#and they are both very good but it's not enough sustenance | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rippersz · 6 months

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𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Zombie Apocalypse AU w/ Gwendoline Christie characters; (~9.2K words)

(Featuring: Larissa Weems, Brienne of Tarth, Jane Murdstone, Anna from WTM, Lucifer Morningstar, Miranda Hilmarson, Captain Phasma, and Jan Stevens) x Reader

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

It started about two months ago. Russia went down first, then Mongolia. China. India. And in the midst, Finland, Sweden, Norway, the United Kingdom, down to the very southern tip of Africa. The Ocean is no killer of disease, frozen or not, and encouraged it to ravage South and North America, then Canada and Greenland. Until every place was overrun by dead freaks. Stinking corpses and moving gore.

They traveled in herds, packs, whatever it was that people wanted to call them—murders, perhaps—and shuffled aimlessly across any land they could find. Eager for food, for sustenance, to fill the empty bellies that would never be full. Gorging themselves on creatures like you.

Officially ‘the other’. Officially ‘the enemy’. The sole survivor of a good group that was attacked some days ago because an idiot forgot to shoot one of the creatures in the head. And by sunrise, it was over. Screams echoed into the silence and you soon found yourself alone… running for your life with a duffle bag over your shoulder (slowing you down) and a gun in your hand (low on ammo). Trekking through thick woods in a heavily-infested Vermont town was not a good idea, but you had no choice. The house you were camping in was left behind, ravaged by bullets that you put into your friend’s heads, and every other spot nearby had been looted. You couldn’t move all of those bodies yourself. You couldn’t do much yourself. There was no army background attached to your name, no conspiracy theorist survival-obsessed gene in your body, and not much training in fighting either. All you could do was run. Run and run and run until you were miles away and your lungs started to burn. Not the most useful skill considering most people could run, but if you were quick enough to speed past the shuffling bastards, you were quick enough to make it to safety.

—

Safety…what a joke. A shit joke. A joke that was, quite honestly, the worst joke to ever exist. There was no safety. No place, nowhere. You’d been walking for a few hours, hearing nothing but the forest’s silence, and stumbling over leaves and branches. They ravaged the animals, took them into their mouths like they were people, and ate until there was nothing left. Not even a squirrel, or a fox, and the birds had grown weary of the vast number of hunters (both dead and undead) that found themselves in the woods looking for food. So no birds either. And no houses. And you were pretty sure, as you paused to catch your breath, that you were doomed.

Only a few bullets left and your aim was never perfect. One knife tucked into your waistband but it was getting uncomfortable, digging into your skin, and caked in blood. Creature blood. Everything smelled horrible. Like burning flesh or dirty meat, raw and soiled. You probably didn’t smell too good either. It wasn’t like the world still worked without the people; only a few places had running water and you couldn’t trust the creeks and rivers. The undead enjoyed walking through shallow water, knowing somehow that there’d probably be prey nearby.

But you hadn’t seen anything in a while. A long while. A suspiciously long while...

Everything was green and brown around you, whisked by wind and soil, and you stood out like blood against snow. The last thing you saw was yesterday. Ever since? Not a single flash of undead flesh.

You swallowed, throat embarrassingly dry, and tapped your fingers against your thigh.

It wasn’t good when everything was still. You were vulnerable, out in the open, and without a good few rounds of bullets to spare. Every muscle and organ in your body screamed for mercy, crying with the effort it took to keep surviving even when you didn’t want to.

You thought about it a few times; gave the gun in your hand a long look on several occasions, but ultimately decided that ‘opting out’ was only a last resort. Somehow, even amidst the chaos and hatred and swill of humanity’s nature, you managed to hold hope. And often wondered where it would get you. How it would get you. While you were sleeping? While you were already wounded? Fighting off the hands of a loved one? The twist of hope’s rope… would you feel it closing in around your neck? A literal metaphor for the eventual death you’d experience?

Thinking about it gave you a headache.

For where was the point in wondering?

You had no one else. Whatever form of death awaited, it would end up being your fault. Probably because you couldn’t run fast enough. Probably because-

Because-

Wait.

Somewhere behind you, on the right, was a low sound. A hum. The smooth whoosh of something quick. The parting of wind… the low growl of…

“Fuck.”

You shot off in that direction, bag smacking against your shoulder blades, and instantly felt the exhaustion pull at your body again. It lingered like a plague, like the undead disease, and you yearned to fall to your knees - to give in - but it wasn’t the time for that. You had to at least try. You had to at least make it over the hill. Right over the hill. So close but so far. You leaned forward, threw yourself at the ground, and grasped onto gnarled tree roots. The Earth smelled wet with decay, sweet with promise - you huffed against dry leaves. They crunched and scratched at your fingers, eventually crinkling into nothing when your arms worked to drag you up. You probably looked a little mad, scrambling up a steep hill to reach something that probably won’t save you, but there was no other option. The hum grew louder, the quiet was broken, and you only had a few moments to get this right.

“Help!” Your lungs caved around your scream, but the forest swallowed it instantly. Greedy trees with their greedy barks, wanting to keep you hidden from salvation. The hum grew louder. Your fingers grew clammy, sweating and slipping against rough wood.

You’d be bruised to high heaven later, and probably exhausted, but the hum and the growl of an engine meant a road and a road meant civilization and goddammit you just needed to get over the stupid fucking hill.

There was a loud ringing in your ears, nearly deafening, and making your voice sound fuzzy.

“Help! Help!”

Was that you? Were you the one screaming like that? Why couldn’t you be quiet? Those things could have been lurking… wandering nearby… coming up behind you, eager to grasp at your ankles and drag you back down to Hell.

A glance back over your shoulder, aching from the duffle bag, found nothing but blurred terrain and darkened leaves–a symptom of the setting sun. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. If the light went out, you’d be screwed. You couldn’t use the last of your matches and the world went black when evening struck. So there really was no choice. As the growl turned into a roar… there was no choice. Just a little higher- a little more. Your arms pushed, biceps straining against the cotton of your shirt, and your pants threatened to get caught on wayward sticks and tear into rags. The boots on your feet pressed hard against loose rocks, kicking them out of place, and gained just enough ground to push you up - over the ridge. The final stretch. Your chest pushed to the hard dirt and forced a grunt of effort from your tired body; the sound echoed through the woods, through the ground, and through the air that sat above the concrete road in front of you. Hard and vast, grey and long… you looked at it as though it were the holiest of grails, lying just beside it with your arms outstretched, your fingers still pulling at dirtied grass. Soil covered your skin, masked your features, caked beneath your fingernails, and when the roar of the speeding vehicle grew so close you had to close your eyes and wince, you knew raising a hand for help would not be enough. In the shade of the forest’s edge, half draped over the peak of the hill, you were inhuman to other survivors. Your dry mouth opened, your throat croaked, and your legs moved to push you up–closer–just short of the wind that caressed your hair when the car, the truck, ran past you with no second glance. You looked after it, watched it pass, and felt the burn in your heart grow into its own inferno. It licked at your insides, at your desperation, and had you hauling the duffle bag off of your shoulder and out onto the road. It rolled, a shuffling sound, and you followed after it with deep growls of effort and dwindling strength.

“Please,” you wheezed, panting for breath as soon as you staggered up to your feet.

In the distance, the car turned into a disappearing black spec. It drove and drove, out of sight, and you stood there, putting your arms in the air to wave it down and bring it back. To beckon it back. To beg and plead.

“Please please no-,” your voice was soft, weakened by days of rugged survival, “no…” rough and lost to the wind, it dissipated into nothing and you were forced to swallow again.

The thick smell of car exhaust settled against the steaming road. You watched the horizon, tracking the space in the atmosphere where the gold traced into a deep blue, and felt your bones quake beneath your skin. Their final cry. The last hurrah as you watched your future, the tatters of it, drive away from you.

Too late.

You were too late.

And you’d die there, on that road, and they may never come back and find you again in the morning. And your corpse would be chewed upon by undead bastards who would never give you a proper burial. And you’d be just another stupid human that found themselves trampled beneath the stinking feet of the walking dead.

Tears teased your eyes, burning the dry lands of your irises, and you felt the heart in your chest lurch against its cage.

Too late.

You were too late.

You had a duffle bag, a handgun somewhere off to the side, and the clothing on your back. One lasting water bottle, the knife you felt poking your side, and small bags of food that wouldn’t last you long at all. The tent, too, was destroyed by animals the night before. The most you could go was perhaps one more day, but your feet were aching so terribly that each step was a journey within itself. And you couldn’t push yourself to go further. There was no further. There was nothing in the woods and there was nothing beyond the road and you were running on fumes that no longer existed.

But you couldn’t just lie there and take it. You were about to reach over, bending at the waist, to grab your bag. To pull it up over your shoulder and trek on, even though it was pointless. But something stopped you.

Something–a sound–made you freeze.

It was faint. It didn’t sound like the undead, with their discordant groans and disgusting squelches, no… it was far. Getting closer. Closer. The hum and the growl. The purr of a motor. The hiss of pavement.

Your head snapped up, eyes bulging wide as you looked over the horizon to see…. Yes. Yes! Yes, it’s them! The car! A grin pulled at your lips. Halle-fucking-lujah! You felt the anxiety ebb, slowly falling away from your body, as they got closer. The black spec turned into a black blob, then a figure that took shape, and finally you could make out a Vermont license plate and the dirt that stuck to big wheels. Up close, it was a sleek thing, tall and well-built. Midnight black and aside from the splatter on the rubbered wheels, it was polished and clean. The dark paint reflected the bright world around you, turning it into weird warped versions of a faux-paradise. You swallowed at the feel of warmth against your legs, the exhaust from the truck flooding over the smallest sliver of skin around your ankles. Suddenly fearing a changed mind and bad intentions, you stumbled back until your heels pushed against your bag.

Tinted windows stared down at you, menacing and opaque. Not a thing to see behind them, even if you squinted. Nothing moved, nothing jumped, and you watched with bated breath for a window to roll down - until finally, it did.

The driver’s side. It went whirr-ing down, sliding for the shortest period of time in the world until only a shadow met you - and then a flicker of movement. And then-

“Oh my god! Jesus! Okay okay!” You flinched, not even hesitating to raise your hands above your head. You spread your fingers out, desperate to prove your innocence to the stranger in the car. And the gun they were holding, pointing at you, through the gap.

“Were you bit?” A rough voice, muted and deep, broke the atmosphere.

You shook your head.

“Words. Use them.”

“No,” you licked your lips, instantly deciding to turn around in a slow circle. “Not bitten. Not scratched.” You tried to ignore the way your hands shook, even as you shifted all the way back to face the gun’s muzzle.

“Ask where…” a voice, soft and feminine, came from somewhere beyond the driver’s seat. It was saying something, telling something, but faded into a whisper so quiet you couldn’t hear a thing. Your eyes shifted to the dark backseat windows, trying to see something- anything- and found no surprise in the lack of life.

“Any weapons?” The driver seemed to ignore the other person, and instead held the gun steady. You watched it with weary eyes.

“Yes.” And before they could ask, you tugged the knife out of your belt and the gun out of your pants pocket. They were held up in the air, another white flag, and you twitched the hand that held the firearm. “At least three bullets left, but that’s it.”

“And the others?”

You blinked. “Others? What oth-”

“Where is the rest of your ammunition? In the skull of a human or scum?” The stranger spat, and you detected the hints of an accent.

Scum… you’d never heard them referred to as that before. Your last group called them walkers, and some others claimed flesh-eaters. You were tempted to use ‘zombies’, but it felt rather silly. The world took that term too lightly, and the undead were nothing if not a very serious problem. But scum? Like they were beneath humanity and not its current destroyer? You’d ask about it later, you decided, if they deemed you well enough to take in.

“Both,” you breathed honestly, dropping your weapons to your sides with a heavy sigh. “They um- weren’t quite there yet. Got ambushed overnight.”

The gun still didn’t move.

“They don’t ambush. What really happened?”

Hm. They weren’t wrong. Animated corpses didn’t ‘ambush’, but when a herd of them went lurking about, it certainly felt that way. You didn’t think logistics were entirely necessary, but you understood the need for specifics. Trust among men was eviscerated in the face of danger, especially against those once living. You’d seen paranoia before, in others. Humans simply didn’t take each other in anymore… not without some level of severe mistrust. The second thought after seeing the truck drive off was that you probably wouldn’t be accepted anyway - you’d killed without technical reason. Could have just left. Run away.

But you didn’t.

You didn’t want to see them turn into those… creatures.

So what else was there to say? You stared at the gun, willing a click and the shot of a bullet, as you opened your mouth.

“A herd. A lot of them. Just… descended upon the place. Someone might’ve been walking around in the woods or something, and there was just not enough protection,” you paused, licking your lips, “...I was the last one alive. Had to shoot them and go.”

“How long since?”

“Few days, give or take,” you shrugged. The exhaustion only built as you stood there, trying not to sway and collapse in your spot. The truck was still running, hissing hot exhaust; it was the first genuinely warm thing you’d felt in so many days that you wanted to crawl underneath and take a nap. The world, turning to autumn, was growing chilly. There was no chance you could survive winter on your own.

“...Give or take,” you heard the driver scoff and laugh, bitter and mean. You frowned.

Then the window started going up, and you couldn’t help yourself. With a hard thunk, you pushed your shoulder hard against the car, and knocked on the thick glass with the butt of the knife. A look of utter desperation crossed your features, heavy and thick. Urgency, anxiety, fear forced any sense from your mind. There was no chance. There was no survival at all.

“No please- please I can’t be out here alone please- I’m smart and- and I can run fast and be an asset. Please,” you shook your head, searching with worried eyes, “please, please you can’t do this to me-”

Something dark spliced through the corner of your vision, dragging a shadow with it, and you just barely dodged the sudden swing of the truck’s backseat door. It bounced with force and you glanced back at the driver’s window once before stepping back and hastily swinging your bag over your shoulder. The knife and gun were slipped back into your clothing, concealed, and you held yourself strong as the black leathered interior bore itself to the world.

“-we can’t just leave them-”

“-on’t be stupid. They could be a liability-”

“-not stupid. We need more people-”

Voices, at least two, were rushed and tangled in an argument. You didn’t pay much attention to what you could hear, though the growing irritation was hard to ignore. It would be a hassle to be accepted, you knew, but you’d deal. There was no choice. The backseat door was open and there was a figure hustled back against the other window.

“The offer won’t last,” the stranger murmured, somehow louder than the two people in the front seats, and you decided not to take any chances in the world alone.

With a grunt, a push, and a final slam of the door, you found yourself in the truck. Your bag was pushed down by your feet, you tugged your knife out to rest it on your thigh, and you turned to say thank you- but was cut off by a cold blade at your throat. It grazed the soft dirty skin, less than a centimeter away from pushing, and you felt saliva pool in the back of your throat. Swallowing would have pressed you closer, so you fought the urge and only stared.

“Woah-”

“Try anything and you die. I don’t want a peep, not a shuffle. Do I make myself clear?”

The driver’s voice, clearer in such close quarters, was deep and mean. Accent, as you had clocked, from somewhere in the United Kingdom. It held a natural growl, a gruffness from years of smoking, perhaps, and you couldn’t help but sense the intimidation. It wasn’t fake confidence, you noticed, as you looked up and met the cool sharp grey gaze of a woman. Her hair, a deep blonde, was slicked back and short, ruffled slightly by the nape of her neck. A long neck… that led to strong looking shoulders. They were half covered by a jacket, but you could see the strength in the chords of her muscle. A force to be reckoned with. A leader, perhaps. She was pale, with a defined nose and lips twisted into a permanent sneer, and you probably would have thought she had some potential for post-apocalyptic modeling, if it weren’t for the scar that covered one half of her face. Slashed across the left eye, the wound was jagged and rough - it dragged from a point close to the exact middle of her forehead, right to the corner of her jaw. Thicker at parts and thinner at others, it split through a pale eyebrow and seemed to have permanently rendered her blind. The lid didn’t even move when one stormy eye shifted, and you suddenly felt extremely creeped out. Something about her was undeniably cold. Almost reckless, but her hand was so steady with control you knew not to make a move. She’d probably kill without hesitation, dump you back into the road, and drive off with the duffel. There was no choice but to answer, answer quickly, and do as told.

“Yes, clear.” Your head shifted half an inch up and half an inch down, still cautious of the blade.

But she didn’t move.

It was a battle of wills for just a moment, with your hands in your lap, empty and docile. You weren’t looking for a fight, or a staring contest, but the stranger didn’t let up until the figure to your right decided to sit up and speak.

“Ah they do not seem so bad. Look at them. Tired and scared, like sad city mouse,” another woman, one with a Russian accent and a voice a hint too loud, cooed.

Silence followed, persisted, for only a minute- and then the blade was tugged back so quickly you swear it nearly cut the air in two. The driver tsked as she twisted herself around, murmuring as she went.

“More like a rat.”

And then you were thrown to the side with a heavy wheeze as the truck lurched and began moving, working into a turn so you could go back the way they’d come.

You glared at the back of the headrest, not feeling above a little bit of irritation for some poor handling, but eventually grew bored. With some apprehension, your eyes flicked over to the person in the passenger seat. Their profile was strong, feminine, and you noted the unbelievably well-kept head of snowy hair. She looked clean, just like the driver, and a spark of hope welled up in your tired heart. Running water and food existed where they came from, wherever they were camped out, and if you played your cards right, you could finally indulge in some good hygiene. Unless the woman in the passenger seat was stingy with her water… god her skin was so clear, and she seemed to be wearing makeup. No one wore makeup anymore. Not the people in your old group and not the few stragglers you’d stumbled across. It simply wasn’t a necessary luxury anymore, but the woman sitting across from you, back straight and hands in her lap, seemed to think it was of the utmost importance. You wanted to speak, wanted to ask her name, but found yourself turning to your right - and catching the gaze of the person that opened the door for you.

“Anna,” your savior spoke, tilting her head to the left and regarding you with curious eyes. A pale hand, big and long-fingered, shot out and hovered above your lap. You glanced down at it, at the clean skin and the perfect fingernails, and knew that you hit the survivalist jackpot.

With a nod and a quick clasp of her hand, you whispered your name in reply. She nodded before leaning back against the door and crossing her arms; she seemed quite comfortable there, with a rather large gun resting across her lap. Her hair, blonde as well, fell in gentle waves to her shoulders. She saw with deep blue eyes - a contrast to the cold steel of the driver - and didn’t hesitate to flick them over your body in some sort of analytical search. Weapons, you figured, is what she was looking for. And the knife in your lap, which she eyed with some interest.

You wanted to say something, wanted to thank them, but it didn’t feel like enough. Nothing felt like enough those days. Asking something of someone was a risk every single time. And you’d asked—begged—them to take you in. You needed to pull your weight, no questions asked.

“Um- thank you for-”

“Shoot them.”

“What?!” You straightened up, eyes going wide as, in your peripherals, you saw Anna’s hand inch toward her gun. Through the rear-view mirror, you caught the way the driver’s brow twitched.

“You heard me. Shoot them.”

“Pha-”

“I said no talking,” the stranger growled, not even bothering to address the woman in the passenger seat. The white-haired woman looked frustrated, her red lips tugging into a frown, as she watched the driver double down on her focus. “Didn’t I say that?”

“But I-,” you wanted to plead your case, wanted to defend yourself, but were cut off.

“I am not going to shoot,” Anna said before you could speak. “Why do you expect her to be quiet hah, Phasma? We just saved her жопa. No need for fighting.”

You glanced at her, picking up on the Native tongue. Fresh off the boat, or perhaps visiting, with the way she said it so easily. Zhopa? Given the context, it wasn’t hard to tell what she meant. Yes, they had just saved your ass. And yes, you wanted to say thank you. Even if that Phasma person wasn’t too keen on a bit of gratitude.

“I hardly think thanking us for a kind deed is worthy of execution, no matter how much silence you require,” the fair-haired woman across from you said smoothly, throwing a slight glare to the woman on her right. And finally, she took that moment to turn around in the seat and make eye contact.

Something that proved to be far more difficult than you thought it would. Good lord, she was gorgeous. Pale skin, deep admiral blue eyes, and lips redder than blood. Not even a scratch on her face, not even a single spec of dirt - as if the apocalypse never happened and there weren’t dead people roaming every street in the world. In fact, she didn’t seem incredibly worried about the predicament the human species found itself in, and was looking at you with kind eyes, a furrowed brow, and a smile that she hoped was welcoming.

“My name is Larissa,” her hand, gloved in white fabric as soft as silk, reached out as an olive branch. You wanted to take it, wanted to feel something so lovely for the first time in a long time and create some sort of bond, but your hands were very dirty. A part of you guessed that Larissa hadn’t put them on earlier that day with the hope to return to camp holding soft fabric smudged with dirt and dried blood, so you only looked down at your palm and then back at hers.

“Oh uh- I don’t wanna get your gloves dirty-”

“Oh,” she glanced down, realizing that she was, in fact, wearing hand-coverings. “Later, then,” a warm smile shone back at you - and you were helpless, instantly offering her a nod in return.

“Finished?” The driver piped up, eyes cold as she stared at you in the rear-view.

As if on cue, Larissa turned back around in her seat, rolling her eyes as she went, and you could only fall quiet. Introductions were over, you were warming up to the easy heat in the car, and Phasma–if you dared address her by name in your head–had a good handle of the wheel. You were safe. For now. And with one last suspended look at the gun on Anna’s lap, you reached over for the seatbelt, tucked yourself in with a click, and leaned back in the seat. It was so suddenly comfortable, such a huge contrast to the shit you’d dealt with recently, that you couldn’t help but close your eyes and revel. Even for a moment. Even for a second.

—

“Get up,” a mean grunt, paired with a quick rush of piercingly cold air, tugged you from the depths of sleep.

Before you could even open your eyes properly, a shiver set itself into your bones. Eager to escape it, and the confines of the car, you jolted and scrambled for your seatbelt. Leaning against the open door, watching you grab your things, was the driver. Phasma? Weird name, but there was no time to dwell - especially not when she was looking at you like that. Eyes sharper than the knife on your lap, holding a polished chrome pistol in one hand, and waiting with some tension for you to hurry up. The duffel was pulled up onto your shoulder, the knife was tucked into your belt, and your hands scratched at the leather as you looked around wildly for your gun.

“We took it. You’ll get it back when you prove you’re not a complete imbecile,” she spat, peering down her nose at you. Disgust danced in her expression, sparking flames of unwanted insecurity, and you felt compelled to look away. Her nostrils were flared, her pink lips curled into something disdainful and mean, and you couldn’t help but watch the way her jaw shifted as she tensed, watching you watch her. The hatred seemed a bit out of place, too strong for normal trust issues, and you briefly wondered if perhaps she’d always been that way - even before the end of civilization. She was clearly a bitch, and not interested in showing you kindness any time soon, so you decided to forgo a response, ignored her glaring, and slipped out of the car without a word.

Before your feet were completely on the ground, and your bag was out of the way, the door slammed closed behind you, quick and sharp. The speed of it nearly clipped your shirt, and you whirled around to face the stranger’s irritation. She seemed to have lost interest in you and side-stepped your figure without another glance. One finger on the trigger, a shit-ton of audacity-filled swagger in her walk, and a back broad and strong. She looked like an outlaw, tall, mean, wearing grey with a belt around her strong hips and a leather jacket over her shoulders. You wanted to throw your gun at her and watch it hit the back of her head, but there was no way in Hell you’d be able to run away faster than she could catch you.

“Come,” you heard Anna speak, interrupting your train of thought as she trudged up to your left. You turned, seeing the way she cocked her head. “I’ll introduce you.” The gun swayed in her grasp as she turned, making little shuffling sounds in the grass.

The grass.

You went to go forward, but stopped. The grass. It was… terribly neat. Very well maintained. Not like apocalypse grass, which was flat and bloodied and mudded and dusted, but like rich person grass. Striking green grass, healthy, it bounced back behind you when you stepped on it. And the air… you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. It was fresh. Pure. Free of the smell of death and free of gunpowder and spraying blood. Just where on Earth were y-

oh.

Oh.

