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emerald-notes · 1 year

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A Reaper’s Mistake

'The Avonlea Story Club'

Story no. #01 Genre: Adventure Time Duration: 15 Jan, 2023- 15 Feb, 2023

Warning: Death (obviously), grief, mild horror, slight swearing, small space, some messed up explanation of heaven and hell, deceiving, betrayal, angst, crying, kissing etc. Word Count: 7.7k Words (It turned out longer than I planned)

Summary: Harley comes to know that the death of her twin brother was a mistake by the grim reaper that took his life. So, she makes a deal of travelling to the underworld to correct it in order to bring her dead brother back home. On her journey, she learns little things about life... and death.

Harley returned to her room after a long and exhausting day. She felt cold, both on the inside and the outside. But she didn’t mind. After all, death was supposed to be cold. Now, Harley wasn’t the one who died really. It was her twin brother Ashton. But it didn’t make any difference to her. The thing about losing a twin is that you lose yourself along with them. At least, that was how Harley felt at the moment.

She lay on the bed, thinking. There was no way she could go to sleep without any trouble. How could she, when she knew her other half laid all alone in a mortuary? Harley wanted to cry. But her eyes were as dry as dust. She turned on some music on her phone and wished that her heart stopped clenching for a while.

By the time, the room temperature started to drop. At a point, Harley started to feel very uncomfortable to ignore it. When she checked the AC remote, she was shocked to find that the temperature went down to 19°C. Before she could fix it, another degree dropped before her eyes.

“What the hell!” she thought to herself. “It’s not even that cold outside.”

Harley could detect sudden movements behind her. She turned on her bed carefully and saw a hooded figure in a corner of her room. An involuntary gasp escaped her mouth. She sat on the bed promptly and whisper-called the intruder, “Ashton! Is that you?”

The figure came forward. Through the lamp light, Harley saw its long and oval shaped face. The jaws looked like they were sucked in. A crooked nose hung in the middle. The gray eyes were very large. Whoever this man was, he was not Ashton, Harley knew it for sure.

“Who are you?” Harley asked flatly.

“I am not a ghost nor a mere human. And I am definitely not your brother Ashton.” The man replied fast and paused for a while before adding, “I am a grim reaper.”

Harley sighed. The man who claimed to be a grim reaper was taken aback. It was definitely not the reaction he had been expecting. The man cleared his throat to speak but was interrupted by Harley.

“So that’s it?” she asked quietly, “This is how I die? Because of a heartbreak?”

“Umm…” The man considered her unusual behavior for a moment. She had believed him. But she wasn’t a bit scared. She was rather accepting her death more easily than most of the people he had encountered.

“Actually, you’re not dead.” The grim reaper said. Harley nodded her head slowly. But didn’t say anything further. He took a deep breath before saying the following.

“We’re short on time. So, listen carefully. Ashton wasn’t the one to die. It was supposed to be someone else. However, due to some misunderstanding on my part, this grave mistake occurred and it has to be fixed to avoid further complications. We need to retreat his soul from the underworld. Now, I could have done the job myself but it is mandatory for a grim reaper to accompany a human, be it living or dead, to cross the river by boat down there. Yes! Living humans had gone to the underworld before. You may ask why. But I’m not in a situation to explain anything unnecessary. I hope you don’t have any questions.”

Harley could take in huge amounts of information at once. Still, this was too much to comprehend even to her. She could never imagine in her wildest dream that her dead brother could be brought back to life.

She said as politely as she could given the situation, “But I do have a question. To be honest, a lot of them.”

The grim reaper was satisfied with her reaction this time. He held up his hand and said, “Even if you do, you’ll be answered on the way. Now, pack your bag with necessary stuff because we’re gonna have a wild night in the underworld.”

“I haven’t even agreed to go with you, have I?” Harley said, irritation clear in her tone.

The grim reaper put on a smile and asked, “Do you want your brother back or not?”

“But…” Harley tried to argue but was immediately interrupted.

“Yes or no?”

Harley groaned in annoyance. But she considered the matter. She had nothing to lose but gain from this expedition. So, there was nothing much to think about, not even the dangers it may involve. She replied quietly, “Yes!”

“Follow me, then!” The reaper leapt out of the window.

Harley took as little time as she could to pack her bag like she had been told. She got out through the door noiselessly, not that her parents could still be awake. The reaper was waiting in the backyard. As Harley went closer, she could feel how her surroundings were changing abruptly into a very cold one.

“Good!” he said after examining Harley. “Let’s get moving!”

For a while, all Harley could make out was his light gray eyes before he turned and started to run. She followed him as fast as her little feet allowed her to. They kept going like that for some time without saying anything to each other. Harley’s mind was spiraling with thousands of questions. But she decided to ask the very basics.

“You didn’t say how much time we really have.” She yelled at the tall figure ahead of her.

“Let’s say before they arrange Ashton’s funeral ‘cause no soul can be retreated once their earthly goodbye is done.” The reaper replied.

“That,” Harley said, “would be tomorrow.”

The reaper slowed his pace and turned to face her, “I hope you understand now why you should hurry a little more.”

Harley felt out of breath. But she wasn’t willing to take any insults for her height. She continued to run and asked again, “Where are we going anyway?”

“To the underworld, of course!” the reaper laughed.

“I meant, where on earth?” Harley said through gritted teeth.

“Oh!” The reaper said, no sarcasm in his deep voice, “Mrs. Laferty’s backyard.”

“No way! That’s the underworld?”

“There’s a doorway to the underworld. Yes!”

Harley stopped abruptly. It took a few moments before the grim reaper realized that Harley wasn’t following him anymore. He turned and ran back towards her, giving her a look which asked why she had done that.

“At least,” Harley breathed out the words, “give me a good reason to trust you.”

“Should I summon up dead people to make you believe me?” the reaper asked impatiently.

“Nope!” Harley replied flatly, “I believe that you’re a grim reaper. But I don’t exactly trust you about bringing back my brother. Who knows, what you’re tricking me into.”

“Seriously? You think a grim reaper has anything to gain from a mere human?”

“That wasn’t very convincing.” Harley turned back to walk.

“Wait!” the reaper held her by her wrist and said, “Alright! I’m going to tell you the real reason why I’m so desperate to make it right. But you have to promise me that no matter what, you’re not gonna back away from this. No matter what!”

Harley sensed the seriousness in his voice and nodded her head in affirmation. The reaper sighed, “I’m gonna lose my job even if I mess up for once. I saw what happened to the others when they did it. I don’t want the same fate. If I can correct the mistake before the higher officials are aware of it, I may have a chance of keeping my job as a grim reaper.”

He paused and looked at Harley, “Since I need you as much as you need me to bring back your brother, will you help me do this?”

“Alright! I think,” Harley took her warm hand away from his cold one and said, “I can do this without bothering you with more questions.”

Once they reached Mrs. Laferty’s backyard, the reaper produced a scythe out of nowhere and marked a large X on the ground. After a few minutes of complete silence, the ground beneath their feet started to shake. Then the X mark glowed scarlet before that part went down, creating a stair to the underworld.

“I think you forgot to ask the most crucial question on the way.” The reaper said to Harley. She looked at him with genuine curiosity. He smiled brightly and added, “My name is Joaquinn with double N.”

Joaquinn walked ahead of Harley down the stairs. Once they reached the floor made of wood, fire on the huge torches that hung by the wall lit up. Harley looked back the way she had come only to find that the stairs had disappeared completely. Fear had slowly started to build inside her. She almost reached to grab Joaquinn by his hand but stopped herself immediately.

Ahead of them was the huge river that Joaquinn had mentioned earlier. There was a small boat and the boatman was staring at them with a piercing look. Joaquinn turned to Harley and whispered, “You stay here.” Then, he walked toward the boatman.

Harley wondered what it was that Joaquinn had been explaining so earnestly to the weird looking boatman. She couldn’t make out the words. But she could definitely tell by the tone of it that it was something she didn’t want to find out. After a while, Joaquinn took out an envelope from his pocket and showed the piece of paper it contained to the man. The man glanced at Harley for a split second before giving a stiff nod to the reaper.

Joaquinn turned back and came towards Harley with a pleasant smile on his face. “It’s all done,” he said and took Harley’s hand to guide her to the boat. Harley wasn’t feeling very good about the idea now. She wanted to ask Joaquinn if he was sure that their plan was going to work. But she couldn’t do that since she had promised him earlier not to bother with more questions.

“C’mon, now!” Joaquinn called, “Hop in!” Swallowing the lump that had grown on her throat, Harley climbed on the boat.

The boat ride was a quiet and long one. Harley had fixed her stare on the boatman, who had been rowing away without looking at them for once. Minutes later, they reached the end. Instead of wood on this side, the floor was made of concrete. They got down and Joaquinn nodded a thanks to the boatman. Harley doubted if he had even noticed that. The boatman headed back.

Harley couldn’t help but ask, “How are we going to go back?”

“You don’t have to worry about that part.” Joaquinn said casually. “It’s easier to get out than getting in.”

“Now what?” Harley asked once again since Joaquinn kept standing there for quite some time.

“Shh!” Joaquinn whispered, “I think they sensed our arrival.”

“Who?” Harley was alarmed by Joaquinn’s change in voice.

“The guards.” As soon as Joaquinn whispered out the words, barking of dogs from all directions started to deafen Harley’s ears. “This way!” Joaquinn yelled as he took Harley’s hand and ran towards a corridor.

Harley glanced back for a split second while running along with Joaquinn. She could swear that she had never seen such a sight in her lifetime. At least twenty or more animals were coming at them. But they looked nothing like ordinary dogs. Their heads were huge with eyes looking like they could fall out any moment. Their tongues were dark purple and saliva secreted from them looked like blood.

Harley didn’t look long enough to find more hideous structures on their bodies. She tightened her grip on Joaquinn’s hand and ran faster. The corridor was getting narrower as they ran forward. At some point, it was hard even for one person to move let alone two. The dogs, being huge in size than a human or a reaper couldn’t reach them before the animals got stuck. It meant only one thing. Both the reaper and Harley were stuck as well.

There was this extremely narrow corridor which could crush your bones if you tried to pass through it on one side and the dangerous looking dogs a little further on the other. Joaquinn swore by the realization while Harley started to feel suffocated.

The barking of those animals sounded worst inside the corridor. Harley clapped her hands on her ears tightly. Joaquinn looked down at her with concern. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Please make it stop!” she yelled.

Joaquinn noticed that Harley was in between him and the underworld dogs. So, he moved Harley a bit further to make space for him to pass by her. He then placed himself between Harley and the dogs, his back facing the latter. He pulled Harley closer and said, “You need to calm down.”

Harley buried her face on Joaquinn’s chest, her hands still covering her ears. She felt dizzy. All the chaos around her, the small space, her seasonal asthma and the fact that she hadn’t anything to eat the whole day were good reasons for her to faint. And that she did in a matter of a minute.

Harley woke up in the dark in complete silence. She sat up promptly and pondered over the possibilities of her being in the underworld. “Had I been dreaming?” she thought to herself.

“Hey! Welcome back!” Joaquinn’s cheerful voice proved her wrong and she sighed in relief. That meant, the hope of getting her brother back was still possible. The next moment, she thought about the terrible event she had encountered before she passed out.

“Where are we?” she asked, panic raising with each word.

“Ah! Don’t worry about those nasty animals. They’re gone. We are now safely locked up inside a cell.” Joaquinn said those words as if being locked up in the underworld prison was no big deal.

Harley asked, “What happened exactly when I was out?”

“Well! After you fainted, the guards came to inquire about the sudden outbursts of the hellhounds. Since they found us with no real explanation of trespassing in the underworld, they decided to put us in a cell before informing their master. That’s all.”

Harley secretly appreciated the quality of Joaquinn explaining critical situations easily. By the time, her eyes adjusted to the dark and she could make out his figure sitting in front of her. She sighed and asked, “So, how do we break out of here?”

“I’m still thinking about that.” Joaquinn said casually and pointed to Harley’s backpack, “You better eat something while I plan our escape.”

Harley thought she ought to eat something in order to have some strength for the future troubles she was about to meet. She prepared herself mentally to face more obstacles too. After the greetings from the hellhounds, she thought she could handle just about anything.

Offering Joaquinn the packet of butter cookies that she had brought, which he gladly refused, Harley started to relax as she chewed on her favorite snack. She felt a little more comfortable to ask Joaquinn some more questions which were not necessarily important at the moment but were bothering her mind a lot.

“Why do you think my brother is in the underworld?” She asked quietly, “I mean, isn’t it hell?”

“It is, indeed!” Joaquinn replied, “Why do you ask?”

“Because I can’t think of anything my brother did that was evil enough to land him in hell. Wait a minute! Or is it because of the other person who was supposed to be dead instead?”

“Nope!” Joaquinn shook his head and continued, “even if it was a mistake that your brother died in the place of umm… someone else, he still would end up where he deserved to be. Don’t give me that look before I explain the whole matter. It’s not because he's evil that he ended up in hell. It’s rather because of the lack of a heaven.”

“Lack of what?” Harley couldn’t mask the surprise in her voice.

“Yeah, that’s right!” Joaquinn chuckled, “There is no heaven to begin with. Humans made that place up for the comfort of mind. Every human ends up in hell after they die, which is this underworld.”

“Now that you’ve said that,” Harley said thoughtfully, “I don’t think that there is anyone saint enough to enjoy eternal peace or something. So, I guess, it’s quite logical.”

“Not a saint exactly but there are people who are really good compared to others. And they definitely don’t deserve to be put in the same place. It’s not the flaws in humans but rather the flaws in the whole concept of heaven itself. Do you think eternal peace is even possible? I mean, what is peace without a little chaos, huh?”

“You’re smarter than you look.” Harley thought. Of course, she didn’t say the words out loud.

Joaquinn continued, unaware of Harley’s admiration, “Now, here is how the hell works. To put it in easier language, people who did worse get the worst place whereas the best people get the best, all here in the same underworld. Easy as pie.”

“Isn’t it crazy to think that once we get out of here, me and my brother, we’re going to be the only people who know exactly about the afterlife?” Harley said dreamily.

“Hell, no!” Joaquinn replied with a laugh, “I’m not taking any risks. I’m gonna make Ashton forget about this all. A grim reaper’s kiss can make you forget certain parts of your life, you know.”

“Ew!” The thought of Joaquinn kissing her twin makes her want to puke. Then, she remembered that she was also someone who knows his secrets as well and gulped down the lump on her throat.

“So,” Harley asked, “Do you know where my brother is?”

“Well, if it isn’t my dear friend.” Joaquinn had turned his head towards the cell door and called the person who had just arrived, much to Harley’s surprise.

“I think I know you, don’t I?” the person brought the torch he was carrying closer to the cell and recognized Joaquinn.

“How can you not?” Joaquinn whined, “I am the grim reaper who brought you here. It had been only a month and you already forgot all about me? I thought you said that you were glad I wasn’t as scary as you thought.”

“Of course, Joaquinn!” he smiled, “I am glad that it was you rather than some other mean reaper. What are you doing here?”

“I’m in trouble, my friend.” Joaquinn stood up and walked to him, “I see you’re in uniform. That means, they’ve already posted you as one of the guards, haven't they?”

“Sure, they did.” the boy said with a doubt.

Joaquinn yelped in joy, “Speaking of perfect timing, huh! C’mon, now, what are you waiting for? Get me out of here.”

“Wait a minute!” The boy took a step back, “What are you talking about? If the master knows about this, he’ll lock me up instead.”

“Oh no, silly! He wouldn’t. Because I’m going to take you out of here with me.” Joaquinn said reassuringly.

“Out of here?”

“Yep!”

“Is that even possible?” The boy asked dreamily. “But I thought you can’t go out into the world if your funeral is already done.”

“Who said that your funeral’s done?” Joaquinn continued, “Remember? You don’t have a family, Alex!”

“My name’s Alec.” the boy corrected.

“Of course, it is. Now, listen to me carefully. I have a spare soul to put in the underworld. Instead, I can free one from here. Okay! I see, you don’t believe me. Wait a second.” Joaquinn took out the envelope from his pocket and showed the paper to the boy.

“Who is…” Alec tried to ask but Joaquinn instantly said, “We gotta hurry if you want to get out. Now, tell me if you agree on the deal we just made.”

“I don’t know.” The boy simply shrugged his shoulders.

“C’mon, Alan.” Joaquinn tried to persuade him further, “All you need to do is get me out of here and you’re granted a second chance of living your life.”

“But what’s the point if I’m gonna die someday.” The boy argued, “I don’t even have a family to go back to.”

“I know,” Joaquinn thought for a moment before saying, “But what about… her?”

“Her?” the boy’s eyes widened, “You know about her?”

“Yes!” Joaquinn nodded, “I do.”

The boy thought for a moment quietly. Then, his face beamed with hope. “Alright, Joaquinn! I believe you. I’m going to bring the key.” Saying this, the boy had already gone away with his torch and darkness fell into the cell once again.

Joaquinn let out a heavy sigh, “Ah! It’s so bothersome to deal with humans.”

Harley had been listening to their conversation quietly but attentively. She came forward and cleared her throat before asking, “Is it true that his funeral’s not done and that you’re going to help him out?”

“I don’t know, to be honest.” Joaquinn replied, “I don’t stay long enough for people’s funerals. Once I bring them to the underworld, my work is done.”

“So, you just lied to him?” Harley doubted the reaper’s words.

“Do I have any choice?” Joaquinn turned to her and said, “We don’t have an eternity to get your brother out of here. And answering to your hanging question, I don’t even know where he is right now.”

Harley remained quiet. She knew there was nothing she could say to argue with him. After all, she would choose to help her own brother over some stranger named Alec. But her heart panged with sudden guilt.

“Who is her?” She asked quietly.

“What? Who?” Joaquinn asked unknowingly.

“The one you told Alec about.”

“Oh! I don’t know that either. Just made a lucky guess.” Joaquinn shrugged his shoulders.

Harley’s hand clenched into a fist at his apathy, “He could be gay, you know.”

“Once again, lucky guess.”

The boy came back with the key and a huge grin on his face. He unlocked the door without a word and they got out immediately.

“Thank you so much, my friend.” Joaquinn pulled him into a hug and said, “You need to wait here while I finish my job. Then, I’ll be back to get you.”

“You’re really coming back for me, aren’t you?” The boy asked, still a faint smile lingering on his face.

Harley spoke before Joaquin could say anything. “Alec, you’re an amazing person. The world out there doesn’t deserve you. I hope you always remember that.”

“Who are you?” the boy asked in confusion.

“She’s another reaper. Anyway, we gotta go, now. Don’t worry! We’ll come back for you. Bye.” Joaquinn said quickly and pulled Harley by her hand to drag her out of that place through the dark corridor.

It was hard for Harley to keep up with Joaquinn when they ran together. Because, Joaquinn with his huge legs ran as if he was jumping on the moon's surface. Harley, on the other hand, had to take more steps faster to remain by his side. Since it hadn’t been the best day for her, she didn’t feel energetic enough to run anyway. So, after a while, she tripped and fell, hard, on the ground.

Joaquinn kneeled down beside her and asked anxiously, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fucking not!” Harley muttered angrily under her breath.

“Hey!” Joaquinn yelled, “Don’t take out the anger with me. We should hurry if you want to save Ashton. Now, is it my fault that you’re too weak to handle anything?”

“Technically, everything that has been happening is your fault.” Harley snapped back.

“Okay! Fine!” Joaquinn threw his hands up in defeat, “Let’s not run anymore. But at least get up so that we can walk out of the dark.”

Harley did as she was asked to and they both walked quietly for a while. She felt uneasy this way. She felt like she didn’t really have the right to remain angry at this stranger, who had been helping her, even if it was something he needed to do as well.

So, she tried to cool down and asked, “Would you mind me asking about that paper you showed Alec and the boatman? What does it contain?”

“Well, umm… it was sent to me with the name of umm… the person I was supposed to take the soul of.” Joaquinn said rather awkwardly.

“Who is this person?” Harley asked instantly, feeling a little bad for not wanting to know about them earlier.

“I don’t think you should know that.” Joaquinn sounded reluctant to tell her, “You would probably make a huge deal out of it.”

“Why?” Harley asked more curiously, “Are they someone I know?”

Joaquinn scoffed, “Judging by how you reacted earlier for only deceiving a stranger, I don’t think it matters.”

Harley rolled her eyes in annoyance, “Fine! Don’t tell me.”

They walked a few more minutes when they could finally see the light ahead of them. “Can you see it?” Joaquinn asked, pointing at its way and Harley nodded, “Let’s get out of here, then.” Joaquinn started to sprint toward it, leaving Harley no choice but to run after him.

They came out into an opening. It was a large field full of what appeared to be people at first glance. But they were rather different entities; souls of dead humans, guards, demons, monsters etc.

Harley's eyes grew larger at the sight, "Are we caught again?"

"Not yet!" Joaquinn replied shortly and grabbed her hand. A sudden shiver went through Harley’s whole body at his cold touch.

"He's a little too touchy." Harley thought to herself even though it was something she didn't think worthy to be thought of at this time.

"Let's walk out of here casually." Joaquinn dragged her forward. He kept talking while looking straight ahead, "It's the center of the underworld. Did you see the doors around?"

Harley nodded her head. The place was circle shaped and the walls had lots of doors to it. They had gotten out of one of those doors as well.

"Each of them leads to a different place. Now the question is, which one are we supposed to be using?" Joaquinn said.

Harley asked him instead, "Where do you usually bring the souls?"

"To the receptionist." Joaquinn nodded at a woman in front of them, "They are taken to the master and he decides where to put them in."

"I bet the receptionist knows where they are kept." Harley said.

Joaquinn nodded again, "She might."

"We should take a chance." Harley said boldly. Joaquinn looked confused. So, she replied, "Let's ask for help."

Asking for help turned out to be a bad idea.

Harley was reluctant to speak with the receptionist. But the receptionist made both of them answer her questions at once. Bombarding them with questions and receiving different answers almost every time from the two of them, made her suspicious. So, she decided to play it cool with them, but dialed for the master’s number secretly.

“You may wait for a few minutes. I need to make a call to ask the ones who keep the records to let you know where Mr. Ashton Campbell is kept currently.” The woman said with a professional smile on her face.

Joaquinn and Harley glanced at each other and swallowed together. Before Joaquinn could mouth the word ‘run’, someone yelled from behind.

“Holy Molly! Look who I ran into. Joaquinn, my bro.”

“Matilda!” The woman called her, while Joaquinn looked at her in disbelief. “Do you know this man well?”

“Bet I do, Kim.” Matilda walked towards them. “He’s one of the guards.” The receptionist named Kim left out a sigh. She was a good friend of Matilda and trusted her. So, she gave them the location to Ashton’s room, which was a map since the underworld was as big as the earth itself. And they all left the place quietly.

It wasn’t until they entered a door which led them to another corridor (“Jeez, the hell is full of corridors!” Harley thought) they started to talk.

“Thank you for saving my ass just now.” Joaquinn looked at Matilda and let out a huge smile. Harley thought he looked better with a smile.

