#this is ronans room that's why there's swords on the walls

[mermianar]

when you just want to hunt welsh kings but all your bffs want to do is make out

[thunder-at-dawn]

Old Memories

Word count: 2,474

Summary: Late in the night, the king receives an unexpected visitor, who attempts to help him remember his past.

I spent way too much time writing this goodbye

warning: this is a sfw tickle fic! don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable :]

OH also if you tag as ship i will block you <3

Why couldn’t he remember?

It was a simple question that burned in his mind.

Why. Couldn’t. He. Remember.

Eret sighed, sitting on his throne as he reflected on past events. It was late at night, he should probably be sleeping right now. However, his mind was racing with thoughts of Foolish, the peculiar totem-shark hybrid that he had previously befriended. He was kind and comedic, but his talk of a “wither cult” in a previous conversation had swarmed Eret’s mind.

It was incredibly frustrating. He had asked other people on the server, and none of them have heard of a wither cult. Even Phil had no clue what Eret was asking him about.

Maybe there were books that had the information that the king was looking for. Maybe there was something in his castle. There was no way that this was just...erased from history. There had to be something.

With a yawn, Eret stood up from the throne and equipped a torch in his left hand, as the castle could be quite dark in some areas at night. The king wandered through the halls until he approached an area of the castle that acted as a small library.

This room had bookshelves that were lined along the walls, as well as a table with chairs in the center of the room. There were also some bookshelves that started at the walls and then expanded out into the center of the room. Everything was lit by one hanging lantern in the middle of the ceiling.

While it was a small library, there had to be something on the history of withers. Eret believed that this wouldn’t be something that would disappear without warning. He scanned through the bookshelves, looking for anything that could be useful, when something caught his eye.

“The History Of Withers: An Analysis.”

The black hardcover book sat on a bookshelf next to the table. It had a fairly large spine, and Eret knew it would be packed with research. He set the torch on a nearby wall, then reached towards the book. However, what the king didn’t expect to see behind the book’s place on the shelf was two emerald eyes greeting him.

“AH!” Eret yelled in surprise, dropping the book and covering his mouth.

A soft chuckle was heard as a familiar friend emerged from the other side of the bookshelf. “Haha, sorry about that! Did I spook ya?”

A small groan left Eret’s mouth as he checked the clock momentarily. He wasn’t exactly mad or annoyed, just shaken up. “Foolish...it’s nearly one in the morning! What are you doing here?”

“Just passing through the area!” The totem nodded. “I was wondering if you could have any spare lapis that you weren’t using? I need some for my summer home.”

“...Yeah, I should have some in a chest on the second floor in the tower left to the entrance of the castle.” The king said after a moment of thinking. “Grab as much as you need.”

“Got it! Thanks, old pal!” Foolish said before turning to leave the room.

“Old pal.”

Every time that nickname was brung up, Eret felt like he was being stabbed in the stomach.

Why. Couldn’t. He. Remember.

“...Foolish, wait.”

The other turned back around. “Yeah?”

“Can you...” Eret paused, struggling to find the right words. “Can you come back in here with me when you’re done? I wanted to talk with you about some stuff.”

“Oh, sure! No problem, buddy!” Foolish nodded with a grin before walking out the door and out of sight.

Once Foolish had left, Eret let out another long sigh, leaning down to pick up the book that he had been scared into dropping. The king mustered his strength to lift the book onto the table, as it was heavier than it looked. After taking off his crown and setting it on the table, Eret sat down, starting by looking through the table of contents.

Behavior of Withers. Wither Powers. Myths and Legends. Nothing about a wither cult. Damnit! Why was this so hard to find?

Myths and legends...maybe a cult would fall under that category? He flipped to the page where the section started, skimming through the first few paragraphs.

“I’m back!” Eret looked up to see Foolish making an entrance. The totem pulled out a chair and sat next to Eret. “You said you wanted to talk?”

“Um, yeah. That, and I want you to stay here and take a break from building.” Eret nodded.

Foolish groaned, slouching in the chair. “But Eret, I want to build! I have so much energy, I could build so much right now.”

“You’ve been building almost daily ever since you got here, you need to take time to rest.” The king rolled his eyes with a smile.

“...Fine.” He sighs, playing it up and not actually upset. Well, he was a little bummed, but Eret was right, he needed to rest. His eyes averted to look at the book on the table. “What’cha looking at?”

Eret looks up as his friend, then back at the book. “Well, I wanted to do some research on what you mentioned to me a while ago. About...a wither cult.”

Foolish blinked in surprise, before leaning over and examining the book. “...Myths and Legends? No, that’s not right.” Without hesitation, he stood up and started quickly flipping through the pages. Eret let out a small gasp of surprise, but didn’t question anything. After about a minute, Foolish sat back down. The book was now open to a page with some gibberish writing as a chapter title.

“I...What?!” Eret examined the page, unsure of what information it had to offer. “Foolish? How did you-“

“Eret. I’ve been alive for years, I’ve had plenty of time to do some light reading.” The totem interrupted, a sarcastic tone in his voice.

“Whatever you say.” Eret mumbled, starting to read the first paragraph. Despite the title, this section of the book was in english, and started with talk about an ancient being named Ronan. Foolish looked over his shoulder as Eret repeated the words from the book into his head.

“Anything of memory coming to you, old pal?” Foolish asked out of curiosity.

“Old pal.”

Damnit, that stab was there again.

“...No. I can’t recall any of this at all.” Eret said calmly, trying to hide his frustration. “So, apparently we fought against this...this Ronan guy and his army of cultists?”

“Yep! That’s the guy! Leader of the Wither Cult. Never liked him, still don’t like him.” Foolish nodded. “...You’re sure you don’t remember anything?”

“Nope.”

“Hmm...that sucks.” Foolish’s eyes averted to the lantern on the ceiling. “We had some epic battles. Definitely worth remembering, I’d say.”

Eret raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah! You were pretty good with a sword back in the day.” He nodded, then sighed. “I just wish you could remember it all.”

“You and me both.” The king agreed, looking back at the pages of the book.

“Back then, it was awesome. On the battlefield, we were a force to be reckoned with! With your sword and my lightning, we were unstoppable.” Foolish spoke, reminiscing about the past. “And even when we weren’t taking down a cult, we were still pals! We would practice sparing together, go on adventures, scale mountains, and...”

Eret looked up, taking notice of his friend trailing off. “...And? And what?”

Foolish paused, looking around at the castle walls. “Eret...are these walls soundproof?”

“What?” That was quite the peculiar question to ask. However, Foolish was a peculiar character, this was nothing new. “I don’t believe they are, why do you ask?”

“Just curious.” Foolish shrugged, before standing up from his chair. “Alright, I need you to stand up for a second.”

Eret obeyed, standing up and pushing his chair in. “Are you...taking me somewhere?” He asked.

“Good guess, but no. I’m gonna bring up some old memories, but you have to trust me. Do you trust me, Eret?” The king nodded, and a small smirk grew on Foolish’s face. “Okay, now I need you to lift up your arms, above your head, and close your eyes.”

“I need to what?” Eret asked, intrigued, but clearly confused.

“I promise you, just trust me on this one.”

Eret hesitated, then closed his eyes while slowly moving his arms upwards. “What are you going to do, arrest me?” He asked sarcastically, letting out a chuckle.

“Hmm, no.” Foolish shrugged, stepping closer towards Eret. “Instead, I’m gonna do...THIS!”

Eret’s eyes shot right open after Foolish’s plan was put into motion. His arms shot straight down as he could feel the hallows of his armpits being scribbled upon. “W-WAIT! Fohoholihish what are you dOHOHING?!” He asked, his voice filled with small snickers and giggles.

“We used to have tickle fights all the time back in the day! Don’t you remember?” The totem asked.

“Nohoho, I dohohohon’t!” Eret said back as the other once again shrugged.

“Really? Aw man, I guess I’ll just have to help you remember!” He grinned, moving his hands down to Eret’s sides, causing him to double over laughing. Eret tried to get away by slithering out of his grasp and moving closer to the floor, but Foolish was quick to lightly tackle him onto the ground, scribbling at his sides and stomach.

“The old “sneak onto the ground” strategy, eh? Nice try, but you’ve already used that against me tons of times back in the day! Don’t think I don’t know your hidden plans!” Foolish grinned, teasing the other.

“DAHAHAMIHIT!” Eret shouted, the laughter spewing out of his mouth and filling the library. He wanted to be quiet and not risk anyone waking up, but it was just too hard with Foolish absolutely destroying him at the moment.

“Remembering anything now?”

“Mahahaybehe I could thihihink and fohohohocuhuhus wihihithohout youou TIHIHICKLIHING MEHEHEHE!” Eret’s laughter pitched upwards when Foolish started to stretch and knead at the kings hips. Who knew some tickling could reduce a powerful ruler into a squealing mess on the floor? Foolish knew, and he had been waiting for the perfect time to use this information to his advantage. He didn’t even want anything like a confession of some sorts, or something like that. He just wanted to see his friend smiling again!

“Wait, I know just what will jog your memory!” Keeping one hand on Eret’s hip, Foolish hovered the other one over the king’s ribcage. Eret, who’s laughter had died down a little bit, immediately noticed this.

“Fohoholish. Foolish.” Eret tried to sound intimidating, but the giggles escaping from his mouth made it hard take him seriously. “Foolish, no.”

“Foolish, YES.” He now hovered both hands over Eret’s ribs, anticipating him for what was next to happen.

“Foolish, I swear. Do not.” Eret repeated. “Foolish. Wait, we can talk this out. You don’t need to do this. You don’t- Foolish wait. Foolish- Foolish wAIAIAIHAIT!”

Wheezy cackling filled the air as Eret’s worst spot was targeted. Foolish skittered his fingers all over Eret’s ribs, playing them like a piano to see what spots were the worst. Anytime Foolish spot found a good spot, he would zone in on it and drill his fingers into the spot, making Eret’s laughter even louder, higher-pitched, and wheezier than before. After switching to scribbling at his stomach once again for a couple extra moments, Foolish stopped, giving his friend the time that he needed to breathe.

“You doin’ okay, old pal?” He asked with a grin, laying down next to Eret on the castle floor. “Hopefully I didn’t overdo anything.”

“No...yohohou’re fihine.” The other looked at the ceiling, still a bit giggly.

“Old pal.”

That stabbing feeling. It wasn’t there anymore.

Foolish frowned, just a bit. “So...nothing came to you during that? No memories?”

“No memories.” Eret repeated with a breathy sigh. A silence formed between them for a moment until Foolish spoke up again.

“Y’know, honestly? Who cares about old memories?”

“...What?”

“I mean, sure, we can dwell on the past. Or, we can look forward to the present and future.” Foolish continued. “Obviously, I want you to remember stuff as much as you want to, but maybe, for now, we should focus on making new memories instead of focusing on old ones. We could have our adventures again, and you hopefully won’t forget about them this time!”

“I...I suppose you’re right.” Eret nodded, sitting up after taking enough time to catch his breath. “It would be nice to know more about what happened back in the old days, but...it would also be nice to focus on what’s happening in the world now.”

“See? Exactly!” Foolish agreed, standing up and reaching a hand out to help Eret off of the floor. “We can make a ton of new memories, like how I just wrecked you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll definitely remember that, so you should watch your back.” Eret chuckled, playfully sending a jab into Foolish’s side. The totem yelped in surprise, instinctively backing away. Another silence formed between them, both registering what had just happened into their minds.

“...Oh! Well, would you look at the time! I have to get back to building, it was very lovely talking to you Eret!” Foolish sputtered out, turning around and heading towards the door.

“You shouldn’t be building this late at night! You can stay here and rest more!”

“Nope! Nope Nope Nope. I’ve already rested enough.”

“Are you sure about that?” Eret playfully raised and eyebrow and started to follow the other.

“Yes, I’m very sure. Bye Eret!” Before the king could get a chance to speak again, Foolish closed the door on him. Eret let out a small laugh under his breath, waiting for a moment until he opened the door.

“Foolish, wait, relax.” He said, watching the totem hybrid turn around as he was leaving. “In all seriousness...thank you for stopping by. It really means a lot, even if it was at one in the morning and I may have waken someone up.”

“It’s no problem, Eret. Anytime, I’m happy to help.” The other nodded. “Just call me over if you need anything in the future.”

“Of course...” Eret paused before finishing his goodbye. “I’ll see you soon, old pal.”

Foolish paused, a soft grin forming on his face. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since Eret had called him that.

“Right back at ya, buddy.” He said to the other before waving goodbye.

And with that, Eret closed the door and headed back into the library. He had no idea what time it was. What he did know was that he had more knowledge about the wither cult than he previously did earlier that night, a stronger bond with his old friend, and the knowledge that in the morning, someone might tell him about hearing strange laughter in the middle of the night.

[wrathofthewind]

viii. Ash

A thin blade came to rest near the young woman’s throat, so that should she dare move an inch her main artery would be instantly sliced. But when the girl took another step it was as if the skin cracked like paper, and nothing came out. Tyssen didn’t notice this detail and, just as she was about to leap forward and take hold of Arnalt, the blade swiftly tore through her like a bolt of lightning.

Arnalt barely screamed “NO!”, before that entire body crumpled and cracked and suddenly burst into shreds floating all over the room while a flurry of powder sprung from her throat like a fountain, where the blood should’ve been. Arnalt had barely woken up, with no time to rush to Pallax or Tyssen’s side and cover their mouths, himself taking a gulp of the powder and coughing incessantly.

“What—cough—sire!” Pallax shouted.

It was like a hurricane had been unleashed within the tiny room and metal and wood clang and danced, the table with scissors and needles lifting and forcing Arnalt to jump from the bed towards the far stone wall, holding his shoulder with one hand.

All three instinctively closed their eyes. The illusion soon broke, the powder stopped slamming against their throats, and the body standing like a mass of crinkled parchment simply collapsed on the ground.

“This is—!” Arnalt wanted to explain but the quality of the air quickly changed and suddenly they were enveloped in a blue mist.

Tyssen and Pallax looked at each other, with Pallax being the first one to slam a palm to his face in annoyance. He gruffly mumbled. “Gala.”

Tyssen looked pale. Arnalt quickly comforted him. “It’s alright, it’s not your fault, that…” he looked at where the “girl” had been. “That was her best puppet yet.”

“I—“ Tyssen was shaking, feeling both responsible and the most afraid. Arnalt understood. The one most susceptible to Gala’s formidable spell would always be Tyssen, it was the nature of those with the most regrets, the most secrets in their heart, and the most painful pasts to bear. Tyssen had all three in spades. Arnalt never dared ask too much about Tyssen’s upbringing or how he’d lived before he came to train at his palace. But he knew enough by the shadow cast on his face to not pry. And the last time Gala had done this cruelty, Tyssen had been found curled up and shuddering, his arms scratched bloody by his own nails as he wailed in a corner.

“It’s just one of us that has to get through the maze, it’s alright if you stay here Tyssen.” Arnalt controlled his coughs.

“Sire, I should be the one to go this time, you’re injured.” Pallax squeezed Tyssen’s shoulder, which Arnalt found a bit rare, and started heading towards the door which now glowed in a faint purple light, or a deeper blue than the mist in the room. It was hard to tell, Arnalt’s eyes felt itchy and blurry, but he still shook his head resolutely and walked to block Pallax.

“This is just because of me, you two have nothing to do with it. Gala’s angry, you know how she gets.”

Tyssen was still shaking slightly, looking down with his fists clenched.

Pallax continued, “why would she be mad this time? You lost! Ithana won!”

Arnalt chuckled slightly and winced with the pain in his shoulder. “I still hurt her didn’t I?”

