#i drew this long ago but got deadly sick and things but here it is lmao

[maibeloved]

Twinkly eyes

[dangopango00]

YIIPEEE finished the rest of the brothers with my hcs 😮‍💨😮‍💨

Notes utc

Lucifer:

- Grey streaks from like stress or sth

- Tired eyes (Honestly ik i put his eyes should be straight before but i decided itd be soooo kewt if he had downturned eyes like belphie)

- Kept his eye color bc it shows how hes aggressive but not all the time like silent but deadly bc muted colors

- dilf

Mammon:

- Made his hair more greyish bc his and solomons hairstyles are so similar

- Was also sick and tired of the messy anime boy hair so i made his hair messy in a diff way; more clean since hes a model and all

- His ahoge is supposed to look like a little wing kinda

- A few black streaks (dyed) bc of how much he respects luci

- Remnants of freckles (light seasonal freckles)

- I hate the eyebrows and eyes going through the hair thing if its fully covered but i had to show that hes being mischievous

Levi:

- Im so sorry to everyone who loved him the way he was but I HAD TO GREMLINFY HIM its in character trust

- He blushes the most imo like i feel like his whole face and neck would turn red

- His hair would be super messy like he would NOTT brush that shit its a waste of time in his opinion

- Made his messy hair in the shape of a fish fin (top) and tail (right)

- Made his mouth widest bc hes a lizard

- Gave him slight snake eyes (ok but imagine if it intensified whenever he was envious like how cats do but opposite)

Satan:

- Angelic ahh beautiful man

- Hair grows fast so its always a lil long

- Always looks a lil mad RBF

- Same hair swoop thing as Asmo

- Single ahoge is supposed to represent a unicorn horn kinda

Asmo:

- Little rat braid that supposed to resemble scorpion tail

- fake mole (hes not one of us yall.) (we let it slide bc hes chill)

- Similar swoop to satan (purposeful. Asmo styles his hair since he was “young” and he just kept doing it that way)

- #softgirl vibe

Beel:

- Ik i said idk what to say for him but i got a bunch of random inspo bye

- Looks like he was raised by wolves. Ok well thats an exaggeration but his hair is very unkempt doesnt get haircuts until his hair is down to like his shoulders and def doesnt style it

- FRECKLS ❤️ mostly on his cheeks

- Lighter streaks of hair naturally n it matches belphie 🥺🥺

- ahoge is supposed to look like fly wings but he also looks like a bnnuy and thats so kewt

Belphie if u havent seen him!

All the hcs i made more in-depth than on here

[mrskurono]

title: N/A || Megumi Fushiguro x FemSorcerer!reader a/n: this is old and converted from a fic I ditched with an oc so I reformatted it to a reader x type of deal word count: 1.7k tags: mentions of death, reader is queer (pan or bi you decide), comfort ish fic, fluff, based mostly on the anime since I wrote this prior to reading it character(s): Megumi Fushiguro (jjk)

"Oh, you're awake."

That voice wasn't a surprise. Megumi had heard it before as he lie in bed taking the most of his recovery time. Before it had just been to the tune of his eyes closed and his laying still in bed while she either talked to him or any number of nurses that had come and gone over the past twenty four hours. Sitting up in bed now Megumi locked eyes with his visitor. 

A nonverbal acknowledgment to the second year. It took but a moment for the sorcerer to see the small wrapped box you had brought back with yourself. You took heed of your underclassman staring at what you'd brought back. So you took it upon yourself to share without him asking about it. 

"Something to eat," you smiled sweetly. Just as you took up you seat once more at his bedside, this time you placed the wrapped box on the table swung over his bed, "I didn't think hospital food sounded good after that long of a nap."

Megumi looked at the fabric covered tote box placed before him, "That wasn't a nap, I was passed out."

"I know," you nodded, no fault of your own as your smile persisted, "Just telling myself it was a nap calmed my nerves."

He looked up from the unopened treat box. Sincerity in your eyes just as there had been from day one. Megumi questioned how someone so soft would align with such a life. He broke eye contact just to look at the box again. 

Never had he mentioned having any favorite foods to you. Which was partially true. If it tasted good then he'd eat it. Simple as that. So Megumi admitted to being a little taken back by what you could have brought him that wasn't already just easily provided by the hospital.

"Open it already," you coaxed, "I heard your stomach rumble hours ago before you woke up."

He was famished. No lie there. Megumi carefully untied the knot of the neat lunchbox. Unwrapping it's contents to be more than just surprised about what you'd brought him. Delicately worked on onigiri with the three of them sporting different flavors. Crisp tempura fried vegetables laid carefully next to it. And what looked to be a small cup thermos nestled off to the side. He had an idea whatever was in it probably was as good as the rest of the food laid out. 

Seeing the spread all he could muster was purely a question, "Where did you buy this? It looks...nice."

You shook your head, "I didn't. It's all homemade don't worry."

Admitting to the labor that had gone into this gesture only magnified the oddity that was your continual kindness. It wasn't prevalent in a jujutsu sorcerer's life. And simply one not displayed by sorcerer's as a whole. It left Megumi more than a jumble of confused words why his upperclassman could maintain kindness when also baring a curse like the rest of them.

"...thank you, y/n." He looked up from his meal at you, "Really, thank you."

Brimming with a cocky smile that never faded, you gestured to the meal, "C'mon don't thank me without trying it. It could be complete garbage and you don't know."

Megumi handled one of the onigiri as he brought it to his lips. Not meant to hide his soft smile, he still took a pause before biting it, "I know it's good, you made it."

Without a shadow of a doubt he was right. Everything you'd packed into that plain little bento was everything but plain. Delicious down to the last crumble. Megumi hadn't realized it was gone before he was taking the last dribble of soup from the thermos. When he finally set it down to realize his plate empty and stomach full, he found himself wondering once again the same question. 

"...you're such a good cook too," Megumi added to the list of things he'd already told you, you were good at. "Why are you here when you could clearly be doing so many other things."

A shrug with a chagrined look on your face, "Well the other second years are just overreacting with the exchange anyways, and you were here so I thought I'd-"

"No," Megumi shook his head to stop the dodging you always did. "I mean here doing this." 

This question again. You had run into it a few times before with Megumi's questions as well as some of the other students. It never seemed enough to just say one saw curses. Here they wanted detailed information on what landed someone here. As secretive as the jujutsu sorcery field was. You never felt it necessary to divulge your background like it was some stat to be learned in a comic book. You were here and you were learning. What else did people need?

"...I can see curses. Not a lot I can do with that," you answered just as sweetly as any other time the question arose. Where that answer sat just fine with everyone else. Be it maybe a lot of jujutsu sorcerers were a little self centered. Making your kindness stick out like a sore thumb and get seen more than once as a weakness. It also alleviated the need to elaborate most times. But where you found relief in other's laziness not to ask too many questions. It was Megumi's consistently deadpan prying that perhaps drew you to befriend him. That came with the price of his constant inquiry about why you did the things you did. Especially if they involved him.

So again, for what seemed like the hundredth time now in your friendship, Megumi asked, "How did someone so kind get cursed though."

If it were anyone else perhaps you'd ignore it with a sweet smile. Act like it didn't matter and it was just a fluke in your character. There were a million things you'd would rather do than relive the cause of this career choice. Presented with Megumi's brush with death caused a waiver in your conviction to stay out of personal affairs though. You'd made some superficial friendships here. But when the first years, or at least when two of the three first years, returned from a botched first grade curse mission. Very present negative emotions flooded you. Ones all too familiar and worrisome. You were forced to relive a glimpse of your heartache from years ago. With a heavy heart you knew sitting at someone's bedside night and day warranted some kind of explanation.

"...I...I lost someone," you looked down at your empty hands, "When I was younger of course. I guess they were my bestfriend."

Lots of people lost friends and family. Death was present but not normally the clear cut reason to harbor so much negative emotions that fueled Jujutsu Sorcerers. Megumi looked over at his upperclassman wringing your hands together nervously. If death was the cause he knew this couldn't be easy for you to talk about in a setting like a hospital.

Megumi didn't want to upset the semblance of friendship he respected with you, "You don't have to if you don't-"

"No, heh," Looking up from your hands you smiled through a thin veil of tears threatening your distant glazed over eyes, "I'll tell you because...I was just as scared that you were going to die too. And- well, I just don't know if my heart could handle this all over again."

"Your heart?" He didn't show it but Megumi kindled a bit of surprise in his mind knowing he liked your company but didn't know it was reciprocated beyond courteous nature from you. 

A quite nod from you. Your body was present but when Megumi met your eyes it was clear you weren't thinking about the here and now.

"...when I was in primary school I had a best friend I did everything with. She was...she was everything to me." You smiled just at the fuzzy memory, "Nothing fancy I guess, bad things happen everyday. And it was just another day...We were walking home when it happened. A cough, I didn't think anything of it since kids get sick all the time. But before I realized it that would be the last time we would walk home together. The last time we'd do anything together." You brushed the tears from your eyes but didn't let your smile fade, "I couldn't see her before she passed away, something about more kids getting sick and infectious. How I didn't get sick is beyond me. We spent every moment together. Before I knew what happened, my mom broke down telling me she'd died and well...I was just left to process it."

Megumi held his tongue for a moment. There was no trauma. No indicator that it really would be enough to cause anguish such that a curse would be born. While his heart ached for a moment of compassion at your loss, he was still confused as to what upset you enough to bring on the change young Jujutsu sorcerer's experience to put them on this path. 

He didn't need to wait though or even ask when seeing the curses started. You looked at him with the biggest grin while tears rolled down your cheeks and in all sincerity finally told the truth to someone, "It wasn't until later when the curses started showing up and my heart never really healed. I realized what was haunting me....I loved her and never got the chance to tell her that." 

Loss of love and innocence. Deadly and deceitful to a human. Survivors always carried a heavy weight and you were no different. Megumi understood what inflicted your curse energy. It was something that wouldn't leave you until the day you died. Heart wrenching like all jujutsu sorcerer's, it left one question pertinent to Megumi more than anything. 

He looked from you. To the things you'd brought. And finally back at you with the small things connecting in his mind, "Does that mean..."

Your distant stare returned to the present to meet up with Megumi's green eyes. Holding his gaze for a drawn out moment as you fought with what was inside you. Finally you couldn't keep it together and cracked with an incredibly soft smile playing on your lips. You couldn't live with another curse like this so you came clean, "...yeah, I think I love you too."

[lapis-arts]

The Knife of Amphibia

Chapter 1: Dishonored

Summary: Riots are getting more chaotic by the second in Newtopia, thanks to a deadly plague breaking the city apart. King Andrias had sent his most loyal subordinates to ask for help all around Amphibia to bring aid to his people. What happens next, will change the course of everyone's lives involved, and all fingers are pointed towards Anne for it.

Fandom: Amphibia

Features: Assassin AU, Aged Up Calamity Trio, also Marcy is nonbinary and uses they/them pronouns.

Warnings: Violence, blood, and a lot of murder.

Word Count: 1,877 Words

____________

Within the walls of Newtopia, another mass riot broke out. Amphibians and humans alike gathering into mobs, armed with weapons and torches, marching towards the castle in an attempt to break in and overthrow the king for his supposed neglect to care for his citizens. Why neglect? The citizens in Newtopia were falling deathly ill from a new plague no one has ever seen before, only adding more fuel to the fire as the sick were dying and the king sat there and did nothing to aid his people.

The Newtopian Royal Guards answered promptly to the incoming riot and blocked every entrance of the castle from the angry mob, their numbers eventually pushing the mob back slowly.

King Andrias looked down at the scene from his balcony. He let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed his temples, the giant newt retreating into his throne. He had sent out his best loyalists, his trusted Knight; Anne Boonchuy, and Royal Spymaster; Marcy Wu, in an diplomatic mission in order to ask for help around the continent regarding the outbreak. He would've sent any other official in his castle, but this was a dire emergency no ordinary loyalist would embark on.

That was nearly two weeks ago, and he hoped they come back with great news. The longer the gates to the city were closed, the more it was going to tear itself apart.

____________

"Steady now!" A newt soldier shouted above as a ship lowered a small boat they were on into the ocean, containing him, a driver, and most importantly, Anne and Marcy.

The two humans sighed in relief to see the Newtopia docks once more. The most they could hope for is that the city was still there in one piece.

"We did the best we could, Marcy." Anne started, placing her hand on the other's shoulder, their expression still saddened from the failure of their long and exhausting journey.

"I know. It's just.. Why would they refuse? People are dying, Anne.. Our people are dying. The plague is spreading quickly and they're not willing to let their greatest minds come together to find a cure!?" Marcy spat, getting more frustrated the more they spoke of it.

"Marcy, I know it's harsh and unfair." Anne intervened, trying to level the situation with them.

"I'm sure they had their best interest in mind. Wanting to keep them safe from further spread." She reasoned, giving Marcy a hug for comfort, which they gladly took.

Soon enough, the boat had reached the docks, grabbing their bags and headed towards the castle to give King Andrias the bad news in the form of a scroll. The humans glanced at the city's horizon, seeing a few clouds of smoke and caught the scent of burning and the sound of screaming the more they walked. They both tried their best to ignore it, entering through the back entrance of the castle and made their way to find Andrias. It became quite the daunting task to ignore the outside, hearing people scream louder and louder.

Some from rage, others out of pain.

Anne was the first to look out of a nearby window, seeing the angry mob, filling her in on how much pain the city has gone through in the span of two weeks.

"This is just awful.." Anne said, Marcy looking out the window shortly after, shocked as much as Anne was. "I understand the anger and agony of these people, but this is just way out of hand." The young knight expressed.

"Riots are the voices of the unheard, Anne.." Marcy said, pulling out their spyglass to get a better look. From the looks of it, both soldiers and civilians were hurt, but it hasn't escalated to bloodshed just yet.

The humans tried to shrug it off once more and return to their duty. A swift turn to a corridor later, they both bumped into Lady Olivia and General Yunnan, who was surprised to see the humans in such short notice.

"Oh! A pleasant surprise to see you two have returned." Olivia said, bowing down to them in respect.

"Ah yes. A few days earlier, just as usual." Yunnan commented, rolling her eyes at them. Olivia cleared her throat and straightened her position to continue speaking.

"King Andrias hopes you bring great news?" She asked, the two humans giving her very upsetting reactions.

"It's not good.. If we can speak to him soon, that would be appreciated." Anne said, Olivia nodded and swiftly led the two to the King, who was at his garden, tending to his plants while his guards stood by. Yunnan stood aside as Olivia entered the garden with the humans behind her, announcing their presence.

"King Andrias. I announce that Anne and Marcy have returned from their mission." She said, the king turning around to see them. He dawned a smile upon his face as he was delighted to see the humans again.

"Oh, a marvelous day it is!" He exclaimed. He turned back to Olivia and signaled her. "Lady Olivia, mind if I speak to them in private?" He asked, Olivia accepting his request and gathered all his guards out of the garden, leaving the three of them completely alone.

"So... How was your trip? What news do you bring?" He asked, Anne nervously rubbing the back of her head while Marcy sighed and handed Andrias the scroll. His expression fell as he noticed their demeanors and hesitantly opened the scroll. Sadness fell upon his face as he read on the formal request denial and that other nations will barricade the outskirts of Newtopia to further keep the plague contained.

"No.. This can't be..." He turned to the city's horizon, seeing chaos unfold, giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts.

"We won't give up just yet.. There's still a chance to help our people." Andrias said, Anne and Marcy looking up at him, feeling a bit more hopeful.

"You're right. Things look grim right now, but we'll figure this out." Anne agreed, walking up to Andrias to place her hand on his arm for reassurance.

"If the others refuse help, so be it. We still have our wits here in the city." Marcy added along, smiling with confidence.

All of a sudden, the atmosphere changed rather quickly. Marcy detected it as soon as it occured, their gut not even trusting the flow of the wind. It was as of they were all being watched. They quickly turned around and spotted some figures running on top of the castle roof. They got their wrist bow loaded and dagger ready and got into a defensive stand.

"Sir, intruders on the roof!" They shouted, Anne quickly drawing out her sword and got into position promptly.

"Intruders? Where are the guards!?" Andrias asked. While he had his best protectors with them, they were severely outnumbered. However he was not one to cower from a fight and drew his own sword out.

Once they got a good sight on the intruders, the realized it was a gang of toads. The toads suddenly vanished and appeared right before Anne's and Marcy's faces, striking their swords at the humans. Anne quickly blocked with her own sword and kicked the toad in the stomach, slashing and injured him as he vanished into thin air while another pair of toads came towards her side, Anne having no problem taking them down with a few slashes.

Meanwhile, Marcy was quick to dodge their attacker and sliced the toad in the back of the neck, turning towards another toad charging towards them and shot a crossbow bolt between their eyes in one smooth motion, instantly killing them.

It was then another attack got them from behind, Andrias getting a few strikes at his arm, yet he fended them off with no problem from his size alone, slicing the intruders in half with the ease of his giant sword.

Once the grizzly fight seemed to be done, the three dropped their guard, assuming the ambush to be over.

"Anne, Marcy, I'm grateful that you two were here to-" Andrias was suddenly interrupted by a dark magical force, keeping him from moving. The humans looked up to see another gang of toads, using their black magic to keep Andrias down.

At the same time another toad teleported behind Marcy and pulled them back.

"Anne! Help!-" their mouth was quickly covered by the strong toad, sedating them with a dart before teleporting away, taking the human with them.

"Marcy!!" Anne did her best to move quickly to save her, but she was too late. Marcy was gone and now she was getting dragged back from the forces of dark magic. Anne was held up in the air, unable to break free, only helplessly looked down to see Andrias being forced to kneel down under the magic.

Then, as if they couldn't be anymore surprised, a human appeared in front of them, in front of Andrias. However she looked very familiar...

Could this be the infamous assassin Anne has heard so much about? She tried with every fiber of her being to break free from the magic, but it was no use as the red clad, blonde assassin, charged towards the king and ferociously sunk her blade into King Andrias' neck and down into his torso, hearing him cry out in pain.

"NO!!!" Anne screamed, struggling for the life of her, but it was all in vain.

The assassin twisted the blade for good measure and yanked it out with some resistance, blood splattering everywhere. The toads finally let them go, the blonde just giving Anne a evil, smug grin as she and her toad gang teleported away, vanishing into thin air once again, leaving the two alone.

Anne was weak, as if the dark magic drained all of her strength. She mustered up whatever energy she had to crawl towards Andrias, the king now laying in a pool of his own blood.

"My King..." Anne gasped as she reached him, turning him over to face her as he took his in last breaths.

"Anne.. My time is up.. It's not over just yet..." He gasped, coughing out blood.

"Find Marcy... Take care of the city.. I believe in you.." After that, the king fell limp, tears falling down Anne's cheeks and onto Andrias' corpse.

The human heard the rapid footsteps coming towards them, relieved to see Lady Olivia had returned with General Yunnan by her side, along with a few soldiers. All of them were shocked by the scene, General Yunnan growled and unsheathed her hidden blades, quick to judge the human.

"What happened here!? What have you done to the King!" She yelled, the guards raising their spears and pointed at Anne.

"And where is Marcy?" Olivia asked, Anne attempted to speak up, but had no energy left to explain what happened to them.

"Yunnan, please let her rest and explain herself! It seems like an ambush occurred." Olivia pleaded, the general ignoring her and took matters into her own hands.

"She'll have to explain herself while locked away then. Guards! Arrest her." Yunnan ordered, one of the soldiers walked up to Anne and smacked the human with the hilt of his weapon, knocking her out cold.

[iwantthedean]

Ma’lak

Summary: Dean helps someone close to him lock away her demons.  Pairing: Dean x Reader  Word Count: 3130 Warnings: Canon divergence, implied smut, mental health issues, exorcism, angst.  Square Filled: Late Night Call for @breakthezone Bingo (LOVE that I can tag now!) A/N: This was borne of a new thing I’m trying in trauma therapy. I hope you all can enjoy it, but please skip it if you think it might trigger you! This is a comfort for me, but I know it may not be that way for everyone. AKF/YANA. Huge thanks to @crispychrissy​ for making the ma’lak box GIF for me!! I appreciate it more than I can say!  A/N2: You may see this again much later in a saga I’ve had running for several years now; that wasn’t how I started out with this in my head, but it quickly turned into that. Just putting that out there ;) If you think you know, shoot me a DM!

“I have an idea. Can you come get me?”

Dean was up and out of the bed in record time. “On my way. Stay there.”

As he pushed his feet into his boots, Dean’s mind raced. It was after midnight; he had been deep in thought about a recent case and hadn’t even realized he dozed off until the phone rang. 

She had been on her own for months. Maybe even a year at this point? They talked at least once a month, but hadn’t seen each other since she left in the middle of the night — since Dean had let her go. Demons were dwelling within her and it took all of their strength and focus to keep them at bay. She had lashed out at all of them, more than once, and the last fight she and Dean had gotten into had almost come to blows; the thought of it made him sick to his stomach. 

He put those memories and the bunker in his rearview mirror. A stop at the gas station put coffee in his hands and kept him going for the next few hours. Well, the coffee, and a couple rounds of Metallica’s best hits. 

“Y/N?” he called after slamming the Impala’s door behind him. He walked carefully up to the isolated camper, catching that the door was slightly ajar. No lights were on and the place was deadly silent. He pulled the handgun from the back of his waistband and called for her again. 

Still no answer. Carefully and silently opening the door, he aimed at the driver’s end of the camper, then back towards the bedroom — and right at Y/N. 

“Fuck, Dean!” she hissed, pushing the gun away. 

He rolled his eyes and clicked the safety before placing the gun on the counter. “You always leave your damn door open at all hours, Y/N/N? Any psycho would waltz in here and —”

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Dean. Oh, and check your phone every once in a while. I texted you and told you I’d leave the door open and the hideaway made up so you could crash when you got here. You know, so you wouldn’t wake me up.”

With an exhausted, ironic chuckle, Dean held out an arm and stepped closer to her, but then immediately stepped back. “How are you with physical contact these days?”

“Ha. The last time I had physical contact was the last time you and I had physical contact. I keep to myself. Safer that way.”

Y/N flipped on a dim light over the sink and pulled a plastic cup from the small cupboard, filling it with water. She motioned the cup toward Dean after she emptied it, but he shook his head. She shrugged and left the cup upside down in the sink. She offered coffee; that he took her up on. 

As she moved about the camper, Dean now took notice of all the things the moonlight through the couple of windows hadn’t allowed him to see in the chaos of his entry. 

Her thin-strapped, cotton nightgown hung to her curves and conjured up memories of his hands running over her curves, his lips on her bare skin — was it possible for her skin to be softer now than it had been before? Her hair was longer and, maybe because he was tired, but Dean was having a hard time not carding his hands through it and tugging just enough to pull a whimper from her perfect lips. He had expected those demons swimming within her being to make her harsher, worn out, tired. Maybe she was all of those things, but it didn’t show when he looked at her. 

“Coffee’ll be ready in a few minutes.” She said, turning back to him from the small machine. “Dean? You okay?”

He nodded, clearing his throat. “Yeah, sorry. It’s just, you know — for hiding out for so long and keeping those demons maintained, you look — you look good, sweetheart.”

“You’re a sight for sore eyes yourself.” Y/N smirked and hopped up to the counter. She looked down at her hands as her expression grew somber; sorrowful. “I know that a lot of things have happened, that we said a lot of things. I said a lot of things. This whole thing has been … it’s driven me to be a person I never wanted to be or thought I would be. I didn’t think about the consequences before I did it, I only thought about keeping everyone else safe.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I guess me of all people, I can’t fault you for that.”

One end of her mouth tugged up. “Have you forgiven me for all the things I said to you? For how far I let it go before I left?”

He stepped up to the counter, gently pressing himself between her knees. He caressed her face with his rough hands — her skin was softer than he remembered — and pressed the ghost of a kiss to her forehead. 

“The only thing I’ll never be able to forgive is myself for letting you stay away for so long.”

Y/N’s head fell, as did her tears. Dean’s hands went to her shoulders, pulling her to him. The top of her head butted against his chest. His hands fell down her arms, his thumbs rubbing over her forearms; on her left arm, he felt the scar of The Mark, the thing that had pulled her out of life. Pushed her out. Whatever it was, she had been gone and he had missed her. 

Dean cupped her face again, forcing her to face him. Her eyes were red from the tears, but still the same color he had always been able to drown in. Even the quickest of looks from Y/N had commanded his heart to skip a beat, and he had missed that feeling, too. 

She sniffled. “I really missed you, Dean.”

“Missed you, sweetheart.”

The words were uttered against her lips, hanging in the air even as he pressed his lips to hers for the first time in too long a time. She whimpered, not the way he had imagined a couple of minutes ago, but in a way that told him she honestly had missed him as much as he had missed her. Maybe even more. The kiss quickly deepened under the pressure of the chemistry between them; the connection that had always been there. Y/N’s arms wrapped around his middle, holding tight and pulling herself against him as her tongue searched out his. 

The urge to touch her hair became a need Dean couldn’t ignore. His fingers slid into her hair at the root before his hands formed fists and he gave the slightest pull. Her whimper this time was exactly what he had wished to hear when he was imagining the scenario earlier. 

She gripped his jacket lapel again and used it to push him out of kissing reach. Her chest was heaving, one strap of her nightgown had fallen down one shoulder. Her eyes were wide, filled with both fear and lust. 

“What if I hurt you?” she whispered. 

“If this is how I die,” Dean replied, tucking his fingers under the strap and kissing the top her shoulder before replacing the strap, “then this is how I die.”

Y/N giggle and kissed his cheek. “Then take me back to bed, Dean. It’s been too long.”

Dean tossed off his jacket before lifting her from the counter. He kissed her soundly as he worked them toward her bed, thinking he couldn’t agree with her more. 

Their activities still allowed for a few hours of sleep before they were back on the road toward the bunker. Dean had pressed Y/N for what she had in mind, but she wouldn’t tell him. He didn’t like it, but memories of past arguments that had pushed her away stopped Dean from giving in to his tendency to push the issue. 

By the time they neared the bunker, the tension was radiating off Y/N like steam and smoke from an overheated engine. Dean pulled the Impala up to the front door and turned off the engine. 

“You ready to talk to me about this?” 

“Sam called me once since I’ve been gone. He was panicked.” She swallowed so hard, he could hear it. “When Michael was still possessing you, when you didn’t think you were going to be able to stop him, you went away for a while. To Donna’s cabin.”

Dean shook his head. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Is the box still here?”

“No. Jack’s soul was gone, we tried to put him in the box, Lucifer got to him. He blasted the box.”

She nodded. “But you could make another one? You know how.”

Dean drew in a breath and shook his head. “That box is not an option. All right? Me going into the ocean with Michael, that’s one thing. You spending eternity with these demons, with that Mark, is not.”

She licked her lips. “What if it was only the demons and the Mark? What if we could lock them away?”

“How’re we gonna do that?”

“Are you going to help me make the box?”

He met her eyes for the first time since the conversation had started. He pressed his lips into a thin line and reached for the door handle. 

“C’mon. Let’s get inside. Sammy’ll want to see you.”

Sam was just as perplexed as Dean as to what her plan was. Y/N was only sharing bits and pieces with them, promising that when the box was done and she was sure the plan could be executed, she would tell them more. 

Dean set to work right away. If there was something that was going to make this all go away, he wasn't going to be the one standing in the way of it. Y/N had promised him that if this worked, maybe they could put the whole thing behind them. She could come home and they could start new. He held on to that promise as he worked to complete the Ma’lak box. 