You looked up, finally, and found yourself in a courtyard. On all sides was a wall, sections of it made of brick, others of stone, and the rest of wrought iron fence, bolted hard into the ground; and across the way, piercing the sky, was a manor. Or what looked like a manor. No - what was definitely a manor. Dark, illuminated slightly by the deep blue of the atmosphere and the torches that littered the ground in neat paths, splitting off into cobblestone sections. You swallowed. It was gorgeous. Untouched. A world that seemed to run on and on while the rest of the globe went to shit.

How fucking lucky were you?

“Come! I must say twice?!” Anna called, giving you an exasperated beckon as she started disappearing behind the dark stone brick of the main entrance.

Sparing a quick glance behind you, you found a fortified gate and short stone walls - reinforced and built upon with barbed wire, wood, and sheets of metal. It must have opened up for the truck when you were still asleep, but was very much firmly shut and impenetrable once closed. You wanted to explore it more, wanted to study the mechanism and the layout and come to understand just how they managed to get the place so protected, but you didn’t want to leave Anna waiting. And a low rumble of thunder, far but rolling quick, told you that rain was eager to make her appearance - and you did not want to get caught in that.

After adjusting your bag and patting the knife in your belt for reassurance, you set off after the Russian stranger.

—

“So I am Anna, this you know already,” she pointed to herself, tapped her chest twice, then rolled her hand over to gesture to the clearing ahead.

It was beautiful, outlined against a dark wood. Rocky paths led to a big circle in the middle, and the ruins of stone benches and statues littered the camp. You could definitely see what it used to be - a beautiful place for the elite to sit, to bask, to enjoy the nice air and the wind. But the end of the world had gotten to it, not with the bearings of total destruction, but with the promise of change. A big spruce shelter had been built to the far left, reinforced with four beams and no walls - clearly just meant to keep the rain at bay while they worked outside. Beneath it, there were wooden benches and designated spots for farming equipment, guns, and even a water purifying system from the looks of it. If you assumed that sleeping quarters and showers existed in the castle, then they seemed to be in the best shape anyone could be in.

Even the people, who were busy going about their evening and tending to their duties, while you watched by Anna’s side and felt your excitement grow.

“Phasma was woman driving. Not so kind,” she tsked, giving you a knowing look, and you found yourself unable to ask about the strange name. You figured she wouldn’t have known the answer anyway. Then her hand moved, stealing your attention. “That is Jane,” she pointed to a pale woman sitting on one of the large stone benches.

Her back was turned, but you could see the severity of her expression in the reflection of a hand mirror. She was handsome, free of makeup, with jet-black hair. The strands fell from between her fingertips, spilling like water, as she threaded them into a braid around her head. Her movements were slow, methodic, and you watched, sort of hypnotized, as the long sleeves of her hooded dress stretched across her slim back. Tight along her arms and resting over the black pants covering her thighs, leading down to knee-high leather boots. Fit for an apocalypse, but somehow still chic. You watched her hands for a moment more, and turned slightly to her right when Anna gestured to the woman beside her.

“Miranda. Good girl, but way too skinskie,” she nodded to herself while crossing her arms.

The stranger in question–Miranda–was holding up an antique hand mirror for Jane to look into while doing her hair. They seemed to be the same height, though Miranda’s build was lankier and toned. The sleeves of her white top had to have been torn off, leaving freckled shoulders free to the air, and around one wrist was a black watch. It nearly matched the same leather as her belt, which held an attached holster and a sleeve for a walkie-talkie. Its antenna stood out against the baby blue of her uniform pants; tight by the hips but baggier toward the ankles, tucked into dark laced boots. Her hair was styled into a fair blonde bob, probably recently cut by the sight of such clean edges. It looked unbearably soft kissing the back of her neck.

“She was policewoman. Strong.” Anna commented, gazing at her from your spot by the castle wall.

You nodded absentmindedly, looking over the two strangers and the chess board that sat between them on the bench. Jane had black and Miranda white. The latter seemed to be focusing quite hard on the game, holding a pawn loosely in one hand, as the dark-haired beauty tsked and adjusted the hand mirror that slowly slipped to the side. You watched Miranda jump and offer what you assumed was a sheepish apology, as she tried to multitask. Her small smile was pink and soft, warm and welcoming. A friend, perhaps.

“Very…domestic,” came your soft murmur, sparked by the surprise of such a peaceful camp. In the past group, everyone was too busy trying to sleep, find food, or talk themselves through panic attacks. Maintaining sanity with comfort was not a priority.

“Da. Comfortable,” your companion nodded. “Jan is there, washing.” And you turned, yet again, to find a figure standing in front of a clothesline.

The combat boots made her seem tall, though they were a bit out of place—not really matching the long white sleeved shirt and full red skirt combo. Immaculate and clean, you noticed, though that was to be expected from a woman trying her hardest to get blood out of a white blouse. Her hands were covered by blue rubber gloves, with one clutched around a sponge and the other around the neck of a bottle of white wine vinegar. On the ground by her feet was a large pale jug of hydrogen peroxide and a bucket of what you assumed was water. And the blouse in front of her, held up by wooden clothespins, rippled from the breeze. It seemed to get colder and windier the longer the night went on, probably bringing the rain with it at some point. With any luck, it would clear up the light splotches of pink that covered most of the shirt’s chest up to the collar, but ‘Jan’ didn’t seem too patient and satisfied with that. She got back to her scrubbing a moment later, the strict waves of her blonde hair bumping gently against her neck.

“Jan is very chic. You go to her for fashion advice, no?” Anna tilted her head at you, dragging dark blue eyes over your face. The lawn lamps stabbed into the grass lit everything up with a sweet warm glow, bringing out the flames in her expression as she peered at you curiously. Very handsome, in her own sharp-featured sort of way. You couldn’t help the snort that bubbled up.

“Respectfully, I think fashion is the least of my concerns right now, Anna.”

“Hm. Maybe,” she hummed, shrugged, and gave you a once-over that set your heart racing before turning her attention back to the group.

“Brienne!” You jumped, flinching away as Anna’s loud voice carried into your ear. In the distance, a hulking figure shifted and unfolded, moving to look up at the call. They were sitting on a big pile of cut logs, holding a stone cylindrical sharpener in one hand and a… sword… in the other. Anna waved, talking to you gently as you both watched the figure’s expression change into one of suspicion. She was handsome. Pale, with the lightest blonde lashes and brows, and eyes that sparkled even from that distance. They squinted, drawing frown lines across her face, as she straightened up in her spot. You tried desperately not to stare at her figure, but it was impossible. The deep blue ribbed shirt clung to her torso like a second skin, wrapping tightly around strong biceps and broad shoulders. It was tucked into muddy green cargo pants, offsetting the brightness of the steel that covered the toes of her dark boots. You tilted your head and watched as she glanced between you and Anna before she finally decided to shoot the woman a firm nod. Anna’s lips quirked up into a smile. “She was once soldier. Good woman - she will protect you if you’re in trouble. Saved me many many times.” Her blonde curls swished as she nodded to herself.

That was good to know, you reasoned. Everyone seemed quite strong. Tall, too. And pale. The camp was gorgeous, the people seemed mundane enough, and the company was… well. Your eyes drifted over to Anna’s side profile, a silhouette of soft dips and curves, and you couldn’t hide the attraction you felt even if you tried.

“Larissa, you know too. She is leader, xорошо?” You didn’t really know what ‘harasho’ meant, but the light intonation of her voice had you saying ‘Yeah’ anyway.

Then an arm was winding itself around yours, jostling the bag on your shoulder and the gun slung around Anna’s body. It rested against her back, hitting her thighs, and you were suddenly powerless to the way she steered you further down the gravel path. Toward the right, there was a makeshift driveway; a patch of land ripped up from the grass and replaced with gravel, soil, and rocks. The black truck made an appearance again, probably having been driven up from around the back, and you watched with curious eyes as Phasma busied herself with a few bags and boxes from the trunk. Jesus, she was fit… tall and lethal. A small grunt left her lips when she hauled two boxes up into her arms, never faltering or pausing. Damn. You found yourself getting lost in the sight of her legs in those cargo pants, filling them out, until Anna clicked her tongue.

“Lucifer is strange, but ultimately harmless. Do not worry, they are not naked under the robe.”

Lucifer? Naked under the what?

You were going to take a quick glance around, to find whatever the hell Anna was talking about, but there was no need. Some feet in front of you, lounging on a red and gold velvet chase, was a lithe figure. They were almost glowing in the reflection of the walkway lamps, with the deep crimson of a flowing silk robe offsetting the smooth pale planes of soft skin. One elbow was propped up on the arm of the chair, and you traced the folds of flowing sleeves up to a slim forearm, wrist, and a delicate hand. Slender fingers were curled under the curve of a pale cheek, and you felt your heartbeat speed up at the sight of soft features and crystal eyes. And their hair, curled so perfectly into handsome shining ringlets of spun golden-web… goodness, they were…

“Luxurious,” you murmured, tilting your head as you watched the stranger chat with Larissa. She was standing over them, in front of the chase, and even at that height, you had a feeling that the one laying down was somehow a little bit taller. “Is Lucifer their real name?”

“Da,” Anna nodded, “little strange, no?”

��Yeah,” you gave her an odd look. “Strange as fuck.”

“Don’t get comfortable,” a voice growled from behind you, making you slip away from Anna’s hold and turn around. Phasma was walking past, holding a big bag under each arm. Her muscle was impressive, but dear god she was an asshole. You had to sort out that situation as quick as possible.

“Hey what’s your problem, man?” You spread your hands out at your sides before letting them slap against your thighs. “You picked me up, and while I’m grateful for that, I am, you didn’t have to-”

“Exactly,” she bit out as she whirled around and marched right back to you. Her breath was cool, washing lightly over your face, and she stood so close that your foreheads nearly touched. From that angle, looking up, you could reach out and trace the jagged line of her scar. It was quite attractive actually, even if her eyes narrowed as she watched you look at her. They were cold. Not an ounce of care.

“Don’t. Get. Comfortable.” Her lips twitched, carrying a silent threat.

“Okay,” Larissa’s voice, sing-songy and weary, cut into the conversation. “Why don’t we all take a moment to calm down, hm?” Her smile was blinding as she turned to you. One gloved hand hovered above Phasma’s right shoulder, but was instantly shrugged off the second it made contact. Her sneer didn’t fade even when she stepped back, eyes still flaming with anger. Larissa cleared her throat. “Y/n, you’re new here. Why don’t you and I have a little chat?”

Her expression, although kind, hid a sharpness that you didn’t think was wise to fuck around with. If Larissa was the leader, according to Anna, then it was her you had to charm. You didn’t really know why she was the top dog, especially because some of the other group members seemed more… abrasive… but clearly something about her was good enough to be the one in charge. And pissing her off, messing around with her people, was a one-way ticket to possibly turning into those fuckers lurking in the woods. So you didn’t really have a choice - and you didn’t really want one. No matter what, you’d stay. You’d be of some help. You’d stay on the soft grass, smelling the clean air. You’d become best friends with Larissa, the group would learn to like you, and you’d try not to combust when any of them looked your way.

Easier said than done though, of course. Especially when Larissa’s smile knocked down all of your reservations at once, in one big swing, and coaxed an obedient nod from your body.

“Okay. Yes. Sure.”

“Perfect,” Larissa’s grin, somehow, grew even wider.

“It’s getting late,” were Phasma’s parting words before she turned away and headed off toward two big wooden double doors.

You watched her strut without much thought, and found yourself on the other end of a staring Larissa. Her eyes were utterly striking in the evening light, and the outline of her face… a sight to be seen for a person as weary as you.

“So… is your group considered women only?” You murmured, peering up at her through your eyelashes.

Red lips twitched.

“Not intentionally. Though we have had the discussion before,” she contemplated her next words carefully, looking all over your face before resuming, “and we think it’s best if it’s just women. And Lucifer.”

“And Lucifer?” You still can’t get over that being their real name. Probably just picked out in a moment of edginess when they were a teen. Lucifer did sound cool, sort of bully-worthy. Like they were emo kid once upon a time.

“Lucifer is what many would refer to as non-binary. Not a man and not a woman. I hope that won’t be a problem?” Something flashed behind her eyes. Not a threat, but a warning. You couldn’t help but smile.

“Not at all. They and I are… one and the same,” you shrugged and adjusted the bag on your shoulder.

“How lucky I must be…,” someone purred from over your shoulder.

You tensed up, surprised by the closeness, and felt yourself grow a little weak at the tone. Like spiced honey, their voice was intense and smooth. You wanted to lap it up.

“Ah right on time for a proper introduction,” Larissa, ever the most efficient woman from what you could tell so far, found herself a golden opportunity. One hand shot out and gestured over to you, then to the person slinking around to your right. “Y/n this is Lucifer, one of the strongest members of our group. Lucifer and I make most of the big decisions, with the necessary input from everyone else. And Lucifer,” Larissa’s grin relaxed into a smile, “this is Y/n. Depending on our discussion of the rules, they may become a familiar face, so I suggest you play nice.”

You found that you couldn’t look to the side without short-circuiting. There was something.. something… about their aura that had you wanting to shy away and cower. It wasn’t the explosive intensity of Phasma or the consuming strangeness of Anna, or even the gentle but strong hand of Larissa… but instead a subtle sort of consumption. Utterly intriguing and fascinating - like they were put on the Earth to confuse humans. You didn’t even look at them and you could feel that. Didn’t even know them and you could feel that. Standing so close. So much body heat.

“It’s a pleasure,” they murmured, turning to you fully.

You swallowed, braced yourself, and looked up to your right.

Sweet holy Jesus. They were even more handsome up close. Just absolutely soft and glorious. And carrying the faint scent of… firewood? You cleared your throat.

“Um yeah- likewise. Hi.”

A flash of black, followed by measured footsteps in the grass, had all three of you shifting to see Jane walking past. Miranda was not too far behind, taking her time to cross the yard.

“Dinner is being prepared. Show face in the next 20 minutes or go to bed hungry.” Jane didn’t even spare you a glance before she disappeared behind the same doors Phasma had gone through.

“Thank you, Jane,” Larissa managed to call just before they closed behind her with a dull bang.

“Three moves…,” Miranda was muttering, holding the box for the chess set in one hand. “She beat me in three moves.”

“Oh it’s not hard. I would’ve beaten you in two,” another voice entered the fray, polite but amused. Jan, you recognized, as she sidled up between you and Larissa with a small smile on her deep red lips.

Miranda scoffed and turned to look at Anna, only to find that she was gone. One glance behind you revealed that she’d wandered over to Brienne, probably prompting her to go inside for dinner. You hummed, hiding the amusement of friendly banter. It had been so long since you felt even the smallest sense of normalcy. If they were so comfortable with each other, then it must have been a bit since they were all alone out in the world. You’d probably ask Larissa about that later - once everything was said and done.

“I would’ve beaten you in one,” Lucifer smirked as they pulled away and went walking inside. Had they been barefoot the entire time?

“That’s not even possible!” Miranda yelled, but the door was already shut. “...Is it?” She turned to Larissa, then to you, then back to Larissa.

“I don’t think so, Miranda,” Larissa smiled before looking at you. “Any chance you’re good at chess?”

Dear lord, having two sets of beautiful blue eyes on you was nerve-wracking, but you ignored the flush building up on your cheeks and nodded.

“Um yeah- it’s possible to beat someone in two moves. But it’s only black, I think.” You gave Miranda an apologetic smile and a shrug as she pouted.

“You will beat her next time Miranda,” Anna returned with Brienne in her wake. The sword she was sharpening earlier was still in her hands. “She cannot win forever.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Brienne cut in, her voice strong and deep. Her mouth was pulled into a light frown, and you noticed the scar that cut through the upper lip on the right. From the time before, you suspected. Otherwise she’d be turned. “She beat me and Phasma one after the other.”

Miranda sighed, tsking beneath her breath.

“Then there’s no hope…” Goodness, she looked like a sad puppy.

“Why not?” It slipped out of your mouth before you could grab it.

And of course, all of the attention then dragged itself over to you. Five sets of sea-blue eyes, all gorgeous in the glow of the evening lamps, traced lines over your tired body. In comparison to them, you looked a sight. Obviously having been picked up from the side of the road, unclean and awkward, somewhat detached from society. In your bag? Not enough clothing and not enough supplies. In your belt, peeking out from beneath your shirt? A knife, dirty and growing dull. And in your eyes? Lurking sadness and horror - the same which probably lived in the women that were observing you.

Larissa, thank goodness, finally broke the lull of silence.

“Brienne and Phasma were in the military,” she said gently.

“Oh. That makes sense.” And it did - Jane must have been an intellectual force if she beat people that used to be in the military before the world ended. Though that made you wonder… “What branch?” You turned to Brienne, not really surprised that you had to look up to meet her eyes. It seemed you’d been adopted into a camp of skyscrapers. Though the sharpness of her eyes had you swallowing. “I mean- if you don’t mind me asking.”

She seemed to consider it, sizing you up, before saying, rather shortly, “SAS. Then Delta Force.”

You couldn’t hide the way your eyes widened.

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed,” Larissa hummed. “But I think now would be a good time to head in, wouldn’t you say?” She spared her smile for everyone, meeting the gaze of each woman, before finally looking at you and raising her eyebrow.

It wasn’t really up to you, so you just shrugged and waited for Anna to say ‘Da, da, xорошо’ before heading in. Brienne followed after her, then Miranda, who was studying the back of the chess box, and Larissa, who started taking off her gloves. Jan, meanwhile, stayed where she was and kept her eyes on you. They were curious and deep, never-ending, and lined with mascara and eyeliner. Mascara and eyeliner that… well it suited her, but goodness it was certainly intense. Dark and shadowed, but beautiful nevertheless. You couldn’t look away.

“Jan Stevens,” she breathed and gave you her hand, elegant and admittedly quite charming. Her nails were painted a deep cherry red. Utterly flawless.

At the sight of it, you weren’t entirely sure what to do. Your palms were still dirty, and sort of calloused, and you didn’t want to… ruin her. So you hesitated, stared at it, looked back up at her, and found her kind smile to be unwavering.

“Go on,” Jan finally whispered, giving her hand a pointed look, and you fell prey in an instant.

Quickly, you shot out to gently cup her hand into your own, and gave it a gentle shake. You felt strangely compelled to bring it up to your lips, but you weren’t sure that meeting a stranger in an apocalypse really called for such formalities. Even though you yearned to feel her skin beneath your mouth. It wasn’t proper; though you did think that Jan’s expression fell just a little bit. Like she was excited. Like she wanted you to kiss her hand.

“Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she purred, looking you up and down, before turning toward the door. “Come quickly now. If we’re late, Jane will send us off to bed without dinner. And we wouldn’t want that.”

It probably would have been wise to consider and contemplate the fact that you were in a stranger’s camp, with a stranger’s group… but the saucy little wink that Jan threw over her shoulder sent a deep blush crawling up your cheeks. And just like that, without fail, you were one of the flesh-eaters… caught in the pretty paws of eight different beasts.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Please let me know if my characterization is okay and if you'd like to see more. Be safe, darlings. - Rip x

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Far too many names to tag. Find it as you come.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

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skellseerwriting · 1 month

Text

Pirates and Prejudice (and Dragons)

James Hook x GN! Dragon Rider!Reader Part 4

Part 1

Reader is disabled (prosthetic foot) and I am not disabled, so if anyone who’s reading this is please let me know if anything is written weirdly or wrongly

Word Count: 2,970

Warnings: mentions of different prosthetics, mention of scars, reader is momentarily self deprecating about their face, Hook (consensually) takes off reader’s prosthetic, brief panic from others, romantic tension

Summary: Hook gives reader a look into his life as a pirate

What do you mean you’re ‘going to take me on an adventure?!’”

Hook let out a free laugh as you approached him at the gate. His eyes glittered something mischievous.

“That’s something you’ll have wait for.” He teased.

You made a fake annoyed face, hoping to have gotten some answers after mulling over all day what he could have possibly meant. He lifted his head in laughter again, eyes closed and elbows up with the back of his hand to his face; an open gesture of being comfortable with you. How could he be so annoying, yet so endearing?

“Well,” He wiped a tear from his eye, gesturing to the path in front of the both of you. “Care to find out?”

You didn’t know whether to be surprised or not at “finding out” that the adventure was at Auradon’s main harbor.

Merlin’s Academy was built extremely close, thank goodness, otherwise you would have never made the trek. The whole time, Hook pulled you along by your hand, barely allowing you to keep up with him. He seemed way too excited to take you on this “adventure”, so you couldn’t help but let his eagerness infect you. It wasn’t until you actually tripped that he slowed down enough for you to pace along next to him.

He didn’t let go of your hand, however.

You tried not to think on that too much.

Arriving at the edge of the busy town, you stood on higher hills and took in the sight.

Yellow houses with blue-tiled roofs were irregularly placed in the area, slowly descending into the the docks that spread along the coast, the widest part of it all. Birds that you presumed to be seagulls called out in the skies, accompanied by the dings of bells far away. A distance farther in the water that sparkled in the sun sat a decent-sized island. It all smelled like fish, you realized with a smile. It smelled like home.

When you deal with giant lizards with even larger appetites, it can be hard hunting enough meat. Due to the land’s lakes, fish was an easier sustenance to obtain. The whole place didn’t smell like this, but the dragon pens and the area during mealtimes certainly did.

Making your way through the bustling town, you dodged and weaved through people trying to make their way somewhere. At one point your hands got pulled apart, so with a giggled “no!” you both instantly tried to reattach them.

The stench of fish got even stronger once you arrived at the docks. Some of it looked brand new, while the particular boards you stood on creaked and groaned.

Placing his hands hands on your shoulders from behind, he finally gave you a splinter of an answer.

“My ship is here today.” He had a boat?

“Which one is it?” You asked, turning your head to look at him behind you. He made a funny look.

“Guess.”

Bringing your hand to your chin in thought, you browsed the large array of boats. Some were new, some were old, some small and some ginormous. You pointed at a tiny dingy.

“Is it that one?”

Shaking his head, he exasperatedly went “Do you really think I’d be caught dead in that? Try again.”

Deciding to continue messing with him, you brought your finger to one covered head to toe in mildew, seaweed, and rot. It looked like it had been anchored there longer than you’d been alive.

Getting a bit fed up, Hook reached his arm over yours to grab you hand and swivel it somewhere else. It landed in front of what could only be described as a very grand, very beautiful ship.

The sides of it gleamed of a dark, rich wood, with rails at the top highlighted in red; Mahogany? Windows near the back sported inlaid, diamond-shaped glass of a spectrum of colors that dazzled, leaving you to wonder how it looked inside when the light shined through. Multiple mast poles held up cream sails that flowed slowly in the wind, promising freedom. To top everything off was a small, dark flag with what appeared to be a skull on it, set high in the sky.

You were in awe.

Hook sucked in a worried breath through his teeth.

“Well, what do you think?”

You turned to look at him, struggling to even think of what to say about the absolute piece of art you had just witnessed.

“It’s beautiful.” You managed to get out.

“Really?” He beamed.

“Yeah!” You nodded.

“Well all right then. Let’s go meet the crew!”

“‘The crew’?”

After he led you to the massive boat, your confusion was quickly dispersed. Once he helped you climb up the rope ladder (you were well experienced with ropes, you told him, so it was no struggle), cheers instantly erupted on the deck. It was packed with men of all ages; some as young as you, to some old enough to be your grandfather. All appeared to have a variety of backgrounds; no two men looked alike. The one thing tying them all together was their shared lifestyle as pirates. They swarmed Hook, clapping him on the back and barking out all sorts of questions of well-being.

“What new treasure have you’ve gotten in my absence lads?” He asked them, before being bombarded with various tales of chases and running from authorities. As they all essentially shouted over each other for his attention, you could just see in his eyes how happy he was to be with them.

It was kind of shocking, if you were being honest. How did a boy like that come to relationships like these?

Once things died down a tad -Hook’s grin still splitting his face, along with those little crow’s feet- he gestured towards you.

“Men! This is my classmate and friend! Make sure you’re kind and welcoming!”

