#none of the voices are set in stone (except Crane)

[chasing-faith-and-fate]

Voice Claims of Chasingclan

SPOILERS FOR CRANE, VALLEY, AND MOTH FULL NAMES

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2023: October 6th

Day 6: Leash and Collar, Medical Torture, Sacrifice

Max Phillips x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Being drugged, chained to a sacrificial table, stripped naked, mentions of vampirism, DUB-CON, coercion?, vaginal sex, biting, drinking blood

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

If you had thought that the small, sleepy town that was locked away in the mountains was strange, you had tried to overlook it. Roads that don’t match the maps or GPS had brought you here and you were stuck until morning. Everything saved for one bar closed before sunset. 

That was the operating hours displayed on most businesses; Sunrise - Dusk. Strange place, but you had managed to get a room in the one little motel in town. The seedy little operator looks nervous as he hands you a key and points across the street to the bar when asked where you could get some food. Your plan is to spend the night, wait until the gas station pumps are started again in the morning and then get the fuck out of here. 

Sighing, you nurse the one beer you had told yourself you could have. Looking around the nearly deserted place and wondering if you had stumbled onto some kind of horror movie set. It was certainly creepy enough. Waiting for your food that seems to be taking forever and sighing softly as the door to the back kitchen swings again like someone had been about to come out but then changed their minds. You shake your head, frowning when you feel dizzy for a moment but then dismiss it. You’ve had half of a beer. There’s no way you are drunk.

****

“So you’re the lucky one.” You frown, your eyes feeling heavy as you struggle to open them, turning your head to where an amused voice comes from. “Looks like they found an outsider this time. Hmmm.” 

Shivering, you feel an cool slide of something down the curve of your cheek, a presence hovering over you. If you could just open your eyes. 

“Don’t like that they drugged you.” The voice tuts, making you panic slightly, trying to move, only to panic more when you feel the resistance in your arms and then your legs. “Makes for a heavy meal.” 

Meal? That surge of horror and confusion gives you the strength to open your eyes, popping them open like the comical point of a movie, except there is nothing comical about the sight in front of you. 

It looks similar to a man, but misshapen. The skin slightly mottled, as if rot was setting in. Amber eyes, with deep, heavy brows and bones protruding near the crown. Too sharp to be a man. More of a monster. 

Until you see the teeth. Two perfectly, pointed teeth hanging down from the rest. Fangs that you have seen in movies, in halloween costumes, but never real life. A vampire. 

“Oop, there it is.” The monster flashes an amused grin, and shakes its head. “Drugs are wearing off and the fact that you are a sacrifice is just starting to set in.” He chuckles, looking down at you again and dragging a finger down your body. “Let me guess, just passing through? Stuck here for the night?” 

Your scream is loud, echoing as you start to struggle. Realizing that you are tied down to something and the sight of bare branches looming overhead like ghostly arms tells you those bastards in that creepy ass town dragged you out into the woods. 

“Shhhhh, shush, none of that.” He tuts, looking almost disappointed by your reaction. “No need to scream. No one is going to come. That’s part of the deal.” 

You’re still struggling, twisting and craning your neck up to see the chains around your wrists are keeping you tied down to some kind of hard stone bench. In the middle of the woods. It’s the stuff of nightmares and you are begging to wake up. “Deal, what deal? I didn’t make a fucking deal. Just let me go!” You scream. 

“Not a deal with you, a deal with the town.” Again, he tuts, like he’s disappointed you didn’t come to that conclusion yourself but you are terrified and still feeling the effects of the drugs. “They give me someone to eat every now and again and I’ll try to keep from hunting in their town.” He shrugs. “It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.” 

“Oh god, I’m dreaming.” You start to chant. “I’m dreaming, I have to be dreaming.” You have started to rub the skin around your wrists and ankles raw in an effort to free yourself. Oblivious still to the fact that you are completely naked. 

“I am a dream, huh?” The creature hums, smirking again, although it looks wicked when he is so grossly formed. Demon-like in appearance. “But baby…” he whistles through his fangs. “You are a dream. Look at that smoking hot body.” He grunts. “Been a long time since I’ve had someone so hot chained up for me. Don’t know if I want to eat you or eat you.” Heavy brows waggle and it makes you scream again. 

“Awwww don’t be like that.” He pouts, frowning at you and licking his lips. “Vampires are great at fucking. And I only sip when I’m balls deep. I don’t gorge myself. You’ll live longer that way.” 

You shake, the chains around your wrists and ankles clanking as your body convulses involuntarily. Praying that you wake up from this nightmare. It’s got to be a bad dream. It just has to. Vampires aren’t real. And even if they were, isolated mountain towns wouldn’t sacrifice someone to the vampire. 

“What do you say?” Apparently nightmares still talk and your eyes open again to find him looking down at you with an oddly expectant look on his face. “Wanna say you were pumped and dumped by a biter?” His teeth gnash together playfully. 

“Y-y-you’ll let me g-g-go?” You stutter out, trying to understand what it is that this creature wants from. 

“Absolutely, sugar tits.” He chuckles. “Let me fuck a warm hole, bite your tits and suck a little blood and you’ll walk up sore, a little chilly, but you won’t have to worry about STDs or getting pregnant.” He winks at you. “Swimmers are dead.” 

Oh God…oh god, this might actually be real. “I-” You shake your head. Unable to believe you are about to agree to this, but surviving is your only goal right now. “Do I have a choice?” 

The vampire snorts, rolling his yellowish eyes. “Blood is sweeter when you’re not fighting, sugar tits. Some like the acidic taste of fear, but it's too gamey for my tastes.” He shrugs and hums when you give a tiny nod. “You won’t regret it. Ol’ Max has a big dick.” 

Max. The vampire is named Max. You don’t even register that the monster is shedding the clothes he had been wearing faster than humanly possible, naked and climbing up onto the stone that you are chained to.

He whistles again, his outrageously cool hands spreading your thighs and you close your eyes in embarrassment when he looks down at your cunt. “Fuck, look how warm that little fuck hole is. I bet you’re gonna feel amazing around my dick.” 

You bite your lip, not wanting to upset him by screaming to just get it over with. Jumping when you feel something press against your clit. 

“Shhhh, shhhhh, it’s okay.” He croons, making you shake your head. “Gonna get you wet before I just stick it in. That wouldn’t feel good, now would it?” He clicks his tongue and starts to slide his cock through your folds, making you whimper when the head bumps against your clit. “That feels good, doesn’t it, my little ketchup packet?” 

You shiver again, nodding. You don’t want to piss off the demon that could kill you and because it does feel good. 

He apparently likes his ego to be stroked because your little nod wasn’t enough. Rubbing your clit with his cock and sliding it down to your entrance until he gets you nice and wet, pulling soft moans out of you under the eerily bright moon. 

He does it so well that you don’t even realize that he’s slipping inside until he’s halfway in. The filthy groan from the monster is one of pure bliss. Making your breath catch in a gasp when he keeps sliding, seemingly pushing inside of you forever until you feel like he’s in your throat. 

“Told you I have a big dick.” He chuckles, his voice somehow changed and you open your eyes again. 

He’s human. The face in front of you is startlingly human, impossibly handsome with a strong jaw and a nose that is sharp, but it’s well put together. No more contorted features, although the fangs still poke out from his lips. 

“There we are.” He hums, starting to rock into you. “There’s those eyes. Pretty girl wants to watch me fuck her.” 

You clench around him, making him laugh again as he starts to build up a pace that forces you to grunt every time he rocks forward. Slapping his hips against your ass, vigorously fucking into you harder than anyone else ever has. “Look at those tits bouncing.” He groans, ducking his head and you squeal when one of his fangs grazes your nipple before his tongue flicks over it and he sucks on it. Making your body warm up to his touch, his presence. Enjoying the way that he fucks into you like a rag doll. 

“You know what?” Your cunt is nearly spasming around him, the pool of pleasure building and nearly ready to drown you. 

“W-w-what?” You cry out, back scrubbing against the stone as he rails into you. 

“I lied.” You can barely hear him over the sounds of your pussy, loud and sucking as his cock drills in and out of your even wetter hole. Fangs brush over your pulse for a split second. “I am going to eat you.” 

Stars burst behind your eyes, even as you scream out into the empty woods. Fangs piercing your neck to drain you of your life’s blood as the town who had sacrificed you to the vampire huddle in their homes, safe and sound. 

[oh-snapperss]

Promise I Held (Just Out of Reach)

hi guys. this is a cowrite by me and @tunastime, a continuation of our hot tea fics we wrote a few months ago. you don't have to have read them to read this, but it adds to the experience!

words: 3788

warnings: none

read on ao3!

On the top of a large, grey-white slab of rock, a figure looks to the sky.

Bdubs is sitting on the warm rock face and wondering when the sun might set. He sighs. The air in his chest feels short. He chews at the inside of his cheek and wonders when the sun will set, not because he needs it but because he wants it. It’s the only solace he gets here, and it’s the only solace the games give him in general, even when he doesn’t sleep, and even when he’s not allowed to. He’s not allowed to sleep here. The nights are too short to warrant it, and there’s too much killing going around, coupled with the fact that his clock isn’t visible to him. To see his time he has to stand by the river edge and crane his neck to even glance at the ticking seconds, and keep doing the mental math. He’s close to yellow. He can feel that at least. Maybe he’ll get lucky. Maybe there’ll be another chance to get a boogey kill. Some extension on his life. Something he’ll have to get for himself this time, it seems. He’s trying to be patient, something he’s gotten too good at doing, even with the short string it hangs from.

He’s waiting for Etho to come back.

It seems like a hopeless cause, but something deeply entrenched and rooting around in his chest believes otherwise. Etho comes back, doesn’t he? Not necessarily crawling, but something of the sort, standing off to the side, waiting to be welcomed back with a kicked-dog expression. So Bdubs is waiting for him. 

“When will it be enough for you?”

Cleo’s voice is a cut through his train of thoughts like a cleaver. He turns, bracing his hand on the rock to support himself. She’s standing behind him, hands on her hips. At least he has Cleo, he thinks, as a warm tumbling thing rolls around in the empty space of his chest. He turns back around, expression souring.

“Never.”

The it is self-explanatory. It is whatever Etho gives him in lieu of an actual partnership, or an actual apology. They’d exchanged those, once before, after everything. So is he really to blame for thinking this might go a bit differently? That Etho might be beside him, instead of over the crest of the hill, playing house with the remnants of a team he used to be a part of? They’ve gone and replaced him with his better half. Dead weight. The it is the strings of affections Etho tries to tie together. It’s I love you never said but implied. It’s how they’ve always functioned, except in places they know are truly safe. Bdubs doesn’t mind that. But how is he supposed to not yearn for it, even here?

“He’s not coming back, y’know,” Cleo adds. She’s not moved any closer. Bdubs shrugs. He’s too busy watching the sky start to go orange at the edges

“Doesn’t matter,” he says shortly. Cleo huffs. She doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Bdubs, even when her footsteps have long since faded back to their cave.

Bdubs is waiting.

It’s an action he’s gotten very good at.

The good thing, though, is that night comes quicker than usual. It’s something about rotation, or sun’s rays, some science-y thing Bdubs would need to work out much longer than a few minutes to completely understand. He watches the sun brush the horizon for only a moment before he turns away, and the stretch of orange above it. 

Etho never came back. His boots crunch against bits of pebbled stone and granite. So it’s his job to find him. He’s good at that, too. Just keep walking. Walking. Walking. Soon enough he’ll find something, right? Anything?

He pokes his way down, minding the way the stone turns to dirt and dirt to grass. Just beyond the next hill he can see a tall stone structure. He’s not sure what about this place feels so much more alive than previous games. There’s a nervous energy to the air, like a static charge. He makes his way over the hill.

He can see someone at the top of the tower as he manages down the other side of the hill. He hears grumbling, some unmistakable noise only Tango could make. Wading the short way over to the sandy bank, Bdubs stands, looking up on a particularly nicely textured tower, all things considered. He’s tempted to reach out and touch it, but Tango hears his approach. He leans over the edge of the tower, peering over at him.

“Tango!” Bdubs squints at him, smiling. 

“Bdubs?” Tango leans a bit further. “What’d’you want?”

“I, uh…” He stops short. For all his big game, wandering around like he’s made up his mind, Bdubs still isn’t sure exactly what this is going to give him. Closure? Hope? Anything? He’s been standing here silent. Better say something. “I’m looking for Etho.”

“Mm.” Tango jerks his head to the left. He keeps his tone neutral, though, and besides, in the cover of nearly night, Bdubs can’t really tell what he’s thinking anyway. “He’s over at the farm. The uh—the box, there. Why? What’d’you need ‘em for?”

“Just to chat.”

“To chat?”

Bdubs nods.

“Yeah. I mean it.”

Tango shrugs. He seems to believe it. Bdubs isn’t lying anyway. It’s not like he could actually do something right now.

“Alright. Enjoy your talk, man. Lemme know if you need somethin’.”

Bdubs thinks he sees the swish of a tail before Tango ducks away, back to moving stone bricks around. Bdubs nods. Right. Left. To the farm. The “box” as Tango had put it. He can see the outline in the torchlight.

Making his way over, Bdubs steels his expression, trying to sooth frazzled nerves. He makes his way through the beach and around the side of the hill, toward the mass of dirt and granite that resembled its namesake.

Down the stone steps, walled in by the border and the box itself. Bdubs can hear the mobs within fighting, falling, dying. It’s a familiar sound, the clattering of bones and groans of undead… hissing of creepers and the crawling spiders. Not to say a pleasant sound, but… it’s something reminiscent of better times, at least, when time and death meant nothing. 

He’s shaken from his thoughts at the bottom of the steps, where the entrance to the farm lies. There’s a hole, and a rickety ladder into darkness. He shakes his head, but doesn’t hesitate to descend, rung by rung until his ankles land in water. Eurgh. It splashes up to his knees when he turns to get out of it, and he shivers—not cause he’s cold, but… he’s a little cold. 

Even with his soaked boots, and aching arms from the climb down, he falters before fully stepping away from the water and towards his… friend, partner, lover… Etho. Who hasn’t bothered to acknowledge him, save for the hand straying toward the diamond sword at his side and stiffened back. His other hand keeps busy, gathering gunpowder from the chest and placing it straight onto the crafting table.

“Etho?”

This time, his only sign Etho knows he’s there is that both hands go to craft TNT, and his posture gets about as bad as Bdubs knows it usually is. Other than that, Bdubs is ignored, and he frowns, a prickle of hurt creeping through. Dead weight. Did Etho think the same? 

“E-Etho?” Bdubs’ voice falters, and he winces at the crack in his usual facade of boisterous bravado. 

For the first time since the timer started, at least that Bdubs has seen, Etho pauses. Just a heartbeat, just long enough to acknowledge Bdubs’ presence. But the moment passes, and Etho resumes his work, not even bothering to turn to Bdubs as he gathers gunpowder and crafts more of the TNT. 

Gather, craft. Gather, craft. A terrifying rhythm of coming destruction, and Etho won’t look at Bdubs. His hands are too busy, and Bdubs’ own flutter about uselessly before he settles on leaning against the wall and watching. Even then, he picks at the sleeve of his shirt, biting his lip before trying again.

“You’re… you busy right now?” He keeps his voice quiet, as if any volume might shatter the peace and walls both have built up. There’s water dripping from the rocks above his head and he holds back from wrinkling his nose when a drop lands on it. 

“Got things to do,” Etho mutters, turning back to the collection chest. A wrinkle appears between his eyebrows—empty. 

“Of course, of course…” Bdubs tracks Etho’s calloused hands as they pack away the last of the tnt. There’s a spark in Etho’s eyes as he does that Bdubs doesn’t particularly like—it feels wrong, and far too similar to the same spark a flint and steel might make. “Do you have a minute?” (Or a few?) 

“Do any of us?” Etho’s tone is light, but to Bdubs, there’s almost a beat to each word, a tick-tick-tick of seconds passing, of life draining. Etho steps forward, and so does Bdubs, but then Etho steps right past him to the water and ladder, not even sparing a second to look into Bdubs’ eyes.

And so Bdubs follows helplessly, just like he always does, once again grimacing at the water pooled around his ankles before he starts up the ladder after Etho. “W-Etho, c’mon…” 

Up and up and up into the starry night above, up the stairs, past the base and into the woods. Step, step, step, step. Tick, tick, tick, tick. 

“Watcha doin’, Etho?” 

“Resource gathering.” 

“It’s the middle of the night… shouldn’t you be sleepin’?” Bdubs raises his eyebrows, trying to keep up with Etho’s quick march. He’s really too short for this–not that he’ll ever admit that out loud. 

“Shouldn’t you be, sleep king B-double-o?” Etho side-eyes him, raking his gaze down to where Bdubs stumbles over his own feet. 

“Oh, come on…” Bdubs grumbles, but Etho’s right. “...wanted to see you?” 

“Wanted to see me?” Etho sounds teasing and entirely uncaring. “Shouldn’t you be with Cleo ‘n Scar?” They’ve reached a point, lit up with few torches. There’s a rudimentary tree farm ahead, ready to be harvested, but surely Etho isn’t just using his precious tnt, is he?

“Oh, tell me you aren’t just blowin’ it u-”

Bang! It’s lit and fired off before Bdubs can finish his sentence. While Etho heads forward, dragging his axe from his back to harvest and collect, Bdubs backs up a couple steps. 

“Etho, please look at me-” 

“I can hear you just fine. I gotta collect this stuff, ‘dubs.” 

And that’s just it, isn’t it? It’s frustrating, and so very Etho, and none of it makes sense, because Bdubs just wants to talk to Etho and he wants Etho to look at him even if it’s just for two seconds, would he please just acknowledge, or sit down, or-

Two short breaths, then one deep, and Bdubs thinks maybe he can fix this. Maybe-

He leaves Etho to his farm, staying within sight to gather sticks and wood. When he drops to the ground to place it all, to make a fire, twigs push into his knees uncomfortably, the ground itself damp and cold. It’s awful, and it’s worth it to light the campfire, to place that rickety old tin kettle he’d brought with him. The kettle trembles in his grasp, a memory of a time with it hadn’t been his, it had been theirs. He waits to use it though, wanting to bring Etho over first. 

But then Etho walks out, glances over, and just shakes his head, like it means nothing, like it never did. He scrambles to his feet, the kettle left empty on the ground. He makes it over to Etho before he can walk away fully, out towards the river nearby. Once again staring at the ground over Bdubs, Etho tries to slide past, but Bdubs just can’t help it, heart aching in all the worst places. 

“Please-” Bdubs’ hands fly out, then halt just before touching Etho. His plea is quiet too, but Etho hesitates to move away and Bdubs reaches fully forward to take both of Etho’s hands in his. He runs his calloused fingertips over the backs of Etho's hands, gently turning them palm up with his thumbs. Scars cover Etho’s hands in angry red ridges, and Bdubs traces over them without a word, keeping his eyes on them instead of Etho’s face. He doesn’t think he could possibly look at Etho right now, not when Etho could shove him away, call him dead weight or laugh it off or-

But he doesn’t, and Bdubs barely catches the soft, too-fast intake of breath from Etho. Another moment of memorizing the palms he already knows by heart, and he closes his hands fully, squeezing them tightly. 

“Just-come sit down. Please?” He won’t take no for an answer, tugging Etho forward with both hands until they’re next to a couple rocks near the farm. “Here.” 

Etho’s eyes squeeze shut, stressed in the way Bdubs sees when he’s worked too long on a project without sleeping, or the times in the snow fort he’d thought Bdubs hadn’t seen in the nights spent across the fence. “I shouldn’t.” 

“Just a few minutes.” (Just tonight. Just for tonight.) 

He doesn’t miss the way Etho tenses, or the shuddering breaths he takes. 

“Okay,” he sounds tired, already shifting his weight from leg to leg. 

Bdubs doesn’t let go of his hand, though, as he pulls Etho with him to the unlit fire. It’s funny, in some type of way, that he came prepared thinking that Etho would say yes, when every other part of him knew Etho would say no. He drops to the ground, Etho still standing at his side, to light the fire. It takes a second to catch, but when it does, Etho is dropping next to him. He holds his hands out in front of him, palms turned toward the heat. Bdubs takes his time setting up. It’s a process he’s seen Etho follow too many times to count on his hands. If he’s being honest, he’d originally brought the set for himself, knowing a day without it would leave him grumpy and nonfunctional. Being able to share it with Etho now was a luxury he’d surely taken for granted back home. Now it, for this small moment, was all they had. 

He fills the kettle halfway with water from his canteen, tosses in the tea leaves, and sets it in the coals. Chamomile. His preferred stuff. He watches the kettle for a second, listening to it start to rumble. Then he glances at Etho. Etho glances up, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. His eyes flick across the dark sky they both know will soon be gone, replaced with the sun and a bright, scary blue. Bdubs sighs.

“Mind if I join you?” Etho extends one of the mugs towards Bdubs, and Bdubs takes it gratefully, hands curling around the heat of the mug. Then Etho sinks to the ground on the other side of the campfire, legs crossed. He places his mask on the log next to him.

I love you, I made you tea.

Etho hasn’t taken off his mask, yet, but he’s just at the side of the campfire. His familiar, left-hand spot to Bdubs.

Bdubs fishes two cups out of his bag—the last bit of the set. As much as he would rather wooden ones, the metal ones will have to do. He lifts the kettle as it starts to boil, and pours out a cup of tea. It smells strong enough as Bdubs lifts it. Then, he holds it out for Etho to take. Etho finally looks over, and his eyebrows furrow.

He’s still wearing his mask.

Bdubs swears he doesn’t flinch.

There, he takes another small wooden cup from the satchel and turns back to the pot. The metal tin is lukewarm at best, and only a few long wisps of steam rise from the cup’s surface, but Etho cradles it in both hands. With a deliberate slowness, he turns to Bdubs, and extends his hands.

Etho takes the cup, and Bdubs feels their hands knock together awkwardly as he tries to grab it from him. He manages the last bit of a wheezing sounding laugh, and pretends not to notice Etho’s eyes squinting shut for a moment.

Etho sits with his tea for a moment, holding it in the cradle of his hands. Bdubs knows the motion—he saw it a long time ago, before Etho got comfortable with him. He lowers his eyes to the second cup, and Etho seems to relax after a second. He hears him sigh tiredly. Bdubs stares into his newly poured cup of tea and chews his bottom lip.

“Etho...” Bdubs says, still looking up into the sky. Etho turns his head to him, and in the light of the fire, he can just see the profile of his face, tipped back. Etho’s eyebrows raise questioningly.

“Yes?”

“I want to offer you a proposition.”

“Etho?” He asks. Etho hums. “I want to offer you a proposition.”

Etho laughs. The sound is warmer than he’s expecting.

“I can’t run away with you, B,” he says, and his tone stays light. Bdubs feels his stomach turn over—both in a good and bad way.

“Hey!” He swings out, trying to catch his arm and failing. “I never said…”

But that is what he was going to ask. Etho’s stolen the words right out of his mouth. He takes a sip of tea. The chamomile is bitter without honey.

“It’s not that I don’t want to…” Etho starts, and it sounds an awful lot like a rejection. Bdubs shakes his head. When he looks over at Etho, his leg bounces nervously. He’s not looking directly at Bdubs, but over his shoulder instead, eyes occasionally flicking over to his face. His mask is forgotten, hooked around his ear, and his mouth is a fine line. 

“You just can’t,” Bdubs finishes. “Look, I get it…I do, I promise.”

Etho sighs. It’s a weary sound Bdubs doesn’t hear often.

“I don’t think it’s good for us,” he manages, turning the cup in his hands. Luckily for Etho, Bdubs is watching his hands move, rather than studying the pinched expression on his face. 

“No, Etho, it’s fine,” Bdubs says, despite the way his chest hurts when he says it. “You don’t have to make excuses.”

Silence stretches between them. Bdubs watches Etho turn the cup, like he’s studying the contents, and Bdubs feels his chest start to stuff up with cotton. It’s a lingering silence, like a sticky heat, something tangible, like a thread. He wishes he could reach out and cut it with a knife, but Etho coughs, and the stillness goes back to being the sound of crickets and water lapping at the shore a few paces away. There’s a shock of cold to the air. The fire fights to warm them both.

“Bdubs,” Etho starts. The words are slow and deliberate. “You don’t take this seriously. You're just treating this like it's a game." 

Bdubs makes a noncommittal noise. "Well that's what you're supposed to do, isn't it?” He shrugs. “In the title and everything…"

Etho shakes his head. There’s that silence again. At least it’s shorter this time.

“I can’t come with you.” Etho doesn’t look at him. Bdubs shrugs again.

“‘S fine…at least finish your tea, will you?” The words are half-caught in his throat like he’s coughing them out. The dregs of his tea have gone cold in his cup, but he knocks back the contents and grimaces as he swallows. It’s better than nothing. Etho nods. He drinks slowly, even as Bdubs knows his tea has cooled, and even as the thread taut between them pulls at them both. Just one night, right?

“Just one night,” Etho says. Bdubs shuts his eyes.

“Right.”

Etho leans forward, still holding his cup. Then, he stands, brushing his free hand on his pants, rehooking his mask over the other ear. The expression Bdubs manages to catch is pained, tight, uncomfortable. Etho curls and uncurls his hands. 

