullet from his gun. Wash aims a kick at Tucker’s leg, meaning to send him sprawling—

But the exhaustion and the injuries are too much. Wash’s own leg gives out, and he tumbles to the ground. His gun skids across the floor.

Tucker grabs it, shutting off his sword. “What the fuck were you doing?” he demands, his voice low and dangerous.

“Church and I were playing a game,” says Caboose, as cheerful as ever. “I won.”

“I’m not—” Wash starts, but then his mind roars with static and he can’t go on.

Not Church, not Epsilon, he’s not he’s not, but the name Wash feels heavy and foreign, and he is—he is—

He’s finished. That’s all he is, right now, same as on Sidewinder. Tired and finished, without the strength left to even pretend he knows his name.

“You tried to kill Caboose,” says Tucker.

“Yeah, uhhh, that is part of playing hide and seek,” Caboose says. “I find Church and then he tries to shoot me.”

Tucker glares at Caboose. “That isn’t Church, you idiot.”

Wash manages to find his voice and say, “He called me ‘Church.’”

In an instant, Tucker’s glare is turned on Wash. “So you decided to fucking shoot him?”

“I—”

Wash doesn’t know what he can say: there aren’t words for what it was like, waking up with two selves in his head, feeling that other self die, and then living with the memories. Knowing every moment of every day that if he ever let them know he remembered being Church/Alpha/Leonard/Epsilon, he would be killed.

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t call the UNSC and put your ass in jail,” says Tucker.

“Uhhh, because he is Church?” Caboose offers.

“I wasn’t asking you!”

“. . . I’m sorry,” Wash says helplessly. “I thought— Back in Freelancer, if I’d answered to that name, they would have killed me.”

Tucker snorts. “Yeah, right.” The he does a double-take, looking at Wash’s face. “Wait. Seriously?”

Wash’s nerves are buzzing with fear. It can’t be this easy—nobody ever believes anyone, not if they’re teammates, not if they’re friends—

“Yeah,” he says.

“Ugh,” says Tucker, and he relaxes, all the anger draining out of him. “You Freelancers are really fucked-up, you know that?”

“Yeah,” says Wash.

2.

The thing is, Wash’s job on Blue Team is just “pretend to be the Alpha AI,” and that’s . . . horrifyingly traumatic in a number of ways, but it’s also boring.

He already looked a member of the UNSC in the eye and answered to the name “Leonard Church.” He got away with it. Here at Blue Base? There’s nothing for him to do.

Wash can’t remember a single time in his life when he didn’t have a mission, a goal: get off that dirtball. Survive the war. Make it onto the Leaderboard. Burn down Freelancer.

Now? He’s lost.

So he’s pried open the microwave and he’s trying to fix it, because the only other possible project is teaching Lavernius Tucker to act like a soldier, and fuck if he’s going to waste his time on that kind of hopeless cause.

“Church,” Caboose says from behind him.

i am epsilonepsilonEPSILON i was leonard church we are BROKEN don’t say goodbye i hate goodbyes

Wash curls his fingers into fists, wait for the memory to pass. For his thoughts to sound like his own again.

“Don’t call me that,” he grits out, turning to face Caboose, who is in full armor this time.

“Yeah, I don’t know if you noticed, but you are wearing Church’s armor and replacing him on Blue Team, so that kind of makes you Church.”

“But I’m not—” Wash realizes his voice is rising and he chokes off the words. Tucker has the uncanny ability to appear any time he raises his voice to Caboose, and Wash is really not in the mood to be reminded again that if he screws up too much, they’ll throw him to the UNSC.

“Church went into the memory unit,” he says wearily. “Remember?”

Caboose nods. “Yeah, and you replaced him. It is not that complicated.”

Sometimes Caboose is clearly just babbling—How sad would it be to not have a brother and to lose a brother all in the same day?—but sometimes he talks slower, seems more aware of the world outside of his brain. This is one of those times.

“Have there been other Churches?” Wash asks.

“Yeah,” says Caboose. “There was Church, who was my best friend ever, but his body fell out of the jeep and I lost him. And then there was Church, who lived inside the memory unit and listened to my stories, and then he was a robot, and then he went back into the memory unit. And then there was you.”

I’m not Church, Wash wants to howl, but Caboose is staring at him like—like—

Like he has a place on Blue Team. One that means something.

“And now my helmet is stuck and it is your job to get it off,” Caboose goes on. “Because you are Church.”

“Wait,” says Wash. “Seriously?”