The assignment she had for Sam was less physically exhausting, but still exhausting nonetheless. As far as Sam could find, there was nothing that would allow the Mark or even solely its effects from someone to be locked away for all of eternity. 

“The Mark has to have a host.” Sam shrugged and pushed away the thick book in front fo him. “If there was an answer, Y/N/N, we would have found it when Dean had the thing. Before Amara, before — okay, well, a lot of things that you don’t need recounted.”

“Yeah, thanks for that. The difference, Sam, is that I didn’t take this. I — okay, you know how it happened, and I won’t recount that for you, either. Favor returned. My point is, if I didn’t ask for it, why do I have to keep it? Why couldn’t I force it out?”

Sam licked his lips. “I don’t think it works like that. And — and ‘force it out’? Listen, I want this to be over just as much as you and Dean do. I do. But I think you’re getting your hopes up about something that isn’t gonna work. I haven’t heard it from your mouth but I think I get where you’re going with this and I don’t think it’s gonna work. I don’t see how.”

Y/N looked around before taking the seat across from Sam and taking in a breath. She licked her lips and looked him in the eye. 

“You still feel the demon blood in your soul sometimes,” Y/N stated. “You have dark moments, especially moments of anger, when you want to pull from that power. You want that darkness to take root and grow. You want it to be a part of you still.”

Sam stood from the table. “Stop it.”

Y/N stood, too. “I live with that darkness, multiplied by numbers we don’t comprehend, every day, Sam, and I keep it at bay. I’m that strong — strong enough to command this darkness out of me.”

His shoulder’s rolled back before he turned to her. “But how?”

Y/N’s hand raised, palm up, level with her waist. She curled her fingers up, and Sam felt his soul squeeze. He could breath, his heart rate increased only a few beats, but he could feel the last effects of the demon blood leaving his soul, his veins, his muscles. His whole being. 

Black smoke started to appear between them, plumes shooting out in every directions. Sam’s brow furrowed, but Y/N’s face stayed calm and stoic. When he could feel no lingering drops in his system, Y/N still held the dark, polluted smoke between them, but pulled it closer to herself, until the smoke had disappeared into her body in much the same spot as it had been pulled from Sam’s body. 

His jaw dropped. “How did you do that?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. One I day, I was in town to get groceries. There was a dark streak in this little boy and I thought about everything we’ve all been through, and I wished that I could take it away. I saw him again in the parking lot, and I had the thought again and that streak started to draw out of him, like I did with you. I’ve been working with it, strengthening the ability. I can take in small darknesses, like that one from that little boy, and pull it out later. But I’ve been letting them back out into the open. My own demons, the Darkness locked within The Mark? I can’t let those out into the open.”

“That’s why you need the box,” Sam surmised, “to lock them away.”

“I don’t know how else to do this,” she returned. “I can’t keep living like this. I finally had a family, and this bullshit took it away from me. I’m not going to take that laying down.”

Sam drew in a deep breath and gave a single nod. “Okay. Well, the lore isn’t going to help us. What else can I do?”

Y/N licked her lips. “If things go south — if I’m wrong about this — don’t let Dean came after me. Whether I’m alive or dead, you’ve got to keep him from coming after me. I don’t want him to come after me. No deals, no spells, nothing. This is my only option and if it doesn’t work …”

Sam stepped slowly towards her, remembering that sudden movements could sometimes trigger her. He reached his arms out, and Y/N accepted the hug he was offering. 

Dean ran his hand over a warding on the box, brushing away some dust. He licked his lips and stood back. 

“All right. I made the box. Now what?”

Y/N exchanged a glance with Sam, who gave her an encouraging nod. She told Dean about the little boy, about the dark pieces she had been pulling from people, and then from herself. 

He raised his brow. “So, you want to exorcise yourself?”

“Essentially, yes,” Y/N answered quietly. “I know that it sounds crazy. I know that but if this is even potentially an option, I have to try it. If I don’t try this, or hell, if it doesn’t work, I don’t know how much longer … I just have to try.”

Dean’s eyes glassed over as he considered the part of the sentence she had left unsaid. “So, if this works, we get you back?”

Y/N shrugged. “As far as I can tell. I’ll be back to being me, anyway, and if you want me back, I’ll come back.”

“If,” Dean snorted. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

“I need you to open the box. And to close it when I tell you.”

Sam nodded. “We can do that.”

“Okay.” 

Latin words dribbled from her lips in the form of a whisper as she placed her hands on the front of her ribcage, fingers sprawled. She closed her eyes as she continued to say the words. 

When the words stopped, Y/N opened her eyes and set her jaw. She moved her hands slowly forward, pulled plumes of black smoke from her body. Agonized screams and angry growling accompanied the smoking, growing louder the further her hands moved out in front of her. The brothers could see her struggling to stay with it, but neither of them moved for fear of hindering the process. 

She gasped in relief when the last plume joined with the others and she pushed the thick, black smoke into the Ma’lak box. The screams grew louder; Sam covered his hands with his ears to ward away the screeching. Dean stood firm at the lid of the box though, waiting for Y/N’s signal. 

“Now!” 

Dean let the lid slam shut before he quickly latched the locks. As soon as the box was secure, he turned to Y/N where she was on her knees on the floor. 

“Hey, c’mon, you’re all right,” he encouraged, pulling her into an embrace. “Y/N, look at me. Tell me what’s going on.”

She leaned into his shoulder. “They’re gone. They’re all gone.”

Dean took her left arm and checked; the Mark was still there. “Y/N …”

“I know,” she answered, pulling her arm away from his grip, “but The Darkness is not in here. If that box is opened, she’ll come back. In the meantime, it’s like — it’s like an abandoned house. As far as I can tell.”

Dean’s head fell back in relief as Y/N continued to lean on him while she regained her strength. Sam went for a glass of water, which seemed to help. 

“So where do we drop the box?” Sam asked. 

Y/N shook her head. “I don’t want to know. If I feel the pull, I don’t want to know where to go looking. You take it, make sure it’s secure, and drop it somewhere I won’t think to look.”

Sam and Dean both agreed, but they weren’t about to take the box anywhere until they knew for sure she was good. A quick call to Donna and Jody had the two sheriffs making plans to come get the box soon and drop it somewhere none of the three of them would know to look. 

Dean picked Y/N up off the ground, kissing her temple before pressing his cheek to hers. He knew that she might be able to walk by now, but, after everything they had been through, he needed to take care of her for a while, for his own sake if not for hers. 

The Whole Shebang: @illisea @ashleymalfoy @mrswhozeewhatsis @ravenesque @feelmyroarrrr @atc74   @blacktithe7 @moonlessnight14 @kitchenwitchsuperwhovian @smoothdogsgirl  @melbrandes  @emoryhemsworth @deansgirl215 @calaofnoldor @sleepylunarwolf @chances-and-miracles @sandlee44 @foxyjwls007 @deanwanddamons @carryonwaywardkansas​

Two for the Money: @jayankles @akshi8278 @adoptdontshoppets @jerkbitchidjitassbutt​

[tirednerd2012]

Maybe one where Ian and Barley have been kidnapped and they want to hurt Barley, but Ian offers himself in Barley's place so they take him instead? And while they're hurting Ian, Barley breaks free and has to go save him? (I know you've written a lot already, though, so if you want to you can delete this post.)

WARNING: Abusive relationship mentioned.

First off, I will never delete any requests unless it involves something that truly makes me uncomfortable. I'm recovering from some hospital time and I'm bored, so I really don't mind. If anything this is helping me go to sleep. I enjoyed writing this one, though! This AU character I've been working on for a minute for a different series I was thinking about uploading. I was thinking about a quest, but this one came a little easier for me to write. I hope you like it, but if you would like it changed, let me know!

Dammit, Barley thought, as he woke up with a splitting headache. When he tried to get up, he realized he was tied up. That woke him right up and he heard a groaning beside him. Ian.

He looked over and saw his little brother's forehead bleeding slightly. He tried to break free from the ropes, but couldn't. What the hell was going on? What happened last?

"Ian, are you okay?" he asked, but only got another groan. "I'll get us out of here, don't worry."

"I wouldn't be sure about that," a familiar voice said and Barley's blood ran cold. Drew. They broke up about a month prior because Drew wasn't just jealous and controlling, he was dangerous. He would hit Barley when they were arguing, threatened him, did anything to make him feel like Drew had dominance. Barley started to wonder if his mom and brother were safe when his boyfriend was around, and he knew he had to shut that down. He still had nightmares of Drew's hands on his neck when they were fighting one day and Barley was too drunk to defend himself. He hadn't drank since.

Drew was taller than Barley, but not quite as burly as him. Though he didn't look it, he was strong. He could easily overpower Barley when they fought. His dark hair was rare for an elf, and it was one of the things Barley found attractive at the beginning of their relationship.

He should have known this would come back and bite him in the ass.

"Drew, what are you doing?" he asked, trying to keep his cool. His ex came down from the stairs. A basement, Barley realized. They were definitely in a basement.

"I told you, you can't just leave me. You don't get to decide that," Drew snapped. He picked up his knife from the table nearby and put it to Barley's throat. He tried to hide his terror, but he knew he was probably failing.

Him and Ian had been driving in the van. He remembered a crash, but that was it. Did this guy hit them?

"What do you want?"

"For you to suffer, Barley. I tried to give you another chance, but you've tied my hands. I don't know when you thought you had any say so in us, but you didn't. You are nothing. You don't get to chose who loves you," Drew sneered.

"Leave him alone, you jerk," Ian snapped. When did he wake up?

"Ian," Barley said. He never liked Drew, another reason Barley had to end the relationship. He trusted his brother more than anyone.

"Well, well, if it isn't Ian. Truthfully, I had no idea you were in that van, too, but hey, work with what you have, right?" Drew laughs. His attention turned back to Barley, looking at him with cold, blue eyes that sent a chill down the oldest Lightfoot's spine.

Barley told himself this is how he would die.

"Now, Barley, as I was saying, you need to learn a lesson," Drew said, but before he could cut Barley, Ian's voice cut through everything.

"Leave him alone!" Barley never heard such confidence from Ian before. Drew turned away from Barley and focused his attention to his little brother.

"Wow, Ian, never expected this from you. Tell me, what is your goal here? Why should I spare him after everything he did?" Drew asked.

"Because," Ian paused, as if desperately trying to think of anything to save his brother, "because you can do whatever you planned on doing to him to me instead."

"Ian, no! Stop!" Barley ordered, but it was too late.

Drew's eyes fixated on his brother, then back at him. He saw the panic in his eyes. Anyone who knew Barley knew he loved his brother and mother more than anything in the world. He would take any physical punishment over something happening to Ian. And he wasn't in a position where he could act as the protector.

"You know, Ian, for a bright kid, you sure are stupid. But, we can have some fun," Drew said, finally. He cut Ian free, but before he could do anything, he grabbed a fistful of his hair and looked at Barley. "Enjoy your brother's screams, love."

"I'm going to kill you," Barley snapped. His fear faded away and was replaced with anger. He looked at Drew like the most disgusting thing in the world. "Leave him out of this."

"Where's the fun in that?" Drew teased, and then proceeded to drag Ian up the stairs. His brother tried his hardest not to show any sign of pain or weakness, but Barley could feel it anyway. It seemed like the moment that door shut, wherever they were filled with Ian's screams.

"Ian! Ian!" he called over and over. He felt tears pouring down his face, but he didn't care. Ian was in danger. He had taken Barley's punishment. He was paying for a stupid mistake Barley made. He never should have gotten with Drew. It was a fling that turned into something poisonous and deadly.

He continued to struggle with the ropes. He was so angry he felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins and he slammed his body against the other side, trying to break free. He would kill Drew.

He heard Ian cry out again and tell Drew to get the hell off him. He heard Drew tell Ian that he should prepare himself because he was just getting started.

Why the hell did he have to take Barley's place? The older looked around the room once more and noticed that Drew left some tools on the table. He probably planned on torturing Barley right here, but saw the opportunity to take Ian from him and knew that would be the worst punishment.

He managed to pull the table forward with his foot and then had to struggle and get a pair of scissors in his hand. It took awhile and Ian cried out more. Drew yelled from upstairs that he was worried about Ian losing blood. He heard him tell Ian to scream all he wanted, no one was around to save him.

"You're going to die alone and then I'm going to let your brother see what I've done. I'll tell him everything right before I kill him slower than I've killed you. I want him to relish your death," Drew said once Ian went quiet. Barley's heart raced faster and he managed to cut the rope. He grabbed the scissors and ran up the stairs. The door was locked, but he busted it down no problem. He saw Drew and Ian in a living room. Ian was covered in blood. His flannel had been taken off and revealed cuts along his body. His jeans were torn and soaked with red.

But Ian was alive. He still managed to set up, but Drew yanked him up and held the knife to his throat. He glared at Barley.

"I told you that you didn't get to leave me," he warned.

"Just leave Ian out of this. Let him go. I'll stay if that's what you want. We can be together again, just leave him alone," Barley said. He would stay here forever if it meant saving Ian's life. All he needed to do was get to the van. He had nectar from a healing flower there. He and Ian grabbed it a few weeks ago during a quest and agreed to save it for an emergency.

"You really are useless, huh? You're a shit son and horrible boyfriend and the one person left in this world that loves you and even admires you, you've failed to protect," Drew said. "I could kill him right now, you know that right? I could slit his throat and that would be that. He would be gone. Could you live with that?"

"You know the answer."

"Exactly. Yet I've been up here, putting a scar on his body for each time you rejected me," Drew said, running the knife along Ian's throat. He was barely awake and couldn't even look at Barley. The older felt like he could be sick. He wanted nothing more than to pull Ian out of this nightmare.

"Drew, please. Just tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it," Barley said. He resisted the urge to bring the scissors out of his pocket.

"You'd be willing to stay here to save him?"

"Yes."

Drew dropped Ian. His abuser for months on end, who manipulated him into doing things he didn't want to, who beat him on multiple occasions, who made him feel like he was absolutely nothing, approached him. For a moment, Barley felt paralyzed. Drew walked over and kissed Barley.

He looked over at Ian and again, his fear turned to rage. Within a moment that Barley found to be a blur, he brought the scissors out and stabbed his ex in the chest. He watched his eyes widen with horror and he collapsed. Then he ran to Ian.

His brother was barely breathing.

"Ian? Ian?" he shook his shoulder. The youngest opened his eyes and smiled at the sight of his brother physically unharmed.

"Barley, are you okay?"

"Really? You're worried about me?" Barley asked through the tears. Ian had been around him too long. He lifted him in his arms and got him outside. Drew towed the van with his old truck. He knew damn well Drew thought this plan out. He wanted to be sure no one knew the boys were missing. He got him to the edge of the van and cried in relief when he found the nectar in the jar without a scratch.

He kneeled beside Ian and forced him to drink. Then he held on to him, whispering how much he loved him, how brave he was and that everything was okay. After a few minutes, the wounds healed, but left several scars that Barley imagined would either be there for awhile or the rest of Ian's life.

"Barley?" the younger asked. Barley cried and hugged him again. "I'm so sorry, I just- I wanted you to be okay."

"You scared me, why would you do that?"

"I love you. I get you want to protect me, but I don't want anything to happen to you either. Especially that guy, I mean, I just wanted him away from you. I didn't care if that meant I got hurt."

"Ian, in all seriousness," Barley said, "never take my place like that again."

"Barley."

"No. I can handle a lot, okay? I can take pain, I'll get through it one way or another. But what I can't handle is someone taking you from me; I can't handle losing you," Barley cut in, his voice betraying him and cracking at the last part. He placed his hands on his shoulders. Both of them still had tears in their eyes. "I-I thought I lost you. I was so scared."

"I know what Drew did to you, Barley. I couldn't let that happen again. If the roles were reversed, we both know you would have done the same."

He pulled his brother into a tight hug. He placed a hand in his hair and held him close.

"All that matters is you're safe. He can't hurt you again."

Barley made himself a promise that he would never let anything hurt Ian again.

[laur-rants]

Fic Update: Blood Wolf

Chapter 5

Fandom: Dishonored Ship: Daud and the Whalers, some Daud/Outsider on the side

Rated: Mature to Explicit, Strong Violence and Gore Ahead!!

Synopsis: Werewolf!AU :: Daud-Centric Prequel to Wolfbann. Origin Story, pre-canon. Centers on how Daud turned, and his subsequent marking by the Outsider and his formulation of the Whalers.

Notes: Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. Daud goes back to where it began, spurred to action by the Outsider’s words.

AO3 link

Previous :: First :: Next

____________________________________

Dunwall

Month of Songs, 1820

He was running. He was running, throwing his surging body forward, every step pounding into the ground with the force of a full stampede. The scent of blood, of fear, was heavy in his nose; it drove his senses to a pinpoint, beckoning him onward. Weariness fled from him as his skin was shed, scars blazing and teeth shining with a manic light. He breathed and his body breathed with him, contracting and expanding, growing with every filled lung. He gulped air like a whale before the plunge; muscles rippled, launching, claws ready to rend, to tear, to savor.

He was a killer; he was born for this. His prey was fully unaware; fur flew and bone crushed and his jaws longed for the warmth of blood, the tender tear of flesh rending between his teeth. A limb was shorn from its body easily and his long nose plunged into the cavity left behind, rooting for soft, vulnerable organs. He closed his eyes and worshiped the entrails he found within. He was drunk on it, drowning in the life-giving red water, offering reverence to both god and devoured flesh. Somewhere far away, a whale keened; he bellowed his own song, body rippling with the sound as it morphed into a roar, then a scream. His voice dripped with Void but still the whales cried and burned; he could feel their dying songs reverberating in his ears, his whole body resonating with the call.

------

Daud lurched forward, gasping for air, returning to the surface of his dreams. His body was slick with sweat and smoke and his nose burned with the smell of burning oil. Whalesong mixed in his ears with another unearthly sound, a keening note that he realized, belatedly, was a sundering howl ripped from his own throat. He fell from the bed, all too aware of his teeth clashing, his claws ripping, his body shaking from an exertion he didn't know it was experiencing until now.

He tried to still his panicking mind but his body spasmed of its own accord, as if trying desperately to break free of it's human-shaped prison. He fought for lucidity against the instinctive desire to shift into something else. He bit down on his tongue, rolling it through too-long teeth, and clenched his left hand so painfully it bled. He tasted iron on his lips and gasped out, trying not to fall apart at the literal seams.

Human, human, you're still human , he reminded himself, trying desperately to convince whatever shift was happening to reverse itself. A dark part of his mind snarled back, telling him he was only lying to himself, that humanity was now beyond him--but he snuffed it out, shaking his head as the world swam with void and smoke. He clenched his fist even tighter; he snarled and his scars smoldered like they would sear his face right off, but he finally got his body to settle. Claws melted away, fur and ears and snout left on a non-existent breeze. His chest exhaled; with it, the beast succumbed, returning to rest in the coil of his ribcage. His limbs shook, his body was slick with sweat. He wanted to be sick.

When he pounded his fist into the flooring, the wood creaked, splinters biting into his skin.

A week. He'd had this Mark for a bloody week and still, everyday was a fight. A fight against a body that didn't want to be confined to skin, with claws that itched to grow, with teeth that begged to be bared. The Mark on his hand and the whispers of the Void that were supposed to help him maintain this mess seemed only to encourage the beast of him. His dreams were vivid bloodbaths coaxing the monster to burst from his skin. The Outsider had wondered how long Daud could control the beast; Daud wondered if he even had control to begin with.

His hand seized and he shook it, flexed it, then concentrated. His breathing returned to normal, his shivering stopped. He willed those claws to grow long and deadly before whispering them away again. He watched as the inky black fur broke apart and turned to ash, as if the fur wasn't made of hair, but actual voidstone, muttering secrets even as it dissipated away. Daud frowned, sat back on his legs, and closed his eyes.

This time, he felt for the Void. He searched for it with purpose, his hand the part of him that was allowed to plunge across the barrier. The chill was bone deep, the pain of it followed by a tingling pressure that begged him to stop-- but he found it. The tendril of magic he was searching for. He tugged on it like a spider testing its web, following the vibrations towards its intended goal.

Daud kept his eyes closed until he felt the cold burn up his arm, filling him with magic. When he opened his eyes, the world's colors were muted but her secrets lay bare; people far below him either still slept or paced paths around their beds. Scent trails wafted in front of him, the smells of whales, of oil, of burnt skin traveling through his apartment. When he blinked again his normal color vision returned, the murmur in his ear fled from him, and his mark faded from a bright screaming white back down to a faded black.

He drew breath and heavy air filled his lungs; a cold hand materialized on his scarred cheek and he stilled, blinking, until a smirking figure appeared before him fully. He swallowed, still very aware of his position on the floor, and lifted his gaze to meet endless black.

"My, learning something new today?" the Outsider asked calmly, stroking a thumb across Daud's cheek. The sensation of the touch across his scars sent a shivering jolt all the way down to his feet and he gasped at the sensation. He tried to regain composure, tried to scowl at the god.

"It's not like I've been given many instructions," Daud complained. "So I've had to learn to take what I can get when I find it."

"You have been quite busy seeking out my shrines," the Outsider noted. "But they are easier to listen for than to see. This new power will help you hear their songs. Once your ears hear it, you will know. And you will be drawn to them."

Thin fingers moved from his face to his hair, carding through the loose black strands and Daud's eyes slid closed, his body entranced under the touch. It was soothing and suffocating; he let himself be set adrift, the current pulling him where it wished. The Outsider smiled.

"A mother from Pandyssia, and the bastard father she murdered on her way to Serkonos. She was called a witch, people thought she worshipped me. But she didn't; you knew it was all slander. You didn't even believe I really existed." He drew his hand away and Daud whined, unbidden. Free of the trance, he stood up; the Outsider floated above the flooring, his shadow immeasurable.

"Why believe in a god that didn't pay attention to us, or the suffering of others? It was pointless."

"And yet, here I am. In truth, I'm glad you weren't devout. Would have made it so much less interesting to approach you." The Outsider turned away, though Daud felt as if his hungry dead eyes were still watching his every move.

"Tell me, Daud, did you ever hear the fables of whale-wolves in your youth?"

Daud blinked. "My mother mentioned them under a different name. Wolfbanner, those cursed as wolves. It was fanciful, like anything from Pandyssia. I didn't pay it much mind as I aged, when I had other things to worry about."

"Like murdering your abusive captors," the Outsider supplied. He turned back to Daud, studying him. "Not your first kill, and not your last." He disappeared, reappearing at Daud's side, facing the opposite direction. A hand hovered over Daud's arm, the sensation of promised contact prickling against his skin.

"You are by far the most bloodthirsty of my Marked, the first in a long time."

There was a sadness there, but also an interest, a hunger. Daud leaned away a little, trying to meet the Outsider's eye.

"How many have you Marked?"

"There are a few in every age. You are one of six, all scattered in the Isles. The last time I marked someone, you were still a babe in Serkonos. The last time one of my Marked died, it was here, under this very city, just over a year ago." His face fell serious, a terrible gaze that chilled Daud to the bone.

"The one Fink found," Daud surmised, and the Outsider's form flickered dangerously. He chose to dissipate, forming again to sit on Daud's bed, a foot resting over the opposite knee.

"My whale-wolves are not the playthings of men. They are individuals who make their own lives, their own paths, their own choices. According to legend, the original were whales that left the water to walk on land; they possessed humans, and their form changed to suit their bodies and their environment. It was not so easy on the humans; they eventually lost their minds to the whale's overwhelming presence, ravaging their villages and infecting their others, and were ultimately killed." The Outsider looked away, his gaze far off.

"But that was thousands of years ago, when whales were more powerful. My Mark gives humans a fighting chance, but it also changes them forever. You are now more than you ever were before, Daud."

"I was quite fine being human, you know," Daud snarled. "I didn't want to become some furred whale that walks on land." The Outsider gave him a sad look.

"Unfortunately, few get to choose this path. Those who have the option of choice are rarer and more powerful than you could ever imagine. You could have been one but…" the Outsider flicked over to him again, his hands and eyes fixated on the scars marring his face. Daud inhaled sharply, not expecting the touch.

"But you were attacked before that choice could be offered to you. I'm sorry. So please, do not take what I've given you to waste."

The god's voice was barely a whisper, but so loud within his ears, like rushing water. He turned toward the Outsider, unbidden. That slender face smiled.

"What would you see me do, then?" He asked, eyes dark and entranced again.

"Return to where you started," the Outsider offered. "And keep your friends close. You will need them, soon."

And then, just like that, Daud was alone again. He shivered, his body alight in a very different sense, limbs tingling with phantom pain. He breathed, trying to ease his mind, but it was no use. He settled instead for a cold shower but all it did was remind him of those icy hands, the rush of water in the Void, and the whales that kept crying from their death row in the slaughterhouses.

------

Rulfio was early to his meeting with Daud by approximately ten minutes and 45 seconds.

Apparently, so was Daud.

This wasn't completely unlike the other assassin, if Rulfio was being honest. What was unlike Daud, however, was his vulnerable position-- sitting against the chimney, his arms resting on his knees, his mouth nervously rolling a new cig. Daud didn't even look at Rulfio as he cleared the roof, swinging his legs over the edge before straightening up.

There was no mask, this time. A welcome return to normalcy -- until, of course, Daud turned his head towards Rulfio. Without thinking, Rulfio's eyes shot over to Daud's scars and he stilled. His beard pulled into a frown and he crossed his arms; Daud sighed. The younger assassin didn't stand up, just kept sitting there, too open and languid.

"Do I even want to know the trouble you've been into since the last time I saw you?" The words were rough but held no venom; Daud responded by looking down and away, the shadow of a smile twitching on his lips as he pulled at his cigarette. The smoke billowed up as he breathed out.

"Maybe not. If I had the option of not knowing, I would take it, to be honest."

There was something ruined there in those words that gave Rulfio a pause. He unfolded his arms, instead opting to set his hands into pockets.

"Well, did you get it done, then? It's been near two weeks."

Daud nodded. He then dug into the bandolier at his chest and pulled out a small pouch. He tossed it to Rulfio, who caught it easily. He noted the red velvet of the purse's fabric, opened it to gold coins, and laughed.

"Steal everything but the bathtub?"

"I burned the house. The whole family is dead. Except, well…"

Rulfio tossed the bag up, catching it easily as it fell. "Well?"

Daud sighed. He shot Rulfio a look. "There was a kid."

Of course there was. "And where's the kid now?"

"In the hands of a physician. She was hurt, but she'll live."

"Have you been stalking her?"

Daud's expression went deadly sharp. Rulfio blinked; a dark emotion hung in those edges that he had never seen on Daud's face before. But then it passed and Daud just grimaced, puffing on the cigarette in his mouth.

"I've been trying not to. I don't need to interfere with a kid who's life I ruined."

"And yet you pulled her from a burning building after killing her parents."

"I wasn't gonna let her die, Rulf."

Fair enough. He tossed the coin purse again, finding the clinking pleasant in his ear. "Did that physician fix your face up too?"

"No, that was…" his hand clenched, as if his wrist hurt. "It healed on its own."

Rulfio knew a lie when he heard one. He laughed, waving at a bug hovering too near his ear. "Daud you're a better liar than that. If you have a secret, you can just keep it, you know." Interestingly, Daud's jaw worked; the fly in his ear grew more insistent. Rulfio wasn't the twitchy type --having a steady hand and low jumpiness made him great at his job-- but when he swatted and nothing flew from his hand, he turned his head, looking around. The air was empty, but the sensation tickling at his nerves remained. He scowled, and then caught Daud watching him curiously.

"What is it?" He asked.

"Dunno," Rulfio confessed. "Thought it was a fly, or a mosquito. But there's nothing there."