“Thanks for the tea, ‘Dubs.” Etho sounds unsure, like he might be looking for something else.

“Sure thing.”

Etho’s back is turned to him, now, where he stands at the very edge of the flickering light the campfire gives. And he’s about to leave, and they’ll meet again, sure, and pretend, and play two different games, and then they’ll go home and pretend to play the same one. He blinks back tears, because he knows, he knows Etho’ll come back to him, eventually. It’s just a game. Staggering to his feet, he stumbles towards Etho out of time–tick, step, ti-step, tick, tick, step. Even with his fumbling, loud movement, Etho doesn’t flinch, staring down into his cup just emptied, rather than the woods promising resources, or the stars that no longer promise safety. 

He shuffles forward, to rest his forehead against Etho’s back. It fits just between his shoulder blades, pressing against the thin padding of Etho’s jacket. 

For a second, Bdubs rests, and it's as if nothing's changed at all. For a moment, he holds his breath, and feels as if time stops ticking. It's over, though, as soon as it starts. Just one day.

He reaches up, hardly daring to breathe, until his fingers just barely brush against the arm of Etho’s jacket, tracing along his elbow. Part of him wants to wrap his hand fully around, wants to tug Etho around to face him, to beg him to stay with him, even if it means sacrificing their time. He knows better. He knows Etho loves him, and he knows it’s not enough, not in the game. So instead he stays perfectly still, save for his shuddering, unsteady breaths. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, and he means it. 

Etho’s own breaths are out of time, too. Just for a few seconds, but it’s enough. “I’ll see you after, ‘dubs.” 

Bdubs doesn’t watch Etho walk forward. But he certainly feels the pull and the cool air on his face instead of fabric. Behind him, the fire splutters back into nothing, and the creeping chill against his back sets him shivering. He drags his hands up and down his arms quickly, trying to warm himself, and rather than linger and stare at his failed proposition, he steps forward in the direction of his bed. Step, tick, step, tick, step, tick. 

[cophene]

station ii || ✦.⁺ dingy.

previous chapter || the pawnshop || the chase || next chapter || table of contents

pairing : vento aureo x gn reader summary : a college student tries getting the attention of some of the most admired and attractive people on campus, only to get caught up with stands and vigilante groups in the process. notes : modern au, multi-chapter fic, sfw, doesn't follow canon plot word count : 3.2k+

═ ☆.  Y/N MADE IT A POINT to take the stairs two at a time. Nonetheless, Bruno hovered at their elbow, just in case.

On the upper floor, Bruno led (y/n) and Number Seven past all of the early transit riders. They stopped at the second set of restrooms near the back, a dingy maintenance sign sitting mopily out front. To (y/n)'s surprise, Bruno sidestepped the sign and went to the water fountain between the male and female restrooms.

"How—"

"One of the students waiting outside told me how they'd been noticing people going back here. I figured it was worth a shot."

(Y/n) eyed the water fountain. It was your run-of-the-mill fountain, nothing shiny or "bizarre" except for the small puddle forming underneath it.

"I don't see anything special about it."

"Man, this blows," Number Seven groaned. "Why did Mista have to leave me here with you guys? He couldn't have left Number Five?"

By now, (y/n) was starting to recognize that each of Mista's six Pistols had a distinct personality. Number Seven happened to be hot-headed and sharp-tongued. If the Pistol kept griping like this, (y/n) might actually prefer Number Five.

"That's what I thought," Bruno said, ignoring Number Seven. "But then I noticed this."

He crouched next to the fountain and motioned for (y/n) to do the same. When they craned their neck, they noticed a golden key attached to the bottom of the fountain.

"What the hell?" (y/n) murmured. "What's that doing there?"

"I'm not sure, but I think it's what we're looking for." Bruno took the key into his hand. The brassy gold reflected the light, (y/n)'s tiny reflection in the red stone inlaid in the key head.

"What is that supposed to open?" Number Seven asked.

(Y/n) was wondering the same thing. A key like that opened mansion doors and ornate chests. What was it doing underneath a bathroom fountain? (Y/n) assumed it was there so the caution sign would keep people out, but what were you supposed to do when you found it?

"There has to be something in these washrooms," Bruno said, getting up. "I'll check the male washrooms if you check the female."

"Female?" Number Seven repeated, appalled.

(Y/n) rolled their eyes. "No one is in there, Number Seven."

The restrooms must have been out of order for a hell of a long time. The lights flickered overhead, making everything appear dim and grimy. (Y/n) opened each of the stalls before taking a peek at the waste bins. The toilets looked like they hadn't been used in weeks, and none of the waste bins or toilet paper had ever been replaced. It was odd, considering the rest of the station was well-maintained. It made (y/n) think it was purposefully left this way.

"Anything?" (y/n) asked Number Seven.

"Nope."

(Y/n) allowed strands of White Satin to snake along the floor. They clustered by the exit where Bruno was and along the walls where the people outside were. There didn't seem to be any signs of life here.

Except...

(Y/n) followed a strand of White Satin to the third stall. It was faint, but it was there, a spark of heat. They leaned over to peer around the back of the toilet. It was hard to see what it was, but something solid was there, wedged between the wall and the toilet. (Y/n) brushed their fingers over it, unsure of what it was.

"Did you find anything?"

(Y/n) jolted at the sound of Bruno's voice.

"Yeah. I think there's something behind this toilet. White Satin was drawing toward its energy."

(Y/n) tried to lift the object out with one hand. When it didn't budge, (y/n) took their other hand, trying to get a hold on it. The surface of it was strangely rough, with ridges and grooves all over it. It was heavy too. Just when (y/n) was getting it out, the thing snapped down on their thumb, making (y/n) hiss out a swear.

"What happened?"

(Y/n) gritted their teeth, dislodging the thing from behind the toilet. They set it down on the ground, wondering if their eyes were playing tricks on them in the flickering light.

"It's a turtle," Bruno said. It sounded like he wanted (y/n) or Number Seven to correct him.

(Y/n) glanced at their thumb. It was red but not bleeding. It was easier to focus on that than to wonder what an honest-to-god turtle was doing in a restroom.

"Look at its shell," they said, wrapping their thumb in White Satin. There was a deep indent in the turtle's shell, the exact size and shape of the key under the water fountain. It was odd to have an indent instead of a keyhole, but considering the circumstances, it might have been the most normal thing yet.

"Well, put the key in," Number Seven urged. "We don't have all day."

Bruno reached over (y/n) to put in the key. They put a hand on his arm. "Wait. That turtle is a Stand, isn't it? Or it's a Stand user."

Bruno looked at them, frowning.

"It's a turtle with a key-shaped hole in its shell, what else could it be?" (y/n) snapped defensively.

"I believe you. I was just trying to think of what the turtle's Stand ability could be," Bruno said gently. Immediately, (y/n) felt bad. They removed their arm. Bruno carefully fitted the key into the depression in the turtle's shell. (Y/n) wasn't sure what happened, except for a swooping sensation in their stomach and the sudden replacement of the dingy toilet stall for a tastefully decorated room.

Bruno blinked, disoriented. "Where are we?"

A hotel room in downtown Naples, (y/n) thought. They might as well have been, considering the plush red armchairs and pale cream walls. A bowl of fruit sat next to a stack of magazines on a rectangular coffee table, the carpet a green accent to the room. There was even a small vase of yellow flowers on a side table. When (y/n) peered at the mantle clock there, the time matched up.

"What is this? Is this entire room the turtle's Stand?" Bruno said.

There was a door on the opposite wall. (Y/n) opened it to reveal a closet with a minifridge, fully stocked with carbonated beverages and juices.

"There are even complimentary drinks," (y/n) said. "It reminds me of those train compartments that have to be comfortable for long rides."

"That might explain it," Bruno mused. He peered into the set of cabinets off to the side. "We must be somewhere in or on the turtle. This room could be a hiding spot."

There was an old-school television set in the corner. (Y/n) flicked it on, pleasantly surprised when it actually worked.

"Did Number Seven not follow us inside?" (Y/n) craned their neck towards the domed ceiling. Through the coloured glass, (y/n) make out the flickering lights of the restroom. Looking at it, (y/n) realized it resembled the red stone set into the key. The room must have been inside the key then. Had they shrunk to fit inside? Or had the key ... grown somehow?

"Look at this," Bruno said, coming to (y/n)'s side. He held a stack of folded receipts. They were for a restaurant (y/n) didn't recognize, all of them with only one dish ordered. The order number on each was neatly circled in blue marker.

"Strange that's it's the only thing in here that might belong to someone," Bruno said, frowning at the receipts.

(Y/n)'s stomach did a sudden flip flop. They glanced around the room. The only door was the one to the closet, which meant—

"Bruno, how do we get out of here?"

"... And the next time you encounter a vagrant like that, you call the police, do you understand?"

"Sì, signora," Mista and Fugo intoned like schoolboys. Mista was holding a wad of tissues to his nose. Fugo was nursing a bruised jaw and a cut above his eyebrow. They likely would have suffered even worse if the hurricane of an old woman hadn't knocked Luca out with her cane and called the police on him. She was walking them back to the train station, scolding them as though she was their nonna.

"You boys take care now. Don't try to play the hero anymore. Look at how badly you got yourselves hurt."

Fugo and Mista nodded obediently, feeling a strange mix of grateful, embarrassed and fond for the old woman. They waited until she left before rushing up the nearest staircase. Number Seven met them at the top, looking as panicked as Mista had ever seen the small Pistol.

"They just disappeared!" Number Seven yelled. "Bucciarati put a key into a turtle, and now they're gone!"

"Did you go completely cracked?" Number One said. "What key? What turtle?"

"Where were they?" said Fugo.

"The closed-off washroom!"

Mista and Fugo looked at each other. Fugo shrugged, going to said washroom and stepping over the caution sign. Mista cringed internally at the odd looks people were giving them and followed suit.

"Careful!" Number Seven screeched when Fugo nearly stepped on the turtle.

"Oh my God!" he leapt back, horrified to find the turtle and even more horrified that Number Seven had been telling the truth.

Mista got down on his hands and knees. "(Y/n)! Bucciarati! Are you guys in there?"

"Mista, is that you?" a muted voice that sounded like (y/n)'s called back.

Fugo crouched down next to Mista. "You can actually see them," he murmured, squinting at the red stone in the key.

"How do we get you guys out?" Mista asked.

"How did you get in there in the first place?" Fugo asked.

"We're not sure," Bruno answered. "I reached my hand toward the key and both of us entered the room."

Mista went to do just that. Fugo slapped his arm down.

"What are you doing? Do you want to get trapped in there too?"

"Chill, I just wanted to try it."

The turtle began ambling away, and Mista grabbed its shell, holding it firmly in his lap.

"There isn't a lever or a button in there?" Fugo said.

"Nothing," said (y/n).

"Giorno is gonna be pissed if we tell him Bucciarati and (y/n) got stuck in a turtle," Mista said in a low voice to Fugo.

"Forget Giorno. I'm gonna be pissed if we can't get out of here!" (y/n) shouted, throwing their arms up. As soon as they did, their body appeared outside of the turtle as if by magic. (Y/n) crashed into Mista, knocking both of them to the floor.

Mista couldn't help the shit-eating grin that spread over his face at the fact that (y/n) was on top of him. He was about to say something crude before (y/n) pushed themself off of him, nearly cracking his ribcage. "Ow, shit!"

"Are you alright?" Fugo asked (y/n), his eyes wide. "How did you get out?"

"I just reached my arm up," (y/n) said. Their eyes widened when they noticed his face. "Are you alright? Your jaw looks awful."

"Oh yeah, my nose is fine, thank you for asking. Luca totally almost didn't break it with his hard-ass head earlier," Mista cut in, miffed.

Fugo rubbed his jaw. "It looks worse than it is. You should see what we did to Luca."

"Ahem, what I did to Luca."

"Chiudi la bocca."

"Bruno," (y/n) said to the turtle, "you can get out of the turtle the same way we got in. You just have to reach up."

A moment later, Bruno was out of the turtle without landing on top of anyone. He glanced at the washroom walls before looking back at the turtle. "So that's all it takes, huh?"

Mista gingerly set the turtle down on the ground. "We're taking it with us, right?"

"Didn't you hear a thing Luca told us?" Fugo said. "The turtle isn't going anywhere. We should leave. People are going to find it suspicious that we've been here for so long."

"Besides, I've already taken the only noteworthy thing in there," said Bruno, holding up the stack of receipts.

Fugo carefully picked up the turtle and left it on top of one of the toilets. As discreetly as they could, the group of four left the restrooms. They hurriedly left Napoli Centrale and got back into Bruno's car.

"What happened to Luca?" (y/n) asked. "What did he tell you?"

Bruno rifled around in his centre console before pulling out a pack of tissues and handing them to Mista. He passed over a band-aid box to Fugo.

"Well, after we beat his ass," Mista said with a significant look at Fugo, "he told us his job was to hang around the station and watch for students. When they approached him, he would send them up to that restroom."

"He was being paid by a guy named Squalo," Fugo continued. "We asked Luca what happened once students went to the restroom but he didn't know."

(Y/n) and Bruno shared a look.

"Zucchero mentioned a Squalo back on the yacht," Bruno murmured.

"I'm guessing Squalo would put those students in that turtle room," (y/n) said, thinking out loud. "It would make it easier—"

"—To take them somewhere undetected," Fugo finished.

"So Squalo would take those guys to Signor D? For him to recruit them or something?" Mista said.

"Something like that," Bruno said. "It would keep his identity and location a secret. It seems likely that only Stand users can access the turtle room. That means Signor D is only interested in Stand users." He frowned down at the receipts, then passed them back to Fugo. "Those receipts could be some kind of record of the Stand users they found."

"But I don't get why Luca is involved," (y/n) said. "He couldn't see the Pistols. He doesn't have a Stand."

"Luca didn't need a Stand to do his job," Fugo said, going through the receipts. "It seemed like he just brought people who seemed like they had a Stand to Squalo. He probably went for people who acted oddly or reacted to things that weren't there. It would be up to Squalo to root out the Stand users from the normal people. It was probably the easiest way to do it, considering that Squalo and Tiziano aren't Sapiena students."

"Doesn't this sound familiar?" (y/n) said. "Giorno's doing the same thing, isn't he?"

Mista and Bruno looked uncomfortable at the thought.

"Some of these order numbers appear more than once," said Fugo. "That might mean Squalo was meeting with the same person."

Mista flicked his bloody tissues out the car window, ignoring Bruno's protests. "Where is that restaurant anyway? It sounds like—"

"Mistaaaa!"

Mista glared daggers at Number Five. "I don't have any food, alright? You'll have to wait."

"Someone is watching us!"

Mista and Fugo whipped around in their seats, staring out the rear windshield. The only people they saw were people entering and leaving the train station.

"Number Five's right," said Number Three. "Someone's got eyes on us. We should go out and find 'em."

Bruno started his engine. "No. We'll go back to my apartment. Signor D may have people watching this station. They'll know we were here. Mista, what did you do with Luca?"

"He's with the cops," replied Mista, still staring at the station. Now that his Pistols had mentioned it, he was aware of the prickle of unease that said someone was watching them. Listening to them, even.

"Fugo, you should call Narancia and see if everything's alright with Abbacchio at the pawnshop," (y/n) said. They darted glances out of their side mirror as they drove out of the station. "Tell them to meet us at Bruno's apartment."

Fugo did as (y/n) asked. He half-expected a car to come tearing after them, demanding to know what they'd been doing around the turtle.

Narancia answered the call on the third ring. "Fugo, is something wrong? You're on speaker."

"I—I'm fine," Fugo said. "How did things go with Moody Blues? Did you discover anything?"

"Yeah. We did. It's hard to explain. What about you guys and the train station?"

"Can you meet us at Bruno's apartment?"

"I mean, sure—" Narancia cut himself off and added a third person to the call.

"Guys!" Trish gasped. "Where are you? Are you all okay?"

"Fine," Fugo said uncertainly. "Did something happen with Sale?"

"Bruno's apartment. Now." Trish hung up abruptly.

"Blunt as always," Mista said, rolling his eyes.

Fugo hurriedly said goodbye and ended the call. He met (y/n)'s eyes in the rearview mirror. Somehow, it felt like all of the loose ends of this bizarre activity were being pulled together.

No matter how many times he argued about it with Tiziano, Squalo was always the one left to feed the turtle. It was supposed to be a responsibility shared between the two of them, but Tiziano knew how suspect it looked going into the abandoned restroom every day. As such, Squalo was now known as the weird hobo who stepped over the caution sign to use the out-of-order restroom.

Squalo called the turtle Coco Jumbo, for reasons nobody knew except him.

Today, though, as Squalo was grumbling about buying more turtle food, he nearly bumped into the pair that went into the abandoned restroom before he could. It would be easy enough to deal with them with Clash (as Squalo had already done with a few unfortunate caretakers) but he paused when he heard their voices.

Bruno Bucciarati and (y/n) (l/n).

Well, wasn't that pleasant?

Signor D had warned them about Giorno Giovanna investigating their business, but Squalo hadn't expected to see those stupid college kids here. It had to have been that idiot Luca who had tipped him off. Tiziano always complained the hundreds of euros the Signor paid him were a waste.

Squalo heard Bucciarati and (y/n) enter the turtle's room. What was stopping him from grabbing Coco Jumbo right now and taking the two of them to the Signor? He was about to when he heard an annoying little voice screeching their names. There was a third person in there?

Squalo stepped into the male restrooms, listening intently. That he was too hot headed and too impulsive was what Tiziano told him. A few minutes later, he heard more people enter the restrooms.

This was bad. Tiziano kept a record of everyone they recruited inside Coco Jumbo's room. A collection of receipts, the order numbers, a code that stayed between Tiziano and Signor D. Squalo knew for a fact the college kids had found it by now. He doubted they'd be able to figure out what it meant, but still.

If those two can't get out of Coco Jumbo's room, they'll take that goddamn turtle with them.

Squalo ran a hand through his hair, conflicted. Why hadn't Tiziano come today? He was the one with the plans. As soon as he thought this, he heard the college kids' footsteps leaving the restroom. When he checked the female restrooms after them, he found Coco Jumbo sitting on a toilet, the key still in its shell. Squalo pried the key out, pocketing it before following after the kids.

He made it all the way to the station entrance, watching as the four figures got into a car. He'd seen papers clenched in Bucciarati's hand. They'd found the records.

Squalo should have taken them out with Clash when he'd had the chance. Tiziano was going to be livid.

Except—

They would be coming to the restaurant, wouldn't they?

previous chapter || the pawnshop || the chase || next chapter || table of contents

[sunflowersseemhappy]

“Isn’t that illegal?” Muriel X Gender Neutral MC (Angst)

It was meant to be fluff...

It is now angst. No warnings except heart break...

Enjoy and send asks if you would like something written, I accept most stuff including smut! Anons are on if you’re shy :)

 The dead of night was the best cover for doing something you’re not supposed to be doing; but then I think anyone would know that. It wasn’t something I ever made a habit of, but tonight was different, it almost felt as if something was pushing me toward the Coliseum. Out of Muriel’s hut and through the almost empty streets of Vesuvia, stray cats begging for scraps at my heels as I navigated the streets.

Muriel. If he knew where I was going, what I was doing. Well, I don’t know what he would say or do but that’s why I snuck out. I didn’t want him to know I was going to the Coliseum, I know how stubborn he can be, either way he’d either refuse to let me leave or come with me. His past, though far behind him still affects him, even if he won’t admit it yet. No, this is easier.

Before I know it, I’m craning my neck to gaze silently at the sandstone structure, such raw architecture compared to the rest of the city, a primal, ancient relic to a time passed. Lucio’s reign is over now, but my magic feels the echoes of what happened here. I try not to dwell on it, instead focusing my magic toward finding the entrance to the tunnels below, even now I can feel the thrum of activity below my feet. As I enter the grounds, I half expect the stands to be brimming with people. But it has stayed silent and empty many years now and tonight is no different.

“Mrow?” Startled from my trance I glance down, gazing up at me is a black three-legged cat. Yellow eyes sparkling dimly as it gives me a questioning purr, butting its head against my leg.

“Hello,” I greet the cat, kneeling to scratch it behind the ears. It gives me a sniff and then purrs under my hand, coarse fur running through my fingers. “I don’t have any food I’m afraid, I would get you some but-” I pause looking back to the streets. “Everywhere is closed.”

“Meaow,” the black cat ears twitch toward the centre of the dusty Coliseum, and I follow its gaze. My magic too is calling me toward it, as if I were a compass, my magic pulling me to true north. With a strange three-legged trot, the cat makes its way to the centre of the Coliseum. Rolling into the dust and rubbing against the ground, maybe it too senses what I know is there.

 The sand is rough against my palm as I shift it away, the cat has taken up position beside me. Tail waving lazily in the air as it watches me work, then I feel it. The raised edge of something hidden, at first, I think it a stone slab, but as I work along it, I feel a pressured stone under my fingers. It gives under the press of my hand, and a hatch opens up, a ladder leading downwards.

“We found it!” I utter in shock, looking into the wide eyes of the cat, it seems to wink knowingly under my stare. I let out a chuckle, sliding myself to the first step of the ladder. I nod my head to the cat. “Coming?” Shaking dust from its fur, the cat leaps onto my shoulder as I descend the ladder. The two of us entering a mysterious world below.

 Dreary red light emanates from the lanterns that line the corridor, my eyes dart around, I hadn’t expected this. Rumours of an underground red market had only ever touched my ears on one occasion, it had taken some time to figure it out but here I was. I had found it. Ducking through smoke and past people I can barely register any faces; the crowd is loud enough in my ears and I begin to wonder how this place has stayed hidden so long despite the Coliseum’s disuse.

The cat on my shoulders is the only presence that doesn’t put my nerves on edge as the eyes of strangers’ rove over me. Perhaps it’s the cat on my shoulders or maybe they sense I don’t belong, but I channel my inner shady person. Hunching over and acting like I belong; the cat seems to sense this. It’s fur bristling to make if look larger and more intimidating, I’m appreciative of it. Thankful to have a friend by my side, I wonder what Muriel would do if he were here? His face flashes across my mind, stoic and stern. It’s not unlike what I would imagine his face would look like now if he knew I was here, guilt worms in my stomach but I push it down in an attempt to focus.

 I pass a shadowed entrance with a crooked sign swinging above it, it reads out in scrawled letters ‘The Jagged Dagger’. There are shouts and yells coming from within, I avoid it, instead opting to skulk further into the market. Many of the stalls hold unfamiliar items, spices, and jewellery, as well as plants and vials of potions. There is a bit of everything here and if I had to guess all of it illegal, my eyes glaze over most of it. My mind on its own agenda, searching out one particular rumour, and soon enough I find it.

“Greetings my friend!” I take a step back as an elaborately dressed merchant steps before me, blocking my way. “You look like quite the animal lover, what with that majestic cat about your neck.” I bite back my shock, looking to the cat upon my shoulders. Although I hate to admit it, the poor thing isn’t as majestic as the merchant makes the animal sound. The cat seems to know this, its claws digging into my skin in warning, whoever this man is neither of us are particularly fond.

“I- thank you?” I glance past his shoulder from where he emerged, shining gold cages filled with creatures great and small line what once used to be a cell. Exotics of all kinds, too many for me to identify, but many look miserable.

“Perhaps you would like something more exotic? He puffs on a pipe, not bothering to stifle the smoke as if blows around me. The cat sneezes, I fight the urge to do the same instead clearing my throat politely. I wonder why of all people he has approached me, despite the late hour there are many people shuffling through the market. Maybe it’s because I’m new or maybe it’s because I just look more approachable than anyone else.

 “Perhaps I would,” I put on my best sly act, willing him not to see my true intentions. “What would you suggest?”

“Well if you like cats, I have something in mind.” The merchant brushes a curtain aside, it leads toward an arrangement of pillows among the golden cages. I step gingerly inside, sitting among the pillows when the merchant gestures me to. “But before that, a drink?” He pours a red liquid from a decanter and into a fluted glass, offering it to me. At this point I’m wondering if its blood rather than wine.

“I’d rather not,” I decline with a strained smile, stumbling for an excuse. “The Jagged Dagger- has already quenched my thirst.” For a moment I think he won’t see past the lie, but then he shrugs. Taking a gulp of the liquid and holding a finger up.

“A moment if you will,” I nod almost to enthusiastically, watching carefully as he leaves around a corner. Then I’m on my feet, breezing toward the cages, the cat about my shoulders jumping from them onto the smooth tops of the cages. Surveying the area like a lookout as my hands find a lock on the first cage, inside it sits a bird with delicate white plumage. It’s unlike anything I’ve seen before, but the sad look in its eyes makes my heart tremble.

 It may be my magic, but intuition fuels me. This place, these animals. They shouldn’t be here, I can’t understand them, but I can feel their emotions in the air. A sickening mix of fear, sadness, and grief. Lost in a world unknown to them, far from home and trapped by humans for coins.