“It’s nothing.” Matilda replied, “You better explain what’s going on. Who is this living human that you brought here? Don’t tell me you fell for those tricks like me as well.”

Joaquinn laughed at this and said, “She’s a friend. She’s helping me to break out the wrong person I sent here today.”

“No way!” Matilda’s eyes widened, “You kidding me?”

“Absolutely not!” Joaquinn gave a quick explanation of what the real deal was. Matilda nodded her head. “Won’t you introduce me to her?” Matilda elbowed Joaquinn.

“Yeah, sure.” Joaquinn said, “This is Harley as I told you. And Harley, she is one of the reapers, I mean, was a reaper.”

“Why isn’t she anymore, may I ask?” Harley asked, confused at her being suddenly involved with them.

“That’s because,” Matilda replied, herself, “I did the worst thing a grim reaper could do. I fell in love with a human. It is called ‘love at first sight’ I believe. And I refused to take the soul of that person. Now, there you go. That’s the dumbest shit I did. But you know what? I’m not ashamed. Not even a little bit.” Matilda started to laugh at her own speech even though Harley couldn’t see what was so funny about it.

She could only imagine how tragic it must be; given the job of killing a loved one. Even if you knew it was their time to die, you could never bring yourself to do that. Or at least, Harley could never do that.

“The master gave me the job of a guard instead, you know. Just so he could make me regret my poor choice. Because I got to see the love of my life going through the worst punishments of hell regularly. But like I said, I don’t regret nothing.”

“That’s my girl!” Joaquinn pulled her into a hug. Harley wished that she could be hugged like that sometimes too.

“Freeze!” Some guards came behind them with different weapons.

“Shit! We gotta run!” Matilda screamed the order and in the blink of an eye, they started running as if their life depended on it. Actually, it pretty much did.

“Why are we running?” Harley asked, “I thought we got the permission.”

“The permission of only a receptionist. Not the master.” Matilda said sarcastically.

Matilda ran ahead of them, reading the map in between so that they didn’t have to lose time on finding their desired person. But at a point, they ran into a dead end.

“What happened?” Joaquinn asked, “Why are we stopping here?”

“Shit! I should have turned left.” Matilda lifted her head from the map.

Suddenly an arrow was shooted towards her and she was pinned to the wall by her arm, “Fuck! It hurts.” she screamed in pain, making Harley flinch.

“This is it!” Joaquinn sat down with a thud, “Guess I have to serve the master along with you, Matilda.” he muttered.

The guards came running towards them, seizing them by their arms and tying their hands behind them. Neither Harley nor Joaquinn made any complaints at all. But Matilda struggled hard against them only to increase her pain and to give up in the end.

“I’m sorry, friends. I couldn’t come to much help, after all.” Matilda said with a sigh.

“Let’s just leave our fates to the master.” Joaquinn replied.

“Oh, I’m sure he’s going to have a blast.” Matilda scoffed.

They were dragged along with the guards and were forced to follow them. Nobody said anything to the other. Harley understood that begging the guards to let them go would be fruitless. They looked like they were loyal to their master.

The guards took them in front of a cell. Harley observed that this one looked more exclusive than the one they were kept in earlier. It was rather big and cleaner too. The guards checked them thoroughly. They took away Harley’s backpack too. Joaquinn started to get really mad when they took out the contents of his pants pockets.

Joaquinn snapped at the guards and almost started an argument. Meanwhile, Harley noticed that the envelope that made her curious earlier layed on the ground. She took it and opened it to see what’s written there.

Name of the Human: Harley Campbell

Date of birth: 19 January, 2003

Date of death: 15 February, 2023

Time of death: 02: 34 a.m.

Assigned Grim Reaper: Joaquinn

Harley didn’t know what to feel at that time. She could never imagine that it was her instead of her brother who should have died. But the more she thought of it, the more it made sense.

They both had sneaked out of their house to get to one of their friend’s parties. She didn’t want to go. But Ashton insisted upon her coming along with him. That was when the accident took place. That was how the mistake was made. They shared the same surname. They both were born on the same day. They both were present in the car during the accident.

Harley closed her eyes for a few seconds and opened them again. She took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. Then, with a poker face on, she kept the paper inside the envelope and handed it to Joaquinn.

Joaquinn’s eyes grew larger and he looked at Harley suspiciously, trying to read her face. But Harley didn’t budge. She went inside the cell willingly and sat down at a corner.

They sat there in complete silence after the guards left. Joaquinn sat down beside Harley and Matilda fell asleep at another corner across from her. Then, Harley decided to speak.

"So, it was supposed to be me." It was not a question, rather a statement to let Joaquinn know that she had found out.

"You saw it, didn't you?" Joaquinn asked and Harley nodded slowly. Joaquinn muttered something to himself and buried his head in between his knees.

"You could have just told me. You didn’t need to hide it." Harley said quietly.

Joaquinn looked up and turned to face her, "I did it because I had to. I needed your help to make things right. But as far as I know humanity, no one would want to die willingly."

Harley let out a painful laughter, "Then, you only know a fraction of it."

Joaquinn didn't reply. Harley settled down easily and made her space to lie down on the ground. She whispered softly but loud enough for Joaquinn to hear, "If we get to Ashton anyhow, please do me a favor and keep it a secret from him as well."

“You really thought you could work right under my nose without me finding out, huh?” The master scoffed at the three captives. They had been brought before him. He was now the god of their fates. And everybody knew, except Harley, that the master liked to play with them.

“Let me first get done with my old acquaintance.” The master moved towards Matilda and spoke, “Dear Matilda, we met again. I thought we wouldn’t until you finish your 300 years sentence.”

“Here we are!” Matilda shrugged her shoulders.

A frown appeared on the master’s forehead. He looked displeased when he said, “There’s nothing interesting about you. Nothing that excites me at all. I’ll go for the usual punishment. Add 300 years more to your 167 years that’s left.”

Matilda blinked her eyes quickly for a while. Harley wondered if she had been expecting some worst kind of punishment. The master ordered the guards to take Matilda away. But she said, “Please, master, let me talk to the girl. For once.”

When the master nodded she came straight to her and said with a smile, “Don’t worry about me. I’m going to be just fine. But since you’re the only living person I can say this to, I will. Remember that it’s coming from an ex grim reaper’s mouth.”

Matilda took a deep breath before saying, “Life’s too short to waste over stupid mistakes. Please, don’t leave any regrets. So that when it’s your time to die, you can die a happy human.”

Harley could say nothing in return. She glanced at Joaquinn. But he had been keeping his eyes down to the floor. Matilda pulled Harley into a warm embrace. Harley could swear that she had never been hugged like this her entire life. Then, Matilda was taken away.

The master walked around the room, thinking. Harley thought he was probably thinking of how to punish them.

“Alright!” the master announced, “I think I know what to do with you two.” He smirked at Harley, “You’re here to save your brother, right?”

Harley nodded her head rather innocently. She looked a little too desperate. Joaquinn bit his lower lip in frustration. For some reason, he was really mad at himself.

“I will grant you that wish then.” The master said and Joaquinn’s head shot up.

He asked in disbelief, “You’re gonna let us go?”

The master shook his head as he laughed, “Not that easily! But hear me out. I thought for a moment how I had never granted anything to anybody before. So, it might be a good thing to experiment on. But again, there is a condition.”

The master walked to Joaquinn and said to him only, “I will let this slip for only once. If you can make it right this time, you’re free to go. But if you mess up again, just once again, you’re going to have the same fate as your friend, Matilda.”

The master walked back to his seat and asked, “So, tell me, Joaquinn, do you accept it?”

Joaquinn glanced at Harley. But this time, her head was bent downward. Joaquinn swallowed hard and replied, “Yes!”

The master said nothing in return. But Harley noticed a satisfied face when she looked at him for the last time.

The moment Harley had been waiting for had never been closer. Two guards accompanied them to the cell where Ashton had been kept. They opened the cell door and giving a stiff nod went away. Harley stepped inside first followed by Joaquinn.

Ashton was sitting by his bed. He first thought that some guards had visited him. But when he saw his twin sister’s face, which was so much similar to his own, he couldn’t help but cry out.

“Harley!” He stood up and hugged her right away. “Oh, Harley! I’ve been so alone and I missed you so much.” Then, he looked at her face and his smile drowned, “Are you dead too?”

“No, I’m not!” Harley tried to show a smile, “I’m here to bring you back home.”

Ashton looked puzzled at her comment, “But I thought I died.” He looked at Joaquinn and said, “And you were the grim reaper who brought me here.”

Harley nodded and said, “Yes, I know. But there had been some mistakes. He shouldn’t have taken your soul. It should have been someone else. Anyway, we’ve sorted it out. Now, let’s get you out of here before the master comes up with some cruel ideas.”

Ashton nodded even though he wasn’t very sure about the whole matter. They got out of the cell and walked through the corridor. Joaquinn walked ahead of them, map in his hand. Harley thought that he had been exceptionally quiet. Probably giving them some privacy so that they could talk for the last time.

So, they talked. Harley told Ashton everything she couldn’t have. She told him how much she loved him but was never able to express it. She told him how he was the only person Harley cared about. She told him how much she hated her parents for discriminating between them and loving Ashton a little less than they did Harley.

By the time they had reached the river, both the siblings had become too emotional. Harley knew that it was their last meeting. But she couldn’t really say goodbye to her brother in fear that he might refuse to cooperate.

“Let’s get on the boat.” Ashton exclaimed, “I can’t wait to start anew.”

“Wait!” Joaquinn stepped forward, “Ashton! Don’t you want to know who this other person is? The one who’s to die instead of you?”

Harley glared at Joaquinn, shaking her head to remind him of the favor she had asked earlier. Ashton was too confused to understand it. He simply asked, “Who?”

Joaquinn swallowed before saying, “It’s Harley.”

Harley closed her eyes in disbelief. She thought she could trust this reaper only for once. But no!

It took a few minutes before Ashton realized what the reaper had informed. He gasped, “Oh my God! Harley!”

“No, Ashton!” Harley said, cupping her brother’s face in her hands, “It’s okay! Don’t feel too sad. I already know about it and I’ve accepted it too. Please, brother, it’s fine.”

But Ashton had been shaking his head in denial, “There’s no way I’m going back without you. No way! I can’t do this. I can’t take your life.”

“But it’s your life that I’ve been living right now.” Harley argued, “It was meant to be me from the start. Please, Ashton, don’t act like this.”

Ashton hugged Harley once again and Harley sunk into his embrace. Tears started to stream down her face. Ashton, on the other hand, was crying too. Seeing them in such misery, Joaquinn realized he had to step in.

He spoke, his voice shaking from the emotion that had been building inside him unknowingly, “I’m sorry to say this but I don’t think I can do this either. I can’t take your soul, Harley. I just can’t.”

Harley let go of Ashton. She looked furious. She yelled at Joaquinn, “It’s all your fault. You have to fix it now. You have to take my brother back to the world. I’m not taking any ‘sorry’ from you.”

Ashton tried to calm her down. He had never seen Harley in such a vulnerable state before. He pulled Harley back and they sat down on the concrete floor together. Ashton patted her softly on the back. When Harley finally stopped crying, he spoke.

“It’s okay! I’ve already faced death and I’ve accepted it too. Just think about mother and father. They had already gone through my death. How do you expect them to behave if they found out it was you and not me?”

“I don’t give a fuck about them.” Harley snapped.

Ashton chuckled and said each word as if he meant them, “Don’t be so stubborn, Harley. I know you love them, no matter what you say. Okay! If you don’t want to think of them, think of yourself. You have so many regrets. I know you do. But I don’t really have much. I have enjoyed my life the way I wanted to. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t the favorite child. But you had been fulfilling their dreams all this time that you never stopped to think what you wanted for yourself. I know, being a favorite child has its disadvantages. Now, what I want is that you go back and live the life you wanted. Not the one you were meant to. We’ll meet again. Then, I hope you would tell me what a happy and free life you had led.”

Harley suddenly remembered Matilda’s words, “Please, don’t leave any regrets.”

Harley looked at her brother and tears filled her eyes. She buried her head into his neck and sobbed quietly, while Ashton softly stroked her hair.

The boat ride back without Ashton was quiet at first. Harley could feel that her body was screaming for a nap. She was exhausted by everything that had happened in the past few hours. Harley felt as if she had lived through days.

The thought of leaving behind her twin made her eyes watery once again. She didn’t mind them anymore. Never in her life had she cried so hard. She felt that from now on, it would be a little easier for her to cry whenever she needed to. So, she sobbed in her hands freely.

Joaquinn sat closer and unconsciously wrapped his hands around her shoulders. Harley let herself lean onto his chest and cried silently. Then, she suddenly remembered the deal Joaquinn had made earlier with the master. She remembered how his face glowed with glory as if he had been expecting Joaquinn to fail.

“Joaquinn!” She called and looked up to his face, “But the master is going to hold you captive. You’re going to lose the job. You need…”

Joaquinn hushed her up and pulled her into a hug. He whispered to her softly, “It’s okay, Harley. I’ve learned to take responsibility for my actions. Everything was my fault, after all.”

Harley sniffed but remained silent. Joaquinn ran his hands through her hair and said, “I think, I ought to apologize to you. I’m sorry I dragged you into this mess. I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I couldn’t save your brother. I’m sorry, Harley, for everything.”

Harley nodded and said quietly, “Can we please stay like this until we reach the other side?” Joaquinn hummed and pulled her a little closer, letting her relax into his arms.

When they finally reached the spot, Joaquinn gently pulled her away. He held her by the shoulders to support while she got off the boat. The stairs had appeared once again. They climbed the stairs side by side and came into the opening of Mrs. Laferty’s backyard. The dawn was about to break. There was not a soul in sight.

Harley turned to Joaquinn to say her final goodbye. But he shook his head as if he knew what she was about to say. He said, “It’s not a goodbye. I hope we’ll meet again.”

He cupped her face into his cold hands and said, “It’s time for you to go back to being normal again. Don’t worry! I’ll let you remember the part where your brother and… someone you knew advised you to live your life with no regrets.”

Harley nodded her head in agreement. Joaquinn leaned forward to kiss her warm lips gently. Closing her eyes, Harley felt the moment with all her might till it lasted.

Author’s Note: This is the first ever story of the first month for my story club. Since I’m not a pro at this, please consider stupid mistakes. And also, I appreciate your honest feedbacks. The door to constructive criticism is always open to the readers.

Please check out my partner’s work of the month as well and support her > @littlemissblogger

#writer #writing #story #story writing #stories #short story #story club #writers on tumblr #bookblr #witers club #reading club #book club #lit #original story

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burstofinspiration · 1 year

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Death Renewed - Guild Wars 2 Fanfiction

~Two hundred and fifty years ago the Savior of Tyria vanished from the world. Name lost to history and existence debated by historians in recent times, the Savior's impact upon Tyria seems to have faded into obscurity. Until now.~

Chapter 1

He had failed.

In the beginning, it had started small; so small that the overseers of The Underworld had barely taken notice. A newly arrived soul mysteriously disappearing here or a small squadron of skeletons appearing to wreak havoc there. Occurrences that had posed mild concern, but other larger matters had taken priority. Maintaining the judgment of souls had become increasingly difficult when Grenth's retreat from his domain left a portion of his faithful shaken. Paralyzed without the guiding frigid hand of the Lord of Death they had known for centuries.

They were weak.

Not him.

The necromancer stood, still as stone, solitary on an icy ridge overlooking the Ice Wastes. Far below him, the River of Souls flowed, weaving around mountainous pillars of ice and earth that impaled the vast sea of mist around him. His eyes, unblinking, followed inky white trails of the myriad of souls as they traveled. The cacophony of their cries and screams rang in his ears, a grim reminder of the magnitude of his mistake.

Grenth's faithful knew that Dhuum would attempt to free himself. The Emperor of Oblivion's defiance of his confinement was eternal, possessing a wrath so all-consuming that even the Seven Reapers would have no hope of stopping him with their combined might if he were to fully break free. He had seen it first-hand in a shadowy memory from a time long gone, left frozen deep in the black abyss of his consciousness.

"Your presence is requested by the Council of Seven."

He said nothing to the wraith that had approached from behind, its sickly green luminescence spreading across the ice like a plague, his eyes still fixed on the stream of souls as they twisted further into the dark horizon that cradled no sun. Their ghostly forms pushed and pulled at each other as if in a desperate frenzy to escape their destination. It was a useless struggle. The Hall of Judgement awaited them all.

"Your presence is requested by-"

"No one in this realm commands me."

At his command, nothing remained but the dirge of the damned after the whispered words left his lips. It was here he would linger, a monument to his most grievous sin until oblivion: alone.

No one would command him.

Not Dhuum. Not the Seven. Not even Desmina.

Only Grenth... and Grenth was gone.

o-o-o

"This self-imposed exile does not suit you."

Desmina raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at his silence. The man made no acknowledgment of her presence either and an inkling of ire rose in her chest.

Child, she cursed inwardly. After all her centuries of existence, patience was the first virtue that she discarded. She did not have the time to deal with mortals and their emotions. It was exhausting.

Well, she couldn't call him a mortal... not anymore.

"You cannot ignore the summons of the Seven for all eternity," Desmina said, her eyebrow descending from underneath dark red bangs, irritation now thick on her tongue. "We do not have an eternity for you to waste away. "She circled around his back as she spoke, amber eyes observing the ice that had crystalized parts of the man's body as her prey was as still and silent as a corpse. Her gaze narrowed; a century's worth of isolation and for what? This? What a waste.

She was in front of him now, blocking his view but he could still hear the screams echoing between his ears. His gaze slowly met hers, a courtesy he could not deny Desmina of Orr; first follower and priestess to Grenth. The man's eyes were two clean cuts of jade, still flickering with dormant magics, but remained lifeless and barren in her presence and it drove her frozen blood to boil. She did not have time for this. Every moment away from her duties more souls were lost to Dhuum that could have been protected.

"Look at you." Desmina hissed, her pale face showing just a hint of the veiled fury that lay beneath. She took one step closer to him and away from the drop into the River of Souls below. Dark ancient magic flared around her form garbed in Orrian finery, the red tassels that held her stygian dress tight danced wildly as the still mists of the Ice Wastes near them began to swirl and spiral at Desmina's will. Her long blood-red horned crown crackled with power as the ice beneath her heels began to break apart.

She could obliterate the very fabric of his being if she desired. He had witnessed her raw power before, tearing apart Dhuum's forces with ease, evaporating their forms as black streaks of dark magic arced from foe to foe. Instead, she spoke with measured vehemence. "You come into His sacred realm before your time. You pledge yourself in eternal service to Grenth upon the stones of his holiest of sites. He accepts you into the folds of his embrace for your deeds and how do you repay the Prince of Winter when you fail at your station?"

She took another step forward and now they were face to face, her eyes alight in an orange glow. They stood in the eye of her storm, mist and black magic swirling wildly as the pressure began to crack the ice that had accumulated around his form. If you have come to end me, then do it and be done, he thought.

"You give up. You abandon your post. You fail him." Yes, he had failed. When Grenth had put his faith in him. Him! How could he have betrayed such a gift? In his shame his eyes tore away, unable to bear the truth in hers. He wished the ice would come to cover his ears or her mouth. Desmina's scowl remained but with a flick of her wrist reigned in the magical storm around them, swirling mist slowing in intensity. Finally, she was getting somewhere.

"I remember when the souls of the newly dead whispered your name in reverence." Her voice was low, just above a whisper but with each word Desmina's power chipped away more and more ice, ripping away what was left of his defenses. "When His most faithful of the Ice Wastes, ancient and new alike, had recognized you as a champion of the Dark Prince."

"Stop. Enough." He breathed out, ice-caked lips barely moving; words brimming with despair. They held no life in them. No meaning, ringing hollow over the screams of the damned destined to feed Dhuum unto freedom.

Desmina did not relent, masterfully driving and twisting her silver-tongued dagger into every scar as she began circling him again. A skilled predator playing with its food. "They called you 'Savior', 'Protector'... 'Hero'." Each title spoke of a life forgotten: discarded. A life that would never be again. "Do you know what they would call you now?" Desmina leaned in from behind, hovering close enough for her whispers to lash at his frozen exposed soul.

"Pathetic."

Somewhere deep within himself, he felt ice crack. He shut his eyes and grimaced, brow digging into his nose, and the world shifted when he opened them again.

He found himself as a child. Nothing but skin, bones, and dried tear stains underneath filthy, stinking rags. A scrawny, dirty thing full of cold bitterness fighting for scraps on the outskirts of Ascalon's capital. The cold filled his empty, growling stomach like a ball of unmelting ice. He rubbed the wetness from his eyes and the priestess's sultry voice whispered out from the black void beyond his eyelids.

"Weak."

Another crack. He opened his eyes and the world had changed again.

The necromancer was now just above his thirties. The ice in his stomach was still there but without the bitter chill of a scorned orphan. It was hard and cold and powerful; nestled deep within the clutches of Grenth's unholy embrace. The stench of his rags was gone, replaced with an awful mix of of burning wood and charred flesh. He took in his surroundings, the sting of long-lost terror taking hold in his heart upon finding the burnt and crushed bodies of his countrymen. Men, women, and children littered the streets of Ascalon City as it lay in ruin, destroyed by ancient crystallized fire. The man quickly looked to the skies in horror as another bombardment born from Charr hands rained down from the heavens, ending a little girl's innocence forever.

Just before a chunk of the Searing that was hurtling down on him could obliterate both the necromancer and the earth he stood on, Desmina's voice shot him back to the present with a word that twisted her knife, threatening to shatter the icy core of his soul.

"Unfaithful."

A great sundering erupted from the depths of his being, a soul-shattering shriek upon his lips as a million different cracks (memories) all occurred at once. His eyes were lit with green fire as dark necrotic energies coursed through his body, flying wildly out in every direction. The force scattered what was left of Desmina's magical storm and destroyed the remaining ice that had been encasing him. Desmina's lips turned up into a satisfied smirk from where she had retreated to.

He then collapsed upon the cracked icy ledge as the magics dissipated, staring down at his fractured reflection. Each of the ghostly pale faces staring back seemed to be that of an utter stranger. Who was he? A savior? A failure? Hero? Coward?

I truly am pathetic... Was my resolve so weak as to be broken by mere words? The thought made him sick.

"Finished?" Desmina called out after some time, rolling her eyes when he did not respond. She did not provoke him further however, she was no fool. The once-heralded 'Savior of Tyria' was not one to make an enemy out of lightly.

"I... I have been a fool." He spoke, finally finding his voice. It was hoarse and he was shaken but nonetheless rose to his full height, adorned in ornate robes that were dyed emerald and onyx. Desmina simply shook her head, exasperated, maroon hair swaying as the mists of the Ice Wastes settled around them once again. "The Seven await. I suggest you do not keep them any longer."

"I have been a fool," He repeated as if he did not hear her. By the Gods, I have... A fool who believed his journey was over. He thought, staring out across Grenth's once grand bastion of frozen pillars of rock, damned souls, and an ocean of mist.

He turned away from his broken vigil to meet her gaze, a spark of resolve in his eyes not seen in a long long while. "but I will never be unfaithful."

For the first time in over one hundred years, the Savior of Tyria moved with purpose.

