#There’s no point dying I’d still be in the south. The end is in sight and it’s filled with Parmos

[aspiringhorrorauthor]

I am so fucking done with living down south. Someone get me home

[jaskiersvalley]

After a little more chatting on the Novigrad discord server, this fic was deemed in need of a follow-up.

After that winter in Kaer Morhen, Aiden never wanted to go back there or let Lambert return. They spent many nights wrapped around each other, Aiden trying to keep the ghosts of the past at bay with his body. It didn't really work though, Aiden was no match for the history the whole keep carried for Lambert. At the first sign of the snow melting, Aiden was packing them up and getting ready to go. As soon as it was safe, he steered Lambert down the path, away from Kaer Morhen.

"Thank you for the hospitality," he'd said to Vesemir at the door, "but I won't be returning again. Nor will Lambert for as long as I live."

True to his words, Aiden only ever took the south, to the Caravan or warmer climates for winter. It especially hurt to see Lambert trying to piece himself back together after Kaer Morhen, only reaching a semblance of his usual self around the point where he would seek Aiden out each spring.

Years went by and Aiden got to sit back and watch Lambert blossom out. The snark and barbed comments lessened, mellowing into slightly less pointed humour. In fact, Aiden would have gone as far to say that Lambert was becoming popular in the Caravan. He was welcomed with claps to the shoulder which no longer elicited flinches and snarls. Training sessions were eagerly changed if Lambert wanted to help show moves and forms that were only taught to Wolves and, if he simply joined in, he never struggled to find a sparring partner. Smiles came easier, so did laughs and, if it was possible, Aiden fell even more in love.

Which was why, when out on the Path, he kept his ear to the ground, listening for any rumour of other Witchers - specifically Wolf Witchers. It worked, for several years they had peace on the Path, left alone. The closest they came was a story of a heavily scarred Witcher passing through a few weeks earlier.

Naturally, it all had to end. Aiden just about caught sight of Eskel approaching the Caravan early one winter, eyes set on Lambert who was sat with a couple of the others at the edge of a stream, feet dangling into the cold water. They were all relaxed, at complete ease as they jostled and laughed.

"You're far from home," Aiden growled at Eskel, a hand on his chest to stop him. "What brings you here?"

The glare sent Aiden's way meant nothing. There were much worse things Aiden had faced down in the name of love.

"He's not been home. Vesemir said he wouldn't be back. I just wanted to check he's alright."

As Eskel didn't press to get closer, Aiden stepped to the side and nodded towards where Lambert had his head thrown back in a loud, braying laugh.

"I've never seen him like that," Eskel admitted softly.

"And if you get closer to him, you won't see him like that again." It wasn't a warning, merely a statement of fact. "So consider carefully, is your satisfaction worth his happiness?"

For a long minute Eskel stood in silence, swaying towards Lambert even if he feet didn't move. In the end, shoulders dropping, he turned away.

"You obviously give him something we can't. Take good care of him."

From then on there wasn't even a whisper of a Wolf Witcher in their vicinity. It wasn't until a couple of years later that Lambert froze, head snapping in the direction of some woods off to the side of the road.

"Danger?" Aiden asked, noting the way Lambert's heartbeat picked up, breathing a little more ragged.

"No." Lambert shook his head. "Just thought I'd caught scent of something familiar."

The wind changed and Aiden could smell it too. Well, he could smell the blood. A glance at Lambert and there was a sinking feeling in his gut. Without a word they were veering off the path and into the woods. Just as Aiden feared, there was Eskel in a pool of blood, his things strewn around him. Eyes glassy as they stared at the sky, each breath was a choked gasp.

"Shit." Lambert was on his knees and pulling his potions out without hesitation. There was no denying how his hands shook as he tore open ruined clothes to reveal several stab wounds. Bandits had obviously gotten the jump on Eskel. Half a potion was poured over wounds while the other half was tipped between blood speckled lips all while Lambert cursed. "You stupid bastard."

"Sorry," Eskel slurred, coughing on the potion.

Healing was slow business and Lambert was on edge throughout the hours it took. He shied away from Aiden's touch, eyes roving over Eskel's body, cataloguing the new scars he'd accumulated over the years. The problem was, Eskel kept mumbling apologies which only left Lambert more and more bewildered.

In the end Eskel's mind cleared as the potions and rest worked their magic. Not yet strong enough to sit up, he turned his head to look at Lambert.

"I really am sorry."

"For what? Drinking my last potion?"

Aiden wanted to bang his head against the nearest tree as he listened to the two Wolves. Not that Eskel was helping matters. "No, the whole, you know."

"Nearly dying? Yeah, that was fucking rude."

Wanting to scream and smack their heads together, Aiden was helpless to watch as, after a tense moment Eskel sagged and said, "Yes Lambert. I'm sorry for nearly dying."

Year of knowing Lambert meant Aiden got a front seat view to witnessing how he sagged a little in disappointment and rubbed at his chest as though a phantom pain had taken up residence under his fist.

In the end they parted ways a few hours later, the remainder of Eskel's things carefully gathered and put away. He had a horse to track down and some bandits to educate in the way of manners. It left Aiden and Lambert on the dusty road, much more subdued than before.

That was the last time Eskel saw Lambert and Aiden for another four years. Winter was coming and he was holed up for another quiet winter with Vesemir and Geralt. Since Lambert left, rifts had appeared between them all, leaving the cold months lonely in company. The door opened unexpectedly and Lambert trudged in, hunched over and heartbeat fast in his chest even after so long away.

"I thought you wouldn't come back for as long as Aiden was alive," Vesemir rumbled.

The silent, sad stare Lambert gave them before his face creased into a snarl of rage told them everything. That winter was perhaps one of the worst. Lambert was unmoored, with the loss of Aiden he fell back to old habits, unable to face the past he'd share with Aiden and see the Caravan. Those memories hurt more than the ones Kaer Morhen held.

Come spring, Geralt walked with Lambert, promising to avenge Aiden. However, Eskel had a different task. He was going to retrieve Aiden's medallion for Lambert. In a way, he succeeded but also failed. That next winter, Eskel waited eagerly for Lambert to return. He had the medallion but he also had a very grumpy and still healing Witcher attached to it.

[uhthor]

i loved you in spite of deep fears that the world would divide us || mind_boggling

for @prblyindenial​ <3

thank you for helping me birth this fic! this is unequivocally for you. 

notes: a short stevebucky thing that happens just after the endgame battle. steve realises he must find bucky once the battle is over because after losing him so many times, he swears to never let him go again. 

this is an anti steve's ending in endg*me event, everyone else go home!

summary: He didn’t know why he thought Bucky would be different. He figured it was fear of forgetting him. But Steve knew he could never forget Bucky, no matter how much time they spent apart. He was ingrained in his bones and wrapped around his heart like lovers were.

Steve didn’t believe in divine intervention, but it was nothing short of a miracle that Bucky continued coming back to him after all this time. Maybe Bucky loved him, too, and that was all the divinity they needed.

full piece under the cut but if you enjoyed it please give it a reblog and maybe a read/kudos/comment on ao3? hehe thank you

The Snap could be heard across the entire battlefield.

Steve felt his head turn like lightning, trying to identify where it came from, and more importantly, who did it. His eyes found Thanos, fist raised, and Steve pelted across the battlefield toward him as fast as he could.

As he reached Thanos, he saw the empty gauntlet and what Thanos was staring at, the source of the snap; Tony.

All around him, the Chitauri began fading into nothing. His breath caught in his throat at the sight, and he looked for his fellow teammates across the field – for the ones who’d walked through Strange’s portals before him. He saw T’Challa, Shuri, Wanda, Sam: all of them still standing.

Steve took a breath of relief when Thanos turned to dust in front of him, Thor coming up on his right hand side. He dropped Stormbreaker at their feet, placing a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“We did it,” Steve mumbled, turning to Thor, whose eyes were only filled with terror.

“Stark,” He breathed, weakly pointing toward where Tony now lay. “He’s dying.”

They both stood in silence, watching Pepper, Rhodey and Peter Parker collapse in front of Tony. Thor gripped Steve’s arm tighter, and it shook Steve from a catatonia.

He sniffed, looking at Thor. “Is everyone okay?”

Thor shrugged, unable to speak. Steve watched as Bruce approached them both and placed a hand on Thor’s shoulder. He flinched slightly, turning to Bruce, and collapsing into him. Bruce just embraced him, his huge frame towering over Thor and his arms engulfing him.

Steve tried to ignore the pain pulsating from where Tony was dying, wanting to leave Pepper with him in his final moments, and he looked around the silent battlefield. Everywhere he could see people embracing one another in solemnity, T’Challa and Shuri holding onto one another in exhaustion, Clint helping Wanda to her feet, the two of them with their arms around each other supporting each other.

Watching the love pour out of his teammates in reunion was bittersweet; they’d lost people for this to happen. There were people who wouldn’t be coming back after the Snap of Bruce’s fingers. The absence ached in his muscles, and Steve felt empty as he stood alone.

Sam approached him, and before he could even speak, Steve felt tears gush into his throat at the absence of Bucky by Sam’s side.

“You okay, Cap?” Sam asked.

Steve’s eyes darted around quickly, “Where’s Bucky?”

Sam looked over his shoulder, “I don’t know, I lost him a while ago.”

“I have to find him,” Steve started to move, but Sam took his arm quickly.

“Let me,” He said, wings extending, pulling his goggles onto his head. “I can cover more ground quicker. Stay here.”

Steve felt his anxiety pulsing as Sam took off, and he watched him fly overhead and begin surveying the field. He continued looking around anxiously, watching for Bucky in the crowds of Asgardians, the Wakandans, the other Avengers. Every time someone moved, he thought he saw Bucky’s blue jacket, the light reflecting off his Vibranium arm. Just as he grew restless, Sam’s voice crackled over the comms.

“South west from your position, Steve.”

Leaving Thor and Bruce behind, Steve took off immediately. He ran through the crowds, dodging everyone he could whilst also scanning for Bucky. He looked skyward, trying to find where Sam had located him, and kept running toward him. Once Steve had passed a group of Asgardians that included an alien made of rocks, he saw Bucky standing amidst who Steve guessed were the newly reunited Guardians. He only recognised Rocket and Nebula.

As he laid eyes on Bucky, Steve’s breath hitched once again. He found himself stuck on the spot, letting the relief flood through his body. Bucky was okay. He was alive.

Almost as if he could feel him lingering, Bucky turned. When he spotted Steve, Bucky smiled, and that was what urged Steve forward.

He ran toward him, and Bucky met him halfway, the two of them throwing their arms around each other upon impact. After what must have been the entire five years apart from him, Steve felt himself relax in Bucky’s arms. His muscles no longer ached and he felt like he could actually breathe. Tears threatened to spill, but he forced himself to speak instead.

“Don’t go turning to dust on me again.”

Bucky laughed, and Steve thought he could hear tears in his voice. “Don’t try and fight an entire alien race by yourself ever again, dumb ass.”

Steve pulled away from him, still gripping Bucky’s arms in fear of him fading away if he didn’t. He couldn’t take him in fast enough; his face was still the same, his stubble, his hair. His smile lines still wilted in the same way and his eyes were still as blue as he remembered. He could drown in them.

He didn’t know why he thought Bucky would be different. He figured it was fear of forgetting him. But Steve knew he could never forget Bucky, no matter how much time they spent apart. He was ingrained in his bones and wrapped around his heart like lovers were.

Steve didn’t believe in divine intervention, but it was nothing short of a miracle that Bucky continued coming back to him after all this time. Maybe Bucky loved him, too, and that was all the divinity they needed.

“What happened?” Bucky asked.

“Thanos wiped out half of existence.” Steve answered, eyes falling from Bucky’s. “Took us five years to get you back.”

“Five years?” Bucky gaped.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe.” Steve replied.

Bucky shook his head with a sad smile. “I’m sorry I left you alone again.”

Steve frowned, “What? Why are you sorry? You didn’t—”

“See how stupid it sounds when you apologise?” Bucky interjected.

Steve’s frown fell into a smile, and he pulled Bucky toward him again. As they hugged, he squeezed his eyes shut to force himself to wake up. This had to be a dream. A nightmare. Anything. Bucky couldn’t be standing in front of him unharmed, unchained and undyingly his. It had taken 78 years to get to that point, and now it was finally his, Steve couldn’t believe it was real.

“I thought you were gone for good,” Steve whispered against Bucky’s shoulder. “I thought I’d lost you for real this time.”

After losing Bucky to war, to Hydra, to cryo, to Thanos, Steve knew this time he wasn’t going to let go. They’d surpassed their own endings, and the only one left was together.

Bucky only clutched onto him tighter. “Not without you.”

Steve had fought aliens. He’d survived things that should have killed him, things that he didn’t even know were humanly possible. Things that weren’t humanly possible. He had lived for over a century and grown in two different worlds, yet he still continued to be in awe of the universe and all it created. It was capable of anything yet it kept bringing him and Bucky back to each other.

Steve lived in a world of aliens, magic and now time travel. But the only thing he needed was the most human thing in all his life. It was right there in front of him. His life. It was Bucky.

Bucky began to pull away from him, but Steve gripped his jacket fiercely, keeping their faces inches from each other. He felt his cheeks flood crimson, and he licked his lips in anticipation. He could’ve sworn Bucky’s eyes watched his lips move when he spoke.

“Can I kiss you?”

Bucky swallowed, nodded. “It took you long enough to ask.”

Steve no longer suppressed his smile and pulled Bucky toward him, kissing him hungrily. Bucky kissed him back, and their lips moving together was the greatest feeling Steve had ever felt running through his veins.

Bucky cupped Steve’s face, and his stubble scratched Steve’s chin as they were pressed together. He far from minded. Steve’s heart pounded against Bucky’s chest, and he could feel Bucky’s pounding just as fast against his own. They were almost in sync. It was perfect, even if it took almost a century.

When they parted, Bucky placed his hands on Steve’s shoulders, Steve still clutching onto his jacket with white knuckles. He placed his forehead on Bucky’s, trying to catch his breath before he kissed him again. Bucky tried to speak but Steve didn’t let him. He stole as many kisses as he could; God knows he had waited long enough.

Bucky pulled away from him, panting. “Steve—”

“I know,” Steve answered, kissing him again. “You don’t have to say it.”

“I want to.” Bucky forced Steve to look at him, holding his face in his hands once again. “I love you. I need you to know that. I’m sorry I was a coward and never said it sooner because I’ve loved you all my life.”

Steve shook his head. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realise I loved you too. Because I did love you. I do love you. I always have, despite not knowing it. I love you, Bucky.”

Bucky could only smile. As people moved around them, they grew conscious of an audience and wrapped their arms around each other once again. Steve began to tremble, feeling his body giving up inside Bucky’s grip. The exhaustion was finally kicking in, and he felt unconsciousness calling him.

“Hey,” Bucky murmured into the crook of his neck, lifting him upward. He wrapped an arm around him, the cool of his Vibranium hand lifting his face up toward him. Steve caught Bucky’s eye and he smiled. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Steve only nodded, a smile fading from his lips. “I know.”

Bucky began walking him toward a medical bay. Despite Bucky holding him up, Steve took hold of Bucky’s free hand, the constant need to feel him next to him overpowering any kind of exhaustion. He held onto him tightly, to make sure he was still there. To make sure he wasn’t going to disappear again. To make sure he kept his promise - till the end of the line.

“So,” Bucky spoke up, a smirk on his face. “You can lift Thor’s hammer?”

Steve managed a laugh. “And you finally learned to put your hair up without Shuri’s help?”

“Whoa! That’s a cheap shot.”

“Then don’t mock the new ruler of New Asgard.”

[whump-town]

Hand In Unlovable Hand

While out on a case Hotch gets bitten by a rattlesnake, the team races to get him to medical attention before the situation turns fatal for their friend.

Warning: snakes / snake bites

Growing up, Aaron Hotchner’s father often bought his mother’s silence through small gifts. The brightest flowers he could find and spent hours in the Virginia heat planting them just where she liked in the garden. Every summer until it was some morbid tradition of theirs. He’d be woken early one Saturday by his father, his mother in her best summer dress, and they’d shop for these flowers until his mother was perfectly content. Eventually, the florist stopped regarding his oversized sweaters in the middle of June and he was thankful for their blissful chosen ignorance.

The price of these wondrous, well-loved flowers was blood. They were blood money and they paid adequately for her silence. His father never worried what Aaron might say, to whom he might speak up because he was never dumb enough to assume he could buy his son’s silence. But Aaron was always quick to stop fighting so long as Sean and his mother were left alone. So, he didn’t touch them and they remained, what appeared, to be the perfect family.

In the middle of his mother’s blooming garden, had been a pond. Aaron and his father had dragged up giant rocks from the creek. On those large rocks, he could lay for hours reading or writing or just thinking. Burning in the sun was always a better option than being stuck in that house.

Which is how he’d encountered his first snake. It was just a simple rat snake, not too bothered with Aaron. He got used to seeing the rat snakes around his mother’s ponds and in the mulch around her flowers. Comfortable enough that he’d been taken by complete surprise the first time he went to move one and it struck him. He hadn’t made a sound when it clamped down but it’d shaken him pretty good. The adrenaline folded him and he’d ended up puking.

That night he thought he’d die in his sleep so when he woke up the next morning he was surprised. Yeah, as it turns out, rat snacks aren’t venomous and he got much better at catching them and moving them. No more bites but it made an interesting story to tell in college so long as he left out the right details.

So, in other words, Aaron Hotchner’s understanding of snakes is minimal but more experienced than one might think. And that’s exactly why things went so wrong so quickly.

“Oh,” Rossi hisses as he looks down over the bank’s edge. “I’m not going down there.” He hooks his thumb into his belt loop and takes a step back. There’s more than just an air of finality in his conviction, it’s a certainty. No one can say anything that will guilt him down that hill.

Reid looks nervously to Hotch, then to Morgan. Waiting with that flickering uncertainty of his for someone else to speak up for him. Anxiety a striking pit viper in his stomach, slithering its way up his throat every second that passes. His knee aches from the idea alone of having to walk up or down that bank of the river they’re standing by.

“You can direct us from the bank,” Hotch excuses. He nods at Reid and without the words even having left his mouth, Reid knows he’s being allowed the sweet serenity of staying up here. “We don’t all need to go down. You’re free to stay on the bank, Reid.” That and maybe the rushing water below scares him a little. He’s not a strong swimmer and he’s fairly certain if he falls in no one’s swimming in after him.

(One, the water is not that deep but it is quick. Two, surely, someone would come in after him-- not Rossi, certainly not JJ, but maybe Hotch or Emily).

Morgan is entirely unenthused about the prospect of what awaits down that bank. It’s steep. It’s muddy. They have pictures of the scene, why can’t they just use the damn pictures. “Is going down there really worth breaking our necks?” Just because Hotch wants to play cowboy and get back into small-town roots doesn’t mean Morgan feels like slipping in this thick, clay-like mud and dying for the cause.

Prentiss comes up beside him, pinching at his side where his jeans come over his hips. “Aw,” she teases. “Morgan doesn’t want to get his shoes dirty.” She doesn’t hesitate to keep moving, edging down the bank after Hotch who is only a few hesitantly placed steps ahead.

Morgan rolls his eyes, why he lets himself be bullied by the likes of Prentiss he doesn’t know but it’s too late now and there’s no way he’s going to let her get the last say.

JJ may not have grown up in the south but she’s not going to let a silly little bank stop her. That is until she stumbles and she winds up crashing into Hotch. Who, by the way, is like a fucking brick wall. He doesn’t budge an inch and easily rights her back on her feet again like it’s nothing. “You’d be fine to stay on the bank,” he informs her softly.

She knows it’s not to undermine her decision so much as to assure her that she is not bound by anything to be stumbling down here. Morgan and Emily, maybe. Hotch needs dumb and dumber coming in with him but her part of the job doesn’t require it. Not that he really needs to tell her that. He never tells her what to do and she’s always appreciated that.

“I can’t leave you down here with those two,” JJ informs him. She nods her head behind them, to Prentiss and Morgan actively arguing and fumbling down the bank.

Hotch frowns at the two of them and grunts at JJ’s comment. Fair. He offers her his hand and she takes it gratefully. They both make it to the water’s edge without further incident. The same can’t be said for Morgan and Emily. When they get to the bottom, Morgan has mud up the side of his left leg. He slipped and ran it down the side of the bank. Emily’s hands are covered in it.

Emily shakes her head and comes to stand in between JJ and Hotch. She shakes her head when JJ raises an eyebrow in question at the sight of her smacking her hands together to get the mud off. “Morgan pushed me,” she informs her.

Which is a statement guaranteed to start an argument so Hotch moves the conversation on. “Getting down here takes a lot of work,” Hotch mumbles, moving a tree branch from his line of sight as he ventures a step further. “Definitely a local.” No one else is going to even consider this river as an option and no one else would try it. “Physically strong.”

Morgan huffs, “yeah, I’d say. It’d be nothing to break an ankle coming down that bank. You’d have to be confident to come down here at night and while carrying a body.”

Emily frowns, “carried?”

“No drag marks,” Hotch comments, squatting right where the water laps at the grass. He puts a hand down to steady himself, knees protesting this position, but he’s trying to see how murky the water is. Considering why it is that the Unsub had left his victim on the bank to be found when the water would have easily hidden the body for days. Maybe longer.

“Do you think he was hiding her? Going to come back?”

