#because they walk on the knuckles to keep the huge knives on their feet sharp and their threat response

[ssruis]

Aside from the noble platypus I also feel like rui would really enjoy these animals:

Mola mola/Sunfish

Anteater

Echidna

Kiwi

Kākāpō

Axolotl

Horseshoe crab

Gibbon

[sheeple]

Real thing | 9A: Shoot him

GIFS NOT MINE. THIS IS ALL FICTION. Genre(s): mafia!au / hacker!au Group(s): NCT Pairing(s): Qian Kun x fem!reader / Jung Jaehyun x fem!reader Summary: (Y/n), a college student who joined WayV ─ an international crime organization ─ for some extra cash as one of their hackers. But what happens when she gets mixed up in a lot more heavy stuff than only sitting behind a computer and disabling security cameras? Warning(s): angst? / use of guns / blood [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist]

I shake my head, guild in my eyes and hands trembling. “I... can’t, Jaehyun. I’m sorry, but I can’t betray him!” 

“WHY?! He’s a no-good...”, Jaehyun takes a step closer to me and my hold around the gun tightens.

“Don’t come closer, I’m going to shoot you!”

“... Filthy, hollow...” Jaehyun still walks closer with dark eyes. His jaw is clenched, just like his hands. Knuckles white as snow.

I take a deep breath and turn my head away, firing the gun. The clap back makes me stumble and I fall backwards. My back hits the wall harshly and I slide down.

“Motherfucker”, he whispers and clutches his chest. Jaehyun stumbles back before losing his balance and falling backwards, his breathing quivery and blood pouring out of the wound profusely, staining his blouse. 

At that exact moment, another person walks into the alleyway. I look up and curse realising it’s Doyoung. 

“You bitch!”, he growls as he sees his partner on the ground with a bullet wound in his chest. He raises the massive shotgun in his hands while pulling back the fore-end to reload, “I knew you couldn’t be trusted.”

He storms towards me while firing the gun, nearly all of them missing me. Except two. One pierces me through my dress into the flesh of my stomach and the other my shoulder. 

A scream escapes my lips and I buckle over, my hand towards my stomach and the other on the dirty ground for support. A pain far more painful than anything I have experienced. It feels like my inside gets ripped to shreds and then burned. 

Before Doyoung can get any closer, another gunshot is heard from behind him and he gets hit right through his skull, Doyoung’s blood splattering on me. He drops down and I focus on the person on the other end.

Kun runs towards me and drops down on his knees, grabbing me and bringing me closer to him. 

“Hey, hey, look at me. It’s going to be all right, okay?” Kun takes my hands and presses it against the wounds. “Press it nice and tightly, yes.” He gets up and takes me in arms, walking out of the alleyway and towards a car, stepping over bodies. 

He lays me on the backseat as Lucas steps behind the wheel. “Drive quick and call Ten, we need him”, orders Kun sternly and Lucas nods.

I lay my head to the side and blink a couple of times, my vision blurry. The only thing I want to do is just shut my eyes and sleep as I have not enough energy to keep away. 

I close my eyes, ignoring the muffled yells coming from Kun to stay awake. Right now I want to be selfish and just sleep. Yeah. Maybe if I sleep everything will turn out to be a dream. A really bad and fucked up dream

I open my eyes slowly. The first thing that greets me is a white ceiling. A groan erupts from my lips as I get aware of the pain in my body. My head hurts like a bitch. My left hand goes to my forehead and I feel the cotton of bandages. 

My brows furrow and I sit up. Only to be cursing slightly at the sharp pain in my shoulder and stomach. Oh right, last night. 

My eyes travel around the room and land on a sleeping figure in an armchair right by the window. It’s Kun, he looks tired despite his sleeping form. He has a five o’clock shadow, his hair is sticking out from all different sides, and his clothes ─ the same suit from the gala minus the jacket ─ look dishevelled and have dark stains on them. Not like the Qian Kun I’ve ever seen. 

Without making any sounds, I walk out of the bedroom. My body aches and my feet hurt, them also being in bandages. I must have stepped into some glass last night. 

I turn left and down a flight of stairs before I shuffle into the same living room I saw before, this time giving it a good look. It’s industrial, with dark tones and lots of woods. The scene outside the window gives me a perfect overview of Hong Kong. 

Next to the living room is the dining room and kitchen, all of course in the same style. The walls of the diner room are plastered with rows and rows of wine bottles. The kitchen is black and has all the new and high tech appliances. 

Two figures stand in the kitchen, Yangyang and Lucas. Lucas is cooking, Yangyang sitting on the countertop and scrolling through his phone. Most likely Twitter. The boy is addicted to the app. 

Lucas looks up from the frying pan as he hears me walking into the room. He almost drops the utensils, pure shock on his face. “(Y/n)”, he says lightly. 

Yangyang turns around with big eyes and jumps off the countertop, running towards me before engulfing me into a hug. “You’re awake!”

I let out a loud yelp and push him away, clutching my stomach. “Watch out, dumbass. I got shot, remember.” 

He apologises with a guilty smile before softly nudging me towards the kitchen island, making me sit there and wait for Lucas to plate up the food.

“I erm... for how long has Kun sat there?” 

Both the men look surprised. “Since when are you on first-name-basis with Qian?”, questions Yangyang, as he points with his thumb over his shoulder. A light blush spreads on my face. 

“We-well he asked me last night to call─”, I stutter out but Lucas cuts me off mid-way. 

“Excuse me? Last night? (Y/n), that was three days ago.” Lucas turns his full body towards me as he lays a plate full of food in front of me. 

Three days? Holy shit, the amount of schoolwork I’ve missed must be huge.

“How much blood did I lose?” I cock my head to the side, softly feeling the badges around my stomach and shoulder. 

“A lot, I guess? Kun wouldn’t let us go near you when Ten worked on your wounds.” Lucas shrugs as he moves around to grab more plates. 

I frown. “Ten? Is that...?” I stop and mimic someone putting a bag over my head.

“No, that was Winwin. He’s the one doing the kidnappings and interrogations. Ten is our doctor”, explains Lucas with a shake of his head. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been to hell and back? My body aches with every step I take and let’s not forget the bullet wounds. This is going to be a fun one for my therapist.” I roll my eyes and push some egg in my mouth. 

Yangyang sighs in relieve. “Thank God you’re alive. We had our doubts.”

I give Yangyang an ‘are-you-kidding’ look. “Sure, misses Doubtfire. You only worried because you had to find a new roommate if I were dead.”

“Yo- you really think I’m that heartless?” Yangyang fakes being hurt, earning a slight scoff from me.

I push myself off the chair, putting my empty bows in the sink. “I know you’re dead inside, YY, let’s not pretend otherwise. Shall I bring this to K-- ...Qian?”, I say, pointing to a bow with noodles still standing on the countertop. 

Lucas nods and without much talking, I scoop up the bowls and walk away, every now and then hissing in pain as I walk up the stairs. 

With a deep breath, I open the door to the bedroom slowly and peek my head in. A relieved sigh leaves my lips as I see Kun still sleeping. I place the bowl on the side table and softly squeeze Kun’s knee. 

“Kun? Wake up. Hey, Kun?”, I whisper and Kun’s eyes shoot open, jumping on his feet and pulling a gun out of nowhere. He holds the gun up and points it at my head. 

A shriek leaves my lips and I stumble backwards, tripping over the carpet and falling on the ground. I scramble away from the gun, memories of that night and three days ago flooding back. The panic coming back into my system.

My sigh narrows and all the horrible things flood in. The gun, a dead Jaehyun, the cold eyes of Kun, the pain of a bullet ripping through my skin. I pull my knees up and bury my face in it, my thick tears wetting the fabric of my sweatpants.

I feel two hands grabbing my shoulders and stroking it calmly, a shushing in my ear telling me to calm down. My hands act on their own and I let go of my knees, holding onto a shirt instead, my knuckles turning white.

“Hey, look at me. Look at me and everything will be fine.” I raise my eyes and look into a pair of dark brown ones. “Nobody can or will hurt you, you understand? Now take deep breaths until you feel all right again.” 

I do what the voice says and I stay like that for the next couple of minutes until my breathing slows down and my body stops shaking. I pull away and soft cotton wipes over cheeks, drying them from my tears.

I look up and see Kun looking at me with worry in his eyes. “Hi”, he whispers.

“Hi”, I whisper back, blinking at the alien way Kun acts. He’s normally so... hard and stoic, his eyes cold or filled with anger. But now, he’s warm and helping. His eyes are soft, almost comforting.

“I... I am sorry.” I let go of Kun’s crumpled up shirt. “I erm... I panicked at the sigh of... the gun.” The last part comes out of my mouth in almost a whisper, scared if I say those two words out loud, Kun will pull that devil’s device out of his pocket. 

“It’s okay, I understand. You’ve been through a lot. The only thing what helps is time. And maybe talking about it. I know a person who helped me a lot.”

I frown and look up to him. “Helped you?”

Kun nods and gestures next to me. I nod and scoot over, pulling my knees up to my nose, my interest piqued.

With a sigh, Kun lay his hands in his lab. “When I joined my old gang, I never dealt with the real deal before. Yes, I shot a gun and my father trained me in combat with both knives and my bare hands. But I never could fathom how my first mission in the field would go.” 

Kun stops, glancing at my side. I nod slightly and lean closer to him. His hair falls before his eyes and I swear, I can see a tear in the corner of his eyes. 

“My first mission was a bit like what happened to you. There was a car chaise, our car crashes and I ran away, a... gun in my trembling hands, ready to protect myself. The enemy had cornered me and I shot five men. Dead withing seconds. It felt weird, how much power I had over someone’s life with just such a silly thing.” 

The room is silent as I hang onto the story. It really sounds like a couple of days ago.

“The leader, he saw that I was struggling with what I’ve done and brought me to a psychiatric, so I could talk and work on my nightmares. She told me tips on how I could calm myself down when I had a panic attack.”

At that moment, for the first time since I’ve known Qian Kun, he seemed more than just a crime boss. At that moment, right there, he was human. He showed me a part nobody ever got to see of him. How human he truly is under his thick skin. In the end, he was just a twenty-something with demons just like every other person.

“Would you... would you like me to take you to her? Because I couldn’t forgive myself if your life is ruined because of me.” Kun turns away and lets his head hang low in shame. 

A sigh leaves my lips and I lean with my forehead on his shoulder. “I just... don’t want to do it alone, please?”

Kun lets out a warm chuckle. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t let you do this on your own. Even if you wanted it.”

[camomills]

Title: Stars of Soot Relationships: Silica/Sinon Fandom: Sword Art Online Word Count: 3083 Summary: Sinon shows off GGO to Silica as a date, at Silica's request. As she experiences the different sensations of such a hardy world, Silica wonders why this world means so much to the other girl. Notes: Made for SAO Pride Week 2020 - Day 2: Stargazing. This one wasn't beta read because I was a bit pressed for time, so please forgive me for any glaring errors. It's been a while since I wrote Silica/Sinon! It was quite fun to revisit the ship. As per usual for me, this wound up as a weird mix of fluff and character study.

AO3 Link

-

The air in Gun Gale Online smells like gasoline and gunpowder, but Silica doesn’t mind… much. Not when she clings to Sinon’s back as they speed down the highway on a rental buggy, pigtails fluttering in the wind as her cheek finds rest in-between her girlfriend’s shoulder blades.

“I still can’t believe you want to try out this game,” Sinon says, the metallic hairpins on the sides of her face clinking lightly. She’s still not that used to driving, in the game or otherwise, so she keeps her eyes on the road instead of turning her head back as she talks. Vehicular collisions are not particularly romantic.

I just want to know what you see in it , Silica replies in her mind, raising her head.

She understands that, for all the time they spent together in ALO ’s fairy realm, that wasn’t Shino’s ‘world’, not in the way this place is. When she doesn’t bury herself in the curve of Sinon's back, the gas and soot is more apparent to all of her virtual senses, and even though it was her own proposition, she has to ask, why? Why choose colorless tiles and cracked pavement over the boundless hues of fantasy?

“I’d be lying if I said I… particularly get it,” Silica admits. “But this world is important to you, right?”

“Yeah,” Sinon replies. “ GGO might be an acquired taste, though. This game is gritty.”

She rolls her shoulders, leaning further back onto Silica.

Excluding Silica, Sinon has never been one for bubbly and cute, so GGO would always be a better fit for her. But this virtual world was made with inhospitality in mind, so not exactly the perfect dating spot. The fact that she’s here for one surprises her more than it does anyone else.

“Well,” Silica says, “good thing you’re here, then! Having a tour guide to show around should be a huge help.”

