#i turn to left there's a shop where a guy is butchering a human body and it had pants similar to my brother's and i think i screamed idk and

[dykegirlfriend]

.

[frostsinth]

The Secret We Keep - Pt. 8

Part 1|2|3|4|5|6|7  - MasterList - 

 Guys...Guys I hate to spring this on you, usually I give you a heads up... but this is the last part. It just seemed right, the way the story flowed here. I am going to do a little epilogue, but otherwise this is where their story ends for now.

I hope you have enjoyed the slow, awkward, and bumpy ride. It has been a pleasure writing these two, and I’m going to miss them.

If you like this story, check out my others on my MasterList above. While you’re there, feel free to BuyMeACoffee. As always, comments and notes give me life. Shoot me a DM or an ask if you have any thoughts or questions, I love hearing from you all!

It was nearly midday by the time he made his way over towards the butcher shop. The big orc lumbered slowly, frustration lingering in the corners of his deep scowl. He couldn’t believe the woman had managed to slip through his grasp again! But he shook his head, removing the ax from his belt and leaning it in its usual hiding place in the crevice between the two buildings. He would catch up to her eventually. With his resources, it was only a matter of time. The last of those thoughts fell away as the wall of the yard finally came into sight, replaced with a sudden eagerness.

Hanste’kosh didn’t intend to bother with the gate; it was likely latched from the other side anyway. Or more, he hoped it was. As he moved to walk around the perimeter, as he always did, he couldn’t help reaching out to test it with a good yank. It stuck firmly in place, and he nodded in satisfaction. Though the low walls were hardly fortified. Perhaps he would get the boys to bring some mortar and stones. Build them up higher. Keep the place more secure.

The big orc chewed this over as he made his way around to the front. Bar’tok had been right. The place needed more security. And if the presence of the blacksmith’s boy the morning before yesterday was any evidence, just about anyone could get into the place.

He was surprised to find the shop door slightly ajar. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, but he gritted his teeth. He was being paranoid, he chided himself. Likely it was due to the cooler weather of the day; she was simply letting some air in.

With a grunt, he shouldered the door open the rest of the way, hunching up to slip through the tiny frame. His arms scraped the sides, but he was used to it, and rolled his shoulders back as soon as he was in the shop proper.

She wasn’t there. A quick glance around the small shop front confirmed the room was indeed empty. And oddly still; as if he had entered a crypt rather than a shop. Again, the tickle of hairs at the back of his neck set him on edge. But it wouldn’t be the first time he had come to find her in the back, he reminded himself. He nodded resolutely, glancing around once more and moving to the door to the yard.

Another scrunch and duck, and he was out in the open under the growing midday sun again. Slate blue eyes studied the yard. But it too was empty. Now his back grew stiffer, and his jaw tightened. He turned around in place, just to be sure. No fires burning. No meat cooking, no carcasses hanging. And everything looked as when he had last seen it. Unease settled in the pit of his stomach.

The house then. He made his way over, and his palms grew hot at the sight of the open door. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he would swear that was exactly how he had left it the other day. A muffled growl bubbled in his chest, and he knocked lightly on the frame. Popping his head in, his ears rang with the stillness. Empty.

Jerking back, he spun, glaring about with his brow heavily knotted. He gritted his teeth, and found his heart was racing in his chest. All his experience, all his level headed seasoning over the years, shot out of him like a bolt of lightning. Instead, an unfamiliar panic began to set in.

“Madara?” He called, his deep voice thinned by his emotions. It occurred to him he had never said her name out loud before. The sudden realization that he may never say it again hit him like a brick. “...Maddie?” He quickly said it again in denial of that thought.

There was no answer. He felt a foreign numbness wash over his body, dragging him down. He staggered, reaching out to place one hand on the wall of the house. His mind jolted, his blood rushed in his ears. The orc blinked stupidly a few times, and his hopes fell like an anchor tossed off a cliff face. Unable to deny the evidence piling before him.

She wasn’t here. She had abandoned the place. Probably gathered what she had been saving to buy the tavern over the past few days and run… from him. He had finally scared her off. Been too bold, too forward. Had pushed her too fast. Promising her palaces and treasures! It must have sounded crazy… But no crazier than her convincing him that he made her happy. That she wanted him and nothing else. It stung like a fresh burn, and he shook his head at his own stupidity. As if that could ever be true... 

Or, alternatively, perhaps he had waited too long… Perhaps she had realized she didn’t want to have a lover she only saw once a fortnight. Was tired of his secrets and his silence. Maybe she had realized who he was. What he did whenever he left her side. What life he led out of her sight.

The big orc gave an angry growl. He shoved the nearest thing to him, which happened to be a barrel. Watching it rock and fall to its side hardly appeased him, and his eyes flashed with fire. He grabbed it, easily hoisting it over his head and tossing it across the yard. The sound of it shattering echoed in the emptiness. He grabbed another, tossing it with a roar. Then upturned the trough. The water splashed about his boots before seeping across the ground. Next went the old cauldron, clattering and spinning across the yard with its contents pouring out like a trail of blood behind it. His big fist caused the wall of the house to shudder as it connected, and he growled and punched it again. And again. Until a crack formed in the mortar and the rafters groaned and rattled.

Hanste’kosh shuddered, suddenly finding his legs weak beneath him. Slowly, he let himself sink to the ground, bending his knees and propping his elbows on them. Leaning his back against the wall and dropping his chin to his chest. What a fool he had been! To let himself get so caught up in a trivial crush for a human. It bit sharp teeth into his heart to think of her; to think that after their night together maybe she had realized that he was, after all, an orc. And she a human. She was scared of him, that must be it. His sudden anger only proved that she was justified to be so, and he felt a throbbing guilt clutching his heart. For being too big. For being too gruff. For being rude, and brutish, and…

The sound of snorting and squealing hardly registered to him, sitting forlornly in the empty yard. The thundering of cloven hooves, the shouts. None of it mattered. He stared at the ground by his feet, numb to the world.

“Boss!” Came the shout again, closer this time.

Hanste’kosh tilted his head back slowly, looking up at his second. Bar’tok’s went wide as their eyes met, staring at him in shock. Usually, this disrespect would warrant a glare, or have his familiar heavy scowl set into place. Would have him growling in a way that made the smaller orc’s knees knock together. But now… he just looked...

“...Hey, Boss… are-are you ok?” He panted quietly, wiping the sweat from his brow.

The large orc gave a soft grunt, looking past his second dully. He could hear the hog squealing and snorting on the other side of the crumbling wall Bar’tok had easily scaled. Usually they didn’t bring the boars into the village. Too much attention. But it didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered.

Bar’tok looked around, taking that moment to catch his breath. The silence that rang in his ears, despite his boisterous entrance, and that as well as the look on Hanste’kosh’s face had him drawing a quick conclusion. Not to mention the scene of destruction in the yard; broken barrels, upturned trough, burnt stew and dented pot. 

“Is she-” 

He drew in a sharp breath at the dark glower shot back at him in warning. He cleared his throat, disappointment sinking into his chest. One hand reached up, rubbing at his green neck dejectedly. But he shook himself, remembering why he was there. 

“... We’ve gotten word. We know where the Red Wren is now.”

Another grunt, louder this time. His thick brow was beginning to knot up into its familiar angry glower again. But it seemed more hollow. Less the battle scarred fearless warrior Bar’tok had come to know. More like a hollowed survivor, tired of fighting and looking forward to meeting his end on the field. The sight made him shift nervously. The larger orc straightened his big head, thick locks heavy around his shoulders. Slowly, he stood, growling quietly. Despite his old scowl returning, the life seemed drained out of him as he stomped back to the shorter wall.

Bar’tok lifted his hand, thinking to say something. But he couldn’t quite imagine what. Eyes darted about, considering the abandoned yard. A frown tickled at his face. It seemed strange to him. She had been so besotted! Had they gotten into a fight before the Boss had left last time? Had he threatened her, or scared her? It wasn’t out of his nature for his line of work, but even with the little he had seen, he could tell the older orc was a different person around her. Though honestly, he was surprised she had lasted as long as she had at all. Hanste’kosh was an absolutely terrifying presence on his quieter days! The younger orc couldn’t imagine he made good company for a tiny little human.

It had been nice, though. Seeing his Boss so happy. Not that anyone would know it to look at him; but Bar’tok had been working with him for a long time. He knew his quirks. Knew each grunt and scowl and twitch. He had seen the vigor she had brought to him. A previously overzealous workhorse had been replaced by an overgrown pup suddenly eager to finish the job so he could leave to spend time with her. And now…

He sighed heavily, a frown still set deeply into the corners of his mouth. It didn’t seem right. She had been too pure! Too good! Why would she just up and run all of a sudden? Had she said anything? Left a note? He had to imagine she would. She didn’t seem the type to just leave things hanging. Shaking his head, he followed after his boss. Not much to do for it now, right? There would be no talking to Hanste’kosh in a mood like this. The big orc looked like he was moving on instinct rather than conscious thought. Trying to stand in his way would mean being mowed over in his wake.

Both orcs scaled the wall easily, leaping over and landing heavily on the other side. Startling the crap out of a slender boy heading towards the shop entrance. He jumped with a yelp, but quickly straightened. Bar’tok would have ignored him entirely, save for the curious glance he shot Hanste’kosh. As if he had seen him before.

“H-hey!” The teenager stammered, “Y-you’re that orc-” The growl shot his way had the boy squeaking and shrinking back again. Bar’tok almost smirked in amusement. But the teenager fixed his jaw and squared his thin little shoulders. “H-have you seen Madara?”

Hanste’kosh may have winced at the name, but turned his back on the boy with an angry snarl to hide it if he did. Bar’tok shot the human a look that warned him into silence, giving a small shrug almost apologetically. He turned back to his Boss.

“An old sailor caught sight of a red-haired woman with a scar on the side of her nose down by the docks.” He explained, trying to distract the larger orc. “Yesterday evening, at the latest.”

“That sounds like the lady that was here!” Piped up the tiny human.

The adrk green-grey blur shot past Bar’tok before he had a chance to react, leaving the smaller orc dazed in his wake. Hanste’kosh had the human teenager by the scruff of his shirt and hoisted high into the air before the yelp had even finished petering from his mouth.

“What did you say??!” Demanded the huge orc, his voice a reverberating growl that echoed like thunder around them.

The boy put up his hands, quaking in absolute terror. “I-I.. I-I” He was stammering so much he couldn’t seem to find the words.

Bar’tok stepped over, sliding into the boy’s line of sight. “You saw someone like that here?” He pressed, trying to sound encouraging. His mission was not helped as Hanste’kosh shook the teenager like a ragdoll.

His feet kicked uselessly above the ground. “The day before last!” He squeaked, “S-she was looking for the person who cooked the roast pig she had sampled! I-I saw her go into the shop….” His eyes managed to go even wider as a sudden realization seemed to hit him. “I… I haven’t seen Madara since…”

Hanste’kosh dropped the boy, who fell in a heap on the ground with a shout and a whimper. The big orc was at the war hog’s side in two strides, moving faster than anyone would have ever thought a creature of his size could be capable of moving. Bar’tok’s mouth was still half open to speak as the larger orc had settled himself in his mount’s saddle.

“Which docks?!” He snarled at his second, eyes feral.

….

“Wakey wakey, love!” Came a sing-song voice.

I groaned, my head pounding. I moved to reach up one hand to cradle it, but found they would not obey my will. I struggled to comprehend the wash of sounds that hit me, the strange air filling my lungs. My throat felt dry and my eyes struggled to open. My head throbbed and pounded from a focused point at the back of my skull and radiating out.

“Here she comes! Atta girl.”

That voice again. I knew that voice. It brought to mind the memory of flashing red hair and the hint of a point to a pair of pale ears. In my shop, I remembered. The sing-song tone asking me questions. The same unease that had curled around the base of my spine then returned, and I fought the blinding light that edged my vision.

I came to slowly, rolling my head back and looking about. I was in a room, a large room, filled with crates and barrels and various other shipping containers. The rafters were so far overhead I couldn’t make them out, but shafts of sunlight caught drifting dust motes among the beams. Ropes and large canvasses were draped about, and the distant chatter of voices and boots on wood echoed around me. I blinked a few times, drawing in a steadying breath. It brought with it a briney scent. I frowned. I had never smelt anything quite like it! Almost like fish, but saltier, and wet.

Feral green eyes waited for me when my vision cleared, along with a sharp smirk on pristine white teeth. I took in the woman with flaming red hair before me, and stiffened sharply. It was then I realized my hands and ankles were bound to the hair I sat in. I swallowed the dryness in my throat, fear settling its claws into my chest.

“Well, well,” She purred, straightening with her hands tucked into the small of her back, “I must have hit you harder than I thought, though I’m sure the drugs were also an overkill. You were out for almost two whole days!”

I twisted my wrists in the binds experimentally, gritting my teeth. “Who are you? What do you want?”

She laughed, slowly pacing around me. “Consider me an old colleague of a dear friend of yours.” She stopped at my shoulder, bending low to speak straight into my ear. “Absolutely astounding job on the pig, by the way! As far as last meals go, it was quite the hit.”

“What are you talking about?” My voice was high with my fear, and I wriggled against the bindings again. “Why am I here?”

She continued her circle, chuckling again. “Oh, you’re here to ensure my safety, sweet girl.” Now standing back before me, she put her hands on her hips. “I seem to have found myself on your mate’s bad side.” She reached out and tweaked my nose sharply. “And you’re going to help me off.”

“My mate?” I echoed, dumbstruck.

Again, her laugh rang out. “My, but aren’t you the pretty, ignorant little duckling. Do you have any idea who you invited into your bed?” Her grin grew malicious, “Or do you just go crazy for any big orc who will have you?”

It suddenly clicked in my head whom she meant, and I felt a cold chill run down my spine. She smiled, seeing the realization creeping into my face. She glanced over her shoulder at the guard posted by the door, then turned back to me.

“A dangerous creature, that lover of yours. Tell me,” She crouched down to be face to face, “Does the beastie have a heart? Or just a really good cock?”

My face burned hot, and my mouth opened in surprise. She gave another vicious laugh. She straightened, turned and strode back towards the door. I wriggled again, then tried my ankles next, tugging and rolling them. I even craned my head to look as far over my shoulder as I could, as if perhaps there was some opportunity to escape just out of my sight. 

The woman nodded to the guard, finishing whatever she had been saying, and turned back to return to my side. 

“I hope you’re valuable to him. Or you’re really no good to me at all.” She kicked my chair lightly. “Just dead weight.” I glared up at her as angrily as I could manage despite my racing pulse in my ears. She merely smirked again. “You think he’s missing you by now? Don’t fret, I won’t keep him worrying long. I’ve just sent word to let him know you are safe and sound with me.” She tapped the point of my nose with one finger, and I shook my head in frustration. “No reason for this to get messy, don’t you agree?”

She jerked up quickly as a loud commotion suddenly filled the air. The sound of shouting, and splintering wood. Crashing bodies and breaking glass. The clang of metal against metal and shrieks of pain. Her eyes went wide, then narrowed. A blade appeared in her hand so fast, I didn’t even see her move. With a swift slice, she freed my wrists and ankles and yanked me to my feet.

Just in time, it seemed. The massive doors of the old building seemed like they exploded before us, with a huge boom that sent splinters flying. I squeezed my eyes shut to block out the cloud of dust that flew in our faces. I felt her arm wrap about my shoulders, felt her tug me closer. The sharp edge of the blade was pressed to my throat.

I blinked, gasping as the dust began to settle and a huge, familiar frame filled the new hole in the wall. I almost melted with relief at the sight.

“Hans!” I shouted.

His responding snarl was more vicious than I had ever heard it and made my breath catch in my throat. So loud the rafters shook over us. Slate blue eyes fixed with a burning ferocity at the woman behind me. Her arm tightened around my body, and she jerked us both back a step. Brandishing her knife so that it’s sharp edge caught a glimmer of light. I reached up, tugging at her arm weakly with both my hands. My movements still sluggish and clumsy.

“Hans?” Echoed the woman, then laughed boldly, “My, but that is so sweet. Ah!” She exclaimed as he took an aggravated stride forward, “Not another step. I assume you want your precious little butcher girl back in one piece, yes?” I could feel her hot breath in my ear, “She’s not the only one who knows how to cook a pig.” Hans froze, and his big eyes narrowed. “Quite clever, by the way. I must commend you. Sending such a delicious roast to my barracks laced with belladonna. Must have been like lambs to a slaughter for you.”

“It’s over, Wren,” Growled Bar’tok, appearing from the settling dust to stand at Hans’ shoulder with a big ax brandished, “The warehouse is surrounded. There’s no way you leave here in one piece.”

She chuckled behind me, but I could feel her nervousness as her arm gripped me a little tighter. “No, I don’t think that’s quite true. See, you’re gonna let me walk right out of here. That is, if you ever want to see your little friend here again.” She pulled me back as she moved a step. The orcs matched her, and she pressed her knife against me hard enough to make me gasp. “Don’t test me! Call off your man, Hanste’kosh Blackheart. This is between you and me. Well, you, me, and your sweet little human plaything here.”

Hans raised his hand, signalling Bar’tok to stand down. The smaller orc growled softly, but did as he was told. Lowering his big double sided ax slightly. I heard the stamping march of boots from the outside, and more growls and grunts. Wren twitched behind me. I wriggled in her grasp, but she jerked me off balance, still keeping the blade pressed to my throat.

I had never seen Hans like this. His face was contorted into a feral rage, so foreign to me it made his features seem twisted and dark. His tusks looked larger than I remembered them, and his hair fell about him like a wild mane. He looked like a wild animal. I barely recognized him; his huge, muscular arms flexing, a trail of spittle forming in the corners of his mouth. I glanced at Bar’tok, who looked equally outraged, then back to Hans. My mind raced and my breath was shallow. I swallowed hard, feeling the knife press deeper into my flesh and making me wince. Somehow, Hans’ face managed to become more twisted at the sight.

“...You’re going to let me get on that ship,” The woman was saying, and I blinked, realizing she had been talking for a while now, “You’re going to let me sail away. And then you’re going to forget about me.” 

She was dragging me now, and my feet slid on the damp floors as I tried to keep them under me. I struggled against her again, and felt the blade knick my skin as she tightened her grip. I heard Hans’ growl as I gasped at the slight stinging pain that came along with it. Felt a single pearl of blood drip down my neck.

“You’re going to regret that…” He snarled, his voice a deep, booming thunder in the old building.

“Get back!” She shouted at them, but her voice shook a little. “Let me pass! NOW!”

The orcs exchanged a quick look, but then reluctantly did as they were told, slowly stepping to the side. Creating a passage between them. Neither seemed pleased about it, their fists wringing, their snarling visages deepening. But slowly, she advanced, her gaze darting back and forth between the two. Daring them to try something. Hans’ growled again, a deep, monstrous sound that sent a shiver down my own spine.

I felt her wince behind me, and heard her swallow loudly. Her hand on the knife loosened, I could feel the pressure lightening. I glanced at Bar’tok, then at Hans, whose eyes seemed fixed on the blade at my throat. We were nearly to them now, edging towards the one exit I could see. I waited, my breath trapped in my lungs, my heart like a drum thrumming in my ears. My hands shook, but I watched the gap between us slowly shrink with each tiny step forward that she dragged me.

She shifted, her stance not as tight. She was distracted, maybe by a loud sound. Maybe in the process of switching her wary gaze from one orc to the other. But I felt my opportunity. And I took it.

In a flash, I grabbed my own balled fist and slammed my opposite elbow back with as much force as I could muster. She cried out, buckling over in surprise and pain. Her knife hand going wide, her arm loosening. I twisted free, doubled over, and then I ran. I ran as fast as I could, sprinting. Straight to Hans.

I slammed into his chest at full speed, and felt the wind knock from my lungs. He didn’t even flinch from the force of my charge. My mouth gaped uselessly, but I felt his arm drop down. Encasing me. Lifting me and spinning with me. I could hardly process our movement as he spirited me away. The last thing I heard was a deafening scream.

By the time the air had returned to my lungs, the sounds of the warehouse had faded behind us. I tried to turn my head, but was buried so deeply in his rough armor that I could barely breathe let alone move. I squeezed my eyes shut and hoped that whatever was happening, Hans would know what to do.

I’m not sure how long I stayed like that, but eventually, I felt my feet slowly being lowered back to the ground. Felt the corded, muscular arm around me slowly loosen, and I leaned back carefully. Craning my head back to look for his face.

Gone was the snarling visage and feral beast. Gone was the dark shadows and angry glower. His big blue eyes were soft and searching, his thick hair a black frame around his square features. His jaw was slack and his tusks seemed less pronounced than minutes before. The familiar face I dreamed about each night.

My Hans. My big, gentle Hans. I let out my breath in a rush.

His big hand came up, hesitantly running his fingertips over my jaw. I saw his gaze flicker down to my throat, and his thumb moved to trace the thin cut there. A soft growl reverberated in his chest. I brought my own hand to cup his, and realized I was smiling. Despite it all. Despite the fear pounding my chest still and the fact that my knees quivered beneath my skirts. Just seeing him again was enough to make me smile.

“I’m fine.” I assured him, my voice breathy and thin.

He growled softly again, and his big lip seemed to quiver slightly. I curled my fingers around his hand and gave a gentle squeeze. There was a snort behind him, and I managed to glance around him to see a large red boar saddled and waiting. Its big nose twitched, and it snuffed at my scent. I heard the caw of birds, and looked up to see white gulls circling overhead. Now that my pulse was calming, I could hear not the rush of blood in my ears, but the crash of water. I took in another deep breath of the salty air.

Some cleared their throat quietly behind me, and I jumped a little. Hans’ face hardened slightly as I turned to see Bar’tok standing there. He rubbed at the back of his neck, shuffling his feet and spinning his big ax in his free hand.

“Sorry to interrupt, Boss,” He began, and cleared his throat again, “But the... clean up crew is here.”

I felt his hand clench around my fingers, and turned back to see him stiffening. He looked down at me, then back over towards the warehouse a few yards away. I could see various men, mostly orcs, milling about. They seemed to be searching for something, and clearing crates and debris.

“Go.” I told him, squeezing his hand again. “I’ll wait here.”

His slate blues came back to me, and I saw his face soften again. He reached up our clasped hands, running his thumb along the tip of my chin gently. But he nodded, slight scowl returning as he turned to address Bar’tok.

“Stay with her.” He ordered the smaller orc, who nodded respectfully.

Hans gave my fingers one last gentle squeeze, then reluctantly released them to turn and head back to the warehouse. Bar’tok stepped aside as the hulking orc stormed past him. When the smaller orc turned back to me, he offered me a sheepish grin, hoisting his ax up to rest over his shoulder.

“Good to see you again, ma’am.”

I almost laughed, but offered him a shy smile instead. “Glad to see you too, Bar’tok.” I glanced back over at the boar, shifting my weight. “I definitely owe you a huge breakfast now.”

He did laugh, and moved over to slap the boar on the side. The beast gave a hearty grunt, and I wandered over to it curiously. I had never seen one up close before. It was huge! Its head alone was nearly the size of my whole body. I reached out one hand towards it, offering it my palm to sniff.

“I’ll take you up on that sometime, ma’am.” He replied, half leaning against the beast as it gently wuffed at my hand.

As it seemed content, I reached up and ran my hand over its big face. The hairs were coarse and thin everywhere except for where it ran down the spine at its neck, and underneath its fur the thick hide of the pig was almost scaly. It seemed to enjoy my attention, snorting and jerking its head up into my hand.

“You are most welcome anytime you’d like,” I told him, and let out a shaky sigh, “Any meal, anything you want. It’s on the house.”

“... You alright ma’am?” He asked, and when I glanced at him, he smiled kindly.

I returned the smile, looking back at the boar as I ran my nails over its forehead. It snorted happily. “... I-I… I’m not sure…” The back of my neck itched, longing to turn to let me look back at the scene behind me. “I don’t know what to think right now…”

Bar’tok considered me quietly, wringing his hand along the handle of his ax. I scratched the boar’s head, still quivering a little, my heart skipping every few beats. I couldn’t help but recall what the lady had said, about Hans. About who he was. And something about roast pig. My roast pig, I had to assume. I swallowed nervously, trying to piece it all together. Not entirely sure I wanted to. What had she called him? Blackheart? That wasn’t an orcish name. That sounded like the kind of name one was given… The kind earned by reputation…

“You really don’t know who he is, do you?” Bar’tok asked, and I started slightly out of my contemplations at the sound of his voice, “You have never heard of him before?”

I stiffened, my hands slowing. Quietly, I shook my head. When I finally managed to look up at the orc, my eyes held the question my lips couldn’t seem to form. Did I want to know? Did I need to?

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Look, it’s not my place really,” He grumbled, staring down at his feet, “But… For what it’s worth… The Boss is absolutely crazy about you. When he went to your place, and saw you missing? I thought he might burn the whole village to the ground.” I winced, and he quickly added, “Metaphorically speaking, of course… mostly.”

I let out a nervous laugh and shook my head. I ran one hand up the snout of the beast before me. Tracing my fingers as far up as I could reach. It brought its head lower so I could scratch by its ears.

“Part of me thinks that maybe he’s happy you don’t know…” Bar’tok continued after a few moments, “Because you like him for who he really is… And you do like him, right?”

I couldn’t help the smile that split my lips, and instantly felt my cheeks warm afterwards. I glanced up at the orc through my lashes, and saw a tiny smile at the corners of his own mouth. He let out a hefty sigh, patting the side of the boar and adjusting his grip on the ax.

“Just… be gentle with him, yeah? I know it sounds stupid, but…”

We were interrupted by the heavy stomp of boots, and turned to see Hans making his way back over. He squared his broad shoulders, shooting Bar’tok a dark, suspicious look. The smaller orc cleared his throat and straightened quickly. When his eyes fell on me though, everything softened and his face seemed to brighten. I dropped my gaze shyly, but couldn’t ignore the pitter-patter of my heart in my chest.

Hans jerked his head over his shoulder at Bar’tok, moving over to the boar’s side. The smaller orc quickly shuffled out of the way, nodding his understanding. He glanced at me as he passed, hesitating a step.

“Get home safe, ma’am,” He told me, “I hope to see you again real soon.”

I gave him a polite smile, tilting my head. “Join us for that meal I owe you sometime.” He grinned his large, goofy grin, and returned another nod. “... And Bar’tok?” I called as he started to turn away. He glanced back at me, and I fumbled with the words for a moment. “... Thank you.”

I saw his eyes dart over my shoulder briefly, and could only imagine the expression that he saw there. His face paled slightly, but he managed a slight smile, and a final nod. I turned back to Hans as he spun back towards the warehouse. Hans glanced after him, then settled his big blue eyes on me. After a moment’s hesitation, he gestured to the hog, and I slowly moved over to him.

I couldn’t even reach the top of the boar’s back, but as soon as I stood at his side Hans wrapped his big hands around my waist and hoisted me up. Settling me into the front of the saddle just behind the horn. I clutched it nervously as the big orc vaulted up behind me. His huge arms encircled me, and he took up a chunk of the beast’s thick mane in his hands. With just his thighs, Hans turned the boar and spurred it forward. It gave an eager squeal, and we were off.

The heat of Hans behind me felt like a dream. As if none of this had happened at all, and I was still at home safe in my new bed. Despite the lurching gate of the hog beneath me, I closed my eyes and leaned back against Hans’ chest. I felt him adjust to my shape after a moment, and one hand came free from the thick mane to wrap lightly around me. Cradling me in place. I rested my cheek against his warm bicep, placed my own arm over his. Hugging it to me. My head still throbbed a little, and the sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky. We didn’t speak, though I couldn’t even begin to imagine what to say. The craziness of the day overwhelmed me, and I felt myself sinking into a restless daze.

The next thing I remembered was the sensation of his arms scooping me up. My eyes fluttered back open, and I looked around. The salty smell in the air was gone, as was the cawing of gulls. It was very late, but I recognized the silhouette of my house in the dark, and nearly sighed with relief. I started to wriggle, to try and slip my feet back down to the ground. The deep rumble of his growl vibrated against my ear, and he tightened his grip gently. I relented without complaint, and let him carry me all the way to the tiny doorframe. He scrunched up and bent in half to fit us both through, but managed, and walked quietly over to the big bed.

Gingerly, he laid me down in it. I looked up at him, but he seemed to be avoiding my gaze. His hands reluctantly retracted, leaving me to shiver slightly at the sudden loss of their heat. I sat up slowly, pulling my knees up to my chin and wrapping my arms around them.

“You’re safe now,” He said quietly, his deep voice like the distant rumble of a storm, “Sleep.”

“...Where are you going?” I asked, equally quiet.

He hesitated, and I heard him give a soft grunt. Saw him shift his weight and rub at the back of his neck with one big hand. I was certain if there had been more light, I would have seen the flush rising to his face. I swallowed nervously, and felt the heat creeping up to my own cheeks.

“... You’re staying?”

I thought I saw him wince, and he glanced over his shoulder. “... To keep watch.”

As he started to move away, I rolled to my knees and caught his arm lightly. He froze at my touch, and I dropped my hand shyly. Wringing my hands together in front of me.

“... Can you stay with me? ... H-here in bed?”

He seemed surprised, and I felt him hesitate again. I sat back on my ankles, rubbing at my arm with one hand. Waiting. After a long moment, he turned, heading over to the door. At first, my heart sank, disappointment spreading numbly through me. But then his big hand slowly pushed the door closed and slid the latch into place with a thunk. I saw his head turn, glancing over at me, hesitating. Then I heard the soft click of his buckles coming undone.

He stacked his armor on the table, then carefully took off his boots and stockings. His bare feet made hardly a whisper of sound as he quietly stalked over to the bed. Again, he paused, looking down at me. I scooched over, making space for him. After another moment of considering me, he slowly eased himself onto the mattress. Laying on his side, so we were face to face.

I searched for his eyes in the dark, barely able to make them out. I wondered if he could see me better; the darkness had never seemed to bother him much. It seemed like he was watching me. I smiled timidly, in case he was. I could feel his heat, and longed to roll closer. But feared scaring him off.

He shifted quietly, and I saw the shadow of his big hand move. Felt the backs of his fingers ever so hesitantly brush against the side of my face. I reached up my own hand, catching his as it passed. Bringing it to press more firmly against my cheek. I leaned into his touch, and I felt him slowly relax. Felt his hand turn until his palm cupped my face delicately. I closed my eyes, sighing softly.

“... I thought I’d lost you,” He confided in me, his deep voice almost thin with his words.

I opened my eyes again. He ran his thumb over my cheekbone, his fingers tracing back and forth along my jaw. I turned into his hand, brushing my lips lightly against his palm. Uncertain what to say but hoping the sentiment was clear enough. I felt his hand tighten slightly against me, and turned to plant another kiss on his big, meaty palm. I smiled shyly up at him through my lashes. His brow was scrunched, and I thought I saw his thick lips twitch.

“... She should never have found you. I should never have left you alone.”

I ran my thumb back and forth over his knuckles, not saying anything for a moment. I nuzzled my nose against his wrist, breathing in his musky scent. Relishing the thought that my bed would be thick with it after tonight. I was surprised to be thinking about such a thing. After everything that had happened today. But the feeling of his touch still sent me reeling. The sight of him had my heart racing. It made everything else seem so trivial.

“It doesn’t matter.” I murmured softly. And it didn’t.

He growled softly, and rolled closer. “It does matter. I should have kept you safe.”

I shook my head. “You’re here now.” I pressed my cheek deeper into his palm. “I’m safe with you.”

He grumbled, and I felt it rumbling through the mattress and air between us. I scooched closer myself, until my knees scraped against him. His free hand slowly came out, and I felt his fingertips smooth lightly over my hip. I rolled even closer, trying to encourage him. Longing for his touch, his warmth. To bury myself back against his chest. After a moment, he rested his big hand on my side, and I let my eyes close again, running my own hand across the bridge his arm made between us. Gently, he flexed his big muscles, and slid me closer.

“... I keep thinking I will scare you off.” He breathed, hardly above a whisper. His mouth was so close to me, he didn’t need to speak loudly to be heard.

I smiled again, kissing his wrist. “I keep thinking the same thing about you.”

He snorted, half in disbelief, half in amusement, and it made my grin grow by a few inches. His thumb rolled up and down my hip. I heard him shift, felt the bed creak. I didn’t jump as his lips brushed my forehead. I thought back over the day. Over everything that had happened, and everything I had learned. About his name. His reputation. What was it the red haired woman had said? ... A dangerous creature, that lover of yours... Was he really such a scary person to the rest of the world that he couldn’t believe I wouldn’t be scared as well? I remembered the way he had looked, when he had first barged into that warehouse. He had been terrifying… It hadn’t even seemed like him. Tell me, does the beastie have a heart?