It had been subtle, barely there, but when that one hit had connected and Ithana widened her eyes slightly and praised him, her fingers vibrating at the impact before she applied full force and sent him flying to the other side of the arena, Arnalt knew that she’d only acted like it was nothing. To the outside world, it was as if he’d barely gotten one solid, but still useless, hit. In fact, he’d soundly cracked one of her spiritual veins, and the force she’d used to shove him was precisely because she’d freaked out so bad. The whole time, she’d been slightly afraid that he’d managed to do that. With the King present, with her own name on the line, she’d then been so brutal to his arm but at least let him keep it. The injury hurt but it would heal eventually.

And sure, it wasn’t the time to feel cocky, but it’s not like he hadn’t improved and was glad he could finally show it to her, even if it meant that now Gala was enraged.

He opened the door and a hallway, endlessly white beckoned him. “It doesn’t seem to be a nightmare this time, just a mirage or something. I’ll go ahead and as soon as I solve the maze, we’ll return.” He glanced at Tyssen. “Pallax, take care.” … of him, he wanted to finish, but didn’t have to. Pallax nodded and put a single arm around Tyssen, even more concerned than what Arnalt had anticipated. He wanted to ask some questions when he returned.

Arnalt passed through the threshold of that door and was immediately spirited into a familiar mirage. His palace, near the kitchens, next to the training grounds. A long figure stood in the center practicing his form. His lips curled up a bit, and he leaned against the wall to watch.

“Alright Gala, I know you’re angry but think about my arm? Ithana paid me back tenfold, she should be fine after ten days, but what about me?” He spoke absent-mindedly to the air, chuckling slightly at the sight of Marius, again, tripping over a complicated combination and falling on his face. Another thin chuckle erupted to the side and he found a younger version of himself was also leaning against the opposite wall, his face equally rapt with the sight.

He hadn’t seen what his face looked like when he was appraising Marius, but now that he could stare, he found that it was a little bit cold, a little bit wicked, and a tiny bit soft. It was jarring to see himself this way. He knew which memory Gala was plucking this dream from, though he didn’t know why.

Suddenly his face turned sour, and in a minute, he would see that sour expression reflected on his younger self.

Footsteps approached and a few people clad in the most exquisite of attires surrounded Marius. The boy was still trying to get his bearings when a the practice sword he was using got swiped abruptly from his hand and broken clean in two.

“Arnalt, what is the meaning of this?” A deep, velvety voice calmly drifted to his younger self. “Sword arts? Since when do our servants practice sword arts?”

“I gave him permission.” A young Arnalt replied.

“Your permission has no authority when I’m here.” This person, whose voice became deeper and richer the more he lowered it, forcing everyone into an uncomfortable silence just to hear him, was a member of the High Council; the one known as Phoenix Rain, the words on his hilt spelling out clearly “Rebirth”—his Highness the crown prince, Ronan.

“Whatever punishment you might have for him should still fall on me.” That younger self of his walked firmly to stand in front of the even younger Marius, who at that point was wide-eyed and shaking. No wonder. Ronan was a large man, the shadow of a beard always clinging to his wide square chin, a scar on his eye and long refined nose did the bare minimum to give him a human appearance, because the rest were harsh lines like a carved gargoyle. He looked endlessly bored and naturally malicious. His armor was a second skin and though he didn’t wear it now, even the casual robes he wore to take a stroll somehow glinted like metal and chain. Upon closer look, it wasn’t too far off. Ronan wore a chainmail frock, casual, aware, that any moment someone might strike from the inner family and claim the title… just as he had.

“Boy, I could crush your skull.”

“I’m no threat to you brother, I’m not even a top ten contender, so just how satisfying would that be?” Arnalt realized his younger self did indeed look overly presumptuous and cocky.

“You dare call me that.” Ronan wouldn’t humor him by repeating it. In a flash, this dear older “brother” of his struck him so hard with the back of his palm Arnalt coughed blood on the floor and had to choke back his sobs. Marius had immediately rushed forward, like a tiny beast and Ronan simply lifted him by the neck and threw him soundly towards the well. With a bump he bounced off the edge and into the orifice. Arnalt heard the scratches and bangs before he splashed below.

“He looked a little thirsty. Consider that generous.” Ronan wiped his hands. “Arnalt, I know the Opal favors you, and Father looks away because you have that precious face of yours… but I won’t tolerate your breaking the Azurian mandates. Your mercy keeps the Kurian alive, but that doesn’t mean he’ll want to live when I’m through.”

Arnalt, the present one, hadn’t noticed when his fists clenched so ruthlessly his nails broke skin. He felt the blood on his hands. He abhorred this memory.

He’d been powerless to stand and do anything and was only praying that Marius knew how to swim.

It was then that his attention was drawn to the young maid who came over and bowed deeply to the prince. “Magnanimous Lord, Light of the Eastern Aurora, your guest has arrived.”

Ronan shifted his tunic slightly and gave her a sweeping glance, then turned with his retinue and was on his way. All Arnalt remembered after that were some fuzzy noises, some “quickly, quickly!” And the sound of rope, pulling and heaving. But watching the scene unfold and gradually turn grey as his consciousness faded, he realized his mind retained more information than he’d thought. Like the fact that this maid looked awfully familiar…

He saw her call over others but no one dared to come. Saw her lift his young body and carry him to a wooden bench, laying him there carefully, softly placing a wet compress on his head. Saw the “splash” he remembered, as she took a rope and dived into the well. Moments later she brought out a crying Marius. She was soaked to the bone and heaving. He’d thought others had come, but it turns out no one had helped her. And the last thing he remembers, the last thing he heard… “You, come here.” His brother’s voice before he’d passed out.

Her face. It was the same face of that puppet in the medical room that burst like paper and turned to ash.

His soul turned cold. This was definitely a mirage maze. 

But this was not done by Gala.

[cozycryptidcorner]

The Unlikely Alliance, Chapter 2

Hey, everyone! A donor who wishes to remain anonymous has paid for a continuation of Sally and Ronan’s story! Please enjoy. I’d like to thank both the original commissioner and the anonymous donor for  their support!

You can read the first chapter here, if you haven’t already!

The watercolor wash of yellow and orange begins to dry as Sally starts mixing the perfect shade for the bright red foliage of the surrounding trees, the large window on the side of the living room giving her the perfect view without her having to go outside in the cold. Three mugs sprawl out in front of her, one for cleaning the paintbrush off, one for untainted mixing water, and one for her tea that she might have accidentally placed her brush in once or twice. Gently blowing on the first layer of paint to get it to dry quicker, Sally glances up at the old clock, mentally calculating how long Ronan has gone. About… two hours at this point.

She can’t look at her phone to call or text him; it’s been turned off and placed in the safe that Ronan has in the basement. There is a single, ancient-looking landline with Ronan’s phone number scribbled on a notecard to the side, and when Sally had lifted the receiver, she heard the telltale hum of the connection. Even though she had debated calling him, she didn’t want to come off as clingy. Hanging out by yourself in a cabin that’s so far away from civilization with only a single ratty old dirt road to get to and from it can give anyone an extra dose of nervousness, so it’s not like she’s irrational with wanting company. While she could just hang out in the room Ronan had presented as hers earlier in the day, with the gorgeous cross-stitch piece hanging in a frame on the wall, she feels strange sitting on the bed as if she’s invading someone else’s space.

Instead of spiraling down with her insecurities and fears, though, she begins to paint a beautiful maple tree. A part of her wishes she could have her phone to play some of the music she wants to hear, but at least there’s a little portable radio that she has tuned to a station with a decent array of music. The only downside is, of course, the advertisements that she can’t just skip after five seconds or pay for premium access, leaving her to suffer through it. By the time Ronan gets back, she’s already shouting alongside the ’BIG MAC is BAC’ commercial with great success.

“I leave you for what, a few hours, and you’ve already been brainwashed by corporate propaganda.”

She hadn’t heard him come in since the radio had been turned up to the maximum volume to try and drown out her anxiety. In fact, Sally has been so wound up that she is one hundred percent prepared to stab him in the eye with the back of her paintbrush, knuckles white against the wooden handle as she spins around. At the sight of him, hands full of grocery bags in the posture of someone who will only make one trip from the car to the fridge even if it kills him, she lets out a sigh of relief, setting the makeshift weapon back down on the kitchen table. Maybe she should turn down the radio, even if it’s just a little bit.

Ronan sets the reusable (reusable!) bags down on the counter, the plastic-like material crinkling slightly as he does so. As he unloads the different groceries down- bread, eggs, bacon, and so on- he’s already separating some of the items away from the others, putting almost everything away except a select few. Within moments, he’s got a cast iron skillet on the old gas stove, lighting a match to ignite one of the burners. Oil, then vegetables, stirred with a wooden spoon, the smell almost becoming too much for Sally’s empty stomach to sit quietly. She tries to distract herself from the hunger by clearing away her art supplies out from the center of the table, setting everything carefully to the side.

After just a moment of mixing on heat, he adds eggs, waiting just a moment before lifting the panhandle with a cloth, shaking it back and forth for a moment, flipping the omelet with nothing more than the help of physics. Sally almost bursts into laughter, but she’s too shocked to do anything more than stare as it finishes cooking. Ronan slides the food onto a plate he had quickly rinsed and dried, placing it just in front of her as if he’s a professional chef. After the moment of shock wears off, Sally picks up the fork and takes a bite, and, okay, she won’t lie. She was expected it not to taste anywhere near as good as it does.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you can cook?” She asks, incredulously, as she shovels an unladylike amount of food into her mouth. “I wouldn’t have ordered all the takeout if I had known!”

“You never asked.” Ronan’s mouth curves in a slight smirk. “And besides, I never turn down free food. Or the opportunity to not work as hard.”

Sally lets out a puff of exacerbated breath because of course, but doesn’t feel the need to complain as she eats the rest of the food. Of course, she volunteers to do the dishes, might as well offer up some productivity, so while she starts filling the sink with sudsy water, she watches Ronan’s movements like a hawk. There’s something about the awkwardness of invading someone’s house that feels like it’s increased by threefold because… well, it’s Ronan, and she doesn’t know anything about it. The fact that she is in his cabin with a hypothetical window into his life, it feels strange.

Once the dishes are done, Sally realized how little there is to do. Yes, she can finish this painting today, and another one tomorrow, and another one after that. But with the limited amount of things to use as subject pieces, ohhhhh noooo, she’s going to get so restless. Pulling all her supplies back from the corner of the table and spreading everything out again, she tries to distract herself with the inevitability of cabin fever as she continues painting each and every leaf that she can see. The few hours before dinner fly by quickly, as they tend to do when she’s engrossed in her work, and Ronan is soon back in the kitchen, working on whatever recipe he has up his sleeve.

“Question,” Sally starts as Ronan sits across from her, “and feel free to shut me down if you think I’m acting xenophobic, I’ll knock it off. I know that werewolves feel the urge to change during the full moon, but I don’t think you’ve disappeared in the couple of months you’ve been with me.” Inwardly, she cringes at her choice of words. Sounds almost like they’re a couple.

Ronan cocks his head to the side slightly, eyes flickering in thought. “Well, you know how people who are violently allergic to things have epipens, right?” At her nod, he continues, reaching into his pocket and pulling out something about the size of a thick pencil. “Werewolves have something similar. If we feel the need to turn, we’ll slam this into our thigh, and that should stave off anything for a good couple of hours, which normally is enough time to get away from whatever the trigger is.”

Oh, it suddenly makes sense now. “That’s convenient,” she says, unable to think of any other words to describe having to stab yourself whenever you felt on the edge of a frenzy. Good isn’t quite the term she is looking for since this isn’t really a situation that could be construed as positive.

Ronan shrugs as though it’s nothing. “It’s easier than being locked up in the slum camps.”

Sally bites down her tongue and doesn’t say anything else. Once a were ends up in the slum camps, whether it was for petty crime or a fully fledged change in a populated area, it is very, very difficult for them to get back out. Even if they do, they need to have a human sponsor, an upcoming job with on the book wages, and those are the only two qualifications that she, a person who has lived a somewhat sheltered life, knows about. She has little doubt that there are so much more hoops those poor people have to jump through simply to be able to walk around unchained again.

Silently, she pokes at the food on her plate, scrambling for a way to turn this conversation somewhat positive, but the first thing that pops into her head is, “I’m glad that you’re the one protecting me.”

There is a pause, during which she is mentally kicking herself before Ronan responds. “This is the best job I could ask for given the circumstances.”

Which isn’t really an affirmation of any kind, more of a double-edged sword. They finished their food in silence, and Sally immediately started clearing the table. There’s no dishwasher, which she is only momentarily grateful for since that’s thirty minutes she doesn’t have to think about how she should be productive. Instead of hanging out in the living area with Ronan as he begins to clean and oil a wickedly sharp looking hunting knife, Sally finally decides to retreat to the room she’ll be staying in.

While it might not even be close to the most luxurious place she has ever been to, it most definitely is the homiest. And, as Sally thinks about it, homey is something she favors much more than whatever money can buy. Home is someplace that someone works to get, their emotions bleed through the surface, their love and hard work pouring into every crevice of the log walls and wooden floor. At the same time, Sally feels almost like she shouldn’t be there, that she is intruding on someone else’s life, and that she doesn’t deserve to catch glimpses of what Ronan is like outside of his job.

In any case, she lays down, the sheets stiff from years of unuse, pillow so saggy beneath her neck that she has to fold it in half for any kind of support. While the curtains have been drawn shut from whenever Ronan was last here, Sally eyes them suspiciously, as though someone might be on the other side, biding their time. With the tossing and turning she does, it’s a miracle she can even get a wink of sleep in the night, her heart thumping at any kind of creak the house sounds as it settles. That’s the thing about different buildings, they make unique noises in the night. It’s funny how little it took for Sally to forget that just from living a single year in an apartment.

Just as she had predicted; the next days of monotony begin to drive her mad. Sally tries her best to stay busy, she does, but she can only do so much homework without her professor’s instructions before she begins to lose it. She’s painted almost every interesting position out of the windows, and then gathered up some random objects from the cabin and tried making a still life. That painting only partially developed before she got bored of the subject material and abandoned it, still taped to a random piece of wood board she found for stability. Ronan walks with her outside, but only in short, quick bursts, not nearly enough to make Sally feel less isolated from the rest of the world.

Even though Sally would rather very much prefer that Ronan doesn’t leave her side, he still has to go out and buy food, without her. She watches him leave in another motorcycle he had stashed away in the adjacent shed (apparently he has more than just one), since taking her car might catch the attention from the wrong person. The moment he leaves from view, she begins to feel nervous once more, and even while she tries to rationalize it, you really can’t logic anxiety away.

Before she has a chance to spiral, the door knocks.

Her mouth goes dry.

Ronan always just strolls through the door like he owns the place, because, you know, so someone knocking would mean that this is someone else; theoretically, she thinks, trying to calm herself. Ronan might have just forgotten his keys, the ones he used to… leave… on the motorcycle. There’s a hunting knife that hangs on the wall like some antique trophy, so Sally stands on the tips of her toes to snag it before approaching the door. Biting her lower lip from nervousness, her fingers close around the cold doorknob as she tries calming her breath. Then, slowly, she opens it.

It’s a little girl, only about as tall as her waist, clothes filthy, puffy hair full of dirt, leaves, and twigs. The side of her quivering mouth is dripping with blood, her faded jeans ripped around her left knee. The eyes, though, are what catch Sally’s attention the most; bright, ruby-red, the color vivid enough to feel like it glows against her dull, earthy skin. In a small, mousy voice, she asks, “are you Ronan?”

“I- um, Ronan isn’t here right now, can I help you with anything?”

Wrong thing to say, apparently, because the little girl sticks out her lower lip, tears filling her eyes, and begins to bawl as if Sally had just straight slapped her instead.