Right after that, many of them started to surround you. You began to feel a little overwhelmed, only more so by the fact that Hook had called you his friend. Looking at these men who started prodding you with questions, you noticed a similarity.

The balding one in front of you wore a black eyepatch on his left. The young one next to you had a simple, small hook on his right hand. Behind him, another man stood on a wooden peg-leg. And to your delight, one with beautiful features proudly wore nicks and scars all over his face and arms.

These people, you realized. These people are like me. James doesn’t pity me, he understands me.

Before even attempting to answer anything they had asked, Hook pulled you away with a “that’s enough questions” and brought you to a barrel to sit on. Next to him stood a jolly-looking man with white hair covered by a red bandana.

“This is Mr. Smee.” He explained. “Smee is my first mate.”

You looked at the middle-aged man before looking back to the young man in front of you.

“…You’re the captain?”

Hook nodded.

“But how? You’re one of the youngest people here?”

He must have found something about your confusion amusing, because he let the expression on his face show without restraint. Then, it faded into something more solemn.

“Smee used to be first mate to my father; former captain of the Jolly Roger.” He said slowly. “Then I took on the title a couple years ago when…” he trailed off.

Oh.

You reached for his arm.

“James, I’m sorry for your loss.”

His glum countenance immediately turned into one of amusement, eyebrows high and lips pursed.

“Oh, he’s not dead. He’s retired, in Fiji.”

You gawked a little. “Oh.”

“I inherited the title from him, but the crew’s been without me this past year while I’ve attended Merlin Academy. Smee here’s been keeping them in check for me.

“Oh! Before I forget…” Hook’s eyes lit up before bringing his attention to one of the many containers that were strewn about the place. He pried open a crate lid with his hook before lifting something out of it in his other hand. After approaching you closely and sitting in front of your feet, he held out a wooden peg leg.

“May I?” Was all he said, and you noticed his eyes held that secret feeling you were coming closer and closer to putting a name on.

“Yes. Please.”

Leaning forward, Hook began a slow, yet warm and soothing process. He cuffed your pant leg up enough to uncover the base of your prosthetic, followed by touching the piece with his hands. He froze, looking into your eyes with a silent question. After you nodded, he proceeded again, gently undoing the straps and slowly taking it off before handing your foot -with the shoe still on- to Smee.

You felt slightly uneasy having a piece of yourself with someone you didn’t know, but since Hook trusted him so much, you decided to do so as well. After that, Hook was very swift with the rest of the job, finishing it moments later.

“Now you’re a real pirate.” He stood up, offering his hand out to you.

“I like the sound of that.” You responded, taking his offer and getting up off of the barrel.

The second you put weight on your left foot, your footing gave out and you tripped right into Hook. He instantly caught you, arms wrapped around you securely, promising safety.

“Easy there.” He cooed. “Can’t have you ruining that pretty face of yours.”

You blinked at him, trying to will the blood not to rush to your face at his compliment. “But my face is already ruined.”

Gingerly, he brought a thumb to your cheek, rubbing it against a rather thick scar.

“No,” he hummed, his eyes anywhere but yours. “The lines that adorn your face are a beautiful map, telling me of your journey in life and who you are as a person. Except I don’t need to follow it to find a buried treasure.”

Pulling away from him a bit -and totally not out of embarrassment- you said you wanted to get some walking practice in. With an “of course”, Hook took your hand once again and led you around the deck; providing little tips and tricks on how to handle the narrow point of the wooden leg. It was even harder with the slight rocking of the boat, but to your delight, you got the hang of it right away. And hey, if you stumbled a few more times, needing Hook to grab you by the waist to hold you steady, who’s to say it was intentional?

For a little while you both hung out on the deck, spending time with the other men there and listening to new and interesting stories they had to tell; real adventures. You were positive that everything Hook had done with you today was nowhere half as interesting as the things he had probably done, but you considered it an adventure nonetheless since it was something exciting you had never experienced before.

Everything was lively and jolly as the wind carried up your spirits and your hair, gifting you the scent of salt. While continuing to hear with eager interest to the impossibly outlandish tales the oldest men had to offer about their travels, Hook eventually nudged you and motioned with his head towards the set of doors beneath the higher deck.

Following him, he led you to a room filled with wonders and things of otherworldly beauty. Silk cloth strung from the ceiling, many with little beads that could cling against each other. The walls were covered with extravagant paintings and mounted heads of mythical creatures. Filling up the room were different kinds of furniture that had gems, jewelry, and apparel sitting on or hanging from every visible inch. Near the back wall sat a garnished heavy desk in front of what you recognized to be one of those beautiful colored windows. The sun had neared dusk and sent the perfect warm rays through it, setting many things in the office alight and glittering like a dragon’s den. Tiny pieces of rainbow blipped around the room, coming from the dangling necklaces that moved to the sway of the boat.

“This is beautiful, James.” You told him for the second time that day, carefully reaching out and touching a necklace chain made out of what you could only presume to be gold. “I don’t see how you could ever leave this room. All the artwork in the world couldn’t compare. It must have taken a lifetime to acquire it all.”

“You’re right, it is hard to leave.” He told you, grabbing something near him out of the corner of your eye. Then, he grinned, adding “But then I’d never get to feel the ocean breeze on my face or the sun on my skin. The rush of adrenaline as I make yet another daring escape. That’s what I live for. Freedom.“

“That’s what I live for too.” You said absentmindedly as you meandered and ran your fingers through various goods. “That’s why I fly.”

“We’re the same in that way. Although, most of this was acquired by my father. But steadily, I’m making it my own.” He moved in front of you and revealed the item he snatched. It was a necklace with a leather string; not nearly as dazzling as everything else in the glittery and shimmery room. At the end, however, laid a single, dark pearl encased in twisted silver wire.

“This was my first addition.” He began, forehead nearly touching yours as you both looked down at it. “I was eight. Nearly drowned getting that oyster.”

You moved your palm under his so you could feel the pearl with your thumb. Your breaths started to mix together.

“It must be really special to you.”

“It is.” He said honestly, then slowly tilts his hand so the necklace landed in your palm. “Which is why I want you to have it.”

You quickly scanned his eyes but found no hints of guilt or regret. You wanted to refuse, but you knew he would never take no for an answer. Instead, you let yourself feel honored at such a gift.

“Thank you.”

You wanted to return the favor, but you didn’t have anything to give him. On the other hand… your brain thought dangerously, and before you could take a second to question the idea, you leaned forward to reward him with a tender kiss on the cheek. His skin felt so soft, and it smelt like the ocean.

Hook gasped.

He gripped your arm tightly, and before you could wonder if it was for a good or bad reason, he tilted his head towards you; aiming for your lips.

A loud thud, along with what sounded like wood splintering, occurred above you. Shouting arrived after it. Hook pulled away, and with a look of annoyance and fear, ran out of the room to figure out what it was. You followed right after, trying to ignore the flustered feelings welling up in your stomach.

As soon as you reached the deck, it was instantly clear what had caused those sounds. The wood splintering came from several crates that seemed (thankfully) empty, and what so happened to make those sounds was a giant, winged lizard.

“Beastie!” You cried, launching yourself towards her. She was snarling and growling at the pirates around her pointing weapons at her, who were terrified out of their wits at seeing a dragon for the first time.

She near instantly calmed down upon feeling your hands on her snout and neck. Mouth closed and heckles lowered, she made a deep purring sound.

“It’s okay,” you told her reassuringly. “It’s okay.” Then, you turned around to the others. “It’s okay,” you declared loudly. “Beastie’s my dragon. She must’ve tracked me here, and likely thought I was in danger. Please put down your weapons; I promise she won’t harm you!”

This seemed to put the mean at ease a bit, but they mostly only lowered their weapons.

“Do it!” Hook shouted, although not unkindly. “Or are you going to question a trained dragon rider?”

Hearing the command straight from their captain seemed to put them into motion, as they followed suit right after that.

“Is this her?” Hook asked, slowly approaching with his arms up. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful creature.” He added in awe.

Beastie prickled a bit, but with Hook’s behavior and compliment, she allowed him to come closer. You took his wrist and placed it against the warm scales.

“Wow.” He breathed.

“Yeah.” You said. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

He nodded absentmindedly. You sucked in a breath, still reeling internally over what had just happened -or didn’t happen- in Hook’s office.

“I have to head back now, James.” He looked at you with sorrowful eyes. “It’s getting late.”

“Right.” He said sadly, glancing down at the floor.

He had Smee bring your foot over as you hopped on Beastie. While your brain screamed at you all the reasons you should stay, he took off the (your?) peg leg and replaced it with its true counterpart. He looked at you like he was about to beg you to not go, to beg you to be with him just a little bit longer. But you knew it was getting late, and he knew that too.

Bringing the pearl necklace quickly over your head to rest at your collar bone, you gave Hook one last look of that secret feeling before flying back to Merlin’s Academy; way too far from the boy you fell in love with.

James hook was like you in too many ways to be healthy. So, you decided then and there that you were going to give him a taste of your freedom.

Part 5

Taglist

@lesbpotmurdocklokistan

#rise of red #james hook x reader #descendants 4 #descendants x reader #descendants rise of red #james hook descendants #gender neutral reader #james hook x gn reader #my work

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bengals-barnesbabe · 4 months

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Pairing: Joe Burrow x Singer!FemReader

Summary: Before Venus was a multi-platinum record selling artist, writing about the quarterback that stole her heart, she was senior at LSU going through her first heartbreak. This is that story.

Chapter 16: Robbed

#Track9 Masterlist

Warnings: 18+, mentions of sex, sexual assault, foul language, violence (Miles gets what he deserves), angst, but a fluffy ending.

Word Count: 2.9k

Part 3 🖤

The walk to Joe’s place was the nicest part of Y/n’s day so far, she thought, the bath she had when she left his place would’ve been nice but her mind would not shut up. Granted she had enough conflicting events happen in the last 24 hours. The Louisiana breeze helped her put things in perspective though, that dick never had her best interest had heart at any point of their relationship. It nice to be entertained for a few months, but she could not believe her degree of naivete when one cute guy gave her some attention. Y/n knew she couldn't blame herself for his actions, but she couldn’t help it. If Miles was actually a nice guy he wouldn’t have had to bribe or drug her into giving up that part of herself. Miles didn’t know how lucky he was, because if it was any other girl there would be no chance he’d be able to keep his scholarship. She came to the realization that no self respecting man would even think of doing what he did. But the fact that she was actually r*ped would be a bit harder to come to terms with.

When Y/n got to the house the guys were staying at, she just walked in like every other visitor because apparently having that much muscle in one house meant they could risk leaving the front door unlocked.

Without even announcing herself, she plopped down on the couch next to her friends, they were very occupied in a Super Smash Bros battle. “Who’s winning?” She asked.

“I am.” They both say, she scoffs and pulls out her phone.

Five minutes later the controllers are thrown onto the floor, one in victory and one in anger. “I told you man, I can’t lose.” Joe cheeses leaning back on the couch and throwing an arm around the cushion Y/n laid on.

“That’s because you have no life outside of football.” Ja’marr grumbles.

“You’re just mad we’re 7-0. And I took out that one chick like last week.”

“It was over a month ago and isn’t ‘that one chick’ supposed to be your girlfriend?” Joe’s mouth snapped shut.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Ja’marr smirked then sat on the arm of the chair to the right of the quiet girl. “What’s up lil sis?”

She raised a brow and looked up at him, “Marr I’m older than you, but I’m fine.”

“Damn just fine? What about your date last night with Meters?” Her jaw tightened and fist clenched at his question, thankfully for her he had his back turned, but someone else saw her tense reaction.

“It was fine, I’m probably gonna break up with him soon though. It’s that time.” She said as calmly as possible with her jaw still clenched.

“Why? What happened?” Joe asked with his brows furrowed, but with a smile peaking on his lips. Ja’Marr shook his head with a small smirk on his face.

Venus shrugged not looking at either of them, “oh nothing. Things like this just time out after a while.”

“If you say so.” Joe says, still not convinced. “Wanna order something, I’m starving?”

She shakes her head reading the same spam email for the hundredth time. “I’m good.” But her stomach clenches at the mention of sustenance.

“You sure, I could get you a milkshake and a side of fries from Mama’s?” The thought of her favorite combo makes bile crawl up her throat. “I’m really not hungry.”

This time Ja’Marr looks at the girl worried, him and Joe exchange concerned looks. “You once skipped class to go to Big Mama’s. You said the only time you’d turn down her food was if you’re dead.” He grabs her wrist and checks her pulse. “You are very much alive Y/n. What’s wrong?”

The looks they're giving her make anxiety run up her spine, so she stands up from the couch to escape their scrutinization. “There’s nothing wrong!” The brave tone she tries for comes out wrecked with the quivering of her voice.

Ja’Marr crossed his brawn arms while Joe reaches for her, “that doesn’t sound like nothing’s wrong.”

She looks up with a groan and starts to pace the room. ‘If I tell them- no there’s no way this would end up not going completely south. But they’re not going to stop pestering me. I have to tell them. Maybe they won’t overreact, they’re too hungry to get that mad right?’ Her inner dialogue and lack of eye contact does nothing to calm the reactions of the men in the room.

She takes a deep breath and looks at the two large football players with big doe eyes. Yea there’s no calm way of resolving this. “I’m going to tell you, but you can’t freak out.” Like that’s going to work.

“What did he do?” Joe asks taking on the persona of a threatened wild bear.

“We won’t be mad.” Ja’marr says more calmly.

It’s crazy to think literally minutes ago he was the one getting heated about a video game while Joe was as cool as a cucumber. She thinks, oh how she would pay for time to rewind back to then. Y/n picks at her nails as their frustrating glares burn holes in her skull.

“Ok so, last night Miles took me out, like you already know. Everything was great, it was really fun, we got a bit high, ate good food then we sort of did it.” She says hesitantly. “It was all consensual until it kinda wasn’t, but it’s not that big of a deal. He just wasn’t the best partner and that’s ok, no one’s perfect. We just weren’t as compatible as we thought.” She rambles while analyzing their faces.

Ja’Marr kept his calm resolve, but Joe’s face was growing redder by the second. He cleared his throat and spoke up. “Go back. What do you mean it was consensual until it wasn’t?”

“Look it really wasn’t that big of deal, he just prioritized himself more than me. I know some guys don’t last that long, so it was fine until he treated me like shit when it was over. I mean he quite literally took the shirt off my back and kicked me out.” She shrugged.

“Y/n you keep skipping over some parts, so I’m gonna ask you this again.” Joe took her hands and sat her down on the couch. “Did he force himself on you?” He was trying so hard to not to lose that last shrivel of clam, but the look of innocence on her face when the girl’s eyes welled up, and the way he she fell into his arms did it for him. He hated the way she looked so young in his arms, he hated the borderline homicidal ideas that he wanted to see through when he saw Miles, but most of all he hated how helpless he felt now that what was done was done and there was no way for him to take away her pain.

They stayed stayed like that, Venus curled up in the quarterback’s arms, until she fell asleep. Only when he was sure she wouldn’t wake up from her much needed rest did he untangle himself and get up. He covered her with the blanket she left months ago on their couch then joined Ja’Marr in the kitchen.

“I’m gonna kill him. You coming?” He asked pulling on a LSU hoodie.

Ja’Marr shook his head and grabbed the arm of the QB and pulls him back. “Look I want him dealt with just as much as you do, but you know we can’t leave her like this. We’re all she’s got right now.” They look over at her sleeping figure.

“I’m sure we could be done before she gets up if we grab some of the guys.” Joe huffs, then sighs looking down.

“Ja’marr you don’t know how I feel right now. Sure she’s like a sister to you, but I think I’m in love with her. When I look at Y/n I see my future, I see her on the sidelines as we win our first superbowl. I see myself thanking her during every single award acceptance speech. I see us living in my hometown talking about how much we love our kids. I don’t like seeing her like this, I can’t.”

Ja’Marr puts a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I know, but it’s our responsibility to be there for her right now. This isn’t the first time she’s gone through this, but it wasn’t this bad last time. If you love her as much as you say you do, you need to make sure she knows you’re there for the rights reasons. So what do you think she needs right now?”

“Food.” Joe replies with full seriousness. “Not her usual, but something she’ll actually eat. Instead of a cheeseburger we’ll get her a melt, its close enough for familiarity but still new enough so she can’t associate it with him. Tots instead of fries, ‘potato is potato’ she’d say.” He chuckles. “And replace the milkshake with a malt, but instead of just chocolate it should be peanut butter cups.”

Ja’Marr smirks, “she really does have you completely wrapped around her finger without even knowing it. I’ll go by Mama’s, grab all of us dinner then we’ll take it back to hers.” His friend nodded then went back over to the couch. Joe lifted her legs up, sat down then placed them over his lap then admired how peaceful she looked in her sleep despite pain that put her there.

Ja’marr shook his head at the two, as he walked out the door he hoped that one day they’d get that future Joe spoke so passionately about.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

Peace, calm, and tranquility; three things you hadn’t felt in forever it seemed like. The heavy blanket of sleep slowly lifted off of you as woke up from the short slumber. Waking up you could feel the weight of Joe’s arms on your legs and the stroke of his fingers against your calf. You don’t know when you fell asleep, but it the sky was much dimmer than before. Joe hadn’t noticed you’d woken up yet so you took the time to think about how different everything would be if you were with him instead. You knew you weren’t his type, but it was nicer to think about that compared to reality. You always felt safe with him, it wasn’t his height or how big he was, it was his aura. He oozed protectiveness, you definitely saw it when you told him what happened.

Ja’Marr came through the door a few minutes into your little ‘Joe watching’ session. “Hey lil sis, how’d you sleep?”

Joe frowned at him confused before turning his head to you. “When did you wake up?”

You shrugged, “a couple of minutes ago. I wanted to see how long it took you to notice, then someone ruined it.” You said playfully side eyeing Ja’Marr.

He lightly chuckled as you swung your legs off of him. “Something smells incredible, please tell me its for me.”

Ja’Marr waved the bag from Mama’s in front of you before pulling it back to his chest. “Yup, but we gotta get you home first.”

“Do we have to? I could just stay here, forever.” You pout slouching back onto the couch.

“As much as we’d love that, you know the rules of the house after the weekend. Come on pretty girl.” Joe says pulling you off the couch.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

When the trio reaches Y/n’s apartment, Joe and Ja’Marr secretly keep an eye out for Miles hoping he doesn’t show himself until after she’s safe and sound in her home. Thankfully he wasn’t around, so she didn’t have to see him at all.

They spend another hour or two eating and keeping a smile on the girl’s face, until she gets tired and decides to turn in. “I’m beat, you guys can see yourselves out whenever. I’m going to bed.”

As they clean up the mess they created in her living room Joe spots her phone and gets an idea. Already knowing her password, he goes to her messages and taps on Miles’ contact.

“What are you doing?” Ja’marr scolds.

“What needs to be done, I don’t want her to see his face ever again. So I’m gonna make sure he stays away from her.” Joe expresses, as if it’s a completely normal idea.

Ja’Marr kisses his teeth before grabbing the phone. “Look if you’re going to do this, you can’t just text him like you would. ‘We should meet up.’ Really? Nah, let me handle this.” Joe steps aside and watches the man work.

To Miles: hey babe I know its late, but we should really talk about last night.

From Miles: I would love to talk about last night Princess, see you in a few

To Miles: i’ll be waiting ;)

“Did you really need the winky face?” Joe asks with an arched brow.

“Yea, its all about setting the scene. Plus she’s all about the old school emojis.” Sometimes, Joe thinks, he doesn’t understand what’s going on in the younger guy’s head but does at the same time. But since he seems to think it’s a great idea, we might as well keep it. Guess he’s not only a fast thinker on the field but off it too.

They put the phone on the coffee table and leave the apartment, Joe locking it with his spare key. “I can’t believe she gave you the spare and not me.”

The quarterback just grins, but it doesn’t last long because that’s when Miles gets back. At first glance, they can tell he’s annoyed to see them in front of ‘his girl’s’ door, but then he drops the attitude for a friendly facade. “Burrow, Chase! It’s been a while, how’ve you been?”

They both shrug their shoulders. “Oh you know, we’ve been better, but that’s just life right.” Joe’s artificial smile causes an unsettling feeling in the man’s core.

Miles gulps, “yea life can be tricky sometimes. You guys had plans with my princess today? I tried to come by earlier but she wasn’t home.”

“Yea, we spent most of the afternoon at the house just talking. Actually you know that light airiness in her voice when she’s happy?” Ja’Marr asks, hesitantly Miles nods. “It’s so sweet, she makes everyone’s day ten times better just with her voice. But it’s the weirdest thing, today when she was over, that joyful smile and cheery voice was nowhere to be seen. Did you notice that J?”

The man pinched his chin ‘thinking’ about the question. “You know what I did notice that.”

“That’s weird she was good when she left my place this morning.” Miles’ palms clam up as he tries to get his door open.

“Was she? Or is that what your sick mind is concocting about last night?” The door to his apartment creaks open.

“I don’t know what she told you but she’s lying. They always are, bitches- I mean-

Joe takes two long strides and punches Miles square across the face causing him stumble into the apartment. “Nah we know what you meant.”

“That was out of line bro, what’s coach gonna say when his QB is out for another season?” Ja’Marr scoffs and slams the door, locking them in.

“We’re not gonna be the ones worried about missing seasons.”

❁ཻུ۪۪♡

The only sounds heard from the apartment are the heavy thuds of fists being thrown into his body and the groans of pain coming out of his mouth. They go on for a few more minutes before the final thud of his beaten body hitting the floor vibrating the ground underneath and into the hallway.

Then Joe’s voice is heard from beyond the door, “you tell anyone about this and we’ll make sure everyone important to you knows how you treat women and especially what you did to kindest woman you’ll probably ever meet.”

The football players exit the apartment with satisfied grins and bruised knuckles, feeling a sense of accomplishment and relief. Then they see you. “Y/n.” You dawn another set of tears in those big brown eyes, they can only hope it wasn’t them who caused it.

“How much of that did you hear?” Joe asks chewing on his lip.

You sniffle and attempt to wipe away the tears. “I- um, I came out to get my phone and I heard you talking. I didn’t think anything of it until I realized it was him on the other side, then well.” You gesture at their hands. Joe immediately puts them behind his back.

“Y/n we didn’t mean to scare- The words are knocked out of Ja’Marr’s mouth as you run into their arms, throwing yours around their bodies as much as you can. “Thank you.”

They sigh in relief wrapping their arms around you. “No problem lil sis.” Ja’Marr smiles as you let go from the tight hug. “You don’t know how much that meant to me, or how much y’all mean to me.”

Joe can’t help but wrap his arms around you even tighter than before and kiss your head. “We’d do- I’d do anything for you babe.” You smile at the nickname change, even though it’s so small it makes your heart grow 3 sizes bigger. You stay like that for a while, just soaking in the love appreciation you have for each other. But unbeknownst to you, Ja’Marr decides to capture the moment and make a note to show it to them on their wedding day.

Because their love is so painfully obvious, they’re going to need proof to realize that it’s been there all along.

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

a/n: petition for Ja’Marr to officiate their wedding, sign here🩷

<<<Previous Part | Next Chapter>>>

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tag list: @light-yagami-l

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tetitous · 7 months

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OK I think I'm good to give my thoughts about the last 2 episodes now (warning, it's long)

I'm so fucking wilded out by the whole wakfu extraction scene. It was absolutely painful.

I have to applaud the transition between Yugo's old and new VA, it was super clean. I really like his voice, it's so soft and yet you feel it has some power in reserve, though for Valentin Vincent (yes, if you're an ff7 fan you see it, I see it too) to win over Fanny Bloc in my heart he'd need to give me a godlike performance, for now I need to grow used to the change.

I believe I said somewhere some time ago that Eliatrope landing on the WoT could have some drastic repercussions, seems like I was wrong then, I'm okay with that.

Poor Nora, I just- she's only ever done her best, she mourned for a brother who used her like a puppet, how fucking cruel is it that now her powers is what's putting the world in danger and there's nothing she can do about it. Efrim being so devoured by his hunger that he feels hatred for Eliatrope and doesn’t care about even his own twin sister is so sad. He calls Eliatrope an egoist, as if anyone was owed her life force, and he sees nothing but sustenance. I do remember someone saying that you become someone else when you discover what true hunger feels like, it's what him being folded in two over his own stomach reminded me of. I hope there is some way out for them, but I'm not sure that I can be hopeful.