[Next Chapter ->]

#guild wars #guild wars 2 #guild wars oc #guild wars 2 fan submission #gw2 #gw2 fanfic #gw2 human

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ladyvesuvia · 3 years

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i just thought of a “sole inheritor? oh, i thought soul inheritor” story idea 😭

#grim reaper slowly retreating #writing prompts #vesuvia’s dump

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when-they-write-stuff · 3 years

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So I actually wrote this! I’ve never written dark!Sterek before, but I saw the gifset and couldn’t help myself. I hope you all enjoy <3

THREE DAYS, FOUR HOURS, AND twenty-two minutes. That’s how long the one they called Mieczysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski had been separated from his pack.

Three days, four hours, and twenty-two minutes. Stiles realized what happened nine minutes after his pack was taken. Therefore, the hunters were unofficially dead at the countdown of three days, four hours, and thirteen minutes.

To Stiles, though, time blurred. It was a stain of colors, a snarl at the back of his throat, and the faintest ringing in his ears that made him feel like he was losing his mind all over again.

Three days, four hours, and twenty-two minutes. It was the longest Stiles had ever been alone.

He was greeted by gunshots first.

At a first glance, Mieczysław was nothing but a boy. A boy who grew up surrounded by wolves, an emissary to a bunch of wild animals. There were rumors about what rested behind the amber of his eyes, but few people chose to believe them. Because he was scrawny, he was human, and it seemed like easy pickings when a group of hunters chose to go after the crumbling pack.

At a first glance, Mieczysław was nothing but a boy. And that that always been the easiest way to lure in unsuspecting prey.

He was greeted by gunshots first. The screams that followed were a welcome sound he hadn’t heard for far too long.

There was something about the smell of gunpowder in the air, the feeling of blood on his fingertips, and the taste of ash in his mouth that made Stiles feel alive. He could be wrapped in the darkest shadows or walking through the heat of a blazing fire and the smile on his face would never waver. At a first glance, he was nothing but a boy. A weakling. But to the hunter watching him tear through their ranks without even blinking, it was like hell had become a place on Earth.

The hunter’s name was Col Henderson. And he hadn’t wanted to take the job in the first place.

Beacon Hills was a shell of what it used to be. At first, Col hadn’t even believed the rumors were true. The rumors saying there was still a werewolf pack patrolling its borders, that is. He’d been hunting since he was old enough to carry a gun and at this point in his life, he wanted a challenge. Something to make him smile when the beast went down; something to make him feel proud when the light faded from the monster’s eyes.

The Hale pack had been fairly easy to round up. Most of them were feral to the point of being wild animals anyway.

It was the emissary that remained elusive.

“A bunch of mutts,” he told the man at his side, listening to the distant sound of snarling wolves from another part of the compound. “Good for nothing but a bullet between the eyes.”

The hunter only grunted, looking tired. And honestly, Col couldn’t blame him. They were all tired. The emissary had yet to come for his pack and they’d been sitting around all day, waiting for something that didn’t seem to exist.

Until the sun touched the tips of the trees, that is.

That’s when all hell broke loose.

Col first saw him when the compound doors slammed open. He was on his feet in a second, loaded rifle held tightly in his hands. The already dying lights above his head flickered and briefly went out— and when they came back on, a lone figure stood in the compound’s entrance. His head was head tilted slightly and his eyes practically glowed against the faint darkness.

There was a dull spark in them that held nothing but the last remnants of humanity. Humanity that had been clinging to the boy for years now, though that hadn’t mattered for a long time now.

A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. One that sent a chill down Col’s spine.

“Emissary,” someone breathed. And Col didn’t even realize the word had come from his mouth until amber eyes fixed on where he stood. The boy raised an eyebrow.

“My pack,” he said. “I want them back.”

There was a loud click as the man next to Col loaded his gun. The emissary’s attention immediately snapped to him and Col almost sagged to the floor, suddenly aware of each breath that he had been holding.

“You're going to give my pack back,” the emissary said again, the smile slipping from his lips. He took a step forward and immediately, every gun was trained on him. The boy paused, eyes flashing, but it didn’t seem to be out of fear.

No, there was a new look on his face, replacing the amused one that had been there previously.

It was cold and dangerous. The bags under his eyes seemed to darken, holding the exhaustion of each day that he’d been without his pack. Around him, the shadows grew as the softness of his face hardened.

“No?”

In the distance, one of the wolves yelped. Loudly.

And just like that, the spark of humanity in the emissary’s eyes flicked out.

Col had faced a lot of beasts in the past. He’d gone after born wolves and those newly turned. He’d taken down a dozen packs and faced an alpha that nearly ripped him to shreds. Col told his blissfully ignorant friends that he hunted deer and then went home to a list full of names— one of every monster he’d ever killed.

He’d seen a lot over the years. But nothing added up to the boy that stood in front of him, eyes turning to stone as he caught the sound of his feral pack in the distance.

Once more, the lights overhead blinked out. But this time, they didn't turn back on. In a moment, the silence had turned to gunshots, gunshots turned to screams. And dammit, Col hadn’t even wanted to take this job in the first place.

He stumbled back, pulling his walkie from its clip on his belt.

“Backup! We need backup!”

Static was his answer. Col stumbled blindly through the darkness, trying to get as far away from the screams of his fellow hunters as fast as he could. There were things he’d heard about the Hale pack’s emissary, but he’d never imagined any of them were true. In fact, he'd laughed at 'exaggeration of it all.

The job of an emissary was to keep the pack connected to themselves, to their humanity. Col hadn’t thought much of the feral pack they’d put in chains but this boy seemed to be even less human than all of them combined. Less than the alpha who had nearly bitten Col’s head off, less than the betas who had snapped and snarled the entire way to captivity.

In his panic, Col stumbled over his own feet and fell hard to the ground, his gun skidding somewhere across the floor. Suddenly, the lights flicked on and when he looked over his shoulder, all that was left were bodies.

The one they called Mieczysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski stood among them. His eyes raked over the entire room, not a single emotion on his face. Then, they snapped to where Col had fallen and that smile from earlier tugged at the corners of his mouth once again.

Col shoved himself up and turned, running faster than he ever had into the depths of the compound.

They had come to Beacon Hills with an even number of eighteen hunters. When Col turned the corner, stumbling to a stop as a dozen guns aimed in his direction, there was some part of him that wondered if even double that would be enough.

“Henderson?”

“Don’t shoot, dammit!”

“What the hell are you doing?”

Behind him, the sound of footsteps echoed off the cement floor. Col’s heart skipped a beat and he slowly turned around.

“You took my pack,” the emissary said, turning the corner. “Now I’m gonna take them back.”

Col retreated back behind the line of guns. The emissary’s gaze traveled over them all and his eyes darkened. He took a step forward, ignoring the tightening of every finger around the trigger.

“It’s doesn’t matter how many of there you are,” he said, words almost a snarl. He moved closer— Col started to tremble. “I’m going to kill every single one of you until I find them. Do you understand me?”

“Stand down, boy!”

“Do you understand me? I’ll burn this whole fucking place down if I have to!”

Someone fired. Sparks flew.

Somewhere in the distance, one of the wolves howled.

It happened too quickly. Col scrambled for his spare pistol and a crackle of electricity filled the air. Something was burning, the smell like a sour acid began to fill his nose. Col's eyes burned, his hands were shaking too hard to get a proper hold on his gun as he scrambled back away from the fighting. It was like a nightmare brought to life and when he managed to make himself look back, the sight that awaited him was even worse.

The emissary’s eyes were brighter than fire. The air around him swam with the shadows and his face was so pale, it was like the blood drained right out. Distant howls collided with the chaos in the air and Col momentarily flashed back to his latest kill— a young omega, newly bitten. She’d looked at him like he was the Grim Reaper and it had made him feel powerful. Being the predator always did.

For the first time in his life, Col Henderson knew what it was like to be the prey.

The emissary flicked his wrist and Col slammed up against the nearest wall, losing all ability to breathe as the boy approached. There was something about him. Something darker than night, colder than death.

“Big bad hunter. Where is my pack?”

Struggling for breath, Col managed to point down the hallway. The boy followed his gaze and then hummed.

“Thank you.”

Three days, four hours, and twenty-two minutes. Stiles had realized what happened to his pack nine minutes after they were taken. Therefore, the hunters were unofficially dead three days, four hours, and thirteen minutes ago.

The clock continued to count— three seconds on the timer. Col looked at the emissary like he was the Grim Reaper.

And at second one, the boy smiled.

An emissary’s main job had always been to keep a pack connected to their humanity. However, as a group of bold hunters learned the hard way after capturing a bunch of feral werewolves known as the Hale pack, the one known as Mieczysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski, barely had any humanity in himself to begin with.

There was a hum under his breath as he released his pack one by one. The betas first and his alpha right after them, whose eyes glowed red as he barely contained a series of whines. The second the chains were off, clawed fingers latched onto Stiles's arms and sharp fangs skated up the side of his neck. Stiles smiled, tracing bloodstained fingers through Derek’s hair.

“It's okay. I'm here now.”

Warm breaths snuffled against his skin. “That was stupid.”

“I know.”

“And dangerous.”

“But so fun.”

Derek drew back, his attention zeroing in on a darkening red patch right underneath Stiles’s shoulder. “You’re bleeding.”

"Only a little."

"Does it hurt?"

“They took my pack,” Stiles said, a dangerous glow in his eyes. “Isn’t a little agony worth it?”

The red of the alpha’s eyes burned even brighter. Derek growled and pulled him into a hungry kiss— one that promised a much more thorough examination later. The man's lips were a little cracked and Stiles could taste blood. Humming at the back of his throat, he kissed Derek harder.

Three days, four hours, and twenty-two minutes. That’s how long the one they called Mieczysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski had been separated from his pack. The longest he'd ever been alone.

But he wasn't anymore.

They left the bodies as a warning to anyone who dared cross the Hale pack again.

#sterek #teen wolf #sterek fanfic #teen wolf fanart #dark!sterek #emissary!stiles #alpha!derek #feral!hale pack #gifset #derek hale #stiles stilinski #stiles x derek #outsider pov

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miserable-pile-of-lies · 3 years

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The Sleeping Beauty of Wallachia Ch. 3 (Full)

I know it's been a lifetime since I last updated the story, but I really wanted to deliver with this chapter as it sets up the basic frame of the fanfic! I really hope you guys enjoy what I came up with, feel free to leave reviews on A03!

Summary: Wallachia is in great peril at the behest of Death himself; all those who have attempted to battle the creature have swiftly been executed and made an example of. The key to defeating the beast lies in Dracula's castle, located twenty odd miles out from a small village by the name of Danesti. In this village, the headwoman Greta must act quickly to save her people from the onslaught of attacks by night creatures and other minions who have sworn their loyalty to Death. Will she alone be able to stop Death or will she require additional aid to save Wallachia?

Skeletal appendages scraped furiously against the transmission mirror depicting the Speaker and head woman, muttering a string of curses against the two mortals. Death hovered in the dimly lit war hall, formerly the stronghold of the vampire king Dracula, standing in front of the reflective surface while his jawbone rattled in a fit of rage.

“Those damn Speakers continue to impede the progress of my fucking war,” the entity spat out savagely, swinging his gargantuan scythe in the general direction of his night troops. Night creatures nervously searched the faces of one another, conflicted by the appearance of their commander who currently donned his true form.

In the presence of their Forgemaster Hector, a naïve necromancer native to the distant country of Greece, the mystical being deceitfully modeled his appearance after that of Vlad Dracula Țepeș. Despite the steadfast loyalty the night creatures held towards their liege, Death had promised the beasts an unlimited supply of sustenance that what would ultimately lead to the extermination of humanity.

Left with free reign of the planet, the night hordes would transform Gaia into a ruinous paradise where the nighttime skies dominated daylight and the forsaken creatures would never have to return to the torturous confinements of Hell.

“The whole lot of you are absolutely useless, do I have to do everything on my own,” the grim reaper lamented, waving a hand to dissolve the magical mirror’s image, erasing the sight of the two women that would later contribute to his demise. One night creature resembling a large bat blew through its nostrils tactlessly, finding no amusement in the unprovoked castigation of the army.

Hearing the sound of the snort, Death languidly turned its effervescent build towards the large beast, staring daggers in retaliation at the ill-timed slight.

“Braying like an ass will not change my words, I was perfectly clear in my demands,” the angel of death howled out powerfully, raising the daunting crescent of his scythe above his frightening form. Making quick work of the unlucky demon, the gruff of its neck caught onto the merciless edge of the blade and the head of the devilish bat soared into the air in moments. Blood sprayed out from the decapitated monster as it unceremoniously fell on the polished floors of the chambers. Exposed arteries showered its nearby compatriots cowering in fear at the execution, all halting further movements.

“Would anyone else care to challenge my words, if so, step forward,” Death questioned calmly, effectively slinging off the blood that clung to the steel of his otherworldly weapon. Silence filled the war hall effectively, no one dared to stand in opposition against the underworld ruler.

On the verge of throwing a fit, Death stopped in his tracks at the sound of quickened footsteps in the distance, closing in on the massive war hall. Permitting a gratuitous exhale, the immortal turned his back to the night hordes who readied themselves for the newcomer, recognizing the familiar footfalls from anywhere. With the flourish of his skeletal hand the grim reaper chanted inaudibly, summoning forth his power to shapeshift into the rightful lord of the castle.

Tendinous muscles bloomed in the place of bone, quickly overtaking the shrinking mass of Death who groaned in soothing tones at the tickling sensation. Inky black hair sprouted from the scalp of his skull and fine threads of linen materialized over muted skin. Black wool breeches pooled over his long legs while a standard charcoal doublet garnished with the Țepeș family insignia appeared over the newly formed body of Vlad’s imposter. Polished leather boots clacked as Death spun around for the night creatures to observe his clever disguise, finishing the last transfigurations needed to complete the transformation.

Looking back into the transmission mirror, the surface reflected an image of the war lord indiscernible from the genuine article currently incapacitated by Death. Sharp claws adorned with a platinum wedding band traced over the mirror thoughtfully, not bothered by the sudden intrusion of Hector who appeared to be out of breath from dashing from his workshop.

Strands of starlight shook gently as the Grecian man doubled over from exhaustion, sweat gathering at his brow as his vision locked onto Dracula. Gently gripping the railing of the grand master stairway, the Forgemaster allowed himself a moment to catch his breath while his night creatures marched out of the war hall.

“Dracula, we need to replenish our forces, the number of casualties in your army continue to rise across Wallachia,” Hector announced wearily. Currently, the Forgemaster worked tirelessly around the clock to provide the soldiers that supplied Dracula’s army. Although he was honored to be chosen as the chief general in the crusade against humanity, Hector could not help but feel that he was reaching his limitations. Additionally, the necromancer pondered the whereabouts of his equal Isaac who had yet to make an appearance in the court of Dracula. Feeling a stab of disappointment at the late arrival of Isaac, Hector found his hands tied up with numerous tasks that did little to distract his thoughts that led to the other Forgemaster.

The two necromancers had been introduced to one another with the assistance of Dracula during his pursuit of knowledge upon Lisa’s request. Hector recalled being in awe, shyly eyeing the other sorcerer whose appearance was quite different than what he had expected based on Dracula’s vague description of the man. Wise beyond his years in matters of philosophy, the Ghanaian man bore the façade of a fabled ruler from a faraway land. Sharp cheekbones exquisitely found purchase against the high points of his face, sleek lines defining the entirety of his graceful form.

However, the other man was unapproachable in their initial encounters, seeking no camaraderie with Hector outside of their shared association with Dracula. Life had dealt a fair share of cruelties to Isaac; sold into slavery at a very young age, his village invaded by Teutonic Knights seeking gold on behalf of the Catholic Church. Having his own share of hardships, Hector faced abuse administered by his parents and peers throughout his lifetime.

Despite the difficulty bonding with Isaac, it became clear to the reserved man that Hector coveted their connection and respected him despite their different worldviews. Isaac slowly began to disclose tidbits of information about his past, detailing the events of his travels throughout the years. The young philosopher was often met with unwarranted violence, constantly badgered by men who had something to prove. Following suit in storytelling, Hector confided in Isaac about his current quarters on the island of Rhodes, forced into isolation by locals who feared the Forgemaster.

“They called me a demon, convinced that I was a byproduct of Satan and his wickedness,” Hector confessed quietly around the campfire. Looking across the flickering flames, his companions offered their sympathy in silence at the disheartened declaration.

Aquamarine hues reflected sorrow, recalling the daily deliverance of venomous words from his birth parents. His mother Rhea viewed her son as a curse, damning their family from the moment he left her womb. His father Cyrus cruelly forced Hector to use his abilities for his greed, completely lacking any attachment to his son. Trauma was an understatement when it came to describing the afflictions he suffered under the roof of his childhood home, every day more miserable than the previous one.

Hector recalled reaching his breaking point when his mother and father heartlessly set aflame Cassius, an undead canine that he revived in the picturesque meadows of Corfu. Infuriated by Hector and his strange proclivities of bringing dead animals into their living quarters, Rhea ripped off a long branch from a nearby olive tree.

“If only I could have foreseen the depravity of your character; why did God gift me with an evil seed,” Rhea cursed ruthlessly while beating a sobbing Hector, leaving irritated welts across his vulnerable back and arms. Curling into a fetal position to avoid the worst of his mother’s fury, Hector begged his mother to stop, but she refused to relent her punishment.

In retaliation, Hector ignited the residence under the cover of darkness, miming the brutality of his parents in an episode of calculated rage. Horrid screams shattered the silence of the night, smoke carrying the scent of burning flesh that could be smelled for miles. Neighbors cautiously gathered around the family home in horror, hurling a plethora of wicked expletives directed to the young boy. Hector retreated into the night wordlessly, never returning to the island of Corfu.

“Your story furthers my point, humanity is an infestation that ravages anything it comes into contact with,” Isaac asserted casually, wrapping his artisan hands around a ceramic mug containing water infused with citrus tones. Mahogany eyes squinted in displeasure at the shortcomings of mankind; a species that Isaac deemed unnecessary given their lack of purity and selfishness.

Propping an alabaster hand against his temple, Dracula wordlessly looked to both men who appeared to be at a standstill in the discussion.

“Peculiar would not even begin to express the paradoxical nature of this discussion, wouldn’t the two of you agree,” Dracula suggested whimsically while rising from the dewy grassland. Both humans exchanged a perplexed look with one another before allowing their supernatural companion to continue his train of thought.

“Despite the misfortunes that you both have endured, neither of you have purposefully gone out of your way to hurt others,” the vampire explained with a faint smile, looking to the two magically imbued mortals. Hector allowed a small smile of his own to surface in agreeance while Isaac quietly mulled over the words in deep contemplation.

Not long after their travels together, Isaac followed Dracula’s recommendation of perusing the world for further insight on humanity and what it had to offer. Traveling through the city of Tunis to return to his abode in the Western Sahara Desert, Isaac encountered a man who simply went by the name of Captain. Commanding a crew of forty-four men, the Captain invited Isaac to explore the world with him, seeing curiosity twinkling in those umber hues. Prior to the present war, both Hector and Isaac communicated through the distance mirrors gifted to them by Dracula. The vampire was quite insistent about the two staying in touch, emphasizing the importance of their friendship.

Hector listened in wonder at the tales that Isaac narrated, completely enthralled by the whirlwind of journeys that Isaac experienced across the globe. Various knick-knacks were presented under the ever-watchful eye of Hector, souvenirs gifted by companions made along the way during his world expedition. Contentment radiated off Isaac in a terrific arrangement throughout their conversations over the next couple of months, feeling closer than ever before to the other Forgemaster. Despite the Ghanaian man being worlds away from Hector’s humble abode in Rhodes, the Grecian man truly felt that he could call himself Isaac’s friend.

“I have never felt more at peace Hector,” Isaac conceded amicably as the sound of relaxing waves sloshed in the backdrop of his lodgings, retiring to his personal cabin for the night. The other Forgemaster curled his body against the worn mat in his small man-made hut, propping a hand under his chiseled chin. Daydreaming about a life of exciting escapades, preferably at the side of Isaac or Dracula, Hector allowed his imagination to run wild. However, Hector lacked the confidence to travel on his own at the mercy of other humans, knowing that his naivety could easily be exploited.

“What you have accomplished is an astounding feat, I’m happy for you,” Hector professed honestly while gently scratching behind the ear of his curious pet Cezar, the small pup wagging its stubby tail at the attention of his master. Tucking away a lingering lock that swayed in his vision, the Corfu native was thrilled that Isaac had achieved inner peace in his ventures to distant lands. Prattling on into the night as they often did, the two men would communicate almost daily until calamity struck Wallachia.

_____________________________________________________________________________

False rumors quickly spread across Wallachia regarding Lisa Țepeș, all unfounded accounts of the human doctor being a malevolent witch who used black magic to heal the residents of Târgoviște. Local priests and clergymen of the Catholic Church demanded that the woman burn at the stake for her crimes, claiming that Lisa denounced the teachings of the church through her unorthodox methods. Leading the public lynching of the innocent physician, the Bishop stormed the cottage and burned the structure without remorse, gleefully watching the home crumble in on itself amongst the flames.

Not long after the unexpected invasion, Dracula was alarmed by a disturbance in the cosmos after departing from the market town of Târgșor. The small town was roughly three miles out from the small dwelling that he shared with his wife from time to time following the birth of their son Adrian. The scholar had just returned to Wallachia after a year of traveling, departing from the port city of Braila just days ago. Wasting no time, the voivode glided through the bleak skies of a Wallachian winter, perturbed by the prickling unease that struck him out of nowhere. From the darkened clouds above, the nosferatu noticed fumes shrouding the small refuge of their home, seeing two figures situated in what remained of the cottage.

Crimson red engulfed the sclerae of Vlad’s eyes, his wrathful aura alerting one of the two creatures standing. Ivory frost coated platinum blond loose waves that resembled that of his wife Lisa, golden eyes widening in apprehension as the youth registered the presence of his father. An old woman crouched remorsefully by the young man with a hand full of withered cowslips picked from the nearby flora, laying them down in front of the incinerated remnants of the home.

“Words cannot express how indebted I am to your mother, the church has truly gone too far,” the elderly human muttered repentantly, clasping her worn hands together in a silent prayer. Jet black locks viciously swirled around the pale visage of the vampire, treading through the snowy sleet that did little to impede his powerful steps. Finally stopping before the pair, hellfire danced in his blazing irises that refused to burn out.

“Where is your mother and why were you not by her side,” Vlad snarled out quietly while dropping his traveling sack onto the blanketing snow, glowering at the dhampir without any inhibitions. A wave of tremendous guilt washed over Alucard at the blunt criticism of his father, unable to loosen the knot in his throat. Dark fitted leather gloves squeaked in protest, looking to the longsword he held in his hand for guidance. The weapon was a keepsake given to him by his mother in his teen years, a family heirloom passed through the ages.

“Mother asked me to travel to the city of Pitești to purchase medicinal herbs from the local market for her patients, I was only gone for two days,” the young man weakly explained. Raising a gloved hand to his temple in silent resignation, his eyes shut worriedly at the unknown fate of his mother, hauled away to the town square of Târgoviște to be burned for all to see.