But as he wrestles Caboose’s helmet from off his armor, and deals with the chewing gum smeared inside the locking mechanism, he’s . . . grateful.

Pretending to be Leonard Church—Alpha or Epsilon—makes Wash’s skin crawl. Cleaning up after Caboose isn’t exactly fun. But it’s something. It’s a reason for them to keep him on Blue Team and out of prison, and Wash isn’t a bit less desperate than he was when he teamed up with his friend’s walking corpse and shot Donut.

He can stand being Church.

He will be Church.

3.

After Wash leads Blue Team to victory a three times in a row, he starts to relax. He knows, and he knows they all know, that the war games are pointless. But Sarge is just as dedicated to the complete and utter destruction of Blue Team as before, and Tucker enjoys making the Reds sing embarrassing songs to get their flag back, and Caboose is just happy to be on a mission with “Church.”

So it works for them.

Wash avoids thinking about how it can’t last, just like he avoids thinking about how he got here and why Simmons won’t talk to him. For once in his life, he’s not brooding about the past, and he’s not desperately crawling towards the future. He’s just—

Making coffee in the mornings. Watching Caboose tinker with the jeep. Putting out the fires Caboose starts in the kitchen and then feeding everyone MREs. Saying, “Yeah, buddy,” even when he doesn’t fully understand what Caboose is saying.

It’s . . . not exactly good.

But it’s the longest, most peaceful stretch of not bad that he can remember having in a very long time.

There’s only one thing wrong, really, and it’s Tucker. Not at first, when he just avoids Wash. But as time goes on—Tucker hangs around them a little more, but he’s always giving Wash these weird, resentful looks that send little sparks of adrenaline down Wash’s spine, because he could call the UNSC.

Wash tries. He leads them on another raid and they win, again. He cleans the base. He banishes Caboose from the kitchen and manages to cook their meager supplies into an actual dinner, complete with mashed potatoes.

But something’s still wrong, and it’s more than just Tucker’s initial wariness, his protectiveness for Caboose. Wash can see it getting worse as they eat dinner together, the way Tucker’s mouth slants down and his shoulders tense and he’s hardly even eating.

It’s getting worse, but Wash has no idea what to do.

“Well,” Caboose says cheerfully, “I think that maybe tomorrow, me and Church—”

“He’s WASH, you moron,” Tucker snaps suddenly, slamming his fork down on the table. “Get that fucking straight.”

Fuck, Wash thinks, hardly daring to breathe. This is it.

“Uh,” says Caboose, “I think you mean Church.”

“No, I mean Agent fucking Washington, the asshole who shoots people for no reason.”

There’s a buzzing in Wash’s ears. He can hear the memory of Simmons screeching, the sound of Donut’s body hitting the ground.

I had to, Wash thinks dizzily, I had to, he was in my way, I couldn’t go back to prison.

But—

He’d ended up headed for prison anyway, and it was only Caboose’s begging that saved him, and now he can’t miss the way Simmons is still scared around him, the way Grif always positions himself between them.

He can’t miss, either, the gaping hole on Blue Team where Alpha and then Epsilon used to be.

In that instant, Wash desperately wishes that he really was Church. That he wasn’t the kind of person who did those things.

“No, he is Church,” Caboose explains patiently, “because Church is Blue Team captain.”

Tucker starts to rise from his seat. “Call him that ONE MORE TIME—”

Wash starts to rise too, raising his hands placatingly, because he can’t let this turn into a fight. Not with Caboose in the middle. “Look, Tucker, I know it’s weird, but if it’s easier for Caboose—”

“I don’t give a fuck!” Tucker snaps. “Church was my best friend.”

“He left,” says Caboose, his voice soft and final.

There’s a moment of shocked, frigid silence. Tucker’s mouth is open, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Church is the one who stays and takes care of us,” Caboose goes on. “Epsilon left because he liked the mean lady better. It’s not us, it’s him. I realize this is hard for you to understand, Tucker, because you are kind of dumb. But it is time for us to move on.”

Wash looks at Tucker and—shit, are those tears in his eyes?

“Fuck you,” Tucker chokes out, and bolts.

With a sigh, Wash sinks back into his chair, and puts his head in his hands.

“I’m never making dinner again,” he mumbles.

“Well, I thought your mashed potatoes were delicious,” says Caboose, patting him on the shoulder.

4.

His fever has broken.

Wash knows this, because the floor isn’t rocking underneath him, and when he looks up, the ceiling doesn’t look like it’s bubbling and seething.