Talking about that, Toross Mordal. He can't forget himself to his own anger, like the others, but his mind still can't prioritize anything else. It's interesting to me that to him Yugo was just a means of sustenance, and yet he showed him more sympathy seemingly than he did to Nora, the central piece to his plan. Does Yugo remind him of someone else? Himself? I also think a lot about the way he's on loop about how Eliatrope "could have kept on feeding his people for centuries", he says it so often, and I wonder if it's meant to parallel Eliatrope's "we're doomed" attitude. They're both on loop about their own situations.

The whole dichotomy between "monster" and "pure" seems to reach some conclusion, that probably being that these two concepts don't really mean anything but "who we feel like we're allowed to demonize or not".

It's very strong with Qilby, who's been labeled as both by people. He's been a blast those last 2 episodes, I wouldn't call it a redemption arc, but an acceptance of his complexity. Yugo was right in s2, Qilby cannot deal with loneliness, and moreso by the void. The one thing he really wants is for things to exist so that he can discover them, to compensate for his lack of connexion. Beyond that he understands that no one can truly get him, and that's okay, he seems to have done some self-reflection if he actually came to that conclusion without much anguish. He's reuniting with the one person who can get it, hopefully at some point some form of compromise can be done so that the White Dimension never becomes a necessity again.

Turns out Lokus WAS a Mechasm after all, interesting to have rebooted the species a little. You can be "worthy" of them, the conditions of this being kind of unclear. Given the parallels between the Eliacube and the Eliasphere, it seems, strangely enough, that both Yugo and Qilby have been deemed worthy. I'm kind of fascinated, I want to understand how they work a bit more, but I don't think we'll be given much answers.

I have so many thoughts about Yugo it's unreal. First I want to comb his hair, he's pretty but haircare isn't on point, tbf that's part of the charm I think. Because I really, really want to be the one to comb his hair. Yeah he's already going up there on the babygirl list. That's powerful.

The fact that Yugo has a mind protection mechanism thanks to the Eliotropes is beautiful to me. They, or at least Oropo, did want someone, anyone, to aknowledge them, and Yugo going from refusing to accept them to giving them a full Persona-style recognition was nice. I want to know more about them, specifically I want to see which aspects of them are their own, and which they originally got from Yugo, because I see them both as some extensions of Yugo and as their own people. To me, the moment you are separated from your "original being", you start to be "you", so something different. Oropo only being one of many actually helps me to appreciate him more. Still an asshole though. Yeah I do believe they're real, otherwise Yugo couldn't have come up with Bouillon, y'know? Let me just have some Yugo chilling with his not-quite-clones from time to time, let me figure out their individual deal.

Amalia is going to pop off, love that for her, curious about what her and Yugo's reunion is going to be like.

We heard nothing from the Percedals, well for now their big arc has been handled I guess, but they'll probably come back for the finale, their friends will need all the help they can get, after all. Actually so much of Eva's personality can be understood through the prism her abandonment issues, but her it doesn't feel like we have reached the point where her arc can be considered close, but her deciding to trust Flopin, trust the people around her, to give them love, really reminds us how far she's come from the person who refused to adress Amalia by anything other than "princess".

Also not much of Ruel, he's probably going to be torn between his two treasures: his money and his friends needing him, and Ruel is generous in the ways that matter. At least that's my expectations. Kinda wish we had more comic relief moments, but let's be real, it wouldn't have been appropriate atm.

I'm surprisingly normal about the fact eliatropes seem to be able to make their own clothes.

Did I say everything I wanted to say? Ah no, wait

The scene where Ad is being all self-depreciating and Qilby's coming back like "Hey, missed me?" Was hilarious, I actually laughed out loud and I really needed it.

Bro Qilby calling Amalia superficial. On the one hand she does rely a bit too much on appearances, on the other Qilby can talk, he doesn't know her and makes some pretty mean assumptions. Wrong ones at that, because Amalia knows Yugo and loves him beyond appearances, and so does Yugo. The irony of it all isn't lost on me.

Armand had such a wisdom glow up, good for him.

Other thoughts may come up, but that's what I have right now. Can't wait till next week I'm too excited

#wakfu #wakfu s4 #wakfu season 4 #wakfu spoilers

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monstersdownthepath · 6 months

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A pair of new deities

Well, sort of new. One of them is entirely original, but the first one is actually based on a comedic aside found in Agents of Edgewatch: Assault on Hunting Lodge Seven, where he's listed among a few of the notable names to try and miserably fail to take on the Test of the Starstone. In both cases, however, these deities are involved with the Starstone, a bit of lore I've not really touched before due to my preference for cosmic horror.

In reality, both of these could be full articles on their own, but I feel like they're not 'big' enough to get two individual pages. Maybe one day I'll change my mind. For now, though, here's a look at Veelich, the God of Failure, and Wittiby, the God of Familiars.

VEELICH, THE UNWANTED Chaotic Neutral God of Failure, Outcasts, and Falling Forever In Bottomless Pits

Domains: Chaos, Darkness, Luck, Protection, Void Subdomains: Caves*, Shadow, Curse, Imagination, Solitude, Isolation* Favored Weapon: Club Symbol: A hole or trench with a goblin hand reaching out of it. Sacred Animal: None Sacred Color: Green and yellow *Followers of Veelich can modify either the Darkness or Void Domains with the Caves Subdomain, and the Darkness Domain with the Isolation Subdomain.

Veelich the Unwanted was once known as the unluckiest goblin in all of Absalom, if not the Inner Sea, or perhaps even the world. Not a day went by that he didn't stub his toe, slam his fingers against something, spill his drinks and food, bump into the wrong person, or open his mouth and accidentally insult the very wrong person. To many, it felt as though he couldn't have possibly been doing it on accident; no one alive could be so cursed! Certainly, he was doing this for attention! But Veelich repeatedly insisted, sometimes tearfully, sometimes full of fury, that he wasn't doing anything on purpose, and near as anyone could tell, he was being genuine. Things just happened to him, constantly, and perhaps his only solace (or perhaps his true curse) is that he hadn't been killed for it yet.

That all changed when he tried to take the Test of the Starstone, so people thought. Like every aspirant, Veelich had to first make it inside the cathedral, and to do that, he had to first bypass the bottomless pit which surrounded it. Like so very, very many aspirants before him, the first challenge proved to be insurmountable, and to his credit, he did go all out on his attempt. He had purchased a powerful potion of Jump to heroically leap into the air, a sturdy parachute to glide the rest of the way, and a sturdy security line attached to a powerful, magic stake in the ground in case his luck went sour (as it always did), and even a Ring of Sustenance to both avoid the risk of food poisoning AND assure that his goblin appetite didn't force him to do anything stupid once he finally got into the cathedral.

What he did not know was that his Jump potion was on a discount due to being largely expired, its effects not nearly as dramatic as they should have been, his parachute wasn't secured properly, and a citizen passing by as he set up had accidentally dripped some savory sauce on his safety line, attracting the attention of a voracious rat. Even if none of those incidents had occurred, the sheer number of good luck charms he had brought with him in the hopes of stabilizing his cursed luck would have weighed him down anyway, but fate did not have to work especially hard to send him screaming into the darkness, Ring of Sustenance assuring he wouldn't even die quickly, never to be seen or heard again... For about five or so years.

It was, perhaps, more surprising for Veelich than it was for the first of his unintentional Clerics, Oracles, Antipaladins, and the like to find out that he had achieved a measure of divine apotheosis as he fell endlessly in that pit; he had gotten so used to talking to figments of his imagination as he fell that it took his devoted several months to convince him that they were real, and that he had actually succeeded in his goal of becoming a god... But not in the way he had wanted. In a cruel cosmic jest, the cruelest yet, his attempts at becoming the God of Overcoming Adversity had cemented him as the God of Failure, a figure of mockery and a target of endless jokes, all of which he gets to hear every time someone mentioned him by name. He doesn't even get a proper divine realm, instead having been transported, at some point, to a dark pocket of the Maelstrom that perfectly imitates the pit he spent his final few years as a mortal falling through. His divine portfolio doesn't lend itself to any particularly major miraculous acts; he's mostly a sponge and scapegoat for misfortune and curses, which he then passes onto his followers so that they may then pass them onto their foes (provided they don't perish miserably from the influx of cursed power).

It's not all bad, though. In a way, his bad luck never actually killed him, and though his power isn't especially impressive when compared to that of a proper Ascended, it DOES give him hope that one day, he will be able to find out who or what worked to make him so miserable in his mortal life.

As a proper god, Veelich can grant Boons to any creature taking the Deific Obedience feat, but he does not possess a dedicated Prestige Class such as Feysworn or Diabolist. Boons are typically gained slowly, achieved at levels 12, 16, and 20, but by entering the Evangelist, Exalted, or Sentinel Prestige Classes as early as possible, they can be obtained at levels 8, 11, and 14 instead. While normally a full god would grant three sets of Boons, Veelich isn't powerful or especially creative enough to come up with more than one. Perhaps, in time, he will.

Obedience: Either find or create a hole deep enough to hide your entire head inside, then do so. Spend at least half an hour making casual (though one-sided) conversation about what's been going on in your life so Veelich gets some respite from the deluge of frantic prayers, then you may devote the remaining time to redirecting any misfortune or accidents you have suffered or believe you will suffer to him. Benefit: Gain a +4 sacred or profane bonus to saving throws against curses, and to Climb and Athletics checks.

Boon 1: Cruel Irony (Sp): Gain Jump 3/day, Create Pit 2/day, or Curse of Befouled Luck 1/day.

Boon 2: Curse Sponge (Sp): Common faithful believe Veelich will soak up all their bad luck and misfortune, but you know that prayer isn't enough. Sometimes you have to roll up your sleeves and do it yourself. Up to three times per day, you may cast Accept Affliction as a spell-like ability, except you may use it on any creature within 20ft rather than as a touch spell. If you've absorbed at least three separate afflictions from another being with this ability (whether it be all in a single casting, or one affliction per casting) within the same 24 hour period, Veelich redirects a portion of your suffering; once within the next 24 hours, you can cast Bestow Curse as a spell-like ability.

Boon 3: Screaming Into the Darkness (Sp): Once per day, you may give a foe a taste of what the God of Failure had to deal with. This acts as using the Maze spell as a spell-like ability, except instead of sending a victim into an extradimensional labyrinth, it sends them falling into a bottomless pit inside of which flight--magical or mundane--is impossible. As such, the victim does not make Intelligence checks to escape, but must instead succeed Climb checks (DC 15 + 1/2 your Hit Dice + your Charisma modifier): the first to catch themselves and stop from falling, then 2 additional successful Climb checks for each round they failed to stop themselves from falling (thus a creature that fell for 3 rounds would need to make 6 successful Climb checks to fully emerge from the pit). A creature that fails to escape the pit reappears at the location they disappeared from falling at terminal velocity, taking 20d6 bludgeoning damage the moment they hit a solid surface.

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WITTIBY, THE SAGE OF SMALL MAGIC True Neutral God of Familiars, Cantrips, and Arcane Study

Domains: Animal, Community, Knowledge, Magic, Strength Subdomains: Animal*, Cooperation, Education, Arcane, Resolve Favored Weapon: Quarterstaff Symbol: An animal-patterned spellbook with a pearl clasp Sacred Animal: Any familiar Sacred Color: Lime green *Followers of Wittiby may select any of the Subdomains under the Animal Domain.

Disparagingly called the Undeserving God by many, the tale of Wittiby is a strange one, a story tinged with hubris, tragedy, and lost friends. They were once the proud assistance of an archmage, a familiar created from a beloved pet and instilled with a grasp of the mystic and the arcane. Who their archmage was, and what shape they had before their ascension, are both memories that were lost to them during the trauma experienced within the Starstone Cathedral.

No one is ever prepared for the Test of the Starstone, no matter how great their power. The archmage was no different, confidently striding across the bottomless pit with a powerful Wind Walk spell and deftly avoiding the pockets of dead magic sent up to stop them before throwing open the cathedral's doors as though they were the doors of the mage's own tower. All the while, Wittiby was on their shoulder, cheering them on as the doors closed behind them, sealing their fates.

What, exactly, happened within the cathedral is something they will not say, though they obviously remember it with perfect clarity. All they reveal is that their beloved archmage, whose name was taken from them, survived every trial the Starstone Cathedral placed in their path... every trial but the last one, in the Starstone's own chamber, which took their life. Though, by all accounts, the archmage appears to have been a haughty, self-aggrandizing blowhard, their final act was one of pure kindness, sealing their beloved familiar--pet, associate, friend--in a bubble of force to protect them from the terrible backlash of arcane severance to try and teleport them out of the Cathedral, wishing only for Wittiby to escape the cathedral and the rest of their life free, but fate had other plans in store.

Someone touched the Starstone that day, after all. It just wasn't the one who opened the door.

When asked what possessed them to do such a thing, Wittiby claims that they planned to use their divine powers to turn their archmage into their Herald, restoring them to life. It was not to be, though, and for such a selfless wish, the familiar's cataclysmic ascension event tore all records of who the archmage was from reality so thoroughly that no one who was there the very day they strolled into town could even recall the mage's face or name. Going even further, Wittiby's form became protean and chaotic, shifting between dozens of animals in the span of minutes, to rob them of the shape their master gave them. All they have left is their master's spellbook, bereft of details of their life but cover-to-cover full of immense arcane knowledge.

Whether this apparent cosmic cruelty is some form of punishment from the Starstone itself for trying to bypass its rules, a price paid by all Ascended that they simply do not speak of or cannot remember (Wittiby's arcane bond to their master may be the sole reason they recall anything about them), the fate of any being to make it to the center of the cathedral but who failed the final test or, as many sneer, the price paid for Wittiby all but literally riding their way to the Starstone without doing any real work, is the subject of conjecture... even by Wittiby theirself, who isn't yet sure if they even deserve their position.

Still getting used to their place as a new god, Wittiby's dour mood has yet to fully lift, but they find joy where they can in their new duties as God of Small Magics. Every time an aspirant caster learns a new cantrip, casts their first spell, and forges (or deepens) a bond with their familiar, the world gets a little bit brighter for the Shapeless Sage. Their time as a god is a mere handful of years, their faithful a scant handful in number, knowledge of their very existence all but unheard of beyond Absalom, so time will yet tell what sort of god they will grow to be as the passing years heal their wounds and scars over their memories. For the moment they are content performing small blessings to protect mages and their bonded allies from danger when they can, and putting hopeful casters on the path to discovering and mastering their first spells.

As a proper god, Wittiby can grant Boons to any creature taking the Deific Obedience feat, but they do not possess a dedicated Prestige Class such as Feysworn or Diabolist. Boons are typically gained slowly, achieved at levels 12, 16, and 20, but by entering the Evangelist, Exalted, or Sentinel Prestige Classes as early as possible, they can be obtained at levels 8, 11, and 14 instead. While normally a full god would grant three sets of Boons, Wittiby is too new to divinity to offer more than one.

Obedience: Practice magic with your familiar or animal companion for at least one hour. If you are not a caster or do not have a familiar/animal companion, spend at least one hour either researching magical theory or caring for an animal which trusts you. Benefit: Whenever you, your familiar, or your animal companion performs the Aid Another action, your target gains an additional +2 sacred or profane bonus to their check.

Boon 1: The Essentials (Sp): Gain Magic Missile 3/day, Levitate 2/day, or Tiny Hut 1/day

Boon 2: Hedge Wizardry (Su/Sp): The blessing of the God of Small Magic gives you mastery over the smallest magic there is: cantrips. Each time you complete your Obedience, select three cantrips from an Arcane caster class (Magus, Sorcerer, Summoner, Witch, or Wizard). You may cast these cantrips at will as spell-like abilities for the next 24 hours. In addition, once per round as a swift action, you may cast any level 0 spell you know (be it a cantrip, knack, orison, etc) with a casting time of 1 standard action or less, including the ones gained from this Boon.

Boon 3: Constant Companion (Sp): The pain of losing one's treasured companion can be crippling, and Wittiby seeks to alleviate that pain as quickly as they possibly can. You may cast True Resurrection once per day as a spell-like ability, but only to return a creature's bonded companion to life. This includes familiars, bonded mounts (like that of a Paladin or Cavalier), animal companions and, if need be, eidolons. This does NOT include hirelings or cohorts gained via Leadership. You may use this ability to resurrect bonded companions other than your own. Using this ability as an excuse to repeatedly send bonded companions into danger against their will is seen as an abuse of Wittiby's gift and may provoke their wrath.

#original concepts #Pathfinder

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muffinrecord · 7 months

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Some rambling about the event

Hmm so I'm not taking screenshots but:

Asahi goes out to hunt a witch. As a cover-up she shoots a rabbit and says that it's for the upcoming festival, but her family sees through it as she previously said that they had enough meat for it.

Her father proceeds to slap her (which man I don't have the spoons to go into that discussion) and say something along the lines of "how dare you take this life for no reason." He calls her out for killing a living being for no good reason and then says that he knows she's hiding something and that she must have killed the animal because of internal anxiety / something along the lines of her not valuing life.

It's interesting to me, because the Folklore girls keep getting compared to rabbits. Her killing a rabbit must be directly related then, right? I'm not sure how I feel about the comparison though.

For one, her father is both correct and also wrong. She did kill the rabbit for a bad reason and it's true that she didn't value its life, but the reason for her anxiety is directly because of her complicated feelings towards life right now. She's just found out that magical girls turn into witches, and witches are what she hunts. She watched a pair of magical girls turn into witches right in front of her, and she wasn't able to kill them at first. So to say that she doesn't value life is... I dunno.

Next, a big theme so far (and I'm only like thirty minutes into the video) is loneliness and isolation. The Folklore girls are heavily burdened by the knowledge of what magical girls become and feel like no one will understand them or what they're going through. They're desperate to be understood but afraid that people will fear what they don't understand.

And then you come back to this dad, and it just feels very painful, even excluding the slap. Because Asahi's reaction to this talk is that she hates herself. Which... what if that led her to becoming a witch eventually? I know it doesn't, but what if it led her to isolate herself even further?

The father is angry that she's taking her anxiety out on a rabbit's life, but his actions could lead to her death.

I think it also troubles me that he didn't attempt to reach out before and talk to her, but I think there's subtext that this is a very stoic family that doesn't talk about those kind of feelings.

Back to the rabbit imagery... I dunno how I feel about it yet, but that's also probably because I'm still only thirty minutes into a 3 and a half hour long event. Magical girls are rabbits, magical girls are sustenance. They keep the universe going with their deaths. You need to respect their lives...? Is that what we're going with here? Hmmm.

I'm curious as to what other folks think of this scene and how it relates to the event as a whole. I might just be stupid as fuck right now (insomnia is killing me as per usual and I feel like I'm at 15% battery for my brain) but the whole thing feels a little loose in my head. Again, I probably just need to like. finish watching the event lmao.

Oh hmmm. I do know that eventually magical girls get hunted down in the city later by regular folk. I wonder if that's supposed to be the rabbit comparison? Magical girls being killed uselessly by people because of their anxieties. Oof though, I don't really like that. Kind of hard to explain why... Hmmm...

#Magia Record #Muffin Liveblog #Ashen Revolution Liveblog #Asahi Miura

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shyvioletcat · 8 months

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A/N: I'm gonna be honest, i lost my editing steam about halfway through Rowan's second POV, so past there we're just going to ignore any errors due to my impatience. Thank you so much for your patience, this chapter has been sitting in my brain for a long time. It's something other than poorly edited