Immediately the twinge on his nerves receded, but Daud remained far too impassive. Rulfio squinted at him, folding his arms in again.

It took a few ticks, but Daud finally twitched, his fingers moving back to his cigarette.

"What did you do?" Rulfio asked, like he was talking to a petulant child. Daud exhaled, the sound roughened with smoke.

"I need your help," he said, skirting the question. "It's not a contract, it's a… personal favor." His head tilted, his eyes softened. "I don't really have anyone else I can ask to come with me on this one."

Rulfio considered. If you asked him, he wasn't the superstitious type, but something wasn't right. Daud was acting strange. Void, how long did Rulfio think him dead? Long enough to come to terms with the fact that his partner was well and truly gone. Then he just reappeared, with that haunting face and those seeping, infected wounds, and things changed. To be honest, Rulfio isn't even sure if Daud was still real, or some phantom sent to haunt him.

"Sure, I'll help you out, Daud. I've owed you for a while, anyway." He settled down on the roof next to the scarred man, nudging his boot amicably. "What do you need to see to?"

Daud sighed, weary. He ran a hand over his hair.

"It's the Hound Pits. I have to go back there, look around. Something doesn't add up, like I missed something the first time around. I don't want to get my information crossed, but some of the papers I found in Fink's place allude to... unpleasant practices. " Daud pulled the papers he recovered and easily handed them to Rulfio. He took the proffered articles, smoothing his beard as he read. That insistence itched at the back of his skull, ringing like tinnitus.

Eyebrows up, Rulfio simply said aloud "do you mind?" while his eyes skimmed over the words, and was mildly surprised when the sensation obliged, backing off. The ache it left behind was dull, and Ruflio gave Daud a very pointed look.

Daud, to his credit, tried to remain neutral. Rulfio sniffed. Daud blinked innocently.

"Are you using some kind of magic on me, Daud?"

"Don't start with me, Rulf."

"Look I know you said your mom was from Pandyssia but--"

"Just read the damn articles," Daud growled out, "and maybe then I'll tell you."

Rulfio went back to the papers, smirking, but the smile fled as something dark settled into his chest. He read it, then read it again. He swallowed heavily and when he handed the papers back, he found his steady hand shaking.

"Jerome," he managed, "it says he changed? And that they were looking for assassins to…" he cast a nervous glance at Daud, who was watching him very carefully. Rulfio's gaze flicked to those gastly scars, the lines dragging over his face and across his jugular, and he could feel the sweat beading on his own forehead.

"What the fuck happened under the Hound Pits, Daud?"

Daud didn't blink, his expression dark.

"It's easier to show than tell on this one, Rulf."

------

The trip to the Hound Pits Pub took longer than Daud wanted it to. After a week, he was used to these powers taking him farther and faster than his own legs could, to the point where walking was an overt annoyance. However, he couldn't trust to show his powers to Rulfio, not yet, not until his fellow assassin fully understood why. So, by simple flesh and steel they both traversed the rooftops, knowing the routes through Dunwall better than anyone. Blessedly, Rulfio asked no questions on the way, letting Daud take the lead and direct Rulfio where they needed to go.

As they neared the establishment they settled down, carefully perching on a nearby apartment roof and simply observing. It was late afternoon, which meant the pub was getting ready for dinner and a long night of pleasantries. Someone in an upstairs apartment aired out some dirty laundry, getting spooked when she caught them lounging out of the corner of her eye. Daud grimaced, motioning to Rulfio; they hopped down after that, mingling with the streetside crowd.

"Go on inside," Daud suggested, as they eyeballed the front door of the Pub. "See if you can't distract the staff for a while. I'm going to scout around for where we need to go."

"And how will I know you're ready for me?"

Daud worried his cheek and resisted the urge to push his thoughts towards Rulfio. It was an addictive side effect, one he didn't totally understand or have control over, but he knew Rulfio's mind now, had a bead on it, and it would be so easy to…

"I'll come in and grab a drink myself," he supplied, pushing down the ache to reconnect to Rulfio's mind. "I'll grab a whiskey if I'm ready to go, a wine if not. How does that sound?"

Rulfio nodded, good with the plan, and Daud relaxed. He nodded, then eased back against the wall, pulling out a cigarette to light. He lounged casually, wearing a loose shirt over his bandolier to conceal the majority of his weapons and equipment. He waited until Rulfio disappeared, nursing his cigarette between his lips.

Then, he pulled the spent butt from his mouth, flicked it to the floor, and disappeared.

He transversed through the Void, his body leaping to a new location, again and again, effortlessly. He had been practicing with the power, honing the feel of it over the last week, his confidence growing with each successful jump. He allowed the power to flow through him now, breathing in the ash it left behind, feeling his chest swell with unspoken exhalation. He circled the Pub, gathered a loose key from an upper room, and disappeared briefly into the sewers connected to the establishment.

There, he let himself take a breath. His hand itched with long claws, his black gloves melting into oily fur. Daud looked around and sniffed; the sewers still stank, but not of death. Perhaps the rats or the hagfish got to last month's massacre, tearing apart any remains. He carefully traversed the tunnels, found the door he had used when he was first here, and unlocked it with the stolen key.

Then, as silently as a spectre, he slipped into the main body of the Hound Pits Pub.

The place was bustling, the smell and sounds of the brewery and its customers hitting him full force. He staggered for a moment, nose curling, before making his way to the broad chested Tyvian. He knocked on the counter and Rulfio glanced at him, but said nothing else.

"Can I get a whiskey?" Daud asked gruffly. "Dunwall's finest." The barkeep nodded, sauntering off to get the drink. Next to him, Rulfio shifted.

"There is a door to the sewers in the--" he whispered, but just then, the rabble rose up, drowning his words. He glanced at Rulfio, who shook his head. Of course, he hadn't heard him.

Daud huffed. And, without thinking, he shut his mouth tight and reached his mind out to Rulfio's.

"Adjacent brewery has a door to the sewers in the back. It's unlocked. No guards. I'll meet you there."

Daud could feel Rulfio's mind flickering through confusion, realization, shock, and-- the emotions flashed by so fast Daud's head felt heavy but he drummed on the counter and cleared his throat. As the barkeep brought his drink and he dropped his pay, he chanced a glance at Rulfio.

His partner's face was a wall. He was looking at Daud, his eyes unblinking, and Daud could sense the disbelief. He frowned; he needed to get Rulfio moving, damnit.

"Is there a problem, sir?" Daud growled, lifting a dangerous lip. Across the weak connection he felt confusion, then understanding. Rulfio cleared his throat, then shook his head.

"No sir, just thought I recognized you from somewhere."

"With these scars? I doubt it. Now back off."

Rulfio nodded and behind them, someone laughed. Daud turned away and nursed the whiskey; when he looked back, Rulfio was gone.

He dropped a tip, downed the rest of his glass, then exited the way he entered.

When Daud next met up with his fellow assassin in the sewers, Rulfio was livid. He grabbed Daud by his too-loose shirt, shaking him roughly, and snarled in Daud's face.

"What black magic was that? Where is the bone charm? Who gave it to you? Damn it all, Daud!"

Daud let himself be handled before carefully prying Rulfio's fingers off his shirt. He then pulled the shirt off, storing it near the door, and then checked his equipment and adjusted his hood.

"It's not a bone charm, Rulfio," Daud said, hating how strained his voice sounded. It was easier to count his bolts and darts than look at the dark, angry eyes of his partner in crime. "It's just how I am now, Rulf."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" There was the sound of a blade unsheathing, and Daud started, not expecting the weapon now pointed on him. Not Rulfio. His stomach dropped with the realization that somewhere along the way, he'd made a deadly mistake. He whirled towards his partner, putting his hands up.

"Rulfio, wait--"

The tip of Rulfio's dao blade pressed into his stomach, silencing him. Daud's mouth snapped shut and he shook his head, unmoving.

"What were you doing in my head then? Are you like Jerome? In the note, how it said he could invade thoughts… is that what you're like now? Are you even Daud anymore?"

Daud licked his lips. He chose his words carefully; he really didn't think Rulfio wanted to see what would happen if he tried to spill his guts here and now. Daud didn't really want to see what would happen, either.

"Rulfio, I swear to you, I have not been body snatched, I'm not some weird animated corpse. I just need you to trust me--"

"Trust you, when you were coming in my head and talking to me? I didn't give you permission for that, Daud!"

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help it," he whispered lowly, his voice echoing against the water and the walls. Rulfio had no response to that, but the blade didn't move. Carefully Daud moved to take off his left glove. "I just want to show you, so that you don't make a terrible mistake, right here, right now."

"And why's that? You some witch now?" The sword pushed into his stomach.

"No, Rulfio-- fuck! I'm a Wolfbanner, I'm a cursed fucking whale-wolf!"

The silence at the declaration hung heavy between them. Rulfio then laughed, singular, in disbelief.

"Yeah, right. Those are just old wive's tales, Daud. There's…" but he trailed off, the look on Daud's face stony. Rulfio's eyes flicked to the scars. His hand shook.

"Let me show you, Rulfio." He tugged at his glove. Rulfio shook his head, but didn't take his eyes off the motion. "Just please, don't gut me, that's all I ask."

The glove slid off. The Outsider's Mark gleamed. In a swarm of ash, black claws grew.

The sword clattered loudly to the floor.

Daud's jaw clenched tight, working as Rulfio stared, fascinated at the action. Worry crept in, and Daud took a step back for distance.

"I didn't want this, Rulf, but I'm not lying, and by some god-given power, I haven't gone completely insane. I didn't think--I'm not here to-- I thought I could trust you with this because I hate lying to you, Rulf."

"And the mind tricks? What is that?"

"I…" Daud clammed up, and had the audacity to feel ashamed. "I don't know. I just realized that I could reach out to someone else's head, read their emotions, talk to them. I'm still learning this shit and I'm sorry, Rulfio. You couldn't hear me and I just acted without--"

The thwip was near silent. Daud didn't catch it soon enough; the punch in his leg caused him to buckle and grunt. He looked down; the bolt stuck from his thigh at an odd angle, but the blood poured from it all the same. He groaned again as the pain burned down his leg and up his spine.

"Rulfio, what the fuck--"

But it wasn't Rulfio. Daud's second stood, watching agape as a second bolt hit his right arm, in the bicep. Daud growled in annoyance, the sound guttural in his ears. He could feel his teeth growing heavy and he gnashed them together as he pulled the first bolt out of his leg with his free hand.

"Rulfio," Daud rasped, feeling his mark burning and begging to be used. He dodged; another bolt whizzed past his head. "I swear, if you're in on this--" He didn't mean to sound so rough and angry but someone was shooting at him and he'd been too distracted to notice. But Rulfio just shook his head, his face pale. He reached for his sword but another bolt nearly struck his hand and he pulled back, cursing.

It was enough to make Daud's blood boil over. His fist clenched; with a snarl he was rushing forward, ignoring the pain in his limbs. There was an exclamation, but he was already too far to make out the words. Ugly claws sprouted as the world greyed; a body to his left lit up and he sneered, teeth sharp. The individual was slim, hooded; they realized how close Daud suddenly was and they stumbled back, surprised. Or perhaps, terrified.

It didn't matter. Daud's fist clenched and he pounced; another bolt whizzed past him, the shot going wide as Daud collided with his assailant. He pulled his blade out immediately, pulling it to the throat of--

Daud cursed and the person under him shuddered from where his hand lay clasped around her throat. Because now he knew it was a she; the long brown hair tied back in her hood and those sharp blue eyes were sign enough. He sighed out a growl, keeping his blade on her neck.

"Jordan. You better have a good explanation for this." He heard a yelp from Rulfio in the distance, the call of his name. Jordan sneered and Daud was suddenly very aware of the steady drip of blood from the bolt still in his arm.

"Daud, what the shit was all that-- Jordan?!" Rulfio finally moved over to them, wet from the sewers, and he looked at her, equally baffled. He looked at Daud, then Jordan, and his face went severe. "Oh, you didn't… Seriously , Jordan?" He sounded like he was chiding a child which, to be honest, wouldn't be far off the mark. Jordan was even younger than Daud, fresh into her second decade, and sometimes her recklessness preceded her.

Jordan, for her part, at least knew better than to struggle against Daud's grip. Her eyes darted to Rulfio, then back to Daud; she put her hands up, swearing.

"Okay, okay, shit, you caught me. Now let me up you assholes."

"Not until you explain what you were thinking, shooting me in the fucking sewer," Daud growled out, his teeth grinding together in anger.

"There's… there's a hit on you, Daud."

It was Rulfio who responded. He sounded defeated, almost ashamed. Daud swore, nearly dropping his blade as he turned to Rulfio, livid.

"There's a hit on me and you didn't tell me? Since when?"

"It's that prick, Brimsley," Jordan supplied. "Said he was threatened by you, that you killed someone else and he wanted you gone. It's good pay, you know," she twitched, her eyes darting between the other two assassins. "15,000 coin, Daud. I thought it'd be easy enough, but he didn't say you were a heretic too."

"I'm not a heret--" he cut his own words off with a groan, finally pushing Jordan away in anger. His claws left no marks, for which he was grateful. She rubbed at her neck anyway, trying to ease the pain away, checking for blood. "Whatever. Fuck Brimsley. I'll kill him myself and collect my own bounty." With an annoyed grunt, he pulled the bolt from his arm, letting it clatter to the floor, unphased by the blood weeping from the wound.

"Does that even hurt?" Jordan asked, stupefied.

"Like a bloodfly sting," he responded. Jordan blanched.

"Yeah okay, fuck Brimsley, you're a scary man, Daud. 15,000 isn't even close enough to be worth it. 20,000 maybe. But Outsider's ass, you really ate two bolts like it was nothing."

"Yeah, well, at least you didn't try to kill me," he said, and his mind remembered that grey wolf's-- Jerome, his name was Jerome, he reminded himself, sickened--split neck, stitching itself back together. "There's a good chance it wouldn't have worked."

"I wager not," she said, her wide, nervous eyes trailing the scars on his face. "So what, you a fuckin' witch now? Give your soul to the Void so you can't ever die?"

"He's a whale-wolf now, Jordan." Rulfio said gruffly. Daud spared him a glance; Rulfio was watching him carefully, but there was no skepticism in his gaze. Daud savored the small amount of vindication that brought him, before turning towards Jordan's laughter.

"Yeah, right. Those are just fiction, Rulf. I know you love your conspiracy theories, but seriously? A whale-wolf? I'm supposed to just believe that?"

Rulfio flushed, the grip on his blade tightening with the creak of leather. "Did you not see what Daud just did? He disappeared and then reappeared like it was nothing. He's even Marked--or tattoo'd, depending on how you see it."

"Don't need to be a giant beast to use magic, Rulfio."

"Oh? You think those witches you see at night aren't also beasts too? You think Granny Rags isn't more than just an old crone?"

"You ever see Granny look like a giant monster? No? I didn't think so! But she still brews those concoctions and talks to rats and leaves carved bones lying about!"

"Just because you ain't seen it doesn't mean it's not true," Rulfio defended.

"Shut the fuck up, both of you," Daud finally snarled, his whole body bristling. Jordan and Rulfio both stilled, acquiesced, though Jordan's eyes still darted skeptically between them. "Rulfio isn't wrong, Jordan… I got attacked. In these very sewers, even. It's not something I really enjoy, but--

"Show me, then," Jordan bit out, stubbornness taking over as she steadied her crossbow at Daud, "or I'll turn you over to the Overseers. I bet they'll give me more coin for a marked heretic than Brimsley will for your head."

Daud sighed, aggravated. "You can't be serious."

"And if I am?" She tilted her head. "What, you suddenly shy or something, Daud?"

He snarled, the sound rumbling out from deep in his chest. Jordan faltered and Rulfio stepped back; around them, the air grew heavy. He stuck out his left hand; still gloveless, he clenched it and it burned, the smoke and ash giving away to fur and muscle. Jordan's eyes went wide and she lowered the crossbow as Daud's scars glowed hot, the smoke revealing fur and ears. His teeth clashed together as they lengthened in his jaws and became something other than human. Rulfio cursed, Jordan held a silent scream. His bones cracked unpleasantly but he willed the rest of his body to stay put, despite the heaving of his chest and creeping fur down his back. He felt his wounds steam away, the flesh knitting back together with his partial transformation.

Jordan gaped like a fish. Clearly, neither of them had expected -- this . Daud could hardly blame them. He sneered, his lip curling up, hating the looks on their faces. He let go of his magic; immediately, the fur dissipated, melting away like fog over water.

Nobody said anything. Daud could feel the anger rising in his chest and his left hand itched.

"Any other stupid questions?" He rasped out, his voice ruined after the transformation. Jordan just shook her head, the crossbow falling from her hands.

She ran.

Daud caught her before she took more than two steps. Rulfio's hand flew to his blade, anticipating a fight.

"And where do you think you're going?"

"I'm not sticking around so you can kill me like that!"

"Daud frowned. "I'm not going to kill you." His mouth twisted up into a nasty smile. "Unless you're off to snitch, that is. Then I might reconsider."

"Like anyone would believe me anyway!" She shrieked, her voice cracking up an octave. Then, she relaxed, though the sweat on her brow lingered. "What are you going to do with me then?"

Daud blinked, then looked at Rulfio, who shrugged.

"I think you'll just have to come along for the ride, now," he sneered, putting his blade back on his hip. "You followed us down here, after all. Aren't you curious as to why we're here under a dirty old dog fighting pub?"

Jordan looked skeptical, but Daud knew her curiosity would win out in the end. Her fingers twitched, and she licked her lips.

"It got to do with that hit you took for Brimsley?"

"The very one that fucked me up and almost killed me? Yes."

"Fine. Just don't kill me and leave me a mummy for someone to find in 200 years, alright? I got a lotta living still to do."

"We aren't going to kill you, girl," Rulfio sighed out, exasperated. That seemed to convince her; she wiggled out of Daud's limp grip and wiped herself off.

"Alright then. Where to, wolfman?"

Daud sighed and rolled his eyes; he was already regretting the decision to bring anyone along. But the Outsider had told him to keep his friends close, and maybe this was why.

"Give me a moment," he muttered, then waved his left hand again, burning through more magic. The Void laid bare the secrets of the world and in his ears, a faint ringing began. He frowned; the sound was like a tuning fork, resonating in his chest and limbs. It tugged him down, deeper under the tunnels, to where the dog fighting amphitheatre was. As his vision returned to normal, he started moving, motioning to the others.

"It's this way. Come on."

[dropintomanga]

On Kodansha US’s New Tagline

One of the North American manga publishers recently got a new revamp as Kodansha Comics became consolidated into a more centralized Kodansha with a new logo and also a new tagline.

That new tagline is “Inspire Impossible Stories.” I know for most fans, taglines are taglines. But I’m somehow emotionally drawn to it due to my own relationship with Kodansha-published manga series for more than a decade.

Where do I start with this? I think the 1st Kodansha series I ever truly read was Chobits when Tokyopop released it back in the day. But the first actual Kodansha-published series that really drew my interest was Great Teacher Onizuka. After watching all of the anime in the early 2000s’, I jumped in on the Tokyopop volumes. I still consider GTO to be one of the best “high school teacher” anime/manga series of all-time. Now that I think about it, GTO did something very notable and maybe impossible compared to a typical Shonen Jump story. It was a story about a former young adult gangster who decided to be a teacher in a high school class full of troublemakers. GTO went deep into real-life issues plaguing youth in high school. It made caring about the mental health of youth a thing before it really became a thing this past decade.

Also, I just remembered that Initial D (which is another Kodansha title) was a series I loved when I was a young adult. This is starting to sound like a Tokyopop appreciation post, but I know who the real MVP is here.

I remember a famous line in Gintama about Kodansha’s Weekly Shonen Magazine. There’s a code in the Shinsengumi that states all members should read Magazine instead of Jump. 

“Shinsengumi Regulation #17: No manga other than (Weekly Shonen) Magazine are allowed to be read within the confines of the station.'”

While it’s a joke poking fun at Magazine for publishing stories about delinquents and appealing more to older youth/young adults, it felt like Jump was for babies.

I browsed issues of Shonen Magazine in the past at a Japanese comfort food restaurant many years ago and it was full of series that I didn’t recognize or couldn’t get into. I did recognize a few titles like Fairy Tail and Air Gear, but the fact that it also had pin-up girls on their covers from time-to-time made me realize that Magazine was different from Jump. I remember one issue had a large fan poll on which AKB48 girl was the best.

A few years ago, Kodansha interviewed Hiroya Oku of GANTZ fame, who drew Inuyashiki for Kodansha’s Evening (a seinen manga magazine). When asked about how he came up with the idea of having a robotic alien superhero in the form of an old man, Oku mentions his former publisher, Shueisha, while describing his initial thought process. He says,

“When I was working on GANTZ on Shueisha’s Young Jump Magazine, I was more concerned about the popularity and sales figures of my manga. In that magazine’s culture, there’s an unspoken rule to make the main characters visually attractive. When I started work for Kodansha’s Evening (the magazine Inuyashiki is published in), there was more freedom. So I suggested going with the not-so-good-looking teenager as a main character. They green-lit the idea, so I started drawing the character in the manga.”

Let me put this out before we go a bit further - I love Shueisha manga series. I grew up on Shonen Jump. Their material always seems to captivate me somehow. They kept me interested in shonen for a long time. But because the fact shonen is the mainstream genre, I might get sick of it when the time comes. It’s why I also started following Young Jump series since they sounded more appealing. However, I do notice that with series like Tokyo Ghoul, Kingdom and Golden Kamuy, to name a few, the magazine is filled with stylish-looking characters that have greater appeal to a younger audience despite whatever mature tones they have.

But when it comes to Kodansha, their manga series are mature from the start and I don’t mean in a fanservice kind of way. Can you see series like A Silent Voice or Your Lie in April published in Shonen Jump or one of Shueisha’s other notable magazines? I'm not sure I can. It’s also noted that Hajime Isayama, creator of Attack on Titan, tried to get his series into Shonen Jump. Shueisha thought the series was a bit too dark for their tastes, and Isayama decided to try out for Kodansha instead and that’s where he’s been ever since as the series is published in Bessatsu Shonen Magazine.

So why appeal to that older shonen demographic? Probably because life isn’t some battle manga with friends that are there for you every step of the way. Hard work doesn’t always get rewarded. The idea of victory can also get very gray. You see more delinquents than overpowered ninjas/pirates in life. While Fairy Tail and The Seven Deadly Sins are two of Kodansha’s popular “battle manga” series ever, both series seem to subvert some of shonen’s popular tropes and/or have a certain edge to them. What’s funny is that both series involve a bar/pub/restaurant location where all the heroes meet up. Many older teens start to hang out in places like restaurants as their after-school hangouts.

There’s a lot of Kodansha series that I feel seemed impossible to tell for other publishers. I can think of titles like Tokyo Revengers, Blue Period, Land of the Lustrous, Witch Hat Atelier, Cells at Work!, Knights of Sidonia, etc. The lineup of shojo and josei titles is also incredible as well (Princess Jellyfish, Wotakoi and Chihayafuru are the best examples I can give here) Hell, Akira is a Kodansha title that’s still groundbreaking and evergreen as ever. Their tagline, “Inspire Impossible Stories,” makes sense as while it applies to their U.S. operations, a lot of job hunting students in Japan really want to work for Kodansha Japan.

While Shueisha does have a good share of its own “impossible” stories (Chainsaw Man was a title that impressed me), Shonen Jump is mainstream-friendly and safe to a certain degree. The stories I discovered through Kodansha made me realize how big the world of manga really was and what kind of stories were possible. While they may not have the biggest fandoms compared to Shonen Jump series, I can feel a certain vibe when I read Kodansha-published manga in that any mangaka working under them has their vision unleashed in a way that pleases both readers and the mangaka themselves. There might be a certain bias though as I’ve gotten to see editors from Kodansha Japan in person when they showed up for manga-related events in my area.

Kodansha showed me that there’s more to the manga world than just Jump. That’s why I love their new tag line of inspiring impossible stories. I think we need more exposure to new kinds of stories that speak to all kinds of people. I know people don’t like different stuff outside of what they usually like, but I believe those differences are beneficial in learning how to appreciate nuances in life when one gets older. Being challenged isn’t as frightening as it sounds. Those differences are trying to tell us something about ourselves. For me, it was “I really want something that isn’t about fighting super-powered villains and rivalries all the time.”

I have ambivalent feelings about my life during my 20s’, but Kodansha-published stories helped me appreciate possibility at the time when I didn’t feel there was anything to keep me going. So go on, Kodansha. Keep putting out impossible stories that are thoughtful and inspiring future generations of manga readers. Tell the world that impossible is nothing.

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Thirteen

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

Part Five: Weston Water And Oberland

Part Six: Meeting Preston And Matthew

Part Seven: Radstag And Radstorm

Part Eight: The Return To Sanctuary Hills

Part Nine: Domestic Ruminations

Part Ten: Institutionalized

Part Eleven: Two Weeks, Three Days

Part Twelve: Haylen’s Warning And The Glowing Sea

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains extreme mental duress and graphic depictions of gore. Stay safe!]

M7-97.  

  That couldn't be right.

  M7-97 .

  Quinlan must have gotten something incorrect. A line of code must be askew. Maybe he had used the wrong cipher.

  M7-97 .

  " Danse, they know you're a synth! Please , you have to run! " Haylen had begged him, tears streaming down her face. If this was a joke, it was a disturbing one, and certainly in poor taste.

  M7-97 .

  Danse's stomach wouldn't stop tying itself in knots. He was distracted, dangerously so. 

  M7-97 .

  Was Vega leading him into a trap? Was he being set up? 

  Was he really a synth? His memories swirled uncertainly, sterile and damning. Featureless gray buildings, scavenging through the ruins of the Capital Wasteland, alone, alone . 

  The meager breakfast he had eaten in the mess hall threatened to make a reappearance. Was he really a synth? Danse felt like he couldn't breathe, lightheaded from warring with his panic. He leaned against the double doors as Vega set up the location pulser, the knight fumbling for a moment with the fiddly gear.

  "Wait, Vega." The paladin said abruptly when she was about to push the activation button. She turned to look at him and Danse's heart clenched in his chest. 

  He went to remove his helmet, the gorget seal hissing loudly in the stillness of the Sentinel site. Here amongst the towering stacks of carefully packaged warheads, the paladin made a split-second choice. If she had been sent along with him to end him, he wouldn't resist. But he needed to say his piece.

  Rushed on by fear, nausea and the devastating knowledge that he would never see her again, Danse began to speak. "I just wanted you to know how immensely proud I am of you, Knight Vega," he choked out, half-expecting her to blow his head off now that he had offered her the opportunity. "You've done so much for the Brotherhood, for me , I...I'm at a loss for words." 

  Instead of killing him where he stood, Elizabeth removed her own helmet, her brilliant smile making Danse's heart trip violently. "Thank you, Danse." She replied softly, a gauntlet over her chest. Not in salute, but in sincerity. 

  Danse's finger twitched on the trigger of his rifle, but he forced himself to unclench his hand from the stock. No, not like this . She had offered him her vulnerability in turn, though hers seemed to be unwitting. He wouldn't sully their last encounter by being the one to fire first.

  "When you arrived at the police station, I didn't know whether we could trust you. But as I said before you departed for the Institute, you've proved yourself time and again in my eyes. I am honored to have fought alongside you, and I'm honored to call you my friend," Danse's voice trembled, "Elizabeth."

  "Gosh." Vega blinked at him, seeming concerned. "You really need that R and R, Danse. Look, this isn't the end of the world! We'll only be apart for a little while."

