#the longest shadow attached to the ankle

[gbhbl]

EP Review: North Atlas - The Longest Shadow Attached To The Ankle (Self Released)

Five tracks with five unique vibes, The Longest Shadow Attached to the Ankle is one hell of an attention grabbing release.

Drawing creative influence from the folklore of their homelands, whilst also touching on topics of a neuro-divergent nature and deeper inward analysis, Scottish fellowship North Atlas will release their Second EP ‘The Longest Shadow Attached to the Ankle’ on September 22nd, 2023. Leaning way more towards a hard rock sound combined with moody and alternative electronica, the immediate impression…

[averageanonymous]

Summary: Crowley faces the consequences of saving Elspeth's life in Edinburgh.

This short fic is a bit of a milestone for me because...

1. It's the longest thing I've written so far, too long for a Tumblr post, so I've included the link to the full thing on AO3. The first chunk is included as an excerpt below!

2. It's decidedly more angsty than anything I've written for Good Omens so far (I like fluff and happiness for the most part) It does have some blood and descriptions of torture-related violence etc. It isn't excessive, but it is present, so just be aware if that isn't your jam.

Words: 4,279

Genre: Angst

Excerpt:

The last thing Crowley remembers is walking through the graveyard with Aziraphale, thinking how nice it felt to have the angel's arm around his waist, while at the same time getting angry with him for voicing the truth: that what he'd done for Elspeth had been kind. That damn laudanum. He'd been counting himself a lucky bastard that no one Downstairs had noticed his very un-demon-like display of charity. That had been right before the ground opened up beneath his feet. With a cry of alarm, he'd felt himself dragged down into the dark. There had been a rushing sensation through his whole corporation and then nothing.

*****

The moment the first whispers of consciousness brush his senses, Crowley knows things have gone horribly wrong. He blinks open yellow snake eyes, trying to take in his surroundings. It’s dark, very dark, with only a few scattered bulbs that flicker, creating unsteady cones of gray light that struggle to penetrate the heavy black. He shifts, then gasps as his muscles spasm painfully, the tremors swiftly working their way up and down his back. He can't move, can't escape. All he can do is wait for it to pass, grinding his teeth to keep from crying out. It'll pass, he tells himself, just breathe.

As the convulsions ease, he tries to assess himself. He's on his feet. Shackles on his ankles have him pinned to the floor, shackles on his arms hold his wrists together, with an attached chain connecting them to the floor as well. His physical body hurts in ways he knows it’s not supposed to, though he can't see any obvious damage. Except… his wings, he realizes. Manifested against his will - and they ache. He tries to twist to see, and immediately wishes he hadn't. They're a ruin. Wound with chains, feathers crushed and torn, fragile bones grinding against cold metal. They're hoisted up and spread wide, drawn so tight that they strain against his scapulae, the muscle and tissue threatening to tear with every movement. He realizes that, while unconscious, he must've been being held upright strictly by his wings, and the pain in his body starts to make more sense.

Crowley looks away from his wings. He tries to be logical about his situation. It's no use though. He feels panic grip his heart like a vise, feels a scream rising in his chest. His breath becomes shallow, quick. His vision starts to narrow, but then he sees the shadow of a demon step between the beams of flickering light. Crowley locks onto that shadowy figure. The distraction is just enough to help him swallow his terror, if only for a moment.

“Ahhhh Crowley, Crowley, Crowley,” an oily voice tuts in the dark, “What have you been up to, hm?”

Put on a show, Crowley thinks. So he tries, attempting a smile, but he can only manage a grimace. “You know me, always up to something.”

The figure chuckles at Crowley's attempt at bravado.

“I've been waiting to get a visit from you, you know, Crowley,” the shadowy demon says conversationally, “I knew it was only a matter of time.”

Finally, the demon reaches the circle of light surrounding Crowley. All-white eyes peer out of a long, hollow face. A scruffy attempt at a beard and a receding hairline give him the look of a mid-life-crisis in full swing. He grins, a broad smile that is all teeth.

“Ah, well, hello, ummm,” Crowley racks his brain, trying to recall the name of the white-eyed demon, or if they've even met. He finally gives up with a pained laugh, “I confess, you have the advantage of me.”

“Oh, I wouldn't expect you to know me, Crowley,” The demon smirks. He turns back into the dark, and returns with a cart behind him, its surface scattered with an array of various pointy tools, sharp blades and curious objects whose functions Crowley can only imagine (and what he imagines isn’t good.) Crowley feels himself tense, the chains on his wings pulling sharply, and looks away from the cart. The demon comes to a stop before him and starts arranging the tools. “I don't get out much, see,” he says idly, picking up a wicked looking blade with a serrated edge to examine it closely, “I stay down here. In the dark. Practicing my craft. Perfecting my art. Waiting for visits from…” He looks up, locking onto Crowley's gaze with his unnerving white eyes, “...wayward demons. Such as yourself.”

Crowley nods, or starts to. His overextended wings make even that small movement pull painfully. He grimaces. “What are you, then, junior torturer first class?” he asks.

“Hmmm hm hmm,” the demon laughs, a guttural sound deep in his throat. He waves a finger, “No, no, Crowley, a distinguished demon such as yourself deserves more than the sloppy ministrations of a tawdry junior torturer. You deserve some artistry.” He steps up to Crowley, too close, his breath hot and reeking of sulfur. “Allow me to introduce myself: Alastair, Grand Inquisitor, Master of Torments.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

If this little snippet peaked your interest and you'd like to read the rest, it's up on AO3!

[sockablock]

hey are requests still open bc I am still FULLY CRYING about Molly coming back to life holy SHIT. I have a thing I want to request and that’s Molly having to come to terms with whatever changes his body went through - new blood hunter abilities, longer hair, the much larger scar from Lucien’s v gory death - after he comes back to life.

Molly doesn’t ask what happened to Nott. He doesn’t ask them where they are. He doesn’t even ask who Essek is, and only gives Caduceus a friendly pat on the shoulder before turning away and wandering off.

His feet are bare on the soft teal grass. This time of year in the Blooming Grove, faint glowing insects hover around his ankles. The leaves of the old blue wisteria trees hang like a sheet across the sky. He is wrapped in a cloak of quiet moonlight, grey on the graves as he passes by.

Eventually, he comes to a lone headstone. It is long, and flat, and smooth. He sits down.

If he is different in any way, nobody says. It’s taken him a few days to find his words again, and it’s clear that his memories are still trickling back. Veth had joked that he used to be more entertaining, but they all know that his returning in any capacity is already nothing short of a miracle. To the Mighty Nein, he is still as miraculous as before.

To himself—to Mollymauk, he thinks he’s a bit leaner. He’d never really been one for rigorous training—not aside from what it took to throw a sword and catch it—and yet, this body seems hardened, now. It’s still a bit sore in some inconvenient places, and the tall one, Caduceus, mentioned that he shouldn’t do anything too strenuous to avoid opening his scar. This newest mark runs like a seam down his shoulder to his navel, making the rest of his scars look like paper cuts. He isn’t exactly sure how to feel about that, yet. Beau offered to help him design a tattoo to cover it, and he isn’t sure how to feel about that yet, either.

A faint breeze runs through the Grove, tousling his hair. It’s longer now, and Molly might have liked that more if he’d been around to enjoy it. He suspects that he might have been, in one way or another, though not nearly present enough to make the executive choices. Otherwise, he might have tried braids. Maybe hair dye. Not  only that, but the...what had Caleb called him? The “previous occupant” had taken off Molly’s horn charms and necklaces. For the second-life of him, Molly can’t remember if he’d kept them. He can’t remember much about the last ten months—which might be alright. He doesn’t know if he wants to.

(He does remember some things, though. He remembers taking his shirt off the first night at the Grove and seeing the other scar left behind. It is closed now, and healed well over with blood magic, but when Molly reaches up and traces it down, he can feel how the cut drips into his abdomen. He remembers how it felt to have the blood pouring over, to boil with fury and die of shock, under the stars.)

He looks at them now. They haven’t changed a bit.

Another wind kicks up. Molly isn’t sure exactly what time of year it is, but he shivers. The Clays are kind, but the whole family towers over Molly, so their spare clothes fit him poorly. Firbolgs are also—well, furred—and Molly suspects that this borrowed tunic is on the thin side. His tail curls inward as he realizes he’s going to sneeze. He feels his muscles tense, he breathes in—

And suddenly, something warm is draped across his shoulders. He glances up.

“Oh. Yasha?“ His voice is strained. It feels as if Molly hasn’t spoken in a year, but at the same time, he feels like his throat is worn. Almost like he’s been giving frequent speeches with wild abandon. Now that he’s had some time to recover, the combined effect sounds like someone trying to remember how to talk, but only being allowed to do it through a rusty pipe.

“Come to join me in my musings?” he still says, stubbornly.

“She’s not the only one. ‘Sup.”

Molly doesn’t have to turn to know that Beauregard has walked into the rows of graves just behind Yasha. The two of them have been pretty attached to each other lately, except for when Yasha comes to check on Molly. The strongest part of him, the part that hung on the longest, is privately quite pleased by this.

“And you’ve given me your cloak.” He grins, but just at Yasha. “How kind of you, my dear.”

Okay, so not that privately.

“I was worried you’d be cold,” Yasha says, concern endearing. “Sorry your old coat wasn’t doing better. Jester says she can probably Mend it, or try to paint you a new one—“

Molly waves his hand. “No, no need, dear. I should do it. It’ll give me a thing to work on.”

Yasha nods. “I’ll let her know.”

Distantly, Molly can hear footsteps approaching. He counts four, maybe five pairs, if one of them is lighter. After a moment, there’s the sigh of cloth, and six pairs are walking.

Movement joins Molly on the headstone. He turns, and now Beau is seated beside him. Yasha stands like a guardian at his back.

Both of them are much, much wearier, Molly notices. Even though it’s been less than a year since his “death,” Beau is riddled with new scars from combat, and Yasha’s tattoos have gotten much bolder. Oddly, that’s reassuring.There’s something in the fact that Molly’s body changed, but theirs did too. And even if he can’t remember it, that’s something they have in common.

On the other hand, though, it makes him feel...he shakes his head. He gazes outward.

He asks, “Why did you follow me, then?”

Beau responds first. She does so with a snort. “Of course we’d follow you, you idiot. You were our friend—or...okay, technically, at the time you’re actually a crazy cult leader—“

“No, I meant—“

She cuts him off. “Right, yeah, details. Not important. Listen, it...it was a whole long thing, and it was complicated, but the important part is that we really, just really wanted you back. That’s why we did any of it. All of it. And why nothing could stop us.”

“Not even me?”

“Hell, no. Since when could you stop me?”

Molly chuckles at that. He glances at Yasha. “Is that true?”

“Which part?” she says. Then she says, “Yes. It is.”

He matches the tiny smile on her face. Then he turns back to stare at the woods past the graveyard while behind him, the rest of the Mighty Nein come to a halt.

His smile widens. “What I was actually trying to ask, though, is why you all followed me here. Just now. I thought you were going to prepare for dinner?”

“My parents took over,” Caduceus says. “They told us to take a break.”

“Besides!” With a burst of jewelry and her flouncing skirts, Jester squeezes onto the other end of Molly’s headstone. “We wanted to spend more with you!”

“Now that you’re interesting again,” adds Nott, taking a seat at the base of the stone with Fjord. He reaches up to wink at Molly, “Hey, roomie.”

“I thought I should get to know you as well,” says the new voice. Molly remembers that his name is Essek. “We, ah...we are both purple, so that is something we already have in common.”

Molly laughs at that. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Caleb. “It’s like there are two of you now. Like your shadow. Or a duplicate.”

“I am still the funny one,” Caleb says. “I plan on defending that title. Even from you.”

Molly laughs again, and this time, he does turn. He can see that the whole group have gathered around him now, sitting beside him, standing behind him, in the grass.

They are all so tired. They are all much stronger. Molly has gathered from the scars on their bodies—as well as from the scars on his own—just how powerful they must be now. He knows that he isn’t the same, either. Sometimes his blood feels like its boiling. Sometimes he is moving, and he can swear that it’s through snow.