Bloodied tears mirrored those that ran translucent in a state of clear distress. Despite the two butting heads from time to time, Vlad and Adrian loved Lisa more than anything else in the world so it was no question what they needed to do now. Casting a downward glance at the woman who knelt in the frosty snow, Vlad looked to the human thankful that at least one soul refused to participate in the cruel spectacle. Slowly rising to her feet with creaking bones, Alucard lent a hand to help Mrs. Djuvara rise from the snowfall, alleviating the strain of her getting up from the ground to the best of his abilities.

“The Bishop left about thirty minutes ago sir, rambling like a mad man after seeing the contents of the cottage,” the gray-haired crone commentated apologetically, gently thanking Alucard for his assistance. Giving her full attention to Vlad, almond-shaped eyes lowered in thought before she deemed it appropriate to continue.

“The Catholic Church wishes for Lisa to burn at the stake, those clergymen should be ashamed,” Mrs. Djuvara angrily expressed, crossing her arms at a complete loss.

If those bastards wish to burn my wife, blood shall be spilled all over these lands the immortal scholar promised menacingly while Alucard looked to his father with unadulterated determination. Somewhere in his delicate heart Alucard knew that his mother would be saved and that she would not want either of the men to spiral into violence on her behalf.

“There is no time to waste, we need to leave now Father if we hope to stop them,” Alucard suggested gently, sheathing his longsword into the scabbard that was fastened to his hip. Silently nodding in agreeance, Vlad directed one last glance to Mrs. Djuvara who watched the two men with concern.

“Thank you for your kindness, this act of generosity will not be forgotten,” Vlad expressed with a slight nod in her general direction. Turning on his heel, Vlad charged back into the frigid heavens once more. Following in suit, Alucard gave a polite bow in a show of gratitude before he took to the gloomy skies after his father.

“I truly hope she is alright,” the kind woman spoke in hushed tones, rubbing her aged palms together to regain some warmth before heading down the slushy path with careful steps. Tucked away in the grim forest nearby, a shadowy figure briskly swore, praying that the two supernatural beings would fail to reach the physician in time.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Not a soul in Wallachia knows what occurred following these events, only aware that Lisa never reached the town square as the Bishop had intended. The Catholic Church decided not to pursue the matter any further after several months passed, deciding that God would be pleased by their work regardless of her unknown whereabouts. Many speculations were made by those residing in Târgoviște relishing a year of peace following the abduction of Lisa Țepeș, theorizing that she used her craftiness to escape the reach of the church. Completely unaware of the violence that would pervade the cursed province, Wallachians returned to their daily routines and forgot all about Lisa of Lupu.

Shortly after the presumed tragedy, Hector received a distress signal from his distance mirror roughly six months ago, contacted by Dracula to conduct a global population cull. Briefly explaining what led to the maniacal request, the vampiric king pleaded that Hector travel to Romania to assist in his war against mankind. At a loss for words, Hector hesitantly asked Dracula to give him more time to consider the harrowing proposal.

Feeling guilt streaming through his conscience, the necromancer attempted to contact Isaac for additional guidance in what path he should walk. However, the other Forgemaster failed to answer the line of communication that both were accustomed to. Left to his own devices and feeling indebted to Dracula for his kindness in those previous months together, Hector agreed to act as a general in the vampire’s army. At the acceptance of the request, Dracula summoned forward his transmission mirror, allowing Hector to safely arrive to Wallachia without a moment to waste.

Upon his arrival, Hector noticed several oddities while exploring the expansive fortress. For one, Dracula failed to mention that Hector and Isaac would be the only generals acting in his army. While the Grecian man understood that Dracula detested the vampires in his inner court, the sorcerer could not understand the set of tactics that his master presented. No vampires had been spotted in the months he spent in the estate. Marbled hallways remained vacant apart from the night creatures that passed through on occasion, leaving Hector with so many questions that would remain unanswered.

Moreover, the late appearance of Isaac bothered Hector to no end, knowing that the missing Forgemaster prided himself on being punctual. When the young wizard prodded Dracula about the man in question, the lord of the castle insisted that he could not get ahold of Isaac.

“I have tried to speak to Isaac on several occasions, yet I cannot seem to reach him,” Dracula permitted after weeks of leading Hector on about the whereabouts of the Ghanaian man.

Hearing the admission aloud troubled the tanned islander despite the war lord attempting to put his mind at ease.

“Who could possibly harm Isaac, he will be fine,” the undead tyrant exclaimed irritably with the wave of his hand, silencing the anxious man altogether. Shortly after his biting remark, Dracula issued an apology to the dismayed general, explaining that he meant no harm. During his tenure at the castle, Hector took notice of the constant mood swings that afflicted Dracula, his temperament setting off at the slightest inconvenience.

Night creatures controlled by the childlike fellow were disposed of in cruel moments dealt by the voivode, often victims of senseless brutality. Seeing their battered remains evoked memories from the childhood that Hector desperately tried to escape, feeling ill when coming across his slaughtered beasts. In those moments, Dracula knew exactly what to say, explaining that his episodic cruelty stemmed from his immeasurable sorrow. Despite it being clear that his lord was still in mourning, the sorcerer could not help, but feel that many details leading to the tragedy were abstract in nature.

Only once did Hector attempt to question Vlad about the demise of his wife, hoping that he could comfort his friend. Unsurprisingly, Dracula vehemently lashed out at Hector when inquiring about Lisa, clarifying that his grief was too painful to blatantly express.

“Her passing is like an open wound that was left to fester Hector, vulnerably exposed to the brutal elements,” the sovereign spat out venomously. Approaching the portrait of Lisa that sat in his over cluttered study, Dracula tenderly caressed the oil painting with a hollowed expression.

Feeling a strange mix of empathy and apprehension, Hector simply observed the unsettling scene, concluding that he could not offer the consolation that his liege would never be able to claim.

The two quickly began to draft plans, offering their own introspections about which cities would best serve as ground zero in the war. Setting the tone of the attacks was of the utmost importance to Dracula, deeming that the first strike against Wallachia would determine the success of future battles. After careful consideration, the warlord determined that the first skirmish had to be personal in nature so that Wallachians took his actions seriously. Maneuvering a pasty hand against a yellowed map of Romania, a finger landed on the foundation of his misery, allowing an insidious smirk to sprout in place.

Târgoviște would be the first target of Dracula’s unbridled fury in avenging Lisa, staking claim on the capitol in one fell swoop. Many attempted to escape the city in the initial wave of attacks but quickly fell victim to the onslaught of the night hordes. Those surviving escaped through elaborate labyrinths lying underneath the city, fleeing north to the region of Transylvania. News quickly spread regarding the ambush on Târgoviște, survivors warning anyone in proximity to desert Wallachia at once.

Not long after, Hector began to expand the numbers in Dracula’s army with the excess of corpses from successful frays around Wallachia. His materials for forging varied in appearance, leaving the necromancer to question his own moral compass at times. Some of remains relatively intact appeared to be as young as a five-year-old, robbed of a meaningful life all too soon. Others seemed elderly to the point of having issues with mobility, their joints stiffened from a lifetime of working day in and day out.

Shaking away these intrusive thoughts, Hector continued to perform his duties to the best of his abilities, successfully overtaking many cities with his revived hellhounds. Things were running according to plan until the unexpected appearance of Speakers in Greşit; the mages assisting the common people from the attacks of night creatures. Since then, different caravans had travelled throughout the province in hopes of defending the innocent civilians falling prey to the unexpected raids commanded by Dracula.

Projecting the falsehood of contemplation under the focused gaze of the young man, the doppelganger summoned away the enchanted mirror. Pacing to the throne that sat at the heart of the war hall, the faux Dracula slowly sat down while interlacing his corpse like fingers together.

“What do you suggest that we do Hector,” Dracula requested patiently, looking to the Forgemaster currently descending the steps with a weighted gaze. Drawing himself to the side of his master, Hector failed to ignore the fallen night creature slain in the war hall, its fresh blood still perfuming the stagnant air. Sparing a brief glance at the sight of the corpse, the magician allowed a downcast expression to cloud his handsome features, pity flooding his body.

“The night creatures need guidance on the battlefield; however, we do not have the means to be everywhere at once Master Dracula,” Hector expressed bluntly.

Conceding with a small bob, the commander of the army allowed his high-ranking officer to pursue his thread of reasoning.

“Why not utilize your vampiric subjects in this war, they could easily best anyone that challenged your authority,” the magical user hesitantly recommended after a beat of silence. Thrumming his lengthy fingers along the arms of the dark oak throne, an extended sigh was released at the suggestion. Craning his neck to make eye contact with the standing Forgemaster, Dracula allowed an unrefined snort to escape his mountainous frame, startling Hector with the action.

Rising from his cushioned seat, the imposter scrutinized the undead conjurer with a wary eye, bending down to gander at the Mediterranean male. Suppressing the urge to back away at the sudden invasion of his personal boundaries, Hector furrowed his brow but remained in place, refusing to yield to the intimidation tactic. Nevertheless, his heart thrashed madly inside the cavity of his chest, unsure of how Dracula would respond to the open defiance of his commanding general.

Surprisingly, the ghoulish sovereign beckoned the sorcerer to follow his footsteps up the stairway, leaving Hector stupefied. After Hector took a moment to gather his bearings, his stride shadowed his master who walked ahead in silence.

On the upper level of the castle, the crackle of lightning could be heard within the glass lanterns decorating the top of massive pillars. The Forgemaster trailed behind the imposing figure of Dracula by several steps, pondering the undisclosed destination that his master had in mind. Peculiar rooms embellished with the strange mechanisms of the castle passed in the background, colossal cogs spinning in tandem to power the lifelike structure. Illuminated by the blue radiance from the electrically powered lamps, both men began to slow their extended steps before coming to a complete stop at the appearance of an unexplored threshold previously unknown to Hector.

Darkness swept away any previous amusement from the face of the vampire, retrieving a skeletal key shrouded in a venomous miasma, visible to even the unsuspecting eye of Hector. Sweat beaded across tanned skin that shivered at what lied ahead, a wave of unexpected nausea overriding his otherwise well disposition. Am I being punished for what I previously suggested Hector questioned shakily, fearing that his unfiltered callousness stirred the rage of his liege.

“Hector, you must promise me that you will never tell anyone about this particular room,” Dracula cooed softly, brushing a frigid hand against the quivering form of his subject. Unbeknownst to the Grecian man, Hector faced no danger behind the doorway that Dracula wished to show him.

Nodding reluctantly at the inquiry, Hector directed a skittish glance to his master wordlessly. Wasting no more time, the entryway of the room was swung open by an otherworldly force, revealing an otherwise chaste setting.

Gossamer curtains carelessly blew back and forward, blinding sunlight filtering through the boarded windows of the secret lodging. Surprise struck the features of the Forgemaster, seeing a mysterious man in the center of the room, lying in a lavish canopy bed. The lord of the castle hesitantly entered the room with a grimace, trudging towards the rest station with heavy footfalls. Tilting his head downwards, Dracula once again gestured for Hector to follow his lead, inviting the magician to stand by him with the repeated curl of his ghoulish finger.

Promptly accepting the invitation, the Corfu native briskly paced his steps to stand by his commander, following the line of attention given to the ethereal man sleeping in the comfort of the bed. The expanse of porcelain skin revealed the lean form of the fellow, marred by an unsightly scar that splayed across his Adonis-like chest. Flaxen loose curls attractively framed the resting warrior, unfurling around the man in a breathtaking impression that resembled the mythical tresses of the Greek god Apollo. The celestial being only wore leather-bound trousers that effectively displayed his powerful yet lithe frame, equal parts refined and daunting in aura.

Clearing his throat at the awkward stretch of silence, a pale hand splayed across the bare chest of the dhampir, partially covering the only imperfection that could be found on the man.

“My son attempted to thwart my plans in avenging my wife,” Dracula carefully disclosed. Slithering the hand upward, his icy hand cupped the sculptured cheekbone belonging to the youth in bed.

Looking between the parent and child, it was clear to Hector who the unconscious beauty resembled, favoring the late woman that he often saw in the disorderly study of his sovereign. Only around the eyes and brows could he see the influence of his master, both father and son showcasing striking features that conveyed their noble heritage. Despite the discovery of Adrian seizing his interest, the Forgemaster was befuddled by the late introduction of the halfling prince.

“Before his betrayal, I tried to call on the assistance of the closest generals within my court, demanding that they come at once after what the humans had done to my beloved wife,” the vampire king hissed while drawing back his claws from his sole heir.

Pausing for the sake of building momentum in the elaborate lie, the false Dracula closed his crimson eyes, soundlessly relishing in the misplaced trust of the naive sorcerer.

“A vampire by the name of Orlok struck down Adrian with a cursed blade despite my prompt warnings, leaving him in this weakened state,” the voivode admitted with a bite, leaving a disquieted Hector to piece together what occurred.

Starlight strands shook at this revelation, finally coming to terms with the reluctance that his master exhibited at the mention of vampires being at the forefront of his war. Loyal subordinates of Dracula mortally wounded his offspring, proving themselves to be as depraved as human beings.

“I came to a realization following the near death of my successor; neither vampires nor humans deserve to walk these lands,” the executioner confessed boldly. According to the violent account of the crown ruler, Dracula dispatched every vampire in his path following the assault of his cherished son.

Bonds of blood and love fueled his animosity towards his own species, concluding that vampires were incapable of viewing mortal creatures as purposeful creatures.

“Please forgive me for my suggestion, it was an unreasonable request,” Hector confessed sorrowfully. Brushing off the verbal sputtering of his general, the doppelganger felt a ripple of fatigue begin to hammer away at the effectiveness of the spell disguising his legitimate form.

I will have to dismiss him at once Death deliberated apprehensively, detecting that the veil of the glamour was slipping rapidly from his persistent usage of the spell as of late. Allowing a rare genial smile to surface, Dracula summoned his tactical officer away, promising that he would find a proper solution to lessen the workload of the Forgemaster.

“Words alone cannot describe my gratitude Master Dracula, I will not fail you,” Hector promised with a bright smile, feeling a surge of passion spark at the unguarded constitution of his friend.

Once the jovial magician departed from the alcove, a deep scowl set on the face of the imposter wearing the skin of Dracula, sickened by the fictitious bond between him and the accursed man-child. Death lifted the enchantment camouflaging the angel of death, gliding over to the unmoved form of Alucard. Flesh melted away in a horrifying reveal, making way for the signature semblance of the spectre.

“Do you hear me Alucard,” the grim reaper griped, clearly miffed by the tireless charade that he put on day in and day out to accomplish his current objective. Procuring an agreeable spot in a gothic high back chair that sat close by, the entity permitted a superfluous exhale to leave his lungless structure. Gazing at the sleeping prince, a sharpened appendage attempted to pierce the heart of the unconscious youth. Simultaneously, a visible force field crackled at the threat of danger for the son of Dracula, Death forcibly removed by the triggered spell. Allocated by the true ruler of the castle, the spell allowed Alucard to remain unharmed by the malicious entity, protected by the paternal love of his father.

Groaning at the effectiveness of the hex, a feral snarl erupted from the underworld king. Stomping back to close in on the cursed male, the skeletal face of Death unceremoniously crowded in the proximity of the defenseless dhampir. Small breaths escaped from the gorgeous warrior compelled to sleep against his will, unable to voice his displeasure against the depraved creature.

“That cock wart Dracula will pay for making a mockery out of me, I will find away to break this spell and I will take what rightfully is mine,” Death assured brusquely, gripping the hollowed cheeks of his captive. Releasing the delicate face of the supernatural fighter, the grim reaper vanished from the chambers, slicing through the frigid air of the room with his trustworthy scythe.

Creating an ingress that led to the Infinite Corridor, Death saw a copious number of settings distorting the foundation of time and space, different eras and locations all residing within the unusual dimension.

“In order to assure my victory, I must douse out any semblance of hope for humanity,” the supernatural being concluded grimly. Selecting a seemingly arbitrary setting, Death pursued the target he had sought out for months: the absent Forgemaster Isaac.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Harsh pants dispensed at the suffocating dryness of the barren lands; a wearied figure found difficulty with properly trekking through the golden sand that seemed infinite. Bringing the waxed batik fabric of his bell-shaped sleeve to his drenched brow, Isaac squinted in exhaustion at the compression of heat, seeing waves distort his unreliable vision. Leering at the nothingness that extended for miles, the Ghanaian man paused in his journey. Looking back at the night creatures created from the remains of desert bandits, maroon eyes warily searched the blazing heavens to see if the deadly entity hid amongst his troops.

Dropping to his knees abruptly, the Forgemaster felt his stamina begin to plummet at an unprecedented rate. For several months the necromancer avoided the grim reaper with the assistance of his distance mirror, indebted to Dracula for his selflessness during a critical time in Wallachia. Frowning in discontentment at the unpleasant memory, the sorcerer felt responsible for failing the traveling scholar in his time of need.

Approximately a year ago, Isaac received a distressed message from his highly esteemed friend Dracula, foreboding the current events that he now endured. While the communication from the man of letters was not an aberration in his daily rituals, the Forgemaster noticed an immediate difference in the usually collected countenance of the vampire king.

Shooting pains stirred within the frontal lobe of his head at the recollection, immediately bringing Isaac back to the tumultuous present. Night creatures gathered around their master, concerned by the abnormal behavior of the dark skinned enchanter. One night creature by the name of Fly Eyes stood at the forefront of the troops, chittering away commands to instruct the lesser beings within their ranks to search for nourishment at once.

Attempting to placate the dehydrated magician, Flyseyes knelt by the side of the Ghanaian man, gently prying open the attractive curve of plump lips with his razor-sharp talons.

Carefully bringing his hands to his side, Flyseyes retrieved a leather waterskin from the satchel belonging to his liege. Despite his nightmarish appearance, the night creature retained a good deal of his humanity, constantly conversing with Isaac about a great deal of worldly matters. In his previous life, the anthropomorphic fly acted as a Greek philosopher who died in the ancient city of Athens, remembering inconsequential details from his past. Delicious morsels for discussions by the fire, the creature inspired new trains of thought for Isaac with his wisdom and vice versa.

“You really should drink Isaac, do you wish to expire,” the night creature prattled with a hint of admonition, the water-filled receptacle promptly placed in front of the revenant summoner. Allowing a small exhale to leave his crumbled form, the Forgemaster gladly accepted the offering given by his wise servant, taking extensive gulps to savor the lukewarm water.

Pulling back to intake an influx of fresh air, Isaac straightened his toned frame, unable to articulate his hopelessness. Wide vermillion eyes stared adamantly, refusing to yield in their conquest of retrieving their master, the wise man seeming so lost for the first time since the two met.

“Death does not concern us, because as long as we exist, death is not here,” the night creature mentioned offhandedly, raising a barbed nail to pick at the human flesh stuck between his visceral fangs.

Down casted burgundy eyes closed at the ancient Athenian proverb, shaken by his own bewilderment, instead offering an Islamic adage to combat his own troubled psyche.

“Life is not guaranteed at all, but death is absolutely guaranteed upon all, yet we still prepare for life more than death,” the necromancer countered, passing the waterskin to the puzzled night creature.

Although the demonic entity politely accepted the leather canteen, Flyseyes no longer required the fundamental resources needed for human survival. Placing the waterskin by his side in the shifting silt, the jarring beast stood up, seeing the dispatched creatures returning to their malnourished master bearing gifts. Not too far off, a small caravan trailed in the overshadow of the flying critters, a small collection of several men and women on camelback.

Slowly, Isaac retrieved his forging dagger from the rough cotton sash tied to his strong core, prepared to add the travelers to his ranks if need be. Shockingly, the men appeared to be completely calm, not bothered by the presence of the Forgemaster or his beasties. Cool steel began to heat up in his clammy palms, hooded eyes sinking close from the burnout administered by the unexpected travels leading him to the accursed desert.

This is the end I suppose, my only regret is dying in this hellish heat Isaac mused casually, falling onto the fiery golden sea. Vision blackening at the edges, the last sight captured by Isaac was the dismounting of the leader, an unusual ambiance filling the air at his arrival.

#Castlevania #castlevania fanfiction #gretacard #greta danesti #sypha belnades #death #hector #isaac #isaac laforeze #forgehusbands #lisa tepes #vlad dracula tepes #draculisa #I hope you guys are fed well with this chapter #because my fingers have died from typing and revising all of this a million times #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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atsukashii · 3 years

Note

Harumi x Katsuki Bakugo + she/her + ☀️ + purple

I'm too shy to go off anon 🙈 but I look forward to reading what you write for this event altogether 🥰🥰

shining through the city with a little funk and soul so i'ma light it up like dynamite

✘ current theory: your boyfriend secretly got his hero name off a famous pop song.

✘ GENRE : fluff

✘ WARNINGS : none

✘ WORD COUNT : 1k

If you searched through the internet for every single interview of Pro Hero Dynamight, where the reporter asked about his hero name and its origins, his answer is always the same.

“I dunno, it just sounds cool.”

But you know that rising hero with an explosive quirk and a hot tempered attitude, and you know that Katsuki Bakugou is a lying liar.

“So I have a theory-”

“It better not be the one about my hero name sweetheart, or I will blast you into the sun.” Your boyfriend grumbles from behind you, and you simply tilt your head back from its resting place on his lap to look at him. His words are empty, and there’s not even the faintest trace of frustration in his gaze as his crimson eyes look down at you. It was Katsuki’s day off, so you’d spent it forcing your boyfriend to help you do the gardening you had been putting off for weeks, and now you were taking a break in your backyard in the warm sun.

“Well you’ve never told me otherwise.” You combat.

“Yes I have, I said it just came to me.” Shooting him your best glare, which he see’s through with no problem at all, Katsuki just rolls his eyes and leans back again on his hands, closing his eyes.

Even though you want to pry, you take a moment to really look at your boyfriend. He hadn’t changed much in the years that had passed since graduation. A few new scars here and there, but he was still the same determined and prickly guy you’d met in the hero course. Katsuki looks at peace, and knowing full well it’s been a while since you’ve seen the tension in his shoulders release like this, you decide to drop it.

Current theory: still to be busted.

For a while, you both sit still, listening to the sound of the breeze rustling the leaves above your head. Taking in every second of un-interrupted peace and quiet whilst it lasts.

“It was something you said.” His voice is slightly hoarse as he speaks, as if he had to physically force himself to say the words. Your eyes slowly blink open as you take in his words. The warm sun bleeding into you. Glancing up at him, Katsuki is looking up at the sky with a dust of pink on his cheeks that you just know isn’t from the heat.

“We were in high school, and I dunno, I must have done something to piss you off because you were yellin’ at me. I just remember your face being so red and that you had blurted out that just because I have an explosive quirk, doesn’t mean I have to have the same personality as a stick of dynamite.” You’re full on gaping at him, probably looking like a loon but you don’t care. For a moment, you struggle for a response because now that he’s brought it up, you remember the conversation well. He’d hurt himself by over training, his hands had been a mess and you were sad, scared and mad because he was hurting himself. You quickly sit up, pulling yourself until your facing him, and practically sitting in his lap.