Hotch doesn’t need to look to know it’s Emily standing against his side. He nods, that’s the conclusion he was getting to. “He could have tied her down,” he motions to the water. “It’s a few feet deep there,” he motions to the section of murky water a little further out. The surface nearly still-- his mother’s old warning playing through his head: “still water runs deep”. He’s found it to be true a majority of the time. “If he was looking to dump the body we would have never found her.”

Emily turns from him, biting her lip. She doesn’t want that to bother her. All of it, she doesn’t want Hotch’s words to send a shiver of pain down her back. Her eyes still move up to JJ, her soft blonde strands of hair tucked up into her ponytail. She’s all Emily sees when she looks at this victim and she knows Hotch sees Haley.

The two of them are always a double-edged sword. Keeping up the mirage of being unfazed keeps professionalism but it creates this doubt. And, though she does the same, there’s a spark of curiosity that runs through her. How human can Hotch really be if he can do this job so well? It makes her sick to her stomach to doubt him like that. He’s the other half of her coin. Too different to be the same but too similar to separate.

“Ho--Hotch!?” All four of them look up, eyes searching above them until they find Reid and the single finger he points out far ahead of himself.

“Jesus Ch--”

“Don’t move.” Hotch is standing closest to it but JJ is right beside him. “It’s just a snake,” he sounds far calmer than he is. He knows two things for certain: (1) venomous snakes have a more triangular-shaped head and (2) this snake has a triangular-shaped head. Which doesn’t sound nearly as helpful now that’s he’s considering it.

Morgan has backed himself to the edge of the bank, as far as he can get from the snake (he’s snagged JJ up in his stumble back).

The snake swims towards them, wiggling in a hypnotizing back and forth sway.

“Ho—Hotch? Should—Should you really be doing that?”

Squatting down, Hotch gathers a large stone. One that spreads his fingers out as it rests in his palm and he doesn’t have small hands. “It's either a rattlesnake or a copper mouth,” he says with a certainty Emily finds odd. How would he know? But that doesn’t matter. What he knows for sure is that snakes don’t like being messed with and if he just splashes some water at this thing it’ll fuck off.

Emily is standing right beside him, enraptured enough to stay right where she is. Forcing her hands down at her sides and to not cower behind him. “Is one preferable?” She spent the majority of her childhood in Europe and her time here hasn’t been spent learning the types of snakes that live on this side of the coast. She doesn’t even know what a cottonmouth is (well she knows about getting cotton mouth from smoking but she senses that’s not what he means).

Hotch feels himself getting worked up, too emotional to aim properly. He’s a little scared. “A cottonmouth is more likely to bite,” he informs her. They’re aggressive little shits. “But a rattlesnake is more likely to kill.” He doesn’t see a rattle but he also doesn’t really know what he’s looking for.

“So we want the cottonmouth?” Emily touches his sleeve, needing something to ground her. 

“It's not a cottonmouth, is it?”

Hotch doesn’t comment. Swallowing thickly he tosses the rock, jumping when the snake jerks in the water and speeds up. It turns sharply and stops and though it’s farther away it’s not gone. It’s staring him down and, though, he’s not sure what it’s next move is he doesn’t want it to double back this way. He bends back down for another rock.

“Hotch!”

Oh. So that’s what a rattle looks like. Okay, yeah, so that’s a rattlesnake and whatever that is in the water is not a rattlesnake. Good to know.

He jerks his hand back, the sting of the bite immediate, but he stared down George Foyet and he’s got a sinking feeling that the “don’t show any fear” profile needs to be implemented here too. “Emily,” he can feel her still hovering just over his shoulder. Still well within striking distance of the snake curling around itself only a foot from him. “Emily move slowly to Morgan.”

There was a second snake, of course, there was, right there with them the whole time. Before silent and now raised up and shaking its little rattled tail at them in a warning that’s coming a bit too late given the deep ache in Hotch’s hand.

Why does she have to argue with everything he says? “No,” she says firmly. Her eyes are caught on the rattle raised in the air. Shaking. That thing is pissed and she’s not going to leave Hotch sitting on the ground right in its warpath. “I’m not going to leave you for--for snake bait.” She moves slowly to crouch behind his back. “What can we do? Shoot it?”

The outright anger in his voice is good, that means he’s okay. “Shoot it,” he whispers hotly. “Great idea, Emily. Then I can add getting shot to today’s list of unfortunate accidents. Right alongside getting bitten by a rattlesnake!” His luck would have him clipped by a bullet hitting a rock.

“Don’t get pissy with me--”

“Hey,” Morgan fusses. They all stop, frozen in fear when the snake raises its head. “Would you two get it together?” Shooting the snake is not a good idea. Any sudden movement from Hotch is going to get him bitten, again. Emily is standing just behind him and to have her shoot it is definitely going to deafen Hotch. Not to mention, there’s the all too real threat of hitting a rock and having the bullet come back and hit one of them. So that leaves what? Distracting it?

Morgan shakes his head, “how fast can you get up and get away, Hotch?”

Hotch’s entire hand is throbbing to the point that it feels like his hand pulses, genuinely moves. Though he can see that he can move his fingers, he can’t feel them. His fear is that if he tries to get up and move, he won’t get away fast enough. Passing out is probably not ideal right now and he’s certain that if he stands too quickly he’s going to drop.

Behind him, Emily turns to glance at Morgan and shakes her head. Her hand has worked its way between Hotch’s shoulder blades and she can feel his racing heart and the fact that his entire body is shaking. He’s going to drop like a ton of rocks if he stands up and that’s not ideal, in any sort of way.

Fuck.

“I’m going to run at it,” Morgan says. Emily and JJ both look at him like he’s crazy. However, he can see Hotch’s shoulder making rapid, shaking rises as he breathes. The way he seems to have popped a leak, leaning heavier and heavier to the left. “Emily,” he leans down and gathers a rock in each hand. “Unless you want me to get bitten too, get him up. Do you understand?”

Emily looks at the snake, still curling and seething, and then at Morgan. She nods. She moves, sitting on her haunches, and moves her hands under Hotch’s. “Ready?” she asks. Hotch nods. “Okay.”

“This is an awful idea,” JJ whispers.

Morgan agrees. “On three,” he announces. He’s going to run at it, throw rocks (try not to hit it), and distract it enough that no one else gets bitten. “One, two--” he shouts, and rushes the snake.

Hotch struggles to get up but the snake is not worried about him, its focus has moved to Morgan. Emily pulls him back, they stumble blindly a few feet back, JJ coming in to stop them from going any further.

Morgan scares the snake off. It strikes the air and he tosses a rock near its head. Enough to make it move back rather than closer. It keeps moving backward, the rattle still measuring its displeasure but it’s not coming towards them. “Everyone okay,” Morgan asks, walking backward, eyes never leaving the snake.

“Ugh,” Emily is half-holding Hotch upright. Her half in reply is all she manages to get out before Hotch roughly pushes himself away from her side. He makes it three stumbling steps before he hits the rocks hard and gags bringing up nothing thin watery vomit. To which Emily winces and turns her head. He might have taken three steps but that hardly put any distance between them.

Squatting down beside him, she places a sympathetic hand on his upper back. “I’ve never been so thankful for your awful eating habits,” she comments. He hangs his head groaning and drawing his hurt hand to his chest, cradling it.

He hates her. God, he needs new friends.

“We’re alive,” Emily answers, rubbing Hotch’s back.

Morgan sighs with relief, eyeing the snake still out of the corner of his eye. Now they just need to get up this hill.

Shakily rising back to his feet, Hotch clears his throat. Trying to preserve some part of his dignity he rolls his shoulder, dropping Emily’s hand. Weakly, voice not nearly as strong as he’d like he mumbles, “ ‘m okay.” His body is drooped to the side, pale lips parted as he pulls in quick, shallow breaths makes it a little hard to believe that. “Gotta--” he swallows down against the raspy quality of his voice. Forcing it to work, to sound normal. “We have to get up the hill. There’s a hospital ‘bout… about fifteen minutes away. It’s fine.”

He already looks pale enough to drop dead.

Even Emily knows better than to fight. She just wishes she wasn’t such a coward but still, she steps back and lets Hotch maneuver himself. Morgan steps close behind, falling into line with Hotch’s lurching, stuttered steps. No one touches him, no one says a word. JJ glances at Morgan and Emily, raising an eyebrow in silent question as to why neither will do anything.

Emily could. He’s more likely to accept her touch and she can physically help to a degree, capable of at least helping a little. He won’t like Morgan at all which is why Morgan follows silently right behind him. If Hotch falls, he’ll fall into Morgan who waits without question to be that help. Without comment, if he’s needed.

He slips in the mud, aware of their eyes watching his every move. A hand lands on his back, steadying, strong. Morgan.

Each step throws a wrench in his hammering heart. His pulse is way too fast and he’s gone from feeling each contraction of the tired muscles like a heated thud in his face to not feeling his face at all. The skin numb.

Finally, his foot hits the grass and he heaves himself up the final step. Never so grateful to see the grass so much in his life. It’s solid underneath his feet, doesn’t threaten to propel him to the side with its slick sludge-like malleability. Someone calls his name and he looks up, sees the worry in Reid’s eyes as he steps close. He opens his mouth and nothing comes out. He’s cold, shivering, and without a warning, not even a grunt to acknowledge the pain that has spread much farther than his hand, he hits the ground.

(there will be a part 2)

[thiswasinevitableid]

for the mermay fills: indruck, 25, any rating

Here you go! I went with SFW for this one.

The thing no one tells you about journeys of self-discovery is that they’re really fucking boring.

Duck’s been on this highway for days, and another highway for the days before that. He wanted to see the desert in the spring, but it’s involved fewer super-blooms and more butterflies dying on his windshield than he hoped.

Now he’s on some two lane strip of barely paved road in the vast expanse between Las Vegas and Reno. Green catches his eye to his left; a ribbon of well-watered trees shines in the distance. Closer to the road are dueling picket signs shoved into the ground, some demanding the preservation of the tiny pocket of wetlands and others proclaiming this the site of the Hungry Man Casino expansion. The signs continue all the way to the tiny town of Kepler, where he pulls into a gas station in front of Tarkesian’s General Store.

After filling the tank and chatting with the owner and his incongruous New York accent, Duck decides to stop in Kepler for the night. The road north is mostly open range, and he’s already had one near miss with a cow on a pitch black stretch of asphalt. The lone place to rest is the Reconciliation Motel Court and Casino. He gets his key, pulls up to the chipped door, and flops onto the burnt orange bedspread for a nap.

He doesn’t wake up until eight at night, wondering what the hell is wrong with the other guests that they’re all playing music loud enough for him to hear. He counts at least six separate voices, their overlap meaning the lyrics turn to gibberish. It’s still hot and stuffy in the room, and maybe outside will be quiet. He pulls on his swim trunks and rash guard; a peek out the window at the pool shows it’s empty and that, plus the general sparseness of the parking lot, makes him confident enough that he won’t bump into anyone and try to make up some lie about being shy or mormon or whatever the hell else would explain a dude keeping a top on to swim.

But, just his luck, when he latches the pool gate shut, he discovers he’s not alone. A man with silver hair floats in the pool, eyes closed. When Duck sets a towel on the chair, his eyes fly open and he dives under the water, giving Duck twin shocks: glowing red eyes and a long, jet black tail.

“What the fuck?” He says aloud in case someone else is watching and can explain why there’s a fucking mermaid in the pool.

The merman resurfaces, blinking at him, “How in the world did you get in here?”

“Uhhhh…” Duck points to the gate.

“You...you see the pool? Do you see the motel as well?”

Duck turns, wondering if this is some kind of prank, “yeah?”

“Apologies” the merman swims to the edge of the pool nearest him, “it was such an unlikely future I am having a hard time processing it.”

“You’re havin a hard time”

“Oh, oh of course, this is all very confusing to you. Here, have a seat.” He gestures to one of the pool chairs. Not knowing what else to do, Duck sits.

“Now, have you heard singing while you have been here?”

“Yep. Thought it was the other guests.”

The merman shakes his head, “They are sirens. As am I. We are the descendants of sirens who lived here in the days when there was far more water in this area. As the water dwindled, we made our home in that river and wetlands” he points towards the south end of town, “and then the founders of this fine establishment decided to catch us and use us to lure people to their rundown casino. Since you are about to ask, a siren song shows you what you want; turns out many people want the promise of easy money, food, or sex. But you...somehow you do not seem to respond to it.”

Duck shrugs, “Guess not.”

“I wonder...hmm, perhaps you do not want anything?”

“Don’t think that’s it. Been drivin up and down the country lookin for somethin I want but can’t name.”

The merman rests his arms on the concrete, “You must tell me everything about your travels.”

“I mean, uh, they ain’t all that excitin-”

“I have been stuck in this pool for three years.”

“Okay yeah, more excitin than that. Also, what the fuck?”

“There are ones like it in almost all the lower level rooms. I get stuck out here because I will not sing, but due to having future sight I am too valuable to do away with.”

“This ain’t gettin less fucked up.”

The merman laughs, “Perhaps that is why you don’t fall prey to our song; you are just very honest.”

“That a nice way of sayin I can’t lie for shit?”

“I suppose so.” He grins, sharp teeth glinting in the yellow streetlights, “regardless, I am glad you are not susceptible. I haven’t spoken to anyone aside from the owners in months. They even keep me from my own kind.” His tone is breezy, but Duck sees the flash of pain in his eyes.

“What’s your name?”

“Indrid. Yours?”

“Can’t you see it comin?” He teases.

“Yes, but I want to hear you say it. I get ahead of others often enough as it is.”

“Duck. It’s a nickname.”

Indrid flips his tail once, “Care to join me for an evening swim, Duck.”

“You ain’t gonna eat me or anythin, right?”

“I only taste humans when offered” His tail undulates hypnotically as he pushes into deeper water. Then he pauses, “that was meant as flirtation and not as a threat.”

Duck slides into the water, smiling when he meets Indrid’s nervous gaze “Yeah, I got that.”

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

“See, you can tell it’s a saguaro because--fuck” the camera slips from Duck’s hand, only for Indrid’s to shoot out and catch it before it hits the water.

“Thanks, ‘Drid, startin’ to wonder what I’d do without you.”

The mer, cheek resting on the warm concrete, shifts sideways so he can bump Duck’s knee with his forehead, “The feeling is mutual.”

For the last two weeks Duck’s stayed at the motel, watching his fellow occupants walk zombie-like through doors or stagger from them in a daze when their money runs out and the owners kick them to the curb to make way for new targets. Following Indrid’s instructions, he delivers messages between the trapped sirens, the kind they dare not sing aloud, brings them things they’re missing, like favorite foods or things to do, when he can manage it.

He’s also careful to spend time in town, away from any lingering influence of the siren songs. Leo Tarkesian gives him a job in the store, and he strikes up a friendship with a woman going by the name of Mama, who comes in once a week with beautiful wood carvings for Leo to set out for sale. It turns out her family used to own the motel before Reconciliation swooped in and stole it in what Mama insists was an illegal move.

“Worst part is, they crowed about creatin jobs, bringin’ in more tourists. But they won’t let no one outside their inner circle work there, and folks who stop never leave and visit the rest of town. Now they’re gunnin for the state park. But they ain’t gonna get away with it this time.”

More than anything, Duck spends his time with Indrid. The siren tells him stories about life in the wetlands and river, Duck tells him about his travels, about his home, talks with him until the stars come out, would stay until they go away again except the mer tells him he needs his sleep.

Indrid is a very encouraging conversation partner, disdain and aloofness only appearing when he has to speak to the owners of the motel. He’s also very affectionate, resting his head in Duck’s lap or winding his tail around him whenever he stands in the water. Which is why, when he asks Duck if he’s made up his mind about what to do come fall, his fingers are stroking the humans back and his tail is lazily petting his legs.

“I dunno. I could go back and finish my degree, become a ranger and all that. But what if I’m only doin that because I feel like it’s what I’m supposed to do?”

Indrid brushes Duck’s hair from his forehead, “When you think of the future where you meet that goal, how do you feel.”

“Happy. Content. Like, like there’s a thing I can do to keep the world healthy and whole. Sometimes I feel like I’m supposed to be out there savin the world, solvin every problem, makin everythin better. And that’s too damn much. But when I think about havin some forest or park or somethin where part of my job is to care for it, help it grow...yeah, think I could do that.” He smiles at the image of his future self those words conjure.

Indrid smiles at the current him, brushes their noses together, “It seems to me that you have your answer.”

Duck loops his arms around Indrid’s waist, “Then again, could just stay here, look after you and the other sirens forever.”

Chlorine stings his eyes as Indrid zips backwards, looking as if he’s been slapped.

“‘Drid? What’s wrong?”

“You cannot stay here any longer.”

“What do you mean? I wanna stay. I wanna be with you.”

“No! Don’t you see? This is how the song gets you. It is making you think that your greatest wish is to stay in this crumbling motel, looking after a siren who has seen better days.”

“Hold the fuck on” Duck tries to swim to him, only for Indrid to swim further out of reach, “‘Drid, it’s real fuckin insultin to tell a fella that the only reason he feels how he feels is because of a magic song. Maybe I am startin to feel the effects, but I know that when I think about you, no matter how near or far to this fuckin pool I am, I wanna be with you. I’ve fallen in love before, I can recognize the feelin from a mile away. And it’s what I’m feelin now.” He crosses his arms, daring Indrid to argue.

The siren swims to him, cups his face in cool hands, “It’s what I feel too. Why do you think I cannot ask you to stay? I am a prisoner here, Duck. If you remain for my sake, you will be one as well. I cannot do that to you. I know the agony of being cut off from the world you love, and you have so much love yet to give it I cannot, will not, rob you of the chance to do so.”

“I…” Duck he mirrors Indrid’s touch, runs his thumbs along his cheeks.

“Please” Indrid kisses him once, softly, “please, if you love me, don’t stay here and make me watch you decay.”

Duck pulls Indrid as close as he can, kisses him until his lips ache and the siren is pliant and purring in his arms.

“I’ll go. I fuckin hate the idea of leavin you here, but I’ll go.”

“Thank you.”

“There’s just one thing you gotta let me do first. Will you let me introduce you to another human? She’s got almost as much cause to hate Reconciliation as you do, and I got a hunch you two might be able to help each other out.”

Indrid cocks his head, then nods, “Of course, my love. Just tell her to wear earplugs and bring something to write on.”

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

The cottonwoods rustle in the summer breeze as Indrid floats lazily down the river on his back. A family is picnicking outside the visitor center, but only the youngest member of it sees him. She waves. He raises his tail in reply, smiling when she spills her drink in delight.

Most sirens give the heavily trafficked parts of the park a wide berth, still wary of interactions with humans. Indrid doesn’t blame them; Reconciliation was chased out ten years ago, but their memory lingers like smog. He himself stays clear of unfamiliar groups of humans whenever possible.

But today, the futures show him the park is welcoming a new ranger. And so he swims back and forth, hoping the recent arrival will see him. Hoping he remembers.

“I’m sorry sir, but swimmin ain’t allowed in this chunk of the river.” A teasing drawl drifts over his shoulder.

He spins in what he hopes is an elegant way, accidentally splashing the figure on the bank behind him.

“Of course.” He grins, swimming over and resting his arms on the bank and batting his eyelashes as the ranger crouches down to meet him, “how very rude of me. I am terribly sorry.”

Duck’s smile is brimming with years of stored up affection, the lines on his face hinting at stories Indrid cannot wait to hear, “S’okay. For my favorite roadside siren, I’m happy to make an exception.”

[tomtenadia]

Island Dreams - Chapter 6

* Insert greeting here according to your time zone.*

So, chapter 6 is here. A bit of development fro our two idiots. Hope you like it.

I have chapter 7 and 8 down but they need heavy editing. Also, last night I was inspired and I did manage to plot the skeleton of the story, so I know exactly where I am going. There should be 28 chapters and an epilogue.

Well, I hope, in the meantime that you will enjoy this one.

Spot the HoF references :)

---------

The next day Rowan was back at work. He opened on time as usual and a couple of tourists came into the shop but left quite quickly. Probably not impressed by the lack of tacky touristy stuff. He was working on re-organising a shelf when the door opened and he was not ready to see again the person who crossed the threshold. “Hey you.” The woman smiled at him tenderly. Rowan forgot how to breath. Aelin had her hair in a braid and a straw hat on her head. A nice colourful shirt and then his gaze trailed south. She was wearing shorts and the sight of her long tanned legs almost killed him. It looked like Aelin was ready to go on a tropical beach to suntan and relax all day. She was a goddess. And she was in front of him. Smiling. “Back at you.” He said, getting up slowly, not trusting his legs. He felt he could faint anytime at the sight. “I am here for my book.” A timid smile appeared on his lips then his legs finally moved and did manage to cover the few steps taking him to the counter. He grabbed the book and handed it to her. He hesitated for a moment, as if to try and have a conversation but then decide against. What was he going to say anyway?