But the Mighty Nein are here. There are nine of them, now. And that, he thinks, in and of itself, must be a miracle. And as he looks at them now, drinking their presence in, he thinks...

Maybe some things haven’t changed, after all.

—

✨ Ko-Fi Link in Bio! ✨ | Requests are OPEN

[goggles-mcgee]

Too Late: Marianne (commission for miner249er)

Chapter 9 of the commission for @miner249er

Previous Work

Last Chapter                                  Next Chapter 

Summary: Marianne wanted to be back in Paris as a shoulder to cry on, as a friend, not a warning.

Marianne stepped out of doors of the train with a hesitation that felt like weights attached to her ankles. Those that saw her probably thought it was because of her age, she wished it was due to her age, but no. Her hesitation stemmed from the reason she was back in Paris at all and because of how much Paris had changed since what Fu was calling, ’the incident.’ What happened was no mere ‘incident’ and to call it that was a horrid understatement, but she supposed she understood why her love referred to it as such. Fu did what he did best, he felt guilty, and it was something she wished she could help shoulder but in the end he never let her. But this was not something he could just shoulder and deal with himself, this was bigger than them, bigger than Paris and she came to warn Fu. She just hoped he listened to her. Wang Fu was a kind man but he was a man haunted by his failures to the point that they are all he saw. He was blind to anything that wasn’t his redemption for the longest time, and it broke her heart.

Hopefully with age and everything that has happened, he was willing to have an open heart and ears. Marianne honestly didn’t know what she would do if he was drowning in his guilt and was too focused on his mistakes to listen to her warning, probably smack him upside the head like she used to do in their youth but still. She loved the man but he was stubborn when it came to self sabotaging himself, she was always the level headed (and best looking) one. As she walked the streets of Paris she couldn’t help but think of the young Ladybug she had become acquainted with the last time she had been in the City of Love. She had been a wonderful, brave, young girl. Yes she made a mistake but she owned up to it and she didn’t let the mistake weigh her down. Yes, Marinette Dupain-Cheng had been an astounding Ladybug, which made what she needed to tell Fu all the more worrisome. 

Truthfully she was worried what his reaction would be the closer she came to the location they agreed to meet at. When she saw the stone steps that would lead her to the Jardin de la Vallée Suisse she almost hesitated following their path, but she simply took in a deep breath and walked. It was a beautiful park that was no doubt, but whatever joy she would have felt getting to bask in the park and the statue it housed was dampened by the pressure to share the danger she had come across and the prophecy it held. The thought made it easy to pick up speed until she saw Fu standing by the artificial pond that housed carp. The sight of him brought a smile to her face and a pang of worry to her heart. 

“Hello dear.” She said softly as she moved to join him beside the pond. She noticed that they were thankfully alone in the park, though that wasn’t all that surprising given it was a bit difficult to find if you didn’t know where you were heading or were not a local. 

“Marianne, hello, how was your travels?” Fu greeted with a small smile before giving her two brief kisses, one on each cheek, a gesture she returned happily. 

“Well. How are you my dear Fu?”

The man beside her was silent for a while, like he couldn’t quite find the right words but eventually he did answer. “I am doing as well as I can be. It’s hard, I see her everywhere. Marinette...she truly was an extraordinary girl, I only hope she accepts my apologies when we find her.”

“It’s good you haven't lost hope.”

“It was not easy I will admit, but I see kids standing up, being heroes in her name, I see the way she touched everyone she ever met, there was no way I could give up or wallow in sadness. Not when I know I am not the only one hurting.” Fu watched the carp in the pond swim as he spoke. Marianne politely ignored the tears she saw in his eyes. 

“She was a remarkable young woman.” 

“Yes. I do not doubt she is still being remarkable...wherever she is. Now, what have you come here for my friend?” Fu asked as he looked at Marianne. She ignored the pang in her heart at the ‘friend’ even if she knew she held his heart and affections, she did her best to look unaffected as she looked over the swimming carp. 

“Well, with Hawkmoth and Mayura dealt with I no longer have to hide, and as much as I would adore this to be a date and catch up moment, I fear I bring unsettling news to say the least.” She answered honestly, her cheeks a little warm at the admission of the date, no matter how old time told her she was, she was still that young headstrong, lovestruck girl she had been when she and Fu had met. She was sad and hesitant to break the ease of the air around them, but they would have time for pleasantries later she reasoned. 

“I figured that was the case. Come, let’s sit my dear Annie.” Fu gestured over to a bench that was almost as hidden as the park itself. It was obscured by surrounding trees, just enough in the shade to be comfortable, but enough in the sun to not be chilled by the shadows. Having heard the old nickname, she happily followed and let him help her sit. 

“I think it goes unsaid that even while I had to be hidden, I did not stay still.” She started after a while of them both just sitting there, letting themselves breathe in a moment of peace. 

“You never could stay still. Even back then.” Back when he ran and left her behind.

“As my mother used to say, I am as stubborn as a bull, and as my old teachers would say, I can not sit still when there are things I want to be done.” Marianne chuckled fondly at old memories. “When I went into hiding, I must admit I did not want to stray far just in case you ever needed me. I did leave France, as I didn’t know the depth of Hawkmoth’s powers or if he had found ways to grow said powers. I decided to hide in London. It’s a good spot for an old bird like myself to go unnoticed.” 

“You are many things Marianne, old is not one of them.” 

“Flatterer.” Marianne chuckled even if she felt herself flush at the comment. “That is beside my point and you know it.”

“Perhaps.” Fu mused with a strained smile. “Perhaps I am trying to avoid the conversation we have to have, given your words and body language, it is not something that will bring joy in these trying times.” 

Marianne took a moment just to look at the blue of the sky and breathe in the air before she looked at the man beside her. “It is not, but you can’t run from every bad storm that comes on the horizon. It’s better to be prepared and have shelter you know will help against the storm.” She took a hold of Fu’s closest hand in both of hers and gave it a squeeze. She could feel the tremble of his hand, no doubt mirrored by the other. 

It took several moments before Fu no longer trembled, it took longer before either was ready to let go of the other’s hand, but there would be time for that later. Hopefully. “You are right.” Fu said once he found his voice.

“I always am.” Marianne quipped softly making Fu chuckle in response before his eyes found hers. She could tell he wasn’t happy, but he was as ready as he could be to hear what drove her out of hiding besides Hawkmoth’s defeat. What drove her back to him other than their romantic feelings. “I am also not one to beat around the bush. While in hiding I had to keep myself busy, as you know I am not one to dawdle. I asked the spirits around me if they needed help or if they knew of anything...sketchy, going on in London.”

“Marianne! That’s incredibly risky of you, especially when you were in hiding. I know you can’t help communicating with the spirits part, but to purposefully seek out trouble…” Fu fretted and admonished all at once. As much as it irritated her, it also impressed Marianne. Ever since she was a young girl she had been able to sense, see, and communicate with spirits, apparently this was something that all women in her family possessed so it was no surprise to her mother when a young Marianne was found to be speaking to what others only saw as air. It was around then that her mother taught her how to hone in her skills and how best to use them, of course her mother also warned her about her gift and what it could bring, but their family never ran from something and they never left someone who needed help. Even if that someone was a spirit. Especially if that someone was a spirit. It was kind of their unspoken job to help spirits out, whether to accomplish any unfinished business or simply help them pass along a message to a loved one. Some instances she even had to pass on messages not for loved ones...those ones were always the most interesting. 

Sure, in her quest to help spirits she always did run into the more dangerous ones, but she never backed down. That was not how she was raised, and that was just not her. She saw a problem and she met in head on, and in that way her and Fu would always differ. “I have always been this way Wang Fu, and I always will.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“I know what you meant and my response remains the same. Now, to continue, the local spirits of course asked for help passing on messages, finding a missing item, but a couple spoke of something that intrigued me. Something that resulted in their deaths. A group. They never gave this group a name, but they all spoke similarly about it. It consists of a lot of not so nice people, people who do not have good intentions, people who purposefully seek the demise of others. It worried me that such a group was meeting and apparently it wasn’t even known by local authorities, or if it was then it was operating under the blindness of the people and the willfully negligent back of the authorities.” Marianne began as she looked out over the park, she hadn’t noticed them before but she could see wandering souls, spirits who stopped to listen to her, and she could see the spirits of the animals that once lived there going through the motions of their once-lives. 

“I was worried, understandably, but the spirits merely wanted me to retrieve their belongings from this group so they could be sent to their families or wherever else they wanted. Of course I agreed,” Marianne paused for a second at Fu’s noise of indignation, “it was the least I could do for the poor souls. They showed me where this group liked to meet up, where they met them and their respective ends. It was an unassuming film studio, very professional looking, not at all the type of place you would expect a basically evil cult to meet. So I did what I did best, acted like an old woman who just found a favorite place to feed some birds. I staked the place out.” 

“They...the group didn’t suspect anything?”

“Not to my knowledge.” Marianne answered honestly. “Their meeting place was in the basement, I will admit it was difficult finding a way down there without alerting anyone or being caught on camera. I say finding the hidden room was more difficult, that, that took several days. Thankfully the spirits were more than willing to lend a hand. Once in the room I took my time looking around, I had some of the more...sentient spirits on watch should anyone come down and try and enter the room. To be honest it looked like a fancy conference room more than anything my mind conjured up when I thought of some evil group lurking in the underground of a business.” 

The mahogany round conference table and the red cushioned matching chairs that surrounded it while the LED lights shined off it was something imprinted in her mind. The whiteboards on the walls were more of a shock than the altar in the corner, it looked like it was made from the stump of a tree, cut tall for its purpose, the top of it was an oval shaped plate of prophecy stone. On the prophecy stone was a long tapestry that was falling off both of the wider sides, it had pulled Marianne in. The energy, sometimes it felt like it was still pulling at her, even here in Paris when she thought of it too hard. The tapestry was the whole reason she reached out and made the trip to Paris, more accurately what was on the tapestry and what it meant. Of course she took photos on her phone, and she did help the spirits get their personal items back but that was another story. Marianne took her phone out of her purse and pulled up the pictures from the hidden folder on her phone before passing the device to Fu.

At the sharp intake he made, she resumed. “Besides the spirits' belongings I found that tapestry on a pedestal of sorts that was made of prophecy stone. By the name I bet you can gather what exactly this tapestry is supposed to be.”

“A prophecy…” Fu breathed out. 

Marianne nodded her head before looking forward, she knew Fu would look at the rest of the pictures as she spoke. “Not just any prophecy. One that speaks of darkness and chaos. Brought upon not only Europe, but the world by one named Jörmungandr. Fu...this group seeks the secrets of what I could translate and make out to be some sort of secret tribe of.”

“Vikings…” Fu cut in with wide eyes.

“We both know the Vikings had many tribes, many hidden and not known to us, many that knew magic, and from what I see on that tapestry there and the documents I managed to take pictures of as well, this specific tribe can summon and control daemons, demons.” Marianne clarified.

“The demons...on the tapestry, that is what the creatures are supposed to be?” Fu asked in a small voice. She could hear the dread. 

“Yes.”

“They look an awful lot like...well like dragons…” Fu’s voice was tight, and honestly Marianne couldn’t blame him, when she saw the tapestry she nearly threw up from the shock and the panic. If this prophecy came true, if this secret tribe was found, the world was doomed.

“My thoughts exactly...I...I will be honest, I believe in many things, Wang Fu...but dragons had never been on the list. I have heard of people summoning daemons of many designs, but never dragons. This is...this is bigger than Paris. Bigger than France.” 

It was quiet for a long time, how long? Marianne didn’t know, but it felt like an eternity. “This...this will need the help of the Miraculous.” Fu said gravely.

“I agree, which is why I brought it to you...and, well, there is more, the prophecy, this Jörmungandr...She is said to command an army of dragons, one so big it would blacken the sky as they flew. She is too bring the fire rain, the toxic smoke, the thunderous roars loud and shrill enough to crack the earth. Jörmungandr is to devour the very world.” Marianne shakily announced and Fu looked down at the pictures of the tapestry in dawning fear.