  "Apart?" Danse asked, confused. He could have sworn that she was here to either kill him or simply keep him occupied until the rest of the Brotherhood arrived to put an end to him. 

  "Yeah, you're supposed to stay here to count and secure the bombs. Elder Maxson wanted me to report back double-time once I activated the pulser, according to that scribe at Echo." Backhand shrugged. "I dunno', seems kinda' dumb for me to hoof it if they're sending vertibirds, but I guess they trust you to make sure nothing stupid happens in the meantime."

  She was leaving him alone? Danse's brain reeled with a million plans half-formed, a million courses of action that he could take. They're separating us , he realized. If she was being removed from the situation ahead of him, that allowed him tactical breathing room to devise a strategy. He wouldn't have to fight her. Wouldn't have to get her tangled in his mess. Wouldn't have to kill her . "Of course," he murmured. "Sorry, I...it's been a long day."

  Backhand waved him off, rummaging through her satchel. That familiar bandanna emerged from the cavern of her bag and Danse forced himself to remain still as she got within melee distance. Her fingers surprisingly nimble in their gauntlets, she wound the 'lucky' bandanna around his neck and tucked the loose ends beneath his left ear. The fabric was worn and faded, a nondescript color that may have once been olive drab. It was technically much too big to be a simple bandanna, but he had no other name for the large square of cloth. A scarf, perhaps?

  "There." She hummed, appearing pleased with her handiwork. "Now you'll have a little luck with you until we meet again."

  Danse reached out almost against his will, the servos in his gauntlet whirring softly when he drew a finger from the cryo burn on her forehead down to the one on her chin. "Take care of yourself in my absence, Knight Vega." His throat ached. 

  "I will. Don't worry about me!" Backhand promised him with an easy grin. "I just hope you won't get bored to death out here all alone." She brought her hand down on the pulser, slipped her helmet back on and then threw him a salute. "Ad Victoriam, Paladin Danse."

  And Paladin Logan Danse, pride of the Brotherhood of Steel, gave her the most razor-sharp salute of his career. "Ad Victoriam, Knight Vega."

  …

  He was going to be sick. Elizabeth had departed not five minutes ago and Danse dry heaved from nerves as he shoved his helmet back on. 

  He didn't have time to be sick. 

  M7-97 .

  There was no way she had known. She would be safe. She could claim ignorance.

  M7-97 .

  Danse knew he didn't have long before the vertibirds arrived. Half of him was so sure this was all a mistake, a misunderstanding that he could easily clear up with a simple explanation. The other half of him was Haylen's anguished voice pleading Danse you have to run, they'll kill you!

  And every second he wasted arguing with himself was a second that possible death drew closer. The paladin could feel his legs shaking in his armor frame, his whole body starting to tremble as the urge to flee threatened to swallow him whole. But no, he was a Brotherhood soldier. 

  Danse paced the floor in front of the double doors, making a point to leave the safety on his laser rifle. Whatever his fate, he would meet it peacefully. He would not open fire on his brothers and sisters, even if they were indeed arriving to slaughter him. If he truly was a synth, he reasoned desperately, then he needed to be destroyed. There could be no allowances or exceptions.

  Had there ever been a real Danse? 

  He jerked to a halt at that, his heart dropping. Was he a replacement , or had there never been a 'real' Danse to begin with? The notion that the real Danse might have been disposed of ages ago to allow him to infiltrate the Brotherhood was...oh God, it was awful , Danse wished he had never thought of it.

  M7-97 .

  He slammed a fist down on the button for the lift. Vega had left via the same path, so he knew that it must eventually lead outside. That…

  He shouldn't try to escape if he was a synth. He needed to be destroyed . If he wasn't one and he fled, it would just make him look even more guilty. 

  But...but he didn't want to die. After everything that he had survived, everything that he had overcome, all the suffering he had endured--

  Oh God, he didn't want to die. Was this some malevolent failsafe programming, or was this just his human self-preservation instincts kicking in? Danse wanted to tear his hair out. He was second guessing every damn thing his body was doing, hyper-aware of the thunder of his pulse, the way his pace of respiration felt stilted and unnatural. 

  With a grind of gears the lift finally arrived at the bottom of its track.

  Danse heard the armored footsteps approaching through the tunnels and he braced himself, hoping against hope that he was wrong, that everything was wrong. He couldn't be a synth. That couldn't be true. His entire existence couldn't be a lie. The emotions that ran rampant in him even now, the times he had longed to be less expressive, as sturdy and unwavering as his armor, the fear that tried to choke him...just a walking, talking falsehood?

  Danse's stomach dropped out when a knight and numerous scribes emerged from the end of the tunnel, the armored individual brandishing a heavy gatling laser. The paladin heard the weapon spin up in warning and he realized he wasn't even getting a shot across the bow or a chance to surrender. All doubt was removed from his mind. 

  Danse, his body moving without conscious input, flung himself to the side. He dropped his rifle in his rush and it was obliterated by the deadly laser fire that dogged his footsteps while he lunged for the elevator. Hammering the button to raise the lift once he was onboard, Danse stumbled into the far corner of the platform.

  " Abomination! " The knight screamed after him, making Danse cringe against the wall of the shaft. " Fuck you, what did you do with Danse?! " Lasers tore through the platform beneath Danse and the paladin staggered, almost losing his footing. " How dare you, freak! "

  Whatever Danse would have said in reply caught in his throat, his eyes blurring with pained tears as the lift platform teetered and shrieked to a halt. The knight continued to aim upwards from beneath the platform, heedless of the damage that could be done to him should the whole thing give way. Danse jumped and grabbed the lip of the shaft, the gears under his pauldrons clicking loudly as he hauled himself up and over onto the small landing. Double doors greeted him and he shouldered them open hurriedly, hearing a resounding clang! as the elevator grating pulled itself apart and collapsed behind him.

  The doors led to the outside of one of the exhaust pylons and Danse quickly swept his head back and forth, squinting in the irradiated light as he took in the landscape from his elevated perch. A lone vertibird sat empty beside the entrance to the site. They must have sent a vanguard squadron to... dispose of him before the rest of the fleet moved in.

  The scaffolding creaked threateningly beneath the weight of his armor and then gave out, sending Danse plummeting to the ground. The paladin gritted his teeth on impact, feeling the shock rattle his legs and spine. He didn't have time. He needed to get away.

  M7-97 .

  His radio buzzed with static, solidifying into what resembled a repeating distress signal as Danse fled Site Prescott. He quickened his pace as soon as he dared to, too concerned about distancing himself from the rest of the Brotherhood to worry about turning off his radio. But then, a specific portion of the staticky distress message caught his attention.

  "... remember that church steeple sticking out that we spotted a week ago? Go there, turn southwest and walk until you find a cave… " 

  Danse checked his compass, sighed, and then turned the radio up just enough so that he could determine if he was getting closer or further away from the origin point of the signal.

  Calling it a cave smacked of charity instead of reality. It was more of a hollowed-out landslide of debris, and it looked on the verge of collapsing beneath the heft of its own weight. Danse crouched down, listening intently. He could still hear the faint sound of more vertibirds high above, but he didn't hear any motion inside the cave.

  "... must have had a better suit or something… " The message continued repeating without a hitch.

  Emboldened, the paladin crept forward into the cramped space. His sabatons scored the dead earth beneath him, dislodging chunks of cracked asphalt with every ponderous step. All he could hope is that he wasn't sauntering into some deathclaw's den, or a nest of radscorpions. Danse loathed entering tight spaces in his power armor.

  His headlamp bounced off the walls, the light watered down and sickly from the heavy radiation storm that seethed overhead. Brain fungus cluttered the debris around him, bioluminescence glittering feebly in the gloom.

  The man who had set up the distress signal (a raider, if Danse had to guess based solely on his voice and the bedraggled body on the ground in front of him) appeared to have expired from the radiation. His suit of power armor stood empty, and after a perfunctory examination Danse quickly spotted the problem. The fusion core was untouched, inserted improperly and thus wasn't powering the suit. A rookie mistake, one that had cost this raider his life.

  On the spur of the moment, Danse made another choice that he knew would have serious repercussions. 

  Stepping out of his own armor, he hastily put the fresh core into his utility pouch and then extracted his half-spent one to slot into the raider's suit. He suddenly remembered Backhand's bandanna draped carefully around his neck and he fumbled with the cloth, tearing it free and shoving it into the pouch alongside the fresh core. 

  Radiation seared at his skin through his jumpsuit. Danse rushed to don the ramshackle armor, his body immediately noticing the difference in protection. The right leg on the armor was rusted through, but Danse didn't have the luxury of time on his side to change it out. At least the frame was still sound.

  Paladin Danse emerged from the other end of the cave, the raider armor shrieking in protest as he knocked the grit out of the joints. The rubber gaskets around the neck and gauntlets were worn to almost nothing, and Danse could feel the irradiated rain seeping into the suit. 

  He raised his head, squinting through the hissing droplets that marred the face shielding, and finally caught sight of the overpass in the distance when it was brought into stark contrast against the sky by a jagged flash of yellowed lightning.

  Danse didn't actively think for quite a while. He simply put one foot in front of the other and intermittently checked his compass, doing his best to avoid the meandering packs of ferals that dotted the perpetually gloam-shrouded landscape. This armor was barely capable of shielding him from the radiation; he wasn't overeager to test its combat capabilities.

  Unfortunately, a territorial deathclaw didn't give him much of a choice. Danse knew he was severely outmatched, and he certainly knew he wouldn't be able to outrun the swift creature. So it was down to him finding stable high ground, his service pistol cracking in the green twilight as he squared off with the massive beast.

  It roared and charged at him, bounding up the hillside faster than Danse could backpedal. He quickly found himself beneath the creature, the claws that were its namesake raking through the welded-together pauldrons while Danse pressed the muzzle of his pistol to the beast's unprotected stomach and pumped it full of bullets. The deathclaw roared again, fitting the top of Danse's helmet into its mouth and biting down.

  The shriek of metal rang in Danse's ears and his jaw locked up as a portion of the helm gave way, his nose immediately broken under the assault. 

  He prayed he hadn't run his magazine dry just yet, because reloading in this position might prove difficult. His left gauntlet grappled beneath the deathclaw's chin, crushing the mutated beast's throat until it finally released the grip it had on his helmet. Danse braced the point of his elbow against the ground at his side and just held down the trigger until the weapon clicked emptily. 

  The deathclaw was still fighting (albeit a bit less staunchly) and Danse took the opportunity to release his gun, slam his gauntlets down on the creature's prominent horns and twist its head violently until the neck snapped. 

  It went limp on top of him and Danse laid there for a moment, simply trying to catch his breath. He had been wholly silent through the encounter, and his heart sank as he determined that no human would have faced down a deathclaw so quietly. 

  M7-97 .

  A vertibird flew by overhead, a very familiar munitions crate dangling from the main body by way of a cargo cable. 

  Danse wriggled out from beneath the deathclaw's body once the flying vehicle had passed, managing to shed the helmet after he rose. He knew he must look grisly; he had felt his nose break and he could only imagine what else had shattered. 

  But the overpass that marked the edge of the Glowing Sea loomed nearby, a Lovecraftian sentry tall and motionless in the constant yellow-green lightning of the radstorms. The same urgency that had fueled Danse before returned once again as he heard the distant roar of more vertibirds. They would be searching for him.

  Danse lumbered forward, not really picking a direction so much as trying to move away as fast as he possibly could. He was limping in the armor but he didn't dare to stop and assess the damage. If he stopped, he was dead.

  So he didn't stop. 

  Danse ran through the night, the driving rain pooling at the gorget gasket before his next step would tilt his hips and dump the water down into the frame. He burned through the rest of his core and paused only momentarily to switch to the fresh one, agony spiking hot behind his eyes when he peeled his body free of the shredded pauldrons and slammed the new fusion core home in the backplate. Exhaustion knotted his muscles as he forced himself back into the suit. The metal latched down like the deathclaw's talons, perforating his shoulders anew and all but bonding him to the inside of the frame.

  And he didn't stop. One foot in front of the other, body wracked with shivers from being soaked to the skin, his mind terrifyingly empty, devoid of any thoughts, Danse simply fled. 

  The second core burned out just as the clouds were beginning to pink up at the horizon and Danse abandoned the armor in a grove of sticks that might have once been a picturesque copse of birch. Without armor the going was admittedly slower. Danse knew he had lost too much blood to keep this up for much longer without causing severe damage, possibly long-term effects--

  Did things like that even matter anymore? He was a synth .

  M7-97 .

  Just thinking about that reality again had Danse hiccupping and retching, the man staggering to grab hold of a tree as his legs tried to give out. The brittle trunk split under his ungainly weight and Danse found himself tumbling forward over a steep bluff, the paladin's body finally crashing to a halt in a nest of shrubs at the base of the cliff.

  With all the wind knocked out of his lungs, Danse welcomed the darkness of unconsciousness that rose to greet him.

  After that, it was a blur. Two tiny hands grabbed underneath his arms, Danse's large frame obviously too heavy to be budged by the owner of said hands. The taste of blood dripped down his throat from his broken nose, making his stomach churn. Danse couldn't even muster up the strength to open his eyes.

  " Easy there, Matt! He's hurt. Wait for your brothers and I ."

Part Fourteen

[undermounts]

Bound—Chapter 15: Borrowed Time

AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: And so the plot thickens

Pairing: Gaius Augustine/Diana Leigh (BB MC)

                                   Zermatt, Switzerland, 2042

After leaving the restaurant, Diana and Gaius strolled down the pedestrian streets of Zermatt, peeking their heads into small shops and bakeries as they went. Most stores were starting to close, leaving little to do besides wander, but Diana wasn’t quite ready to head back to the hotel. She knew better than to take any moments of peace and quiet for granted and wanted to see as much of Zermatt before they were either found or had to leave again.

But more than that, there was a feeling in her gut that subtly urged her to stay out just a little while longer, to idle down yet another sidestreet. She had not yet decided if it was wanderlust,  intuition, or something else.

“Tell me something,” Diana said as they turned around another corner onto another avenue bordered by immaculate buildings of stone and wood. “Anything.”

This had become their thing, ever since that day in the barn. “Tell me something,” one of them would request. Not for the sake of conversation or to banish the silence that fell between them, but to swap little pieces of themselves. To share not because they had to, but because they wanted to. Diana knew that with the bond, she could easily learn whatever she wanted about Gaius and he could do the same. But there was something different about talking like this, about taking their time when there was an eternity stretched out before them. There was nothing that said fate had to be the only thing that bound them.

Gaius pursed his lips, his hands in his pockets as he glanced thoughtfully at the star-flecked sky. After a long moment passed, he finally spoke, his voice distant. “When I was a child and I couldn’t sleep, my mother would take me down to the beach. We would sit below the docks, watching ships come and go for hours, counting them. I was always looking for something…” Gaius’s brow pinched as if he were trying hard to recollect the memories. 

“My father…” he murmured at last, wonder coloring his voice. “He was… a sailor. I was always looking for him, trying to find the boat I last saw him leave on, exhausting myself until I fell asleep. Every morning, I woke up back in our home, safely tucked beneath my mother’s arm.” He shook his head. “I still don’t know how she managed to carry me back up all of those steps every time.”

Diana wanted to brush her thumb over his brow and wipe away the crease that had formed there. There was an odd look in his eyes, despondent and confused all at once, as if he was mourning something but didn’t know what or why.

“I’ve never heard you talk about your life before being Turned,” Diana said softly. “Just that one time on the island about Ariadne.” His wife.

It was so easy for Diana to forget how long Gaius had been alive, and even easier forget how much living could happen in three thousand years, regardless of whether or not he had really been himself. She couldn’t quite wrap her head around the fact that he had once been married—even if he had only been a young man at the time and it lasted barely six months. After all, Adrian had been married. He had even had a son. But somehow, that had been easier to rationalize than this. Perhaps it was because it was more fitting of his identity and the loss of them had shaped his life after being Turned. Regardless, Diana realized once again that there were aspects of Gaius’s life she still didn’t know and probably more things that she could not even begin to comprehend.

“I still don’t remember most of it,” Gaius admitted with a frown, his eyes downcast. “I know that Rheya made me forget many things, but perhaps I have just lived too long to remember anymore.”

“I could try to help you recover some of those memories,” Diana offered. She couldn’t imagine being unable to remember her own family. Growing up, they were practically all she had. If she forgot them, she would have almost nothing left of her old life. 

Gaius opened his mouth, then hesitated and closed it, shaking his head. “I appreciate the offer, Diana. Perhaps one day, but I don’t think I could…” His mouth twisted as he sought out the words he was looking for. “Not right now. I’m still trying to figure out what I am now. To learn more about the man I once was… I don’t know what that will do.”

Diana nodded. He had told her once years ago that without Rheya’s influence, he wasn’t sure where he stood. I was one man. Then Rheya changed me into something else. Now that change is undone. Am I that first man? The second? Something else entirely?

“Well, whenever you decide that you do want to learn more, I’ll help you,” Diana promised and he met her gaze. “And for what it’s worth,” she added, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Most people don’t know who they are. Sometimes I don’t even know either. But when you think you’ve got it figured out, no matter how long it takes or how temporary it is, I’ll still be here.”

Gaius smiled softly and reached out, squeezing her hand. “Thank you, Diana.”

“Of course,” she replied, lacing her fingers with his before he could think to pull away. 

It was easy to be with him in the comfort of their room, where they could pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist. Being out in the streets of Zermatt was a small step up. They were still relatively isolated in this alpine village, geographically and socially, but taking that step outside made everything a bit more real. Several times tonight, Diana found herself wondering what would become of them and what sort of ramifications this might have when they left, because surely, there would be. Not only because she would have to tell the others what transpired if this continued, but her life had a habit of being unnecessarily complicated. 

“What do you remember about your mother?” Diana asked, bumping his shoulder with hers. His expression seemed to lighten, indicating this was not such a heavy topic.

“She was strong,” Gaius began, his fingers tightening around hers. “Kind. She always knew just the right thing to say, to me and to everyone else. We didn’t have much sometimes, but she always gave to people in need.” He glanced sidelong at Diana. “You kind of remind me of her. The pieces I remember, anyway.”

Diana felt a comforting warmth spread throughout her body, shielding her from the evening’s chilly air. She tilted her head up, studying his face. “What did she look like?”

How much of him was his mother? How much, his father? If she knew what his parents had looked like, could she discern which features he inherited from each?

His eyes were trained on some point in the distance, focused once again although his expression was untroubled. “I have her eyes. Her skin was fair in the rainy seasons, but golden in the summer. Her hair, however, was always black as pitch, no matter how many hours we spent in the sun. High cheekbones, the corners of her eyes creased from smiling.”

“She sounds lovely,” Diana said, deciding that aside from the hair, Gaius must look a lot like his mother. 

He nodded. “I don’t know how my father managed to part with her every time he had to leave. But I’ve been told that the call of the ocean is rather irresistible for the seafaring folk.” He huffed, a slight edge to his voice. “They are beside themselves with longing and exhaustion when they are away but miserable and restless when they are home.”

“I suppose I could see where they’re coming from,” Diana conceded after a moment of thought, gazing past the mountains that bordered the village. 

“Is that so?” Gaius raised a brow, tilting his head. “I didn’t know you had an affinity for the sea.”

“I always have,” Diana shrugged. “I used to wonder how surfers could throw themselves into the ocean and attempt to ride the waves. It would be so easy to wipe out, to get pulled into the undertow and drown. They get beaten around so much, and yet, they keep going back to chase that perfect ride. And I wondered why they did that. Why they would take the risk.”

Diana was aware of Gaius’s eyes intently trained on her face as she went on, still working out her thoughts on the matter as she shared them. “But I guess the risk is part of the appeal. Knowing that you’re in the middle of something so incomprehensibly vast and powerful. Knowing that you’re so insignificant and could easily be snuffed out at a moment’s notice. There’s a sort of thrill that comes with challenging that kind of power, of coexisting with it.”

Gaius worked his jaw, gaze thoughtful as he considered her point of view. “That is very fitting of you to say.”

Diana’s brows drew together. “What do you mean?”

He raised an eyebrow as if he was surprised she didn’t see what he did. “What you just described—the surfers. They sound a lot like you. Running with deadly beings that could have just as easily killed you as welcomed you. Going toe-to-toe with powers you can’t even comprehend. Even as a mortal, you challenged me, knowing it could be suicide. It’s as if you like being in mortal peril, too.”

Diana chewed her lip, mulling that over. She had never thought about it that way, but from his point of view, it made perfect sense. “Maybe I did once,” she relented, absently tugging on a strand of her hair. 

“But not now?”

“No,” she decided, sighing. She watched as her breath clouded before her and slowly dissipated on the wind before continuing on. “Sometimes I crave action. The adrenaline. The opportunity to let go, just for a little bit. But not like this, whatever mystery we’re in right now,” she waved her hand at their surroundings. “I’m okay with a little fighting, especially if I’m doing it to protect people. But right now, I just want peace. I’m sick of other people’s lives being at stake. I can’t help but feel like their fate rests in my hands.”

“Diana…”

“Yes, I have Rheya’s powers,” she continued, her throat tightening and cheeks heating with frustration. “But does that really make me qualified to have this much responsibility? My hands are just as stained with sin as anyone else’s. Who’s to say if I will be able to stop Demetrius’s influence and not fall to it?”

“I think you are capable of more good and restraint than you believe, which is why you are  a perfect fit. Not just because you have her powers,” Gaius murmured, his gaze roaming across the buildings around them. “I just wish you didn’t think that you were alone in this. If you slip up, someone else will catch you.”

Diana knew he was trying to be comforting and that his logic was sound. But the idea of having others get involved on her behalf—especially if it was because she failed—wasn’t as reassuring as it was meant to be.

They continued for a little while, observing as other people trickled through the streets, slowly retreating to their homes in search of rest and shelter from the cooling night. As the town collectively fell into silence, they came upon a steepled church of gray and white stone. It towered over them, an ancient place that spoke of refuge and repentance but only seemed hollow and forlorn in its emptiness.

Diana stared up at the belltower, watching as gilded arms slowly rotated around the structure’s clock face, and couldn’t help but feel as if it was counting down the seconds until their time here was up, reminding her that the sanctuary she found was only temporary.

“I wish that I could give you the peace you deserve, Diana,” Gaius said softly beside her, his breath turning to mist in front of them.

Diana’s chest caved and she turned to him, tenderly pushing his hair away from his face and fitting her palm against his cheek, his skin cool from the night air. She spoke honestly, pouring her heart into her words. “This is enough for me, Gaius. You are enough and more.”

Unable to bear the anguish that would most certainly cross his features in response, Diana closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his, kissing him softly, sweetly. His arms came up around her, his touch at once tentative and grounding. She let herself lean into his embrace for a little while longer, touching her forehead to his briefly before drawing away, contenting herself with simply holding his hand for now.

Eventually, they drew away from the church, leaving the solemn air behind. As they meandered back to their hotel, Diana picked up a bag of baked goods from a closing café, taking with her the scent of roasted coffee and nutmeg. Before they turned onto the final street that led them back to the lodge, Diana felt a slight presence brush against her mind and caught movement on her peripheral.

She stilled, pulling Gaius to a halt as she turned, her eyes settling on a small antique store on the corner of the block. Inside, an elderly man slowly bustled around a glass display case tucking only the valuable items into a separate box for safekeeping. Diana watched the man as he set about his tasks with great care, not because he dealt with fragile objects but because he clearly cared about what he did and possessed. 

She was momentarily struck by how normal life could still go on despite how things changed around them. That would have been her in merely thirty years, not necessarily owning an antique shop, but growing old and hopefully doing what she loved. She had told Gaius that she had long since made peace with her lost life, but sometimes she couldn’t help but feel a little sorrowful as she watched the people she grew up with age and move on while she stayed the same.

Gaius squeezed her hand, the gesture comforting as if he knew what she had been thinking. She supposed he probably did. Diana was about to let her lead him away when her gaze caught on something that glinted in the storefront window among other knick knacks. Her breath caught and she tightened her grip on Gaius’s hand. 

“Look,” she breathed and he followed her line of sight. The knife.

It almost looked just as it had in her dreams, with its long curved blade and hilt of bone, although it was significantly tarnished, the handle blackened in some parts as if someone had tossed it into a fire. It’s presence was faint, muted, as if there was a damper on it. But why? To keep it hidden? And from whom?

She and Gaius shared a look before wordlessly deciding to approach the store. Diana pushed the door open, a bell chiming above the entryway as they stepped inside. The store was cramped full of shelves stocked with all sorts of odds and ends. An L-shaped counter stood against one wall, topped with glass display cases and an ancient cash register. It smelled faintly of pumpkin spice as if a candle had been burning not even an hour ago. “Hello? Are you still open? I hope it’s not too late.”

The old man looked up, thick eyebrows raised and pale blue eyes magnified by his thick glasses. His face split into a kind smile worn with laugh lines. “Oh no, come in, come in!” he said cheerfully in a thick German accent. “Have a look around! I still have time before I’m finished packing up. Don’t get many customers this time of year. Winter brings the snow crowd.”

“Actually,” Diana began, pulling Gaius with her further into the store as she waved towards the window. “I was interested in the knife you had on display.”

“That old thing?” He lifted a snowy brow, setting his box of valuables on the counter before hobbling over to the storefront.

“Yeah. I’ve, uh, got a friend at home who likes to collect knives,” Diana supplied, her eyes briefly flicking to Gaius as she let go of his hand and followed the man. “She asked me to bring her back a souvenir.”

The shopkeep paused, shaky hands outstretched towards the blade’s handle. He jutted a thumb over his shoulder. “Oh. Well in that case, I’ve got plenty of nicer knives in the back—”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Gaius cut in smoothly, stepping up to Diana’s side. “Our friend has a very particular taste. Bone hilts and whatnot. An odd collection, but to each his own, I suppose.”

“Right you are. “To each his own. Hmm….” The man squinted, casually plucking the blade off its display and turning it to find the tiny price tag that was attached to the hilt by a bit of yarn. “Ah, here we are. Says here it’s twenty francs,” he looked up, waving his hand nonchalantly. “But I’ll give it to you for fifteen, since it’s a bit burned and all. Found it in a box full of baubles at an estate sale a while back. ”

“Do you accept cards? Or US dollars?”

“Either’s fine,” he shrugged.

“Perfect.” Diana gave him an easy smile. “We’ll take it.”

The man nodded and they followed him to his counter where the decrepit register sat. Diana was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet as she handed him her card, relieved that she didn’t have to fight or kill anything for this. Yet. 

Inside her pocket, she crossed her fingers, just in case.

“Here you go,” the man said at last, handing her card back first, then the knife. “I would have wrapped it, but we’re all out of paper.”

“That’s alright. We appreciate it nonetheless,” Gaius assured him, taking the blade from his hands before Diana could reach for it. He tucked it into the inside of his coat and sent her a look that clearly said, You should not be touching this yet.

Diana sighed. That was fair.

They thanked the shopkeep again, bidding him a goodnight, and stepped out onto the street. Diana let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding when they left the store and nothing horrible befell them. She was even more surprised when they made it all the way back to the hotel room without any issues.

“That was… easy,” Diana frowned as she closed the door to their room behind her, then knocked on the wooden wall for good measure.

“Feels too easy.” Gaius’s brows were drawn together, clearly suspicious as he withdrew the blade and set it carefully on the table against the wall.

Slowly, Diana shook her head and came to stand beside him. As she spoke, she knew her words to be true. “No. I don’t think anyone knows what this is. The shopkeep included. Even I could barely detect it, and we’ve been in town for days. I had no idea this was here.”

