#this took so long because i was determined to draw Every Orphan

[necronatural]

This started out as a Dieci Verdante AU relationship chart but pretty quick I ran out of relationships because Dante is a friendless sadsack so I just put everyone in there

[katastronoot]

Friday Kiss Tag Game

Tagged by: @hannahcbrown thanks friend!

Tagging: @wispstalk @boethiahspillowbook @friend-of-giants and anyone else who wants to do it. This is so sweet

Rules: post a smooch between your OCs for Friday. It can be as light as a peck or as intense as a makeout. It can be romantic or platonic or familial. As long as a smooch takes place it’s free reign!

I thought about drawing something but I haven’t written anything for Baurus and Frieda yet. I planned on making it short and sweet but then 1200 words later here I am haha

••••••••

Strength.

She had always needed strength.

The moment she lost her parents and became orphaned on the streets of Anvil, she wished for strength. Pleaded for it. Prayed to the gods—the gods who were but just a whisper in the wind. They never really made their intentions clear. They weren’t listening to her prayers, couldn’t have been.

Because strength.

It never came to her when she needed it most.

Frieda’s gaze focused on the warm amber candle light flickering against the back wall of the washroom. It shifted the drab temple walls to those shades of warmer orangey hues complementing the deep red imperial banners that hung the walls. Her body was finally getting adjusted to the heat of the water that surrounded her, she could feel the stress of her endeavors begin to fade. With an exhale of breath she closed her eyes, trying to imagine that same flame from her candle. It took more self-control than she wanted to push away the visions of fiery hells that she journeyed through in the day prior. It was unavoidable.

Her waking hours were spent in the plane as well as her nights. She dreamt of that place.

Her own place. Her own piece.

Oblivion.

•••

He hadn’t seen her come back to the temple that night.

Martin was spending every waking hour studying the texts. He was on duty and was determined to never leave the emperor's side. He couldn’t let it happen again.

It was Jauffrey that gave him the order to get some rest. He would have denied it and stood guarding the door until his feet ached and he succumbed to over exhaustion. But, Frieda.

Frieda might just be the one reason why he would step away.

And he hadn’t seen her come home.

Most of his brethren, the other blades were retired for the night. It was late. The halls of the temple were quiet, only echoing each solid footstep he took. After hearing word that their hero came in but just a moment ago—soaking wet and hobbling down to the quarters—he took great stride to reach her.

Who knew what kind of torment she went through.

He did not find her sleeping in her cot and the rain pounding on the roof told him that she was not camping under the stars. He knocked on the door to the baths. No answer but a crackle of thunder shuddering from above. However, warmth was peeking through the cracks in the doorframe.

“Frieda.” He called softly but firmly. His eyes took in the sight. A sight that he has seen one too many times.

Her bare form was slumped in the bath. Articles of bloodied armor and underthings scattered the stone floor. The smell of incense and soap invaded his senses. It would have been pleasant if it weren’t for how dark the bath water had turned.

Crimson.

He approached her, chest rising and falling heavy. His skin touched hers and he felt her pulse beating at ease. He took a breath.

“Frieda, wake up.” He nudged her shoulder before taking a seat on the floor, an arm resting on the tub. Her eyes were rolling side to side behind her lids. Spasms and jolted movements struck through her joints as hushed whimpers escaped plush lips. She must have been having another one of those dreams. Those nightmares.

His gaze examined her body—riddled with cuts and purple marks. The dips and curves in her beautiful form were beginning to flatten. When was the last time she had a proper meal?

He cursed at her state.

For one so experienced in the art of restoration, she never conserved enough energy to heal herself.

•••

Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of a voice.

Baurus.

Frieda took a deep breath calming the race of her beating heart. She didn't startle so easily back then. She was so much more composed. But, sending her soul into the madness of oblivion every day does provoke change.

Her eyes met his dark brown. Soft.

“How long was I out?” The hoarseness in her voice made her grimace.

“Not sure. I noticed you did not come in and as soon as I could I went looking for you… Frieda. Look at you.”

She couldn’t help but smirk at the mother-hen tone to his voice. He was just that. Always so caring and kind.

“I am still breathing, aren’t I? My limbs are all in place. I seem quite alright.”

He looked down upon her. His build still held above her even at the angle. She took notice of the furrow in his dark brow, its creases painted with concern. Someone with such duty should not worry about one such as her.

“Baurus, truly—“ her vision tore away from his to the sight of her pale skin against the tinged water. More and more marks. More that would become scars serving as constant reminders of her place in this war. Constant storytellers painted along her flesh. A wrenching sensation washed through her stomach.