“Have fun.” That was the safest comment he could make. “I bet you are dying to know how it finishes.” Aelin grabbed the book quite eagerly and held it to her chest “Hell yeah. The fake queen has lost her marbles and she deserves to die. Painfully if possible. And I can’t believe that the main couple got separated, they are at the opposite extremes of the continent and that bastard of trusted member of her court told her, her lover was dead. And the plot twist at the end?” Rowan laughed. Actually laughed and for Aelin it was the most beautiful sound she ever heard. The smile reached his eyes and he was even more stunning. “Be ready for a lot of angst though.” Aelin dismissed him with her hand “I eat angst for breakfast, lunch and dinner.” They were talking. Not about what happened but he did not care. “Have you read The cursed kingdom?” “Of course.” “Well, if I survived the angst of that book I can survive anything.” She explained. “I have a present for you.” Her book went on the floor and she began fumbling in her backpack, clearly looking for something. “Ah! Here it is.” In her hand there was a small rectangular packet wrapped in bookish paper. Rowan took it suspiciously and opened. At the sight of the gift a roaring laugh erupted from him. Such a genuine laugh that left Aelin stunned. That could not be the same person who told her she was nothing to him. “So now when you open the fridge you will think of me.” She explained, pointing at the tacky fridge magnet with Stornoway written on, now in his hands. He smiled and attached the magnet to his metal pen holder on his desk “I spend more time here than at my fridge. Now it will always be in front of me.” They were talking and laughing, it looked like somehow the fight they had was just a bad memory, but he could not forgive himself for what he said to her. How could he apologise for his behaviour? He was terrible at this kind of things. How was he going to explain the chaos that was his heart at the moment? Then he remembered about the dark haired guy and the book and sadness engulfed him. “I wanted to apologise.” She surprised him searching for his gaze. Her blue eyes met his and he could not look away. “I said horrible things.” She continued. Aelin placed the book on the counter and moved a step in his direction, closing the distance “I was having a bad day and I think I exploded and took it out on the wrong person.” Rowan moved a step closer to her as well “I said horrible things too. You were being nice and brought me coffee. It’s just that…” he paused. He was so bad at this “I am not good at communicating with people as you can see. You are not just a customer….” “Mo charaid” he heard her whisper and smiled. “You are learning…” he added. He extended his arm and took her hand in his “I’d love to try an be your friend.” With a swift motion he pulled her to him, to his chest and she felt amazing against him. She was shorter and her head fitted just under his chin. Her arms caught him off guard when they wrapped themselves around him. “I am a mess.” It was a whisper from her but he heard it “I am a mess. My life is going belly up and some days I feel like drowning.” She looked at him and for a moment he was speechless. There was so much pain and anguish in those beautiful blue eyes of hers. “I am lost…” She whispered never removing her gaze from him “…and I don’t know the way.” At those words, his heart ached. He hugged her tighter and hoped that his action would help. Maybe his actions would convey better his feelings. A hug was all he could give her just now, but he hoped it helped a little bit. “I am a bit of a mess too.” Finally he confessed to her. She was being honest to him. She deserved a bit of his honesty too. “A bit stuck, as my aunt would say.” She is stuck too. Aelin leaned back from the embrace and put a hand on his chest, near the heart “When you are ready.” His hand covered her on his heart “When we are both ready, we will tell each other our stories.” “We will help each other.” She added softly “And maybe we could find our way back together.” He nodded and felt lighter for a moment “Together then.” “To whatever end.” Said Aelin in a solemn tone. Rowan grinned “that’s cheesy. It sounds as if it came from an epic adventure where the main hero is ready to embark in a dangerous mission. Sitting on his horse, sword wielded high and he shouts that.” “I did read it in a book actually.” Commented Aelin, laughing at the scene he had painted. With a huff she pulled away from him and walked to a shelf, grabbed a book and when she returned she shoved it in his face “You even sell it.” Rowan grabbed the book from her hands and set it aside. He was definitely going to read it. “If you spoiler it, I’ll kill you with my own hands.” She stopped again right in front of him and looked up “To whatever end…” a faint smile painted her lips “It could be our motto.” He grabbed her hand and put it back on his heart “Sounds epic enough for the two of us.” They had made some progress but he could not stop thinking about the other guy. And he could not risk asking her. She had probably seen the note which meant she knew that he knew, but he decided to give her some space. Also, the two of them were just friends. But a pang of jealousy hit him nonetheless. Anger flooded in him at the thought that he might kiss her. Or worse. It was not his place to be so possessive but that nasty emotion had been festering in him since the day the stranger had come to buy the book for her. He pushed the bad thought away. Having her back and being her friend had to be enough for now. He could not give himself to her completely until he had dealt with his life and his issues. Then she looked past him and noticed the books on the floor and the empty shelf “were you rearranging books?” “Yeah, I was playing with history section. It needed a sprucing up.” He looked at her face lit up in joy. “Can I help you? I love rearranging books. Please? Pretty please?” There was no way he could resist her. Not when she pleaded with her radiant smile. He gave in. “Fine. come.” He moved away and all of a sudden he missed the contact with her hand. They both went to the shelf and Rowan started explaining her how he was planning to reshuffle the display. “We can put some of the best historical books on display on the table, to advertise them.” She grabbed a book about the neholitic settlements “Like this one. Or this one about the Iron Age house in Bosta.” She continued “It’s such a cool place.” “And how do you know about Bosta?” “I… I was there.” He saw her hesitate and wondered if she had been there with the other guy and hated the thought of the two of them together. It should have been him to take her to all these places. Take her to Callanish and make her smile with all the myths connected to the place. Go at night and have a picnic under the stars and the Milky Way. It should have been him. That was jealousy. Dark, horrible jealousy. “Did you like it?” Aelin nodded “But my favourite was Callanish…” she looked at him and thought about the book and his note “It was such a magical place.” “It is. I have to take you there at the Solstice.” The big smile painted on her face was so beautiful it hurt. “I… felt something when I was there.” She started trying not to feel like an idiot for what she was about to say, “I sat down with my back against one of the stones, inside the circle and the chambered cairn and I just felt something.” She chuckled “Gee, now I sound like a lunatic.” Rowan placed a hand on her shoulder “You don’t. I have felt things too. Can’t actually describe what, it’s not something you can put into words easily. Especially at the solstices. I always go there for both winter and summer solstice.” “Ever seen the shining one walking down the avenue on midsummer’s dawn?” Rowan shook his head “No, he/she is still eluding me.” “Well, wonder if this year is the year we’ll see him.” “And…” he stifled a chuckle “Where else have you been?” “I have seen Callanish VIII. The stones on Great Bernera.” “Oh, so you have been busy.” He joked, while emptying the shelves to try and concentrate and hide from her his true emotions. If only he had been nicer from the start… “A bit.” Aelin took a few copies of the book he had chosen for her about Callanish and arranged them nicely on the table in a very attractive display. She then grabbed a few other different books and piled them nicely to fill the table. At the end she took a step back and admired her masterpiece “I am a genius.” Her arms folded at her chest and a big grin on her face. Rowan looked up from his position and felt suddenly the desperate desire to kiss her “You have a high opinion of herself.” He mocked her, adoring the expression painted on her face, nose scrunched up. “Give me a week. I swear, you will finally start to sell these books. If I win, you buy me lunch. If you win, you can ask me one question about myself.” Aelin hoped he took the challenge. She wanted to say that if he won he would have to confess something about him, but after his reaction, she decided it wasn’t a good idea yet. “I just hope that you are ready for a mortgage because I’ll get the biggest lunch your aunt can cook and make you cry.” “Ha.” He shouted pointing a book at her “Maeve is my aunt, she will not make me pay.” “Whatever, I still get my free lunch.” Rowan stood and eyed her display and he had to admit that she was quite good “This is actually quite nice.” “Well, at least I know that now that my medical career has gone to shit, I can always become a bookseller.” She added sadly. “You are a doctor.” Rowan added stunned by that confession and by the realisation that apart from her name he knew nothing about her. “I was, am… I… it’s complicated at the moment.” and she gave him her back. Gently his hand touched her shoulder and Aelin turned to face him and Rowan noticed her eyes filling with tears. Withe the back of her hand she wiped her face and pretended to be strong. Although in reality it hurt. Sometimes so much that she could not breath. There was anger in her, so much anger, and despair. “I am fine.’ She sniffled “Don’t worry about it.” “Aelin…” his hand was about to caress her cheek but she grabbed his wrist and stopped the gesture “No. I don’t need your pity.” She grabbed quickly her backpack, book and hat “I should go. I wasted enough of your time already.” She turned and left the shop not looking at him. Rowan stood immobile with a book in his hands and stared at the spot where she had disappeared. And all of a sudden he knew what question he wanted to ask. He wanted to know more about this woman. Discover what horrendous things had happened in her life to bring her to tears that quickly. She was hurting. Badly. Then all of a sudden he thought of the perfect idea to bring a smile back to that gorgeous face of hers.

Aelin left the shop and took the road to get to Lews castle. She followed the path through the park and ended up at the marina and eventually crashed on a bench in a spot a bit far away from civilisation. She took her phone out and called Lysandra and her friend answered after a couple of rings. “Darling…” Lysandra’s voice sounded out of breath. Shit had she interrupted something? “I guess you finally have a day off.” “Uh-uh…” said her friend “It happens you know?” “Lys, are you with Aedion just now?” “A bit.” Aelin laughed “So, I guess his hands were good.” “You have noooooo idea.” Aelin smiled “Hey, have fun you two. I’ll call you tomorrow.” She paused “Just… don’t make an aunt yet.” She said her goodbye to Lysandra and stood and then went and leaned again the pier barrier and admired the sea and the marina. She needed to talk to Lysandra. She had to tell her her current situation and how she was torn between two men who were completely the opposite of each other. She liked them both. They were both interesting and fascinating people in their own respective way.

Shit. She was in such deep, unending shit.

[folderolsfollies]

Sangyao Arranged Marriage ... Part 2

[Part 1]

Word Count: 2.5k Rating: t Warnings: None to date (there is discussion of canon events)

The Unclean Realm was a home first, and then a fortress, and then a home again, and it stands in stark, punishing angles against the mountains that enfold it. The expansions made by Nie Huaisang’s fathers and grandfather’s were hewn by descendants grimly aware of their oncoming death, who built the rooms and wrought the gates as much to keep demons locked inside as to rout the demons at their door.

But the private chambers for the family were fashioned as delicately as any Lan parlor room. These were commissioned by the butchers who founded the clan, anxious to be seen as refined as any other gentry, despite their rough origins, and so the architects were held to the highest standards of taste. And so they remain, gleaming like a pearl in the heart of the realm, embedded within its harsh grey oyster shell.

Nie Huaisang flits through its shining corridors, wrapped in grey robes woven so finely that in the moonlight they glow a pale, iridescent white.

“Da-ge, I’ve come to manipulate you”, he announces, barging into Da-ge’s private office late at night. Better to be upfront about these things with Da-ge, rather than suffer the consequences that come from him finding out about it later.

Nie Huaisang’s brother doesn’t even look up from his paperwork. His desk, a recent addition, is sturdy Qinghe steel, dominating against the elegant background. “No, you cannot get out of saber practice to go to some art show,” he grinds out, implacable as a knife on a whetstone.

Nie Huaisang, seeing that his brother isn’t going to pay any attention to his bravura performance, doesn’t bother to bristle. He just exhales noisily and says, dropping to his knees on the other side of the desk, “No, not about that,” and dutifully picks up a sheaf of letters from one of the stacks on Nie Mingjue’s desk. Stage one in his plan: here comes the filial child, helping with sect duties.

The first letter on the pile is a report of a horde of fierce corpses in a minor provincial town to the south-west of Qinghe. Nie Huaisang frowns, temporarily distracted, and reaches for one of the blank maps and ink sticks that Nie Mingjue keeps permanently on his desk.

“Do you have a map of just the fierce corpse sightings from oh, since the last new moon?” he says, absently, and wets his quill in Nie Mingjue’s inkwell.

“Decorum, Huaisang,” says Nie Mingjue roughly, and so he rolls his eyes around the flicker of annoyance, and starts grinding a fresh pot of ink for himself. Meng Yao would have let him. “And no. Why, do you see a pattern?”

“No-ot yet,” Nie Huaisang says, “No talking for ten minutes, let me draw it out.”

He’s thinking about what he’ll say if Nie Mingjue complains about being silenced in his own office, but his brother just grunts and returns to the accounts. He takes some bright red fresh ink as well as the black, and the thick sheaf of cultivator requests from the outlying counties, and places it all on his side of the large desk.

Maybe it’s just that Jin Guangyao was here, earlier, to draw out the comparison, but the office feels vaster and emptier than it did when Meng Yao’s steady presence at his own writing table anchored the other side of the room. There was something about his fine-boned face that came into focus when seen in candlelight, although it may have just been the proximity to gold.

“Look at this,” Nie Huaisang says finally, fanning at the paper to let the ink dry, “Red is the older reports, black are the corpse sightings from the past few weeks. We’ve been assuming that these corpses are all remnants of Wen casualties from the Sunshot campaign because of their robes, but Qishan is almost entirely volcanic terrain, so for a horde of mindless puppets there are only a few real possible routes of egress without being destroyed- here, here, and here.” He sketches rough circles around wide valleys. “But there’s a different pattern to these reports. If you draw a line,” and he places the ink stick down to draw out the path, “they all seem to be coming from one area in the south-west, and recently, since the older reports are clustered more south.” There’s a warm, pleased flush in his chest. Maybe he lacks cultivation skills, but there are other ways to be useful, he thinks.

Nie Mingjue glowers, and points to where the end of the ink stick lies with gathering anger. Baxia, ever responsive to his brother’s moods, lets out a warning growl in the corner. “Yiling? So this Wei Wuxian’s work?”

Nie Huaisang shakes his head. “I don’t know! I just don’t know, something about all of this doesn’t sit right.” He drags his fan over his lower lip, waiting for his logic to catch up with the conclusion. “Oh! It’s the frequency. Maybe he’s been slaughtering whole towns to get these numbers, but they would still have to pass through Jiang and Jin territory to get to us, at least, you’d expect it to be more thinned out. ”

Nie Mingjue slams his hand against the desk, but it’s his thinking rap, easily dismissed. “And we can’t overlook any non-related cause - a haunted amulet half-destroyed a town last year and caused a swarm, and that was never linked to any one sect.”

Nie Huaisang hums, flicking his fan open to cover his whole face while he thinks. “Also, Yunmeng is also pretty close to Yiling - it could be that Jiang Wanyin has decided to dip his toes into demonic cultivation.” He drags the fan down his face until it bumps against the bridge of his nose.

Over it, he looks at Nie Mingjue. Nie Mingjue looks at him. They burst into laughter as one.

“Did you hear him at the last cultivation conference when he pledged to break the legs of any demonic cultivator that crossed his border? He threatened me the exact same way when we were all at Gusu together,” Nie Huaisang wheezes. “Turns out falling asleep in class and raising the dead merit the same punishment.”

Nie Mingjue sobers suddenly at that, and says, “Sect Leader Jiang had to take on responsibilities too young, and now he’s lost his brother, and his sister has married out.” Baxia shrieks mournfully in her holder. “He’s shouldering his burdens admirably given the circumstances.”

Nie Huaisang feels his soft insides twist. There’s a cliff here waiting, and at the base is everything the two of them can’t - don’t - talk about. He tells himself in a familiar refrain that one day they will, just - not today. Instead he says, “Well, now that the Twin Heroes of Yunmeng are out of the running, maybe we can be a brother duo to rival the Twin Jades of Gusu! What do you think the two of us could be, Da-ge - the Mountain and the Small Plum?”

Nie Mingjue just looks at  Nie Huaisang for a long moment, solemn and worn, and Nie Huaisang can see the edge of the cliff in his eyes. Are you dying? Nie Huaisang thinks. Would you tell me if you thought you were? “I’d be a bad plum. I don’t wear purple,” Nie Mingjue says finally, primly.

“I will tell the matchmakers you’re funny,” says Nie Huaisang, because he can’t help it.

“Brat!” says Nie Mingjue, not unfondly.

“And sensitive.” he continues, threateningly, wagging a warning finger in his face.

“Put the map away, properly,” Nie Mingjue orders, apparently electing to ignore him. “I’m putting you in charge of following up with this, including coordinating with the cultivators for more information if necessary.”

“Da-ge!” Nie Huaisang whines, slumping in his seat and pouting outrageously. “I came up with the idea, why can’t we put one of the deputies on it?”

“Nie Huaisang!” Nie Mingjue yells back immediately, not as loud as he can get, but loud enough to ring through the enclosed room. “You’re going to be sect leader! You have to start taking this seriously!”

Nie cultivators die early and violently as a rule, but not, as Nie Mingjue seems to be resigned to, in their 20s. Nie Huaisang’s father, who was strong, died when he was 48, and that after he was murdered. Nie Mingjue is 27, and stronger, and the world is at a tenuous version of peace. And yet he has this constant paranoia that Nie Huaisang cannot understand, as if the smoke and gore from the battlefield never washed clean from his robes. As if he knows something that Nie Huaisang does not. Nie Huaisang whips his head around, fully prepared to yell back at him, when his eyes fall on Meng Yao’s old seat. Pick your battles, second young master, he used to say, or you’ll find you’ve lost the war. He deflates. Okay, then. Okay.

“Fine, I will,” he says, a little mulishly, and starts putting away the papers and ink.

Nie Mingjue looks a little surprised. Then he puts his head in his hands like it’s an immense burden. “I never wanted us to have a title like that, you know,” he says hoarsely. “Not like the Twin Jades, or the Heroes… it boxes you in. It boxed Xichen in, him and Wangji.” When he looks up, his eyes are glassy. “I wish you could do whatever you want, Huaisang, I wish I could—“

“Oh Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang says, feeling the sting of matching tears well up in his eyes, and clasps his forearms across the table. “You’re a good brother. I know. I know.” A smaller part of him, the cold little whisper in his ear that he can never quell, tells him: this is your moment. You can use this.

Nie Mingjue smiles painfully through his tears. “Now what are you really here for?” he says, thinly.

Nie Huaisang stays silent and rolls the name of Jin Guangyao experimentally across his mind. It’s a powder-keg that will erupt the conversation when Nie Huaisang deploys it, but on the other hand, will allow his brother to wrap anger around his grief like a blanket. Da-ge is not a man inclined to accept comfort, except in the depths of despair, which he has not quite reached, yet. Anger is better. Nie Huaisang makes his choice.

“I saw Jin Guangyao today,” he says mildly, and braces himself for the explosion.

Da-ge starts ranting, of course, like an afternoon Yunmeng thunderstorm - suddenly, all at once, and just as quickly over. It is such a familiar chant that were it not for the volume, Nie Huaisang could be lulled to sleep by it. Jin Guangyao is a traitor, a murderer, a spy, vindictive and narcissistic, liable to stab you in the back, liable to stab you in the heart. The last one, of course, is not said out loud, Nie Mingjue, loudly and publicly, and perhaps even in the thoughts that he tells himself, detests his sworn brother. Really, it is no wonder that Nie Huaisang got on so well with Jiang Wanyin when they were younger. His bluster was nearly the same.

He occupies himself with thinking about his brother’s complaints. They are, of course, strictly true. And of course Da-ge can’t understand. If their places were switched, if Da-ge had grown up in a brothel and Meng Yao been a sect leader’s son, Da-ge would have striven and worked inexorably until he earned his place through merit alone. And he would have died in obscurity. At best.

As a torturer, Jin Guangyao tortured. As a deputy, he handled the accounts efficiently and well. He was the blade to be wielded, with the blade's cold pragmatism. It was love that would cut you with Meng Yao, that was the irregularity that would swing his quick, efficient strikes off target.

When Nie Mingjue finishes up, Nie Huaisang tugs at the two strands of hair hanging in front of his face. “So, will you execute him?” he asks. “You could get a tribunal.”

Over Nie Mingjue’s sputters, he sighs and says, “Manipulation, Da-ge, I told you.” Really, what would his older brother ever do without him? “But you either have to leave the war behind you or step into the future. Why would you ally with him?”

It’s a leading question, to which everyone and their sect siblings know the answer. “To lead him back to the path of righteousness.” Nie Mingjue says, dutifully as a prize pupil.

“And why would Meng Yao ally with you?” Nie Huaisang asks rudely, raising his eyebrows. “You can’t assume that it’s because he’s overjoyed to receive your lectures.” This line of questioning is dangerous, which is why it’s quite lucky that his brother has already burnt his temper out earlier.

Nie Mingjue, as expected, darkens but doesn’t explode. As a righteous and self-flagellating man, he automatically rejects the premise entirely, even as Nie Huaisang, used to chasing for expressions in Meng Yao’s ink-dark eyes, suspects it might not be entirely false. Nie Mingue says, “To ally the Jin with one of the two strongest clans.”  

“Then be his ally, Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang argues. “Reprimand him in private, if you must, but in public let everyone know that the might of the Nie are behind him, or he’ll have no choice but to lean even more heavily on his father.”

Nie Mingjue sighs heavily. “You’re growing up, aren’t you, Huaisang? You almost sounded like-” He pauses awkwardly. “Well, why this sudden interest in Jin Guangyao’s welfare now?”

Who did he sound like? His father - his mother? He’s so caught up in thinking about it that when he opens his mouth the truth slips out almost unbidden. “I’ve always been interested in Jin Guangyao’s welfare.” He hastily temporizes. “You know that he always helped me establish my claim as a true Nie, even when others thought I was too weak.”

This was one of the many duties that Nie Mingjue had not thought to ask for, but which Meng Yao had anticipated. When Nie Huaisang played at giving orders to adults older and stronger than him, feeling a fool, Meng Yao would stand, properly deferential, until the soldiers relented and only Nie Huaisang could see the shadow of a smile playing around his mouth.