Yay.

He still feels awful: aching all over and exhausted in a way he hasn’t been since he was in the hospital recovering from South’s bullets. When the gunk in his lungs makes him convulse with coughing, he wishes bitterly that the healing unit could help with a virus.

But no. He’ll just have to lie in this bed and suffer for a few more days. Hopefully Caboose won’t burn down the base in the meantime.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHURCH!”

Wash sits bolt upright in bed, scrabbling for the pistol he usually keeps under his pillow—it’s not there—before he realizes that he isn’t being attacked. It’s just Caboose and Tucker, carrying a cake.

A birthday cake, with candles burning. Wash wonders if he’s still hallucinating.

“See, Tucker?” says Caboose. “I told you he was well enough.”

“Do you mean too sick to run away?” Tucker asks. He puts his hand on Wash’s forehead. “Yeah, okay, I guess you won’t die.”

“What . . . is this?” Wash asks fuzzily.

“Look, I know,” says Tucker, and puts a cup of orange juice in his hands. Wash wraps his fingers around the cool glass. “But Caboose really wanted to do this on your actual birthday, so . . . just have a bite of cake and I’ll get you some chicken soup. I make the best chicken soup.”

“Um,” says Wash. The last thing he remembers Tucker saying him—before he got sick—was Fuck off, Washington.

“It’s not my birthday,” he says finally, because—because he’s Church now, and he knows (remembers) that Leonard Church was born on September 21st.

(Welcome to the world, Epsilon. Today is your birthday, and that was timestamp 3/12/2559 17:51:33 UTC.)

“Umm, I think you lost track of time while you were sick, Church,” says Caboose. “It is May 1st, and that is your birthday.”

“Yeah, Simmons hacked the Freelancer records,” says Tucker. “That’s how we know your birthday and that you used to—”

“OKAY TIME TO SING NOW,” Caboose interrupts.

They sing. They’re completely off-tune. They sing, Happy birthday to Church, but it’s on Wash’s real birthday, David’s real birthday, and he—

He doesn’t know what to think about that.

After they finish singing, Tucker cuts the cake, and hands Wash a slice. Wash stares at it, remembering the time that Caboose tried to use powdered sugar instead of flour.

“C’mon, man,” says Tucker, “it’s safe. I cooked it.”

So Wash takes a bite. It’s a chocolate cake, fluffy and rich and absolutely delicious, and he can hardly taste it because his brain keeps repeating Tucker’s words: It’s safe. I cooked it.

He’s pretty sure that a week ago, Tucker wouldn’t have so much as opened a package of crackers for him, and he certainly wouldn’t have tried to soothe Wash’s fears about Caboose’s cooking.

He slants a quizzical look up at Tucker.

And Tucker sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, so . . . you’re really pathetic when you’re sick, and I guess I felt sorry for you? Also, uh. You kinda talked a lot when you were delirious. And, uh . . .”

“He means that he realized you were Church,” says Caboose. “Took him long enough. Stupid Tucker.”

5.

Carolina’s alive.

Carolina’s alive.

Carolina is alive.

One part of Wash’s brain is still stuck on that fact, still gibbering over and over that she was dead she was dead I was the last—

—and one part of him is snarling why the FUCK didn’t she come back for me?—

—but he’s got that mostly locked away now, in the back part of his mind where he keeps the broken, jagged memories that aren’t his.

He knows how to put his insanity aside and deal with a crisis, and right now, Carolina is the crisis. Carolina, and what she’s asked of him. (What he’s not sure he could refuse even if he wanted to.)

“She wants to find the Director,” Wash says to Church and Tucker.

“The what now?” asks Caboose.

“The Director of Project Freelancer,” Tucker says, and Wash can’t read the look that he slants up. “Right?”

“Right,” said Wash. “The one who created the AIs and the Meta and the—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tucker waves a hand. “We got the whole ‘killed my friends, prepare to die’ speech like five times already.”

I killed your friends, Wash thinks, and this time what he feels isn’t guilt but a sort of startled wonder, that they’ve put that aside as he never could.

“I owe Carolina,” he says. “She was my squad leader, and—”

—six years old, sitting on the lawn with daisies in her hair—

“She was a friend,” he says firmly, pushing the memories away. “I’m not asking you to help us. It’s not your problem. But she says that she knows where Epsilon is, and she can get him out of the memory unit. That’s how she’s planning to find the Director. If you want to come with us, you’d be, uh—”

He can’t quite bring himself to say, useful in a fight, because he’s seen how they fight. Last time Red Team attacked, Tucker tried to hold them off with his sick dance moves.