Gaius’s frown only deepened and his eyes fell to the golden chain around Diana’s neck, the amulet hidden beneath her shirt. “It seems that the Compass knew where we needed to go before we even did.”

She raised her brows, her fingertips brushing the pendant through her clothing. “You think the amulet brought us here because of the blade? But how did it even know we needed it? Or where the knife was?”

“I don’t know, Diana,” Gaius admitted, running a hand through his hair. “All I know is that for some reason, you and these artifacts are connected. Perhaps the amulet knew what you needed when you established a blood link to it. Or perhaps the artifacts themselves know that they are meant to be used together for something.”

Diana pressed the heels of her hand against her eyes. “Christ.”

“As for how the amulet knew where the knife was,” Gaius continued. “I don’t think it did. Not precisely at least, just the general location. That’s why we ended up at the farm instead.”

“Well, how did it even know that it was in Switzerland?” Diana wondered aloud. She wasn’t sure why she was asking Gaius, but she had to admit he was pretty good about developing fairly sound explanations based on what few clues they had. He was a good fighter, yes, but an even better thinker. 

Gaius turning, leaning back against the table as he folded his arms, brows furrowed in thought. Diana could practically see his mind churning through possible explanations as he worked his jaw. When his eyes sharpened and filled with clarity not even a minute later, she knew he had fit the pieces together. “You said you had heard voices when you made contact with the Compass, yes?”

She tilted her head, sitting down on the foot of the bed. “Yeah…”

“Perhaps they knew,” Gaius mused and Diana was surprised that he was being completely serious.

“What?”

“It’s entirely possible that the reason it knew is because that amulet is bound to an entity of sorts. Something sentient,” Gaius explained.

“What, like a ghost?” Diana scoffed, rolling her eyes. Maybe she had jumped the gun a bit in assuming that Gaius could be trusted to always provide a rational explanation.

“No, not a ghost. Don’t be ridiculous.” His eyes narrowed at her. “Do you consider me to be a fool?”

“No, but I think you’re being a little absurd.” She shook her head, snickering to herself. “You are the last person I would ever expect to suggest my necklace is haunted.”

“That’s not what I’m—” Gaius was fully scowling now, his irritation stinging like a whip down the bond. “I’m not going to talk to you if you’re not going to take me seriously, Bloodkeeper.”

Bloodkeeper. Oh, he was not happy with her.

Diana forced the smirk off her face, holding her hands out, palms up to show that she was done mocking. “Sorry. But you have to admit it is a little crazy.”

He glared at her.

“Okay, fine. It’s not.” She rolled her eyes and waved her hand. “Go on. I promise I’m listening.”

Gaius stared down his nose at her for a long moment before he took a deep breath and continued. “I don’t think the Compass is haunted. But perhaps it’s a bridge of sorts. I’ve heard of relics that could connect their user to wells of power. Locations like the forest in Bergen, magical creatures, and so on. When you establish a blood contact with the amulet, the amulet didn’t transport you—”

“It forged a connection to something powerful enough that could,” Diana finished, picking up on his line of thought and he nodded.

Okay, that was reasonable enough. After they made the jump from Copenhagen to the barn, Diana had doubted that even her blood was powerful enough to do something as insane as transport them hundreds of miles away from their starting point. But if it was only using her blood to connect her… perhaps that was possible.

“Well, that still leaves who or what the Compass connected me to,” Diana noted, her fingers anxiously tangling in the ends of her hair.

Gaius opened his mouth, then hesitated. Diana caught his expression and grimaced. “You have an idea, don’t you?”

He winced, eyes flicking to hers, then to a random spot on the wall behind her, his gaze hardening. “I think there’s a reason it’s called the Mercurian Compass.”

Diana blinked at him blankly, then put her head in her hands and groaned. “Have I mentioned that I am sick of this? Because I am sick of it.”

She heard Gaius let out a long-suffering sigh and a moment later, the bed depressed beside her. He squeezed her shoulder, pulling her to rest against his side. “I know, diviana.”

Diana buried her face into his shoulder, muffling her words as she spoke. “Why would a god get involved?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his breath stirring her hair. “Phampira gifted Rheya, so it’s not unprecedented.”

“Are Roman gods even… alive?” Diana’s brow furrowed. She still wasn’t even entirely sure she believed in gods. Now she had to consider that one of them was real and helping her?

“Roman, Greek, Egyptian… They’re all the same.” Gaius shifted up the bed, pulling her with him until they rested against the pillows. “It doesn’t matter what name they go by. Sometimes their attributes are swapped or condensed into fewer gods, but they’re all the same.”

“I really hate this,” Diana repeated, slinging her arm across his stomach and holding tight, as if she were drowning and he was her only lifeline left.

He kissed her temple. “I know.”

After several minutes had passed, Diana extracted herself from his embrace, combing her hair back as her gaze resettled on the blade resting on the table. “I should probably try to—”

Before Diana could even finish her thought, her phone rang. She sighed, pulling her phone out of her pocket. Her brows rose and she answered. “Kamilah?”

Gaius sat up behind her.

“Diana,” Kamilah said by way of greeting. Then her voice softened a fraction.“You sound tired.”

“Just...frustrated,” Diana shrugged, scooting back against the headboard and leaning against Gaius’s shoulder. 

“Still unraveling more mysteries?”

Diana huffed a laugh. “Something like that. Every question answered only leads to more questions.”

“Mm,” Kamilah merely replied and Diana could hear the hint of an amused smile in her voice. “Well, I’m calling you because I think I’ve figured out a way to contain Demetrius’s influence.”

Diana straightened and Gaius’s brow furrowed at her reaction. “You did? How?”

“Demetrius’s influence is synonymous with that of the Tree of Eternal Death, yes?” Kamilah asked, her voice calm and analytical.

“Yeah…”

“Well, the world needs balance, Diana,” Kamilah went on and Diana could distantly hear the click of Kamilah’s heels. She must have been going somewhere. “Good and bad, light and dark, life and death. You know how it goes.” There was a faint ding! She was getting into an elevator, then. “Well, twenty-three years ago, we upended that balance. Back on Mydiea, when we—”

Diana gasped, the realization dawning on her. She thought of an ancient cavern beneath the Order of Dawn compound, which was now barely more than a pile of rubble in the middle of the Mediterranean.“When we destroyed the Tree of Eternal Life.”

“Precisely,” Kamilah agreed and Diana could hear a note of pride in her voice. “For centuries, the Tree of Eternal Life and the Tree of Eternal Death kept each other in check, two sides of the same coin. One can’t exist without the other, not without consequence. And for twenty-three years, the Tree of Eternal Death’s power has grown without its equal to counter it. Now we are paying the price.”

“Can we stop it?” Diana asked, subconsciously clutching her silver lily pendant so hard, its edges cut into her palm.

“Theoretically, yes,” Kamilah declared and Diana almost sighed in relief before Kamilah continued, her voice growing gravely serious. “But it won’t be easy. The only thing that can stem his influence is the Tree of Eternal Life. And we don’t have that. But, we do have the next best thing.”

Something about the way she said that made Diana’s stomach twist into a knot. “Which is?”

“Someone who holds the tree’s power,” Kamilah said softly, almost apologetically. “You, Diana. We need your blood.”

Everything in her body went cold at that. Diana suddenly felt as if there were a yawning pit beneath her, waiting to swallow her whole. She echoed Kamilah numbly, “My blood.”

Gaius stiffened beside her. She felt his gaze burning into her skin but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. Her blood.

“Yes. I…” She heard Kamilah swallow, struggling to find the words. If Kamilah was hesitating, things were bad.“I wouldn’t ask this of you if I thought there was any other way.” 

“How much of it?”

“I don’t know. There’s no way to tell until we do it.” Kamilah’s voice was quiet. “Diana, if you don’t want to do this, it’s okay. We’ll… We’ll figure something else out.”

“It’s okay,” Diana whispered, heart pounding in her ears. “It’s okay,” she repeated. “You said it yourself. You wouldn’t have called unless there were no other options. So, we have to at least try this. I’ll be fine. I’ll do it.”

“...You’re sure of this?” Kamilah questioned.

“Yes.” Diana swallowed the lump in her throat, her fists clenching against her thighs, palms sweating. 

“I’ll have Adrian arrange for your flight back. Then we can work out the details,” Kamilah promised and Diana heard her heels clicking once again. “I’m about to meet with him and update him on the situation.”

“Give him my best.” It was a battle to sound upbeat and Diana knew her attempt fell flat.

“I will. Just get home safe,” Kamilah said. “Both of you.”

Ah. Both. So Jax had filled her in.

Diana promised they would, then hung up, her phone dangling between her fingers as she stared blankly at the wall, reeling. She couldn’t explain the pit that had yawned open in her stomach or the inexplicable feeling she had that whatever was coming next, it would demand everything of her.

“Diana…” Gaius murmured and she felt his fingertips on her jaw, gently guiding her face towards his. His eyes were intent on hers, full of questions and concern. Diana wanted to fall into his touch, to drown in him until she forgot about everything that existed beyond this room. She wanted so badly to give in and hide away forever with him, but she couldn’t. Diana had known this would come. Their time was up.

Diana pulled away, rolling out of bed and starting towards the closet that contained what few belongings she had. “Get packed,” she said over her shoulder, yanking out her duffle bag. “We’re going to New York.”

                                Tagging: @courtesanofedenbrook, @esmeortegas, @xbobbatea, @bachelorettebound14, @somin-yin, @mkamra2355, @bigmemesplz, @dorkylittleweirdo, @memetrashing, @vesselsynths, @mindlesschicca, @mikewawazoski, @choicesplayer101

[youllallriseintheink]

A Symphony of Nightmares, part 2.

I hope you guys enjoy this. I hope it’s not too similar to The Draw of The Pipes. Sorry it’s so long- I might split it in two for the AO3 version.

---

It was three weeks after downing the ink, and Sammy felt like hell. He supposed that it was just the ink doing whatever it had to for it’s cause, but right now, it seemed to want to give him stabbing pain in his head and tie his stomach in knots. It didn’t used to be this bad- he used to just feel like this, or least, almost this bad- after eating. Now- well, he’d have trouble keeping anything down. He would have gone for medical attention a week ago, and had run the idea by Joey, but Joey said that if he did that, they might be able to figure out their secrets. Sammy supposed he was right.

Sammy’s mind was swimming. Did this song he was writing even make sense? Sammy then realized that he was writing musical notes over the ordering form he had been filling out before he spaced out. If not medical attention, maybe he could use a day in the infirmary.

There was a knock at the door to his office. It was Norman. “Yes?” Sammy asked weakly.

Norman brushed hair from his eyes and allowed himself to take in Sammy’s appearance. He looked so tired and sick that it hurt to look at. “Sammy,” Norman said in a serious, genuine voice. “Can you meet me after work?”

“Why?”

“I need to talk to you seriously about something.”

“Why can’t we do it here?”

Norman peered over his shoulder, closed the door and whispered, “I suppose we could, if you think it’s safer. Will he be okay with it?”

Sammy glared at him with all the force he could muster. “I don’t know who you’re talking about, but I can do whatever I want.”

“Okay. Promise me you’ll be there. Here’s my address.” He handed Sammy a sheet of paper. “Right after work, okay?”

“Fine,” Sammy sighed. He was too tired to make fight out of it. Norman turned to leave. “Wait,” Sammy said. “Do you see faint words on the walls here? Like ink that couldn’t quite be scrubbed off?”

“Yes.”

“Thank God.” At least now, Sammy could be sure that he wasn’t seeing things.

Shortly after Norman left, Sammy went down to the infirmary for the rest of the day.

—-

The bastard stole his keys! Sammy wasn’t sure how he’d done it, but Norman had taken the keys right out of his pocket. Well, Sammy might have skipped meeting Norman otherwise, but now he had no choice. So, he followed the address and ended up on Norman’s doorstep. Norman opened the door before Sammy got the chance to knock.

“Come in,” Norman said gravely.

“Give me back my keys,” Sammy growled.

“After. Come in.”

Sammy obeyed. Norman’s house was nice enough, he supposed, although the wall with dozens of photos of people taped to it was disconcerning. Sammy even saw a picture of himself on it. Without even looking at him, Norman pointed to an armchair. Sammy sat down in it, and Norman disappeared to the kitchen and came back a second later with two cups of coffee, one of which he handed to Sammy.

“What are you doing?” Sammy asked.

“Making you comfortable,” Norman answered.

No, you’re not, Sammy wanted to say, but he settled for giving Norman a weird look.

“Sorry, I’m not good with new people. But anyhow, I wanted to talk to you because I know you’re in a relationship with Joey Drew, and I’ve seen that you’re not half yourself lately. How is he treating you?”

“Fine,” Sammy snapped.

Norman got up and pretended to swing at Sammy. His fist ended up almost a foot from where Sammy was, but Sammy ended up curled into a whimpering ball, his hands protecting his face and his coffee sprayed across the floor.

“I don’t think you’re fine.”

“You know what? You’re making a ton of assumptions, here. Joey is the best thing that ever happened to me! Maybe my dad beat me, and that’s why I cowered like that. Maybe I’m just jumpy in general. Maybe you’re just that freaky! Ever think of that? You can’t prove anything! And even if you could, why would you care?”

Norman sat back down. “Sorry. Can I tell you why I care?”

“Will you give me my keys back afterwards?”

Norman sighed. “So, the reason that I care is that I think I saw my best friend go through the same process. You’re familiar with the finance manager, now that you’re in his office, right?”

As a head-of-department, Sammy had had a few run-ins with the finance manager over the years, but hadn’t bothered to learn his name until they’d switched offices. “Toby?”

“No, the one before him. Grant Cohen.”

“Don’t know him.”

“Well, he was also in a relationship with Joey Drew. I remember how happy he was when Joey finally made it official. He thought all he was to him was a toy. After that, though... well, I could sense things were going wrong, but I never said anything. I watched Joey treat him like property, and I never said a word... Months later, he gives me a call at eight at night, asking to come over. He shows up with cracked glasses, a bloody nose, and a hand-shaped bruise across his face. I was with him when he made that phone call to break up with Joey and give his two weeks’ notice. Honestly, I thought giving him that much was too much, but Grant wanted the severance package. Well, he disappeared less than two weeks later, and I was left wishing that I’d said something before it escalated like that. And now I’m looking at this small, scared, worn-down version of Sammy Lawrence who’s also in a relationship with Joey Drew, and this time I don’t want to keep my mouth shut.”

Sammy was in silence for nearly a minute. “Joey never treated me like a toy,” Sammy mused. “From day one, he treated me like someone who he really respected and wanted in his life. And he would never hit me in the face. I wonder what Grant did to deserve that...” he was just thinking aloud, but now Sammy realized how insensitive it sounded. And yet, Norman, didn’t seem offended.

“I never said your relationship was exactly the same. And you have bruises, Sammy.”

“I- what?” That couldn’t be right. Joey hadn’t beaten him in over a week. And yet, Sammy looked down and saw that his arms were covered in dark splotches, like there was a black substance trapped under his skin. He started hyperventilating. “This isn’t from Joey.”

“Sammy...”

“No, it’s worse. It’s ink. Joey and I downed ink together.”

“Ink? How are you even alive?!”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s not deadly. Just... just a little toxic. I don’t know what it’s going to do to me, Norman. Joey and I are supposed to go through this together, but it’s making me so sick and I-I’m scared.”

Norman came over and hugged Sammy, hoping that he’d stop shaking. “Shh... it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

After they separated, Sammy said, “Listen, Joey isn’t going to kill me. But... maybe he is a little toxic. But he’s given me things that you can’t even understand. And I think I can take him. I think I can take,” Sammy looked down at his arms, “this.”

Norman wasn’t sure what to say. This was all so much weirder than he’d thought. “Well, I can’t make you leave him. But if the toxicity ever gets to be too much to handle, just know that I’m here, alright? Tell me if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Thank you.”

“Here’s your keys.”

—-

Right after the run-in with Norman, Sammy had been annoyed- mostly at himself for being so weak and selling out his partner like that, but also at Norman for putting him in that situation in the first place. Over the next few days, though, he began to think he had the right idea. Those three days had been rough- Sammy was spending almost as much time resting in the infirmary as he did working. The inky “bruises” were growing. At home, Joey was good about handling things around the house while Sammy rested. He’d been sympathetic to Sammy, since, for some reason, downing the was barely affecting Joey at all.

“I guess the ink just has different plans for us,” he’d said, “I guess we’ll just have to trust the process. Trust that it knows what’s best.”

Sammy wanted to trust the process. Wanted there to be a point in this. But he was also scared. His last straw was when he first noticed the veins extending from his bruises turning black. The thought of those painful areas spreading all over his body...

The morning four days after Norman’s intervention, Sammy got up at four in the morning and slipped out to visit the emergency room, where he was taken in, stripped down, and observed by a flurry of doctors who had no idea what was wrong with him. One nurse carefully pierced one of his “bruises,” which looked more like ink-filled warts at this point, and took the substance in for analysis, as well as taking a blood sample.

“Well, there’s enough... ink, or at least a biological substance with the appearance and scent of ink, in your body to kill a dozen men through ink poisoning,” the doctor said. “We should really test this further.”

“No!” Please, just treat me.” Sammy pleaded. Joey would kill him if the public found out the truth.

“But you could have some underlying issue. And this... ailment... has never been seen before. What if it’s contagious? Researching it would be a matter of public health.”

Sammy wanted to cry. “I beg of you. Just treat me the best you can. You can’t use me as a test subject without permission, right? If you can’t treat me without tests, I’ll just have to leave.”

The doctor gave him the most sympathetic look. “I suppose if it’s between that and treating you the best we can, we’ll treat you, if you’ll sign a waiver. So, here’s what we can do. We can burst the skin deposits with a sterile needle to get the ink out, then flush the areas with strong antibiotics. We’ll also have you take some oral antibiotics. Then, we’re going to have to put you through blood transfusions. My guess is that it will take ten hours a day for three days to get your blood healthy again. There’s a whole lot of gunk in it.”

Sammy froze. Three days. How would he hide this from Joey? “Oh, okay. Let’s do it.” He’d figure that out later. He needed treatment.

Sammy was taken to another room, where nurses burst the inky tumours. It hurt. But having less ink in him was a relief- all that built-up pressure under his skin had been painful. After that procedure, it was late enough in the morning that Joey would be at work, and Sammy went out to make two phone calls. The first was to Joey Drew.

“Joey, it’s Sammy Lawrence,” he began cautiously.

“WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU? YOU’D BETTER HAVE AN EXPLANATION FOR THIS OR I SWEAR TO GOD THERE WON’T BE ANYTHING LEFT FOR THE DOCTORS TO SEW BACK TOGETHER.”

The response was about level with Sammy’s expectations. “I do have an explanation. My aunt is sick, and I went to the Michigan hospital to see her. I got the phone call about three and a half hours ago, and I didn’t want to wake you up. I’m sorry.”

“Oh. No, I’m sorry for assuming the worst, and about your aunt. Call me if you need anything, alright?”

“Alright. I love you. Bye. And uh, it might be a few days before she recovers, or, you know...”

“Right. Take care.”

The second phone call was to Norman’s place.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice answered. Of course, Sammy realized. Norman would be at work.

“Hey. It’s Sammy. Did Norman tell you about me?”

“You’re the one who’s in an abusive relationship with Joey Drew?”

Sammy sighed. Norman really had no respect for privacy whatsoever, but he wasn’t in a position to reject his help over that. “It’s just a little toxic. But, yeah. And I need help. Could I have a place to sleep tonight?”

“Sure,” she said in the warmest voice.

“Thank you.”

It was about 8:30 when Sammy was through with the blood transfusions that day and had arrived at Norman’s home.

“Thank you so much,” Sammy said. “I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t come here. I need to be gone from Joey for three days, and my old apartment is already on the housing market. I can call my brother about tomorrow night, but...”

“Woah, hold up,” Norman interjected. “You’re going back to him?”

“The problem isn’t our relationship. I’m just getting some medical attention that he wouldn’t approve of. That’s all. Here, here’s where they were doing blood transfusions on me.” Sammy showed them the pinprick on his arm.

Norman looked at Sammy with pity, a look that he was rapidly getting used to. “Okay. You can stay here tonight, and tomorrow night, too. Have you had dinner yet?”

“I’m good. Look, I’m really tired. Can I...?”

“Of course. I’ll show you to the guest room.”

Before Sammy went to bed, he took a good look in the bathroom mirror. No wonder people were giving him all those pitying looks- he looked like he belonged on the street. His hair looked bristly and was stained with ink. His skin was stained as well, and was covered in sores, a couple even on his face, from bursting the ink tumours this morning. He hadn’t eaten in over a week and hadn’t eaten normally for some time before that. Maybe that’s why his skin looked so sickly pale. Maybe he really should eat something for his health’s sake. The crazy thing was that he didn’t even feel hungry- whatever the ink had him destined for, it must have wanted him to be immune to starvation.

The ink... it wants something for me... why am I messing up its plan?

In bed, Sammy tortured himself with that question. Why was he going against Joey like this? They were supposed to handle this, and whatever the ink brought them, together. And how on earth was he going to explain the medical bills to Joey? And the burst tumours? The thought of Joey’s fists coming down on all those tender sores until they bled, Joey shoving his fingers into them as punishment... it made Sammy want to run away. Thankfully, Sammy was very tired, so it wasn’t long before he was asleep.

Two days later, it was time for Sammy to go home. He showed up at eleven pm. “Hey,” Joey said gently. “How was it? Did your aunt recover?”

Sammy was pretty scared, so he went with the option that would explain why he was upset. “No.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. It was nice for you to have us pay some of her hospital bills.”

Sammy’s eyes went wide. Did Joey actually think that’s what they were? “Yeah... ha ha.” Sammy walked past him. He was going to leave it there, but he couldn’t. He turned back to Joey. “Please don’t hurt me! I was desperate, alright? I love her!”

Joey looked genuinely surprised. “I wasn’t going to hurt you! I mean, I wish you’d contacted me about it, but it was life or death!” Joey spread his arms, “Come here.”

Sammy returned the hug. Joey started stroking his hair. “I’m sorry for your loss. I know it’s late, but do you want to get wasted? It’s Friday, so we can sleep in tomorrow.”

“Sure.” Could Sammy even drink anymore? It had been a while since he’d tried.

Sammy fetched a bottle of wine and poured them each a glass. Cautiously, Sammy sipped from it. It went down fine- no sputtering on it, no disgust with the taste, no stomach ache. In that moment, Sammy realized that despite the recent blood transfusions, he felt healthier than he had since shortly after his infection. Maybe he really was all better.

“Someone’s happy,” Joey teased. Sammy then realized that he was wearing a big, dopey smile.

“Would you call me crazy if I said I feel better than I have in weeks? Come on, let’s make love, already!” One more thing he’d been too sick to do until now.

Sammy immediately regretted that as Joey began unbuttoning his shirt. The ink sores- he’d forgotten about the ink sores. “Wait. Stop. I changed my mind!”

It was too late, though. “Sex can wait,” Joey said darkly, his eyes focused on the sores on his chest, “but this shirt is coming off.” After undoing the last button, Joey threw the shirt to the side and circled around to look at his back. “Reach for your back. I want to see how far you can reach.”

Too scared to do anything else, Sammy obeyed. There was a long, horrible silence before Joey pushed Sammy onto the floor and held him down by his shoulders. “Explain the wounds.”

Sammy started sobbing.

“EXPLAIN THEM DAMNIT! DON’T MAKE ME MAKE YOU!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Sammy exclaimed between sobs. “I was so sick! I just wanted-” Sammy was cut off by a punch to his genitals, followed by several more to his chest and stomach. Joey was sitting on his legs, so he all he could do was cover his face and hope Joey would wear himself out eventually.

When Joey was finally finished, he was panting from anger and exertion. “I can’t believe you. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I messed with the ink’s plan for us. We were supposed to face it together, and I failed you. I’m so sorry.”

Joey laughed. “If that’s all it were, I’d be happy. I didn’t know that the ink was going to make you this miserable. I don’t like seeing you like that. No. What you did was jeopardize our secrets. Imagine what’s going going to happen now that some hospital knows about the supernatural ink!” Joey’s fists curled. “We could both go to jail! I oughta-”

“Joey, wait! The only problem is a hospital finding out? Well, that’s good, because I never got help from a hospital. My sister is the one who helped me cut them off, honest! So it’s okay. It’s all okay, right?!”

“Oh! Oh,” Joey got up off of him. “Yes, of course it’s okay. I’m sorry about all that. Do you need some ice?”

Sammy nodded. After Joey had fetched him the ice, they made love and then turned in for the night. It had hurt thanks to all the bruises and wounds, but Sammy felt like he owed it to Joey for all of the trouble and lies. And as much as it hurt, it was still better than being ink sick. At least that was over.

—-

But it wasn’t over. The ink might have been removed from Sammy’s skin and what was left of his circulatory system, but nearly all his internal organs were gone, eaten, disintegrated. That’s why he was able to drink without a problem- there was no esophagus to reject the wine, and no stomach to ache. The ink was still deep inside of him, growing.

—-

The middle of the next afternoon, Sammy was still in bed, and Joey decided to check on him. Maybe he was taking the death of his aunt harder than it had seemed, and if so, Joey figured he ought to be there for him.

“Hey, Sammy. You up?” he asked to a completely-covered Sammy. No response. He tried shaking him gently, but again, no response. With his hands on him now, Joey realized that Sammy wasn’t breathing. He tore off the blanket to reveal the absolute horror beneath.

It was Sammy, alright. Same blue eyes, dead still and with ink and blood coming out of the sockets, leaving trails over purple skin. It was as though there were only an inch of human left overtop of the ink. Less in some places, where those dark tumours had returned. He even smelled like ink. Though still in a trancelike-state, Sammy reached weakly for the blanket. It was at this moment that Joey realized that Sammy was as cold as a corpse.

“Oh my God. I’m so, so sorry that I did this to you.” And Joey was. He’d had the perfect partner- one who had loved him despite knowing everything about him. And he’d let his insecurity, his lust for control, ruin him. If he could have chosen between having Henry back at his side or taking back the moment when he’d had Sammy drink that ink, he wouldn’t have hesitated to save Sammy’s life.

Joey spent the rest of the day caring for Sammy the best he could- feeding him soup, giving him hot water bottles and blankets to keep him warm, cleaning him up when he coughed up ink, keeping him company. For a little while, Sammy seemed to perk up a bit, and even tried to speak, though his voice was incomprehensibly thick with ink. By nightfall, though, Joey was convinced that Sammy was gone.

Joey gathered Sammy up into a plastic garbage bag, drove him to the studio, and left him in a supply closet in the very basement where Joey was sure no one would find him.

—-

The next thing Sammy was aware of was how cold he was. He reached for the blankets, but his hand found plastic. “What?!” Sammy said aloud. “I can- I can speak.” Somehow that surprised him. He stood up from the untied garbage bag and immediately stumbled on his own feet.

Where am I? ...This looks like the ink machine. How did I get here?”

All Sammy could remember was a delirious haze of laying in bed and Joey doting on him. Suddenly he remembered the last thing Joey had said to him.

“It’s gonna be alright. Remember all those magical nights we had together, running around in the woods, trying things we shouldn’t, getting drunk, talking about our passions, acting them out? We had so much fun. I’m gonna give you some time to think about everything else you appreciated in life, alright? But I’ll be here until the very end. That’s a promise.”

Sammy quickly realized that that was how you spoke to a dying man. Was he dead? He didn’t feel dead. On extremely unsteady legs, Sammy dragged himself off to a reflective metal surface. His feet and lower calves were like unmoving stumps on the ends of his legs. Inky blackness dominated his torso and had spread up his limbs and neck. Trying to touch his nose, Sammy realized why he was so unsteady- he could no longer move the parts of him that weren’t ink yet. The only reason he could even speak was the ink he had spat up and infected his mouth and jaw with earlier.