“I didn’t mean-” Your eyes sting and a warm, now ungloved hand gently cradles your cheek as if you were the most fragile thing in the world.

“I know you didn’t, I knew you were just worried about me - so that’s partially why I chose it. As a reminder, that my quirk is explosive, but I don’t have to be. I knew I loved you then because you knew me.” Because he wasn’t explosive. Sure he was hot-headed, and in the face of villains, he was a golden shadow of the grim reaper. But he wasn’t explosive, or destructive. He was warm, and loyal, and had one of the biggest hearts you’d ever witnessed - he just struggled to communicate that part a lot.

You already knew the other reason for the second half of the name. A homage to the greatest pro hero of his time, a mentor and a friend to Katsuki. As his crimson eyes searched your own, you reached up and gave his forearm a gentle squeeze.

“I really love you Katsuki.” That nervous line melts across his lips, morphing into another soft smile. Why he had been nervous to tell you, you weren’t sure, but you’re glad he had. Quickly, with no hesitation, Katsuki seals your air inside your lungs by kissing you senseless. You’re sure there's dirt on his hands as they cup your face, but you don’t care. Just as he doesn’t make a single noise of protest as you clutch his sweaty shirt in your hands. The giddy excitement you had always experienced with him is still there all these years later, and you can’t hold back your smile as gently thumbs your cheeks he cups your face with two hands, as he pulls back.

“I love you too Harumi. Now can we go inside? I’m fucking starving.” Shaking your head as you laugh at Katsuki, his hand falls from your cheek and slips into your own as he stands up.

He reaches both hands down to you, the gesture warming your heart. Though the moment his fingers grip yours in a familiar warmth, you can’t help yourself.

“My theory is still a good one though.” You smile teasingly. Katsuki pauses, blinking at you expressionlessly before letting you go. Squealing loudly as your body hits the floor, you can’t help but laugh at your boyfriends retreating back.

“Was my girlfriend fucking body snatched with a moron because my Harumi would never.” He waves over his shoulder as he makes it up the back porch.

“You’re a lying liar Katsuki Bakugou.” He turns around at your words with a bright smile plastered across his face as he watches you rise, dusting the dirt from your hands.

“And you’re fucking evil sweetheart.” Is all he says once you reach him, placing another gentle kiss on your lips. Once you pull away and move to slip inside the door, you raise your eyebrows at him teasingly.

“Who do you think I learnt it from?”

Current theory: disproven.

a/n: I had to do this song when I saw you had picked bakugou haha. N e ways, I hope you liked it anon! Thanks for taking part in the event!

✘ event status : CLOSED ✘

#special event 🧚‍♀️✨#lols writes #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou

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winter-fox-queen · 3 years

Text

Snagged the awesome Frankie pics for the above from the awesome @fuckyeahfranciscomorales / @beccaplaying

Hello!

OK. I have two more chapters of this story ready to go. This one is from Frankie’s POV. When last we left our heroes, Frankie found a post card in his mail that ruined the warm fuzzy date night the two of you were having. And now he’s doing the man thing where he retreats for your own good.

Next chapter has SMUT. I am nervous.

Warnings: The “I” character is a female, otherwise a blank slate. I hope it works as well as a self insert, if that’s something you enjoy reading. There is cursing. Angst.

Previous chapters are on my Masterlist, because it has be a while.

Chapter 4: Sadness and Regret

Frankie slouched in the cockpit of the old chopper. She’d been declaired grounded for good a few months ago, good for nothing but parts, but no one had the heart to start dismantling her. It should have been a safe space — the inside of any bird used to be — but he just felt an ache in the base of his heart, a wrongness, an itchiness.

He looked at the post card sitting propped on the control panel. It wasn’t a post card so much as a picture of two girls — Tom’s daughters — with a stamp stuck on it.

The back said, Don’t forget. It is all your fault.

He took pictures of front and back with his phone, opened the group chat, and posted.

Frankie: Look what I got in the mail. Anyone else hear from Molly?

He waited for a response, and he thought of you.

The way you’d laughed. Complimented everything. He’d felt genuinely happy, proud. Worthy.

And the way you’d responded to his touch. The way you stroked him, kissed him. The way you’d looked at him when he’d asked you if you wanted him. The sheer longing and desire had ripped right into his heart.

When he’d kissed your forehead, he’s thought, I could love you. I could fall so hard for you.

He’d thought, I could be so happy.

He’d give a good chunk of his soul to go back in time, put off getting the damned mail. Gone to bed with a grin on his face, dreaming about the next time he’d see you.

The post card was a reminder, alright. A reminder that he didn’t deserve to be happy. You wrote about violence, yes, but your good guys were always pure. You were naive. No one who ever held a gun was pure. He could practically see the blood tattooed on his hands. He could see the man in the kitchen, tied up, helpless, knowing the grim reaper was in the room and he wore Frankie’s face.

The phone pinged, startling him. He fumbled it open.

You. It was you. He closed his eyes. It almost hurt to read the words. Just checking on you. I think you got bad news in the mail? Are you ok?

Aw, sweetheart. He thought. He decided not to reply. Maybe you’d give up.

Will saved him from staring at your text, thinking if he should say something, anyway. Just a I’m ok?

Will: Fuck, Fish. You don’t really think Molly sent that?

Fish: Who else?

Pope: I went to check my mail after I got this. Check it out.

The picture took forever to load. It was a post card — a real one, this time. Of the Andes. The other side read “I will publish your names and addresses in every newspaper I can find, unless you tell me the truth.”

Will: Fuck. Why? What does she think she knows?

Benny: Guys.

And then the dancing dots indicating he was saying something else. Frankie held his breath. The dots stayed there a long time.

Benny: I went to see her. I didn’t tell her much, I swear. Just told her that we did a recce and things went wrong.

Fish: Benjamin, what the ever loving fuck did you do that for?

Benny: Fuck off, Fish, she deserved to know something.

Pope: I’ll go see her. I don’t like this.

Frankie hopped out of the chopper and shoved the picture, folded, into his back pocket. He took off his cap and ran his free hand through his hair. This is a nightmare. This is a fucking nightmare. He didn’t want to face her. He didn’t want to look at her daughters.

The phone binged again.

It was just Pope, not in the group chat.

Pope: Comin with?

Fish: Yeah. I’ll come pick you up.

****

The Davis house was munch as he remembered it…a decent, two story house with a large front yard, but it had put on a cloak of desolation all the same. Tom’s truck was parked to one side, the tires slowly sinking into the ground. The yard needed a mow. The windows looked dirty. Frankie shut off the engine, looked at Pope. Pope looked at him shook his head.

Frankie sighed. “Abandona la esperanza a todas las que entres aquí?”

Pope snorted. Abandon hope all ye who enter, indeed.

They got out of the truck. The daughters would be at school. Molly should be home.

The door bell was a cheerful, bright set of bells that seemed at odd with the rest of the house.

Molly opened the door. She looked well kept, but there was a thinness to her face, a coldness in her eyes. “So, I had to threaten you to get you to come here.”

“How did you know about Lorea?”

“¿Qué diablos, Pope?” Frankie asked. “Real subtle. Molly, can we come in and talk?”

“Sure. Why the hell not?” She held out an arm as if welcoming them in. They followed her into the family room.

“So, are we going to let Frank here try to do polite small talk, or do you want to tell me what I want to know, Pope? What I fucking deserve to know?” Molly sat in an armchair, sitting straight, hands tight on the arms.

“He has a point about Lorea.” Frankie said, a little stung and annoyed, “Where did you hear that name? And do you know how dangerous that name is?”

“Benny let it slip when he came here to try and be nice. Google did the rest. I used to be a good researcher. Once.”

“If you publish our names, he’s likely to come after you, too.” Frankie said. He’s sat on the couch opposite, leaning forward. He was pissed at Molly…he was. But he also liked her. He felt a weight of guilt whenever he saw her that was almost smothering, yes, but he also had a lot of good memories.

“It’s worth it. I want to know exactly what happened. And none of this bullshit about a recon gone wrong. Nothing makes sense. Tom’s death doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

“So now you don’t care about your daughters?” Pope was leaning against the fake fireplace mantle, arms crossed.

“So what’s this? Good cop bad cop? I thought you’d be pouring that famous Santiago charm on me right now.”

“Molly…”. Frankie held out a hand.

“Tell me the fucking truth, Frankie.”

“We went on a recon mission.” Pope said. “We went after a drug dealer who was destroying the people of his country, and we had the chance to take him out. So we did. Unfortunately, Lorea’s men came after us. They shot Tom.”

“And the rest of you returned without a scratch?”

“Iron…Will got shot, but we were able to stitch him up.” Frankie said, quietly. “Tom had a good plan to get us out…that’s why we survived.”

She looked at her hands. Slipped them off the arm rest and into her lap. “And the money that oh so magically showed up in my account?”

“We recov…”. Pope started, stopped, then said, “We found it and stole it. We were all going to split it even, but with what happened to Tom…”

“That doesn’t make it better.” She said.

“No.” Frankie said. “But it was all we could do.”

She nodded. “It’s a shame, about that house, Frankie. The one your grandmother left you.”

“What? I don’t…”

“Because you’re going to have to move, because I bet there are people who would love to get their hands on the gringos who killed Lorea.” She laughed. “Maybe the government will deal with you…who knows? Illegal op, right?”

Pope’s laugh was incredulous. “Why does that do? Do you really think they’ll sent a hit team up from South America to take us out?”

“Frank thinks they will. I hope you never play poker Morales.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand…”. Frankie was in shock. Because his fear wasn’t at all that someone would want revenge. No.

“Fuck you, Morales…Santiago. And tell the Millers to go to hell, too. You took my husband away from me.”

“OK, OK, punish me. But not Frankie…not the others.” Pope raised his hands. “The whole thing was my idea. They went along just like Tom did.”

“But they survived. Now get out of my house.”

Back in the truck, where they started.

Pope gestured to the house. “It’s an empty threat. No one fucking cares what we did. No evidence, no proof…”

“They won’t care about proof. Not that I think they will care about Lorea.” Frankie said softly.

“Then what?” But Pope knew. He knew.

“They’re gonna want that money. And we can’t give it to them.”

Pope swallowed. “I’ll tell the Millers. We gotta come up with a plan.”

#frankie morales #pedro pascal #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales fanfic #my fic

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theangrycomet-art · 3 years

Photo

Early Mornings at the Atoms

Kaiden stirred, a drowsy fog over his mind as a familiar- but nevertheless strange- sensation drug him from his sleepy mindscape. Moist but not wet sandpaper rasped along the bottoms of his feet, wiggling in between his toes.

Blinking, his brain slowly registered that is was coming from not one, but three separate areas.

“ARrgh- BLT!” He griped, exasperated as he pushed her fuzzy heads away with a slobbery foot. “GROSS.”

BLT jumped back a step, unperturbed. Bacon yipped, Lettuce nipped, and Tomato yawned at him as she stretched, tail rattling with excitement. Lettuce grabbed at his pajama pants, tugging them.

She snorted as he pushed her away again.

“Knock it off,” he groaned tiredly, burying his face in the pillow. Too soft, as usual, he felt as though he were drowning in the bed. Thinking of his quilt at home, he glared at the comforter covering most of him, slinking his foot back underneath.

Maybe he could just stay in bed until the Weekend had come and gone.

Patting the space beside him, BLT hopped beside him and launched off the bed. Running circles, her claws clacked loudly against the floor. Her barks echoing a bit against the bare walls, she slid to a stop beside his door.

Nosing at the desk chair situated beneath the door handle, she whined, licking at the brass door knob.

So much for that.

“I’m coming.” Sitting up, he palmed at the night stand, waiting until his glasses clicked in his hand. With a yawn he shoved them on his shirt, not bothering with putting them on.

Wasn’t like there was anything he wanted to see in this house beside BLT.

Kaiden tried to ignore the tightening in his chest as the sounds of the house made it to his ears.

With a low whine, BLT exchanged a look between her heads before meandering over, nosing his leg. Smiling weakly, he scratched at the base of her neck.

His body at this point decided that it was in fact awake and that it needed to be tended to. He groaned again, cursing the near empty water bottle on his nightstand as he shuffled his way across the floor.

BLT’s saliva made his feet sticky against the flooring, but he didn’t particularly mind. It was just some sealed stone, just like the rest of the house. It’s not like it would stain or anything.

Moving aside the simple wooden chair, BLT wriggled in excitement, tail rattling as he unlocked the door. Once it was open, she still. Poking her heads out, Bacon looked left, Tomato looked right, and Lettuce checked the ceiling. When she’d decided the hallway was safe, she trotted happily to kitchen.

“Good girl.” He said, trying to ignore the conversation from the opposite end of the hall as he closed his door, locking it behind him.

Feet padding silently, he forcibly steadied his breath as BLT waited for him at the kitchen entrance. The scent of caramel coffee drifted along the air, almost too sweet on his nose. She waited until he was nearly at the entrance before checking the room, same as she did the hallway.

He managed a smile- 2 in one morning, that had to be a new record- and followed after her as she signaled the clear.

“Morning, Mr. Grim.” Relaxing, Kaiden waved at the skeleton reading the news as he sipped his coffee. How he did so without lips, much less a digestive system alluded him. However, he did not have to figure out the visual conundrum, seeing as the great Grim Reaper had his human disguise on. “Hair cut?”

“Very funny.” He said dryly, though his teeth flashed him a wry grin as Kaiden rummaged through the cabinets for some plain coffee. Flicking, the tied back dreads, he mused. “But I do think I like the new look.”

BLT sat next to him hopefully, eyes large and pleading as she begged for some eggs.

“I like it- it suits you better than the last one.” Poking his head from behind the wooden door, Kaiden held his chin theatrically, amused. “It’ll be a real hit with the ladies.”

“Oh hush and enjoy your nasty black coffee.” He chastised, smiling as he flipped out his newspaper. Watching him out of the corner of his eyes socket, his smile faltered, staring at the inky marks splattering up the young mans neck.

Frowning, he opened his mouth, before shutting it with a clack of teeth.

No, better wait him out. Neither Kaiden or KD liked being interrogated. They’d come to him eventually. Still, if he was right, he should say something.

“Any plans?” He asked instead, assessing the boy as he punched the little plastic cup of grinds into the machine.

Tomato licked Grim’s knee as Lettuce and Bacon had yet to take their eyes off the plate.

“Just practicing evasive maneuvers, as usual.” Kaiden answered with a strained cheerfulness. The coffee dribbled out just as he slid his mug beneath. Glancing at the silver machine, he frowned at his reflection before adjusting his shirt higher up his neck. “You?”

“Dunno- it’s my day off. I might have me some fun.”

“Good luck. Bon Bon has plans and I’m pretty sure your gonna be dragged into them if you aren’t fast enough.” His voice echoed as he brought the mug to his lips. “BLT, no begging. What do good doggies do?”

BLT whined and begrudgingly spun in a circle until she was facing Kaiden. Sitting with poise, she lifted her paw and tilted her heads cutely.

“Good girls.” Smiling, he reached into his pocket and pulled out three bone-shaped biscuits, tossing one to each head.

“Blegh.” Glancing at the hell hound, Grim sighed and split his remaining eggs into three. “Here, you mutt. I don’t have time for them if I’m gonna avoid that brat’s chores.”

Rattles filled the air as BLT’s tail helicoptered, taking the eggs with abandoned glee. Kaiden chuckled as he made his way out of the kitchen.

“If you rinse that off I’ll wash it later,” he said as Grim straightened, popping his back. “You get out of here while you still can- I’ll stall Pinky and the Brain for as long as I can.”

“You’re such a good kid,” Grim watched Kaiden wave his hand in acknowledgement as he made his way down the hall. Once out of sight, the bringer of death kneeled down to the hell hound.

“Keep an eye on him,” he ordered, scratching each set of ears before he took the plate back, rinsed it off, and made his escape.

Kaiden, for his part, surpressed a groan as he made his way down the narrowish pathway, all too familiar voices teetering down the hall. He ignored the pictures along as the bored holes into his back, gripping his mug tightly. Taking a sip, he let the drink burn his tongue as he made his way to the bathroom.

Kaiden’s nose pinched at the scent of espresso and the ever current smell of ancient algae that came with Drake’s presence. It wasn’t his fault, and Kaiden knew he did his best to cover it and that most people couldn’t even detect it. But with his sense of smell, it was all Kaiden could do some days to stand near him.

Making his way to the doorway, he raised an unimpressed brow at the spectacle.

“For the last time if you don’t put your nasty tentacles away I’ll make you.” Bonnie snarled.

She had been up for at least an hour, seeing as her hair was in a presentable state as opposed to a frizzy rats nest. Headband keeping the orange strands in place, he glanced at the mirror to find her- surprise surprise- glaring at Drake.

For his part, the Nergling remained understandably unimpressed by such sentiments as he sipped his coffee. Politely ignoring her, he continued getting ready, his tentacles handling trivial things such as brushing his hair and pulling up his pants as he reserved his hands for more important things, such as his caffeine intake.

“Mornin’, Drake.”

The one holding up his hoodie perked up at seeing Kaiden. Drake whipped his head around to see his brother yawn, fangs flashing.

“Kay! Well this is a surprise!” He said in delight, handing over his cup to a tentacles, empty-handed now that his pants had been taken care of. “Normally you try and sleep the day away.”

“You mean hide away in his room.” Bonnie frowned suspiciously at her eldest brother.

“Good morning to you too Bonnie, see you’ve woken up on the wrong side of the bed per norm.” He resisted the urge to slip into his customer service mode as he remembered something helpful. Sipping his coffee, he leaned in the door way, nodding to Drake. “Hey, do you still have that theater brunch thing at the Diner this weekend?”

“Uh- yeah.” Eyebrows flying up, Drake tilted his head in confusion, expression as exaggerated as ever. His tentacles paused, turning towards Kaiden. “It’s in an hour, why?”

Yeah Kay, why? He wasn’t really sure if it was KD or Kaiden chastising him. Swirling the dregs of his coffee, he scrambled for an answer that would keep him busy.

“If you want I can drop you off-” Kaiden internally cringed as Drake lit up.

“REALLY?!” Kicking himself, he watched him buzz with happiness. Fluttering around the bathroom, retreating tentacles knocked Bonnie into the counter.

He was worse than a puppy with the zoomies.

Why on earth is he so excited for a ride on his bike? Marveling, Kaiden blinked wide eyed as Drake made incomprehensible noises. It was too early for this- and yet he had signed himself right on for it.

Bonnie, for her part seethed. Smacking the tentacles out of her face, she crossed her arms, scarlet irises glaring up at him in spite of the step stool.

“Since when do you offer rides on your stupid bike?” She asked bluntly, crinkling her nose.

God why can’t she be stupid? KD griped as Kaiden scrambled for an excuse. Luckily, he didn’t have too.

“Shut up!” Drake hissed at her. With an irritated huff, he continued, poking her in the chest. “It’ not stupid it’s dashing!”

Kaiden raised an eyebrow as Drake turned back towards him, continuing as though the exchange didn’t happen.

“I would LOVE a ride.” Flashing a sharp smile, he glanced at his hoodie. “I just need to find the proper jacket!”

With a giggle, he... there wasn’t another word for it, scampered off to exchange his clothes, nearly tripping on BLT in his rush.

“HISS!”

“Sorry baby girl!”

Scratching his head, Kaiden watched Drake disappear into his room, clothes being flung out into the hall way.

“He is way to excited for 5 minute drive.” he deadpanned, before glancing at Bonnie, who continued her death glare.

In spite of the concrete slab of dread settling in the pits of his stomach at the oncoming drive, he smiled at her around his mug.

“Now, now, Bon Bon, don’t be jealous.” Her glare intensified as she began to sputter in outrage. Waving to her dismissively as he walked down the hall, he smirked. “Green isn’t a flattering color on you after all.”

“I am NOT jealous.” Stomping her foot, her stool toppled out from under her with a clatter. Yelping as she hit the ground, she scowled at the doorway as both her brothers chorused.

“This is why you don’t stomp on your step stool.”

“Oh when I get my growth spurt.” she muttered, pushing herself back up.

#CN Gen 2 #Kaiden Kincaid #BLT the Hellhound #Grim the Reaper #Bonnie Atoms #Drake Atoms #Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy #Ok KO Let's be Heroes #RRB #TheAngryComet WRITES #TheAngryComet ART

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writer-k-pop · 3 years

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The Bookseller (j.w.w) - Waning Crescent Hotel

Please read this (W.C.Hotel) if you this is the first post of this series that you see. Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of death Genre: Angst, Hotel Del Luna AU, Choose your own adventure, SVT x Fem! Reader Staff: Yong (Spirit General Manager) / Jiwoo (Human General Manager) / Soon Bok (Room Manager) / Mun Hee (Front Desk Receptionist) / Shin (Grim Reaper assigned to Waning Crescent) Word Count: Ending A - 4.8k / Ending B - 4.7k

W.C.Hotel | Seventeen Masterlist | Masterlists

"And there's a problem with one of the elevators." Jiwoo says sheepishly and I close my eyes in frustration, a scowl growing on my face.

Stopping in the middle of the hall, I look up at the ceiling and pucker my lips together. "What's next? The front doors break?" I say up to the Gods, not caring if they are actually listening or not.

Jiwoo raises his eyebrows at me, "You wanna be challenging them like that?"

I lower my gaze to him and narrow my eyes, "I will do as I please."

Jiwoo holds up his hands in surrender.

Taking a deep breath, I compose myself again, "Add it to the maintenance list and I'll wrestle with it tomorrow." I instruct him.

"Will do." Jiwoo nods and we continue on our way.

"Is he still with Soon Bok?" I ask him, getting tired of hearing only the sounds of our shoes hitting the flooring.

"Yes, she should be finishing the tour and should be heading to his room." Jiwoo answers just before we hit a more open area and guests mill past us.

"What room?" I ask, ignoring most of the guests even though they offer polite smiles.

"Number 177." Jiwoo informs me. "The one with the huge book shelf wall."

I smile, already knowing the answer to my thought, "Well, let's hope he enjoyed books in his ..." I look at him to finish my sentence.

"Oh," Jiwoo quickly realizes what information I'm searching for, "6 lives."

I nod, "Pretty average. But let's hope he enjoyed books in at least some of his 6 lives."

Jiwoo shrugs, "If not, it's a nice aesthetic wall."

I pat him on the shoulder, "I'm glad you think it's good for staring at. Because I definitely spent hours picking each book so that it could be just a good photo opportunity." I finish sarcastically.

"Not everyone's a reader." Jiwoo rolls his eyes.

"They should be." I retort.

"Anyway..." Jiwoo changes the subject as we reach the edge of the lobby, "Will you be joining the us for the celebration this weekend?”

I open my mouth to give my regular 'no' answer but two males cut me off. They barrel through the front office doors, a brunette following a few steps behind a blonde one. Both seem angry and on edge.

"I saw you with my girl!" The brunette shouts.

"I don't what you saw, man, but I was never WITH your girl." The blonde one responds and flicks a certain unpleasant finger behind him, "So leave me the fuck alone."