“I’ll get you out of here, I promise, none of you should be caged.” My magic works at the lock, but I know that at any rate the merchant will turn that corner and…

 “Isn’t that illegal?” I bolt upright, fumbling with the lock as my entire body goes rigid. Wait. I know that voice…

“Muriel!?” I gape up at him, both with relief and guilt. His face is set in that frown I imagined, but this one looks different. “Shit- I, um… this is not really illegal.” I mentally face palm; all I could come up with and that’s it?

“You shouldn’t be here,” he reaches for me, grabbing onto my arm. His grip is surprisingly tight, and despite my yelp of pain as he pulls me away from the cages, he strangely ignores it. I fight his grip; his hand holds firm, squeezing tighter still. Panic flutters in my chest, why is he hurting me?

 “Get off me!” I gasp, planting my feet. “Muriel, you’re hurting me. Just stop, let go!” Within a second, he turns on me, his face screwed up in what can only be unrestrained anger.

“No, I’m protecting you! You run off in the middle of the night, alone and come here?” Muriel presses his face close to me and I wince, taking a step backward. “You’re not safe here, why did you come here? Tell me!” I take a sharp breath as he shakes me and yells. In fear I close my eyes. Shaking as his presence still looms over me, I can’t bear to look at him. Everything about this place has given him reason to hate it, I know that. But his grip on my arm is bruising and his angry yells are still ringing in my ears. Suddenly its like he’s a different person, one I’m afraid of.

“Please, Muriel, you’re hurting me.” I whisper meekly, biting my lip as my body shakes uncontrollably, my arm feels numb in his grip but as a moment passes his hand loosens. Then it drops from my arm entirely, behind my eyelids I can’t see Muriel. I don’t think I can bear to look, but something thuds against the ground at my feet.

“I was just-” Muriel’s voice trails off; my eyes flutter open. Muriel’s knelt on the ground before me, head bowed and hands laid against his legs, palms facing upwards. He makes no move as I step away from him, I know I should comfort him. I want to, but at the same time my body is refusing to obey. Paralyzed by fear, the grip of his hand and the anger in his face. It’s like a wall has gone up and no matter how hard I try; I can’t break it down.

 Like a fool I leave him there, stumbling back into the menagerie of animals. The cat stands with a worried look in its yellow eyes, the merchant stands there too a gold chain linked to a cheetah is gripped in his hands. From the look on his face he heard everything said between me and Muriel.

“Perhaps we should-” He stops dead still as the chain in his hand writhes, my magic flows unrestrained as I enchant the chain making it wind about his wrists. “What in the nine circles?!” It crawls over him toppling him to the floor, and he yells profanities at me. But they fall on empty ears, I block the world out closing my eyes and feeling pain and torture. My own and that of the animals, mingling into a chaotic mess as my magic flows freely.

Each lock on every cage simply falls away, and each animal slowly makes their way out, surrounding me. Birds land on my shoulders, and all the rest crowd around my feet and stand at attention. The cheetah rubs up against my waist with a deep purr and I regard her with respect, each creature here I feel a kinship to. I know why I did this, and it wasn’t for me. The black cat, my cat limps slowly toward me. Parting the sea of animals, I kneel to meet him cupping his small head in my hands and lowing my head on his. We touch foreheads and an unspoken word passes between us. I nod in understanding.

 Why had he yelled at them? Why had he hurt them? Muriel’s own world had fallen away, now all he felt was a deep pain in his chest as he looked down at his hands. They had hurt Y/N, he had hurt them, now Y/N had left him. I deserve this, he thinks to himself, I should have listened. I was meant to protect Y/N but all I did was show them the real me. I’m not Muriel, I’m a monster.

Muriel wishes the ground would just swallow him up, but maybe that’s too good for him, maybe instead he should just sit here in the dirt. In the place he had been locked away in for years, it seemed like a fitting punishment.

 “Mur- Muriel?” Broken from his trance Muriel looks up at me, his green eyes are glazed and far off. I fight to push words from my mouth, the group of animals behind me lending me the strength to look him in the eyes and hold out my hand. “We’re going home.” My mind doesn’t know which ‘home’ I mean, the shop or the hut? Muriel’s hut?

“Leave me alone,” Muriel’s eyes cast back down again, his tone despondent. My resolve crumbles slightly, but as my hand lowers to my side my cat companion steps forward, limping slowly toward Muriel and placing itself before him. When he doesn’t respond the feline lets out a tentative meow before butting Muriel’s hand with its head, I see Muriel’s head rise slightly to regard the cat.

“All of us are going home,” I answer, stepping forward and taking a knee to the floor. I hold out my hand again, and the cat butts it’s head against mine. “Including you, none of us belong here. Not anymore.” Muriel’s eyes meet mine, a slew of emotions in the glorious green of his eyes. I know now, like I knew before. He’s afraid. Maybe part of him has always been trapped here, alongside these animals at my back, and like them he needs someone to release him. His eyes shine with tears as we gaze into each other’s souls.

Tentatively his fingers reach out to brush mine, and he rises slowly with me once again avoiding my eyes. I curl my fingers around his large hand and guide us from the red market, Muriel by my side and the animals at our backs, no one daring to stop us as we walk back home.

 I should be happy, it taken the better part of a few days but me, Nadia, Asra, Portia and even Julian have sent the last of the animals back to their natural habitats. Now all that remains is my three-legged house cat, aptly named Peggy, curled up against Inanna in front of the fire. I should be happy, but me and Muriel have become a ghosts to one another, drifting almost lifelessly through the hut. Silent and wary of each other, part of me wonders if I should leave, after all the last words he said to me three days ago were ‘leave me alone’.

I know Asra is worried, all of our friends are. I am too, what if that is truly what he wants? For me to leave him alone.

“I’m leaving,” I mumble at the table, Muriel sits as far away from me as possible with his plate untouched. From what I’ve seen, he hasn’t eaten in three days either, but I laid out a meal for him all the same. He doesn’t even spare a glance as I pack up my bag, my heart crumbles a little. He really doesn’t care if I just leave?

I blink back hot tears and call for Peggy, the black cat comes but gives pause as I place my hand on the door, the feline’s head swivelling to turn its gaze on Muriel. I’m to busy fumbling with my boots to notice that Muriel’s eyes have met Peggy’s, a silent exchange running between them.

 “Don’t-” Muriel’s voice croaks awkwardly, I freeze at the door my hand reaching for the doorknob. Muriel’s voice is slow, careful to from his next words. “I know why you did it. I didn’t understand until you showed me, Y/N-” His voice wavers as he speaks my name, my knuckles are white on the doorknob. My lip quivering as I hold back a sob. “Y/N, I was scared. So sacred that I hurt you and ignored you.”

“Muriel…” His name is barely a whisper on my lips as I blink back tears, I can’t look at him. I can’t bear to see whatever is in his eyes because I know I’ll break down.

“I wanted to protect you, but instead I brought out a monster I had hidden. I know you’re scared of me; I’m scared of myself, of what I can do…” Muriel rises from his seat and pads over next to Peggy, I can hear him behind me, shuffling on his feet and letting out a forlorn sigh.

“I was,” I breath with a heavy sigh. I turn to face him, tears running down my cheeks and dripping from my chin. “I was afraid of you Muriel, you terrified me!” I cry openly seeing him through a wet haze. “But what terrifies me more is that you think you’re a monster. You’re not, I know you’re not! You spent so many years in that cell that Lucio tricked you into believing that, and he tricked so many people into believing it too. What I saw three days ago was what I saw in those cages, in all those animals I saw you. I needed them to be free, just like I need you to be free too. You don’t deserve to be locked in a cage alone, treated like a wild beast! No one as good as you deserves that.”

I slowly walk toward him and for the first time in three days touch him, my hands smoothing over his, running my palms over his forearms as I look earnestly up into his eyes. His gaze falters, so I raise a hand to tilt his chin, stubble grazing my fingers as I level his gaze to mine. A few tears drip down his cheeks as he silently cries, working his jaw.

“Y/N I’m sorry,” I cup his face encouraging him downward. His hands seem almost afraid to touch me as one settles against the nape of my neck and the other on my hip. Our lips graze each other, slow to form our feelings and desires. We cry against one another, lips pressed warmly together. Salt fresh on our lips mingles into the kiss, and Muriel presses against me.

“So am I,” I utter against him, screwing my eyes shut and relishing the feeling of his arms around me. So different from what he had become three nights ago. For the rest of my life I would love every part of Muriel, even the darkest parts hidden inside. But this one, this one was my favourite…

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 130: Beyond the Veil

Sirius saw something black fluttering as he stumbled around and only had a moment to be grateful at least he was about to hit something soft when a strong pair of arms grabbed him. He groaned as James hauled him to the ground instead, both of them now facedown on the cold stone floor.

He sat up and decided against pushing him down the stairs in retaliation, he was too grateful Prongs was okay. James sat up with a very peeved look on his face they'd successfully stopped him grabbing that stupid thing, now Sirius looked around critically to make sure there wasn't anything else to worry about killing them.

Regulus, Evans, he and James were up on some sort of raised dais, that creepy black thing that had so fascinated Harry and a few other kids fluttering along with no breeze in sight. Sirius concentrated for a moment but heard nothing whisper-like at all, but he still found himself grateful James had stopped him from stumbling through that as he probably was about to, it gave him the creeps even more in person. The book was resting on the arch holding it into place.

The other four had landed in a scattered mess all around, sitting up plenty fast and looking around in concern. He watched as Peter and Longbottom immediately looked to that thing as well, and seemed far more intrigued than anything. Wormtail didn't even get up, staying in place and watching the movement with that critical eye of his. Longbottom got slowly to his feet and actually began moving forward, despite the fact Alice was at the opposite end of the room and he didn't even seem to notice.

Remus was too, but he had eyes only on Sirius as he moved slowly down the steep stairs farther into the pit. Sirius quickly averted his eyes and made to grab the book, and scowled in frustration when James beat him to it. He gave it a toss though and called, "here Moony, get us out of here please?" Eyes still on Sirius with that expression he probably should have felt something for, but he'd been numb so long now he wasn't entirely sure what himself. He'd just known he shouldn't let Prongs grab that, so he'd stopped him. He'd gone through the motions of letting Remus comfort him, but even then it had felt more like watching someone else move his hand. Even the brief flair of emotion he'd felt being held by Moony had almost undone him, so he'd just screwed the lid tighter on all these bubbling emotions.

A spike of fear finally shot through his consciousness as Remus stuttered, "B-Beyond the, the Veil." He'd never heard Remus so terrified in his life as he whispered that and dropped the book, shaking his head in remorse as he mouthed he wouldn't do it.

It was the same look James had on his face since Harry had that vision, still there now as he grabbed Sirius and pulled him forcefully down the stairs to grab the book and still not leaving an inch of space between them. His son or his brother, Sirius had known from the beginning as well as anyone James was being torn in two now with both in such danger and he was actually going to force himself to read the results rather than waiting around for anyone else to figure it out. Sirius knew he should stop him, but he couldn't hold onto the feeling long enough to act on it.

Sirius was still clinging to his nothingness, an absolutely useless shell as he listened to Death Eaters arriving, taunting Harry and those teenagers with knowledge of what Harry now had in that Prophecy. He wondered if this is what those long years in Azkaban would feel like, just shutting down and not thinking for as long as possible, listening to sounds and refusing to react lest a Dementor was drawn back to you.

He didn't want to be! He wanted to hug James and tear that book away, stand on top of that stupid arch if he had to and read to save Prongs from this, he wanted to hold Remus and promise he'd never be alone, to check on Peter and Regulus to make sure they were okay. Someone should probably check on Evans too, he couldn't even imagine how she'd be dealing with all of this, her kid in danger because of him. Hell, he even felt for Longbottom and Alice, they'd never asked for any of this and their kid was in just as much trouble as his godson!

Every time he caught himself moving though he just doubled down on his new resolve, if he acted on a single one of those impulses he'd probably just make things worse, again! Somehow, someway he'd manage it in this room.

Harry was in trouble now. Bellatrix and Malfoy were taunting them all with promises of an answer while Harry's gang worked out a silent plan to get themselves away. They were mocked with vicious lies about Sirius's involvement being nothing more than a dream, and honestly they still couldn't believe it.

Whether a lie that had brought Harry there or a lie to sway them into running only to have him as a hostage still, Harry was given no true time to collect himself as the plan was put into motion and the Prophecy room was destroyed, scattering Dumbledore's Army and their enemies all about this place. Nobody had the inclination to go traveling through the other rooms in a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see the destruction as the war began taking victims from both sides.

Harry, Neville, and Hermione had been separated from Luna, Ron, and Ginny with half a dozen Death Eaters after each.

Neville's nose and wand were broken, and two Death Eaters were down, one more spectacularly than they'd ever be able to imagine with that baby head. Hermione went down in a flash of purple, and so did a Death Eater via Harry in retaliation.

"Frank?" The true fear in her voice didn't really register though.

It was more James looking around, actually distracted from this that had Sirius doing the same, but he did feel another beat of shock to see him tugging on Alice's hand to be let go, eyes glazed over as he still watched the blackness. Lily had jumped down and joined them, but he wasn't acknowledging the two girls one bit, mouthing something none could hear. Alice looked near tears he wasn't even reacting to the knowledge Neville had apparently just lost his dad's own wand in the fight, he wasn't really reacting to anything anymore either.

A shot of real panic finally washed over Sirius as he turned wildly back around and saw Peter was edging onto the stairs, small tentative steps but still just as riveted on that thing. Regulus was right in front of him on the dais, waving his hand pleadingly in front of his face and holding his wand dangerously, but Peter wasn't fighting as hard to get away, he just couldn't seem to stop looking.

"James, read faster," Sirius stated, finally moving again towards the pair. He didn't care if they hated him even more later, he'd drop dead rather than not react to this! James reached out to grab him though, nearly hyperventilating with stress. "It's alright Prongs," Sirius promised, squeezing the hand that trembled along his shoulder, finally meeting his eyes again. "Get us out of here."

Sirius finally getting his spark of life back bolstered James like nothing else could have, he swallowed and nodded with determination while Sirius and Remus went up the steps to get the other two. Peter went down backwards obligingly, but still had a very drugged sort of expression like he had no clue of anything except that small fluttering movement. James was reading with a vengeance now though, his strong voice carried in the whole room as Harry and his friends managed to regroup, but couldn't seem to get out of there.

Regulus put a firm hand on Peter's shoulder until he sat down on the ground and still he craned his neck to keep the thing in sight. Longbottom was really struggling against the girls now, pushing them away with force and calling, "Dad?" He wasn't going for his wand yet, but Sirius wasn't going to let it go that far.

He'd feel bad later for this as well when he aimed and petrificus totalus, causing Longbottom's limbs to snap together and he fell to the ground stiff as a board. There wasn't a chance anyone was going near that thing now as Harry came crashing back into this room alone! Every one of his friends were out of commission in one way or another, his godson had the prophecy and nowhere to run but up there in a mockery for the center of attention he was so like James for.

Neville wasn't going to stand for that though, broken nose and useless wand as his only form of attack while he descended into the fray. Alice made such a terrifying noise of fury Sirius jumped to be between her and James, but her vengeance for Bellatrix Lestrange mocking her child was not to be directed at anyone in here as she stayed by Frank's side and held his petrified hand.

The Cruciatus curse was set upon their child and Sirius couldn't just stand there doing nothing! He knew that pain, his godson had been subjected to the same from Voldemort, he made to go over there and promise Neville would live through it and anybody who said otherwise would pay, but the ghost of Prongs and Evans weren't going to swoop in and save anybody this time, the Order arrived.

James moved again and wasn't letting go this time, holding Sirius firmly to his side and balancing the book carefully as he rushed in amongst the others. This should have been a good thing, Sirius kept telling himself as he put an easy arm around James's back this time and held him just as close in commiseration. This should have been exactly what they were hoping for, Sirius up and around on his feet to the rescue, Harry would get out of there in no time now!

They kept expecting flashes of light to blind them from the battle, the eight of them were all staying low to the floor now even if they didn't need to and James was practically whispering the dreaded back and forth. Remus was holding his hand now and he didn't know or care who had started that as the prophecy was broken and everything felt so hopeless right now.

"Dumbledore?!" Sirius repeated in a great sigh of relief in case anyone had missed what Prongs had said. He moved to get up and dance around the room in excitement, maybe even try a few of those doors now and skip along merrily in here! Everything was supposed to be fine now, their headmaster could best Voldemort, nothing else was going to happen in this room while that white beard was around!

Prongs hadn't stopped though, his grip on Sirius turned to bruising force as he was still battling Bellatrix and Sirius laughed in wild delight for the idea, it was high time he got to bloody do something useful in this future like that!

Whatever words had appeared next though seemed to have frozen him over, and Sirius leaned in impatiently, still high on his jubilation to read more in confusion than anything Bellatrix had hit him with a spell! The nerve of her sent him into a fit of anger now, reading in a temper what James never could and not even realizing what he'd said until far too late.

Sirius had been the one to fall into the veil, and he did not come back out.

[adventuresloane]

The Wanted (Revised Hurloane Fic) - Chapter 1

Summary:

"They had nearly as many names as they had stories told about them. Ram. Raven. Red. Devil. Deputy. Outlaw. Short 'n Long. Ghosts of the Rapids."

Hurley's a bounty hunter, the Raven is an outlaw, and the desert is a lonely place.

(The 50k+ Old West Hurloane AU Where Hurley Becomes A Thief Too that no one asked for. Updates every Friday. Edited and reposted from an old version of the story--more significant changes to come in later chapters. T for non-graphic violence and discussions of death/injury/trauma.)

Read on AO3

They had nearly as many names as they had stories told about them. 

Ram. Raven. Red. Devil. Deputy. Outlaw. Short 'n Long. Ghosts of the Rapids. 

What happened to them depends on who you ask. Some say the Raven twisted the Ram, but then again, the Ram might have been born with badness in the marrow of their bones. They say the outlaw was a thief, that her glittering horde still lies somewhere out in the desert among the canyons. They say the deputy was a sharpshooter with twenty notches on their pistol, one for every man who tried to take them. They say they were very much in love.

Maybe they still are. People who camp alone by the river say at night, they hear too-loud whispers over the rush. 

If you ask the only man who was there that day, he'll tell you the same thing every time, and nothing more: "They went over the cliff and into the river. Never found the bodies."

He won't tell you whether they were dead before they hit the water. He won't even tell you whether they were shot at all. Maybe, as some say, the two of them just tipped, hand-in-hand, falling backwards over the edge together as children let themselves fall into soft grass.

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

"I don't give a rat's ass what Bane said. She so much as looks at me wrong, I'm shooting."

Hurley heard the murmuring and looked over their shoulder. The two men were lagging, their mounts clopping along at a lackadaisical pace. Barbra and Lil' Jerry rode side-by-side and leaned toward each other in their saddles as they spoke in what could charitably be called a whisper. Hurley slowed their own horse a bit to get closer and listen.

"Yeah, as if you'd live long enough to press the trigger," Lil' Jerry snickered in response. "You couldn't outdraw a tin can."

"Oh, fuck off! I take care of myself fine."

"Ah, whatever."

"Besides, I'll have my gun drawn the whole time we're giving chase. I'm not taking chances on this one. You've heard the stories. Even saw the blood in one of those train cars that one time, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember," Lil' Jerry muttered.

"Everyone's quicker on the trigger when they know their gun's the only thing between them and the Big Sleep," Barbra declared. "That's just survival instinct."

"That poor Abernathy fuck wasn't. Quicker, that is."

"That doesn't mean you just wave a gun around if there's nothing in sight to shoot," Hurley piped up. They took more than a little satisfaction in how the two men looked at them, first with surprise and then with frustration, as if they'd really thought they were getting away with something. 

"We weren't talking to you."

"You might as well have been. You were loud enough. Bane told us we have to start moving quietly. The Raven's probably in this area."

"Trust you to do whatever he tells you." Hurley bristled as Lil' Jerry went on, "This is only your first time out, so we don't need you telling us what to do with our mouths or our guns."

"I know my way around a gun just fine, and you know tha--"

"All of you," said a deep voice, causing Hurley to stop instantly, "would be better off if you paid more attention to what's around you instead of whatever bullshit you're going on about."

Hurley said, "Sorry" while the boys behind them mumbled the word vaguely. At once, they prompted their horse to pick up speed and catch up with Bane as he led the way. 

When they had been riding alongside him for a few minutes, he leaned their way a little. "Though I would say," he started conspiratorially, "having seen both of you at target practice, I trust you to point a pistol the right way quite a bit more than I trust Barbra."

They snickered a little. "I'd hope so, Sheriff."

"You've got a head on your shoulders, even if you've got to be reminded to use it now and again." They looked down and smiled a little sheepishly, though the way he said it made it sound more compliment than critique. "The problem is that anyone can take a look at a thousand-dollar 'wanted' poster and suddenly decide they're a bounty hunter. They try to be heroes.”

"I don't suppose a lot of bravado does you much good out here."

"Oh, no, it can. You need to be tougher in the face of some damn tough criminals. Another reason I think you'll be good to have around." He was grinning. "But the people who come in guns blazing are also the ones who turn tail the quickest when things get to be too much for them."

"You won't have that problem with me, sir."

"No, I don't think I will. I've known you long enough to know you're here because you want to put things right. I think you and I could do that back at home, too."

"It needs it. Goldcliff's broken, if you ask me."

"Hey, now, that's my town you're talking about."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean it that way. It's just I've seen so many people there try to cheat and hustle and steal ever since I came there, and now this...murdering a man on his own doorstep in the middle of the afternoon." They shook their head. "I can't stand it."

"You don't have to. You can help stop it if you want."

"I do. And I think I'll have a much better chance of doing it with you and the law. No more of me challenging cheaters to tavern fights to sort them out," they said with a small laugh. "Thank you again, by the way, for letting me come out here with you."

He nodded before turning to address the whole group. "We're about to enter the canyon. Be careful how you go, now. It echoes in there."

Their heart began to bounce inside their chest as they thought of facing their quarry. Their horse sped up to a trot. 

“Hurley.” 

They looked behind them to find a stern-faced Bane and a posse that had stopped moving altogether. Trying to swallow down the blush working up their face, they got back in line behind Bane. 

The four moved single-file as they made their way downward. By the time they reached the bottom, there was still no activity, not so much as a lizard skittering through the grit on the ground. Quiet filled up the gaps between the stone walls, washed over them like the long-dead rivers that had once carved out these canyons. All they could hear was the clacking of the horses' footfalls, thrown back at them louder.

At various points, Bane sometimes whispered, more often simply signalled with his hands for one of them to break off and explore another path. They would return empty-handed.

Now, Bane held up a hand for them all to stop. Hurley heard, then, just for a moment, the sound of hoofbeats that belonged to none of their rides. With the way sound played off the stone, they couldn’t determine how far it was. 

It kept coming as none of them moved, noise bouncing and skipping off the walls like a mockery. Sometimes distant, sometimes nearer, sometimes seemingly next to their ears. The canyon was sinuous and full of unexpected branches and side-paths. They tried to pinpoint the source of the noises that seemed to come from everywhere, from out of the ether. 

Or they did until a resounding bang interrupted. It made a couple of the horses spook and rear as it blasted apart the near-silence. This time, it wasn't hard to tell that it came directly from behind.

Everyone else turned to see Barbra holding the smoking gun, looking more shocked than anyone.

"For fuck's sake, Barb," Lil' Jerry muttered.

And then a flash of dark around a corner. 

Their galloping set the whole place rumbling as they all shot off. Hurley’s horse nearly skittered on the sand several times as they whipped the reins sharply to the side. It was what was necessary to wind through the narrow passages that curled deeper and deeper into the canyon.

Whenever there was a widening of the path that might allow more than one horse through at a time, Hurley tried to shove past the others. They had to be up front. They could barely see anything past Bane, leading at the front and shouting things they couldn’t hear.

He grabbed his lasso as they came around one bend. There was nothing on his face except the same solid determination as usual, only sharpened. 

The posse pulled around the corner and came to an instant halt, scraping hooves stirring sand. Hurley craned their neck to see the dead end at the end of this passage, a sheer wall of redstone. But no Raven.

Not until there was sound well behind the whole group as the dark form reappeared and shot off in the other direction.

"Dammit," he spat as he yanked the reins back hard and turned his horse around. "Stay together!"

Hurley kept pace with the rest of the group, until they didn't. By degrees, they drew their horse back into a canter, then a slow trot. As expected, the others were too fixated on their path to notice that they were losing Hurley, as they leaned low over the manes of their galloping animals. The posse twisted around a sharp corner and out of their sight.

You're thinking with your belly again, they heard their mother say, while she poked the round ball of their seven-year-old tummy.

None of them were about to outpace the Raven while she stayed three turns ahead of them. She knew the canyon, maybe so well that she knew where her pursuers were just by hearing the echo of them along the red stone walls. But if just one of them could out-maneuver...

They bid their horse to turn around and move at a quiet walk. This was not a betrayal of Bane's orders, they convinced themself. Not really, anyway. Maybe he had told them to keep up with the group, but surely the higher order was to find the thief. If they did that, he could forgive the unconventional methods.

And they would do it.

They started to pick their way through the tangle of paths. The Raven had traveled back this way, running in front of the posse, only to disappear around a bend and re-emerge behind them all. This, perhaps, was where a number of the narrow natural trails converged. They might part only to circle back and rejoin each other elsewhere. If that were true, she would be likely to stay near the place where she had a number of exit routes. This was where she expected she'd be safe. 