Sinon wheezes. “So I’m your tour guide, now?”

“Yes!” Silica proudly proclaims.

The sniper smirks. “Okay, then.”

Sinon twists the handlebars, and the bugey roars as it peels through the road. She can’t help but smile as Silica’s high-pitched yell reaches her ears, just barely audible over the revving of the engine.

*

The howling of gunfire can’t be heard as much within GGO ’s hub city, but the loud advertisements that echo from the bright signs serve as a fitting substitute, volume-wise.

Silica’s only knowledge of this game comes from watching Sinon and Kirito fight for their lives, real and virtual, through a tournament broadcast. The fact that Sinon still logs in daily to Gun Gale even after that incident would be odd to anyone other than people like the beast tamer and her friends, who are all VR addicts despite their time in Aincrad.

The two years in the floating castle, despite the pain it caused her, was where Silica grew the most. She’d never openly say that there’s a part of her that misses the days after the one year mark, when she’d settled into her reputation in those lower floors and tried to forget the outside world so much that she succeeded. None of her friends would. It’s a silent understanding and an untold promise; not to admit missing those days, so they don’t have to, either.

What does GGO, a medley of grit, greys and metal, mean to Sinon?

Their circumstances are different, but the scars they bear stain their skins in similar ways. The masks offered by virtual worlds, Silica knew, gave one the opportunity to confront themselves in ways one couldn’t anywhere else. There was something to the kind of place one chose to do so that Silica found important to know.

Sinon got to see New Aincrad, walk over the same plains wherein the beast tamer had met Pina, bask under the same electronic sunlight she experienced for two years.

It’s not fair if only one of them gets to do it, is it?

**

The sun sets while they stroll through the city, and Silica understands more of the acquired taste Sinon had mentioned. The approaching dusk was somewhat nice on itself, but the place was still a palette of monochrome then, all steel on sand, black on white. Once it’s officially night time in game, 6:00 PM sharp, however, everything changes. The dark of night makes the huge, floating billboards pop, neons of purple and blue scattered through the cyber landscape. The virtual city night lights become luminous streaks in her vision while they dash on the way here on the buggy, not unlike how she imagines speeding through one of Tokyo’s nightlife districts in a motorcycle would feel like. It’s movielike, but not fantastical or unreal, but maybe that’s the point; she doesn’t think she’d have the guts to go at such high speeds with her flesh-and-bone body, nor would Shino have the confidence Sinon presents.

There are things from real life that one can only do in a game like this.

***

They stop by an equipment shop at the center of the now-luminous city. Unlike the last time she was here with someone else, Sinon has no tournament sign-in to get to after shopping, so they can take their time.

Sinon is surprised when Silica picks an overall sensible combat outfit; a tactical green and black leather outfit with red accents, along with a dark, moss-colored poncho. We kind of match! Silica beams as she presents herself, pointing back and forth between her and Sinon’s outfit colors. She frames her face delicately and comically she does so, her eyes shining like a cartoon fawn’s. Sinon knows it’s on purpose, this over-the-top display of sweetness, but it makes her smile anyway.

Of course Silica found a way to make this cute.

It’s also cute, albeit in a different way, when Silica’s eyes look away from the armor section of the store and widen as she takes notice of a display of combat knives. They’re military-grade blades, absolutely indistinguishable from the real-world articles. Unlike just a moment ago, the shine in her eyes is unfeigned.

“Oh yeah, this game has these!” Silica exclaims.

Sinon turns to her with a quizzical look.

“... You’re interested in the knives?” That makes it two for two, the times she’s taken someone new here and they thoroughly ignored guns. Are all fantasy game players like this?

“Of course I do!” Silica exclaims, like it’s obvious. Her look all but says, I spent years fighting with daggers, remember?

Silica takes one of the knives from the demo display. It looks comically large in her hands, and yet it pales in comparison to the ones she’s grown used to in fantasy games. She spins the handle in-between her fingers, resting it on her knuckles. The hand flourish when she bumps the blade upwards, sending the knife spinning high, and then catches it from the air with her open palm is almost too fast to see. She gleefully changes the grip a few times before finally settling it in a simple reverse grip.

“They have such a better feel than those bulky daggers!” Silica exclaims in glee.

“ Impressive,” Sinon mutters under her breath. She can’t help but be hit with a sense of deja vu .

There’s a sensible distance one can gain when looking at someone brandishing a bright sword that looks more like a cosplay prop, or a fantasy dagger coated in filigrees. But there’s no distancing from seeing Silica, in all of her titanic five feet of height, doing knife tricks one would expect of a special forces soldier, or perhaps a movie greaser, when the blade is so realistic.

Sinon would be lying if she said she doesn’t find the display at least somewhat attractive.

Sinon heads over to a small menu in front of the knife section as she selects the same blade Silica had in hand. Soon after she goes through the proper transaction steps, holding Silica’s hand and laying it over the holographic display, one of the store robots scoots over to hand Silica her item.

Silica’s smile makes the credits Sinon spends all worth it.

… Is a knife a weird gift to give your girlfriend? Sinon thought, but that was a bridge already crossed. Then, she remembers the real reason they came here.

“I know you’re mostly here to look around, but you’ll still need some sort of main weapon if you’re to experience the game.  Pick whatever gun you’d like to test out and we can go to a shooting range.”

****

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am absolutely serious!”

Instead of the shooting range, the two find themselves by a station near the edge of the city, connected to the game’s starter fields.

The vehicle’s mounted weapon protrudes from a hatch on top. Its long, steely frame glimmers as it reflects the sun’s harsh light.  The heavy machine gun could be mistaken as some sort of cannon for the uninitiated in the ballistic arts, with its bulky, long barrel, but it’s a high-RPM, lightning-fast automatic weapon, nothing short of a reinforced harbinger of death.

“You said I could pick any weapon,” Silica reminded the other girl. “I’m picking this mounted gatling gun.”

Machine gun, actually, Sinon thought of correcting. Other than the regular shooting ranges in GGO, there were also training grounds for driving by the outskirts of the city, by the game’s starting area - it had been where Sinon had trained her bugey skills, in fact - but the knowledge of that, or of the existence of mounted weapons, is the sort of knowledge most newbies wouldn’t have.

Silica did her research for sure... and was probably planning this.

Sinon’s original plan was to simply show Silica around the game, so buying an expensive armored vehicle sounds unwise, especially when there’s only two people.

The sniper squints her eyes at the shorter girl.  Noticing Sinon’s glare, Silica fans her eyelashes pleadingly, and Sinon’s resolve falters.

… I guess I was thinking of getting everyone else to convert and help me out, anyway?

“... Fine,” Sinon concedes. “But you better help me convince everyone else to hop on here for the PKer problem, then.”

Silica immediately jumps in excitement. The humvee’s engine purrs to life as Sinon turns the engine key, and the newbie gunner excitedly hops to the top hatch.

*****

Silica is small, but she doesn’t feel so when she holds onto the trigger in the huge weapon’s handlebars, the generated mobs in the starting fields shattering into red sparks. She loudly laughs in excitement as the high speed vehicle traverses the shifting sands.

The ride is a feeling unlike her other experiences with virtual worlds. It might be due to what Sinon earlier described as a “commitment to grittiness,” but the game still replicates hints of discomfort; her small frame vibrates from the gun’s recoil, her fingertips feel a bit too warm, and she has to ask Sinon to stop every so often because of dizziness.

It’s annoying at first, but it grows on her.

Silica wonders if this is part of what draws Sinon to this world.

******

Silica finds the pink hue that covers GGO ’s desert sands endearing.

She gets a good vantage point to admire the landscape as she’s wrapped in one of Sinon’s arms and they zip up a rocky structure. The grappling hook’s line is taut with their combined weight.

Despite the pleasure found in their proximity, as her hand holds Silica’s body close to her by the waist, Sinon does so primarily out of practicality, as Silica doesn’t possess a grappling hook of her own.

Silica, however, finds herself smitten by the situation. Being carried in the arms of a cool girl as she takes in the sights of a foreign world, the warmth of her body providing solace in the cold, simulated night, is a scene befitting a dream she’d have long ago if she’d known she liked girls sooner.

Silica sighs in disappointment as they reach the summit, going from dream to simulated reality. As she looks at Sinon, she’s glad this reality, virtual as it is, is still dreamy aplenty.

The plateau atop the rock formations, where monsters couldn’t reach, was the perfect stargazing spot. It allows them to wind down after spending an entire day driving, shooting, and in Silica’s case, shouting in excitement. Sinon is not exactly the romantic type, far from it, but even she recognizes what the beauty of GGO’s night sky can do to one’s heart. She’s glad she gets to watch it with someone else now, instead of only her sniper rifle for company.

Sinon sits herself by a boulder on the plateau that she manages to find snug. The wordless invitation she gives Silica, as the spot to her side seems like it would fit her perfectly, beckons the younger girl, who hasn’t acquired the same grit to be truly comfortable on the hard surface. Thankfully, Sinon’s shoulder is softer than the rocks.

“So, what did you think?” Sinon asks. “Was I a good tour guide?”

“Yes,” Silica answers. “I give you five stars!” She nuzzles closer onto Sinon’s side.

They stare out at the sky. The moon is hidden behind drifting clouds.

“I have a confession to make,” Silica admits, in a tone that sits between jokey and serious. “I didn’t want to try this game only to shoot guns.”

“Oh?” Sinon’s surprise is clearly feigned. Even she would be able to understand that Silica’s request to see this game was a date proposition. There was a reason she decided to cap the night off with stargazing.

“Yeah. I guess I figured… playing this game would make me feel closer to you.”

“Oh.” Sinon’s surprise this time is genuine. “Well… do you?”

“Hmm.” Silica looks at them, sitting side by side, sharing warmth, and yes seems like the obvious answer here. “I mean, yes. But I suppose I was looking for an answer.”

“An answer… did you find it?”

“I’m not sure I did. I think I found… something,” Silica says. Her grip on Sinon’s arm tightens, a mix of affection and nervousness. “I think there is something important about virtual worlds, and why we’re drawn to them. I... now that I think about it, maybe I could’ve just asked you from the beginning.”

Her heels pitter-patter on the rocky surface.

“What does this… What does GGO mean to you?”

Sinon looks at Silica, a bit puzzled.

Silica doesn’t know how fair of a question it is, really. Could she explain what drew her to virtual worlds? Why thinking of Aincrad, her former prison, makes her feel homesick? But she’s nothing if not sincere, and she wants to know. She figures Sinon, introspective as she is, thinks about those things more than she does.

“GGO is, you know.” Sinon makes a meaningless hand gesture. She thought obsessively before about this question - her objective, her growth, her path towards becoming stronger , she called it. She doesn’t know how to distill it in a sensible way, is all.

A place to face my fears?  

Where I met Kirito, thus, how I met you?  

“ Home?” Sinon says without registering.

Oh.

It’s under this night sky, beneath a red moon, that Sinon realizes this is the first time she got to enjoy this world with someone she truly cared for, life-or-death situations notwithstanding. This place, with its odd smells, rattling sounds, and even unpleasant sensations, has been one of the few places of respite she had from… everything. Others. The world. Herself. It’s more evident now, with someone to share it.

“I came to this world because I wanted to surpass who I was. I wanted to become stronger,” Sinon explains, unsure of whether she sounds pretentious. Sinon’s jaw clenches, and Silica gives her a reassuring squeeze. “When I first came here, there was nothing I wanted more than to erase my real self with this- this stronger version of me. This better version of me.”

The image of Hecate II, her sniper rifle, her companion, comes to mind. She’d thought before, at times, what was she without its weight on her back, other than a fragile girl who can’t help but retch at the sight of gun replicas? Without burnt fingertips and trembling shoulders from gun recoil, how could she call the strength she built here real?

This place is home because it was under this same carmine moon that she realized Asada Shino, the high-schooler, was just as much of a warrior as Sinon, the elite sniper. Under this virtual sky, nothing but code threads woven into a reality, was where she accepted who she was.

She fidgets with her fingerless gloves as she continues. “It’s hard to give a simple answer,” she concedes. “But if I had to try, I’d say… this is the place that showed me it was okay for me to be myself. To recognize my strength, to connect with others. Back then, before this game, I never thought I’d get to have... this, I guess.”  Sinon nudges Silica’s shoulder with hers, playfully. “Who knows. Maybe I just wanted to be proven wrong.”

Silica’s heart tightens. She moves a hand to Sinon’s cheek.

“I’m glad you were proven wrong, then.”

In what Silica is pretty sure is the first time, Sinon is the one approaching her for a kiss.