I opened my eyes, looking at him. Studying the soft way his thick lips curled, the relaxed shape of his pronounced brow and thick eyebrows. The gentle depths of his deep blue eyes. This was Hans. Not that other orc everyone seemed to be scared of. Whatever else he was, this was how I knew him. This was who he was to me. Big. Soft. Kind and thoughtful. Tender and passionate. Does the beastie have a heart? How was that even a question? How could anyone who saw what I saw not simply know? Bar’tok’s words filtered to my consciousness next. For what it’s worth… The Boss is absolutely crazy about you. I traced my hand up his arm, over his shoulder. Cupping my tiny palm against his cheek. I felt my eyes glance down to his lips, before darting back up to meet his gaze. Be gentle with him…

He leaned down to meet me halfway as I stretched up to kiss him, curling his arm into the small of my back. Folding me against him tenderly. His mouth was hot against mine, but he was careful and delicate as he traced my lips with his. I melted into him, my heart fluttering in my chest, my breath catching in my throat. This was my Hans.

When we finally broke the kiss, we lay close, our noses almost touching. Breathing in the air the other breathed out. I studied him, watching those big blue eyes as they watched me. I ran my hand along the scruff on his jaw and buried it into the thick mane of hair at the base of his neck.

“... You won’t scare me away.” I murmured.

The soft rumbling chuff vibrated against me, and I smiled again. He titled his head, resting his forehead against mine. I closed my eyes, giving a final, deep sigh. Letting the exhaustion of the day finally drag me down.

...

“It’s for the best, Boss…”

The familiar voice filtered through my sleep, and I rolled to my other side. I heard the rumbling grunt in answer, and felt the smile forming on my lips at the sound. I yawned, blinking blearily and shifting again. I reached out, but it was only me laying amid the mass of blankets and furs. I sat up slowly with another yawn, rubbing at my eyes. My headache and soreness had lessened, and I felt clearer headed as I stretched out my arms.

“I think you’re right, she needs to hear it. For her own safety.”

Bar’tok, I realized, and frowned at his words. A deep sigh was the next answer, and it tugged at my heartstrings to hear it. I rolled to the edge of the bed, easing my feet to the ground carefully.

The door was agape, and I could see the edge of Hans’ shoulder through the opening. He must be sitting on the stumps by the wall. I couldn’t see Bar’tok, but he must be nearby for me to hear his voice so clearly despite its low volume. I wondered for a moment what they were conversing about. It seemed early still, there was still a slight haze to the air in the yard and I could almost taste the dew. Would it be wrong of me to eavesdrop like this?

There was silence then, and I wondered if they were talking too softly for me to hear, or if there was just a natural lull in the conversation. I stood, tip toeing a little closer. It was my house, after all. If they didn’t want me to overhear something, they really shouldn’t be talking right outside my door. After another few moments, Hans gave a deep, affirmative grunt. As if he had made some decision.

“She deserves to know why Red Wren came after her.” Bar’tok agreed, and I could almost see him nodding.

I stiffened slightly, realizing the subject of their conversation. But it was too late to back out now. I could see Hans shifting, as if he had sensed me. I squared my shoulders, moving over to stand in the doorframe. His big head craned to the side to look up at me, his huge blue eyes seeming a bit forlorn, even set as they were into his customary deep scowl. As they lit on me, I saw his brow soften slightly, though his lips tightened. I looked over to Bar’tok, who straightened at the sight of me and offered me a bashful smile.

“G-Good morning, ma’am!” He stammered, looking sheepish as usual.

I glanced back at Hans, then at Bar’tok, then back again. Based upon the look they were both giving me, I knew exactly what they had been talking about. Exactly why the larger orc looked so reluctant.

Part of me thinks that maybe he’s happy you don’t know… Because you like him for who he really is… And you do like him, right?

Hans sighed again, and started to open his mouth. I raised my hand, cutting him off.

“You don’t have to tell me. I already know.” I said.

Both orcs’ eyes widened, and they exchanged a look. Bar’tok’s mouth even dropped open slightly.

“You… You know?”

I nodded at the younger orc. “Of course!” I turned back to Hans, crossing my arms over my chest. “...I would never have thought how competitive contract laborer work can be. It’s absolutely cutthroat!” The pair exchanged another look, eyes still wide. I waved one hand in the air. “It explains everything though; the way you’re busy for days at a time, the fact that you have to travel for work, the constant threat of your competitors…” I shrugged, “Honestly, I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner.” I gave him a small smile. “Yours must be very successful, for that Red Wren lady to be willing to go to such extremes to knock you down. And why you were worried it might scare me.”

The orcs turned to each other, their faces blank, then back to me. Bar’tok opened his mouth, but at a growl from Hans, quickly closed it. He shuffled his feet, glancing over at his boss. Hans stared at me, looking me up and down slowly from head to toe. I smiled at him, unwrapping my arms to place my hands on my hips. After a long, extended moment, he gave a loud affirmative grunt. My smile grew, and I reached out and brushed my hand over his big shoulder fondly. His lips curled back into that soft shape I liked, and his eyes became a little doe-like.

“Excellent! Since that’s out of the way,” I turned to Bar’tok, “Are you here for breakfast?” The smaller orc looked surprised, then glanced over his shoulder. His sheepish grin returned as my gaze moved around the yard. My eyes widened at the sight of the destruction there. “By the gods!”

“... Wren.” Hans quickly grumbled by way of explanation, dropping his eyes as I turned back to him.

“Ah… Yeah, we think she was looking for something…” Bar’tok explained, clearing his throat. “The Boss called me in to help with the clean up.”

I put my hands back on my hips, considering the mess. “That’s very sweet of you to help! Definitely earns you an extra helping of eggs, I’d say. How about I get everything started, then I’ll come out to help you two?”

Hans grunted, slowly standing and shaking his head. He jerked his chin to the house as he stretched, and Bar’tok nodded his agreement.

“We can handle this, ma’am. No need to bother yourself with it.”

I sighed, shaking my head. Knowing better than to try and argue. “Well, I’ll put in an extra flourish for breakfast then, since I’ll have more time on my hands.”

I saw both orcs’ noses twitch in delight at the thought, and Bar’tok’s grin grew. “That sounds great, ma’am. Thank you much.”

The two quickly set about picking up the yard, and I went back into the house. A few short logs into the oven and I had it up to temperature to begin baking bread. I dug into the larder, fishing out cheese, butter, eggs, bacon, and even some apples from a bushel one of the customers had traded with me. I grabbed the small sack of flour, and quickly had some smooth batter whipped up.

A little while later, as the bacon sizzled, I moved over to the door. Popping my head out and looking around. Bar’tok was the closest, pouring several large buckets of fresh water into the righted trough. I smiled at him.

“I think we’ll have more space setting up the table outside.” I told him as he emptied the last bucket. “Could you carry it out for me?”

“Of course, ma’am. No sweat.”

He ducked to follow me into the house. He grabbed the benches first, taking one out under each arm. I didn’t mind that he accidentally whacked one into the frame of the door as we went. When he returned, I quickly scuttled over to the table and plucked up the pitcher.

“This is special.” I explained to him, cradling it with a smile in the nook of my arm.

Bar’tok hesitated, shuffling in place. “... Ma’am… now, it’s not my place…” Again he paused, taking a step closer to the table. Bending as if to pick it up. But he paused with his palms on the wood. “But… You know he’s not-”

“Breakfast will be ready soon,” I interrupted, turning back to the stove. “I hope the yard is almost set? If not, I think you’ve both more than earned a break.”

There was silence behind me, and I flipped the bacon out of the pan and replaced it with some more. It sizzled, filling the air with its juicy aroma. I felt his eyes on me, and eventually snuck a peek at him out of the corner of one. The younger orc seemed absolutely torn, chewing on the edge of his lip around his broken tusk. I sighed.

“I’ve decided I don’t need to know, Bar’tok.” I told him, pushing the bacon around with the fork. “And it makes him happy to pretend I don’t….” I smiled to myself, my face going soft. “And he makes me happy… so this will just be the secret we keep.”

When I turned back, the orc’s smile had split his face in two from ear to ear. He nodded, satisfied, and hoisted up the table as easily as if it were a sack of feathers. He shot me one more pleased, knowing look. I blushed, quickly busying myself with the final breakfast preparation.

Not long after, I brought plate after plate after plate of delicious goodies out to the table Bar’tok had set up in the cleared center. The pair had finished filling the pit for me, and the yard looked quite neat and tidy. As they washed up, I brought out the pancakes, fresh bread, bacon, apple crisp, eggs, cheese, and even some hot coffee. For the final piece, I carefully brought out the white and blue pitcher Hans had brought me. The flowers in it were wilted, but I didn’t mind, placing it in the center of the food like a crown jewel. I happily settled myself beside Hans on the bench, making sure our thighs touched, and watched the pair of orcs dig into the prepared food eagerly.

Under the table, Hans reached out, resting his big hand gently on my leg, and turned I smiled up at him. Watching his slate blue eyes soften as they fell on my face….

...

The End.

[victoria-daydreams]

Lost in the Stars - Part V

Part IV

AN: With the being election over my anxiety has gone down considerably which means I can write freely without the feeling existential dread hovering over me. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: When Sarela Reyes accepted a bounty to find some  missing child it should have been a simple job. What she got instead was  a chance meeting with a certain Mandalorian, and her world was never  the same.

"I can't believe you extorted the Mayor to find his daughter," the Mandalorian commented.

Sarela looked over to her side, "I didn't extort Vullen," she replied, shaking her head. "I simply renegotiated our terms," she corrected, and the Mandalorian let out a scoff. "Hey! I didn't see you object to my renegotiation back there," she pointed out, and the Mandalorian remained silent. “That’s what I thought,” she retorted smugly.

Sarela looked around her surroundings, the market in this part of the city was filled with a lot more shadier characters than the markets she usually shops at. The farther you traveled from the city center, the deeper you went into the slums of this place. Not to mention the more unlawful things became. Even slave trafficking was starting to boom again. And with a Mandalorian who's covered in shiny beskar armor and armed to the teeth, standing next to her, Sarela realized they were attracting the stares of more than a few locals.

"Maker, you stand out like a sore thumb," Sarela remarked in exasperation. "Keep your coin purse close to you Mando, we're surrounded by scoundrels, thieves, and criminals," she warned, her eyes scanning over the locals.

"You should fit right in then,"

Sarela breathed out a laugh, "You know Mando, I think we're going to get along just fine," she said, bringing her attention back to the Mandalorian.

"Hey, you!" someone shouted from behind them.

Sarela turned around lazily, setting her eyes on a tall man. He looked malnourished due to the fact that his face held no baby fat on it at all, the baggy clothes also added to the theory. He had long black hair that stopped at his shoulders, it was tied back in a low ponytail, but a few pieces still fell out to frame his face. His eyes were narrow, snake-like in appearance, the dark brown of them only added to their sinister look as well. He had a medium-sized nose that was well defined, pale thin lips only set right below them, along with a low-set chin.

"Yes? We don't have all day," she answered impatiently.

It was annoying that she actually had to look up in order to talk to him, what a nuisance.

"You don't remember me? It's me, Tye!" he said with enthusiasm.

Sarela rolled her eyes, "I don't know you," she responded, clearly annoyed.

She knew of no one with that name, not to mention she had never seen the man in front of her before. And the man knew that as well.

"But-"

"Beat it!" Sarela interjected, waving her hand dismissively and turned back around. "Come on Mando," she called, starting to walk away, yawning in the process.

She didn't turn back around even when she heard the man mumble something.

"Like I said before, you gotta watch out for vagrants like him," Sarela stated, digging out her holoprojector and turning it on. "According to Vullen, the kids of interest live in this part of the city," she said, as the projector displayed an image of Jazen.

"Those kids could be anywhere," the Mandalorian remarked.

"Agreed," Sarela said, moving her eyes from the hologram in front of her. "That's why we're going to ask the shopkeepers around here, they see more than they let on," she informed, before making her way over to the closet stall that was selling trinkets.

For the twenty minutes, Sarela and the Mandalorian found themselves going from stall to stall, unsuccessfully uncovering any information on the mysterious street kids that Lora befriended. In fact, Sarela was convinced most of the vendors that they had spoken to probably didn't listen to a word that came from their mouths. She would barely finish her sentence about the children before the vendors instantly tried to convince them to purchase something from their stall.

Sarela sighed heavily, "This is the last stall I'm asking," she stated, running a hand over her hair. "Everyone here has proven to be useless," she commented, as they approached a butcher stall. "Good afternoon-" she began, instantly putting on a pleasant smile.

"Cut the pleasantries Imp," the red skinned Togruta cut in, slamming his cleaver down into the meat he was cutting. "What do you want?" he questioned, looking up from his work.

Sarela laughed lightly, "Straight to the point, I like it," she commented, before turning the projector back on. "Have you seen any of these faces before?" she asked, slowly scrolling the images.

The butcher's eyes flitted from the hologram to Sarela, "I might have," he answered vaguely. "What's it to you?' he questioned, sticking the cleaver into the table.

"We need their help finding someone,"

"Hmmm," the Togruta hummed, scratching his chin. "You know, my memory is suddenly fading about these urchins. If only there was a way to stimulate it," he hinted.

Sarela felt her temple throb in annoyance and impatience.

"What's your price?" the Mandalorian asked, finally speaking up.

"Thirty credits,"

"Twenty!" Sarela shot back. "And don't get greedier because I will make sure that you'll never be able to hold credits in your hands again," she threatened. "Or that cleaver," she added, flicking her chin out to where the blade rested in the table.

"Fine," he grunted, and Sarela threw the credits onto the table.

"Now talk," the Mandalorian demanded.

"Yeah I've seen the little rascals," he admitted, collecting his credits. "They like to hang around in the entrance next to Lev's Cantina," he informed, pointing down the down the street and moving his finger to the left.

"Thank you for not being completely useless," Sarela said, giving him an insincere smile before walking away.

"You sure have a way with people," the Mandalorian commented, not far behind her.