They chose their directions nearly at random, only knowing that they wanted to roughly parallel the path that their team had been taking before. They could meet up with them and maybe head the Raven off, if they could only keep track of where the others might be. They went left, left again, right. When they reached a slot-like passage in the rock face too narrow for a horse, they bit their lip, then dismounted and left the gelding behind as they sidled sideways through.

Occasionally, the others' calls and the pounding of their horses' hooves would come to Hurley, and they would stop to hear more. By then, though, the echoes would have already receded. They still had no way of knowing where the source of the sounds could be found--they got bounced around and lost in the network of paths until they seemed entirely disembodied. They might as well have been the chattering of specters wafting their way through the cavernous, lonely canyon. Right, left. No route here was distinct from the rest. For all they knew, they were wearing circles into the sand. 

Right, right again, and then, suddenly, no further. They pulled themself back behind a boulder and instinctively clapped a hand over their mouth. It was some time before they were able to make themself crane their neck back around, to determine whether they had seen what they'd thought they'd seen.

From behind, they saw a figure sitting atop her steed. Long black duster turned sepia by the caked-on dust of the desert and a wide-brimmed, jet bolero with a sharp feather sticking up straight from the hatband. She was still. Just waiting.

Their mouth felt dry. At some point, they realized that it was gaping open, and they snapped it shut. The clack of their teeth sounded far too loud in their mouth. 

They took a single step around the large stone that they hid behind. The half-elf's ears swiveled around and moved to pick up on sound. They seemed to fixate on nothing, though. Certainly, she didn't look Hurley's way as they gripped the long rope and positioned it in their hands. Their every movement was measured now. With every scrape of the rough hemp coil against their fingers, they felt certain that she would turn around, but she didn't. Another step, placed on the ground deliberately. The sand did not crunch beneath them. 

From where they stood behind the boulder, they did not have a clear shot at her, but they did not dare step out fully into the open. They could still get her, though. They would still get her. It probably should have been fear that sent the eager blood blazing through them--the fear that she would see them and be gone in an instant, the fear that they would be gone in an instant when she spun to blow them away--but that wasn't it. This was the familiar thrill of the final blow and the bullseye. It ran through them whenever they knew they were about to prove what they could do. They clenched their lasso as the world shrunk to what was right in front of them. What was right in front of them was an opportunity.

They threw. The Raven had a half-second to look at the loop that had snapped tight around her ankle before Hurley pulled with all they could, and down she went to the ground. When she impacted, it was with a choked noise that might have been a yell, had the wind not been punched out of her lungs. 

They almost wanted to cheer as her horse spooked and ran off.

But then they turned to look at just what it was they had caught. The figure at the end of their tether lay on her back for several moments, unmoving. For a moment, they wondered if she had been stunned by a blow to the head. They saw that, certainly, she was still hurting from the way her spine had slammed into the baked-hard earth. Low, creaking groans came from the back of her throat along with her exhales.

Suddenly, as though startled awake, her eyes snapped wide open to the sky. She scrambled to push herself onto her elbows and look at the place where her ride had been, then spun her whole body around to face Hurley.

There was a bandana tied around her face, black and patterned with feathers, puffing out slightly with every breath. It covered up everything except her eyes, but the eyes were enough. Now unshielded by the hat that had fallen from her head, they snatched Hurley's gaze and held it tight. They were big, for one thing, and youthful, with the cool-toned brown skin around them unlined. What hit them, though, was how they went wide and got wider, caught bare and off-guard. Like they took in everything and understood none of it. Disbelief at being brought down so far and so fast.

They matched her gaze. They might have been smiling. Hurley liked making people believe they could do things previously thought impossible.

The Raven's eyes flitted down to the rope around her foot twice, the first time almost as an afterthought, the second with a look of mounting rage, and it occurred to Hurley just then that they had not really restrained her much at all. They tightened their grip on the lasso just as she went to stand and yanked so that she could not get her footing. She fell back onto her butt with an indignant grunt and tried again. They pulled again, becoming more aware all the while that they were just bringing her closer to them. 

That was when the sound returned to them like rocks tumbling over each other. Both they and the Raven turned just in time to see Barbra and Jerry come riding up, and for possibly the first time ever, Hurley was relieved to see them both. It was just seconds before each of them tossed a rope around her torso and pinned her arms to her sides. She squirmed against the bonds for a few moments and then went still, glaring between the three of them there. That was that. 

A fine thread of blood had begun to trickle out from beneath her hairline, barely skirting her eye, where she could not wipe it away. It ran all the way down to her neck. Hurley's doing. They were about to step forward when they felt a large hand press down on their shoulder.

"So you lost us a horse, it seems."

Hurley looked up in surprise, but Bane had a warm grin for them, the kind that let a person in on a joke. They smiled back, probably more broadly than they strictly needed to. "Still glad you brought me along?"

"Well, had you been a little worse at this job than I thought you'd be, you would've gone off and done something stupid and not gotten anywhere." He gave them a couple of firm pats. "But turns out, you're just as good as I thought you'd be. Better, considering you got the Raven on your first try."

"I wasn't expecting it either," they laughed.

He chuckled lightly, and then they watched him turn his attention to the captive in front of him. Barbra had her by the back of her collar and had already pulled her up to her knees. A bit of her hair was caught in his fist.

"She's younger than I thought," Hurley commented. 

He gave the thief an assessing look. "Not more than a year or two younger than you, I'd say. I don't see outlaws too much older than this, quite frankly. They tend to live fast and die faster."

"I guess so," they mumbled mostly to themself as they watched Bane walk over to her. The boys weren't easing up on the lassos, and already her breathing was shallower as her chest tried to expand against the rope.

He didn't tell them off for it, though. Instead he stepped close to her so that the tips of his boots nearly touched her knees. He cast her into shadow as he stood over her, making her lean back in order to match his gaze. Then, with a forefinger and thumb, he gripped the mask around her face and pulled it down in one motion. They saw all of her hard countenance now. A pale scar ran over the bridge of her nose, another down across her lips in a perfect vertical.

With the same hand that had felt warm and strong on Hurley's shoulder a moment ago, he suddenly grabbed her jaw. His fingers pressed into the skin of her cheek, his thumb dug into the bone beneath her ear. They released a minute gasp. They could see it from where they stood, how he kept squeezing as though to wring something out of her, which perhaps he did when her mouth was forced open a bit. 

"So that's what you look like," he said coolly. "You'll really get your picture in all the papers now, isn't that right?"

Her expression stayed hard and solid as stone. Her lower jaw was gritted and jutted. Hurley didn't know how she wasn't even trying to pull away. How she stood it rather than trying to whip her head out of his grasp. That was what they would have done, they thought.

"Bind her hands and arms both." He dropped his hand, finally. "And make sure those knots are damn tight. She's been known to try sneaking off."

This was the only time she fought, really. Jerry came up behind her, and she glanced backwards, gritted her teeth, got one of her feet underneath her and tried to stand before being shoved back to the ground. Bane was over there and assisting before it even occurred to Hurley that they might help their posse. A hand on her bent back, right at the vertebra where the neck met the spine. She kept struggling as her arms were crossed behind her, with each wrist bound against the opposite elbow. It was only when Barbra pulled back on the rope hard enough to make her wince that she stopped. That left her leaning over a little. Her chest and the muscles of her belly worked hard on every rasping inhale. Her breathing stayed heavy and open-mouthed when she was half-pulled and half-kicked to her feet and started walking behind the horses as they moved in the direction of their base camp.

Hurley walked too, though Bane offered more than once to let them ride on his horse while he walked awhile. On the way, they kept turning back to look. The Raven just went and went. She drove her gaze into the ground like a plough and hardly moved or lifted it, except to glare when she felt an extra tug on the ropes around her torso. Other than that, she looked almost listless. Concussed, maybe, they thought. But she wasn't uncoordinated or struggling to focus. She simply didn't react.

It wasn't until they got back to their base camp that she showed some resistance. Hurley saw as she finally picked her head up and watched while Barbra opened the padlocked back door to the wagon, with its couple of small, square, barred windows. She hesitated before the wide dark opening, tried to take a couple steps back even as she was pulled forward. But it didn't matter. Barbra yanked and Lil' Jerry shoved and Hurley saw her look backward over the boys' heads, at something far away, before the door closed and locked on her again.

They stared for a bit longer before shaking their head. "I can go untie her for you while she's in there, Sheriff--"

"No," he said even as they started stepping forward. "It'll be good for tiring her out a bit if she stays like that for awhile."

"But that's dangerous," they responded without waiting a beat.

"It's only for a few hours, Hurley. It won't hurt anything."

They tried to keep from gaping at him. "It'll definitely hurt. It probably hurts now."

There was a force and urgency in their voice that they heard too late. He half-turned his head towards them, just enough that they could see the widening of his eye and the raising of his brow. "Hurley, you caught an outlaw on your first go, and that's to be commended, but you're still new to all of this. I've been here plenty of times. Trust me when I say I know what to do here." He nodded towards said outlaw, now unseen behind the door. "You suppose we were too rough?"

"I..." They bit the inside of their cheek. Hurley was included in that "we." Only one of them among the group, after all, had made the Raven bleed. "I just think we shouldn't do anything unnecessary."

"And I agree," he said almost somberly. "I try not to, unlike some people. If another group of bounty hunters had gotten her, she likely would've been beaten by now. That's if they bothered trying to bring her back alive at all."

They shivered a little. The cold here came on fast in the evenings.

"I call them one-person juries, people that just go out to kill or punish. It's a sorry state of affairs. She's lucky." He said it as though the sentence were a conversation ender.

It wasn't, in their mind. They weren't convinced that this got a pass just because other posses were far worse, and they were about to tell him as much, but only got as far as saying, "But, Sheriff--" before he brought them to a halt again.

"Hurley," he said. The word was a quiet warning. "Let yourself learn first."

They stared at him even after he turned around to walk away. For a long time, they stood dumbly and watched his back as he strode back towards the fire pit.

Again, this was not disobedience, they told themself as they covertly unlocked the wagon door while the others ate dinner a ways off. Bane said he wanted to bring his prisoners back alive? Then they were going to make sure this one stayed alive, whether he liked it or not.

The late amber light struggled in through the tiny windows, getting caught up in the smoky dust that rose from the floor. It was just bright enough to see the way the Raven lifted her hanging head, letting the long black hair fall away from where it covered her cheek. Without turning their way, she let her gaze slice across them.

After far too long of a pause, they opened with, "Hello," since it seemed like as good an introduction as any.

Behind the airtight line of her mouth, they could tell, her teeth were gritted. They could almost hear the scrape of them.

"That looks uncomfortable," they continued, stepping forward, because the alternative was going backwards, which they never did. "I'll get those ropes off of you if you'll let me."

They kept coming towards her until they saw her pulling her leg back slowly, winding up for a kick. "Hey. Easy." They took another small step forward, still out of her strike range. Their voice did not rise above a murmur. "Easy. There's no catch here, I promise. I'm still going to have to chain your ankles, but I'll untie you so you can move around. You just have to let me, please."

When they kept walking forward, nothing in her changed, including the intensity of her glare. But she didn't seem primed to kick them anymore either, which was good enough for them. 

She tracked their every motion, twisting her neck around to look at them over her shoulder as they went to undo the knots at her wrists. When their fingers brushed hers, she flinched, curled her hands up into fists. But they didn't miss the long sigh and slumping of her shoulders when the bonds fell away, the way her eyes shut slowly.

They moved so that they were back in front of her and saw, without a moment to spare, the way she eyed the key to the cuffs that had just been locked around her legs. They pulled back the hand that held it just as she swiped at it, catching only the air. Well, that escape attempt had taken all of thirty seconds for her to concoct. The three-day journey back to Goldcliff would be exciting.

"Nice try," they commented. They dropped the key into their breast pocket and reached for their canteen. "Do you want water?"

She looked at it like it was the first she had ever seen. When they held it out a little further to her, though, she brought her gaze back to them and kept it there. It didn't move away even as she took the metal container from them and unscrewed the cap. They thought, finally, that they saw something else other than the bitterness in her, even if it wasn't gone. Her head was angled curiously, to eye them as though she were looking through a keyhole.

"I'm Hurley, by the way. I know you didn't ask, which was a bit rude, but I thought if you needed--"

"It's not going to work."

They stopped. In an instant, her lips had become stretched thin into a tight smile. It stayed unchanged on her face even as Hurley searched it for answers. She didn't open her mouth, but still she laughed a low, heavy laugh, dredged up like phlegm. 

"What's not going to wo--"

She held up a finger to halt them as she brought up their canteen to her mouth and tipped her entire head back. They lost count of how many swallows she took, but they did wonder whether she was remembering to breathe. Finally, she pulled it away with a loud, refreshed exhale and tossed it back into their lap, half as heavy. "You," she began, casually wiping her mouth, "are trying to make this easier on yourself. You think if you throw me a bone or two I'll be docile and not give you any trouble while you're dragging me off to prison. Well, go fuck yourself, little Red." She dragged out the last sentence like she had all day to say it. Her voice had a sing-song tilt like a head rocking from side to side, slathered in mock sweetness.

They stayed sitting on their butt in front of her. Well. In all fairness, they didn't really know what else they should have expected. They ran a hand through the short puff of almost-auburn curls on the top of their head, of which they were suddenly quite conscious. "Fine, I'll go fuck myself," they mumbled. There was no truth to what she said, but they doubted there was any way to convince her of that. "Can I at least have your name, since I gave you mine? Though it seems like you forgot it already."

"My name is whatever you think it is, Red."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What have you heard me called? The Raven, I'm sure." She gave them a curl of her lips that was a smirk and a sneer and a snarl all at once. "What else?"

They matched her hard stare. "They call you Black Devil," they answered quietly.

She looked amused, but not surprised. 

"You seem pretty nonchalant about all this."

"What? Getting harassed by people like you? Yeah, you could say I'm used to it."

They had to almost chuckle at that. "Harassment seems like a stretch. What did you expect anyway? You think people will just ignore the murder of an innocent man and an unbroken streak of robberies stretching from one end of the territory clear to the other? That's not the kind of thing you get away with forever. If not us, some other posse would've--"

"What did you say?" 

For the second time, she brought them to a stop. While they had been speaking, the Raven had been staring at the spot of floor between her chained feet with slowly widening eyes. Her expression had gradually eroded into perplexion, her furrowed brow loosening into surprise. Now she turned to face Hurley directly. 

They found their voice again. "What do you mean?"

"About the murder."

Her bewilderment was genuine. Hurley could not see how it could have been otherwise, with the way that she blinked fast, as though trying to clear her vision of sleep in the morning. But she should have known, at least, that the murder conviction was a possibility. "I said we can't just ignore it." 

"Who..." The word came out cracked as her parched lips. She cleared her throat, then. She swallowed her spit and seemed to pull something back inside herself along with it, something that she had let spill out by accident. Her eyes didn't look quite so wild, even as she breathed more quickly. "So who do they say I killed?" 

She hadn't a goddamn clue.

"Bank teller. A Mr. Miles Abernathy, from the First Bank of Goldcliff. He was killed during the burglary. A whole bunch of witnesses spotted someone with your description running from the place." They weren't sure if the last sentence was to inform the Raven or to give themself a reminder. "You don't remem--you didn't know?"

"Didn't hear that, no." She had been nodding along as they spoke, as though she were still learning how to nod.

"So you didn't do it?"

She acted as if she hadn't heard.

"Well..." They grasped at anything. "Well, if you didn't do it, that'll come out in the trial."

That brought her back, seemingly, to herself. Her eyes went cold and narrow again, squinting at more than seeing what was before her. "Get out," she muttered, not looking their way.

[mordellestories]

Give a Beetle a Bone

It was a fucking disaster, is what it was! It wasn't like Betelgeuse's plans had never gone to shit, quite the opposite; his plans ALWAYS went to shit in some way or another, but this time? This time took the fucking cake ! Getting eaten by a sandworm just moments away from being free as a bat at dusk, now that's a story to tell the grandkids–wherever the fuck those little turds were. How could this be the end? How could he have gotten so close, only to come out of the other end of a giant, very satisfied, striped asshole? At least one of them enjoyed themselves. He shuddered at the memory of being squeezed right out into a steaming mountain of sandworm shit.

What was he supposed to do now? Wait his turn with the other deadbeats in waiting room 8, just to get bitched out by the cunt-of-an-ex-boss? Again?! No. No freaking way. This was it. This was the last straw that broke the corpses back, and Betelgeuse was ready to go to war .

The riled up poltergeist shot out of his chair, still in tatters from his meet and greet with the jaws and intestines of that legless, enthusiastic fucker on Saturn. (The beast actually took a liking to Betelgeuse once he was out. Must have grazed the thing’s sweet spot or some shit.)

"I'm not gonna stand for this," Betelgeuse said with righteous determination while standing. "I'm the ghost with the most!" He beat his chest with an angry fist and stomped his foot on the ground. "I do what I want when I want, and none of you dupes can do a thing about it!"

"You!" Miss Argentina shouted from the reception. "I can hit this big red button right here and send you right back to where you came from if you like," she grinned wickedly.

Betelgeuse held up his hands in surrender. "Woah! Not necessary, babe," he winked, exposing his grimy overbite. "I'm just gonna hit the john, maybe have some grub, and I'll be right back." He chuckled slowly and dangerously, placing his hand to his chest and straightening. "Cross my heart and hope to live," he cackled wildly and popped into the midplane between life and death. Time to pay up, betrothed. His shrieking laughter rang through time and space as he zeroed in on his target.

He landed in a darkroom. It took a few moments to realize he was trapped in a negative hung to dry.

"You ruin my art, and I'll ruin your afterlife," droned a familiar feminine voice from afar.

Betelgeuse craned his neck every which way to catch a glimpse of the snot-nosed, betraying, little shit. The backstabbing kid was gonna feel his wrath from here to kingdom come– HOLY HANGIN' GEMSTONES BELOW!

A slim form was hunched over a table, examining her work with a Buddhist monk's calm and concentration—jet black hair pulled up in a messy bun, chocolate eyes, moonlight pale skin, and grown up in every way that counted in his books!

Mother o' pearl, look at those tits!

"Yowzers!" Betelgeuse let out, followed by a sharp whistle. "How long was I in that literal shithole," he grumbled and scratched his head, utterly confounded.

"Eighteen years," Lydia replied dryly, not sparing a glance in the poltergeist's way, making Betelgeuse feel entirely insignificant.

It was insulting. It was infuriating. It was-it was-it was... It was a massive turn on , and Betelgeuse was instantaneously stiff in more ways than one.

He leered in her direction, even though she was still ignoring him, and scanned her top to toes again, shaking his head in bewilderment. Betelgeuse hummed with approval. "May I just say, you're lookin' like a beetle on a cracker ta me right now, babe. Ya sure as hell didn't get your pop's looks, thank my lucky stars," he mumbled the rest.

Lydia arched a brow, the only sign she had heard him at all.

Lordy-lord! That stoic, unperturbed, porcelain face was making him itch in all the right places.

"I wondered when you'd have the stones to come back," Lydia murmured absentmindedly.

Oh, this bitch was messing with the wrong dead man. "Is that right," he drawled with a sneer. "Well, honeybun, your wait is over. Time to ta hold up your end of our deal."

Lydia scoffed with the tiniest smile, her complete amused disregard for the poltergeist going straight to his dick.

Look at me, look at me, look at me! Betelgeuse shook himself and tried to sound as menacing as possible and not like he wanted to grovel at her feet and beg her to scratch his head like the flea-infested dog he was. "Sweetums," he warned, "I think you remember what I'm capable of–hard to forget, I'm sure. I'd watch yourself if I were you."

This time, Lydia did turn her gaze up to meet the ghost, but the look on her face was far from frightened. There was a wicked glint in her hooded eyes, but the rest her face remained as impassive as ever. "What are you going to do? Summon a merry-go-round and a jumping mice circus? Dress as a clown? Oh, wait," her brow furrowed slightly, "you're already in costume."

Oh my god... Cupid had aimed a long-range missile right between his legs and shot his cock up to the heavens that didn't exist a moment ago.

Betelgeuse actually needed to swallow for the first time since he'd keeled over. His jaw was slack, and his eyes were bugged out. He needed to get this shit under control, or he was gonna roll over and let his tongue loll out of his panting, rabid mouth. He cleared his throat and adjusted the lapels of his ruined wedding tux.

Lydia had the decency to keep eye contact, but it unnerved him, and that was just insane. "Listen, kid, uh, woman, uh, pretty lady," he stammered, "I bent the laws of nature for you, saved your friends, scared your folks straight, I'm due some compensation, okay?" Betelgeuse couldn't get over sounding like a handyman being gypped out of his hard-earned cash by an unsatisfied customer. "We made a deal," he all but whined.

The medium raised a single brow and smirked, giving Betelgeuse her undivided but callous attention. "Poor Betelgeuse," she cooed.

The ghost could not suppress the electric sparks from shooting out of his ears at the sound of his name on those pretty pink lips.

"Oh, baby ," Betelgeuse drawled, desire gripping onto his sanity and wringing it out like an old dishrag. "Two more times, and I'm yours," he breathed with manic, pleading eyes. "I'll do anything, and I mean... anything," he pronounced while whipping his arms open to make it abundantly clear.

Betelgeuse could feel Lydia's eyes appraising him, and he was suddenly, painfully aware that he looked like he'd been chewed and shat out of a Saturn giant. She was looking at him like he was a bug–and not in a good way.

"Anything?"

Betelgeuse latched onto the intrigue like a lifeline, because that's exactly what it was! "Anything," he swore and knew he'd follow through because-holy shit-she was gorgeous. To prove his point, he blinked a bouquet of roses into Lydia's arms.

Surprise registered on Lydia's face and then a smile, and fuck, he felt like she'd given him a treat for being a good boy.

"Cute," she deadpanned and let the flowers drop to the floor, "but cliche."

Betelgeuse snapped his fingers, a box of chocolates manifested next, which Lydia snorted at.

A wave of his hand brought a generous shower of jewels and gems.

She rolled her eyes.

Betelgeuse snarled. "Aw, c'mon! Waddya want?! Dresses?" All manner of old fashioned gowns fell onto Lydia's lap. "Just say the word, and it's yours."

Lydia seemed somewhat pleased with the wardrobe above everything else, but it still wasn't the reaction any other woman would have had. Hell's bells, this woman was hard to please! He hit all the staples, didn't he? What else could a chick want?!

"Hmm," the stoic beauty hummed and shrugged, "I dunno, Betelgeuse ."

"One more B-word, snookums," the ghost pleaded.

She sighed dramatically. "I'm not very impressed, and I honestly have everything I've ever set my mind to," she looked at her nails and then dead in his eyes. "Except..."

Betelgeuse pressed his face up against the photo's barrier, squishing his crooked nose and fogging up the image. "Tell me," he purred, fire igniting every cold bit of his soul.

"You."

Betelgeuse let out a high-pitched wheeze and shot a hand to his dead heart. "Me?! Fuck, babe, ya got me! Hook, line, and sinker! Let me outta here!" He clawed at his prison and whimpered.

Lydia's grin was downright evil, and the ghost shook in his boots. "I'm not going to marry you," she clarified. Betelgeuse deflated but waited for her to continue. "But, I'll let you out every once in a while if you're a good boy."

Good boy. "Want me ta be good? I'll be good for ya. I'll sprout wings and a halo for you, babes."

"I don't think you understand," Lydia chuckled and shook her head, bemused. "I'll own your soul, you'll be my errand boy for all of my whims, and I decide if and when you get to come out to play."

"Yes." Betelgeuse had said it without hesitation, and no follow-up.  

Lydia's eyebrows disappeared under her bangs. "You can't be serious," she narrowed her eyes. "I'm offering you scraps!"

Upon snapping his fingers again, Betelgeuse's ears grew and flopped over, a tail sprouted out of his ass crack, and a collar with the name Lydia in big neon green letters wrapped around his neck.

"As long as those scraps come from your table, Lyds, I'll sit, rollover, and even play dead for ya." He grinned wide, let his tongue roll out past his chin as he panted, and let out a needy bark.

It was obviously the right thing to do because the passive woman burst out laughing. It was music to Betelgeuse's new doggie ears. He was so in trouble.

"Okay," she let out on a breathy giggle. "Then we got a deal... Betelgeuse ."

The ghost cackled and cheered. "Aw, yeah! It's showtime, babes!"

Mordelle on Ao3

[hes-writer]

Break Up Playlist

Summary: Harry is a rockstar and Y/N is a law student

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1326 words

Based on: i watched a movie and got inspired

Law and music were two completely different things, yet Y/N strived to showcase her skills in both of them. Law was organized, set in stone, and rigid, but music is pliable and can mean anything you want it to. But for Y/N, it was these two that she was completely passionate about everything she did.

Y/N is book smart– that is, she knew a good amount of things just from reading about it and connecting ideas from book to the real world. She was an avid law student–albeit, struggling just a little bit–because of her parents pressuring their unaccomplished dream on her. Don’t get this wrong– Y/N definitely had some say in what she could be,–it’s just she would rather be doing something that she truly enjoyed instead of living off of fear from her family pressures and constraints.