Immediately panicking, she bends over, trying to get to the little child’s level, and begins to let out a hasty bit of comfort. “It’s- it’s alright. Ronan should be back any minute, really, he just went out to get food.” She realizes that she still has a machete the size of her forearm in hand, and not only is it probably terrifying the kid, but it’s also too late to do anything about it. Camly, robotically, she places it up on the coat hanger shelf that sits on the wall, directly to the side of the door while the girl goes hysterical.

Sally has never really needed to deal with a screaming child, and as the girl’s breath comes out in uneven gasps and chokes, tears clearing away the dirt from her cheeks and chin, she just sort of stands there, watching for a moment in complete befuddlement. Without any other idea of what to do, Sally ushers her in, setting the girl on one of the couches while she searches for something to wipe the grime with, going through the drawers frantically as she temporarily forgets where anything is with the impending stress. Finally, Sally is victorious, lifting up a small washcloth before running it under warm water from the tap.

The little girl doesn’t protest as Sally begins to gently scrub the mud off her face, her sobs slowing down to quiet, miserable hiccups as she gradually gets cleaner. Now, Sally doesn’t exactly have anything that could possibly fit this girl’s skinny, tiny frame, but there is no way she is going to let this poor creature stay in those dirty clothes a minute longer. One of her painting shirts should do the trick, and since it exists merely for the express purpose of getting dirty, Sally doesn’t mind its fate too terribly. Sally helps the girl change after she locates the shirt, slipping the oversized thing over her dusty hair, the stick-like arms popping out of the sleeves after Sally reaches through the holes to help guide her hands.

Soon enough, Sally has a much calmer child sitting at the table, pouring glass after glass of water for her to drink as if the poor thing has gone days without. There are billions of questions circling inside Sally’s head, what is a child doing out in the forest, why does she look like she just clawed her way out of hell, and how exactly is Ronan involved with this, but she starts with something small, something easily given up. “My name is Sally, what’s yours?”

The girl looks up at her, like a deer in headlights.

Sally feels almost guilty, the poor thing looks like she’s ready to be punched in the gut at any moment. “It’s alright if you don’t want to tell me, that’s you’re choice to make.”

It takes only a moment of silence. Quietly, as though the girl fears some kind of reprimand, she speaks. “Bernadette.”

Sally tries not to revel too hard at this step in the right direction. “Bernadette? That’s your name?” At the girl’s nod, Sally tries offering some encouragement for the show of trust. “That’s such a beautiful name! Not quite as fancy and pretty as plain old Sally, huh?”

Bernadette’s mouth twitches upward in a way that reminds Sally of Ronan, the hesitancy for showing any positive emotion was so on par that she gets an overwhelming sense of deja vu. Just as she’s about to start wheedling the story of why a kid that can’t be more than eight years old is out and about in the deep wilderness, more knocking comes from the door. It’s not like the girl’s knocking, which had been quiet and timid, but loud, demanding. Bernadette’s eyes glance up to drawn curtains as if they would suddenly disappear to reveal her worst nightmare lurking on the porch.

As Sally approaches the door, she feels her heart lurching in her stomach as she hears thick, dull sounding footsteps just outside on the porch. If this were a few months ago, Sally would automatically assume it’s Ronan, clomping on the wooden porch and waiting to be let in. But something is off about the rhythm of the steps, the sound of the boots, ticks and shows that someone would only catch if they are just shy of being intimately familiar with a person.

Carefully, she retrieves the machete back from the top of the coat rack, gripping it so tightly that her knuckles turn white. There is no peephole to look through, so Sally just opens the door quickly in the hopes of throwing whoever it is off their game, giant knife hidden behind her back in a not so subtle manner. “Can I help you?”

The sight of this man makes her skin crawl.

For one, his smile is far too wide for her comfort. It reminds her of that one man her dad still does business with, one that watched her with eyes a little too hawk-like when she was younger, showering Sally with strange compliments that made both her and her dad uncomfortable. Second, while his uniform is of a police force, it isn’t exactly one that Sally is intimately familiar with, but she is confident that Ronan must be. CCU is embroidered on his uniform, just above the left pocket, and she knows that he isn’t here for any humans.

“Can I help you?” She asks, hoping her dull green eyes will help put him off.

“Pardon the intrusion, ma’am, but I’m here to do a scheduled checkup to the were resident listed in the lease.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Sally doesn’t know where Ronan is or when he’ll be back. “Um, I’m sorry, my bod- er, boyfriend, will be back from the grocery store shortly. Can you come back in a few hours?”

The officer waits for a beat, blinking his icy eyes only once. “I didn’t realize that Ronan had a girlfriend, nor one so… human, as you seem.”

Sally forces a smile and begins to shut the door. “I’ll let him know that you stopped by, nice meeting you!”

He sticks his foot in the threshold, stopping the door just as Sally thought it was all over. Calmly, she opens the door again, throwing up a poker face so quickly that even trained detectives don’t even notice.

“Will that be all?” She asks, her tone an unfriendly an echo from when she first opened the door.

“Mmm, we’ll see.” He digs through his pockets, retrieving a folded piece of paper. Unfolding it carefully with his pale hands, he flips it around and shows a picture of a little girl, hair in careful, precise braids. When the officer shoves it towards her, she takes it reluctantly, not wanting any part of this in the slightest, needing to play along only until he leaves. “Have you seen this girl? She’s been missing from her family, her poor mother is absolutely frantic.”

Even though she tries to only pretend to look over the picture with no real intention of memorizing it, she realizes that the sparkly red eyes look familiar. Too familiar. Something in her face must have given it away because the officer snatches the picture back victoriously.

“Where is she?” He asks, voice no longer holding up a facade of friendliness.

Lie. “Oh, her,” Sally waves her hand nonchalantly. “I don’t know. She came looking for money and scraps, so I sent her to the nearest poor house. Don’t know what a were kid was doing all the way out in the forest, but it can’t be anything good.”

Out in the distance, Sally can hear the steady putter of an oncoming motorcycle. She does her best to not show any shred of excitement as the officer’s face twitches, ever so slightly. “And where would that be?”

Sally offers a shrug. “I don’t know, aren’t there ones in every city? She’ll find it.”

Then, miracle of all miracles, Ronan pulls up. Sally can already see that his muscles are tense, ready to fight, but still cautious about having to go toe to toe with this man.

“Ah, Mr. Kazimir! How nice of you to join us. I was just chatting with your girlfriend!”

Ronan didn’t even give much of a reaction to the last bit, just as Sally had hoped. Two grocery bags in each hand, he walks over, calmly standing to the officer’s side. “Did you need anything, sir?”

“No, no, just doing a wellness check. You didn’t come in for your annual appointment, as promised, and haven’t answered any of your cell calls. The only reason you haven’t been arrested yet is that your boss has been vouching for you.”

Ronan looks exasperated, but he does his best to keep his cool. “That was yesterday, wasn’t it?”

The officer chuckles, giving Ronan a not-so-friendly pat on the shoulder. “Well, if I had a girl with a body like that, I might forget a few things here and there, too.”

Neither Sally nor Ronan laughs along.

“Is that all, sir?” Ronan asks, voice tense.

The officer sighs, “well, there is a kid on the run from the institution, but your girl says that she sent that runt away. Now I have to go look all over town, maybe even out in the next.” He looks at Sally, almost petrifying her with the murder in his eyes. “Next time,” he says, voice no longer holding a shred of faux friendliness, “just invite the child in and wait for me to show up, eh?”

“Sure,” Sally says, trying to keep it together.

Ronan waits until the officer gets into his sleek, fancy car, driving off with the roar of an engine before coming in. Sally steps away to the side as he does so, letting the machete hang limply by her leg as she closes the door, locking the deadbolt. For a moment, everything is completely silent, then Ronan turns towards her, eyes livid.

“You turned away a- a- child? What is wrong-”

“Will you shut up for a second?!” Sally surprises herself by her tone and how much his words hurt. “Do you honestly think I’m that- that malicious? That I’m stupid? Is that what you really believe about me?”

Ronan blinks, half shaking his head, and is about forming another sentence when Sally beats him to the punch.

“I thought you would know me better than that.”

One of the bedroom doors creeks open behind her, and by the look in Ronan’s eyes, Bernadette must have stepped out. Without another word, Sally stares him down as the little girl takes a step into the short hallway, the floor creaking against her slight weight.

“I was hiding,” Bernadette says, her voice timid and airy.

Sally immediately spins around, dropping the anger so Bernadette won’t have to witness the ugliness of it all. “And that was a very, very smart thing to do, honey. If that man had come in, I wouldn’t have been able to stop him.”

Bernadette nods, and actually smiles at her for the first time, showing off a gap where her front teeth should be. Without another word to Ronan, Sally takes the bags from his hands, then sets them on the kitchen counter to take stock of what they have to use for dinner. Bernadette is probably starving, after all, and Sally wants this little girl’s first meal to be a good one.

“Thay man is going to be back with a search warrant,” Ronan says, “once he realizes there is no sign of the girl out in town.”

“Then, I guess,” Sally pulls out a loaf of bread, “we should think about moving on, huh?”

“Running would look suspicious.”

“And staying for him to find her is a better alternative?”

Ronan closes his mouth tightly, knowing that she’s right. “Not only did that CCU guy see your face, he probably is going to figure out that there’s a hefty price on your head once he starts asking around. There’s no way I can transport you anywhere, anymore, at least nowhere with federal were regulators.”

Sally presses her hands against the counter, hoping the pressure against her palms will help steel her nerves. “Give me my cell phone, I’ll call in a favor.”

“Sally-”

“I said to give me my godda-” she lets the curse word sizzle out as he glances over to Bernadette, “- just get me my phone.”

Ronan stares at her, just for a second, but doesn’t utter another word of argument as he spins around, retreating back to the safe. As he does so, Sally taps her fingers against the fake granite, and asks Bernadette, “what are you feeling for dinner? Grilled cheese? Pasta?”

Her ruby eyes sparkle, if she were any hungrier, she might start drooling on the floor.

Well, Sally doesn’t want the kid to eat herself sick, so she can’t just slam down a feast of unprecedented carbs, no matter how much she wants to spoil her. “Why don’t we start with some grilled cheese and soup? It’s warm you right up.”

Ronan comes up, just in time for Sally to relay the dinner plan to him, handing her the phone.

Calmly, despite the butterflies ramming up and down in her stomach, she walks over to her room. After shutting and locking the door, she flops onto her bed, watching the cell phone’s screen light up as she turns it on for the first time in what feels like years. After typing in her password, her thumb hovers over the phone app for a minute, listening to the muted voices of Ronan and Bernadette on the other side of her door.

Breathing in and out, trying to get a hold of herself, she types in the phone number she’s had memorized by heart.

It only rings once.

“Sally?”

Deep breath. “Hey, dad. I need a favor.”

[thereadingchallengechallenge]

Review: The Dream Thieves by Maggie Stiefvater  Rating: 5/5 (reread)

"Quemadmodum gladius neminem occidit; occidentis telum est. A sword is never a killer; it is a tool in the killer’s hand."

This doesn't feel like a book to read on public transport or in the living room where your mother is knitting. It's a book for under the covers with a flashlight or on top of a stone wall in a cold wind. Ronan’s harshness bleeds off these pages - even in ebook form. His awfulness and strangeness are infectious. You can't get away from it. This book is intoxicating.

I loved getting to know all the characters better in this one. The best part about how Maggie writes groups of friends is how they’re always joking about the most nonsensical things. Putting five Camaros together and living in them. Dollar store junk. Silly psychic games. Defenestrating ghosts. It makes the characters feel so real and well-rounded and makes it so much easier to love them. They feel like real people.

Tied into that is how much I appreciate the effort Maggie puts into her adult characters. So often in YA we get cardboard cutouts for adults but the adult characters in The Raven Cycle are just as vibrant and engaging and interesting as the teenagers. That really comes across in The Dream Thieves with Maura and The Gray Man and, as an adult fan of YA, it makes these books so much more fun to read.

I mean, thinking about it, The Gray Man is as main a character in this as any of the Gangsey. We spend so much more time with him than I remembered and we learn so much about him too. It reminded me why I was always so fond of him and now I can safely say he is one of my favourite characters in this series. Probably Top 3. No, definitely Top 3 - Gansey, Noah, The Gray Man.

This was the reread I was most anticipating as I remembered so little of the story and it definitely paid off. I am loving reading about the Kings of Henrietta again.

Warnings: drug use, violence and kidnapping.

[anagentinwriting]

To Catch a Thief - Part 13

Summary: Being an FBI field agent was your dream job but having been stuck behind a desk for most of your career you’ve almost given up. Fortunately, a series of robberies with minimal evidence forces you to assist a team in the field to help solve the case. But when the only thing left behind is a series of song lyrics, will you be able to find the perp? Or will the number of obstacles and lack of evidence keep you from solving the case?

Pairing: Peter Quill x Reader

Word Count: 4000

Warnings: Language, blood, death

To Catch a Thief Masterlist / Main Masterlist

The Collector’s coming to Wakanda. You couldn’t believe Peter pulled it off. You smiled to yourself as you hiked along the worn down path through the rainforest. You needed some fresh air to clear your head. This whole situation between Peter confused you. Should you be mad at him? Should you not be? You didn’t know what to do or how to feel.

A branch snapped behind you forcing hair to rise up on the back of your neck. You stopped to peek over your shoulder, but no one was there. You shrugged it off as you continued down the worn path. This country was beautiful. With the birds chirping and nature thriving it was a refreshing sight to see, especially when you only saw skyscrapers and concrete. You stopped to take a breath when someone wrapped an arm around your waist and covered your mouth with a rag. You tried to scream as you scratched at the arm, but it was no use. The muscles in your body grew limp as your mind became fuzzier right before everything went black.

Your mind slowly returned to consciousness as you tried to piece together what happened. You got jumped in the forest and now someone was dragging your limp body along until they stopped. Opening your eyes there was nothing but a black cloth. Why do bad guys always use the color black? Is it a rule in the criminal handbook? All of a sudden the ground began shaking beneath your feet and you heard clapping close by. You focused on the clapping until you heard someone’s voice. Peter’s voice.

“No! I brought you here and told you where it was. I’m not going in the tunnel.”

“Let's see if I can change your mind, shall we? Retch,” the unknown voice called. The man holding you, assuming it was Retch, grabbed your arm and put it over his shoulder dragging you along. He came to a quick stop putting you on your knees and ripped the cloth off over your head.

You squinted your eyes as they adjusted to the light. Peter, Meredith, The Collector, Korath, Ronan, Retch, and two other men you have never seen before stood around the room. Your eyes settled on the pillar and beside it laid the necklaces broken open with the stones ripped out. The Infinity Stones were set in the grooves on the pillar granting access to a secret passageway. “What the fuck?

“Welcome, YN. It is wonderful to finally meet you in person.” The Collector walked over taking your hand and lifting you off the ground. You stood up narrowing your eyes at him before he placed his lips on your hand. You pulled your hand from his and looked around the room.

Peter glared at him with a clenched jaw almost like he wanted to kill him. Meredith still looked beautiful even though she was sickly.  Her skin was pale, and she had dark circles surrounding her eyes.  It was nice to see her still putting up a fight and not letting cancer take control of her life.”

Your eyes traveled to The Collector wearing his fur coat from the last time you saw him.  “What’s your game, man?” You asked with pursed lips.

He chuckled. “All in good time, my dear. You’re here because Peter has a soft spot for you and I need to use it against him. So you’re going into the tunnel--” he pointed at the dark hole in the wall “--and you're helping my men retrieve the Soul Stone.”

“The hell I am, I don't have to do a thing you say!”

“Hmmm…. I can see why Peter is so taken with you,” The Collector smirked at your outburst.

“I'll go if she can stay here,” Peter interjected, trying to come to a reasonable solution. He made eye contact with you as if he was telling you everything was going to be alright.