Rudely, Nie Mingjue looks doubtful. But the truth Nie Huaisang senses in himself is as scattered and hard to grasp as motes in the air - Meng Yao stepping in front of him automatically when the Wen attacked Cloud Recesses, the fans that appeared in his room, the way that Meng Yao looks at him, solemn and a little empty, more real than any of his daubed on smiles and thus infinitely treasured by Nie Huaisang. When his smiles reach his eyes, then I’ll have lost him, he thinks, and tucks the thought away.

Nie Huaisang sees his brother giving in on the line of his brow before he even opens his mouth. It has the weight of inevitability: his brother is constantly searching for justifications to forgive Meng Yao; to forgive Nie Huaisang.

“In public,” Nie Mingjue says. “In private, I intend to keep impressing upon him the virtue of the righteous path.” Of course he agreed, and of course he never thought to leverage the favor in order to extract any promises from Nie Huaisang about training. Nie Huaisang feels so much love for his brother suddenly that it is briefly hard to breathe.

“Of course, Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang says. “And… one more thing.” He smiles a little anxiously and taps his wrist with his fan. 

“Spit it out,” Nie Mingjue says resignedly.

“Well, I was hoping that we could host a party?”

-----------

Small note on ages - I’m assuming that Nie Huaisang is 21, Meng Yao 23, and Nie Mingjue 27 at this point.

And here’s the poem NHS is referencing when he’s discussing a potenial title for the two of them!

Small Plum in a Mountain Garden

Among withered flowers plum trees brightly bloom, Dominating garden with beauty unsurpassed;

In clear and shallow water sparse branches loom, Floating in moonlit air with delicate fragrance; Eager are the winter birds who come to look, Spring butterflies they must equally enchant; To enjoy such beauty writing these few lines I have luck, Want of wine and song these blooms supplant.

—Wu Li, 2017

For a very in-depth breakdown of this poem (and why I think it fits Nie Huaisang particularly well), I really recommend Anne Lu’s essay!  Essentially the plum blossom is a winter plant - delicate, fragile, and blooming best after other plants have succumbed to the harsh terrain. I like it for our Headshaker! :) 

[sagasofazeria]

Stranger In A Strange Land

Song of the Seven Suns, Part 1

Taglist (ask to be added/removed!): @hellishhin

Faulkron Rhodes was a long way from home. He stood on the deck of a small sailing ship, the golden light of the late afternoon sun glinting off of the sapphire waters, searing his eyes even as he shaded them with his arm. Looking past the glaring reflections of the sun, he could see the shoreline ahead, and a port city bustling with all kinds of ships. He was relieved to see land again, after being on the open water for so long. He had almost begun to regret his somewhat on-a-whim decision to cross an ocean and leave the land he’d grown up in. However, with a new land in sight, his faith was reaffirmed. Readjusting his leather armor and his greatsword on his back, he couldn’t help but be eager to see the new land ahead. As he stated at the port, he heard the captain of the ship called out to him from somewhere to his right.

“Hey, adventurer! We’re about to dock in Corias! Welcome to Leinos!”

From what the crew had told him along their journey, Leinos was a young country. Corias was just one of many ports along the coasts of a massive continent, and trade thrived there. Leinos had access to seas that connected it and every country Faulkron had heard of thus far, and more. An up-and-coming mercenary like Faulkron would do well there, he hoped. Supposedly, they were a peaceful nation since the end of the war between Leinos and the peoples further inland, so Faulkron hoped to have luck fighting problems they might not want to solve with their personal swords.

Eventually, the ship had docked, and as the sailors began to unload their cargo, Faulkron took his leave. He walked from the docks through the town, taking stock of the city. He could see tiled colorful roofs, and lots of hanging colorful cloths around the streets, partially shading the many people walking around, going about their business. Clay pots, cloths, art, all sorts of things in a variety of styles were being sold all along the streets, by people who looked to be from all over. He recognized very little of what was being sold here, and realized growing up on a small farm in the middle of the hills back across the ocean in Unterras probably wasn’t the best environment to meet new people. Regardless, he walked on through the city, taking in what he could. He saw numerous guards as well, dressed in silver-painted, hardened leather armor, with blue crests of dyed horse-hair adorning the helmets. An amount of guards he wasn’t expecting for a supposedly peaceful nation. In addition to the guards, he also thought he could make out some sort of fortress further inland, situated on a hill that overlooked the port, hanging banners depicting a blue flag with silver bordering, a stylized crest of some sort emblazoned on it.

He eventually found himself in a town center, with even more market stalls than by the docks. He could see storefronts of buildings on the edges of the square, as well as some sort of pavilion with what appeared to be people drinking and talking. He also noted a statue in the center of the square of a sitting man. He was well dressed, in long flowing robes. He had a thick beard, and curly hair down to his shoulders, his head adorned by a crown. Faulkron, in a remarkable display of intelligence, deduced this guy was probably important. He couldn’t read the plaque beneath it through all the people, but as he got closer he realized he wouldn’t have recognized the language anyways. He looked at it for a little longer, looking for some translation in Common, but was startled out of his search by a voice.

“Hey there. Noticed you looking at the statue, and I haven’t seen you around before. Who are you?”

Faulkron turned to the voice, looking for its owner. In front of him, standing significantly shorter than him (most people did, at his nearly 6 foot height), was a human woman. She was wearing simple light cloths and leather bracers. She had a lyre on her hip and a wooden violin case that appeared to double as a scabbard for the sword on her back. She had wavy brown hair in an undercut swept to one side that was dyed a vibrant purple at the ends, and tanned skin, like many of the Leinai he’d seen so far. He stared for a moment, still slightly confused as to who she was talking to, but she kept looking at him, and there was no one behind him but the statue.

“I’m Faulkron, Faulkron Rhodes. Who are you?”

“Well met, Faulkron. I’m Jetra, I’m a storyteller of sorts. This guy right here—“ she pointed at the statue “—is King Akeron II. He was the last king of Leinos. His son is Akeron III, the current king.”

“Oh. Didn’t know... Wait. Why’d you say you hadn’t seen me before? Isn’t this a trade city? Wouldn’t most people be unfamiliar?” Faulkron took a step back. He couldn’t help but be a little suspicious of the ‘storyteller’. She seemed overly friendly, and he wasn’t exactly used to just being approached and talked to like this. In response, the woman just laughed.

“You got me. I just thought you looked interesting. Plus, most of the people here are selling something, so that limits our conversational opportunities, know what I mean?”

Faulkron nodded hesitantly. Was everyone like this is Leinos? It would definitely take getting used to. He thought about leaving, but she began talking again.

“Well, what brings you to Corias? You look like the adventuring type, you going somewhere?”

“Not yet. I only just got here. I was thinking of finding some sort of job board, or maybe some other mercenaries?”

Jetra nodded. “Well, I can get you to either of those. I know a mercenary group that is based here in Corias you might wanna talk to, the Icaon mercenaries. And there’s a job board over by the tavern, near that pavilion there.”

Faulkron weighed the options, but decided a fully fledged mercenary company would probably pay better. “Let’s go to the mercenaries.”

“Alright then, come on.” Jetra began to weave through the crowds, heading further into the city. With a small shrug to himself, he walked off after her.

•••

Jetra was very interested in the adventurer she’d met in the marketplace. He looked to be extremely capable, judging by his extremely strong build. She’d quickly noticed he held himself with strength, and she knew she’d need it if she wanted to deal with her problem. She lead him to the Icaon mercenaries, walking toward their complex by the docks, where they trained and did most of their business. She turned back to her new companion.

“Okay, I’ve worked with some of the Icaon before, they’re generally pretty up-front. You shouldn’t have any issues. So, where are you planning on going? Thinking about heading inland?”

Faulkron thought for a moment, before nodding. “I guess. I just sailed here, so I figure that’s where I should head. Why, what’s that way?”

“Well, there’s the capital city, Anikora, to the east a ways, along the coast. Corias is actually the westernmost point in Leinos, other than the Ceana region down south, but it’s pretty far away. Between here and there is a massive rainforest, and you’d have to cross most of Azeria to get there. It’s a remnant of the war, seperated but technically still a part of Leinos. As far Leinai cities in this region, especially looking inland, there’s not much. Some farming villages, and I know there’s Kuretion in the hills before you get to Great Rainforest. We might find something near there. There’s a lot of land to explore, my new friend. I can help guide you, if you like. I’ve traveled quite a lot, gathering my stories. I’d be willing to help you get where you’re going, if you help me. You seem friendly enough.”

Faulkron took in what she’d told him. This new world was bigger than he’d expected. He figured it’d be smart to have a guide. Plus, if she betrayed him or something, he was sure he could easily take care of her. “Deal. We can travel together, at least for now.”

She grinned. “Great! Traveling is always more fun with someone to sing to, in my opinion. Well, before we set off, let’s see if we can get paid for it, huh?”

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

Well, that was at least the first step done. And he looked like he had a somewhat solid idea of his own path forward, even if he was a bit closed off right now. She needed people who knew what they were doing if she was going to succeed.

As they approached the wooden archway that served as the entrance to the Icaon camp, Jetra raised a hand in greeting, and started to speak.

•••

Faulkron, walking behind Jetra, nearly stopped in his tracks. There were two guards standing watch at the gate, both human. One of them was leaning against the wall, barely paying attention to them at all, her eyes gazing vaguely into the distance. The other one, however, was a sight to behold. He had longer dark brown hair, tied into a small loose ponytail, skin that looked forged from bronze, and a sharp jaw with a fine dark stubble all across it. His chest was bare, save the leather strap that held on his shoulder armor. He was well muscled, and on his hips were two shortswords, and all of his gear looked like it had seen lots of use.

Maybe it was the fact that he’d been out to sea for so long, maybe it was the fact that the sun sinking in the west definitely complemented this man’s looks. Maybe it was the fact that his green eyes were so vibrant. Faulkron didn’t know, but he had forgotten for the moment about mercenary work and traveling inland. He was caught, in a cruel irony of words, entirely off-guard.

The man stepped forward, before they could enter. When he spoke, his voice had a rich accent.

“Hola. Why do you approach?”

Faulkron stood silently, still regaining his composure.

Seeing this, Jetra quickly responded, “Just to see if there might be any opportunities for me and my friend here. Figured this was a good a place to start as any.”

The man nodded. “Sí, you would be right. This is one of the few organized mercenary companies based in Leinos that hasn’t been assimilated into the military. We operate all along the northern coast. You can enter. Talk to Elikon, he’ll get you familiar. I’m off my shift at sundown if you need me, ask for Alejandro. I know my way around, if you need help.”

It was at this point that Alejandro’s eyes met Faulkron’s. They both paused, and Faulkron stumbled over his words before blurting, “Off your shift? Cool cool. I will definitely do that.” Mentally, he scolded himself. First hot guy you talk to in 3 years, and you’re making yourself look like a fool, he thought.

•••

Jetra turned around, surprised by how sheepish the massive warrior behind her sounded suddenly. She followed his eyes to the guard, and back to him, and realization dawned on her. She couldn’t help but crack a grin. “Faulkron, when you’re done talking to Alejandro here, come meet me inside?”

Faulkron nodded, still locked in some sort of awkward homosexual staring match with Alejandro. Chuckling, Jetra slipped into the compound.

•••

“Do you have something you’d like to say?” Alejandro smiled, watching as the elf in front of him quickly looked away, obviously flustered.

“I. So... yeah. What do you do? For a living. Wait no-“

Alejandro just laughed. You could always tell which ones had been stuck on a ship for just a little too long. He had to admit, the awkwardness of such an imposing warrior was quite cute. He was tempted to just walk inside, but he couldn’t skip out on another shift, he’d get thrown out of the company. And he was really trying to settle into a rhythm in his life, despite it not working at all.

“Listen, why don’t we talk after my shift? I need to do my job, boring as it may be. And I’ll give you a little time to collect yourself, maybe?”

The warrior just nodded, averting his eyes from Alejandro’s smirk. “Yeah. I’m gonna- Yeah.”

Alejandro stopped him before he went inside. “Wait. I never got your name.”

“It’s Faulkron.”

“Hasta luego, Faulkron.”

Prologue | Part 2

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - I Was Given Four Rules to Follow ... I Broke Every One: Chapter 1/3 (Rated PG13)

Summary: When Warlock Dowling is summoned to the old South Downs cottage of Aziraphale and Crowley to help clean out their attic, presumably after their deaths, he is given four rules to follow.

... He breaks every single one.

Notes: For @silver-colour

Written for the @tricketyboo2020 prompt "Creepypasta format story (like a found footage or witness statement kind of thing)" by silver-colour. It is a mild reworking of an older fanfic of mine, but that goes tongue in cheek with the ending of this story sort of. XD I would put this between Spooky Level 2 and 3, with 3 being "major and minor character death, disturbing images or concepts, major dark themes, major violence, etc." But there's only minor mentions of blood/body horror. But the whole undead thing is a trigger for some people and I lean into that imagery a bit. I wanted this to be a sort of leveled up Goosebumps tale. Tl;dr proceed with caution <3

Chapter 1

 I am going to die.

I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die.

I have to keep repeating it because I have to come to grips with it.

I am going to die.

Not in sixty years.

More like sixty minutes.

Oh, Amanda. I am sorry.

If you ever hear this … I never meant for this to happen.

My name is Warlock Dowling and I am 34 years-old. Devoted son and husband, I’ve spent over a decade working towards achieving my dream of following in my father’s footsteps and entering politics one day.

It’s a dream I don’t think I’ll be seeing through to the end.

I am telling you this because after reading what I’ve just read … and hearing what I’ve just heard … I am not certain I’m going to make it through the night.

I broke the rules.

There were four. Only four. And I broke them.

I didn’t break them by accident. I absolutely did it on purpose. I’m not suicidal or anything, but you only live once - am I right?

For the record, I don’t regret a single thing.

…

That’s not entirely true.

I’ll regret dying before morning if that’s the way things play out.

Today happens to be October 31st - Halloween night. I’d been tasked with clearing out the attic above a cottage in The South Downs which once belonged to a pair of old family friends. Technically, they were ex-employees of my parents from back when I was young, but I thought of them as surrogates. They practically raised me, educated me, taught me everything I know about coping in this cruel, pathetic world.

I held them in the highest regard.

They were the only people in my life who treated me as if I could become more than what I had been born into, that fate had something else in store for me. Because of them, I met the best friends a boy could ever have.

I will forever be grateful for that.

Cleaning out this attic was the least I could do to repay them, but to be honest, I don’t know who summoned me here. I assumed it was the executor of their estate, but now I’m not so sure. Looking over the letter in my hands, there is no legible signature. And the gold embossed emblem at the top that I took for granted as belonging to some upscale legal firm is, on closer inspection, gibberish - a mess of fleur-de-lis underscored by Latin words that roughly translate to “the cows shall rise”.

Ludicrous, right?

How did I miss that?

But more ludicrous - and confusing - are the rules.

I had been given rules about cleaning this attic.

The first rule on the list was to touch only what I could see. Under no circumstances was I to open any of the boxes or chests.

So, naturally, I opened every single one.

The second rule was not to put anything on. Fine by me. The only clothes up here are old lady outfits and a pair of white satin shoes.

But …

There was an awesome vintage leather jacket hanging on a dressmaker’s dummy in the corner and … well … it had my name written all over it! I had to try it on, see if it fit.

And it does.

Rule number three - keep to my torch. Don’t light any candles.

Nuh-uh! It’s Halloween! And torches are lame. So on the candles went. Jeez, there are a lot of them. Enough to burn down the whole place if I’m not careful. It actually seems like they’ve multiplied since I’ve been up here.

I won’t lie - it’s unsettling.

But according to the list, rule number four is the most important:

Don’t read any books I find. And definitely not out loud.

The first thing I saw when I entered the attic was a stack of leather-bound books. I scoffed at the sight of them, piled up to my chin, right inside the entryway. Isn’t that a bit like putting a huge bowl of candy front and center on your dining room table in the middle of dinner with a huge sign saying, “Do not eat?” If the most important rule about going into the attic is, “Don’t read anything!” why not put all the books on a high shelf?

Or the moon?

I’m not a book lover. I read hundreds of pages a day for work. I definitely don’t do it for fun. So this shouldn’t have been a hard one for me to follow.

But they looked like diaries.

And diaries hold secrets.

That made them a different matter all together.

I couldn’t resist.

But once I opened the top one, I knew I’d made a mistake.

These weren’t just any diaries.

They were the diaries of my two friends - Aziraphale and Crowley.

There had always been something odd about those two. I didn’t believe for a second that they were a proper nanny or gardener, not even when I was a young, impressionable child. But they were funny - a distraction from the dull as dishwater life of an attache’s son.

Yes, I was a spoiled little rich kid with everything I could ever ask for handed to me and, on top of that, diplomatic immunity.

Woe was me.

I realize how much of a douche whining about that makes me sound.

My life was still dull.

I was still lonely.

I never knew for sure what happened to them after they left us. I made assumptions - erroneous assumptions. I thought they lived happily ever after at least.

Now I know … that wasn’t the case.

I’m recording this in the hopes that someone will find it, so that you might know the true story of what happened to them …

… and why you might not be hearing from me again.

***

The Diary of Aziraphale Fell - Reluctant Widower

January 14th-

“Please, sir,” the decrepit woman hissed, but not unkindly. She came about her speech impediment by a mixture of symptoms - her thick accent coupled with her indeterminable old age caused her to talk that way. “Please, reconsider this decision.”

I glared at her regardless. I knew my eyes were bloodshot; my hair a mass of tangled, wayward strands; my lips quivered from constant, unrelenting crying.

“You said you had it!” I screamed, bypassing her arguments. “You said you would sell it to me! Wh---why else would I come here!?”

“You need to understand,” the woman implored, opening her hands in a pleading gesture. She fixed me with one clear blue eye, the other eye clouded – a useless, milky white lump of tissue bulging inside its socket, “what you ask for … it is unnatural.”

“But your granddaughter said it was a done deal!” I persisted, shooting a steely glare at the simpering young woman who ducked behind her grandmother to hide from my volatile stare. I wasn’t about to leave without the item I came for. At this point, I was willing to tear the place apart and everything inside - including the two of them - to get it.

They must have sensed that.

Even as the woman continued to defy me, she looked slightly more afraid than she had a minute ago.

“My granddaughter is foolish!” The woman directed the comment over her shoulder to the girl cowering there. “But she means well. We need the money. She was thinking with her head and not her heart.”

“I can pay you twice what you’re asking!” I reached into my back pocket for my wallet. “Three times! I’ll give you whatever you want!”

The girl, intrigued by my proposal, peeked over her grandmother’s shoulder, but the woman turned and barked sharply at her in a language I could not understand.

That was when I began to think I might be in danger.

I’d spent my entire life studying languages, so hearing one I didn’t comprehend, not even an inch, sent a shiver down my spine.

“Mr. Fell …” The old woman reached out, I presumed to comfort me, and took my shaking hand in hers “… your husband is dead. And I am more sorry than I can ever express at your loss. You carry your love for him like a beacon. I see it in your eyes. It shines from every part of you. With him gone, it is up to you to carry it. It will never fade as long as you remember him.”

Those were, without a doubt, the kindest words anyone had said to me since my husband passed. I crumbled, new tears falling hot down my cheeks. But regardless of her sympathy, sincere though it might be, I refused to relent.

I refused!

“I don’t want to remember him!” I whimpered, my anger renewed at the sound of my voice fracturing. “I want him here with me! I need you to help me bring him back!”

The woman sighed in pity but shook her head.

“The effects of life are varied, Mr. Fell. Our fate … it changes every day, with every choice that we make. But the effects of death should remain permanent.”

I flinched at that word as if she’d struck me across the face.

Permanent.

Crowley dead … my husband gone … and nothing for me to look forward to in life but emptiness. We’d had every moment of our lives planned together.

One arsehole drunk driver later and now I was alone.

I literally had no one.

I had lost contact with my mum early in life, never knew my father, didn’t have children of my own. My boss and mentor was an abusive prick who tormented me throughout the span of my career until I found a way out from under his thumb.

Until Crowley helped me discover a life where I didn’t need the man’s guidance or control.

But now I was going to lose him!? The only one who had stuck by me, who defended me, loved me through thick and thin!?

No! That was beyond cruel! And I wasn’t going to roll over and accept it!

I let the sorrow within me curdle, turn sour as I yanked my hand out of the old woman’s grasp.

“Your granddaughter said there are other methods of getting what I want!” I snarled. “Dangerous methods. Methods that might require payment in sacrifice … even blood. And not necessarily my blood. Innocent blood, if you catch my meaning.”

Both women gasped.

Despite the conversation at hand, I smiled.

Good, I thought. We were finally all on the same page.

Up until a few days ago, I never considered violence to be the answer to anything. But I had since come to a crossroads where an exception had made itself clear.

I was prepared to annihilate my humanity to get my husband back.

The old woman snapped her head over her shoulder, scolding her granddaughter in a harsh, guttural voice. The girl, who had started to brave coming out of hiding, shrank down once again.

“Be reasonable,” the woman begged, “please, and think about what you are saying. What you are willing to do.”

“No,” I said, my calm more potent than my anger … or so my husband used to say. “The time for me being reasonable is over. I will get what I want, no matter what the cost. The question is whether or not you will be the one to give it to me.”

The woman looked down at her gnarled hands and sighed a long, exhausted sigh. “Alright, Mr. Fell. I will sell the potion to you at the promised price.”

I stared at her for a moment in shock. I was relieved, of course. I hadn’t thought I would get this far. It frightened me how much I had begun looking forward to throttling her with my bare hands, imagined her neck snapping within my grasp, effortlessly like a twig.