—

A night out was something that was long overdue. For months, she had been studying night and day preparing herself for her LSAT exam. It paid off since she was now attending one of the most prestigious law schools in the country. Long days, she worked tirelessly at her job with a minimum wage paycheck to help out at home. At night, Y/N would be surrounded by heavy books and papers to memorize. But tonight, she was out with her friends–celebrating her accomplishment, passing with flying colors.

A band was on the stage performing a rock ballad. The beat of the drum was hypnotizing and the electric circuit of the guitar transmitted from the amp to the open air. Lights were dimmed to an almost orange hue, setting a warm atmosphere amongst the crowded area where everybody was joined together by four walls of red bricks decorated with picture frames of past performers and notable musicians.

One thing that caught Y/N’s attention the most was the lead singer with his soulful, raspy voice. He appeared to be engrossed in the music pumping through his earpiece. His eyes were closed in emotion, lashes fluttering ever so often from the twitching of his eyelids as he belted lyrics from his throat and which wisped past his pink lips. His mouth was touching the metal microphone, the feedback muttering some from the speakers yet Y/N couldn’t help but to let her eyes inspect the rest of him.

The instrument he carried on his back through a thick, black guitar strap was being strummed by his fingertips. She imagined the rough touch of his skin from excessive plucking and playing of the guitar, calluses littering the area from how hard he pressed on the caliber strings. His right hand weighted on a downbeat strum from the rings encompassing his fingers– the silver rose curved to a petal of perfection.

And maybe Y/N was too embarrassed to admit that she had been blatantly checking him out–although, she would pass it off more as an inspection–the curly haired boy who was practically making out with the mic was pointing directly at her with a nimble finger and she must’ve been focusing hard on trying to see the details of his rings that she did not notice his other hand lifting up to point at her.

Aurora, her friend, squealed in excitement, nudging at Y/N on her shoulder to gently push her body towards the stage. The crowd was supportive of the man, cheering Y/N on to the front and she couldn’t help but let the internal heat in her body make its way through her cheeks, causing a light blush to form on the apples.

“Go Y/N!” Aurora screamed with hands cupped around her mouth to project it even further. The drummer was pounding the bass and snare with a light beat while they waited for Y/N to join them.

Y/N searched the area behind her, craning her neck around to check if the finger was pointed at her or she was just crossed-eyed at the moment. When she confirmed that he was– indeed-signaling to her, she looked up at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

“Me?” Y/N mouthed quietly, not seeing the point in yelling as she was certain that he wouldn’t be able to hear her anyway. He nodded, his eyes gleaming brightly because of the golden spotlight bestowed on him. The lashes on his lids casting a shadow on his face.

The unknown man outstretched the whole of his arm, palm facing up to capture hers into his own. Y/N was right–his fingertips were rough on the edges, she felt it on the back of her hand as he used some of his strength to help pull her up on the raised stage.

“Good evening. I’m Harry,” Harry greeted, “Nice to meet you,” He beamed a polite grin, and from his side, Y/N saw the indentation of his dimple. Cute, she thought.

“Thanks for having us here tonight,” He continued, to which the crowd laughed with his slight chuckle. Harry was a regular performer here and the people who came to see him were almost the same ones every night. “And I have the lovely …”

It took Y/N half a second to realize that he had tilted his body towards her, mouth touching his tool of amplification with a raised brow. Y/N opened her mouth slightly when she was interrupted, “Uh, I’m–”

“Y/N! Her name is Y/N,” She could recognize the voice belonging to one of her friends. Harry looked to the crowd in surprise, hand placing itself above his brow bone in a search for the input. His eyes lit up in recognition when he found Aurora.

“You had to have your friend yell out your name,” Harry joked, crinkles appearing by his eyes and Y/N couldn’t help but giggle with the crowd. “Well, thanks for that.”

He whipped behind him to look at the drummer, “Ready, Eli?” There was no vocal response, except that of a countdown. The rest of the band followed through, playing the first notes of a song that Y/N recognized as one of her personal favorites.

“Sorry to be putting this bombshell on you, Miss Y/N,” Harry ‘apologized’, adjusting the strap on his shoulder to play.  “But I couldn’t help wondering if a beautiful lady like yourself also has a pretty voice.” 

His gaze stayed on her for a few seconds. The intensity of his stare waking a bubbly feeling in her stomach. Her throat went dry while she watched Harry conjure up indescribable feelings within her and all she knew about him was that his name is Harry and that he was a musician.

His focus went back on the stage where the people mutually reciprocated his attention. The sound that lingered through the air was deep and raw, and as always– Y/N noticed– he sang with the utmost emotion through every push of a syllable escaping his lips.

Harry was a performer, for sure. Y/N watched as he interacted with the people below him with little effort. They were attentive to his every move. He was magnetic and even Y/N couldn’t deny the attraction she was feeling for him. He gave a little nod to her after pulling away from the chorus, directing her a soft smile that made her heart flutter and a warmth in her chest to expand and impelled her to be more comfortable, despite the company.

“Just picture everybody naked,” He whispered inconspicuously where only she could hear him.  The plump curvature of his mouth brushing delicately on the lobe of her ear. 

He’s a cheeky one, Y/N concluded, especially after witnessing him drop a lid to a wink. It didn’t help Y/N’s attraction to him when he plucked his guitar pick between his teeth, showcasing a smug smirk when his dropped head caught sight of her thighs squeezing together in an effort for relief.

—–

new series :)))))

permanent taglist; @ynm1505 @kissme-hs @agoddamnmango @harrys-kingdom @calums-sugarbaby @queenbeestuffs  @ashkuuuu @kettxo @send-me-styles @ofpeppermintbays @littledreamybeth @trustfulhaz @harrysfeastedflower @harrystxleslx @befourep @moonandstars-xo @babebenhardy @swayingnoodlelove  @mendesromano @harrystylinsince1994 @juliassgem @miscll-fangirl @little-dragon-ate-my-heart @myfangirlworld @haroldssfedora @winchesterwife27 @w0wfxck 

[ernestsinclairs]

Meet the Parents - Beckett Harrington

Beckett x MC (Amelia)

“Oh this isn’t intimidating at all.”

The sleek black town car slowed to a stop in the curve of a stone semicircle driveway, the dying sunlight blotted out by an imposing manor silhouetted against the sky. It was oddly reminiscent of the drawings Amelia had done in her childhood, with the sloping castle roofs and fairy tale embellishments. Merged with the aspects of a grand English aristocrat’s home, the Harrington manor exuded power. And money. Quite a lot of it.

“You never said it was this . . . impressive,” Amelia said slowly, craning her neck to see the entire house through the narrow car window. The task proved impossible, and she slunk back into her seat.

“I didn’t really know if it was,” Beckett admitted sheepishly. “I’ve lived here all my life. I never had something to compare it to.”

“Fair,” Amelia conceded. The car finally eased to a stop beside wrought iron doors and she turned to the young man next to her, hand outstretched.

“Shall we?”

Firmly set on Beckett’s arm, the couple traversed into the house, entering into a grand foyer, beset with rich scarlet and gold drapery. The entire setup screamed wealth and flashy rich people. It only got more extreme as the house went on.

“I’ll take it you’re wealthy?”

Beckett coughed, the tips of his ears turning pink again.

“Maybe. We’re comfortable.”

“What’s the definition of comfortable?” Amelia teased. “Three vacation houses or four?”

“What I mean is that we have a nice, private dinner awaiting,” Beckett said, obviously trying to turn the conversation into something he was more willing to admit. “Here.”

He ushered Amelia through a set of double oak doors, one hand placed firmly on the small of her back. Through the cracks between the doors, just moments before they opened, a sliver of golden light poked through, a tiny ray of sunshine in the halls of an otherwise dim home.

The doors opened to an equally grand dining room, smaller than a banquet hall, but larger nonetheless. Richly draped with finery and what Bela could only guess were pieces of the family art collection, it was still no distraction from the real focus of the room.

“So this is the girl,” came a polished, refined voice, slightly thin, but full at the same time. Amelia looked across the room to meet the eye of an older woman, greying hair pulled back in a crisp bun, sapphires dangling from her ears and throat.

“Yes mother,” Beckett coughed. “This is Amelia. She’s a Sun-Att from Penderghast.”

“So this is the young lady everyone’s been talking about,” the man seating next to her said, raising an arched eyebrow. “You have quite the . . . reputation, Amelia.”

Dinner progressed in an awkward fashion, too slow for Amelia’s liking. Penderghast had been different. Their meals had been fast and two the point, filled with excited chatter and plotting, except on the holidays, when everyone lounged out and shared food for hours. This dinner had all the flavors of the food, but none of the warmth.”

“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting a Sun-Att before,” Mr. Harrington said politely, taking a sip of wine. “You must have certain . . . academic accomplishments, no?”

“My childhood was sheltered,” Amelia said, though she knew that was the understatement of the year. “I have been progressing like many others around me.”

Mr. Harrington gave a tight nod, his eyes flickering momentarily to his son, then back to Amelia.

“Well I’m sure you know of Penderghast’s rich history, especially with the elite of the magical world. I didn’t get it last time, but what is your father’s profession.”

Amelia hesitated, mulling over what to say. Something told her that this man wouldn’t like the truth - her father was a high school teacher. Pausing just a second more, she finally answered.

“He’s an advisor in the mathematical arts for gifted students.”

Mr. Harrington nodded. The answer had been satisfactory. 

“Excuse me,” Amelia said softly, setting down her napkin. The room was getting a little stuffy for her liking, and two more hours of answering questions from a rich magical dude wasn’t desirable. Dipping her head slightly, she turned and exited quietly, feigning a need to use the bathroom.

Once the doors had shut behind her, Amelia slid down the wall, breathing out in relief. The cooler air outside was a wonderful contrast to the dining room atmosphere and she breathed in, trying to calm her frayed nerves.

There was a muffled voice - Beckett’s she realized. Carefully pressing her ear against the oak wood of the door, Amelia held her breath, listening carefully.

“I don’t know about her, Beckett,” came a woman’s voice - Beckett’s mother. Her voice was silvery, a little softer this time.

“She’s perfectly fine, mother.”

“She’s not up to . . . caliber, Beckett,” came the voice of Mr. Harrington. “I can’t see why you didn’t take to those debutantes last year. The Greene girl is perfectly good, or the Stonewall girl.”

“I’m with Amelia, thank you.”

Amelia chewed her lip, anxiety spiking a little. Beckett had warned her about this - she didn’t have the family name or old money to back her up. But she had him. She just hoped it would be enough.”

“I’ve been hearing rumors that she didn’t even know of her magical ability before coming here,” Mr. Harrington continued. “She-”

“Father, please.”

The room felt silent, save for a little clink Amelia assumed was a fork being set down in shock.

“Amelia is the only girl I’ve met before that knows who I am,” came Beckett’s voice, sturdier this time. “I know you haven’t met her much, and I know you don’t think too much of her. But I think highly of her. She’s the right one for me.”

The room was silent again.

“I suppose we’ll see, son,” Mr. Harrington sighed, more clinks coming from inside the room as dinner resumed again.

“You will,” Beckett promised, a new note of earnestness creeping into his voice. “Amelia’s the one.”

For the tags, sorry, but I lost the name of the person who requested this due to my inbox being all weird! Shoot me a message if it is you!

[chalabrun]

after so long (trephacard)

 @oddsandendsandeverythingbetween requested: How about a reincarnation AU where Alucard repairs the Belmont/Dracula manor and just sulks for centuries after Trevor and Sypha pass away only to have these two college punks barge into his castle one day because they dared each other to go in and see if it’s really haunted. As expected, chaos ensues 

Warning(s): G, none

Syfa Velnumdes was known for a lot of things, but keeping her boyfriend, Ralph C. Belmondo, in check wasn’t one of them. University students from Bucharest like they were, of all the things they’d expected on their trip to provincial Sibiu, coming across a Gothic style castle in the countryside wasn’t one of them.

It was a thing built improbably, built upside down almost in the way it spanned and configured like a Cat’s Crade in the sky. Honestly, she and Ralph simply weren’t sure. The reason they’d come at all was his distant connection to the Belmonts that ruled the Belmont Estate still in splendid condition half an eon later. It blotted high against the lowing twilight, and the forest was devoid of birdsong usually present this time in spring. Syfa’s brows furrowed and she flashed a look towards Ralph, the brunet regarding it quizzically, inverted thing that it was.

“What do you think? Do you really think we should go in? I thought you wanted to concentrate your thesis on the Belmont Estate, Ralph,” Syfa said over her shoulder as she craned to look at him. One thing they had in common was a connection to the Belmont and Belnade Clans, something unprecedented, but very cool—she thought so, as a history major. Masters to be, at least.

Ralph stood beside her and pocketed his hands casually. “I think a better question is, why not? This castle could be important to my family’s history and we’ll never know if we don’t try. Nothing gained, nothing lost, right?”

Syfa cast a smile at him. “Oh, alright. And here I’m usually the one you have to caution against these things.” It seemed they were largely in agreement. 

Genya Arikado didn’t think he would have returned all these years later. A secret agent of the Japanese government, he didn’t really have reason to be. But when his superiors had offered him the chance to pursue some black hat hacker coincidentally based in Romania that had narrowly compromised their network just a month later, he’d taken them up on it.

He walked these lonesome before, back when he’d been Adrian Tepes—and that had just been at the turn of the century some twenty years ago. The library didn’t recognize his black hair or his pressed suit, or the way he walked with a modern, catlike saunter as he stalked the halls only a practiced agent could. Genya thought he could’ve waited, he did. That his lovers and their shared family would somehow last forever until, one night it didn’t. That he received word of their demise and suddenly his grief cut sharply as stone. He’d slept until the late 1700’s he was so aggrieved, only to defeat his father again and again, and sleep again.

He wondered what his friend, Soma Cruz, would think if he knew who he really was.

But, he couldn’t exactly tell Yoko Belnades, his associate, that he was here, could he? It felt like too much of a revelation, too much of tearing off old wounds he thought had scabbed and scarred and long since healed, but just a sharp enough pinch and they could easily bleed again.

“Ralph, what are you doing? If you’re not careful something could collapse in on us!”

No…it couldn’t be, could it?

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Syfa? Besides, it’s not like this place is zoned off. Does it look like some bloody museum to you? If it’s haunted, we’ll be the first to know.”

His heart lurched. God above, it was.

Remembering a complex system of mirrors he’d set up some centuries ago, he activated one closest in the proximity of where the voices emanated and angled it just so. They were a spitting image of Trevor and Sypha, a fact that made his heart pound into his throat. Genya pinched the bridge of his nose, willing that old grief for his lovers to subside. No matter how alike they looked, he had to prevent them from finding out.

From finding him. He’d already lost more than he could handle and phantoms of the past were those he couldn’t suffer. Not anymore.

Sighing deeply, he retreated into the shadows. Hopefully, this wouldn’t take long.

“What was that?” Syfa demanded in alarm as she flashed the flashlight over what appeared to be a procession of statuesque gargoyles, their eyes glinting red whenever the light traveled directly over them.

“Your paranoia by the looks of it,” Ralph replied jokingly, only to be swatted at by Syfa who wasn’t having it. “Hey!”

Syfa dashed the flashlight to another corner. “Ralph, there it is again! I’m sure of it!”

Ralph squinted, unconvinced. “This place is old and hasn’t been touched in ages. It could just be your— What the hell was that?!” He saw it, he fucking saw it! Not only a massive streak of white but glaring red eyes to accompany it. That of a voracious, hungry predator.

Both stood in paralyzed shock as a great white wolf emerged from the shadows like the moon from cloud cover. At its shoulder it easily stood at Ralph’s height if not taller, a growing blot of terror forming in her throat. The wolf growled as it advanced upon them, stalking with such deliberation that every step back for them was two for it.

Poised on its haunches, the wolf was prepared to strike before something seemed to stop it. Syfa took a foolishly intrepid step forth, Ralph shouting at her to back away. Except, she couldn’t. It was like something kept her transfixed on the spot.

Syfa’s hand extended and tears began to form in her eyes, disarming the wolf whose snarl fell and its shock registered in the whites of its eyes, too. “Why do I feel like I know you? Why does my heart ache to look at you?” she thought aloud, the wolf’s defensive stance seeming to dissolve away like their fear. She was almost poised to touch its snout before Ralph seized her hand.

“Syfa, we have to leave, now!”

“Huh?” was all she could muster as Ralph led them in a headlong dash down through the grand foyer and out the entrance, through the dismal night that swallowed them up again. Ralph never looked back while Syfa kept throwing looks over her shoulder at the wolf.

“Ralph, did I just imagine that?” she asked him once they were safely away and deep in the woods, on the hiker’s trail, in stunned silence moments later.

The brunet looked troubled, eyebrows furrowing. “No, you didn’t. It was like the wolf was familiar, somehow. Did you feel it? Grief instead of fear?”

“Yeah, but I don’t understand. I’ve never been here in my life.”

“Neither have I,” Ralph agreed, folding his arms at the looming shadow.

“…Let’s get back to the hotel. I don’t want to be out here any longer than we have to be.”

“Agreed. Strangely familiar wolves, included.”

[theoreticalli]

On Dreaming

Day 1 of Critical Role Relationships Week: Cassandra & Vax'ildan (Read on AO3)

Set after Campaign 1, so spoilers for much of the final arc (and also for the Briarwood arc, obviously). I spent all my prep time writing this, so it's very long and unedited (except by tumblr user @horationelson so thank her for that) and I'll be spending the rest of the week trying to catch up on all the other fics I have planned. Pray to the Raven Queen so she won't take me away.

Cassandra didn’t get to see Vax’ildan often. In her memories, it only took a few months after Vex’ahlia and Percival returned to Whitestone before his face started blending with his sister’s, her constant presence superseding Cass’s initial interest in the rogue. Eventually all she could recall of him was his more mischievous smile, the beads strung into his hair, and the daggers he wore. She felt a sting of guilt on days when she could see Vex was struggling— especially when the Lady gave in to constant questioning about her birthday and let them throw her a small party every year. Cass knew what it was to have that constant knowledge that someone was missing from her life. She’d been living with it for almost a decade. She only wished she could give her something back, to make those days a little bit easier.

It was on that birthday, a few years later, when the first raven appeared. They had nearly finished with dinner and the kitchen was setting the final details on the cake when Cass saw Vex stiffen out of the corner of her eye, the half-elf’s gaze latched on something past the window.

Cass caught Percival’s eye and his brow furrowed. “Dear, are you alright?”

Vex was already standing, pushing her chair back without taking her eyes off the window. “Percy. Percy, look.”

Percival craned his neck to follow her line of sight and Cass could hear his breath catch. Suddenly they were both speaking in low murmurs. “Do you think it’s—”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t sure he could come back.”

“Could be a coincidence?”

“But it’s our birthday, Percy. I don’t….”

Vex trailed off as she walked towards the window, leaning on the sill with both hands. After a moment, she slowly raised one finger to tap, shakily, on the glass.

Cass heard a loud caw! from the lawn and both Percy and Vex burst into relieved laughter. Vex finally looked away, smiling down at the two rings on her splayed left hand. Percy came up behind her, sliding an arm around her waist while waving cheerily at the big black bird in the tree, and Cass felt a low, dull thud in her stomach. Why couldn’t anyone she loved come back for a brief little visit?

[read more]

That night, she laid on her side in bed, staring out into the dark chamber. She could barely make out the tapestry of her family tree on the opposite wall, a bit torn from intentional mishandling. She’d become wearily accustomed to the hours of lying awake in dread that led into the nightmares every night, but that certainly didn’t make it any more enjoyable. Breathing slowly, she rolled onto her back and thought heavily, It simply isn’t fair. Not that I begrudge her that happiness, especially not on her birthday. But it’s still not fair. All I wanted was to say goodbye. Tell them I loved them. Since we never did that much in life, the fools we were.

She fell asleep eventually, arms crossed over her chest. Almost immediately her eyes opened on a dark chamber, black stone walls rising to a stained-glass ceiling with almost no light spilling through it. In the center of the floor was a flat plane of deep red, completely still— she could only tell that it was a liquid because someone was sitting on the edge, legs dangling motionless in the pool, completely clad in black. Uneasiness settling in her chest, Cass stepped out of the doorway— glancing behind herself quickly to find that it led into nothing but darkness, the floor vanishing.

The figure didn’t move, but a voice rose like it was coming from every part of the room at once. “Lady Cassandra de Rolo. Fantastic seeing you again. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it sooner.”

Finally, the head turned to face her and she saw none other than Vax’ildan, his hair drawn back loosely into a ponytail, armor adorned with iridescent black feathers covering him. For a moment she almost thought him a strange version of Vex, with a harder jaw and that smile, beads now dimly visible in his hair. Cass rested her fingertips on the cool, damp stone, watching him.

“I trust you’ve been keeping my sister and Freddy in line?”

“Of course,” Cass replied, and her voice came out smoother than she might have expected. “They seem to be doing fine. Worse without you, I suppose.”

His slight smile faltered and suddenly he looked very different from Vex— much older, his brow creased more heavily despite the strange glow that seemed to light his skin from underneath. She suddenly felt a feeling of vertigo, like outside the walls of the chamber was a vastness that would lose her instantly. Had he been here for all these years? Did time pass the same here?

He looked down at his hands, then pushed himself to his feet. The disturbance sent barely two ripples across the pool, and when Cass pulled her eyes away he was already standing beside her.

“I’ve only just been able to reach out to… anyone. I figured our birthday was as good a time as any.”

“They seemed to appreciate it,” Cass said softly.

“That’s not why I’m talking to you, though,” Vax said, leaning on the wall and crossing his arms. “Those two aren’t the only ones who’ve been having a difficult time, are they? How have you been, Cassandra?”

Cass blinked. “Fine.”

“I’m hurt.” Vax laid a hand against his chest, faking a pout. “I brought you all the way here. The least you can do is tell me your troubles.”

“They haven’t exactly changed much,” Cass said bitterly. “By all accounts, everything in Whitestone is doing much better. Including me, I guess.”

“You were expecting a nightmare. I can feel it.” He tapped his sternum and crossed his arms again.

“Yes? I have nightmares every night. I’m sure Percy does too, and Vex, and whoever else. You probably do— did.”

“I don’t sleep much anymore.” His chin tipped down so he could look at her closer. “You never really got the closure we got, did you? I’m sorry about that.”

“Well, sometimes there’s not much one can do,” Cass said. “Were you this retrospective— before? I seem to recall your sister being the more sympathetic one.”

“She was. I figure if you spend all your time escorting people out from their lives and you don’t have one to go back to yourself, you spend a lot of time thinking about their lives and a lot of time thinking about your own.”

Sighing, Cass mirrored his posture against the wall, hugging herself. “That’s how I felt the first few months after Whitestone was restored. I spent all day helping other people sort out whatever the Briarwoods had done to them, and then at night I’d feel like nothing was changing for me. At least I had a lot of time to spend trying to sort out my memories.”

Vax nodded, looking down at the mosaic floor. After a long moment, he said, “I have… a proposition for you.”

Cass looked up at him, eyebrows raised. He’d hardly spoken to her before, let alone asked after her feelings, let alone offered her something. “Yes?”

“I cannot resolve any of your pain. I cannot bring anyone back for you, nor for Percival. However. If there are any words you feel were left… unsaid, any messages you’d wish to pass on, I can find the recipients. And I may be able to bring a response.” Standing up straight, he settled his hands on her shoulders and looked her firmly in the eyes. “I know that something that haunted both Vex and I for years was never being able to say goodbye to our mother. I would imagine that pain is similar for you.”

Cass held his gaze for a second, then quickly wiped her eyes. Strangely, even the thought of being able to say goodbye to her mother and father and all her siblings, however indirectly, made something release in her chest that she didn’t even know she’d been holding so tightly. Tipping her head back against the wall, she took a few steadying breaths, trying to compose her thoughts. What could she say? My dear brothers and sisters, I am sorry I never really got to know you on account of my being quite young when you were murdered. Everything is going well here, I no longer daily wish I was dead with you. No, that wouldn’t do.

She looked back down at Vax. “Thank you… very much.” Her voice cracked and she cleared it carefully. “If you could find my siblings and tell them that… that I love them very much, and Whitestone feels very empty without them. Tell them that Percival and I are doing our best to replicate all the bickering that went on. Oh, and—” She started laughing, softly. “Tell them that Whitney was always my favorite, because she used to sneak me biscuits and other things from the kitchens when I was upset.”

He grinned briefly, nodding. “Can do.”

“And tell my parents…” She bit her lip. “Tell them that Percival and I are doing the best we can in a position we never expected to find ourselves in, let alone so soon. We’ll keep working in their legacy. And I miss them so, so much.”

Her voice went up slowly until the last word, which caught and wavered between them. Cass put her hand against the dark stone, the tears that had been pricking her eyes spilling down her cheeks. Within a moment she’d let out a loud sob and clasped her hand over her mouth, quickly.

She didn’t see Vax move, but suddenly his arms were around her, one hand rubbing her back. “Shhhhh. You can cry here,” he murmured. “You haven’t ever had the chance to mourn them, really. And there are so many burdens on you. Just cry. Just let it out. I know that they are so proud of you.”