Then again, they brought down the Meta.

“You’d be welcome,” he finishes awkwardly. “Or if you don’t want to . . . I’ll come back. With Epsilon. I promise.”

He stops, and waits for Caboose’s disappointment, Tucker’s anger. Because he knows his promise isn’t enough, he’s going to lose the only place he can still belong—but he can’t refuse Carolina, he can’t—

“Okay,” says Tucker. “Let’s go.” He grins at Wash. “Like I’m gonna let you be the one who has frenzied pre-battle sex with Carolina.”

“What?” Wash’s voice cracks. He can feel his brain physically trying to eject the memory of Tucker’s words.

“Plus, the last time you went on a road trip with a Freelancer buddy, you ended up nearly dead,” says Tucker.

“Yeah,” says Caboose. “And we already agreed you could skip dying, even though it’s part of the job. So we are coming with you, Church.”

Wash stares at them, and he can’t believe this is happening, he can’t believe it’s so easy, nobody ever chooses him—

“Thanks, guys,” he mutters. “Thanks.”

1.

Everything’s so fucked-up.

Wash stands watch, staring into the sunset. He’s pretty sure the Reds and Blues won’t put up with Carolina for much longer—and they shouldn’t, it’s not like they owe her anything—

But Wash owes her so very much, and he doesn’t know how he can turn on her.

Even though he also owes the Reds and Blues everything.

“Sneaking . . . sneaking . . . sneaking . . .”

Wash sighs, and looks over his shoulder. “Hello, Caboose.”

“Hello, Agent Washington,” Caboose stage-whispers, and the name sends a pang through him. Because he’s not Church anymore. They have a Church, their Church, one who never shot or kidnapped any of them.

One who deserves to be with them.

“Caboose, you know you’re supposed to be in the temple with the rest of your squad,” Wash says.

Not his squad. Not anymore.

“Um, yes—well, um—but you see, um,” Caboose’s voice drops lower, “I am spying on you.”

Wash sighs again. It hurts, to be reminded that they don’t trust him anymore, that he’s not one of them anymore, that he was never one of them. But he chose this.

“Why are you spying on me, Caboose?” he asks wearily, turning to face Caboose.

“Well, yes, um, since everyone is kind of scared of you and Carolina, we figured we should try and get as much information on you guys as possible, so um . . . where do you guys see yourselves in the next five to ten years?”

You and Carolina.

Everyone is scared.

He’s lost it, all the fragile trust he built with the Reds and Blues when they were hiding together and they had no future. Wash knows that, and the knowledge is tearing him apart—but he also feels a tremendous rush of affection, because—well, Caboose.

“Caboose,” he says kindly, “you realize that when you spy on someone, no one's actually supposed to know that you're spying on them, right?”

“Oh, yeah, I know,” says Caboose. “I just figured you wouldn't tell anyone.”

“Wait,” says Wash. “What makes you think that?”

“Oh come on, Agent Washington—I mean I—you know, I'm pretty sure that we can trust you?” says Caboose. “I mean we are friends.”

He turns and ambles off as Wash stares at him in stunned amazement.

Wash hasn’t been “Church” since they pulled Epsilon out of the memory unit. He assumed that meant he was downgraded to being just another Freelancer, one of the interlopers that the Reds and Blues had to defend themselves against. But—

“Friends,” Wash mutters, and feels the center of his world start to shift.

[sofeyhh]

BTS Metahuman Au

*Based on the BTS Metahuman Profile I created

Part 8 / ?

Yoongi’s small apartment in the deep crevices of Tokyo felt more like a mouse hole now that there was six fully grown man stuffed inside. He had transported the entire group out of the streets to his apartment, which has him melted into his couch from exhaustion. It’s been awhile since he has managed to transport people other than himself, and his body was not taking it too well. The tight tension in the room wasn’t helping either. Yoongi feels a swish of air caressing his cheeks and was faced with Jimin’s puppy eyes.

“Here,” Jimin smiled as he handed him a glass of water. “It’s unnerving to see your face going paler than your snow white skin. Oh, and sorry that I raided your kitchen by the way. It literally took me a second to find it because boy, your kitchen is as empty as an abandoned desert.”

Jimin’s babbling earned a burst of laughter from the other guests. His sassy remarks managed to cut the tension away, and they were more than grateful for it. They stood around the tiny living room, trying hard not to look out of place. It wasn’t easy to face someone from your past, especially after not having seen them for more than six decades.