That couldn’t be me though. I wasn’t that kind of person. It was this place - this shop and all of its trinkets, their age and professed magical abilities amplifying my grief, turning every rational thought I had into rage.

I had to get out of here and fast before I did something I might regret.

I opened my wallet with the onset of happier tears and thumbed through the bills, pulling out extra for the joy of getting what I wanted. I handed the money over, but the woman refused to touch it. She waved it away, her granddaughter popping up long enough to grab the money and then scurry off again. The woman reached into the folds of her skirts and retrieved a leather pouch that hung from a thin belt around her waist. From it she fished out a tiny blue bottle with a cork stopper sealing the mouth. She gave it a long, troubled look, then handed it to me.

For the first time, her hand trembled.

“Pour the contents of this bottle into your husband’s mouth, Mr. Fell,” she instructed, “and your husband will return.”

I held the bottle up to the dim candlelight of the musty Soho shop. The blue glass glimmered, a thick liquid inside swaying back and forth, shimmering like sun-tossed sparkles across a dark, foreboding sea.

“There are some rules that go along with that potion,” the woman said, her voice weeding into my head, summoning me back from my momentary trance, “and a few warnings you must heed as well.”

I sighed. I had hoped it would be a simple matter of giving my husband the liquid and living happily ever after, but I knew in my heart that nothing was ever that simple.

“Okay,” I said, slipping the bottle carefully into my pocket and patting over it twice to ensure its safety. “Tell me. What are the rules?”

“First of all, you will give that to your husband, but what will come back …” she paused, swallowed hard “… will not entirely be your husband.”

I nodded. I had expected her to say something along those lines, like a scene straight from an old time-y horror movie.

The woman locked both eyes, one clear and one clouded, on my face as I waited for her to finish her speech, eager to go back home and get on with my life. She realized, with regret, that I had every intention of going through with this, and took on the heavy burden of allowing this to continue.

“Be there to look into his eyes when he wakes,” she said.

I hadn’t dreamed of leaving his side, but since the woman made such a point of it, I asked, “Why?”

“He is being reborn, in a sense. And like other simple-minded creatures, he will imprint on the first person he sees.” She took my hands and squeezed them. “That person needs to be you!”

My gulp was audible, the weight of her words and of my plan suddenly settling within me. They pressed in on me, like that moment when the police came to my door. Their words – “Mr. Fell? I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but … it’s about your husband …” had turned me inside out, left my heart out in the cold.

I felt that cold now.

“Once the potion absorbs into his tissues, it will restart his heart,” she continued. “Then the potion will replicate. It will begin to take the place of his blood. It will make him calm, easier for you to control.”

I nodded again. I wanted to say something, assure the woman that I understood, but she didn’t pause long enough for me to speak. It wouldn’t have mattered. I saw the trepidation in her one, clear eye. I had no clue what to say to make this better.

“It will be a slow process, and you must learn to be a patient man!” She raised her voice, letting go of one hand to waggle an emphatic finger in front of my face. “You will be teaching him, raising him as you would a child. Remember, even if only a small portion of his soul returns, that soul belongs to your husband, and you must love him or this will not work!”

The woman stepped back, out of breath from her outburst, and her granddaughter (whom I had forgotten about) returned, pushing forward an ornate but dusty antique chair to catch her in. I held the woman’s arms gently and helped her into it, feeling strangely protective. The woman sat and waved us both off, not wanting us to make a fuss when she still had more to say.

“But most importantly,” she labored on, barely missing a beat in her speech, “do not let him taste blood.” I knelt down so that she didn’t feel the need to yell for her words to reach me. “He cannot eat meat, but most of all, don’t let him bite you or lick your wounds. Or anyone else’s – human or animal.”

“Will … will I become a zombie? If he does bite me?”

I’m not quite sure why the word ‘zombie’ leapt to my mind. In every interaction I had had with the woman’s granddaughter before tonight, she had been so careful not to use that term. She used other, more romantic euphemisms such as ‘bring back to the land of the living’, ‘re-associate with life’, and the most used - ‘rebirth’. But that’s what he would be, right? When we moved past the flowery vernacular and got right down to it? This potion I had pocketed would turn my husband into the walking dead, - a simple-minded creature that was once deposed from this Earth.

And that meant ‘zombie’.

As if I had nothing more pressing at hand, I suddenly recalled the Walking Dead marathon Crowley had convinced me to watch (against my better judgement). Crowley thought the show was hilarious, but I could barely make it to the middle of the first season. I had started watching with my hands over my eyes, then with my arm locked around Crowley’s, anxiously smacking his shoulder, and finally with most of my body lying over his lap and my face buried in his shirt.

It wasn’t just the gore in the show that skewered me, made me nauseous, unable to breathe. It was the fear and the pain those characters felt, being chased by a relentless enemy that needed no rest, constantly running into people they couldn’t trust, people who were so out for themselves they no longer believed in the sanctity of life, with nowhere to hide, nowhere safe at all, even behind thick, concrete and metal walls.

Watching your loved ones get turned into soulless monsters - still there, but everything about them that you had once loved out of reach.

And this ‘illness’ or whatever these people had - it spared no one. Even children had become zombies. And in the game that was survival for the remaining uninfected, children had become pawns.

Everything about it seemed so horrendous.

And while I suffered through my existential crisis, Crowley laughed at my antics.

I fought not to smile at the sound of his teasing voice.

“Uh … a little squeamish there, are you, angel?”

Angel.

From the first day we met, that’s what he called me.

Oh, what I wouldn’t give to hear him call me that again!

The old woman chuckled, bringing me reluctantly back from my daydream. “No. Not in this case. That’s not the nature of this spell. No, blood will give him back his memories.”

I looked at the woman, bug-eyed, and shook my head. “I … I don’t …”

“It will ignite his brain. He will begin to feel. In many ways, he will become more the man you married than in any other.”

“Wha---?“ I stuttered, baffled as to how that could be a bad thing. If drinking blood could make Crowley more Crowley, I’d set up an IV drip the minute I got home! I would serve him cups of blood with every meal! I’d make donating blood a requirement for entrance into my bookshop! (That one would definitely kill two birds with one stone. In fact, I might consider doing that anyhow.) “And why wouldn’t I want that again?” I asked, trying not to sound like turning my husband into a blood-sipping fiend was the greatest idea in known history.

The old woman smiled, but it wasn’t fond. It was shrewd, as if she could read every one of my thoughts.

And she didn’t approve.

“Once he has his memories back, he will start to crave it. Soon, drinking blood won’t be enough for him. It won’t work as well. It won’t keep the memories as fresh. He will have to go further, do more. He will become a killer.”

My face must have gone as green as I felt because the woman laughed again, this time with a touch of wickedness. A killer? My Crowley? My sweet, kind, compassionate Crowley?

Okay, maybe I was going too far with the endearments. He’d been a bit of a bastard, after all. Which was why I could picture Crowley becoming a full-fledged bad boy. With that leather jacket he wore like a second skin and his gleaming classic car, he’d been well on his way.

But a killer? No.

Then again, I was willing to become one myself a second ago, so maybe I wasn’t in the best position to judge.

“You are playing with the laws of nature, Mr. Fell,” she said, patting me on the cheek. “You are responsible not only for your own life, but for the lives of those around you.” The woman leaned in close, those eyes – one alive, one dead - more menacing than when I had walked into the shop; her face no longer that of a frail old woman but of a powerful witch.

This time, it was my turn to feel afraid.

“So don’t fuck it up.”

[countessmorgasson]

Is Anyone Here a Doctor?

Angsty-ish Julian x MC! For once, it’s not Julian getting into trouble.

Gender Neutral MC

(Based on Julian’s route, no spoilers)

Adrenaline really is magic in itself. 

How you managed to get yourself to South End was a miracle, but to turn around and head to the palace was... something else, especially considering the condition you were in.

You storm the palace gates once you’re let in, eyes fixed only ahead of you as blood and sweat drip down your back. 

Your hands are tense, one of them still hovering over your belt- where your favorite weapon is hidden away. You can feel the servants’ eyes on you in every step you take, but your heartbeat’s taken over your sight and hearing. Just make it to the office...

If you weren’t well, you, you’d be terrified of yourself. Glimpses of yourself through reflections and glass show the bruising on your face- and just how much blood you’ve gotten on your clothes. 

The worst is your eyes. Yes, the skin around your left one grows red and purple, but that’s not what you noticed. It’s the way they scream bloody murder. 

You always had a track record for getting ahead of yourself. 

Relaxing your shoulders, you make your best attempt to wipe the scowl from your face- but you’re finding it hard to let your guard down. After all if you did, you might start to feel the consequences of your actions.

No one dares bother you during your stroll down the corridors, making your journey that much easier. 

There it is- Julian’s office. You see a light coming in from the bottom of the door- most likely a hoard of lanterns lit up. Julian was smart enough not to trust himself around candles. With a smirk at the thought, you let yourself in.

Just as suspected, Julian was surrounded by dimly lit lanterns, hunched over a stack of books and a long, long scroll that he scribbled furiously upon.  Ever since he was accepted to work in the palace, he’s made tremendous medicinal discoveries. He’s always been so smart...

He still doesn’t notice you yet, how you’re leaning heavily against the wall, now slick with sweat. That adrenaline you’ve been savoring has finally come to an end, sending you into a painful crash. You’re half-frantic, just now wondering where exactly all your wounds are. You hadn’t even felt them- you just know you’re not unscathed...

“Is anyone here a doctor?” You call out with a lazy smile.  You’re not even sure if your joke was heard- the fatigue comes into play now, and you’re working hard to keep your breath. 

Julian has to do a double-take at the sight of you. His eyes widen as he looks over your torn clothes and drooping eyelids. 

“M/c?!” He scrambles to his feet, nearly knocking over the jar of ink his pen was resting on. You let yourself fall into his arms, but not without a grin. He doesn’t return the gesture. He’s still trying to process what he’s looking at. “What the- what?! Oh my- what happened to you?!” 

“Please. I happened to them.” 

Your comment doesn’t amuse him- he’s got you in his arms, frantically clearing space to lay you down. At first you consider telling him you look worse than you feel, but when has that ever worked for you?

“Who’s them? You’ve got to be more specific! Oh, look at you- okay, stay right here...” Julian bites his lip, suddenly so frazzled. His hair’s wild around him as he whips his head around to look for his medical supplies.

“For a doctor, you sure get nervous around your patients.” You point out. He doesn’t seem amused- he’s only focused on wiping the sweat from your brow.

“Hey really,” you offer. “I don’t even think I’m hurt- it’s probably not even my blood..”

“Are you sure about that?”  Your shirt is lifted to reveal a cut across your abdomen. With a hiss, Julian removes the weapon he discovers on your person. His brows furrow in a frustration you don’t recognize. Wasn’t he the one who taught you how to hide your favorite daggers in your belt?

“What on Earth could you have gotten into?” He tries to keep his voice steady, but you hear the high tension in his words. 

Now you begin to blush. He’s got an expectant look in his eye, but he only wipes at your blood. He’s not going to press the subject again, but you can see that he’s dying to know. He needs to know that you’re not still in danger- that there’s not someone out there he needs to have a chat with. 

“I was at the colosseum, and... I may or may not have gotten into it with some of the gladiators- you know, those two that make fun of your eyepatch? They really know how to push someone’s buttons.”

You speak quickly and quietly, now a little ashamed of the mess you got yourself into. On any other day you’d get a laugh from Julian- but that was clearly not tonight’s mood. His beautiful face is twisted in horror and shock- so much in fact, he’s stopped in his tracks.

“But I totally kicked their asses!” You can’t stop the words from coming- and you hear the pride in your voice. “You know how much I hate those guys- always so taunting... like they’re gifts from the Gods just because they’re in Vulgora’s good graces...” Your rant is lost on Julian. 

He’s pinching the bridge of his nose. Maybe it wasn’t the right time to bring up how exactly you ended up like this. 

“...You’re telling me you took on two gladiators- for fun?”

He takes a few moments to collect himself. You can only watch as he breathes in slowly, the red on his face starting to fade. 

“What?” you ask. “I swear I’m alright...”

“You’re not alright!” Julian raises his voice, but instead of anger, he seems to be nearing hysteria. “You don’t see what I see- the black eye, bloody lips? It’s a miracle you’ve even got all your teeth still in!”

He bites his tongue but you can see that he still has thoughts on the subject. His jaw is tense, but he shakes his head and searches your arms and legs for further injuries. He could be totally raging and his touch would still be delicate as ever. 

His gloved hands trail across your skin with professional precision as he tends your wounds. It seems that the cut on your belly was the worst of all- if you don’t take the black eye into account. 

Time passes by slowly now. Every moment of eye contact is almost excruciating- you feel like you should be guilty. Part of you is- you didn’t know Julian would react the way he did. He usually ate this sort of thing up- if anything you thought he’d have wanted to join in on the fun.

Eventually, the doctor seems to be satisfied with the patch job, and he leans back, hands no longer fussing over you. 

“Thank you.” Your voice is quiet now- defeated. 

“You’re welcome.”

Another moment of painful awkwardness.

“Ah...” Julian clears his throat, eyes darting from side to side. “Forgive me for the way I reacted, m/c. You just... have no idea what you looked like coming through my door.”

You can understand that. 

“Yeah... I know I can get carried away sometimes,” you admit. “I didn’t really think about how it would feel for you to see me like this.” You reach up and press at your left eye, where you finally begin to feel the sore pain. He frowns when you wince.

“You know... you really mean the world to me, m/c. I don’t know what I’d do if Gods forbid, something serious happened...” he trails off and waves away the thought. 

“But nothing happened- and I’m okay.” You say. You lean forward, taking his hands in yours. You even pull off the gloves so that he can feel the warmth of your skin. He brings your palms to his lips. “I’m not going anywhere, my love. As if! You’re stuck with me.”

For the first time since you’ve seen him today, he plays into your attitude. You swear you see a flicker of humor come across his grey eyes.

“At least... let me be there next time. If you have to pick a fight.” 

You finally get to see a glimpse of Julian’s mischievous smile. It works wonders on you, immediately sending a flutter through your heart. 

He pulls you into a hug that isn’t as tight as you’d like. You shut your eyes at the touch, breathing him in. How does he actually smell like books? 

“Who would’ve thought I’d fall in love with the one person crazier than I am?”  He chuckles at the thought.

You tighten the hug yourself, and somehow the pressing pain from your cut means nothing anymore. Not a single thing matters when you feel your lover’s arms wrapped around you. You press your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Eyes still shut, you forget about the world around you, the adrenaline, the pain... it all melts away.

Everything but a single thought.

“Oh- I forgot to mention... they want a rematch.”

[doesitsparkjoytho]

"The Happy Harpy Post" - Medieval Craigslist

(**For anyone not in the U.S., Craigslist is Facebook Marketplace's janky, super sketch predecessor, basically an online site to list items for sale, jobs, "Missed Encounters," etc.**)

[For Sale / Trade]

Realm's most powerful -- and evil -- sword

Just in time for that long-awaited conquering!

The realm's most notoriously blood-thirsty sword has reappeared from the dark abyss yet again. The last band of heroes battled death to cast it into oblivion some centuries ago, but like a merciless rash, it will not stay banished.

Features:

Authentic blood stains and nicks

Possessed by an extremely evil and demeaning spirit, rumored to be that of Lord Archbane himself

Crafted from the finest dragon's bone and titanium, ensuring years of slicing, thrusting, hacking, mutilation and general intimidation

This weapon is not for the faint of heart. If the latter is not black as pitch, I assure you that the blade will drive you mad in its attempt to corrupt your soul. I stumbled upon the sword but three weeks past, but already the power of this dark artifact threatens to consume my being. However, one with the strength of spirit to master it stands to gain an instrument of unimaginable potential.

Willing to trade for guaranteed safety during new owner's reign of terror, a residence in owner's general vicinity, and a small (negotiable) re-homing fee for myself / the sword. ***And please note: the sword has attached itself to me in ways that I dare not speak of. If you try to kill me and take the sword in place of a transaction, it will be lost for many more centuries. It has assured me of this.

If interested, please find or send for innkeeper Finbar Ruild of Heshire, Eastern Province.

Free Pulsating Crystal Thing

Are you a dark being of some authority seeking an artifact of unknown power and antiquity to enhance your castle/cave/fortress/tower/dungeon's mystical atmosphere? Are you perhaps also wishing for a handful of random occurrences to shake things up, or to rid yourself of a few pesky, traitorous, or bumbling minions too curious for their own well-being? Then look no further! This strange, eerily glowing crystal pulsates as if containing life and is sure to amuse and amaze guests. In addition, this nifty crystal can easily lull one to sleep with its deep, otherworldly and ominous croonings. I guarantee you won't stumble upon another artifact of such myriad uses and features. I'm only parting with it because the lady of the keep has suggested that I have one too many "unique" trinkets.

Serious inquiries only (No minions, peasants, slaves or other lowly beings, as I dread the repercussions of this falling into the wrong hands). Please contact Lord Vasuvian at the black tower. You can send a messenger by horseback, pigeon, falcon, hawk, bat, dragon, etc. I promise its safe return.

[Services]

Haircuts for Heroes

Are you a hero? Do you want to be? Nothing says "hero" like a unique hairstyle. I offer dying, cutting, braiding, and lime-washing. Be the first to try out my new Dark and Dangerous dye, made from a fermented leech and vinegar mixture which is entirely unique and promises the darkest, longest lasting black available.

Stop announcing your triumphs and displaying your spoils to earn the trust of the town and start standing out!

My shop, Haircuts for Heroes, is located in North Ghestfel.

Live-in Mage for hire

Have you ever wanted life to be a little easier than it is? Do you ever find yourself wishing that your floor would clean itself, that your fire would stay lit through the night, or that those pesky birds would cease pecking the thatch from your roof to build their nests?

Now you can make your wishes come true! Mage with 20+ years of experience in the Way is willing to lend his talents in exchange for room and board. His only request is that you don't treat him as a servant and allow him time for his own studies between your requests.

If interested, please send word to Octulus Drolp so that we may arrange a meeting and home viewing.

[Missed Encounters]

At the smithy - M4W

You, dearest woman, had four children in tow and were berating each of them as they touched everything in the shop. I smiled at you, but you were too busy to take full notice of me. Your voice was the sweetest music to my ears. I doubt a lovely lady such as yourself with four energetic children would be without husband, but if that is indeed the case, I beseech you to come and find me!

Make inquiry for Will at the stables.

O4H

To the ruggedly handsome human who passed through the southern Fivhren woods yesterday morn:

As I emerged from my cave, sleep still crusting my eyes like fairy dust, I was struck by a most unusual but welcome sight. Upon the knoll beyond my cave, a dark-haired man (you) knelt by his steed. My orcish heart pattered- and I am not easily moved, particularly by those of diminutive form. A dark green cloak enfolded your manly form, and you seemed intent on starting a fire, perhaps to make your breakfast.

Not wishing to startle you, I went about my morning as routine demanded, beginning with my rejuvenating spritz in the creek just beyond my cave. I began to hum to catch your attention. When you spotted me, I tried to act alluring, splashing my heaving green bosom with water from the nearby creek and rubbing my face sensually. In reality, I was merely taking my morning bath and desperately attempting to remove the morning crust from round my black orbs- but I figured 'hey, why not kill two birds with one stone?'

I locked my gaze unto yours, and your visage was overcome with- dare I hope- alarmed intrigue? You quickly gathered a few of what I assumed were your belongings, leapt onto your steed and rode away. Without me.

I am sorry if my forthcomingness frightened you away. I am willing to take things slowly, if you are lacking a mate and or have any interest in lady orcs. I enjoy, I imagine, many things you humans do: fishing; rolling in the mud and baking in the sun afterward (it's good for one's skin); eating and cooking (I prepare an astounding seared pig, and my frog-eye soup is unmatched); clubbing and stoning small, pesky animals; and, last but not least, dancing.

If you ever pass my way again, don't hesitate to peek your beautiful head into my cave and holler. But you'd better holler fairly loudly, as I'm a heavy sleeper.

Sincerely yours,

Ghrus'yula

[Community Notices]

Your Daughter Is No Treasure

Dear Lady Fitz,

Please cease advertising your daughter as the most enchanting creature in the land. I had the misfortune of crossing her path in the market this Saturday past, and she was neither lovely, endearing, soft of voice, or willow-thin. In fact, I have seen female trolls more alluring. If you were to place her in a tower for one to rescue, those stupid enough to brave the perils set before them on faith of your word alone would, upon seeing her, leap to their deaths or fall on their own swords before they carried her out of there with them. I am not trying to be rude, I am merely pointing out the truth which I think you should know. If you really wish to marry your daughter off, be honest. It also might not hurt to throw in some gold.

Sincerely,

A man saving fellow men from unhappy futures

To my neighbor to the east and south, the marauding tyrant

Dear kindred conqueror:

Being a power and land hungry tyrant myself, I acknowledge that certain consequences can be expected from claiming new provinces. For example, I realize that valuable farmland will likely be laid to waste in the process, forest burned and the animals inhabiting it slain, and villagers and townspeople dispatched from their homes.

However, it is the latter which concerns me. Far be it from me to advise you on proper warmongering, but your actions have brought the consequences of war to my borders. In the towns and villages dotting our shared borders, beings fleeing your terror-inducing campaign are piling in by the hour. However, that's not the main issue here. No, what concerns me is that these humans, orcs, elves, etc. are crossing my borders and falling dead in my towns, creating an awful sight and stench which, in the end, I am left to deal with. Not only that, but my denizens are becoming worried that I might gather my army again and attempt to take the few provinces I have allowed them to keep. I have worked hard at gaining their newfound trust in the last few years following the end of my campaign, and your actions are threatening the fragile halcyon of my new kingdom.