"It's my specialty,"

~~~x~~~

"There they are up ahead," the Mandalorian announced quietly, making their way to the group of huddled children who were playing, what Sarela assumed was a game of some sort.

Sarela arched her brow, "I see Jazen, but not Cassir, Darra, or Tobias," she noted, as they approached him.

"They can't be far," he reasoned, just as they stopped behind the boy.

The shadows of Sarela and the Mandalorian blocked out the sun that beamed down on the kids. A young Nautolan and Rodian slowly lifted their heads from the dice in their hands and to the two mercenaries staring down at them. Immediately, they dropped the cubes and stood up, backing away from them.

"Guys? What's wrong?" Jazen asked in confusion.

"Jazen Sekel," Sarela addressed, and the Nautolan and Rodian turned on their heels and ran away at the sound of her accent, while the human boy's body froze. "My acquaintance and I have some questions for you," she said, and Jazen sprung to his feet and attempted to run away, but Sarela was quicker and grabbed the back of his collar. "Whoa! Where's the fire, Jazen?" Sarela questioned, with a laugh as she tightened her grip on his shirt.

Jazen raised his hands in surrender, "I don't have the credits!" he shouted. "But I swear, I'll have them by tomorrow!" he pleaded, and a frown formed on Sarela's face.

"This isn't about credits," the Mandalorian stated, as Sarela let go of Jazen's collar and he turned around to face them.

"We're here about your friend Lora," Sarela said, and Jazen's eyes darted off to the side. "If you try to make a run for it again, I will shoot you with an electro-dart and I really don't want to do that," she stated, and the boy visibly gulped.

"She's not going to hurt you," the Mandalorian assured, looking over at her and what Sarela could only imagine was a pointed look. "Neither of us are," he reassured, staring back down at the boy.

"You promise?" the boy asked, his eyes bouncing between the two of them.

"Yes, we promise," Sarela promised, now studying the boy's frame, he was thinner than usual for a boy his age. It probably didn't help that he lived on the streets. "Tell you what," she began, squatting down to be at eye level with Jazen. "You tell us everything you know about Lora's whereabouts and the Mandalorian behind me will buy you a meal from the cantina behind you," she proposed, watching the boy's brown orbs light up.

"Okay!" Jazen agreed readily, nodding his head up down before jogging over to the cantina.

"I'm not paying for the kid's food, this was your idea Reyes," he argued quietly.

Sarela pushed herself up and turned around, "I already coughed up credits of my own to that butcher," she countered. "It's your turn now Mando," she said, not waiting for his reply and walked into the cantina, not before hearing the Mandalorian release an annoyed sigh.

The music reverberated in the small cantina, while the lights made it difficult to properly recognize anyone. Sarela maneuvered around the crowded cantina, knowing that the Mandalorian was not that far behind her. As she moved through the crowd she overheard two men arguing politics and brushed past them without a word.

"Why did he have to choose the most inconvenient spot," Sarela grumbled, spotting Jazen sitting in the back of the building.

Finally arriving to the table, she slid in the seat across from Jazen while the Mandalorian occupied next to him. Just as Sarela went to her open her mouth, a waitress came over to the table with a bowl of soup and placed it down in front of Jazen. The waitress stuck her hand out expectantly in the Mandalorian's direction and Sarela let out a snicker.

"Go ahead and pay the hardworking woman Mando," she ushered, her face cracking into a smirk. He huffed before digging his credits and placing them into the waitress' hand and she forced a typical smile on her face before turning away. "Now Jazen, tell us what you know about Lora and her whereabouts," Sarela encouraged, watching the boy shove a spoonful of broth into his mouth.

Her nose turned up slightly, the broth was a grayish color with mystery chunks of meat sprinkled through it.

"You two are working for the Mayor aren't you? Jazen asked back, raising his brow. "We already told him we don't know where she is," he added, scooping out more soup.

"Well aren't you a smart one," Sarela responded sarcastically. "And its clear he doesn't fully believe you," she added, removing her sniper rifle and laying it down on the chair next to her.

"Reyes," the Mandalorian called, and Sarela just raised her hands. "Answer her question," he instructed, staring down at the young boy.

"We met Lora a month ago, she stumbled upon us playing a game and wanted to join. We let her play with us until the city guards found her," Jazen explained, placing his spoon down. "The rest is history," he finished, shrugging his shoulders

"Speaking of 'we', where's the rest of your little friends?" Sarela asked, pointing her finger and rotating it around.

"Why?" Jazen asked, becoming guarded.

"Why are you getting so defensive?" the Mandalorian questioned back.

Jazen picked up his spoon and went to scoop more soup from his bowl, but Sarela was quicker and dragged the dish in her direction, broth spilling over the rim.

"Answer his question," she said, echoing the Mandalorian's words.

Jazen's eyes shifted from Sarela to the warrior next to him, sighing he put his spoon back on the table.

"Darra's sick, Cassir has been caring for her in an abandon apartment where live in," Jazen answered. "As for Tobias, I don't know where he's gone," he continued.

"Now was that so hard to say," Sarela said, pushing the bowl back in front of him. "And now tell us about Lora," she prompted.

"When the guards found her last month and took her back home, we didn't see her for about two weeks. She was grounded," Jazen recalled, swirling his soup around. "But after her punishment was over, she managed to sneak out to play with us from time to time," he went on, grinning slightly. "Lora said she felt freer playing with than being stuck in mansion," he informed, and Sarela had to force herself not to roll her eyes at the statement. "She wanted to explore the galaxy, it’s what she dreamed of," he finished, before lifting the bowl to his lips.

"And did you see her yesterday before she ran away?" the Mandalorian inquired.

"Um...about...that..." Jazen trailed off, now squirming in his seat.

A slight frown lined Sarela's forehead, "Yes?" she asked, leaning forward.

"We...might of...helped her,"

"You what!?" she questioned, anger clear in her voice.

"It wasn't my idea!" Jazen disputed, lifting his arms up again. "Tobias came up with it," he stated, looking between the two bounty hunters. "Tobias said he knew somebody that would be willing to take Lora off this planet and that we would get paid for helping," he explained naively, and Sarela's eyes snapped to the dark visor of the Mandalorian. "He said all we had to do was keep our stories straight and we all come out of this happy," he described, not understanding why Sarela was visibly frustrated.

"Everyone except Lora," the Mandalorian remarked, with a sigh.

"What?"

"You little shit, you didn't help Lora," Sarela stated, slamming her hand down onto the table, startling the boy. "You assisted in trafficking her to slavers," she corrected, running both of her hands over her hair. "We have to tell Vullen," she said, looking at the Mandalorian again. "He may never see his daughter again," she reasoned, and he nodded in agreement.

"No! Don't!" Jazen exclaimed, a fearful look in his eyes. "The Mayor, he'll have me hanged!" he fretted, his brown orbs widening.

"I'll tell him to be lenient on you and your friends, seeing how you were duped," Sarela suggested, digging for her holoprojector. "A full pardon is out of the question, not unless they find Tobias and have you all testify against him," she guessed.

Jazen abruptly stood up, the legs of his chair screeching loudly against the floor. Sarela's hand shot out, catching him by the wrist in a semi-tight grip.

"Listen to me Jazen and listen well," she began, her voice low. "You do not want to take your chances with Mayor Vullen by yourself, he already holds a low opinion of you and your friends," she informed. "You run, and I swear to the Maker I will call the city guards to capture you," she threatened, no sign of her usual playful demeanor.

Jazen's eyes narrowed, "You promised me that you two wouldn't hurt me," he reminded.

"Yes, I did," Sarela agreed, nodding her head. "But what I didn't promise is that the city guards wouldn't," she pointed out, a ghost of a smirk on her face.

"Is there a problem here?" a new, male voice asked.

"None that concerns you," Sarela replied, not bothering to look at the newcomer.

"Ah, so you must be the Imp everyone's been murmuring about," he remarked, appraising her.

Craning her neck slowly, Sarela looked towards the stranger, meeting the eyes of a dark haired man. She noticed he was surrounded by what looked like his crew and that he had a blaster hoisted on his belt.

"Is this woman here harassing you son?" he asked casually, focusing his attention towards Jazen.

Jazen glanced at her, "No," he answered, and Sarela relinquished her grip on his wrist.

"Can I help you?" Sarela inquired, attempting to sound polite, but she could tell by the man's amused reaction, he knew she wasn't interested in speaking with him.

"Perhaps you don't know who I am," he began, chuckling at her.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed the Mandalorian discreetly lower his hand to his hip where she knew his blaster rested. Sarela lightly kicked his shin under the table as sign to stop. The man hadn't done anything besides interrupt their "conversation".

"Can't say that I do," Sarela replied snidely, crossing her arms

"Then you haven't been on the planet long, have you?" he inquired.

"I've been on this planet long enough to know the people who are worth knowing," Sarela said, titling her head up slightly. "And you weren't one of them," she added.

Sarela watched as his jaw clenched, "Let me introduce myself," he began, keeping his eyes trained on her, and she couldn't tell if he was toying with her in hopes she would flirt back, or if he was sizing her up.

She was still a "wanted woman" after all.

"I'm Crix, the man in charge of Dargus Bain's protection. You do know who Dargus Bain is, don't you?" His condescending tone was beginning to annoy her. She raised her eyebrows at Crix in reply.

"Is there a point to this conversation?" the Mandalorian finally asked, his voice crackling through his vocoder. He was clearly irked by this man as well. Crix finally looked at him, as if noticing his presence for the first time.

"What are you, her lap dog?" he asked, and the two aliens next to him laughed. "You two are quite the pair aren't ya? An Imp and a Mando," he commented. "Aren't you two supposed to hate each other?" he questioned, motioning his finger between the two of them.

"You know what," Sarela began, rubbing her chin. "Your name does ring a bell after all," she said, pointing at him. "If you hadn't mentioned lapdog, I almost wouldn't have recognized you," she explained, and the smug expression on Crix's face vanished. "That's what you're known for right? Dargus says 'jump' and you'll say, 'how high'," Sarela remarked, her lips slightly curving into a grin.

"I don't like your attitude, girl," Crix spat.

"And I don't like the way you smell," Sarela retorted, rising from her seat, Crix towered over her but she wasn't the least bit intimidated. "Scum," she added, causing Crix to growl. "So it looks like we're at an impasse," she continued, tilting her head. "Now, I don't want to fight you, so why don't you be a good boy and scurry back to your master. While we carry on with the conversation we were having," she suggested, managing to to get in the last verbal punch.

Crix let out a snarl, barring his yellow teeth and his lackeys flanked him. By now, the entire cantina was watching the confrontation

Sarela noticed that Crix's fist near his side had slowly balled itself into a fist and was winding up for a punch. But before he could connect, Sarela jabbed her fist out into his throat.

And all hell broke loose.

"Jazen run!"

Crix was temporarily stunned, placing his had his hand to his throat, coughing hard and rubbing it at the same time. While his henchmen sprung into action, Sarela ducked under a punch that was flying towards her by one of Crix's men. She grinned as she reached behind her and grabbed the bowl of soup behind her and tossed the hot broth onto the man's face. Screams of agony escaped the man's mouth as he lifted his hands up to his face, taking advantage of his blindness, Sarela gave the henchmen a hard kick to the gut before slamming the bowl down onto his skull and he crumpled to the ground.

Two arms suddenly wrapped around Sarela's arms, trapping her against her attacker chest while Crix approached her with a vibroblade out. She writhed around in the man's grip trying to escape and just as Crix got close enough her, she shot her legs out and connected with Crix's chest, sending him stumbling back and onto the ground. Instantly, Sarela threw her head back, hearing a cracking sound in her ears before landing back on her feet. She picked up a glass bottle from a nearby table and smashed it across the man's face, knocking him out cold.

A loud yelp of pain came from Sarela as she felt a sharp, stinging pain on her bicep before feeling a warm liquid trickle down her arm. A whizzing sound passed her ear and she spun around to see a throwing knife traveling back into Crix's hand. He angled his knife again to launch it at her again, but never got the chance as a blue glowing arc struck his body and sent him to the floor in a heap.

Sarela's head snapped in the direction of where the stun bolt was fired from.

Lo and behold, it was from the one and only Mandalorian with his blaster aimed at the unconscious form of Crix.

He turned and looked in her direction, "Are you going to attract this much attention where ever we go?" he asked.

Breathing heavily, Sarela let a smirk grow on her face.

“The day is still young Mando,” she panted, grasping her arm. “Anything’s possible,”

Part VI

[chimmyboii]

The Art of Forgetting

Summary: Lights will guide you home, love will make you stronger. Forgetfulness will only break your heart. 

AN: Quick little story for Jungkook stans like myself lol hope you guys enjoy!

Masterlist

The village was busy with people rushing to buy last minute Christmas presents. Jungkook sighs, tugging the backpack higher on his shoulders and eyes the busy people with disdain. He scoffs when he says a young woman beg for a leg of turkey.

“Please,” she cries, pushing the coins towards the butcher. “This is all I have, I’m only a couple short. I’ll pay the rest next week, I promise!” The butcher just shakes his head, the women lets out a choked sob, “Please, its Christmas.” Sighing, Jungkook walks over and hands the butcher two gold coins.

“That’ll make up for it,” Jungkook mutters, grabbing the turkey leg and hands it to the woman who looks at him wide eyed before throwing her arms around him, squeezing him tightly.

“Thank you, thank you!” she practically squealed before running off to the little girl hiding by the alley. She grips the girl’s hand before turning back and waving at Jungkook.

“Before you say anything, I just want to make it clear that I still hate Christmas and that I only gave her money because I felt sorry for her okay?” Jungkook started and when he didn’t get a reply, he looked at his shoulder. She was gone. Jungkook almost facepalmed himself. Groaning, Jungkook backtracked to the entrance of the village when he spotted a small firefly light hovering over a rack of pretty lilies that were place outside the flower shop. Jungkook stormed up to the rack and clasped his hand over the blinding light.

“Y/N!” He growled, opening his palm. The light had faded a little, revealing a small miniature girl. She had fallen over in his hand and she stared blankly up at Jungkook, but then she frowns at him. Y/N stood dusting herself, smoothing out her long glittering white dress and flapped her translucent wings before turning and glaring at Jungkook.

“You could have damaged my wings!” She pointed her tiny index finger at him, which made Jungkook smirk.

“Well don’t disappear and I won’t have to grab you,” Y/N rolled her eyes before fluttering out of his hand and back onto her usual seat – his shoulder. “I did tell you to stay on my shoulder,”

“Well it’s not my fault I have a bad memory,” Jungkook laughs, ignoring the stares from the other villagers.

“A bad memory is an understatement, Y/N. Your memories fade as soon as they come!” Y/N pouts, tugging at her dress.

“I can’t control my memories! I’ve already apologised for this, remember?” Y/N whine and Jungkook smirked down at her.

“I do but you don’t!” Y/N let out a growl of frustration before punching Jungkook in the neck with her tiny fist. Jungkook let out a roar of laughter at her feeble attempt. The pair continue bickering through the village until Jungkook abruptly stops. His doe eyes stare at the large building in front of him. Y/N flutters in front of him and waves her arms in front of his eyes.

“Hello?” she sang, waving rapidly. “Kookie, can you hear me?” He blinks before looking at her and she smiles in relief. “Pheww! I thought I lost you to your memories!” Jungkook breaths out a laugh before shaking his head.

“Why would I have memories of this place?” He nods to the building in front of them. The windows here boarded up with wood, the gate was closed over with a padlock.  “I don’t even know what it is,” he mutters under his breath, but Y/N hears. She studies the building in front of them, frowning at it before shrugging.

“It’s an abandoned palace,” Jungkook looks at her confusingly.

“And how do you know that?” Y/N blinked innocently at Jungkook before revealing; “I heard someone say it’ll be the fifteenth anniversary of the murder of the monarchy.” Y/N flies to the gate and begins to fiddle with the lock.

“What are you doing?” Jungkook comes closer to the gate, watching as Y/N breaks open the lock. Jungkook pushes the gate, it opens will a loud groan.   “Well it’s abandoned,” She said fluttering quickly to the palace door. “No one will enter. We could stay the night,” Jungkook is quiet, watching her float by the large palace door. He sighs before walking along the gravel path, he takes a right turn, walking past the front entrance.

“Where are you going?!” Y/N yells, flying after him.

“We can’t go through the front door, someone might see. We’ll have to sneak in through the back.” Y/N just sighs and follows him. The walk around the very large palace has Jungkook on edge. His legs feel almost heavy and his mouth was dry. As they came to the back of the palace; Y/N noticed two things. One, the garden was a disaster, the weeds had overgrown making the garden look almost like a jungle. Two, she could detect magic. However, this magic felt different than her own; it felt cold and powerful. She knew it wasn’t a fairy – no fairy would leave the garden a mess like that. The magic belonged to something else.

Y/N shivered as she watched Jungkook climb on the balcony; he pulled at the wooden boards grunting as it wouldn’t budge. Y/N flicked her wrist, the boards flew off the window, Jungkook stumbled falling onto his back. Y/N flew to his face, her tiny eyes wide with worried.

“You could have warned me,” Jungkook grumble standing to his feet and dusting himself off. Now that the wooden boards were gone, Jungkook can now squeeze through the window. Y/N watches as Jungkook crawls through the window, her head tilts to the side as Jungkook’s behind becomes stuck under the window frame. Jungkook grunts, grabbing onto the table in front the window, trying to pull the rest of his body through. It was no use. Jungkook can hear a squeak of a laugh behind him and he closes his eyes in frustration.

“A little help?” he grits out and Y/N snorts. Lifting her petite hands, Y/N concentrates on the brown frame that is currently squishing Jungkook’s butt. The frame rattle slightly, Y/N’s tongue poked out in concentration as she pushed more energy from her tiny being. Her whole body glowed white; from a distance she would appear as a torchlight to the naked eye of a human. With a puff of breath, Y/N pushed one more time and the brown framed snapped upwards. Jungkook let out sigh, pulling himself through all the way. Standing to his feet, he turns to Y/N but shields his eyes at the brightness.

“You’re trying to blind me, aren’t you?” Jungkook asks and Y/N grunts before inhaling through her nose then exhaling, the brightness begins to dim. Y/N pokes her tongue out at him which makes Jungkook huff before turning to view the palace. It was strange, Jungkook thought, looking around. You expect a palace to be spotless, clean and extravagant. But this palace was the opposite. It was clear that something disastrous happened in this palace.

“What happened here?” Jungkook whispered, peering over the balcony looking at the ground floor. The furniture had been destroyed, burnt to black. Jungkook could feel bile rise in his throat as the floor towards the main entrance was a dark brown; it stood out against the gold flooring. It was dried blood, Jungkook could tell from where he stood. A white light swoosh past Jungkook’s eyes. Y/N flew down the hallway, lighting up the dark corridor as she went. Jungkook followed behind. Y/N’s small eyes took in every detail of the portraits on the wall. A family once lived here; a father, mother and two boys. The painting showed a gold crown sat upon the father’s head, the youngest boy in his father’s arm reaching up to touch the crown. The father wore a fond smile. Y/N felt a smile of her own grow as she stared at the painting. Further down the corridor where more paintings of the family, they seemed happy, Y/N thought. The last painting was of the youngest boy, staring at it, Y/N felt a weird sensation in her stomach, one in which she hadn’t felt before. Familiar, the boy in the painting was familiar.  

Gasping, Y/N’s senses began to burn. The magic she felt had grown stronger since she had entered the palace, now however, hovering by the grand staircase, she felt it more. Flashes appear behind her eyelids; they were hard to make out. Green light, screaming, the smell of blood, crying. Y/N shuddered as a dark figure appeared in her mind.

“Warlock,” she whispered and Jungkook frowned, coming closer to her. Opening her eyes, Jungkook flinched. Her pupils were black as night, almost demonic. “He destroyed everything. He slaughtered them, laughing as he did,” Her sweet voice lowered in pitch, sounding husky. Jungkook gulped watching her white light turn dark. “But he is not finished…he is coming, I feel him,” Jungkook shuddered.

“Y/N y-you’re frightening me,” Jungkook whispered, hand coming up to touch the miniature fairy. The tip of Jungkook’s index finger grazed the cheek of Y/N, causing the fairy to gasp. The light returned once more. Her tiny eyes watered at the sight of Jungkook’s worried doe eyes.

“It’s you,” she whispered, one tear drop slipped down her cheek. Jungkook shook his head confused but before Y/N could explain further a large crack sounded from down below. Both Jungkook and Y/N turn to the ground floor where it sounded. There in the middle of the hall, ten feet away from the grand staircase which Jungkook stood, gathered black smoke. The air in the palace grew ice cold, a breeze picked up. Y/N whimpered causing Jungkook to look at her worried, but Y/N’s eyes focused on the floor below.

“He’s here,” Just as those words left her lips, the smoke formed a figure. Jungkook fell back into the wall. Two black eyes stared at him, a cruel smirk raised on his face, black rotten tooth grinned at Jungkook.

“Ah, we meet at last!” The voice echoed the hall, Jungkook flinched. The black eyes shift to the small white light hovering next to Jungkook, they glare before a hand raises up. Green light formed under his palm, creating a sphere. Launching his arm back, he threw the green sphere towards Y/N. Jungkook yell echoes as he watches the green flame hit Y/N small frame, smacking her into the wall. A tear slips from Jungkook’s eye as he eyes the small delicate figure hit the floor motionless. Jungkook scurries to her, bending down on one knee and picking her up gently.

“Y/N,” Jungkook sobbed, “please wake up,” The miniature fairy lay still in his hand, her glow faded.

“Now there is no chance you can escape me this time,” the voice snarls from behind him. Turning around, the warlock gripped Jungkook by the throat. Jungkook gags, hands reaching up to claw at him. The warlock grinned evilly before chucking Jungkook over the bannister. Jungkook lands on his right shoulder, a painful cry leaves him. Groaning, Jungkook wills himself to move, crawling towards the door but he doesn’t make it far. Green swirls of power wrapped itself around Jungkook’s leg yanking him back. A strangled scream escapes Jungkook as his nails try to hold onto something. Suddenly, Jungkook is flipped around onto his back. The dark figure stands above him.

“Why are you doing this?” Jungkook cried, the warlock let out dark chuckle.

“Your father killed us. He instructed for all warlocks and witches to be burned. He claimed we were doing work for the devil and so we must re-join him in hell!” Jungkook quickly shook his head.

“I don’t have a father, please, let me go.” The warlock glared at Jungkook before picking him up by the collar and thrusting him in the direction of the paintings.

“That’s your father!” He yells, pointing at the king. “You are Jeon Jungkook, son of King Jeon and last heir of the throne. And you will die like the rest of your family!” Jungkook felt every slow down, like everything was in slow motion.

The night of the murder, Jungkook had peed the bed. He heard the screams of his mother. His older brother begging for their father to do something. Jungkook heard his father command the guards to take away the intruder. Next, Jungkook heard the sound of blood hitting the wall, more screams until nothing. Jungkook remembered whimpering, calling out quietly for his mother when a small bright light appears in front of him. She held a miniature finger to her lips, indicating Jungkook should be quit. He did. She beckoned Jungkook to follow her to his bedroom door. Jungkook shook his head furiously, knowing that danger was outside that door. The light tugged harshly at Jungkook’s shirt until he reluctantly followed. The light tugged him to the hallway, Jungkook peered over the banister and saw his father laying in a pool of blood. His mother not far away, cradling his brother, dead also. The dark figure kneeled next to his father, muttering in another language.

Before young Jungkook could scream for his parents, the white light tapped his face. She begged Jungkook with her eyes to be quiet and follow, biting his lip, Jungkook lowered his head and quickly hurried after her. They entered Jungkook’s fathers’ study, the white light flew to a cupboard and tugged at it. It wouldn’t open. Jungkook yanked it open, there were nothing but files of paperwork instead. The little white light pushed down on the middle shelf until it clicked. The shelf opened, showing a tunnel. The light tugged at Jungkook once before, pulling down the tunnel. Her light lite up the tunnel making Jungkook feel less scared.

“Y/N,” Jungkook mumbled, his heart beating rapidly. The warlock chuckled, looking back at where he knew the little fairy lay.

“Yes, I didn’t expect a Radiance fairy to interrupt my plans, you see. This time, I’ve come prepared. You’re not getting away this time, Jungkook.” Jungkook flopped onto his back, eyes staring at the blue celling. All this time, Jungkook believed his family gave him up, that they didn’t love him. He was wrong, so wrong. He may have not remembered his families love, but he remembers Y/N. The warmth he felt when he was with her; her light keeping him company in the darkest time. Her ability to make him laugh when he wanted to cry. Everything about Y/N taught him something but her love was the most important. She cared enough to save him, that proved enough. The warlock raised his hand, green light forming once more.

“Now you will die like your family, in the hands of Kalak,” Jungkook closed his eyes awaiting the blow.

Jungkook felt warm, frowning he opened his eyes. The warlock – Kalak – was in mid-air, frozen. Then suddenly, he began to fit and shake harshly before bright white light appeared behind him forcing the warlock to hit the wall behind Jungkook.

Jungkook looked to the top of the staircase but flinched, raising a hand to cover his eyes he sees a figure standing at the top. For a moment, Jungkook believes it is his father coming to his rescue. But when the light dims, his heart stops. A female stands there in long white gown, it trails behind her as she starts to descend the stairs. Her hair flows in front her, touching her breast, forming ringlets. Her eyes glow gold as the make contact with Jungkook. He feels a wide smile of relief take over.

“Y/N,” he breaths. Jungkook’s doe eyes look her head to toe, his mouth falls agape. She was life-size, no longer the miniature fairy he knew. In front of him was a fully-grown woman. Her pouty pink lips smile softly at him before she turns to Kalak; her face darkens turning a shade of blue. Jungkook had never seen her change colour before.

Kalak laughs wildly, slapping his knee. “You think you can defeat me? What because you’re suddenly bigger, you’re more powerful? HA!” Y/N just stares at him, face emotionless.

“Yes, I do.” She says simply before raising both of her hands. A burst of bright light escapes them, slamming into Kalak unprepared form. Jungkook watches before it becomes too much, the light growing brighter. The sound of Kalak screaming fills Jungkook’s ears until a large pop is sounded. Jungkook turns in time to see ashes flutter where Kalak once stood. Jungkook is frozen as he stares at the ash. A loud thud startles him, he turns and see Y/N lying on the floor. Startled, Jungkook quickly crawls on the floor, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. He grabs Y/N and tugs her onto his lap, cradling her head. She peers up at him with heavy eyes, Jungkook’s own fill with tears.

“Hi,” she whispers, and Jungkook lets out a wet laugh.

“Hi, yourself. I thought you died!” Leaning down, Jungkook quickly presses a kiss to her forehead. “I can’t believe your life-size. That’s insane.” Y/N let out a soft chuckle. Her eyes suddenly turn sad. She reaches her hand up to cradle his face, she runs her fingers gently along Jungkook’s cheek, feeling his scar. Then, she touches his nose, lips and finally his eyelids. She touches every feature of his face slowly, wiping away the tears that fell before her own eyes closed. “Y/N!” Jungkook yelled, he quickly presses two fingers to her neck, she’s breathing. Leaning forward, Jungkook presses his forehead to Y/N’s chest.

“Police!” Jungkook jumped, as a man kicked the door down stumbling into the room. He recollects himself after almost falling over before pointing his gun in Jungkook’s direction. “Get away from the girl…fairy…what?” the man stumbled looking at Y/N’s limp figure. Her wings stretched out between Jungkook and herself. The officer looked spooked and confused. “Holy shit!” he gasped, walking towards the couple. “Is she dead?” He asked, looking at Jungkook. Jungkook shakes his head, pulling Y/N closer to him. The police officer sighs before stating he was going to help them

Both the officer and Jungkook carry Y/N up to a bedroom, allowing her to rest. The police officer sighs, running a hand through his dirty blonde hair. “Why you in the old palace kid?” he asks eventually. Jungkook hums, contemplating on whether to say he’s homeless or that he’s the heir of the throne.

“I’m the heir to the throne,” he whispers, the officer’s eyes widen.

“You for real?” Jungkook just nods, eyes falling back to Y/N figure. “Holy shit! Your Highness,” Suddenly the officer is on his knees, bowing to Jungkook. “Hey! None of that alright. I just found out myself,” Jungkook pulls the officer back to his knees. “What’s your name?”

“Kim Namjoon, your highness,” Jungkook glares at him and Namjoon stutters out an apology.

“How can you see her?” Namjoon shrugs looking at Y/N.

“My mother used to tell me stories about fairies when I was little. Especially about her kind,” Jungkook pouts in confusion.

“Her kind?” he asks and Namjoon nods.

“Radiance Fairy also known as Light Fairy,” Jungkook nods. “Radiance Fairies apparently are like guardians; they watch over us.” Jungkook smiles softly. “My mother also told me about the Radiance Fairies Art of Forgetting. Jungkook turns to Namjoon.

“What’s that?”

Namjoon thinks for a moment before speaking. “Well Radiance Fairies don’t have good memory,” He starts and Jungkook lets out a warm chuckle. “There is a reason for that,” Namjoon clears his throat. “The purpose of a Radiance fairy is to guide us; ensure we find our way back to where we belong. Once that purpose has been fulfilled, they forget us. Like the slate becomes clean so they move on and help guide someone else.” Jungkook’s heart stops.

“No,” he whispers leaning on the bed to grip Y/N’s hand. “No, no, no. She can’t forget me, she can’t. She’s all I’ve got; I want her here with me!” Jungkook cries pressing kisses to her warm hand. Namjoon clears his throat awkwardly.

“It might not be true, it’s just what my mother says,” Jungkook shakes his head. “It must be, Y/N always forget things, it’s in her nature. I just didn’t think she’d ever forget me.” Namjoon frowns, taking in the distressed prince – soon to be king.

The time Y/N awakes, Jungkook feels unprepared, his heart already creaking. She sits up and looks around the room before yawning and taking a big stretch. Jungkook clears his throat and she look at him. Her golden eyes blink at him, then the move to Namjoon. She makes no indication of recognition.

“Y/N?” Jungkook whispers, she responds to her name but nothing in her eyes show she knows Jungkook. “Do you know remember me?” he hiccups, trying to stop the tears but the fell freely. Y/N says nothing but stands from the bed and walks to him. She stares at him waiting for something, she appears like a robot just waiting for command.

Namjoon takes a step forward and places a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “She needs you to let her go. You have to tell her she’s free.” Jungkook shakes his head before lurching forward and gripping Y/N’s hand.

“Please remember me, Y/N! Please! You can’t leave me alone; I want you to stay! Please!” he sobbed but Y/N just stared at him. “I can’t be King without you!” Jungkook falls to his knees. Namjoon bends, wrapping an arm around him, hugging him to his side.

“Let her go, Jungkook. I know you love her, but she needs to be free. Perhaps one day, you’ll meet again but for now she has to go,” Jungkook let out the painfullest cry he’d ever felt before he forced himself to his feet. Once again, he gently takes Y/N hand in his. His left hand reaches up and cradles her cheek, tracing her features.

“I love you, Y/N, I’ll always love you. And I’m sorry I never told you sooner, I don’t even know if you can hear me – understand me. Thank you for saving my life, I-I’m going to miss you so much -I- “he chokes, pulling his hand back to wipe the snot from his nose. “I let you go. You’re free now,” At his word, Y/N glows as does the room making both Namjoon and Jungkook cover their eyes. When the glow dims, Y/N is back in her miniature form. She lingers, staring at Jungkook before she flees from the room and Jungkook’s life.

Jungkook falls to his knees, letting out more sobs. Namjoon holds the broken prince in his arms, hoping one day he will mend.

It’s months before Jungkook enters the palace. The renovations took a lot longer than he expected but now the palace looked better. No longer like the crime scene he once saw. There are times Jungkook feels alone, wishing the white light would appear to guide him but he knew she wouldn’t. Namjoon decided to quit the police force and join Jungkook in the palace becoming his advisor and his friend. Jungkook read almost every book he could find on fairies and learned that they loved nature so, Jungkook made it his goal whilst he’s not doing his royal duties, so attend to his garden. And that is where Namjoon finds him; knees deep in mud.

“You know, you doing this might not bring her back,” Namjoon starts, leaning against the green house. “Her duty as a Radiance Fairy was completed when she destroyed the warlock. She guided you home, Jungkook.” Jungkook ignored him and continued to dig. Namjoon sighs but choices to let him friend go, having already had this conversation many of time. Namjoon goes back to the palace to attend a conference call leaving Jungkook on his own.

Jungkook sits back and stares at the pastel blue sky. A bright light catches his attention towards the gate, Jungkook stands quickly but frowns when he sees it’s only the sun hitting off a glass. Jungkook looks back at the flowers he is planting and smiles softly.

She’ll return.

Jungkook doesn’t know how, he doesn’t know when. He just hopes that one day she’ll return to him.

[thetravelerwrites]

Hearthway Hollow: Shahan

Rating: Mature Relationship: Female Human Reader/Male Werewolf Additional Tags: Exophilia, Hearthway Hollow, Werewolf Boyfriend, Interspecies Romance Content Warnings: Stalker, Stalking, Guns, Shooting Guns, Anxiety Words: 7007

This is a belated birthday gift for @momolady​! While fleeing a man who has made her life hell for years and looking for an out of the way place to hide, the reader stumbles upon a town that isn’t on any map: Hearthway Hollow. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

Visit Hearthway Hollow!

Erring on the side of caution had never done much good for you. Erring on the side of paranoid worked much better.

You researched on your phone about out-of-the-way towns that would be good to settle in if you wanted peace and quiet, and cross referenced them with maps, and you found one town that didn’t appear on any map at all: Hearthway Hollow.

The town had a strange reputation, but you believed most of what you read online as much as you believed in Santa Claus. It was supposed to be a front for some kind of cult, though honestly, you’d sell your soul at this point if it meant safety and stability.

Driving through it, you had to admit the town was beautiful, like something on a postcard. The buildings were nice in an old fashioned, small-town kind of way, most of them red brick. The people you saw walking the sidewalks and in the shops looked weirdly happy and contented. All of them. It was… odd, like a Stepford Wives kind of thing. Maybe this was a cult town.

Eh, who were you to judge people’s lifestyle?

This was the third time you’d changed towns in the last six months, and you hoped you’d be in this town long enough to earn a savings that would cover your next terrified midnight flight. You’d been sleeping in your van to save funds for about a week, moving constantly, having only enough money in your pocket to pay for a few months rent, at most.

After driving for a while, you didn’t see any sort of town hall or city center, so you stopped at the hardware store, which to your eye appeared to be the heartbeat of the town, and went inside. There was a tiny young woman with dark hair and thick eyebrows sitting on a stool at the counter, flipping through a magazine.

“Hey there!” She said as you enter. “Haven’t seen you before.”

“Yeah,” You said, your hoodie up and your hands in your pockets. “I’m looking to rent a place and I’m not sure who I should talk to about that. I didn’t see any kind of notice board or realtor signs, so…”

“Oh, well, you’ve come to the right place, then,” The woman said with a laugh. “You’ll be wanting to talk to my dad, Big Billy MacAllister. He owns more than half the town.”

You gave a small, tired shrug. “Okay, great, how do I get in touch with him?”

“Just a sec,” She said, jumping off her stool and going to a door behind the counter that said “Employees Only.”

“Hey, Dad! Someone here for you!”

“Coming!” You heard a gruff voice bark back.

“He’ll be right with you,” The young woman said brightly, getting back up on her perch.

The door opened, and a mountain of a man walked out, all muscles, beer gut, and body hair. You took a dubious step back as he circled the counter, wiping his hands.

“What can I do for you?” He grumbled.

“I’m told you’re the person to see to rent a place in town?” You said.

“Yep,” He replied. “What are you looking for?”

“Something small and cheap. Like, studio apartment,” I said. “In town, not in the woods. Somewhere where there’s a lot of light, surrounded on all sides by buildings, preferably buildings that have security cameras positioned toward the streets. And I need to move in quickly.”

His head rocked back at the laundry list of demands you’d just rattled off. “Uh… sure, the apartment above the hardware store is actually empty right now, so if you’d like that, you’re welcome to it.”

“What kind of locks does it have?” You asked.

“I’m sorry, what?” He responded, his thick brow furrowing.

“What kind of locks does it have?” You repeated with more emphasis. “And how long are the screws in the door hinges?”

“Uh… It has a standard doorknob lock and deadbolt,” He said, sounding a little confused. “And the hinge screws are… I dunno, four inch.”

“Not good enough,” You replied. “The screws need to be at least nine inches, and there needs to be a sliding lock in addition to the standard locks. I’ll buy them out of pocket and install them myself, if you don’t want to do it.”

The guy called Big Billy laughed a little, this sides of his mouth turning up under all that facial hair. “You expectin’ an attack or something?”

You didn’t laugh. Or smile. You just stared at him. “I also need to know who’s hiring in town, if you’d happen to know about that.”

“The grocery store is always hiring,” The young woman said, watching the interaction between you and her father with intense interest.

“Great, thanks,” You told her, then turned back to her dad. “When can I move in? Do you need me to give you a deposit or fill out an application?”

“Nah, I’m not worried about that,” He replied. “I just need your name and social for insurance purposes.”

You told him, and his daughter jotted it down.

“I’ve got some stuff stored up there, so give me a day to clean it out and it’ll be good to go,” He said. “Will that do?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” You replied. “Last question: does this town have a shooting range?”

The father and daughter shared a surprised look.

“Yeah, the police station has one that’s open to the public, but you have to make an appointment. You can’t just walk in and start shooting.”

“Cool,” You replied. “I’ll come back tomorrow for the keys, then.”

“Sure,” He said, still staring at you as if you were a puzzle to be solved. Before he could ask a question you didn’t want to answer, you turned and walked out of the shop, deciding to go and apply at the grocery store next.