The sip of water did little to energise him but at least it had helped to dull away the aching in his temples. “Shall I introduce everyone?” Yoongi asks. “Or I bet everyone here already knows Jimin, isn’t that right Kim?”

His tight smile accompanied the strain in his voice after having to cough out Namjoon’s name. The name ‘Kim Namjoon’ felt like a serpentine wrapped around his tongue, leaving an acrid taste in his mouth. Hence, opting for a simple ‘Kim’ to ease his queasy stomach.

“Yoongi-”

“No, let him be Jin. He knows that I’ve been...spying on him so why hide it right?” Namjoon spoke up. “And it can’t be helped if Taehyung reads my visions because obviously, he was just as concerned.”

“Just as?” Yoongi scoffed at his words. It angered him that Namjoon was playing it off as if he had an ounce of care for him. If it came from Jin, it would’ve been more believable.

“Listen here punk!” Namjoon stood up, now seething with anger. “I’m sorry that your dull brain can’t input in the fact that I do care for you. Or maybe it’s that thick ego clouding your eyes.”

This was something Yoongi couldn’t lose to. After almost 70 years, it was finally time to let it out. He stands up and faces up to Namjoon’s taller build. “You care for me?!” Yoongi retorted and gave a mocking chuckle. “That must be the biggest joke in the entire world because fuck, I’m laughing.”

“This is what you do! You haven’t changed a single bit you fucker,” Namjoon grits his teeth. “Instead of trying to understand and accept it, you mock my words, laugh it off and claim that no one has tried to explain it to you.”

The fury locked in him finally explodes, reaching it’s boiling limit. His fist swings for Namjoon’s jaws, only reaching an inch before the taller man grabs the thin wrist, pushing Yoongi back.

“That’s enough, both of you!” Jin barked out with a frown. He understood that the two men needed to sort out their differences but getting physical was taking things too far. There were more important things that needed tending to before he would allow them to battle it out.

Yoongi falls back against the couch with his fists clenched. “You’re such a coward, Kim,” he muttered with a smirk. “Reading my mind to block my punches. If you’ve been reading my mind, then you would know exactly what that punch was for and admit that you deserve it.”

“Bastard!” the taller man seethed as he launched himself on Yoongi. The latter was not about to back off either as he meets Namjoon halfway.

One second, their bodies were entangled in a blur of fists. And the next, they were wailing in pain as they dropped to the floor. It felt like their entire body was burning and electrified at the same time as Jungkook holds onto their wrists, their life slowly pulled out of them. The veins in their necks were popping out in shades of blue while feeling like their heart was being squeezed. Jungkook releases them before it gets too critical, letting their limp arm lay still by their shaking body.

As the two men gasps for air on the cracked wooden floor, Taehyung steps in. Yoongi realised that the young boy had been awfully quiet since they arrived at his apartment. “Please,” he pleads with a soft voice. His eyes make contact with both Namjoon and Yoongi; it was glazed with desolated sorrow. “None of us want to see you fight anymore. This feud you guys have, it’s been going on for too long. Either choose to move on or talk it out.”

Coming from someone who was younger than both Namjoon and Yoongi, it brought a wave of shame over them. They’ve both been childish in their own ways. For the past decades, Namjoon has been in denial of his mistakes and Yoongi has been trying to avoid it. It wasn’t healthy for both of them.

Taehyung continued, “Meanwhile, we’ve got the 7th one restrained somewhere in a facility, treated like a lab rat. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m planning on saving him. And we can’t do that without either of you.”

Namjoon sighs as Jin helps him up. He’s been trying to reconcile their issue but after reading Yoongi’s mind a couple of times, he felt the younger boy’s resistance. So he didn’t push for it, claiming that he was only trying to respect Yoongi’s wishes. Perhaps he should’ve pushed for it, be a man and face the music. Then maybe, things wouldn’t have spiralled out of control.

The guilt gnawed at him, gulping as he held out a hand towards Yoongi. “I...I know you can’t forgive me for what I did but...for the sake of the 7th, let’s put it behind us.”

Yoongi stares at the outstretched hand waiting for him. It used to be the hand that would pull him out of the gutter, patting him on the back and encouraging him to believe in himself. It was painful to see that the hand was now tainted with hate. But for the sake of the 7th and Taehyung, he held out his own hand, agreeing to move on. The handshake was flitting, lasting only a second before the two men retracted.