If you would kindly see to it that more of your soon-to-be subjects did not escape your borders, or at least died within them, I would be most grateful. If you do not comply, a few thousand of my most sickly denizens may somehow find their way into your lands just when you think you've established yourself in your new domains.

Yours to the west and north,

Lord Belus III

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So I used to write. A LOT. Before fanfic, I was an aspiring fantasy novelist, and I wrote pretty much all the time. I'm trying to get back into it, so I've been looking at my old pieces and taking stock of what I like/don't like. This is one of my all time favorite pieces so I thought I'd share!

[hyperion-moonbabe-art3mis]

Caught In Between 18. Lost In Thought

Summary: Athena Dumont has finally found a place to call home after many years of foster homes and traveling. She had finally tamed her supernatural side and just wanted to live a normal teenage life. She quickly discovers that there is nothing normal about her hometown, Mystic Falls and gets sucked right back into the supernatural world.

Post Date: 09.15.20

Word count: 2.6k

Based off: 03x15 “All My Children”

Masterlist

CIB Masterlist

The next morning I come out of my room to find Rebekah and Damon leaving his room, “Well surprise, surprise. Ah not really,” I say as they pass my bedroom.

“I thought you’d be with Nik last night, seeing as you two have been getting closer and closer by the minute, guess I was wrong,” Rebekah taunts.

I scoff and roll my eyes at her comment, “And why are you so worried about Klaus and me? Thought you didn’t like me very much,” I question crossing my arms.

“I just think that--” Rebekah starts.

“Let’s not get into this ladies,” Damon interrupts pushing Rebekah passed my room. I follow them downstairs as Damon escorts her to the front door. As Damon opens the door a very confused Elena is found behind it.

“Did you stop taking your vervain?” Elena asks after making her way into the house.

“You think Rebekah had to compel me?” Damon questions back while putting a shirt on.

“What’s wrong with you? She tried to kill me less than 48 hours ago,” Elena explains.

“Can’t we just move past that, Elena?” Damon asks making his way across the room.

“So is that how it’s gonna be now? I hurt your feelings, and this is how you lash out at me?” Elena asks as I settle myself on the couch.

“Well, maybe, for once. Something I did had nothing to do with you. Plus I don’t see you grilling Athena for her and Klaus’ little affair thing,” Damon states pointing over at me.

“Don’t put this on me,” I respond.

“She’s not actively sleeping with an original,” Elena defends me. “You should know…that Esther’s planning on killing her entire family. She’s linked them all together with a spell. Whatever happens to one happens to all of them,” Elena explains as I hop up from the couch as quickly as I could.

“That’s great. Klaus’ll finally be dead. We win,” Damon states happily. “Why do you two look like someone just shot a panda bear?” Damon asks noticing the upset looks on both Elena and I’s faces.

“Because to kill Klaus, she has to kill all of them, including Elijah,” Elena states.

“And he doesn’t deserve that,” I quickly state after.

“Exactly,” Elena agrees.

“What about Klaus, Athena? Don’t you have something say about killing him?” Damon questions.

“Just because I’m sired to him doesn’t mean I don’t think he deserves to die. He hurt me worse than anyone else has in my life,” I state.

“Sure. And I’m supposed to care about Elijah?” Damon asks.

“Shouldn’t you at least care about Rebekah?” Elena asks as I look at Damon raising my eyebrows.

“Two seconds ago, you were pissed that she attacked you. It’s a win-win,” Damon states. Elena tries to walk away but Damon quickly stops her. “Don’t do anything to screw this up, Elena.” Damon threatens.

“Why are you doing this?” Elena asks.

“He’s right, you know. Klaus has to die. They all do,” Stefan states coming from the hallway.

“See? Democracy in action,” Damon states before Elena leaves bumping him, spilling his drink.

“Look I know they’ve all hurt us one way or another but we all know Elijah doesn’t deserve to die. He’s done the least to us,” I state to the brothers.

“I think you’re outnumbered on this one sweetheart,” Damon responds. I don’t respond and decide to head upstairs not feeling up for dealing with the brothers anymore.

Once I made it to my room I found another box on my bed. Knowing who it was from, I moved it into my closet, out of sight out of mind. Except after a few minutes, I let my curiosity get the best of me...again. 

Once I opened the box, on top was a note that said, “I hope this inspires you, Klaus.” On the flip side was a small sketch of me in a field of sunflowers. What remained in the box was an array of art supplies, a sketchbook, and a few canvases. As much as I wanted to toss the supplies away, I missed sketching and painting as I hadn’t had time since moving to Mystic Falls. 

I spent most of the day sketching and just disappearing in my own world. A few hours had passed until I heard a knock on my door. I open it to find Damon, “Yes?” I question.

“You seem to be in a much better mood,” Damon states hearing the softness in my voice. “Have you heard from Eleana? She’s not answering her phone calls and Ric hasn’t seen her since this morning,” Damon explains.

“Uhhh… no, I haven’t talked to her since this morning,” I respond.

“Well, let me know if you do. Stefan is out looking for her right now,” Damon says.

“Oh for sure. Hope she’s alright,” I respond.

I spent a few more hours sketching and soon enough it ended up being dark. I forgot how lost I could get while drawing. Realizing that I needed to eat something I decide to head downstairs. Once I made it down, I saw Stefan make his way into the house.

“Can’t find her anywhere,” He says frustrated.

“Hello, Stefan,” I hear Elijah’s voice from the great room. Curious of what’s happening I make my way over and find the Salvatores by the door and Elijah in a chair by the fireplace.

“He has Elena,” Stefan states.

“Elijah,” I say disappointed.

“Actually she’s with Rebekah,” Elijah says disregarding my disapproval for what he’s done. “As you can imagine. My sisters just dying to tear her throat out. So if you want to save Elena’s life, I need you to help me stop my mother,” Elijah explains.

“I’m a little embarrassed to admit, but when it comes to killing thousand-year-old resurrected witches, I’m a little rusty,” Damon responds.

“Yes, unfortunately even when killed, my mother doesn’t seem to want to stay dead, not with the spirits of nature at her side,” Elijah says.

“So what are we supposed to do?” Stefan asks stepping forwards.

“The witches that released my mother, she’s drawing her power from their bloodline. That bloodline needs to be broken,” Elijah explains.

“Broken?” I question.

“Yeah, he means…” Damon says and puts a finger to his throat meaning killed.

“You want us to kill them,” Stefan says.

“You know I’d do it myself, but I’ve absolutely no idea where they are. Besides, seeing me, they’d immediately know my intent. They won’t expect to be harmed by the likes of you.” Elijah explains getting up from this seat. “In any case, you have until 6 minutes after 9:00 to find them,” Elijah says.

“Oh, how superspecific of you,” Damon says annoyed.

“By 9:07 the moon’ll be full, my mother will have the power she needs to kill me and my family. If you do not stop her before then, Rebekah will kill Elena. So we all have our timeline. I suggest you get started,” Elijah says before letting himself out.

“And you were saying about Elijah being undeserving of dying?” Damon questions at me. I just scoff and head back up to my room, not wanting to talk about this.

A few minutes pass by before I once again hear a knock on my door, “Here to give me a lecture?” I ask knowing it was Damon.

“No, you, me, and Stefan need to come up with a plan come on,” Damon says walking back down the hall.

“And what makes you think I want to be a part of this, he clearly wanted it to be you two,” I state not shifting from my position.

“Because Elena is in trouble and I know you want to save her,” Damon says from down the hall.

“You really know how to push my buttons,” I state making my way out of my room. We head down to the basement where Stefan is debating on drinking from a blood bag.

“Clock’s ticking. You gonna help us brainstorm a plan, or you too busy fixing a snack?” Damon questions his brother.

“We need to call Bonnie. There’s gotta be a way for her to stop Esther from channeling all that power.” Stefan states closing the fridge lid.

“‘A’ what if shes with Esther? ‘B’ what is she can’t cut her off? ‘C’ I don’t know how any of this stuff works, and ‘D’ neither do you,” Damon states.

“You got a better plan?” Stefan asks.

“Wore-case scenario simple mechanics. Can’t draw power from a dead battery,” Damon states.

“Kill ‘em,” Stefan says knowing that’s where Damon was getting out.

“If it comes to that,” Damon says. He then takes the bag from Stefan’s hands and drinks from it.

“There’s gotta be another way,” I say.

“Well, what if I told you two I had a less diabolical plan?” Damon asks and holds up a dagger.

“You wanna dagger Elijah,” Stefan says taking notice of the dagger.

“Well, they’re all linked. One goes down, they all go down. The witches live. Elena’s safe. Problem solved,” Damon states.

“We don’t know how that’ll affect Klaus,” I state.

“Ironically, Klaus isn’t our current problem,” Damon states.

“Dagger’s lethal to any vampire who uses one,” Stefan says.

“Well, I just so happen to know someone crazy enough to give it a shot,” Damon says before making a call. The call was to Alaric to confirm if Klaus and Kol were still at the Mystic Grill.

“What’s the plan?” I hear Alaric ask over the phone.

“Divide and conquer. First, we’ll need a little brunette distraction,” Damon says eyeing me. I roll my eyes knowing that means I have to talk to Klaus. Damon explains the rest of the plan and then hangs up.

“Do I really have to?” I ask a bit whiny.

“If we want to take them down, without killing them. Keeping everyone safe. Then yes,” Damon states.

“You are so lucky I care too much about you all,” I sigh.

“Then it’s settled. Get to the Grill,” Damon says.

I quickly get myself ready from my little interaction with Klaus, hoping it wouldn’t go south on my end or the others. I make my way into the Grill and head on the way to Klaus and his brother. I take notice of Alaric and let him know I’m the distraction by a slight look over.

~At the Bar~

“I remember her from last night. She looks like a tasty little thing,” Kol says to his brother.

“Say another word, and I’ll tear out your liver,” Klaus threatens taking notice of Athena from across the room.

~Athena’s POV~

“Athena,” Klaus says gaining my attention, as needed.

“What do you want?” I ask crossing my arms.

“Join us for a drink?” Klaus asks as Kol raises his glass.

“I’m not in the mood for chit chat, but thanks,” I say before heading back to the door.

~Klaus and Kol at the Bar~

“Isn’t she stunning?” Klaus asks Kol.

“She certainly looks good walking away from you,” Kol responds.

“I’ll take that as a challenge,” Klaus says before heading to Athena.

~Athena’s POV~

I head towards the town square across the street, “Athena,” I hear Klaus from behind me, as I was hoping, for the sake of Damon’s plan but not my own wishes.

“What?” I ask stopping in my tracks turning towards him. “I’m not in the mood to talk with you,” I turn back around and continue to walk.

“Don’t be angry, love. We had a little spat. I’m over it already, I’m willing to fight,” Klaus states.

“I’m not and I don’t see you fighting,” I state still walking.

“Well, how can I acquit myself? You weren’t very clear on the instructions,” Klaus asks.

I stop in my tracks, “You know what you have to do. And I’m not really in the mood to talk about this,” I state.

“Take a chance, Athena. At least talk to me, no fights,” Klaus says sitting down on the bench beside us. I look at him almost like he was crazy. “Come on. Let’s catch up,” Klaus says seeming happy that he was even able to get my attention. “I dare you,” He smiles.

“Fine,” I respond after a few moments of making Klaus think I was debating it and sit next to him. Klaus continues to look at me intently, with that soft look he gave me the night before. “So, what do you want to talk about? Catch up on?” I ask.

“Well, for starters, did you get my gift?” He asks. “Then your hopes. Your-your dreams. Everything you want in life. The things you never told me when we first met. You were very secretive you know,” Klaus states.

“Well, being a teenager alone in the world, you learn to be,”  I laugh. “And you mean the art supplies, huh?” I ask.

“Yeh, did you like them? Did you draw or--or paint anything?” He asks.

“Uh yeah. Lost track of time today actually,” I state.

“What did you draw?” He asks. 

“Just some flowers,” I say. As much as I hated to admit to myself, but I missed the little talks like this with Klaus. I missed...him, being there for me, looking out for me. I almost felt at peace, like there was no one else in the world but us. 

“You know I miss you, I truly do,” Klaus says. “I miss our moments like this, where it feels like it’s just us,” Klaus takes a hold of my hands and stares into my eyes.

“Klaus--I,” I start but before I could finish my un-thought out sentence, Klaus  stands up and starts to breathe a bit heavy, “What is it?” I question pretending to not know what was going on.

“What did you do?” He questions me.

“Nothing,” I state, hoping the tone of my voice was believable.

“What did you do?” Klaus asks once more with urgency grasping the sides of my arms.

“I didn’t do anything. Stop it,” I say once more. 

Klaus lets go of me and looks back to the grill, “Kol,” He says before rushing off, leaving me by myself.

I quickly make my way back to the Salvatore house in hopes that they completed their mission. Unfortunately, it was just me, leaving me with just my thoughts. At this moment, not a great idea. I don’t know how to feel about Klaus and my friends. Part of me wants to be with him, part of me feels like it’s just the sire bond and part of me wants to stick with my friends. It doesn’t help much that I had a small heart to heart with Klaus and Elena is in danger. I feel like I’m fighting with my self.

An hour or so later I hear the front door shut, alarming me to the fact that someone is home. I make my way out of my room to see who it was. I notice Damon making his way to his room. 

“Did it work? Is Elena safe?” I ask. 

“Uh, I think so but Stefan would know better. We at least know we stopped Esther, so assuming Elijah keeps his word, Elena should be ok. Are you ok?” He asks me.

“Yeh, I’m fine. Just trying to sort my thoughts. But I’m glad you’re ok,” I respond.

“Have another quarrel?” Damon asks.

“No,” I respond not really wanting to give any details of Klaus and I’s conversation.

“Well, I’m just glad you’re not hurt either,” Damon says before continuing to head to his room.

“Night,” I say seeing as he’s not in the mood to talk. 

A/N: More reveals for Klaus and Athena’s relationship and feelings. I hope you guys enjoyed this little filler. BTW I’m skipping the next two eps because I can’t find a place for Athena to fit in and I want to get further in the show. So sorry in advance if some of the stuff seems weirdly placed (I guess?).

🏷: @tristanacarry​ | @commentaryfanfic​ | @april-14-blog​ |  @simonsbluee​ | @awkwardspontaneity​ | @keiko0​

[mila-dans]

Spells Out Trouble: Roll on Down the Highway

This is chapter three of “Spells Out Trouble.” Masterlist Here!

Chapter Two: Take It Easy

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word count: 4530

Summary: You have been with the Winchesters for several years now going through all the literal trials and tribulations with them. What happens when Dean gets hit by a love spell and becomes head-over-heels for you? Will your pushed down emotions finally rise or will you get in over your head? Find out what happens when your best friend’s hard exterior becomes mush whenever you end up in his eyeline.

Just so you know: This is my first Fanfic so sorry if there are aspects missing. “Spells Out Trouble” is a series with about ten chapters. If you have any suggestions or tips, I’d love to hear from you. Thank you and I hope you enjoy it! (Also, not my gif!)

Dean looks at you with a head tilt and a furrowed brow, “Sorry for what?”

Boom

The front car door opens hitting Dean in the chest and below the belt. Sam steps out from the car grabbing Dean by the collar. “Hiya, Dean,” he says, giving him a quick smile then serving a big knuckle sandwich knocking him down for the count.

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

“Waffles… waf… waffles. Waffles. Waffles.” Dean jolts up in the backseat. “Waffles!”

“Great,” you sigh, “He’s up.”

“Y/N,” Sam says as he gives you a look.

“Y/N!” Dean says as his smile returns and tries to get closer towards you.

You turn around in the seat to look at him and point to the handcuffs holding him to the door handle. “Sorry, pal. It’s for your own good. And our good.”

“Oh,” Dean says with a frown after examining his restraints. “That’s okay, my Love. If you feel better about having me restrained then it’s fine,” Dean says, smiling at you, still trying to get as close as he can.

You and Sam had been driving with an unconscious Dean in the backseat for about three hours. You still had nine hours to go till you reached the bunker and Cas. Sam threw a few theories your way on how Dean is still alive with his insides intact and you shared some of your own thoughts. Well, not all of your thoughts. This ride was the first time you have been able to take a breath and calm your pounding headache that has only managed to get worse. Every time there was silence between you and Sam, Dean entered your mind.

You remember the first time you met the brothers, Dean to be exact.

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

Five years ago, back when you were all young and naïve.

Back in your hometown, Harrisburg, South Dakota, you sat at a local bar called “Timmy's.” You were waiting to talk to some hunters that Sheriff Mills had claimed to be ‘damn good at their job.’ You were familiar with hunting and what was used to kill what. Your dad used to be one of the best. It was the family job. Just you, mom, and dad. It was like that for years until it became just you and your dad. Remembering the loss of your mother was a burden that no matter how much you dug, you couldn’t quite bury. Quitting the life and leaving your father was the biggest regret of your life.

In the corner of your eye you saw a young man dressed in a cheap suit walk inside the bar looking around. He was attractive. He didn’t look like the usual old, beer bellied, bush bearded, hunter that you expected. He looked different, acted different. You stood and signaled for him to come over. “You Mr. Winchester?” You asked, reaching out for a handshake.

“Don’t be so formal, call me Dean,” He said with a flirtatious smile as he shook your hand then took a seat.

“With all do respect Mr. Winchester,” you said, giving him a more simple smile and taking your seat, “I’d rather be formal than familiar with you and your life.”

“Understood. So, are you aware of my life and what I do?” He asked, becoming more formal in tone and posture.

“Let’s just say I’ve been around this block before,” you said.

You continued talking shop with him and you offered your suggestion on the monster at hand. 

“A Chupacabra.”

“A what?” Dean asks looking at you as if you were insane.

“A Chupacabra. Every hunter worth his while has at least come across one of them in their time.”

“Yeah,” Dean says nervously. “I know that.” He gives off an unconvincing smile.

“Please tell me you’ve killed a Chupacabra before,” you say, wondering how good his bluff was.

“Duh, of course I have,” he says once again unconvincingly.

“Jody said that you were professionals, not rookies,” you let out.

“Listen,” Dean looked for a name.

“Y/N,” you said.

“Yeah, listen Y/N, me and my brother stopped the apocalypse,” he says with a more aggressive tone.

“After you started it,” you respond.

“On accident!”

“Well that’s assuring!” You say as you realize what a waste of time this has been. “You need to get out of this town before you get yourself killed. Or start the end of the world by, ‘accident,’ again.”

“What? Just because I haven’t killed one of these sons of bitches before doesn’t mean I can’t, or that I should just leave. People are dying here,” he says.

“I know people are dying, that’s why I called for hunters to come and stop it. But Chupacabra aren’t some vamp or ghoul that can be done quick and easy by some inexperienced professional wannabes. They are more dangerous, deadly, and the lore on them doesn’t help but give untested suggestions!”

“Well once I kill it I guess I’ll be experienced then won’t I?!” Dean gets up from the table and leaves.

“Or you’ll get yourself killed!” You yell out as he walks out the bar. “Jerk,” you mumble to yourself.

--

Later that evening, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. Sure you gave Dean a warning and told him to leave but then again, you knew he wouldn’t listen and was destined to get himself killed. “That’s okay,” you think as you don’t believe in destiny. Anyway you looked at it, all you saw was their blood being on your hands. With that thought, you wiped the dust off of your old silver dagger and went to the spot that you and Dean discussed where it would most likely be at.

--

You pulled up in your old pick up to a clearing in between a farm and forest. You park the car next to a 67 impala and get out meeting Dean and his brother. “Nice wheels,” you say.

“Yeah, you’re not thanked,” Dean says as he glares at you. “What are you doing here?” He says with an annoyed tone.

“I’m here to save your ass and since I arrived here before you were stupid enough to walk in there unequipped, maybe I’ll just stop you before you have to be saved,” you respond.

“I’m sorry,” Sam butts in, “Who are you?” He asks.

“Nobody,” Dean answers. “And nobody should be going on her way before she gets too ‘familiar’ with all this.”

You roll your eyes and go over to Sam pulling out a silver dagger. “I’m Y/N. I met your brother earlier and tried to give him some good advice.”

“Telling me to leave is not advice!” Dean says.

“I also said that the lore wasn’t any good!” You hand Sam the dagger, “Here.”

Sam takes it from you, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” you smile. “I like you much better than your brother. He’s a jerk.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he replies. You go over to Dean as you pull out another silver dagger.

“I already have one,” he says waving it in your face.

“So what?” Sam asks. “Silver kills it?”

“Not really,” you answer. “You need its blood to kill it.”

“How are we supposed to get that?” Dean asks.

You send a sly smile his way, “Good question, Winchester.”

You pulled out tripwires from the back of your car and explained that once the Chupacabra surrounds the bait, he walks over a wire, cutting him and using the blood from the wire, you smear it on a dagger then go in for the kill.

“Where are we gonna find bait?” Dean asks.

You smile at Dean and look at Sam.

--

After setting up wires in between trees all around where Dean would stand in for bait, you and Sam hid behind a tree waiting for the Chupacabra to make a move.

“Are you sure this will work?” Sam whispers.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you reply.

“So are you a hunter?”

You let out a small chuckle, “Was a hunter.”