You’d never seen a grocery store that didn’t sell meat, but they told you the butcher had the monopoly on that. You submitted your application and, when they asked your address and you told them it was the hardware store, they had a funny look on their face, but they accepted it without remark. They said they’d call you in a few days.

That night, you drove out of town and stopped at a rest area that was brightly lit and on a main highway. It had vending machines, water fountains, and showers. You refilled all of your empty water containers, had a quick wash in the showers, bought a dinner of coke and honey buns, then locked yourself into your van. Your futon mattress was laid out in the back, next to which was a locked travel trunk with all of your worldly possessions in it. Underneath your pillow was a loaded .22 and a twelve inch buck knife.

You removed your hoodie and took the can of mace, taser, and pocket knife out of your pants and lay them next to you on the mattress, so they were in easy reach. You lay down on your bed, fully clothed, and clicked a button on the key fob to set the car alarm. Sleep was slow in coming.

The next day, you went back to the hardware store and met up with Big Billy.

“Ah, I’m glad you came in early. I decided to upgrade you,” He told you.

“You made the changes to the door?” You asked.

“Nope,” He said. “There’s another property of mine I think you’ll like. It’s small and comfortable, and surrounded by a high fence. Here’s the keys.” He handed you a keyring with two keys on it.

You frowned a little. The store’s upstairs apartment was more defensible. “If I don’t like it, can I still have the apartment upstairs?”

“Sure,” Billy said, shrugging. “But I have a feeling you’ll love it.”

Your frown deepened with doubt, but you thanked him.

“It’s on Plymouth Road. Red house with a white door. Number 6557.”

“Got it,” You said. “And the doors?”

“I fixed ‘em up, like you asked,” He replied.

“Good. Thanks.”

You exited the store and headed over to Plymouth Road.

When you arrived at the house, you noticed immediately that there was a high privacy fence that went from the garage around the back of the house. Beyond that, there were trees. You grimaced. You’d specifically told him you didn’t want to be close to the woods.

But then, you realize who your neighbors were, and couldn’t help but smile. On the left was a normal house with a picket fence, and on the right, just next door, was the police station.

Maybe this would work out after all.

Moving your belongings into the house took all of fifteen minutes, and when you were finished, you walked next door to the station. At the desk was a young man in a uniform, perhaps in his mid-to-late twenties, tall, slender, and fit, with dark skin and black hair. He was writing something on a notepad but looked up when you walked in. He had the most peculiar but pretty gold-green eyes. His badge said “Madhwari.”

He paused for a moment when he saw you, his mouth open and the pupils of his eyes dilating slightly. You assumed you looked pretty shady with your hoodie up and your hunched posture, but he smiled after a few seconds, cleared his throat, and said, “Hello there. What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“Hi. I was told you guys have a shooting range, but that I’d need to make an appointment.”

“That’s right,” He replied. “I’ll need to see your gun license.” He reached into a drawer and pulled out a form. “Fill this out, please.”

You took out your wallet and pulled your license from it and handed it to him. He handed you a pen in return. As much as you disliked leaving a paper trail, you filled out the form.

“Ah, you’re the new girl next door, eh?” The officer said. “Billy told us about you.”

You frowned in annoyance. That Big Billy had a big mouth.

“When can I use the shooting range?” You asked.

“Well,” the officer said, handing back your license. “We’re slow at the moment, so if you’d like, you can use it now. Do you have your gun with you?”

“No, it’s at home.”

“Well, go get it and I’ll let you in.”

“Thanks, Officer Madhwari,” You said as you headed for the door.

“Eh, we’re not a last name kind of town. Call me Shahan,” He said, a wide smile on his face. You gave him back a ghost of a smile and left to retrieve your firearm.

Upon returning, another officer was at the desk, a freckle-faced guy with a scar and eyepatch who otherwise looked like he was an over-tall twelve year old playing at being cop.

“You’re the girl Shahan’s waiting for?” He asked. You nodded. “I’m Saul. Welcome to town.”

“Thanks,” you said, taking his proffered hand and shaking it. Jeez, was everyone in town this friendly? It was unnerving.

“He’s already in the range,” Saul said, pointing at the door to the far right. “Go straight through.”

“Cool,” You replied, and made your way to the door.

Shahan already had the goggles on and earmuffs around his neck with a second pair on a table waiting for you.

“Are you practicing, too?” You asked.

He shook his head. “Sorry, it’s policy for an officer to supervise when a civilian is in the range. That’s one of the reasons you need to make an appointment.”

“Gotcha,” You said.

“What are you shooting?” He asked, looking at your gun. “That’s a cute .22.”

“What do you shoot?” You asked him.

He pulled his sidearm from its holster and showed it to you. “Standard issue,” He said. It was a 9mm Glock 19. Nice. If you could afford one, you’d definitely have bought it instead of your Ruger SR. As functional as it was, you’d definitely have liked something with more accuracy and a bigger punch.

“Can I shoot it?” You asked him.

He winced and shook his head. “Sorry. I’d lose my job.”

“I get it,” You said. “No harm in asking, though.”

“I’ve got you a target set up,” He said, pointing down the range at a paper figure. “What distance you want?”

“Gimme… twenty feet?” You said.

“Ooh, advanced, I like it,” He said, pressing a button that sent the target farther down the range. You didn’t have much ammunition, but it was important to keep your skills sharp. You could buy more when you started work.

“Protection on before you draw your weapon, please,” He said, and you donned the goggles and earmuffs. Once you were ready, he stepped back to your right, so that you could see him but so he wasn’t in the way, and gave you the signal to shoot when ready.

You shot ten rounds, a few seconds apart, at the target at the end of the range, and then three rapid-fire. You put your weapon down on the shelf and took off the earmuffs. Shahan pulled the target in so you could inspect it. All headshots.

“Damn!” He said with admiration. “You’re a better shot than me! You should join the police!”

You snorted. “Pass, but thanks for the offer.”

“Want to go again?” He asked.

“No,” You said. “That’s enough.”

“Really?” He said, sounding kind of disappointed. “That’s it?”

“Yeah, I just wanted to make sure I’m still sharp,” You told him. “Thanks, Shahan.”

“My pleasure,” He replied, holding out a hand to shake it. “Let me know next time you’re wanting to shoot.”

“I will,” You said, then headed home, waving at Saul as you passed him.

That night, you were sitting on your futon, which you’d placed in the living room with the travel trunk, watching videos on your phone. You were having a hard time sleeping, when you heard a loud THUMP in your backyard. Immediately you reached for your pistol and flashlight, holding them like the self defense teacher had showed you.

Carefully, you opened the back door a crack and called out, “I’m armed! Show yourself!”

Nothing.

You reached back and flipped on the back porch light, and there, in your yard, was a dead, bloody deer.

“What the fuck?” You breathed, lowering your flashlight and turning it off, but keeping your gun up and staying alert. How the hell had this thing gotten over the fence? While dead? Either it got over and then immediately died or something threw it over, and you weren’t sure which was more unsettling.

Going inside and reaching into your travel trunk, you pulled out a tarp and went back outside, rolling the poor thing into it and dragging it to the garage, which had a door to the backyard. You put the deer in the back of your van and started it up, backing out and heading out of town.

About ten minutes out, when you were surrounded by trees, you took the deer out of the van and dragged it several hundred yards beyond the treeline. Unwrapping it and rolling the tarp up with the intention of rinsing it off with the hose tomorrow morning, you left the poor thing there for the forest creatures to eat.

The next morning, after a bad night’s sleep, you cleaned the tarp and laid it out in the sun to dry. You were just thinking about breakfast when you heard a knock on the door. Standing there was a man with olive skin and greyish salt and pepper hair. He was wearing an apron.

“Morning!” He said brightly. “I’m Harun, I work at the butcher’s shop. I heard something about a deer?”

You frowned. “From who? I didn’t call anyone.”

“Your neighbors mentioned it,” He said, still maintaining a friendly smile.

You rolled your eyes and huffed. “Well, then, they need to mind their own business. I figure it got hurt and confused and jumped my fence. I’ve already taken care of it. I put it back in the woods, where it belongs.”

“Oh,” He replied, his smile faltering a bit. “Well, good job. But, just so you know, this kind of thing happens pretty frequently in this town. Next time, call us, okay? We donate unwanted meat to soup kitchens and shelters. Lots of hungry mouths that would appreciate the meal, you know?”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” You said. “But I’m hoping it doesn’t happen again.”

“Right,” He replied, laughing a little nervously. “Well, have a good day, ma’am.”

“Yep,” You said, shutting the door with a snap.

As the day wore on, you got a call from the grocery store telling you you could start in a few days. You celebrated by sleeping. You always slept better during the day.

That evening, you stayed awake, camped out on your back porch. You were feeling on edge. You didn’t really think the deer had somehow vaulted over the ten foot fence. Someone put it there. You’d had… anonymous gifts before, and you could go the rest of your life without more.

Eventually your eyelids began to droop and you weren’t going to fall asleep outside and exposed, so you went in, made sure everything was locked up tight, and fell asleep.

That morning, you walked out of your house, and three deer lay on your front lawn, each larger than the first one you’d found. Your body went cold your heart dropped down to your toes. You felt an steel band squeezing your chest and were having trouble breathing. You fought hard to keep the tears in check, but they were falling despite your best efforts. You took out your phone and called Billy.

He answered after one ring. “Hello?”

“Billy?” You said, sniffling. “I’m sorry, but I won’t need to be renting your property anymore. I’ll pay for the full month if you want, but I need to leave.”

“Why? What’s going on?” He asked, his gruff voice instantly alert and intense.

“I have to leave,” You sobbed into the phone. “I”m not safe.”

“Stay there!” He ordered you, his voice like iron. “I’ll be there soon. Don’t go anywhere.”

The line went dead, and you fell to your knees in the grass.

“Hey, are you okay?” You heard a voice ask. Shahan had just pulled up in his police car, likely to start his shift, and saw you kneeling there. You were sobbing too hard to say anything. He jogged over and knelt with you, patting your back as you wept.

A few minutes passed, and Billy’s truck skidded to a stop in front of your house.

“What is it?” He asked, squatting down. “What happened? Is it the deer? That happens all the time here, it’s nothing.”

“No!” You moaned. “You don’t understand!”

Shahan sits you on the porch as the butcher’s truck pulls up. Great, more eyes to watch you have a meltdown. Wonderful. It’s the same butcher from yesterday, Harun, striding up quickly in concern.

“What’s happened, are you alright?”

“Would you guys just give me a second to catch my breath!” You blurt out. You’re tired of them asking you questions. You just want them to shut up for a minute.

Shahan went to his car and grabbed you a water while Billy and Harun waited for you to calm down. You drained the bottle in seconds and wiped your face on your hoodie sleeve.

“I have a stalker,” You admitted eventually.

“A stalker?” Shahan said.

“Why didn’t you mention this?” Billy asked gruffly.

“Because people have refused to rent to me before, that’s why,” You snapped.

“What makes you think it’s this stalker of yours?”

“He used to send me dead animals in the mail to scare me. That’s how I know this is him. Who else could it be? What kind of sick freak leaves dead animals on a person’s front lawn?”

The three men shared a grim, meaningful look between them.

“Look,” Billy said. “Don’t leave town yet, okay? There’s someone you need to talk to before you make that decision.”

“Who?”

Billy looked up at the butcher. “Harun, would you…?” Billy said, a question in his voice.

“Yeah, I’m on it,” He said, pulling out his cell phone.

Your hand was shaking as you pushed your hair out of your face and tried to stand. “I have to pack up.”

“Just wait,” Billy said. “Shahan and I will stay with you until they get here.”

“They who?” You asked.

“The town leaders,” He said. “They’ll have some things they want to discuss with you. For now, let’s get you inside.”

Shahan and Billy follow you into the house as Harun loaded the deer into his truck. Billy looked at the futon and trunk and frowned.

“Is this all you have?” Billy asked.

“This is all I need,” You replied flatly. “When you have to move quick, it helps not to have too much shit to haul around.”

After a few minutes of terse silence, there was a knock on the door. You tensed as Billy opened it.

Inside came a very old woman, a few men including another police officer, and the young woman from the hardware store. A youngish man with very curly blonde hair came in after everyone else. He looked at you and came forward, his hand extended, a kind smile on his attractive angel face. He seemed to have a weird glow about him that you couldn’t explain.

“I’m Adam,” He said, shaking your hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He turned to introduce the people who had come with him. “This is Mrs. Locklear, Delaynie, Beau, Canvas, Angelo, and Kamilla, whom you’ve met.” He laid a hand on your shoulder and squeezed gently. “I think we need to talk.”

“Okay,” You said suspiciously. “I know you told me your name, but that doesn’t actually tell me who you are.”

“For all intents and purposes, I guess you could say I’m… the mayor? Insomuch as this town needs a mayor,” Adam replied.

“Awful young to be a mayor,” You said, eyeing him up and down. “I’m guessing you didn’t win any sort of election.”

He tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Not as such. You’re pretty perceptive.”

“I’ve had to be.” You pulled your hoodie around you more tightly. “Being sharp has kept me alive.”

“Yes, about that,” The tall, dark man called Delaynie said. He looked an awful lot like Billy, but thinner and less tall. “We were given a very brief summary, but can you elaborate on this situation of yours?”

“Why does it matter?” You asked, feeling exhausted and exasperated.

“We may be able to protect you, but we need to know more about it,” Canvas said. “There’s a lot of families and kids in this town, and we need to make sure everyone is protected.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” You said, rubbing your eyes. “I’m sorry I brought this here.”

Adam stopped you by raising his hand. “That’s not what he meant,” He said. “He means we aren’t strangers to defending this town and its people against threats. We just need to know what we could be dealing with.”

After a moment’s hesitation, you went to your trunk and pulled out a file, handing it to Adam.

“His name is Richard Gish,” You said. “He’s in his late forties and has got a history of stalking, starting from early high school. I’m just his latest fixation.”

“Is this a police file?” The other officer, Angelo, asked, looking over Adam’s shoulder. “How did you get this?”

“Is that really a question you want answered?” You asked flatly. “You have it. It’s easier than making an inquiry, isn’t it?”

“When did this start?” Shahan asked.

“Three years ago. I started getting letters in the mail. They were creepy and odd, love letters from a guy I’d never met. When I didn’t respond, they became aggressive. I tried to ignore it, but I started getting pictures with the letters. Pictures of me taken from a long way off. Pictures of me coming out of my job, going into my gym, outside my house. He was following me.”

“Did you report it to the police?” Angelo asked, still reading the file.

“Of course I did, but they said they couldn’t do anything unless he actually tried to hurt me. So I moved. And he followed.” You sniffled and rubbed your face with both hands. “He finally came up to me on a crowded street and introduced himself, and I slapped him and told him to leave me alone. After that, he went from professing his love for me to threatening to kill me and my family. I went into hiding about two years ago.”

“How serious has it gotten? Has he done more than letters and threats?” Shahan asked.

“Half a year ago, he broke into my apartment and attacked me with a knife. I shot him, but he disappeared. I’ve been on the move ever since, sleeping in my van in between towns. But he’s always managed to track me down. I’ve only been here three days and he’s found me again.”

“You’re talking about the deer, right?” The rather tall old woman named Mrs. Locklear asked. She had a presence about her as well, but it was different from Adam’s.

“Yeah,” You said.

“There’s another explanation for that,” Adam replied.

“Which would be?”

He smiled almost apologetically. “This isn’t a normal town.”

“I gathered that,” You said sardonically.

“I’m sure you have,” He said. “The deer are gifts from someone in town who admires you.”

You squinted in confusion. “What kind of people leave dead animals as gifts?”

“Werewolves.”

He said this without a trace of mirth or mockery. You blinked slowly. “Look, I don’t have time for whatever bullshit cult nonsense this town is into--”

“Beau,” Adam said, turning to a large man with an incredible amount of scars on his face and arms.

Beau stepped forward and said, “Don’t be scared, okay?” And suddenly he began to grow and change, fur sprouting from his skin and his bones rearranging themselves into a new shape. His sudden growth stretched his already tight t-shirt. He didn’t shift completely; he was still standing on his back two paws and his front paws were still functional as hands, but they had paw pads and claws.

They were all looking at you like they expected you to scream or freak out, but you had no reaction, you simply stared at Beau in his new form. You came closer and inspected him, even circling him once, appraising his strength in this body, satisfied with what you could see.

“It ain’t you, is it?” You asked him suspiciously. “The deer?”

“Oh, god, no,” He said, his voice more rough in this form. “No offense, but I’m married.”

“Fair enough,” You replied, and he shifted back into his human form.

“You’re taking this a lot better than I expected,” Adam said.

“I’ve seen scarier things,” You said blackly. “So, this isn’t Gish, but some rando werewolf in your town who saw me and thought I was cute or something?”

“There’s a bit more to it than that,” Adam said. Behind him, his people were passing the file around and studying the picture of Gish in it. “Werewolves know their mates upon seeing them, and once they recognize them, they begin a ritual. It starts with the animals. Hunting is our way of showing a potential mate that we can provide for them. After the gifts, they introduce themselves in their wolf forms, allowing you to gauge their worthiness. Once you accept them, they scent you, so that other weres know your off the market, so to speak. Then the final part of the mating ritual is… well… mating. You usually don’t know who it is until after the ritual is over, unless you’ve managed to guess beforehand.”

You had your arms folded during this explanation and took a moment to absorb it all. “No offense to your whole town dynamic or anything,” you began slowly. “But that’s the creepiest shit I’ve ever heard.”

“I can see how it might look to an outsider, certainly--” Adam said, but you stopped him this time.

“No, you really don’t,” You replied, going back to the trunk and pulling out a piece of paper. “Read the first paragraph of that.”

“What is it?” Adam asked, frowning.

“It’s the first letter he sent me.”

Adam, brow furrowed, began to read aloud. “’You don’t know me, but I have seen you many times. I don’t have the words to describe how beautiful you are. The moment I saw you, I’…” Adam paused, a grimace on his face. “’I knew you were my soulmate. We were meant for each other. And I won’t stop until I prove it to you.’”

There was a discontented murmur through his group. You were sure it was strange to them to see their own ritual turn on its head into something sinister and threatening.

“Do you get it now?” You asked Adam.

“I believe I do, yes,” He said, handing the paper back.

“So, you’re offering protection,” You said, folding the paper up and putting it in your pocket. “I’m guessing you’re all--”

“Ah, let me stop you there,” Adam said. “I am the Alpha werewolf in town. That much you’re allowed to know. But we have rules. Rule number one, you can’t ask who is a werewolf and who isn’t. Two, you can’t guess out loud or gossip about it with other people. Three, if you know someone who is a werewolf, you can’t tell anyone.”

“That seems highly impractical.”

“Perhaps so,” Adam admitted with a smile. “But it’s kept this town and its residents safe and free from scrutiny from the outside, and that’s very important to us. I’m sure that’s a sentiment you can understand.”

You nodded and shrugged. “Yeah, I get it. So I can’t ask if you know who’s been leaving me these… offerings, then.”

He shook his head, his blonde curls bouncing around his face. “I’m afraid not.”

“Fine,” You assented. “But could you pass along the message that I’m not interested?”

“I can,” He said. “Now, if you want to leave, we won’t stop you. But you’re tired; I can see it in your face. We can offer you protection, if you’re willing to stay. Living here makes you one of us, and we look after our own. You have my promise on that.”

You sighed. “I’ll give it a shot,” You said, shrugging noncommittally. “But one more dead thing, and I’m out of here.”

He held up his hands in placation. “I completely understand. I hope we can make you feel safe.”

“Me, too,” You said.

“We’ll leave you, then,” Adam said, nodding at his generals, and they began to file out of the house. “Please let us know if you have any trouble. We’ll do what what can to help.” He held out his hand again.

You took it. “I appreciate that.”

He nodded in farewell and followed the others out. Billy was the only one left. He folded his arms across his chest and regarded you with a fierce expression.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were in trouble, kid?” He grumbled, sounding angry.

“I told you why,” You said. “Like I said, people have refused to rent to me before. I’ve been fired from jobs. One town sheriff literally told me to leave and that he’d arrest me if I ever came back.”

“Well, we ain’t like that,” Billy said. “I hope we’ve managed to drill that into your thick skull.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” You said, swatting at him. “Now get out of my house, old man.”

He snorted, the corner of his lip turning up. “No wonder you’ve outrun this asshole so long. Made of stone, you are.”

You nodded in acknowledgement, shrugging one shoulder.

“Take care, kid,” He said, and let himself out.

That night, you went to take the trash to the bin and stopped in your tracks. There, at the end of the walkway that led from the front door to the sidewalk, sat a wolf. It had a golden coat with black fur running from between his ears, down his back, to the tip of his tail. It was large and tall, but unlike Beau, who was solid and broad, this one was slim, with skinny legs and a short coat, almost like a coyote. From the way it was sitting, you could tell it was male. His ears were flat against his head, and he whimpered slightly.

“Am I assuming you’ve come here to apologize?”

He gave a weak bark, trying not to make too much noise, laying down on the pathway and not attempting to come closer. You threw the trash bag into the bin that was next to the house, and sat down on the porch, resting your elbows on your knees.

“You know, you remind me of a mutt I had when I was a kid. You’re lucky I loved that dog.” You waved him up. “Come on.”

He immediately got up and joined you on the porch.

“Stay a wolf,” You said warningly. “I’m tired of dealing with people, even wolf people.”

He bobbed his head once, which you took as agreement.

You looked out, able to see the main street of the town from where you sat. It was late, so the town was quiet.

“It’s pretty here,” You mused, talking to yourself, really, but out loud so that he could hear, too. “I wouldn’t mind staying. Though… I really wish I could go home.”

He lay down next to you with his front paws dangling from the step, looking up at you as you spoke, quiet and attentive.

“I haven’t seen my mother in two years,” You said, still looking at the town but no longer seeing it. “I have two brothers, one older and one younger. My older one was having a baby with his wife. My younger brother was in highschool. They don’t even know what’s happened to me, you know. I told them about the stalker, but when it got serious, I just… left. I didn’t call them or leave a note.”

You sighed. “Maybe they think he kidnapped me and I’m dead. Maybe they’ve mourned me and moved on. Maybe, if I ever go back, they won’t want to see me.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until the wolf licked your cheeks. You let yourself break down. He put his head on your shoulder and licked your ears, and you put your arm around him and stroked his fur. God, you missed that dog.

You sat there for hours, talking to yourself and the wolf sitting next to you. You’d spent the last two years keeping everything about yourself quiet, so actually letting it out was extremely cathartic. You talked until your throat was dry, cried until you had no tears left, and pet the wolf the entire time. He never spoke, just let you get everything out and listened.

“God, I’m tired,” You said eventually, rubbing your eyelids. You looked at the wolf sitting next to you, narrowing your eyes a little. “If you stay a wolf, you can come in. Unless you’ve got wolf stuff to do.”

He jumped up and smiled that cute doggy smile, tongue sticking out and everything. You rolled your eyes and got up, opening the door and going inside with him on your heels. While standing, he came up above your hip.

You sat on your futon, taking off your hoodie to get ready for bed. You took your self defense items out and laid them in their usual place on the bed. He sat on the outside of the futon, bowing his head and whimpering.

You sighed. “Don’t shed on my futon.”

He barked and bound onto the mattress, laying down next to you. The warmth of his large body was welcome, and you fell asleep much more quickly than normal.

When you woke, he was gone. There was a note on the pillow next to you. Pushing down your natural paranoia, you opened it.

         I had to go to work, but I’ll come back tonight, if that’s okay. And I promise, no more dead animals. How about some take out instead? Do you like Chinese?

                 --S

You smirked. Damn it, he was smooth. It was hard to push him away, especially as a wolf. The silent presence and warmth of him close by last night was… comforting. Comfort was something that had been in short supply over the last couple of years. You were suddenly thinking that maybe you should get a dog.

Now that you realized he wasn’t like Gish, you were starting to wonder who he really was. You still weren’t interested in a romance, not yet, but the mystery was intriguing, only made more so by the fact that you couldn’t ask anyone about it.

After breakfast, you walked up to the grocery store to finish up the new hire paperwork, and saw Shahan as you came out.

“Oh, hey!” He said. “I wanted to check on you after yesterday. I was going to make a house call, but you weren’t home. How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay,” You said, surprising yourself by finding you actually did feel okay. “Honestly, the… special qualities of this town have me feeling a little safer. And the fact that you guys didn’t throw me out when you learned about my problem is nice. Having it out in the open is nice. Keeping it a secret is… really tiring.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” He said with a chuckle.

“I can’t ask you…” You started, and he shook his head.

“Sorry,” He replied regretfully.

You shrugged. “It’s okay. I always liked a good mystery.”

He smiled warmly. “Well, I’m glad you’re in better spirits. You had us worried yesterday.”

“Sorry about that,” You said, wincing. “It was just scared and overwhelmed.”

He held his hands up. “No, I totally understand. If I were in your shoes, I’d have freaked out, too. We’re stepping up security around the town, just in case. Adam has also ordered his most trusted to do rounds in the woods around the town. If he comes anywhere near here, we’ll catch him.”

You took a big breath and released it. “That’s a huge relief. This is the first time in a long time I’ve felt… hope.”

“Good,” He said, his smile very warm, his golden-green eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “I’m very glad.”

You felt warm under his gaze, and thought you might be blushing. “I… uh… I’m kinda tired. I think I’m going to go home and rest.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” He said, briefly touching your arm. You had to suppress a shiver. “Take care of yourself, okay? And remember, we’re right next door if you need us, so don’t be a stranger.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” You said, a real smile on your face for the first time in months.

That night, you waited on your front porch for the wolf. He showed up at half-past eight with a bag in his mouth.

“Stay a wolf,” You told him, and again he bobbed his head in understanding. “Come on up.”

He headed up the walkway and passed the bag to you. As promised, there was honey chicken, fried rice, and some eggrolls. You were so happy. You hadn’t had a meal that wasn’t a quick burger or a peanut butter sandwich in ages. You opened his take out box for him, and he wolfed his food down happily. You wondered if he found eating like this demeaning, but he didn’t seem to mind.

After you finished eating, you sat with him on the porch, watching the fireflies in the trees and listening to the sounds of the evening. His head lay in your lap and you stroked his ears absentmindedly. It was the most comfortable you’d been in a while.

“Listen,” You said quietly. He didn’t get up, but his ears quirked to listen to you better. “I know you think you’re in love with me, and maybe you are, but… I’m scared. I’m scared of being in another situation I can’t control. You understand that, don’t you?”

He gave a grumbling sort of whine, which you took to mean yes.

“I can’t get into a relationship. Not just with you, with anyone. Not until Gish is out of my life for good. So, for now… I can’t know who you are. It would make this whole thing weird for me. I’d feel like you were only interacting with me because of some biological imperative that really doesn’t have anything to do with me. I didn’t choose this, you know?”

Another grumble.

“But… I do like your company. It’s nice to have someone I can talk to. Maybe it’s because as a full wolf, you can’t talk back, but it feels like I can tell you anything and you won’t pass judgment on me.”

You sighed, and paused in your petting. He lifted his head from your lap and sat up, looking at you with earnest eyes.

“If you want to keep seeing me as a wolf, that’d be okay with me. But only if it’s okay with you. And don’t base the decision on this magical connection we’re supposed to have. Really think about it seriously. If it would be difficult or painful or offensive to you to keep coming here as a wolf and not a man, I get that. It’s up to you. We should both have a choice.”

He took a moment to consider, then he lay back down, putting his head in your lap again, sighing contentedly.

You smiled down at him and resumed the pets. “I guess I have my answer.”

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

Fairy Contentious  || Morgan and Kaden

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Downtown PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: There’s nothing awkward about finding a dead body between sometimes friends

Try as she might, Morgan still missed her humanity from time to time. Zombie personhood was alright, more than alright on some days, but in the heat of July, she missed the sweat on her back, the tanning and freckling of her skin, and the sharp, palpable comfort of a dive into cold water. She missed dollar soft serve from Whataburger. She missed spiked slushies. She missed having more of the world to share in. Lately it seemed like death had taken more than just her heartbeat, but was eating away at the world she had left too. There was Bea, and the human her sisters had sacrificed to bring her back. There were all those guards at the Ring and the woman whose body had turned shallow and empty beneath her hands. There was Erin and whatever she was getting up to her head in. There was the mummified pixie at the carnival. And then there were all the people she knew, people she loved better than most others, with blood on their hands. Was there any escaping it? Morgan turned down another block downtown, thinking more of her momentum than what shops she was nearby, aching for a burn, for something outside of herself to remember life being good and free and in her reach. What she saw instead was Kaden. Morgan stopped in her tracks and locked eyes with him. This is what she got for using binary words in her thoughts, wasn’t it? Morgan’s hand lifted in a hesitant wave.

This whole ordeal with Regan was more than taking its toll on Kaden. Maybe less the ordeal and more the lack of sleep that came with it. Closing his eyes brought nothing but worse case scenarios and for the most part, when he tried, he still couldn’t find sleep. Not to mention, the less he slept, the more hours in the day he had to try and find her. He’d searched plenty around her place and that had been a bust. So had the locator spell. So had all the hunters in town. So many leads and nothing concrete. Wandering the town was as good an attempt as anything else. Granted, he had no idea how long he’d been walking by now, if he had even seen her at all or if he was even paying attention anymore. He was so lost in thought he nearly ran into someone. “Sorry,” he mumbled, not meaning it. As he shuffled out of the way, he saw Morgan just behind them. Of course. “Hey,” he said flatly. Even if he’d wanted to convey any emotion, he couldn’t pull out any energy to display them. Funny he ran into a zombie while he felt something like the walking dead. At least what he assumed it felt like. Pretty numb, a lot of pain. He wanted to make a biting comment or five but he was just too tired to find any worth saying. “You good?” was all he could manage to say.

Morgan couldn’t remember the last time ‘you good’ hadn’t been a loaded question. She folded her arms over herself, fiddling with her sleeves as she tried to come up with an answer. She still didn’t feel completely right after what happened at the Ring. She would do it all again, but the weight of death was different than the weight of the retribution she doled out from time to time. “I’m fine,” she said at last. “You?” It was pretty obvious that he wasn’t doing so hot. There were shadows around his eyes thick as a ditch and a wasted, hangdog look, sunken and tired. “Looks like it’s been a heck of a time.” Normally she would have asked if she could do anything to help, but the words caught in her throat.

“I’m fine.” The words spilled from Kaden’s lips before he had a second to think about his answer. He was really fucking far from fine but he really didn’t want to explain it. Least of all to her. With a sigh, he ran his hand through his hair, pushing the mess out of his way. Of course she caught onto him quick. “Haven’t slept much this week. That’s all.” Sure, that was true, but he was holding back the real reason. Part of him wanted to get this over with, but he also wanted to know if she was ever going to fucking acknowledge what had happened in the woods the other day. What had really happened, not the fairytale ending bullshit version she was harboring. Right. Doubtful. He should just fuck this and walk away, cut his losses. He needed to find Regan. This was just a waste of time. Then again… Putain. He sure as shit didn’t want Morgan’s help right now. But it was selfish and stupid not to get all hands on deck at the moment. “Regan’s missing. And also about the size of a pixie.”

It took all of Morgan’s willpower not to snort with laughter. This was a real pickle for Kaden and his distress was real. Also, there was a chance that Thumbel-Regan would come out of this traumatized in ways your average licensed therapist wouldn’t know how to cope with. But Stars, a tinkerbell sized medical examiner? Did she have a tiny lab coat? Or a tiny turtleneck? Morgan couldn’t help but snigger in the back of her throat. Mad as she was with Kaden, it wasn’t enough to kill the image in her head. “That uh, does sound like a wee problem, yeah,” she said, working her face into a more serious expression. “Do you know, uh, if she can fly? You guys didn’t happen to work out a hand clapping signal by any chance?” She cleared her throat. The universe was offering her a gift and she definitely didn’t want to turn it away. “Where have you looked so far? Maybe we could try by the butcher? Or the farmer’s market? Maybe she’s following her death spidey senses.”

Kaden rolled his eyes the second he caught that all too familiar look. The one that meant biting back laughter. He saw it on Blanche’s face enough the other day to recognize it. Granted, Morgan was doing a better job at reeling it in than pipsqueak had. It was annoying as shit all the same. “Fucking hilarious. Yup. It was fucking hilarious. Less so now when birds and squirrels are trying to eat her. But fine. Whatever, Morgan. Guess you only care when zombies are in danger.” He’d had no intention of actually mentioning the incident with whats-her-name the zombie but it sure fucking spilled out anyway. “Are you going to fucking help or are you going to keep making--” Before he could finish snipping at her, she brought up some decent suggestions. “I don’t know where I looked anymore. I just keep watching the ground. She can hover a bit so I guess I should look everywhere.” He rubbed his face. He was so stressed and so fucking tired, he wanted to just collapse into it, but he was determined to not give up. He could stop when Regan was safe. “I’ll look there. Fine.”

Morgan’s grin faded. “Seriously? I help save your ass in a diner, tell you what I am, help you with your denial girlfriend, and you think I only care about myself? Or my species? Is that a real thing or do you really just not get what it might’ve been like to see you cut into a woman just like me like she was a rabid animal? After, may I remind you, I pulled her off you, told you to run, and let me handle it.” It was like they hadn’t seen even close to the same thing. Like they hadn’t even been in the same place. Morgan shook her head. Kaden could be incredibly decent, often enough that she bristled uncomfortably at her initial distaste for him and the fear, the bitterness, she still held in some shrunken part of her. But this was not one of those times. This was the kind of moment that made her wonder why she didn’t just plant that bitterness and let it grow over everything else. Still, she straightened herself up as tall as her tiny body would allow and pointed in the direction. “You wouldn’t find a cheese fry if I jammed it up your nose with that much sleep deprivation. I’ll help clear that area with you.”

Kaden ground his teeth as he held back a comment about a good chunk of that sounding like self preservation. Whether that was true or not, he didn’t have the fucking energy. He was not going to waste what he had left on her. Until she kept going. “I cut into her like a rabid animal because that's what she was!” he said, reeling back to face her. “She was gone! There was nothing left! She was going to kill me! It nearly did! A few times! And you did not have it handled! If I ran, what the fuck was to stop her from killing whatever human walked by next? Or do you even care?!” So much for not wasting his breath. One thing he could say was the anger jolted him with energy. Mostly he just wanted to use it to punch something. Or storm off. But it didn’t seem like it was going to work because she was insisting on following him. “I told you I’m fine. But if you want to come I can’t stop you. Public fucking place.” That wasn’t quite true, he could stop her. Just not in any way that was remotely acceptable.

Morgan had turned to lead the way but no. That would just be way too easy and make too much sense. She clenched her fists at her sides. There were things that mattered more than this. Hypothetically, these things included Thumbel-Regan. But Kaden’s words cut into her fresh, reminding Morgan what had been so awful about that day beyond Ashley’s ruined body. “She was just starving. And I was trying to help both of you, dumbass. If you didn’t have your head so far up your arsenal, you might’ve figured that out.” She stormed ahead of him, fists clenched, and started for the butcher’s. This was a mistake; she should’ve just stayed home.

“She was just starving?! There’s no just starving from zombies. Starving gets humans killed.” Kaden continued as he followed after her. He really couldn’t figure out what about this was so hard for her to understand. Even if she did have noble goddamn intentions, she didn’t have it handled. That zombie was going to kill someone, even if it wasn’t him. “And you met her before, right? Seems like she didn’t want your fucking help.” He was considering telling her the same right now. But she wasn’t wrong about him being exhausted. Maybe not about the rest of it, but she had that much correct. He was ready to collapse. He almost wanted to ask if they were there yet.