“Well, what the fuck happened to the 7th?” Yoongi asked exasperatedly. He hadn’t bothered to get back on the couch, eyeing the couple that was inhabiting it. His oldest friend and his now friendly foe, hand in hand. “And does he have a name? Or are we going to keep calling him that?”

“About that…” Jin started with a concerned look. The air hung heavy as Yoongi’s four guests look at each other. There was definitely something they knew amongst themselves. “His name...it’s Jung Hoseok.”

Jung Hoseok.

Jung fucking Hoseok.

That name slapped Yoongi in the face as he feels the colour draining out of him. The universe must be sadists, taking in pleasure from seeing him suffer. How cruel they were, presenting him with all his pain from the past. This was exactly why Yoongi ran as far away as he could from the rest of them. They come into his life carrying a ticking time bomb and now he can’t escape it.

“That’s...that’s impossible,” Yoongi wheezed out, his voice cracking. He shakes his head and tries to deny the truth. “I would’ve noticed the symbol on his wrist. And mine has never lit up whenever I was around him.”

“You see, Hoseok’s a morphling,” Namjoon said.

“A what?” Jimin piped up. Yoongi didn’t notice that the pink boy had been by his side until he hears his sweet voice.

“A morphling! He uh he’s able to change his physical form to literally anything he wants. That’s why I wasn’t able to track him down all this time. He’s been donning different skins so his symbol has never come up on my visions,” Namjoon explains his discovery with genuine interest.

But all those words were silent blubbers to him as he sits, frozen and numb. All Yoongi sees is him. All Yoongi feels is his arms wrapped around his waist. All Yoongi hears is the whisper of his name, said so tenderly, full of love. The cracks in his heart started to break away, never fully healed in the first place.

---

*back in the 30s*

“Hey baby,” he chuckles as he hugs Yoongi from the back. He leaves a trail of kisses down Yoongi’s pale neck, leaving him flustered.

“Not now! What if people see us?”

He growls and bites on Yoongi’s neck, making the latter whimper from both pain and pleasure. No matter how tough he looks, Yoongi always seems to melt under his touch. “Then shouldn’t we get back to my apartment? We’ll get some privacy to kiss all we want.”

It was a toxic relationship, he knew that. Men weren't supposed to be with men. What they had between them and what they did behind closed doors, it could send them to the asylum. But why did it feel so good to have his long fingers unbuttoning his collar while he nibbled on his ears? Was he deranged just like the advertisements said? And did he want it to stop?

Yoongi lets out a strangled groan as he feels him tugging his belt. “Fine,” he muttered. “But you’re buying me lunch before work.”

He decided that he loved him.

---

“Hey, are you okay? You blanked out there.”

Jimin nudged his friend, trying to pull him out of his trance. Yoongi had been acting weird ever since the ominous name entered the room. And from the looks of it, he’s had some past with this Jung Hoseok. But the way he reacted, it was different from how he was when he shared with Jimin about Jin and the rest of the group. This time round, Yoongi looked like he had seen a ghost. A ghost from his past that perhaps, might’ve meant something more than just a friend to him. It was a wild guess but the face of a hopeless lover was painted over him. And it left Jimin feeling less than happy.

“Yeah,” Yoongi murmured, clearing his throat and sitting upright. He leaves his memories and tunes back to Namjoon.

“He’s a big-time con artist and has been under the watch of several agencies all over the world. Unfortunately for him, he was caught morphing and ever since, he’s had a different type of agency trailing after him. They tracked him down to Tokyo and captured him, making him their prison in an underground facility on the island of Aogashima. I’ve seen what they’ve been doing to him...it’s inhumane, that’s for sure.”

Hearing that Hoseok was kept in a facility, going through torture, infuriated him. Morally, Yoongi knew it was cruel to treat a human like a lab rat but he wouldn’t admit that his never-ending love for him fuelled more anger than needed.

“Hear us out Yoongi, we know that you’re not a big fan of fulfilling the legend but we really need your he-”

“I’ll do it. I’ll help you,” he says, surprising Jin mid-way.

He was coming for Jung Hoseok.