~ Made of Ashes Masterlist ~

~~~~~

Aelin was so tired she didn’t know how she was conscious or functioning. The inevitable had happened, her precious little baby was sick. And she was left floundering.

It had started out fairly mild. Just a little bit of a runny nose and some irritability. The first few days had been next to nothing and Aelin had been able to cope fairly well. She was a little sleep deprived and a little anxious, but that was all and overall it hadn’t been too bad. And then Elsie didn’t get better, in fact she got worse, and everything flipped on its head. Now Elsie was coughing, often wheezing, a low appetite and a fever just to round it out. Aelin was doing her best and she managed to get Elsie to take some pain relievers that helped the baby sleep. The real issue was getting Elsie to eat enough, she was still only breastfed but Aelin fed her whenever she wanted, no matter when. It just felt like it wasn’t enough.

It had been two days of Aelin barely sleeping while fretting over her fussy daughter. Every cough and whimper had her nerves on edge, as did trying to placate to Elsie’s every whim. Aelin was battling this fight on her own. Her parents were on a business trip in Rifthold and she didn’t want to risk spreading the infection to Rue, and Korby was already sick. So Aelin would soldier on, in the trenches and on the front lines.

Seeing her daughter sick was heartbreaking. It left her with a deep feeling of helplessness, because at the very heart of it there was nothing Aelin could do to ease her baby’s suffering. Nothing seemed to please her and the best Aelin could do was hold her just about every minute of the day. When Elsie wasn’t attached to her mother she cried like her own heart was breaking. Aelin hadn’t showered in a good 36 hours and sustenance came from whatever she could make and eat one handed.

They were currently on Aelin’s bed with the pillows stacked so that she could lean back and rest Elsie on her chest so they were both mostly upright. Elsie fussed, fighting sleep, her little whimpers sounding congested. Aelin knew her daughter needed rest, it would be the fastest way to get better. A nap would do them both some good in fact.

“Come on, darling,” Aelin whispered, eyes closed like all her energy diverted to keep her mouth moving. “Just sleep, even for a little bit.”

Elsie protested, rubbing her face on her mother’s shirt, no doubt getting drool and snot everywhere. Aelin didn’t care, dirty clothes weren’t a concern right now. Keeping her eyes closed Aelin started to hum and there was a moment of quiet before Elsie started fussing again. She changed to singing You Are My Sunshine softly. That one almost worked but Elsie’s contentment only lasted about a minute. And then a song came into her head at random, and Aelin was singing it before she even realised what she was doing.

Beautiful Dreamer, wake unto me,

Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee;

Sounds of the rude world heard in the day,

Lull'd by the moonlight have all passed away!

Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song,

List while I woo thee with soft melody;

The song was one Rowan used to sing all the time, one that his mother used to sing to him if he was to be believed. Aelin’s voice was weak and uneven, but she did her best. This song sounded better when Rowan sang it, his accent adding a bit of whimsy, almost making it sound like some kind of faerie lullaby.

Gone are the cares of life's busy throng

Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!

Beautiful dreamer, out on the sea,

Mermaids are chanting the wild Lorelei;

Over the stream let vapours are borne,

Waiting to fade at the bright coming morn.

Beautiful dreamer, beam on my heart,

E'en as the morn on the stream let and sea;

Then will all clouds of sorrow depart,

Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!

Elsie went quiet and Aelin let out a shaky sigh of relief. Finally, a reprieve. Aelin sang it again and Elsie stayed quiet, and half way through the third time the baby was asleep. Too tired to care, Aelin didn’t bother trying to open her eyes knowing that sleep was hovering over her. It was barely a minute later and she was asleep.

Something pulled Aelin to consciousness, not even realising how deep of a sleep she had fallen into. Within a few heart startling moments she would realise it was mother’s intuition. Elsie was still on her chest, awake and in distress. Her breathing was rapid and Aelin was sweating herself from how hot the infant was. Aelin’s body reacted first—tipping forward and cradling Elsie in her arms so that she could see her better.

Elsie’s breathing was deep and rapid and she was looking pale. One of her fists waved about, knocking the side of her head and ears. And then Elsie coughed, an awful sound that had Aelin’s insides twisting with panic. Her baby was unwell, severely unwell.

Aelin fumbled for her phone, her hand shaking from panic and exhaustion. She couldn’t manage the string of numbers so she went to contacts instead, tapping frantically on the one that simply read: Mum.

“Hello, hello,” Evalin said cheerfully, her face appearing on the screen.

“Mum, what do I do?” Aelin asked.

Concern flooded her mother’s features. “What do you mean?”

“She’s breathing so hard and her temperature is so high,” Aelin said, her voice heightened with her increasing alarm. “I just fell asleep for a second, just a second.”

Aelin was aware she was reaching hysterics but she couldn’t help it. Panic well and truly had set in and the overwhelming need to protect had taken over, except there was no physical threat. There was nothing she could do.

“Show me what her breathing is like,” Evalin said, the tension in her voice clear but she was trying to stay calm.

“It’s ah… it’s fast,” Aelin flipped the phone to show Elsie. “And she’s coughing and the pain medicine must have worn off because her fever is back.”

Elsie’s breath caught and she coughed, disrupting her breathing more. Two sets of worried turquoise eyes met each other through the phone screen. Aelin broke.

“Do I take her to the doctor or the hospital? How am I supposed to drive? I can’t watch her if I’m driving, what if she stops breathing?”

“Oh my sweethearts,” Evalin sounded devastated. “I’m sure she’ll be okay but I think you should take her to the hospital.”

Aelin sobbed, she couldn’t help it. She tried to keep it together but exhaustion and fear were overwhelming her—she was so alone right now.

“Aelin, don’t drive. Call someone to come get you,” Evalin said.

But Aelin’s brain was scrambled, no one immediately came to her. “Who?”

“Aedion, he’s the closest.”

“Yeah, okay,” Aelin said a bit weakly.

“Call him and then call me back,” Evalin said. “I’ll stay on with you until he gets there.”

Aelin hung up, then called Aedion straight away. She was holding her breath until she got an answer. Somehow she managed to be coherent and Aedion promised to be out the door moments later. Aelin was about to call her mother back when Elsie had a coughing fit, lasting so long that the baby vomited. It covered both of them and Aelin swore under her breath as she tried to contain the vomit and make sure Elsie was all right.

Elise cried and cried, her pain and discomfort obvious. Aelin tried to comfort her as she bundled Elsie up the best she could and headed for the bathroom, snatching a change of baby clothes from a clean washing basket on the way. There wasn’t time for a shower and Aelin didn’t want to risk the chill Elsie might get after. Aelin stripped the soiled clothes off both of them and threw them in the bathtub and then yanked down a towel to give Elsie a wipe down before dressing her in leggings and a long sleeved t-shirt. The crying hadn’t stopped and Aelin felt tears gathering in her own eyes. The helplessness was overwhelming.

“Aelin.” Aedion was standing in the doorway, his face tight as he took in the scene.

“She’s sick,” Aelin said, sniffling. Her brain was fried and she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Yeah, poor thing.” Aedion’s tone was soothing, low and soft.

Aelin stood, keeping a safe hold on her daughter. “We gotta go.”

Aedion stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Hold on—’’

What was he doing, didn’t he realise they had to leave? Now. Aelin was about to verbally protest when Aedion gave her a look that had her biting back the words.

“You don’t have a shirt on, and you’ll need your wallet and the nappy bag.”

Aelin had been so concerned about getting Elsie dressed after the vomiting that she hadn’t got a change of clothes for herself. All Aelin wore was a crop bra and pyjama pants. She couldn’t go to the hospital like this.

“Pass her to me and go get what you need,” Aedion said, holding out his arms to take the baby.

Aelin nodded, passing Elsie over. “Clothes, wallet, bag.”

Over the crying Aedion repeated, “Clothes. Wallet. Bag.”

Aedion left the bathroom, murmuring to Elsie as she cried, but Aelin forced her brain to focus on what she needed to do now. She needed clothes, and her wallet, and stuff for Elsie. Three things and then they could go. In her bedroom Aelin threw on a pair of leggings and the first clean t-shirt she could find, also grabbing a sweatshirt because hospitals were always cold. Next she darted off to Elsie’s room, stuffing more clothes and nappies and a pacifier into the bag. All that was left was her wallet that was on the kitchen counter.

She found Aedion pacing between the living area and the edge of the kitchen, whispering to Elsie. Aelin was so focused on getting out the door that she didn’t notice the quiet at first. Her daughter was still whimpering softly but the desperate crying had stopped. It irrationally hurt to see Elsie settled when Aelin had been trying so hard—for days. Aedion’s eyes met hers over the top of Elsie’s head and he gave her a weak smile.

Aelin didn’t return it, too single minded to sort through her feelings. So she just grabbed her wallet from the bench and she was done. “Ready.”

There was a wordless agreement that Aedion would keep Elsie, at least until they got to the car. Elsie was content for the time being and there was no use disturbing her more than she needed to be, even though it caved in Aelin’s chest a little to keep the distance. Blessedly the elevator was quick to arrive and there were no stops down to the garage parking lot. Aedion unlocked the car, but Aelin opened the door and he eased Elsie into the car seat. As soon as the connection to her uncle’s chest was lost the crying started again. Each second seemed to drag on, and for a few of them Aelin waited just holding the door. When Elsie’s cry broke into a screech it kicked Aelin into gear and she was darting around to the other side of the car and climbed into the back seat.

“I’m here, baby girl. I’m here,” Aelin tried to soothe and Aedion finished up with the buckle. Elsie’s eyes peeked over at her, her bottom lip pouting. “Just hold on, we’re going. You’ll feel better soon.

The drive consisted of Aelin repeating assurances over and over again, words of comfort and keeping her hands on Elsie so she knew her mother was right there with her. When they got to the hospital everything passed in a blur. Aedion dropped her at the doors and Aelin hurried with Elsie through the doors. As a sick infant Elsie was seen within minutes.

Aelin felt like she was in a limbo as she waited for Elsie to be assessed. To help with her initial comfort they gave Elsie oxygen and put a monitor on her foot. Next it was quickly determined that she was at risk of dehydration so they attached an IV too. That was traumatic, and Aelin thanked the gods that Aedion was by her side when that happened. He was able to hold Aelin’s shaking hand and help keep Elsie still while the nurse injected the needle in her hand. Aelin wasn’t letting her daughter go, even if she barely had the strength.

It was nearly another hour before they got the full diagnosis. The doctor had introduced herself as Sorsha and Aelin had to hand it to her, she had an excellent bedside manner. She was patient with both Elsie and her mother while the stress was high. Her hazel eyes were kind and sympathetic, but she was assertive and clear every step of the way.

Sorsha delivered the news on Elsie’s diagnosis herself. She had RSV, which led to an ear infection and bronchitis. Aelin’s heart seized at the words but Sorscha assured her that it sounded scarier than it was. All three were common and treatable, and it was all caught early enough that there were no serious repercussions. And on top of that they had discovered there was a slight structural abnormality in the tubes that connected her ears to her sinuses which had been the cause of the ear infection. It had to do with drainage and bacteria, but Aelin had been too focused on fixing it that most of what was said went over her head. She was told Elsie would most likely grow out of the ear problems, she would just be more susceptible to more infections until she did. The doctor commended Aelin on her actions and left her to process what she’d just heard.

Aelin had done the right thing, Elsie was okay— just needed to be monitored.

They were moved from the ER department to a room in the children’s ward of the hospital because they would be staying for at least a few days. Aelin barely left Elsie’s bedside, and quickly fell back into the habit of barely sleeping. There was a reclining armchair for her to sleep in, a consideration made for those parents that would be staying with their children. But the constant beeping and noise of the hospital kept her awake, as did the anxiety over her daughter’s welfare. It didn’t help that every time Aelin started to drift off she was graced with dreams of Elsie screaming, or crying, or vomiting. She would startle awake, unsure of what was reality and what wasn’t, only to find Elsie sleeping soundly.

Aelin’s mother arrived around lunchtime on their first full day in the hospital, and it was only then that she managed to get a solid amount of sleep knowing that someone else had eyes on Elsie. She was unfortunately woken up about an hour later by a nurse coming in and doing another check. The consensus was that Elsie wasn’t declining, but she still needed to stay in for observation.

Evalin went out for food, which Aelin only picked at until visiting hours were over. Elsie’s condition had kind of plateaued instead of getting better. Everyone kept saying at least she wasn’t getting worse. What ate away at Aelin was that maybe she hadn’t done enough, that she hadn’t seen the signs earlier and acted too late. Maybe all this could have been avoided if she had been more vigilant. Aelin had been hanging by a thread so she hadn’t noticed how serious Elsie’s condition was. To punish herself further Aelin had googled the what ifs in those hours that she couldn’t sleep and was berating herself for letting it get this far to begin with.

Another night in the hospital was spent watching Elsie as she slept, sometimes fitfully in between medications. They gave her doses to keep her comfortable but it couldn’t take all her ailments away. The tiny girl still woke up in distress, crying from pain or discomfort from the IV, or coughing and waking up in an unfamiliar bed. Aelin was doing everything she could to make sure Elsie was comfortable and content. But it wasn’t enough.

A new day started and Aelin was still staring at her daughter, cataloguing everything. Her breathing was easier, but it still shuddered every once and a while. There was a slight decline in the frequency of the coughing fits and blessedly they deemed that Elsie was eating enough that she was unhooked from the IV, temporarily at least.

Evalin was their visitor today and had taken it upon herself to fill everyone in with the updates, using the group chat on Aelin’s phone. Lorcan was checking in incessantly, because guilt was riding him too. Unbeknown to everyone Korbin had RSV, and yes, it was the consensus that was where the sickness had come from. Elide and Lorcan had kept him home instead of coming to dinner that night, but it seemed that Lorcan had been the one to pass it on to Elsie. He felt awful and had sent Aelin numerous apologies, he even went as far as calling which was all but unheard of from him. Aelin told him it wasn’t his fault, reciting the statistics of how common infections were this time of year. It was winter, it was cold, people got sick.

All her friends were rallying to Aelin’s side, offering any and every kind of help they could—mainly in the offering of food to keep the visitors down in the hospital room. Her mother was in charge of crowd control, Evalin was a pro at managing people and telling them when to do things. That was probably the reason why the next guest arrived.

“Hey,” Fenrys said softly from the doorway.

Aelin nearly jumped despite the non-startling care he had taken. “Hey, Fen.”

“I’ve got some snacks,” he said, holding up a bag as he walked into the room. “How’s she doing?”

Aelin looked back at Elsie, who was sleeping. “She’s doing okay. Getting better.”

“That’s good,” Fenrys said.

Fenrys drifted over to where Evalin sat by the window, passing over the food and chatting quietly. Aelin didn’t bother to try and decipher what was being said, the beeping of Elsie’s monitor was too loud. As were the thoughts tumbling around in her head.

“Go home, Aelin,” Evalin said, snapping Aelin out of her trance. “She’s okay, I’ll be right here.”

“I can’t,” Aelin replied.

“You can,” Evalin’s voice was a little firmer. “Have a shower, get some clean clothes. I won’t leave her side, I promise.”

Aelin looked up to her mother’s face, seeing the honesty there. If she promised not to leave Elsie’s side, Aelin believed her. It would be hard but Aelin knew it was the right thing to do. She’d been in these clothes for two days and she hadn’t done more than wash her face.

“I’ll drive you, come on,” Fenrys offered.

Fenrys dropping by with food had truly been divine intervention or very purposeful planning. Aelin supposed it might be the latter. She might have been able to take her mother’s car, but she wasn’t too confident in her driving right now. With Elsie sleeping and Aelin didn’t want to wake her but she couldn't leave without pressing the softest of kisses to her daughter’s head.

On the way out to the car Aelin stopped by the nurse’s station just to let them know what was happening and that she would be back as soon as they could. They nodded along and promised to ring if anything occurred while she was out. When they undoubtedly saw the colour drain from Aelin’s face they told her nothing would, because Elsie was doing fine. It still left Aelin’s stomach in a tight knot.

Fenrys led her out to his car and opened the door for her. Aelin fingers drummed on her thigh as she waited for him to get in. The quicker they left, the quicker she could get back. The usually talkative man was silent on the drive back to her apartment and Aelin wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse. She didn’t have the energy for conversation but the silence also left her alone with her thoughts. They swirled inside her mind, building and inflating into what felt like a treacherous storm.

“Want me to come up?” Fenrys offered as he yanked on the handbrake.

“Um,” Aelin's brain was foggy. “If you want?”

Fenrys looked at her for a moment and then made his decision. “I’ll come up.

As soon as they were out of the car Aelin had her keys in her hand, ready and waiting to get her to her apartment. Then it was just the habitual ride up the elevator and walk down the hallway.

Being inside her apartment had Aelin relaxing, even if it was just by the smallest amount. She wanted a shower, maybe some food, but then she found she couldn’t move from where she stood in front of her couch. Aelin’s tumultuous emotions were winning, try as she might she couldn’t hold them at bay any longer. She wrapped her arms around her body as the last defence of keeping herself together. It failed and a sob tore out of her before she could stop or flee to where no one could see her long held in breakdown.

“Aelin,” Fenrys said tentatively. She didn’t answer, she just cried harder.

Fenrys was moving closer and a little voice in the back of Aelin’s head told her to stop crying, wipe her face and smile. But she was tired and sad, her daughter was sick in the hospital and it was all her fault.

“Hey, come here.”

Arms that weren’t hers wrapped around her and Aelin was pressed against a hard chest. She let it happen, accepting the small gesture of comfort. Tears soaked Fenrys’ shirt, but he didn’t seem to mind, he just kept holding her until she was the one to call it. Aelin was embarrassed at how long it took her to calm down, and even then she couldn’t stop tears from gathering and falling down her cheeks.

“I’m okay, Fen,” Aelin murmured, not pulling away just yet though. “Sorry about your shirt.”

“I don’t mind,” Fenrys said. “You wanna talk about it?”

“I—” the words were choked on a sob. “This is my fault.”

“What? No.” Fenrys pulled back enough so that he could look down at her. “This is not your fault.”

Those words meant nothing, guilt and despair was all consuming. “It is. Because I am not enough for her. I let it go too far, I should have taken her to the doctor or the hospital sooner, but I was just so tired and I have no idea what I’m doing. Elsie is suffering because I am not enough. I am supposed to be everything that she needs and I failed her.”

“No, Aelin. You know that’s not true,” Fenrys said.

“It is. I should have seen the signs but—”

“Aelin, please listen to me,” Fenrys actually pushed Aelin back so that she could look her in the eyes. She couldn’t hold the eye contact, she turned away, eyes closing and squeezing more tears from her eyes. “Kids get sick, and you were everything Elsie needed. There is no doubt in my mind that you sacrificed just about all of yourself for her benefit. That was enough for her, but shit happens, things that are out of your control. That is what happened. Not you.”

Aelin exhaled, her body shuddering as she tried to wrangle some control over her emotions. She risked a glance at Fenrys’ face. This man was known for his perpetual joking and troublemaking, seeing him so serious was odd but comforting.

“You are more than enough for Elsie,” he said. “You always will be. We’re all here for you, the both of you, but you are all she needs.”

“How did I mess up so badly then?” Aelin’s tears fell with a new fervour.

“Because you’re new to this and you did do the best that you could. And when you had to, you asked for help,” Fenrys told her. “And RSV is so common, it’s something that they say is only a matter of time.”

“How do you know that?” Aelin asked, dabbing her nose on her sleeve as she finally felt brave enough to step away.

“I did my research once your mum let us all know,” Fenrys replied. “She’s awesome by the way, real cool lady.”

“I’ll have to tell her you said that, she’ll be flattered.” Aelin felt a bit lighter.

“What makes you think I haven’t told her myself?” Fenrys said cheekily. That made Aelin laugh and he tapped a knuckle in her chin. “There we go.”

“That’s gross, Fen. Who knew it would take you hypothetically flirting with my mother to break me,” Aelin's voice was shaky with laughter and withheld tears.

“Had to get you to listen to me somehow,” Fenrys said with a genuine smile.

“Um, watch TV or whatever,” Aelin waved at the couch. “I shouldn’t be too long.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

That question threatened to trigger a new wave of tears. Aelin had always been too independent for her own good, the last few days had proven that. So not wanting to set off another round she declined and all but fled to the bathroom and showered. It felt amazing and she was more than refreshed when she stepped out onto the mat and grabbed her towel. It was then she noticed that the vomit covered clothes had been removed. Someone had been in and tidied up, and instead of feeling embarrassed she just felt gratitude.

Dressed and ready to go, Aelin did a quick check of her phone to see if there were any messages. Just one, from her mother, letting her know Elsie had woken up but was content. Aelin knew that would only be for the time being she would have to get back as soon as she could to prevent a monster meltdown. She also noticed that it was mid afternoon on a Tuesday—time and space had no relevance in the hospital.

Fenrys was sitting on her lounge and Aelin shot him the question her phone had triggered. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Nope,” Fenrys said, not looking over right away. Like he needed a moment to form his single word answer.

“But, it’s a work day. Don’t tell me you took it off for me.” If he had… it was just something else that she would beat herself up over.

Fenrys now doubt sensed her rising panic as it was broadcasted across the room because he said without hesitation, “I quit. Finally.”

Aelin remembered something about a game company seeking him out, but as far as she knew he had stuck with Stone City. “You what?”

Slapping his hands on his things once, he stood from the couch. “Come on, let’s get you back before your mum eats all the good snacks.”

There was something more going on here, Aelin could feel it. But she definitely lacked the tact to get it out in the right way. So she just nodded and grabbed what she needed. They stayed silent until they got to the elevator, right up to when Aelin started to fidget again. Fenrys hip checked her, making her smile.

“Remember what I said, okay?”

Aelin turned so that she could face him, finding him looking quite serious but still with that underlying playfulness which she decided to take advantage of. “What exactly? You say a lot and most of it is straight bullshit.”

Fenrys raised his eyebrows at her, like that was the most preposterous thing he’d ever heard her say. But then made a show of contemplating the words, making Aelin smile.

“You may be mostly right,” he conceded. “But you are everything and more to Elsie. You will always be enough, don’t forget that.”

Those words were said with such sincerity that Aelin felt her frayed emotions rise up again. She nodded and then turned away before the tears could fall. Fenrys, being the decent guy that he was, pretended not to notice. Damn him and his unfailing charm because despite herself, Aelin might just be starting to believe him.

~~~~~

It had been an uneventful few days at work. The company was in their post Yulemas lull, giving all the employees a slight breather. All their clients had blown out their budgets in the lead up to the biggest commercial season of the year and were now recuperating and re-evaluating their next steps. So, all Rowan had to do was maintain contact and scope out new clients, wooing them through stories of successes from the past few months.

The wider office outside his door was fairly quiet as Rowan read the company email that went out everyday. It was full of information he already knew, most of which he had some hand in as part of his managerial role. Skimming it, Rowan assumed there was nothing he needed to take note of.

And then he almost missed a memo, it was so short and brief and he’d been intent only glancing over the words. But Rowan’s eyes caught on a familiar name and that was enough to give him pause and to give it the time of day. His eyes went a bit wider and he even went as far as checking his phone like the answer would appear. It didn’t, all he had were email notifications from clients.

Rowan sat back in his chair, reading over the memo again. Fenrys had left Stone City Advertising. There was no explanation, just a short note that he was leaving that was meant to notify everyone else that there was no point in contacting him. Rowan didn’t know why, but none of his friends had said a thing about it. That unsettled him, and it also made Rowan question why he wasn’t notified as part of his role as manager. He picked up his phone ready to send a text off to Lorcan to ask him about the sudden departure when there was a knock on his office door.

It was Dresenda, a new hire. Maeve’s assistants usually had a two year job life span before they started to look for employment elsewhere. Rowan liked his job well enough but he would never want that job. “Hey, Rowan. Maeve just got in and she wants to see you.”

“Thanks,” Rowan said, standing and slipping his phone back into his pocket.

Maeve had been over in Terrasen, wooing a high profile client and from how long she was gone, it seemed like some sight seeing as well. It would be bitterly cold there this time of year. The end of January into February was when winter sunk its claws in. Snow would cover the city for days, maybe weeks if they were lucky. In Doranelle the weather was milder all year round, snow was a rare sight here. Rowan loved the cold, it had made Terrasen feel like home in a way—like that climate was made for him. All things considered it certainly didn’t feel that way anymore.