“Of course that’s all you care about,” Morgan grumbled. She kept walking, fists clenched, trying not to think about how right Kaden was about the last part. Ashley had been lucid when she ran away from her and Rio. All those animals wouldn’t have lasted very long, but enough for her to do...something. She could have dug up a fresh body from the cemetery if she was desperate, or pounced on a deer. The smell from the woods was intoxicating sometimes, it would have been impossible to miss. So why had she been back at square one so soon. You shouldn’t have done that, that’s what she’d told Morgan. But Kaden couldn’t know that, right? Morgan pressed on ahead, crossing the next block, when she caught the smell. Death. Still soft, ripe death. Morgan came to a stop. They were still downtown, what was she smelling, some unlucky bird? “Wait.” she said. “Maybe…” Regan would be pulled to it too if she was nearby, right? “Do you smell that?” She looked around them, feeling a familiar sharp twist in her stomach. It couldn’t be too far.

“Oh, not dying? Other people not fucking dying? Right. What a fucking terrible thing to care about.” All of Kaden’s hopes for an apology were shot to hell. Not that he was holding out too much to begin with. Why the fuck she wanted to spend so much time defending a monster, he didn’t understand. Sure, she was a zombie, too, but not like that. And if she had tried to help earlier and failed… He had to wonder how many other people were in danger or if this had happened before. How many times had someone pitied a zombie only for them to slip back and take a human life? Was it only a matter of time until that was Morgan? Fuck. Not what he wanted on his mind right now. He stared ahead as he followed her. The scent hit him before he saw anything. That was death and decay alright. No mistaking it. “Of course I smell that. Hard to miss.” Especially with human senses, he thought. Still, there was no denying that carcasses and cadavers were siren songs to a banshee, in a way. “You can sense death, too, right? Not the same way but you know,” he asked as she guided them towards the source of the stench.  

“We’re people too,” Morgan grumbled. But of course Kaden wouldn’t see it that way. Maybe Deirdre had been right all those months ago. Maybe telling Kaden she died really had been stupid. She couldn’t help but smirk dryly at his question. “If you mean sense it the way I used to be able to sense fried chicken and waffles from two blocks away, then yeah, sure.” It wasn’t the same kind of comforting, soul-pulling call she understood the banshee death pull to be. A dead body called to Morgan’s insides like it wanted to devour everything she was and claim her for itself. Ravaged, held, and erased into a relief that came from no intelligence whatsoever. Morgan salivated as she turned down an alley and peeked around a dumpster, a common enough spot for finding felled birds and-- “No. Fuck...fuck, no, no…” She turned around and started to walk right back out the alley, clutching her stomach, but she couldn’t get the sight out of her head. The scales on the girl’s arms were scraped raw and crusted with blood from the mangled mess where her hands were supposed to be. And her face...her face was a ruin of burns and iron. Morgan had only been able to tell from her hair that it hadn’t been Mina. Morgan clamped a hand over her mouth, grimacing as her insides reached back for the body. She sank to the ground and dumped the contents of her bag, trembling. She had a snack in there somewhere to keep from eating roadkill in public, but she couldn’t make her fingers work the tupperware lid. She couldn’t stop seeing that girl. She had one eye, overexposed from her melted lids and staring up pitifully, dead and empty towards the street, towards the river that might’ve been her home. Morgan’s eyes filled with tears, too thick to see through, and let everything in her hands fall.

Kaden’s stomach churned at the thought of comparing decomposing flesh to food. And the combination of chicken and waffles. There was no reason any of those things should go together. That’s not what churned his stomach when they turned the corner. There was no mistaking that was a dead body sprawled out in front of them. It was strange to find one downtown and without Regan nearby, at that. Unless, she was. He paused to listen for any small screams or calls out to him. But he heard nothing but Morgan’s muttering as she turned away. Kaden stayed in place, finally allowing what was in front of him to really sink in. That wasn’t a human body, it was something else. Inhuman, the scales alone gave it away. His mouth pulled into a thin line as he assessed the situation. He looked for webbed fingers but couldn’t find her hands. The slits on the side of her neck were still easy enough to see. “A nix,” he said. A very mangled, very tormented nix at that. He crouched down to get a better look. Marks where iron instruments had surely burned into her, lacerations covering her body, and it looked like whoever did this had tried to split her legs again. It was hard to say how long the body had been there, not too long if he had to guess. Still, it was cold, it’s not like they’d missed the moment by mere minutes or anything. His cold assessment of the facts were easier to process, they were there, unchanging. What it all meant, how he felt about it, that was harder. Something he didn’t want to touch. The sound of something hitting the pavement made his head jerk back to see Morgan again. She’d dropped.. tupperware? Odd. “You alight?” he asked as he stood and turned to face her.

Morgan was gritting her teeth, trying to hold her body still. Snacking usually helped, gave her appetite something to fixate on, but she wasn’t usually this upset when she passed death during her every-day life. She tried breathing, maybe that would be a good distraction. “Need...food,” she said. “She’s...I can’t...after what she’s been through...I can’t…” Couldn’t destroy her any further. Couldn’t treat her like stuff. There was nothing natural about what was left of her body, nothing balanced about a death like that. Tortured, butchered for parts, left with the garbage to be...what? Ignored? Mistaken for someone’s film class final? Morgan sat back, banging her head against the side of the building. That wasn’t doing much good. “Can you open it? It’s not human, I just need…” Some relief. To not feel herself wanting for the soft candy of her insides. Stars, it was probably sweeter than anything she’d had yet too… And if she hadn’t been brutalized, Morgan wouldn’t have been able to imagine them with half as much detail. She grimaced and dug her shaking hands into her knees. “Just do it, just open it!”

It took a few seconds for the pieces to click together as Kaden watched her. Shit. Dead body. Zombie. Even after arguing with her back and forth about zombie rights and how often she took sheer glee in reminding him of what she was, he sometimes still forgot. Had to wonder if it was on purpose. Likely was. “You can’t what?” His brow furrowed as she explained further. Shit. He had to go over there. Open the container for her. He took a deep, shaky breath as he steeled himself to follow through on her request. There wasn’t much out there that scared Kaden. Truly scared him. Being bit or turned by anything undead was one of them. But he had to trust his friend. Bolting and running sounded easier, even in a dead end alleyway. Still, he walked forward and reached out for the tupperware, hand shaking as he pulled it towards him. He fumbled for a second as he tried to rip the lid open. This was fine. They’d both be fine. This was probably unwarranted fear. He held the container out to her for her, trying his fucking best not to look at what was in there. Even if it wasn’t human, he didn't want to know.

Morgan took the tupperware and shoved her dead flesh salad into her mouth by the handful. The flesh slid down her throat easily, offering its subtle flavor between the bits of diced brain. Her stomach settled and with the animal rage in her stomach had settled down more into an agitated grumble, she could make more room for what she’d seen, for trying to figure out what to do. They couldn’t just leave her there with the garbage, right? Then again, they couldn’t exactly call this in to the police. Regan was the size of a pixie and the number of incorrect to dehumanizing conclusions she might manage to come to were enough to make Morgan feel sick all over again. She couldn’t take her home, at least not by herself. She barely had the restraint to walk away and keep herself from making a meal out of her body. Morgan tried to breathe, tried to make each bite last longer. Distraction, that was the thing. As long as she could distract her body, she could be okay. “Thank you,” she said at last. “You didn’t manage to...I don’t know...notice if she had any stuff with her, did you?”

Kaden let out the breath he hadn’t intended to hold as she ate the contents of the container. It was fine. She had control. They’d be fine. There was no need for this to turn into-- It was fine. Kaden rolled his shoulders back and shook off any of the nerves he had before, like he could will his pulse back to a normal, steady rhythm. If only it were that simple. The distraction she offered to everything going on was more than welcome. “Any stuff? Uh, no. Not sure. I didn’t check.” He walked back over to the body and it all hit him again. Different this time. The more he saw it, the harder it was to just focus on facts. His mind tried to piece things together, make connections, as much as he wished it wouldn’t. He bend down and tried to feel around her clothes where there might be pockets, something left behind. It made him feel less like a hunter or even a cop and more like a petty thief. His stomach sank like a pit as the reality of this hit him a little deeper. This was a dead nix. Yes. He knew that. And on another level, what was this? A dead fae. Alright. But what did that mean? It meant someone killed a fae. Didn’t just murder them, no. Tortured them. Her. Putain. He was jumping to conclusions, there was no way to say this was a hunter who did it, but it was hard not to wonder. And if it was a hunter, that likely meant that it was a warden. And if it was a warden and they were nearby. And if Regan was nearby. And if they found her before he d-- Kaden realized he was sitting on the ground next to the body no longer searching it, just trying to keep the world from collapsing in on him as his breath quickened, shallow and ineffective. Calm. He had to be calm. He had to think clearly if he wanted to help or be useful or fucking anything. Why couldn’t he do that?

Morgan waited. And waited. She couldn’t remember what the nix had been wearing, it had to be something right? Maybe she at least had a wallet stuffed in her back pocket, something to give her a name, that could help them treat her like a person again. Then again she wasn’t, not anymore. The person was gone, this was just her remains, her body, her story. That wasn’t the same, but it wasn’t nothing. It deserved some dignity, some small, stupid scrap of respect. Morgan chewed slowly. “Kaden?” She called. “Kaden--? What did you find?”

Morgan’s voice snapped Kaden out of his panic. A little. It was still a bit of a struggle to keep getting air into his lungs. But he needed it to reply. “Nothing,” he managed to push out between shallow breaths. “Nothing yet.” Okay. Alright. If there was a warden nearby he’d deal with it. Later. Right now he was examining the body. Like any of this mattered. Come to think of it, why was he doing this? Because she asked. Right. But why? How was this going to help them find Regan. This was just a dead fae, what did it matt-- A thought creeped into his head. One he had to push away. Desperately. He couldn’t even imagine that right now. This wasn’t Regan. It wasn’t even a banshee. The body in front of him, she didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. Finding his hopefully still alive fae girlfriend, that’s what mattered. But he had a sinking feeling if he didn’t try, Morgan would. To likely disastrous results. Alright. Looting the fucking body it was. He checked around for a purse or some shit like that, nothing. Front pockets of what was left of her shorts, also nothing. Fuck. He’d have to turn over the body. No time like the present. He swallowed back any disgust and pushed it over. There wasn’t a whole lot of solid flesh or scales left, like it was picked clean after a good bit of flesh burned off. He expected to find more of the same, may even more decay on the other side of the corpse. Shockingly enough, there was something in her back pocket still there. A phone. With a wallet attached to the case, one of those small things that held cards. He figured there wasn’t going to be much more useful than that. There wasn’t much else to identify her by anyway. “Uh got this,” he said once he walked back to Morgan, holding out the phone to her.

Morgan took the phone and flipped through the cards attached. She didn’t know much about hacking electronic passwords, that was more of a Winston thing. But she had a student ID from the university. Not another one of her students, thank god, but she was practically the same as them. Morgan pulled it out and passed it to Kaden. “Meet Coraline Adams. Would-be class of ‘23 at UMWC. Liked the Little Mermaid, maybe ironically--” she passed over one of her credit cards, which had a much faded sticker of princess Ariel in the corner, “And had a really nice phone. That’s it, that’s all that’s left of her.” She worried the slice of eyeball she was still chewing on as she spoke. This was so pitiful, practically nothing. At least with Emma there had been a funeral, there had been things  to do, there was the sad copy of her stories consigned at the local book store. But Emma had been human. Coraline wasn’t. “Do you know who might’ve done this?” She asked quietly. “Someone who’s capable of treating some poor college kid like this? For being fae?”

Kaden crossed his arms as Morgan went through the fae’s things. This was a far cry from any normal post hunt sort of moment. Or any time he came across a dead body on a hunt. If it wasn’t human, it got left behind, at best it was there to help inform them who or what had been there. Had to say, he kind of preferred that right about now. But this wasn’t a hunt. At least, not like that. Kaden shook his head at her question. “I don’t know any wardens in town, no.” He really should. Given, well, everything. But something about having to be two faced to colleagues sounded hard. Or shitty. Something like that. “I mean, can’t say for sure that it was-- But if I had to guess.”

“Yeah, well, they do make it their business to do a double-take at anyone with an Irish accent and cut down whoever makes their killer instincts go off,” Morgan said bitterly. “No matter how young they are, no matter how wrong it is. They see someone spooky and suddenly they don’t get to be a person anymore. I kinda figured that much out too. We don’t even know if this girl has a family who’s missing her right now, but it’s just another day at the hunter office.” She held out her hand to have the cards back. Suddenly, she didn’t like the idea of Kaden getting to hang onto them. “We can’t just leave her body there. Well, I can’t, but I also can’t get too close without...you know. But she shouldn’t have to stay there.”

Kaden let out a huff and shook his head. “Well then. Good to know how you really feel.” Why was it every time they were around each other lately, he questioned why he considered her  a friend at all. He couldn’t even begin to figure out what he was feeling about any of this, but he could feel the anger over her comments. And the exhaustion settling back in. The rest, well, he didn’t know what that was. He considered not taking the cards back. Fuck her, if he was just some mindless killer, why give them to him? Whatever, he took them, put them into his pocket. Which in hindsight, not a great idea. Regan may not be around just yet but he’d have to dispose of them before the medical examiner was back in full swing. Which, speaking of, the body. “We can’t. We can report it. Send her to the morgue. Not that Rickers or Regan will find the cause of death but it’s an option.” A shitty option. “Otherwise, we can burn it.” It was the safest option, really. One she probably didn’t like. “No matter what, we can’t do anything now. In broad daylight. Unless we’re involving the law.” Which didn’t sound like a great plan. But it was all he could figure.

“Is there something else I should be feeling about this too?” Morgan asked. She finally brought her eyes up to meet his. She’d never had the best control of her expressions at the best of times when she was alive, you would’ve thought dying might make it worse. But the face she showed Kaden was slack and impassive. Maybe it was the emotional exhaustion, maybe she was getting too used to this, but Morgan managed to stuff everything down. She wanted to dare him to tell her something different. To come up with one reason to justify any of this. “At least stash her for me, so she doesn’t wind up in a landfill. I’ll figure the rest out myself. You probably shouldn’t be too involved anyways with...everything you’ve got going on.” His job with the police department for one thing. His girlfriend for another.

“No, fine. Just jump to whatever conclusions you want. Can’t stop you. Every hunter’s a mindless killer with no fucking reason for any action they take. Of course.” Kaden was so sick of this kind of conversation. How it never ever seemed to sink in for any bleeding hearts seemingly ever. It wasn’t that he thought what happened there was okay. He didn’t. Torture wasn’t hunting. Neither was collecting trophies. Hell, he was pretty fucking wary of wardens himself as of late. But that didn’t give her the right to paint it all with a broad fucking stroke. Right to his fucking face, no less. That wasn’t the point now. “I’ll come back for her. Later. I’ll cover her up for right now. That’s the best I can do.”

“Can we put our bullshit aside for just five seconds, Kaden? This is not about Ashley, this is about a girl almost Blanche’s age whose remains are currently by a dumpster. I would take care of this myself if my stupid zombie body wouldn’t treat what’s left of her like a freaking happy meal, but them’s the breaks.” Morgan felt herself somehow getting more tired and more angry at once. She stopped, clenching and unclenching her hands and sighed. “Forget it. You have a tiny girlfriend who is definitely not in this area, otherwise she would be trying to perform an autopsy with a stick. You have a nice job you shouldn’t be risking, and you have no idea why I’m actually upset so just...give me her stuff and I’ll handle this. I’m sorry you got dragged in, but you can go now.”

“And I wasn’t fucking talking about Ashely either. But fine.” Kaden took the cards and phone back out of his pocket and tossed them at Morgan to catch. Fuck her. She didn’t know him at all or anything going on his head. Clearly. Apparently not breaking down right then and there or calling her out for her own words meant he had zero capacity for emotions. Whatever. It was always the same. “Right. Call me if you need something killed. Cause I’m sure that’s all you think I do. If you see Regan let me know.” He turned and walked out of the alley and back towards the city center. He wasn’t sure if he had it in him to stay focused on the actual reason he was there in the first place, but with a new threat of a warden wandering around, he’d have to fucking try.

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Randy

(Not my gif)(requested by @westanimagines )

(I tried my best with the few scenes we had of him <3)

- You meet Randy when you get a job at the grocery store. You get introduced to the butcher and pretty much everyone else during your first break with your new coworkers. From the moment you laid eyes on him there seemed to be something about him that pulled you in.

- Sadly, the two of you don’t see very much of each other considering he’s usually behind the scenes and you’re more on the floor. But every now and again you’ll have to go and get something from the back and you’ll bump into each other.

- Whenever everyone is on break together, he’ll shoot you glances from across the table. He’ll look over at you when he or someone makes a joke, finding your laugh adorable and smiling along with you. You tend to not notice it but every now and again you’ll catch his eye.

- You kind of feel bad that he’s stuck down there with no one but maybe Produce Joe to interact with so whenever things are slow you poke your head in and say hi. You start a sort of friendship with him and wind up getting pretty close, closer with him than any of your other coworkers at least.

- He never minds the company, in fact he looks forward to it. A pretty girl coming to pay him attention; what more could he ask for in this line of work? A raise maybe, but this was good enough for him.

- During one of your breaks, one of the other girls had asked if you had a boyfriend since they’d been telling you about a problem they’d been having with theirs. You chuckled and told her “it was kinda difficult to meet guys on a vampires schedule”. Randy just so happened to hear and was pleasantly surprised.

- For someone who spends a lot of time alone in a dimly lit meat locker he sure is good at flirting. You’re surprised when your usual banter turns into something more suggestive and complimentary but you certainly don’t mind.

- Not too long after your conversations started to take a turn, he invited you out for drinks at a bar down the road from the store. Even though you’d usually be too tired to do anything after your shift you happily accepted.

- You left work together and soon after you found yourself laughing with him as the two of you sat in a booth, sipping your drinks. He recounted stories that your bosses and coworkers had yet to tell you and had you in stitches with his own tales from behind the shelves.

- You really seemed to click as the night went on so you were excited when he said he’d like to “do this again sometime” as you walked out to your cars. He opened your car door for you, gave you a warm smile and headed over to his own vehicle. You were grinning the whole ride home even though you were starting to feel the effects of staying up later than you should’ve.

- Jennifer and Linda wanted all of the details when you went into work the next day. They could hardly act natural as Randy passed your little group as they attempted to bombard you with questions. You could see him give a knowing grin as he walked towards his station, leaving you flustered and your friends ecstatic.

- You ended up going out together again later that week, and then again a day or so after that. You were really smitten with each other.

- The two of you had your first kiss while you were at work waiting for your shifts to be over so you could go on your fourth date.

- You’d been moving some boxes into the back of the store when you’d heard a noise coming from the far end of the room you were supposed to be in. Obviously the sudden interruption scared you, especially when it came from somewhere you knew no one else was.

- You’d accidentally dropped a box when you’d gotten spooked which is what prompted Randy to come out and check on you. You assured him you were alright but mentioned the noise, still slightly (yet admittedly irrationally) shaken. He checked around for you, coming up with nothing once he was finished.

- It helped but you still weren’t completely comfortable. He teased you a little, gave you a hug and before you knew it his lips were on yours. It was definitely a nice way to be calmed down.

- Perhaps it’s not the best for people to date their coworkers but let’s just say you’re very happy you gave it a try.

- The extent of his pda is a quick kiss and hand on the small of your back or shoulder when you’re standing together. He’s not a huge fan of smooching you in the public eye.

- You drive to work together, usually in his car.

- You’re called either pumpkin, babe or sweetie, and of course sometimes just an abbreviation of your name.

- You usually wind up eating all your meals together. He’s pretty fond of Italian.

- He sneaks little bits of food whenever you’re cooking. He is a nuisance in the kitchen.

- He has his own place; albeit small, so you tend to hang out there, cuddling on the couch, watching a movie/tv show and drinking a beer.

- He doesn’t make a lot of money so you rarely have expensive dates. Not that either of you mind, just being together is good enough for you.

- He has a habit of coming in at bad times which is something you’ll just have to get used to. I mean it doesn’t happen all the time but make sure to lock the door if you’re dealing with something you don’t want him to walk into.

- Hands. Just hands. Butchers need to be steady and calculated yet I can see him having a slightly rough touch at the same time. ...Yum.

- Randy just looks tired so you tend to take naps together after work. Or he’ll occasionally fall asleep on you while you run your fingers through his hair.

- The two of you usually wind up with his feet on the coffee table and yours in his lap whenever you’re on the couch together. Either that or you’re pretty much laying on top of him.

- Even though he acts like a smartass he actually does like hearing about your day and the different stories that you have.

- He’s pretty fond of teasing you; doesn’t matter what it’s about he just loves doing it.

- He likes to mouth things at you when someone’s back is turned, trying to make you laugh while they’re distracted.

- He loves seeing you having a good time. He’s a pretty funny guy so it isn’t hard for him to make you laugh. Plus, his smartass behavior usually ends up doing the trick if his jokes don’t.

- You play pranks and attempt to spook each other.

- He’s a fan of horror in general so the two of you watch a lot of scary movies together.

- Baking cookies together.

- Stealing his flannels.

- He tends to misplace his belongings so you often know where he puts things more than he does.

- Mistreats appliances and tools; sometimes you feel the need to apologize to the things in his home. Poor half broken washing machine.

- He can be a baby when he gets hurt, he’ll keep fussing over his injuries until you help him or kiss them better.

- He has to lift heavy carcasses all day so he’s pretty strong. You need help lifting something or want to be lifted yourself than he’s your guy.

- He’s used to seeing a little blood and other gross things so theres not much that disturbs him. He’s perfectly fine in a lot of situations whether it be when you mention your period or want him to get rid of a dead animal in your yard.

- He thinks it’s cute if you don’t like being around the meat or thinking about him butchering. He always smiles when you give him a grimace as he talks about his work or whenever you see the hanging bodies.

- Sometimes you’ll catch him murmuring songs while he works; you think it’s cute. If you ask him sweetly enough he may just sing to you.

- Your mom probably loves getting the best of the best whenever she shops at the store or when you take home groceries.

- Your parents probably love him unless they’re super vegan and despise the meat industry. Your dad is especially a fan of his since he can make a conversation out of nothing and make the older man laugh like it’s no ones business.

- He offers to warm you up whenever you visit him in the meat locker and absentmindedly mention how cold it is.

- On that note~ He is basically a human heater; you sort of have to be to handle being in the cold nearly all day.

- Bar dates. He greatly enjoys teaching you how to play pool if you don’t know how.

- Having barbecues together.

- Sitting on the sink or bathtub ledge as he shaves in the morning.

- Showering together.

- He’s not a very jealous guy but he will tell someone to to fuck off if he finds them flirting with you, mostly because it’s obvious you’re uncomfortable.

- He’s pretty protective of you; and has a bit of a temper, so he’s prone to starting arguments or yelling at people in your honor.

- Making out in the back of the store and having quickies in the bathroom.

- Getting each other for lunch. You usually sit next to him with his arm wrapped around the back of your chair.

- He taste tests things for you. If something looks a little weird he’ll take a bite before you do to make sure it’s safe.

- Occasionally chatting with Produce Joe when you’re waiting for Randy to be finished with something. You’re like the only person in the store who really talks to him besides Randy. You get a taste of the freshest of fruits in return for your kindness.

- Comforting and ranting to each other when you’re told the news about the store. He’s definitely a little more upset than you are, considering he was cheated out of a whole two week paid vacation.

- Trying to help each other find new jobs when you’re laid off.

- He tells you he loves you quite a bit. It’s not hard for him in the slightest, he knows that he does and has no intentions of letting you go anytime soon.

- You picked a keeper; even your parents agree with you on that. You have to bribe your mom during the holidays to not bring up marriage. Not that it takes very long for him to propose to you ;)

[post-itpenny]

✠

Arriving at my muse’s house at three am.

I hope you don’t mind but I wanted to use this as an introduction story of sorts to my characters in the Slasher AU. Also I mentioned it in another post but Magpie and Peregrine go by their human aliases in this AU.

It goes without saying there is a bit of gore.

3am

or alternatively titled-

Cookies

“Cookie?”

The tired policeman at the front desk looked up as a plate of chocolate chip cookies was placed on the desk in front of him.

“Hehe, thanks Miss Blackwood. You know I can’t say no to your baking.”

Meave Blackwood smiled, “I’m so happy you like them Charlie.This one is a favorite recipe of mine.”

Another officer stopped by, snatching a cookie off the plate, “yeah but what’s the recipe. You're my aunt, you're supposed to share these things.”

Meave smirked, nose scrunched as she snatched the cookie out of her niece’s hand. “It’s not my fault you wouldn’t listen when I tried to bake with you as a child. Also you’ve already had four, save some for the rest.”

Juno rolled her eyes but didn’t complain, she was late meeting someone anyways.

Meave smiled as her niece left, pulling out her phone to send a quick text message to someone and moving on with her plate of cookies.

Pembroke Blackwood looked up at the sound of knocking, his sister standing at the doorway of his tiny office. A plate of cookies that also balanced a tea cup and full coffee mug.

“Brother dearest,” Meave chimed, “you should take a break.”

Pembroke sighed, gratefully accepting the coffee Meave offered. “Yeah but this one is a tough nut to crack. Let me toss this scenario out at you huh? Guy walks home taking Pine Street. Guy stops and drops dead of a bullet wound to the throat. No witnesses cause it’s like 3am. All shops down that street so no residents.”

“Hmm,” Meave hums to herself with one finger tapping her lips. She slides into a chair and looks over the files scattered on her brother’s desk. “Well it had to have been someone he knew to stop him at that time of night.”

“Yeah I thought so too, but any suspect has a water-tight alibi.”

“Oh but it must be someone he knew!” Meave insisted, “think about it brother dearest. Knows his work schedule, knows the route he would walk home, knows how quiet that particular spot is. Does he usually walk home with anyone?”

“Yeah his roommate, they do night shift at the same place but the roommate was out of town visiting his sick mum.”

“Oh! Have we called mum since Mother’s Day?”

“The UK one? No I guess we need to. Back on topic Magpie.”

Meave made a face that could only be described as a cross between a smirk and a teasing scowl at the nickname. One from childhood that really everyone in the precinct was familiar with. Magpie Blackwood, whose mind was sharp as a knife but distracted by a thousand different things at any given time.

And just as mischievous.

Pembroke reached out to grab a cookie only for his sister to slap it out of his hand.

“Not that one Peri sweetheart,” Meave ordered, “try one from the otherside of the plate. Juno seemed to enjoy those.”

Pembroke arched an eyebrow in confusion before a cold dread broke out down his spine.

“What did you-“

“Did you know it was Charlie who was stealing my lunch out of the break room fridge?” Meave asked with a cheerful smile.

Pembroke jumped out of his seat, running out the room. “Damnit Meave not again!”

Meanwhile, the laxatives in the cookie Charlie had eaten were starting to take effect.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was 2am and there was a man running for his life.

An hour before he was heading to bed when he noticed the figure standing outside in the corner of his backyard, petting his dog.

Two minutes later the power cut and in the darkness of the house he could not find his cell phone to call the police.

Five minutes later and the thing was inside, the man scrambling for the front door and down the dirt road his house resided on. His nearest neighbor was away on vacation. The next closest was a mile away, but in the darkness of a cloudy night he accidentally stumbled off the road and down a random side track.

He slowed to a stop, hopping his eyes would adjust to the darkness.

Behind him a twig snapped, followed by a giggle.

The man took off running again.

The cycle seemed to continue on and on. Until finally he had no energy left. Terror being the only thing keeping him going as he stumbled onto some form of civilization at long last.

It was a small junkyard. One he recognized as being a part of the bottom corner of a neighbor’s property. He had accidentally ran to where he was wanting to go anyway.

In the distance he could spot a small pinprick of light he knew to be the lamppost set up by his neighbor’s workshed. The man sighed with relief, falling to his knees in exhaustion.

“Oh, dear. I’m so sorry sweetheart, did I run you ragged?”

The man flipped around in panic. Behind him stood a small lady with stark-white hair. Her outfit old-fashioned looking, skirts and boots coated in mud. She had a satchel over one shoulder and a kitchen knife in her left hand.

“Wh-who are y-“

“Shush, shush now. You need to catch your breath.” The woman insisted as she pulled something from her satchel. “Here we are, are you hungry?”

It was a bag of cookies, the woman took one to eat herself. The man, eyeing her knife the whole time, timidly accepted one as well.

“Do you like it? The secret is a small dash of crushed cornflakes. Adds an extra crunch to them.”

The man didn’t know what was stranger. The woman or the fact that chocolate-chip cookies with crushed cornflakes tasted so good. He looked at the knife in her hand again, could he wrestle it off her

“Now may I ask your opinion? Man is walking home from work at 3am and is shot at close range in the throat. Who would do that?”

The man looked the strange woman in the eye, edging just a little towards the knife. “Uh… s-sounds like some shit my ex would do.”

The woman hummed, finger tapping her lips. “There is an ex but she was at a friend’s house that night.”

“Bull”, the man responded. Inching just a little closer to the knife. “Friends can cover for you. Ex probably called him a liar for something so she shot him in the throat.”

“And did you lie to your ex?”

The man stopped, “n-no! Did that bitch send you? I’m telling you I-“

“Thank you so much for your help dearest. I truly appreciate it.”

The woman took a step back, snatching up a pole from a nearby junk pile and throwing it like a javelin.

The pole went clean through the man’s stomach, knocking the air out of him as he started to fall forward only to be caught in the arms of the stranger.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to try this. Do you mind?”

With inhuman strength the woman hoisted up the pole till it was standing up like a pike with it’s victim at the top. The man made a strange gurgling sound as he slowly slid down to the ground.

The woman frowned, yanking the pole out of his body and tossing it aside. “I was hoping you would stay up longer but own well.” She sighed as she pulled a gun and silencer out of her satchel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meave arrived at her own home at 3am to find a figure standing in front of her garage.

He wore a dark casual suit, his white hair slicked back and a black medical bag sat on the ground next to him. He was smoking a cigarette as he watched the car pull up on the drive.

Meave grinned as she saw him. “Oh Vespers darling! I was worried when you didn’t answer my text earlier.”

The young man shook his head as he dropped his cigarette and crushed the embers under his foot. “You know, most people like to sleep at this time of night auntie dearest.”

“Ooh I know! I hope you don’t have any early appointments tomorrow.”

“No it's fine, luckily I don’t have to have anyone ready for a funeral until one.”

Meave gave her nephew a hug before turning the pull open the garage door. “Why don’t you sleep in the guest room tonight then. I can make pancakes for breakfast! Oh, and be a dear and get the body from the trunk?”

Meave’s garage had a rather large and strange assortment of tools for a woman who looked like she could not tell the difference between a wrench and a screwdriver. She carefully stretched out a sheet of butcher paper on a workbench for Vespers to lay the body down on.

He switched on a nearby lamp before giving a low whistle. “You sure like to keep me on my toes don’t you aunt Pie huh? May have to just hide this one.”

Vespers looked up to find his aunt was not paying the slightest bit of attention. Meave was busy admiring the blood that had soaked into her silk gloves.

Vespers shook his head, turning to pull on a pair of latex gloves of his own and getting to work. Poking and prodding the body here and there before coming to the man’s face. It took some work but eventually he managed to pry the man’s mouth open and pull out his tongue, giving a cautious sniff.

“Rigor Mortus has already started kicking in, if you have a power outlet nearby I can do some quick electrical stimulation on him to relax the body again… Aunt Magpie?”

Meave was now frowning down at her muddy clothes.

Her nephew sighed, “if you want to go change I can do this part by myself. Also, if you still have that whisky dad left when you had us all over for dinner last week it would be great if you could bring it.”

Meave was quick to leave, coming back ten minutes later wrapped in a pink silk night robe. A cup of tea in one hand, coffee in the other, and a half empty bottle of whisky tucked under her arm.

She watched in fascination as Vespers had already removed the bullet from the man’s neck and shoved a small metal rod through it. He was now taking hold of the man’s ankle, giving a sharp twist. A soft “pop” echoing through the garage.

“You broke his ankle?”

“No, sprained it.” Vespers replied as he took the whisky bottle and poured it’s contents down the dead man’s throat. “I could smell the alcohol left on his tongue. There’s an overpass in town that goes over a construction site, so it should be quiet this time of night.”

“He was drunk and stumbled off the overpass.” Meave speculated.

“Why go through the trouble of hiding a body when you can put it in plain sight?” Vespers offered with a smile. “Could you help sit him up for a moment?”

Meave compiled as Vespers grabbed a cement block from the corner of the garage and placed it down on the table before taking the body from his aunt and slamming it down.

Vespers’ work took another hour, the construction crews would be arriving at the worksite soon so he decided to dump the body for his aunt before coming back to help clean up.

He came back to the garage to find Meave absentmindedly pushing a finger across the bloodstained workbench like a child playing with finger paints. He looked over her shoulder at the small flowers and hearts she had created.

“By the way,” Vespers casually observed, “I know you don’t normally like guns.”

“Hmm? Yes well I was testing out something close range for a case your father was stuck on. Our friend also provided some verbal insight as well.”

“And?”

“And I do believe I want to personally interview the victim’s ex tomorrow.”

“No I mean the pole, and what about the pole.”

“Oh! Yes well,” Meave smiled with a glint in her eye, “I just wanted to see what would happen.”

[tuwam]

from zero.

when they find him, he really, really wished they hadn’t.

hyuntae had a sweet gig going here, well as sweet as any deal operating on the streets could be. it was dirty, tiring and sometimes paid off ten times over or not at all. the streets were loud, never-ending and matched the ongoing static that burned tirelessly in his mind. it smelled and it hurt. from the smoke that would cake in his lungs from the cars, from the back-end of some butcher’s shop and occasionally from the bruises received from unsatisfied customers. they still paid in the end. 

sometimes hyuntae had to pay first.

he’s finishing a transaction and subsequently lying to the customer about having used the product when really, as he’s said a million fucking times - he’s the delivery boy. that’s it. he gets an order, charts his course, finds them according to signatures that separate all mutants from normal folk and delivers. he’s always delivering the heavier ones to people more shrouded in the community, wining and dining with the humans. pretending. they dope themselves on suppressants if their mutations are too hard to masquerade.

his last drop-off had in fact been to a college campus, some poor guy trying to hide the fact that his skin literally shoots needles. fucking idiot. he’s going to be doped up and overdose soon. when that happens, hyuntae’s going to have to call the brass to clean it up. he doesn’t know who does it he just knows that when they call he wants to be as far as fuck when they handle the body and wants his last payment.

they don’t tell him who they are and he doesn’t ask. they send the orders and the shipments and they’ve got big ass guns that can neutralize him, it’s all he needs to know. hyuntae knows, he’s well aware he lives life scraping where he can and licking the boot of the people who order him around. that’s what he gets for attracting the wrong crowd trying to hack into databases not meant for him. now, the only thing his powers were good for was scaring the daylights out of skeptical customers, rowdy customers and well - cheating in every game he played.

anyway, he’s finished the transaction, collected the pay and a busted lip when they show up. his head hurts like a bitch, and the blood is the best taste he’s had in his mouth in three days. it’s how he knows he’s alive despite the constant buzzing in his head. he’s contemplated taking the suppressants to see the hype but he’s been instructed very abruptly not to. the day isn’t anything special, an angry customer who was from the police force and called him cheeky. hyun can laugh now ( though he shouldn’t have laughed then ) because the money is enough to pay rent and then some. when mutant activity spikes and people start carting away mutants and making them disappear the line is usually hot or cold.

it depends. 

right now, he’s finished counting the cash and is ready to cash in - once he finishes this boss. 