BTS Au masterlist

[reztheripper-blog]

Rise of The Demon Huntress Part 3

 The front lines were in the city of Divitiae. Really nice place if you can ignore the raging demons killing every man, woman, and child in sight. We knew when we were getting close not because of the screams of those being slaughtered nor from the sight of fires spreading throughout the city, but from the scent of blood. Look, if anyone ever tells you blood isn't creepy, they're fucking insane (Or They're Alice. She actually enjoys the smell, then again, she's not the sanest person I know). It hit us like a wave, the metallic stench of death. As we got closer, the sounds we thought were sirens turned into the screams of the citizens and regular combat magicians (For reference, combat magicians are citizens who decide to defend a city if the need arises. They tend to do this until the military can arrive.) who were trying to hold off the demon onslaught.       "This is worse than the reports ever made it."  Alice said       Nero simply shook his head in sadness. "These people weren't meant to hold off such a large attack. They wouldn't have stood a chance."       "Well there may still be survivors. At worst, it overrun with demons and we all get brutally devoured. At best, we come across a fighting force and the douche who decided to cause this mess."       We wandered through the city encountering mainly dead people and demons. It was kind of a silver lining to say that it was an equal number of human and demon corpses, but at the quantity we were seeing, it was pretty bad. At one point there was a roving group of demons combing the streets looking for survivors. We had to avoid them as I didn't want to try and fight while getting Nero to the front lines. There was one strange occurrence that had all of us confused. There were several human corpses in a street and upon closer examination, they all had magical burns and weapon scratches (Demons leave a more ragged tear while weapons give a cleaner cut).         "Did they... kill each other?" I asked       Nero gave the bodies a long examination while me and Alice kept watch. "Whatever killed them was human. In fact most of them were killed with a combination of knife wounds and electrocution."       "Great. So one of our own decided to go rouge and start killing civilians? This just gets better and better." Alice said with a sigh. She turned to me and asked, "Do you think we should find them?"       "No. Hopefully whoever it is has moved far, far along."       I probably should've never said anything because the second I said that I felt a knife tip press against the back of my neck.       "Who are you?" A woman's voice asked from behind me.       "I think the better question is who are you? You kinda just came up from behind us and took me hostage."       "Nope, she got us all as hostages." Alice said as she slowly turned around to face me.       I had to do a double take, because last I remember, she was already facing me and was much farther away. Then it clicked instantly "That's not her." The shadow that was Alice dripped away and the real Alice came from behind our mysterious attacker and started to attack her instead.       "Stop fighting me or your healer gets it!!"         "Alice, stop!"       "Yes, please stop. I'd rather not die just yet." Nero said while being held hostage by a male attacker.       Alice stopped, but never sheathed her short sword. She grumbled something and came back to us.       "Now answer me: Who are you?" This strange woman asked us.       I guess it couldn't do any harm to tell her. Worst case scenario, we kill her. "I'm Melina Angelo," I pointed to Alice "the one who so kindly tried to murder you is Alice. That passive guy you have your goon pointing a knife at is Nero. And it's only courteous if you do the same and tell us your name."       The mysterious woman sighed and sheathed her knife. "I'm Natasha. Part of the actual group who is trying to stop the demon horde called the House of Knives."       This little statement piqued my interest as it would kind of explain the weird dead bodies we found. "So there's another group?"       "Yes, they're trying to help the demons invade our world. We don't know why, but we do know that these people all seem to reference meeting someone with strange eyes (Note: Strange eyes in the world of Favent means you have some really strange eyes. Like one neon green eye with a white spiral in it and another dull silver eye with purple rim around it) and the person offered them a well-paying job. We call them the "Controlled". You can tell them from other people because they're eyes are completely whited out. However, some still have normal eyes and will still religiously follow any order their leader gives."       "Well, shit. A cult basically?" I said       "In essence. Except they want the end of all humanity. Not enlightenment."       "We'll help you if you help us."       "It depends on what exactly it is you want."       "We want to find out who opened the Obice."       "Good. 'Cause the guy who did it is the leader. Kill him and you break the spell on the Controlled. Win-Win! I'll help you of course, because I remember the layout of the facility. I used to work there actually."       "Where is it?"       "You're not gonna like it. The weapon's facility 'Divitiae's Finest' is where their going and producing all of their equipment."       "Um... could you please call off your guy here? This knife is really digging into my throat." Nero complained       "Oh yeah, Marcus you can let him go. Head back to base and tell them I'm going to be doing a raid on the Controllers and to not worry."       