“...This will require Ladybug.” He grew paler and paler as the seconds passed. Marianne followed to do the same as she realized he didn’t truly see all that was being shown to him and her heart was squeezed painfully in an iron grip as it dawned on her she would have to point out the heartbreakingly bad news he did not see, or refused to see in his grief. But he did not recognize her guilty panic as he continued to ramble. “I will have to double down on my efforts to find Marinette! She is one of the strongest Ladybug’s in history, we will need her! I will have to study the Grimoire to see if there are any spells that can locate her and work harder with Tikki to do so. And we will create a team! Bigger and better than the past one, this will require every Miraculous I believe, and Marinette has always been such a good judge of character it probably won’t take long to form the team. I’ll have to speak with the Kwami about this as well, as well as Adrien and-”

“Fu.” Marianne didn’t shout but she said his name with such authority and urgency that he stopped his ramble and looked over at her, she wished he hadn’t because she could no longer hold in her guilt ridden tears. 

“Marianne? What’s wrong? I...I understand this is a daunting thing to learn but we know now and can prepare. It will be okay, everything will be okay as soon as we find Marinette and get started on the preparations.” Fu said as though his words brought the most absolute soothing powers. It made Marianne swallow around the lump in her throat.

“My darling Fu, don’t you see? Jörmungandr is Marinette.” Marianne finally was able to announce. It didn’t make her feel any better, especially as she watched Fu look back down at her phone, up at her, back down, before he zoomed in to the figure on the tapestry and lost any color he had regained from before.

“No. No! No it can’t be her! It can’t! She is too pure to ever...to ever..”

“I think past circumstances show anything can happen, and anyone can break. But not all is lost! This is merely a prophecy! It is not written in stone, it is not written in the stars, this doesn’t have to happen...but I do agree with your earlier idea. We will need to double down, pull out every stop, every resource, and find Ms. Marinette...before what is prophesied comes true. We will need to prevent this from happening, no matter the consequences.” 

“Come. I think we have much to plan...and...and I will need help telling Tikki all of this. I do not believe she will take it well if it is me who tells her of Marinette’s...possible fate.”

“I can do that. I’m here to stay, and I’m here to help. Let’s go.” 

Marianne politely looked away as Fu wiped the tears off his face, they had been so silent she hadn’t even noticed them before. “Let’s.”

Next Chapter

[whump-a-la-mode]

this is such a general thing but defiant villain whumpee slowly breaking pls :)

Thank you so much for the ask!! I hope this is slow enough. It's not exactly the traditional whumpee breaking, but I hope it's interesting nonetheless! Feel free to send in another ask if you want something different ^^

CW//Talk of mass destruction, sleep deprivation torture, brief pet whump mention, forced to eat gross food

"It's over."

There was a weariness to the newscaster's voice-- the kind that those in the profession were never meant to display. The sheer essence of bone-deep exhaustion. A body squeezed dry of adrenaline, until fight or flight turned to fatigue.

But, the fight was won.

"For the last three days, we have been running twenty four hour coverage of the battle occurring downtown. The battle began when Villain's forces attempted to overrun an R&D lab, following the occupation of their original headquarters by our city's heroes.

The destruction has been uncountable. But, it's over.

After a final assault at three in the morning, today, the last of Villain's personal guard fled the stronghold, and were taken into captivity. An hour later, the menace themself was captured.

It's over.

What exactly will be done with Villain is unclear, but Leader has assured us that appropriate measures have been prepared for their secure containment.

As for us? At long last, goodnight Metropolis."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"And good morning, sleepyhead."

Villain could not help but wince as light washed over them in a boiling wave-- the warmth of darkness torn away from them-- as the back doors of the truck were swung open.

"You're making the biggest mistake of your life." They snapped back, hoping the venom in their voice reached its recipient, standing at the truck's mouth.

Hero.

Of course, of all people, their welcoming committee had to be fucking Hero. The biggest asshat Metropolis had to offer. The worst, most stupidly noble, stupidly loyal, stupidly-

Their fury reached a boiling point to which enraged thoughts turned incoherent. It did not matter why they hated the idiot standing before them. It mattered only that anger alone made their veins feel as though they were overflowing with magma.

"Am I?" The noble fool cocked their head to the side, mocking and arrogant. "Or are you just upset that you've lost?"

"You think I've lost?" Villain let out a hearty chuckle. "All this effort, and you've caused me a minor setback, at most."

"Well, which one of us in the cage?"

They narrowed their eyes to slits. Hero was right. They were both staring through the bars of a cage, but Villain was very much the one contained. It was a tiny, steel construction. Large enough to stand up in, and take one step in each direction, but such was all.

Loaded into the back of a truck like some kind of zoo animal. They wanted to scream!

But, unlike the heroes, they could hold back.

"Me staying here to amuse you does not equate to defeat, Hero."

"Is that all you're doing? Humoring me?"

"Do you have any reason to believe otherwise?"

"Plenty." They smirked. "For one, sitting in the back of a truck for fourteen hours doesn't exactly seem like something you'd do to humor me."

Fourteen hours...

"Have you considered that I'm simply playing a long game?"

"It'll be the longest game of your life, then. Don't plan on getting out of here anytime soon. Or, y'know, ever. That's kind of the whole point."

"You really think you can hold me forever?"

"Oh, I know so. If you knew what was coming for you, you wouldn't be taking this so lightly."

"Oh, I'm so scared. What are you gonna do, give me a donut and tell me to hug this whole thing out?"

Hero chuckled, at that.

"Why don't you come and see for yourself?"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"You're sure this will work?" Leader cocked a brow, hoping that the teeth marks in their lower lip weren't visible. It was a nervous habit, chewing like that.

"Certain." Scientist had a chipper tone to them-- a student having solved a math problem. "We've been developing this method for months. Trust me, they have no chance."

"None?"

"None. Even better, this technique is more than a simple containment method. It has a progressive weakening effect. Within a few months, they'll be like putty in your hand."

"You know we're talking about Villain here, right?"

"Precisely!"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Villain had expected high security.

Of course they had. They'd quite frankly expected something ridiculous. A cell suspended over a pit of lava. Or a shark-infested pool. Or maybe they'd simply contain them through the power of sedatives.

None of the options sounded particularly enjoyable. But, all three sounded better than the room they stood in front of at that moment.

Six guards stood around them, each heavily armed, and not afraid to display this fact. Two stood on either side of them, each holding a chain attached to one of the twin manacles that adorned both their wrists-- they'd expected handcuffs, but two shackles per wrist seemed a little excessive. The two remaining guards stood with one in front and one behind. Their chains were those connected to Villain's feet. One tug, and they'd be face-first on the tile.

The restraints didn't make them want to flee any less. Not when they saw that room. Even chained as they were, they squirmed at the very sight of what stood before them.

It was rather large, though not ostentatiously so. Though, its size was accentuated by the complete lack of furniture lining the walls.

No. There were only two things inside the chamber.

The first stood at the center. A massive, metal ring, perhaps ten feet in height and the same in width. Four cylinders of the same material extended into the circle's center, looking terribly like hungry mouths.

One for each wrist, one for each ankle.

They were going to be splayed out like a bearskin carpet. Not to mention the vulnerability... With their limbs spread in every which direction, everything would be exposed. Their stomach, their back, their head. And they would be without a hope of retaliation.

It was a terrifying thought, but the elaborate restraint was nothing compared to the other thing inside the chamber.

Light.

There must have been a thousand of them. Shimmering, dazzling lights. On the ceiling, on the walls, some even on the floor.

It had not been since Villain's childhood that light had truly affected them. The manifestation of their abilities had coincided with the appearance of their acute sensitivity to the sun. Such was to be expected' a supernatural ability to move through places dark and shadowed, to control the shroud as though it were a thing rather than an absence did not exactly leave one looking forward to the sunrise.

Yet, they were not a vampire. Through gradual acclimation, they had learned to become comfortable with normal levels of light exposure. Spending a few hours under the sun's rays was not a problem, nor was existing within an indoor space, dominated by artificial lamps and LEDs.

But that room...

Villain could not take it. In desperation, they pulled, tugging on the restraints that dangled around them like tails. But, even they were no match for six men.

And, thus, they entered.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Now, I can see you weren't lying!"

The voice startled Villain, sent a jolt through their chest, but it did nothing to raise their head or open their eyes. Not immediately. Lifting their gaze was a task accomplished with a considerable amount of effort, and unveiling their eyes from their lids made their corneas feel to have been pierced by searing blades.

They could hardly see Hero, through the blazing lights.

"You really were trying to humor me. This is hilarious!"

It was with a terribly uncomfortable feeling that they felt fury overtake their fatigue.

"It's only been six days. I can play the long game."

"Is that why you've been hanging around?"

Though they tried, in their manacles, it proved impossible to ball their fists. The metal fit too closely around their fingers, contoured to not allow the slightest shadow of movement.

"Maybe it is, Hero. Maybe it is."

"Maybe." The Hero took a step forth, then another, until they were mere inches from their captive nemesis. "They've really done something here, huh? Ya' can hardly move an inch."

"There's a difference between not being able to and not wanting to."

"Is that so?"

Hero placed a chilled hand on their nemesis' side-- just above their hip, where their range of movement was the most limited by their splayed limbs.

Villain's heart leapt as they felt a tiny spark, jolting through their chest.

Suffering a direct blow from their nemesis was a fate they had only endured a handful of times. Now, there was nothing to protect them from it. Not even the adrenaline of battle.

"They say you're gonna give up, y'know." Hero trailed their hand, up and down Villain's taut skin. "I think they're betting on it, up in HQ. It's only a matter of time. We can all see you're getting weaker. Tired. You aren't great at hiding it."

"What I'm good at is acting."

"You're saying this is all an act? So you won't mind if I do... this?"

That time, the feeling was more of a spark.

Villain's scream echoed throughout the chamber, but there was no one to hear them but the light.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Hey! Get up. Can't you hear me?"

Of course Villain could hear Hero. They'd been hearing their stupid voice every single one of these last...

How many days had it been?

They couldn't remember. Too many.

"There's a difference between hearing and listening."

"I thought this whole breaking you thing would be more fun."

"I'm sorry that I'm not entertaining you."

"Nah, I don't think seeing you strung up like this will ever get old." Like a child, Hero laughed. "Anyways, I brought you some food. It's fish!"

Villain hated fish.

But, struggling would mean opening their eyes. Looking at the light.

And, thus, they ate.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Come on."

A sharp vibration rattled through the restraint frame, and, consequently, to the cores of Villain's bones. But, they did not move.

"I know you can hear me. So get up!"

Hero kicked the frame again, but received the same reaction.

"I thought you were playing the long game. I'm looking for some payoff, here. This new Villain is boring."

Maybe.

Maybe they were boring.

But they didn't have the energy to be anything else. Not anymore.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"What did I tell you?" Scientist smirked. "Like putty in your hand!"

"I still don't understand how you did it." Leader shook their head. "The biggest threat to the city..."

"Oh, it was easy. They've got those weird dark powers, yeah? So they aren't hurt by the light. Not exactly. But, when there's lights on, they can't sleep! Not a wink. You could leave 'em outside and give 'em the keys to your own car, and they still wouldn't be able to escape."

"You really think so?"

"I know so. By the way, who won the betting pool?"

"Engineering department. They said three months, they were the closest. You're saying they haven't slept in three months?"

"Yep! There's not much left of the old Villain anymore, though. So... I mean, now, they can be whatever you want them to be. Do you have any ideas?"

"Hm..." Leader drummed their fingers against the wall. "I have always wanted a bodyguard."

"I thought you always wanted a dog."

"True, true."

"So... why not both?"

"You have a technique for that too?"

"Yep!"

[scaryscarecrows]

Clocks

AN: I have trouble with analog clocks to this day. I have no idea if it’s a Scary thing or an autism thing, but there it is. (With Jason, my personal headcanon is that’s just a weird thing for him. He can’t make oatmeal, either, no matter how hard he tries. :p)

* * *

Jason, after Bruce took him in, figured out that analog clocks were created by the devil and that they absolutely refused to be read by little boys. He’d had his share of trouble with ‘em before, when he was a kid, but he hadn’t really...he’d thought maybe...maybe he’d get better. But nope, they were still hard and it took a bit of squinting to figure out the time.