It’s quick and sweet. Sinon’s thin lips press onto Silica’s lightly. It’s easy to forget they’re in the virtual world then, with their eyes closed the way they are, the waves of warmth  radiating through their faces as the only signal their AmuSpheres send to their brains.

*******

The night goes by quietly as they stare to the sky, save for the distant sounds of underground monsters shifting the sands and Silica’s occasional comment of how she’s sure she can tell the constellations even through the thick clouds. They have little time before GGO’s short day cycle robs them of this sight.

That sky, this world, are virtual, and they know that. It’s hard to tell, though, when it shares stars with the real one, when it shares warmth with the real one, when the strength they gain, the bonds they deepen, the sights they see, carry over to the real one.

The air in Gun Gale Online smells like gasoline and gunpowder, but Silica doesn’t mind… at all, really, when it grants them the opportunity to be so frank and close, so near when they’re so far.

When it grants them the opportunity to be themselves more than anywhere else.

[unholyplumpprincess]

Give Your Wife a Dog

A lil ficlet for @kiwi--bot  featuring our Destiny oc’s being soft together.

Summary: In which Trojan gives Lilith a puppy and thinks back on old traditions of giving your loved one a puppy could lead to so much more and how much of a simp in love with her he is.

Reblogs > Likes

Though this post is SFW, this blog is not! Minors please do not follow but this post is okay to interact with!

Fandom: Destiny 2

Relationship: Lilith Daemon (Oc)/Trojan-13 (Oc)

Warnings: SFW, no warnings to apply!

Words: 2.4k

_______________

Not wanting to be a Guardian was where they had bonded.  

When they had first met, Trojan had been freshly rebooted. He knew a few things would always be the same. He always found his way back to the Crucible, back to  Shaxx’s  side to help him officiate for rookies and keep people on their toes. He would always find a fondness in lost ghosts without their guardian to have. He would always kindly find ways to tell Zavala that he would not be participating in the Guardian duties.  

But that last time had thrown him for a loop. All the same, except  Shaxx  had grasped his shoulder firmly and guided the  exo  titan to the side. “Trojan, my friend. Always a pleasure to see you ready to fight! But...I have a better task for you for now.”  Shaxx  had spoken with kindness, his voice dropping to a softer tone, and Trojan knew it was going to be a task he would take with pride.  

Lilith.  

~Rest under the cut~

Even her name sent embers down his back. Warming him deep within his circuitry. Her Light was the brightest he’d ever witnessed, her solar energy humming throughout her glowing tattoos and eyes. The way she bared her teeth in a sneer and staked her authority around her as if she didn’t realize she was so much smaller than those around her. A pitbull in a world of mastiffs. Yet, if anyone was the dog here, it was Trojan. Nothing but a pup under her heel or under her steely gaze of golden light.  

She was an awoken warlock trained directly under the hand of Ikora. Trojan didn’t know her full story, only that Shaxx had guided him to her in a way of companionship. Lilith had been a Guardian during the wars when she was needed, but she did other things Trojan wasn’t familiar with. Gathering intel and data on all wildlife, foliage, flora, and creatures habiting all the planets they were to visit. She’s the one who wrote everything down, found weaknesses, how plants could be useful, all uploaded into the database everyone used.  

Shaxx had explained he worried for her. She kept to herself, even on her planetary visits. She was a hard fighter, but on her last visit, she’d gotten tangled up with an unidentified entity and her ghost had been the one concerned enough to bring it up that maybe she needed a second just to watch her back.  

Trojan had taken to his mission dutifully. At first it had been for Shaxx, but then he’d been with Lilith and watched her in action. Anytime he offered his assistance or so much as took one step ahead of her, Lilith would huff and snap at him and grumble her way through it. Trojan couldn’t help but like her attitude- but a lone wolf? Lone wolves in a world like theirs never made it out alive.  

And her light? He planned to bask in it for a long, long time.  

Snooks, his own ghost, always complained to him that he was wasting his time. Snooks would roll his eye dramatically, enough to make his entire body twirl with the effort, whenever Trojan would sigh longingly and merely say that he would befriend her. She just was shy!  

All the way up until he got to see her compete in the crucible himself. To where the first time he’d won against her through a hair alone, she’d pushed her white curls from her face, her eyes dangerously narrowed across the dropship and warned him he would not get so lucky next time.  

That night he had spent in bed, hugging his own pillow and rolling like a teenage girl with Snooks groaning at his lovey dovey antics.  

It took years of companionship and rivalry, of misunderstandings before Lilith had been the one to snap at him. Trojan had never seen her show so much emotion as he looked down at her. She was so small, reaching just beneath his chest and her hands moving frantically as she spoke. “What ARE we?! You claim me as friend- you speak of me as friend, a-and then?! Then you try and hold my hand?! Are you trying to embarrass me in front of my mentor? Do you take me for a fool?!”  

Each word had made her light burn brighter, to the point Trojan thought her hair would become filled with the fire within her heart. She questions him calling her a friend, calling her his closest friend. Lost in translation, as he had learned. But he will never forget her face when he dropped to his knees to be at her height, seeing golden tears slipping down her cheeks as he so gingerly took her lavender hand within his ones of metal. Murmuring so softly that he had never meant to hurt her, that he would walk off the ends of the world for her, that he had wanted her as more than just a fuck buddy. More than a companion.  

Trojan is lucky to have her in his life, he thinks now when he wakes up to see her arms encircling his waist and her face tucked into his shoulder with her hair sprawled around them. He is lucky, he thinks, to wake up in her warmth and bask in her light. Her own ghost, Kaiden, takes quite a liking to Snooks in turn, but Snooks is ever the brat and always scoffs his direction. But Trojan likes to think that even his own ghost could appreciate the light they both provided.  

But, recently, Trojan’s been wondering how he might surprise her.  

She’d always talked about her interest in war beasts. When she’d get to speaking about her work- the one topic he used to only be able to get her to talk lengths on- about how war beasts were one of the hardest to research since the Cabal completely modified their behaviors. How she’d need a pup in order to be able to study them further and see how they actually were and what wasn’t just trained behavior through a handler.  

Well. By the Light, Trojan was going to get her a damn war beast.  

And he does. Going out to the EDZ and arranging with Devrim for what it is exactly he’s looking for. Devrim gives him a look up and down, a smirk playing on his lips when he asks if he’s doing it for someone in particular. Trojan only smiles, his inner circuitry fluttering when he speaks. “Yes. Is for girlfriend, Lilith. Want to see her smile.”  

And that’s how he acquires a war beast pup. It’s maybe only as big as a bulldog, its harsh razored scales not acquired yet with only smooth red skin. Its claws haven’t even grown in, only practically huge paws on its smaller body with its sharp teeth looking too big for its mouth. It doesn’t snarl or growl, instead it gets rather excited to be picked up. Its entire body wiggling with its stubby tail.  

Hiding it is the hardest part. Especially when he wants to surprise her.  

When he goes to her quarters, using the key he had been given, he calls for her only to be called back to  to  let him know where she was. He travels her plant filled home, past the vast bookcases and framed items as he makes his way to her studying room. Lilith is sat there at her desk, an arched window overlooking the city and the Traveler. Her curly hair is pulled up into a messy bun atop her head, white curls framing her face and her armor exchanged for comfortable at home clothing. She must not have changed from this morning, going straight to work judging by her state.  

A strap of her black tanktop slides off one of her tattooed shoulders, his optics following down to the flex of her bicep when she reaches to grab a different colored pencil. One of her legs is bouncing, covered by gray sweatpants that are thin enough for him to see the dull golden pulse of her ribbon tattoos going up her legs.  

She’s always a sight, even from behind. Her solar energy fills the room with warmth as the plants in the room reach for her as if her light was enough to fuel them. Trojan thinks he might relate to them in that way as well.   

Kaiden happily hovers around her head, peeking over her shoulder and remarking about colorations. When Lilith groans, he croons back at her and presses his round body against her cheek. “Awww, are you cranky? It’s probably because you haven’t seen Trojan all day, huh?”  

“I am cranky because you are being insufferable.” Lilith huffs back, despite raising her manicured hand to gently cup around his body to press Kaiden softly to her cheek in her own way of hugging him back.  

Trojan’s insides become fluttery at the sight of her so open with herself. No leathers, no knives, no malice from her lips despite her own words. Her relaxed posture and surrounded by the plant life and books she loved so dearly. Trojan could sigh at the very sight of her. He would kill for her, he would die for her, he would throw himself at her feet if it would make her happy.  

He thinks he loves her.  

With that thought in mind, he clears his throat, rapping his knuckles on the wall and watching her pointed ears perk right up with a soft jingle to her piercings. She turns in her chair to see him, but Kaiden beats her to the punch as he happily twirls about the air and starts swirling around Trojan’s head. “Oh,  loverboy!!!!~ We have missed you SO much! Isn’t that right, Lilith? Go on, tell the big guy! Go on!”

The look Lilith gives her poor ghost is one that could kill. But, regardless, she stands to greet him and Trojan does his best not to feel disappointed when she adjusts her top to not expose so much of herself. “Hi, little one,” She speaks so softly towards him, her low voice sending his circuitry running high and the nodes on his cheeks flashing as a flustered emotion warms his heart. “Snooks sent me the message that you have something for me?”   

Curse his ghost.  

“Ah! Yes. Was meant to be surprise.” It’s said pointedly at his ghost with a glare, but Snooks just happily hums, looking about the room and not even turning to face his Guardian. However, Trojan clears his throat, stepping towards Lilith until they’re a short distance away.   

From there, he takes her hand within his own, lifting it to his mouth plate to press it fondly there. It never ceases to amaze him when she flushes violet, a huff falling from her full lips in that little embarrassed way she got. Trojan is very well aware  now  if he were to do this in public that she would flip him over her shoulder and slam him to the ground. But, can you really blame him for not exactly hating it in the slightest?  

Before she can ask, he holds out his hand to transmat the flower he had stored. One from Earth when he was visiting Devrim. A beautiful red camellia gently tucked into her messy bun after being shown to her. She’s smart, he knows this, and he knows one of the many languages she knows is flowers. Just seeing her turn violet again all the way to her now perked up ears makes his entire body warmed when all she can do is huff in a flustered manner up at him. “If you do not stop being sappy, I shall be forced to throw you to the ground again.”  

“Speak as if threat. Would like to see again, if willing.” Trojan grins back, making his stance more open for if she so wished. He knows it’s an empty threat, simply just Lilith being unused to this attention. He is unsure who harmed her to make her so skittish in this way, but he swears to both the Traveler and by his own honor, that he would make her smile and laugh openly with him.  

One day.  

“Flower is not surprise. Have other for you, little phoenix. You will like more.” Trojan clears his throat after a moment, soon guiding her to her own living room where said war beast pup was in its kennel. It makes a happy noise upon seeing Trojan, much like a trill as its entire stubby body wags.  

Lilith’s eyes light up and her hands go over her mouth in such a genuine reaction that warms his heart. “I. ..where  did you...?” Her voice is so soft as she drops to her knees to the kennel. She looks nervous as she offers her hand to the bars. The war beast pup happily sniffs at it noisily before its entire body wags again, pawing at the door as Lilith turns her head back and up to look at Trojan with such a soft facial expression.  

He thinks he loves her, he thinks again.  

“Friend helped. Lilith say pups hard to find. I find.” Trojan speaks in a proud tone, watching her head turn back to the pup who makes a soft growling noise when she unhooks the lock cautiously. It happily launches at her, pressing its face into her belly and clambering with its huge paws to get into her lap.  

Hearing her laugh so genuinely makes Trojan cover his mouth to stop from saying anything that might make her never make that sound again. Able to see her grin to show off her sharp canines and dimples, her eyes narrowing as she scratches at the softly scaled belly of the pup who wiggles in her lap happily.  

When the Earth was habited by humans alone, back in their past of past lives, there was an old saying of giving your loved one a dog.  

Trojan can’t help but wonder if a war beast pup suited as a good  substitute  as he watches Lilith come out of her shell a little to roll onto the floor and onto her back to mimic the pup and smile at it with soft croons from her lips as it wags its entire body at her.  

He knows he loves her,  he thinks one final time with a smile.  

[merulanoir]

Hey Meru, if I remember correctly you do work with bone sometimes. Any tipps for someone who wants to get into that? Have a good one ~ Izzy

Hi!

Yeah, I do some bone carving every now and then. Right from the start I have to give a few disclaimers: I'm a novice, I don't use any kind of power tools to carve, and playing with sharp knives is a thing you should not treat lightly. I've been using knives for 23 years and I still sometimes cut myself. You should also use a mask to avoid breathing bone dust.