It was irrelevant, he was here—his life was here. His affection for the cold wouldn’t be enough to draw him back. Roman wasn’t sure there was anything that would lure him back to that city that had so painstakingly thrown him out.

~~~~~

Rowan should have been working. Not technically, but there were things he needed to do. It was a Thursday evening and he’d only left work half an hour later than everyone else with the plans to go home and finish off a few things before he went to bed. And he had opened his laptop and left it by the chair he planned to eat in… but then he’d got distracted. Rowan had made his dinner then had every intention of reading over some reports when he very randomly opened a website for one of the local department stores and was now scrolling through pages of children’s toys.

He didn’t know much about kids but he knew that they liked toys. His company had developed more than enough advertisements to appeal to the younger audiences to know that it was a very lucrative business to be in. What Rowan hadn’t been prepared for was the sheer amount of variety.

Dolls, building blocks, miniature kitchens, unicorns, plush toys. The list went on. His mother had mentioned that Elspeth’s birthday was coming up soon, and an idea had taken root. In his quest to get to know his daughter better he had the idea that he might buy her something. To him sounded dangerously close to bribery, but he was willing to try anything.

Rowan was cleaning up after his fairly late dinner when there was a hurried knocking on his door. He shook his hands off over the sink and then snatched the tea towel from where it hung on the over handle to dry his hands. The knocking came again, this time more urgently. Curiosity had him moving a little faster, wondering who was insistently trying to disturb his evening.

This time the knocking was short, sharp and hard.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Rowan muttered.

He swung the door open and the sight in front of him made his heart skip a beat. Aelin stood there, Elspeth cradled in her arms. The child didn’t look good, her skin was pale and her body seemed to be shuddering.

“She’s sick,” Aelin said, stating the obvious.

For a moment Rowan just stood there, trying to process. Then his brain kicked into gear, along with a healthy dose of panic. “What’s wrong?”

“I just need you to drive us to the hospital,” Aelin said, ignoring his question. “Please.”

“Yeah, of course,” Rowan wouldn’t press the issue—not when he could see the urgency of the request. “Just one minute.”

The door swung when it was released but didn’t close but Aelin didn’t bother with entering his apartment. All Rowan did was grab his wallet and keys and then found them waiting in the hallway. Elspeth’s head was now resting on her mother’s shoulder and Aelin swayed in place. There was a bag hanging off Aelin’s arm and taking that small burden was the first thing Rowan did.

Aelin rushed off to the elevator and Rowan followed. He kept a cautious eye on Elspeth, feeling useless as they waited. What he was trying to comprehend was that Aelin had come to him for help. It must have been a real emergency then if she wasn’t going to wait around for someone else. Or maybe, Rowan selfishly thought, this was progress.

The elevator finally arrived and Aelin stepped in, Rowan right behind her hitting the button for the garage. Elspeth coughed and then let out a whimpering cry. It was an awful sound, something in his chest twisted because of it.

“My keys are in the small pocket, we’ll take my car,” Aelin said, nodding at the bag Rowan held.

He found the keys, holding them in his hand so he was ready. Rowan wanted more information but he knew this wasn’t the time or place to ask, he would just have to silently manage his building concern. And even though he was being useful, he still felt a little helpless struggling with the unknown. He would drive them to the hospital and then what? What would happen to Elspeth when they got there? Would it just be a short stay or would it be longer? Would Aelin want him to wait? What could he realistically do to help in this situation when they got to the hospital? Rowan could feel the tension in his body building with each new question.

It wasn’t much longer until they were at the car. Rowan left Aelin to get Elspeth sorted and he dropped into the driver’s seat. His long legs were bent uncomfortably and he pushed the seats back. This brought him back to years ago when he would drive Aelin’s car. He always copped it afterwards if he didn’t put it back to the original position.

“I know, baby I know,” Aelin murmured as she strapped Elspeth into her car seat while she protested. “I know you don’t want to go but we need to make you feel better.”

Rowan monitored the progress in the rearview mirror. When Aelin sat back and clicked her seatbelt into the buckle he started driving.

Elspeth whimpered and complained, and he saw her reaching for her mother. Aelin lent over and kissed that little hand and gave Elspeth and her own to hold onto. “You’re okay, Elsie. I know it hurts, but we can make it better.

Rowan was tempted once again to seek some explanation over what had Elspeth so distressed, but it seemed he didn’t have to.

“She’s okay,” Aelin said, no doubt noting how Rowan couldn’t stop checking the rearview mirror. “I would have taken her to the doctor but it’s after house and the quickest and easiest way to get her seen is take to the hospital. It’s just a bit of a cold but they hit her pretty hard and I just want to get some things checked.”

“Poor thing.” Rowan couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“We manage.”

Those words were clipped and a little defensive and they had no need to be. Rowan wouldn’t come for her over this. Gods, seeing Elspeth so miserable and in obvious pain… Aelin was doing the best that she could. And it would have taken a lot for her to knock on his door for help. It stung a little that she would still assume he would think so negatively about her in that way.

It was ten minutes more before they reached the hospital and Rowan dropped them as close to the doors as he could. Aelin hadn’t said anything besides thanks before she left so Rowan wasn’t sure what he should do. Maybe he’d just wait in the car, but when he parked he saw the bag that Aelin had been left behind.

Rowan ended up in the waiting room, the bag keeping him company on the seat beside him. Neither Aelin or Elspeth were in sight, and he was glad that they were seen so quickly. To kill time he mindlessly scrolled through his phone, his mind too muddled to do anything productive. The bag next to him was all the prodding he needed to approach the reception desk and get whatever information they would give him.

“Excuse me, I was wondering if I could get an update on Elspeth Galthynius?” Rowan asked.

The woman at the desk gave him a polite smile and then clicked a few things. “She’s been moved to the children’s ward.”

“Her mother left a bag with me, am I right to take it through?” He held up the bag as evidence.

“No problem, go through.”

“Thanks,” Rowan said and then followed the signage to the children’s ward.

He was stopped again at those doors and he gave the same story and was let through without much fuss. They had also given him a room number so he kept an eye out for the right one. The door was open and he found Aelin sitting next to Elspeth’s bed, watching her daughter. There was a monitor bandaged to Elspeth’s hand and he noted there was an oxygen apparatus next to the bed that wasn’t being used. Besides that Rowan couldn’t decipher anything about her condition because Elspeth was asleep. Rowan could immediately tell that Aelin was less stressed and that was reassuring. She didn’t look ready to fight the nearest threat anymore, her shoulders were looser, the lines of her face more relaxed. He knocked and then stepped into the room.

“Hey, I just wanted to see if there was anything else you needed,” Rowan said, handing over the bag.

“Oh,” Aelin looked and sounded exhausted. “Um, no we’re okay.”

“Alright,” Rowan still hesitated. “Is anyone else coming? I can leave your car here and get myself back.”

“Shit, I didn’t even think of that. Take my car, Fen should be here soon,” Aelin replied, rubbing at her face. “Thank you, again.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Rowan moved closer so he could lower his voice. “What’s wrong?”

Aelin rubbed her hands on her thighs and swallowed hard. “When Elsie was just about four months old she got RSV, it’s a respiratory infection. Since then she’s been more susceptible to reinfection or getting a bad cough when she gets sick. She also has something a little off about the structure of the inside of her ears, so whenever she gets sick we usually get ear aches as well. Just… Overall she gets infections easier so I always want to make sure they get seen and diagnosed right away.”

Elspeth being this unwell explained why she had fallen asleep so suddenly on him the other day.

“Do they happen often? The earaches?” Rowan asked and Aelin nodded. “I had ear problems too, the eustachian tubes, Right?”

Aelin swallowed again, eyes darting from him to Elsie. “I didn’t know that.”

Rowan took a chance and sat down on the chair next to Aelin, feeling less awkward and imposing. “I used to get horrible earaches, so bad that I still remember them vividly. But I eventually grew out of them.”

Aelin just nodded, eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. They were quiet for a while and then Aelin laughed stiffly. It left Rowan a bit surprised and he didn’t know what he was supposed to respond with.

“It hurts so much to see her in pain and there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s a sickening kind of helplessness,” Aelin explained. “I try… but it never seems good enough. She wanders off and licks the glass at work or something, or we go to the library and some random kid coughs on her.”

That comment made Rowan huff a small laugh, and to his surprise his response made Aelin lips quirk in a fraction of a smile. But it fell away too quickly and when Aelin looked to where Elspeth slept Rowan could see the unshed tears in her eyes.

“Last time you saw me I lost her and then there was her almost taking a solo ride in the elevator,” Aelin said. “I don’t know what it is but you seem to keep witnessing my worst mothering moments. I just—”

Aelin broke. Her breath caught and Rowan recognised her tell tale efforts she was dedicating to stop herself from crying. It stunned Rowan for a moment and he was about to tell her that these supposed failings didn’t affect his opinion of her as a mother, but he didn’t get the chance. From what he had seen, Aelin was a dedicated mother, this evening had been proof of that. Right now she was practically shaking—he could see the tremors in her hand from where it rested on the arm of the plastic chair.

He wasn’t sure what made him do it but he reached and took Aelin’s hand, squeezing it just a little bit.

“You’re doing great,” Rowan said, hoping she could understand how genuine he was.

Aelin looked from his hand to his face, reading his open sincerity. She swallowed, and she withdrew her hand to stop tears from rolling down her cheeks. Rowan was searching for something else to say when there was a knock on the door. Aelin’s head jerked towards the door, Rowan looking away from her to send his eyes in the same direction. A pretty doctor stood in the doorway, probably around Aelin’s age, her hazel eyes darting between him and Aelin.

“Dad, I assume?” she said.

“No,” Aelin said quickly. “I mean, yes. But no. Gods,” she muttered.

Rowan’s gut twisted at hearing that awful and hurried explanation. He didn’t dare contend it.

“Can we talk outside? I don’t want to wake her.” Aelin stood and was halfway to the door when she stopped. “Is this… you all right with this?”

Meaning being left alone with Elspeth.

Without hesitation Rowan gave his answer. “No worries, I’ll sit with her.”

An expression filled with mixed emotions appeared on Aelin’s face and then she followed the doctor out the door. Rowan was left alone in the room with Elspeth. It was quiet except for the quiet hum of the machines and Elspeth’s sharp intake of breath every once and a while. She was still asleep, laying on her stomach, her hand with the monitor attached resting beside her head. Her skin was still pale, but there was a rosy flush on her chubby cheeks. Every once and a while she took in a deep breath and it jerked her whole body, making Rowan start every time. He had never seen her this still, she was usually so energetic and it gave him the opportunity to study her.

She looked so much like Aelin. He could still recall the photos of her as a child that he had seen and Elspeth was like a mini double. But Rowan was also starting to see himself in her too. His mother had been right, the way her brow furrowed was like him and maybe there was something in the shape of her face that was like him. And there were her green eyes, of course.

Those eyes that opened now, lost and hazy for a moment before they focused on the unfamiliar room and what was weighing down her hand. Elspeth’s face fell, tears quickly gathering.

Rowan was out of his chair in an instant, panicking with the need to calm her down. “Hey, there sweetheart. It’s okay.”

That did nothing and tears ran down her cheeks as she raised her head up, no doubt looking for her mother.

“Hey, Elsie, it’s okay,” Rowan said, crouching beside the bed. He realised a moment later that was one of the few times he had said her name. But it seemed to get her attention. “Mum’s just outside, she’ll be right back.”

”Mama,” Elspeth just about squeaked.

“Yeah, she’s talking to the doctor, she’s still here,” Rowan assured her.

“Hurts, Rowan.” She remembered him and was saying his name a little better. Elspeth pulled on her ear. “Hurts here.”

So carefully, he pulled her hand away from her ear so that she didn’t irritate it more. “I know, sweetheart.”

Elspeth held onto his thumb, not even trying to go back to her ear. Her hand was so godsdamned tiny compared to his. She didn’t say anything, but did start to cry harder.

”Hey, hey,” Rowan tried to soothe, scrambling for something. “How about a lullaby, one from when I was small?”

She didn’t give a verbal response, just watched him with expectant and wide eyes. Rowan cleared his throat and then started singing.

Beautiful Dreamer, wake unto me,

Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee

Sounds of the rude world heard in the day,

Lull'd by the moonlight have all passed away

Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song,

List while I woo thee with soft melody

Gone are the cares of life's busy throng

Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me

Beautiful dreamer, out on the sea,

Mermaids are chanting the wild Lorelei

Over the stream let vapours are borne,

Waiting to fade at the bright coming morn.

Beautiful dreamer, beam on my heart,

E'en as the morn on the stream let and sea;

Then will all clouds of sorrow depart,

Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me

Rowan stopped singing and it seemed to have worked. Elspeth breathed a little faster and her eyes fluttered, but she was relaxed and happy. The smile she gave only reached half her mouth with her cheek squished on the mattress. Regardless, it was sweet enough to make Rowan’s chest tighten. It was beautiful in a heartbreaking way. She tried her hardest to keep her eyes open but they stayed close, and just like that she was asleep again. For longer than he should have, Rowan let Elspeth hold onto him, not wanting to lose the small weight of her hand just yet. It was only when he was sure she was soundly asleep and that moving away wouldn’t wake her, he did so. A little regretfully because he had been more than happy to offer her that small comfort as long as she needed it. He sat back in his chair and just waited.

Aelin came back into the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. “How’d she go?”

”She woke up for a second but then she settled,” Rowan said, some of that awkwardness from before still lingering.

“Thank you,” Aelin said.

Rowan couldn’t help the slight smile that tilted his lips, remembering Elspeth’s little smile. “I was no problem, Aelin.”

“I mean for everything.”

Rowan took in the way that Aelin stood with her arms crossed, but not with hostility. It was enough of a reprieve to prompt him to ask, “Why me?”

“You were closest,” was Aelin’s simple answer. “I might have been able to drive myself but I would be fretting. Everyone else is on the other side of the city right now and I don’t like to wait, not when it comes to her.”

”I would never have turned you down,” Rowan said. He almost added I hope you know that but Aelin answered before he could.

But he didn’t need to. “I know that.”

They fell into silence again, slightly awkward, but when weren’t things awkward between them these days? At least they’d expended most of their anger. Aelin shaking her head drew Rowan’s attention, and there was nothing he could think to say. Then he heard hurried footsteps and then the door opened. Fenrys stepped into the room, concern written all over his face.

“How’s she doing?” Fenrys asked, all his focus on Aelin and Elsie. Rowan wouldn’t have been surprised if his presence was going completely unnoticed.

“She’s okay,” Aelin said, as Fenrys met her at the foot of the small bed. “It’s her ears again.”

Immediately Fenrys wrapped an arm around Aelin, and it was over her head that Rowan was finally noticed. Fenrys’ dark eyes went a bit wide, but there was no other reaction besides that. Rowan shifted his attention back to Elspeth who was still soundly asleep thanks to his singing. Aelin and Fenrys were conversing quietly and it was apparent that he was no longer needed, so he’d excuse himself and leave.

“I’ll head back,” he said. “Hope she feels better soon.”

”Thank you, Rowan,” Aelin said again.

In response Rowan nodded, and with one last look at Elsie, he left. He didn’t get far before he heard his name being called. Turning, Rowan saw Fenrys walking towards him. It gave Rowan a chance to take the other man in—he looked dishevelled, his curls were messy and there was almost a frantic air about him. He must have raced from wherever he’d been, likely getting caught in traffic.

“Hey,” Fenrys said when he got close enough. “Thanks for bringing them here.”

This was the first civil interaction since the park and, like now, they had been in public. But this time there was no impactful audience here in the hospital hallway. Nothing about what Fenrys was doing right was performative, that much was very clear.

“Don’t mention it,” Rowan said. “Even if that was the least I could do, I was happy to do it.”

“I know.” Fenrys extended his hand. “I mean it. Thank you.”

This was strange for Rowan. Once upon a time he would have been Aelin’s knight in shining armour, now that role was taken by someone else. Fenrys’ affection for both Aelin and Elspeth was genuine, there was no doubt about that. And Rowan saw the hand shake for the peace offering it was. This was an offer for burying the hatchet once and for all, prompted on by gratitude.

Rowan had nothing to lose here, and everything to gain. Holding onto this grudge when he didn’t even have the full story of how things ended up the way they had was going to keep him from his goal. Rowan’s priority was Elspeth, any animosity that remained would only cause more damage to everything he was working so hard to build. More than that, seeing the way it had unfolded tonight, how many times had Fenrys been the one to step up when no one else would?

His daughter had benefited from that care and attention. That was the bitter truth of it, because Rowan was not there himself.

Rowan shook Fenrys’ hand. “It’s all good, Fen.”

Some of that tension lifted from Fenrys’ face, and a soft smile appeared instead as he glanced back to the hospital room. “I’ll let you go.”

”Look after them,” Rowan said and left before he got any kind of reply.

It was clearer than anything now, Elspeth—and Aelin— had everything they needed. And it wasn’t just a ride home for the hospital. If Rowan left tomorrow, the impact he would leave on Elspeth’s life would be next to nothing. She would go on and forget he existed. That didn’t sit well with Rowan. His daughter didn’t need him but Rowan was beginning to wonder if he was the one that needed her.

~~~~~

Rowan left and Aelin felt like she could breathe again. She had been thankful for the way he hadn’t even hesitated to get them to the hospital, but there was still so much tension when he was around.

“I’ll be back in a sec.”

Fenrys left, dropping a kiss on the top of Aelin’s head. She didn’t know what he had to say to Rowan and she was too tired to try and eavesdrop. It didn’t feel like her place to monitor their every interaction, not like it had before. All the volatile feelings that led to adverse reactions seemed to have worked themselves out. That was good, one less thing for her to worry about.

Her boyfriend wasn’t gone too long, and he ended up leading them over to one of the chairs, pulling Aelin down to sit in his lap. She’d been stuck in a trance watching Elsie breathe and hadn’t realised how close her legs were to giving out until they started moving. Aelin leaned into Fenrys, letting the closeness of his body and his steady heartbeat relax her. She dropped down a bit more so she could rest with her feet on the other chair.

“What happened?” Fenrys asked softly.

Taking in a deep breath Aelin explained everything. Elsie had been rundown for a few days, Fenrys had known that, he’d even been the one to point it out when he picked them up from the shopping mall the other day. It had started with a runny nose, then a cough, then this evening Elsie’s temperature had spiked and the earaches had started. Aelin knew what would happen next, the symptoms would escalate and so would Elsie’s distress. When her daughter was sick she would wind herself so much that it would exacerbate her cough, then she’d vomit and then it would go down from there. At the hospital they could put her on oxygen and give her pain relief, minimising the risk of dehydration and worse.

“Elsie was close to vomiting and I couldn't get her to keep the medicine in her mouth,” Aelin explained. “I weighed my options and Rowan was the best of them.”

”It was good of him to bring you two down,” Fenrys said. “I thanked him for it.”

”I did too,” Aelin said, then she laced her fingers with Fenrys’ and snuggled into his side. “So, it turns out that Elsie’s ear problems were inherited. From him.”

Fenrys huffed out a breath. “Guess that they have more in common than that frown, huh?”

“Mhmm,” Aelin hummed. Then she was silent for a long time, considering if she should say what she was thinking, knowing Fenrys would rally to assuage her doubts. But she couldn’t leave it, not when old insecurities raised their ugly head. “Do you think she might have suffered less if I had of known?”

Just as she knew he would, Fenrys wasn’t hearing a bar of it. “Chances are she would have had the same problems no matter what. Maybe we might have cottoned onto the cause a bit earlier, but don’t beat yourself up about it. Elsie is fine, she always is and always will be as long as you’re her mother.”

Aelin tilted her face up while Fenrys looked down at her. Her boyfriend was full of shit and she was about to tell him so when he stopped down and kissed her. “Don’t start. I’ll always win. I have years of evidence to counter every argument.”

“Fen,” Aelin said, her throat getting tight. “You’re too good to me.”

He kissed her again. “Maybe.”

There was a soft groan from the bed and Elsie stirred, her free hand rubbing at her eyes and she panicked for a moment while she tried to work out where she was. Aelin was instantly moving, sitting on the edge of the bed and smoothing a hand over Elsie’s hair.

“Hey, I’m here. We’re at the hospital, remember?”

“Where Rowan?” Elsie asked, raising her head up a bit, but that seemed to disturb her ear which she started pulling at.

Aelin gently pulled that hand away. “He went home.”

Her daughter looked visibly upset by that. “He sung me my song, Mama.”

“He…” it took Aelin a moment to figure it out. The lullaby she had stolen from him. “That was nice of him.”

“He’s my friend,” Elsie said with full confidence, as much as she could be in her sickly state.

Aelin didn’t know how to take that little bit of news, little did Elsie know that biologically he was much more than that.

“Uncle Fen!” She said when she saw who was seated behind her mother.

Fenrys gave the girl a smile full of adoration. “Hey there, Pumpkin. Not feeling good?”

Elsie shook her head. “Ears, uncle Fen.”

”We should get rid of them,” Fenrys said, making Elsie gasp.

”No.” she drew out the word, her voice hoarse.

“I’ll do mine to match.”

Elsie laughed and Aelin smiled along with her. But then her daughter’s demeanour changed to something more serious.

”Home, Mama?”

Aelin shook her head. “Tomorrow, my love.”

Elsie frowned in response, Aelin hated to see her upset.

”Can I come up there and give you a hug?” She asked.