Sam laughs a little. “I know what you mean,” he says with a smile.

“You do?” You ask, curious.

“I was a hunter with my dad and brother until I got out. Dad went missing, got pulled back in. Stuff happened. Stayed in. Now it’s just me and Dean carrying on the family business.”

“Wow,” you shake your head, “and I know what you mean by ‘stuff happened.’ It just seems like it had a different effect on me.” You peak at Dean from behind the tree, sitting on a broken log with a small fire in front of him.

“I guess so,” Sam says.

You turn your attention back to him. “Do you regret it?” You ask. He looks at you confused. You clarify, “Regret getting back in?”

“Did for a while but now, if anything, I regret getting out,” he answers.

You ponder for a moment his words but stop once you hear it. The Chupacabra. You hit Sam's shoulder and signal its arrival. Sam nods and the two of you start moving towards the different wires.

Snikt

You and Sam both see the blood left on one of the wires right as the Chupacabra sees you. “Run!” You yell at Sam. Sam takes off with the monster chasing after him. You race over to the blood and wipe it on your dagger just in time for Sam to get thrown into a tree right beside you. You hide behind a tree and watch to see where it went. “Dammit!” You mutter under your breath, finding it nowhere in sight.

--

You slowly walk over to Sam and check his pulse. “Good,” you whisper, feeling a heartbeat. You creep over slowly to where Dean is. You see him. You see it.

Screech

It’s voice startles Dean as it jumps on him, clawing at his face and trying to take a bite out of his neck. Dean struggles with the beast, trying to kick, punch, and hurl it off of him. Suddenly, it’s weight becomes much heavier to Dean as it’s attacks stop. He tosses the Chupacabra aside.

“Told you I’d save your ass,” you said as you reached out your hand to help him up.

“Thanks,” he says looking at you wide-eyed. You wipe off the blood from your blade on the side of your pants.

“Come here,” you tell Dean. He walks over hesitant. You reach up to his face and tilt it down. You pull out a rag from your back pocket and wipe the excess blood from his face.

“Better?” You ask.

“Sure,” he says with a soft tone.

You look at him trying to get a read. “What is it?” You ask.

“It’s just,” he takes a deep breath, “you have no problem saving me but…”

“But what?” You demand, an angered tone in your voice.

“But when it comes to someone else, you just what? Look away?” Dean’s tone rises with frustration. “You clearly could’ve taken this on by yourself and got it wrapped up and done with after one person got killed. I just don’t get why you waited till twelve ended up dead before you did something.”

It was like his words pierced an old wound.

“It wasn’t like that,” you say softly, not sure you can even justify yourself.

Dean looks at the expression on your face and changes his tone in order to lighten the mood. “Your right,” he says with a smile, “What do I know? I’m just a jerk, right?” He asks, trying to make you feel better.

“Right,” you answer with a broken tone.

Sam walks over, “Hey, you mind if I borrow my brother for a moment?” He asks. You nod and the two walk away.

You hear them mumble but you remain silent and lost in your own forgotten thoughts.

--

Sam and Dean walk over to you. “Listen,” Sam says, “me and Dean were talking and we thought that it might be nice to have some help.” Before you have a chance to decline, he continues. “I know you said you got out but tonight, you are really good at saving lives. You're smart and great at hand-to-hand.”

“I don’t know about that,” you smile. “You seemed pretty unconscious during the actual fight.”

“I saw,” Dean says. “You are more capable than most hunters we know. Whoever taught you, taught you good. But we understand if you don’t wanna get involved.”

You looked up to the brothers and felt the feeling of family for a moment. It had been so long since you were a part of a team. A part of people who made something whole. “I’ll think about it,” you said.

“Great,” Sam said as he pulled out a fake FBI card. “Here’s our number. Just give us a call if you want in the chaos.” You smile and take the card. “Ready?” Sam asks Dean.

“Yeah,” he responds as Sam walks back to the car. “Hey,” Dean says to you. “Thanks for saving my life. And sorry for what I said ab--”

You cut him off. “Don’t mention it, Dean,” you say with a smile.

“First name basis? How very informal of you,” he says, returning the smile and walks off.

--

It wasn’t but a week later that you called Sam and decided to join their group of merry men, plus woman, and started to fight every hard hitter that came their way. You felt like you had a family again. And they were your family.

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

“Y/N? Y/N!”

“What?!” You answer agitatedly, turning around.

“Sorry, I just wanted to hear your voice again,” Dean replies with a smile.

You roll your eyes as you turn back around facing the long stretch of road ahead of you. “Can I just knock him out again?” You ask Sam.

“No,” he says with a huff. “He might have a concussion. We want Dean fixed, not dead.”

“Are you sure about that?” You say sarcastically. Sam gives you another look.

“You wa… you want me dead?” Dean asks with a saddened tone.

You let out a huff realizing how sensitive Dean is now. You contemplate which is better: Lovey-dovey Dean or the stupid, sarcastic one. “No,” you turn around and look in the puppy’s eyes, “I don’t want you dead Dean. I just don’t like what's going on with you.” You smile at him realizing that this is still Dean and he still is your best friend.

“Oh,” he says with a smile. “Is there anything I can do to make it better?” He asks so innocently.

“No, not really, Dean.”

“Well, maybe after I kill Sam, me and you can figure something out together,” Dean says with a nod and smile.

You and Sam both turn around and in sync say, “What?!”

Sam starts to swerve the car. “Keep your eyes on the road!” You demand.

“He just said he was gonna kill me!” He exclaims.

“That doesn’t mean kill us in a car accident before he gets the chance!” You smack Sam on the back of his head. You look back at Dean, “Why do you wanna kill Sam?!”

“I don’t want to but he keeps getting in the way of me and you!” Dean answers.

“No! Bad Dean!” You smack him on his head. “Do not kill Sam! Don’t kill Cas either! You know what, just don’t kill anyone. Okay? No killing!”

“Thank you,” Sam says.

“You’re welcome,” you respond as you turn back around. You look at your hand and see that there is a bit of blood on the edge of your fingers. You turn to Dean who has his head buried in the corner. “Dean?!” He looks up at you with tears coming down his face. “What is it now?” You ask, letting out another sigh.

Dean’s lip starts to tremble and he mumbles out, “You,” he pauses to sniffle and wipe his tears on his sleeve, “You said I was bad and then,” he sniffs, “then you hit me.”

You look at Sam with a loss for words. “I,” you clear your throat trying to find your thoughts, “Sam?” You ask.

“Yeah?” He responds.

“Keep the car steady,” you demand.

“Wait, why?” He asks. You roll your eyes and try to crawl over the seat. “Y/N! What are you,” Sam lets out a huff, “You sure you wanna be in the back with him?” He asks as you plop in the seat beside Dean who is still cowering in the corner.

“He’s hurt, Sam. And like you said, we want to help him not kill him. Though, the latter would be the easier option.” Dean lets out another sob. “I’m kidding!” You say defensively. “Come here, Dean,” you order. Dean shakes his head and moves more away from you. “Dean,” you say sincerely, “please. Let me see you. Don’t you want to see me?” You ask, trying to get a response.

“Yes,” Dean whispers.

“Then come here.” Dean looks at you again and hesitantly scoots closer to you. “See, that wasn’t so bad was it?”

Dean sniffs again. “No,” he says with his quivering lip.

You pause for a moment to look at Dean. Really, get a good look at him. This was Dean. The same Dean who you have known for years and the one who has saved your life more times than you can count. This same Dean was right in front of you, right now. Sure he was under a spell to be in love with you and you weren’t sure if this hurts you more than it does him but none of that mattered. You looked into Dean’s watery bright green eyes. You know that until you can find a cure, you risk hurting Dean by every mean or sarcastic comment you make. You can’t do that to him, you don’t want to do that to him. You love him and as of right now, he loves you.

You take a rag from the back of your pocket and signal for Dean to bring his head forward. You look in his eyes and gently place your hand on the side of his head. He lets out a sigh. You realize that this is the first physical interaction you two have had since this whole thing started. “It’s okay,” you say as you tilt his head down as you get a look at the top of it.

“What is it?” Sam asks looking at the two of you in the rear view mirror.

You pull out a little piece of ceramic from Dean hair. “Looks like the cook at the diner didn’t need Barbara,” you say as you wipe the blood from his head.

“What?” Sam asks, confused.

“Nothing,” you say with a sigh. You lift Dean’s head back up and once again see the tears that still remain on his face. You take your hands and place them on his cheeks as you wipe the tears away. “Better?”

Dean gulps. “Sure,” he says as a huge smile returns to his face. He takes a deep breath and tries to move as close as the cuffs will let him.

“What are you doing?” You ask with a slight laugh.

“I just, I just wanna be close to you, Y/N,” he says and it makes you blush a little.

You smile and look at how happy he appears. Something that you have never seen before. “Dean?” You ask cautiously.

“Yes, my Love?” He answers sweetly.

“I mean this in the kindest way possible,” you smile trying to reassure your statement, “But I’d rather you not be so close cause you kind of smell like trash.” You watch as his smile changes and he moves away from you.

“Oh,” he says with sadness in his voice. He leans his head down and smells himself. “Oh,” he says again, understanding what you meant.

“Yeah,” Sam says, “I wasn’t gonna say anything cause I didn’t think it was that important but yeah. It’s really bad.”

“Oh?” Dean looks at Sam then back at you. He looks at you with a bright grin. “I can fix it!” He says, starting to wiggle around the seat.

“Dean? What are you doing?” You ask, worried that he’s trying to break out of his cuffs. He starts to bite at his shirt.

“Dude!” Sam says, as Dean tries to grab his shirt with his teeth. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m trying to,” he grabs the hem of his shirt with his teeth. He wriggles around causing his shirt to come off of him. His shirt comes completely off with it getting tied up in his cuffs. He takes a deep breath. “I was trying to take my shirt off so I didn’t smell like trash. See?” He looks at you as you look at him shocked on how he managed to do that among other things. “It’s better, right? Now we can be close again!” He smiles excitedly.

Dean was now in his boxers, without a shirt, handcuffed.

“Um…” You look at shirtless Dean which is a sight that you have indeed seen before but still, it was different now. “It’s not that much better,” you say, still in shock.

“I can take off my boxers!” he exclaims as he tries to pull them down.

“No!” you yell.

“No!” Sam copies.

You reach for his boxers trying to keep them from coming down. “No, no, no, no, no, no. No,” you say, making sure he gets the message.

“You sure?” Dean asks.

“Yes!” Sam yells.

“I’m, uh,” your voice cracks, “I’m sure.” You smile and take a breath.

“I just want to be close to you, Y/N! Close enough so that I can hold you and kiss you and fe--”

“Stop!” You say, trying to cut him off before the rating becomes R. “Nope! No need for any of that.” You look at Dean who still is enchanted by you.

“Whatever you say, my Love.”

“Right,” you say, mustering up another smile. You think for a moment if you would rather wrestle semi-naked Dean in order to get him to put on a shirt that smells like garbage or, rather sit in silence with a semi-naked Dean sitting as close as he possibly can to you. Out of your own self control and respect for Dean, you chose the latter.

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

After a long and grueling car ride complete with Romeo spitting out one complement after another, you were finally home. You had pulled up in the garage and were extremely thankful to see Cas waiting for you all.

Sam opened the car door and got out trying to stretch his limbs. “Hey, Cas,” he said.

“Hello,” Cas said, giving Sam a nod. “Where’s Dean?”

“Yo!” You called out from the backseat. Castiel walked over to the window. “Right here.”

“Why is he in his underwear?” He asks, tilting his head at you.

“Long story. Just do your thing,” you say with a smile. You hop out of the car and let Cas slide in.

“What?!” Dean says, trying to break free, “No! Don’t touch me!”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says as he reaches his two fingers to Dean’s forehead.

“Y/N! Y/N! Don’t let them take my love for you away!” He tries to squirm away unsuccessfully. “I love yo--”

Dun

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

You, Cas, and Sam all look at, once again, an unconscious Dean, lying on the bed in the infirmary. Dean’s shirt has been put back on, though he still is in his boxers, and is handcuffed to the bed frame.

“You think you can cure him?” Sam asks Cas.

“It depends,” he answers.

“On what?” You ask.

“She was experimenting around and this same spell has caused other men to die. Correct?” You and Sam nod. “When it comes to a new spell, it is difficult to pinpoint the exact problem. And on top of that, this is the first one that has been successful. Not to mention that this witch is extremely old and powerful.”

You and Sam look at each other and you ask again, “So? Can you fix it?”

Cas sighs. “I can try but I cannot promise that I can fix it.”

Sam signals for Cas to go over to Dean. Cas sits on the edge of the bed and places his palm on Deans forehead. His hand lights up and as does Dean’s skeleton. You and Sam give each other a worried look. Cas then closes his hand and gets back to where he was standing.

“So?” You ask. “Did y--”

Dean wakes up and gasps. He tries to sit up but can’t due to the handcuffs. You and Sam run over to Dean’s side.

“Dean!” Sam says as his brother tries to calm down.

“What the...” Dean takes a look around but stops and looks to be in pain. Dean yells out, scrounging up his face.

“Dean!” Sam says again. “Wh--What is it?!”

“My head!” Dean screams. You then take a key to uncuff one of his hands which he immediately uses to rub his head.

“Dean! Are you alright?” You ask, helping Dean to sit up.

Dean gets himself under control and sits on the edge of the bed. “I’m hungover and in pain!” He yells at you. “What the hell is going on? Why am I handcuffed to this stupid bed?!”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Sam says, trying to calm down Dean. “Just take it easy alright. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I, uh,” Dean shakes his head, “I remember this morning.”

“Good. That’s good.” Sam smiles. “What else do you remember?”

“I remember you waking me up and then you said something.” Dean shifts his focus to Sam. “What was it that you said?”

“I said we had a long drive and I mentioned that you wouldn’t let me or--”

“Y/N!” Dean sees you and his eyes turn into a brighter and more intense shade of green for a moment. He changes back into the more love sick persona. “I remember everything,” he says with a happier tone, “well, kind of.”

“You do?” You ask as you can tell that something is different about him yet again.

“Yeah,” he looks around the room instead just at you. “I remember getting hit in the head a lot which is making things sort of fuzzy. But I do remember,” he pauses to look at you right in the eyes, “I remember that I love you, Y/N.”

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Hope you enjoyed it!

Tag list is open!

Chapter four: Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Man

@crazybutconfidentaf​ @doctorlilo​

[arknights-imagines]

Amiya reacting to the Doctor dying on the battlefield

Abajhshshs this one sparked my angsty side 😭 I haven't written angst on here before, so I tried not to make it too awkward or lame bsjshs 🥺 I hope you like it anon!

Also, these past 2 weeks have been very important for me so I've been away from posting for a lil while 🥺 I'd like to thank everyone for being patient with me! 🌸 I have more stuff coming so I hope you'll all stick around! Thank you sm 🍡

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

Loss in Repeat

Imagine format; From the perspective of the Operator

Contains: Amiya, gender neutral Doctor, mention of death and blood, unhappy ending

Word count: 1.1k

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

Amiya had this sickening feeling when starting the Operation; It filled her stomach with an awful pit of dread. But that didn't make much sense, it was by no means an Operation to write home about; yes, it was going to be risky as usual, but not to the point where anyone had to worry too much. Or, that was what the initial thought was.

The Doctor had come on the mission with them, and the travel to the Operation zone was simple. The Chimera stayed near the Doctor, helping them along the way. The Operation was supposed to be clean and plain; take the Reunion out, check the area for anyone caught in the crossfire, and get out - but that wasn't how it happened.

One moment they had been nearing the Operation point, and in a blink there was Reunion on all sides, forcing them to scatter. It was all too fast, Amiya couldn't move. There was smoke, dust and noise, and the Chimera lost the Doctor in the cacophony. "Doctor!" The yelling all around swallowed her voice, and her heart was beating loudly in her ears. No, she needed to calm down and focus on everyone's safety. Operations had gone south before, and the Rhodes Island Operators were no strangers to dealing with it happening.

The Chimera took in a sharp breath, before she began shouting out orders; she had already spent too much time standing around in shock, it was time to act and push back.

The Rhodes Island team recovered quickly, albeit not as clean as Amiya would've preferred. Some of the Operators were injured and their line of defense was weak. Amiya looked over the terrain, her eyebrows knitting together, "There're so many of the Reunion soldiers, where did…where did they come from? Were they expecting us?" She mumbled out, unable to fathom the amount of enemy forces charging their way. Snapping out of it, she returned to giving out orders.

The battle was in full swing, but the Chimera felt the dread in her stomach worsen. Then she remembered - "Doctor! Has anyone seen them? Has anyone seen the Doctor?" Amiya hurried around the battlefield, eyes peeled for any sight of them. She had been so busy commanding their forces that she forgot that the Doctor had been separated from them.

No one knew where they were, and some were too preoccupied to care at that moment. But Amiya had to make sure they were safe, she had to find them. Turning to their forces, the Chimera yelled, "Suppress the Reunions' movements! I'm going to make sure the Doctor is safe!" The Operators nodded, and in a blur, Amiya was off.

The longer she spent looking, the tighter her throat felt, as if there were walls closing in on her from all sides. The area was spacious, but she couldn't help but feel claustrophobic. The Doctor couldn't have gone far, they were hiding somewhere safe in order not to get hurt, surely. That's what Amiya had told them to do if they ever got caught in a crossfire; she just hoped they had listened.

"Doctor!!" The Chimera was usually very soft spoken, though that wasn't the case this time. Her yells were frantic and loud, and her tone wavered just slightly. The thought of something happening to the Doctor made her sick; she had lost them one too many times already. If she were to lose the Doctor a second time, if she were to fail the Doctor a second time…

A scream pierced her ears, cutting through the air like an arrow. It sent a shock up her spine, and Amiya's eyes widened when she recognized the voice. A cry just as loud left her lips as she took off in the direction of the noise, "DOCTOR!!" The Doctor wasn't safe, and there was no one around to help them.

The Chimera had never moved so quickly, at least she didn't think so. She barely felt like she was moving; Amiya was floating above her own body, looking down at herself. She couldn't be too late, the Doctor was probably holding on, just waiting for her. 'I will not…I will not let anything happen to the Doctor again!!' Her movements were strong, but her core trembled with a sinking fear.

She slowed her pace, heaving with pants as she called out for the Doctor again and again - she had run so far that the swarms of the Reunion forces had thinned out, and all that was on the ground was rubble and dead bodies. It was quiet suddenly, but it didn't calm her at all.

The Doctor had to be nearby, she was sure she ran in the right direction. Amiya looked this way and that, squinting to get a better look through the dust and smoke. She narrowed her eyes on a figure slumped against a wall in the distance, and her eyes grew wide as she caught a glimpse of the Rhodes Island symbol on their coat.

"DOCTOR!!" Even though she was still out of breath, the Chimera took off toward them at the speed of light, quickly falling to her knees at their side. A small smile came to her face, "Doctor, Doctor...thank goodness you're safe, I-" Her tone went cold when her gaze trailed down toward their chest. She didn't know what it was at first, but it didn't take long for her eyes to come into focus. Embedded into the center of the Doctor's chest was a blood stained weapon, surrounded by stab wounds all caked in red.

Amiya went completely still, and all the colour left her face. Quiet; it was quiet again, but only for a moment. The Doctor wasn't moving, they were lying limply. The Chimera's hands hovered over their body, shaking uncontrollably, "No…" Her voice was small. Her chest felt like it was suffocating her and her throat wouldn't open. "No...Doctor, please…" It was only when she took their face in her hands and then clasped their own hand to her chest that she realized that their eyes were lifeless and their skin was cold.

There was no pulse. There was no breathing. There was no movement. Amiya felt her breaths quicken, and soon her vision was blurred by hot tears that soon began streaming down her face. Her hand clenched onto the Doctor's sleeve, and like she was trying to wake them up from slumber, she shook them gently while small sobs racked her body. "N-No…Doctor, I'm right here. I'm here now, I'm here…" Her words soon blended together, coming at as whimpers and shaky breaths.

Amiya held their hand tightly in her own, pressing their palm to her cheek; they were gone. She had lost them again, but this time, she couldn't place them in cryosleep and have them brought back. Failure - her chest filled with failure. She knew she could cry, and she could beg, and she could sit at their side forever trying to shake them awake, but she couldn't reverse what had happened.

She couldn't bring them back.

[darkblueboxs]

The Illusion of Happiness

An apocalypse one-shot without the apocalypse

Read here or on AO3

Summary:  Andrew’s eidetic memory has left him with all manner of niche and intricate knowledge. Neil wonders how much of it extends to the science of the atom bomb, whether Andrew has impact radius and radiation dosage and survival statistics to pick apart and stitch together into the shape of a real plan. Or maybe he just intends to stare down the apocalypse like he does life, unrelenting even to the atoms ready to tear him apart. Andrew is used to having the whole universe against him; what difference would it make, really?

*

“And then what would you do? After you went back for everyone?”

Andrew takes a long drag from his cigarette as he considers the question. “Depends.”

“On?”

“The kind of apocalypse.”

The sky over Palmetto campus is all purples and reds, swirling together like cotton candy. The evening breeze is so sticky that it barely merits the name, teasing Neil’s curls back from his forehead with undelivered promises of refreshment. Neil fiddles with the cap of his water bottle, debates flicking it off and dumping the contents over his head. Andrew faces down the heatwave like he faces down everything: unflinching, unyielding, undeterred. With the runny, colour pallet sky at his back, he sits like the eye of the silent storm, layered in black from head to toe. He will forsake the sweatbands from time to time when it’s just the two of them, but not today. Shirtless frat boys swarm campus in their droves, tossing frisbees and footballs back and forth as though the quad is their backyard, and the more people strip off in Andrew’s presence the more he seems to pile on in response. The sight of Andrew’s leather jacket makes sweat sting on the back of Neil’s neck, phantom sensations of drowning in the suffocating weight prickling at his arms.