That being said, bone is an interesting material to work with. It's harder than wood and doesn't splinter, but softer and more forgiving than metal. Depending on what you want to carve, there are some options on how to work the material. Power tools make life hell of a lot easier, because bone is hard. Those same power tools also shouldn't be used by anyone without the proper training.

As for obtaining bones, I get mine from local hunters, butcher shops, farmers' markets, and sometimes by walking in the woods and finding dead animals. The last option may sound grisly, but I handle those with thick rubber gloves until I have cleaned the bones, so actually it's not too bad.

The bones need to be cleaned before you can carve them. If I am handling bones from a butcher, they often have soft tissues still attached; I boil them for a few hours (bonus broth!) and then dunk them into a bucket full of hot water. I add bleach and laundry detergent, and then let it chill for 12-24 hours. Repeat as necessary. Just, don't make broth after the bones have been in the bleach?

Bone consists of two kinds of bone; the hard white bit is called cortical bone, and it's the stuff you usually want to use for carving. The porous, weak bit is cancellous bone, and usually after removing the bone marrow you still need to get rid of this bit, too. This is the first phase where you risk losing fingers, tbh.

Long, load-bearing bones (ergo, the feet of the animal) are the best option for carving. They're fairly easy to clean, the trickiest bit is locating the blood vessel in the bone and removing it after the boiling and bath (it is there because something has to supply the bone marrow with blood, right?) The bone marrow you can either scoop out right after boiling the bone (it's also fun to blow into the bone like it's a huge straw and watch it just splort out. I'm gross, sorry.)

There's a ton of tutorials for the cleaning process, so google will be your friend.

For the carving itself, I use a hacksaw, the cheapest knife I could find from our version of Walmart, and files. I sharpen the knife all the time, so learning to use a whetstone is a useful skill for this hobby. I also have a small manual drill to make holes (I mostly make needles) and a workbench to which I secure the bone when I'm sawing it.

Idk. I haven't been doing this that long, so this is just my novice advice. If you have no previous carving experience, I recommend starting with wood! It's easier to obtain and to work with. The only difference is that for wood carving definitely get a good knife with a short blade and keep it sharp (because it's easier to carve with, and when you inevitably cut yourself the wound will be easier to stitch up if it doesn't look like a ghoul took a bite of your knuckle. Ask me how I know.)

Here's my left hand as a warning example and some pretty natural materials.

[builder051]

Alice’s restaurant

If you haven’t heard this song, go to YouTube and listen to it.  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m57gzA2JCcM

This story takes place in my Steelbridge Sixties AU ‘verse, featuring Vietnam War-era Stucky.  It’s not 100% necessary to read the novella that sets the scene, but it’s here if you’re interested.

_____

Walk into the shrink wherever you are, just walk in, say,"Shrink, you can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant", and walk out

You know, if one person, just one person, does it, they may think he's really sick and they won't take him

And if two people do it, in harmony, they may think they're both faggots and they won't take either of them

And if three people do it! Can you imagine three people walkin' in, singin' a bar of "Alice's Restaurant" and walkin' out? They may think it's an organization!

--Arlo Guthrie, Alice’s Restaurant, 1967

_____

Bucky wakes with his head aching.  He supposes he should be used to it by now.  He doesn’t think he’s gone a whole day without pain since before the war.  The days when he was too fucked up to be aware of his body don’t count.  And he’s supposed to be getting clean anyway.

The alarm clock on the bedside table begins to ring.  Steve reaches out of the cocoon on blankets to silence it.  Then he rolls over and grins at Bucky.  “Morning,” he says sleepily.

“Morning.”  Bucky tries arranging his face in a smile, but it feels awkward.  He isn’t sure he’s achieved the desired result. He stops worrying about it when his jaw stretches into a yawn.

“Sleep ok?” Steve asks as he sits up.

Bucky shrugs.  It’s easier to sleep in Steve’s bed.  He’s gotten used to the mattress.  It no longer feels gooey under his spine, and it’s a definite improvement from an Army-issue bedroll or a hospital cot.  It helps to have another body tucked in with him, too.  A peaceful face one pillow over to remind him of where he is in time and space.

“It’s a big day, right?”  Bucky rubs the grit from his eyes.

“Yeah.”  Steve opens the dresser drawer and starts pulling on a pair of jeans.  He tosses another pair onto the bed for Bucky.  “You remembered.  Ready to wield a serving spoon?”

“I remembered…”  Bucky echoes.  Most of the time he knows what day it is, but it’s especially important today.  It’s Thanksgiving.  A happy day.  But he doesn’t feel happy.

Bucky mulls it over as he slips out of bed.  Everything at the forefront of his mind is solid, like the surface of a frozen lake, gleaming and ready to run across.  He’s safe.  He’s home.  He and Steve have plans.  But a dark shape lurks beneath the surface, reminding him that all it takes is a single crack for things to turn dangerous.

Steve helps him through the process of getting ready.  They’ve fallen into a routine; Bucky struggles with his clothes while Steve disappears to the bathroom.  He finishes up as soon as Bucky’s ready to join him, leaving the faucet running and Bucky’s toothbrush on the counter.

Bucky wants to ask him for an aspirin.  Ideally something stronger, but he knows that won’t fly.  He hasn’t touched anything beyond weed in almost a month.  Which is a good thing, Bucky reminds himself.  He sticks his toothbrush in his mouth, cringing at the bitter tang of chemicals under the artificial mint.  Too late now.  He won’t want to swallow anything for at least half an hour.

They hold hands as they walk to the shelter.  “No one’ll see,” Steve murmurs as he interlaces his fingers with Bucky’s.  It’s a holiday, and early morning to boot.  The neighborhood is completely still, and even the main roads are devoid of traffic. There may as well only be two cars in the entire town, both parked on the curb in front of the soup kitchen.

It’s warm inside, and already full of the aroma of cooking food.  “Hey, guys!”  Scott looks up from the antenna he’s wrestling into place atop the ancient TV set.  “There’s coffee in the back.  And pie.”

“Pie?” Steve shakes his head.  “A little early for that, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, well, it ain’t just for breakfast anymore.”  Scott fiddles with the knob to change the channel, and a view of New York City appears in grainy black and white.

“Nice one, man.”  Steve claps him on the shoulder, then leads Bucky through the swinging door to the kitchen.

Sam appears to be in command, stirring a huge pot of potatoes while talking T’Challa through the turkey.  “It’s pre-cooked, man.  Stop messing with the oven or you’re gonna dry it out.”  His eyes alight on Steve and Bucky, and he greets them with an enthusiastic, “Happy Thanksgiving!”

“Most wonderful time of the year,” Steve says.  He pours himself a cup of coffee, then raises the carafe and makes eyes at Bucky.

“Sure,” Bucky mumbles.  The kitchen is comforting, both at the shelter and the house.  Like the bed, it’s not a place Bucky’s been lately, so he’s at ease there.  Mostly.  His hackles are up today, nagging at him like the throb behind his forehead, reminding him again of the fragility of his situation.  He takes one sip of the coffee, then decides he’s jittery enough and leaves the mug on the counter.

Steve won’t let him touch the knives, supposedly because his one-handedness keeps him from being able to hold steady whatever he’s cutting.  Bucky knows it’s for safety, too.  He agrees that it’s probably smart.  Sam puts him in charge of the gravy, first stirring the pot bubbling on the stove, then ladling it onto trays when the clock strikes 11 and the customers start streaming in.

Steve’s a chatterbox, too excited for his own good.  He makes conversation with every person in line as he doles out potatoes and stuffing.  Some of the scruffy men reply in kind, but most just mutter “thanks” and look at the floor.

Bucky doesn’t blame them.  He has a hard time lifting his gaze from the oily sheen of the gravy pan.  Making eye contact leaves him exposed, staring down the humanity in the other guy’s soul, just as they stare down his.  It makes it harder to act.  Harder to kill.

“Pour a little extra on here for me, will ya, boy?”

“Huh?”  Bucky blinks down at the slice of apple pie and the shaky hand holding out the dessert plate.  Then at the face behind it; the grin and the eye patch.

“Ugh, really, Nick?”  Steve laughs and wrinkles his nose.  “Gravy on potatoes, gravy on turkey…but gravy on pie?”

“Hey, I don’t comment on what you get up to,” Nick says.  “Come on.  Help a brother out.”

Bucky lifts the ladle slowly.  His heart beats hard and fast, but everything around him is too still.  The extended second of levitation before free fall.

“Who cares?  It’s just gravy.”

It’s just gravy.

I don’t care.  They’re not your rations.

He ain’t gonna eat ‘em.

He ain’t your fucking problem.

Don’t speak for ‘im.  Whadaya say, Barnes?  You gonna eat?

He isn’t hungry.  He doesn’t want to open his mouth, either.  His stomach’s in knots.  Everything in this godforsaken country smells like sweat and shit, even the food.  Even the food they shipped in specially, as if the government needed a federal holiday to give the troops abroad a sharp kick in the ass and call it thankfulness.

“Buck?  You alright?”  Steve’s hand closes over Bucky’s, stilling its quavering.  There’s gravy all over the counter, and Nick’s pie is swimming in it.

“Sorry, Nick,” Steve says.  “Scotty, you wanna grab him a fresh slice?”

“No, no, it’s ok,” Nick says with a chuckle.  “Got what I asked for, didn’t I?”  He takes his food and shuffles to a table.

“Just put it down, Buck.”  Steve murmurs.  He pries the ladle out of Bucky’s grip.  “Alright?”

Bucky’s teeth are chattering.  But he’s warm.  Too warm.  His head hurts.  And his arms.  The one that’s been stirring and scooping for the past four hours, and the one that’s not there.

Steve tucks Bucky’s hair behind his ear and presses the backs of his knuckles to his cheek.  “You feel ok?”

Bucky means to say “yeah,” but instead he mumbles, “People are gonna see…”

“It’s fine,” Steve says.  “Like he said, nobody cares what we get up to.”

Nobody cares.  Rations are rations.

Bucky takes a breath and tries again.  “I…” he starts.  “Um…”

“How ‘bout you sit down and have something to eat,” Steve suggests.  He pats Bucky’s shoulder and turns to get him a plate.

It’s the last thing Bucky wants, but he isn’t in the position to argue.  All he can do is try not to watch as Steve dishes him up.

“Here, come sit.”  Steve finds him a place at a table in the corner between Darcy and Nat.  Some deep recess of Bucky’s brain acknowledges the small miracle of veterans and protesters enjoying dinner in the same room, but the thought is impossible to hold.  It’s on top of the ice, and he’s trapped beneath it.  He’s stuck here, in his body and his memories, while the rest of the world spins without him.

Bucky picks up his fork because that seems like what Steve wants.  As soon as his blonde head bobs back into the kitchen, though, Bucky stands up again.  Somebody asks what’s wrong, but he doesn’t reply.  He can’t.

He leaves through the front door and circles around the back of the building.  A dumpster takes up most of the narrow alley, but there’s a pile of plywood and a soggy-looking mattress jammed into the corner.  Bucky makes for it, tripping over his feet and going down harder than he intends.  His knees smart, but Bucky doesn’t care.  He has to focus, to spit out the words before they turn to rocks in his pockets and pull him down.

Beds didn’t exist in Vietnam.  They did before, and they do after.  Nothing else matters.  Not food, not Thanksgiving.  Just safety.  And Steve.

“You’re…here,” Bucky grunts.  “You’re safe.”  He embeds his hand in his hair and stares at the dirty pavement between his feet.  He pulls in a half-dozen breaths that taste like garbage and winter sunshine.  It’s cold out here.  It wasn’t cold in Vietnam.

“There you are.”  It’s Steve’s voice.  Steve’s shadow approaches, and his shoes edge into Bucky’s visual field.  “Not feeling so good?”

“Hm.”  Bucky sighs.  “’M here.”

“And you’re safe,” Steve finishes.  He sits on the edge of the mattress and lays the flat of his palm between Bucky’s shoulder blades.  “Do you feel like talking about it?”

“Nah.”  Bucky searches for a sentence to capture the gist of it, but the more he thinks about it, the more nebulous the feelings become.  “Just…memories.  And…hurt.”

“What hurts?”

Bucky runs down the list.  Head, stomach, arms, ribs…  The tension in his shoulders holds an exhausting sort of pain.  He usually relaxes into Steve’s touch, but this time his muscles are locked in spasms, sending a nauseating tightness into his throat.  “My arm,” he says.  “My arms.”

“You probably used some muscles you haven’t worked in a while.”  Steve squeezes Bucky’s bicep and runs his hand over the top of his back.  He gently touches the crest of Bucky’s stump shoulder.  “Over here too?”