He can read them, but it takes more effort than he’d like and when he’d finally mentioned it, shamefacedly, to Alfred, a digital clock had appeared in his room and that was the end of it.

And then had come the Joker, and for the longest time there’d been no clock of any kind, and honestly, Jason had taken enough knocks to the head that it wouldn’t have mattered.

It had been maybe three months in when a digital clock appeared. Well. Of a sort. It had red numbers and at first he’d thought it was some sort of psychological thing. ‘Look at the time I’ve had you here’ or...or something.

But then the numbers started going backwards, and he’d spotted the wires, and the dynamite they were attached to.

At first, for a minute or two, he hadn’t cared. He remembers thinking he was just grateful to be done, to be out of his misery. But then it had been fifteen minutes left, and he’d been hanging from the ceiling, ankle too damaged to run even if he’d wanted to.

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes is plenty of time to have regrets, to be scared. He’d screamed for help, knowing it wouldn’t do any good but still hoping somebody, anybody, would come and get him.

He’d stopped screaming when there were two minutes left.

Closed his eyes at ten seconds, tried to breathe.

Apologized to Bruce at two.

Got a lungful of Joker gas at zero and rebroke his ankle thrashing in the chains. Rebroke a rib, too.

After that, he’d happily gone clock-free in his room. Nothing like waking up at night to see red numbers! Not.

And then had come Sheila, and everything after that, and...and waking up in the dark…

He’d broken down, eventually, and bought a night light at the dollar store, but that had been too bright. So he’d gotten a damn clock and turned it to the wall. All the light without the numbers.

But sometimes...sometimes he’d wake up, and the red light threw laughing shadows above his head.

He didn’t go back to sleep on those nights.

THE END

[savrenim]

I gotta say I think my favorite part of Jeremy as a DM is that he takes the stupid half-jokes that I make offscreen and just. turns them into things for me. that also fit perfectly into the plot and the story seamlessly but feel special 

like I was making goddamn jokes about “okay but. but I want a bloodsword. we do blood magic. please. Jeremy. Jeremy what if I could make my blood into a sword. b l o o d s w o r d. I could go to parties and never be unarmed because mY BLOOD IS A SWORD. YOU CAN’T DISARM ME YOU WOULDN’T PART AN OLD ELF FROM HER BLOOD WOULD YOU, SO LONG AS I HAVE BLOOD I HAVE SWORD.” and then, like. because it was only half a joke and I got attached to the aesthetic I actively started planning on how to make one of my own, which was pretty much going to be that there are some shadow weapon spells either on the cleric/oracle or witch lists and I was just going to take one of those as I was leveling up in Caedic magic and request that because it’s blood magic can we please flavor it descriptively as being made of my blood and not of shadows like, just as a cool aesthetic piece, and I’d have my bloodsword. 

and then halfway through Book 4 Galen fucking Torus out of nowhere makes a really fucking rad bloodsword from his own blood and hands it to me and I kill a bunch of enemies of the Empire and feel hella cool and I go “c a n  y o u  t e a c h  m e” with starry eyes the next day and he goes “okay sure” and starts teaching me how to make a bloodsword and there are cool bloodsword mechanics and just. Iria Strell got a bloodsword. after I spent six months joking about it. this is an actual legitimate bloodsword not a cheap knockoff made from a flavored shadow spell, real genuine Caedic blood magic here.

and, like, there are a couple of other obvious things (I spent a while being excited about a Feat tree that I’ve now totally forgotten because I think I was looking for some weird way to add Int to attacks and there was something similar to feinting you used bluff for a round and I’ve forgotten about it because it became irrelevant because Iria has developed mechanical combat spurs that give her a pretty similar option, not a “sooo then in five levels I’ll be able to do this!”) I guess another one was joking for months okay not joking about how much in love I was with Arcadia Dominus and holy shit she liked me back and the “gay murder elf bachelorette” bit actually becoming a part of the campaign, this campaign got literally infinitely more gay because I made a dumb joke and then Jeremy went “okay” and followed up on it, we went from no gay to one of the longest running and at least emotionally important plotlines is “oh no Iria is so gay you utter disaster fire of a lesbian how are you going to mess everything up now because Pretty Girl”

but, like

the one that is hitting me really really strongly now-now is that I have been half-jokingly complaining for months and months that I regret So Much Iria Strell’s background as a minor noble because it limits the fanciness and quantity of dresses that I can get for her and goddamnit I want to put her in all the shiny things all of them and how Painful it is to pass all these cool costumes that I Want To Pull just in fashion posts and stuff but uuurgh I can’t because Iria Strell isn’t the sort of noble who would wear all those and she kind of isn’t allowed and that just goddamnit I need to make a character next game who whatever the context wears Cool Clothes so that I would get to actually do a shit-ton of character design and costume design 

and I am 1000% sure that this didn’t change from the original plans, like, the outlines have been in place for months well before I got obsessed with noble costuming, but the big objective of this book is Iria is investigating a maybe heresy/conspiracy that maybe involves nobles, and to do so, she has to go to a bunch of noble parties, and Galen Torus gave her an unlimited credit card and went “material resources are no worry go ham request whatever you want” and what her wardrobe is actively affects all the interactions she has with people and how well she can gather the information she needs to

which means that OOC I get the chance to design a full and changing wardrobe for Iria Strell to look cool as it is now her job as the secret leader of an investigation to actually do noble business and look pretty sometimes and talk to a bunch of nobles and go to parties but just. I’m limited in interesting ways by what is tasteful, but I have been given the full resources and an active in-character reason to utterly go ham on costuming, which makes me so excited as a person

and it’s just. super tiny details like this that idk make the games feel....more than just special? or maybe it’s that I’m not used to being listened to? like. the game is so good. I’m having so much fun. we have gotten to book 5 and it is once again the coolest fucking thing I could imagine. and so was book 4, and book 3, and book 2, and book 1. it is completely unnecessary to throw in tiny things like the bloodsword in order to make me happy and it is all done so....seamlessly? like. if one of my hunches is correct. the bloodsword and a ritual that Galen Torus performed telling Iria it would make her better at the bloodsword wHICH IT DID BUT THAT WAS NOT THE MAIN POINT OF THE RITUAL, THE MAIN POINT OF THE GODDAMN RITUAL WAS TO CONSECRATE PRIESTS AND PRIESTS HAVE MORE ACCESS TO BLOOD MAGIC SO A SIDE EFFECT IS BETTER THAN A BLOODSWORD BUT A CONSECRATED PRIEST IS A SUPER HIGH RANK AND THIS MAKES HER A CONSECRATED PRIEST AT AGE EIGHTEEN WHICH IS VERY VERY VERY UPSETTING TO HER AND POSSIBLY UNPRECEDENTED EARLY 30S IS CONSIDERED RIDICULOUSLY EARLY TO BE A CONSECRATED PRIEST FOR INCREDIBLY TALENTED AND FAST-CLIMBING CAREER-FOCUED NOBLES NOT A MINOR DISGRACED KIND OF EXILED LESBIAN DUMPSTER FIRE LIKE SHE IS

but consecrated priest thing aside and that being one way or another a major plot point and that coming so seamlessly and so perfectly a surprise from the fact that she asked an Exarch if he’d teach her how to make a bloodsword

again I’m pretty sure “Book 5 is noble politics book” was always going to be a thing so it’s not “oh Jeremy wrote it into the plot that I get to be ridiculous and pick out every single dress and everyday wear and hair and makeup for my character all the time multiple times a session and have that matter” because it was always abstractly going to matter as that matters as a part of being a Caedic noble but just 

here and is everything I wanted and was everything that I was totally joking about for months except no joke I just. get to do it. which I’m just actively so excited about. I guess it just...feels weird to me because I’m... sometimes used to making my own fun? or just, like, making things happen in my own life? there have been way too many “well if you want to survive it’s only you that you can rely on” situations not even in a bad sense of my life is horrible like. I could go on a rant about how I....not don’t trust people as people but don’t trust people to be 100% reliable and so always make a backup plan so that if a person falls through I can still get what I need done to be done and it’s just more pleasant for everyone involved if I don’t pin pressure on people or things? but in a different way I do the same thing for the games that I’m involved in, I will find things to make me have Feelings and will make my own fun and write letters and befriend NPCs and insist on staying in touch and, like...I dunno I guess I’m not used to trusting any world, be it fantasy or real, to give me what I want, if I want a thing I have to carefully plan and invest time and energy to earn and take it and be prepared to fail and just because Jeremy’s my friend and I goddamn narrate everything jokes or not of how I/my characters feel and “okay but here is the 1000th picture of a cool dress that I’m sending you and because Iria Strell doesn’t get to wear cool dresses we’ll say it’s the Gothicus Maximus Spring 2019 collection” and just

I guess I’m really not used to a world that cares about what I want

and, like, is sometimes fucking brutal Iria is dealing with slowly losing her mobility and ability to fight to an injury that was her fault and she is descending into a lot of really fun mental health places that push fun buttons and Marian is spelljammer and is Marian don’t even get me started on Marian’s family suddenly reappearing or just. characters from the thousands upon thousands of words of backstory showing up but just idk it feels like even when things are really brutal to the characters......the world is still kind to me? it’s aware of what I care about and it cares about me?

and I’m just so not used to the world being kind

I don’t need the world to be kind to love it. I love this world even with how fucked up and hard it is, and I love the games that I play and the stories that I get to be a part of without them caring about me at all, I don’t need them to care about me, that’s not why I’m playing

maybe I’m just hella tired and the move has been awful my old housemate gave me a deadline less than 12 hours before when there was never a deadline in our original conversations and then she and her mother were also going through my room and my stuff I guess to try to determine how quickly I’d get out of there but, like, I do not like it when people go through my stuff and there was a scare about the landlord selling the new place and the new landlord would have to honor the lease for a year but then maybe not wanting me to have my cats so suddenly for two days even my new living place was up in the air and I was already jet lagged and stressed and barely slept to try to finish a week’s worth of work that I was under the full impression I had a week to do in a day and a half and definitely sprained my ankle but got to keep walking on it and internet took forever to set up and trying to fix my furniture and all my stuff is in boxes and I’m still walking around on a twisted ankle because it’s just me there’s no one here to help me, if I want things to be okay and to get done I have to make them be done myself and these boxes need to be unpacked by Saturday morning because the landlord wants to fix the floor and just. I’m stressed and emotional so maybe I’m hella overreacting to “oh you like costumes? well an aspect of this book is noble interactions and parties so sure I’ll let you pick out literally every dress that you’re wearing” but it just

it matters so much to me

Jeremy is really really good at the DnD thing

[clovergirl18]

Chapter 5: Yuki and Alex snowy chains!

Harry woke up with start he sat up quickly and grabbed his glasses. Naru and Ren were not happy with the sudden movement but they sensed the worry coming from Harry. Shadow was on the floor his hackles raised as he growled his eyes focused on the window. Harry immediately went over and looked out. He saw a pair of sky blue eyes staring at him from the other side of glass.

Those eyes happened to belong to a snowy white canine face. Said animal had it's front paws against the glass obviously curious about the other inhabitants of the room. Harry immediately realized that this creature was a fox and it definitely had more than one tail. "Shadow it's okay they won't hurt us." Harry said stroking the bandaged mist wolf to calm him down.

Immediately Shadow calmed down and sat down. His hackles flattened and he yawned. Harry opened the window and the small fox jumped onto the desk then onto the floor. It looked and sniffed around curiously before jumping into Harry's arms and licking his face. "I guess that means you're stay huh little guy." Harry said holding the six tailed fox up. "Or gal." Harry said noticing that the fox was a female. Harry checked the time 9:30 am. It was a Sunday so Harry didn't have to worry about school for another week.