There was nothing for Sammy to do but sit down and watch the last of his humanity fade away. Watch and bawl tears of ink until his eyes were gone. Watch as ink was excreted from his remaining pores like sweat, engulfing his flesh. Joey had promised to be there for the end of his life. Maybe he’d even meant it. Joey had meant all his promises, really. All those promises to stop abusing him. But in the end, Joey was just a little too toxic to follow through.

—-

The following evening, Joey came down to the giant ink machine. It would be hard going on with this without loyal partner, but duty called.

Then, as he was making his way to the inner chamber, Joey nearly tripped over something unexpected: a somewhat muscular humanoid made of ink, curled up in fetal position on the cold metal floor. All of his subjects were supposed to be locked up! How could this have happened?! Unless...

“Sammy...?”

Sammy turned his head to Joey and nodded, whimpering.

Joey picked Sammy up in his arms. “You’re alive. I don’t know what I’m going to do with you... but I’ll think of something. That’s a promise.”

A part of Sammy wanted to reach down Joey’s throat and poison him with the ink that made up his body. A bigger part of Sammy thought that anything was better than staying trapped in this cold, metal dungeon. After everything he’d gone through, he wanted comfort. He wanted warmth. No matter where it came from. Sammy wrapped his arms around Joey. This might be a little toxic, but it was all he had.

[thegoldendice]

Love Is A Battlefield

Fandom - American Horror Story 1984

Pairing - Xavier Plympton/Reader

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - Suicide, Violence, Mental Heath Issues, Sexual Content, Language, Religious Content

Chapter - 2/12

Read on - ao3, ff.net

Fic Summary - The year is 1984. You're a poor student living alone in L.A., plagued by your problematic relationships with a false friend and a disturbed ex. You meet Xavier Plympton, an aerobics instructor with a dark past, at the gym where you’ve taken a reception job. You quickly develop feelings for him, and you learn to your relief that he likes you too. Soon a deadly series of events befall you and the people in your life. Overwhelmed by tragedy and with your blossoming romance cut short, you are left a wreck. Six years later you discover that while Xavier is dead, he hasn’t quite departed. You soon realise that if you are to be with him and finally achieve true peace and happiness, you must take your own life and become a Camp Redwood ghost.

Chapter Summary - You discover that Xavier likes you, but your first date is a mess. You end up back at his place and things get intimate. Before you can really release your inhibitions, memories of your troubled ex boyfriend leave you feeling closed off and vulnerable. To your relief, Xavier is understanding. 

As much as you try to fight it, all you are able to feel is a dull, ever-present dread that you can’t seem to squash down. You spent the majority of last night trying not to picture Amy with Xavier. An image of her sinking her long, predator's nails into the perfect white skin of his back during sex kept returning to you. In your vision, Amy's scratches drew blood from Xavier and she lapped it up like a vampire while he laughed. All the while she was staring into your eyes.

You swallow thickly and attempt to focus on a sheaf of papers in front of you. The top sheet is covered with lists of names, people you have to call offering discounted gym memberships. You have no idea where the hell the gym got these people’s phone numbers, in fact you don’t really want to know. If you get the calls over with quickly, you have permission to leave early. You don’t want to be here when Xavier starts his shift. You’ve heard nothing from Amy all day, which usually means she’s spent the night with some guy and returned to her apartment to sleep off her hangover. You are terrified that this time, that guy will turn out to be the one person you have feelings for.

You no longer live with Amy. After your joke of a relationship with Scott, you decided to live alone. Part of why it went so badly wrong with him was interference from your so-called best friend. You never told anyone, but you suspect she at least tried to sleep with him. Knowing Scott as you do now, she was probably successful. Any future relationships you have, you want to keep separate from your warped friendship with her. You take a deep breath, grab a Diet Coke from the mini fridge and attempt to push Amy and Xavier to the back of your mind. You have work to do.

~

You feel a tingle creep down your spine like a spider, as the fine hairs on the back of your neck rise underneath someone’s gaze. You’ve been on the phone for an hour, and you only sold one membership. Honestly, if it weren’t for Xavier you would have quit this job months ago. You swivel round to see who is looking at you and are met with the slightly slanted eyes and thick dark lashes that have a habit of haunting your daydreams.

Fuck. Seriously?

You’d make a pretty awful stalker, you can’t even memorise Xavier’s shifts properly. You could have sworn he was supposed to start later.

“Hey, what’s up?”

Your attempt to come across as bubbly is obviously successful. You are rewarded with that very specific smile that makes your heart flutter. Why does he have to be so fucking cute?

“Nothing.” Xavier shrugs. He walks around the side of your desk and grabs a red apple from the bowl of free fruit that is perpetually ignored by the gym members. “You?” He begins to toss the apple into the air, catching it absentmindedly.

“Nothing too.”

Ugh, stupid.

You urge your brain to get it’s shit together. Before you can stop yourself, you’re asking the question you really don’t want to be asking. “So, how was the date?” You hope you managed to sound normal.

Xavier stops tossing his apple and quirks an eyebrow at you, considering.

“Do you ever feel like this town is full of clones? Like, I feel I just keep dating the same girl over and over.”

Xavier’s gaze flickers imperceptibly towards Montana, who is sprawled out reading a magazine on one of the reception couches. You feel a tiny thrill of excitement. It sounds like the date may not have gone so well.

“Don’t get me wrong, Amy’s nice, but...” Xavier pauses. You wait as if on tenterhooks for his next words to come. “I told her we should stay friends. She’s just not what I’m looking for these days.”

“Huh. That’s a shame.” You say, attempting to keep your happiness under control. You didn’t see that one coming. Your elation is so strong that Xavier’s next words hit you like a truck.

“She said you might be disappointed. You and your boyfriend have been looking for a couple to double date with, right?”

What. The. Fuck.

Your stomach lurches when you realise what Amy has done. Before you can respond, Xavier continues on.

“It’s actually too bad. I had no idea you’re with someone. I’d been thinking of asking you out the past few weeks. I obviously got that one totally wrong, huh?”

Xavier tries to conceal his sudden embarrassment by throwing his apple at you. He winks when you catch it, then wanders away.

Shit. You have to fix this. Xavier has to know you’re single. He was going to ask you out! Despite your alarm, you feel a tiny spark of hope flutter within your chest. He left to take a class, you realise. That means you have to wait an hour, then you can speak to him. You busy yourself tidying up magazines and getting rid of empty coffee cups. You try to make small talk with Montana, but she seems preoccupied. It’s no skin off your nose, you’ve always found her sort of distant.

Finally Xavier’s class ends. People file out of the classroom, laughing and chatting, buzzed on endorphins. You watch Xavier head to the showers. If you were a different sort of girl, you might follow him in. The thought of approaching him all naked and wet sends a spark of energy coursing through your veins. The feeling consolidates in the spot between your legs that you’ve taken to exploring so regularly lately.

But you’re not that girl. You may not be the virgin people allegedly think you are, but that doesn’t mean you’re not shy. Brushing off your arousal, you return to the reception desk, planning to look busy until Xavier returns. One of the gym regulars is waiting there for you. Mrs Adams is a sweet, spirited older lady with an unshakeable passion for bright pink lipstick who likes to stop for a chat after senior’s aerobics. Usually she’s a welcome reprieve from your boring reception duties. Right know you seriously wish she’d go straight home.

“Y/n! Hello! How are you my dear?” She barrels on before you get a chance to reply, as is her wont. “I have to say, I’m not impressed with the standard of the class today. I could have done better if I had taken it myself!”

You start to speak, but notice Xavier out of the corner of your eye. Why does he always have to take such quick showers!? He stops to chat with a couple of instructors. You quickly tell the old lady in front of you the first lie you can think of.

“Mrs Adams, I’m so sorry but I can’t talk right now. I have to clean the showers.” You pull a face to illustrate your annoyance.

“But why? That’s what the cleaners are for dear.”

“They’re all sick! Some kind of stomach flu.” You shake your head in mock sympathy. “You should really get on home, it might be contagious.”

“My goodness, well you take care dear. See you next week.”

You wave at Mrs Adams until she’s out the front door. Luckily Xavier is still standing just across the room, clearly involved in an enthralling conversation. He flashes his perfect teeth as he laughs at something you can’t quite hear.

It’s now or never.

You fight the sense of panic that’s attempting to claw its way up your throat and urge yourself to calm down. This is no big deal. You’re just telling him Amy is mistaken, it’s not like you’re asking him out. And he probably won’t ask you.

You step towards the cluster of laughing people, attempting to catch Xavier’s eye. When his gaze lands on you, you clear your throat.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?” You gesture behind you, in the general area of your desk. “Um, privately?”

Thankfully Xavier’s friends have the good grace to ignore the fact that you’re clearly nervous, although you do notice one of the guys, Chet, rolling his eyes. You don’t have time to consider what that might be about. Xavier is breaking away from his group and moving towards you. You turn on your heel and walk towards your desk, ever conscious that Xavier is following you. When you feel you’ve reached a safe distance from prying eyes and ears, you face him again.

“Everything okay?” He looks slightly worried, you realise.

“Yeah, of course. I just... uh, I wanted to clear something up.”

Xavier waits silently, expectantly, for you to continue.

“What you said about the double date thing. I don’t know what Amy told you but, I’m not with anybody. I had a boyfriend, Scott. We broke up around Valentine’s Day. He was... well, that doesn’t matter. Anyway, I’m single. So... I thought I should let you know.”

Jesus. You barely got that out. You hope it didn’t sound ridiculous.

Xavier is watching you. You shift slightly from one foot to the other under his gaze, waiting for him to say something, anything. A smile spreads slowly across his face.

“I’m glad you told me. Really glad.”

His eyes flit from your face to the floor and back again. You have to wonder if he’s nervous. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth and you feel like your heart might explode. He wets his lips before continuing.

“So, would you maybe want to hang out sometime. With me that is?”

Yeah he’s definitely nervous. It’s actually cute, and realising it makes you feel a little bolder.

“Yeah, I would.”

~

You watch as cars speed by outside the window of the restaurant you’re sitting in. Xavier sits opposite you, avoiding eye contact. This is possibly the worst date you’ve ever been on. It’s almost as if Xavier doesn’t know how to function when he’s not in his normal environment, surrounded by the usual people. You never realised before how clumsy he can be. You glance at the ice-cream stain on the tablecloth and wince slightly. This is not how your first date with him was supposed to go. Him spilling food everywhere was nowhere near as bad as the prolonged silences. It suddenly dawns on you the extent to which you’d built tonight up in your head. You wanted it to be perfect. Maybe you’ve put too much pressure on the situation. You lean towards Xavier slightly, not caring that the table between you is sticky. He’s looking at his hands, probably wishing he was somewhere else. You place a hand on his arm.

“This has been kind of awkward, huh?”

Relief floods Xavier’s face. He laughs, looking a little flustered.

“I honestly don’t know what’s happening. I’m usually great on dates!”

You raise your eyebrows at him against your will. You do not want to be thinking about him with other girls right now. He realises his mistake and rushes to clarify, holding up his free hand.

“That didn’t come out right. What I meant is, I don’t usually feel this... shy.” Xavier looks as though he’s struggling with something. “Fuck it, I’m just gonna say it. I really like you. I’ve liked you for a while, if I’m being honest.”

You feel like your heart flips over. Xavier is looking at you, earnestly awaiting your response.

“I feel the same.”

You are rewarded with a smile that you will remember for the rest of your life. Xavier’s eyes look a little misty when he speaks again.

“Do you want to get out of here? We could go to my place?”

Your heart is hammering in your chest. Maybe you should say no, but you want so badly to say yes. You nod, and Xavier grasps your hand excitedly, saying,

“Let me get the bill.”

~

Xavier is kissing you. Your excitement is like a live thing within your body, threatening to consume you. You can’t quite believe this is happening. Your nostrils are filled with the scent of him. He smells like sweat, cologne, and hairspray. It’s delicious. He offered you a drink when you got to his apartment. You don’t even know what it was, but it was strong. You can hear your pulse inside your ears.

The room is dark. There is music playing, but the words wash over you, making no sense. Xavier leads you to his bed. You sit down together in unison. Your hands explore the muscles of his chest as his fingers twist into your hair. You have the urge to brush your thumb over the soft cotton that covers one of his nipples. You squeeze it slightly and he pushes his tongue into your mouth. You massage your tongue against his, and he lets out a soft, sweet moan.

You feel the pressure of Xavier’s body as he begins to lie down, pulling you with him. You happily oblige. You hear, rather than feel, when he unzips your skirt. When his hand brushes against your sensitive, intimate skin through the fabric of your underwear, you feel a throb in your clit. An image of Amy explaining female anatomy to you comes unbidden into your mind. You push it away, kissing Xavier harder. You wrap your arms around his neck as he nudges his hand under the waistband of your underwear, finding you slippery to the touch.

Xavier breaks the kiss to take a breath, and a gasp escapes your lips as he pushes a finger inside you. You can sense his eyes on you as he withdraws his hand, just long enough to add a second finger. The feeling of being stretched overwhelms you. You shudder slightly and release a sound that can only be described as animalistic.

“Oh fuck.” Xavier gasps. “You’re so hot Y/n.”

He leans in to kiss your neck as he simultaneously pleasures you. You reach your hand down to rub against his solid hardness. You can feel the shape of it as it strains to be free.

“You should get undressed.” You sigh.

Xavier looks as though he’d like nothing better than to do exactly what you’ve told him to, however he holds back.

“I want this to be about you Y/n.”

This is new to you. With Scott, you were lucky if he touched you without him getting something from you first. You shake your head slightly, trying to put Scott out of your mind, but the damage has been done. You feel yourself clam up. Xavier notices. He stops his ministrations, removing his fingers from inside you.

“What’s wrong Y/n? You’ve gone all tense.” His voice is full of concern. You can’t see his face, but you know he’s still watching you.

“I’m so sorry.” You suddenly feel incredibly vulnerable, and attempt to zip yourself up. “I think we should stop. It’s just so fast.” You await Xavier’s anger. Any minute it will come. What he says next takes you aback.

“It’s okay. It’s totally okay. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” His voice is soft, reassuring. “Let me get cleaned up, I’ll be two minutes.”

You hear Xavier leave. You sit up and comb your fingers through your hair in an attempt to relax. You take deep breaths, trying to calm your jumping pulse. Xavier returns, turning on a lamp by the doorway. Soft light floods the room. He smiles at you and comes to sit at the foot of the bed. You can’t help but notice that he’s keeping his distance.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble, close to tears. “Please don’t think you did anything wrong. This is my fault. I’m a freak.”

Before you can say anything else, Xavier climbs up the bed towards you and crushes you against him.

“Shhh. You’re not a freak. Jesus, I know what it’s like to be forced into something you don’t want to do. You were right to ask me to stop if you felt uncomfortable.”

A few stray tears spill from your eyes as Xavier rocks you in his arms, touching gentle kisses to your head. You briefly wonder what he was referring to, when he spoke about doing something he didn’t want to do. You make a mental note to ask him about it later, but for now you are content to sit with him in silence.

[land-of-vanmara]

To Take The Road

This is one of the first stories I wrote in this world and the first one I completed. It’s been hanging around for about a year, but there’s nothing I can really do with it, so here it is! it is around 9300 words, but well worth the read! 

If you don’t like tumblr formatting for long reads, check back for a link (which will be tagged as #totaketheroad for archiving’s sake). The link will lead to the wordpress site I’m setting up! It’ll be bare bones for a bit, but I’ll put longer posts and some other special things on there when I finally get going, it’ll be fun!

Anywho, hope you like the story! The rest is under the cut, but have a preview!

Faith is a fickle thing, which we keep fine when things are going well, up until the point that they aren’t.

Now, as she walked the wastes of the Tandyn, fleeing from the ruins of her home of many years, Gelsoth understood what her patron had meant by this. The last thing her patron told her was that she should trust in her star, and that it would see her safely to Bersa with the letter he had entrusted to her. Over the past three days traveling, she’d had time to contemplate this.

All dyo are told of their guardian stars when they’re little.

At the birth of a new dyo, a new star is added to the sky, went the old fairy tales and nursery rhymes.

Each star is connected to a person, and the two share a likeness that can be physical as well as spiritual. In Gelsoth’s case, this was especially true. While most Namani had luminescent, yellow faces, Gelsoth’s light was especially bright, as was her star.

The sky was still bright with the first Sun, Zrasen, which was beginning to set, and the second Sun, Gavorim, which was now rising. Under two suns, there was no way she’d see her star, and under two suns, she wished she could travel at night.

After the stars comes the Moon, Endanya. It does not wish to protect, but tries to draw us from the suns and our stars. The Endari, or moon sickness, was feared by all dyo. To look at the moon was to spell your doom, and it was a reality Gelsoth loathed. There was, in the cities, devices that could ward off the sickness and allow you to walk in the night, but she was far from the city, and she didn’t have time to find her set of goggles on her way out.

This situation lead Gelsoth to many questions, the foremost in her mind had her wondering if the gods had abandoned her. Perhaps she shouldn’t be so upset as to question this; she had survived. Still, the fact remained that she was the only survivor, as far as she knew.

This was what she thought about as she traveled. It was the same thoughts, the same process of thinking, and the same conclusions. What was three days had seemed like three weeks, and the four hours that had passed today since Zrasen rose had felt much longer as well.

In four hours, Gavorim would set, and Verim, the third and final Sun, would rise. By the time Verim peaked three hours later, Gelsoth hoped to be in greener pastures, namely the Hills of Tandyn, with her camp set up. At that time, there would be a decision to make, and she hoped her star would be there to help, once Verim set. The Zero Period, two hours of dark between the suns and the moon, was the only time she could see her star and “confer” with it.

The hours between now and then would feel like an eternity. The air was hot, and the metal of her breastplate was an oven that baked her body like a loaf of bread. She’d long ago taken her helmet off, releasing the forest of long, white fronds, which the dyo referred to as their mahirn. It was too hot to keep them contained, and the weight of the helmet in her hand was somehow comforting. The weight felt nice, oddly enough.

The rest of the day, she focused on the weight of the helmet. When Gavorim set, she put it back on and tried to forget it. It was then she realized that the helmet weighed almost as much as her sword, Sal’Nali. She was nervous, and feeling the sword in her hands always made her feel safer. Even so, she couldn’t draw it, it wasn’t proper for a knight such as herself to openly brandish a weapon when peace was about. She tried to remember this, to keep this thought in mind, that all was peaceful, but it really was not. Not in her mind.

At last she came to a place where she could rest, beneath the eaves of a tree. This tree bore fruit, that of the sour tree-melon. They were round, rough skinned, and a bright shade of green. Gelsoth was thankful for this, and set her few belongings down at the tree’s roots.

She kept her sword at her side, as she was still wary of the wastes and the hills, which she found herself nestled between now. While the wastes had their dangers; heat stroke, mirages, exhaustion, lack of provisions, the hills were another beast, and she was yet to figure out if she would travel them by road or not.

She knew the hills well, well enough to know to fear them. Bandits made camp between them, and though they couldn’t fight well, they had numbers on Gelsoth. It was also easy to get lost if you weren’t careful, and the up and down marching they require wears one out. Not the least of these concerns were the returned, terrible creatures who were once civilized dyo. They were made mad by a sickness that overwhelmed them, causing their essence, their life force, to burn at a rate most painful. Most of them only live a year or so after the sickness consumed them, but some could live four or five times that, each second being an eternity of agony. They were melancholy-inspiring, but also a deadly force to be reckoned with. To be safe, most people traveled the hills with companions, as the returned were easier to fight with two-to-one odds.

The problem was that if she were to follow the road home, she would be adding three or four more days, if not more, to her journey. That, she figured, was unacceptable. Even worse, the people that destroyed the estate might be following her.

Her patron had said something about risks: Only take risks when you can accept the worst possible consequences, as they have a way of happening when you can least afford them.

For Gelsoth, this meant that she couldn’t risk being captured, nor could she risk meeting the attackers at the city gates. She would stray from the road, following her map in as straight a path as possible to the capital. For now though, she would gorge herself on tree-melons to keep her strength up, and then sleep for the night, until the moon passed. She shed her breastplate and sat under the tree, facing away from the Nalis range, her back to the moon, and began to prepare for tomorrow’s journey.

The smell of smoke woke her. When she opened her eyes, she was in the barracks, lying in her bed. Looking around, she saw that all the other beds were empty. No one had woken her, which worried her. Then she heard the sound: Steel meeting steel, shouting and screaming, and an awful, steady roar. Fire and battle could mean that House Nali was under attack. She retrieved her sword from its resting place inside the bed frame, where most of the other knights kept their weapons and affixed it to her waist.

The door was open only a crack, and through that, a long tendril of thick, dark smoke slithered through. Still in her bedclothes, she made it over to the door to take a look down the hallway, and with horror she realized the smoke was coming from her patron’s quarters down the hall. From the opposite direction, she could hear the fighting. Clashing metal could be heard down to her left. She heard the screams of her fellow knights echoing throughout the hallway and she knew the battle wasn’t fairing well for them.

Her thoughts returned to the fire at the end of the hall. She crouched down low, avoiding the smoke, and swiftly made her way to her patron’s quarters. When she got there, she saw the door was off its hinges, and the fire’s flaming tongues leaped about in the mouth of the doorway. Going through there would burn her to a crisp. She didn’t know any magic to better her odds, either. The door might make for a sturdy shield. Without thinking about it, she picked the door up by the handle. This was difficult, considering that the door was a good foot or so taller than her, but she made do. Thankfully, the handle was still cool.

She made a best guess as to where the stronger of the flames were so she could know how to better angle her run. The door was still intact, so making it through would be difficult, but the proper angle should make it easier. Without another thought, she set up and bolted through, feeling the heat of the fire move around her. Nothing burned, which was a good sign. Then, out of nowhere, she felt something under her foot and fell to the floor. She rose to her feet again and realized she had tripped on a piece of fallen debris.

Now that she was in the room, almost all she could see was fire. Fortunately, she’d ended up in a corner with little that was flammable, save for the desk behind her, but smoke filled the air all around her, stinging her eyes and burning her lungs. If her patron was in here, he was engulfed in flames, a prospect which made Gelsoth’s stomach churn.

She left the room using the same door as a shield again, only this time she didn’t trip. She set the door down and drew Sal’Nali. The weight in her hands was comforting and safe. Now she was hoping against hope that her patron had made it out of his room. He’d taught her everything she knew, about fighting, politics, history, and how to live and move on. Down the hall, where the fighting was taking place, she’d surely find him.

She arrived to a grisly scene: Her brother and sister knights lay strewn about the courtyard like bloodied and burned dolls. Some were bleeding, some had been warped by foul magics beyond recognition, and some were only piles of ash. Only a few still remained standing, but it seemed they, too, were to meet a swift and garish doom.

At the end of the courtyard, close to the doors that lead into it, she saw the perpetrators: A cluster of mages in varied grey attire. None of them held swords or weapons of any sort. They were not clad in any sort of armor. In fact, they would look like paupers were it not for the clouds that their suits surrounded them with. It was clear they were mages, and powerful ones at that. They were not covered in the bloody fragments of battle, and no ash or soot lingered on them. They had caused this carnage without having a finger laid on them. The sight of two bodies fallen over each other made her realize that for some reason, the clashing steel she’d heard had been the knights fighting each other. Gelsoth shuddered at the thought.

She watched as the remaining four knights, Darvas, Nolan, Eln, and Malara attempted to face the two dozen or so mages. She knew already that they would fail, but she watched in hope that she might learn a weakness. She didn’t.

Before the warriors could close their distance, a barrage of light and fire flashed before them, and the four remaining knights had fallen at the hands of two mages. Gelsoth moved back behind the wall, trying to breathe, but panic had started to take hold of her. She couldn’t move.

To her left, she heard a whisper, which started to pull her away from her stupor, “Gelsoth, hey!” She looked, and it was her patron.

Gelsoth couldn’t stop herself and blurted out, “By Zrasen, you’re alive!” His face was normally rough and purple, as are the faces of all Isropp, but now it seemed even more cracked and charred than normal.

From across the archway that looked out onto the battle field, her patron put his finger to his lips, “Quiet, we don’t want them to hear us.”

Gelsoth nodded and whispered back, “Do you have a plan then?”

“Yes,” He said, pulling out a slip of paper and sliding it across the floor to her, “You’re going to Bersa.”

“Bersa?” Gelsoth almost shouted, “At a time like this?”

“I know the situation is bad, but you and I aren’t going to take down these mages by ourselves. Someone needs to be told.” He explained. He gestured toward the note and continued, “Deliver this to the saints, and try to get it to Verim’s saint first if at all possible. I know her; she can help you.”

“What about you?” Gelsoth asked, worried at what his answer might be.

“You need to cross the archway, and they will see you when you do so. I’ll hold them off. I know some magic that can ward the area for now, but not for long.” He began explaining.

“So I’m just supposed to leave you behind? I--” She was cut off.

“Yes, and that’s an order.” He snapped. When Gelsoth’s expression had sobered up, he continued, “Now, I wager the barrier will last less than a minute. Use that time to grab traveling armor and a provisions pouch. Get as much as you can carry.”

Gelsoth nodded, and moved to get up, only to be intterupted again, “Gelsoth . . . Be careful.”

“I will. I’ll do you proud, sir.”

“Thank you,” He said, seeming more at ease, “now move, I have your back.”

Gelsoth did so, running hard and fast. Something was wrong though, as she could hear a rushing sound at her back. She turned to see a wall of fire closing in on her. Before she could even scream, the heat was on her, burning her bedclothes and melting her flesh.

The smell of smoke lingered in the air as Gelsoth awoke but quickly faded. She felt incredibly tired, despite her rest. Still, she opened her eyes and got to her feet. It was a new day; Zrasen was hardly yet in the sky.

Taking note of all the tree-melon husks around her, she opted for the rations. The rations were dry and too salty, leaving Gelsoth with a sour taste in her mouth all day. They were a better source of nutrition, as the fruit was simply sugar. Gelsoth still liked the fruits better, of so she picked four or five fruits and put them in her pack.

She looked ahead over the hills. There were no trails, towns, nor was there even a single hovel within sight. All she would have was her compass, her map, and whatever wit had brought her here. With that, she had to march through the hills and make it to Bersa. While she ate her breakfast, she doubted herself a hundred times. At every doubt she had to remember that her patron, a person who was like a father to her, was depending on her.

It was into the hills, then. Gelsoth donned her armor once more and set off. Zrasen was climbing her way up through the sky, and her light was dazzling. Fortunately, Gelsoth had turned southeast, putting the suns more or less behind her. It was still hot, but the occasional dips into the pockets between hills provided some shade. As she crested each hill, she took a look onto the horizon for signs of returned walking about, but had seen nothing yet.

The hills were lovely, so green and flowing. She could get lost in them, if she wanted. For a moment, she fantasized about not traveling to Bersa. Out here, she could truly disappear, and the mages would even stop looking for her eventually. Before she went much further into the thought, she pulled herself away. It was awful to think that she was growing this frightened, so she tried not to think about it.

As she traveled south east, she had to keep a wide berth between her and the smoke from campfires that appeared on the horizon as she walked. In the span of maybe 15 miles, she’d passed three camps. Luckily, they were all nestled between hills, making impossible to see Gelsoth. Perhaps sentries might spot her, but from a mile away, it wasn’t something she was too worried about.