South Carolina is hot, but Neil has known hotter. The rubbery tar of the car park shines three storeys below, but isn’t yet liquid, won’t go gooey and stick to the soles of his sneakers like it would a few hundred kilometres to the south. It’s a drier kind of heat here, too, not the steamy kind that gets into his lungs and chokes out the oxygen until breathing feels more like drowning. Neil doesn’t miss it.

“You have different plans for different apocalypses?” Neil asks. Andrew makes a waggly eh gesture with his hand, the end of the cigarette painting zigzags in the air with the motion.

“Nuclear,” says Neil. “That’s the one your money’s on, right?”

Andrew takes another drag. “Where are we?”

“We’re on the roof.” Neil swings his feet, letting his heels scuff the granite wall over the edge.

Andrew flicks him a look. “When the bomb drops. Where are we?”

Neil considers. “Same answer.”

“And where is the bomb?”

Neil leans forward to rest his chin on his hand. He studies the skyline, mapping out his ground-level knowledge of Palmetto’s buildings and pasting it onto the rise and fall of the horizon. Lights are flickering on as students return to their dormitories, tiny squares of yellow flickering into view like eyes winking open. Neil picks out a dome-shaped roof and points. “Over there.”

“What did the library ever do to you?”

“I have a late-return fine I don’t want to pay.”

Andrew tilts his head to one side. “The bomb drops less than a mile away. I think the only thing any of us is doing at that point is turning into ash.”

“Okay.” Neil reconsiders. “Columbia.”

He can see the calculations ticking over as Andrew’s gaze goes somewhere Neil can’t follow. Andrew’s eidetic memory has left him with all manner of niche and intricate knowledge. Neil wonders how much of it extends to the science of the atom bomb, whether Andrew has impact radius and radiation dosage and survival statistics to pick apart and stitch together into the shape of a real plan. Or maybe he just plans to stare down the apocalypse like he does the heatwave, unrelenting even to the atoms ready to tear him apart. Andrew is used to having the whole universe against him; what difference would it make, really?

“West,” Andrew answers. “I’d take us west.”

“What’s out west?”

“Quiet.”

It takes Neil a moment to realise that it’s an answer, not an instruction. He thinks of the endless, rolling expanses of cornfields eventually giving way to orange dustbowls that stung the skin when the wind picked up. A good place to get lost in, as long as one was happy never to be found.

“We could find a ranch.” Neil loosens the cigarette from Andrew’s inattentive fingers. “One of those run-down barns that has GOD IS GREAT or some shit painted on the roof. Have you ever slept in a hay loft?”

“I’m picturing you in a cowboy hat,” Andrew says by way of answer.

“How do I look?”

“Stupid.”

Neil smiles. “Okay. So, we’d go west.”

Andrew hums. Then, “I’d give up smoking.”

“Ouch,” Neil says emphatically. “Cold turkey?”

“I’m not leaving you on your own.”

Neil feels like he has missed a stage in Andrew’s train of thought, like accidently skipping a step while descending a staircase in the dark. “No?”

“I’m not risking dying before you,” Andrew clarifies. “You’d do all kinds of ridiculous shit if I left you unattended.”

Neil picks out the point on the horizon that he imagines to be Columbia. It probably isn’t – they probably couldn’t see that far even if the light was good – but he pictures it that way all the same. “It wouldn’t be far enough, would it? Columbia.”

“No,” says Andrew. He takes his cigarette back before it can smoulder down to Neil’s fingers. “We’d get cancer. Maybe five years down the line, maybe ten, but we’d get it.”

“So why give up smoking?”

Andrew shrugs. “The illusion of control.” His fingers twitch.

“Is that why you’d take me west? The illusion of control?”

Andrew shakes his head. “A different kind of illusion.” He meets Neil’s eyes long enough to read the silent question, and elaborates with a huff. “Happiness.”

“Ah,” Neil says. “You wouldn’t tell me we were going to die.”

“No,” Andrew answers quietly.

“Except you’re telling me now.”

“Do you see a mushroom cloud on the horizon?”

Neil concedes the point. The apocalypse won’t come from Columbia, at least, not in his opinion, and not in Andrew’s either. They both study the skyline in silence regardless, watching the violent orange glow as it blossoms in their imagination.

“Maybe I don’t want to die first,” Neil says. It doesn’t seem fair, he doesn’t say, because neither of them still believe in fair at all. “You’d do all kinds of ridiculous shit if I left you unattended.”

Andrew huffs. He flicks the smouldering cigarette over the edge, and the cherry-red glow flitters like a shooting star as it plummets to the cooling concrete below. “I suppose we better not leave each other unattended, then.”

“I suppose not,” Neil agrees easily. Then, “I’m not sure there’s such a thing, you know. The illusion of happiness. I figure either you’re happy or you’re not.”

“Would you be?” Andrew asks. “Even if I told you the truth?”

Neil considers. Living with the certainty of imminent death was hardly new to Neil, but living with everyone else’s would be another matter entirely. He considers endless, empty cornfields and smoking shells of downed aircraft. He considers thick vines creeping over skyscrapers and choking them green. He considers deer picking through deserted streets. He considers a ranch in the wilderness, Andrew beating fenceposts into place while the sun dances in the sheen of his sweat. Would he forgo the heavy jacket and the wristbands and the shirt when they were the last two people on earth?

“You’d be there,” Neil answers. “So, yes.”

The sky sinks into heavier purples as they watch, poked apart by pockets of yellow streetlights winking awake.

“Would you?” Neil meets Andrew’s gaze. His eyes flash gold as they reflect the setting sun, the fading beams of light tangling in Andrew’s hair and setting his features alight.

Andrew doesn’t make him finish the question. He presses his answer into Neil’s lips with his own, his kisses salty with beaded sweat, fierce and relentless and all-consuming. Neil’s favourite words come to him in the weight of Andrew’s mouth on his, pressing the shapes of stay and home and even love onto his body with such assuredness that Neil wonders if the world can read them written into his skin. Today, it’s one word which burns hotter than the heatwave and the sunset and the fallout of an atomic bomb all put together.

Yes.

*

Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you thought.

[sandershospitalau]

The Nurse’s Rally

Chapter 1

Archive Of Our Own

————————

It was the perfect day for a protest. Not by Virgil's standards, of course. He would have preferred a cloudy day, dark enough to shade the large crowd gathering just outside Sanders Hospital. Instead, he got a blistering sunny day that made the colors bleed and blend into his eyes. And everyone would have to see the horrific t-shirts Roman had designed to support the Rally.

All the nurses going with Virgil on their parade through Miami wore the t-shirt. At least it was purple, to match the color of the nurse’s scrubs. But the design made Virgil want to burn the shirt. Roman, with a bit of technical know-how from Logan, created a thin, gangly cartoon nurse giving the world a thumbs-up beside the phrase ‘Funding for Florida’s Nurses’. Virgil knew it was a cartoon version of himself, even though it lacked some of his distinctive features, like his dyed hair and the permanent bags under his eyes. But the nurse, dressed in classic blue scrubs, looked exactly like Virgil if he gave up on being an individual. He couldn’t even hide the shirt with his hoodie, since Thomas and Joan insisted that Virgil look semi-professional.

So there he stood at the edge of the street near the front of Sanders Hospital in a caricature t-shirt and clean jeans, chewing his lower lip as he checked over the march route on his phone. He’d spent ages on the route alone, making sure to stop at every hospital in town where nurses agreed to protest. And then there was the part of making sure they could walk there and not get run over while not seeming like they were giving into the man by getting approval for everything. Was it even a protest if a corporation was backing it? Did a hospital count as a corporation? Virgil was this close to losing his mind.

“He’s coming with us!” a familiar voice cheered. Patton emerged from the crowd dragging his husband Logan behind him. Both sported the Nurse’s Rally t-shirt. Patton still tied his cardigan over the shirt to add that distinctive Patton flair. Virgil couldn’t remember the last time he saw Logan in a t-shirt. Even after a near-death experience with a rare South American disease, he strolled out of the hospital in a polo and tie.

“I finally convinced him to join the march,” Patton declared, hopping beside Virgil.

“I believe the term ‘kidnapped’ would be more fitting,” Logan huffed.

“Okay, but Logan, why did you approve on this design?” Virgil snapped, pointing at the nurse on his shirt. “Why did you let Roman get away with this?”

“I wasn’t involved in the design process,” Logan explained. “I merely assisted Roman in understanding how to use graphic design software. I had no input on what the shirt would look like.”

“I think it’s cute,” Patton giggled. “It’s teenage Virgil!”

“Patton, please don’t say that,” Virgil shuddered. “Oh, too late, the memories are here. So much cringe, ah!”

“Drinks on the house, big boys!” Remy popped up beside the three men with a full cup holder. “Don’t tell the Critic.”

“Aw, thank you, Remy!” Patton chirped, taking one of the drinks. Virgil and Logan took theirs too. Remy kissed his fingers and gave them a peace sign as he walked away.

“Punch Roman in the gut for me when you see him!” Virgil shouted.

“Will do, boo!” Remy called. Virgil put his phone away and glanced up and down the street. A few of the early-bird reporters were already circling, snatching random staff for interviews on the rally and taking into their camera. Virgil spotted Terrence from VIN3 chatting with one of Virgil’s nurses, casual enough that it took a second glance to realize Terrence was interviewing them.

“Okay, we’re heading out in a couple of minutes,” Virgil huffed. “Where is our banner? If Roman wants us to carry a banner, he needs to get it to me now or I’m not holding it.” Sure enough, Thomas hurried through the crowd with Emile at his side and a banner tucked and folded under his arm. Emile was one of the few people not wearing the t-shirt, instead going for his usual tan cardigan and blue tie. He kept a megaphone at his side.

“We had to fix a few things,” Thomas explained. He unfolded the banner and gave one end to Patton. Virgil held his breath as he waited for whatever horrors Roman and his creative underlings invented to be revealed. The banner was a colorful red that needed four people to hold it. Symbols from every major hospital and clinic participating in the walk lined the banner, from the Sanders Hospital rainbow caduceus to the blue flower of St. Gemma’s. The phrase ‘Funding for Florida’s Nurses’ sat in the middle of the circle of symbols.

“Good job, Princey,” Virgil muttered as he held the middle of the banner up. “Alright, Thomas, we’re ready to go.”

“Give the signal, Emile!” Thomas declared.

“Avengers, assemble!” Emile laughed, holding up the megaphone. The megaphone groaned and squealed, drawing everyone’s attention. Virgil, Logan, Patton, and Thomas made their way down the street as the crowd followed behind them, and the Nurse’s Rally truly began.

Ironically, protesting the government required a bit of cooperation with the government. Police officers helped clear a path through Miami, redirecting traffic as the march looped around to collect new members from local hospitals. Some joined up midway through while others crafted a couple signs. More reporters lurked along the sidewalks, carefully following the march’s progress. Virgil just prayed the group wouldn’t get laughed off the steps of City Hall for protesting something as seemingly useless as a cut to statewide nursing education. If other hospitals in the city hadn’t supported the rally, it would have died before it launched. Virgil had a whole lineup of speakers discussing the importance of educated nurses, even adding in speeches on other major flaws of the medical system of America. And Virgil was the first speaker. He tried not to think about that.

One of the best parts of the whole rally was actually Patton’s idea. Virgil wasn’t sure if Patton realized it was his idea, since it had been randomly suggested during a lunch break. A few of the signs, specially designed so they wouldn’t be read as weapons by the police, read ‘Help Fund Nursing Education’. The volunteers held out buckets to the crowd, passing them around and collecting whatever cash people could give. If the rally collected enough cash, the Miami medical community could make a huge donation to the major medical colleges in the state!

“We’re at our first stop!” Patton cheered as the protesters neared the main entrance to Baptist Children’s Hospital. Virgil’s heart soared when he saw the nurses and doctors gathered outside, all drawing their attention to the large crowd. It was working. Pediatric doctors and nurses who knew Patton from the local social circle of pediatrics said hi and exchanged a few professional words before mingling into the crowd. Virgil glanced back to see Roman, Nate, and Remy walking not too far from the front, with Roman being the only one in a rally shirt. Roman met Virgil’s eyes. Virgil tugged at his shirt and raised an eyebrow. Roman simply did that stupid pose of his with his arms overhead like he was royalty. Virgil smirked, rolling his eyes.

Everything Virgil had been working on ran through the back of his mind like a checklist as he continued down the planned route. As long as he was the one keeping everything on track, the others could enjoy themselves. Patton, popular as always, joined up with his pediatrics friends and began cooking up a junk pile of nursing puns. With the powers of other child-at-heart doctors, he was an unstoppable pun machine. Logan was prepared for death. Thomas and Emile strolled side by side, already talking about the next big project at Sanders (something involving Ben, the psychiatric department’s emotional support dog). The crowd behind him continued to grow with doctors and nurses. He was so wrapped up in the growing size, imagining the rally collapsing into a riot with City Hall on fire, Virgil only realized where his next stop was when he saw the oh so familiar statue of Saint Gemma, the patron saint of students and pharmacists.

The nurses of St. Gemma’s Hospital crowded around the old statue. Those not wearing the purple rally shirts wore their black scrubs instead. Virgil spotted a few old coworkers mixed into the group; fellow nurses from the psychiatric department, those who had only just started when Virgil left, the few nurses that seemed close to tolerating Virgil back then. Virgil, Logan, Patton, and Thomas paused for a few moments to allow the staff to blend into the march.

“Never thought I’d see you in a position like this,” one nurse scoffed as she passed Virgil. “Good for you.”

“I don’t see a lot of doctors joining us,” Thomas sighed, squinting to see the crowd better. “Spot any old friends, Virge?”

“Oh, yeah!” Patton chirped. “Gosh, you’ve worked at Sanders for so long, I nearly forgot you came from here!” Mixed into the swarm of purple shirts and black scrubs, Virgil spotted a black bowler hat lingering just above the tallest heads, held up by a pale hand with dirty fingernails. A yellow gloved hand snatched the hat back. The crowd cleared just enough for Virgil to spot Dr. D and Remus. Dr. D wore his usual off-work attire, with his yellow gloves and bowler hat. He’d zipped up his black jacket and fluffed out the hood slightly, revealing a golden shirt with a high collar. His dark gray trousers had a streak of yellow running down the sides. Remus wore his green leather jacket and lime scarf over the rally shirt. He'd graffiti-ed the cartoon nurse with crude imagery. Dr. D fixed his hat back on his head while Remus giggled. The crowd formed back around the two men and Virgil lost sight of them.

“Don’t see anyone worth talking to,” Virgil huffed. “Come on, we only have a couple more stops.” The banner continued on. The march crawled down the streets, aided by the police setting up blockades against the traffic that could potentially run the protesters over. Virgil’s hands grew stiff holding up the banner. What if he tripped on it cause he couldn’t hold it up? He glanced over his shoulder. He couldn’t spot Dr. D anywhere.

“Virgil, are you prepared for your opening speech?” Logan asked, his voice jarring Virgil enough to stop him from tripping over his own feet.

“I memorized it,” Virgil admitted. “Hopefully.” Right, one of the few things still up in the air about the rally. With any luck, Virgil wouldn’t have a heart attack giving his speech.

“While you’re doing your speech, I need to make sure the other speakers arrived safely,” Thomas added. “Gosh, I know I have a list of our speakers…” He scrambled for his phone while trying not to drop the banner. “After you, we have Dr. Tahan from Mercy Hospital, followed by Nurse MacNamara…” As Thomas listed off the speakers he and Virgil recruited, the anxious nurse looked back again. He could see Dr. D. He walked in the middle of the crowd, glancing at Virgil occasionally as he examined those marching around him. Virgil wished he could pull his hood over his head as the group took a corner towards one of the smaller clinics signed up for the march.

The next time Virgil looked back, Dr. D was closer.

He was close enough that Virgil could just make out the scars trailing down the left side of his face. He still looked around with the same calm attitude, but Virgil knew he was coming for him. What would he say if he got close to Thomas and the others? It was time for some crisis aversion.

“Hey, Emile, can you take my place?” Virgil asked, looking around Logan and Thomas to the friendly therapist. “My hands are sore.”

“Sure!” Emile said, slipping through the crowd. Virgil and Emile swapped the banner with one fluid move. Virgil stumbled to not bump into anyone as he walked behind Emile. He stared at his feet as he carefully slowed his pace. The crowd strolled past him, more bodies collecting in front of him. He walked slow enough to fall back through the march. Shiny black shoes slipped into rhythm beside his purple sneakers.

“What do you want, D?” Virgil huffed, meeting Dr. D’s stare.

“Why would I want anything?” Dr. D asked.

“Anxiety!” a grating voice cheered behind him. Remus latched onto Virgil’s neck in a shoulder hug, practically swinging on him. “I’ve missed you!” Virgil had to shove the janitor off. Remus held out his phone like he was going to take a selfie. “See, loyal viewers, Virgil Lawson has returned!”

“You’re still doing that talk show?” Virgil groaned. “Seriously, who even watches that? No, no!” Virgil shook out his hands like he was trying to push away the distraction. “I want to know why you’re here, D!”

“This is a good cause,” Dr. D explained. “I don’t see why we shouldn’t support it. Education is vital for good nurses.”

“I don’t want you ruining things,” Virgil growled. “I’ve spent ages planning this.”

“Virgil, why in the world would I want to ruin your rally?” Dr. D huffed, fiddling with his gloves. “It only makes things worse for me. I don’t want incompetent nurses assisting on my surgeries.”

“You already force out anyone you don’t like from surgeries, that’s nothing for you,” Virgil noted. “Maybe you replaced that with adding random doctors to your rosters so you can, I dunno, get free skin cream. Who knows what else you’ve done to get what you want since I quit?”

“You’ve certainly been up to a lot since then!” Remus chirped. “Finally lose the V card, Virgin?”

“I don’t put up with your nonsense anymore, Remus,” Virgil snapped. “I don’t film your show anymore and I don’t talk to you.”

“You’re talking to him right now,” Dr. D said.

“Go bug someone else!” Virgil huffed. Remus frowned, but scurried back through the march.

“You’ve gotten a bit of a reputation from what I’ve heard,” Dr. D chuckled. “Rubbing brass with your hospital president? Organizing this rally? Very impressive. I couldn’t imagine the old you doing any of this.”

“I’ve heard plenty about you too,” Virgil growled. “You’re still cutting corners. You defy DNR orders, you’ve avoided telling patients about surgical risks multiple times, you’ve outright denied people surgery! You’re still as bad as you were when I left, maybe even worse. Frankly, I’m shocked you haven’t been fired or arrested!”

“I didn’t think you were one to listen to gossip,” Dr. D muttered, lips pursing together. “Glass houses, Virgil.” Virgil glanced up at his friends. They chatted amongst each other without a care, smiling. Dr. D’s eyes glimmered, and he glanced up at the front. Dr. D smiled. “I can only assume you haven’t been mentioned in any of these rumors.”

“And we’re gonna keep it that way,” Virgil hissed. The march took another corner, and Miami City Hall stood in front of them. The city hall was stationed on a circular piece of land overlooking the ocean, with long docks lining behind it. A circular driveway wrapped up to the front steps, leaving a circle of nature in the center. The U.S flag flew over the city, its shadow falling onto the stark white building. Virgil stomped forward, leaving Dr. D in the dust. He joined back up with his friends at the front as the march turned up the volume. Officers stood on the grass, watching over the crowd as they swarmed over the driveway, squirming for a little bit of room. The reporters watching from the sidelines grew to their biggest size yet, all trying to get good shots of the crowd. Drones flew above to get aerial views. Emile, Thomas, Patton, and Logan turned around and held the banner over their heads, marking the end of the long walk.

As Logan and Thomas folded up the banner, Emile handed Virgil the megaphone.

“Ready as you’ll ever be?” Emile asked in that special tone that confirmed he made a cartoon reference Virgil didn’t get.

“Well,” Virgil huffed, eyes darting between the front steps of City Hall and the giant crowd. “Surprisingly enough, I’m feeling anxious about it. Talking in front of hundreds of people does that to folks.”

“Take a minute to calm yourself,” Emile suggested. “I’m sure the crowd can wait.” Virgil took deep breaths, juggling the megaphone between his hands. Without his hoodie to hide them, he put his empty hand in his back pocket. There was something else in there. He thought his pocket was empty. Virgil pulled out a carefully folded piece of paper. He unfolded it.

Virgil,

Honesty has never been my strongest suit. I found my words are more truthful when they’re written down. I wish you luck on your rally. I truly hope all goes well. I agree, the cuts to statewide nursing education are idiotic.

I think Remus misses you. It’s tough to tell, but when you’ve been around him long enough, you can notice when he’s feeling down. He hasn’t fully accepted that leaving was your decision. I have. We all have to live with it.

To whatever comes next,

Dr. Janus Dee.

Virgil looked through the crowd for Dr. D’s bowler hat. He couldn’t see the mysterious doctor anywhere. His thumb brushed over D’s name. Virgil crumpled the note and shoved it into his pocket. He made sure the megaphone was on and took to the steps of City Hall.

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