“I just feel so selfish,” Cass gasped. “Everyone lost people.”

“And so did you. It still hurts, and it always will, but it will be so much worse if you mix guilt into it. Be a little selfish. You have as much time as you need.”

Cass had no idea how long she stood in Vax’s arms, sobbing. Crying for a childhood she’d lost. Crying for siblings she’d never know, parents who’d never hold her again. Crying for a home that had been spoiled for her, all her happiness there ruined with years of pain. Crying for her brother, who left her and ran and ran and ran. Crying for Vex, who was in Whitestone with the man she loved and still missing so much. Crying for herself, for everything she still had to do, every nightmare she’d still have to suffer, every day that would still feel awful and long, every moment she’d spend hating herself for things she never could control. Crying for Vax, taken away from everyone he loved to serve a distant god. Crying. Crying. Crying.

Abruptly, Cass woke up in her bed, the sheets laid out neatly around her like she hadn’t moved once. Even her nightmares tended to lose detail quickly, but every word of her conversation with Vax, every aspect of the room, came back to her with no effort. Exhaling slowly, she sat up, moving the sheets aside with unusual ease. Getting up was a lot less daunting when her sheets weren’t soaked with sweat and tangled around her legs.

Of course, she had to put the encounter off as a particularly vivid and benevolent dream brought on by the raven’s visit the day before. Nevertheless, something both relieving and painful had settled deep in her gut, tugging at her. She wouldn’t let herself admit that she was waiting for responses, but she dreamed of their faces more often, and sometimes Vax showed up in the skies of her nightmares, the brush of dark-feathered wings behind him as he watched her sadly.

It was a few weeks. She still had terrible dreams almost every night, and the disappointment when she’d wake up thrashing was almost more crushing than the fear itself. Eventually Vex asked after her, catching her furrowed brow and conversing that was even brusquer than usual.

“Darling, you seem concerned. It’s not the Marquesan diplomat, is it? I can really take that meeting alone if you need me to.”

Cass sighed, trying in vain to tuck a few loose strands of hair into her updo. “No— well, not entirely. It would make my life easier if you did. But there’s something else, and I probably should have told you a while ago.”

Vex reached out to help her, then smoothed her sleeves down until she was holding both her hands. “What is it?”

“I had a dream about Vax. He told me he would get in contact with my family for me, and I gave him some messages. I know it was just a dream, but it felt so vivid, and I just… I desperately want him to bring me the responses. I feel so silly, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m indulging myself or because of what I said. It’s just making me more tired than usual, that’s all.”

Vex looked down at their clasped hands. “You think he actually visited you? In your dream?”

“Do you dream of him?” Cass asked gently.

The corners of Vex’s mouth twitched up into a very sad smile. “All the time, darling. But his face started getting mixed up and I… I couldn’t bear it. I got Keyleth to help me mix up something for dreamless sleep.” Suddenly, her face twisted into a look of horror. “Oh, darling, I’m so sorry. I should have offered it to you the day I thought of it. I know you need it much more than I do.”

It did sting a little, to know the solution was that simple, but Cass also had a feeling that her nightmares wouldn’t be stifled that easily. “It’s alright, Vex, I know you would have. Do you think he ever… actually visited you?”

“I’d considered it at first, but I couldn’t hold on to it and stay present day to day. I suppose I understand where you’re coming from there. And many of the dreams were… less than pleasant, so I’d prefer to think he had no involvement in them— the real him, anyways.”

Cass used their hands to pull her into a hug, something she was still working on gifting freely. “I know how that feels, of course. Well… I don’t know, maybe you should try one night and see if you get anything. Just so you know, one way or the other.”

Vex looked at her fondly, her smile growing to something more genuine. “I’m a bit worried that I’ll keep making excuses and never get a good night’s sleep again, but thank you for telling me, darling. It’s some comfort to know he might be looking out for you, too.”

That night, Cass spent a little extra time getting ready for bed. She didn’t completely know why, but she used a bit of the fragrant soap she saved for occasions and spent several minutes brushing her hair out and braiding it out of the way. Feeling a little ridiculous, she caught her own eye in the mirror and said firmly, “If no one’s there, no one’s there. That is it.”

She laid awake for a while, though she was surprisingly calm— not even that excited. Eventually she drifted off and opened her eyes in the dark temple, exactly as she’d imagined it. Vax was standing on the side of the pool, looking at her with a bit of that playful grin. “Thank you for telling my sister about the dream. I’ve been trying to get to her for ages, but except for certain days it’s hard to take control of the dream. I'll be delighted to see her.”

“How does this work?” Cass asked. “All this… showing up in my dreams. Is it always really you, even in the nightmares?”

His brow furrowed and he looked down at the pool, studying it like he could see something other than his reflection. “I don’t really know. I have a lot of duties, but the way time works… doesn’t always make sense. Sometimes I just get the sense that one of you, someone I knew before, is closer to me, and it’s usually in sleep. If someone is unconscious I can get that much closer, but that hasn’t happened since most of you stopped adventuring. But if you aren’t completely open to it… sometimes all I can do is watch. I hate it, but it means I can see my sister, and Keyleth, and all the rest of you. It’s not as good as this, though.”

So it was real, Cass realized. And she was dreaming. Usually she couldn’t tell that until she’d woken up. She moved to stand across from him, a few feet back from the edge of the pool. “I hope you can reach out to Vex soon.”

His smile changed into something more wistful, almost childlike and painfully hopeful. “I’m hoping tonight. I can feel her, she’s much closer than usual. But I have your responses, so I figured I owed you the first visit.”

“Took you long enough,” Cass said, carefully managing her tone to make sure it didn’t sound too accusative.

He actually looked shocked. “Oh. How long has it been?”

Brow furrowing, she thought back. “I don’t know. About a month?”

“I am so very sorry. I had no idea, I went to speak to them immediately. I really thought it had only been a few nights at most. I told you, time is weird here. Sometimes I feel like I’m getting things out of order. It’s… it’s a bit concerning, if I think about it too hard.” Vax’s hand went to his belt, like he was looking for something familiar. “I’m sorry, Cassie.”

“It’s alright,” she said gently. “I’m just glad to get anything.”

He cleared his throat and reached into a pocket of his cloak to pull out a scrap of parchment. “To make sure I didn’t mix anything up. You’ve got a lot of family, milady.”

She smiled mildly, but her heart was hammering in her chest. This was real. She was hearing from her family. They had listened, and even written back.

“Vesper says she always knew Whitney was a bit of a troublemaker, though she wasn’t expecting you to have joined in. Oliver and Ludwig both said she should have known, since you were the youngest and absolutely spoiled. Julius says he’s sorry that you’ve had to take on a responsibility that should have been passed down to him and then through everyone else before it reached you. They all say they miss you, and they hope you’re doing okay. Vesper added that she hopes you’ll reach out again in a few years to tell them if there’s any beaus you’ve brought in to take up space, and maybe a few new little ones to make things properly noisy. Whitney says to give you a hug from her, and to tell you to hug everyone you see. She always thought that was a ridiculous taboo anyways.” Vax glanced up at her to find her with a hand covering her wide smile and tears streaming down her face. “I agree with her. She’s a lot of fun.”

Cass could only nod.

He flipped the paper over. “As for your parents. Your mother said she misses you very much and she loves you forever and ever, and that she is very proud of how strong you’ve been. She’s sorry you had to go through so much, and she has a number of improper things she would do to Delilah Briarwood if she ever found her.” He seemed to feel Cass’s surprise from across the room and laughed softly. “I’m guessing that’s not the mother you were familiar with.

“Your father also says he is very proud of you for bringing Whitestone back from ruin, and he has heard of the way you’ve changed the government. He isn’t sure he agrees with your choice, but he trusts you, Percival, and the new Lady of Whitestone to manage it appropriately. He did not specifically say that he loves you, but I think it’s pretty heavily implied.”

Vax tucked the paper away as he walked around the pool, silently. Cass didn’t move, the raging loneliness and joy and fear and misery feeling as though they would tear her apart if she so much as breathed too deeply. Once again, his arms wrapped around her shoulders. She leaned into his armored chest, trying not to let the fantasy that she was being held by one of her brothers take hold too strongly. Finally, she composed herself enough to whisper, “Thank you, Vax.”

He looked down at her, expression inscrutable. “Of course, Cass. If you ever want to contact them again, I’ll do my best. Though apparently the timing might be off by the time I get back to you.”

She was already shaking her head, reaching around his arms to wipe her eyes and nose. “No, this was fine. More than fine. Wonderful. I could never thank you enough. I just needed to say… something. Given a reason, I may follow Vesper’s advice, still.”

There was a pause. “Which one is that again?”

She let out a teary laugh. “The oldest sister. She’s the only one interested in my future prospects, apparently.”

He squeezed her once and let go, turning her to study her face. Cass got another pang, like she was looking at a brother she’d almost forgotten she had. “Got it. I’ll do my best to be a punctual messenger, then.”

“I’ll let you go find Vex, then,” she said, reveling in the sudden lightness in her chest as she walked towards the door to the chamber. “Though if I may place one more request…”

She trailed off, debating. He watched for a moment, then raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Giving in, she sighed and leaned one hand on the doorframe. “Ask Percival. I don’t know if he’ll want to right away, but I think he’s… changed… enough that he might be willing to reach out. I think it would be good for him. I think it’s been good for me.”

Vax just nodded, watching her with sad eyes. Cass gave him a nod, stepped through the door, and woke up in her bed, smiling.

[n333rdypirate]

FSYY 1 001 - King Zhou and the Goddess Nu Wa

The Shang Dynasty replaced the Xia Dynasty and ruled China for nearly 650 years. The Shang court produced twenty-eight kings of whom King Zhou was the last.

Before King Zhou ascended the throne, he and his father, King Di Yi, and many civil and military officials were walking in the royal garden one day, viewing the blooming peonies, when suddenly the Flying Cloud Pavilion collapsed and a beam flew towards them. Rushing forward, King Zhou or then Prince Shou, caught the beam and replaced it in a display of miraculous strength. Deeply impressed, Prime Minister Shang Rong and Supreme Mei Bo advised King Di Yi to name him Crown Prince.

When King Di Yi passed away after thirty years on the throne, Crown Prince Shou was immediately crowned king to rule the country in his father's place. King Zhou established his capital at Zhaoge, a metropolis on the Yellow River. The king appointed Grand Tutor Wen Zhong to be in charge of civil affairs and Huang Feihu, Prince for National Pacification and of Military Prowess, to supervise military affairs. In this way, the king hoped the nation would live in peace under a civil administration backed up by the military. The king placed Queen Jiang in the Central Palace; Concubine Huang in the West Palace and Concubine Yang in the Fragrant Palace. They were all virtuous and chaste in their behavior and mild and gentle in manner.

King Zhou ruled his country in peace, and was respected by the neighboring states. His people worked happily in their different professions, and his peasants were especially blessed by favorable winds and rains. There were 800 marquises in the country who offered their allegiance to four dukes, each of whom ruled over 200 of these marquises on behalf of King Zhou. There four dukes were: the East Grand Duke Jiang Huanchu, the South Grand Duke E Chongyu, the West Grand Duke Ji Chang and the North Grand Duke Chong Houhu.

In the second month of the seventh year of the reign of King Zhou, a report reached Zhaoge of a rebellion of seventy-two marquises in the North Sea district, and the grand Tutor Wen Zhong was immediately ordered to lead a strong army to suppress the rebels. One day when King Zhou was holding court, Shang Rong stepped out from the right row, knelt and said, “Your humble Prime Minister Shang Rong begs to report something urgent to Your Majesty. Tomorrow is the 15th day of the third month, the birthday of the Goddess Nu Wa, and Your Majesty should honor her and hold a ceremony at her temple.”

“What has Goddess Nu Wa done that a great king such as myself is obliged to go to her temple and worship her?” King Zhou asked.

“Goddess Nu Wa's been a great goddess since ancient time and possesses saintly virtues. When the enraged demon Gong Gong knocked his head against Buzhou Mountain, the northwest section of Heaven collapsed and the earth sunk down in the southeast. At this critical moment, Nu Wa came to the rescue and mended Heaven with multi-colored stones she obtained and refined from a mountain,” Shang Rong explained. “She's performed this great service of the people, who've built temples to honor her in gratitude. Zhaoge in fortune to have the change to worship this kind goddess. She'll ensure peace and health tot he people and prosperity to the country; she'll bring us timely wind and rain and keep us free from famine and war. She's the proper guardian angel for both the people and the nation. So I make bold to suggest that Your Majesty honor her tomorrow.”

“You're right, Prime Minister. I'll do as you advise.”

Returning to his residential palace, King Zhou ordered a notion be issued that His Majesty, together with his civil and military officials, were to make a pilgrimage to worship Goddess Nu Wa at her temple the next day.

It would have been better if he hadn't gone at all, for it was this very pilgrimage that caused the fall of the Shang Dynasty, making it impossible for the people to live in peace. It was as if the king had tossed a fishing line in to a big river and unexpectedly caught numerous disaster leading to the loss of both his throne and his life.

The king and his entourage left the palace and made their way through the south gate of the capital. Every house they passes was decorated with bright silk, and the sheets were scented for ht eking by burning incense. The king was accompanied by 3,000 cavalrymen and 800 royal guards under the command of General Huang Feihu, Prince for National Pacification and of Military Prowess and followed by all the officials of the royal court.

Reaching the Temple of Goddess Nu Wa, King Zhou left his royal carriage and went to the main hall, where he burned incense sticks, bowed low with his ministers and offered prayers. King Zhou then wandered about the hall, finding it splendidly decorated in gold and other colors. Before the statue of the goddess stood golden lads holding pennants, and the jade lasses holding S-shaped jade ornaments which symbolized peace and happiness. The jade hooks on the curtain hung obliquely, like new crescent moons suspended in the air, and hundreds of fine phoenixes embroidered on the curtain appeared to be flying towards the North Pole. Beside the altar of the goddess, made of fragrant wood, cranes and dragons were dancing in the scented smoke rising from the gold incense burners and the sparkling flames of the silvery candles.

As King Zhou was admiring the splendors of the hall, a whirlwinds suddenly blew up, rolling back the curtain and exposing the image oft he goddess to all. She was extremely beautiful, much more than flowers, more than the fairy in the moon palace, and certainly more than any woman in the world. She looked quite alive, smiling sweetly at the king and staring at him with joy in her eyes.

Her utter beauty bewitched King Zhou, setting him on fire with lust. He desired to possess her, and thought to himself in frustration, “Through I'm wealthy and powerful and have concubines and maid servants filling my palace, there‘s none as beautiful land charming as this goddess." He ordered his attendants to bring brush and ink and wrote a poem on the wall near the image of the goddess to express his admiration and deep love for her. The poem ran like this:

The scene is gay with phoenixes and dragons,

But they are only clay and golden colors.

Brows like winding hills in jade green,

Sleeves like graceful clouds, you're

As pear blossoms soaked with raindrops,

Charming as peonies enveloped in mist.

I pray that you come alive,

With sweet voice and gentle movements,

And I'll bring you along to my palace.

When he finished writing, Prime Minister Shang Rong approached him. “Nu Wa's been a proper goddess and the guardian angel for Zhaoge, I only suggested that you worship her so that she would continue to bless the people with timely rains and favorable winds and ensure that they'll continue to live in peace. Bur with this poem, you've not only shown tour lack on sincerity on this trip but have insulted her as well.” He demanded, “This isn't the way a king should behave. I pray you wash this blasphemous poem off the wall, lest you be condemned by the people for your immortality.”

“I found Goddess Nu Wa so beautiful that I wrote a poem in praise of her, and that’s all. Hold your tongue. Don’t forget that I am the king. People will be only too glad to read the poem I wrote in my own hand, for it enables them to identify the true beauty of the goddess.”

King Zhou dismissed him lightly. The other civil and military officials remained silent, no one daring to utter a word. They then returned tot he capital. The king went directly to the Dragon Virtue Court, where he met his queens and con in a happy reunion.

On her birthday, Goddess Nu Wa had left her palace and paid her respects to the three emperors, Fu Xi, Shen Nong and Xuan Yuan. She then returned to her temple, seated herself in the main hall, and received greetings from the golden lads and jade lasses.

Looking up, she saw the poem on the wall. “That wicked king!” She flew in to a rage. “He doesn't think how to protect his country with virtue and mortality. On the contrary, he shows no fear of Heaven and insults me with this dirty poem. How vile he is! The Shang Dynasty's already ruled for over 600 years and is coming to an end. I must take my revenge on him if I'm to assuage my own conscience.”

She took action at once. She mounted a phoenix and headed for Zhaoge.

King Zhou had two sons. One was Yin Jiao, who later became the “Star God Presiding over the Year," and the other Xin Hong, who later became the "God of Grain." As the two gods paid their respects to their father, two red divine beams rose from the tops of their heads and soared high in the sky, blocking the way of the goddess. Looking down through the clouds, Nu Wa at once realized  realized King Zhou had still twenty-eight years  to go before his downfall. She also realized that she could do nothing about it at this moment. Since that would go against the will of Heaven.

The goddess returned to her temple, highly displeased. Back in her palace, Goddess Nu Wa ordered a young maidservant to fetch a golden gourd and put it on the Cinnabar Terrace outside her court. When its stopper was removed, Nu Wa pointed at the gourd with one finger and suddenly a thick beam of brilliant white light rose from the mouth of the gourd and shot up fifty feet into the air. Hanging  from the beam was a multi-colored flag called the Demon Summoning Pennant. As soon as this pennant made its appearance, glittering high up in the sky, all demons and evil sprites, no matter where they were, would gather round.

Moments later, dark winds began to bowl, eerie fogs enveloped the earth, and vicious-looking clouds gathered in the sky. All the demons in the world had arrived to receive her command Nu Wa gave orders that all the demons return home except the three sprites that dwelt in the grave of Emperor Xuan Yuan.

Who were these three sprites? The first was a thousand—year-old female fox sprite; the second was a female pheasant sprite with nine heads; and the third was a jade lute sprite.

“May you live eternally, dear goddess!” the three sprites greeted Nu Wa, kowtowing on the Cinnabar Terrace.

“Listen carefully to my secret orders. The Shang Dynasty's destined to end soon. The singing of the phoenix at Mount Qi augurs the birth of a new ruler in West Qi. This has all been determined by the will of Heaven, and no one has the power to change what must happen. You may transform yourselves into beauties, enter the palace, and distract King Zhou from state affairs. You’ll be richly rewarded forgiving the new dynasty an auspicious start and helping the old one to its downfall. However, you mustn‘t bring harm to the people.”

at the end of her order, the three spirits kowtowed, turned themselves into winds, and flew away.

Since his visit to the Temple of the Goddess Nu Wa, King Zhou had sunk into a deep depression. He ardently admired the beauty of the goddess and, yearning for her day and night, lost all desire to eat and drink. He had no passion for his queen, his concubines, or the numerous maids in his palace. They now all appeared to him like lumps of clay. He would not be bothered with state affairs.

One day, he remembered Fei Zhong and You Hun, two minion courtiers who would flatter and slander as he pleased. King Zhou sent for Fei Zhong, and the latter appeared in no time.

“I went to worship Goddess Nu Wa recently,” King Zhou began. “She’s so beautiful I believe she has no rival in the world, and none of my concubines is to be compared with her. I’m head over heels in love, and feel very sad as I cannot get her. Have you any ideas with which to comfort me?”

“Your Majesty! With all your honor and dignity, you're the most powerful and the richest man in the world. You possess all the wealth within the four seas, and are virtuous as the sage emperors Yao and Shun. You may have anything you wish for, and you should have no difficulty in satisfying your desires. You can issue an order tomorrow demanding 100 beauties from the grand dukes. You’ll then have no trouble finding one as beautiful as Goddess Nu Wa,” Fei Zhong suggested. King Zhou was delighted. He said, “Your suggestion appeals to me greatly. I’ll issue the order tomorrow. You may return home for the time being. ”He then left the throne hall and returned to his royal chambers to rest.

If you wish to know what happened thereafter, please read the following chapter.

[seuzz]

Story: “The Black Idol of Zammi”

Don't feed the bears. Or anything else you happen to find in the woods!

"Ooga-booga!" Max shouted as he leaped from behind the idol. Sheila shrieked and punched him in the arm. He laughed.

"Been waiting long?" Vinnie asked. He'd had to drive ten miles. Not that he'd needed much coaxing: just the promise of weed, whiskey, girls, and a dark place to enjoy them.

"Ten minutes. You bring Frankie and Connie too?"

"I'm here," a girl called as she pushed through the canebrake to join the other three. "Frankie's mom caught him trying to sneak out."

Vinnie grunted. "What is this place? I almost missed it."

"It" was almost invisible under the dark, moonless sky, but with his powerful flashlight Max sketched the outlines of the Temple of Zammi to his high school friends. "Careful you don't twist your ankle," he cautioned as he led them over the broken foundation, which was all that was left of the building proper. Standing incongruously, though, amid the shrubs and grasses that had overwhelmed the lot, were three tall monuments. Two were obelisks, flanking the far end of what had once been a hall. But near at hand was the smaller figure of black, polished stone that Max had been hiding behind. It had a high, dome-like head with a long face, set atop a powerful neck and the bull-like shoulders of a very masculine human body. Its most notable feature, though, was—

"And this," said Max as he shone his flashlight up at it, "is Dickface."

The others stared. Then Sheila giggled. "Oh my God, it really does look like a dick!"

"I think it's supposed to be a trunk," said Max. "Like on an elephant."

"So does he have a dick down where he's supposed to?" Connie asked.

"You think they made him anatomically correct?" Vinnie snorted, while Max challenged, "Why don't you check?"

Connie stepped close to the statue. She craned her neck to stare up at the chin—and nose—that loomed above, and threw her arms around its massive torso as far as she could reach. "You trying to get him off?" Max sniggered as she threw a leg around it too.

"He's wearing pants," she retorted. "It's the only way to find out."

"Look out," Vinnie shouted, "he's coming in the back door!" He poked her in the ass, and she squealed and chased after him.

"So what is this place?" Sheila asked Max as the other two, laughing, vanished into the night.

"I told you. Temple of Zammi. Some cult or other back in the 1920s. They came down from Vermont or Quebec. Built their temple here, pissed off all the local Baptists, then bugged out. My history teacher—"

"Mrs. Cussler?"

"Yeah, she says—"

"She's a Communist, you know."

"Yeah. She says they all got lynched by the town folk, but Mr. Mapes down at the Cultural Center says most of them drifted off to California during the Dust Bowl. All except the ones that got dragged down to Hell!" He lunged at Sheila with claw-like hands and a snarl. It turned into an embrace, and she giggled and relaxed in his arms.

* * *

And that was how the abandoned temple grounds came to be a party spot for some of the high school students. True, it was nearly a dozen miles out in the boggy country down by the river, and you had to know where to turn off the old state highway to reach it. But that was its appeal—you had to be a part of the group to get directions.

Mostly that meant Max and Connie and Vinnie and Sheila. At first casually, and then more and more regularly, that's where they went to smoke weed and drink beer and split into couples when they got bored with sitting as a quartet. Vinnie found a deep depression that fell into a short, square-shaped cave that must have been a cellar or an ice house at one time, and he took to packing camping equipment and other supplies there. That included sleeping bags, and soon weekend nights (and sometimes school nights too) were being spent there, two to a bag, often taking turns at the foot of the black idol—a spot which turned out to be a peculiarly comfortable and satisfying place for doing it.

Curiously, they rarely visited the ruins during the day. No one ever spoke of why. If it was suggested, there would be complaints of the wallowing heat and humidity of the site, of the glare of the sun onto the open field, or the whine and bite of the skeeters. But never did they allude of an oppressive sense of being watched, closely and obsessively, or of the sense that some momentarily paralyzed thing was leaning in on them, eager to lunge. Still less would any of them remark that the locus of that attention seemed to reside in the face of the idol, whose eyes glimmered in the sunlight like liquid and living things.

But neither did they speak of the relief they felt on the cool nights when they basked beneath the approving gaze of the idol, or of the pleasant and lingering lassitude they felt when they woke in the early hours at its feet. Day by day, week by week, they felt progressively drained of willpower, and sometimes they thought—particularly after expending themselves inside a sleeping bag—of how pleasant it would be to dissolve into a dew and sink into the ground at the idol's base.

But though they spoke none of these things, that didn't mean they didn't each feel then.

Then came the day that Vinnie's head got taken off as he rode his motorcycle down the old highway.

* * *

It was a one-of-a-kind accident, the police said. The pipes being hauled on the back of a plumbing-supply truck hadn't been tied down correctly, and one flew off just as Max was shooting past going the other way. It was like being hit with a sledgehammer at a hundred-and-twenty miles per hour.

Max had to help his dad the afternoon of the funeral, but Sheila felt a clawing need to return to the old temple grounds—to commune with the spirit of her dead friend, she told herself—even though it was the middle of the day. She was surprised to see a station wagon parked just past the turnoff when she arrived, and she approached cautiously. She found an elderly man pacing the foundations and squinting about. He saw and called to her before she could duck away, and reluctantly she joined him.

"You know this place?" the man asked, and he mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. Sheila only shrugged. "There's a lot of trash about," he continued. "Someone's been coming out here."