Elsie nodded enthusiastically, and Aelin cradled her in her arms, rocking back and forth gently. Then she started humming the lullaby again, knowing that it would calm Elsie down immediately. Because Aelin had been singing it for years, ever since that first hospital visit. That lullaby had been one thing she could rely on to soothe her fussy child. While Aelin hummed her way through the tune she tried not to think about the unexpected and lasting effects the father of her child seemed to be having in not just her and Elsie’s lives, but what it might mean for him now as well.

~~~~~

I have no faith in the tagging system at the moment, for better notifications please follow @works-of-shyvioletcat

#made of ashes #it is 2:16 am I will see you in the next round of mornings for me

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jubileemon · 6 months

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Original Man Adam Theory

It's possible that Adam went to Heaven not because he was a virtuous person who abstained from sinning but because of lack of temptation. If we go through the list of deadly sins and biblical account of what happened after The Fall, he couldn't commit any of them. Pride? Of what? He got cowed by God very hard. Greed? Gluttony? Sloth? He is forced to toil away every day for basic sustenance, there is no wealth to hoard, not enough food to gorge on, and if he is lazy, he'll starve to death.

Lust? There is only one woman he can lust over and that woman is Eve. We call that faithfulness in marriage. Wrath? Envy? Again, against whom? The first victim of those is Abel. He does commit every single one of them after death, though.

Rather fittingly, Adam has been shown to possess several of the Seven Deadly Sins from Charlie's time speaking to him. He pridefully boasts about how superior he is at things to people, lustfully talks about how he convinced another angel to sleep with him, mentions that he got annoyed over said angel wanting another one of his band members instead of him (implying he was envious he wasn't her first pick), got angry over one angel getting killed compared to the thousands of demons he kills every year and gluttonously wolfs down a pack of ribs while meeting with Charlie, is the one angel greedily wearing mostly gold clothes (and actually has golden horns as ornaments in his fashion getup), and is too lazy to make an appearance in person, instead using a hologram since he couldn't be bothered to actually talk to the princess of Hell and hear what she has to say. And, again, rather fittingly, because he's an angel, he doesn't see the irony in any of this.

What's even more ironic is Charlie is shown to possess all of the Seven Virtues despite being a demon and the daughter of Lucifer. Again, Adam and Lute are both such petty jackasses that they don't see the irony in this.

In a way, Adam can be seen as a representation of corrupt religious figures: because he's on the side of good, it means he can't be wrong, that he can get away with anything, etc while preaching to others and looking down upon them for their faults, perceived or otherwise. Conversely, Emily represents the virtuous religious figures, being kind, understanding and open-minded to all she meets, yet is quick to condemn legitimate wrongdoing even when it comes from those she previously trusted/saw as good people, even agreeing with Charlie - the Princess of Hell - that Heaven's practices aren't as lofty as they preach.

Ironically enough, that seems to imply Lucifer bringing free will and the creation of hell was. In hindsight, a huge improvement for everybody involved despite appearances. Because evil exists and now people would not be inherently sent to heaven just for preaching loyalty now, people would be capable of understanding evil and choose not to indulge into it. By resisting sin or even learning from the failures, there's now the chance ascended mortals would have a chance of being actually good people who made the right choices even if the process is still far from perfect. Adam is essentially a pampered child coddled from evil, so now he believes anything he does is justified. Has anyone just simply gone straight to heaven without understanding evil, Heaven would be probably just as much of a bad place as hell currently is.

There's another heavenly mortal within heaven's files: St. Peter himself. Despite being Jesus' apostle, Peter was a victim of many evils in life and also made a fair share of mistakes, with his denial of Jesus being one of the most notable. He had to interact with sin and temptation for all his life and likely also making his share of blunders which he repented greatly. But rather than make him a horrible sinner those events actually made him a stronger, nicer, much more complete person. As such when he's a heaven's gate he's presented as a Nice Guy and very reasonable person unlike the sheltered Adam.

But while Adam says that he never made a mistake in his life, Peter double checks if there was a mistake with Charlie's appointment until he finds out she was correct , and then he proceeds. While it's not explicitly stated, this showcases that Peter is capable of admitting his mistakes. Recognizing a wrongdoing and repenting is a crucial part of salvation.

#hazbin hotel #vivziepop #hazbin analysis #character analysis #hh analysis #hh commentary #st. peter hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam and eve #adam hazbin hotel #adam #welcome to heaven #hazbin hotel analysis #hazbin hotel theory #charlie morningstar #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin lute #seven deadly sins #biblically accurate angel

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year

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Tulips in Spring: a Magnus Archives Fanfic

Martin crawled back into bed like he’d crawled through the burned-flesh hole in his heart, and knew he still loved Jon.

Martin knew Jon loved him, too.

Jon had thrown away godhood for him, like it hadn’t mattered.

Maybe it hadn’t.

Jon loved him, and that meant they could fix this.

All Jon had to do was wake up.

Written for @seasons-in-the-archives' spring event. Takes place immediately after MAG 200.

AO3

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

Cut the tether. Send them away.

He hadn’t thought he could.

Maybe we both die, but maybe not. Maybe everything works out, and we end up somewhere else.

One way or another, together. That was worth the risk.

Then he’d done the hard thing, the worst thing, the thing he’d warned himself he would have to do, and stabbed the one he loved.

The Web’s jury-rigged portal had taken them at once.

There’d been no time to process, no time to think, only to feel as they tore along the skein of pressure and speed, hurtled through the gaping wound between realities.

Martin hadn’t thought they’d wake up at all—never mind in some weird, brown field, three bodies under the moon.

Jon was bleeding, Jonah very dead, and Martin had not seen the tulips then.

It had been night, briskly cold under a star-choked sky. He had spotted a cabin and carried Jon there like he weighed nothing, shouting for help, bellowing himself into a hoarseness that would last for days.

The cabin was empty.

It was also unlocked, and Martin claimed it immediately as spoils of war.

There was power via solar panels. There was unlabeled canned food, and a… condition in the fridge of long-spoiled sustenance. None of that mattered.

The water ran clear and tasted fine, though it smelled of chlorine or something similar.

There was no phone. No television. No computer. That didn’t matter, either.

What mattered was the first aid kit under the bathroom sink.

Jon was alive, if unresponsive, and breathing sluggishly, but breathing, and his eyes were open and would not close, but they didn't move, so maybe he wasn’t seeing anything?

Was it like the apocalypse? Eyes open forever, not drying out, just spooky?

Didn’t matter.

The wound gaped like a mouth. Martin stitched, and cried, and thanked whatever goodness there was that he’d sewn so much in his teens.

Jon did not wake.

But he did not die, either.

Jon didn’t die.

And he didn’t die.

But Martin couldn’t get him to eat.

Maybe he still “ate” statements. Martin tried to recall ones he’d read before, but without the Eye’s power, he stumbled through them, forgot details, tripped over his own trailing thoughts.

It made no difference.

Jon didn’t die. After three days without infection, without things changing for the worse, without the Fears descending like ravenous wolves, Martin began to believe that Jon wouldn’t.

But he wouldn’t wake, either.

If only he’d wake up.

Martin was angry, after that.

The cabin sat in the center of a field, with only a distant blue line of hills to frame it.

He tripped over a handle in the backyard and so found the hidden door. Grass-covered, it opened with a hiss and ominous condensation.

Martin let it air out for a few hours before going in.

Face covered with a towel, he carried his anger down, and found enough supplies to keep them fed for years.

Longer, if Jon never ate again.

Worryingly, he also found packages labeled, RADIATION EXPOSURE: #1, #2, #3.

None were open. He did not open them. If they were going to die from radiation, it was probably already too late.

And maybe Martin wanted it to be.

Jon wouldn’t wake.

Jonah lay out in the field, rotting.

Martin had blood on his hands, and though he’d long washed it off, he could feel it there still.

He was angry.

Suddenly, it wasn’t enough that Jonah was peacefully moldering, getting away with everything again, and Martin grabbed an axe and a shovel from this underground storage and took his anger outside.

It was time to dig a pit. It was time to make a mess.

Why worry when you could just make a hole really deep and drop in the pieces?

Why worry when you could chop the man at fault as many times as you wanted, and there was no one around to tell you, that’s enough?

Jonah wouldn’t feel it, but Martin told himself maybe he would. Told himself he was glad Jon had stabbed him, and had stabbed him a lot. Told himself maybe Jonah would know, that Hell was real just for him, that some cultures had it right, and damaging Jonah’s body would damage whatever opportunities arose in the afterlife.

Or maybe this was all there was, and Jonah was released into the ether.

Either way, dismembering the son of a bitch felt good.

Maybe, he thought as gore slicked his hands, Gertrude’d had the right idea, all along.

Sometimes, Jon breathed too fast.

Sometimes, Jon groaned, face tight as he shuddered.

Martin held him those times, rocked him, and cried.

He pleaded. Begged Jon to come back, or tell him what to do.

There were no signs given. Nothing changed, and those times, Martin felt more helpless than he ever had.

A month, and no one had come.

How did it feel? Good? Terrifying?

Abandoned?

Martin could no longer tell.

He yelled, sometimes. Yelled at Jon, though it was pointless.

Cried at him, too.

He found schoolbooks in the underground bunker (because that’s what it was), blank notebooks, and graphite pencils.

Martin tried not to think about the child who would have used them, and claimed the notebooks for himself.

He wrote and he journaled, and during one of these sessions, he realized he’d forgiven Jon.

Forgiven Jon for breaking his promise, for abandoning the plan they’d devised (okay, the others had devised, and Jon had never liked).

Forgiven him for spurning the Spider’s solution, the one Martin wanted to hear: that there was a magic button to turn the apocalypse off, and it wouldn’t cost anything to use.

Right. In hindsight, Martin felt sick that he’d believed it so quickly.

“I forgive you,” he’d whispered to Jon, and he had: even for swallowing godhood like a cyanide tooth, and in doing so, leaving Martin alone.

He felt like he’d skipped a couple stages of grief and landed in acceptance.

He was depressed, Martin wrote, the graphite smudging his hand. He told me how bad he felt, and that he had no hope, and I didn’t listen because it hurt to think of him suffering like that.

Martin’s breath came stuttered, and he furiously wiped at his tears.

He told me how bad it was. He sheltered me from it, but he couldn’t save himself. I feel stupid. Of course he decided to end everything. I should’ve seen it coming.

It was weirdly gratifying to sit in that and let it hurt, like punishment.

What if he had seen it coming?

He couldn’t have shielded Jon from the terrors of the world.

He couldn’t have “fixed” Jon’s depression, because depression didn’t work that way.

But he could have listened. Accepted. Even if he hadn’t liked what was said.

Here, in this quiet cabin in an empty world, Martin could see that if he had let himself feel the horror that was Jon’s every living moment, he would have seen it coming and absolutely been able to stop what Jon did.

It was a sobering thought. A terrible thought. A thought that made Martin want to go out and dig Jonah up so he could chop his bones some more.

Martin cried.

When he went to wash his hands, he was startled to find he’d rubbed graphite all over his face.

He looked bruised.

Fittingly, the words he’d smudged had stained him.

“Oh, Jon,” he whispered. They’d both wrecked things pretty handily, hadn’t they?

But that didn’t mean it was over.

Martin crawled back into bed like he’d crawled through the burned-flesh hole in his heart, and knew he still loved Jon.

Martin knew Jon loved him, too.

Jon had thrown away godhood for him, like it hadn’t mattered.

Maybe it hadn’t.

Maybe Jon had just wanted the pain to end, and deification was something he had to step on to get there, like a stool to reach the top shelf.

Jon loved him, and that meant they could fix this.

They could still make this work.

All Jon had to do was wake.

“I get it, Jon, all right?” said Martin. “I get it, and I’m sorry. Please wake up.”

Jon didn’t.

“What do you want me to do? I’ll do it. Anything.” Martin held him tightly, trying to find his warmth and heartbeat reassuring, and not just byproducts of eternal sleep.

Jon would wake up. He had to. He had to.

Maybe Martin hadn’t skipped denial, after all.

Nights were cold. Martin gave in and used the fireplace, which he’d been hesitant to do because there were no trees anywhere, and the only wood he’d found was already in the hearth.

It turned out his worry was unnecessary. The weird brass lighter sparked to life, and the wood caught—but did not burn.

The fire blazed indigo, like something out of a science experiment. It gave off no smoke, but produced a lovely heat.

The wood stayed intact. Absolutely wild.

Martin decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. This world may have killed everyone in it, but at least they’d invented some nifty stuff before they died.

Stuff hadn’t saved them, though.

Martin tried not to think he and Jon wouldn’t make it, either. He would not think that.

He dared not.

Besides, he’d gotten used to unlabeled cans of savory mush, and his body digested it just fine. He was healthy. He was good.

Jon was healthy, too, if unconscious.

This was fine.

Jon would wake up any day now.

He must.

Spring came like a kiss, light and wet and sweet, and only when the fields began to bloom did Martin realize what all the brown things were.

Tulips.

This was clearly once a tended place, like Amsterdam, or something. The flowerbed stretched out from the front door in widening rows, as if the cabin had once spewed beauty.

He walked it; his best guess was three miles of flowers, and all were not, in fact, dead.

He was no gardener, and had no clue how long it had all lain fallow, but he figured he could give it a go.

After all, he knew by now that no one else was coming to do it.

There’d been no planes. Never a voice, or music. Not a motor, or smoke, or a distant, barking dog.

The bunker had tools, books on homesteading, and hermetically sealed seeds.

It also had bones.

He’d found them in the back. Three skeletons, each a little smaller than the other, like a family that had decided to lie down and die.

No flesh. No rot. No bugs. Whatever ended them had cleaned them well. He was grateful for that, at least.

Maybe this whole world really was dead.

It would explain why the Fears were so quiet.

He’d felt lonely the first weeks, but he’d been in full stage-two anger by then, and beat it back with rage and tantrums. It wasn’t the Lonely. It was just being alone.

Maybe the Fears were starving.

Or maybe they were all feeding off Jon, and he was trapped in an unending nightmare, unable to get free.

That thought made Martin afraid he was hurting him, keeping him alive. If maybe it would be kinder to…

Nope.

“You only have to stab your boyfriend once in your life, thank you very much,” he informed the tulip field. “I’ve already played that card.”

It was supposed to be funny, but it wasn’t, and Martin went back to the cabin and cried.

Martin buried the family’s bones in the flat, empty field. He didn’t know how else to thank them.

He spent a few precious days reading gardening books to Jon.

It felt like some kind of deal. He’d do this, coax the land back to life, and Jon would come back, too.

It didn’t really make sense, but neither did fire-baby messiahs or mannequins that talked, so who knew?

It couldn’t hurt to try.

Day after day, he trimmed old tulips, and dug up ones that were dead. Day after day, he cleared out space so the rows realigned, and transplanted the colors that bloomed in the wrong spot.

And day after day, he returned to Jon, and told him about the flowers, and about the poem he was writing. Then he bathed them both, ate some mush, and went to bed.

At least none of the cans were peaches.

Maybe he’d spent too much time in the Lonely to be right in the head, but… this wasn’t so bad.

Carrying Jon to the frankly enormous bathtub felt precious, like a rite. Kissing his scars, holding him in warm and bubbly water, felt like worship.

Sometimes, he sat in the tub with him.

He used the hot water to loosen Jon’s limbs so he could move them, bending his joints, lightly exercising his muscles. He’d learned to do that taking care of his mother, what felt like centuries ago. When Jon finally woke, after all, Martin wanted him well.

If Jon woke.

Often, in the bath, Martin told Jon how hard it was to be alone, and told him he was sorry.

Told him he forgave him for what he’d done.

Begged him to come back.

Jon still wouldn’t wake up.

The place he’d buried Jonah grew white tulips, and they were not in the correct row.

They were a cancerous blotch across yellow and red, startling like the scars Jon carried because of him.

Martin decided they’d stay: an ugly monument to the worst bastard he’d ever known.

Martin liked to brush Jon’s hair. “You’re not alone,” he told him as he worked the gray-black braid.

It had grown so damned fast; Martin had stopped trying to cut it, and instead just kept it neat, and his graying beard trimmed.

“Whatever’s hurting you in there, I’d chop that, too, if I could.” And he’d laughed. “I think you may have fallen in love with an axe-murderer.”

But if that were true, Jon was a knife-murderer, so it balanced out.

“Who are we, anymore?” Martin kissed Jon’s temple. “Doesn’t matter, I guess. I’m not leaving.”

And: “I’m never leaving you.”

And: “I won’t give up. I love you, Jon.”

Martin liked to believe that Jon’s breathing calmed when he said that, and the time between groans grew longer.

By week fourteen, springtime was barreling toward summer, and Martin was pleased with his work.

The tulips fanned out from the cabin in vibrant waves, and in an odd sense, he felt like he’d accomplished something for the first time in his life.

Maybe he had. Every job he’d had was for his mother, to do what he had to do. Every hobby had been hidden, done in secret and embarrassing when found out.

But he’d done this without shame, and he had done it well.

It was good.

He hadn’t taken any tulips inside. In his head, he’d pictured Jon waking, gasping out the window at the cultivated love-note Martin had made for him, but maybe… maybe that wasn’t going to happen.

It was okay, if it didn’t. It hurt; but Martin loved Jon. If this was the rest of their life together, then this was the rest of their life.

In sickness and in health, he thought, and decided to bring the tulips to him.

He cut quite a few. Yellow, for hope. Red, for love. Pink, for luck.

He was pretty sure he’d gotten the floriography wrong, but his personal apocalyptic Google wasn’t functioning at the moment, so he did the best he could.

He trimmed them, placed them in a vase he’d found under the kitchen sink, and brought them to the bedside.

“I saw a bee today,” he said, putting the vase by Jon’s head. “First one. You’d think there’d be more, wouldn’t you? But there aren’t a lot of bugs. That’s only the third one I’ve seen.”

Jon didn’t answer, but his breathing was deep and steady.

“I know, right? Poor Annabelle’s spiders have got to all be starved by now.” He leaned over and smoothed Jon’s hair out of his face.

Jon was beautiful, he thought, scars and all.

“Maybe they’ve all starved,” he said, voice cracking. “I mean, it’s not like you’ve got enough fear to keep them going all by yourself, right?”

Nothing.

Martin swallowed and put his hand over Jon’s—always warm, softer than Martin’s. “I wish you could smell them. They’re lovely. It’s a shame nobody’s around to share them with. By which I mean you, you know.”

Jon merely breathed.

“Please don’t be suffering, Jon.” As he had every night since the Scottish safe house, he got into the bed and pulled Jon against him. “Please don’t. I need you. Don’t you know I need you?”

It wasn’t the first time he’d wept over Jon, helpless in a bed.

Martin wiped his eyes. “You know what? I think you should smell them.” He sat up, holding Jon close, and lay Jon’s cheek on his shoulder. Then, he reached for the vase.

Faces together, he brought the tulips near, closed his eyes, and inhaled.

Beautiful. Sort of spicy; almost citrusy. “They’re like some kind of lemony cousin, right?” he murmured, planting a kiss on his head. “Really refreshing.”

“It’s because of the eucalyptol and ocimene,” Jon said, and Martin damn near dropped the vase.

“Jon!”

Jon’s eyes had closed. His brow had knit, and he was breathing too fast. “Martin?”

“Jon!” Martin tossed the vase back onto the nightstand so fast that water sloshed all over. He was breathing fast, too, which made it hard to reply. “Jon!”

“You’re real?” Jon’s peek was fearful, as if he thought Martin might sprout sharp teeth and bite him.

Martin tried to say something intelligent, and instead, burst into tears.

“You’re real,” said Jon, and then they were both crying, and kissing, and clutching as if to merge into one.

“You’re awake!” Martin sobbed. “How? What happened?”

“They’re gone,” whispered Jon, who was trembling and weak and weeping. “It worked. I held on. It’s over, Martin. It’s over,” and that would have to be explained, but what with the crying and the kissing, it would take a good long while.

At some point, they knocked over the tulips, and they both managed to laugh as Martin cleaned up the spill.

They sat on the porch, sharing a blanket, and watched the moon descend the sky.

“You heard me?” said Martin.

“I heard everything you said,” Jon repeated, head on Martin’s shoulder. “You have no idea. It kept me sane, what you said.”

“I didn’t say nice things,” said Martin.

“But you said you-things. You were saying them, not any… nightmare-version of you they produced to make me let go. I don’t know if I could’ve hung on if I hadn’t heard you. If you hadn’t kept talking. You saved me.”

Martin swallowed. “From what?”

A gentle breeze wafted flowery scent over them like a prayer, and they both paused to take it in.

“When you tried to cut the tether and we fell through, they were unmoored from the world, but they were still connected to me because I survived.” Jon swallowed. “So when we came here, I had a choice.”

Martin groaned. “Please don’t tell me you could’ve let them go, and you didn’t.”

“Yes,” said Jon. “Not that it would in any way make up for what I’ve done.”

“You self-righteous idiot,” said Martin with frustrated affection, and kissed the side of his head. “Why did you do that?”

“I had to, Martin. This world isn’t empty,” said Jon, which was a surprise.

“It’s not?”

“No—though most of this continent is. At least it’s been cleaned since their great war; their technology is much better than ours. That’s why you aren’t dying from radiation poisoning.”

Martin shuddered.

“I couldn’t let the Fears loose here, Martin. Not on these people. They’d been through enough. I had to hang on.”

“So they were feeding off you,” Martin whispered. “For weeks and weeks.”

“It took billions of people to keep them alive, and I wasn’t enough,” Jon said, low and dark. “They starved to death, and it hurt.”

“It hurt you too, Jon!”

“I had to make them die,” said Jon with a viciousness Martin had never heard before, and hoped Jonah had in his final, bastard moments.

“They’re really gone?”

“They’re really gone. The Web was the last. Tried to trick me into letting her free.”

Martin swallowed. “You didn’t, though.”

“A manipulative fear, let loose in a world that already survived nuclear apocalypse? Of course I didn’t let her go.” Jon paused. “She said ‘good luck’ at the end. Like Jonah did. But… I almost think she actually meant it.”

“Ugh. Jonah said ‘good luck?’ What the hell?”

“Had to get the last word,” Jon sighed. “White tulips are an apology, by the way. I don’t know if it means anything, but there you are.”

“Bastard man is not forgiven,” Martin said warmly, and kissed him, and Jon laughed, and it was a good and grateful moment.

The breeze moved, but that was all; no traffic. No construction. No voices.

This really wasn’t so bad.

“If we do decide to travel, it’ll take weeks,” said Jon, “so we’d need to go stocked. Not to worry—there’s an underground garage you didn’t find, with a solar-powered vehicle, so we wouldn’t have to go on foot.”

“Jon,” said Martin, wary. “You still know an awful lot of things, for the Eye being dead.”

“Past things,” said Jon, and smiled. “Now, I don’t. I won’t know names, or traumas, or whether anyone means us good or ill. I’ll know absolutely nothing without learning it the old-fashioned way.”

Did that mean Jon would finally need to eat? “I found seeds. We can plant them. We can grow food that isn’t mush. We could just… stay,” Martin suggested. “At least for a while.”

“You know what? We could.” And Jon didn’t sound disappointed at all.

“We could. We did our part, Jon. We don’t have to go anywhere.”

“Nobody knows who we are here,” whispered Jon. “Nobody’s coming after us, or trying to make us do things, or seeking revenge. We’re free.”

Martin laughed, a shaky, too-much sound. “We’re free.”

“We’re free.” Jon turned his face to Martin’s shoulder. “And I’m sorry.”

“I know. And we’ve got all the time we need to talk about that later,” said Martin, because the sting was gone, and such sweetness had taken its place. “I forgive you, you know. This is what I wanted, if I’m honest. Just… us.”

“Just us,” Jon whispered. “We’ve got a proper second chance. Like those flowers, practically resurrected.”

“A little hard work is all they needed.”

“They needed you.” Jon kissed him, lidded and lingering. “So do I.”

“Making me blush, Sims.”

“Not nearly enough, Blackwood.” Jon touched his cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Let’s stay out here a little longer? I’m afraid I’m going to wake up.”

Jon touched his lips. “This is real,” he said, and didn’t blink, and his eyes still weren’t fully human.

They were Jon’s eyes, though. That made them wonderful. Beloved, under the moon. (And Martin knew what his next poem was going to be about.)

Martin laughed again. “I can’t believe it. Everything worked out.”

“One way or another, together,” said Jon. “You didn’t give up on me. Thank you for not giving up on me.”

“That’s never, ever going to happen,” Martin swore, and sealed it with a kiss.

They stayed until the moon sank low, and the breeze promised warm days and clear skies, and when they finally went to bed, they both knew they’d sleep well.

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

NOTES:

Written for the "Spring in the Archives" event, centered around the general themes of rebirth, healing, growth, and also new beginnings.

Rebirth, healing, growth - they both need these things, and I knew Martin needed some time alone to find them.

I think I can safely say he did.

This truly is a happily-ever-after

#Spring in the archives #seasons in the archives #mag 200 #somewhere else #tma spoilers #the magnus archives #the magnus archives spoilers #tma s5 #post mag 200 #jonmartin #jmart #teaholding #jonathan sims #martin blackwood

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ivanttakethis · 1 month

Text

Before Round 7 - Tov’s Log

Daiki (?) vs. Tallis (?) - ??? Win

————————————————————

Aurien was gone.

So was Solei.

The only thing left behind was the bloody stage.

Tov learned about all of the new security measures in a message from the production team the next morning.

Each contestant’s threat level would be reassessed. The number of guards patrolling the complex was doubled. Anyone who misbehaved would be collared permanently.

Agents from the AREPH had set up a satellite base in the complex to continue their investigation and deter any further escape attempts.

The rescue was a miracle for Aurien, and a death knell for everyone else.

No one was coming to save them.

There were only two ways out.

Win or die.

Tov didn’t sleep. She didn’t eat either.

To someone on the outside looking in, she likely appeared stoic. But there was a storm simmering just below the surface.

It had been brewing since Azure took his last breath, ebbing and flowing like the tide as the season dragged on and claimed more victims.

Now it was Tallis’s turn.

Whatever fate the stars had for him, Tov would be there to witness it.

Her biggest regret had been not getting to see Moran one last time before her round. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Even if it ended in the death of another one of her stars.

Trying to convince Cassio to let her go with them would be the hardest part.

There was a rhythmic knock at her bedroom door.

“Tov?”

“Come in.”

Cassio opened the door just enough to peek their head in and smiled. “Ah, good. You’re already up and about.” They said. “Would you like to join me backstage for Round 7?”

Tov blinked. Cassio blinked back.

What?

There was no way it was this easy.

She was expecting pushback, a counter argument, outright denial, something.

But all she got was a little smile and slightly raised eyebrows expectantly awaiting her answer.

“Uh,” Tov struggled to recover from the blindside, “Sure?”

“Wonderful. Get dressed then, we’ll need to leave soon.” Cassio said, shutting the door behind them.

Tov felt… uneasy.

After Cassio’s insistence that she stay home for the last three rounds, she thought for sure she would have to fight to go this time. Or at the very least, she would have to be the one to approach the topic first.

Why are you asking me to go now?

What changed?

It didn’t matter right now. She could figure out Cassio’s motivations later. What mattered was getting to Alien Stage and seeing Tallis.

———

Tov was back in the maze of hallways that made up Alien Stage’s backstage area.

She wasn’t as frantic as she had been during Round 3.

Some of the signs and marked doors rang familiar as she passed them.

Despite the lack of sleep and sustenance, Tov’s head only got clearer the further she wound her way through the tunnels.

She knew what her goal was and had a general idea of where she needed to go.

“The contestants will be in their dressing rooms by the time we arrive.” Cassio had told her. “They’ll be situated at the end of a long, wide hallway and around a corner on the first underground floor. It’s secluded, so you should be able to speak freely without fear of being overheard.”

The last part of their explanation had caught Tov off guard, but there was no time to question it.

She waved her badge over a card scanner and pushed open the electronic doors to a long, wide hallway. It was completely empty.

Tov felt her heart skip a beat.

“At the end of a long, wide hallway and around a corner.” She muttered to herself, quickening her pace and making a sharp left.

She stopped dead in her tracks when she turned the corner.