Harry got dressed after closing the window and looked at the white kitsune who the other pets were sniffing curiously. Naru placed her wing around the small fox and purred. The others immediately stated there agreement. Naru had been with Harry the longest and they accepted her as pack leader she definitely acted like an older sibling/mother towards the other pets.

She also considered Harry her kit since was already fully grown when she found Harry the night she killed his abusers. The case was deemed a cold case after a year of investigation. The Dursleys had at one point owned a cat but got rid of it when they found out that Dudley was horribly allergic. They hadn't bothered to get rid of the old cat stuff and kept it in the cupboard under the stairs with Harry including a litter box that had some litter in it. So the police assumed that Naru was the Dursley's pet.

Several neighbors even said that they had seen Naru hanging around number 4 privet drive a few weeks before the Dursleys were found dead and assumed the Dursleys had a cat. Harry of course has no idea that Naru had been the one who set off the chain of events that caused Harry to gain a new home. "Hmm how about I call you Yuki?" Harry said to the six tailed fox.. The white fox gave a yip conforming she liked the name. Harry went downstairs to the kitchen with all his pets following him. Harry was surprised to see that the kitchen was empty. "That's weird where's Uncle Terry?" Harry said to his pets. Harry went to the fridge and saw the note.

Harry an emergency came up at the ministry had to go in to help. Don't answer the door for anyone while I'm gone. I'll see you this evening or tomorrow morning I'm not sure how long till everything gets settled down. Anyways the emergency kit is in the hall closet and emergency numbers are next to the phone. There's money on the counter if you need to buy anything at the store. Don't let the neighbors see Ren or Shadow. Be good stay safe.

-Terrence

P.S. Don't adopt anything dangerous while I'm gone!

Harry read over the note and then looked at Yuki. "Well he didn't say anything about non dangerous creatures." Harry said grinning Yuki licked his face in response.

Several hours passed and Terrence came home. "Harry could I see you in the garage for a minute?!" Terrence called into the house. Harry who had been working on a drawing got up and picked Yuki up and headed into the garage. "Stay here." Harry said to the rest of his pets who continued to lounge in the living room.

"You wanted to see me Uncle Terry?" Harry said. Yuki was sitting across his shoulders. "Yes I-" Terrence began when he saw Yuki. "Is that a six tailed kitsune?" Terrence asked he was surprised. " Six now. Terrence thought keeping track of all the creatures in the house. "Oh yeah this is Yuki she was pawing at my bedroom window this morning so I adopted her." Harry said stroking her head.

Before Terrence could speak Harry said. "Besides your note didn't say anything about non dangerous creatures." Harry said as Yuki jumped off his shoulders and sniffed around the garage. She started pawing at Terrence's car urgently. "That it did." Terrence said smiling at the fact that Harry had found a convenient loophole. "Anyways I've got a bit of a surprise for you." Terrence said. He opened the back of the car revealing a large light yellow fox with nine tails. The poor creature wasn't in good condition. It was covered in bandages and it was horribly thin and covered in scars. It appeared to be at least a bit larger than Shadow.

Harry gasped when he saw the obviously neglected and abused animal he understood what the poor fox had gone through. The fox raised its head and it had the saddest orange eyes one could have ever seen there was absolutely no hope or will to live in those eyes. Harry had been the same way when he had been rescued. The ten year old immediately hugged the fox as it got out of the car. Something metal hit the floor "It's okay you're safe now, do you understand you're gonna be okay Alex." Harry said giving the fox a gender neutral name. The fox nuzzled Harry's face as if saying. "Thank you." Harry stepped back and looked at the poor fox again. There was a shackle around its front right ankle with some chain still attached to it. "Why didn't they remove the shackle?" Harry asked.

"No one at the ministry could get close enough to perform the spell I was barely able to get close enough to bandage and place a healing charm on him without him trying to bite me." Terrence said confirm that this fox was male. Yuki nuzzled the large fox obviously saying "It's okay this is a safe place neither of them will hurt you." Alex bowed his head in a gesture of thanks to Yuki. Terrence and Harry guided the newest family member to the living room. Alex had a limp with his shackled leg.

The others were a bit unsure of Alex. Naru immediately hoped on his back and began grooming him as Terrence managed to remove the shackle in doing so it revealed an old wound that was open and raw. Alex growled as Terrence started treating it. "It's okay, Uncle Terry's trying to help." Harry said. Alex layed his head down in Harry's lap and Harry gently scratched him behind the ears. "You're a good boy." Harry said. He was lying against Ren's side with Shadow lying next to him. Yuki layed next to Alex giving the fox equivalent of a grin.

Naru continued to groom Alex while Hedwig started grooming Harry. Terrence cast another healing charm on Alex's leg before he bandaged the spot up. Yup today's certainly been Intresting. Terrence thought after dinner as Harry headed up to bed with all his pets in tow. Including Alex and Yuki.

[isolationshepherd-blog]

The Hundred Camp, the Cheviot Hills

Kane rode back to camp as fast as his nag could take him. He had been tempted to follow Abby to Arkholm Tower but that would have given them away to everyone. As far as he knew, only Murphy had found them out. Kane was struggling to make sense of what had happened. How did Murphy know about Alasdair and what he had done? The only person Kane had ever talked about it with was Abby and obviously he hadn’t told her the whole truth. It was possible the boy had made a guess, wanting to hurt Abby or get back at Kane for some reason and had inadvertently hit on the truth. However he had found out, the result was the same. Abby was devastated, their relationship was in ruins. They might have survived if Murphy had only told Abby about Alasdair; she would have been angry with Kane for a while, but he was sure he could have convinced her that his reasons not to tell her were pure. No. Murphy couldn’t resist twisting the knife, telling Abby that she was Kane’s revenge, and she had believed it. Kane couldn’t understand what he had done to make her think he was capable of that. He hadn’t helped himself by hesitating when she asked if the sex in the stable had been revenge. There was an element of truth in that, and he couldn’t lie to her. Seeing Alasdair a few feet away while he was taking his wife had been deeply satisfying but it was just that one moment, because the man was there. He had never considered Abby as revenge for her husband; in fact, he tried not to think of her having anything to do with that ogre at all. He had to make her see that, somehow, but first, he was going to kill Murphy.

When he arrived at the camp he jumped from his horse, not bothering to tether him, and strode through the camp shouting Murphy’s name. Raven came out of Kane’s dwelling, smiling in greeting and then frowning when she saw the look on Kane’s face.

“Kane? What’s wrong?”

“Have ye seen Murphy?”

“No.”

“Murphy! Show yer face ye coward!”

Kane circled the courtyard, banging on the doors and walls of all the dwellings. Raven ran after him.

“Kane, ye’re scaring me. What is going on?”

“I’m going to kill Murphy, that’s what’s going on. Oh, here he is.”

Murphy had come out of the mess and was standing, arms folded, smiling at Kane. “Having a bad day, Kane?”

Kane crossed to him in two long strides and punched him in the face. Murphy went down clutching his nose. Kane grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him back up so he could hit him again.

“What the hell, Kane?” Raven tried to pull him off Murphy but Kane shrugged her off. Murphy scrambled to his feet and used Kane’s momentary distraction to barrel his head into Kane’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him, sending him sprawling to the floor. Murphy knelt on Kane’s chest, squeezing the last of the air out of him, and moved to hit him in the face. Kane dodged to his left and Murphy only managed a glancing blow to Kane’s cheek. Kane’s next punch was strong enough to knock Murphy off him and for a few seconds both men lay on their backs, gasping for air.

“Ye’ve seen yer girlfriend, I take it?” said Murphy between gasps.

“Why did ye do it?”

“Why not? It was fun. Her face!” Murphy laughed, and Kane managed to roll over and straddle him, pinning him to the ground.

“I’m going to fucking kill thee.” He started hitting Murphy again, splitting his nose and his lips, blood pouring out down the boy’s face, over Kane’s knuckles. Murphy was coughing, choking as blood ran down his throat.

A crowd had gathered by now but Kane was hardly aware of them. Raven was pleading with him but her voice was muffled, as though it was coming from far away. Kane only had eyes and ears for Murphy. Suddenly, two sets of strong arms were pulling him back, dragging him to his feet. He looked down at a bloodied and battered Murphy, and felt no remorse. The boy had it coming to him.

“You are under arrest, Kane.” Jaha’s voice made Kane look around. He was being held by two of the strongest men in the clan; a crowd was watching him and Jaha was in front of them, arms folded, a cold, dark look on his face. “Take him away.” The men led Kane to the stockade, an open-roofed pen where they sometimes kept animals and occasionally criminals. The men shackled his wrists and fastened leg irons round his ankles which they attached to a long chain already fixed to the ground. He could walk around but there was no chance of escaping. He sat down in the corner of the pen, and waited, thinking about Abby, and how he had to see her, convince her that she was wrong. Maybe Raven would help him, and Blake. As soon as he got out of here, he would get a message to Blake, persuade him to meet him, and bring Abby. The boy wouldn’t like deceiving her, but it was the only way.

The shadows lengthened, and the skies darkened. Fat drops of rain began to fall, but still no one came for Kane. The raindrops became a shower and then a downpour and Kane was soaked through in no time. The dirt turned to mud and he was forced to stand. Night fell and he knew Jaha was going to leave him there. This was part of his punishment, and he had to accept it. The temperatures dropped once the sun had gone and Kane shivered in the cold air, his wet clothes clinging to him. No moon or stars were visible. It was one of the longest and darkest nights of Kane’s life, second only to the night he had found his sister-in-law bleeding and terrified in her bedchamber. Everything stemmed from the decisions he had made then, but he didn’t regret them. He had been a wastrel, a selfish, pleasure-seeking idiot, but when the time came to stand up and be counted he had done so, surprising himself. Maybe if he hadn’t had such a playboy reputation, his father wouldn’t have believed him so easily, but it was for the best. Was then, was now. And it had led to Abby.

When she had told him she loved him, time had stopped. No woman had ever said that to Kane, apart from a few girls when he was young, but that was frivolous, practice love. He could tell Abby hadn’t known she was going to say it until she did, and that had made it cut him deeper, because it was so genuine, so heartfelt. Not that there was ever anything calculating about Abby; she was the most honest, open person he had met. Trusting, and caring, and capable of deep love. Kane had never thought himself worthy of someone like her, and it astonished him, the depth of her trust in him, and now that trust was gone. He may never get it back, never get her back, but he had to try. Even if she never forgave him, if he had to live the rest of his life without her, she deserved to know the truth. He hoped she would at least give him the chance to tell her.

---

It was noon the next day before the gate to the stockade opened and Kane was taken before Jaha, filthy and shivering, still fettered, his wrists and ankles chafing from the heavy iron. Murphy was already in the room, his face purple and blue, lips and nose swollen. He glared at Kane and Kane returned the look. The men who brought him chained him to a hook in the wall, his hands behind his back.

“You stand accused of serious crimes, Kane. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“It is a private matter.”

“I have told you before there are no private matters in the Hundred. I expect you to tell me.”

Kane remained quiet so Murphy of course had to fill the silence.

“He’s fucking a Laird’s wife.” Murphy’s words were thick and only partly formed as he struggled to open his mouth wide enough to let them out.

Jaha frowned. “He’s always fucking the Lairds’ wives.”

“This one is different. It’s serious. She loves him; she clearly mustn’t get a lot at home if Kane is a catch to her.”

Kane strained towards Murphy, his chains rattling as they held him back, cutting into his wrists.

“Shut up!”

“Who is it?” asked Jaha.

“It is Lord Alasdair Griffin’s wife, the Lady Abigail.”

“Lord Griffin, eh?” Jaha stroked his chin. “This could be extremely useful.”

“I am not using her to help thee,” muttered Kane through clenched teeth.

“I fail to see what choice you have,” replied Jaha. “Sneaking around, running unauthorised raids, which I see now had a benefit to you, fighting your clan fellows. These are crimes punishable by death, Kane, you know that.” He paused to let the threat sink in.

“But that will not be your fate today. No. This relationship with Lady Griffin will be of no use to us if you are dead.”

Kane opened his mouth to protest but Jaha cut him off.