“Now what would be fun about that? You’re both going. Ronan take her with you.” The guy wearing an excessive amount of blue grabbed your arm pulling you towards the tunnel.

“Get your hands off me, assface. I got legs, I can walk myself,” you glared and Ronan released you. He hands you a flashlight making his way into the tunnel. You stand at the entrance taking a deep breath before walking in.

You walked a good distance into the tunnel when something on the wall caught your eye. Using your hand, you wiped away the old cobwebs and underneath them was a painting from what life must’ve been like back then. The image was of a tribe council with a woman standing in front of them wielding a sword. Your fingers traced over the colored image as two Trinkets rushed past you until all you could see was their flashlights in the distance. “Men,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Always in a rush to get to the prize at the end of the tunnel.”

“Some men are capable of waiting patiently for the prize,” Peter hinted beside you. There was a double meaning there but you chose to ignore it for now. “How are you holding up?”

“Overworked and underpaid.” You took one last look at the painting and walked away.

You catch up to the Trinkets to find them standing still with their flashlights beaming down. You pushed past them only to find a hole the same width as the path with no way of getting across. Casting your light downward you noticed it was at least a 50-foot drop with sharp spikes on the bottom. A few skeletons were laying across them, and you flinched away from the ledge when your light caught something moving down below.

T’Challa warned you about the booby trap mechanisms. He wasn’t joking. This was the first one, but you needed to remain calm and strong. Who knows how many more there are? This was something Indiana Jones should’ve prepared you for.

“Snakes…why'd it have to be snakes?” Peter chuckled, beaming his light into the hole. You cracked a small smile thanking the dark tunnel for keeping it hidden. “Come on guys….Indiana Jones.” No one responded making him scoff. “Well, I’m guessing this is how we get across.” He grabbed a rope connected to a ring and started tugging on it to make sure it was secure.

“I’m not going first,” Ronan replied, holding up his hands.

“Me neither,” the Trinket wearing goggles said.

“I’m with Gef on this one,” the Trinket with an interesting choice hairstyle agreed. He had long hair on one side of his head, buzzed short on the other side, and shaved down the middle to separate the two.

“Fine, I’ll be the responsible one and go first,” Peter said, eyeing you.

Peter tossed his flashlight to the other side of the hole before he gripped the rope and swung across with ease. He tossed the rope back, and Ronan swung next followed by his minions. Peter flung the rope back, and you grabbed a hold of it contemplating.

“Hurry up, woman, so we can get out of here,” Gef called out, forcing you to roll your eyes.

“You can do it, YN. It's easy,” Peter encouraged.

“Easy for you to say you're already across,” you yelled back at him. “Sorry, shouting is one of my defense mechanism.”

“Don’t be scared. You got this.”

You nodded, stuffing your flashlight deep into your back pocket and let out a deep breath. You pushed off the edge and started gliding through the air to the other side. You stuck out your leg when you were inches away to safety when you heard a snap. The rope broke off, and you let out an agonizing scream as it started pulling you down to your impending doom. Within seconds, someone grabbed your forearm stopping you. You dangled in the air trying to get your breathing under control when you glanced up to see Peter’s frightened eyes staring back at you from the soft glow of your flashlight.

“Don’t look down. I got you. It’s okay. Let me pull you up.”

Peter lifted you over the edge without any problems. You sat on your knees taking deep breaths trying to stop your body from shaking and pull yourself together. Peter kneeled down beside you and started rubbing soothing circles on the small of your back. You don’t know how long it took to pull yourself together, but you appreciated Peter being there for you. You slowly stood up as you tried to steady yourself. “You good?”

“I’m fine. Yeah,” you whispered, waving it off. “Thank you.”

“I’ll always have your back,” Peter reassured, patting you on the back. You nodded with a small smile, thanking the darkness for keeping your blush hidden. “Shame that rope broke, how are we going to get back across?”

“Ahhhh, Quill’s gonna be busy later,” Ronan teased, making his minions laugh.

“Shut up you blue idiot,” Peter barked.

“Excuse me.”

“Who wears that much blue, anyways? What are you auditioning for a roll in the Smurfs?” You chuckled at Peters comparison.

“It's cashmere,” Ronan mentioned, holding a hand to his chest wearing a hurt expression on his face.

“Is that suppose to make it better?”

“Welllll…”

“Well...how about less talk and more walk,” Peter finished, shooing them off while both of you followed behind them.

Peter saved your life. He protected you and made sure you were okay. He was always there for you when you needed him, and he never hesitated when it came to your safety. Sure, he made some stupid decisions, but who hasn’t. He did it out of the goodness of his heart. This was the Peter Quill you fell for.

You flashed the light on the wall to discover another mural. The same woman from the previous painting was back, but this time she was in two worlds. One world looked like a desert with the sun beating down on her, and the other world was a rainforest with a waterfall. You stopped making Peter stop beside you. “Do you think this is Valkyrie’s story?” You waved your hand over the painting. “I mean, is this her real story.”

“It could be,” He answered, concentrating on the painting in front of him. “Like this was when she got dehy--.”

“Will you two hurry up? We don’t have all day,” Ronan yelled out.

“Is he always such an a-hole?”

“Yeah, I don’t think he knows how to turn it off like I do,” Peter grinned in the dim light.

“You sure about that.” You shake your head leaving him alone to catch up with the others.

Everyone continued to walk down the dark path when you hear a click compelling you to stop. You glance at your feet to see if you stepped on something, but saw nothing. You hear a shifting sound of metal coming from in front of you. You point your light seeing metal blades coming out of the walls heading straight towards you. Peter wrapped his arm around your waist pulling you into his chest forcing the flashlight from your hand as he takes a step back. You hear a high pitched scream and feel a breeze from the metal blade directly in front of you. It slides back in as it continues to descend behind you.

You stood there gripping Peters legs behind you not wanting him to let you go. “Breathe,” Peter whispered in your ear. Goosebumps spread down the side of your neck sending a shiver to your spine. You let out a shaky breath you didn’t realize you were holding in.

“Holy shit! How....how did you know where to stand?” You asked and he shines the light to his feet.

“The white squares. Figured there had to be some significance to it when I saw a path of them on the floor.” He shrugged.

“Nice catch.” You patted his leg and he released you.

“Gef’s down,” Ronan shouted. “He stepped on the mechanism--” he shined his light to the button on the floor “--setting off the blades coming through the wall.”

You flickered the flashlight on Gef’s body but quickly turned your back to him. It was gruesome, his eyes were open behind his goggles, and his mouth was hanging open.  He had a huge puncture starting at the base of his neck going all the way past his pelvis. He had to of turned at the right second to almost be split into two. You’re not going to get that picture out of your head anytime soon. Peter grabbed your hand giving it a reassuring squeeze silently telling you it was going to be alright before he let go. Peter had to be scared as much as you were at this point.  You didn’t know what kind of booby traps laid ahead or even if you would make it out alive.

You left the body behind and carried on.  You stayed towards the back of the pack not wanting to be the one to trigger something next.  You didn’t like the Trinkets or The Collector, but you wouldn’t wish them dead.  Behind bars for their crimes, yes, but not dead. Death was too easy but serving a life sentence was torture.

Scanning the walls for another mural you spot it behind more cobwebs. This time, Valkyrie stood in the center of the sunlit cave with her sword hanging off her hips. She stared down at the six glowing stones resting on the pillar. The legend was true, there were six stones, and the last one The Collector needed was at the end of this death trap tunnel.

Peters flashlight beamed on the wall joining yours.  You turned on your heels and walked with caution behind the others.  Valkyrie put so much work into protecting this stone, but why? Was the legend true, did it have magical abilities? It sounded ridiculous, but what if it’s true?

Everyone stopped at the beginning of a rainbow-colored floor with each path representing a different color. On the other end was a huge wooden door with a large ‘X’ on it.

“The ‘X’ marks the spot. I bet the necklace is in there,” funky haired Trinket said, pointing at the door.

“‘X’ never, ever marks the spot,” Peter paused, thinking it over. “It has to be more complicated than that. It can't be a simple walk across the board and open the door. This has to be some kind of trick, but I'm not sure what it is.

The funky haired trinket ignored Peter as he stepped onto the blue path, but nothing happened. He turned around smiling and out of nowhere an arrow went flying through his chest. He screamed falling to the ground dead. He landed on other blue spots on the path which sent addition arrows flying across the room.

“Halfnut, are fucking kidding me?” Ronan groaned in frustration.

“Halfnut? That's his name? Why does The Collector give you such weird names? I mean, what the fuck? Halfnut isn’t even a good name.  It’s like the dude named Taserface,” you chuckled, seeing Peter shake his head at the absurd nicknames.

“Have some respect woman.”

“Wow, really? Respect. Are you serious? Have you met you? You have no respect for anyone. Your 100% a dick.” Ronan ignored you, continuing to stare at the door.

“Look on the bright side, we know it's not the blue path,” Peter joked, making you roll your eyes.

“You first woman,” Ronan nudged you forward.

“Don’t fucking push me.” You scanned the paths deciding which one to take. The Soul Stone was orange so the orange path could be the right one. You placed your foot onto the orange path, and nothing happened. You sighed in relief as you walked to the other side of the room. Both men followed in your footsteps until they reached you on the other side.

Ronan pushed, and pulled on the door but it wouldn’t budge. “Why is this door not working?”

“That’s because we need a key, doofus.” Peter pointed at the long vertical keyhole.

“A key? I didn’t know about a key.”

“I don’t think anyone did. For all we know, no one has made it out of here alive.”

“Fellas, how about we not argue for once and focus on finding the key?” You suggested, scanning the room to try and find something resembling a key.

“Or maybe, Peter should pick the lock to see if his skills are up to par with this era.”

“How could you be making jokes at a time like this,” you exclaimed at Ronan from across the room.  “Two people are dead and if we aren’t careful one of us could be next.” Ronan narrowed his eyes letting out an annoyed sigh.

“Shut up and let me think for a second.”  Peter examined the lock, and you moved towards the mural by the door you didn’t notice before.  It was a self-portrait of Valkyrie with her sword resting on her shoulder. She was gorgeous and the sword she was holding looked familiar almost like you’ve seen it before. It was in the other paintings, but this one was a close-up and far more detailed.  It looked exactly like the one Peter had in his apartment. You turned towards Peter about to say something when Peter pulled out the broken Dragonfang.

“How did you manage to fit the sword in your bag?”

“According to Mary Poppins, you should never judge a bag by its appearance,” he quipped, making you shake your head at him.

“What do you plan on doing with that sword?” Ronan asked, keeping a watchful eye on Peter.

“It’s to unlock the door, you big dummy. This was Valkyrie’s original sword, so I thought it might come in handy. It’s broken but if I'm right the other half is still wedged in there.”

Peter slides the Dragonfang into the key slot and starts turning it horizontally until it clicked into place. The ground beneath you rumbled as the doors in front of you began to pull apart. As you walked through the threshold, lights from the ceiling flickered on brightening up the dark room. In the center of the room sat a pillar with a goblet sitting on top of it, and the back wall had four different paintings telling a story.

The mural furthest left showed what bringing the stones to Valkyries village caused. It brought people into power which lead to war and the annihilation of her village. The one next to it showed her trying to warn the council to stop, but they wouldn’t listen forcing her to go out on her own. The third mural illustrated her speaking with the people of Wakanda asking for their forgiveness. The last image showcased another self-portrait of her wearing the orange stone around her neck. She sacrificed herself to protect this stone, and keep it out of the wrong hands. It accepted her for everything she caused, but what did it cost her in the end? Her life, her soul, her sanity? The five Infinity stones caused a massive amount of bloodshed, and in order to receive this stone, blood would have to be shed.

You turned around tapping your chin. If someone had to drain their blood, where would one put it? Your eyes scanned the room only to stop on the pillar in the center of the room. You went over to it noticing a weight mechanism underneath the goblet sitting on it. “Someone has to drain their blood into this?”

“Make sense. The stones caused a massacre and walking through this tunnel and getting past all the booby traps is too easy. Blood for the stone fits,” Peter agreed, turning back to her self-portrait.

“Which one of you are going to do it?” Ronan sneered, glancing between you and Peter.

“Are you really asking that question? It’s yours! I swung first, YN walked across the path first, it’s your turn.”

“But, who has the gun?” Ronan pulled out a handgun from the front of his pants, waving it around with a satisfied smile on his face. “It will be one of you or both of you. Your choice.”

You turned to face Peter and his eyes were already on yours. From the look in his eyes, you knew he already decided how this was going to go. “Peter, don’t you fucking dare.” He was going to sacrifice himself for you. Your lips trembled as you tried to find the right words. “You’re not doing this Peter. Your mom’s waiting for you. She’s going to need you when she gets better. I have no one waiting for me outside this cave. No one,” your voice quivered. The back of your eyes started to tingle as tears begin to form in the corner of your eyes. “Everyone I care about is either dead or hate me. Peter let me do this. Let me do something for you after everything you've done for me.” He came closer to you taking your hands in his.

“No can do, sweetheart. I can’t let you,” Peter breathed. “This is my fault. I’m the reason you’re here and you shouldn’t have to suffer for my recklessness. The Collector saw right through me.” A single tear escaped down your cheek and he reached up wiping it away with his thumb. “I regret many things in my life, but one thing I don’t regret is falling for you.”

You stared at him in disbelief as tears begin to blur your vision.  How could he say that to you right now? We’re in a life or death situation and he was making love declarations?  What is this a cheesy love story? “No Peter, you can’t…..you can’t do this. I am not going to let you do this. You don’t get to say these things because you think your life is over. You don’t get to make these decisions. You're not the only one in the sights anymore.”

He squeezed your hands. “I’m going to do this regardless because you deserve a second chance.  YN, you’re finally finding your way, and after this is over it will open so many more doors for you.”

“No….no,” you pleaded with your chin trembling. “I can’t...I can’t let you die for me. I can’t watch someone I care about suffer for me.” Peter’s eyebrows perked up but faltered quickly remembering our situation. You watched as tears begin to peek in the corners of his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away before they had time to escape. “Don’t you be stupid. For once in your life...let someone take care of you. Please...please let me do this for you,” you cried as the tears streamed freely down your face.

One of his hands reached up cupping your chin as he gazed into your eyes. His eyes flickered to your lips, and he leaned in for a kiss. His lips were soft against yours, and you felt every terrifying hopeful emotion he was feeling. Your hands crawled up his arms to the side of his neck deepening the kiss. This was your first and last kiss with Peter. Your last kiss ever. He pulled away resting his forehead against yours. You opened your eyes to see his staring directly into yours.

“I forgive you, Peter,” you whispered against his lips. “You’re not the man I knew ten years ago.”

He cracked a lopsided smile as a few tears escaped from his eyes. “It’s not the years, honey. It’s the mileage.”

“That’s enough,” Ronan shouted from behind you, but your eyes stayed on Peters. “If one of you aren’t going to choose, then I will.” You squeezed your eyes shut ready to take the blow. “And I….choose....you.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered, forcing your eyes to snap open. He pushed you to the floor right before a gunshot rang out echoing in the tunnels.

AN: Sorry about the cliff hanger, but I couldn’t resist! What do you think is going to happen next? What did you think about all Valkyries booby traps? I did reference Indiana Jones a lot on this one, but hey it’s a classic! As always thanks for reading!

[moved-to-klirk-hammurton]

Flash fiction #1

Blood stained the white ground of the surrounding area. The snow was clotted with droplets and splatters of the crimson liquid. Two males stood facing one another in the center of the blood bath, puffs of steam billowed from their mouths as they pant vigorously. Both men seemed evenly matched in their battle as neither was ready for forfeit.