In front of her were two matching doors side by side. Both doors had a white card tapped in the center with a name written in black ink.

On the left: Daiki.

On the right: Tallis.

Only one door separated Tov from one of her closest friends.

Tov knocked three times. One for each of them. Tov. Himei. Tallis.

“The door is open!” A familiar voice called from the other side.

She slowly opened the door and stepped inside.

Tallis was at the large vanity with his back to her. She could see him worrying his bottom lip between his teeth in the reflection of the mirror. A nervous habit he hadn’t grown out of.

Tov stepped closer, making her presence known, “Tallis?”

Tallis’s eyes widened at the sound of her voice and he quickly turned around, his mouth slightly agape.

“Tov?” His voice was soft around the edges, “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.” She said.

Tallis nodded, trying to collect his thoughts. “Well, here I am.” His voice wavered a bit at the end.

She could tell he was nervous, yes. But there was something else underneath it.

They didn’t have time to dig any of that up. Tov wasn’t even sure how to.

She and Tallis stood there for a moment, looking at each other.

There was so much she thought about saying to him once she got here, but the growing lump in her throat refused to allow it.

She would just have to show him.

Not wanting to waste another moment, Tov closed the distance between them and pulled Tallis into a hug.

He stiffened at first, likely from shock, but wrapped his arms around her in return. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

He was warmer than Himei was when she hugged her. His heart was beating faster too.

Tov couldn’t remember the last time they’d hugged. Now she wished they had done it more often.

The very thought made her heart ache.

Tov wasn’t the type to beg. But if she could ask the stars for anything, it would be for Tallis to survive.

Please. She chanted. Please please please.

She pulled back from the hug just enough the cradle his face in her hands. His cheeks burned against her palms.

Up this close, she could see the different shades of green in his irises and all of the freckles across his nose.

Growing up, Tov was jealous of them. Tallis’s freckles looked like the clusters of stars she worshipped.

She remembered trying to count them all when they would lounge under the shade of the big tree in Anakt Garden, or when she couldn’t sleep during nap time. They were fascinating.

Tallis was fascinating.

She never told him that. There were a lot of things she didn’t tell him. But there was one thing she wouldn’t let go unsaid.

Their eyes met, and Tov held his gaze like a lifeline. “Do your best.” She said quietly,

“I love you.”

————————————————————

So anyways, I cried while writing this. I love that even though Tov and Tallis aren’t the most talkative people, they share a deep understanding of one another that’s unique to them 🥹

This is also the first time that Tov has told Tallis that she loves him. Usually she shows she cares through actions, but she wanted him to know exactly how she felt.

I didn’t want Tallis to say too much because he’s not my oc and I don’t want to mischaracterize him, so the ending is basically me kicking this over to @lookatmysillies if they want to expand on it (no pressure, of course).

Tallis, Himei, and AREPH belong to @lookatmysillies.

Solei belongs to @solei-eclipse.

Aurien belongs to @aurienneirua.

Azure belongs to @azureitri.

#tov and tallis’s relationship is so important to me y’all 🥹#i don’t want him to die like this #it would crush tov #hayate… if you’re out there…#alien stage #alnst #alien stage oc #alnst oc #alnst oc: tov #alnst oc: tallis #alien stage fan season #alnst fan season #alien stage season 39 #alnst season 39 #tov’s log #tw blood

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rmoonstoner · 1 year

Text

The Temple

***

Chapter 3 - The truth shall set you free

***

Note:

My apologies for taking so long on this one. I had written this chapter, then promptly lost the will to write for a while. I never posted it, then I forgot that it was ready to post. Whoops, my bad.

***

Warnings:

18+ smutty foreplay? Language, mentions of past trauma, feeling denial, angsty vibes, romantic sort of?, sex pollen/berries

***

Summary:

You don't get one. It will spoil the chapter.

***

Soon you both were just hovering over one of these odd bushes and eating handfuls of blue raspberries. You both hadn't eaten in a whole day, so the sustenance was greatly appreciated. After you finished eating, you felt your body heat up, like the air in the cool chamber was growing in temperature. You kept quiet about it, figuring he didn't need to hear you whine about something as trivial as being hot, especially since it had been hot for days.

Steven took you by the hand all around the perimeter of the place, to hopefully look for more clues. When you got back to the beginning entrance, which was now shut, Steven appeared to be sweating just as badly as you. He was tugging on his tie, trying to loosen it a bit, and he banished his gloves away, then his suit jacket.

"Blimey, it got hot all of a sudden, which is odd. We're underground, in a very cool, temperature controlled climate. How are you holding up?" Steven asked. You huffed and took off your backpack, setting it down in the ground as you took off your long coat meant to keep the sun and sand off of you. You didn't exactly need it right now anyways. You grabbed two water bottles from your pack, and handed one to Steven.

Both of you cracked them open and chugged them back in a way that left you gasping for air. You only felt a little bit refreshed, and you decided to remove your shirt, leaving you in a sports bra. You shoved your things into your bag, wishing you could just vanish it away the way they did with their suit. You started to walk to the center of the oasis, where a large purple obelisk was standing in the biggest pool of water.

It didn't take very long to get to the pillar. Steven was breathing heavily as he stared at you in that bra. He had seen you in your underwear before, but every time he would act like it was the first time, and he would always let out a sigh when he saw your breasts in the thin and nearly see-through fabric. Then he watched you go to the lavender stone for a few moments, just looking at it, trying to figure out what it was made of. Amethyst maybe?

"Damn. That's a big amethyst point. It's perfect." Steven followed you to inspect it, confirming your suspicions.

As cool as that was, you were thirsty, hot, and very uncomfortable. Sweat was dripping down your hair to your back, pooling and soaking the back of your pants and knees. You only had two more water bottles, and you were thirsty. You saw Steven whispering to himself, knowing he was trying to work out what the obelisk said. You smiled at the way he would switch to talking to Marc or Jake, and it was adorable to watch. Steven turned to you, and he sighed.

"This thing says the water here is enchanted. It quenches thirst, and gives energy," Steven said, and he pointed to the various pools of water.

"It also says it's purified and blessed by Hathor herself," he said, and he took his empty bottle of water to fill it from the nearest spring.

"Let me try it, make sure it's alright to drink. You can save your bottles for yourself, and by then, we'll know if the water is good enough for you. If we're here that long, anyways." Steven sighed and he sniffed the water. It smelled sweet, and it was slightly blue, like the berries you had ingested. He took a swig, smacked his lips, and the same blissful and serene look came over his face from before.

"Bloody hell. It tastes just like the raspberries. It must be how they get the taste and color." Steven said, then he promptly chugged the rest of the bottle back. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and he leaned back against a tree, head tipped back as he peered at the pillar.

You stared at him, seeing him run his hand through his hair and wiping his palm on his pants. You could see his skin was warm with perspiration, the sweat slowly making its way down his neck, down his Adam's apple, and down into the collar of his shirt. You swallowed hard, and imagined kissing him, tasting the salt on his skin.

Afterwards, he rolled up both of his sleeves in a slow and precise manner, showing off his powerful forearms that you had secretly drooled over for the past twenty or so odd years. You could see his dress shirt had dark patches under his arms, at the small of his back, and the dip around his tie. He was cooking in the heat, yet the air was almost icy cold, his breath coming out in a fine mist.

You weren't doing too well yourself. You were sweating and burning up, and you felt an odd sensation in the pit of your stomach that went straight to your groin. It felt similar to doing drugs, the kind you used to do in your early twenties. Moving was becoming unbearable, because the fabric of your pants was scratchy and hot. You looked at the pool of water, wishing to cool down in it.

"You think the gods would be mad if I bathed in one of these pools?" you asked, and no sooner had you said the words, then the pillar began to glow and pulse. Slowly an image of a beautiful and ethereal woman with long horns appeared in the stone.

"Greetings, mortals. Welcome to the temple of bonding. Ah, Avatars of Khonshu, welcome. And a very warm welcome to your lady friend. Thank you for coming here," the woman in the pillar gently said in greeting. Steven stepped up to face her.

"Uh, thanks. Why did you need us to come here, Hathor? You didn't exactly tell the big bird what it is you needed us to retrieve. You just said a priceless artifact. What does it look like?" Steven asked. Hathor began to chuckle as she gave him a lewd looking sneer.

"I need a special gem. It will only reveal itself if a God's Avatar declares a deeply buried, but known and unspeakable truth. They must make an oath of bonding, and then give an offering as tribute. Only then, will the gem be freed from its prison. Only then, will you two escape this place," Hathor's image replied with sparkling eyes.

Steven tilted his head and scratched his temple. He looked confused, and to be honest, so were you. The heat was becoming more bothersome, and at this point, you just wanted to ask Hathor if it would be alright to relax for a little bit in one of the clear sparkling pools of blue water.

"Well, I have a question!" you said with a bit of a pant. Hathor chuckled again and she nodded.

"Yes?"

"I think I have heat stroke or something. Would it be okay to rest and lounge in the water? Just until I feel a bit better, and while Steven tries to figure out what to do."

"Oh, of course! Both of you actually should. I recommend the large one with this obelisk. It's deep and calming, and has a nice shallow slope on one end. And yes, the water is drinkable. I suggest you get comfortable, because you'll be here for a while," Hathor said with a mischievous look on her face.

You sighed with happiness, and thanked her as you set your bag down by some flat rocks next to the pool she mentioned. You kicked off your shoes and toed off your socks. You rummaged around your bag for the small towel you had, and you put it out onto the rock.

"Okay. But what do you mean by that? How long is a while?" Steven asked as he unbuttoned his vest and willed it away.

"Well, the tribute that is required will take a while."

"What exactly is this tribute? You're not going to make me sacrifice her, I hope? You said no harm will come to her." Steven was worried, but the worry faded when Hathor erupted into a fit of giggles.

"Oh, heavens… No. Didn't my brother tell you?" she asked while wiping a tear from her eye. Steven did not look amused, and his response told her that, no, Khonshu did not tell him or his alters what was expected.

"Is this woman not your most trusted friend?"

"Oh, yes. I trust her. We all trust her. With our very lives if it came down to it."

"Would you die for her?"

"I know I would. Jake says he trusts her, and he would die for her a thousand times over," Steven softly whispered, but you still heard him. It made you blush, and the hot feeling in your gut got worse. You squeezed your legs together as you ease yourself into the pool. The water instantly cooled your skin down, but it made the odd rush in your blood stronger, like you just snorted a few rails of uppers. You tried to concentrate on your breathing so Steven wouldn't get worried, but you were finding it difficult.

"I want to hear it from him," Hathor requested, and the suit morphed to the one Jake usually wore. His face was free of any mask, showing off his hardened expression, melting into a soft one similar to Steven's.

"Sí. I trust her more than anything in this world. I would fight anyone, including your brother, to make sure she was safe. I would gladly trade my life for hers. Ella lo es todo para mí. Mi luz, mi amor, mi vida," Jake rasped out as he stared at you with an affectionate grin. You felt your heart flutter, and your lower half surged with that burning sensation between your thighs. Fuck, you always loved it when he spoke Spanish. It did the same naughty things to you as Steven's accent.

"What about Marc Spector? What does he say?" Hathor softly asked, and Jake was quiet for a moment as he tried to get Marc to answer.

"Marc Spector. Answer me," the Goddess firmly said once more, and Jake went rigid as his eyes rolled and his jaw clenched with a hiss. A second later, his face was all scowls and his suit was changing to the one with the cape and hood, but with no mask and the hood down.

"I asked you a question, Marc Spector. Please answer me. I'm not like Khonshu. I won't belittle you for your response."

Marc sighed as he glanced over to you. You were in the water up to your nose, watching and listening. He was ashamed he couldn't easily answer this question the way Steven and Jake had.

"I… I do trust her. She's always been there for me. For my alters…"

"But would you die for her?" Hathor pressed, sounding a tad annoyed that it was taking him so long to admit it.

"Yes." Was all he could muster as he hung his head. His clothes started to shift back to Steven's suit, leaving Steven standing there the way he was before, with no gloves, jacket, or vest.

Steven was about to ask one more question, when Hathor's image suddenly faded out as she wished you both good luck. Her last words echoed through the oasis, and it sent a chill down Steven's spine, right into his middle, where all three of them felt it.

"Remember! You must face an unspoken truth, and speak it out loud, then I require tribute!"

Steven chewed his lower lip as he came up to where you were. You were only in your underwear, a black sports bra, and a matching set of panties. He felt himself flush and he scolded himself for growing hard.

'Steven. She looks beautiful,' Jake suddenly whispered to him. Steven gulped as his clothing shifted back to his funky coloured shirt and khaki pants. He took off his shirt, his eyes never leaving your form as you floated on your back with closed eyes.

'She looks stressed. Her brows are furrowed, like she's in pain,' Marc spoke up.

"Maybe she has a headache. She did say she wasn't feeling too well. Like she had a heat stroke or something. Come to think of it, I don't feel very good, myself. I feel overly hot, my blood feels like it's boiling and tingling in my veins…" Steven trailed off, then lowered his voice so you wouldn't hear him.

"And I'm hard as a rock. How am I supposed to get in the water, without her noticing?"

'Just do it now. Her eyes are shut,' Marc suggested and Jake started laughing.

'Yeah, hermanito. Just strip already and get in the water.'

Steven grumbled and stripped down to his boxers. Well, these ones were actually Jake's, and he didn't care too much for how tight they were. They offered no way of hiding his raging erection. On that thought, he slid into the cold water with a sigh and clung to the side of the pool as he found the floor that allowed him to stand with his head out of the water. He started to wade out towards you while thinking about what Hathor had said.

He was stuck in his thoughts. Of the specific word, 'bonding', and then the sign that had the weird poem. He decided the poem was a hint, and he shut his eyes to try and remember what it said. The words came tumbling from his mouth, and he started to feel strange, almost feverish:

Berries of blue,

Eat and become new,

Find the center,

Your true selves will be free,

Keep it true,

Bind yourself to three,

Drink of ecstasy,

Show your hearts to thee.

"Steven? Are you okay?" You suddenly asked him, but he wasn't able to hear you. There was a nasty buzzing in his ears, and he was suddenly plagued with the worst head rush he had ever had. He stared at his reflection, which at the moment, it was Jake looking back at him with a quizzical look. You saw Steven holding his head, gripping his hair tightly. His head was hanging so close to the water, his nose was touching it. You flipped onto your stomach and swam over to him.

"Steven?" You gently said while placing your hand onto his shoulder. The moment you did, he growled, and stumbled back like you had just burned him.

"Are you alright? Steven?" You said as you chased him to the edge of the pool.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Steven replied with a shaky breath, and he promptly lost consciousness, falling into the water completely. You panicked and dove down to grab him, but he was just out of your reach. You hated opening your eyes in the water, but you did so to see him better.

You blinked when you saw three bodies suspended just inches above the floor of the pool. Your mind raced when you realized they all looked the same. You grabbed one and hauled him up onto the shore, then you grabbed the other two. All three still had their legs dangling in the water, and all three were starting to cough and sputter.

You were stunned, seeing there were three of Steven now. One was sitting up and coughing badly, while another rolled onto his stomach to vomit. The last one just grit his teeth and he squinted at you while swiping a lock of wet hair from his face.

"God damn. Steven, what the fuck happened?" Marc said. At least the one who just vomited sounded like Marc.

The one coughing managed to huff out a reply between wheezes, and that one sounded like Steven.

"I said I was gonna be sick, mate. What more do you want from me?"

The last one, well, he craned his neck to look at the other two who were right beside him. He tilted his head and raised a brow, then looked down at himself and his hands. The gears quickly whirled around in his head.

"Hermanos…" Jake's voice spoke up, but Steven and Marc kept bitching.

"Seriously, Steven, I don't want to share this experience. Take the body back this instant. Hell, Jake, take the body!" Marc blurted out, right before he puked again.

"Haha, real funny, Marc. I was going to ask the same thing…"

"Hermanos!" Jake yelled this time. Both the other two fell silent as they turned to look at Jake.

Marc's eyes went wide, while Steven's jaw went slack. A second later, they looked at each other, then right back at Jake. You floated there looking just as stunned.

All three of your boys were there, and separated from each other. You reached out, going to touch the ankle of the one staring at you intently. Jake. He felt so real, and just the same as before, but with his facial expressions. You turned to Steven, and grabbed his ankle to do the same thing. They felt exactly the same, but the way they reacted when you grabbed them was entirely different.

Jake had reached out to wrap his hand around your wrist when you grabbed him. He stared at you with a warm grin as his thumb rubbed yours in slow and soothing circles. Steven blushed and placed his hand over yours, his eyes darting to where you held Jake with the other hand, and then back to his own ankle, a large smile plastered to his face.

And Marc…

Poor Marc had just finished wiping his mouth and chugging back one of your water bottles to get rid of the taste of bile mixed with raspberries in his throat. He huffed and looked at you, still in the water, between his legs while you held onto Steven and Jake.

His brain started to backfire.

This wasn't possible.

There was absolutely no fucking way that this was happening right now.

"This is mental, innit? You guys seeing this, yeah?" Steven said as he reached out to touch Marc. Marc flinched, and stared at Steven. It was like the Duat all over again, and he felt panic rising up in his chest.

"Are we dying again?" Marc asked as he checked his entire body out. Nothing was amiss. He even looked over at Jake, seeing the man was not bothered at all by what was happening. Marc noticed that Jake was more focused on your hand, than trying to figure out why they had been split apart.

"I don't think you guys are dying," You offered up as you removed your hand from Steven to place on Marc's thigh. Marc looked at your hand and frowned.

"I think she's right, mate. Hathor did say we would not be harmed."

"I think this counts as being harmed, Steven. We're all separate. How are we supposed to figure out what to do like this?" Marc motioned to their bodies with a grunt.

"Well, she's not harmed," Steven muttered back.

Jake started laughing and you looked up at his face. He turned to look at you, and his hand on yours tightened, beginning to pull you up to a standing position between his legs. Marc stared at Jake, and a feeling of dread started to well up in his chest.

He knew how his alters felt about you.

They adored you.

They loved you, just like he did. You were always there for them, with minimal questions asked, and now for the first time in his life, he was seeing Jake's expression of intent, and Marc was scared. He had seen that look before on his own face, and on Steven's when they used to drink with you.

Pure, unhinged affection.

What he failed to realize, is that Jake was calmer than he had been in his entire life. Jake was able to think clearly, without them nattering in his head. With having to be constantly willing them to stay down so they couldn't be conscious at the same time. Now he didn't have to be on high alert. Now all that was on Jake's mind was you.

"Mi Vida… Mi amor…" Jake purred out as he wrapped his arms tightly around you and stuffed his face into the crook of your neck. The closeness and the sudden declaration that escaped his lips made you shiver and a small moan escaped your mouth as he rubbed your back.

Jake understood what needed to be done. He might have always been the quiet one that lurked in the background, but he was always watching and listening. He had heard and seen that inscription on the rock, and he had heard Hathor's cryptic and riddle-like words of advice. He knew Marc wouldn't be the one to figure it out first, and if he did, he would pretend like he was stupid, because he knew Marc was deathly afraid to tell you the truth.

But now was his moment. Marc couldn't stop him this time, even if he was mortified with the way Jake was holding you.

"Don't fucking touch her like that!" Marc snapped just as Jake started to leave sloppy and open mouthed kisses to your throat. You shook in his hold, feeling that heat inside of your belly increased ten fold. You barely even heard Marc's words as Jake tucked you closer to his chest.

"Fuck off, Spector," Jake retorted as he turned to glare at Marc. Marc grit his teeth, ready to throw down if he had to, when Steven grabbed his shoulder hard, and pulled him back.

"Marc. Calm down-" Steven started to say, but Marc slapped his hand away as he growled at him.

"No, Steven! I can't fucking calm down. Jake's taking advantage of her and-"

"He's not taking advantage of her, mate. Look at her eyes. She wants him. She's always wanted him," Steven whispered as he pointed at you and the way your face was pressed into Jake's chest. Marc deflated, knowing damn well Steven was right.

"She's wanted this with all of us," Jake replied softly, his hands rubbing and squeezing at your back. He moved one hand to your chin, and tilted your face up to look him in the eye.

"Isn't that right, mi amor?" He rasped, his eyes deeply set on yours. You swallowed thickly and nodded. You would have been crying by now, had your insides not felt like you were filled with drugs that messed with your senses. All you felt was arousal and longing, a feeling that had been there for years for these men when they were of one body.

And you were now at your breaking point, having Jake so close, hearing his heartbeat as your face rested against the palm of his hand, his thumb stroking your cheek.

"I know I've wanted her since day one. I even tried to make you see that, Spector. You never should have married Layla. You should have married this one, right here," Jake growled the words as he glared at him.

"Oh. So you're the one that kept fucking things up in my marriage!" Marc raised his voice in an accusational manner. Jake snorted and clicked his tongue.

"I'm not the one that would start drinking to cope with the guilt of being with the wrong person. You would start fights with Layla, then black out half way through them, leaving me to fucking deal with it. Yes. I will admit it. I did purposely come out to start fights with her. But I hardly ever had to with the way you kept fucking things up. I came out and made it worse, then let you back, only for you to start drinking. I'd wait for you to pass out, then I would take us where we belonged. With her. Isn't that right, Steven?" Jake remarked as he looked at Steven.

Steven blushed and looked away. He knew Jake was right. All those times he'd pass out, then come to in your flat. He always went along with it, figuring it was normal, and that you somehow kept him grounded. You did keep him grounded, and you never told him to leave. You always welcomed him.

"All those nights spent cuddling under a blanket, reading to her, or telling her stories about mythology. You can't say that's just a friend hanging out with a friend. Holding her hand, and rubbing her back. When she almost died, we didn't leave her side for months. Steven and I legitimately took care of her, while you just shut right off. You couldn't bear to see her like that, yet you made us do it. Even after she said she loved us. All of us," Jake laid down the hard truths right in front of Marc, and he wasn't sugar coating it.

"No. She can't love us. We're fucked up. We've killed people. We-" Marc tried to argue, but Jake smacked his arm with a growl.

"I said shut up, Spector. I think it's time to stop running from this. Steven knows I'm right, and so do you. I know, deep in my bones, that this is why Hathor demanded she come with us," Jake snapped back at Marc.

He looked at you again, going to rub his thumb over your lower lip. You shut your eyes as his fingers stroked the side of your neck.

"You've loved us for a long time, mi luz de luna. You've always been here for us. You didn't try to stop Marc from getting married, because you didn't want him to know that you loved us. You just wanted him to be happy… You didn't want to be rejected, right?" Jake asked as your eyes filled with tears.

All the emotions were becoming too much.

The heat in your belly, the turmoil of loving these three very different people…

"Yes. I've loved you all, with all of my heart. I just wanted Marc to be happy, even if it wasn't with me."

"Well he wasn't happy. Did you know that?" Jake said and you blinked.

"He forgot Layla's birthday, their anniversary, and the holiday." Jake carefully said.

You knew what he was getting at, because Marc never forgot about you when it was your birthday, or the holidays.

"He would go out and get her meals or drinks, and always come back with your favorites. She would be mad when Marc mentioned you. He doesn't know what her favorite color is, yet he remembers yours. He would buy her your favorite flowers, a kind she hates. He would bring home little trinkets from our missions, and she would be furious with him when he said he bought them for you, yet he didn't bring anything home for her." As Jake went on to tell you all the little things that Marc had done while he was with Layla. You were touched, although a little sad for the woman that never really had his love.

Jake leaned down and kissed your forehead, then down to your cheek, and finally your mouth. It was a soft and loving kiss, one that conveyed just how much he cared for you. He slowly slipped into the water with you while giving Steven an odd look. Steven returned the look, and he too slipped into the water. Marc continued to sit there on the edge of the pool as he watched Steven wade over to you, with Jake turning you to face him, his chest flush up against your back with both hands firmly holding onto your waist.

"Jake's right, Marc. I've loved her too, since the beginning. I've just been too scared to say or do anything." Steven murmured softly as he reached out to hug you.

He pressed his forehead against yours and looked into your eyes. All he could see was adoration and love…

And that deep rumbling of lust that was brewing inside. The same lust that was coursing through his veins this very second.

Steven pressed his lips to yours, but he surprised you with how hard he kissed you. He was all teeth and tongue, licking into your mouth as he pressed himself close to you, sandwiching you between him and Jake. You whimpered as he moved to your neck, while Jake took the other side, leaving you in a sea of bliss as they nudged and pawed at you from both sides.

Marc was shocked to see how aggressive Steven was being. How he had no hesitation, no regret, and no fear as he kissed you. He was even more shocked to see that Jake was calm and allowing Steven to take what he wanted from you. He was especially shocked to see how eagerly you kissed him back, with the same urgency and need.

"How can you do that to her? How can you just… Just-" Marc stammered as he watched Steven reach down and hike your legs up around his waist. At the same time, Jake was smoothing his hands up your sides. Both of them were touching you just right, driving you insane.

"Love her?" Steven shot back in a deeper voice without even bothering to look at Marc. He looked at Jake, and he smiled lewdly. Jake gave him a grin back as he met Marc's gaze. He could feel the heat, and the tightness of his boxers against your body.

"It's easy. Stop lying to yourself. You want this… You want her, just as much as we do," Jake stated as he nipped your neck. He was feeling the heat in his own stomach, and he was losing his patience with Marc. He was about ready to just stop talking to him, and show Marc exactly what needed to be done.

"Yeah, mate. Stop fighting it. We aren't going to any more. That's the point of this quest, innit, Jake?" Steven nearly groaned as Jake pressed you against him.

You squirmed between them, finally understanding what was going on. Jake looked at you with a smoldering expression.

"Sí. Hathor knows how much we love you. She wants us to be with you, hoping to keep us from slipping into the darkness of being her brother's Avatar," Jake said while he kissed your neck. He was quickly slipping deeper and deeper into the feelings of lust as time ticked away.

Marc barely moved an inch when he saw Jake cup one of your breasts. His nimble digits peeled the cup of your bra down, exposing your soft mound of flesh. Jake was pinching and rolling your nipple between his rough fingers, causing you to moan and squirm more. Steven couldn't help himself, and he moved his hands to undo your bra, pulling it off and flinging it behind him. It smacked Marc in the knee, and he stared at the wet garment of clothing. He looked up just in time to see Steven dip his face down to capture a nipple in his mouth.

His heart twisted in his chest, and that hot feeling in his center was getting worse. He was also filled with jealousy, seeing his alters were freely touching you, and making you moan for them.

Without him.

You were moaning for them, and not him.

***

A special thanks for proofreading goes to:

@moonmoonboys

***

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@maizieval @elliaze @pascalsism @everythingsfan @philiasoul @classypeachlightsalad @sgt-morgan @bibibeu @darkes-desires @official-witch-of-night @vinz-vinz @dynamiter-lune @gardenof-venus

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