“Hm.”  The scars are healed now.  Nothing’s wrong with his skin, save the jagged pink marks that have yet to fade.  But something’s off on the inside, phantom pins and needles that prickle like surgical implements accidentally stitched inside. They come and go, fading for weeks then suddenly popping back to remind Bucky of how far he is from truly recovering, how any little thing can ruin him.

Like gravy.

“It’s ok, Buck.  You’re here.  You’re safe…”  Steve says something else, but Bucky doesn’t hear it.  His fingers hit the underside of Bucky’s stump, and the world turns upside down.  The tension in Bucky’s body drops, then reengages in the blink of an eye.  His entire left side tingles.  His vision erupts in stars, and a dry heave bursts from his chest.

“Whoa, ok,” Steve murmurs frantically.  “Ok.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry, Buck.”  The pressure of his hands disappears, leaving Bucky unmoored and drifting.  Bucky blinks a few times, but it does nothing for the sick vertigo playing around his ears.

“Ugh.”  Bucky wishes he could say something more definitive, something to insinuate he’s ok.  Which he isn’t, but he’s going to be, as soon as he gets his bearings again.

Steve’s breath is quick and concerned beside him.  He’s going to work himself into a tizzy if he isn’t careful.  Bucky lifts his trembling hand and drops it on Steve’s knee to reassure him, to make him feel a little better.  He thinks he feels a little better too.

[speckledkingsnake]

A rusted, bent cigar case

Amidst the darkness of a trance, the first thing you feel is pain, a dull, radiating pain on your gut. A voice, masculine and old, the sort that has begun to become more a rumble, calls, “Get up, little hatchling!” And you feel your legs move to acquiesce as you wrap your arms around your midsection. The Adder banner behind you flaps in the wind, and the same wind brings a chill to your soaked form. Sweat. A broad, rough hand, huge when compared to your infantile form, grabs you by the back of your Adder yellow shirt, moving you upright with ease.  The face that greets you is smiling, with a none-too-comforting sense of weariness. A tall man, broad, taller than most of those sharp-eared Elezen you’ve met, he’s got white hair like yours, “Have you been eating?” Your stomach hurts, and you feel it contract, hear the sounds in your ears, muffled within you. He laughs, not sharp-eared, but sharp of hearing, always has, you haven’t snuck by him yet, though you have many others, your feet never make sound. This close, you can smell him, you pick up something ozone, and metal, but it all pales to the smell of tobacco. ”If you don’t eat, you’ll never catch up to me.” He laughs, and the force of his patting to your back is nearly enough to make you stumble. “Come on, again. Arms up.” His knees bend and your arms move up, his movements easy and yours stiff - his feet don’t make any sound either, there is only the wind and the calls of passing birds. Another blow follows, an ill-advised dodge, your stumbling legs, and his fist finds your temple, and this time, things go dark. Something soft rests against your shoulder, and you don’t bother opening your eyes - you’re nearly asleep. “You didn’t have to do that.” Low and almost shy, feminine. She never talks like that, you haven’t known her to be shy, so you know well enough that this isn’t her being demure, it’s her being resentful. It’s dark, and cold, as you both rest against a tree, the sound of a rushing river overwhelming the call of nearby animals and the steps of predators, even if your ears strain to stay alert. You say nothing to her words. Your knuckles feel sore and sometimes sting with passing breezes, the skin between your fingers sticks, stained with crimson. ”I could’ve handled it.” Again, she speaks, and you mutter something noncommittal, you know she could, but you wanted to. Her smell mingles with that of the Shroud, of wet, soft earth and clorophyll, but you haven’t confused the two yet. Her head shifts, her hair pressing against your throat. “You’re such a bitch.” It’s said with fondness. Sleep claims you, comforting, the rustling of grass beneath you as you adjust. A mess of colors and smells swirls, robbing you of sense, any sound replaced by a sharp, shrill tone. When things realign, a foggy, red filter fills your vision, the visor of a helmet that sits muggy and uncomfortably heavy on your head. Two lines of armored men, chitin-like plates that broaden the shoulders and cover their faces, you stand among the third, and further on, a taller officer, clad in similar steel. He looks at you, and you know it despite the red visor of his own helmet, similar to yours. You know it by the prickling at your spine and the rising of the hair at the back of your neck, the way your muscles bind tight under skin. Your ears pop, and despite the way it shakes you, you don’t move from your attentive stance. Sound filters in, and the first thing you hear is an odd, gushing crackle. Beside him is a pike, weirdly shaped. Another crackle, a gurgle, choking on water. The pike moves, or the man impaled by it does. He twitches, groans, garbled near-words, and the wood within him creaks as it strains with weight and the struggle through organ and bone. The smell. Ozone, sweat, your own breath fogging up the helmet, iron and rust and something close to bile - what seeps from the man has begun to pool at the bottom of the pike and spread outward. You feel its warmth against your boot despite it all, or perhaps you imagine it, but you can certainly smell it. The sky above is a particularly bright shade of green beyond your visor. No coherent thought crosses you, and all your will is poured into maintaining your postured, bunched and bound muscle at your back, a pulsing soreness to your knees. You feel as if your head is floating, as if you’re faint, but you stay and watch until the creaking and twitching stops, and the only sound remaining is a steady dripping from the body, and the only smell you can pick up on is copper and bile. Tears sting at your eyes, warm, and you close them tight.

You wake, groggy, confused, in an office. It is warm brown hues and dark red carpets. Bookshelves filled with more folders and documents than proper books, a large table that suddenly feels smaller as you sit up, the chair the same, smooth leather that sinks under your weight. It used to be bigger. Atop it are files, an extensive amount, spread, disorganized, your lips feel dry and your eyes heavy. Speckled Kingsnake - a title written on a profile of sorts, your face is on it, your qualifications. You’ve yet to sign it. Your gaze moves to the document beside it, a similar profile by the same title, nameless beyond it, a white-haired man. You haven’t written the date of his death yet. The place smells of tobacco, but you haven’t found his stash of it either. You groan, rubbing at your face.

When you open your eyes again, you stare at a ceiling, woodframe against brightly dyed cloth, the feel of sleep still making your head heavy. The steady sound of breathing, your own and others, slow and easy, and a warmth that seems to press down on you, envelop. Your arm shifts, tingling as sensation flows back into it, as the woman that sleeps closest to you among the many others shifts and allows bloodflow to resume while remaining in your hold. Her horns dig uncomfortably against your chest. Cedar and burnt wood and sweat. You tighten your hold, and she shifts closer. She’s never this friendly awake, and neither are you. You close your eyes.

The smell fades, and the heat of fire follows, stinging at the nose, hot and cloying in your lungs. You blink and your vision comes, through some form of machinery - you zoom forward, to watch as Xaela women and men, some too small to be adults, run from their homes, bright orange lighting up the Steppe and screams filling the usually quiet nights. Chitin-armored men push in, brandishing guns and blades. Screams are cut short. None of you brought cages or ropes to bind them with, to take them with you. You no longer sweat and tremble, your feet feel sure on the ground and your grip doesn’t tighten on the binoculars. You know one left earlier. You know she isn’t coming back. You blink, and your body droops, weighted down by the same chitin plates. They clang in your ear as you fumble with the straps and buckles. You’re bleeding, you know by how cold it feels against your left side, how the undershirt clings to skin uncomfortably. Small taps against your helmet sound in your ears as sand is blown against you. There are distant explosions, the ground shakes after you hear the crumbling of buildings. Adder yellow is spotted ahead, orange under the red visor. This is it. “This is it.” The first coherent words. Vivid, in your voice. You stop fumbling with the buckles, they haven’t noticed you yet, your steps don’t make a sound, haven’t. There are aches and sharp stings all over you, of familiar lances that pierced flesh, but none of it truly registers anymore beyond a dull knowledge that you are wounded. There is no bunching of your muscles, or soreness to your knees. Your lungs burn, and you’ve been walking for long. It could end here. Struck down, faceless beneath chitin, nameless beyond an alias no one important will recognize.

Further on, a tent. Your nose picks up grass and earth, or your head makes you think you do. Regardless, tinted by red, she stands amidst the wounded. You grunt, the sound rumbling in your throat, and your hands move on their own. You tug your helmet off, toss it aside. No other choice. You owe her. The sand sticks to your cheeks and neck, prickling when you move. You blink as they blow against your face, and the landscape changes.

A dark apartment, filled with the scent of old paper and tobacco, thick and heavy. A woman, sharp-jawed and broad-shouldered, laughs against your ear, the soft mattress beneath creaking as she shifts to grow closer, large form curling around you, all strong muscle and sharp edges. Sleep claims you, not despite these characteristics, but because of them.

Rain soaks you to the bone, cloth and leather heavy against your form. Beyond, the imposing, dark shape of a Castrum, and behind, a woman, clad in smooth plate, equally as dark and equally as intimidating. She bares teeth at you, knives in her grip, similar to the ones that weight at your hips. “I should’ve known.” She snarls, a golden gaze, much like yours, tracking you. “Garlean scum!” The words are a bark that precedes a chase. Your chest clenches, but your face doesn’t change, you stare back. Her voice is shrill, it hasn’t been that way before.

She charges you, and your hands shake as they haven’t in years. You take a steadying breath - and the ground melts beneath you, darkness once more enveloping you. A large Roegadyn pats your back, rough hands, familiar, she smiles at you, Ul’dah merchants calling their wares nearby. She leans to murmur something in your ear, something unimportant, and her hand finds your side, fingers curling, easily pulling you closer. Sweat and sand and sharp steel, she smells of it, and of warmth and sleep. 

You run through the Shroud, your body burning and bleeding, a thick, gauntlet-clad hand gripping yours, keeping you upright as your legs refuse to stop stumbling. Your vision is sharp despite the pulses of pain that wrack over you with each forced movement over uneven earth and stone. A smug smile sticks to your mind, a blade, and the smell of roots and wet earth belonging not to the forest, but to someone. Vex looks at you, sharp-jawed but soft in expression, “Hey! Stay awake!” She urges, as she stops you, “Come on, you got it?” Her voice distorts, and your vision melds, forming again, elsewhere.

The same Roegadyn snarls at your ear, thick arms wrapped protective against you, pressure against your shoulders and your midsection. She doesn’t crush you, but there is a dull sort of sting, as your wounds beneath haven’t healed, a particularly bad one on your shoulder. “Next time, I’ll shield you.” She says, a near-whine, “Let me do it.” You can’t reply, things shift and bend. A couch beneath you yields comfortably to your weight, but a lump has begun to form in your throat. A man beside you, tall and sharp-eared, or is he? He stares at you, all the same, friendliness gone from his features.

He says something, but his voice comes a garbled mess to your ear, one you push aside, and your legs will you to stand, to gain distance. Chitin-plate suits him, you realize, and he smells of tobacco and of alcohol, to mask the lingering, natural scent beneath - or maybe, your mind plays tricks again. You smell ozone, you smell rust, and bile. Your blood rushes loud in your ears. The door becomes your sole focus, an exit. Your eyes sting with warm tears.

[elane-in-the-shadows]

Red Queen Fan Fiction - Blood Curse part 6

Here comes the fight scene ;-)

Find this on wattpad

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

chapter 8

chapter 9

chapter 10

chapter 11

chapter 12

chapter 13

chapter 14

chapter 15

chapter 16

chapter 17

chapter 18

chapter 19

chapter 20

chapter 21

chapter 22

chapter 23

chapter 24

chapter 25

chapter 26

chapter 27

chapter 28

chapter 29

Final chapter

Mare POV

Spontaneity is quickly replaced by determination. I enter the ring in a fluid motion enabling me to set forth web lightning the moment I face Evangeline. Caught by surprise, it makes her stumble. Still uncannily elegant, she manages to stay upright, but her defense is weakened enough for me to strike a second time with a flash of sparks which grazes and burns her forehead.

Her reaction is quicker this time, as if out of reflex. Metal scraps fly at me, disorganized enough so I can create an electrical barrier to protect me. I dissolve it fast and the shards fall to the ground.

Evangeline grins at me. “Not really fair, Lightning Girl. I haven’t consented to this duel yet.”

I smirk back. “You’ve always been the fairer fighter of the two of us.” If playing with me instead of outright killing me in the Bowl of Bones could be called thus. “Do you want to bail out now?”

She brushes off the taunt of her valour like a gentle breeze, flipping back her slightly dishevelled braid. “Barrow, I’ve waited ages for a chance to re-match.” To demonstrate her verve, the metal pieces around us move with a flick of her wrist. If she wants to scare me, I disappoint her. I crack my knuckles and give off sparks in reply.