“Oh Kairius, have you so much to learn. You see my dear–friend–you are in way over your head this time. You’ve started a war that you shalt not ever finish. You see, the people here wish for you to be–well dead. And for very good reason I may add,” one of the males spoke up. His eyes were as dark as onyx, absorbing all color and light. The winters sun had just managed to refract color in his dark orbs.

“You speak lies Pelagus. You and I know it is not true. Look at us! Squabbling like young boys! And for what? For a mere prophecy that a bedlamite priestess told you?! She’s daft! You’re daft! This…This is all madness Pelagus!” The male addressed as Kairius declares as he gazes to his friend. Deep down, Kairius knew Pelagus was right when he stated that he–Kairius–was outmatched.

Pelagus scoffs at the words and uses a pale hand to brush a lock of his silvery hair from his face. The right side of his skull near the temple was split open from a hit he had taken previously from Kairius. The crimson liquid stained Pelagus’ ivory skin as it dribbled down his cheek, to drip onto the snow below him. He had numerous other injuries under his armor and tunic, mostly internal, but he refused to display weakness to Kairius.

Kairius was no better. Every breath he took was a grueling effort. It felt as though he had an anvil resting on his diaphragm, threatening to crush his ribs at every effort for breath. His black coat and dragons hide armor made it even harder to draw in the icy air. Each breath of air felt like a thousand needles inside of his lungs, and each breath made the hide seem ten pounds heavier on his already herniated diaphragm.

“Face it Kairius. You are as good as dead to us all. Your existence has brought us nothing but pain, loss, disease and despair. Our–no–my people are dying because of you. You threaten to bring agony and vexation upon us all. And for that, you must pay,” Pelagus threatens as he conjures a sword into his hand from the use of magic.

His words cut deeply into that of Kairius, but he shown no care nor interest. All that mattered now was life and death. A friendship that once was so close, was now tossed aside from the nonsensical words of an ill minded witch. “If death is what you wish for, then death it shall be.” Kairius states and removes his armor as it was becoming laborious to heave in a breath. As he dumps the heap of dragons hide and a fir coat to the ground, he too summons his own sword for battle. Heaving out one last breath, Kairius engages Pelagus.

The two men’s swords collide against one another with a fearsome, metallic, clang. The collision causes small sparks to arc from the friction of metal meeting metal in a gridlock match for life. The snow crunches beneath the men’s feet as they twist and turn away from one another to dodge near fatal attacks. Shards of sword splinter from the metals in a metallic rain to the ground. Sword against sword, the men remain locked in a battle of talent, wits, and reading the other opponent for the next move.

Pelagus steps inward towards Kairius, his sword flat against the blade of Kairius. The black blade from Pelagus loomed dangerously close over the head and neck of Kairius. Pelagus raises his sword and swings it down in a hacking motion to clash against the silvery blue blade that his friend held. Sparks of magic arc yet again off the blades at their collision. Using a Grey orb of majik, Kairius pushes his sword further against the black opposing one. Once the blades were no longer hovering over his head, he ducks and rolls away through the snow to stand to the right of Pelagus.

Pelagus snarls, conjuring an orb of red and black magic in his hand and throws it directly at the abdomen of Kairius. With little time to react, Kairius blocks the angry orb of magic with his sword only to have it shattered. The orb and shards of magic send the dark skinned male flying backwards, sprawled on his back in the snow. He couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. His abdomen was in such severe pain that his body trembled from the shock. It was only when he rested his hands on his abdomen that he realized he had been impaled by the shards of his own sword.

“Oh dear, oh my. The beloved Alakslam–the indestructible sword has been destroyed?” Pelagus says in mock astonishment as he looms over the bloodied Kairius. “Look at you. You’re pathetic, Kai. ‘Condemned at birth. He who is the true evil shall die of the hand of his closest friend–be slain by the hilt of his own weapon–shall never be forgiven for the hell he hath rought upon this world.’ Do you not see it?!” Pelagus declares as he recites the bedlamite words of the deranged priestess. He kneels down next to Kairius and snatches his chin into his ivory hand. “Look at me Kairius. It’s over for you.”

Kairius stares up at Pelagus. He knew he had been defeated, but he wasn’t ready to die. Mustering up his strength, he spits blood at the face of Pelagus, “burn in hell. You’ll lead these people to their deaths faster than that damned prophecy of yours.” He says as blood stains his lips. He reaches up and grabs Pelagus by the scruff of his tunic to hold him in place. “Don’t look so shocked–you wanted this. You wanted me dead. Be a man and watch your enemy die. If you can’t…” Kairius starts to say, but is stopped at the pain of death in his abdomen. “If you can’t face death…you’ll never…face life.”

“Shut up. Shut up! I can face life and death you bastard! Just–just die already!” Pelagus retorts and hits Kairius with a blast of magic that sends him flying across the field.

Kairius cries out in pain at the impact. His vision fades between black and grey, and to color. He could feel his life draining from his body as the impending cold hand of death started to cradle his broken body. 'So this is it. This is how it ends? Cold and alone? Why don’t you just kill me?! End my suffering–’ he thinks to himself as his vision loses all color. Everything began to look like a faded nightmare as all color faded away. The sky faded from its blue hue to a bottomless abyss of black.

Pelagus walks towards the seemingly lifeless body of Kairius. Unsure of what to do, he turns the body over to see that Kairius’ eyes had frosted over with deaths touch. “I–I did it. I killed him. I killed him! The ten year winter shall break!” Pelagus declares at his victory as he looks around as the people of the kingdom slowly flocked to the field. “I have slain the prophet of our impending doom! Alas, the sun shall shine on us again!”

Kairius lays there lifelessly, but he heard every word to be spoken by Pelagus. He wanted to speak out but couldn’t get the strength to move. Closing his eyes, he’d accept his fate as death would lead him to the other side. As the world he knew faded away, Kairius would find himself standing standing in a crimson foyer. Black flames illuminated the room to reveal an onyx throne with a hooded figure in the seat if it. The figure sits forward and holds a hand out to Kairius. Against his will, Kairius is pulled to the throne.

“Kairius Ronan Shar. I have been waiting for you,” the figure says in a shrill, chilling voice. It was distorted with layers of unknown origin that made it ambiguous to gender. It’s hands were made of bone with unknown black carvings etched into the knuckles. As it leaned forward, the distinctive metallic sound of chains could be heard that seemed to hold the figure in its place.

“What are you? What the hell is this place? Is–is this hell?” Kairius asks as he looks around the foyer. It didn’t seem like hell. The air was icy cold and the walls were crimson, but not aflame like the stories of hell. “What do you want with me? Why am I here?!”

“One. Question. At. A. Time.” The figure states before slowly standing. It seemed so small and frail on the throne, but as it stood, Kairius was able to see just how large this being truly was. It’s bones creaked and snapped as it stood to a large stature that could rival a sequoia tree. “I have brought you here to offer you something. Life. A second chance.”

“And what is the catch to this offer? Life is not something that is exactly free,” Kairius says with suspicion as he takes a few steps away from the large being. He grunts as he finds himself stiff and is pulled forward yet again towards the towering figure.

“One. Question.” The figure growls down towards Kairius. The shrill bitterness of its voice causes the ground to quake. “I will grant you life again, if you can escape my purgatory. The world between worlds. You escape, you will have eternal life. Never to die, nor to age. You can never get sick nor diseased. BUT to keep this eternal gift, you must fulfill ONE prophecy. Murder Pelagus Tertis Earendil. Kill his family. His descendants. For his blood runs black with the twisted magics of the high priestess. You fulfill this, life shall be yours.”

Kairius stands there, still as stone as he tries to process what had been offered to him. His abdomen began to ache again from the fatal blow he had taken from Alakslam. He looks down to see his tunic and trousers covered in blood again. His eyes widen at the sight. “H-how is…how is this…possible?”

“Purgatory is not forever, foolish mortal. Come. Allow me to show you something before you do die.”

Kairius clinches his teeth but stiffly nods. Before he could move, he’s pulled forward as the figure makes a gesture with its hand. Within seconds, the scenery changes from the realm of purgatory to the snowy field that the lifeless body of Kairius had lain in. The villagers were surrounded around it, lifting it onto a large slab of cherry maple wood. Kairius watches as his body is lifted, the shards of Alakslam haphazardly thrown away in the snow.

“Once the pyre is lit, I cannot reverse what had been done. Tick tock. Once the clock rings, you shall die. You haven’t got all day. Take my hand, become the hero, have life. OR, you can die. Become a hero. A protector. A hunter.” The figure offers Kairius as it holds out its other hand. The shards of Alakslam fly towards the duo, stopping mere inches away and forge themselves together into a massive sword of a brilliant ice blue on the blade. The hilt shown vividly of an onyx material with a silver hand guard. “You take it, your fate will begin. If you don’t, you and Alakslam will be a faded memory.”

“Kill the man that killed me. Kill the family he will have. That’s it?”

“Yes. Become the Guardian of Winter.”

“I shall.”

[marveloustiming]

Look at the Stars ( Part 1\?)

Gif not mine.

"You okay Marris?" I was drawn out from my memories as Rocket spoke to me.

"Yeah I'm alright" I said as I rummaged through my old red and black backpack. I still had this thing after who knows how many years, although I had added things to it over the years. I had outgrown the clothes so I was forced to get new ones, and I ended up breaking the headphones by accident. I added a tablet, new headphones, and a leather jacket to the mix though. I snickered as Rocket kept insulting a few people that walked around us and only grinned wider when I saw that Groot was drinking from the fountain.

"Don't drink fountain water, you idiot. That's disgusting" Rocket said. Groot shook his head. "Yes you did. I just saw you doing it. Why are you lying?" Rockets device started to ring, indicating that there was a criminal with a bounty on their head nearby. "Okay humie, how bad does someone wanna find you. 40,000 units? We're gonna be rich!" I smiled and suggested we head toward him.

I was startled to find a woman with green skin on top of him. Over the years I had gotten used to all of the different types of species and colors that came along with this kind of work. But this woman was familiar. Although I had never met her or seen her in person, there were stories of her working with powerful and violent man named Ronan. She was practically raised to be a weapon. Rocket tackled her off of the man while ordering Groot to put Peter into the bag. Although Groot seemed to get mixed up as he aimed for Gamora instead. I took off after Peter as he started to run. I felt and saw a knife go by me as it landed onto Peters hand, which made him drop the metal ball. We all seemed to be after something different. Peter and Gamora wanted the ball while me, Groot, and Rocket wanted Peter. The women jumped off of the bridge as the ball fell down, me and Peter following after. Peter landed on Gamora while I landed not to far off. "Fool, should have learned." Gamora threatened. "I don't learn, its one of my issues." Peter retorted before slamming a rocket onto Gomora's side and made her shoot off and slam into a fountain. As Peter stood up, I rushed to him and punched him in the face, right as Groot put a bag on Peter and lifted him up. "Quit smiling you idiot. We're supposed to be professionals" Rocket commented. "Oh leave him alone. He's just happy." I stopped walking immediately after I said that. Gamora was striding towards us. She pushed Rocket out of her way and immediately went towards me and Groot. Before I could do anything she slammed her sword into my head and I blacked out.

I was slightly aware to me being lifted up into the air. I could see Groot next to me and Rocket next to him. Then there was Gamora on my other side. The ships that surrounded us were lifting us up. It was the Nova Corps. They ordered Rocket to drop his weapon and informed us that we were under arrest for the destruction of property. I blacked out again quickly after that. I was rudly awoken for good to me being shoved upwards. I stumbled forward as the man shoved me towards the door. I could hear Rocket shouting at him, but I couldn't process what. In the room there was glass separating me from two Nova Corps officers. "Arva Anne Connors from Terra. Mostly refers to herself as Arva Marris though. She is able to control the elements and electricity, as well as turn herself into different animals. Most of her powers are the result of illegal genetic and cybernetic experiments on a living human. She's traveled with Subject 89P13 and the thing that calls itself Groot." I was quickly ushered out of the space after that.

"I guess most of Nova Corps wants to uphold the law but these ones here, they're corrupt and cruel. But hey. That's not my problem. I ain't gonna be here long. Me and Marris have escaped twenty two prisons, this ones no different. You're lucky the broad showed up 'cause otherwise me, Groot, and Marris would be collecting that bounty right now and and you'd be drawn and quartered by Yondu and those Ravengers." Rocket explained loudly.

"I've had a lot of folks try to kill me over the years. I'm ain't about to be brought down by a tree, a girl, and a talking raccoon" Peter said. "Raccoon? What's a raccoon?" Rocket questioned. "What's a raccoon? Its what you are, stupid." " Ain't no thing like me except me." " So this this orb has a real shiny blue suitcase arch of the covenant Maltese falcon kinda vibe." This continued on for a while until Peter got tased for trying to get one of his belongings. After that we were all escorted into a room and told to strip down to our undergarments. I was incredibly hesitant to do so but I feared that I might get the same treatment as Peter for resisting. As I stepped into the cell I was sprayed with a gooey orange substance. The force of it blasted me to the back of the cell and it startled me to the point where I couldn't move for a few seconds, but when I came to my senses I turned my back to it. I was given a yellow jumpsuit to change into and than shoved into another room. I felt anger at being treated so harshly. Before I could control it my arms lit on fire. I was quick to put it out and get the jumpsuit on and go sit on one of the benches.

Soon after that Peter came in and tried to act on his anger. As soon as he turned around he was surrounded by four flying guns. Peter backed down and was quick to get dressed. He ended up sitting beside me for whatever reason. When I looked at him questionably, all he said was " You seem like the most normal out of the group." The next one to come in was Rocket. I could see the wounds on his back. Unlike me though, Peter was blatantly staring at them, so I poked him in the side to get his attention. I shook my head to indicate that Rocket didn't like being stared at. After everybody else coming in and changing, we we ushered into another room and given sleeping bags. This room though seemed to be the center of the prison. It looked like the cafeteria. Dozens of inmates were milling around sitting at one of the many tables. Right in the middle of the room was a giant watchtower where some guards were stationed. A few seconds after we walked in the inmates started to yell and throw things at us. They were mostly aiming for Gamora, shouting words like murder. "Like I said she's got a rep. Lot of prisoners here lost their families to Ronan and his goons. She'll last a day, tops. " Rocket said." The guards will protect her right?" Peter asked." They're here to stop us from getting out. They don't care what we do to each other inside." I was the one who answered his question." Whatever nightmares the future holds are dreams compared to what is behind me." A second after Gamora said that two men came up in front of Peter.

"Check out the new meat," the blue one said " We're gonna slather you up in Navian jelly," As that man was speaking I focused on the other guy. As I looked closer I began to recognize him. It was Luke. He looked much older than when I last saw him. His hair had streaks of gray in them and I could see wrinkles starting to form around his cruel eyes. "How're you doing sweetie?" Before I could respond two branches slid up Luke's nose and lifted him clear off of the ground. I looked over to see that Groot had him and the blue guy. I had told Rocket and Groot about Luke and guessing from their pissed off expressions they could guess exactly who Luke was. "Let's make something clear! This one here are our booty! You wanna get to him, you go through us! Or more accurately, we go through you!" During Rockets speech I lit my arms on fire to seem more intimidating. While Groot dropped the two men I sent a glare to all the people around us. We walked over the now sobbing men and headed for the sleeping quarters. I took up a spot next to Rocket and Groot and leaned against the wall.

"So, how're we gonna get out of here?" I whispered to Rocket. He looked to be deep on thought for a second before speaking. "I was thinking of the watchtower. Of we could get in there then we'll be golden. We just need a way to get in there." There was only one easy way of doing that. "The security bands that the guards wear. I've seen them use it dozens of times. Its the easiest way." We continued from there and soon I fell asleep.