he feels something collide into him and his cash and money drop to the concrete.

“son of a- mind watching where you’re going?”

something blooms in his chest and hyuntae shuffles it aside to bend down and pick everything up. the console is last and the stranger picks it up first. when hyuntae stands up and dusts off his jeans he notices that the person is considerably taller ( which isn’t fucking fair ) and is staring - dumbfoundedly so at him and still holding his console.

“mind handing that back while you stare?” that seems to pull him out his stupor but hyuntae is caught by an onslaught of emotion when the other smiles instead. a smile that has his currents buzzing so hard they ache and pull. it takes hyuntae seconds to realize his currents are pulling towards this man - this stranger and

shit.

the currents haven’t done that in a while. well, he’s more used to ignoring the cues, the way they happen seem programmed and it makes him feel puppet-like, dead and for someone else to order and control. it’s not so much a word as it is a collection of movements in his skin that push him toward the action. 

‘yunho!’ the moment is broken with the call that turns both hyuntae’s head and the stranger??? yunho, towards the sound. another man is running down the street, headed towards them and the tug hyuntae feels from his currents almost lurches him forward. he holds his ground first, grabs his console next because now he wants to get out of here.

‘joowon.’ jaehyun speaks first as the new arrival gets closer to them. the voice is gentle, still with the surprised stupor from before and as the guy gets closer - joowon??? hyuntae has to physically stop himself from falling into them. it’s like a magnet and it’s tugging him, lifting his feet like someone were picking him by the head, by his very soul. his instinct is to get away from them because he doesn’t like feeling things he doesn’t understand and it’s been a while since the only thing he didn’t understand was his powers.

they’d never done this. and right now, they don’t tell him to run, they just buzz on the edges of his skin, getting as close as possible to the two men before him. hyuntae’s pissed off, feels out of his own skin and his own body betray him.

‘you found him.’ joowon’s looking at him and hyuntae has half a mind to kick him in the shin. he can take yunho, joowon maybe not but yunho is his build, maybe a bit taller, but that’s it. hyuntae can take them, he just needs to will his body.

to move. to listen.

his currents buzz in defiance.

the sound is overtaken quickly by the sound of sirens. the truck rounds the corner, black and familiar and hyuntae’s eyes bulge. figures start to escape to van and he doesn’t need his currents to tell him.

fuck.

he’s moving easy, partially from how quick yunho?? ( jesus fuck it is yunho ) grabs him and yanks him with them, but maybe because of how willingly his currents allow it.

traitors.

it’s too late to ask questions because they’re taking off and holy shitballs he’s fucking fast. hyuntae’s fast but that’s only when he can muster up the energy, this guy is fast on athleticism only. that’s unfair. but they’re running and he can’t catch his breath and everything in him tells him to hold tighter and run faster and he hates it, wants to pull away wants to defy it all.

but the sons of bitches behind him start shooting and hyuntae’s currents are shooting out to block and neutralize all the bullets.

what the----

‘good looking out hyun.’ joowon’s yelling at him and hyuntae can’t even find it in him to flip the bird. he’s trying to catch his breath.

and keep up with speedy here.

when they stop it’s in the form of them tumbling through a door of some back alley place. hyuntae wasn’t paying attention, he’s just glad they’d stop running. hyuntae is toppling over joowon as yunho steadies himself on what appears to be a bar counter. he’s still seeing stars so it takes a second to realize that they’re in a bar. when he does get a chance to breath his first word is towards joowon who is quickly jumping up and off him.

“hope you got the funds to buy me a new console dickhole.” joowon’s eyes widen and his arms move up in defense. in the moment, since they’ve already seen his powers hyuntae would love for his currents to listen and give this guy some motivation to replace his busted console.

that’d be nice. if his currents weren’t busy ripping him in every other direction, six to be precise. when that registers, the pull is unbearable, brings him to his knees. joowon’s on him in seconds.

‘hyun, you okay? what’s wrong?’

hyuntae hears his own voice groaning, downright screaming at the pain of his mind trying to be in several places, the emotions that start to hit him. it’s like a damn overflowing.

‘i told you it’d be too much to bring him here at once.’ well, hyuntae recognizes that voice. jaehyun. ‘hyun can you stand?’ he recognizes that one too. taewoon. he groans again but this time it’s frustration, pure frustration. he was doing just fine!

‘i thought i told you dipshits to leave me alone.’ is what he says when the headache subsides and everyone’s given him space to stand and breathe. joowon hasn’t quite left his side but taewoon is holding him. jaehyun is behind the bar counter with two more beside him and yunho is of course right beside joowon. hyuntae lets out a sigh, runs a hand through his hair as the currents dance, of course they’re excited as hell.

hyuntae hasn’t seen any of them in years.

‘that’s not what your friends are saying.’ “fuck off yunho.” is hyuntae’s response to that. “what do you guys want?”

taewoon steps up first, the currents sing and dance. taewoon taewoon taewoon!!! they practically scream in the shrill-like buzz they often use. hyuntae scowls.

‘come home.’

[jinlover19]

Dog Days

chapter index [ #1 An Encounter]

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Rating: 17+

Genre/Warnings: ANGST, abusive relations, attempted suicide, mentions of self-harm, negative thoughts, severe weather, excessive use of the word stray

Words: 2.9k+

Once you’ve decided to end it all, you meet an unlikely savior.

A flash of lightning tears its way across the sky; roaring and rumbling thunder follows its other half. The wind whips through the empty streets of New York City as if searching for new prey. The dark clouds weep, sending down sheets upon sheets as if it was the Amazon and impairing the vision of all who dare to step outside. Not many people would dare to go out when the local weatherman issued an emergency flash flood warning anyway. Yet here you sat in the alleyway; rain seeping into your clothing as the 60 mile-per-hour winds find your hiding place and bite at your arms and legs. With an unchanging expression, you look up to the dark clouded sky. A lost, soulless gaze. You’re so far gone in your irreparable despair that the freezing rain, sharp winds, and deafening thunder are nothing to your numb senses. With how you overthink and overanalyze all the thoughts running through your head, your brain has no room to register the information that your nerves are trying to send it. All the negative thoughts and voices in your head swirl and morph into a vortex of anguish and misery, haunting you with their disdain.

“You worthless piece of shit.”

“You’ll never amount to anything.”

“Why are you even alive?”

“Just die already!”

“You’re such a waste of space.”

“You’re so smart, why do you act so fucking stupid?!”

A scream claws its way out of your throat and echoes throughout the barren streets for a moment before being drowned out by another clash of thunder and the downpour you’re in. You try to drown out the voices’ mockery, but they keep getting louder and louder. You clasp your hands over your ears and pull your knees up into your chest, attempting to create a defense against the jeering, but it does nothing to stop them.

You are suddenly thrown off balance from your quick actions and tip over, landing on your side onto the slowly flooding asphalt. The tears you have been holding back for hours quietly creep past your lashes. They trail down your face and over the bridge of your nose before intermingling with the steadily growing pond you’ve found yourself in. The pouring rain masks your tear-streaked face and dead eyes from potential onlookers that would be mad enough to to be outside in such severe weather this late at night. The vortex spirals faster as the winds around you increase and abruptly you’re able to identify familiar voices.

Your snooty, middle-aged mother, “You’ve been slacking off! I don’t care if you’re depressed. I don’t care if you’re not mentally stable. You are getting this done now! You can deal with your problems later.”

Your smartass older brother, “You’re so ugly and unresponsive! It’s no wonder why you don’t have a boyfriend!”

Your old-fashioned boss, “You have absolutely NOTHING to be depressed about.”

And lastly the voice of your self-righteous father, “I wish your mother and I never decided to keep you. You’re a spoiled, selfish, ungrateful brat.”

You feel the corners of your mouth quiver as they lift into a sad, broken smile. “They’re right, ya know,” you murmur to yourself as you let your tears flow freely. “They’re all right… Ha… no one truly loves me. No one would care if I just randomly disappeared. They would all be better off if I was gone.” You feel the weight of your knife and smartphone increase in the back pocket of your jeans.

When you ran out of the apartment earlier after getting yelled at for the thousandth time, you had enough sense to take your phone and swiss army knife with you. You keep them with you when in public at all times in case of an emergency. —Your parents are quite popular and wealthy; it would be “such a shame” if one of their “precious” children got kidnapped. So while your siblings got discreet bodyguards to look after and protect them, you got self-defense and martial arts lessons— The knife usually made you feel safe, but right now it’s burning a hole into your jeans.

You feel your right arm stretch back and your fingers grasp the smooth metal handle of your multi-use tool out of their own accord. “They won’t miss me. They didn’t even come looking for me despite all that happened tonight. It’s the best for everyone.” You mindlessly repeat to yourself as you roll up the sleeve on your left arm. —It’s littered with scars and blisters; old and recent ones— Twisting your arm over you see the pure, unblemished area on the underside of your wrist. You feel your body tremble as you release a hollow laugh. “I would say that it’s been fun… but it hasn’t.” With those words, you flip your knife open. Placing the cool, sharp blade against your most fragile spot. You glance down and you can see your reflection in the weapon as well as the rising waters. You close your eyes, at peace with your decision. Just as you begin to move the knife across your veins, you hear an abrupt noise.

~~

I heard her before I saw her.

Which wasn’t a problem for my superior canine hearing. I could hear a pin drop up to 60 feet away.

I was rummaging through the dumpster behind Rusty’s Bar trying to find my dinner. If I’m lucky I can snag some leftover pizza or some day-old bread. Most of the restaurant owners down here know me as one of the many strays of downtown NYC. Sometimes if they had a good day, they’ll leave some food for me at the back door of their buildings, and I won’t have to dig through the trash for it. Usually, it’s the places I hit up more often that leave me food. Those being Rusty’s Bar, Jessie’s Diner, and the run-down, high-quality local butcher shop run by Bart. Bart is a great guy, but he doesn’t tend to get a lot of business so I don’t usually get food from him a lot. Rusty and Jessie are much more reliable as food sources. I was lucky to even have reliable food sources. Most of the other animals would kill to be able to have a decent meal about once or twice a week.

It’s a dog-eat-dog world out here on the streets, only the tough and adaptable ones have been able to survive. I’ve met some fearsome animals in my lifetime, but none as fierce as the ones in New York. A cat will fight a dog to the death for a scrap of meat and vice versa. They have an established hierarchy based upon strength; the strong rule, the weak serve. Yet these guys seem to have adopted me as one of their own. One of the few strong strays that are able to rule the streets.

I’m not just any normal stray though. I’m a dog shifter. I have a dog form and a hybrid-like form that I can switch between interchangeably. Animal shifters aren’t rare per se, but we are uncommon. Most of us don’t even hang out around humans. Most of us prefer to live in communities that are isolated from humanity, but some shifters choose to live with a human as an equal or even a pet.

I don’t see how any shifter would ever want to be a human’s pet.

After scouring through the trash for a few minutes longer, I found the treasure of a lifetime. Three-meat pizza that a customer didn’t finish. I had just grabbed a few slices to munch on when I heard a blood-curdling scream. “What was that?” I muttered with my mouth half filled with soggy pizza. ‘That sounded like a girl… Why is she out during such crappy weather? Is she okay?’ I finished wolfing down my dinner and decided to go check it out. It sounded like she was a few blocks away from me, so I shifted into my dog form and sprinted off to see what was wrong.

About a minute later, maybe two, I arrived at the place where the scream had come from. I heard a girl’s voice, broken, empty, and without hope. It sounded like she was talking to herself.

“It’s the best for everyone.” I heard the voice say as I turned the corner.

There I saw a girl, laying on her side in the slowly flooding alleyway. A defeated look on her face and her left arm stretched out slightly in front of her body. She was holding something metal in her right hand. As she placed it against her wrist; a flash of silver glinting off of thin, sharp metal grabbed my attention. ‘IS THAT A KNIFE???’

“I would say it’s been fun… but it hasn’t.” She was about to slash her wrist open with the knife.

‘I have to stop her!’ For some reason, I was determined to not let this girl die. ‘But if I bark, or try to say something it could scare her and her hand could slip and she could cut herself by accident… What should I do? ...Maybe this will be less startling..!’ I raced over to a nearby garbage can and kicked it over with my back paws; a skill I developed in order to survive out here on the streets.

~~

CLANG!!!

The sound of something metallic hitting a wall makes you jolt and survey your surroundings. The blade of your knife runs across your wrist leaving a small cut, yet not deep enough to draw blood. “Who’s there?!” You call out in panic. Frantically whipping your head from side to side, you finally spot the source of your chaos; you feel your eyes widen in utter disbelief at the sight.

A vast shadow stands next to a garbage can that is rolling back and forth slightly. A flash of lightning lights up the area briefly and you see that the silhouette belongs to a large dog; although you can’t make out what breed it is or what the dog even looks like due to the pouring rain and the dark clouds blotting up the sky. The dog pads its way over to you. Its paws splashing and sending waves through the thoroughly flooded passageway.

“A dog…” You mutter under your breath as said canine approaches. It lays down perpendicular to you, facing you head on, and rests its head on top of its wet, dirty paws. “Hey there, doggo.” You say to the water-logged animal. It releases a soft puff in greeting. A few minutes pass with the two of you quietly laying in the steadily rising water; the only sounds being your conjoined breathing, the rainforest-esque downpour, and the occasional booms and cracks of thunder and lightning. You still had the knife within your grasp, wanting to wait until the dog had left before offing yourself. However, it’s been over five minutes and that thing has yet to move. Its deep, dark brown eyes burning holes into yours; the only action that dog has done is blink. Wanting to get the creature to move along so you can get back to what you were doing, you attempt to persuade it to leave. “Hey, doggo. You’re gonna get sick if you stay out in this weather…” The rising water suddenly catches your attention as you’re forced to close your eye close to the ground to avoid getting water in it. “Might even drown.”

The canine makes a face, and you can almost imagine what it’d be saying if it could talk; “Bitch, I know exactly what the fuck you’re trying to do. Don’t try that shit with me.”

A sigh slithers out of your throat. “I’m sure you have better things to do than watch me lay here, doggo. Your owner’s probably worried sick about you… running off during the middle of a storm.”

The dog moves its head to the side, showing the side of its neck to you. You can’t see that well, but you can make out that the dog is not wearing a collar.

You furrow your brow at this installment. “No owner, huh… A stray then… Shouldn’t be surprised at that… we got a lotta stray dogs here.” The minutes drag on as the two of you listen to the sounds of the rain and wind. After a while, you start to lose your mind over the fact that this stubborn dog will not leave you alone. “WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!” You cry out after what feels like an eternity.

The dog lifts its head from its paws and looks at you sadly, water dripping from the underside of its muzzle. It brings its head over to the hand that is grasping your knife like a lifeline and nuzzles against your hand briefly, but gently. It brings its head back to face you and looks you dead in the eyes. A wave of realization crashes over you.

“...you want me to live… don’t you…” It’s more of a statement than a question.

Once again, the canine releases a soft puff of affirmation. Sighing through your nose, you flick the blade back into its handle; you shake your head as a soft smile graces your lips for the first time in a while. “You’re a weird dog, ya know,” you mumble as you stuff the swiss army knife into your back pocket once more. When the knife is completely put away, the dog jumps up and kisses the mark it left on your wrist. Chuckling, you reach your other hand over and scratch the top of the dog’s head fondly. “Such a weird dog.”

After a while, you sit up; it finally registers with you that your entire left side is soaked. To be fair, your right side is not fairing any better due to the rain. Your canine friend follows suit, sitting right next to you. “You can go, y’know. I’m not gonna do it.” The dog rises once more and looks at you. It dawns upon you that this stubborn dog is not going to leave unless you leave first. You purse your lips, stifling a grunt as you struggle to get on your feet. The dog wags its tail and barks happily once you’re standing. You look up to see that the rain is starting to let up, even though the alley is filled with water about ankle high; then you start marching towards the mouth of the alleyway. The splashing and sloshing of the water behind you tells you that the dog is following you.

The street lights blind you as you exit the hidden passageway. The canine shakes some of the access water droplets off of its coat and walks over to a nearby lamppost, lifting its leg to relieve itself. ‘Oh… so it’s a boy.’ You think to yourself, uncomfortably waiting for him to finish. Once he does, he turns to you with expectant eyes telling you to lead the way. “Okay, okay…” you release a small laugh. “I guess you’re walking me home then?”

“RRUFF!!” he replies loudly.

Shaking your head in amusement, you turn in the direction of your home. “Alright then, buddy. C’mon. This way.” As you start walking, he bounds next to you and matches your pace; you can see him a lot better now thanks to the streetlights. He’s a very solid dog. Probably some kind of pit bull or a mastiff. His tail is stubby, and his ears are a bit on the shorter side. His coat seems short from what you can see, but you can’t tell if it’s an illusion caused by the water rolling off of his back or not. His coat looks like a marbled pattern of dark brown, light brown, and black. It’s gorgeous; you’ve never seen a dog with fur like this before.

Eventually, the two of you arrive at the door of a luxurious apartment building. “We’re here, buddy,” you announce reluctantly. “You can’t go in with me though. No big dogs allowed. Sorry, buddy.” Reaching out, you pet the patches of fur behind his ears; he leans into your touch. “My room is on this side of the building, so you can wait here if you want. I’ll wave out the window so you know I got home safely. Okay?” He lowers his ears and lets out a small whine, but stays put. Your lips curl into a small smile and you rub his head gently. “Good boy.”

You turn away from him and look towards the looming entrance. You feel your anxiety bubbling up; you don’t have your key, so you’re gonna have to call up. With every step you take, you can feel your dread for what awaits you on the other side of the door increase. Swallowing the knot that is forming at the back of your throat, you scrape together what little courage you have left, and press forward. You raise your trembling hand to the intercom and somehow manage to buzz your apartment.

“Yeah? Who’s there?” A gruff, curt voice replies. You thank the Lord that it was your brother who answered.

“H-Hey, bro! It’s me. Can you let me in? I went… for a walk, and it looks like I forgot my keys.” Your voice is shakier than your hand is.

“Ugh. Oh my god. Seriously, Y/n?” He scoffs. You can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “What kind of fucking idiot goes out on a damn walk during the worst storm of the century?”

You don’t even attempt to answer; whenever he asks you something like this, there’s a ninety-nine percent chance it’s rhetorical.

“Whatever. C’mon up, brat,” he spits from the speaker. A buzzer sounds and the door unlocks. Mentally preparing yourself for what waits for you on the other side, you stretch your hand towards the handle and open the door.

[exquisitelyeco]

What Armour??.?

I don’t know about you. But Ephesians 6 has really had me confused, as well as a sight of hilariousness …new word….. meaning VERY amusing to the point of literally weeping……in heaven. Everyday…..well….not quite, literally physically pretending to put on the spiritual armour that Paul goes on about in Ephesians 6. Picking up the imaginary helmet and putting it on my head……etc.

And it meant nothing really. I didn’t have a blasted clue! Putting imaginary gear and believing that I was protected! And the bit, ‘For we struggle not against flesh and blood,……in verse 12! Whaaaat? Flesh and blood??! Why not just say human beings??? Now if I can’t see it, I don’t get it. Sorry. But I find that hard. I imagine demons as ghostly things, floating around venomously, whilst I wear this imaginary armour and worry about arrows being shot in my bottom where there isn’t any! Did you notice that? No trousers. So ones behind is rather vulnerable….

And I truly believed doing this worked. I thank God He makes us stand! Romans 14v4. Although I think He looked at me and said ‘Oh dear!’ you know the one……Any of you have kids? You are trying not to smile, but it’s so funny you have to go out of the room…..

When I was teaching, as a TA, I had to mark some year 2 spellings. The wee lambs had to spell the work ‘can’t’. Many of them had spelled it cunt……I was in bits. Thankfully the class didn’t notice…..I think God falls about laughing at some of the things I did and still do, trying to work it all out. But you know what? Just like we get Soooooo excited when our baby stands up or takes their first step, and tell EVERYBODY , I think He does that too! Look at Nic! I know her armour is a bit wonky, but LOOK! She’s trying to toddle, my baby girlie! Ahhhh…..I’m glad I gave her those angels though…..she REALLY needs ’em!

So. Back to this chapter. I bet even the poor Ephesians did what I did. Old Paul made it complicated. Why not make it plain? Have you noticed, the pastors say stuff and your left thinking ‘eh?’ I think I get it….or if your like me, thinking you HAVE got it. I will tell you a wee story, and you are NOT to laugh…My lady pastor, Susan, did a preach on forgiveness. And how damage happens to us if we do not eventually get to that place……of forgiveness that is……And she was talking about this damage and she said, about finding your keys to healing. So poor old me goes around for 10 YEARS thinking I had a key buried in my brain somewhere……until in another preach, she put it like this……..’ finding keys LIKE forgiveness’ and I went ‘Ohhhhhhhhhh! NOW I get it!’

A digression, I had my ex husband 1 in stitches thinking that petrol stations sucked petrol from streams deep in the earth…….I can be a bit like that……Or when I said to my sister, ‘That’s not a very nice name for pies, Puke-er pie’ , cos I did’nt know how to pronounce Pukka…..she nearly had a heart attack laughing….

So here I was, day after day, putting on imaginary armour, literally. Picking up a ‘imagined’ helmet and using my hands to stick it on my head etc. I was so worried about my bottom! I imagined extra armour……I kid you not…..

Hey! If the shoes WERE literal, could you wear high heels? I’ll stop now….

And it suddenly occurred to me just TODAY, as I sit here reading it, what it meant! AH HA! 30years and she gets it! O my goodness THIRTY years? I’m getting on! Anyway, cos I have had this AMAZING revelation I thought I’d share it with you!

I feel like a learned and holy guru right now…..smug and HUGE! Ahhhhh! Remember Nebechednezzer, Nick, concrete feet……

So.

Also, the bit about it’s not a flesh and blood struggle, flesh and blood – meaning humans. I’ll explain that first, cos it comes first! Flesh and blood. And Paul makes it clear that is NOT what we are fighting against. Neither does it mean going to the butcher shop. It means what is IN us. What our drives, or issues or besetting sins are, or in very plain English, what things we do that make us a pain in the arse to others and ourselves. The things we do that cause hurt and pain.

All sin hurts. And it’s THAT, that comes OUT of us. That is what Paul means. Out of the heart comes all evil. Matthew 15v19, Mark 7 v21. How do these things start? In our thoughts. We get them in, and if we KEEP listening to them, they grow in power. And eventually, if we do not deal with ’em, we act on them. They are first and foremost. Satan? Read my post on for the love of Lucifer. He actually comes last. Truly. We give him far to much attention.

Most of the stuff that sets us up to fall is in ourselves. Our pet hates, prides, lusts, damages etc. Like gossiping, swearing, sleeping around, bullying/bullied, lying, watching porn. Being petty. Then the heavier, murder, rape, burglary. All things that can totally destroy us and cause us to do things and act in ways that put God out of the centre of our attention and the sin in it.

Sin starts SPIRITUALLY (in the heart) but has PHYSICAL consequences, (ending in eternal death, if not sorted) is a good way of seeing it.

But also. Rulers of the darkness of the Age. Satan has Sergeants and Lieutenants, just like any army. Some have a little power, like over a shop or town, some have more, like a county or country. (Daniel 10v13)

Basically, these guys are like soldiers. They seek to detain and stop angels, like in the verse from Daniel, (mentioned above) from reaching Gods people and answering our prayers and aiding, or helping us. They also draw in and enslave people to keep them in darkness and their faces and hearts in chains, away from God. Porn is a very powerful weapon the enemy uses. It is like an addiction, and because the person often feels ashamed and hides it, it gives it more power. Always remember, secrecy is one of Satan’s and Sins most powerful weapons, hence, James 5v16. Confession merely means talking it out. Saying aloud what you have done or are struggling with. It breaks its power. It is not done to shame but to heal. Remember, there is now NO condemnation for us in Christ Jesus. Romans 8v1. Jesus knows we all have crap to sort out still. So don’t sweat the small stuff.

It is ultimately an illusion to think we can hide anything. Because in fact, according to God, the opposite will be true and will happen.Luke 12v 3 makes this very clear. Now you would think, Hey! God knows everything! He knows what I’m doing, so why the need to say it?! Yup. He does. But remember. God is about relationship, not principles. The principle states ‘God knows everything’ relationship states ‘Come and talk to me.’ As I have said before, God makes it clear, not only can we talk to Him and find mercy, never condemnation, Matthew 12v7,John 3v17, that we can actually argue with Him AND change His mind! Isaiah 43v26. The book of Jonah is a clear case of God changing His mind. Nineveh repented. God changed His mind and did not destroy them as He planned to do. The same as He did when He chose to save Noah and not wipe out every human as He intended. Genesis 6v7. Remember that! We can always talk to God.

He truly is a parent, a good parent. And like any good parent can be reasoned with, but for our best may not always agree with our argument. And now we get to the best bit. Our armour!

What truths did I glean? What facets did I see? Well, not a blasted imaginary helmet, I can tell you! Or a pair of iron pants!

First the pants. And no. There ain’t any! Literally and figuratively speaking…..Our bottoms are behind us. Yup. I KNOW that is obvious. But it goes deeper. A soldier does not face behind. They face in front. And as long as they are facing the right way, their bum is covered. So when we turn around, our bottom is a target for the enemy. So make sure you face God. Bit back to front, I know. But that’s the way it makes sense. To me at least. If you lose focus, the enemy is right up your arse in a matter of splitteth……..New word, meaning so damn quick, don’t do it, seconds!

The helmet. Which is our thinking! Paul tells us that we need to renew our minds which means changing our thinking. Changing it to what God says, not what the world says.Romans 12v2. So if you, like me, have lies you listen too, like ‘I’m stupid,’ or ‘I hate myself’ or ‘ I’m ugly’ or ‘ I’m a failure ‘ or ‘ I can do this on my OWN’ change that thinking. Cos that, my dearest, dearest beloveds, is Satan’s thinking. He loves us to have those little phrases. And another thing we do, thinking we are right and no body else is. And that’s butt talk. Literally. Pride cometh before a fall, or in the way I described it earlier, a boot up your arse, which will have you flat on your face in the shit. Don’t do it. By shit I mean your open to being deceived because of your pride. We can only hear God if we are in humility. We cannot hear Him if we have pride. Cos we have ear phones on. With ‘I’m the greatest, I am, I am!’ Playing. Remember who I AM is. Cos it ain’t us.

What is humility? Being open to finding you are wrong. And saying you are sorry, confessing it and changing it. And we can be proud about anything. Our interpretation of scripture, our own church and its doctrine, etc. I talk about unrighteousness pride here. That refuses to believe anyone else could be right. Of course you can be righteously proud of being part of a church! Just remember, your church can make mistakes and can get it wrong! And that your little denomination is part of the BODY of Christ and not a little hand or finger crawling along alone! You will die that way as you have no blood supply……

How do you know? If you are being humble that is………By being truthful about yourself and those around you. For example: Do you harbour anger or pain? If so, have you dealt with it? If not, you is open to being deceived. See my post about Ananias and Sapphira and the gift of discernment, should you want too. I go into much more detail.

The breastplate of righteousness. Guarding your heart. And what is in it. Being in right standing with God. Keeping short account of your sin. Or to put it another way, don’t let anything fester too long. Jesus told us, do not let the sun go down on your anger, cos if you do you give Satan a foot hold. Ephesians 4v26, sorry it was Paul. But I’m sure he heard it in good authority……God gives us a whole day to be pissed off. Sort it ‘afore bedtime! If you forget, or have issues with anger, be truthful and open. That way God can help you and you do not hinder yourself, or give the enemy more to work with than he already has!

Righteousness is us acting like Jesus as much as we can and letting the Holy Spirit work in us, by being open to change if we see we need too, or if somebody else helps us to see we need too. If it’s someone else, make sure you take it to God, and somebody you trust first. Not somebody that always agrees with you, but somebody who has the gift of discernment and is truthful. If you take it to somebody who always agrees with you, you could find you are both deceived cos you both feel the same way about not wanting to listen!

Belt of truth speaks for its self. Well it does now…..be open….to correction and truth. Do not tell lies. Do not listen to lies….like the friend who agrees with you cos you both like to gossip about one particular person all the time, for example. Or you both hate one church, cos your still pissed at how you were treated there and you know they don’t like that church either……always take truth you think is truth to God and be open for His interpretations, not just those of your pastor or the religious TV. Remember, Gods ways are NOT our ways, or possibly our pastors and friends……Isaiah 55v8-9. Ultimately we are ALL chosen AND redeemed because God said so. Not us. Even His grace in giving us the actual trust we have IN Him! Not even that comes from us! ( Ephesians 2v8) So God does what HE wants! Not us! Read my testimony of ‘ A God outside the box, A story of personal redemption’ if you dare. And I mean it. I’ll piss you off and drop a hint. God gave me my son when I was having an affair. Simple. Read it. It’s not blasphemy. It shows how God is not like we think He is. Honestly. Hold God’s hand and read it. Then if you disagree, that’s fine. But I tell you that is what happened.

Shoes of the gospel of peace. Literally, where ever you walk, where ever your feet stop, don’t gossip or slag down other churches or people. We are all Gods children and need to be one body, not like fingers and toes fighting each other! Romans 12v5. Learn to discern Gods body. And to do that, you need the belt of truth and breast plate of righteousness. Or in another’s famous words ‘ Know thy self’ cos if you don’t, you can be sure Satan does. And he will use it. So where ever you go do not slander. Do not profane or swear. I do. I have to keep saying sorry.

Make sure what come out of your mouth, where ever you are honours others and God. If you have an issue, only share it with someone who discerns. If you must talk to your friends about it, Deal with the anger and hate first! And say it in such a away you are not spreading dissention and poison, but just saying how it was. Don’t encourage gossip and backstabbing of another person or church. Remember, not only will we be judged by what we say, we will be judged by every careless word that comes out of our mouth. Matthew 12v36-37. If you know it will hurt, shut your gob! Unless it’s done in love. And humbly, cos if it ain’t, you is in danger of falling. Galatians 6v1. The same goes for all non Christians you know. If it ain’t nice, keep it to YOURSELF! We are to be God’s light and love, not spite and gossip and nastiness. What kind of Christ are we representing if we behave like that?

The shield of faith? That is merely the words that come out of our mouths. What does the bible say? Faith comes by HEARING, and hearing by the word of God! Romans 10v17. Also, Life and death is in the power of the tongue. Proverbs 18v21. Jesus said, ‘Tell the mountain to go into the sea! And if you believe it will’ Mark 1v23. It’s so obvious! How did God start? He SPOKE! ‘Light’ and there was light. Genesis 1v3. But it comes in two bits, not only must we speak it. We must trust it will happen. That is what believing is. That is what it meant when Paul talked about Faith is the substance of things hoped for the evidence of what we do not yet see. Hebrews 11v1. All that means is this. I’ll give you example. You have longed for a weekend away. Your partner has promised it. You KNOW it will happen cos he said he has sorted it, but you have not done it yet and he has kept the date a secret!

Think as God is that partner! You have made your request. And if it is in accordance to Gods will, for example, not out of selfishness or greed or envy, then you know He will do it. But God does not normally tell us when! That is faith. Trusting God for your ask! ASK Him, then TRUST Him to do it!

Really! These people who translate bibles! They don’t half make it complicated, don’t you think? Thank God the Source Himself is a Good Teacher. Thanks, God! I bet He don’t stand in a blasted pulpit. That’s half the blasted problem……If you’d just GET DOWN……

The verse goes on to say, about the shield of faith quenches all the fiery darts of the enemy. Ephesians 6v16. The bible tells us our mind is the devils play ground. Philippians 4 v8-20. So we are back to those thoughts! CHANGE bad thinking! Undo bad habits! Like smoking, being drunk, sleeping around. All things that give Satan a way in to hurting us. Know the bible! Satan does! And He uses it. That is why so many Christians backstab others. Because they have pride in the fact ‘their’ interpretation of the bible is correct and everyone else’s is cultish! You give the old dragon some ammo if you do that!

The bible CLEARLY states we DO NOT know God’s ways OR His thoughts! Isaiah 55v8-9. 1 Corinthians 13v12. Not only are His ways and thoughts unknown to us, they are so high we can NEVER fathom or work them out! Hence my testimony I mentioned earlier. God is NOT who we think He is! And as the bible IS JESUS, because Jesus IS literally the WORD, get used to surprises. Cos if you don’t, I am warning you now, you could be in for trouble! Stop thinking you or your pastor know it all. Cos none of us does. Not even Paul did. That is what he wrote 1 Corinthians 13v12!

So be open to change. Learn to discern, which means to recognise Gods voice and ways. Know the enemy, also means yourself! This life is a fight. Romans 7v15-20. Don’t be deceived. It ain’t all covered by blanket or conversion prayer, it’s growing up! Becoming a warrior in Christ’s army. Showing this world that Christ is and He has won their freedom and healing. Nowhere does it say it’s all done at conversion. It’s a battle. You WILL face trials and temptations 1 Peter 5v8, James 1v2, John 16v33. So these preachers who say otherwise, talk BOLLOCKS! This life is a fight, hence the blasted armour!!

So don’t be afraid. Jesus has already won. But get that armour on and Stand. Which means wait. With that armour on. In battle mode. Ephesians 6 v 13 Cos it’s when we stand, that God looks down and says ‘BRILLIANT! Look guys! My Son/daughter, standing, armour on. And waiting for me. They don’t see Me coming yet, but they blasted well believe it. Ha ha! That’s my son/daughter. Now let’s go kick Satan’s arse!’

[larrykrakow]

Censorship: When Is It Warranted And Why?

New Post has been published on https://theprogressivemind.org/censorship-when-is-it-warranted-and-why/

Censorship: When Is It Warranted And Why?

Censorship was a big subject in George Orwell’s book, “1984”. At times, I feel like we are living in that kind of an era again. Was George Orwell giving us a warning about what would happen to us as our world began to become more connected?

I tend to err on the side of free speech.

When has the government crossed the line? Censorship is perhaps the most egregious violation of our founding principles.

Unfortunately, people in power don’t care about free speech. They trample all over our rights as a way to maintain control. The only problem that they have is that there are people like me. I speak up when my rights are taken away. Sadly, I am just one guy, so if you are reading this, I am depending upon you to share this information. Tell people what your government is doing to YOU. Do not let them be the arbiters of what can and cannot be said. It is that simple. That is why the First Amendment of our Constitution does not give any stipulation where free speech is not protected. Sure, you cannot yell “fire” in a crowded movie theater, but you get what I am saying.

First, I want to give you a back story to this. I will keep it short, because you may be reading this on your lunch break. After all, a half hour is not enough to digest an in depth piece about something as complex as this.

Censorship is the subject, but what is the excuse?

I never liked Donald Trump, but I felt that his time would pass and Americans would become wise to the con job he was performing on those that fell for his BS. My job as a butcher in Stewart Manor is just outside of the New York City limits. I started feeling symptoms of Covid19 on the 12th of March. It was mostly body aches. Not thinking much of it, believing it was just fatigue from working, I went shopping after work for some odds and ends.  I made it home that evening quite sore. My wife felt my head and knew I had a temperature. Covid19 was just starting to explode in New York and now I was sure that I was the next victim.

If we have not learned anything in our history, the one thing we should cherish is free speech. That allows us to call out our leadership for their handling of Covid19 and other crises. We live in tough times and having a right to speak up is our only way to insure that changes come.

That day would be my last day at work for five weeks. For the first two, I was very sick and the following three, recovering from 20 pounds of weight loss and weakness.

During the worst of it all, I had passed out in my bathroom and was unconscious for about a minute as my wife was yelling out my name. When I looked up, she had thought my eyes were turning grey as they often do as a person is dying. I came to and made it back to bed. That day was my wife’s birthday.

She spent two weeks putting a cold compress on me around the clock and trying really hard to keep me eating and drinking fluids. I did not even have the ability to move out of the bed for about three days straight during the worst of my illness.

Eventually, all started to turn for the better and I was getting ready to start to speak.

As I started to recover and get back to eating, I made a decision. Knowing that this pandemic could have been handled much better by the system, by our government and mostly, by the fascist himself, Donald Trump, I decided that I would have to write about my experience. I launched this blog with my first piece on April 16th. It was a trying time for me and I had a lot of resentment for the system that runs our country. My wife and I could not receive any support from the outside world other than moral support. We were on our own as if we had been abandoned. This blog fast became my outlet for my anger at a system that left all of us behind long before the virus ever came to our shores.