The lobby slowly gets quiet and not a soul moves, not even me or Jiwoo. Jiwoo out of fear and me cause I kind of want to see where this leads.

The brunette jogs ahead of the blonde and forces him to stop, "Just tell me why you were with my girl and then I'll leave you the fuck alone." The brunette seethes.

"Dude." The blonde holds out his hands, "We're best friends. Why would you think I'd be with your girl? Do you really think that low of me?"

"You know, after the stunt you pulled with Henry, I wouldn't put it past you." The brunette spits.

The blonde gets right up in the brunette's face and presses finger into his chest, "None of that was my fault. I was the one who got played and yet everyone seems to believe otherwise."

"The evidence is pretty clear." The brunette grits his teeth.

Jiwoo slowly leans over as if any faster and the men's radar would latch onto him. "Shouldn't you do something?" He whispers.

I shrug and look at him, "They're only yelling right now. I don't have to do anything until the-"

The sound of someone crashing against a column cuts me off. I look over and find the brunette pushing off of the pillar, anger steaming off of him. The blonde drops into a fighting stance.

Sighing, I uncross my arms, "Now I do something." I mumble, quite annoyed that they would cause such a scene when they're dead. It's not like they could kill each other here.

I stalk closer to the brawling men who now have a fistful of each other's shirts. When I'm a few steps away, I clear my throat loudly to get their attention.

They both glance at me for a second before returning to staring at each other.

"Leave us alone, sweetheart." The blonde says lowly.

"This is none of your business." The brunette adds.

I scoff, "Actually, this is entirely my business seeing as you are acting ridiculous in my hotel."

The men land a few punches on each other but remain close.

"You want to kill each other?" I wonder but the men don't answer, "You're already dead so there's no point in trying."

Both men pause, look at me, then back at each other. And a new kind of fury is awoken in them.

"YOU GOT ME KILLED?" They both scream just as I was thinking they were going to back down.

They begin going at each other again but this time with more anger and all I can do is groan. After giving them a couple seconds, I walk towards them to pull them apart. I grab both of their arms and before I can 'magically' send them flying away from each other, the men swing the arms I'm grabbing. With their combined force aimed at my stomach, I'm sent skidding backwards on my side across the floor.

When I finally stop sliding, I jump to my feet, ready to kick both of their asses. But when I look up, Mun Hee is restraining the blonde one while the brunette is being shoved backwards by a guest.

"Hey, cool down man. Cool down." The guest says and my ears instantly recognize his voice: Wonwoo's.

"(y/n), you okay?" Jiwoo jogs over to my side, worried.

I swat at my pants, "I'm fine." I answer him without taking my eyes off of Wonwoo as he stands in front of the brunette male.

"You probably shouldn't have told them they were dead." Jiwoo states and I shoot him a glare. He frowns and nervously glances around the lobby.

"Let's try this again, shall we?" I clasp my hands behind my back and look at the brunette then the blonde with cold eyes. They both instantly realize they may have screwed up and lower their defenses.

"If you would've actually stopped to look at where you were, you would've stopped at the front desk and understood what was going on." I explain as they step closer, Wonwoo and Mun Hee not far behind. "And what is going on is that you both have died. Congrats." I give them a sarcastic smile. "And unfortunately, your souls don't have another life lined up so." I gesture to the hotel, "You have come here to greet your past lives once more before heading to the place where your soul will rest peacefully.... Hopefully." I say, mumbling the last word in disgust.

The men look at each other in a bit of shame and embarrassment.

"From my understanding," I continue, "You both died because you were fighting over some bitch-"

"She's not a bitch." Both males cut me off with the same sentence before sharing a menacing look which has Mun Hee and Wonwoo on alert for another fight.

"And you walked right into the street, where, well you know." I finish, ignoring their intrusion. My words sink in and they both soon realize that I'm being serious and am not joking, which turns them somewhat somber.

"So what do we do?" The blonde asks.

"You go get assigned a room, stay here for the duration of your lives, and then get the hell out of my hotel." I snarl. "Oh, and stay out of my sight. I'm already annoyed with you two."

"Oh, actually." Mun Hee chuckles and raises a hand, "He's supposed to go to Hotel Blue Moon." He points to the blonde male who's eyes widen.

"What is that?" The blonde asks, afraid it might be somewhere along the lines of hell. And man do I wish that is true.

I glower at the lobby wall, "It's the place where souls go before living another life." I say, ready to have a very strong word with the Gods.

"What about me?" The brunette wonders, glancing at me like he’s afraid to be left here in my hotel.

"Can I see your palm?" Mun Hee steps forward and examines the man's palm. "Hmm... You too. You're not supposed to be here."

With my annoyance nearing my tolerance levels, I turn away from the small group but before I walk away, I tell them, "Get out of my hotel."

Without waiting for them to respond, I walk away hoping for silence so I can mentally scream profanities at the Gods and Hotel Blue Moon. But instead of silence, I hear footsteps following me.

I run a hand through my hair and turn to face the idiot following me.

And by idiot, I mean the man who let me sit in his book store for hours and the man I loved.

"Hi, sorry." Wonwoo nervously rubs the back of his neck, "Uh, I was just headed to the library." He makes up an excuse.

I press my lips together then point back the way we had come, "The library is back that way." I inform him.

He turns around and I use the chance to slip down an unknown hallway, hidden by a tapestry.

"Actually, I was..." I hear Wonwoo turn back around, "Going to ask if you were okay." He finishes before sighing.

I turn my head to the side and look down at the floor, listening to his footsteps retreat back towards the lobby. Part of me feels kind of bad for ditching him like that but another part of me doesn't want to get close to him until he's the soul I knew.

Which is going to take 6 days.

~The Sixth Day~

"What's wrong with you?" I ask Mun Hee who is laying on my couch, his eyes squeezed shut in pain.

"The Wonwoo guy asked me to bring him a bunch of supplies last night." He groans and I walk to my desk to add some more files to my growing stack.

"What kind of supplies?" I question and lean back against my desk.

"Books, paper, glue, binding, and some book covers if we had them." Mun Hee says and I chuckle because of course Wonwoo would want those supplies.

He was a bookseller when I knew him but he cared for books just as much and found a lot of joy in fixing old books.

"Ugh. My shoulders are killing me." Mun Hee rolls his shoulders backwards.

"You're already dead." I remind him.

"Way to shoot a man while he's down." Mun Hee sasses.

I shrug. "Eh."

"So much love." Mun Hee mutters.

I chuckle and move to sit in my desk. But before I can, the door opens and Yong pops just her head in.

"Hey, Wonwoo's in the garden." She informs me and I nod with a smile, "And have you seen Mun Hee? He disappeared a while ago and I haven't seen him anywhere."

I point to the couch and Yong steps into my office to look, "Right there."

"Mun Hee!" Yong raises her voice a touch, "Get back to work. Goodness, I am not your mother."

Mun Hee rises to his feet, "Feels like it sometimes." He grumbles and then follows Yong out of my office.

When I step into the hall, I hear their echos of laughter floating farther away. After securely closing my office doors, I turn down the hallway and head for the elevators. I rock back and forth in my heels anxiously while the elevator slowly approaches my floor. The elevator finally arrives and opens its doors. I quickly rush inside and furiously press the lobby floor button.

"Come on." I encourage it to go faster but hey, like everything else about this hotel, it doesn't listen to me.

Eons later, the elevator reaches the lobby and releases me from its squared hold. I rush out and nearly run into Jiwoo.

"Woah, hey, where's the fire?" He wonders as I continue past him.

"Can't keep my man waiting." I throw a wave at him over my head and his only response is laughter.

About halfway down the hall, I pause to control my breathing and straighten out my dress. After I'm satisfied with the way I look, at least the way I think I look, I walk the last little bit to the garden.

Peeking in, the midnight moonlight illuminates the area with a crisp, clean look. The bare tree somehow looks less dead but only very slightly. The usually hidden bench is out in front of the tree and its subsequent chrysanthemums. And sitting on the bench, with his nose buried in a book as per usual, is Wonwoo. A simple broad striped sweater hugs his shoulders and his glasses sit prominently on his nose. With one leg bent over the other and the book in his hands, he looks like the perfect gentleman.

"Took you long enough." Wonwoo comments and turns to the next page of his book, "I nearly finished three chapters while waiting for you."

I roll my eyes and walk around the bench, "I had things to do, Mr. I-can-read-500-pages-in-5-hours."

"That's a bit exaggerated." He closes one eye in thought but then breaks out into a smile. "Come here." Wonwoo grabs my hand, pulls me down, and securely wraps me in a hug. He doesn't care that his place in the book is lost as the front cover closes shut.

I chuckle and snuggle close into him.

"I missed you." He breathes out after a bit of silence.

"I did too." I mumble into his chest. "I'm sorry for leaving."

Wonwoo shrugs and I readjust to be sitting properly. "It was what it was. I'm just glad to know that you weren't dead."

"Well, I can't exactly die." I give him a silly smile and nod towards the tree.

"I know that now." Wonwoo says a smile on his own lips. The smile that knocked me off my feet every day.

"What were you reading?" I ask, glancing at the book now in his lap.

Wonwoo picks it up and holds it out in front of us. "The one I've read a million times."

I squint my eyes in thought, "You've read a lot of books a million times, so which one is it?"

Wonwoo chuckles and knowing that I can still make him laugh with my mundaneness makes me very happy. "Sherlock Holmes." He says, setting the book aside.

"Is it still fun to read after the first time?" I wonder.

"Of course it is." Wonwoo answers as if I lost my marbles. "You get to go back and pick up on details that you missed during the first read."

"Yeah, but you have to read it all again." I give a small, shy smile.

"But you would rather spend all your time staring at me while I read." Wonwoo stretches out his arms arrogantly.

I hit his chest playfully and he retracts his arms while laughing.

"I heard you're the reason Mun Hee was in my office complaining about his back." I say following a groove in the tree with my eyes.

"Am I? Oh, is it from all the stuff I asked him for?" Wonwoo wonders then clicks his tongue, "I told him I could help if it was a lot. But he said he was fine so I just sat in my room."

"Sounds like something Mun Hee would do." I nod my head, "How did you like your room by the way?"

Wonwoo smiles contently, "I loved it. The wall of books was beautiful. You had all my favorites in there." He nudges my shoulder with his shoulder.

"Took me ages to find all of them. Some of them were quite old." I say with a slightly apologetic look.

But Wonwoo shakes his head, "Don't worry. I fixed them all."

I look at him in wonder, "You fixed all of them?" I ask.

He nods, "Yeah, most of them just needed some binding repairs and the rest weren't that hard to repair."

"So that's why you asked for the supplies and broke Mun Hee's back." I realize though I should've realized sooner.

Wonwoo laughs and my heart flutters happily at the sound. "That's why I needed the supplies."

"You didn't read all of them in that time, did you?" I double check and give him a questioning look.

He boops my nose and scrunches his face at me, "No I didn't. It took me a whole lifetime to read all those books."

"A whole lifetime." I repeat his words.

"How did you even find all those?" Wonwoo asks, playing with my hand, "I read most of those after you left."

I smile bashfully, "I kind of guessed."

'You guessed?" Now Wonwoo gives me the questioning look.

"After I left, I just kind of kept an ear open in the book world and sometimes I would come across a book that just felt like you would really enjoy. So I brought it back and started a collection in that room."

"But other guests use that room." Wonwoo pouts, feeling kind of jealous that other people would've read those books before him.

"Nah, only the right touch can get certain books off the shelf." I tell him with a knowing smile, "I made sure that no one but you or I would be able to read the special ones. To every other guest, it's just a really aesthetic wall."

"Well, look at my girl go." Wonwoo says smugly.

"So." I say, wanting to change the topic.

"So?" Wonwoo responds, turning his body slightly to face more towards me.

"I wanna know..." I pause.

"Mmhm?" He nods once, encouraging me to keep speaking.

"Did you end up married to your books or did some lucky girl come and steal your heart?" I ask with a genuine smile of curiosity.

Wonwoo chuckles but I notice the light behind his eyes dims ever so slightly. His chuckle dies down but he doesn't say anything. Instead he just looks at the tree, contemplating.

"You know I'm not mad if you did move on." I clarify, "I honestly wanted nothing more than for you to be happy and I wanted you to find it after I left. You deserved that happiness."

I know Wonwoo hears me because he chews on the inside of his cheek but he still doesn't say anything.

"What you didn't deserve was falling into the pain of me and my punishment." I say apologetically, "It happened to twelve others and I never for a moment thought any of you deserved that pain."

Wonwoo wraps an arm around me and pulls me close again, "Oh, it's not your fault. It's that damn demon's and trust me if I ever get the chance to meet it, I will get revenge for what it did to you." He presses a kiss to my temple before whispering. "I did marry."

I smile and ignore the slight pain slicing through my heart. Even though my words about wanting his happiness are true, it still stings.

"I met her like 5 or 6 years after you left." Wonwoo recalls and the memories sparkle in his eyes, "She first started coming in and reading her own books. Then she'd come in and read the books I had on the shelves. Then she started to watch me while I repaired books."

"That must've been awkward." I giggle.

"It was at first." Wonwoo agrees, "But then she did something and I knew she was supposed to be in my life."

"What'd she do?" I ask, intrigued.

"Remember the first edition book you and I repaired together?" He wonders.

I nod, "How could I forget that? I was finding glue in random places for weeks."

Wonwoo chuckles at the memory, "You're the one knocked over the glue can."

"You're the one who put it on the edge of the table." I banter back.

"Anyway." Wonwoo squeezes my arm, "I kept it in a showcase box near the back of the store. Hardly anyone asked about it and those who did only wondered if it was for sale. But she, she inspected it and then asked if I had put it together."

"And what did you tell her?" I probed.

"I told her that I had repaired with someone special. I think she could see or hear the bit of sadness in my voice cause she didn't dig deeper." Wonwoo explains, "So then I asked her what made her think that we'd done it by hand. And she," He laughs, "She said cause the back cover was crooked and on the part that poked out, she could see some writing. Somehow made out my name."

I chuckle and think back to the night we stayed up for hours trying to decide what to write there. Like it was our will that would go down in history as the most important document ever. The warm tea cup in my hands and the burning candles that painted the room in rustic comfort.

"And then that was that really. We dated for a while, got married. and then we raised three kids." Wonwoo continues his story.

"Three kids?" I inquire.

Wonwoo nods proudly, "Three. Changkyun was my oldest then came the twins, Soyou and Lisa. Changkyun protected the girls well and the girls grew up tough all thanks to him."

"Nah, I'm sure you had a large part in that too." I reassure him. "You were always tougher than I. Even in future lives." I reference the first day of his stay.

"Oh, I totally was going to ask you if you were okay that day, but you just disappeared." Wonwoo remembers and pouts that he didn't get the chance to ask then. "Part of the punishment I'm guessing."

"Actually I don't know. I never really tried so I don't know if it's against the rules or not." I admit. "But I, uh, I didn't want to find out."

Wonwoo gives me an understanding look, "Totally understand. It couldn't have been easy being stuck here for all those years."

"For the first hundred years, it was awful." I tell him, "But after that, I grew numb to the passing of time. It just kind of happened like that."

"So while you were numb to time, I was terribly sensitive to the passing of time." Wonwoo ponders the thought.

"Kids grow up too fast?" I guess.

Wonwoo looks at me with confusion cause how am I supposed to know what it's like to have kids.

"I overhear guests chatting with each other and a big part of the conversations are kids and how they just grow up so fast." I explain pointing a thumb behind us towards the hotel.

"Ah, I see." Wonwoo murmurs, "But yeah. They just kept growing and then all of a sudden, my wife and I were empty nesters and then a second later, we had grey hairs on our heads and grand babies in our arms. Completely crazy."

I giggle at his amazement, "So what did your kids end up doing?" I ask and he dives into the stories of his children and his life with them.

I sit and listen to his low voice tell the tales of the bookstore, how some years the store would be overrun with teens and then next year it would be filled with fresh out of college adults. He immerses himself in the ocean of stories from his life while I float along the with the waves and let his voice take me through the stories.

All too soon, though, the setting sun freezes the ocean and my tree's crooked branches set me back in reality.

"The setting sun always represented an end with another beginning." Wonwoo stares at the western windows where the last rays of sunlight are slowly being swallowed up by the night. "But this one is just an end."

I stare at his face, hoping to memorize all the pieces I missed before. Like he does during a second or third read of a book.

"For your worldly soul, it's an end." I say, "But for your true soul, it's the start of an eternity of peace."

"What do you think happens on the other side?" He asks, looking back at me.

I give a small shrug, "I don't know, but you'll find out today and someday I'll find out too."

"Could it be like the books?" Wonwoo wonders.

"Depends on which book." I tell him with a tender smile.

"Touché." He tilts his head. "You know," He leans closer to me, "I know I have to go, but I really don't want to." Wonwoo giggles.

I laugh before pressing a kiss to his cheek, "But we do." I remind him, trying to keep the sadness out of my voice.

Wonwoo sighs, "We do." He repeats and stands up before helping me up. "Were you always this fashionable?" He asks after looking me up and down.

I raise my eyebrows, "Uh, yes, and fashion has changed since we were together."

Wonwoo grabs my hand and swings it between us as we walk, "Well, the change looks absolutely stunning on you."

The lobby is quiet as the hotel's opening hours are just around the corner. We quickly make it to the back door and like a gentleman, Wonwoo opens the door for me.

The cool night air rushes by us and we both stand on the landing just taking in the scene.

"Remember the night by the river?" Wonwoo wonders when he starts walking towards the forest, Shin, and the car that will take him.

"The night when you said you loved me?" I ask and he nods, "The air feels the same, doesn't it?"

"Exactly the same. " Wonwoo nods, gripping my hand tighter. "Do you think the Gods are doing this on purpose?"

I look up at the dark sky that's littered with tiny little lights from thousands of miles away. "At this point, I'm certain everything that happens to me is because they," I point upwards, "Want it to happen."

"Well then, I guess I'll have to thank them for letting me happen to you." Wonwoo smiles and I feel his eyes on me.

Lowering my gaze, I meet his gaze, "But I caused you pain. Like freakishly awful pain."

Wonwoo shrugs, "Still don't regret meeting you." He says as we reach the car.

Shin has the door open and is waiting patiently.

"This is the end of my worldly journey then." Wonwoo comments, glancing at the forest and its fog.

"Now you can rest. Forever." I place my hands on his cheeks and he rests one of his on top of mine.

"You know, hearing it now, it isn't as scary as I initially thought." He says a placid smile on his lips.

I kiss him through a smile, "Says the man who would be willing to jump from the highest heights just for the thrill." I mumble against his lips.

"Answer me this, will you?" He asks and rests his forehead against mine. I nod and he asks, "If you were to have met me without a punishment, would you have stayed with me?"

I stare into his eyes and move to rest my arms on his shoulders, "Till the very end." I say with honesty rallying behind me.

"That's all I need to hear." Wonwoo says then presses another kiss to my lips. When he pulls away, his eyes are glossy but I know he won't cry. "I love you, (y/n)." He whispers.

"I love you too." I tell him, feeling my own eyes fill with tears.

Wonwoo pulls away and lowers himself into the car. After Shin shuts the door behind him, the car drives into the fog.

The tires crunch over the gravel road and Shin stops next to me.

"That was the bookseller?" He asks.

I nod, a tear slipping down my cheek.

"He was a good man. He shall be very comfortable." Shin reassures me and walks back into the hotel.

With Shin gone, I let the tears fall freely. Letting the tears fill with the sadness and pain of being left then let them fall and land wherever they please. My heart cracks into a million pieces and it takes everything within me to keep it from exploding into more pieces. It is then that a white chrysanthemum withers away in my garden.

After a while, the moon has risen high into the sky and my tears have dry though my heart hasn't stopped aching. But even now, I have a hotel to run and others to wait for. So I run my hands through my hair, detangling it, and wipe away the left over tears. Just as Wonwoo always told me, I straighten out my shoulders, hold my head level, and walk back into the hotel with purpose.

Return to the Navigation Page (Waning Crescent Hotel) to choose the next guest.

"Did you ever think today would come?" Wonwoo wonders.

"I knew it would come but I just could never definitively say when it would come." I tell him, "Like when an author has a story and a perfect plot in their mind but putting it on paper is harder than imagined and they’re not sure if the story will ever leave their mind."

“Good analogy.” Wonwoo chuckles, “Come on. Your story has left the author's mind." We stand up together and I instantly grab his hand. Like a child latching onto their favorite toy.

We walk hand in hand to the lobby where Yong, Mun Hee, Soon Bok, and Jiwoo stand solemnly.

"Hey, Mun Hee." Wonwoo calls out, "I would've helped you with the supplies. You didn't have to carry them by yourself and hurt your back."

Mun Hee vigorously shakes his head, "No, no. I didn't hurt myself, I'm just sore. I haven't worked my body like that in ages." He gives excuses.

"Well, you should start again. Who knows what other guests will request." Wonwoo advises and Mun Hee gives him a thumbs up.

"So this is it?" Mun Hee asks and looks at me with tears appearing in his eyes. "This is the day you leave us?"

I wrap him up in a hug, only a tiny bit annoyed that he's being so sappy. "Maybe I'll get punished again and be back here by the end of the year." I try to joke but Mun Hee abruptly pushes back from me.

"Don't you dare say that. You better not return here." He says angrily through his tears and I hear Wonwoo chuckle behind me.

I chuckle, "I won't come back. I promise."

Turning to Soon Bok, I thank her for her service and her amazing work. Something I never did and should've done more.

Next onto Jiwoo. I also thank him for his and his entire family's service then I unclip the bracelet that has held him to this place.

"When you leave today, you won't be able to find this place again." I inform him, "I hope that you'll be able to go and live your life happily."

Jiwoo nods, "Thank you for letting me work with you. I won't ever forget you."

I smile sadly, "You will. But thank you."

Finally I reach Yong who is sniffling and trying so very hard not cry.

"You'd think after all these years of waiting that I'd be prepared for this day." She says through sniffles.

"Thank you, Yong." I rests my hands on her shoulders, "For everything. Thank you."

With lips pursed together, she leans forward and wraps me in an unexpected hug. But I soon wrap my arms around her and squeeze her tightly.

We pull apart after a couple seconds and I wipe the few tears that have escaped from her eyes.

"Keep this hotel running beautifully." I tell her before Wonwoo grabs my hand again.

With final waves of goodbye, Wonwoo and I walk out to the foggy forest that will take us to our resting place.

At the edge of the forest, Shin stands next to an idling car, a somber look on his face.

"(y/n)." He says when we reach him, "It has been an honor working with you. I wish you both a peaceful rest." Shin bows his head and I pat his arm.

"The honor was mine." I tell him with a smile. Now the tears start to line my eyes as the realization fully sets in.

I'm free. I served my years of punishment and now I'm free to let my soul rest.

I turn back towards the hotel and look up to the top where the rooftop patio is outlined with bright string lights. Then to the mid floors where random room lights are turned on, some guests staying in while others opting to experience the hotel's many services. Then to grand base where guests would be milling around, waiting their turns to leave this world.

"(y/n)?" Wonwoo softly asks pulling my attention to where he sits just inside the car, "Are you ready?"