“I would think wisely if I were you before you speak. If you are dead, who will defend the Lady when her husband finds out what she has done? I’m certain he would pay dearly to prevent news such as that from spreading round the country.”

“We don’t need Kane for this, Sir,” said Murphy. “We can blackmail the Lady ourselves, or Lord Alasdair.”

Jaha sighed. “You don’t know much about women, do you, son? Do you think once her beloved Kane here is dead she’s going to help us? If she has any sense she’ll leave her husband before he finds out, or kill herself. Either way, we get nothing.”

“Ye don’t know the whole story, Sir. She might be begging ye to kill Kane after what I told her.”

Kane pulled on his chains, desperate to get to Murphy and shut him up, but they were fixed hard to the wall.

“I swear, Murphy, if ye say one more word.”

“What? What are ye going to do, Kane? Ye’re an idiot. I said ye were getting shoddy and this is the result. Ye’ve let yer cock rule yer head, and yer heart.”

“Shut up both of you! What is the true story, here?”

“Alasdair Griffin is the one who raped Kane’s brother’s wife. He’s the one he took the fall for.” Murphy turned to Kane. “Why did ye do that?”

Kane ignored him.

“Is this true, Kane?”

Kane nodded. “Aye.” His shoulders slumped; he felt defeated. Nothing he could say or do was going to stop Jaha from getting what he wanted. His best chance was to stay alive and work out how to stop whatever Jaha decided to do.

“This changes everything,” said Jaha. “I need to think how best we can exploit this situation. In the meantime, I am sentencing you to a week in the stockade, Murphy.”

Murphy let out a cry of surprise. “I am the injured party here!”

Jaha walked over to him, leaned in close. “You are far from innocent. You told Lady Griffin about her husband with malice and forethought and set this in motion. I hold you equally responsible with Kane for what happened to you.”

He nodded to the guards. “Take him to the stockade.” They took Murphy out of the room; the boy dragged his feet along the ground so they lifted him between them and the last Kane saw of him he was kicking and struggling in mid-air. Kane was left alone with Jaha.

“I am disappointed in you, Kane. This is not the behaviour of a second-in-command.”

“No, Sir. I am sorry for breaking the rules, that was never my intention, but Murphy deserved it.”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses. I don’t want to see or hear from you so I am sending you to France.”

Kane was shocked. “What? Sir, no!”

“There is no discussion. You can take your boy, Raven, with you. I had a productive visit there recently and now that business needs concluding. You can do that for me. I expect you to be gone a sevenday if not more. The boat leaves today.”

Jaha unlocked Kane’s chains and left him alone in the room. Kane sank to the floor, rubbing his bleeding wrists. Seven days! If Abby only heard silence from him, she would assume she was right, that she was his revenge. If Raven was with him he had no way of getting a message to Abby. Blake was unreachable. Perhaps he could send a written note to Arkholm, coded somehow, but who would deliver it, and what if it was intercepted? It was too risky. He put his head in his hands. Tears didn’t come easily to Kane, but he was exhausted, and they spilled out of him. He and Abby were over, just as they were coming into full bloom. The thought was so painful he realised what Abby had already discovered. He loved her, but it was too late. She was lost to him.

 Duns House, Berwickshire

It was a crisp autumn day. The sky was a pale blue, streaked with wispy clouds, and there was a frost on the ground, making the grass crunch under Abby’s feet. She and Harper were walking through the grounds of Duns House, the Griffin clan’s summer residence. It was Abby’s first day outside in almost a week. She had come down with a sickness the day after she had arrived at the house, vomiting regularly and running a low fever. Harper thought it was something she had eaten, because the cook hadn’t been prepared for their arrival and had given them cold meats for supper. “Who knows how long they had been kept, Mistress,” Harper had said while Abby was being sick for the third time in an hour. The sickness had subsided after a few days, and the fever disappeared with it. Abby didn’t think it was food. She was heartsick. All she had thought about was Kane and his betrayal, day and night, and it had made her ill.

“Why don’t we sit for a moment, Mistress? Ye dinnae want tae overdo it.” Harper led Abby to a bench beneath the bare branches of a cherry tree, and they sat down. The grounds of the park were spread out before them, mostly laid to pasture with scattered oak and hawthorn trees. Red deer grazed in the distance, the bellowing of the stags echoing through the air. They were coming to the end of the rut, and some of the younger stags were getting brave, challenging the old dominant ones to fights, antlers locking, shoving their huge heavy bodies against each other. The hinds stood around, chewing the grass, having no part to play in the contest, no say in the outcome. Whichever stag won the fight would mate with them, and that would be that. The hinds didn’t seem to care much about their fate but Abby cared for them. The one who threw his weight around most would win, as he was the strongest, but strength wasn’t always the best quality to have. Sometimes, guile, spirit and intelligence were the most attractive qualities, like the young stag she was watching now. He was circling the edge of the harem, watching the older stags, waiting for them to get engaged in a fight before making his move. He didn’t have to wait long before he got his chance, mating with a hind who had strayed too close to the edge. The deed was done and he was away before the dominant stag knew what was happening.

Abby sighed. She was no different to those hinds, caught in a battle between two men, her fate in their hands. She had been waiting every day for Alasdair to come charging home, bursting with rage, furious about Kane and what she had done with him. She imagined Kane’s face as he told him how he had lain with her, taken her in every way, made her do things, say things that no respectable wife should do with a man who was not her husband. What joy he would take in finally getting his revenge on the man who had ruined his life. In many ways she understood him, knew what it was like to be helpless, to have your life controlled by someone else, to have your choices taken away.

Waiting for your life to be over was the cruellest punishment. If Kane wanted revenge on her as well for not being the wife she should have been to Alasdair then he was successful. Even after she had removed herself from Arkholm to Duns, a part of her had expected him to find her, come after her, explain that it was all a mistake, that he loved her, but he had not come. Day after day she had waited, making herself sick with the worry, until she had finally realised that he was not coming to release her from this torment, he was prolonging it, making his revenge all the sweeter. Tears fell again as they had so often this last week.

“Mistress, what is the matter?”

Abby wiped her face. “It is nothing.”

“Oh, Mistress. I dinnae think it is nothing. Something is making you so sad, I know it is.”

Harper put her hand on Abby’s and the simple, kind gesture made something break inside her and she wept. Harper put her arm around Abby, brought her close so that her head rested on Harper’s shoulder.

“Is it the person ye meet at the loch?”

Abby sat up, looked at Harper. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t mean ye any harm, Mistress. I don’t know anything really, just that ye ride out there a lot, and ye always seem so happy when ye return. I thought maybe there was someone making thee smile.”

A great sob rose up from Abby’s chest at Harper’s words. How did this girl see through her so easily, right into her soul? Abby wanted to trust her, needed someone to talk to desperately, but she had already been so betrayed, there was no trust left to give. There was also nothing to lose, she realised, because Alasdair would find out soon, and it wouldn’t matter if Harper got there first or Kane. Maybe it would be better if Harper told him first, robbed Kane of his moment of glory.

All these thoughts rushed through her head, but in the end, Abby started talking to Harper because she had to. There was no one else, and if she kept everything inside her she was going to lose her mind.

“There was someone, but he is gone.”

“I’m sorry, Mistress. He made thee happy?”

“Yes, but it was all a lie.”

“Why was it a lie? What did he do?”

Abby sighed. “It’s a complicated story, but it has to do with the Master and something that happened a long time ago.”

Harper shook her head. “But what has that to do with thee and this man?”

“He…” Abby found it hard to find the right words to say to Harper without opening herself up completely. “He made me love him, and think that he loved me, but it was to get back at the Master for what he did many years ago.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “Why would he do that? Why now?”

That was a good question. Abby could understand what Kane had done, and why he had done it, but why had he waited more than five years to get his revenge? He had always known Alasdair had a wife; he could have put this plan into action years ago.

“I don’t know why now. Perhaps he wanted the Master to think he had got away with it.”

“Seems a lot of trouble to go to.”

“Yes.” Abby played with a loose thread on her skirt, picking at it, wrapping it round her finger until blood engorged the tip and the rest of her finger went white, then unwrapping it and doing it again.

Harper put her hand on Abby’s, stilling her. “Mistress.”

“I’ve been a fool, Harper.”

“Nae. It is not foolish to love.”

“It is when that love is not returned.”

“Are ye certain of that?”

She was not certain, not deep down, because she couldn’t stop seeing his face as it was when he looked at her, the way his eyes lit up when she smiled at him, how he watched her when he didn’t think she could see him. He used every excuse to touch her, hold her hand, caress her face, and not just to seduce her into laying with him. Surely no one was that good a liar? But why had he not come? Where was Raven? They must be in it together, or else Raven would have come to console Abby, or brought a message from Kane. Their silence was the most damning evidence she had.

“He would have come for me, Harper, but he hasn’t.”

“Mistress, I dinnae know who he is or what exactly he has done but there could be any reason why he hasn’t come for thee. Maybe he’s sick, as ye have been.”

Abby shook her head. “In that case, he would have sent Raven.”

“Raven? The groomsman? I liked him.”

“So did I.”

Harper stroked Abby’s hand. “Well, I am sorry, Mistress. What are ye going to do if the Master comes and knows all?”

“I don’t know.” And she didn’t. She wasn’t going to confess to Alasdair, wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. She couldn’t flee. There was nowhere to hide, no new life to seek. She had no coin, no connections, no means to do anything. Her father wouldn’t protect her, or shelter her. She would have to face Alasdair. She had betrayed him, and must accept the consequences.

“Can ye get a message to this man, or to Raven? Find out if there’s a reason he has not come. At least then ye will know.”

“I don’t see how. I don’t know where their camp is. The only person who knows about this, er, situation, is Blake, and he’s with Alasdair in Edinburgh.”

“Perhaps I can help get a message to Blake?”

“Oh, Harper, I wish you could, but I don’t even know if Blake is trustworthy. He’s Kane’s man, he’s a spy for him. I thought it was to help him plan raids, but perhaps it was to learn about me, to help Kane understand how to seduce me.”

“Kane the reiver? The Grey Wolf?” Harper was open-mouthed with shock and Abby had to go back over what she had just said to realise she had let slip his name, not that it mattered. Alasdair would know who it was soon enough.

“Yes, Kane the reiver.”

Harper smiled.

“What are you smiling at?”

“Nothing, Mistress. It’s just. The man is a legend.”

“Yes, well. Don’t look at me like that.” Harper was struggling to hide a smirk and Abby knew why, knew exactly what kind of reputation Kane had.

“I’m sorry.”

“It was not like with the other women.” Abby felt the need to justify the relationship somehow. “It was more than that. It was not a casual affair, not to me at least.”

“I never thought that. When I say he’s a legend, I don’t just mean as ye are thinking. He’s revered amongst the poor, Mistress. He raids their masters to give people coin and food to survive, helps them find shelter if they have none. He is known to be a good man, a man to trust. Are ye sure he has done what ye think?”

Abby was trying to process Harper’s words. She had not known this about Kane, or had she? Somewhere in the back of her mind she remembered Lord Douglas repeating a ballad at their banquet. Something about him robbing the rich to pay the poor, but she had thought it just a tale, and Alasdair had dismissed it outright as something Kane had made up. Here was Harper, telling her the same tale, and the girl had no reason to lie or exaggerate the truth. No wonder Kane inspired loyalty from Blake and all the other young men in houses around the Borders. But even good men did bad things, hadn’t he told her that? There are no good men he had said. Perhaps he was warning her, even back then, when they had hardly begun.

“Harper, I don’t know what to think. My mind is like a whirlpool in the sea, spinning round and round. The rest of me is trapped in it and I don’t know which way is up or how to escape.”

“You must look for calmer waters, Mistress. I will make thee a potion from the lemon balm, that will help.”

Abby squeezed the girl’s hand. “Thank you, Harper.” She didn’t think a potion would go far to ease her worries. She needed something to happen, one way or another. Kane or Alasdair. One of them was going to come to her, and she had no idea which it would be.