"It's public land, isn't it?" she said a little sulkily.

"Title to it lapsed years ago. But I thought maybe you might know who's been coming out." Sheila shrugged again, and dodged his keen gaze.

She gave a little start, though, when he introduced himself as Donald Mapes. "I'm a local historian," he said. "Though this is a part of the town's history we don't like talking about."

"People got lynched, right?" she said, and didn't bother to hide her hostility.

Mr. Mapes gave her a long look. "Folks would have liked to," he said. "But none dared. Those that looked at the Temple members funny had unlucky accidents."

"What do you mean, 'looked at funny'?"

That only earned her another long look, and a question. "You feel it looking at you now, don't you? The idol?"

Sheila couldn't help shivering a little.

"One of the Temple members left a diary when she left town. They all scattered, of a sudden, you know. It was the only way to escape."

"Escape what?"

"She explained it in the diary, though her mind was starting to go, and you have to put the pieces together. The Historical Society inherited it, but I'm the only one who's ever read it."

He held her gaze with a solemn look, then leaned in close.

"It has to be fed," he said in a low voice. "It's like a vampire, and it has to be fed. It gives back pleasure, too, and even power, if you know how to claim it. But it has to be fed, and the more you feed it, the hungrier it gets. Until, finally, it has to take everything from you."

"Everything?" Sheila breathed the word out.

"It took half a dozen before the rest got the strength to take to their heels. It didn't take them here, mind you. But through accidents. Drowning. Sickness." His mouth tightened. "Even a decapitation."

He looked at her gravely. "You go to the high school, don't you? That's bad. Hard for you to run away."

Three days later, Max was found at the bottom of the municipal swimming pool, which had been closed for the season. No one knew what had drawn him to it, or what had pulled him down and held him under.

Prompt: Cover image

[shadowfaximpala]

Pierce the Veil

(GIF not mine)

MASTERLIST

Summary: A dangerous case, an eloquent party and some pleasant company. Much to your brothers’ annoyance they needed the King of Hell on this hunt, and they knew exactly how to get him to agree.

Tags: Reader Insert, Female Reader, Winchester Sister, Smut

Relationship: Crowley x Reader

Warnings: Smut, Fluff, Monsters

Author’s Notes: Inspired by an Edgar Allan Poe short story:  The Masque of the Red Death. Feedback always welcome, sorry this is a long one-shot! Requests are open! Let me know if you want to be tagged in future works too! ~

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Black eyes, lithe figures adorned in darkly clad suits - their presence intimidating and yet electrifying to the heightened senses of a huntress, they watched and waited, pale skin intensified by the glowing candles that surrounded the room intoxicated by matte black drapery and furniture. Eyeing the surroundings you breathed it in, the smell of death hung limp in the air, the scent of sulphur and torture evident like a burning incense in a room without windows or doors, choking you with its aura. 

Cuffs burned at your skin, their tightness restricting you very movements. Gazes were draped upon you, with every slow yet still proud step you took closer to the throne you could feel the drum of excitement in the air, the anticipation building, waiting for one to strike out at you... but that moment never came to pass. You were thrust with strong arms to the floor, your knees collided with the stone tiles. Your face hung low and menacing until you slowly craned your neck up, your chin now held high as a sign of defiance. “If you could be a little more careful with my cargo that would be appreciated.” A gruff English voice cut through the courtroom, the decadence in his voice laced with the harsh sting of whiskey and cigarettes worn out through the years. “F/N Winchester, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Crowley addressed you formally, the usual glint of mischief evident in his eyes. “Bite me.” You retorted. His jaw jutted to the side, shoulders bouncing as a smirk appeared in his face. “Gladly my dear, but the biting can wait. Why are you snooping around my front porch?” You flashed a sadistic smile at the king before you as you eyed every minute detail of his form, firstly his features, aged but still handsome. His crisp suit of purest black, the red tie pressed and folded so neatly that you swore it could cut. Shoes polished to perfection. You eyes draped over every inch of him, his eyes narrowed at you his head tilting off to the side, calculating your apparent change in demeanour, the burst of newly formed character raging on the surface. Never had you regarded him with such obvious lack of shame. “I’m here to make a deal, of course.” You certainly peaked his interest. His head twisted slowly to the side, curiously. “Bad reception upstairs?” He jested, “and that warrants a trip to hell? You Winchesters elude me, always so dramatic.” Your bared your teeth into the resemblance of a primate grin. “Oh the reception is just fine, but I'm sure you will appreciate that some things are better handled in person.” He soon got the hint, he waved his hand remaining bored on the exterior. His minions soon departed, bowing their heads. Alone at last he stood, his footsteps approaching you with a dangerous slow. He took a knee next to you, touching the cuffs that constrained you, they fell to the floor with a clash as metal met stone. He stood carefully, you grasped your now freed wrists and gave them a gentle massage. “I confess, I think I prefer you in cuffs.” He cut in as he circled you. “Now what is it you're after?” Straight to business, you relaxed slightly, still feeling the burn of his eyes upon you as he remained behind you. Peering over your shoulder your voice dropped to a husky whisper. “It’s more of a favour really, considering you owe me for persuading Dean to set you free from the bunker and you repaid me by turning him into a punk ass demon. We’re on a case but it requires a little more… magical flare. We’re hunting something called Mors Rubrum, gruesome little bitch that likes to hang out in extravagant bureaucratic settings, except it's a monsters only club, none of us can get in without being ripped to shreds.” You eyed his expression out of the corner of your eyes, his body shifted awkwardly. “You want me to help you hunt it or help you get access?” He seemed surprise that you were asking such a heavy thing with such disregard to his position. “Both.” You replied, still watching his every move. Pacing for what seemed like eternity he finally stopped, turned on his heel abruptly and gave you a harsh and resounding “No.” You rolled your eyes in retort. You could see him stick his tongue into his cheek out of annoyance. “I'm sorry did I not make myself clear? You will help us or I’ll-” “Kill me, yeah yeah, I've heard it all before, you bloody Winchesters are a broken record. You come marching into my Kingdom demanding a private audience and then have the gall to ask for a favour, sorry darling but it doesn't work that way. I want something in return.” With each word he circled, like a vulture. You didn't sway to his building aggression. “And what might that be?” You enquired, inspecting your fingernails with bored frustration for signs of dirt. “I'll let you worry about that for now. I don't want your soul if that's what you think, I don't want any more damaged goods.” You frowned at his obvious lie, but you played along. “Fine.” You agreed, a thrill of adrenaline coursing through you. Your brothers had not so fondly addressed the idea to you, knowing the King of hell had a sweet spot for you, they knew they could work it to their advantage this one time, but still not liking the idea. Right now you were all out of options, little did they know, despite everything you had succumb to Crowley’s charm some time ago. His suave personality, his sass and wit had won you over, you masked your harbouring with a nonchalant facade of hatred for appearances sake. “So we have a deal?” His eyebrow raised, the curve of his lips tugged up into a one sided smile. Those hazel eyes bored into your soul, beckoning you, tugging you to yield. You buried that blossoming desire, your mind clouded as judgement clung on by a thinning wire, ends fraying with every passing second. As your brain mulled over the possibility of ‘sealing’ the deal you simply nodded, that stoic disguise you wore returning you to your senses. He took a step closer, your resolve weakening once more. Another step, you swallowed the lump forming in your throat. He noticed, of course. His eyes falling to your neck then to your plum lips. He stood, so close you could feel heat radiating off his figure. Looking up through your lashes your face was now betraying you. You felt vulnerable and exhilarated, weak but yet empowered, the oxymoron of emotions violently raged within. Images violently flashed through your mind, desire boiling like a chemical reaction, swirling and dizzying your already tainted thoughts. Naturally your eyes fell to his slightly parted mouth, you didn't notice the way your body leaned forward, the hunger you felt was overpowering you. Seconds felt like hours, your heart beating with ferocity like a tide being pulled to the moon you leaned closer and closer… Heavy black doors swung open, crashing against the walls as two demons scurried through them,  each holding a piece of parchment, brows laden heavy with sweat from over exertion. “Sire, we have Ill news-“ Crowley raised a hand, stopping them dead in their tracks, all movement in the room ceased. “Don't. Have you idiots learned nothing?!” His voice boomed off the walls of hell, instantly their expressions turned to panic. “When those doors are closed, don't you dare come barging in!” He growled, his face twisting in anger. He had been so close… so dangerously close to conquering a crusade he had ventured after for so long, it had been ruined in an instant, shattered and most likely burned by two idiots who couldn't follow orders. In a cloud of black smoke one of the invaders of his privacy had been turned to ash. The other standing in horror, so afraid to move that he slowly backed away, closing the doors as he left his body facing forward throughout the whole awkward escape. Crowley muttered expletives under his breath, he heaved a heavy sigh before grabbing you by the arm with an aggressive swipe. The world folded beneath you, everything collapsing and whirling in a dark cloud of deep red. Before you could adjust you were greeted with a familiar sight. Light illuminated the bunker in all its glory, the large oak table laid out in front of you, two large burly plaid clad frames perched on chairs, their faces looking smug, arms folded. “Told you it would work.” Dean grinned at Sam, his brother gave a smile but still looked uncomfortable in current presence. You could sense there was an inside joke going on, but you chose not to divulge. Crowley’s hand released you with a surprising gentleness, his fingers lightly brushing your skin, leaving a soft tingle in its wake. “Listen up asshat, you put my sister in danger I'll torture you and stuff you back in the basement.” Dean pushed the chair back unceremoniously, the chair groaning in protest as his weight left it, the drag of oak feet against the wooden flooring ringing in your ears. “Sounds delightful, In that case I'll make sure I bring her back in a few pieces.” His playful wit didn't seem to go down too well with your overprotective brother. “I’m not joking. You're the last person I wanted to call, but this gig is monsters only, so that means you.” The eldest Winchester gave him a glare that could kill on the spot, but the demon rose to the challenge, choosing to push Dean’s buttons with a playful wink. “Flattering, almost sounds like you're a fan. Don't worry Squirrel I won't let any harm come to this wonderful creature…” he draped a hand over your shoulder, dragging you close to him. You scoffed at his gesture. He was back to his usual cocky self. Any other location away from prying eyes and you might have shoved him against the nearest wall and had your way... “Call me a creature again and I’ll stuff you back in the dungeon myself.” You pulled away from him, walking over the kitchen to pour yourself a drink, and to hide the radiant glow of redness emanating from your cheeks. The three of them could be heard discussing details of the case, Crowley had the wonderful idea of disguising your human essence with demonic ‘glamour’. The boys reluctantly agreed to entertain the notion. “One problem,” you sighed, plonking yourself down on a chair, a glass of neat rum to hand. “I don't have anything to suit the dress code.” You groaned at the thought, you did toy exactly dress in plaid cloth or baggy jeans, but your attire wasn't exactly demonic or anything worthy of ‘classy’ that screamed designer label. Crowley clicked his fingers, “taken care of, you should go and get changed…” you eyed him wearily for a second, dreading what horrendous piece of clothing was lying in waiting on your bed but you reluctantly nodded, pardoning yourself from the room and sauntering down the hall to get changed. A black gift box sat in the middle of your bed, tied neatly with a blood red ribbon. You let out a laugh at the effort, it was certainly a ten for thoughtfulness and taste. Your fingers clasped the top of the box, removing it to reveal black tissue paper neatly hiding away your attire for the evening. Peeling away the layers of paper you gripped the fabric underneath, it felt expensive, thousands of dollars worth of expensive. You pulled the dress from the box with more caution that you were used to. You eyed the design, it looked jaw dropping, the waistline tapered in to flatter your figure, while the hem flowed to the knee, two pieces of translucent black fabric softly flowing to the floor on either side, the neckline plummeted into a V shape, however it wasn’t revealing in any way, you wondered how much thought Crowley had put into picking out this design for you, given that he was a tailor in his former life you figured he had expertly picked it out in a non-existent heart beat. 

The arms were laced with intricate patterns, loose and flowing for movement should something happen. You began work on your makeup first. Not wanting to spill anything on such a beautiful item of clothing. Being a hunter you had never had the luxury of owning such a garment, you smiled softly at the thought of being able to don such a wonderful dress, however being surrounded by monsters brought the reality back to the assumption that it wouldn't remain so pristine. You took great care to make yourself look presentable, you slipped into the dress perfectly, it fit like a glove. A snap sounded behind you and another box fell from the void of nothingness onto your bed. Shoes. Again, another expensive item to add to your wardrobe, chunky black heels that matched perfectly with the dress. A blood red gem adorned the front. Another pop and another package found its way to your dresser this time, you giggled excitedly and opened it. Inside was a gorgeous set of red earrings, a matching necklace and bracelet, just when you thought you had finally dressed to impress you found a hidden layer under the tissue paper, inside was a Venetian laced mask and a tiara, a label attached to the later with calligraphy inscribed onto the card. ‘Fit for a Queen’. You were thankful for the extra layers of foundation, your face heated up instantly like a roaring furnace. You gave yourself a once over in your floor length mirror, staring back was someone you barely recognised. You had never really felt beautiful, often you would go days without wearing any makeup and dressing in a t-shirt and a leather jacket, but tonight you looked stunning. You radiated confidence as you bounded out of your room, down the corridor and into the bunker’s main room. You brothers turned to greet you, their jaws dropped. “Holy crap, what did you do with Y/N, you under there?” Dean joked. You playfully punched his arm. “Seriously though Crowley, a little much don't you think?” You brother shot the demon a warning look. “You wanted her to look the part, if it were up to you you'd send F/N in a flannel shirt. You look wickedly divine my dear.” Crowley turned his attention to you, his face softened as he looked upon you, taking in your figure in all its glory. Sam cleared his threat awkwardly, your brothers gave you a hug and bid you farewell. “Hey beauty and the beast, bring her back by midnight.” Dean’s tone was thoroughly warning, the worry in his voice evident. “I'll bring her back at 11:59, safe and sound.” The king gave you a wicked grin once more, tucking his arm into yours and clicking his fingers. That familiar drop in your stomach lurched as the world fell away to be replaced with the scenery that resembled a fairy tale, lush green pastures surrounded a very carefully thought out driveway, a mansion sat atop of a small hill, its lights glaring in contrast to the jet black skies above. You took in the surrounding area, surveying for signs of danger. You felt slightly on edge, Crowley's arm was still interlocked with your own. “I won't let anything happen. We find this creature, we kill him and we get the hell out. I'll do all the talking, you just focus on finding the damn thing.” You absentmindedly shuffled closer to Crowley as you both walked up the driveway. “I almost forgot,” you said softly, fixing the lace mask to your face. “There's a lot of things here that might recognise me,” you gave a nervous laugh, struggling with the strap. “Here,” the king offered, turning you to face him as he adjusted the mask to fit your face, he clicked his fingers again, a cold shiver ran over you, you weren't sure if it was from his spell or the fact that he was so intimately close to you. “Glamour, so nobody asks any questions or sniffs the human on you,” his eyes held so much hidden emotion in them that you could easily lose yourself.  You coughed nervously, moving back from him muttering a small ‘thank you’, before you both proceeded up the driveway to the house. You both wondered inside the lavish mansion, marvelling at the architecture as well as the gruesome guests that plagued the palace-like house. You both spent what felt like a dragged out eternity looking for the Mors Rubrum monster, but to no avail. Your current partner in crime smiling at guests and with dangerous formality, addressing those who spoke to him. A few high up demons were dotted around, all exchanging stories and sipping what you hoped was red wine. ‘No sign of the bastard,” Crowley grunted, he guided you into the ballroom where your stomach turned, monsters dancing together, fraternising and generally playing out their plague of an existence. A soft classical hum thrummed through the hall, most of the guests dissipated from the dance floor to go and get a drink, their distaste towards the current musical choice evident. You were escorted to the dance floor, where Crowley unexpected snaked a hand around your waist, his fingers laced with yours, he brought your arm up, your eyes enlarged as you looked from your hand to his face. “Crowley I don't dance, what are you doing?” You almost hissed. “Lucky for you I do, just play along.” His pace started off slow as you both walked across the floor, surprisingly you kept up with him, your steps seemed to flow perfectly in rhythm with the music as you both spun, eyes were cast in the direction of the king of hell, they licked their lips disgustingly as they regarded you, their thoughts obvious by the way their features twisted. “You look stunning,” he whispered into your ear, “every creature here wants you, if only they knew who you were, they would run out of here like there was a hot iron rod up their arse,” you laughed, his hot breath tickled the nape of your neck. Your head began to swim, you felt as though you were lighter than air. Dizzy with the elegance of the demon before you, you leaned even closer to him, the music slowing to a halt. Your heart hammered in your chest, it was skipping painful beats entirely making it even more difficult to breathe. “Crowley I-“ “Shall we get some air?” His voice seemed to have the same weight as yours, both of you removed yourself from the ballroom, finding a quiet sanctuary in a blackened room. “F/N… I’m sorry if I-“ you cut him off, you lips crashed against his fiercely, hungry and wanting you thrust your hands into his well tailored jacket, your fists balling the fabric beneath. He backed against the door, you could feel him fumbling around for the handle. The lock clicked signalling your piracy was secure. He groaned into your parted lips, one hand wrapping tightly around your waist to pull you flush against him, the other resting on your cheek, gliding through your hair to stop you pulling away from him. His tongue dove past your lips and into the open cavern of your mouth, exploring with such expert ferocity. His devilish fingers found the zip on the back of your dress, sensually sliding it down, leaving the drag of his skin on your now exposed back. You moaned softly in approval. He guided you back away from the wall, moving through the room your backside hit a soft fabric, your body plummeted downwards onto a mattress, seconds later Crowley was on you, his mouth leaving hot wet kisses along your jaw down to your collarbone. Your chest arched up, a hot breathy moan escaped you, a warm and feverish desire building in your lower abdomen. Crowley shifted above you, discarding his jacket and waistcoat with speed before he attacked your neck with more kisses, the stubble of his beard scratching at your skin. The way he touched you, the way he moaned onto your skin, he was intense yet so delicate, afraid to break you. Working his way back to your mouth you both kissed for what felt like forever, you could sense he was unsure on whether to go further, not wanting to overstep the mark with you. In any other circumstance you would laugh at how much of a gentleman he was being, you decided to give him an obvious guide of encouragement by grinding your hips up to meet his arousal that was painfully straining against his pants. His breath hitched as you slid yourself up against him. “You have no idea the power you hold over me,” he exhaled sharply. Meeting the roll of your hips with his own you let out a guttural moan, your head lolled back as you panted heavily. “If you want me to stop just say-“ he whispered. It was almost as if he were pleading that you end his torture, either to resume the platonic hunter and demon relationship or let him ravish you until the end of days. “Crowley I need you,” softly meeting his lips you cupped his pants with your palm, kneading him through the fabric. “Are you entirely sure you want this?” He hissed, trying not to buck his hips to the movement of your hand. “You won't talk me out of this, it's you who seems to have no idea what you do to me…” finally he gave in to your efforts, moving his bulge against the palm of your hand. You leaned up to whisper in his ear, everything be damned, you needed him inside of you. Your current hunger wasn't being satisfied in the slightest. Barely above audible your voice rasped in a husky tone, “fuck me, my king”. A snarl escaped his lips, his movements were too quick for you to comprehend, the dress was lifted above your head with ease, your black laced panties gone in a flash. The piercing darkness gave the element of surprise as a hot wet swipe from the flat of his tongue dragged across your folds. The feeling was so intense you could see white hot flashes, the moan had caught dead in your throat, your only response of sheer approval was the arch of your back and the immediate parting of your legs. Your back hit the bed hard, you laced your fingers through his hair edging him to continue, he eagerly complied with another hot lick of his tongue flush against your clit, he repeated his ministrations over and over until you were wreathing like a mess beneath him, about to fall completely undone. “Not yet my love,” he growled, moving his head from between your thighs, tracing upwards with soft kisses until he reached your lips. You could taste yourself on his tongue. Lost in the kiss you felt a hard pressure lining up with the entrance of your sex. Like electricity everything in your body felt hot to the touch, pleasure rippled through you as the king of hell entered you, stretching you in such deliciously decadent ways. You couldn't contain the moan any longer. Muttering expletives under your breath as he began to thrust slowly into you, your hips grinding against his, trying to elicit as much sensual enlightenment that he was supplying you matched his thrusts with your own, taking every single inch of him. His cock glided with ease into your dripping core, Crowley’s breath became heavier, his grunts of approval radiating in your ear as he began to fuck you with such ferocity you were seeing stars.

“Y/N” he groaned softly in your ear as his body moved with yours. Every encounter you had ever had up until this point was rendered pale in comparison, the feeling of Cowley inside you had you heading straight over the edge of oblivion, white spots appeared in your vision, cutting through the darkness as the glorious sensation in your lower abdomen became so intense. He hit that spot over and over again until it became too much pleasure to endure, waves of sheer satisfaction rumbled through your entire being, crashing over and over again as you came hard around the sensual demon above you. Sensing your undoing pulsate over his cock sent the exact same sensations flowing through him, Crowley spilled himself into you, filling you whilst riding out your orgasm. You could feel him twitch from within, he refused to move until his own bliss had ended.

Finally he rolled off you, plonking down next to you for a moment to catch his breath.

“That was…” You couldn’t find the words.

“Perfection,” Crowley muttered with his rich voice. You shuddered at the baritone in his voice.

“We should probably get back to the job…” You laughed nervously, shifting on the bed.

“Here,” you heard a click in the darkness and suddenly you felt the hot liquid dripping from your thighs dissipate, your body adorned in your dress once more. Crowley quickly found you in the dark, a shift in his demeanour was evident despite the blackened room, his presence felt… different, lighter somehow. His hands found your elbows as he held you.

He kissed the top of your forehead before guiding you through the room, opening the once locked door to peer outside, once the coast was clear you both slipped between the frame and back out into the fray of the party.

Hushed voices sounded, something was out of place, the music has ceased and the thrum of life within the guests had become a shrouded veil of haziness within the confining walls. They stared eerily into the distance.

In the middle of the room stood a gigantic figure, blood red velvet adorned his lank frame, his features sunken into a pale expression of grim silence. He pointed at one of the guests, they began to choke under his gaze. Moments later the guest plummeted to the floor, dead.

The creature turned it’s eery head to survey the area, a hand reached out from under the robe to grasp at the air before a dexterous finger pointed in your direction.

“Our guests of honour… Your majesties” It’s voice was so deep and dark it sent a shockwave of panic through you. “You dare enter my halls without invite?” It cast a glance at Crowley. The demon beside you shifted from one foot to another, his cheeks bunched into a defiant smile as his eyebrows rose and fell.

“Isn’t much of a party if someone doesn’t crash it now, is it?” Crowley addressed the ancient creature with defiance and distaste. His attitude clouded in the usual facade of arrogance.

He cast a glance at you out of the corner of his eye, you nodded at him before you began to chant in well versed latin. Crowley slipped the hex bag into your hands along with the knife he had kept concealed.

You continued to chant as the creature began to snarl at your words. “You impertinent animals!” he roared, you finished up the last verse with speedy precision, spilling the contents of the hex bag onto the floor a flash surrounded your feet. You sliced open your arm dowsing the blade in blood, the spell now complete.

“That won’t work on me demon child…” The creature taunted. You laughed, throwing the knife into the air. The world moved entirely in slow motion as it soared...

The blade hit its mark. A flicker of red flame appeared within that hollow face, escaping every orifice before the creature was consumed in a black shroud, crumbling away into nothingness, dust piled atop of the lavishly polished floor.

Guests gasped, all attention now averted from the creature to you, angry faces snarled.

“Human!” One voice shrieked.

“Hunter!” Another cried. Before the onslaught approached your attention was torn towards your present company.

“Kitten I think it’s time for us to leave…” Crowley placed a hand under your elbow pulling you into his body. The world fell away into darkness and then regained its fundamental structure once more as you stood in a familiar war room. Two concerned faces dropped their anxious expressions before turning into gleeful smiles of relief.

You looked at the clock. ‘12:12’

“What time do you call this?” Dean laughed nervously.

“Sorry she’s late boys, we had a little… distraction.” A smug grin of delight crossed Crowley’s face as he regarded you, something akin to adoration now nestled in his hazel eyes.

“Yeah yeah, at least she’s safe…” Dean pulled you into a hug which you reluctantly returned.

“Well if that’s all, I’ll be off.” Crowley looked at you for the longest moment, you knew exactly what he was thinking, your mind flashing back to the events of the night.

“Crowley…” You began. “Thank you, for saving me.”

“This true?” Dean looked between the two of you, sensing a shift in the atmosphere.

“Yeah, he saved my life…” Your feet found a mind of their own, Crowley’s magnetic pull guided you to him without any consideration for your brothers. Your arms laced around his torso as you pulled the demon into a hug. Crowley’s body stiffened under your embrace, his eyes darting between your brothers wearily. Their stares intensified, their faces washed away with confusion. Crowley placed a hand atop of your back, pushing you lightly into his frame.

“Any time Kitten,” he whispered low enough for you to hear.

He pulled back, before you could say or do anything he was gone. You sighed heavily.

“What the shit just happened?” Dean’s eyebrows furrowed down into a deep scowl.

“Seriously? He saves my life and you can’t even thank him?” You scoffed.