“I’ve improved greatly myself, Samos.” Current flows through my body like the frustration, rage, and nervousness I’ve felt all day and with a tap on the floor, I release another surprise attack from my feet. Fortunately, I don’t wear rubber soles.

Evangeline is prepared better now but the ring is too tight to allow much dodging of such a broad charge. She dances in her corner, evading some but not all electrical branches I’ve unleashed. She almost smiles when she faces me again, eye to eye with a well-aimed pulse lightning. She ducks while spinning but the lightning burns her relentlessly and she falls to her knees. I hear the air, the ground and her armour sizzling from the residues of my electricity. It buzzes in me as well. So far, I did a good job as I barely had to move though I still wish to run. Instead, I smile at Evangeline who’s getting up, not defeated but bruised nonetheless. I keep grinning, walking backwards to keep my eyes on her. “Maybe Elane can lick your wounds?”

Evangeline only raises her chin, looking down her nose at me. “She does, and frequently. Jealous?”

Her tongue can be as sharp as her blades. My mistake. I used her messy love life as a taunt, forgetting I haven’t drawn a better lot.

All because of him.

I grind my teeth to banish the thought of Tiberias and clench my fists which are crackling with voltage like ball lightning.

We circle each other. Evangeline scans the ring, her throat bobbing. My mouth twitches. I didn’t emit such a broad web lighting only to attack her, but to shove away her metals as well. Certainly, she’s able to pull it back but she’s too fair for that. Out of the ring, out of the game. But I know I can’t rely on her fairness.

Despite my agitation, I’m the one baiting her now and she responds accordingly. Several times, she feints an attack yet draws back again while her armour ripples and changes shape continuously. It’s supposed to be a menace but I don’t intend to get closer to her anyway. Instead, she uses her armour to create new weapons, sharp and spiky things she hurls at me.

I dodge the most of them and she accelerates her frequency of charging at me until I’m surrounded and have to use lightning to block her blades. It’s not easy. Although I gained new skills with the other electricons, I still fight mostly with brutal strength whereas Evangeline controls metal with a dangerous precision which she probably has learned from making dresses and crowns as a hobby. I try to find a pattern, like when she formed splints into creatures, but she’s subtler today, moving each piece on its own orbit. I increase my speed of both my body and my ability. Tipsing around, I feel the sweat on my skin. I have to risk an attack and I release strong web lighting in her direction and promptly, tiny knives enter through the hole in my defense and cut my arm. But my opponent doesn’t fare better. My aim is perfect and enough of a surprise to strike true. Evangeline protect herself with her arms up and her armour changes into a shield floating in front of her.

I realize. Ignoring the pain in my arm, I unleash another charge and again, Evangeline uses a shield in defense. It’s confirmation enough but I need a plan first: With the conductive the metal around her, her armour is useless against an electricon; I could electrocute her anyway.

I manage two attacks in fast succession and she can’t evade both of them. Her right arm isn’t protected by a shield and it shakes when my lightning hits it. She bites her lip in pain but I gloat for a second too long and Evangeline strikes back: A mace-like metal thing is about to pierce my stomach and I can only throw myself to the ground and kick at the spiky ball, disintegrating it with a surge of voltage. Its pieces scatter and I watch them fly out of the ring, threatening to damage innocent bystanders. It wakes the lingering memory of Shade stabbed to death by a diverted magnetron’s needle. I gasp, fearing for the people around me but they’re lucky and splints just clatter on the floor.

Frozen by the old ache and crouching on the ground, I must offer an easy target. I have to force myself to rise, only to realize the hurt is physical as well. Evangeline has already scored some hits since several spikes are buried in my left leg and blood soaks my trousers and drips on the floor.

I wince and summon lightning in my fist, if only to use the sizzle to keep me focused and standing. It doesn’t help. Evangeline pulls the spikes out of me and blood gushes out. The sudden loss of blood makes me too dizzy to contain the electricity. Sparks fly off and vanish. I stumble and need all my energy to remain upright as I face another pattern of Evangeline’s needles dancing around me. I bleed more as I dodge as best as I can but it’s a lost cause to try to run in the tight space. Between painful steps I gather electricity for one last charge with my lightning. Evangeline won’t expect it, neglectful in her defense while she watches my unelegant tripping. I feel the current in my fists, ready to release it, but a new projectile comes my way, urging me to step back with my injured left leg in the moment I throw the lightning at her.

Surprise is no advantage when my aim off from wincing in pain. Instead Evangeline stops toying with me and grants me her whole attention. No longer trying to be subtle, her spikes merge to one huge wedge knocking me over and pressing the air out of my lungs.

The world turns black and I hear Evangeline say, “I win”, without waiting for me to yield, as Akkadi did. I don’t rise again. My energy has left me and all I feel is the ache throbbing in my leg and my pants tacked to my wounds, crusty from dried blood. Inappropriate as it is, laying on the floor of a gym full of soldiers is exactly what I need. I don’t care for the commotion and I’m still seeing stars when someone bends over me, muttering something about being a skinhealer. He’s supposed to be careful but it still hurts when he removes the pant from my leg. My sight returns slowly as he starts to heal me. I see silver glitter above me and startle to find Evangeline bending over me.

“Careful,” the healer – Reese, I remember – warns me. His soothing hands numb my agitation and panic as well the pain while I assess my surroundings again. I suppose it was Evangeline who cut open my pant for Reese and now she has the decency to care about her defeated opponent. She seems truly worried, if not only for Farley who stands at the outer edge of the ring, glaring at her.

Reese is almost finished when the shouting starts and a heat wave crosses the gym.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HER?!!” he roars.

Instinctively, I crawl away but I still feel the fire in Tiberias’s wake. Evangeline is quick enough to get out of his way but Reese isn’t so lucky. Tiberias grabs his collar and his hands scorch Reese’s shirt. Tiberias’s still shouting when Farley enters the ring and helps me up. She should’ve better barked at Tiberias but I take over the task. I walk over my own blood spread on the ground, right into the blazing heat around him. Reese must be sweltering from his assault and this needs to stop. I touch Tiberias’s torrid arm, just long enough to send a shock of electricity through him and it does its purpose. He lets go and stumbles back, startled to see me up and about, now unharmed despite the blood loss, and blistering with sparks of anger.

“Don’t hurt the one who healed me!” I scream and suddenly he looks lost and beaten.

“Mare … you’re alright, that’s great. But he was looming over your naked leg and I couldn’t – “

“Don’t be such a possessive ass!” I shout. “I do well without your misplaced worry.” I turn away, surprised to notice that Evangeline is still there. I wonder why since I expect Tiberias to turn against the causer of my injuries after all. Instead of being scared, she appears strangely smug with her arms crossed in challenge.

It’s Farley who snaps. “Calore!” She steps forward and brushes my hand for a second. I pull away but stay with them. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t attack our esteemed skinhealers,” Farley continues. Meanwhile, Reese has slumped down and has to make do with an ice pack. “We’re relying on each other’s support here. Silver temper tantrums are uncalled for. You understand, your highness?” Farley finishes her reprimand.

Tiberias catches himself. “General,” he says respectfully, then bows to me. I have to look away, but Evangeline is still grinning.

When Farley and I finally leave the gym, having gotten Reese another skinhealer and new pants for me, Evangeline runs up to us. She ignores Farley’s pointed gaze and extends her hand to me.

“Good match, Barrow.”

I gape at her for several seconds but she’s unusually patient until I finally shake it.

“Indeed, Samos.”

“I’ll not be as brutal in the next one,” she proposes. “General Akkadi already scolded me for it.”

A laugh escapes my throat.

“I am cooperative, Barrow,” she insists but her face loses amusement.

“To what cause?” I ask.

The corners of her mouth twitch. “My own, I hope. You don’t suppose I think you like this situation? I rather assume we have a mutual interest here.”

“Is that so?” sneers Farley. “Excuse me, your highness, but we’re not here for individual wishes but to win a war so we can enable the liberation and legal equality of the Reds.”

“But individual wishes are the cause of everything we do,” Evangeline replies and pauses. It’s surprising to hear this from her. “Mare,” she starts again, “Tiberias came to look for me as I’ve stolen myself away. But I have no need of his attention. Whereas you – “ she shrugs.

“We have a mutual interest to stop your wedding, you claim?” I ask. “I fear our opinions aren’t decisive in that regard.”

She seems both smug and guilty. “I’ve hoped to convince some people today. Unfortunately, I’m easily … dismissed.”

Right, I’m not relieved by her idea to beat me up to antagonize Tiberias, so I scoff at her. “Sure, Evangeline. I’ve seen your manipulations at work often enough to believe otherwise. To my chagrin.” A part of me regrets the words, realizing she’s just trusted me with her own heartsickness. I lower my head, but I can’t bring myself to take back my words before I turn and leave.

“You follow me like a mother hen,” I say to Farley when we reach the administrative tower again.

“As you apparently need someone to keep an eye on you.”

I stop with the hands on my hips. “Go mother your own child.”

“I wish I could,” she utters.

We stand in silence awkwardly and I curse myself for this new lapse. I shuffle my feet. “Sorry. It’s – I want to go home. Or at least to the base. But …”

“We’re here for a reason, aren’t we? So we can’t just leave because we feel lonely?” Farley sighs and brushes my shoulders. “That doesn’t have to be true, Mare. We just talked about taking care of each other.”

I nod.

“Then take care of yourself first. And don’t forget we’re not here forever. I want to see our family again, too.”

I hug her, longer than I intend to. “You don’t have to do everything by yourself,” she reminds me, and I think she needs the embrace as much as I do.

“The same goes for you,” I say.

“We’ve done what we can here,” Farley says, shuffling her papers. “I don’t expect to stay here much longer.” She looks satisfied with her notes, at ease in her office room with the sunlight gleaming on her short hair and the glass objects on the desk. I crouch on a chair, watching the setting red sun behind her. “I haven’t relocated those recruits for nothing. And actually … Mare?”

“I’m listening,” I reply but I still stare into the sun, squinting. “And then, what?” Despite what we’ve achieved so far, it feels like we’re only beginning. It seems like the war between Norta – or what’s remaining of her – and the Lakelands will become more real than it ever was. “What will we do about the new royals sprouting from the ground?”

“It’s – “

“Don’t say it’s classified information.” I sigh. “Intrigue leads to nothing and there’ll always be blood. Our blood.”

Farley cocks her head. “I wouldn’t say intrigues are useless. Remember how much has happened so far.”

“You mean we should just assassinate them, like Elara did with Tiberias the sixth?”

“We can’t just kill everyone, or we would’ve done it already.” She looks up and blinks, as if shocked of her own words.

“You needn’t be afraid of microphones or cameras, I’d know if there were any,” I say.

She snorts. “Still surprising how versatile your ability is. Unless there’s someone with super-hearing.”

“Are we competing in paranoia now? Because I always feel watched in this place. Like when everyone saw Tiberias’s theatrics in the gym.” I must be blushing again and focus on my feet.

“Your love-life has always been a kind of public one,” Farley comments, back to her papers. I’m not in the mood for teasing.

“Not everyone can be as secretive as you.” I retort pertly.

She doesn’t take it light-hearted either. She bangs her ball-pen on the desk, and her expression turns dark.

Right. Right. It was hardly a secret when she was –

I stand up in a rush. “I didn’t mean …,” I begin but she remains silent despite her obvious anger. “I’m sorry,” I admit, and go to the door. Another glimpse reveals she’s still frustrated.

“I’m okay, Mare,” she claims. “Go if you want, we’re not here to supervise each other.” It’s my cue to leave.

I idle along the corridors, torn between weariness and restlessness. The memory of my injuries lingers. I curse myself for my need of attention and I decide I should rather read a book. Corvium lies below me as I pass the windows to my room. Although the city buzzes under the sunlight, it still feels stifling to me. Like a coffin I want to get out of. I yearn for my family and the forests of Winghill, the Piedmont base, instead I’m staring at black walls.

It’s when I feel a familiar warmth engulf me and it chases the cold from my bones. I know he’s behind me and I let him simmer for a minute, yet I’m afraid he might just leave again. But he’s still there when I turn.

Tiberias looks guilty and lost and it both annoys and pleases me. He shouldn’t be proud of his actions and I stare him down, hoping to equal Farley’s glare.

“You can’t just attack people.”

He lowers his head in admission. “I apologize -”

“Apologize to Reese.”

“I did, but I can see you’re even more angry,” he insists and he’s right.

I smile faintly. “You know why I’m angry with you. But such behaviour doesn’t help.”

“Can I not be worried about you?!” he exclaims. “Seeing you hurt and bleeding after all that has happened? These people could do anything to you!”