[writerleo86]

Armor Champions Super R - Episode 147 (Do Not Copy Please)

   In a dark room filled with large shelves of books, the young warrior Bitz protected him as the elder called Laiyun chanted his spell. The vicious maiden -- Relena of the CosmicFire -- suddenly appeared above them and threw a downward Right Punch. That was when Bitz had pushed his master away and rolled himself from Relena's assault.

   And Relena created a great amount of damage to the area where the enemies once stood as she called out "Maiden's Impact!"

   Then Jede of the CosmicFire flew to Bitz and blew out a straight Left Punch that was covered by a large wave of red fire.

   "Fire Release..." Jede shouted. "Demon's Paw!"

   And the body of Bitz was burned into ashes that blew away.

Armor Champions Super R -- Episode 147:  The Dark Balloon Gang Arc -- Sir Laiyun

   Afterwards, the young team led by Jede stood before their new opponent which was the elderly Laiyun who wore only a blue robe and a wide gray hat.

   "You many have defeated my minions," Laiyun informed them. "But your world as you know it will soon come to an end."

   And Laiyn yelled "Polgoleszhunta!"

   The elder blew a large cabinet of blue fire from his mouth to the young heroes. And every champion had crouched down to avoid the projectile.

   The orange visor formed around his eyes and Kody of the HardRock began analyzing every part of the enemy's body.

   "Where did dat geezer get dat much power?" cried Desoto of the BlackShadow.

   Laiyun blew out another projectile of fire which was negated by a large barrier of golden energy that was summoned by Carla of the GoldenGrail.

   Second, a long line of black flames was summoned by the old man which moved through the ground toward Carla.

   "Polgoleszhunta!" Laiyun shouted. "Serpensfuscus!"

   Billy of the IceDome quickly rushed to the left side of Carla and he formed a large wall of blue energy from his hands which held back the lifting head of the enemy's projectile.

   Billy struggled as smoke emitted above from his shield. Then he felt a mild amount of pain in each hand as the scared Carla had watched.

   "But, why?" Carla asked. "Why save someone that you barely know?"

   Billy turned to her and answered "I don't know really."

   Next, Desoto of the BlackShadow laid his right hand on the left shoulder of his friend in blue armor.

   Billy found him and Desoto yelled "Let's toast dis guy!"

   The shadow of Desoto rushed toward the bottom of Laiyun. And strings of the shadow had wrapped around every part of the elder.

   "What is this?" shouted Laiyun.

   Desoto turned his head back and cried "It's all you Kaballa! Beat his ass!"

   The swift Jede of the CosmicFire ran toward his opponent as the boy in golden armor carried his long katana.

   As he was close, Jede took the cover off of his sword. Then he swung the sharp red blade to his enemy. The entire body of Laiyun had split into two parts and they created a large explosion. The smoke had brushed into the blue eyes of the champion Billy. And Billy rubbed his eyes before the explosion slowly faded.

   Carla of the GoldenGrail cried "He did it! Jede of the CosmicFire has vanquished the Old Demon!"

   And tears slowly fell from her eyes as Carla gave out a relieved smile.

   Inside a place that was filled with black rock, the undead warrior in white clothing -- Agis Basileus -- walked toward an object. It was a large cocoon that glowed a bright but dark blue light.

   Basileus took a quick bow and reported "It appears the vessel has been taken by the God of Fighting himself. The Great Lord Allazar has the vessel placed inside one of his palaces on his home planet."

   And someone inside the cocoon ordered in a calm male voice "You are to retrieve the boy by any means. Even if it means killing those who protect him."

   Basileus took another bow and answered "It shall be done, my lord."

   Meanwhile, a hooded figure arrived at the middle of an abandoned courtyard which was somewhere on the planet Mars. And another stood at the other side of the large area.

   It was the stern man named Ronan. He had a thin beard and longer hair. And he had on a pair of golden earrings. He wore a collared white shirt that showed his hairy chest. He had on gray pants that had vertical black stripes. He also had on a burgundy coat with a long gray-furred collar, a golden seal design on the right shoulder, and a thick black belt with a golden buckle. And he had on a pair of long dark boots. Around his neck were two medallions. The top was a black lace that carried a small orange jewel. The other was made of gold with a large red diamond.

   The pair faced each other. And the person took off their dark hood as Ronan shook his head with no emotion.

   It was the strong woman, Eiri Allazar.

   "It's time we talk," She implied.

   "And what..." Ronan questioned. "...must the two of us speak about?"

   The woman lowered her head for a moment. After that, she looked into the eyes of the grim Ronan.

   And Eiri replied "First off, I wanna talk about our son!"

[justawriterofthings]

It’s Because I Care

Requested: Could you write a Drax x Reader Story where the Reader is also a guardian and they're together and the reader gets hurts during a mission and Drax is worried?

Word Count: 3,867

Warnings: Reader gets injured (but nothing big)

Author’s Note:  Oh my gosh I am so sorry this took so long.  I’ve been so occupied with work, my writing slipped through my fingers and got put on hold.  But, now I’ve got more free time and hopefully I can get all of these requests done.  I will do my best to get them up in a timely fashion my loves.  Thank you so much for the patience and for liking my stuff <3  Again sorry it took so long and sorry for the mistakes....

You were sitting quietly on the lower deck of the ship taking a nap with Rocket when you were startled awake by Drax’s loud bumbling footsteps.  Rocket jumped to his feet, ready for anything.  You jolted up hitting your head on bunk above you. “Son of a bitch.”  You mumbled, rubbing where you hit it, feeling the bump start to form already.  Rocket yawned, jumped down and waited for you to get up.  “Come on, come on.  You gotta go tell that oaf of a brick wall to walk like a normal person.”  Rocket complained as his tapped his foot impatiently. “Yeah, like he’ll listen to me when it comes to anything besides- well anything really.”  You slowly got up off the bed and headed to the ladder that led to the main deck.  

“You don’t give him enough credit.  He listens sometimes.”  Rocket was acting out of character.  “Are you sure you didn’t bump your head too?”  You joked, climbing upstairs.  Rocket just let out a short ‘Ha’ before following you up.  You looked around to see Drax frantically searching the main floor for something.  “Hey big guy, maybe keep the steps light.  Like you’re sneaking up on someone right before you take ‘em out.” You suggested as he continued to rummage through every box he could find.  Drax stopped what he was doing and looked at you first with wide eyes and then confusion.  “Where would I take them?”  He was genuinely confused by your wording.  “It’s another expression for killing someone, sweetheart.”  You clarified, but your pet name earned you another confused look.  “You don’t literally have a sweet heart, it’s like another name to show affection to someone you like.”  You explained.  You found yourself doing that a lot with Drax, though you didn’t mind it.  

Rocket wandered off after your small conversation with Drax, you assumed he was going to check up on baby Groot.  “So yeah, just maybe keep the footsteps a little quieter.  Rocket and I were napping and ya know, neither of us are happy right now for being woken up.”  You tried to stay as kind as possible since he was a large man and couldn’t really help how loud he was when he walked.  “Okay, sweetheart.”  He repeated your phrase back to you and you couldn’t help but smile.  Peter and Gamora walked over then.  Peter was looking rather pleased with himself and you knew that only meant one of two things.  Either he just got laid or you all had a mission.  

“Lay it on us.”  You commented, seeing how giddy he was getting it was a mission and apparently a good one at that.  “Pirate treasure.”  Peter finally spit out with such enthusiasm you almost couldn’t make the words out.   “No. Way.  Really?”  You started to match his grin, but the rest of your group was confused.  Rocket walked in with baby Groot who was finally out of his pot and walking around.  “What did he just say?”  Rocket asked, unsure of why Peter and yourself had been so happy.  “Yes!  Space Pirate treasure!”  Peter started to jump up and down like a child and you couldn’t help but match his movements.    “Real pirates!”  You squealed.  The rest of the team was even more confused now.  But you were too excited to explain to them that all of you could be richer than you ever imagined by the time the mission was over.  

Peter raced over to the ship’s control consol and you followed suit, though you beat him there when you used your gift to teleport yourself there.  “Y/N, we need you to explain.”  Drax called through the main level as he walked to the front of the ship with the rest of your friends behind him.  “Pirates!  Like Ravagers, but on Earth they have more of a reputation for being rich and ruthless. If this mission is what I think it is, we could all be bathing in loot by the time this is over.”  You bounced on your toes while Peter pulled up the coordinates he was given.  “Why would be bathe in loot?”  Drax asked. “I am Groot.”  Groot answered him, but still confused since he couldn’t understand the little tree yet.  “Of course he still takes things as literal.”  You replied to Groot, then directed your attention back to Drax.  “It’s another expression.  Meaning we’ll be richer than ever before.”  You clarified.  

“These, Pirates.  They are like Ravagers, so they are as dangerous?” Drax asked you, unsure of the new concept of Pirates.  “Well, yeah I guess if they have a lot of valuables, then they want to protect them so probably just as dangerous.”  You thought about the question a moment before answering him and when you had you regretted it.  “Then you will not go.  It will be too dangerous.”  Drax countered.  

“Look, you and I and everyone else on this ship know I can take care of myself.  Just because you have- what a few hundred pounds on me- doesn’t mean I can’t kick any less ass than you.”  You said before teleporting behind him, tapping him on the shoulder and then ending up in the place you started.  “I’m a Guardian, same as you.  We saved the universe together, remember?”  You brought up when you all took out Ronan since you had been there by his side helping him in case he forgot.  

“You are my sweetheart, so I worry.”  He explained which caused your face to heat up.  The rest of the team watched the exchange and the tension was growing slightly in the cabin.  “Okay, time to head out before this gets anymore uncomfortable.  Baby Groot you didn’t hear any of that.”  Peter was blowing the slight affection shown by Drax out of proportion before setting some coordinates and taking off.

You took your seat next to Peter, coming up with all sort of crazy ideas as to what the treasure could be. “Maybe it’s a ship full of gold?” You pondered.  

“Or a billion units!” Peter exclaimed, practically salivating at the thought of that much currency.

“Do you think they’re Terran?  I mean, no one else seems to grasp the concept of pirates.  And who would call themselves that if they didn’t know what they were?”  You asked, mostly to yourself since you were sure Peter was still ogling at the prospect of a billion units.  

“I am Goot?”  The small tree interjected.  

“No, it’s not really common now.  More so two hundred years ago.  So they’d have to know of Terra history or be Terran themselves.”  You answered.  You could feel Drax watching you and listening to the conversation, but he was holding back his questions.  

Little Groot looked over to Drax and then back at you.  “I am Groot.” His little voice was full of concern.

“No you idiot.  They don’t need a room to go talk.”  Rocket yelled from his seat as he messed with one of the many guns he had stockpiled.  

“I might do just that, Groot.”  You smiled at the small plant, then appeared next to Drax and grabbed his hand.  In a split second the two of you were below the main deck where Rocket and yourself had been taking a nap earlier.  “You looked like you wanted to talk.”  You let go of his hand and sat on the bed.  

“Give me a warning next time you do that.”  He yelled and you could hear Rocket laughing from upstairs.  You ignored it and so did Drax.  Then he sat next to you, his face lighter.  

“So what questions did you have?”  You finally asked after the both of you sat in silence for a moment.

“You said these Pirates would be as dangerous as the Ravagers.”  Drax stated.  

“Yes, I did say that. But it should be something different if memory serves correctly.  They’ll be less space-like and more Terran.”  You tried to explain but his confused look only stayed.  “Back home they would sail the oceans with huge ships and they would attack other ships, sometimes naval ships run by the countries they would call home.  They had cannons and muskets and swords.”  You went on and noticed the smile on Drax’s face even though you knew he understood about half of what you were saying.  “But more importantly, they were notorious for having vast treasures.”  You continued.  “They would supposedly burry treasures, and sometimes their loot would be lost with their ships when they sunk to the bottom of the ocean.  But out here, they would have to keep their treasure with them unless they found a planet far away enough.”  You pondered how they would hide their loot out here.

You thought he would ask you questions but instead he looked you dead in the eyes, nodded his head for a moment.  “We will find the Pirates and take their loot.”  He smiled, repeating the words you had used.  

“Damn straight.”  You giggled, then teleported the two of you back upstairs. When you got to the front of the ship and looked out the window you saw that Peter had taken you all to a part of the galaxy that had yet to be settled.  “Wow.”  You were caught off guard at how beautiful the scene was.  Drax stood beside you and tilted his head slightly.  

“I am Groot.”  Groot responded to you.  

“It really is a sight.” You added to the small tree being. You then looked around the cabin to see the rest of your companions were in less awe than you or Groot.  But it made sense since they all spent time out here.

“From the information I got, we’re pretty close to the coordinates.”  Peter spoke up.  You looked around in slight disbelief.  “But it doesn’t look like much.”  He added, mimicking your thoughts.  You kept an eye out for any other ship, but you didn’t see anything.  Then the ship started to shake.  

“Guys?”  You held on to Peter’s chair.  

“It’s coming from above us.” Gamora hurried to the back of the ship and you could hear her rummaging around for who knows what.  Then there was a flash, the ship shook once more, then you were no longer on Peter’s ship.  

Your vision went black for a moment, and when you finally opened your eyes you were alone in what looked like barracks.  “Drax?” You called.  “Rocket?  Groot?” You didn’t know your surroundings so you couldn’t risk teleporting and ending up in a wall.  Taking a look around, you noticed you were most likely below deck since there were no windows and rows of hammocks.  “YES!”  You tried to whisper but it came out as almost a yell.  You were on the Pirate’s ship, which meant you and your friends were in danger but you couldn’t help but feel giddy.  You wandered around to see what they were like, since you could always tell how a person was by their living conditions.  

“Y/N?”  Drax was in panic mode.  He looked around the deck of the ship for you but he noticed you and Peter were gone.  “We must go get them.”  Drax was the first to jump into action.  Rocket looked back to Gamora, with some hesitation but nodded in agreement.  

“I am Groot.”  Groot agreed.  “We’ll have to get onto the ship first.”  Rocket added.  

You saw a stairwell that you assumed brought you up to the deck of the ship, hesitantly you took it, knowing you could get yourself back down here in an instant if you needed to. “Peter.”  You whispered, heading up the set of stairs but you quickly made yourself quiet when you heard more voices.  Creeping up the steps you started to see more and more shadows of who you assumed were the pirates.  Peeking around the corner you saw a handful of terrans.  And you thought to yourself that you were right.  Which also meant that you might be able to talk yourself out of this situation you’ve found yourself in.  “Anyone bother to check up on the two people we just took aboard?” One man asked from behind the control consol.  “Sure thing, Captain,”  Another replied.

You heard a pair of footsteps come closer to you and you teleported back down stairs.  A few seconds later a man dressed in fancy slacks, a black vest, and black dress shirt with a red tie was standing in front of you.  “Uh. Hi.”  You waved awkwardly at him.  “Care to tell me why you brought me and my colleague aboard?”  You asked, hoping to get an answer out of him.  

“The names Ash.”  He greeted, ignoring your question.  

“Where’s my colleague?” You asked, hoping he would answer this time.  

“The deck below us.” He answered as he strode towards you. “Are you also from earth?”  He asked, caressing your cheek with the back of his hand.  You quickly teleported back as far away from him as you could.  

“What’s it to you?” You asked, watching him more closely now.  

“Your friend there was and asked a hell of a lot of questions about pirates.”  Ash responded after he took in your power for a second.

“Yeah, I’m from Earth. I take it you are too, by the way you’re dressed and the way this room is.”  You said, motioning towards the very obvious earth items.  “Now, why are we here?”  You asked again, hoping this time he would answer.  He started to move closer to you but stopped when there was a thump on the side of the ship.  “Why are we here?”  You asked again, louder this time.  Then you heard Peter yell your name from below you, but he voice was strained.  

“You’re here to help us get the biggest treasure any of us have ever dreamed of.”  Ash answered then walked back up, leaving you there.  But he left you free and conscious.  