I am fairly certain that most of you who are reading this blog understand why the working class struggles in many ways. Covid19 hit the working class the hardest.  Our values are shot down by establishment members of both parties. Our wages, healthcare and equal pay for equal work are often under attack. Covid19 put me out of work for five weeks. I did not receive one penny of sick pay or any way to recover lost time. Thankfully, I have a wife who does very well, so we made it through this bad stretch without any financial problems.

Fast forwarding a few weeks, I was thumbing through Twitter, one of the organizations who would soon censor content.

I looked through my recommendations of people to follow and I followed an account named Peace Data. While viewing their profile, I clicked on their website link and saw articles about war crimes and human rights violations. I sent them a message telling them how good it was to see fellow writers challenging the system followed by a link to my blog. They reached out back to me and suggested that I start submitting content through their website. The communications were on and my first articles started going up. The first one that I submitted to them was called “The Military Industrial Complex  and The Working Class” followed by a piece outlining the environmental problems brought on by capitalism.

My pieces with this website, called Peace Data were often more in depth than what I would say on my blog. I felt that my blog was a place to be agitational and that Peace Data was trying to establish themselves as a quality place for independent media. I knew that they were foreign, saying that they were based in Germany. They were happy with the work I was sending them and about once every week, I would send another article for them to publish.

My portfolio of free speech kept on expanding through the pandemic.

By the time that the summer had arrived, I had almost a half a dozen pieces published on Peace Data. My blog was suffering a little bit as I took time to submit to them. I was ok with that as my word was spreading to more places on the Internet. It was refreshing that I was able to speak to someone from another part of the world who was able to understand in the moment what was going wrong with America.

FBI Director, Cristopher Wray laid the groundwork for First Amendment violations by establishing the Foreign Intelligence Task Force

I kept on communicating and submitting pieces.

Most of them were critical of the Trump administration, because he was in charge and failing us.

There was an occasional piece on the website ripping Biden and Harris, but it was not exactly hitting them hard. Most of the criticism on the site was about war and capitalism.

As the end of the summer neared, life took over a bit and writing took a back seat to spending time with my wife. Between work and time with my wife, I had little time to write. In addition to writing, I am currently studying to teach English as a second language as a fall back option when my body gives out and I can no longer do physical work. As I got back into writing and building my presence online,

I faced censorship.

Well, not me personally, but Peace Data was. At first, I did not know what to expect. Censorship was going to become a central theme in my life, even though I was not the owner of Peace Data. Facebook, Twitter and LinkedIn all deleted profiles and posts related to Peace Data. Every post that I made of an article on Peace Data had been removed by Facebook. They went after my content, even though they did not go after me. The censorship started from the FBI and went through social media and then the mainstream media and finally towards more independent media.

My wife paid attention to my emails for me while I was working, because she kept on top of things for me while writing for Peace Data. She was proud to see me, a working class man, building something in my life towards a less physically demanding path. That said, I started receiving messages on LinkedIn from news outlets. My wife would let me know about these during the day and I would handle them that night, once I was at home.

The FBI told the social media world to censor Peace Data.

As a rule of thumb, our government is not supposed to question free speech. So why did this happen here? What warranted this form of censorship? Is it ok for the federal government to just say that something online is divisive? When did the government get the power to come after free speech from overseas? Even worse, why are the major social networks going along with this? I personally believe that the next step was even worse. The mainstream media reported about this matter in a very irresponsible and amateur way. It is sad that as a butcher, a member of the working class and a college dropout that I can recognize lousy journalism.

CNN and Reuters were the first outlets to contact me. They wanted to have me give them all of the email addresses from PayPal senders compensating me for my work on Peace Data. The mainstream outlets did not want to hear about my story or my content. They all ran with the narrative that this site was a website designed to divide the left and hurt Joe Biden. There was absolutely no evidence that this was the case, yet they ran with it anyway.

CNN and other major outlets supported the mind controlling censoring of a small operation.

Even if they had evidence, they did not want to share it with me. In fact, they relied on a private intelligence firm to piece together forensics that identified the people at Peace Data as fake people who in reality did not exist.

My counter argument to that one is that if someone wants to say something that challenges power in a way that is dangerous to themselves, isn’t it safer to stay anonymous? After all, much of the content on the website, including writing of my own went after the military industrial complex which makes many people insanely wealthy while destroying the lives of millions of people around the world.

When major news outlets trot out a breaking news story, they often do not look at the circumstances surrounding the story. They put out the sensational story and hope that their prime audience will keep their butts molded to their reclining chairs and their eyes on their screens.

In this case, a CNN reporter reached out to me to communicate. He already had intended to run out with the story that he was told was the truth. I do not believe that he really investigated all angles of this story. He only wanted information about how I was paid for the articles that I had submitted. He never asked me one thing about my experience.

The same thing can be said about reporters from other mainstream media outlets. The Wall Street Journal, Reuters, CNN, NBC News and the New York Times all pushed out the same narrative.

This was a Russian trolling operation so the FBI deemed that it should be censored.

Why was this the case? The content didn’t match any of the claims made in the CNN reporter’s reporting. In fact, he stated that…

Intelligence officials told Congress earlier this summer that Russia was spreading false information about Biden. – CNN article.

The content on Peace Data did not show up as anything that would turn progressive voters against Biden. In fact, the fight between the factions of the Democratic party had already existed since long before Hillary Clinton ran for President. The FBI played up misinformation from Russia as an excuse to tell the social media outlets to shut down everything associated with Peace Data. In fact, in 2017, the FBI laid the groundwork to go after free speech.

They established what is called the Foreign Influence Task Force.

The main goal of this office is to go after free speech that challenges a narrative. I will remind you about the text of the First Amendment of our Constitution.

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

This is absolute. There is absolutely NO challenging this fact. The only reason that nobody has challenged this is that the narrative about Russian interference has been played. Most people who find an attack on free speech to be way BEYOND the pale. It offends most of us, including some of Donald Trump’s supporters.

In other words, the FBI can say that any foreign outlet who is critical of American foreign policy can be labeled by the FBI as a foreign influencer thus leading to social media outlets shutting down their pages, links and accounts of members associated with such organization. This means that people who want to expose war crimes around the world committed in OUR name run the risk of being shut up.

This is NOT a supporting piece favoring Russia, but it IS a piece favoring the right to speech, full stop.

So what did CNN want to report about? They and other mainstream outlets wanted to run with a story about Russian interference in our elections. Did they actually show any content that was damaging to Joe Biden as they stated Peace Data published? Did any other reporters? They did not, but they made that claim that they did. I will eat my words if they produce screenshots from Peace Data showing that other than one article soon after Biden announced his VP pick, Kamala Harris. I can recall only one article critical of the Biden/Harris ticket yet I can say that I saw many anti-Trump articles.

Is this an excuse to go after our freedom of speech? After all, speech is the one tool that people have to challenge power. I was fortunate enough to have conversations with reporters from three news outlets that decided that it was important to look further into the story instead of running with sensationalism. The first one was Jacob Silverman from Slate. He wrote ax excellent piece that explained different angles of this situation. https://slate.com/technology/2020/09/peace-data-russia-disinformation-facebook.html

I then spoke with a couple of reporters from ProPublica who weren’t convinced that this was a story that they were interested in pursuing.

A few days later, I had a meeting on Zoom with Jen Kirby, Foreign and National Security Reporter for VOX. We had a great conversation with a lot of hypotheticals and the philosophical angle to this story. Sure, her angle was supposed to be centered around national security which is ultimately was, but she gave credence to the idea that speech ought to be protected by sharing my views in her article. As seen in her article, the problem with the challenge is not that it was Russia creating the so called disinformation.

Kirby told her readers that MY opinion is that free speech is protected and the danger associated with leaving the power to regulate speech in the state. That shows that her mind was open to seeing the whole picture instead of what the mainstream media pushes out.  You can read her article here. —> https://www.vox.com/2020/9/21/21401149/russia-2020-election-meddling-trump-biden

So how was censorship used by the FBI?

That one is simple. Facebook, Twitter and LinkedIn are some of the most powerful business entities in the world. They cooperate with the most powerful government in the world as well. Originally, social media was meant to be a way for people to share anything and everything, a neutral bulletin board. Over the years, it evolved into a mesh of political ideologies challenging, bickering and in some cases, serving as an echo chamber for people of certain political leanings.

Many of your conspiracy theories that bounce around the web originate in a corner of the web. It is the right of individuals to spread false news. It is the right of the victim of fake news to sue for slander if they can trace the origins of the conspiracy. In fact, most of the conspiracies known today originate right here in America. Q’Anon started in America as we know and Alex Jones rambles all day long about conspiracies.

So why was a website with legitimate content targeted? One may never know. Perhaps there were things that were serious red flags, but did anyone from Peace Data commit a crime against America? I believe that the First Amendment vindicates them as they have a right to post whatever content online that they wish. Were they wrong to publish things that they published in some cases? Yes, probably so, but when does the FBI get to call out that speech when the Constitution is explicit about their lack of a right to take away speech.

One can argue that Facebook and Twitter are private companies with a right to censor.

I have been openly threatened with violence on Facebook. I have reported those comments to Facebook and their answer was that it did not violate any community standards. So, are articles critical of American foreign policy meddling? Is it meddling if someone in another country says something online like “I hope Trump loses and get thrown in jail for his crimes?” I can say it in America. It is MY right, but why isn’t it a right of someone else in another country, even if linked to a foreign government?

So if Facebook and the other social media giants out there resort to censorship on direction from the FBI, then is the FBI guilty of that censorship? One might argue that in a court room. I believe somebody should. Censorship of hate speech is one thing, if it is on social media and the private social media company pulls down the content for violations of their standards. On the other hand, if the FBI or any other federal agency does, it is an action taken to limit freedom of speech in violation of the First Amendment. 

Where do I go from here? We are headed into potentially dangerous times with a dangerous President in power and a stacked judiciary that does not care about the rule of law. The focus on what is called a 200 follower trolling outfit is a huge misuse of resources in our government, but it is also an effective way to stifle dissent.

If this emerges as a pattern and websites with opinion content start to show up and get taken down, our government has set a dangerous precedent. 

I want to invite you to fight against the power to censor content as much as possible.

We are all in this together. Sure, there is a lot of noise out there on the Internet. Conspiracy theories are everywhere. Jacob Silverman and Jen Kirby are both on your side in their reporting. They want you to get the facts and stay informed. They also have integrity and do not wish to push out a story like the broken mainstream media. The biggest media outlets have a strategy to keep you engaged so that their advertisers have as many eyes on their commercials as possible. The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal want you to thumb past full page ads. Major online outlets want you to go to their site and follow their clickbait.

Ultimately, all three forces, the government, social media and mainstream media all work together in many ways. It is the reason why you often hear millionaires tell you about what the problems are in the country through the lens of a billionaire. It is the reason why we need checks and balances to protect OUR freedoms. Speech is your only way that YOU can put a check on power. If your government is doing something that you do not like, you MUST speak up. You cannot allow the government to shut down content in any way without sharing the facts to you.

With that said, I ask the FBI to produce those facts to me. If they don’t, then Christopher Wray, a Trump appointee at the FBI is responsible for taking away my right, even if the place that I speak is considered by some to be a Russian troll farm. If I am in the dark on that, so be it, one should prove it. That includes the FBI, social media admins AND the mainstream media. Harm is done when voices are silenced without attention to facts.

You have a right to live a life free of censorship.

Finally, I might make another point. The way that you consume media is an important factor in shaping the direction of your country. If you stick to the corporate mainstream media as a way to get your information, I can promise you, the information that you will receive will be presented in a way that benefits the corporations. You can boost their ratings and thus boost their revenue, but that will not help you. If you go to a much more independent news source that goes in depth and breaks things down honestly like Kirby and like Silverman, you can rest assured that you found reliable information.

[ayma-nidiot]

In the White Light - Prideshipping fanfic Chapter 22

Also on AO3.

Author’s note: I know this is a weird time to mention this, but did I happen to mention the strong, frequent Fire Emblem influences throughout this fic yet? :3 For instance, the “ancient Egyptian” is just the backwards Japanese lyrics to FE songs that have lyrics.

Fire Emblem Fates is said to be the worst game in the series, but I quite like it. This fanfic might as well be considered a Yu-Gi-Oh/Fire Emblem Fates crossover. Overall, I love Yu-Gi-Oh to death, but Fire Emblem has been part of my life for over 17 years and will always be my number one fandom. I highly recommend the "newer" Fire Emblem games (Fates, Awakening, Echoes, and Three Houses).

Chapter 22 – Dawn Breaks

Yami Yugi waited for Mana and Kisara’s departure before saying anything. “Kaiba…”

“…Pharaoh.” At first, Kaiba didn’t mind the old rival’s tension that lingered in the air. But that feeling lasted only a few seconds before the KaibaCorp president approached Yami Yugi and hugged him.

“K-Kaiba… My love?”

At that moment, Kaiba dropped his tough demeanour, not giving two shits at the “Dweeb Patrol” that saw this side of him. “You know, ever since I started that duel with Bakura, I’ve realized something. I love you. I’ll never find another man like you, one who can match my skills and fulfill my every wish. If I can’t have you because we live in different times… If I have to go back to modern day Domino City without you, then… I would rather die alone.”

“Me too, Kaiba…” In between kisses, Yami Yugi spoke, “Just like in my past life, I refuse to find a queen if that queen isn’t you. I’ve sworn my heart to you ever since the events in Dartz’s lair.”

Kaiba now held the pharaoh by the shoulders and looked into his eyes. “So. What is this ‘information that you have learned today?’”

“I have finally learned what my real name is. I’ve finally learned the last piece of my forgotten memories. But now that our true enemy is vanquished, I’ve no need to use its true power.”

“Good.” Kaiba pulled Yami Yugi in again. “I think we’ve had enough ‘epic’ battles for one day.”

Just then, a voice with seemingly no source appeared. “That’s fine with me! It will make taking over all Egypt that much easier!”

“Oh, great,” Kaiba scoffed. “How many times do people have to die in this joint before they really die? Bakura.”

“Listen more closely, love. It sounds like the Bandit King, but his voice is warped. I mean, more than usual. In fact…” Yami Yugi gasped when he slowly started to realize just who it was that now stood before him. “…Zorc.”

“Pharaoh.” Zorc stared the couple down. “We meet again. Ah, if the Bandit King wasn’t dead because he sacrificed himself to revive me, then I’d thank him.”

“Tristan, don’t even make jokes about this guy’s penis again,” Joey spoke.

“Joey…” Kaiba had never addressed Joey by his first name before. Already half-shifted, he ordered, “All of you need to get the hell out of here!”

“No way, Kaiba! Don’t you remember how we all fought together on Atlantis?”

“No, Joey, he’s right,” added Yami Yugi. “I admire your courage, but this is not your fight. Go take the others where it is safe!”

“Pharaoh… Fine, then I trust you.” Joey summoned Red-Eyes Black Dragon, and everyone else quickly mounted it. “Hiyah!”

“How bold of you to think that just two puny humans could defeat the all-powerful Dark One Zorc! What makes you think this fight will be any different from the fights we’ve had in the past?”

“I’ll show you what I mean.” Yami Yugi closed his eyes. “Hear my name and tremble, Dark One! I am the son of Aknamkanon… Atem!”

Kaiba said nothing as a beam of light emitted from the man he loved, revealing a man with a gold crown, white tunic, and skin the colour of cinnamon. “Atem…” He loved the sound of the pharaoh’s name.

“Kaiba… There is only one way to defeat him. You must shapeshift while I weaken him with the Pharaoh’s Incantation.”

“No! What if you-”

“There is no time!” Atem yelled as hordes of zombies and mummies crept out of the dunes. Adding to the gravity of the task were the presence of golems, hurling rocks at Atem that he barely dodged in time. “I hate to sound like a broken record, but don’t forget our promises.”

“And ours!”

“Joey!” Kaiba turned around. “I thought I told you dweebs to flee.”

“See, here’s the thing you gotta learn about us friends, rich boy. We don’t concern ourselves with trivial things like ‘fleeing.’”

“And we don’t concern ourselves with trivial things like letting Joey Wheeler show us up!” Rex and Weevil spoke in unison, completely in human form now.

“You shouldn’t be out here either! Unless…”

“Y’all heal fast,” Joey finished Atem’s sentence. “Eh, must be a shapeshifter thing.”

“Truth be told, I’m still tired as hell from that last battle, so I can’t transform… But I can use this!” Rex summoned Serpent Night Dragon, and soon after, Weevil’s Metamorphosed Insect Queen followed.

“I am by your side too, my pharaoh,” Kisara joined in with her Blue-Eyes White Dragon.

“So am I!” Mana twirled her staves about. “This is for Master… I’ll show you all what he’s taught me!”

“I will use my cards for good this time,” spoke Marik. “You can count on it.”

“Everyone… Join me! And fight for the salvation of all Egypt!” Atem paused before beginning the Incantation. “Ukuyimusus ot e imay… Azuo on aukah anorustu…”

“My power is… fading… But why?” Zorc glared down at an unfazed Kaiba. “Priest Seto’s modern incarnation… It’s all your damned fault! I’ll kill you just like I’ve done in the past!”

The light from Kaiba’s transformation shone brighter than the sun directly above. “Zorc… I am going to destroy you once and for all!” he growled as he, with an energy beam at the ready, charged at the Dark One.

“Hah!” Nice try, you dumb dragon!” Despite his colossal size, Zorc could evade Kaiba’s attack just fine. He leapt from sand dune to sand dune like a hare while locking his spite-filled gaze on Kaiba.

Neither the constant need to take a deep breath nor the whiplash from the recoil after many shots stopped Kaiba from his attempt to kill the Dark One. “You get weaker and weaker! Is this seriously all you have after all these years?”

“Oh, quite the contrary, Kaiba.” Zorc smirked. “You haven’t seen the last of me yet! The powers of all that is unholy compel you!”

“Oooh. I’d be shaking in my boots, if I had any.” Kaiba attempted to shoot another Shining Neutron Blast at Zorc, but every time he did so, a fiend or some other appeared to take the hit instead. With each fiend destroyed, the cloud of sand whipped up even more. “See? I can fight like one of you shapeshifters now!”

“Don’t you dare put yourself on par with my kind, vermin!” Kaiba thundered, soaring into a lone cloud and firing a beam across the desert.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t,” Zorc admitted halfheartedly as he lured Kaiba farther from the dragon’s allies. “After all, I am superior to the likes of you!”

“You’re not going anywhere!” Kaiba, with a powerful gust underneath his wings, followed Zorc towards the villages. “Here? Does your wickedness know any bounds?”

“What’s the matter, dragon boy? Scared of harming this pathetic excuse of a country?” Zorc heckled as he demolished a few houses near Kaiba without remorse.

“If you hate it so much, then why do you live in it?” Kaiba returned the attack, narrowly avoiding destroying a stone building.

“Because it is my goal to rid this country – along with the rest of Earth – of all its life.” Spurring Kaiba to follow him to an especially poor village, Zorc aimed an attack there. “This village… It doesn’t need to exist. Don’t you agree?”

“Oh gods…” A butcher left his shop, staring at Zorc with chills across his body. “What is that thing?”

“No!” A baker, with a weak leg, from across the street clung to a nearby wooden post. “It’s an evil god! He’s going to destroy our village!”

“Don’t you dare, Zorc!” Kaiba warned through an expression full of hatred.

“Oh, yeah? What are you going to do to me? Use your self-destruction Shining Nova? I dare you to try! I am going to blast this puny village, and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

“Zorc, no!” Kaiba, ignoring the cruel whip of the wind on his face, tried to block the shots. But already had witnessed wood splinters and rubble of the village scattered where it once stood.

“Our… Our village…” The butcher, who along with his fellow villagers barely managed to escape the explosion, knelt on the sand and mourned as the splinters dug into his knees.

“It’s now a wasteland…” The baker and his wife held each other while they cried. “We need to get the survivors to the nearest medical ward! Maybe the palace…”

“Don’t think I’m going to let you live!” Zorc threatened, poised to shoot the village’s survivors down.

“Don’t think I am going to let you kill them!” Kaiba let loose a long beam that blocked Zorc’s shots.

“Out of my way!” Having lost interest in the villagers, Zorc returned to just outside the palace. He noticed that during the course of the battle, Rex and Atem had been separated from the rest of the army. “Pharaoh…”

“Argh…” Kaiba tolerated the fresh gash on his left temple and endeavoured to catch up with his opponent.

“Prepare to fall, pharaoh!”

As Zorc prepared another attack, Rex happened to notice the Dark One before Atem could turn around. Whilst running to protect the pharaoh, the dinosaur duelist yelled, “Atem! Look out!”

“Rabbit stew! Babe!” Kaiba didn’t care that the gash slowed him down, he tried his best to conjure up an attack of his own anyway.

Luckily, he wouldn’t have to, as a “new” ally came to Rex’s rescue, chanting, “Urataw imu on arozihsoh! Asabust ikaneragek!”

“Isis!” Atem beamed in relief at the sight of his High Priestess, whose incantation created a barrier. “Thank Ra that you’re okay! But Mahad… He-”

“I know, my king, I know… That is why I will fight alongside you and protect you.” Isis looked up to Kaiba, who had just arrived at the scene. “And you as well, Kaiba.”

“Ishizu… No, Isis.” Kaiba turned his attention back to Zorc. “Let me handle this dirtbag.”

“Grr! Why do you care so much about the people of this country?” Zorc temporarily ceased fire. “Are you not the president of a modern corporation who rejects all ‘occult nonsense?’ What is the point of doing it all if you’re destined to return to your own time anyway?”

“I just want to prove how much better I am than you, that’s all. And… I want to leave behind a peaceful world for the man I love.”

“A man of few words, I see.” Zorc generated a rope of thick shadows from his hands. “The only thing you’ll be leaving behind, however, is your corpse when I unleash this attack upon you.”

“Of what do you speak, fool?”

“Oh, you’ll see soon enough.” The rope of shadows danced about the desert, clearing the dunes in its path. “And now, be prepared to taste the power of the darkness of people’s hearts of the past five thousand years!”

“That’s a few too many ‘of’s’ for my lik-”

For a short while, Kaiba held his position firmly, ready to give his life to protect Egypt. The shadows abruptly emerged from the dunes, catching him off guard and hitting him square in the chest. As quickly as a peregrine falcon, the dragon dove headfirst into the sand dune below, too weak to hold onto his dragon form.

“K-Kaiba! No!!” Atem shrieked, beginning to panic.

“Red-Eyes! Take us to where Kaiba just fell!” Joey ordered as the others followed.

“Hehehe…” Zorc didn’t intervene. “It’ll be fun watching Kaiba slowly die before the lot of you dies!”

“Do you see him anywhere?” Atem asked.

“Not yet, milord,” Isis replied as she helped her pharaoh survey the area.

“What if he…”

“Atem! Over here!” Marik alerted, having spotted tufts of chestnut hair barely sticking out from the sand.

“If he’s buried that deep, then…” Atem frantically started digging as he feared Kaiba’s fate even more. The sight of his beloved’s mutilated body shattered his heart. “Oh… no… Kaiba!”

“What awful wounds…” Weevil gaped, covering his mouth with his hands.

“Kaiba… Kaiba, can you hear me?” Atem picked Kaiba up, attempting to slap him awake. “My… My love… Please, open your eyes…”

“Pharaoh…” spoke Joey. “Kaiba is…”

[hagatha-christie]

1. Driving west at sunset in the summer: blinded by the sun, you cannot see the cars ahead; the ugly warehouses and body shops are blazing orange. When the sun sets, everything becomes deeper: the brick facades acquire a bluish hue; there are charcoal smudges of darkness on the horizon. The sky and the city look endless. West is everywhere you look. 2. The way people in the winter huddle together under the warming lights of the Granville El stop, much like young chickens under a lightbulb. It is an image of human solidarity enforced by the cruelty of nature, the story of Chicago and of civilization. 3. The American vastness of the Wilson Street beach, gulls and kites coasting above it, dogs sprinting along the jagged waves, barking into the void, city kids doing homemade drugs, blind to the distant ships on their mysterious ways from Liverpool, England, to Gary, Indiana. 4. Early September anyplace in the city, when the sunlight angles have abruptly changed and everything and everyone appears better, all the edges softened; the torments of the hot summer are now over, the cold torments of the winter have not begun, and people bask in the perishable possibility of a kind and gentle city. 5. The basketball court at Foster Street beach, where I once watched an impressively sculpted guy play a whole game—dribbling, shooting, arguing, dunking—with a toothpick in his mouth, taking it out only to spit. For many years he was to me the hero of Chicago cool. 6. The tall ice ranges along the shore when the winter is exceptionally cold and the lake frozen for a while, so ice pushes ice against the land. One freezing day I stood there in awe, realizing that the process exactly replicates the way mountain ranges were formed hundreds of millions of years ago, tectonic plates pushing against each other. The primeval shapes are visible to every cranky driver plowing through the Lake Shore Drive mess, but most of them look ahead and couldn’t care less. 7. Looking directly west at night from any Edgewater or Rogers Park high-rise; airplanes hover and glimmer above O’Hare. Once, my visiting mother and I spent an entire evening sitting in the dark, listening to Frank Sinatra, watching the planes, which resembled stunned fireflies, transfixed with the continuous wonder that this world is. 8. The blessed scarcity of celebrities in Chicago, most of whom are overpaid athlete losers. Oprah, one of the Friends, and many other people whose names I never knew or now cannot recall have all left for New York or Hollywood or rehab, where they can wear the false badge of their humble Chicago roots, while we can claim them without actually being responsible for the vacuity of their front-page lives. 9. The Hyde Park parakeets, miraculously surviving brutal winters, a colorful example of life that adamantly refuses to perish, of the kind of instinct that has made Chicago harsh and great. I actually have never seen one: the possibility that they are made up makes the whole thing even better. 10. The downtown skyline at night as seen from the Adler Planetarium: lit windows within the dark building frames against the darker sky. It seems that stars have been squared and pasted on the thick wall of a Chicago night; the cold, inhuman beauty containing the enormity of life, each window a possible story, inside which an immigrant is putting in a late shift cleaning corporate trash. 11. The green-gray color of the barely foaming lake when the winds are northwesterly and the sky is chilly. 12. The summer days, long and humid, when the streets seem waxed with sweat; when the air is as thick and warm as honey-sweetened tea; when the beaches are full of families: fathers barbecuing, mothers sunbathing, children approaching hypothermia in the lake’s shallows. Then a wave of frigid air sweeps the parks, a diluvial shower soaks every living creature, and someone, somewhere loses power. (Never trust a summer day in Chicago.) 13. The highly muggable suburbanites patrolling Michigan Avenue, identifiable by their Hard Rock Café shirts, oblivious to the city beyond the shopping and entertainment areas; the tourists on an architectural speedboat tour looking up at the steep buildings like pirates ready to plunder; the bridges’ halves symmetrically erected like jousting pricks; the street performer in front of the Wrigley Building performing “Killing Me Softly” on the tuba. 14. The fact that every year in March, the Cubs fans start saying: “This year might be it!”—a delusion betrayed as such by the time summer arrives, when the Cubs traditionally lose even a mathematical possibility of making it to the play-offs. The hopeless hope is one of the early harbingers of spring, bespeaking an innocent belief that the world might right its wrongs and reverse its curses simply because the trees are coming into leaf. 15. A warm February day when everyone present at my butcher shop discussed the distinct possibility of a perfect snowstorm and, in turn, remembered the great snowstorm of 1967: cars abandoned and buried in the snow on Lake Shore Drive; people trudging home from work through the blizzard like refugees; the snow on your street up to the milk truck’s mirrors. There are a lot of disasters in the city’s memory, which result in a strangely euphoric nostalgia, somehow akin to a Chicagoan’s respect for and pride in “those four-mansion crooks who risk their lives in crimes of high visibility” (Bellow). 16. Pakistani and Indian families strolling solemnly up and down Devon on summer evenings; Russian Jewish senior couples clustering on Uptown benches, warbling gossip in soft consonants against the blare of obsolete transistor radios; Mexican families in Pilsen crowding Nuevo Leon for Sunday breakfast; African American families gloriously dressed for church, waiting for a table in the Hyde Park Dixie Kitchen; Somali refugees playing soccer in sandals on the Senn High School pitch; young Bucktown mothers carrying yoga mats on their back like bazookas; the enormous amount of daily life in this city, much of it worth a story or two. 17. A river of red and a river of white flowing in opposite directions on Lake Shore Drive, as seen from Montrose Harbor at night. 18. The wind: the sailboats in Grant Park Harbor bobbing on the water, the mast wires hysterically clucking; the Buckingham Fountain’s upward stream turned into a water plume; the windows of downtown buildings shaking and thumping; people walking down Michigan Avenue with their heads retracted between their shoulders; my street completely deserted except for a bundled-up mailman and a plastic bag fluttering in the barren tree-crown like a torn flag. 19. The stately Beverly mansions; the bleak Pullman row houses; the frigid buildings of the LaSalle Street canyon; the garish beauty of old downtown hotels; the stern arrogance of the Sears Tower and the Hancock Center; the quaint Edgewater houses; the sadness of the West Side; the decrepit grandeur of the Uptown theaters and hotels; the Northwest side warehouses and body shops; thousands of empty lots and vanished buildings no one pays any attention to and no one will ever remember. Every building tells part of the story of the city. Only the city knows the whole story. 20. If Chicago was good enough for Studs Terkel to spend a lifetime in, it is good enough for me.

“Reasons Why I Do Not Wish to Leave Chicago: An Incomplete, Random List“ from The Book of My Lives, Aleksander Hemon

[thisbookisaboutmonsters]

Sigi, pt 3

introducing.... ROBERT~ he’s a decent guy and all but his choice of occupation is going to provide a few headaches for sigi and i can’t wait. c:

if you enjoy, please leave me feedback! feel free to share as well!

Horrible. It’s the only word Sigi can think of right now. He turns it over in his mind as though he’s never really studied it before: horrible. Horrible. Horrible. It starts to sound less and less like a real word, but the feeling of dread in his stomach is no less powerful.

“Sigi?” Johannes has been watching him for the past minute or so, trying to get his attention. “Sigi…” He turns away from Sigi to face their professor standing just inside the doorway to his home. “He’s just as shocked as I am, sir. We all are. Poor little Jan…”

Sigi’s stomach churns as they’re invited inside, both from horror and— even more upsetting— from hunger. The bloodless body of the small child he’d chewed on two days prior is lying on a table, there for people to mourn and pay their respects. The woman seated on the chair in the corner, sobbing softly by herself, must be the mother.

Sigi steps closer with Johannes. Their professor is speaking, mentioning where they found the body, but Sigi already knows exactly where they found it.

While Johannes offers his condolences to the distraught family Sigi leans around the table to get a glimpse of the mess he left of the child’s neck. It’s very clear what killed him, he realizes, and he feels his stomach clench again with that horrible mix of guilt and overwhelming hunger. He didn’t expect to have to look at this child again.

He’s brought out of his stupor when he hears the professor say it: a hunting dog. They were going to look for the sick animal and kill it before it could attack anyone else.

“By the look of the mess, it could be any one of the lord’s dogs. We haven’t had wolves here for years.”

Sigi steps outside quickly, muttering condolences as he leaves, eager to get out of that house before his guilt stops being mistaken for sympathetic shock. He’s shaking out on the streets when Johannes finds him, leaning against a wall and ignoring the people who look at him.

“That poor boy,” Johannes whispers, “He just left the market and…”

Sigi has to bite his lip to distract himself from the smell of the boy, still very present inside that house. It doesn’t smell at all like decomposition to Sigi; it only reminds him of how good his blood tasted.

“Sigi? Are you still unwell?” Johannes reaches up to hold his friend’s shoulder. “You’ve been pale lately.”

Johannes’s hand feels hot through Sigi’s clothing. Sigi doesn’t feel cold, but he notices how warm Johannes is now. He can't stop noticing it, like how he can taste Johannes’s breath whenever he speaks. “I’m hungry. That’s all.”

Johannes is visibly taken aback. “Hungry? After… that?”

Sigi pushes off the wall and walks away. “I’ll see you later.”

“Where are you going? We’ve food at home!”

Sigi ignores him, walks faster when he hears Johannes trying to follow. He’d always had longer legs, and he loses Johannes as soon as his friend gives up. He can’t let Johannes know where he’s going.

He spends the rest of the day traveling as far out of town as he can get before he’s in pain from hunger. He doesn’t come home until hours past midnight, sated, filthy, wide-awake and distraught. When he slides into bed Johannes sleepily rolls over to hold him, and Sigi curls into his warmth and does not sleep.

*

Robert hadn’t gone into hunting because he liked it. There wasn’t much to enjoy about a job like this, and the only hunting experience he had prior to this very particular game was hunting deer in his childhood. No, this was dangerous (some would even argue unnecessary) compared to hunting in order to put food on the table, or even for sport.

This was hunting to keep people safe.

He hated hunting the old ones, but you couldn’t really put it off when you found another one; the longer you waited, the more people you were endangering. At least the old ones tried to be subtle, and smart, and could wait between victims. The young ones were the most needlessly violent.

Both young and old were terrible when they were cornered. It wasn’t really a matter of which was easier to get rid of.

But oh, he hated hunting the old ones. The best approach, or at least the approach Robert vastly preferred, was an ambush. A sneak attack. Sniper shot.

A stake in the heart would work, if you knew where to aim, but that was tough. You had to get in close, and that was probably the stupidest thing you could do. You also needed a lot of upper body strength and fucking ridiculous reflexes. Robert stayed in shape mostly for being able to get away when he mucked things up, and he knew from experience that a stake through the heart was impractical. Pushing forty, he was no Olympian.

Robert had some compromises, to spare himself some grief, extend his lifespan. After all, food chains were food chains, and everything deserved a shot at existing— he tried to do a background check before finalizing the next target. He’d found a few who lived in rural areas and stuck to farm animals; some even raised their own cattle and left people alone. Others still made a point to work in morgues; fresh blood was apparently not mandatory.

He was wary when Sigi was first brought to his attention. He didn’t really care for pop culture so he was behind the times with most celebrities; it was his thirteen-year-old niece who showed him who Sigi was. After he’d dared commit the crime of confessing he had no idea who that was, and after she’d gasped and demanded how he couldn’t know, she showed him some magazine articles and bragged about the lipstick she owned. Apparently this Sigi was… well. Famous, for some reason. Robert just assumed Sigi was a makeup brand, but Sigi was a person.

The photos weren’t that alarming because, being in a fashion magazine, Robert assumed airbrushing and lighting did all the work. He didn’t think about Sigi until a week later, when he heard that name again in a documentary playing on television while he cooked dinner. Struck by hearing the same name so soon, after never hearing it before, he leaned into the living room to watch. This Sigi was narrating a documentary on the history of modern scientific thought, talking about the standardization of the meter and other things Robert had never really wondered about. Curious, Robert used his phone to look up the documentary, to find the narrator’s name, and then was interested to see it was the same Sigi responsible for his niece’s lipstick collection.

That led to a brief internet spiral while he finished cooking, in which he checked Wikipedia and news stories, and pictures— candid as well as professionally done— and before he knew it he felt like he couldn’t even think of food. He found himself leaning on the countertop beside the stove, deep in his phone, staring intently at every picture of this Sigi person and unable to look away.

This was not something common to vampires, at least not in static photos. It struck Robert however that any Youtube results for Sigi brought absolutely no moving images over five seconds long. Sigi visibly disliked being filmed, although he had no trouble offering his voice to— Robert checked Wikipedia again— documentaries, movies, video games, audio books, or interviews.