I can’ help cackling. “These people? I thought they were your allies? But you can’t trust them?” I sigh dramatically. “I suppose it was a good decision not to …” I stop myself because he approaches me, grabs my arms and breathes heavily. His head sinks, just a few inches from touching my brow.

“You were right.”

It hardly feels satisfying, so I don’t know what to say - what does this acknowledgement change? For the moment, I allow myself to enjoy his closeness, to just see and smell Cal, the man I love, and no one else.

He’s the one to let go. I look up to meet his ember-like gaze. “And?” I whisper. “Are you fed up now? Will you keep the promise you gave me and choose me and the Guard instead of the crown?”

Would you run with me again, away from here?

His lips quiver and my bravery vanishes. I don’t wait for his objection, for another disappointment, another dismissal of my and any Red’s wishes. If he’s ready to give me a different answer, he’ll know where he can find me.

[mabelmadnessss-blog]

Impulse 13 - Panic

Impulse 12 - Satin Lips

Harley jumped out of her skin when she heard the gun shot ring out. She was currently laying in the bath, trying to soak away her thoughts. She knew the shot came from the Joker, he was pissed and obviously used violence to express it. She wasn't surprised, though Harley did secretly hope that he'd shot Hutch, she'd never wished death on another human being before but he was an exception.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the bedroom door open. The Joker had entered, it sounded like he was smashing glass and furniture. Cursing under her breath, Harley sank back into the tub. Just when things went quiet, she heard him shouting on the phone. "I don't care! Just get your ass over to the club right now! We have the fate Sammy boy to discuss."

Sam? What? Sam from Arkham, the creep that asked me out every damn day for a whole week, that Sam?

She sat still in the bath, listening to banging and things being broken and thrown across the room. Harley then heard the Joker muttering to himself "Boyfriend, don't make me laugh, the only thing that he could ever pull would be a door handle."

She had no idea what he was going on about, but she giggled a little. His footsteps came closer. Knowing he was going to come in, she gathered all the bubbles from the bath over her body, trying to keep some dignity. The door creaked open, J didn't even look at her, but she saw him. Anger plastered all over his face with a shine of sweat on his brow. He was dressed in a suit, blood clinging to his knuckles desperately. He must have smashed something with his fist. Despite his disheveled look, he looked Damn fine. His shirt was purple, unbuttoned slightly but still fitting him like a glove. He wore a silver blazer over the top, with thick golden chains hung around his neck paired with equally big rings on his bone white fingers. It would of looked tacky on anyone else, but he pulled it off perfectly.

He lent over the sink to the mirror, slicking his hair back and straightened his jacket. The Joker ignored her the whole time he was in there, he was still pissed about earlier but she could see that something else had bothered him. Just before he left the bathroom, He smirked and glanced briefly over his shoulder at her, then slammed the door behind himself.

"Silent treatment is it? Fine two can play at that game. You stupid jerk." Harley muttered.

After her long soak, she stepped out the bath and wrapped herself in a fluffy green towel. It was just the comfort she needed. Opening the bathroom door she saw the destruction he had caused, clothes scattered all over the floor and bed, with cologne bottle smashed against the wall and soaked into the carpet. Among all the mess she saw a little note on the bed.

'Gone out. This room better be tidy when I come back, and you better still be here. - J '

"Charming." Harley scoffed.

Picking up one of his clean shirts on the floor, she dressed. This shirt was a metallic black colour and fitted her better than the other one. Pulling her hair up into a scruffy ponytail, she begun to clean the room. She took this opportunity to have a nose around. Walking over to his dresser, she saw various tubes of hair gel, lipstick and a small black box which contained his jewelry. Pulling open the draws she saw a range of weapons, a gun, quite small but no doubt powerful. Four identical knives, a grenade, two green bottles with 'J-Tox' written on them. Obviously his infamous Joker toxin. There was another knife, but this one had an Ivory handle.

Harley was tempted to remove all these object for her own safety, but decided against it. He'd go even more ape shit if he found out she had been snooping. After the room was tidy, her stomach started to rumble, it suddenly occurred to her that she hadn't eaten since she arrived.

"I could eat a horse." Harley groaned. She wondered if she was allowed to leave the room, but her hunger was so powerful that she just didn't care. Harley walked down the stairs cautiously, checking if there was anyone around. But it seemed as though everyone had gone out, probably something to do with the Joker's phone conversation.

Now in the kitchen, she scanned the fridge for food. Laying her eyes on some eggs, tomato and cheese, she brought them over to the counter and made herself a huge omelette. Taking the plate over to the lounge, she sat in front of the smashed T.V

Bored, she finished her food and washed up. Before leaving the kitchen, she noticed a small black pistol sitting on the bar stool. Curiosity got the better of her and she picked it up. Testing the weight in her hands, she couldn't help but notice how natural it felt, like it belonged under her power. Inspecting the weapon, she took off the safety catch and cocked it back, aiming at the door. Acting like she knew what she was doing, her finger was twitching on the trigger, she didn't want to fire it but some natural instinct told her to. Her finger ran over the trigger and pulled. The shot was fast, the kick was slight not as much as she'd expected and the rush was amazing.

That was incredible.

She laughed at the fact that a tiny weapon like this could end a life. That if someone walked through the door right now, she could kill them instantly. Harley watched the smoke rise from the barrel, dancing in front of her face, she was hypnotized. She moved the gun closer, running the barrel from her chin, down her neck to her collar bone. It was still hot, but not unbearable. Bringing it back up to her jawline, she played with the trigger guard. The power she felt was immense, in this moment she was at her own mercy. She didn't want to kill herself but being both the victim and the threat to her own life...Felt like freedom. Coming out of her trance, she gasped and threw the gun on the floor, and it slid under the bench out of sight.

What's happening to me?

Running out of the kitchen back to the Joker's bedroom, she fell hard on the bed. Tears streaming down her face. What she'd felt was wrong, but at the same time, it felt so right?

The King of Diamonds club was busy when the Joker entered, most of his clientele were old men with money, looking for a good time with the girls that Joker hired on a Friday night. He had no interest in the urges that normal men felt towards women, but he did with Harley... He wanted her so badly it hurt, and he was sure that she knew this.

When he entered the club with his men, they all dispersed into their own booths while Joker sat in his regular one. He didn't have to wait long for Jerry to arrive. He quickly approached, clutching a file tightly in his hands.

"Good evening Jerry, have something for me I see?" J asked, eyeing up the item.

"Yes boss, all the files related to the Arkham break out case and Harley's kidnap." He slapped the folder on the table.

"Good. And Sam?"

"He's being handled. All his details are in the file." Jerry said.

"Good work, you seem to have redeemed yourself... Which is a shame, because I felt like a kill tonight." J smiled, tilting his head to one side.

"Sorry about that Boss. I wanted to tell you before you heard it on the news, but I was being interviewed by the GCPD. They suspect someone under your employ has been working on the inside. But they don't suspect it's me." He told him.

"Good." J nodded.

"And Boss, not only is Sam pretending to be Harley's man, he's also selling his story to the papers." Jerry said, jittery with the new information that he had gathered.

Joker growled and slammed his fist on the table, his eyes turning foggy. "I want him brought to me. Alive, understand?"

"Y-yes boss."

They continued with their discussion over Arkham and the police investigation. It looked like they had no new leads and Batman hadn't made his involvement known yet, but all in good time. The first 48 Hours in an abduction case were crucial and it seemed, with the first 24 over, the police still weren't any further into finding them. They had focused too much on Sam's lies and Dr Leland's analysis of the Joker that they forgotten about the real joke here. He had escaped straight out the front door, and no one stopped him.

Later that night the Joker returned, stinking of alcohol and stumbling through the door. All the other Henchmen were back at their own homes. Still furious with Harley, he wandered into the kitchen to find some more drink. He threw the file on the counter and pulled some whiskey out of the cupboard. He lent against the side, drinking straight out of the bottle. J squinted his eyes when he saw a bullet hole in the kitchen door. He slowly paced towards it and ran his finger over the burnt surface. He glanced down to the floor, seeing a pistol lying under the bench. There was no blood so he knew no one had been shot, at least not in the kitchen.

"Shit, Harley!" Joker breathed. Dropping the whiskey bottle on the floor, it smashed around his feet. He picked up the gun and ran upstairs, scanning the floor for blood. but still nothing.

Reaching his room he busted the door open. "Harley!?"

A sigh of genuine relief escaped his lips when he saw her stretched out over the bed, one arm under her head and her legs tangled in the bed covers. Dropping the gun on the floor, he knelt on the bed. Facing her now, he watched her sleep peacefully, her lips were slightly parted and she breathed deeply. He saw that her eyelids were red. She'd definitely been crying again.

Stupid Girl.

Somehow he'd ended up having 'feelings' for this blonde in his bed. He didn't love her, he didn't know what he felt, but it wasn't love, no, no, no, the Joker doesn't love. Conflicted by his thoughts, he gave her a sharp backhand to the face. Joker then grabbed her neck, pinning her down and climbing on top of her. She cried out, in a mixture of shock and pain, struggling against his body.

"You put a bullet through my fucking kitchen door!" He yelled.

Harley gasped at his presence, and the looming stench of alcohol. "How did you-? It was accident, I swe-swear."

"How did it feel Harley? Huh? firing a gun, releasing a bullet, how did it feel in your hands?" J asked, leaning closer.

"It felt-"

"Speak up!" He shouted.

"Incredible, it felt Incredible." Harley countered back, with wide eyes.

Releasing his grip on her neck, Joker placed each of his hands either side of her head. "Tell me about it." He whispered.

"When I touched it-" Harley gasped. "When I felt its weight in my hands, it - it felt natural, like it was made to be held by me." She searched his eyes for any clue to what he was thinking, but nothing. "And that's when I took the safety off... I cocked it back and aimed it at the door... then I, then I shot."

"How did it feel?" Joker asked, leaning down. He placed his lips on her neck and began tugging at her skin kissing gently. She moaned at his touch and his change of mood.

Gathering her thoughts and closing her eyes against him, she continued. "Empowering, it felt like in that one shot, I was free." J's left hand ran down her body to her waist. His lips were now moving up to her ear, biting and sucking his way up her jawline. She rolled her head back in bliss.

Why does something so bad feel so good?

"Then?" He asked between kisses.

"Then, I saw the smoke rise up from the gun." She gasped again. "I pressed the hot barrel onto my skin, pressing hard and dragging it down my neck. Then - then back up under my chin. It hurt but in a good way." She groaned. "My finger curled round the trigger, wanting to pull."

Jokers head shot up immediately. "What!?" He grabbed her face in both hands and searched her eyes, he soon realised he wasn't looking at Harleen Quinzel's face anymore. He was looking at Harley Quinn's...even if she didn't know it yet. Scared by his reaction, tears began to slip from the corner of her eye.

"Don't you ever do that again! Understand me!? Not to yourself, never to yourself... Not unless I say so."

[captainnightflyer]

Bear My Mark Upon Your Soul, part 1

My humble attempt at a fantasy AU for #HannibalOddysey.

Read on AO3

Winter seemed to last forever. It was longer and crueler than anything Will remembered; even the older people spoke in hushed tones that they had seen no such thing. Everyone stayed in their little houses, huddled together under piles of fur for warmth, eating through their dwindling winter supplies. Will was a good hunter and they had started off with plenty of dried meat; his sister tended to their little garden all summer, preserving what she could. It should have lasted them through the cold months; after all, they were used to fending for themselves since their parents passed away. Still, winter refused to relinquish its hold and the food was almost gone; there were no animals left in the forest. When Will ventured out with his bow and knife, the woods looked dead and white, with no signs of life in sight. Still, he looked until his flesh felt frozen through and then trudged back to the village, preparing for the sight of Abigail's face growing more gaunt, her eyes larger and more sunken in. The other families weren’t faring too well either; when people started dying, Will was truly afraid for the first time since their parents died. He had preserved several dry pieces of meat and slipped them to Abby, but his little stash was almost gone and winter seemed endless.

***

There was a knock on the door. Will was awake, but stayed under the furs, holding Abby to keep her warm and to preserve his own energy. He didn’t feel like getting up, but the knocking resumed, more insistent. Finally Will stood up with a groan and went to unlatch the door. A figure wrapped in a heavy cloak almost ran him through, dashing towards the fireplace.

“Finally, I thought my balls were going to freeze out there! You took your time, Will.”

Will shut the door with a sigh, “Matt, what are you doing here?”

His friend unwrapped the cloak to show the bow in his hand.

“I wanted to ask you if you wanted to go hunting.”

Will sat down heavily and shook his head.

“There is no point, Matt. There is nothing in the forest, you know that.”