“Big mistake, buddy.” You snickered and tried to find a way down stairs.  Wandering around the barracks again you found a door that you hoped led you to Peter. You tried to open it, but it was locked so you pictured yourself behind it, hoping that there was nothing directly behind it.  Letting out a sigh of relief to see the stairs and that you managed to not be impaled by anything.  You quickly headed downstairs to find Peter tied to a post.  “Oh man.”  You took in the sight of him and ran over to undo his restraints.  

“Did they hurt you?” Peter asked when you finally got him free and he could look you over.  

“No.  Are you okay?”  You asked, looking for any sign they hurt him too.  

“Yeah, now let’s get the money and get out of here.”  He smiled, but it fell when he saw you didn’t return his grin.  

“We have to leave, get back to the others.  I have a bad feeling about these guys.”  You told him, grabbing his hand and getting ready to teleport the both of you back to the deck of his ship.  He ripped his hand away just as he felt you gather your energy.  “At least let me go get them then?”  You asked, knowing you and Peter wouldn’t be able to take all of them on your own.  He gave you a skeptical look but nodded his head in agreement anyway.  You were then gone in an instant but back with Rocket just as quick.  Peter informed him of the plan as you grabbed everyone else.  And once everyone was there Peter and yourself went back over the whole plan.  

“We’re taking their loot guys, as of now we’re also pirates.”  You should have seen you were going down the rabbit hole, since you yourself had said you had a bad feeling about those guys.  

“This is not smart.” Drax said, mostly to you.  He always worried about you.  You gave him a look before teleporting upstairs, now that you knew the layout you didn’t have to worry about being impaled .  You were back in the barracks, then snuck up the stairs to the upper deck.  You got a good look so you could use your gift later if you needed to, then went back down with the group.  

“There are six of them on the upper deck.  Which should be easy peasy, since Groot alone, could take on six guys with his eyes closed.” You shrugged, sitting cross-legged on the floor, ready to go over the plan again now that you knew how many you were dealing with and the layout of the deck.  “Drax and I will go up and take out the two who are patrolling, one of them is the guy who was with me downstairs.  Rocket, you take Groot and take out the two closest to the control panel. Peter, you’ll get the scary looking guy with the arm tattoos and Gamora will take on the last one with the weird Mohawk.”  You got up, went to the door that was locked and tried to open it from this side with no luck.  “I’ll get everyone on the other side, then it’s a clear shot to the upper deck.”  You said before grabbing Drax’s hand and bringing him to the other side of the door.  

Once everyone was in the barracks room, you all made your way up the stairs and continued with the plan.

It didn’t take long to take out all six guys.  You chose to knock out Ash, but before you could get behind him he managed to slice you with a hidden blade he concealed in his sleeve.  Drax saw this and you could tell his vision went red.  “Go back to the ship.”  He ground out, holding the guy in a choke hold.  

“I’m fine, he just grazed me.”  You argued back, while punching Ash square in the face.  The rest of the gang watched on after already doing their part.

“You will go back to the ship, the mission is over.”  He didn’t bother keeping his voice down in case there were more.  He dropped the pirate he was holding and moved towards you. You quickly backed up towards the door the two pirates were guarding and opened it.  But you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw what was inside.  

“Guys.”  Your voice was just above a whisper.  Groot and Rocket were quick by your side.  “I am Groot.”  Groot’s tone was somber.  “Yeah, this is big.”  You replied to the small being.  You looked around the rather large room and saw cages, both full and empty. Creatures from every part of the galaxy of all sizes resided in this room and you assumed that they were endangered. “We found our loot, I guess.”  You entered the room and took in the site of all the creatures.  Drax was quickly by your side, hovering.  “Drax I’m fine.  We have to get these little guys home though.”  You saw the sad eyes peering at you and your friends.  When you got to the back of the room, Drax still hovering, you saw the crates stacked up to the ceiling.  Peering indie you couldn’t help but smile.  “This whole room has to go back to the ship.”  You sounded so triumphant.

“What’d you find?” Peter strode over and peered inside a different crate.  “We’ll never have to work again.”  He laughed, after taking in all of the precious items the crates had to offer. You and the rest of the group managed to get everything from the room onto the ship before the pirates woke up.

You made it safely away and that was when Drax blew up.  “You can’t put yourself in danger like that!”  He yelled. “What if he had cut you worse?  I don’t know what I would do if I lost you too.” His tone lowered at the thought of losing yet another person in his life he cared for.  

“I can take care of myself, Drax.  And you’ve gotten hurt worse than I have.  You don’t see me babying you, or hovering.  When either of us do that, we’re in more risk.  You can’t put all your focus on me you have to be present when we’re on a mission.”  You tried to reason with him.  But you could just see that your words weren’t getting through to him.  

“You are terran.   You are fragile and small.  Look at how you bleed just from what you called a graze. What if it was worse?”  Drax pointed to your side where the knife got you. You finally looked down at it and saw it was a little deeper than you first thought.  Your adrenaline had been going and you couldn’t even feel it when it happened.  Only now was it just starting to sting slightly.  But you didn’t show any outward sign that it was bothering you, you were too stubborn to do that.  

Drax lifted your shirt to take a good look at your wound, you didn’t bother stopping him.  But you were glad you brought the two of you down stairs instead of doing this in front of everyone.  “See.  It is bad. And you lied about it.  How can I trust to fight alongside you again?  You knew that it was hard for me to fight with you to begin with.  You are my sweetheart.  I can’t lose you.”  He repeated when he was crouching down to your level and trying to clean your side with his large hands and a damp cloth.  You took the cloth from him and moved his hand away, cleaning it yourself.

“I know you’re worried, and I know you care.  Drax I know you only act like this because you lost your wife and daughter.  You don’t want it to happen again and it won’t. Not any time soon, anyway.  You’re stuck with me for a while.”  You tried to smile at him but it never met your eyes. Then you gave in.  “I’ll be more careful.  I’ll listen to you more, okay?  If you think something is off or wrong and you want me out of there I’ll leave in a blink.  I promise.” You compromised, which earned you a reluctant head nod from the large man.  

The two of you stayed down in the second level for a while. Drax cleaned your wound and the two of you talked about his wife and daughter.  You talked about earth and what life was like back home.  But you knew the closer you two got, the more reluctant he would be about letting you go on missions even though you have proved yourself before.  Drax asked if you would stay on the ship when the rest of the group gave the creatures to the Nova Corps.  You agreed to stay put, to appease him and gain his trust that you would keep your word, even though every part of your being wanted to go with since you were as much a part of the Guardians as him.  But you knew where his feelings were coming from.  And deep down you wanted the same for him.

[argorpg-blog]

CONGRATULATIONS and welcome to the crew of the Argo II, ABBY! The Gods have spoken: welcome aboard PHTHONOS, known as RONAN AVERY-GREENE, with a faceclaim of HENRY ZAGA. Please take a look at our checklist, and send in your account in the next 24 hours.

ADMIN NOTES: We will tell you straight up when we see Phthonos was the most difficult decision for us to make. Both apps were so rich in detail and plot, and it physically hurt us to choose one. But Abby, your portrayal of Phthonos just managed to tip the scale. We loved the idea of Ronan having a twin, that she plays such a major role in his resentment. It is clear that Ronan still has so much growing to do, and we cannot wait to watch for how this crew and this quest shape him. Your expansion of connections truly let us envision the sort of person he’s going to be among the crew, the way he’s going to mesh with others, and we can’t wait to see his anger develop and affect those around him. (And, happy birthday!)

OUT OF CHARACTER

NAME/ALIAS: Abby AGE, TIMEZONE, PRONOUNS: 21 (today! happy acceptance day lol), GMT sept-dec & feb-may / EST dec-jan & june-aug, she/her ACTIVITY  & EXTRAS: I’m a full-time uni student, so while my schedule is usually pretty busy it is very flexible. I’m typically on at least a handful of hours every day, and more than likely have Tumblr running in the background (whoops?)

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED SKELETON: Phthonos CHARACTER NAME: Ronan Avery-Greene AGE & GENDER: 24, cis male FACECLAIM: Henry Zaga, Xavier Serrano, Rome Flynn, Samuel Larsen, Keith Powers

BIOGRAPHY:

It would be easy to say Ronan came into this world screaming, tiny fists raised in the air and already angry at a world that pulled him too soon from the womb’s warm embrace. It would certainly paint a nice picture: Ronan, born screeching and bloody, living and dying much the same. Too nice, perhaps, that the Gods could not give it to him. That the Fates had something else in mind.

It is Eleanor, Ronan’s sister, twin, predetermined better half that comes first, with war and fight already beating in her chest. Ronan is second, one step behind and quarter of an hour later, Nora’s umbilical cord wrapped around his tiny neck.

And so Ronan enters the world like this: already choking where his sister could breathe.

Life before Camp Half-Blood is a blur of mediocrity. The three of them, Nora, Ronan, and their mother make a home northeast of Philadelphia. She’s a teacher, History. Nora takes up soccer and field hockey and swimming. Ronan tries his hand at baseball, but is asked not to return next season after he gives the coach’s son a black eye. Any questions of their father, posed mostly by Ronan, are met with mumbled excuses and hurried promises of when you’re older.

Their mother brings a man home when she thinks they’re asleep. A few months later she introduces him as her friend, David. When they get married, the twins take his name, too, because they’re twelve and despite the storm they summon to fight it get no say in the matter.

The blur comes to a halt. August 19th, 2007. Olivia Greene is born, beautiful and bright-eyed and human, though Ronan doesn’t know yet there’s a difference between what flows in his and his new sister’s veins. What he knows is that she becomes the centre of his mother’s world, and David’s, too, but attention directed away from them is little different than no attention at all. The Avery twins cease to exist in a Greene home.

Nora doesn’t pay it much mind. She’s thirteen now and full of rage. Ronan is, too, sometimes so much he swears the only thing he can see is red, burning red. But Nora has her friends and her sports, her schoolwork or boys to keep her busy. Ronan’s teachers have all but given up on him, and despite the anger that bubbles in his chest he still waits for his mother to tuck him in before bed. He doesn’t know yet what the call the hand that closes over his heart when his mother croons over Olivia’s first word, but fails to notice her son’s slipping grades, poor attendance, rising detention count. He doesn’t know that this is only the beginning, one step down a path that was laid out from conception.

He learns, though. They all pay attention when he puts his hand through the living room wall.

The doctor that bandages his knuckles has stern words and Ronan nods like he listens, but he can’t help the grin that spreads the next time he sees the damage. And again, the next morning, when it’s still there, or the morning after. A monument to his rage and pain and fury. In everyone’s faces, where they can’t brush him aside with not tonight’s and another time’s and your sister, your sister, your sister, so many times he feels like screaming.

David patches the wall, eventually. Paints it over until he can’t even see the seam. But now Ronan knows how it feels to ruin things: a little like fire, a little like ice. Mostly it feels like quiet, just for a second, before the pain hits, and that could almost be mistaken for bliss.

Nora found her fury years ago, but now Ronan has his, makes a home in it, and that’s when the monsters come. Because one is enough for attention, but two, intertwined and blazing, has their hunger. Nora notices they’re being followed first, of course she does. Ronan is always two steps behind, tissue pressed to his busted lip, papers spilling out of his open bag, lacrosse gear swinging wildly off his shoulder. But Nora sees what he doesn’t, grabs his arm, hushes him when he protests to being pulled down an unfamiliar side street.

As it turns out, their new English substitute did take a disliking to Ronan, but not for the reasons he expected.

Their satyr grabs them before anything else can, explains impossible things, gives Ronan more questions than answers. His eyes nearly big out of his head when he takes off his shoes. But Ronan’s body is braced for war and so he wants to fight, argue, shake his head until he can shake out everything the satyr’s said to them. As always, it’s Nora who has the clear head, Nora who dealt the fatal blow to the monster, Nora who decides to listen. And if Ronan could hear anything but the thump thump of his own heart, then maybe he’d realise it felt right. Because nothing except the impossible can explain what their substitute teacher became, and so it is the impossible they must accept.

Fate his kind, just this once, to Ronan and his sister. The house is empty when they arrive, Nora’s splintered softball bat and Ronan’s half-melted lacrosse stick ditched in the dumpster at the end of the street. They make haste, shove only what they can or need into a backpack each. Camp Half-Blood isn’t far, not really, but it still feels like an eternity before they reach the top of the hill, cold and bloody and shivering.

They’re claimed within the day. Well, Nora is, a daughter of Ares, but Ronan is her twin and so, by default, he must be, too. It feels right enough. It feels nice enough, to have a name to the rage that burns like acid in his veins. To have a reason. They make their home in cabin number five, sleep a full night for the first time in too long, are promised safety and training and answers in the morning. And they come, they do, in spades.

Ronan’s weapon becomes the spear, Nora’s the harpe, and together they are a force to be reckoned with. But it is Nora who deals the final blows, who captures the flags, who crosses the finish line, and each time she is lauded, praised, lifted on their shoulders as if weren’t Ronan who got her there. As if he hadn’t weakened their opponent, found the flag, cut down every chariot that came up behind them. He tries not to let the bitterness swell, tries so hard, but even his own victories aren’t met with the same vigour as Nora’s. Ronan wins, all the damn time, but he’s angry and ruthless and cruel, and so it is his sister who wears the crown.

She becomes cabin counselor. There is no other alternative. Ronan doesn’t dare challenge her, because she’s his sister, more than anyone else in their cabin, but more because he knows he’ll lose.

He does his best to ignore the way the crowd ripples when Chiron calls his name. Wills himself not to see the way their eyes swivel from Nora to him. He is not the favourite. He is trouble and dangerous, and hasn’t gotten anyone killed yet, but very nearly. It doesn’t quite fall away when he steps forward, but fades to a static. Because Chiron said his name, and because it can almost sound like his father saying it, too.

And that’s enough. It has to be enough, because if it isn’t, then what does he have left?

FATAL FLAW/DEFINING CHARACTERISTIC:

Envy has always been something of a double-edged sword for Ronan; equal parts incentive and obstacle. It’s envy that pits him against his sister, his twin, his partner fused in the womb. It’s envy that keeps him at the arena until the sun is long set, until sweat pours off him, until his palms are raw and bloody. It’s envy that has him running first into battle, always, because when Nora does it she’s praised but when he does he’s brash and careless. Envy is, truly, at the root of all action, whether Ronan knows it or not.

(He doesn’t, he’s never had the wherewithal to stop and consider, even for a moment, why he behaves the way he does; he fights and he ruins and he hates and he seethes because they’re the only things he knows how to do.)

It’s envy that will make him pick up the spear, jump to action, be a hero, maybe. It’s envy that will make him take the wrong step, move a second too late, catch the wrong side of a monster’s swinging fist. Because he’ll see Ambitio, or Dyspistia, or Honos, and think: I can do that too, and better. I will have what they have, finally. Equally, it’s envy that will paralyse him, stop his fighting heart, turn his muscles to stone. It’s envy that will make him think too hard, for too long, turn desire into obsession, miss his mark, kill his friends, kill the world.

Ronan does something because of envy, or he doesn’t do anything at all. It’s all the same, in the end.

EXTRAS

blog tag // moodboard // pinterest

CONNECTIONS, EXISTING (or expanded)

Anasfaleia: Ronan has met plenty of people who don’t like him. It’s in his nature to abrade, antagonise, rile up; the only true gift he considers from his father. His instinctual response has always been to dislike them back. But herein lies the issue: he doesn’t dislike Anasfaleia. Maybe he’s lacking in some respect for them, which he doesn’t feel is unwarranted, but he thinks of all the Greeks aboard the argo he might even like them the most – though that says little when he measures in relative distaste. Still, something familiar flickers in them, and the fact that they’ve rebuffed every attempt at connection only beckons him more. Kindness has always felt clunky on his tongue, strange and unfamiliar. It’s clear, by contrast, that Anasfaleia is unfamiliar with the Ares way of affection – or at least liking. But he also knows that only pushing them further to the edge of the cliff is a sure way down to destruction. He just needs to come to terms with his own actions and, gods forbid, their consequences.