After passing the small cluster of camps, it had been seven hours or so. Gavorim was at his peak, and Zrasen had set. It was middle-noon, which gave Gelsoth about four or five more hours of travel. She was tired now, of course, but she couldn’t stop yet. Keeping at this pace should mean that she would see Bersa on the horizon the day after tomorrow, and she didn’t want to make that time line any longer.

A few hours past the camps, Gelsoth heard a strange and unsettling noise. It was a grinding, guttural, low-sounding groan that she couldn’t quite recognize. She scanned the area around her, looking for a source, but ultimately saw nothing.

Now she was on alert, tense and ready for an attack, though she didn’t know from what. From atop this hill, the creature could be anywhere that the slopes hid from her. She moved forward to one edge of the hill with caution, eyes peeled for movement. Then, she heard it again, though this time it was louder; it was definitely behind her.

Swinging her head around, she saw it: A returned. It had come up from the slope behind her, and was now slowly making its way over. The thing was hideous, with most of its skin being black from the constant burning of energy. In some places, the skin flaked away, showing bright yellow patches of burning life essence. It’s long, lanky limbs hung from the shoulder, as if useless. For a second, she remembered that this was once a person, but she knew it was no longer.

Before she could draw Sal’Nali and ready herself, the thing charged her with incredible speed. Fear gripped her and instinct took over. In a split second decision, Gelsoth jumped to the left away from the suns and out of the creature’s path. The thing kept running, but skidded to a stop before it reached the slope. After only a second, the creature recovered, changed direction and charged again

Finding Sal'Nali in her grip, she drew the blade from its scabbard and tried to to trace the beast’s movement. She stood like a mountain, sword in front of her, as the creature barreled towards her again. Once again, Gelsoth jumped to the side, swinging for its gut at the same time. To her astonishment, she’d missed, as the creature jumped with her. Before she knew it, Gelsoth was pinned to the ground by two searing hot hands.

Sal’Nali had fallen behind her, within reach if only her hands were free. She caught an opportunity as the creature moved its right hand back to strike. Now she had to move like lightning. She reached back for Sal’Nali, and in the same movement swung the blade so that it met the creature’s right arm. As she felt a solid thud, the returned let out a horrifying howl and released her other arm.

With this opportunity, she rose back up to her feet, ready to attack again. She met the creature’s gaze, expecting ferocity and coldness, but what she saw was fear. Instead of attacking again, it ran away from Gelsoth, down the hill the same way it came.

This was a surprise, as all the tales told of relentless, bloodthirsty animals, but what Gelsoth had just witnessed told her otherwise. Knight Malara had once spun a tale about a terrible creature who kept pressing the attack while missing its legs and an arm. She had respected him and admired him for many of the tales he told, but after this, she wasn’t so sure.

She faced away from the suns and retrieved a piece of cloth from her bag. She wiped off the black blood that was now smeared across Sal’Nali, and was surprised to find it was still hot. She finished cleaning the blade and returned it to its scabbard. After that fight, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stop for the day. She sighed and rubbed her arms, which still burned where it had grabbed her. Her sleeves were all but gone, and there was swelling in the shape of hands there now. Maybe some rest would help. She found a tree nearby and started to remove her breastplate.

Her shoulders slumped and her head dropped. This was just too much for her to deal with. The journey was something she could handle, but potentially being the last of her family was a horrible weight which brought on a special kind of dread. She would have to do her best to represent everything her order stood for. Beyond that, those mages from the estate were probably chasing her. If she was truly the last, they would seek her out to finish off what they started, that was certain. Thinking is just making me sick, she thought to herself.

She laid on her side to try alleviating the nausea, but eventually fell onto her back, staring up at a section of the sky. Over time, the winking light of her star began to calm her. Her gaze fell on her guardian star. It shone as bright as any other star, even under Verim’s dim light, but was set apart from any constellation known to her. She didn't dare contemplate this, but that her star still shone when she couldn't was a soothing thought. Peace came to her mind, and she mouthed the words "Thank you" to the star, knowing it would not hear her. Sleep overcame her after this, as swiftly as the charge of the returned.

Two figures in the distance watched as the returned ran away from Gelsoth.

​”Did you see that?" said a hooded figure. His arm pointed out into the distance, toward the suns.

"Of course, how could I not have?" said another figure, her yellow, angular face glowing under a wide brimmed felt hat.

"She just scarred off one of those returned! Alone, nonetheless!" The hooded figure said, clearly astonished.

"No, that part was me. Still, her fighting skills are admirable, to take a returned one-on-one like that." Said the Namani.

"Oh, by the Suns, Matyra, we need a warrior like that!" He exclaimed, barely keeping himself from shouting.

"I'm working on that." Matyra said. Her gaze was fixed on the distant Namani, her arm extended. Long, soft, and unintelligible syllables ebbed from her lips as she tried to ease the Dyo into sleep from afar. Begrel watched in anticipation for several minutes as the Dyo sat down, slumped her shoulders, and finally laid down. Her far off glow dimmed, indicating that she was unconscious. Matyra exhaled forcefully and took a look into the distance to confirm her charm had worked.

"There, she should be out for a few hours. Bring the wagon over there and load her up. Make sure the binds are tight; we don't want her escaping if we can help it." She ordered, speaking quickly. Turning to the south, she looked to where she came from, from Bersa. It was many miles off, far enough for the guard to have stopped chasing them, for sure. From here on, it's just bounty hunters and the wild creatures of the Tandyn, she thought to herself.

No matter. She was an excellent enchantress, and Begrel made for a decent archer when the need came. To the north was their destination, and they would make it if it cost them everything.

Gelsoth heard the sound of wooden wheels and axles turning as she woke up. She thought that maybe a caravan was coming by at first, but the noise was too close. She was on a cart. With a start, she tried to sit up, but she was bound to the side of the cart. The binding was neat and tidy and too well done for her to break out of.

“Of all the things . . .” Gelsoth let out in frustration.

“Ah, morning there sleepy head!” came the buzzing, nasally voice of whom she assumed was her captor. She turned to see who was talking and saw a slender looking Namani in a large grey felt hat sitting next to a hooded Isropp.

Gelsoth was too overwhelmed by emotions to reply at first. She was worried about her message. If she couldn’t get out of here, then she’d never get to Bersa. Of course, she was also angry and scared, but the dread of failure seemed to wash that out.

“Would you . . . Care to explain this to me at all?” Was all she finally managed to say.

“Nope.” Replied the Namani, and she turned to face forward once more.

Gelsoth sighed at this and looked out the back of the cart. She could just barely see the mountain range out west, and by her vantage point, it seemed they were heading northeast, far off her own course. She turned back to her drivers and saw her sword lying in its scabbard just behind them in the wagon. There was no way for her to get to it, much less unnoticed, so she sat there, taking in her surroundings.

The tidy manner of the cargo made her think that escape would be difficult, as her captors were meticulous. Crates were stacked neatly and tied down to the floor and wall of the wagon, preventing it from sliding around. Gelsoth was also bound as such, preventing her from moving very much. It was likely that there would be more people where they were going, and Gelsoth would have trouble with more than two people, if they were as competent as they seemed.

Just when she thought she was out of options, her eyes fell onto the crate near her face. There, a nail poked it’s head out of the crates wood ever so slightly. While her captors were busy watching the trail, Gelsoth leaned over as far as she could and latched on to the nail with her teeth. Her neck strained and her teeth began to hurt as she pulled, but after a solid fifteen seconds, the nail came loose.

The nail free and in her teeth, she moved her head to position the nail behind her shoulder and dropped it into her hand. From her, she began the long process of scratching through the rope with the nail, which would make her hand sore.

While working on her bindings, she began ask her captors more questions, “Where are we, and where are we heading?”

“Oh, a few days out from Bersa. As for where we’re heading . . . Don’t worry, you’ll see when we get there. The Namani answered, her eyes still glued to the road.

That was about as far as she had been before she passed out. Perhaps they were farther now, since the beasts and cart would move quickly with a lightly loaded cart like this one. This was not a prospect Gelsoth much enjoyed.

“Why travel through the hills?” Gelsoth asked.

“No roads. Besides, I could ask you the same question. Not too smart to travel out here alone, is it?” She chided.

“I’m in a hurry.” Gelsoth replied plainly.

“Well, I don’t think you are anymore, deary!” She began chuckling to herself. Her words hit Gelsoth hard with their truth.

“I gues not . . .“ Gelsoth said, looking out the back of the cart. As Bersa grew farther and farther by the second, she realized that if her escape didn’t happen in transit, she might not make it to Bersa at all.

She continued to work steadily on her bindings, hoping she wouldn’t drop the nail. It was agonizing not being able to tell what her progress was. Her desperation and perseverance became sweat, surprisingly enough.

The Isropp picked up on the sweat and told the Namani, who turned around to ask “What are you doing, exactly?”

“Well, uh . . .” She began to panic. She wasn’t good at lying, so she kept talking in hopes of stumbling upon one along the way. “I’m, uh . . . trying to scratch my back. It gets awfully hot in here, and sitting on the plate just makes me plain itchy.” She said, almost proud of her lie.

Something like confusion crossed her face, “Oh?” She turned back around, disinterested now, “I thought you lot were trained to ignore that.”

Gelsoth started at her bindings again. “No, no; you see, it’s considered inconsiderate to leave a warrior in their armor when you kidnap them. I’m chaffing quite a bit back here, and it’s worse than any malady you’d see on a battlefield.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“It is.”

The two upfront huddled in close for a moment, their whispers to quiet to understand. The Namani turned around again, and Gelsoth stopped.

“I could help you with that if it would get you to stop moving?” She offered.

“No, it’s fine,” Gelsoth replied, “I’ve almost got it.”

That was closer to the truth than anything else she’d just said. Over the past hour or so, she had gotten through most of the rope, but it was difficult getting through the last of it given how small her target was now. Given time though, she would make it.

And she did.

Gelsoth felt the rope begin to slack, but she stayed where she was. She couldn’t move until she had a plan, as her legs were still bound too. If she could get to her sword, she could free herself, but not before the two of them would be on her. Somehow, she had to distract them and get them to stop the cart.

She looked at the crates beside her. Knocking them over would serve as a decent distraction if she could actually knock them down. The problem was that they were well secured, like she was. She’d need time to undo one of the ropes.

Perhaps she could use gravity to her advantage. Each time they’d started up a slope, she saw the crates strain the rope. If she pushed with the momentum of the change of slope, she might knock them over. That, or she would just bruise her shoulder and be found out. Either way, it was her best chance.

Gelsoth waited patiently for them to make it down the slope. When she felt the cart level itself again, she leaned up against the crates, waiting for the next hill. Soon enough, the slope pitched upward and Gelsoth heaved with all her might. The crates tilted till they hung over the back end of the cart, breaking one of the ropes in the process.

The sound was enough to alert the two up front, “Suns, what was that?” Exclaimed the Namani.

Taking a glance back, the other answered, “I thought you secured those crates?”

“I thought so, too.” Said the Namani. “You did this, didn’t you?” She accused, scowling at Gelsoth.

“Honestly, I’m just as surprised as you.” She replied.

“Of course.” Was all the Namani replied with. “Begrel, go and secure the cargo again.”

Begrel nodded and went to do so, jumping from the cart. Gelsoth heard a scream, a thud, and a grunt as he did so, indicating he had fallen. She stifled a laugh and the Namani scoffed. She got down carefully to go help him up.

Gelsoth seized the opportunity and reached for her sword, cutting the rest of the bindings in a swift movement. One of them must have seen the movement in the cart, as she heard one of them shout something at her.

The Namani jumped back onto the cart and saw her. She shouted to Begrel, “Shoot her!”

“Uh-oh” was all Gelsoth could think to say.

Free now, she was a deadly force to be reckoned with. She hopped over the front of the cart, past the large, six-legged tamiu beasts, and jumped at Begrel just as he began to ready his bow. He fell to the ground, Gelsoth right on top of him. She kept from impaling him on her sword; there was no need for death. She instead settled for cutting his bowstring.

“Matyra, help, she’ll kill me!” Begrel shouted.

Gelsoth turned around just in time to see Matyra gesturing, as if readying a spell. She was mere feet away, so Gelsoth sprung toward her next, interrupting whatever it was she was doing. She grabbed both of her hands and forced her to the ground.

“Magic? That’s not fair.” Gelsoth said once she had her pinned. She stood up, minding the slope and bringing Matyra with her, saying, “Leave me be, or next time I won’t be so nice.” Then she threw the dyo down the slope, watching her land with a thud three or so yards down.

She turned back to Begrel, who was still lying on the ground, his hand on his dagger, ready to draw.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” She said, shaking her sword at him for emphasis.

It seemed he understood, as he put his hands up in surrender.

“Go see to her.” She said, gesturing toward Matyra with her free hand. He did so, and the Suns above him cast a dark shadow over Matyra’s face.

“I’ll take my leave.” Gelsoth declared, figuring her early warning should suffice. Begrel looked at her over his shoulder with spite, but said nothing.

Using the mountains as a directional reference, Gelsoth started east. Seeing the hills sprawled out before her was a surprisingly welcome sight after being tied up for so long. Verim was overhead, which meant she would have to stop soon, but the way she was traveling, her back was to where the moon would be. If she was careful not to look back, maybe it wouldn’t entrance her. She could continue to put as much distance between herself and her kidnappers as possible. She didn’t think those two would follow, but she didn’t want to take chances either.

After two hours, Verim was near ready to set. Two hours ago, she’d been happy to see the hills in front of her again, but now they taunted her with their endless monotony. She was tired, and the ease she’d felt for the first hour was completely gone now. The bindings had rubbed her burned arms in a horribly painful way, and all her movement had caused them to start bleeding from the abrasion. She’d do anything for a temple healer right now, or even some bandages.

As it was, she’d told herself she would rest only minimally, when the moon came out. She didn’t want to run the risk of falling to the Endari; traveling in the zero period was bad enough. Rest couldn’t come quickly enough, but she gaged about two and a half hours till the moon would rise.

She tread on. As she walked, she worried she was traveling in circles, as the flowers were too familiar and she recalled seeing the same rocks over and over. It could have been the lack of light, but to be sure, she started picking flowers and putting rocks into her bag to ease her fears. Soon enough, she had an entire bouquet of flowers tucked into her belt and at least ten pounds of rocks in her bag.

An hour after Verim had set, she heard a noise she could barely make out. It had come from behind her, and it sounded like another of the returned. If that was so, it was distant, but Gelsoth turned back to check. Fortunately, she saw no returned on the horizon.

Unfortunately, a sliver of the moon had peaked out from behind the mountains, and as soon as it was in her sight, she knew she was doomed. She tried with all her might to look away, but she couldn’t. It was so alluring, even if it was just a sliver of silvery light. She had to get closer.

Gelsoth followed the moon over head in a straight march. As of now, it had her full attention, pulling her gaze away from the horizon. Over a half hour, it revealed itself entirely. It was nearly full tonight, and so its alabaster light dazzled her.

Part of her mind lingered while the rest was taken. She tried and she tried to avert her gaze, to think about all she still had to do, but she held her unblinking gaze. She thought of those she was to avenge, and her promise to her patron. If she was still affixed to the moon by dawn, she would follow the moon’s position too the ends of the world and that she would whither away to nothing before finally collapsing.

She wondered which would be worse, to be mauled by a stray returned or to become a slave to the cycles of the moon. Either one was bound to happen, and she figured she had no preference. She only wished she could close her eyes just once, but the moon had become so . . . Pleasing and transfixing, like a shining pearl in the sky.

The shimmering, blue grass swayed around Gelsoth, and her feet moved with it. In the back of her mind, she thought she could hear soft melodies, like lullabies. Her fear began to quell itself as she continued westward where the moon hung in full. Some small part of her was uneasy still, and this small voice was screaming for all it was worth, begging that she stop. With moonlight so enchanting, why should she hear such a small plea? If lunacy felt so tranquil, why should she return to the tumult of her autonomy?

She kept her pace heading east for most of an hour. Grassy knolls that had enraptured her earlier were now obscured. The trees that were anchored about weren’t so calming anymore, as she didn’t see them. Up in the sky, her guardian star would look upon her with pity, but with little else to do in the face of the moon. What was left of her grieved quietly, knowing that she was doomed. The other part of her thought nothing of it, as her mind was clear for once.

As she walked, she didn’t see quite where she was going. At the start of a hill slope, a rock came underfoot, and she began to tumble. There was perhaps thirty feet of slope to the bottom, but she didn’t see this either. No final thought crossed her mind; all simply went dark. As her unconscious body tumbled down, rocks and the remnants of her rations spilled from her bag, and the flowers were smashed and torn from her belt.

She finally stopped at the foot of the slope and remained there, unconscious, with rocks and broken flowers all around her.

Chattering voices slipped into her dreams where they didn’t belong. The face of her patron, who was speaking strange, unintelligible words, shifted from warm, comfortable gibberish into words she could process, “Yeah, looks like she’s still alive. Should we take her?” The dissonance between the new, unfamiliar voice speaking intelligibly versus the comfort of her patron’s vague mutterings unsettled her, and she stirred.

It was bright out, as it seemed Zrasen had risen some time ago. The rocks and flowers surrounding her were confusing at first, but between that, her sore body, her dinged up breastplate, and her helmet being strewn several feet away, she pieced together what happened.

Then she remembered: The moon. Instinctively, she began to look behind her, but stopped herself. It was day now, and even if the moon was there, she didn’t want to know. For once, she was thankful to have taken a tumble.

At the top of one of the hills surrounding her, opposite the one she had fallen down, she saw three dyo illuminated by sunlight overhead. Behind them was a wagon, not unlike the one she’d been held in only a short time ago. There were barrels and clay jugs, which lead Gelsoth to believe they might be vinters or brewers.

The group by the cart consisted of two Isropp and one Namani between the two, short enough to be a child. The left Isropp was tall and slightly muscular yet gaunt in the face. He wore a long, dark blue tunic over a set of off-white breeches. To the right was a shorter Isropp with slanted eyes and a wide jaw. She wore a green and white cowl under a mud-colored cloak, which enveloped the rest of her body. The child was much shorter than either of them, with the same gaunt appearance as the Isropp to the left. A ragged, white robe covered her and let traces of yellow light peak out from the skin underneath. Al three looked at Gelsoth with confused and curious expressions.

She realized that she was still lying on the ground and rose to her feet slowly and painfully. Her muscles ached from both the fall and her little “moon hike,” causing her to groan as she hoisted herself up. The three on the hill were startled to see her move, and the tall one put his arm across the other two.

“Who are you?” He called nervously.

Gelsoth finished clambering to her feet and called back, almost coughing, “A traveler on her way to Bersa.”

“What are you doing down there?” Called the other Isropp, sounding more impatient than anything.

“It’s a long story, and I don’t much care to recall it. Let’s just say I’ve exhausted myself on my little trek.” She replied. It wasn’t quite a lie either; standing was almost intolerable at this point.

“What are the flowers for? Can I have one?” The child called, her voice shaking with both anxiety and excitement.

“Well,” She started, looking down at the mess of flora, “I was trying to keep myself from getting lost, I think. Sure, you can have one.” She replied. Stepping forward, she retrieved one of the flowers that hadn’t been tossed from her belt, but she was made to pause mid-step.

“Wait!” Called out the shorter one, “How do we know we can trust you?” Her voice was sour and almost afraid now.

Gelsoth paused. After a moment of silent deliberation, she looked up and said, “I’m a knight of House Nali.”

They shot her a few odd glances and looked her up and down while they spoke amongst themselves. The short Isropp looked visibly agitated, while the taller on seemed to be pretty concerned about something. Finally, the short one relented and turned away to face Gelsoth.

“You can come up,” she shouted, “but hand the flower to me.”

Gelsoth started a wretched and painful ascent up the hill. Though she understood the suspicion, it still caught her off guard. She was one of the younger members of House Nali, but she was used to a little more respect than this. It occurred to her that maybe she wasn’t as presentable as she normally was. When she reached the top of the hill, she gave the flower to the Isropp, who inspected it intensely before handing it off to the child.

“I apologize if my appearance doesn’t seem to befit a knight, but it’s been a rather long week.” She explained.

“It sure looks like it,” Said the taller one, “but what exactly are you doing out here?”

“I can tell you, but we haven’t even properly introduced ourselves.” She said, trying not to make it obvious that she was avoiding the question. “I am Gelsoth’Noreloth, Knight of House Nali.” She bowed, but only as slightly as her body would allow.

“Danani’Maldanas,” Said the taller of the two, “and this is Simelna’Atan.” He said, his hand on the child’s shoulder. She waved while smelling her flower.

“A pleasure,” She said, “and what about you, cautious one?”

She huffed a bit and looked over the knight’s shoulder to Danani. He smiled back at her. “I’m Vo.” She said. Danani flinched at the abbreviation, as it was rude not to introduce yourself by your full name, but he did nothing else.

“It’s good to meet you all.” Gelsoth said, placing one hand on her hip, “I’m sorry you have to see me in this state. I’ve been out here for about a week, and the neither Tandyn nor the hills have been kind to me.”

“It’s fine.” Danani said. Up close, it was easy to see that he was malnourished, as was Simelna. “I’m more curious as to why you’re out here in the knolls.”

“Like I said, it’s a bit of a story. Are you heading to Bersa?” She asked.

Vo gave Danani a stern look, making him hesitate, but he eventually answered, “Yes, we have some goods and Vo here to deliver to the city.”

“Well, perhaps I can tell you on the way, if you would have me along. Traveling alone has lost it’s charm, I think.” She said.

“I think that’d be—” Danani started, but he was cut off.

“No! Absolutely not!” Vo shouted. Her voice boomed and made echos off the hills.

“Oh, come on, Vo! We have plenty of room, and the protection would be great!” He argued. “Plus, I’ve always wanted to talk with a knight. It seems like such a great lifestyle, and the Knights of Nali are renowned for their great deeds!”

“Please, Vovo? She’s really nice . . .” Simelna begged.

The two stared at Vo as if trying to change her mind with their thoughts. Gelsoth looked back and forth between the three of them, unsure of what to do.

Vo growled and stomped the ground hard enough for Gelsoth too feel it in her chest. Her face was contorted into a hideous scowl, trying to resist the charm of the two beggars. After a few moments she groaned loudly and half-shouted, “Fine! But if she ends up being an impostor or some sort of criminal, don’t blame me!” She stomped off toward the front of the carriage and clambered up. “And she’s sitting in the back!” She shouted back around the cart.

Danani began to apologize profusely for his companion’s behavior, but Gelsoth assured him it was fine

“I’d be wary to trust a stranger I’d found unconscious at the bottom of a hill who claimed to be a knight too.” She explained. Then she thought of something. She could show them the signet ring she’d been given at her induction into the House. “Hold on just a second.” She said to Danani, taking her bag from her shoulders.

Digging into each pocket, she found nothing. She searched the ground around where she landed, but to no avail.

“Damn it!” She exclaimed. She thought that one of the bandits from earlier might have taken it off of her. It occurred to her to check for the letter as well, and she was relieved to find it still in her belt pouch.

As she came back up the hill, Danani asked her, “What’s wrong?”

“Well, it seems I was robbed of my signet ring a ways back before I escaped those bandits. I was hoping to provide some proof of my claims because I understand Vo’s concern.” Gelsoth explained. Her letter still had a seal on it, but that was far less reliable than the actual signet.

Danani sighed and nodded, understanding. In truth, Gelsoth suspected there was more to it than that by his expression, but she didn’t pry.

They all climbed into the cart and headed south, as they were only a half mile from the road. On their way back, while he tended to Gelsoth’s wounds, Danani explained that they were taking the road to Bersa and had stopped to camp while the moon was out. When they all woke up, they saw a light in the distance. Curiosity got the best of Danani, so they left camp and brought the cart over to the source of the light, which happened to be Gelsoth.

“. . . And that’s how we ended up out in the Tandyn.” He finished telling the story, seemingly to Vo’s relief as she let out a long sigh.

“I’m sorry I threw you off track, but, admittedly, I’m glad you came along.” She said. Her legs hung off the back of the cart, where Vo insisted she sit for the rest of the journey. Either way it was good to have a break from walking.

“Oh, it’s nothing for you to worry about. I’m just glad I could help.” He said, smiling.

Vo growled quietly to herself.

“Before I forget, though, I still have to know: Why are you out here and so beat up to boot?” He asked.

Gelsoth grew tense, but pressed through it to try telling her story, “It’s not a happy story. In fact, it’s pretty dark.”

“Oh?” Danani exclaimed. He sounded more concerned than curious now.

Gelsoth turned around and scooted in as far as she could manage. Her back ended up on one of the barrels facing the left side of the cart. She gave a heavy sigh and closed her eyes, trying to prepare herself for what she had to say before continuing, “I am the last of the knights of House Nali that I’m aware of.”

The air tensed around the four of them, and even Vo’s mood seemed to shift a little as she began to process what had been said.

“My patron, my comrade knights, and even the grandmaster of the order . . . They’re all gone.” Her voice began to fall soft as she uttered those last three words.

Simelna turned around in her seat to look at the knight. She looked mortified to hear this. In a soft, tiny voice, she asked, “What happened?”

Gelsoth took a deep breath and replied, “I— I’m not quite sure I know myself. I woke up in my bed and the estate was burning. I grabbed my weapon and headed to the courtyard to see it all in flames. Everyone I’d known since I was a child, they were either dead or dying. I couldn’t even recognize some of them. The corpses were too charred. . .”

“I was frozen. I didn’t know what to do. I looked over this disaster, and at the center of it was a group dressed in clothes like a stormy sky. They were chanting something, and the air around me felt as if it had been poisoned. Gods, I sat there and watched them for what seemed like hours, until my Patron found me.” She paused here and wondered if she should share what was said in those last moments. Eventually, she decided against it and moved on, “He gave me a message to deliver to the Saints, and I ran. I just ran. He stayed to hold them off as they approached and . . .” She had to take another pause to breathe. “He died saving me, and I let him. I was too afraid, and I did just what my legs told me to do.”

The air was dead with silence for several minutes, and Gelsoth returned to her position at the back of the cart. Simelna was crying on Danani’s shoulder, making Gelsoth shiver.

The cart turned onto the road and Danani turned around to look at her, “I don’t know if it means much, but you have mine and Simelna’s condolences. This is just . . . Unthinkable.”

“Thank you, friend.” She said simply.

“That’s unbelievable,” Vo started, but with a subdued tone. “I don’t believe a word of it. How could so few people manage to wipe out an entire order of knights, especially an order as prodigious as the Knights of Nali?”

“Vo, how dare you?” Danani exclaimed, shocked at her disbelief.

“No, it’s fair. I still don’t quite believe it myself.” Gelsoth said somberly.

“It’s just, what you describe would take a great deal of power, and there were a dozen of them? Who would stand a chance against them?” Vo continued.

“I’m not sure . . .” Her thoughts trailed off. No known organizations fit what she’d seen. “I feel like maybe the Saints would have more information, maybe Verim’s Saint. My Patron said he knew her.”

“The Saint of the god of secrets certainly sounds like a good starting point.” Danani replied. “What are you going to do now, though?”

She paused for a moment and thought that through. First off, the message had to be delivered, but after that, she had no clue. “As best as I can figure, I need to find out who these mages are. They’re a threat to Tal’Bersi, possibly all of Ladarsil. The power they wielded was horrific.” She swallowed hard at the memory and continued, “I’ll have to go back to the estate and see what clues I can find.”

“You sure about that?” Danani asked, worry tensing his words, “Seems like a sure way to get yourself killed, and as far as you know you’re the only one alive who’s seen them.”