[izthecannibal]

Take Over For Me - G-Eazy x TWD Imagine

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

request: Okay so Ive had this in the back of my head for the longest time and I just wanted to share it with you BC I love you: so imagine if Negan had a son (like Geazy the rapper BC THEY TOTALLY LOOK A LIKE) and like you and him fell in love but can't be together BC you both are on opposite sides.. I'm so conflicted and convinced that Geazy is Megan's son or Neagn is old geazy LOLOLOL

a/n: i’ve never listened to geazy in my entire life so everything in this is based on what i read on wikipedia and that his name is gerald via @girlygreenie lmao (also i lowkey didn’t follow the prompt but whatever)

let me know what you think! my messages and inbox are always open, and i respond to everything :-)

word count: 1908

tagged users: @deeindarkwonderland 

Your teeth chattered as cold sweat dripped down your forehead. You would have wiped it on your sleeve if your hands weren’t bound behind your back, attached to the cold metal chair you were placed on. Your damp hair hung in front of your face, blocking your view of the man walking in the swinging door. The light shining in from outside of your small cell blinded your eyes, and you looked down immediately, squeezing your eyelids closed. Negan crouched down so his face was level with yours and smirked knowingly. 

“You’re scared,” he said. He stood up again, pacing slowly in circles around your chair. You kept your eyes focused on the ground beneath you, fearing that you would cry if you had to look Negan in the eye. 

Abraham’s skull split with a crack. You shuddered and dropped your head into the palms of your hands, grinding your teeth against each other as Negan chuckled, soaking in the pain he was inflicting on your friend. Tears welled in your eyes and spilled out in waves. 

You kept your head down, focusing on slowing your breaths. Your hyperrealistic awareness of everything happening around you was alarming. Your eyes darted from side to side, and your breathing began to quicken as you heard a second skull shatter at the will of Lucille. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to look up. Your mind raced with the possible victims Negan could have chosen. You imagined the excruciating pain shooting through their body and pounding through their head. 

“Hey, kid, look at me,” Negan whispered, delicately grabbing your chin and tilting your head to meet his eyes with yours. He stood back, dangling the bloodied Lucille in front of your face like it was a hypnosis clock. He swung the bat back and flicked it in your direction, splattering the blood of Abraham and his second victim across your face and shirt. “That’s what you get for not paying attention to the show.”

You let out a wail, tugging at the roots of your hair as your torso fell onto your knees in front of you. Your tears surpassed your breaths, therefore catching in the back of your throat. 

“Get her up. I want her in a cell at the Sanctuary.”

“You don’t scare me,” you whispered, scowling at him. 

“Holy shit!” Negan exclaimed. “She speaks! It’s a god damn miracle.” He sauntered slowly in circles around you, and continued. “I like you. Know why?”

You remained silent, refusing to break the silence his voice’s absence had created. The sound of footsteps echoed through the halls, and a slim shadow walked past the opening of the door. The man, who resembled your captor, slowed his pace, peeking into your cell. You caught yourself staring at him, using his presence as an excuse to avoid eye contact with Negan. 

“I like you because you’re scared as shit--it’s obvious--but you’re acting like a real badass. I saw you when I scrambled the Asian’s brains. You were a fucking wreck! But now, I wouldn’t mess with you,” he rambled, leaning down and bringing his hand to your face, “especially with all that blood on ya’.” Negan’s fingertips trailed from your forehead to your cheek. His hand then drew away, showing you the smeared blood of your friends. 

Asian brains. Glenn. Negan had killed Glenn. Or was he just trying to screw with you? You couldn’t imagine your life without Glenn, and you sure as hell couldn’t imagine Maggies--or their child’s. 

“Hey, Dad?” the man asked, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry for interrupting... this,” he paused, quirking his eyebrows questioningly, “but Dwight wants to ask you something.” 

“Sure, kid,” Negan said calmly, a new persona taking over him. In the presence of his son, he became a completely different person. “Take over for me. Yeah? This one’s feisty. I’d be careful if I were you.”

Negan left you with his son in your small cell, and a wave of terror rolled over you. Sure, Negan was scary, but you knew what he was capable of. The unknown was really what you feared more than anything. 

“Hey, I’m Gerald,” he said, walking behind you. He crouched behind you and began loosening the ropes binding your wrists together. 

“What the hell are you doing?” you bluntly asked. He could have been trying to test you; seeing if you would escape if given the chance. 

“I’m gonna let you out...” he replied, as if it was obvious. “Don’t worry. I’ve done this a few times. If he really thought you were a threat, he wouldn’t have left you with me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed curiously as you debated if you were going to trust him or not. Your wrists fell sloppily to the ground, and you decided that you would take the chance. It’s not like it could really get any worse. You were already in the hands of Negan, after all, and death wasn’t something you feared. You used your newly free hands to push your hair out of your face and rolled your ankles. 

“Thanks,” you muttered, uncomfortably adjusting your clothes. You felt the need to wait for him, and he smirked at you. 

“You wanna stay?” Gerald asked jokingly with a chuckle. “Be my guest. I’d suggest you hit the road, though...” He looked at you, nonverbally asking for your name.

“(Y/N),” you replied. “Where do I go?”

He led you through the halls, every so often passing some people who would nod and smile at him. He seemed to be pretty well liked around the place. You were able to sneak out a door fairly easily, and Gerald helped you get around the Saviors standing guard in your vicinity. It was still light out 

“Get in,” he said, nodding to the passenger’s seat. You almost protested, but thought of the possible outcomes. He could easily take you back to Negan, and the likeliness of him letting you drive yourself was very small. You got in carefully, scoping out the car for any warning signs. You knew if you didn’t make it back to Alexandria, your chances of getting Daryl out were slim. Hell, you weren’t even sure if he was alive, but you didn’t have time to think like that. 

“You gotta tell me where to go,” Gerald said, starting the car and taking off. 

“Just go down that road and I’ll tell you when to take a right,” you muttered, peeling at the dead skin on your calloused hands, a habit you had been told to break, but could never get over it. 

He took off in the direction you told him to go in, his eyes darting back and forth between you and the road ahead of him. “So, (Y/N), what did you do to end up with Negan?”

You sighed, shaking your head. He must have known what his father was capable of. How could he not? You were shocked, more than anything, that he would oh-so-casually ask something like that. He just happened to interrupt his father at the right time. Who knows where you would have been if he hadn’t? 

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me,” he replied quietly, turning his eyes back towards the road. The car remained silent for a few moments, but Gerald was already looking back at you. “You hungry?”

You shrugged and looked back up at him. “I don’t know... A little.” That was a lie. You were starving. Before making it to Alexandria, you had no problem if you didn’t eat for a few days. You were used to it. But once your stomach started getting used to eating full meals every day, you could barely last a day without eating something. 

“Bullshit,” he mumbled, stopping the car and getting out, walking around to the back. You watched him in the rear view mirror as he opened the trunk and pulled out a bag. Your eyes widened, and you quickly fidgeted with the door. You got out and began to run, not entirely believing that all he had in the trunk was food. 

“(Y/N)! What’s got you all freaked out?” he yelled, slowly following you. The bag was still in his hand, and once you had gotten a fair amount of distance between you and him, you turned around. 

“Put the bag on the ground and back up,” you demanded, glaring at him so he knew you weren’t joking. He smirked, shaking his head at the ground. 

“You still don’t trust me?” he asked, raising his eyebrow at you. Your facial expression remained constant as he backed away from the bag. “I didn’t have to get you out of there! I could have thrown you under the bus countless times, but where the hell am I? I’m in the middle of nowhere, trying to get you home.” He scoffed and rolled his eyes, getting back in the car and sitting silently, waiting for you. 

You picked up the bag, unzipping it while keeping your eyes on the car. The bag  contained a gun, a few knives, some bottles of water, a few boxes of ammo, and lots of food. You checked to see if the gun was loaded, which it was, and emptied out the bullets into the bag, just to assure you were safe. There was really no way to make sure he wasn’t armed, but he was right. He could have gotten you taken right back to Negan, but he didn’t. You took the bag with you and got into the car. Without speaking to you, Gerald started the car and took off towards Alexandria. 

“Why are you so pissed off about me not trusting you?” you asked, and his face grew red. “I thought you’d be used to it by now, and that you’d understand.” You had grown used to being threatened whenever you met someone do. Rick had grown accustomed to putting the safety of your group above everything else, meaning he often ‘welcomed’ newcomers with a gun to the head. 

“Whatever,” he sighed, and you continued on your ride home. You took an apple out of the bag, then offered him one. 

He sighed with a smile and shook his head. “You’re cute.”

You weren’t sure why, but you blushed for what seemed to be the first time in years. You tried your hardest to play it off, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he saw right through you. 

“We’re here,” you said, clearing your throat. You were a few blocks away from the gate of Alexandria, but you didn’t want to raise any suspicion by showing up with Negan’s son. That wouldn’t do anyone any good. You were hesitant to get out of the car, for you felt a strange connection to the man who saved you from his father. 

“Thanks for the ride and the food,” you said, swinging your legs over the leather car seat. 

“I’ll visit you,” he said. You weren’t sure if he was joking or not, but you couldn’t help hoping he was serious. For some reason, you didn’t see yourself forgetting him any time soon. 

[gbhbl]

Interview: Leon Hunter (Vocals) of North Atlas (Video/Audio)

We spoke to vocalist Leon Hunter of North Atlas about their new EP, The Longest Shadow Attached to the Ankle, out on September 22nd, 2023.

Drawing creative influence from the folklore of their homelands, whilst also touching on topics of a neuro-divergent nature and deeper inward analysis, Scottish fellowship North Atlas will release their Second EP ‘The Longest Shadow Attached to the Ankle’ on September 22nd, 2023. Leaning way more towards a hard rock sound combined with moody and alternative electronica, the immediate impression…

[johnbukowski-blog]