He’d write it off as eccentricity if he didn’t feel the need to stare at every picture he could find of Sigi, including those short video clips. Sigi… didn’t seem to look right in videos. Which was odd.

Robert tried to go back to his meal, now getting cold on the stove, but he’d lost his appetite. Sigi had ruined his appetite somehow.

It came to him about an hour later, while he was avoiding his phone and ignoring the television, trying to clean his gear before he sat down to do a little editing for his day job. A feeling of dread had settled over him since he’d looked Sigi up online, and he still couldn’t fully explain why looking at Sigi in pictures was somehow horrifying, but he watched the video clips again and came to the decision that he had another background he should check soon.

This would be the first time he’d had to figure out a celebrity target. It would take longer to get the information he needed to make his final decision. Maybe Sigi was just weird. Maybe he was a weird but perfectly normal human. Or maybe he wasn’t a perfectly normal human but he stuck to a strictly small-vermin-and-cattle diet. Either way, Robert had to be extra careful and extra sure if he was going to even consider hunting someone in the public eye like this.

He sort of hated his job.

He worked around his daytime-job-as-editor schedule to make trips to the city Sigi usually lived in. At least as an editor he could get into publishing shindigs if he pulled a few strings, and Sigi worked with a lot of magazines. After getting a temporary spot in a hotel, Robert spent his days trying to figure out some part of Sigi’s schedule and his nights trying to sneak ever closer for a glimpse. He’d make a decent stalker if he were any less morally strict.

Part of his hunting, once he got close enough, involved having to hide his face and hide his scent. There were ways to cover enough of his scent that a potential predator wouldn’t recognize him if he was always around, and then suddenly, inexplicably nearby on a dark night in an abandoned street. Robert wore essential oils, a different one every day he knew he’d be near enough for Sigi to possibly spot him, and on some days he covered his torso with unsavoury things like old blood from a butcher’s shop or, on the worst days, cooled bacon grease. He hated being near potential vampires smelling like a BLT but they didn’t care as much for meat as they did fresh, hot blood.

He tried to stick to essential oils for the most part, but they got costly.

He didn’t have to start coating himself in a different stink for a little while, able to observe from a greater distance, but once he started trying to keep track of everyone Sigi went on a date with he started to worry and move in closer. They didn’t seem to all… go home. Most did. It was hard to spot at first. But nearly one in twelve people didn’t leave Sigi’s house after they followed him home from a party. Every twelve dates, somebody vanished.

The longer Robert waited, the more people would mysteriously disappear.

He was careful to make sure, of course, but after he watched twenty-eight different people go home with Sigi and two didn’t leave the house again with Robert watching well into the next day, until Sigi left by himself… Robert had to resign himself to the fact that he was going to get much closer to Sigi now.

A few more strings pulled and suddenly Robert was editing for magazines that liked to cover Sigi’s body of work, whether it was makeup or fashion or art curation or scientific studies. (How on Earth did anyone have so many fingers in so many different fields? Robert had maybe one half of a hobby and Sigi was the Renaissance.) Eventually, someday soon, Robert was going to have to meet the guy face-to-face.

His chance finally came when he got to attend an open lecture at a university, with Sigi as the guest specialist. Sigi was giving a lecture to grad students and Robert was left stupefied just listening to the whole thing. With the documentary narration and audio books, Sigi was likely to have a script; during the lecture he did not hold any notes at all. He instructed everyone present on a very specific period in early modern military history and even answered questions at the end, no script, no notes, nothing. Robert even learned some things about military history that he didn’t have much use for.

Since he was going to edit the brief article about Sigi’s lecture today, Robert was able to get close enough to thank Sigi for the opportunity. Close up, Sigi was the single most alarming being Robert had ever had to address.

He was courteous. He was well-spoken. He was a gracious guest and delighted to meet anyone who’d enjoyed the lecture. He shook Robert’s hand. Robert was petrified the entire time, unable to string two words together without feeling his innards all clench up.

Looking at Sigi in person, having him look at you and speak directly to you, was… horrifying. Robert had survived vampire attacks, had hunted and killed some pretty vicious predators, and he had never been as unsettled as he had when getting to meet Sigi. He couldn’t explain how, exactly; his voice was very soothing, as inviting as a voice could be, and if Robert could look away at all without seeming entirely rude he could probably even relax.

Sigi smiled, interrupting himself, and instead said to Robert, “You seem overwhelmed. Is there anything I can do?”

Oh, God, when he smiled it was even worse. Robert nearly vomited, so shocked by the sight of it that he almost didn’t know how to speak for a moment. He wasn’t starstruck. He didn’t care for celebrities at all— once he’d met his favourite author and was able to have a perfectly civil, levelheaded conversation with her. He wasn’t even interested in Sigi’s work, he wasn’t a fan… This wasn’t jitters, this was raw animal terror and unspeakable, indescribable horror given a pretty face and a handsome voice.

“Sorry, you…” Robert decided he couldn’t hide it at all even if Sigi hadn’t made note of it. Might as well play along. “I wasn’t ready to meet you in person. And you gave such a wonderful lecture.”

“Thank you. I’m very lucky the university will have me. You have an interest in the subject?”

Sigi wasn’t dressed the way he was in the fashion spreads or on the red carpet, just a tie and dress shirt under a simple sweater, brown leather Oxfords— he was dressed more like an academic today, and he was still somehow radiant. Robert had always been mystified by makeup that didn’t intend to look halfway natural and Sigi’s red lips were no exception.

Sigi smiled again, making Robert feel more ill. “You’re staring at my mouth,” Sigi noted calmly, no quieter than before.

Robert jolted with alarm. “Sorry. My… my niece wears your lipstick. She’s a fan; she actually had to tell me who you were.”

Sigi’s smile broadened. “Ooh. You must live in the woods,” he remarked, as though he envied Robert.

Robert was trying very hard to remind himself that he couldn’t start to like Sigi even the tiniest bit if he was going to have to kill him. “Not anymore, I’m just hopeless.” He tried to duck out courteously, gesturing around the room at the bustling faculty and students. “I won’t take up any more of your time, but thanks so much. It was a pleasure.”

Sigi shook his hand again. “Likewise. You should attend the lecture next month.”

Robert nodded, made his way outside, and promptly dry-heaved over a bush behind the lecture hall.

He didn’t hate Sigi, and that was probably the most alarming part of all. He was scary as all hell but he wasn’t trying to be; Robert had met plenty of people through his day job and few had even tried to be as warm as Sigi had been.

It was his face, Robert realized, thinking about it on the way back to his hotel room; Sigi’s face was so perfect, so astoundingly beautiful, that it totally fucked with your eyes. It threw off your balance and made you almost motion sick. This wasn’t a thing Robert had noticed with other vampires; this seemed to be particular only to Sigi. He’d heard of the uncanny valley— this was an uncanny deep sea trench. People weren’t meant to see faces that perfect.

Upon further reflection, Robert couldn’t figure out why he thought of Sigi’s face that way. He wasn’t even what Robert found most attractive, superficially. But something about him forced Robert to know, beyond a doubt, that Sigi was so beautiful, so utterly perfect, that he was beyond description. It wasn’t Robert’s personal preference; it was a fact. It was awful to look at.

Once Robert felt well enough to take the bus back to his hotel, he spent the next hour or so trying to get more background information on Sigi. He should have guessed he’d come up with very little; ten minutes into his research he was digging through blogs that seemed devoted to guessing things about Sigi. All people knew for sure was that he was ‘probably from Germany’, but even that was contested in the comment sections on Youtube. Apparent linguists online would get angry enough to remark on how Sigi’s accent was not the typical German accent from any part of the country, so he had to be faking it. Native German speakers would be a bit more optimistic, but still confused.

Sigi did not give people concrete information about himself, it would seem. Nobody really knew how old he was or when his birthday might be, people couldn’t confirm where he was from, and although it was clear that Sigi was well-educated it was hard to find a full list of which schools he had attended. People online argued about that, too.

Just looking at the list of documentaries Sigi had narrated on Wikipedia, Robert felt intimidated. Did Sigi have any level of expertise in all of these subjects? Robert didn’t even care about all these subjects and yet he felt woefully inadequate for about half an hour, before he decided he was just tired and shaken up from having to meet Sigi in person. He went to bed early that night.

A lack of background information at this point was getting more and more suspicious. Robert started trying to dig up anything he could get on Stefan, Sigi’s personal assistant. The guy didn’t hold interviews or anything, but he was usually at Sigi’s side during public appearances. Throughout the entire lecture Robert could see him standing by the door, holding Sigi’s phone and looking vaguely unhappy.

Stefan didn’t seem to do much for Sigi apart from hold his phone and his coat. He had no history with other secretarial positions, didn’t seem comfortable with half of the events Sigi went to, and if there wasn’t proof of Sigi flat-out refusing the idea that Stefan was actually his boyfriend Robert would have to assume that was the only reason Sigi had given him that job. Although… thinking back on it, Sigi had visibly ignored Stefan the whole time Robert was at the lecture hall, before and after the lecture itself; Sigi also never seemed to speak to Stefan in public. He kept the guy close but he ignored him. Stefan didn’t try to talk to him, either. They just seemed to barely put up with one another.

Robert didn’t immediately think Stefan might be a thrall, but he looked through all the candid pictures online where Stefan was visible off to the side until he found three in which a neck injury or a bruise were in evidence. Stefan might be a thrall. That might be the only thing keeping him near Sigi. But thralls were usually completely brain-dead until they got near people, which was when they started acting like rabid dogs, no matter how loyal they were to their vampires. Stefan was always in public with Sigi and seemed to be mostly normal, if a little anxious.

Robert pulled some strings again; he was going to attend two more magazine shindigs soon, one to give him one last chance to meet Sigi in person, and one to make his move. If Sigi proved a lost cause at the first event, then Robert didn’t have to attend the second one. He hoped he was wrong about all this and Sigi was just a weird European celebrity and Stefan was just a terrible secretary.

He dreaded being caught. Not because of getting arrested, but because… Sigi had a lot of fans.

A lot of fans.

If Robert had to kill Sigi he was going to disappoint quite a lot of people. Possibly ruin a few jobs, given how busy the guy was.

But Robert didn’t do this for the glory or the gratitude or the fun. There was no glory, rarely any gratitude, and he definitely didn’t have any fun doing it. He did this because he couldn’t sleep at night just ignoring them. He kept thinking about the people who didn’t ever walk back out of Sigi’s home.

The first shindig was a pretty fancy one. Robert had to rent a tuxedo, although he resisted the brief impulse to get a haircut. He wasn’t trying to impress anyone; he just didn’t want to stand out. And he was on a budget— he was running low on peppermint oil.

Robert was tempted to get drunk at the bar before he talked to Sigi again. He approached, ready to order two of the most potent drinks and knock them back immediately, then paused when he noticed Stefan wandering closer to the bar. He slowed down to let Stefan grab the bartender’s attention first. Stefan ordered something for himself, nothing for Sigi, and drank it right there.

It would probably be too obvious if he tried to talk to Stefan. Robert wasn’t real good at socializing, he hated parties, and he’d always be the guy to leave early. He watched as Stefan walked away, looking sullen as ever, completely ignoring Sigi and apparently only there to hold Sigi’s phone.

Robert waited just long enough to swallow two glasses of fruity, sweet cocktails before the liquid courage kicked in. Then he mingled.

It was never hard to find Sigi at these events. People flocked to him, and although his behaviour was always subdued, downright demure, he didn’t really have to work to grab anyone’s attention, either. Robert found him because he just looked for where the crowd was thickest.

Sigi was sitting on a love seat along the far wall, facing somebody seated in the adjacent armchair, holding conversation with a small group. Robert was surprised to see he was holding a glass of something— red, yes, but not that particular shade. He was about to suspect the glass was a bluff, a prop, until Sigi actually lifted it to his beautiful red mouth and drank.

Out of nowhere, Robert had the sudden thought: Please, God, don’t let him actually be a serial killer. Not that the alternative was very attractive, either.

Robert made small talk with someone nearby and worked his way slowly closer to the seating arrangements. He felt like he was trying to sneak closer to a python and desperately hoping it wouldn’t notice.

“Robert, was it?”

It was just his luck that the small group around Sigi had mostly dispersed when he finally got close enough, so Sigi noticed him immediately. Robert prepared himself for the sick feeling to kick in as he moved to make eye contact.

He had just enough time to register that Sigi was dressed significantly less like an academic tonight before Sigi unfolded himself gracefully from the love seat and stood.

“Yeh— hesss,” Robert’s reply came out in a feeble hiss like the air being let out of a punctured tire. Sigi wore heels tonight. He was already taller than Robert; because of the heels he had to crane his neck to avoid staring directly into Sigi’s chest, and Robert was a big guy. “Sigi, right?” he cracked pitifully, taking the manicured hand Sigi offered and finding himself shocked at the strength of the guy’s grip.

Sigi smiled— a faint one, but no less alarming to watch. “I’m flattered you recognized me. You’re a long way from the university.”

“Oh, I freelance for magazines. I was in town for family and I got roped into covering the event.”

“Your magazine pool sounds very diverse.”

Instead of addressing that, Robert said, letting his genuine surprise show, “I can’t believe you remembered me.”

“Public relations is what I do. Where would I be without that?” Sigi asked, before sipping his drink again.

That’s right. Robert glanced briefly at the glass to confirm that it wasn’t thick enough to be… damn it, that looked like pink champagne. “Well, isn’t that what you have your… guy for?”

Although Sigi had been pointedly spending time with anyone but Stefan so far, his eyes went directly over to the corner in which his assistant currently sulked. “In theory,” he said, as he returned swiftly to ignoring Stefan.

Robert didn’t feel like he was boring Sigi, but he wouldn’t be shocked if he was. “Well… I need to go find my date…”

Sigi’s smile widened. Robert noticed for the first time that his eyelashes were nearly white. “You’re lying to me, you fiendish thing.”

Robert felt his heart stop beating. His entire body reacted. “Sorry?” he wheezed, trying to laugh but finding he’d forgotten how.

Sigi coyly finished his drink. “I saw, you came here alone. No shame in that, of course.”

Robert tried not to seem as relieved as he was. He could force out that laugh now, although it troubled him to think Sigi might be flirting with him. Even more disturbing was the idea that Sigi had noticed him upon arrival. He’d known Robert was here this whole time. “Ah, you caught me. I was feeling awkward after Franklin over there introduced me to his date. I think she’s a model,” he added. He’d overheard Franklin’s friend tell him earlier, exasperated, that nobody cared what his date did, and could he please stop bragging?

Sigi chuckled. “Oh yes, Franklin. Great photographer, terrible braggart.”

Robert was starting to get dizzy looking up at Sigi and watching the red sequins of his outfit flash in the dim light of the room. Somehow he made a dignified escape and mingled a bit more.

Somehow he wound up near Sigi again later, despite his best efforts not to look like he was here to spy on the guy. Sigi didn’t seem to find it odd that Robert kept bumping into him, and by the time Robert was finally able to leave he’d almost gotten Robert to feel comfortable near him, if only by sheer force of courtesy.

Mysterious drinks aside, Sigi wasn’t the only person avoiding the hors d’oeuvres, so that couldn’t be taken too seriously. But after a little while Robert noticed that people seemed to actually stop talking when Sigi spoke up— not entirely, but the general volume consistently dropped every time Sigi said anything. Anything. And Robert found himself eager to seek out Sigi by the end of the night, after talking to him thrice, feeling as if he’d found something interesting he wanted to tell Sigi—

That was what made up his mind. He was going to have to move in fast at the next event.

He still felt that eager-excited puppy-love as he drove back to his hotel in his rented car. Sigi had done nothing, really, to justify Robert feeling like he’d just asked the most popular girl in school to the dance and she’d said yes. Sigi was polite, casually flirtatious at times, but he had done nothing to single Robert out. It had still taken Robert four real attempts before he could actually leave.

Old vampires were very, very good at enthralling a roomful of people. True, Sigi had the added advantage of his shocking beauty, but Robert was almost too afraid to look at him head-on and he was still feeling that feeling two hours after he’d left the party.

And it wasn’t as though he looked forward to having to snipe someone, so that wasn’t it.

He had one week to stock up on the right oils and clean his gear. He got started immediately, as soon as he stripped out of his tuxedo and got into a housecoat, to help get rid of that puppy-love feeling a little bit faster. Harder to feel smitten when you were planning an assassination.

Despite his dread for the upcoming event, the week flew by. Robert suddenly found himself re-packing his hunting gear, checking over the necessities, checking the essential oils, double- and triple-checking the cleanliness of his weapon. He wasn’t going to get in close; that was a rookie mistake and usually impractical. If he could snipe his target from a distance, that would be best. Fewer people would suffer. Robert stood less chance of being arrested, too.

In Robert’s varied experience, the only things that really killed a vampire were decapitation and a well-aimed hole in the heart. Sometimes decapitation wasn’t fully reliable; a vampire already in panic mode could manage headless long enough to cause some real damage. But getting the heart always worked.

A wooden stake would do it, sure, and Robert had figured out a while ago that the denser the wood the better the attack. Metal piercing the heart didn’t work as reliably as, say, ebony, which was something Robert knew from harrowing experience but couldn’t explain. So he had his bullets made custom out of ebony.

The gun was technically a custom job, too; after a lot of help from the one weird redneck cousin Robert had in his extended family, Robert had made a gun that worked at medium range and wouldn’t totally destroy dense wood bullets upon firing them. It was technically a sniper rifle, but he couldn’t shoot from too far off. Tragically, this meant he’d have to get relatively close to his target if he wanted this to work. No distant rooftops tonight.

And so there he was, lurking in the underground parking lot underneath the event taking place upstairs, having doused himself in way too much peppermint oil, kind of burning from the oil and the adrenaline. It took him forty-six minutes to locate Sigi’s car; it was another party for wealthy guests, people in entertainment. Everyone had an expensive car. Sigi’s car didn’t stand out here, unlike its owner.

He waited between a support pillar and a raised curb on the corner, between the floors in the lot, and watched Sigi’s car intently. Anyone who walked past his hiding spot didn’t notice him, hidden as he was beneath a dusty grey tarp; he looked like a pile of construction junk. He smelled ridiculous, too; the peppermint was so strong that he might actually pass for real trash, too much for anyone to really want to investigate.

His heart was pounding in his ears for the first twenty minutes of his vigil. The party was well underway; he saw very few people leave the doors at the far end of the lot, and hardly anyone came halfway to his hiding spot. Most of the people he spotted were obviously drunk, or else high on something, or just too preoccupied to even care if Robert were to stand up, wave his rifle over his head, and yawn real loud. He wanted to, so badly, but instead of standing he worked on methodically flexing the muscles in his legs to keep them from falling asleep.

He didn’t expect to see Sigi until the event was over, but fifty-seven minutes after he found his hiding place, still slowly flexing muscles one at a time to keep himself from getting stuck in position, he got his chance. Sigi himself stepped out of the door to the parking garage, alone. As always, even from a distance it was easy to tell it was him. Much taller than average, long near-white hair tumbling over his shoulders to bounce with every step, heels clicking on the pavement.

Robert was suddenly calm, at peace. All his nerves were forgotten as he focused entirely on the rhythm of Sigi’s step as he approached, aiming carefully for the chest, watching him as he came within range.

Robert watched Sigi’s face through the gun’s scope and was intrigued by the utter lack of any kind of expression. Sigi didn’t even look as if he was deep in thought; he was only walking, doing nothing else. He was just as startling staring blankly at the air in front of his face as he was when addressing someone. For an instant, Robert felt that unwelcome almost-adoration nudge its way into his brain again.

He exhaled slowly, soundlessly, as Sigi reached his car. Sigi lifted a hand to the front door, about to use the key.

Robert pulled the trigger. The gun was muffled, quiet. His aim was good.

At the same time, Sigi twisted to the right.

The bullet pierced a hole in the driver’s side window. Robert noticed this exactly when he realized Sigi was staring in his direction.

Gone was the calm non-expression he’d worn as he entered the garage. Sigi was not afraid— he was undoubtedly furious.

Quite a good distance away, Robert recoiled as Sigi took a few steps forward, now aimed in his direction. As if he’d forgotten Sigi was too far away to strike at him.

Time stretched out. Five seconds felt like five years. In the moments it took for Robert to realize he was still hidden, still far enough away that he could escape with a head start, he saw the way Sigi moved and he was utterly terrified for his life.

He knew now. He knew he’d chosen the right target.

The door to the parking garage swung open as somebody shouted, “Sigi!”

Sigi stopped immediately, turned casually to glance over at the door. He was moving normally again, just a pretty man at a party in expensive clothing. With one last glance over at Robert’s hiding place, leaving no doubt in Robert’s mind that he knew precisely where that bullet had come from, Sigi turned to step calmly back toward the door.

“You weren’t going to leave us so soon, were you?” called the old woman at the door, dressed in a glittering cocktail dress.

“I thought I’d brought my glasses,” Sigi replied gently, his voice carrying well in the quiet garage, “I realize I’ve forgotten them at home.”

“Oh, dear. I’ll lend you some of mine.”

Robert barely heard Sigi’s chuckled response (“Thank you, I doubt your prescription is sufficient. I’ll manage.”) because he’d figured out that he’d been given the greatest gift of his life: a chance to get out and regroup without bloodshed. He dismantled his gun quicker than ever before, moving too fast for his hands to shake, and before he understood how he’d gotten out of his hiding place he was sprinting for dear life, faster than he’d ever covered ground in all his years of hunting, knowing he’d never be so lucky again. He did not turn around to look for Sigi, knowing in sight of the old woman he would let Robert flee.

He’d parked his car at the outer edge of the property. He leapt behind the wheel and started the engine as he pulled the door shut, screamed out of there burning rubber. He turned so fast he nearly lost control of the car, pulled away from the event, quivering as the adrenaline started to drain slowly out of him.

As he passed the main entrance, seconds away from driving through the front gate, something shattered on the passenger side and hit him hard in the ribs. He yelped but was smart enough not to stop. It took him ten seconds to understand there was a hole in his passenger window.

His phone was ringing.

He couldn’t stop here. He kept driving until he was several blocks away, then slowed down and backtracked a little, before he pulled into the lot of a pizzeria. His car smelled like peppermint.

The phone started ringing again. He shook his hands out and looked for the phone while he massaged the new bruise in his side. “…Hello?”

“When do you plan on arriving, Robert? Did you find the venue yet?”

Oh, Christ. “Miriam, hi! You’re attending tonight?”

“Of course I am, don’t be silly. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to meet Sigi myself! Were you driving up or is your taxi lost?”

“Oh, no… no, I’m driving up. Sorry, I didn’t realize you were waiting for me. Traffic was brutal leaving my neighbourhood, I got turned around once or twice trying to find a creative route…” Robert squeezed his eyes shut. How hadn’t he known the lead editor and magazine founder would be there tonight? Oh god, he had to change his clothes and wipe off this stupid peppermint…

After reassuring Miriam that he was going to be there shortly and he’d find her, he hung up and rubbed his face with both hands. He had a change of clothes in the trunk. Always did. He had baby wipes to get rid of the worst of the oils, and some cologne to take care of the adrenaline sweat. He could be ready in twenty minutes, there in twenty-five. He needed to calm down.

At least this would be a good alibi, he reasoned. People would place him there. He was showing up right after the failed snipe, true, but he lived too far away for it to make sense that he could have gone home, freshened up, and come back. He hoped.

He changed inside the car in the dark, wiping every inch of his skin clean of the peppermint oil, carefully applying just the right amount of cologne not to be too pungent again, and left his tie for last. Before he stepped out of the car to adjust the fit of his shirt and jacket, he looked at the passenger window and decided to look for the projectile. It wasn’t a bullet, that was for sure…

He found it on the floor, having tumbled beneath the driver’s seat. It was a rock, just big enough to sit in his palm, not round but polished smooth. It hadn’t come from somebody’s driveway, it was part of an interior decor. The side against his palm was rough, so he tipped his hand to turn it over.

TRY THAT AGAIN.

Scratched into the stone.

Robert stepped outside to vomit onto the pavement, then put the stone inside the dashboard and got his toothbrush from his bag.

He drove halfway back toward the venue and parked in an underground lot that would cost him more than it would at the venue, then walked the rest of the way. He couldn’t explain a hole in the window very well tonight. At least he was cleaned up, dressed appropriately, and wearing cologne with no trace of peppermint. He’d stopped shaking and sweating. The walk would help to further calm him.

Miriam found him almost as soon as he walked past the coat room. As she grasped his arm and led him deeper through the crowd of people sipping wine and chatting he spotted a bowl of polished stones like the one that had punctured his window.

He didn’t see Sigi anywhere. He wondered whether he’d left after Robert’s escape. Miriam would have said something, though, since he was there to cover the party and Sigi was a major feature. It made Robert nervous not to know where Sigi was.

Considering how intent he was upon Sigi’s possible whereabouts, it was shameful to Robert that he didn’t notice the man approach until Sigi had a hand on his shoulder, pressing gently, as one would greet an old friend. Robert took in Miriam’s look of surprise and delight, a complete reverse of the way Robert felt at the moment, before he turned to look.

He expected Sigi to be angry. Of course that didn’t make sense. They were back inside, surrounded by guests, being civil, and Sigi didn’t know Robert had just sprinted away from him in the parking garage, coated in peppermint oil with a gun case tucked under his arm. Sigi’s smile didn’t quite seem to reach his eyes— or maybe that was Robert’s imagination at work.

Sigi had spoken. Miriam was demanding an explanation as to how he and Robert knew each other. Robert stammered, lost already, ashamed he’d missed the start of the conversation because it made him look somewhat more like a guilty party. Sigi’s grip on his shoulder didn’t quite tighten, really, but his fingers squeezed briefly, one at a time, as if to playfully tease Robert before his hand slid gently along his upper arm.

It was more distracting than the possibility of Sigi being angry with him. Robert tried not to look like he was reacting to a shockwave of goosebumps all along both arms.

“Robert attended a lecture of mine recently. We keep running into each other,” Sigi explained, when Robert’s stunned silence lasted a millisecond too long. “Divine coincidence, hm?”

Miriam voiced dismay that Robert had somehow forgotten to mention this to her earlier, while Sigi kept the hand loosely around Robert’s tricep. Somehow making it feel less like Robert was being restrained, more like an affectionate touch. Robert glanced hesitantly up at Sigi’s perfect pale face for any sign that he was going to die tonight and realized with a sinking feeling that Sigi was being affectionate with him. At least in front of Miriam. It might change as soon as they had room. Robert felt his jangled nerves waking up again, leaving him ready to bolt and, for the moment, clear-headed. It wouldn’t last.

Somehow the conversation between Sigi and Miriam was a quick one. Miriam got Sigi to promise an interview, they arranged a date, and somehow, somehow, Miriam was off with a wink for Robert.

Robert had the ridiculous, terrible urge to beg her not to leave him alone with Sigi, but he reeled in the urge at the last second.

Sigi’s grip didn’t tighten up the way Robert expected it to. Rather, Sigi merely lowered his voice, dropped the hand from his arm after a lingering touch, and leaned in.

“Apparently someone here is hiding a crush.”

The tone was soft, discreet, and the words were entirely not what Robert was expecting. Robert felt his face go hot and he looked up at Sigi’s face before he remembered how the sight upset him. “I’m— sorry?”

Sigi’s deep red lips pulled apart in a smile as he glanced across the room. “You aren’t very good at it, mind you, which leads me to believe you’re actually just terrified of me.” He looked sideways at Robert and the smile turned briefly into a cheeky grin. “Although, being freelance, you have plenty of control over the work you take on, don’t you?”

Robert swallowed twice to get the creaking out of his throat. “Your date must have stood you up tonight,” he attempted weakly.

It shouldn’t have pleased him that Sigi seemed to enjoy his joke, but it did. Sigi smiled down at him and the sound of his soft chuckle was the warmest, most inviting sound Robert had ever heard. “Were you always afraid to talk to your crushes or am I special?” he asked sweetly. As if he had never noticed the effect he had on people. As if Robert were the first person to feel uncomfortable near him.

“…I was always crap at it,” Robert admitted, feeling some of the extreme fear drain out of him the longer they spoke. There was still a chance this could go badly. One in twelve, Robert reminded himself grimly— if the danger wasn’t immediate, there was still that unsettling ratio to keep in mind. “I always thought the girls I liked were out of my league.” Not a lie; he could talk about high school, no problem.

Sigi tilted his head. His long hair slid forward off his shoulder, bounced and swayed. He smelled so nice. “Given how anxious you are right now, am I correct in assuming I’m not your usual type, on top of that?”

Robert, feeling helpless, nodded.

Sigi’s gaze flicked down, studying Robert from head to toe. “A shame,” he hummed, “You’re definitely my type.”

Robert was going to die of a heart attack before Sigi could sink his teeth into him. He knew it. “R-really?” God, he was terrible with flirting. Even if Sigi was just toying with him. It made him nervous coming from anyone and this was Sigi, intimidating enough on his own without the added threat of being a violent predator. This guy had a Wikipedia page so long it took Robert four hours to read it— four hours to get the summary of Sigi’s achievements— and a face that hurt to look at in unexpected ways and here he was flirting quite openly at Robert. Fans and non-fans tended to agree Sigi was one of the most gorgeous people alive and he was flirting with Robert.

He wondered, stupidly, what his niece would say if she heard of this.

Sigi didn’t seem perturbed by Robert’s very obvious terror. He nodded, still studying Robert thoughtfully as one would take in a landscape painting. “I like the beard.”

It occurred to Robert that it would be polite to say something. “Thank you,” was all he could come up with.

Sigi seemed utterly charmed with him nonetheless. He rested the hand on Robert’s shoulder again, this time with no doubt that the touch was affectionate, nothing sinister. Thumb stroking the fabric of Robert’s suit. “I would love to continue this discussion in a more intimate setting.” That smile widened imperceptibly again. “I’d like to see more of how you talk to your crushes.”

The rest of the night passed in a haze. Robert found himself back in his car, stupefied and afraid, and utterly confused. He’d started the night prepared to snipe a vampire.

How had he wound up with a dinner date?

[the-wolfs-raven]

♌: what’s your family like?♍: other blogs?♎: would you date your muse?♏: would you and your muse be friends?♐: 3 things that scare you

♌: what’s your family like?

Ooh.  Boy.  Well, my dad’s pretty chill.  He was a hippy and all that.  Did a LOT of drugs in his time (which I didn’t learn about til this year.  Go figure.).  Got a bit of casual racism stuck in his humor, but he doesn’t mean any ill-will to anyone.  He’s a good guy overall.

My mother and her family, though.  Damn.  Like.  I’ve never met anyone so hateful and paranoid about the world.  Grandma turned me into a fundamentalist Christian psycho in elementary school (thankfully that got nipped in the bud in middle school).  Ma always said she’d disown us if we were gay (then did a complete 180 when my brother came out).  They’ve mellowed a bit with time, but now Grandma has Alzheimer's and is a complete psycho nut again.  Also, again with the casual racism, but they’re far more serious about it.  Typical MAGA folk.

So woo for breaking the hate cycle, I guess?

♍: other blogs?

Loads.  

@thepalewolfhowls is Tara’s daughter, Taria Fletcher.  My little lore bender.  Very angry daughter of Lo’Gosh with a fondness for orcs and punching people.  She has her own daughter now, Accalia, and a sort-of mate, Grok’tor Ironbite, a grizzled war veteran.  Taria underwent chronomantic aging to make her an adult (partially because I fucked up my timelines.  Partially because a child is an inconvenient agent and adult Taria can break so many more skulls).  She would have been around 7 years old if not for the aging, but she is fully an adult, physically, mentally, and emotionally (though her step-father may argue the latter.  lol)

@bluewolfcaravan is Tara’s trading and shop ventures.  Lots of fun stuff there when I’m not too dead to run them.  

@the-white-lioness is Ishtara Lionstar.  A Night Elf whore who originally turned Tara down the path of owning her sexuality.  She and her lions are all named for Assyrian (Mesopotamian, whatever) figures since its a good chunk of my heritage.  Lovely lion whore, basically.  

@wordhobbies is Necrocia Witherwing aka Twitchy formerly known as Sentinel Lyralel Dawnwhisper.  After a traumatic blow to the head, the elf became completely unhinged, putting herself in dangerous situations and stitching herself back together.  Though she’s never technically died, you wouldn’t know it from looking at her.  She also has...Hobbies.  Lots of hobbies.  “I asked myself, why should a murloc only have two eyes?  Why not ten?  Or TWENTY THREE?!”  …ehem…Her fascination with hobbies was actually pulled from an eccentric character from a children’s cartoon (Grandpapa Thistle from Ben and Holly’s Little Kingdom).  Occasionally, she has short periods of sanity where her hair returns to its normal state and she becomes terrified of everything that’s happened to her.  Twitchy is almost emaciated and has various scribbles, scars, tattoos, etc all over her body from just...various things.  Sometimes she needs to remember something and she’ll literally just ink it into her skin.  If she can’t find something to tattoo herself with, she’ll just carve it on.  She’s extremely difficult to play for a long period of time because she just requires SO much energy.

@obscure-snowdrop is my little Shadow Whisperer bookworm who I made specifically to join the Crows.  She began hearing whispers at a young age and they keep her relatively sane despite her horrific life.  If wards or any such thing silence the whispers, she goes into a fit as everything that has worn on her over time coalesces in one fell swoop.

@snaythes These were my spook family from many fandoms back.  They are hemomancers of sorts with various quirks.  The eldest brother builds furniture from human parts.  One brother is a butcher who specializes in cannibalistic delicacies.  One brother, who had his heart broken, incorporates unused bodies into their home’s décor.  His ex-fiancée currently serves as a chandelier in the living room (I realize the irony).  The only sister is a painter who works with macabre and lascivious subjects.  She and the eldest brother have an...unconventional relationship.  The youngest brother is the most tame, and doesn’t really share his family’s penchant for violence and murder.

@korbintavernack aka Nix is a Blacktalon agent who worked closely with Taria in the past.  He’s a brawler and a magebreaker with enough wards to silence any magical activity in a 20 foot radius around himself.  He’s also responsible for the warding on Taria’s mind making her resistant to mental attacks and manipulation.

@theunkindness is an organization of (traditionally only Kaldorei) assassins and thieves who take morally upright contracts overall (killing bad folk like slavers, abusers, etc).  Tara is a part of the Unkindness and still communicates with several of her old contacts.

@winterscalesheir is the original Warhammer 40k Tarvasha.  She is the complete opposite of WoW Tara and I have no idea how it happened.  The bastard daughter of Rogue Trader Calligos Winterscale, she’s determined to find the Baleful eye of Sebastian Winterscale and cement herself among her father’s bloodline.

♎: would you date your muse?

I mean, if I had to date someone, Tara would be a pretty high reach for me.  I think I’d feel way too inferior to actually date someone like her, though I’d shower the poor girl with affection.  We’d probably try to outdo each other in gift-giving and kind gestures.  However, Tara is more heteroromantic, as am I, so even given the chance, it probably wouldn’t work.  lol

♏: would you and your muse be friends?

I think we’d make decent friends.  I don’t like the upkeep that comes with friendships and Tara tends to disappear a lot, so I think that would work out just fine in the end.

♐: 3 things that scare you 

Someone breaking into my house.  Seems kinda specific, but here’s the thing:  I have a shit fight or flight response, even when my kids are involved (I once left them in the backyard as I was running away from a wasp).  This is partially due to the fact that I was terrified of SIDS, so I didn’t allow myself to bond with my kids when they were born.  A lot of people I know are like “Yeah, I’d bust someone’s ass if they ever tried to touch my kids” but honestly, I feel like I’d probably run like a bitch and hate myself forever for it.  But who knows?  Maybe I’d pick up a floor lamp and fucking wreck someone’s day?  I’d rather not find out one way or the other.

Losing my technology.  I live through screens.  All of my memories are contained in my tech and on the web.  I’m terrified that I’d lose those things.  I’ve already had a phone run over and lost all of my children’s baby photos and videos.  I have very little memory of those times, so losing that was pretty heartbreaking for me.

Apocalypse.  Any sort of end-of-the-world bullshit where you’ve gotta figure out how to survive.  A lot of my friends have bug out bags and everything else but my oldest is a Type 1 diabetic.  If the places producing insulin suddenly stop, I have no way to keep my daughter alive.  It’ll be cyanide pills for the lot of us.

Thanks for the ask @latildarommel!  Sorry it got so heart-wrenching at the end.  lol