Matt lifted his eyes and set his shoulders straight before blurting out, “I’m going to the Raven’s Wood.”

Will’s eyes widened in disbelief and a chill shivered down his spine. He grabbed Matt and shook him.

“You can’t go there! You know very well it’s not allowed!”

“So what will happen if I go? I am sick of old wives’ tales keeping us hungry! There are deer in the Wood, and rabbits! We could last until spring! Look at Abby, do you think she will last much longer?”

Will glanced at his sleeping sister, worrying his lip. Maybe Matt was right, but it was deeply ingrained in him since he was a young child that the Raven’s Wood belonged to the old gods and killing any of the animals there was strictly forbidden. It was said that only the pure of heart could go into the Wood and come back. Sometimes, young children wandered there and they were always returned. His own sister had chased after a rabbit and disappeared one day. His mother had been frantic. Will had been almost ready to head to the Wood himself in search of her, when Abby appeared , clutching a bouquet of wild flowers and telling tales of a feathered stag who found her crying and lost and carried her back to the edge of the Wood.

Will wasn’t sure if he believed her tale, she had been only five and always with a vivid imagination. Still, he knew that killing in the Wood was forbidden.

“Matt, I can’t. They may be old wives’ tales or not. I can’t risk it, who will care for Abby if I get killed?”

Matt frowned and grabbed his bow, wrapping himself in the cloak again.

“Well, if you don’t want to, I will go alone. I am sick of obeying there stupid rules.”

Will struggled with a sudden feeling of foreboding; something terrible was going to happen. At the door he grasped at Matt’s shoulder and tried to hold him back.

“Please, don’t go. We just have to hold on a little longer and spring will come.”

Mat shook off his hand and glared at him.

“You are a coward, Graham, but I’m not scared. When I bring back meat, I will come by and give you some, because of Abby. Then maybe you will see there is nothing to be afraid of and you will come with me next time.”

Before Will could try and reason with him, Matt was gone, his steps muffled by the snow.

Will paced across the small room, restless and worried. Hating the enforced idleness, he grabbed his hunting gear and cleaned his knives, oiled any leather cracked from the cold. Still, he couldn’t keep his mind on the task and often stared off into the fire, wondering how Matt was faring.

“Will?” a small voice croaked from the nest of furs. Will immediately dashed to his sister’s side, smiling at her sleepy eyes and disheveled hair.

“I’m here, Abby. You slept for a long time.”

“I’m just so tired,” she whispered, and Will had to fight the tightness in his throat at the realization how frail she had become.

“Stay in bed, then. Here, eat this,” he fished one of the last pieces of meat from his bag. She grabbed it, stuffing it in her mouth and chewing fiercely as a wild animal. Will petted her hair and smiled, “Slow down, Abby, or your belly will hurt.”

She swallowed and looked at him under her lashes with guilt, “Sorry, I'm just so hungry! You should eat something as well.”

Will shook his head, ignoring the twisting in his own stomach. “No, Abby, you need it more. Don’t worry about me.”

Abby sat up, gathering the furs around her shoulders to keep warm.

“Was Matt here before or did I dream it? Did you have a fight?”

Will considered lying to her for a moment, but decided against it. She was not a little child anymore and she had known Matt all her life. “He was here, yes, and we had a fight. He… he wanted to go hunting in the Raven’s Wood.”

Abby’s mouth dropped open and her eyes teared up. She clutched frantically at Will’s shirt.

“Will, tell me he didn’t go! Tell me you didn’t let him!”

“Abby, how could I stop him? You know how he is when he makes up his mind!” Guilt gnawed at his heart, but he knew he couldn’t take a chance and leave Abby to fend for herself.

Abby shook her head and tears rolled down her hollowed cheeks.

“He will kill him; you should not have let him go!”

“Who will kill him?”

“The stag,” she whispered. “I know nobody believed me back then, and I was very little, some memories are blurry. But I remember him.” She got a faraway look, staring over Will’s shoulder. “He found me, crying and huddled under a tree, because I lost the way and I thought the wolves were going to eat me. I was afraid of him at first, but then he spoke in my head.”

Will lifted his eyebrows, “He spoke to you? You never said that before.”

Abby smiled through her tears, “I knew that nobody was going to believe me anyway. I don’t know if you believe me now. He called me “little bird”; he brought a whole family of rabbits to play with me until I was calm and happy. Then he let me climb on his back and brought me home.”

Will’s rational mind struggled with the idea. The general, amorphous belief in the old gods was one thing; a feathered stag who spoke in people’s heads was something else altogether. Still, Abby could have imagined it; for Matt’s sake he hoped so. Even if she hadn’t, a god who brought little lost girls home did not seem so scary and dangerous, and he told her as much.

“He seems nice then. Why would he kill Matt?”

Abby’s eyes sobered quickly and she shook her head sadly.

“I was just a lost child, he doesn’t hurt children. A man with murder in his heart is something else. Nobody is allowed to kill in the Wood. Let’s just hope Matt lost his nerve.”

Just then, a piercing scream tore through the silent village. Will shot up and staggered towards the door, grabbing his cloak and going for his bow.

“Will!” Abby’s sharp voice stopped him in his tracks. She was sitting up, eyes burning in the dim light of the fire. “Don’t take any weapons, they won’t work either way.”

Will hesitated for a moment and obeyed, hurrying through the snow towards the field which separated the outskirts of the village from the Raven’s Wood. Other people had opened their doors but none of them seemed eager to go see what had happened. His eyes sought Matt’s cabin; his mother was standing at the threshold, mouth trembling, clutching the door with white-knuckled hands. She met his eyes and lowered her face with a sob.

“I told him not to go…”

Will didn’t have any words for her; he just nodded and continued on. When he reached the edge of the village, he slowed his step but did not stop, approaching the Wood. For a moment, he thought a tree was moving, but then his heart stuttered in his chest and he mouthed, “Matt!” in anguish and awe.

A giant stag, taller than any man, was slowly approaching from the forest. His hide was jet black, as well as the feathers sprouting from his legs and back. His eyes shone crimson, too terrifying to behold, and on his huge antlers there was a mounted body, blood dripping sluggishly down the beast’s fur. Will didn’t need to look closer to know it was Matt.

The stag continued his slow, relentless approach, but Will didn’t move. He stood his ground, tears rolling down his cheeks and freezing in their tracks until the stag stopped right in front of him. The beast lowered his head and deposited Matt’s mangled body at Will’s feet. Those burning eyes held his and Will shivered at the otherworldly, fierce intelligence in them. His knees buckled and he closed his eyes; there was no doubt he was in the presence of one of the old gods.

“The Wood is mine. I hope this is a suitable reminder.” Will gasped as the words formed directly in his mind, the voice deceptively soft. He trembled, recalling his sister’s story, but he could not remain silent.

“We have no food and we are dying!”

The stag tilted his head and looked down at the sad remains at their feet.

“Eat what is left of this one, then.” Abruptly, the beast turned around and walked away. Halfway across the field, the retreating figure shimmered and where the stag had stood before, a huge raven took flight, cawing once and disappearing towards the Wood. Will stared in amazement, wondering if it had happened at all, or his brain has finally succumbed to malnutrition. He shuddered and forced himself to look down at Matt’s body. He was run through with the sharp points of the antlers, but there was a bigger hole where his heart was supposed to be; it was missing. Will thought of the stag’s suggestion and shivered. They had to burn Matt, because if they started eating the dead, it was only a question of time until they started eating the living.

***

Will mourned his friend’s violent death; sometimes he awoke gasping in the night, drenched in sweat, his dreams full of blood, black feathers and burning eyes. Then one day, Abby wouldn’t wake up.

Will shook her lightly and her head lolled; panicking, he sought her heartbeat; he felt it, sluggish and barely there, but she was alive. Will closed his eyes and let the tears flow down his cheeks as he held her. The meat in his little bag was gone; they were all going to die anyway. He could at least try. Will grabbed his knife and made sure to wrap the furs tightly around Abby. Then he held his head high and marched towards the Raven’s Wood.

When he walked through the tree line, his entire skin buzzed, as if he had passed some invisible barrier. On the other side, it seemed warmer, less quiet. There were animal tracks everywhere; as Will took his bearings, a couple of rabbits hopped amongst the trees, but Will did not try to chase them. Instead, he walked on; he had not come to hunt, he had come to beg for help.

As he proceeded deeper and deeper between the trees, there were more and more signs of life. Several birds fluttered above his head, a fox dashed across the path and even a couple of does lifted their heads to follow his passage with their eyes. Will felt like he was being tested; he did not lift his hand to touch the knife. Finally he reached a small clearing, a stream running through it; it was not frozen, instead it was steaming and smelled strongly of rotten eggs. There, on the edge, stood the stag of his nightmares.

“We meet again, little human,” the same calm, measured voice in his head made him jump. “You bring a knife, yet you have not tried to hurt anyone. I am curious. Why have you come to my woods?”

Will kneeled in the snow, lowering his head and laying the knife on the ground.

“The winter lasts too long and we have no food. Everyone will starve; my sister will starve. My friend came to kill, as he felt it was his right, and he was punished.  I came to beg permission.”

The stag stomped once, his feathers rustling.

“So, to save your people, one of my own has to die to feed them, is that what you are asking of me?” The voice did not sound angry, just weary. Will felt hot shame and desperation burning in his throat.

“I will do anything you ask, I will give you anything!”

“What if I ask your life, little human? Will you give it to me?”

Will swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded shakily; he had been prepared to offer his life even as he set foot in the Wood.

“I would only ask that you let me bring food back to my sister and the others. Then I will come back and my life will be yours to take.”

The stag looked thoughtful.

“You speak of your sister. Does she have blue eyes like you?”

“Yes. She was lost in your forest seven years ago, as a little girl. She said that the feathered stag brought her home safely.”

The creature grumbled, though he sounded glad. “I remember her. She was a mere child who wanted to play with the rabbits. I do not harm children, they are pure of heart. Those who seek to spill blood are paid in blood.”

Just then, a small doe entered the clearing. She walked towards the giant stag and lifted her head, as if she was speaking to him. The beast also appeared to be listening. He nodded his antlered head several times and turned around sharply, ordering, “Follow me.”

Will walked in the wake of the stag and the doe. When he got closer, he saw she was not little at all; she was just dwarfed by the sheer bulk of the stag.

They got closer and closer to the tree line and Will began fearing that he was just being escorted home, when the doe stopped. She rooted around with her hoof at a small pile of leaves and snow on the ground and revealed underneath a small crumpled form of a spotted fawn; an arrow protruded between its ribs and it was quite dead, frozen through.

The stag spoke solemnly, “This is the reason for your friend’s untimely death. He did not even have the decency to seek an older animal. The mother mourns the loss of her fawn and she does not wish to see more young ones die. She freely offers her life and body and those of her child to feed your sister and the others you care for.”

Will sputtered, looking down at the pitiful heap and then at the beautiful brown eyes of the doe. She approached him, nuzzling at his belt where the knife was; then she lifted her head and presented her long neck. Will’s knees crumbled, and then he was hugging her, crying into her soft fur and muttering “Thank you, thank you!” The doe licked his face, making him laugh through his tears.

Will took out the knife, hesitating; he finally had what he had come for, but suddenly hurting this noble animal seemed too cruel. Then the stag’s voice rumbled in his mind, “This is her wish, little human, to be reunited with her baby in the great beyond. Just be merciful, and remember her.” Will gritted his teeth and slashed the knife across the exposed throat, hot blood spraying everywhere. When the doe’s body stopped twitching, he wiped his tears and prepared to carry her and the fawn home. With how few people remained in the village, they would last several weeks with the meat, hopefully until spring.

The stag spoke softly, “There remains the matter of your debt. I need to know your name. I can take it by force, but I’d rather you tell me yourself.”

Will forced himself to look up from his task and meet the red eyes of the creature. “My name is Will Graham. I give you my word that I will bring food to my people and I will come back.”

“A human’s word is worth nothing to me. Blood is all that matters.” With a swift movement, the giant head lowered and sharp pain seared Will’s abdomen. He cried out and clutched at the wound, half-expecting his guts to spill out steaming on the snow. However, his hands found only a shallow gash in his skin. One of the stag’s antlers was dripping red.  He lowered his head again, and Will prepared to be disemboweled properly; instead he felt the creature’s tongue lapping at his blood until it stopped flowing.

The voice rumbled in his mind, “You taste exquisite, Will Graham, and you are marked as mine now. Go and feed your sister. Stay and care for her until she is well. I will call you when the time comes."

As last time, the stag shimmered and a giant raven was left in his place. The raven circled Will once, brushing his forehead with one black wing and disappeared between the trees.