I take one last quick look at the hotel before turning away from it. "Yeah, I'm ready. Let's go."

I lower myself into the car and Shin securely closes the door after I am completely inside. As the car begins to drive forward, Wonwoo securely grabs my hand and I let his warmth guide me towards our final destination.

In the garden, the final chrysanthemum withers and dies so that no more stand at the base of the bare tree.

#kpop #kpop imagine #seventeen #seventeen imagine #seventeen wonwoo imagine #seventeen wonwoo #wonwoo imagine #jeon wonwoo imagine #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo #writer-k-pop #waning crescent hotel

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arastarboy · 3 years

Text

The Sparrow's Heart

Chapter 1 - Death

The bells rang ever so loudly in his head, their harrowing sounds growing evermore present, like an incessant nuisance. Until this critical juncture, where they at last silenced themselves. He found peace at last. The droplets of rain striking his smeared visage cleansed of the impurities that stained him, but there was an untraceable bitter taste that lingered on his tongue where the rain fell. The coldness spread from his core to the extremities, swallowing him whole. It wasn't long before the calming touch of the rain he relished mere moments ago, now felt like nothing at all. Genji turned his gaze from the endless cloudy sky to where he felt some sensation. He looked down, to see his severed arm paint the earth with a sorrowful crimson. A blade impaled through his sternum, the sparrow still felt the steel extend its reach beyond his bareback. Weakness overcame him but in a moment of solace, as he accepted his faith and prepared for departure to the endless nothingness that awaited him, he mustered the strength to grasp the hand that wielded the bane of his existence with the arm that remained tethered.

"Are you at peace, Hanzo?" The Sparrow muttered, an inquiry met by damning silence. "You've fulfilled your duty and slain your only brother." Still, he was met with silence and with frustration mounting a second wind sparked new life within. A grip that fixated on Hanzo's wrist now took him by the collar drawing Hanzo closer to his brother, as death's grip tightened around Genji. "You're despicable. You didn't learn a thing from our father. You let the elders played you like some pawn."

The blade from Genji's abdomen was extracted, at last, the venom in his dying words finally began to take effect upon the apathetic Hanzo, invoking the turbulence of emotions, he so desperately attempted to suppress, to surface. Angered, Hanzo gave his brother one final push, forsaking him to the earth. A solemn vow to fulfill his duty to the clan he valued above all else, including the life of his brother, upon which he metaphorically spit on with a last act of disrespect. "You're but a disgrace to the clan. You are not fit to be Shimada. You have forgotten the burden the name carries. We can no longer abide by your childish behaviour, Genji."

Turning heel the last living Shimada departed, kicking dirt onto the body that would soon be a corpse. It was only mere moments ago, that he could appreciate the colourless darkened sky in all its glory. It was monotone and drab, but there was beauty in simplicity. Beauty that slipped from his grasp with each passing second, slowly the crying skies above became nothing but a hazy reflection until it became nothing at all. An endless void from which light could not escape, the eternal nothingness. Genji verbalized nothing for he damned his faith, he did not embrace death willingly and it is only in his twilight he came to realize. Death had forced thyself upon him. How he longed for the pleasures of the flesh that he once drowned in, without a thought for consequence. A female companion wrapped around one arm and a drink that would make any man far more honest than he was capable of being in the other. Even the sounds of the arcade machines now played in his head like an addictive melody, even if such sounds were anything but. "I don't want to.." But the choice was not one for him to make.

"Calling Overwatch HQ, Agent ID: X-90843. Operation: Dragon's Breath. Code Alpha: Requesting immediate medical assistance. The subject is in critical condition. EMT has stemmed the bleeding but the wounds still prove to be fatal. Transporting subject to Tokyo facility. Priority: Valkyrie."

"Out of the way!"

"Operating room now!"

"Where is she?!"

"She's on her, ETA 15 mins. Tracer is with her."

"He won't make the 15 mins."

The hands of time mercilessly marched on. With each second that was lost to the sands of time, Genji's spirit communion to the great beyond intensified. A pitiless existence, transfixed onto the great divide between life and death, unallowed to cross into either.

"Even if she gets here now, there's nothing she can do.."

"Then it's a good thing Overwatch's medical research is ahead of its time wouldn't you say?"

A voice commanded the attention of the room as the doors to the operating room flung open. The committer, however, was careful not to contaminate the cleanroom and abide by the strict protocols set in place, dressed in a white lab coat, flaxen hair tied up and away from potentially hindering her work, a stethoscope slung around her neck. She walked with purpose and urgency, just a pace short of running. Approaching the patient with one glance she assessed his condition, the accompanying report was studied just as quickly and put to the side, which only served to reinforce what she had already predicted. "You over there!" She commanded personnel as if this was a battlefield and she was the presiding commander. Beeps of all kind sounded off, each one indicating one critical condition after another. They were cascading, mounting, becoming overwhelming.

"He's going into cardiac arrest!"

Even as the room around her descended the spiral of chaos, she stood steady at the eye of the storm, steadfast and resolute, armed with the skills and knowledge to navigate the storm. With two paddles she marched onto his bedside. "Move!" She demanded. "Clear!" She carried as she imposed the two paddles onto his chest. The electrocardiogram detected no significant change. So she tried again. "Clear!" And again. "Clear!" And Again. "Clear!"

"Dr. Ziegler.." A nurse placed a hand on her shoulder, to distract and detract but the same complexion of determination persevered. "Clear!" She slowly retreated the paddles. Perhaps it was time to admit, admit that even for all the advancements in medicine she made, all the times she stubbornly defied the odds, there are some souls the grim reaper was unwilling to let loose once more onto the world. It was then, the eternal void answered her remorse. The monitors once more established a steady pattern. The heartbeat she read was weak, but it was stable.

"Induce hibernation for at least a month." She directed. "Providing he can maintain this heart rate for another hour we can proceed with the operation. We'll need to amputate both legs. The tissue has already begun to die, we need to act quickly before an infection sets in. Ready the therapeutic cybernetics, we'll install them right away, as long as the neural interface is successful he should wake up feeling as if nothing has changed."

Drawing a pen from her pocket, she recovered a holo pad upon which she scribed all her directives and approved with her impression at the bottom, before handing it off to the appropriate staff to follow through.

"Prepare the healing pod. There's not much tissue left, but we'll at least be able to regenerate what remains."

The doctor turned to the patient once more, sapphire hues carefully studying what remained. From what patches of skin not stained by crimson, she could deduce the man either maintained an effective skincare routine of sorts or was blessed by genetics. He was an ideal "specimen" so to speak, a good bone structure served as the framework for his figure, upon which he maintained an ideal muscle tone. Perhaps the picture of health so frivolously the media often advertised. Yet for all his physical virtues, he'd now be forced to forfeit nearly all to cling to what little life still sparked within. A sense of remorse now burdened the prodigal doctor. The man appeared to be around the same age as her, uncertain as she didn't have the opportunity to study identity details yet, being consumed by the severity of his injuries. Despite his youth, he was massacred, defiled, what remained was a husk of who he once was. Wounds so deep it cut to the bone, and in some instances wounds, the cut bone was openly exposed to the contaminant-less air of the operating room. Angela bit her lower lip, a growing frustration burrowed in her chest, this was more than attempted murder this was all-consuming hatred unleashed onto another, an act of sincere evil.

Irrespective of the therapies that would restore his body's full functionality, in some instances enhancing his capabilities, allowing him to discard the limitations of the fragile human body, the extent of the mental trauma he'd now be forced to cope with remained an uncertainty. He'd continuously tread the line between man and machine, would he be able to establish equilibrium? The porcelain skin of her thin digits caressed the edges of the gaping wound upon his chest. It was a prayer if anything. Not that she invested much faith in an omnipotent force beyond human comprehension, but if there ever was such a thing, let it show him mercy. There she felt some reassurance, an answer to her prayer of sorts, a strong steady rhythm to his breathing as if he was stubbornly defying the odds and clinging to life. The crestfallen doctor found some solace, at last, which manifested as a subtle smile that curved to her pale lips. "Don't give up." She whispered

"Dr. Ziegler. Commander Morrison, Blackwatch Commander Reyes, and Captain Amari are here to see you." She turned her head in surprise, seldom did the three heads of Overwatch convene. To add to the exceptionality of the moment, the three gathered to addressed her, whereas more often than not, her correspondence with top brass involved exclusively Morrison. Intrigued Angela pried herself away from the table and departed the room. "Prep him for surgery." She instructed before her impromptu exit.

"Commander Morrison, if this is about the situation in Switzerland my team there is more than capable of handling it." She quickly commented, taking a stab in the dark as to what pressing concern would warrant such an intervention here.

"It's not about that Angela. But this a sensitive matter, let's find somewhere quiet." The air in the atmosphere suddenly grew heavy. Angela felt the temperature of the room plummet and her bones grow stiff. Something ominous hung between the two parties convened here, She studied their expression and she could already deduce whatever the matter was, it was something she wouldn't be able to stomach. The doctor sighed, venting the doubts that restrained her before she followed the three into an isolated room and as the door shut behind her the sense of tension only wrung tighter.

Nearly an hour had passed.

"No way!" She stated thunderously, her voice carrying to the nearby halls, warranting the few curious eyes to wander to the room through the glass window. All such gazes were met with a scornful one from Reyes, that immediately re-directed them back to their duties.

"Angela, calm down. This benefits Overwatch and the people of Japan. We haven't gained any ground in our fight against the Shimada, this is our best chance." Morrison interjected.

"I won't!" She protested with vigour once more.

"Angela, you're being stubborn." They presented a unified front, with even Ana echoing their sentiments. Angela felt as if she was being cornered, forced to do their bidding or else, but she was not so easily toppled, she'd stand her ground and uphold her morals. Superiors or not, she had no intention of following through.

"Stubborn!? I developed that technology to increase the survivability of our soldiers on the front lines. The technology isn't even finished, neural compatibility caps out at 75% on even the most trained soldiers who have been using enhanced augments for 10 or more years and prolonged connection could permanently damage the nervous system. But you're asking me to administer an upscaled version of that technology to a patient who barely escaped death. You're trying to turn him into a living weapon for your war and I won't do it! It's unethical and that putting it mildly." Angela explained, all the details laid bare before top brass, every argument a sound objection against their stance. Yet even after sharing a glance, they appeared to remain unmoved. "He doesn't deserve this…"

"Yes but I understand that the cybernetics can shock his nervous system awake once initialized it might even bring him out of his hibernation state," Morrison added.

"I-" Angela prepared to defy them one more, dissuade them if possible, open their eyes to this corrupted train of thought but she was interrupted by a hand being hammered onto the table that divided the two sides. Reyes, at last, stood from his seat and approached, the taller man now towering over her. Eyes that knew no compassion attempted to pacify her but it was met with a gaze deterministic gaze that did not crumble to such petty displays of power. Angela stood her ground against that scowl.

"Angela-" But Reyes was quickly interrupted. "It's Dr. Ziegler."

"Fine." After a huff, he continued, unperturbed by her open defiance. "I am the one responsible for Genji Shimada, as I am the leader of the operation, assigned by that man right over there." An extended index pointed to Morrison sitting across the table and the doctor's vision tracked to meet an apathetic gaze. "I allowed you to save him but if you won't do as you're told I'll easily give that to someone who has the stomach to do what is necessary since you do not."

"It's not a matter of having the stomach for it, it's about wanting to do what's right, and it's my technology," Angela answered his blatant insinuation of her cowardice. A slap to the face, how she would like to respond in kind but such an action would only weaken the position she fixed herself in. Ethics guided her judgement, and she could not comprehend why it didn't at the very least guide Morrison and Amari as well. Her response was met with a satisfied smirk from the Blackwatch commander. More than an insult, now he was mocking her. She didn't have the power to stop the proverbial train travelling at Mach speeds and he knew. So through his mannerisms, he provoked her, provoked her to do something imprudent and permanently validate him. Ziegler clenched her fist, ready to do just that.

"All technology you develop while working in Overwatch belongs to Overwatch. All I have to do is hand over all this tech to someone who sees things a little differently." Reyes carefully navigated the dynamics of power in this conversation, slowly robbing Angela of all of it. If this were chess, he'd be but one move away from checkmate and now he reached for the final piece to do just that. "But I wonder. Can you trust someone else to do it right? Are you willing to play with someone else's life just to defy a direct order, doctor?"

Enraged, Angela gritted her teeth, canalizing all her rage into that right fist, ready to unleash it all unto that smug face and permanently free him from his arrogance. Faith intervened however, a device mounted to her wrist sounded off an alarm, reminding her of her priorities and keeping her grounded in this trapped cage. She looked at Reyes. "You're despicable." She said with conviction, before marching through him and shoving Reyes aside with her forearm to exit the room.

"That was over the line Reyes," Amari commented, reflecting on his conduct before the doctor. It was met with nothing more than a shrug of his shoulders as a retort.

"Over the line or not. She has no choice now." The Blackwatch commander triumphantly remarked, without a thought to his methods.

Morrison simply observed, in silence, hesitant to the leap to the defence of either of his friends. As he saw it, the objective they established was accomplished, however crudely it may have been achieved.

Angela slowly traversed the halls to her destination, her thoughts all-consumed by the situation imposed onto her. She tried to internally reconcile the two opposing sides with an explanation that was sufficiently satisfied but she couldn't conjure on. From every which angle she approached this problem, it was unjust. She just simply couldn't do it. She soon turned her gaze up from the floor, her team was ready to undertake the surgery. What deliberations she had regarding the previously discussed subject would have to wait, as now this required her unbridled focus. As she entered the room a nurse had offered her a mask, one she placed against her face and the automated features of the masked worked to secure its position there. Angela looked down at her gloved hand where the sensation lingered, the feeling of his beating chest, the feeling of him fighting for his life. She was unsure why she clung to that feeling but it gave her some respite at this moment. Ste stepped forth, and beyond the curtain, there he was; Genji Shimada.

Links to this Chapter on:

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13817101/1/The-Sparrow-s-Heart

https://www.wattpad.com/amp/1025065233?__twitter_impression=true

#genji #gency #overwatch #overwatch gency #angela ziegler #mercy overwatch #romance #drama #fanfic

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reallyprofoundkryptonite · 3 years

Text

Okay! @evilwriter37 they’re done (they because I made two), and one has a WIP story with him.

It watermelon fish boy that does-

And red boi

Now putting the WIP story under a cut so....

Here

Once in a Blue Moon (heavy work in progress)

The wanted poster that had been hung on the board in the small town sent tingles rushing down Viggo’s spine. The steely glare of the recognisable face drawn onto the page was chilling to the bone.

Slowly, he reached out to grab at the page, the paper crinkling in his fingers as he did so.

Wanted: Drago’s Grim Reaper; Goes by Krogan. Maximum reward: 200 gold (dead, preferably)

Viggo scowled.

‘Only 200 gold? Are you kidding me? For a man who can effortlessly crush a human skull in his bare hand like it's an egg?’ Viggo shook his head. No one who was right in the head would go after Krogan for only 200 gold.

‘Let alone the fact, you would need to surprise him if you wanted to kill him in the first place.’ Viggo scoffed, crumpling the paper into a ball. Maybe he could save Krogan the annoyance of having people bothering him if he just got rid of the paper.

Viggo shoved the paper into his satchel, and then turned so he could head towards the beach. He had moored in the docks here for the strict reason to resupply his ship, but he doubted people would be welcoming to him if they had the nerve to put a 200 gold bounty on the head of one of the most dangerous men in the archipelago.

He can always stop somewhere else.

‘Or better yet, hunt for food of my own.’ he mused. ‘Fresh venison sounds nice.’

The moonlight was barely a shimmer in the starry sky, as Viggo boredly watched the stars flicker, and an occasional meteor streaked through the sky.

It was definitely a nice night for sailing. The breeze was absolutely perfect in the way it filled the sails of his ship.

Viggo blinked his eyes open at the sudden smell of death and sulphur. He slowly stood to his full height, blinking slowly in slight confusion.

He placed his hand on his sword, as a long, loud hiss rang out, clear above the wind.

‘What the-’

“Viggo,” the wind whined. The stench was beginning to overwhelm the air. Viggo unsheathed his sword. He then froze up. Something was perched on the stern of his ship.

Something shaped like a human.

Something horribly acidic smelling wafted over him, and the figure was suddenly alight by a toxic green flame.

The face.

Krogan.

Fins had replaced his ears, and his face was… off. Pointed. Pale. Decayed. Parts of his jawbone were poking out, showing off teeth that should only be seen on a rotting corpse.

Krogan blinked at him, cocking his head to the side. The fire disappeared, and Viggo gave a yelp, backing away. Toxic flames engulfed the figure. Before he can react, a bright green flash envelops the wheel of his ship, making him quickly stumble away. He dropped to the deck with a thud, as he raised his hand to protect himself from the perceived threat.

A loud chortle echoes from the figure now outlined by the moonlight. A long-fingered hand with sharp claws gently pressed against his thigh. Toxic green eyes glow gently in the shadows enveloping the man- creature’s face.

“Get back!” Viggo kicked his leg, making the creature retreat it’s hand away from him.

“Now why would I do that, Viggo?” The creature chortled. It was the thing that smelled like death. With it’s rotted fins that tipped the dull, greenish brown scaled tail, occasionally interrupted by a patch of sores, or from a fishhook in its flesh.

Viggo eyed the creature, his chest heaving.

“What are you?” He questioned.

“Don’t you remember me?” The creature blinked, flicking its fins against the deck. A look of hurt flickered across its features. Viggo couldn’t help but inhale sharply.

“Krogan,” he started. “If this is some sick joke then can you please knock it off. It’s not funny.”

“But this isn’t a prank.” The creature blinked again, its eyes fluttering at him innocently. “This is what I am.” Viggo studied the creature, his eyes tracing up and down its face, which was becoming clearer and clearer due to the golden light that was beginning to rise over the horizon.

There was no missing flesh on the man’s face, but there were messy, pink scars. His tail- the large fish tail; was actually multiple colors other than the drab green. It had brilliant flashes of crimson red in it. Actually, the red was what took up the majority of the scales when they shifted colors.

In a way, the tail almost reminded him of a watermelon, however there wasn’t any “seeds” on the tail; only midnight blue-black stripes.

The creature’s fins were sopping wet and torn up at the edges, however they showed signs of having been beautiful at one point, as they were still long and flowing. There were still infected sores on the tail, from the fish hooks and the bit of net tangled around the bottom of his tail.

Viggo swallowed. He was hallucinating. That’s what was happening. Krogan wasn’t some weird fish creature. He couldn’t be.

Viggo reached out, and slowly brushed his hand along the scales on Krogan’s tail. It was smooth.

Krogan flinched away from him, but Viggo quickly scooted closer.

“Do you want me to remove the hooks in your tail?” He asked softly, running a finger along the top of the rope net tangled around his long, flowing caudal fin. It was an odd shape; like a normal fish fin, but much longer. And it was the same beautiful crimson-green mix that his tail was. It had little teardrop shapes on it as well.

Krogan gazed at him quietly, and he stumbled closer on the deck, hauling himself towards Viggo on arms that were far more muscular than they had been the last time Viggo had seen Krogan.

“You… can do that?” Krogan asked, lowering his head. He smells not of rot like Viggo had once thought, but of stale seaweed.

Viggo wrinkled his nose at the smell. But he nodded.

“I should have something to wiggle them out of there.” He stated softly. He pulled out a knife, and gently slipped it through the tangled ropes on Krogan’s tail.

He sliced upwards, and the first rope snapped easily, as it was so waterlogged that it was starting to unravel by itself. Viggo, however, noted the fact that it was in some places, squeezing on Krogan’s tail.

Krogan blinked at him, and Viggo looked up at the fish… man?

‘What do I even call you?’

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fieryfantasybooklover · 4 years

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Broken Things - An analogical angst fic.

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“Fine Logan! If that’s what you truly think!” Virgil’s angry voice filled the mindscape. “I thought we had an understanding! I thought we had worked out a dynamic! An ability for us to both be happy.” Virgil stopped, the phrase coming much softer and in much more pain. “I thought you liked me. I swallowed everything that makes me who I am and tried to change. I told you how I felt and when your response came, I was happier then I’d ever been. But now, I see. I see that I can never be really accepted, I can never really be loved.” Logan made an effort to speak, but at this point Virgil was lost. Lost to everything that told him he wasn’t enough and that he never would be. Turning, Virgil left, silent as a wraith, returning to his room and leaving a gloomy air behind.

Logan had been going through strain lately, and had been acting very different from himself. Everyone had the knowledge that it was just a passing stage and had been offering love and support from all angles. The shores had been calming… until Logan pulled an all nighter and woke up cranky. This led to him shouting at Virgil… which would have been survivable, had they not been dating. Logan had said things he regretted saying to his very core, things he most certainly did not mean. Things that just happened to strike Virgil’s deepest feelings. Things that could not be retrieved or unsaid.

Logan sat on his bed, silently fighting an internal battle. A razor blade slashed his heart open as he recalled everything he knew and everything he would never know. Logan knew he loved Virgil and that Virgil loved him. However, the universe seemed set against them. They would be forever limited to slammed doors and harsh words that could never be taken back. Logan’s body wracked with sobs as he allowed himself to dream of all the moments he and Virgil would never share. Feeling a fresh wave of sadness well up as Logan realized that Virgil would probably blame himself for this, Logan turned on his side and closed his eyes, silently willing for oblivion.

The same situation was happening in a different room, except in a much darker glare. Virgil wasn’t crying, but he was holding back tears. He wanted to yell, to scream until he passed out. He wanted nothing more than to be with Logan and treat him like the king he was. But they couldn’t. “It’s my fault oh god it’s my fault just like it always is. If only I were different. If only I could change who I am to make myself more lovable. Maybe I don’t deserve to be loved. Maybe I don’t deserve anything.” Virgil thought as he turned into himself and surrendered to the darkness inside him.

Janus was slowly realizing that he had made a mistake. Unwilling to let the hurt linger and fester, he had called every side to the living room to talk about what had happened. This tenuous peace that had endured when everyone first arrived was quickly failing, and everything was falling apart. Everyone was talking over everyone else, with different levels of sadness and anger. It turns out that every side had been internalizing their woes, and everything was being turned out now. Needless to say, there would be several epidemics of guilt, sadness, self-doubt, and anger today. The straw that broke the camel's back however, was Logan rationalizing everyone’s issues away. It didn’t matter to Virgil that Logan was doing it because he was terrified. Terrified at what these feelings meant for him. Terrified of what he might be facing. Virgil lost it, spilling out everything he had wanted to ever say.

“Don’t you see Logan! We are all flawed, we are all imperfect! You aren’t perfect but you try! Janus can be good but he LIES! I’m way too hard on myself but I don’t know how to stop! Roman is shattered but won’t ask for anybody’s help because he’s too proud. Patton is messy but kind. And Remus… Remus is just lonely and lashes out because of it.” Virgil was heaving with sobs while shouting, Logan standing there stoically while breaking apart on the inside. “We are all broken things. We are all incarnations of a battle between good and evil and sometimes neither side can win! We are all broken things.”