Marcus let Nero go and proceeded to leave, but there was a more pressing concern here: What exactly was controlling these people? If it were a demon, that meant someone managed to do a controlled summon and did it basically across dimensions. They would be a powerful magician and a decent threat.       We were approaching the weapon facility, when that large group of demons decided now would be the perfect time to appear in front of us. And this time there was no hiding from them.       "Hey Alice, mind doing me a favor and getting it dark for them?" I glanced at Nero, "Please stay as far back from the combat as possible. But not so far we can't help you."       "I'll be back about one block." Nero said as he hurried along       I looked at Natasha, "I guess you do what you do best."       "Kill shit?"       "Oh yes!!" And we all ran at the horde of demons.       It was freakin' awesome! Alice had all of the demons near blinded by her Shadow Sorcery and Natasha was like a deadly dancer on the battlefield! She whirled her knives and always found her mark. Around her, graceful splashes of blackened blood sprayed from dead demons as they dropped like flies. Me? I just went and had fun (If you're gonna die, at least have your last moments having a blast). I changed my weapon into a scythe and started to spin it through demons. I really loved this blade! I could hear the bone shattering in the demons, but it left the cleanest cuts I'd ever seen. I swept through the demons like they were butter. At one point I changed it into a sword and it was unreal. I could cleave off entire limbs in a single, effortless swing and pierce the thick demon plating surrounding a demon's chest like it wasn't even there. Alice was like a ghost in the battle, appearing in one spot then killing another enemy elsewhere or making two enemies kill each other as they lunged their claws at her shadow image.        As epic as we were, however, we weren't invincible. I got dangerously close to dying as a demon faked a lunge and bit my arm. There aren't too many things in this world that hurt blindingly, but that is a whole new level of pain. I probably would have died because I couldn't get to my sword (It clattered out of my hand when I fell) and he was gnawing on my better (-ish) arm (I'm ambidextrous). He stopped biting my arm to attack my face, but I grabbed him by the throat and began to bash his brain matter on the concrete.         I had to save Alice from getting mauled to death. Even though she's a talented fighter, it's not her style to head-on fight someone. She tends to pick enemies off and use mass confusion. So when she got surrounded by five of the more vicious looking demons (Bloodier scales, sharper teeth, actually had horns, smelled really bad), I kinda jumped in to save her. She gave me the "Thank you" nod as a response.       Natasha saved my ass twice. Once when a strange demon that looked like a chicken (Writer's Note: Picture a velociraptor and you have a perfect idea. Act 2 will explain why this term doesn't exist) with arms knocked me over and tried to gut me with its claws. She simply jumped over it and slit its throat with both of her knives, then helped me up. Another time, it was more of a mutual assistance. We ended up back to back and began to just murder everything in sight. When she ducked I would back swing over her and kill all demons that were in front of her. When I did a side dodge, she would reach her knife out and impale whatever was in front of me (Luckily she never nicked me. I think her knives were poisoned.). It was glorious in-tandem killing!!       After maybe 30 minutes or so, we killed them all. About 75 demons slain because they chose the wrong corner to turn on.       "NEEERRROOOO!!!!!!" I called out "IT'S SAAAAFEEE!!!"       He came peeking around a corner and walked out, but he didn't walk like he normally did. Once I noticed the blood on his hands, demon blood, I rushed over to help, trying to remember any healing spells (Look! You try and remember thousands of incantations, spell circles, concoctions, and other stuff! Shit's hard! Then Healing classes only meet during the winter for 2 weeks. It's total bullshit, but I digress in my digression).         He had heavy, labored breathing which meant he was either losing a lot of blood or about to die. I was kinda hoping for the former. "Nero, where are you hurt?" I said in my professional voice       "My... my back. Snuck... away and....." He trailed off       I flipped him over and saw the four long scars going across his back. "Uhhh......"       Natasha came over and immediately saw what was wrong. "Sana" she whispered. Suddenly Nero was encased in a dim white light for a few seconds and once it dimmed everything on him was repaired, even his clothing. Some of his hair had even reversed from graying!!       "What spell is that?!!" I asked, incredulous at the results I just saw       "It's a Grandmaster level spell of healing. Don't ask how I know it and no, I'm not an ex-Grandmaster."       Alice suddenly warped in front of us carrying one beat-up, wimpy demon. "While you two were here chatting away, burning time away, I found us a demon to interrogate. He should know what to expect around here." She started to slowly strangle the demon, "IN PERFECT FUCKING DETAIL!!!!!"       I told you she was a bit psycho. We set up something resembling a camp and looted nearby stores (Yeah, I know it's a crime. Fucking hang me. Oh, wait you already are planning to kill me!) for supplies. We still had some way to go before we reached to weapons facility and a lot more to learn about this threat of the "Controllers".                                                  [End Part 3]