“He’s the freakin’ King of Hell, he doesn’t deserve a thank you let alone a hug, what did he plat your hair and make you a friendship bracelet or something? Dammit Y/N, he’s not our friend. He owed us one.”

You rolled your eyes, choosing to ignore your brother entirely. You stormed past him to retreat to the sanctuary of your bed. Closing the door a little harshly on your way in you twisted your body, throwing your back onto your mattress, it sprung beneath you.

Your brain couldn’t erase those dark thoughts of desire, every fibre of your being ached, your chest felt heavy, your heart painfully skipping beats entirely. Your peripheral vision saw something out of place within the familiarity of your room.

A blood red rose sat atop of your nightstand, a note on aged parchment next to it. Excitedly you threw yourself over towards the piece of paper, picking up the rose and twirling it between your fingers you read the beautifully ascribed handwriting on the page as you unfolded it.

‘My dearest Y/N,

What I felt this evening is beyond anything I have ever felt in my whole wretched existence. I have admired you from afar for quite some time now, you captivate me in ways I cannot express.

Please know that this evening wasn’t one of my many devious plans, your display of passion took me off guard but please know it is greatly returned.

Yours,

C.’

You flipped open your phone, punching in the numbers 666 as you wrote out your response, before deleting everything and typing something else. You groaned in frustration as you reached for the words but they wouldn’t come. How could you respond so eloquently to his note?

Minutes passed without anything even close to a decent reply.

A chuckle alerted you that you weren’t alone.

“I don’t expect an extravagant reply… A simple thank you would suffice.” His arrogance would be the death of you.

You hopped onto your feet in a flash, your hips bounced as you motioned over to Crowley, his tongue slipped past his mouth as he licked his bottom lip watching you saunter towards him, his arms welcomed you as you pressed your body against his, your hands snaking around his neck.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Anything for you,” he hushed, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss.

[newathens]

a queen to me

a pawn to you pt. ii

pairing: percy x annabeth (still annabeth centric)

rating: teen audiences

genre: angst

summary:

if you thought annabeth chase was just going to sit down on that rock and wait for her boyfriend well than you thought wrong.

listen to this during the last few paragraphs if you want the full crying effect that i had. also please excuse any typos, i am. a mess.

read on AO3

    The monster wouldn’t jump.

    She took notice of it quickly. It made no attempts to charge the rock, nor did it lift its head above the water to roar; all it did was keep in the repetitive circling, driving her mad. It was fast, that was sure, but as long as the rock remained, she’d be safe.

    As safe as one could get, stuck in the middle of a bay with a wounded thigh.

    She glanced at it, tried to ignore the throbbing, yet recalled the moment. There had been many moments in her life, where a monster had cut to deep, where she wasn’t getting to the infirmary anytime soon, where ambrosia couldn’t fix it alone, but this time she had been left with nothing. A jagged cut, bleeding profusely, possibly now laced with poison, and she had had absolutely nothing. Except for her owl earrings, those she had.

    Despite whatever everyone liked to think, her mother did not ignore her. She was a proud, hard goddess, yes, but she did not completely abandon her children. The earrings were a gift from her, a gift to tell her, ‘Well done.’ Or at least, that’s what she liked to think. Of course the meaning hadn’t really mattered in the moment, all that mattered is that they were from her. They were crafted by a goddess and so they wouldn’t break. They were strong enough. . .to be stitches.

    Annabeth cringed at the memory.

    She’d washed them in the water, ripped off the ruined pants of her wetsuit—noted that whoever threw her here had the decency to give her bikini bottoms—and not so gently, she had pushed them through her skin. They were a decent size and the clip was secured right into the owl’s back, so when she had finished—the screaming, the heaving, the adrenaline—two silver owls stared up at her. Soon those eyes had grown taunting, unbearable to watch, and she’d ripped the pants apart, wrapping the cloth tightly over her thigh. She hadn’t moved it since; she didn’t want to see how the bite had changed.

    There was something wrong, she could feel it underneath the cloth, burning at the surface of her skin. She just couldn’t face it; the helplessness, the panic, the dread—

    A splash from behind broke her concentration. The monster was there, making its rounds, only teen feet away. She sucked in a breath, turned and looked down. There was nothing but water between them, it would be able to come even closer.

    Why wasn’t it coming closer?

    The storm from before had passed quickly and the sun had returned, casting a shimmer across the sea. Annabeth squinted and tried to ignore the glint. Underneath the surface, the rock jutted further out and lain across it, in impressive abundance, was the coral she’d noticed when she’d swam for refuge. It was a dark red, almost the color of rust, and it extended over the area in thin bunches; like someone had dumped over a wheelbarrow of twigs.

    The monster passed, eyeing her but creating a wide berth between it and the coral. After it left, she huffed and fell back against the rock, hugging herself close to the stone. It didn’t like the coral. The coral kept it away.

    She laid and thought, and thought and thought, as the sun passed over the sky, slowly starting to fall towards the horizon. She watched it sink, as the heat and the waves lulled her to a calm. Eventually the stress released from her shoulders and she sagged against the rock, exhaustion claiming her bones. Staring up at the sky, now just starting to shift from blue to purple hues, she wondered who did this—who did this and what exactly she’d do to them when she found it.

    She did this even when her eyes could no longer stay open, she did this even when her body fell to rest, and she especially did this when she was but a breathe away from sleep.

    For if this was an immortal, and she dreamt of nothing but their demise, they would surely come right to her.

And that was exactly what she wanted.

.

    She woke sometime in the night. Her mouth was dry and her limbs ached, fingers raw from grasping the rock. Waves still lapped against it, occasionally submerging her feet; she pulled them away.

   Lifting her head, she scanned the area. The beach was empty, bathed in an eerie silver by the moon up above. She craned her neck towards the glowing dot, stared at it until her eyes burned. She prayed to Artemis, she searched for Zoë, she shook her head.

    Returning to the sea, she searched for the monster. To one side and another, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. She tried again, strained her eyes; nothing, nothing, nothing. Her pace quickened, was it gone? She could swim.

   A nagging voice at the back of her head kept her glued to the rock. It wouldn’t be wise.

  The water was dark and if she turned to the horizon, away from the shore, there was just black. No line to separate sky from sea, no glint of the moon on the water, only pitch black. It seemed to surround her, envelop her the more she stared. Something could be out there waiting for her.

    Staring at her.

    A shiver ran down her spine. She dropped her head down and forced herself to sleep.

.

    The sky was light; a soft, pale blue almost gray in hue. There was no sun, but it was light and cold and cloudy and it was morning. She could tell it was morning. It was windy and freezing and she had goosebumps. It was cloudy and it was gray and it was morning and there was a woman.

    There was a woman standing above her.

    Annabeth froze, adrenaline shocking through her, waking her limbs and her lungs and her head, and observed silently. The woman stood with elegance, her hands clasped together gently before her, as if she had been waiting for demigoddess to wake. Her skin was pale, freckled at the shoulders and across her cheeks. The peplos she wore moved in the wind, the fabric shifting back and forth, as if it were made from the waves around her. Raven-colored curls dropped to her shoulders; they bounced as she tilted her head. There was a a gold band set atop them, not entirely a crown, but surely deserving of inspection. It was wide, carved, encrusted with jewels, all a shade of green; none of which matched her eyes. The eyes—a deep, dark green that made her stomach churn—which were staring down at her.

    She was smiling. Her teeth white like peals, her lips pink like the inside of a shell.

    She was smiling, but it wasn’t in greeting. No, Annabeth had seen this grin before. She had done it herself. This was glee, this was gloating.

   Woman was an understatement. This was a goddess.

   Annabeth opened her mouth to speak; the goddess beat her too it.

   “Hello, little one,” Her voice was smooth, like a siren’s call. “My name is Keto.”

   Keto, The name rattled in her head, knowledge came forth. Sea Goddess. Primordial. Mother of Scylla. Dangers of the sea—sea monsters.

  There was no need to guess. “You did this,” Annabeth said. “You did this to me.”

   Keto kept smiling. “I did, and let me just say this plan has been working perfectly so far. You’re such a helpless little minnow, it’s eating that boy alive.”

    Annabeth shot up, went to stand, but crumpled back down in a screaming heap. The sun from yesterday had done damage, the burns all along her body setting her skin aflame. The goddess hummed.

   “Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart. There’s still plenty to do.”

   “Why are you doing this?” Annabeth spat. “If you want to fight my boyfriend, you can take that matter up with him.”

    “Oh, but that’s the thing.” Keto dropped down on the rock and reached towards Annabeth, tucking a stray curl behind her ear; if she wasn’t so shocked, Annabeth would have broken her hand. “I don’t just want to fight him, I want to hurt him. Come now, you’re a smart girl, you should know this.”

   Annabeth narrowed her eyes, “Why do you want to hurt him, then?” She already had a hunch, she just needed it to be confirmed. Keto scowled and the water around them grew choppy.

   “Oh, so he didn’t even find the time to mention me? I suppose he forget to tell you how he ruined my aquarium and hurt my monsters and embarrassed my husband.”

   “You mean your brother.”

   Keto’s eyes spun like waves and suddenly Annabeth was choking up seawater.

   “What,” She coughed the liquid back into the ocean. “the fuck.”

   “Make another comment like that and I’ll have you spitting out seaweed. That’s much more painful.”

   “Listen, this doesn’t involve me. Leave me out of it.”

   “Absolutely not,” Keto said. “He made a fool of me, he defeated me too quickly; it’s not fair. You don’t make a fool of a goddess and expect no retaliation, that’s just being naive. He should have seen this coming.”

  “So, I’m the bait? That’s it?”

  Keto shrugged her shoulders, “Obviously. I just need to you to suffer long enough for him to tear himself apart.” She smiled again, with the glint of a daydream in her eyes. “Then I’m going to lead him here and have my babies rip him to shreds.” A pressure sat in her chest, new and heavy. It burned through her, like a sunburn from inside. It was anger and just a little bit of pride. Keto chose that moment to tap Annabeth’s nose.

    Okay. It was mostly all pride.

    Annabeth took a deep breath. “Have you ever thought that I might get out of here? Did you consider that I might ruin your plan? Do you even know who I am?” Keto laughed—a deep, smooth sound, completely unbothered—and then immediately dug her nails into Annabeth’s thigh. Her wounded thigh. Annabeth sucked in a labored breath as she bit back a scream.

    “Do you know who I am, little one? I am the depths, the dark waters no one dare brave. I am the sea and all its nightmares. You’re status means nothing to me. You are Athena’s daughter—” Keto leaned forward, face coming but inches apart. “In my domain, you are nothing.”

    “Well, Lady Keto,” Annabeth steeled herself; her impulsive nature moving much faster than her mind ever could. “Let me just say you’ve made a gross misjudgment.” With one swift action, she pushed her foot up against Keto’s stomach and kicked, sending the goddess off the rock and into the water. Annabeth jumped to her feet and watched as she resurfaced, cloth billowing around her and crown crooked.

   Keto glared, her entire face growing a harsh red, “You’re going to regret that.”

  “Not likely,” Annabeth said.

  The goddess dissolved into the water without another word.

.

    Keto was a nightmare. That much was true.

   Her efforts to terrorize Annabeth increased tenfold. First it was waves, so strong that they’d kept knocking her off the rock and down into the reef. She must’ve cut her legs at least three times, in her attempts to climb back up. Then, it had been rain—no, practically hail. She’d curled up, wrapped her arms around her head, and bit her tongue as the water pounded against her back, stinging her skin. There was no way she’d chance hiding underneath the water; the monster had returned. Once that had passed, she’d set to picking up driftwood. Not that it did any good, but it had given her something to do.

    Now the sun was back. The heat was even worse than before.

    Of course, there wasn’t much to be done about it, so she tried to distract herself.

    There was the coral, her four pieces of driftwood, another rock that jutted out of the water just a few feet away, and another rock next to that one. A tiny eco-system was living between the three of them—more coral, small fish, probably a crab—but she hadn’t really paid it much attention. The water was clear at the moment, illuminated by the sun, and she peered down for a closer look. Along with the sea life, there were a few clumps of fishing line; gathered up over the years from lazy fishermen, she assumed. Peering further, she spotted a bottle cap, more fish, and something that made her eyes go wide, something that didn’t fit: a black rod. It was thin, yet clearly made of metal, and jutted out of the stone on the outside of the reef. Her heart skipped a beat. It could be a spear, a fishing spear.

    Annabeth glanced up and around, the monster was nowhere in sight. It was now or never. With a deep breath, she pushed off the rock and down around the reef. Her entire body was exposed, no place to guard herself, so she moved swiftly and pulled herself along with her hands. The moment she reached the rod, she braced both feet against the rock and pulled. It was slightly rusted, so her hands kept their grip, but it barely budged. Again and again she tried until her lungs couldn’t stand it and she resurfaced, breathing in fresh air.

    She whipped around wildly, looking for a bump in the water, a black spot, a shadow, a set of spikes, but nothing. She dove down once again. The rod was stuck between two stones, in a small crack. This time she pushed it around, shoving it up and down, back and forth, and twisting it until it finally slipped free. It was half the size she’d expected, probably snapped in half, but a smile broke out across her face as the speared tip was revealed to her and she spun in glee.

    A dark figure was caught from the corner of her eye.

    The monster was there, body coiled like a wire, its mouth open in some kind of horrid grin. Its teeth were visible, their length almost the size of dagger, and an inky, neon green substance slithered around them. Annabeth screamed, an array of bubbles cascading upwards around her. She kicked it in the snout and then kicked up, clutching the spear close. Reaching the surface gave way to more panic and she scrambled against the reef desperately, legs getting scratched, feet getting cut.

    Something closed around her foot and she screamed, grabbing the rock and hauling herself up. The monster’s jaw was clamped around her heel and she kicked it repeatedly until it let go and slipped back into the water.

    She shifted herself the rest of the way up, out of the water’s reached and curled atop the rock, pressing the spear close to her chest.

    A moment passed and suddenly, she was laughing. A small, joyous laugh that had her eyes crinkling and her teeth bare.

    It wasn’t a large victory, but it was something.

.

    She started to lose track of time.

    The waves, the weather, it all continued in an endless loop. Rain, then heat, then cold, than back again; sickness fell down on her. When she was young, her father would take her to the beach—he didn’t understand the aspect of godly domains or rather he didn’t care, she never got to ask—and at night, the cold wind would give her sniffles, make her shiver. This was much, much worse. Her stomach had flipped, twice, and yet there was nothing to spill into the ocean so she heaved. The sunburn had made her shake, uncontrollably, to the point that she drew blood, from her own tongue as her teeth bit down on it.

    Her wound wasn’t doing well either. It ached, a dull burning that never quite stopped, and it was growing harder to deny there wasn’t poison involved. Green lines spiraled down her leg and up towards her hip, and no matter how much she tried to convince herself it was due to blood loss, they just didn’t appear to be a normal symptom. Still, it seemed to weak to kill within a few hours, so if it was poison, it sure was taking its sweet time. An Apollo kid would’ve known, if they were hear. Chiron might’ve healed it, if he was in reach, but he wasn’t. No one was.

    Death has a curious way of reshuffling one’s priorities, she’d heard that somewhere before. Unfortunately, with bitter resentment, she’d have to admit it was true. Not that she had many regrets. Things were fine with her father, she saw some parts of the world at least, she finished the remodeling, camp was better than ever, but it was the little things she kept coming back to. Maybe they hadn’t needed to go home early, maybe they could’ve gotten that second sundae, maybe she should’ve kissed him three more times instead of two, the last time they said goodbye.

    Maybe she should have strangled Keto instead of kicking her, but you know, little things.

    She slept a lot; felt her lips grow chapped, her limbs go numb. Hope didn’t seem like a viable option, but she pushed herself to hold on to it. The best way to make him suffer, would be to have him watch. Suspicion gnawed at the back of her head, that bitch had to be broadcasting her like a show. To him, to anyone who cared—so she didn’t allow herself to break. The last thing she’d do is let herself be bait; Keto wouldn’t get the satisfaction.

    She heard a clinking sound against the rock. It was a glass bottle. She scooped it out of the water, held it above her, then took a cautious sip; there was fresh water inside. Keto wanted her alive.

    The glass was smooth against her palm, delicate even. Gears began to turn in her head, ideas mapping themselves out in front of her, the possibility of victory dripping down onto her tongue like a drug. You are nothing, the words rang in her head.

    What a fool.

    Annabeth Chase always had a plan.

.

    The tide was rising. For the first time in what must have been days, the sea began to gradually eat away at her safety.  The waves bobbed up over where she sat, dousing her from the waist down. Clouds had swallowed the sun again, replacing its yellow haze with a dreary gray and frigid cold. An eerie tension had grown over the water. It was heavy, mixing with the humid air and the ocean spray, lingering in a briny aftertaste; like thunder that had yet to crack. Something was wrong, she’d miscalculated. The tide should have risen within her first few hours on the rock, she never took it into consideration.

    “Keto,” Her scream faded into the wind.

    “I got bored,” The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. “Have fun.”

   The monster surfaced, scales gliding over the top of the water. Annabeth cussed and risked a glance to her thigh, wrapped and still burning. It didn’t matter, she had to stand. With a groan, she pushed up on her knees first. If the rock disappeared, the creature would come straight to her. Her head whipped around frantically, the shore was pointless, the bay was empty—

    Except for a buoy. Tall, red, and clanking as it bobbed in the water. It had been there the entire time, but was far enough that swimming would’ve been pointless, far enough that the monster would have ample time to prey on her. Although now, it was her last option, her only option. Fingers tapped idly against her thigh as she followed the monster, growing ever closer. A wave surged up, covered her thighs. She needed time, a small break long enough to get her to the buoy.

   The bottle was in her hands in an instant.

   She broke it open against the rock, watched the smaller pieces cascade to the depths, and inspected the top, now jagged and sharp. There wasn’t much of a choice, she pressed the glass against open palm and slid it across her skin. Blood welled up, trickled down her arm, adrenaline had her shaking; she shoved her bleeding hand into the water. . . right above the coral. The creature’s aversion to it had remained a mystery, but the water had risen enough to swim over it unharmed, and she had a burning curiosity to get an answer.

   Blood seeped through the water, resembling the ink of a cephalopod, and a splash sounded off to the side. The monster was swimming towards her, its body creating a bump along the surface. Annabeth took a deep breath, lifted her good leg to step on one foot and pushed up into a crouch, then took the broken spear and slid it into her bikini bottom, rest it against her hip; hopefully it would stay. The monster glided closer, closer, closer, until it was there in front of her, jaw agape, eyes glowing, poison leeching from its teeth, and in reaction, she did what any sane person wouldn’t.

   She jumped off the rock and onto its back, pushing it down into the coral. The monster bucked, its body getting caught around the rock, strangled noises coming from its maw, and threw her off in seconds—right into the coral. A shriek clawed through her throat as it dug into her shoulder, burning her skin, but she shook it off and started swimming. Her wounded leg barely moved, so she swung her arms twice as fast, moving swiftly for the buoy.

    Thunder cracked over head, she glanced upwards. Clouds were swirling, gray and hazy yellow mixing together. The entire bay was waiting for a storm to a break. Nostalgia had set in her chest, of all things. It gathered in her bones, at the very tip of her fingers, weighing her down, but it didn’t add up. This wasn’t hers, this inevitable torture, this helpless cry that rang in her ears; she wouldn’t take it. A glance backwards showed her the monster was gone, disappeared under the waves. Panic overcame her, vision tunneling on the buoy as she kept onwards. The salt of the water was hard on her wounds, her hand was still bleeding, the monster had to be close behind, the buoy was right there.

    Her hand touched metal, a rung of the ladder, and she hauled herself up, fingers curling into the grated floor, entire body screaming in agony all the while. The monster was right behind her, charging for the buoy. She wrapped herself around the frame as the collision came, sending her spinning. The spear was now digging itself into her skin and she took it in hand, using all her strength to keep on the buoy as it tilted back and forth. As it settled, she stood, keeping an arm wrapped around a pole. The creature was gone, but its presence remained and she searched until there, right here, a dark mass, coming closer, growing larger, surging right up out of the water—

    Annabeth dodged as the monster hurtled into the buoy, sending it tipping backwards, then slithered back in the water unharmed. Vicious anger sprouted in her stomach and she laughed, letting the sound mingle with the waves. The buoy spun and the monster surged up once again, she kicked its snout, sent it back down, and screamed to the sea, a deafening bellow that left her breathless.

    Their fight kept on in an endless loop, spinning ‘round in circles, swinging to and fro, almost like a dance. The monster had yet to lay a bite on her, no matter how much it charged the buoy.  For her it was the opposite, slashing and stabbing ever chance she could. The spear was old, rusty and a bit dull, but in her hands it was useful, making a small handful of marks along the creatures back. Waves kept splashing up, sea foam dousing her, sea spray blurring her vision. With them came whispers, taunts and teases and threats, all from the goddess herself. Annabeth grit her teeth, kept fighting, kept screaming, her rage all balled up, burning a hole in her chest. The odds were repetitive in her mind, wisdom’s daughter out at sea, fighting with a human tool; she wondered idly if the sea’s children would mock her or pity her.

    Babies, the foam told her, my babies will tear you to shreds. The babies, the babies, the babies.

    Fuck your babies, Annabeth thought. She found the monster in the water and shifted, using her weight to tip the buoy down in its direction. In one swift motion, she drove the spear through its neck and hauled it out of the water, throwing it against the floor and shoving the spear through the grate so it was stuck, pinned in place. Strangled groans, hisses and cries came forth as it thrashed around, trying to squirm free; it was large, neck taking the length of the spear, and she pressed her knee against its jaw to keep it in place.

    Howling ripped through the bay, screeching hit her ears; someone was mad.

   Annabeth looked to the sky, to the sea; not mad enough to appear.

   The monster bucked again, her grip almost slipped. thick, blue liquid poured from its wounds, some staining her hand. Death would never come for it like this, she needed something else. Its mouth slackened, teeth appeared, an idea manifested. She reached in, wrapped a hand around one, started to tug and its jaw clamped shut around her arm.

    Annabeth cursed, too impulsive. The tooth was still in hand, she pressed harder with her knee, pried its maw open, every last ounce of strength gathering in her hands. Fingers went for its eye, pressing hard and the monster cried, mouth wide. She ripped the tooth from gum, green filled its place, spilling into the ocean, gliding over the creature’s tongue, flowing down its throat. A howl came forth, then a scream.

   The cry didn’t belong to the monster.

   Keto appeared over her, tackling her to the floor, hands wrapping around her throat, nails digging viciously into her jugular. They grappled with one another, but the goddess had her pinned. Lightning flashed on the horizon, tendrils striking the sea. Annabeth sucked in a breath.

   “You stupid brat,” Keto spat, grabbing her attention. The goddess was wild; eyes alight, face red. Scales dusted her cheek, her shoulder, her neck. Fear reached down her throat again, plucking her heart from its cavern. She didn’t have celestial anything. “You’re going to regret hurting my child!”

    The tooth was smooth in her palm, her grip tightened. Annabeth found Keto’s eyes, held her there, two iris oceans, raging like a hurricane.

    “Not likely,” She drove the tooth into skin, underneath ribs, straight into the heart.

    The hurricane died. Keto choked, eyes flitting around wildly. She pulled back and the tooth slipped free, still caught in the hand of its wielder. The goddess gasped, ichor seeped from her wound and stained her dress, dripping down to land against Annabeth’s stomach.  The tooth was still held between them, a threat and a promise, but its purpose disappeared as Keto swayed and fell, slipping off the buoy and into the water.

    The world was silent, waves crashing to a crawl, then Annabeth released a breath, her entire body unclenching, and she was shaking. Exhaustion manifested in her bones, pushing the adrenaline away through shivering gasps. She let her guard down, hand dropping against the grate. The bay seemed to change, like a bubble had popped, like a spell had broken. Air filled her lungs, sweet and fresh; she could hear seagulls up above and the waves, far away on the shore, crashing in gentle slopes. Pain flared up at her side and she inspected her arm, noticing the bite that marked her skin. She swallowed, an ache now growing in her limbs, throwing away any thought she might get up. The clouds were still there, sky still gray, but it had grown lighter, a soft hue that reminded her of her mother’s eyes, her eyes. The buoy swayed back and forth, slowly now, pulled by the sea. Maybe the poison was like a snakes, maybe two bites were too much. Her hand flitted to her throat, where her necklace would be, but now her fingers just traced its ghost, outline against her skin.

    Annabeth sighed, listened to the thunder crack, farther away than before, softer. The waves kept on, the water a constant hum; together both were a song. Tears welled up, brushing her eyelashes; she wiped them away before they could fall. Moments flashed by, blurring her vision, there was laughter, tears, love, cries of victory that didn’t even belong to her, but to heroes passed.

   She shook her head, slipped her leg off the buoy, so her foot dangled in the water. The world seemed to peaceful now, for anything worse to happen. She wondered—hope wounded, skin burning, heart thrumming—with possibilities tripping over each other until everything came to a halt. Sunlight was attempting to break through the clouds. She smiled, observed it until her eyes drift shut.

    Spoken last words meant giving up, so she thought them instead.

Find me.

I’m alive.

I won.

I love you.