Ambitio: When Ronan is at a loss for how to express himself he becomes cruel. It’s a learned response, because anger is loud and kindness is quiet and because he feels, so he wants others to feel in return. It’s childish, and immature, and a thousand other things Ronan hasn’t stopped to consider, but still he persists. With Laurel it is amplified tenfold. He feels everything, can do nothing, and so he seethes. Quietly, at first, until it isn’t. And then it is loud, burning and raging and filed down to a point. He doesn’t yet know how to get under her skin, how to garner the response he’s looking for, but he’ll keep trying. Eventually, something has to stick. One of his jabs will land, because he’s never known how to relinquish anything, especially pain, and when he does it will likely bring disaster raining on all of them.

Dyspistia: War and strategy, Ronan’s heard the mantra, had it drilled into him from his very first capture the flag. He knows Dyspistia would rather Nora be aboard than him; they’ve not exactly been quiet about it. He wants to prove them wrong, Dyspistia and everyone who dared whisper when he was chosen. He’s meant to be there, he’s earned this right. What has Dyspistia done to be chosen? What accolades have they been passed over for? But Ronan is self-destructive, and maybe he wants to prove them a little right, too. Maybe that’s why he buries his spear in the side of the ship, why he mouths off, antagonises the most volatile of the Romans, why he acts without fear of consequence. Because Dyspistia is right; Ronan is the wrong twin, always has been, and his refusal to cooperate with what should be his better half aboard the Argo II is just one more nail in the coffin he’s built for himself.

Pacis: It’s not the first time someone has tried to make peace with him. But Ronan has war and wolves howling in his veins, chariots pounding in his heart. He has never known peace, likely never will. Those who extend the olive branch only end up getting burned. He understands this quest is bigger than him, bigger than even the Greeks, he does, honest to gods. But his mind is so easily clouded, his gaze so easily distracted. More so, Ronan is suspicious. The Romans are never what they present themselves to be, and though Pacis’ attempt at bridging the gap between camps seems nice enough, Ronan keeps looking for the snake in the grass. He cannot, for the life of him, fathom how someone trained in battle for so many years of their life can be so kind, simply because Ronan has only known it to be weakness, and it leaves him dubious. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, so sure it will.

CONNECTIONS, POTENTIAL

Agapi: Hunters of Artemis are never permanent fixtures in Camp Half-Blood, but when they do visit Ronan is sure to give them a wide berth. Just once, he turns away from the conflict rather than towards it. He knows he’s everything the Hunters are bred to hate, and so when Agapi is chosen beside him he’s already braced for impact. But, maybe, a hunter and soldier aren’t so different, and Ronan has always been a wild thing, so it’s possible he’s been too hasty. They don’t take a liking to each other, but that’s hardly out of character. Still, the age behind their eyes intrigues him. He sees them watching the Romans, but can’t discern if it’s with hate, which he knows, envy, which he knows, or something else entirely.

Amarus: Another Roman who scorns the gods. Is Ronan missing something? Is there some great secret they haven’t let the Greeks in on? Half of him knows already, really. Half of him understands Amarus, because what have the gods given him except a gaping hole? A void he’s forced to fill with violence and anger and pleas that fall on deaf ears. But half of him scorns Amarus right back, because what would they – any of them, all of them – be without the gods? Self-made heroes? What a farce. Something bitter twists in Ronan’s stomach when he looks at them. If he were crueler, he might say they’re only there to be the ship’s lucky charm, but surely even he isn’t so cold-hearted, right?

Anisychia: Ronan has never known them to be timid, or skittish, or anything except overwhelmingly kind. They might’ve even been a friend, once, between bandaging his bruised knuckles and patching up black eyes, if Ronan hadn’t found a gift for ruination, for spoiling all things sweet that came his way. But he knows this: something fundamental shifted in the throne room. He can’t even begin to fathom what Apollo might have given them, as all gifts the Gods grant their children are laced equal parts with poison, but he clutches his spear tighter every night. Thankfully, the Argo II leaves little room to hide, and if Anisychia insists on keeping this secret to themselves, they’ll soon have Ronan biting at their heels.

Apatheia: Of all the things Ronan has been burdened with, or otherwise hoisted upon himself, death is not one of them, and for that, perhaps, he is fortunate. But he is still a victim of the crowd, a follower of trends, and for all the summers and years he’s shared with Apatheia at Camp Half-Blood, he’s given them a wide berth through each one. Who wouldn’t, he thinks, with their sunken eyes and raised hackles, always looking like something backed into a corner. They scare some campers, unnerve others. Ronan simply stayed away because everyone did. But the Argo II leaves little room for escape, and Ronan finds himself forced to reconsider: are war and death really so different, after all?

Culpa: Cursed, they say, and Ronan wants to laugh. He looks at her and sees nothing but profound sadness – an emotion unfamiliar on a Roman’s face, but something he knows well enough. If Ivy thinks she’s the one to bring dishonour and disaster to the Argo II, she hasn’t met Ronan, the Least Glorious Child of Ares. Surely no bad luck or ill fate can compare to Ronan’s profound mediocrity, the highest disgrace in his father’s eyes. He wants to spit at her, you know nothing of failure, of fighting for everything only to get nothing in return but scorn and disregard. But Ronan knows better than that. Still, something about her beckons him, like a bruise; to touch, to press, to see where all the hurt is.

Cynici: Envy blossoms in his chest again, this time a different shade. How Ronan wishes he could cast off the shackles of his father, feel resentment or hatred, or Gods even indifference, instead of despair. But he can’t, and he doesn’t, and he hates Cynici all the more for making it look so easy. They despise their godly parent, Ronan thinks, maybe because he’s looking for it, or maybe because violence and anger are the only things he knows how to recognise anymore. He wants to ask how they do it; how they stopped begging, if they ever did, how they learned to live with the burden, if they ever felt one, but that would require a moment alone and a shred of trust, both of which Ronan is lacking.

Honos: Hero, the Romans whisper, as if it’s already decided. He can’t say they look like much, but if appearances were the sole factor determining glory then surely Ronan would be suffocating in it by now. As it stands, he doesn’t know what to make of Honos. Half of him wants to believe they were only chosen for their legacy, because he is, at his core, insecure and yearning for a kindred spirit. But he’s not blind to the way greatness wraps itself around their shoulders like a shroud – or perhaps it’s simply duty he sees; they look so similar to Ronan these days. Regardless, he treads carefully around Honos, watches when he thinks they aren’t looking, waits, but what for he doesn’t yet know.

Othisi: Ronan struggles to feel little more than contempt for the Hermes cabin, and they are no exception. They take nothing seriously, where Ronan takes everything, and Gods help them if they come within sight of his spear. He knows, he knows, the Greeks need a united front if they’re to have any hope against the Romans, but it seems like everything Othisi does is purposely designed to set him off. The cheeky smirks, quick hands, half-truths, each crafted to slip under his skin. Ronan knows he’s not that special, really, but he can’t help the anxiety that builds every time they’re in the room. The only good Othisi has ever done is give Ronan and Dyspistia something to agree on, but perhaps that is a feat all on its own.

Superbia: If Ronan hadn’t been in the room himself, he scarcely would’ve believed Superbia of all people was a chosen hero. Everything about them drips opulence, and though Ronan knows little of quests or glory, he knows battle, he knows war, and decadence has little place in either; sooner would it get you killed than bring you victory. He’s convinced Superbia will stick out like a sore thumb, if only because he fails to see their use. Bacchus is not a warrior god, and in turn has not made a warrior child. It’s likely that Ronan’s own hubris clouds any perceived threat, but perhaps that’s for the better. Of all the Romans on board the Argo II, Ronan can find the fewest reasons to hate them.

[whichie]

Smile, Baby Ch. 1

summary: Adam Parrish has always been a happy child. Correction, Adam Parrish has always seemed like a happy child. In truth, he was miserable all the time, forced to smile and laugh through the pain no one else could see. When he was a baby Robert Parrish had sold his son’s misery to the witches in Fox Way for money that he later used to further his gambling addiction, instead of food for his wife and newborn child. What the witches did with Adam’s misery he didn’t know, but Adam was cursed with eternal happiness, and there was nothing he wouldn't do to break it. 

Ronan Lynch was once surrounded by love. His mother and father had had three boys, two magical, one not. Their family was a mystical one, something the villagers of Henrietta might say. Mystical. Because though the Lynch family has owned the forest known as Cabeswater for as long as anyone can remember, the family themselves have always been a mystery to them. They knew that for all it’s looks Cabeswater is more than just an ordinary forest. They knew the Lynches were more than just an ordinary family.

a/n: whoooooo! i finally finished chapter one!!!! i hope yall enjoy this au that i poured my heart and soul into, also i don't have a beta so sorry for any errors you might find :/

read it on ao3

Adam Parrish is annoyed. He’s angry. He’s ready to throw his hammer at Boyd’s head just to get him to shut up.

He doesn't do that, because Adam needs this job to pay for school, and if that means working for someone who he can't stand, then he will. Adam thinks Boyd would be a pleasant person to be around for anybody else, he’s not very demanding, he lets him take breaks, and he pays better than a blacksmith should be able to. For anybody else, he’s golden. Key word, anybody else.

 Anyone but Adam, that’s a good summary of his life. Anyone but Adam can afford to go to Aglionby, anyone but Adam can can go to that festival that’s happening because they don't have work to do, anyone but Adam can tell people to fuck off and scream in their faces. Anyone but Adam can tolerate Boyd when he’s in a talkative mood.

“...and so because of those witches, my mother thinks she’s going to meet some handsome fellow soon. That damn woman believing in all that voodoo, it’s not good for her health. And i said to her that no fellow is going to sweep her off her feet at eighty two…”

Adam tuned Boyd out and continued to work on the sword some fancy lord commissioned for his spoiled son that no doubt has a million other swords. It’s fucking grueling.

When the forge closed down for the day Adam walked as slowly home as he could get away with, he wanted to delay whatever beatings his father had in mind for him as long as possible. Instead, he thought of how much homework he needs to do tonight, and how he’s not looking forward to any of it. Adam is tired, he’s angry and tired and all he can show for it is a smile that’s perpetually on his face.

Everyone in town thinks Adam’s the sweetest kid around, they say what a nice boy and that Parish kid, always smiling, when they don't know that underneath the mask Adam is screaming at them to shut up, stop talking about him like they know him. Adam parish is unknowable.

When he entered the small, run down cottage him and his parents live in, he immediately knows that he won’t be able to quietly slip into his room unnoticed. His father has been to the inn close by tonight, no doubt drowning in ale and gambling his life away.

He sees his father at the kitchen table with his mother somberly knitting next to him. “What are you smiling at kid? What, is your life at that snooty school so great you came to rub it in?”

Adam wanted to scream, he hates that phrase. What are you smiling at? His father knows what Adam’s smiling at. Absolutely nothing. 

Robert Parrish was on his feet and in front of Adam in no time, he could see his mother in the corner of his eye, staring intently at her needles while her hands stayed stone still.

“Do you think you’re better than me? I feed you, I clothe you. Who’s roof do you sleep under every night, huh?” by now Robert has Adam by the front of his shirt, tangling his fist in Adam’s hair and pulling. “Ungrateful little shit.”

Adam was pushed on the floor and so many words are bubbling up to the surface now. He wanted to cry, he wanted to punch, he wanted to yell and fight back and say look what you did, this is your fault, you no good gambling drunk- 

The words caught in his throat, like they always do, so close to the surface he feels like he’s going to explode with the force of it.

Adam doesn't say anything. He smiles and smiles through every punch his father gives him, and when it's over he limps to his room and wishes he could cry.

Aglionby Academy is where rich kids go to fuck around and spend their parent’s money, it’s where Richard Campbell Gansey III sits on his throne, and it’s the closest thing Adam has to a home. How pathetic.

Richard Gansey is the most confusing person he has ever met. He’s a king within the walls of the academy, everyone knows him, everyone loves him, and yet Adam has never seen Gansey be rude to a single person. He’s constantly trying to befriend Adam, which is the most confusing thing of all, and is the only person Adam has ever met that can stand Ronan Lynch’s bullshit.

Ronan, on his part, doesn't seem to acknowledge Adam’s existence at all, which is fine by him. Adam doesn’t want the validation of another self entitled rich boy.

He also has heard of the things the villagers in town say about Ronan and his family, how they're a bunch of magic users that take people into their forest and kill them. Adam thinks it’s a bunch of shit that the housewives tell their children so that they don't wander into the woods and get hurt, but he also can't help but wonder if it’s actually true. Ronan’s attitude certainly hasn't helped lift the rumors, quite the opposite in fact.

Adam was walking into the academy when he first heard it, the sounds of rustling leaves like whispers. He looked around to see if anyone was messing with him, but all of the kids were going about their business as usual. He turned to go back inside, but the thought wouldn't leave him that there were no trees this deep into town.

The next time it happened Adam was in class, it was harder to brush it off this time since he wasn't outdoors where the wind would naturally blow. He paused in what he was writing to listen more carefully, and he swears he could almost hear words being spoken along with the rustling. He chalked it up to not getting enough sleep, and then went back to his paper.

He was in Boyd’s forge next when he heard the distinct sound of whispers in Latin mixed with leaves blowing in the wind. Or maybe the whispers were the leaves rustling, Adam couldn’t quite tell.

He can now distinctly make out a couple of words here and there, but nothing he could use to make sense of it all. It also wasn't as easy to ignore now than it was earlier in the day, and he found himself almost burning his fingers off on the hot metals he’s working with.

Boyd seemed to notice how distracted he was, and told Adam to leave early, “I won’t be having you mess up an order just because you’re head’s in the clouds.”

He tried to protest, say that he was fine to work, but Boyd wasn't having any of it, and he eventually left the forge before it was even nightfall.

On his way home, the whispers and rustling grew louder and louder, until he could make out what was being said.

Come this way, follow me.

And now Adam was seriously doubting his mental health, he must be having delusions because of the stress. Why else would he be hearing things that he shouldn't possibly be hearing?

Come to the woods, follow the line.

And it seemed like it should be the craziest thing ever, to just listen to the voice in his head to go into a creepy forest by himself, but in the moment it wasn't all that ridiculous. He could see a faint blue glow of something on the ground going in the direction of the tree line, and before his brain could even register it, he was moving.

Distantly, he wonders how his father would react when he will no doubt be coming home late. He wonders if his father will even notice, or be conscious at all for that matter, to see Adam sneaking in through the only door.

He stopped when he reached the trees, sudden trepidation was crawling into his chest. This is private property, and Adam is going to just waltz right in.

His caution didn't last long when a strong breeze tore through the forest and caused the trees to move unnaturally, like they're reaching out for him encouragingly, and not in the creepy way that he would have expected.

He slowly put one foot forward, and when someone didn't pop out from behind a bush to cart him off to the jail for trespassing, he continued on.

The setting sun was casting a soft light onto the canopy above him, and Adam walked with a look of awe on his face. The deeper he went the bigger, twistier, and older the trees got, like if he went far enough he could find the grandfather tree of them all.

The blue line that he’s been following has been getting more and more visible the farther he walks, and it suddenly disappeared when he entered a clearing that could be nothing other than a farm.

Standing in front of the sprawling farmhouse was none other than Ronan Lynch himself with an uncharacteristic look of  anticipation and nervousness, and when he noticed Adam approaching, he huffed out a bewildered laugh and looked up into the tops of the trees.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”