What a stupid thing to do! As the bus came around, it stopped and opened only the front door, the one close to the driver. This was because there were only two people there, and perhaps he was disturbed by the shadowy and pale presence of both of us. What a strange world we live in, to go from ecstasy to the pinnacle of the ordinary and the             This duality has to be the core principle upon which all realities operate. I however did not wanted to go, but perhaps out of my timid and proper nature I boarded the bus with out giving any special impression to the driver. I hated my decision as soon as my mind had settled on it, and ans soon as I saw myself with my entire body inside it. As soon as I heard the distinct sound of the bus driving off, I began to imagine. I imagined that in stead of us boarding the buss, a concrete slab that belonged to the old building behind us, would have loosen up and fall on the plastic roof that made up the bus stop. And in the pile of rubble, our pale skins would blend in with the complex shades light gray tones, with only one major difference: thin strands of blood gently flowing from the pile. I smiled as I added the final finishing touches to my imagery. I always a had talent, and inclination for the visual, for the aesthetic, and imagination was for me my only escape as the bus drove away to nothingness, to the nothingness which became my life. Imagination was always an escape for me. In fact one of my oldest memory was when my mother confronted me about the ware about of her bed sheets, which I stole one spring morning in order to attach sales to my newly constructed wooden boat. Imagination and lying, my only real friends. I started to forget that the years had seasons. That’s how much my life had become a repetitive in nature. But during the summer just before my 29th birthday, there was a reshuffling that happened in my parents house.    Just before september 2019, my sister had moved from our house into her new apartment with her husband and child, sow the room in in which she sat for several years together was suddenly empty. Since most of her furniture was hers, she took it all and left the room almost empty. It was bitter sweat in a way, after all this was the room where I’ve spend most of my childhood in. This was the room I where my grandmothers large mirror sat, the one in which I saw my ‘double’ for the first time, no dought an event which changed my life completely. This was also the room where the family books where, where during the long cold winter days, or the dry summer ones where spend by me sitting on the carved up space inside the large, imposing teracota heater that seamed to keep vigil over the whole room, and read, read, and dreamed.  One day, right after they had moved out, I gently walked inside the room once more. The room was of an emptiness of which I never thought I would see it in. Here and there, there were scattered furniture pieces and rols of packaging material, no dought a from a hob left to be finished the next day. The silence which I was enveloped, now repulsed me. It was as if I was witnessing a pale, rotting  carcass. It’s features which gave it it’s character, its very life were still intact: but for how long ? No longer will I hear my little nephews laughter in it, no longer will is see his shadow through the glass of the door. I felt as if this room did not deserve such a deserting end. I moved around the place as memories came gently one after the other. Only the noise of my footsteps on the old wooden floor accompanied me. I stepped into the light of the day, and looked once more into the distance. Suddenly, I was distracted by noises from the streets. The layout of the room was, and still is like this: On my left side there was another large window, at a 45 degree angle to the one I was looking through. One showed the front garden, while the other the street. As I turned my view to window  next to it, I saw a group of neighbourhood children playing the middle of the street.   I gazed at them from the safety of my room, from the anonymity of my silent act, from the cold touch of my desperation. I felt a tenderness grow inside me as I continued to watch them. As it was all to nature for my weak character, I quickly became absorbed by the beauty of their abandonment. Summer magic in it’s full force. I feel to the conclusion once more, that there was a force outside of me which manipulated me at times to remember, to relive certain memories which tie in almost perfectly, as a form of special meaning to the very physical moment in which I happened to find my self at that particular time. That moment of trance like abandonment was no different. Another memory rushed my mind. It was the middle of my 12th summer. The year was 2002. In the small community where I lived, I could hardly call it developed. I remember my world consisted of only 3 windy street, which where unpaved for the longest time. Our empty , childlike lives consisted of lounging at any given sidewalk corner, for whatever reason one could not remember. The only thing that comes o mind, puncturing my conscious is the sound of a distant car that came and rushed in front of our very eyes, lifting a could of dust with it, disturbing the lazy tranquility of the day. Dust rising ,dust falling down. The neighborhood (which at that age I thought consisted off only these 3 streets) where surrounded by open, animal grassing fields, and a long 5 mile hillside we called the Observatory. It was in these places where our wild nature and our never ending appetite for freedom showed itself, for all day long, wether it was on the weekend free days, or after we came home from school, one could always find us playing in the short grass until sun set. I remember there was a field, in particular, one surrounded from all sides by a low hanging fence. As you entered you were greeted by a path way, which was barely visible from the tall grass which grew to cover it. We simply werent supposed to be there, but on one particularly memorable august day, me and a band of children, regular suspects I might add, jumped the small steel wire fence, and began our walking towards the small hut. I remember my senses becoming more refined and alive to everything around me. Unnoticed things, like the curvature of the fence we just jumped. As we were getting further and further away from it, as sense on sadness erupted from it, as if it was warning me of something. Quickly, the sound of the ruffled tall grass surrounded me it infernal, shredding sound. My friends diden’t seem to be disturbed: it was natural for them to be rebellious, for me it wasent. This state of things, I would learn to utterly regret in life as I grew up. We couden’t stop talking, pushing each other, testing ourselves .It was as if we were wild hares, living in a world of concealment, in which we could act out our most craved fantasies, as our destination drew closer. The hut was surrounded from 3 sides by wall nut trees. As we got with in ten feet of the place, we started to circle it as we continued our talking, unconciously as it were, as if it was our strange way of greeting the final point of our destiny. The bent aluminum sheets that constituted it’s roof tilling reflected sharp rays of sunlight to my eyes. I suddenly and for a mere split second felt a bitten feeling of deception enter my hearth, like the horrible taste one gets in his mouth when biting into a decomposing sun flower seed. Soon however, we entered the ‘hut’. Inside we found a desolate place. The where only two wooden, windowless framed standing in a corner opposite of the door and nothing else. But the mutual feeling that we all had upon finding whats inside filled us with the sweetest wonderment and joy. It’s sad that this particular quality of a child’s soul, that of finding a ‘something; to wonder about even in the midst of total emptiness does not survive the cynicism of adulthood. Perhaps knowledge ruins it, but I personally think there is something entirely else at work. Soon however something unexpected happened. My friends have all but left, almost with out sound, with out a single added gesture. Some of them began playing with the empty frames in the tall grass just outside the hut, while others where climbing the trees and talking to each other from a distance. I remember, because I cannot forget, just how much I felt in soul the distance between them and me became horrifically amplified, almost to infinity itself. Was I afraid or distressed? No. I was dying to see just what will happen next! However soon I noticed that in the room there was another person. I young girl, which was about the same age as me, that i would give her the name of Maria, in order to keep her anonymity. She had short, black hair and a round face. There was a calmness which was unnatural for a child, I thought, and felt as if she was one of those girls which are somewhat “forced” to mature as quickly as possible, on account of her strict religious upbringing. I was even then, a helpless presence. To shy, to frail, to afraid of being afraid even. I stood still as she looked out a small, dirty window. Wich stood opposite of me, thus I had a prime view of her back. I became enthralled by what she was doing. She was peeling the dead and curled up white paint on the bottom of the bent and raged frame with her perfect finger nail, with her perfect finger, with her perfect purpose and resolve. As she was doing this, she was staring at something outside, at what exactly even my wildest fantasies could not produce an answer. Perhaps there is no vision in rare moments like that. Only the mind seeing with the back of it’s eyes worlds impossible to calculate. I know for sure, she did not noticed me being there, behind her. For her, everyone had left the room and she was left alone as she probably deserved, as she probably wanted. My perverted eyes immediately became fixated at her ankles. It’s true that in that particular summer my fixation with the human body had ‘progressed’ or rather should I say ‘regressed’ towards the human ankle, particularly the female ones. She kept raising them up and down, gently, as to not reveal to much muscle tension or a tendon popping through the skin. Lets now begin an exercise of imagination. Lets conjure up the image of a mad genius doctor, who has lost his entire humanity, and now in a secret laboratory, has concocted a being which at every step of the way, at every moment in which it’s natural life force is expended outwards, converts the superfluous and the decorative into it’s exact opposite: into substance, into pure meaning. Thus only from the hands of such a imagined ‘creature’ can beauty achieve the highest ordering known to exist in the universe. One can become pure evil at the sight of such something like this. Under the effect of this powerful sight to behold, my body felt like a training dummy, profoundly helpless in an open field, repetitive hit by different adversaries one after another. The wind current slammed the door over and over again, as I could barely see a patch of gray clouds gathering somewhere in the distant sky. I continued to contemplate her ankles as if her entire soul was somehow located inside that area. Like the petrifying eyes of the Gorgon, she froze me in place. She turned to me and I quickly saw her eyes. I couldent distinguish what color where they, green, light blue. At this age I was made to believe, by the words of the older children on my block, that the people from whom you cannot decide decisively what eye they have must be evil in nature and supernatural. Now it all made sense. Now I was certain she was not of this world. In short, her eyes , with their strange color and ‘stifling’ capacities had somehow sucked all the oxygen in the tiny, ragged ‘hut’. I felt far to compelled, far to humiliated by the moment. I felt like a poor, ill equipped animal caught in the crossfires of a skillful hunter. He pules the trigger and with out disturbing the grass under me, I fell with out a sound. The incapacity and futility in front of a form of absolute beauty.   She looked at me and said: “Should we leave? Her voice sounded uncaring, as if the response was all ready set in stone beyond my possible will otherwise. My mood and my spirit suddenly changed. I responded to her with my own gazing, which could never rise up to the shear power and intensity of hers. I was full of revelry, as if i was a schoolboy that had just heard the long awaited bell that announced the end of the classes for the day. In my hearth however, pored a satisfaction akin to stupidity. And perhaps cowardice as well? Was I really glad to get away from her unforgettable presence? Or was this just my pride trying to quickly and unconvincingly cover the power that her presence had over me. Better yet, my incapacity to somehow alter, act against this beauty had become unbearable. I never knew self hatred before like I knew then. An yet,it was in those unfaithful moments did the unexpected. I took two timid steps forward and quicker than I imagine my lips where touching hers. I was to be my first and perhaps last theft. With this act, all of a sudden my world was violently cut in half. In  between them, inside the ‘cut’ that split reality into two sides as it were, I was standing alone,with a perfect view of both of them, of both of these ‘worlds’. On one side there was the world I knew all to well, the world that my perpetually undecided mind  my weak constitution allowed to it to be drenched and overfilled with an imagination that was out of control, which was only a a justification for the complete lack of courage to act when ever my conscious dictated it. To many times in my life I allowed a thick and heavy layer of imagination to take over when I in reality I should have acted in stead. The other half was the unexplained sensation of her lips touching mine, particularly the tips, the top rim. In a split second I opened my eyes as the kiss continued. Bad call. I closed them faster that I felt could be measured. On my mind an image became imprinted. There she stood, the improbable beauty of her face, her alien like sophistication, perfectly detached from the world around us which only that year stated to understand, and learn to detest. I gently pulled back and never looked at her face again, never hoping even in my deepest fantasies of  ‘earning’ more from the moment. However, with ever anticipating it, I quickly glanced at her as she stood there, frozen and with out response. She looked like a pale candle inside a abandoned room.As much as I wanted to stay there, in that solitude perhaps until the end of our lives, I got out the room and started walking through the tall grass towards the hunched piece of the fence that we hoped earlier. From the distance I heard the voices of my friends,some felt as if where aimed at me, others at themselves, it was a mess of words and sounds ultimately aimed at nothing. I felt that everything around me, everything I encountered was incriminating me. I was sure at first that the bend fence reacted more like a spring than ever before when I attempted to clime it. ‘’Something is wrong’’ I said, trying to comfort my self somehow. I stumbled on the way back home. Houses with their broken shindlers, peoples the cherry trees with their white flowers blasted by the winds, all of these accompanied my journey to the safety of my home, whispering accusation of what I have just done. I had no one to tell, none I wanted at least to tell, to confess, only to myself. Trapped in daily routine, the members of my household did not notice my odd behavior. I climbed the ladder which lead to our attic, and there I sit on an old mattress which had an aluminum frame that barely hanged on to support even my light weight. I’ve placed my hand behind my head and looked through a broken piece of a shingle, that was a bout the size of a large coin. I squinted my eyes, as the light reach them like sharp needles. It was there that i became inexplicably tired for some reason, and soon I fell a sleep in the most unexpected way. I don’t remember having a habit to sleep in the afternoon, but for some reason that day I just couden’t help my self to stay awake. I slept and I dreamed that whole time. In the first dream I imaged myself running back home after I had kiss that beautiful girl in the small abandoned house. I dreamed that her parents came to my house and started to argue with my father as if something terrible and unpardonable had happened between her daughter and me. I saw a fight ensue, shouting and throwing fists, it all looked like a dramatic theatrical play was unfolding before me. The next one was even stranger and in a disturbing way resonated with me more than the first. I saw my self back inside the empty house with her. She was on the floor, sow quiet was she, than she seamed as if she was sleeping for days on end. But there was something profoundly wrong. I saw a pool of red blood(it could have only been blood) shallowly emerging her ankles which were sitting one next to the other. In my hand I felt the vague sensation of a object. I looked down to my right and I saw a small hammer in it. Even thou this would have constituted a perfect moment to be horrified, on the contrary, I felt a distinct and compelling sense of freedom, of a peace which lye's beyond a every border, beyond anything my mind can understand. The whole scene was kept in a state of petrified beauty, and all of it’s elements were working at unison. The next and last dream was more ’casual’ in nature. In it, after we kissed,me and her would have decided to live there inside the small room as husband and wife. All of a sudden, she grabbed my hand and gave me a hard shake. ‘Come!’, she said looking at me with a rock like determination. I had no excuse to say no. When we got out the door and in an instant she called for the kids that were playing outside to join us. She said something to them, looking at them with uncanny determination. In my dream I looked at her lips to my right but I could not determine what she was saying, nor could I hear anything in that moment. I always wondered why my senses failed me in that particular segment of the dream? After she finished talking, her lips became once more silent and staunch. I felt as powerless as a slave. The pressure of her hand had become such a common sensation, that I had forgotten completely how it was before, how my hand felt when it was empty. Sow this is how truelove must be,I said to my self as i was dreaming. The total destruction of one way of existence in order to bring in another,                                                  Vrabies Mihai, Towards  a Poetic Life