With that Virgil turned and vanished, no doubt retreating to his room for a very very long time. Logan stood there shook, a hair’s breadth away from breaking down in front of everyone. The others had heard the shouting and now stood there in various shades of despair and shock. Logan turned around and began robotically walking towards his room. Silently, everyone else dissipated, unwilling to broach the topic now. While walking, each was chanting to themselves “Don’t cry don’t yell don’t show weakness. I may be broken but I can be broken alone.”

Logan snuck into the kitchen later, hoping to the high gods that he didn’t run into anybody. Wallowing in shame, the logical side didn’t want to see any other side tonight. Sadly, the gods were not on Logan’s side tonight. He walked into the kitchen to see Virgil muttering to himself, a sight that broke Logan’s heart. “Why is it that Virgil is always the one to pierce my heart? Why is it that I always want to protect him, but never can?” Not speaking a word, Logan stopped moving to hear what Virgil was saying. He wanted to know the boy he loved, no matter how flawed he may be.

“I’m so tired.” Virgil was whispering “Bone deep tired. I’m in pain every single day as I see everyone tearing themselves apart, never ceasing never stopping. And… I hate it. I hate it so much that I want to scream and cry and sob all at the same time. I see everyone catering to me like I’m some sort of prize that needs tending, while constantly ignoring all their demons. I can handle myself, I really can. But what really kills me… is all the sadness I see. All the pain I see passing by. IT KILLS ME AND I CAN’T STOP IT. I’ve penned up everything I feel, everything I see. And I see a lot. I see a lot. But now, the floodgates are finally breaking. And I fear the result.” Virgil was clearly feeling pain, sobbing and yelling quietly at the same time, the storm of emotion finally crashing into the shore.

Virgil, realizing that he wasn’t alone, whirled to face Logan. The logical side could suddenly only see the unshed tears in Virgil’s eyes, and how the other was trembling. “What is it Logan? What do you want now?” Virgil inquired viciously. “What else do you want to say? It isn’t as if you haven’t said enough already!” Logan stood there, taking each verbal blow with barely a flickering of emotion. “Oh Virgil…. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever had the gift of knowing. I should’ve kissed you. I should’ve hugged you and held you close. I should’ve been stronger. I should have done better. I should have done so much more. But I didn’t. Because for all my knowledge, I’m an idiot when it comes to you. And I’m proud of it. If I could go back in time to change things, I would. But I can’t.”

Leaving Virgil in silent shock, Logan returned to his room, willing himself to not look back, all the while silently begging himself to look back. When that part of him finally won, Logan turned to find Virgil already gone, like a wraith to the wind. Logan, eyes glistening with unshed tears, returned to his room, not looking back again.

And that’s how they ended the day. Each side in self isolation, unable or unwilling to leave and face the strife and sadness of the outside world. Their room was their den, their cave where each side could be safe and secure. But never truly alone… always accompanied by their own thoughts. Logan was throwing himself into work late into the night, distracting himself from the ravaging emotions inside him. He knew if he stopped, he would start crying and never stop. Patton had no such restrictions, and was currently curled up quietly sobbing. Patton’s mind was filled with images of everything they had worked for. A family, love, happiness, contentment… all crumbling to dust. Virgil was leaning against his bed, doing his absolute best to hide from himself. As the waves of inky black internal darkness crashed against Virgil, the side wondered if it would be better to just let them drown him.

Roman was already asleep, having turned in early to avoid the demons that filled his thoughts. His sleep was not peaceful, filled with creeping monsters and regret. It would be a long time for Roman to accept that it wasn’t his fault… that he hadn’t ruined everything like Roman thought he always does. Janus was deeply pondering what had caused this. Filled with disappointment, Janus wondered after lost hope. He had barely been a part of the group for a month before it all went to hell, with no hurt of returning. And finally, Remus. Remus had enough practice distancing himself from emotion, so he was fairly numb. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t hurt. It didn’t mean that he wasn’t quietly sobbing. Alone, as he had always been. Darkness shrouded them all that night, promising to be a grim reaper of not death, but despair.

#virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides #patton sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #angst #no happy ending #i'm sorry #megans writing

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tibbinswrites · 4 years

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Prompt #170: Part 3

So @day-fire asked (fist slammed a table) for a part three and made grabby hands... how could I leave those grabby hands empty? I’ve now done prompts for: #1, #2, #4 and #16, #9, #10, #20, #33, #77, #78, #170 (part 1), (part 2), (part 3), #327 and #502 and I’ve finally completed my backlog so I’m not accepting any more prompts at this time.

Also, just in case you weren’t aware, I’m part of an incredible destiel fanfic, art and podfic anthology. Our indegogo page is live here and there are tiers ranging from simply gorgeous PDF copies and all the podfics to beautiful print books with a bunch of other merch like bookmarks and art prints. We are now FULLY FUNDED so this project is a go! Everyone who buys a printed copy of the book now shall definitely be receiving one (and hey, maybe even a hardback one if we make it to 143% funded).

So here it is. The third (and final) part to the original prompt: “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

I hope you like it ^_^ Read the first part here

Read the second part here

Before Chuck’s body even had time to cool (metaphorically of course, there hadn’t been an actual corpse left behind once Jack was through with him), Billie showed up.

“Well done,” she said in that perpetually-sarcastic-yet-somehow-still-serious tone of hers. “You actually did it. I have to admit I’m surprised, it was touch and go there for a while.”

“Okay,” Dean immediately shifted from one fight to the next as he turned to confront Death. “We followed your plan, did your thing and we won. So now, you owe us.”

Watching Billie’s face transform into shocked indignation was worth the demand all by itself.

“My thing?” She said, drawing herself up to her full height, a crackle of dark energy seemed to buzz around her for a moment. “My thing was saving the world, the world that you all live on. I believe that what you mean to say is ‘Thank you’. I owe you nothing and our alliance is done.”

“That’s not how I see it,” Dean insisted stubbornly. “You going after Chuck was more personal than doing us a solid. He was messing with your books and your big picture plan so your beef with him wasn’t exactly altruistic.”

“Dean, what are you doing?” Sam murmured in his ear, stepping forward to grab his shoulder but Dean shook him off, his eyes only on Billie.

“Well you’ve got balls, Winchester, I’ll give you that,” she allowed, looking more amused now than anything, which Dean counted as a win because, you know, even by his standards, he knew that pissing off Death was a monumentally stupid idea. Even Sam’s presence retreated from his side, back towards Jack. “Go on then, tell me. What is it you want? Aside from… oh, I don’t know, your lives, the lives of seven billion people, your entire universe, and of course the fact that your future is your own again. Because none of that counts if my perceived motivation isn’t up to your very hypocritical standards.”

Okay, so maybe she was a little pissed. Nonetheless, Dean ploughed through, his hands balled at his sides, ignoring the warning looks from his family.

“The point is—”

“Just ask me for the favour, Dean,” Billie interrupted smoothly. “It does you no credit to be making demands with faulty logic to try and save yourself a debt. Either I’ll help you or I won’t, but I’ll be more likely to be on your side if you stop insulting me.”

Dean hesitated at that and swallowed hard. She was right, but that didn’t make it any easier. Sure, he made skeevy deals all the time that almost always backfired but at least he usually expected them to. Quid pro quo was something that he understood well. In this life you had to be willing to give a lot to get a little back. Straight up asking for help from a cosmic entity though? That was new, humiliating territory. He had nothing that she wanted from him anymore. He could ask, hell, he could beg, but he knew as well as she did that he had no leverage to stop her from just walking away.

“I want Cas freed of his deal.”

“Dean!” That was Cas, stepping forward, his face filled with compassion and gratitude as he moved into Dean’s line of sight and Dean’s face flooded with heat that Cas could look at him that way, that Cas could still look at him that way. “You don’t have to do this for me.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Dean said, dragging his eyes back to Billie, who was watching them carefully. “I got nothin’ to bargain with, you know that. You don’t want our lives or souls or whatever. Chuck’s already dead and you don’t care if we’re happy or not. I’m just asking, please. Break the deal.”

Billie considered him for a long time, her dark eyes taking him in, taking in Cas and then she was looking past them to where Sam and Jack probably stood before falling back on him. He briefly wondered what she saw… she didn’t like him all that much he was sure and if he had learned anything about her it was that she didn’t do anything that contradicted with whatever her big picture was. What Dean was asking was a pretty heavy shift of the way the stage had been set. But he couldn’t let her just leave without taking what might be his only shot to save the man he loved.

Finally, Billie sighed and took a step back, her grip shifting on her scythe.

“I can’t.”

Dean tried not to wilt, resolutely did not look at Cas. He didn’t want Cas to see the apology in his eyes, the failure.

The entire room was still, not even the dust motes seemed to move. Which was ironic really considering the fact that the world Dean had just helped save was starting to fracture around him.

Dean felt a warm hand on his arm then and a soft voice in his ear.

“Dean, it’s alright.”

“No!” He turned on Cas with all the fury he wanted to direct at Billie, at the Empty. “It’s not alright! How can you just stand there and tell me that you’re fine with being miserable for the rest of your life? How can you justify that? How can you?” he jabbed an accusing finger at Billie, who stared back, impassive in the face of his rage. “After what he’s done for this world, and his part in your plan—which was freaking huge by the way, he did way more than any of us—how can you just stand there and tell me that he doesn’t deserve to be happy?!”

“Deserve has nothing to do with it,” Billie told him calmly. “I told you, I can’t break the deal, because I wasn’t the one to make it. I can, however, make a call.”

And with that, her eyes rolled up into her skull, leaving the blank whites staring out at them all. Disconcerted, Dean glanced around at the others. Cas was still next to him, his presence solid, his eyes almost hopeful. Sam had herded Jack nearer the door in case they needed to bolt, though Dean knew that was more for appearance and instinct’s sake, neither of them were going anywhere, no matter how hairy things got. Jack was staring at Billie, looking pleased if not relaxed. Sam’s eyes met his and Dean wasn’t surprised by the conflict he saw there. He felt it too. He knew as well as Sam did that if he put all his hopes in this and it didn’t pan out, it would destroy him. Sam would back his play, of course he would, he wanted Cas to be happy and safe as much as Dean did, but Dean could see the deep concern there that he knew wasn’t for Cas. He looked away, back to Billie, whose irises were slowly sliding back into place, and the growing puddle of darkness that was beginning to materialise on the concrete floor.

Dean watched, feeling increasingly sick as the black, liquid-looking substance bubbled and rose and solidified into a vaguely humanoid form. There was no face, which was disconcerting as all hell, and the thing’s limbs were just a little too long and… wobbly to be truly human. It was making his brain fuzz over just looking at it. He felt Cas’ grip tighten on his arm.

“What do you want now?” The thing whined, it’s non-face turned in Billie’s direction. It’s voice was perhaps the most surprising thing about it, it was high pitched and nasal (which was impressive considering the thing’s lack of nose) with a slant to the words that Dean couldn’t place. He supposed ‘afterlife dimension’ came with its own accent.

“The angel wants out of his deal,” Billie said. “The humans wish to make what I’m sure will either be a heartfelt plea or some kind of threat.”

“You called me for that? Isn’t this over? Hmmm... I have God and His sister all nicely tucked away and sleeping. Why am I still awake?”

“Look...” Dean said to the goo-creature, and the head swivelled around on a too-loose neck. He stared at where he thought the eyes should be, trying not to be creeped out by the fact he had no idea if his gaze was being returned or not. He also wasn’t sure what tack to try here. He had no more leverage over this thing than he did the Grim Reaper, would it respect a strong stance or was grovelling the way to go? He would do it, if that’s what it took to let Cas live the rest of his life chasing joy. Hell, he would get down on his knees if it meant that he could finally return the words Cas had voiced not three weeks ago. His mind was spinning, but coming up a blank.

So Sam stepped up, taking slow, measured steps to stand at Dean’s other shoulder. “You’ve helped us out before, done Jack a solid when you let him come back and we appreciate that. We also know that you’ve got some issues with Cas and we’d really like to resolve those so that… so you don’t take him.”

“Yeah,” Jack piped up, moving to Cas’ other side. “We’d really rather he stay with us. Without giving up his happiness.”

“Cas is the main reason you still have a place to go back to,” Dean added. “Can’t you just give him a pass? More than anyone he’s earned that.”

“The little shit woke me up!” The creature screeched at them out of its non-mouth. “I haven’t been woken up in the history of ever until that feathered moron came along. All he had to do was sleep, yes, and he couldn’t even do that! So I’m taking him when I damn well please. I gave up my legitimate claim to you, nephilim, just to squeeze out every drop of revenge. You think I’ll go back on that now? Oh, no, no, no, not when the due date is so close, am I right?”

Dean blinked, suddenly getting the feeling that the Empty had stopped talking to them at some point and had started addressing Cas, who he felt perfectly still beside him.

“Am I right, angel?” The thing cooed, “You almost have your happy, don’t you? You’re holding it back by a mere membrane. And now it stands right next to you and tries to get me to change my mind. That has to be nice… seeing how he cares. How they all care.”

Cas said nothing, but in a quick glance Dean saw his lips press together, his eyes lower. The submission hurt Dean more than any outburst of rage at this creature who had stolen all the things that people lived for, everything that Cas had fallen for and given so much of himself to protect. It wasn’t fair that he was now just as cut off from it as when he was a mindless automaton. He should be angry.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me,” he said, still looking down at the floor. “But if this deal breaks, Jack’s soul is forfeit, and I can’t—”

“No it’s not.”

Every head turned to look at Billie, who was the picture of nonchalance, except for the gleam in her eye. “Jack’s soul will go to heaven.”

The Empty spluttered. “I think you’ll find nephilim are my jurisdiction.”

“They are,” Billie agreed, “but Jack’s not a nephilim anymore. Is he?”

Dean gaped in Jack’s direction. The kid frowned, then looked like he was concentrating really hard on something, and then surprise lit his features. “I’m human?”

“Your power was what was needed to defeat God,” Billie explained. “The exact amount of your power. No more, no less. It was never really yours anyway, it was inherited from your father. But you disowned him and chose a father of your own.” She nodded towards Castiel. “That severed the power from you, made your human soul separate from the archangel grace. In reality, Chuck was fighting two of you, Jack, and He was only able to destroy one. Of course, He thought the one worth destroying was the one with the power, leaving you as the other. Pure human. Which,” she smiled at the Empty, “is my jurisdiction.”

If the Empty had a face, Dean was pretty sure it would be glaring fire at Billie. “You’re on their side?” It screeched. Dean winced at the piercing volume. “You want me to break the deal. What? Are you going to keep me awake until I obey, yes? You can’t pull that lever twice, Reaper. I helped you with the old man and the dark one all on the promise that once this was over you’d let me sleep and I know you to be a being of your word.”

“You’re right,” Billie said evenly. “I will keep my promise, regardless of whether or not you help the angel. But I would prefer it if you did. As a favour.” Her eyes flicked briefly to Dean’s at that and a newfound well of respect for Billie threatened to spill out of his dumb mouth. He swallowed it back. He was pretty sure she could see his gratitude. She had already helped them by calling the Empty here, and it would have been more than fair for her to leave them to do the convincing, which he was pretty sure wouldn’t have worked on its own.

The Empty seemed to consider that; clearly weighing the benefit of having Death owe it one against whatever pleasure it would gain from torturing Cas. The decision took far longer than Dean was comfortable with and something snapped in him at the tense silence. His hand found Cas’ and he held it tight, ignoring the surprised look that melted into fondness on his left. He felt a hand land on his opposite shoulder and looked up into Sam’s face. There was a soft smile there, and pride, but there was a twitch in his eyebrow that begged him not to entwine himself so deep that he couldn’t disentangle himself if this all went to shit. Dean couldn’t bring himself to tell him that it was far, far too late for that.

“Hmmm...” The Empty said. “Well… There it is. Looks like Castiel just cashed in his happy.”

Dean’s head snapped around. Cas was looking at him, beaming really. His eyes glittering in the low light, radiant in a way that was different from his grace and far more beautiful. The hand in his gave a gentle squeeze, though there was fear in those eyes now, his moment of pure joy eclipsed by the fact that this could all be gone with his next blink. Dean brought his other hand around to clasp their already joined ones, as if he could just hold tight enough, then nothing could make him let go.

Seeing Cas afraid was like an icy fingertip sliding down his spine. He turned back to the Empty, readying himself to throw a punch or to prostrate himself on the ground and beg, or start another goddamn apocalypse just to draw the fear from those blue, bottomless eyes. It couldn’t end like this, not when they were on the precipice of whatever this promised to be, not when they could finally, finally start living for themselves.

“Please,” Dean said, his voice thick and unwieldy in his mouth. “Please let him stay with me.”

The creature hummed again, an irritating sound that buried into his skull. “Alright.”

It flicked one of its (too bendy) arms in Cas’ direction and the angel cried out in pain, dropping to the floor like a sack of bricks and dragging Dean down too where their hands were still clasped.

“Cas!” Dean yelled as Cas began a low moan that rose in volume and pitch and agony until it was a scream, and then his back arched so dramatically Dean heard it crack, and Cas’ eyes widened to the point of popping. In the next painful convulsion, Cas ripped his hand away from Dean’s.

“Cas!” Dean cried again, scrambling to get it back, to offer what little comfort he could. If these were going to be Cas’ last moments, Dean couldn’t bear the thought that he would have to endure them alone.

Cas’ lips were moving, but all that was escaping was a wordless scream. Dean shook his head, not understanding as Cas’ agitation only grew. He looked around at each member of his family crouched next to him, and terror dominated his expression.

“Eyes!” The word was strangled. “Help—”

Suddenly, the sound of Cas’ screams cut out at the same moment the world turned black. Dean’s vocal chords strained around Cas’ name, around Sam’s name, but he couldn’t hear either. He felt Cas in front of him, writhing and solid and silent, felt the hard concrete under his knees, felt the fabric of a jacket as he reached out blindly with his other hand. But all he saw was blackness. Fear roared inside him. He couldn’t see his family, he didn’t know what was happening to Cas. Had he gone blind? Deaf? Was Cas looking to him for a final comfort?

Worst of all was when Cas’ hand went limp.

Dean was pretty sure he was losing his mind. He was sure he was screaming, sure he was yelling himself hoarse, cursing the Empty, Billie, God. He dropped his hand from what he was pretty sure was Sam’s shoulder and moving it to his own face. He felt wetness there, sweat or tears he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that Cas wasn’t moving and he had no idea what to do except clutch that hand in between both his own and hope.

Just as suddenly as it had vanished, sound returned. He heard his own name in Sam’s voice and a moment later, his brother’s scared face materialised in front of him, and Jack was there too, his own face pale and scrunched in confusion and discomfort as he shook himself. There was also a horrible, burbling sound that it took him far too long to realise was coming from him. He took a deep breath to stop it and looked over at where the Empty and Billie had been stood.

They were gone.

“What the hell was that?” Dean asked, his voice raspy and worn out.

“No idea,” Sam said, looking a little ill. “But it really sucked.”

“Yeah.” As the adrenaline leaked away from his brain, leaving his extremities tingling, he flexed his hand and found he was still holding onto something.

Cas!

With a jolt, Dean looked at the still figure lying on the ground. His eyes were closed and there were black shapes on the floor extending from his shoulders.

“No,” He moaned, squeezing his eyes shut again, flashbacks of a cabin, of another joyous moment turned to ash, of a grief so heavy he’d buckled under it the first time, how could anyone ask him to even lift it now?

He heard Sam swallow next to him, clearly floundering for whatever words he thought Dean needed to hear.

He heard Jack’s breath hitch, then. “Wait. Look!”

Dean blinked heavily. Jack was staring at the black marks, then he reached forward and picked up a feather. Four inches long and inky black, the thing gleamed in the poor light. Despite the urgent pleas of his heart, Dean looked more closely at what he had assumed to be just scorch marks. There were more feathers. Loads of them, filling in gaps in the patchy outlines of Cas’ wings. They were how Cas’ wings had looked the last time Dean had seen their shadows; there weren’t enough feathers to make the wings complete, Cas had shed plenty over the years after all, but there were still dozens of them. All the feathers Cas had had left, if Dean were to guess. He didn’t know what to make of it and although he could hear Sam’s brain whirring as it tried to put the pieces together, Dean couldn’t quite bring himself to care what it meant. He leaned over Cas and smoothed the hair back from his forehead, numbness crawling its way along Dean’s limbs and tightening around his nerves. He arranged the body how he would if the pyre was already built, pretty sure someone was talking around him but unable to take any of it in. He adjusted the coat, laid Cas’ hands carefully by his sides, fixed the tie.

While he did that last one, his hand passed over Cas’ chest and he felt a flutter beneath his fingertips. He paused for a second and felt it again. Hope surged through him so fast it was painful. He pressed his palm to Cas’ chest and waited. Please, please, please, please, please.

Thump.

“He’s alive!”

Dean began to gently tap his fingers against Cas’ cheek, calling for him over and over again, his other hand feeling the steady, human beat of Cas’ heart.

“Come on, sweetheart, wake up.”

Cas groaned, the most wonderful sound that had ever graced Dean’s ears. All the air escaped him as Cas began to twitch, his eyelids fluttered and he blinked them open.

“I love you too,” Dean blurted out, physically unable to keep the words in any more. “I love you so freaking much Cas, and I’m real glad you’re not dead.”

“Me too,” Cas said blearily, pushing himself to a sitting position, only to be bowled over again by Dean launching himself into his arms. Corny or not he couldn’t help it. He needed to hold him, surround himself in Cas’ warmth and Cas’ smell and Cas’ love. He needed to feel the life around them. “You make me very happy, Dean.”

Dean said nothing, but he shoved his face in closer to Cas’ neck.

After a few moments he deemed himself recovered enough to pull back and help Cas to his unsteady feet. Jack moved in for the next hug and Cas’ eyes went soft with wonder as he embraced his son, finally allowed to feel the joy that such a gesture brought. Sam was next, pulling him into a sasquatch-worthy bone-crushing hug and whispering something that Dean couldn’t catch, though their grins were bright and a little teary as they separated.

Cas then looked down at the feathers scattered on the ground and bent to gather a few. “Angel feathers can be useful spell ingredients,” he said by way of an explanation as he stuffed them into his coat pocket. “And it’s not as though I have a use for them anymore.”

“You know, we could try and find a way… if you wanted...” Dean started to offer, and even though Dean wasn’t sure if the Empty had completely destroyed Cas’ grace or what and had no idea how to even start that quest, he knew with certainty that he would find a way if that was what Cas chose.

Cas was already shaking his head, a small smile on his lips.

“No. I think… I think I’m tired of being an angel. I don’t want to watch humanity anymore, I want to be a part of it. I want to enjoy this, every moment that I get to love and be loved in return is a treasure I never could have imagined before I met you.”

“So… home?” Dean asked, more than ready to start building the rest of his life with his brother, his son and this newly-human man who had never looked like more of an angel to him.

Cas nodded and reached for him, slotting their fingers together.

“Home.”

#supernatural #spn fanfic #prompt #part 3 of 3 #fanfiction #writing #angst #happy ending #Destiel fanfic #TibbinsWrites

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