“Yes, but there’s no better way to start trying to track them down. My line of work has always put me at risk for death, and I’ve accepted that. The risk with this is just higher is all.” She said, trying her best to fake confidence, but Danani was right. It was risky, and she would probably die, but what else was there to do? She couldn’t let the death of her family go unavenged, but if she died, they would go unavenged anyway. “Do you have any better suggestions?”

He shook his head and looked toward the ground, “I really do not.”

She sighed and laid down. So many questions needed answering, but she couldn’t find reason. For the slightest second, she wished it had been her that died instead of her Patron, but knowing how badly this had effected her it was better for her to dismiss the thought as soon as it arose.

One thing was very clear to her: Help was needed. Perhaps that’s what her Patron sent her to seek, but she wasn’t sure because she hadn’t read the letter . . .

Reaching into her belt pouch, she produced the folded, wrinkled parchment. She wasn’t told she shouldn’t read it. Still, she was given this message in good faith. Surely he could have delivered it himself if he needed to, but the fact that he was dead and she, a lowly knight, was the courier lead her to believe there was more to this.

Laying there with the parchment in her hand, she examined the wooden roof of the cart. It was flat and cut from the wood of some tree she couldn’t identify. It was a simple board, not lacquered, rough, but certainly it was firm enough to withstand decent weight on it’s top. Draped over it and secured with twine and some sort of cheap adhesive was a length of dark grey cloth. Here and there were stitches where the cloth had been mended in the past, but it seemed like, despite it’s damages, it was still useful. There were plenty of stains, but they were mostly mud.

Still tracing the wood grain with her eyes, she slowly started putting the message back into her pouch. The gods may not mind, but I must, she thought to herself.

Surely this cart couldn’t make it to Bersa to offload goods if Danani were to get drunk off the wine himself. No, everything must remained sealed in transit, lest the goods spoil and go to waste.

[khicken121]

Persephone (original work)

Oh? Something original?? What a surprise!

WARNING: Heavy violence and mild gore towards the end! ----- Years of revolution held the promise of peace for the planet. For some, it fulfilled that. For the rest, well, their only choices were hiding, death or risk biased punishment by the Persephone.

The Powerful didn’t always control the earth like they do now. In fact, it was only half a century ago that they were on the brink of extinction. Forests were almost completely gone, there was no soil to properly raise crops with, nor was the atmosphere becoming any cleaner. What began as a peaceful movement to restore the environment also gave birth to a small group of radicals, who later called themselves the Persephone. In their minds, the only superior race were themselves and people like them. They call these kinds of people the Powerful. They should be revered as the equivalent to the god most of the people worshipped.

The Persephone slowly drew more and more people to their cause. The fear that drove them to hide their magic dissolved with time and courage. Persephone got what they wanted, but at the great cost of flooding the land and oceans with red.

Billions of guilty people lost their lives during the Era of Cleansing. Every Powerless was responsible for sickening the planet. All of them took her beauty for granted, and they had to be punished for it. Over the course of thirty years, they perished. The food supply for the Powerless was sabotaged by the Powerful, for it was their duty to seek out and destroy the source of Her sickness. Cities of destruction, which they called their home, were overtaken by breathtaking yet dangerous foliage. The buildings crumbled, leaving many without protection from the elements. Many continued to perish, for they didn’t learn to live off the land fast enough. With so few Powerless left, the Earth finally had a chance to breathe. With the assistance of the Powerful, not only was She restored, She was also rejuvenated. Factories stopped intoxicating the air, for there was no one to operate them. Trees weren’t cut down with the intent to produce mundane items like paper money. The virus of humanity that plagued the Earth had died out..

Like every virus, little pockets of it adapted and still exist to this day. Like the elusive masses of slime they were, they were deadly and damn hard to kill. If a Powerful is unlucky enough to encounter one, they better be prepared or they’d never be seen or heard from again.

If the slime was ever caught, they were to be turned in to the authorities to be dealt with permanently.

However, the ‘slime’ had their own interpretation:

For the self-proclaimed Humane, the uprising of Persephone marked the beginning of the genocide. They took everything they could carry and fled into safe havens they carved out of abandoned military bases. Many were left with the clothes on their backs, forced to relearn to live off the land and ration the medicines they had.

Needless to say, survivors with chronic illnesses didn’t last long.

There were few advantages they had in this harsh, beautiful world. One was their ability to hide. No one dared to leave the safe points unless they were greater than a 20 foot radius of any organism from the plant kingdom or if the wind was extra powerful that day. It was the only chance they had at staying interconnected with other safe points without the risk of being tracked. The other advantage was the weapons they held. They could kill anyone in an instant. Everyone who left the safe point was required to be equipped with one. If they were to come into contact with anyone not bearing the crest that deemed them as a Powerless among other Powerless, they were to be killed on sight.

There was no other way of keeping their locations safe.

Not that they exactly regretted having to do this. The same thing happened to them decades ago  at a much worse level. So why not return the favor?

-----

No Powerless ever came close to a Powerful unless it was imperative to get near them in the path of a goal that kept the Powerless surviving under the radar of Persephone. Should a Powerless be discovered among the Powerful, no one exactly knew what happened to them, for no one ever returned to tell the tale, though those who evaded capture had nasty rumors to share. This was what Callie feared most as her child came into the world exactly fifty weeks before the beginning of the 22nd century.

-----

The young woman upon the bed clutched her infant daughter to her chest in a fruitless effort to protect her from the outside world. The harsh, merciless world. The baby would not be allowed to survive in the current circumstances. Nature didn’t flow in her presence, and her lack of power would be recognized instantly. The world had never seen any Powerful give life to a Powerless. If word got out, the child wouldn’t even be given a chance to survive. Her only chance of thriving was far, far away from here. It tore Callie’s heart in two just thinking about it.

Her husband sat next to her, his large hands enclosing his wife’s smaller ones. The presence of the two Powerfuls in the room caused the thick moss along the walls to dance as if the wind was guiding it in all directions, despite the fact that not even a breeze could be felt. Their gazes were transfixed upon their newborn daughter. The medicine in her body caused her words to slur and her movements to sway unnaturally, but the fast metabolism of the Powerful race was quickly rectifying her weariness.

“Is she really...” he asked, knowing full well what the answer was, yet still unable to finish the question.

“It’s exactly as we feared,” Callie sobbed. “She can’t stay here, Keith. She has to go to them. It’s the only way to ensure her safety-”

“I refuse to separate our family!”

“There’s no other way!” she partly spoke through tears. “She has to go to them. They’ll take her in.”

“No one even knows where they are,” he tried to argue, but his wife was stubborn in her words.

“Then they’ll have to find you,” more tears spilled onto her cheeks. “I hate this just as much as you, but there’s no other option. She’ll find her way back to us… she has to, right?”

They glanced at the matching black marks on their inner wrists. The ornate design completely unique to the three of them. A Powerful was given one at birth, then a different one once they committed themselves to a partner. Being irremovable, both knew that one day, they'd find their daughter again.

-----

Keith ran as far north as he could, up and beyond the Canadian border. His chances would have been the same in any direction he went, keeping his daughter close to him so his presence would loom over her lack of magic. He ran beyond the border and into the frosted night. The thick woods of the mountains were motionless in the windless altitude. He had no way of knowing whether he was getting closer or farther. All he had to rely on now was luck.

When hunger invaded his stomach, he willed a nearby bush to prematurely ripen several small blueberries. What he didn’t consume, he crushed into liquid and fed to her. Hopefully that would keep their stomachs satisfied for the next few hours.

The soft cracking of twigs and dried leaves on the forest floor diverted his attention to surrounding people clad in bodysuits that perfectly camouflaged with the branches of the trees. Each of them had mud covering their faces to conceal their identities. Not one didn’t possess weapons that were illegalized nearly four decades ago. The rumors stated they could fire hundreds of rounds in a single minute.

Keith tightened his clutch on his daughter, who was sound asleep at the moment. His free hand which was covered in juices from the crushed blueberries was outstretched, but he showed no additional display of magic beyond the flow of long grass at his feet which swayed in all directions on the windless night. The weapons were aimed at Keith’s center. He half expected them to kill him on the spot, but he still stood in place. Alive, breathing and in one piece.

“You’re bold to come to our territory, Sephy, and with an infant no less,” the leader spoke with a voice muffled by the mask they wore. The suit all the soldiers donned made it near impossible to decipher which were male and which were female. “Lower your arm, and my men will lower theirs.”

Keith did so, and in turn, the weapons pointed towards the earth.

“I mean none of you harm,” he attempted to appear and sound stoic, but the fear crawling into his voice betrayed him. “My daughter can’t survive with me and my wife. She’s a… she’s-”

“Powerless,” the leader finished. “And you want us to take her in, don’t you?”

“...Yes,” Keith brought himself to say, fighting back his own tears and still failing to swallow his hesitation.

“Prove it, then. Give her to me, and take twenty paces in that direction,” the leader ordered as they pointed behind Keith. He did as instructed, and the grass stilled under the Powerless.

“Thank you for telling us the truth, Sephy. You have our word she’ll be safe.” With the wave of their arm, the soldiers began retreating into the deepest part of the woods.

“Wait!” Keith shouted, “can I at least tell her goodbye?”

The leader turned around and began walking toward Keith with the swaddled baby in hand. He ran up to them and placed a kiss to the infant’s tiny forehead as water droplets began falling from the sky, decorating the white blankets with small gray dots.

“Goodbye, Janus.”

The moment he uttered her name, she was pulled from his hold and a deafening ring filled the air. His body hit the ground, staining the luscious green foliage with red liquid. The leader saluted to the sniper hidden in the branches, silently commanding him to return to his post.

“Welcome to the family, Janus.” Medea thought to herself as she headed back to camp, where the rest of her people were waiting for her. -----

Hope you enjoyed! It’s my first original work on Tumblr.

[oldwarriors-fireandwater]

Chapter Twenty-One

Firepaw ducked and rolled as Silverpaw charged towards him. A swipe missed his eye by a whisker. Firepaw jumped back to his paws and batted at Silverpaw. His blow was weak, but it hit the other apprentice’s shoulder.

“Finish it, Silverpaw!” Weaselfoot shouted.

Silverpaw whipped about and pounced quite suddenly. Firepaw, taken off guard, tried to scramble away, but to no avail. Silverpaw landed on him and forced him to the ground.

“Fight him off, Firepaw,” Leopardfur meowed. She was standing in for Dawnwhisker today, though she hadn’t been much help. She mostly watched silently, keeping her critical stare on him at all times.

Firepaw twisted around so that his throat wasn’t open for a direct bite, then began to pummel at Silverpaw’s belly with his hind legs. Silverpaw whacked him across the face - a blow that surely would have ripped through an eye had his claws been unsheathed. Firepaw drew in his legs and pushed out with all his might, finally shoving the tom off of him. Panting, Firepaw rolled back over into a crouch.

“Enough,” Leopardfur said. “You were both sloppy. Silverpaw, you should have pinned him ages ago, and that blow would be a dishonorable one in any real fight. Firepaw, you allowed yourself to be trapped again. You need to fight more offensively, or you’ll be beaten to a pulp against a real warrior.”

Silverpaw, who had been looking proud, lowered his tail. His ears flattened. Silverpaw nodded, though a lash of his tail betrayed his irritation. Weaselfoot looked equally bothered, though he didn’t step in to defend his apprentice against the deputy’s criticism.

Firepaw nodded too. She’s hard to please, he thought. He was disappointed that he had lost again, but her comments were at least true for him. Silverpaw’s a pain, but he did fight well...

Leopardfur flicked an ear. “Again. Battle could come at any moment.”

Firepaw sighed quietly and turned to face Silverpaw again. The other tom was already crouched, eyes narrowed to slits.

“Ready? Then -” Leopardfur broke off as the undergrowth rustled loudly.

Petalstream hurried out from the ferns. “Leopardfur? Thank StarClan.”

Leopardfur stood and turned towards her. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Crookedstar has called for a Clan meeting,” Petalstream panted. “He wants everyone present.”

Leopardfur’s ears pricked. “He’s reached a decision, then?”

Petalstream shrugged. “I know less than you, Leopardfur.”

The deputy sighed. “Very well.” She glanced back at the apprentices to address them. “Come along, and don’t lag.” Leopardfur didn’t wait for them as she headed off back towards camp.

Firepaw glanced back at Silverpaw. In an attempt to be friendly, he meowed, “Guess we’re finally getting some news, huh?”

Silverpaw just snorted rudely and padded past him.

Firepaw rolled his eyes. Why do I even try?

Firepaw was hardly in camp for a heartbeat before Crookedstar began to speak.

“Good, good,” Crookedstar said, already seated on the fallen log. “Everyone’s here, then.”

Firepaw blinked and hurried to sit between Beechpaw and Grasspaw. The pair both nodded quietly at him before turning their attention back towards their leader.

“Some of this may sound redundant,” Crookedstar began. “But please, bear with me. ThunderClan has long been an enemy of ours. Even more so since Thistlestar became leader. He, however, has always focused on Sunningrocks and petty fights… Brokenstar seems to be an entirely different, more pressing threat.” He shifted his paws and cleared his throat before he went on. “He is much more aggressive, and has been demanding rights to other Clans’ hunting grounds… yesterday, he asked the same of me. Many of you saw how he was sent off.”

A few chuckles went around.

Crookedstar still looked deadly serious. “Brokenstar asked we allow his patrols to hunt on our territory. I refused, and he began to threaten that he would bring in reinforcements if necessary to take our land by force.” He looked towards Yellowfang. “Yellowfang, if you would speak, please… I believe your account of his behavior is needed.”

The ragged molly nodded. Yellowfang was seated close to the log, beside Mudfur. “Brokenstar will stop at nothing if he sets his mind to it. Even before he was deputy, he urged Raggedstar into fight after fight against WindClan… until our deputy then was killed. As deputy, he was a brute, bullying cats into following his every word.” She closed her eyes and fell silent for a few heartbeats before speaking again. “When he became leader, he made three-moon-old kits apprentices, and they were made warriors at hardly any older than six. Kits were dying in training, forced to fight viciously and without quarter…”

Yellowfang’s voice became strained. “My nieces went missing one day, hardly after they’d started to walk. I found them dead and he pinned their deaths on me. I knew he hated me because he didn’t have my support, but after hearing of the violence in ThunderClan, I believe he murdered them himself.”

Firepaw felt sick. And I thought Thistlestar was bad… Brokenstar sounds truly evil.

“This is all terrible,” Blackclaw grunted. “But what’s the point of all this?”

Crookedstar looked down at him. “I feel that it is RiverClan’s duty to launch an attack against ShadowClan and put an end to him.”

“What?” Beetleclaw demanded. “He hasn’t done anything to RiverClan - the problem is Thistlestar!”

Graypool shifted uncomfortably. “Crookedstar, RiverClan has never launched an assault like this… it isn’t our way,” the elder rasped. “Skirmishes over Sunningrocks is one thing, but this… you’re talking about war.”

Others muttered their agreement. Firepaw wasn’t sure what to think. I don’t know what we’re supposed to do… but is it right to just sit around doing nothing?

Crookedstar seemed to ignore Beetleclaw altogether. “Graypool, I understand your concern. But in the past, we have not had an issue like Brokenstar. Our problems have been privately with ThunderClan… but this affects all Clans. When I visited the Moonstone, there was hardly any fresh WindClan scent in the heart of their territory. Their Clan may be falling apart as I speak because of Brokenstar’s violence. How can I let more kits die just because we have always been safe here?”

Mallowtail and Brambleflower were both seated near the nursery. Mallowtail spoke up. “Crookedstar is right,” she meowed. “I’ve never worried about my kits’ safety, because we’ve never had threats in our camp like this. But to think that ShadowClan would march into a nursery and kill them if they could…” she shuddered. “That terrifies me.”

Whiteclaw stared at his mate for a moment before he spoke. “I’d die fighting anyone if it meant keeping my family safe,” he growled. “If that means attacking ShadowClan, so be it.”

Crookedstar nodded gratefully to them. “Leopardfur, what do you think?”

The deputy looked thoughtful. “Considering they’ve recruited rogues, we can’t do it alone. We have no idea what their numbers are.”

“That’s true,” Crookedstar agreed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Thistlestar was itching for revenge after their attack. You said he would visit us, didn’t you?”

Leopardfur nodded. “Yes. I’m sure they’re still recovering from the attack, but it can’t be long now. With their help, it could be possible...”

“Very well.” Crookedstar straightened. “I have no idea what the state of WindClan is. In the meantime, we will focus our efforts on keeping a strong border and watching for ShadowClan. Once ThunderClan contacts us, I will propose we make a joint attack.”

“Work with them?” Beetleclaw snarled. “Crookedstar, you can't be—”

Crookedstar glared down at him. “You are still in trouble for the mess you caused,” he snapped. “Your next words should be chosen carefully.”

Beetleclaw wisely snapped his jaws shut, but his pelt remained bristled with rage.

Firepaw felt sympathetic. He didn't like the older tom much, but he understood his anger. Beetleclaw still hasn't gotten any closure from losing Sunwhisker, he thought. Now he might have to fight alongside her killers.

Grasspaw shifted, looking uncomfortable. “He's right,” she whispered. “They killed Sunwhisker… why would they help us?”

Beechpaw touched his tail to her shoulder. “I know,” he replied. “But we’ve got a common enemy now.”

Crookedstar coughed slightly. “Now, there's a final matter I have to turn to… a happier one, I hope.” His smile was strained, but it seemed genuine. “Beechpaw, please come forward.”

Beechpaw sat up abruptly. “I nearly forgot!” he whispered.

“What?” Firepaw asked. “What's going on?”

Grasspaw grinned. “He had his assessment this morning. He's going to be a warrior!”

Beechpaw nodded eagerly and stood. He gave his chest a self-conscious lick before he padded towards the fallen log, tail held high.

Beechpaw’s becoming a warrior? Firepaw smiled, feeling a rush of pride for his friend. That's great!

“Cats of RiverClan,” Crookedstar said. “Beechpaw has completed his apprenticeship and was assessed today. Blackclaw, do you believe your apprentice is ready to become a full warrior of RiverClan?”

“Of course!” Blackclaw replied. His chest was puffed out proudly. “He’s ready, Crookedstar.”

Crookedstar dipped his head. “Then I call upon my warrior ancestors to look upon this apprentice. He has trained hard to learn the ways of your noble code, and I commend him to you as a warrior in turn. Beechpaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and defend this Clan, even at the cost of your life?”

“I do,” Beechpaw replied.

“Then by the powers of StarClan, I give you your warrior name. Beechpaw, from this moment on, you shall be known as Beechflower,” Crookedstar declared. “StarClan honors your kindness and dedication, and we welcome you as a full warrior of RiverClan.”

The gathered Clan began to cheer. “Beechflower! Beechflower! Beechflower!”

Grasspaw and Firepaw both quickly joined in the yowling. “Beechflower! Beechflower!”

As the cheers died down, Crookedstar spoke again. “Tonight, you will keep a silent vigil and guard camp. It will begin at sunset.” He rose and stretched. “Dismissed.”

Rather than split apart, many cats hurried up to Beechflower to congratulate him. They crowded around him, calling his name and wishing him the best.

Grasspaw stood. “Come on,” she meowed. “Let’s go see him before he has to be quiet!”

Firepaw grinned and nodded. The pair of them headed towards him, and ended up waiting behind Sedgestream. The warrior glanced back at them and smiled. “That'll be you two soon enough!”

Grasspaw kneaded her paws eagerly. “Can we go out and get some training in?” she asked. “I’ll be a warrior in no time!”

Sedgestream purred. “Alright, alright.” She turned back ahead and padded up to Beechflower. “Hey! Well done. I'll make sure they get a good nest ready for you for when the vigil is over!” The molly quickly gave him a friendly flick of her tail before she moved out of the way.

Firepaw walked up to him, Grasspaw just a whisker behind. “Congratulations!” he purred. “I didn't know you were getting assessed today.”

“Me neither!” Beechflower laughed. “It was pretty sudden. I'm glad, but I'll miss training with you. Hurry up and become a warrior, okay?”

“We’ll be in the warriors’ den any day now!” Grasspaw cheerfully promised.

“Excuse me!” Minkpaw yowled from behind them. She shoved her way between the two apprentices and rolled her eyes. “What did I say?” she meowed to Beechflower. “I knew you’d get that name!”

Beechflower looked as though he were about to reply, but Silverstream padded up on his other side and nudged him. “Well done,” she purred. “I'll be nice having you back on patrols with me.”

Beechflower turned around very quickly, and looked oddly embarrassed. “Th-thanks!” he hastily replied.

Firepaw glanced at Grasspaw, raising his brows in question. The molly rolled her eyes and drew him aside. “He's got the biggest crush on Silverstream,” she explained in a hushed tone. “She was made a warrior just before you got here, so they used to train together a lot.”

Really? Firepaw glanced back towards the pair. They were talking, though Beechflower still looked quite flustered. “How come I never noticed?”

Grasspaw rolled her eyes. “You've got to pay more attention to all of the gossip!” she meowed. “StarClan, what else have you missed out on?”

No one’s really gossiped with me before, Firepaw thought. He shrugged. “I guess I don’t really know.”

“I’ve got to get you caught up,” Grasspaw huffed. “It’s no fun being out of the loop, trust me…”

“Firepaw, Grasspaw, come here!” Leopardfur called.

The pair glanced around to search for her, before they spotted the deputy sitting by the reeds. They exchanged a confused look before they padded over.

“Yes, Leopardfur?” Firepaw asked, once they’d reached her.

“Crookedstar wants to take a patrol to WindClan to speak to Tallstar,” Leopardfur meowed. “You two will come along, as will your mentors.”

“Dawnwhisker is better?” Firepaw asked, pricking his ears hopefully.

Leopardfur nodded. “Mudfur said she’s done all the healing she can.” She chuckled dryly. “Though I think she’s mostly fed up with being there.” Leopardfur twitched her whiskers. “There is another matter I need to speak to you about. Shadepaw, Mosspaw, and Silverpaw will be having their warrior assessments tomorrow, and you’ll both be part of them, along with Minkpaw.”

We’re being assessed? Firepaw wondered. So soon?

Seeming to read his mind, Leopardfur quickly added, “Now, this is not your assessment. You’ll simply be providing a bit of a challenge for them. It’s a bit early for them, so Crookedstar wants it to be… a bit more difficult, I suppose.” She rose and shook her pelt out. “Firepaw, go fetch Dawnwhisker, will you? I’d like to get this over with.”

Firepaw nodded eagerly. “Yes, Leopardfur!” He turned quickly, making a beeline for Mudfur’s den. Finally, I can get back to training with Dawnwhisker!

[wesfike]

O'Connor 'restored our dignity' amid Walkerton disaster

Walkerton Inquiry commissioner Dennis O’Connor remains a beloved figure in the pretty Bruce County town that was made famous for a deadly water contamination crisis 20 years ago.

He immersed himself in the community from the start, and even moved into a rented house with his wife amid a boil water order, during the nine-month inquiry into the May 2000 E. coli town water disaster.

People in the community saw him walk to work and stop to chat along the way. By one man’s recollection, the inquiry commissioner once pushed someone’s car out of a snowy driveway. He passed his 60thbirthday in Walkerton.

Seven people died and ultimately 3,000 were sickened (though nearly all recovered, a long-term health study would ultimately find) – in a town of fewer than 5,000, after contamination from manure washed onto a town well and into the community’s water distribution system.

The inquiry heard from former premier Mike Harris himself, whose budget cuts were blamed in part for the disaster. Lazy and deceitful practices of two inadequately trained brothers at the Walkerton PUC were exposed, as were signs of trouble missed by provincial authorities.

The inquiry’s recommendations for systemic change and professionalization of drinking water operations were adopted, transforming Ontario into a world leader in safe drinking water.

“I felt a huge responsibility to get it right,” the 78-year-old retired judge said in a recent phone interview.

He said he always felt the support of the community, where he has returned to paddle the Saugeen River. “I feel a very strong tie to Walkerton.”

He thought it was important to hold the inquiry in Walkerton, where he released his report in 2002. He guessed some 200 people attended the Walkerton arena hall that day.

“There was a full room. And I can tell you from my standpoint, it was one of the most emotional things that I have done,” O’Connor said. “I sort of almost teared up a bit.”

“Just hold this together,” he said he remembers thinking.

He didn’t mention it, but the town gave him a standing ovation. Bruce Davidson, the co-founder of Concerned Walkerton Citizens, remembers that.

Walkerton resident Bruce Davidson. (Supplied)

“He vowed to leave no stone unturned in finding answers to what had happened here and providing that roadmap to safer water,” Davidson said.

“He was a turning point for the community. He restored our dignity. He restored the integrity of policy – he was the first person that didn’t lie to us.”

For the 20thanniversary of the disaster, O’Connor accepted an invitation to return to Walkerton to offer remarks at a commemorative event on the Mother’s Day weekend. But COVID-19 restrictions on gatherings forced Brockton to cancel it.

O’Connor said he understands why some might not want to remember the disaster.

“One family lost a 2 ½-year-old girl. Other people’s kids have grown up and been compromised from a health standpoint. So commemorating something that’s a tragedy, I guess there could be different views on that.”

The community watched the inquiry unfold by attending the hearing room or watching it on the local cable TV channel. And it was national news. It drew reporters whose presence the community came to resent.

Even before O’Connor’s inquiry began in October 2000, he began by listening to local people’s traumatic stories informally, viewing photos of loved ones who died from drinking town water and sometimes meeting privately with grief-stricken survivors, to have a strong sense of the scope of the impact.

Initially, the water problem was withheld from public health officials by members of the town’s public utilities staff, delaying a boil water advisory by days, causing 300 to 400 injuries which could have been prevented, O’Connor found.

Most of the people infected by the intestinal bug got diarrhea and became dehydrated, so people drank more of the contaminated water, not knowing what was making them sick.

The sight and sound of helicopters carrying victims to hospital in London grew common.

Brothers Stan and Frank Koebel pleaded guilty to criminal offences and were sentenced to a year in jail and nine months under house arrest respectively.

Ontario and other jurisdictions would ultimately implement some or all of O’Connor’s more than 100 recommendations to reform drinking water management.

The Walkerton Clean Water Centre, an independent government agency for training and technical support,was established on the outskirts of Walkerton as a result. O’Connor has spoken there and visited once or twice when passing through, he said.

Though personally moved by the experience, his principal aim was to conduct a dispassionate, fair and accurate examination of what happened, why it happened and find ways to prevent it from happening again, he said.

“I’ll leave it to others to judge but I did the best I could,” O’Connor said. “I devoted myself to it. I felt it was such an important thing to be involved in.”

O’Connor said he’s satisfied he produced an independent report, which gave the community answers — and was given the necessary resources by the provincial government — without political interference.

Some doubted whether conducting such an extensive inquiry in rural Ontario could even be done, given space needs and distances lawyers and many experts who helped shape the recommendations would have to travel. O’Connor decided it must be there.

“I think it was actually, at a fairly significant level, it send a good message that this is where the people were most primarily affected by this. They wanted the inquiry there,” he said.

It was members of the community who called for an inquiry, which otherwise may not have been called, he said.

And a couple of citizens’ groups, each represented by a lawyer, attended the hearings and were very helpful, including Davidson’s group, by organizing groups and individuals willing to discuss the impact of what happened to them.

The former associate chief justice of Ontario, who after Walkerton led the inquiry into Canada’s role in the rendition and torture of Maher Arar in 2004, and was made an Officer of the Order of Canada in 2016, said the Walkerton Inquiry was “as important as anything I’d done professionally in my life, for sure.”

Walkerton Heritage Water Garden (Municipality of Brockton photo)

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