“—I’m fine.”

“Have you eaten?”

She shrugged, “I had a meal this morning.”

He let out a sigh, “Would you like me to bring you something?” His voice was quiet. She looked up into his eyes—not wanting his warmth to leave her.

“Please, stay.” Her tone cracked as she placed her palm against his skin.

“I’m not ready to be alone again.”

His body shifted closer. She could feel the heat from his skin against hers that had begun to chill from the cold bath water.

“How is Martin?” She asked with intent to distract herself from her state.

Baurus shook his head, “He has been working hard. I don’t think I even saw him blink his eyes today. He’s pushing himself to the point—“ his voice took a pause and he exhaled. “You need to rest. Both of you. Just take a moment for yourself and breathe. Please. I am tired of seeing you suffer.”

“We both have a duty…I can’t rest. You know this.”

He felt her hand grip his wrist. As he looked down into her eyes he was able to see through the darkness that pooled beneath her eyelids. Her beautiful heterochromatic eyes that glimmered in blues and greens. He saw her beauty through her misery.

What he would give to take it away from her.

“You are strong, Frieda. You will fight this battle and remain successful as you are every day. In years to come we will look back on this as just a small feat in our lives full of many.”

Her fingertips brushed along his arm, pulling him in closer towards her. All of her attention pooled to the words that he spoke.

“I am here for you. I always will be. For you, for Martin. I am here and I do not intend on going anywhere.”

His voice grew softer, “you are not alone anymore.”

She smiled through the wetness that formed against her eyes. With a gentle tug on the linen of his tunic, he yelped as she nearly pulled him into the cool water with her.

The delicate skin of his lips met hers in an embrace. It was not forceful. Not lustful—but tender and comforting. They both needed this. A release of emotion in an act of intimacy. Being both on duty at the temple never allowed for much opportunity to show their affection.

This kiss was one of many to come, even if she had to wait far in between.

His lips parted hers. Deep brown gazing into two orbs—one of blue and one of green.

She knew at that moment that he was the one thing she never thought she could have.

Her strength.

[inukag-archive]

star wars au?

Hello, Anon! While we as a fandom love Star Wars AU's as a concept, unfortunately, there isn't a lot of fleshed-out fanfiction featuring InuKag as the main pairing. We've listed a few below, along with some Space/Star Wars Adjacent fics and hope you'll find something you love. Happy Reading! 💓

[Star Wars AU]

Irredeemable by @boflicker & @anisaanisa (M)

Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, an orphaned scavenger uncovers a lost relic buried in the sands of Jakku. Thrust into a great war that threatens to destroy everything, he must choose: run from his destiny or face his greatest foe, the infamous leader of the First Order.

But Inuyasha quickly learns war is not as simple as good versus evil, and buried below every mask lives secrets untold.

--

Star Wars AU - Ep.1 by @sankontesu (Not Rated)

 Sleep was not something Inuyasha was familiar with for long.

--

[Space AU]

Kairos by @witchygirl99 (T)

The demon was trying to claw her open.

Closing her eyes, Kagome took a risk. She slammed her hand into the side of its head and whispered, “Sleep.” Her will was strong, vibrant, pulsating in the air. It took one second for the demon to sway, and Kagome unwrapped herself just in time for it to collapse to the ground. She breathed in deep and centred herself, drawing her will back into hiding.

But when she looked up, Inuyasha Taisho was already there.

Even through the visor, he looked absolutely murderous.

--

Aurum Orbis by @boflicker (E)

“Have—have you seen anything like this??”

A lithe figure bent, squinting as she brushed along a golden round plaque.

“Never,” grunted another crouching beside her, their helmets carelessly floating along an impromptu cargo bay, stacked heavily with metal scraps of broken ships.

Wide Mahogany eyes met gold.

“Is this alien?”

--

No Defense by @dawnrider (E)

A new world, a new life. Kagome is working to homestead her land on the relatively new human colony on Terra. Far from Earth, alone, she is determined to build the life her father wanted for her family. Kagome thought she was ready to meet new races from planets she had never even heard of yet. She was not ready for a silver haired, golden eyed, fanged man to pop up unexpectedly on the edge of her land.

--

Objects in Space by @elkonigin (T)

“This is Captain Higurashi of the Alliance ship, Shin-ryoku, and I think--I think something terrible has happened.”

--

A Heart's Abduction by @lemonlushff (E)

She was a normal girl. She had a normal life. Some might have even called it boring. That was until she was hit over the head and woke up dazed and confused on an alien spaceship. Now she's the key to helping the Inu Youkai win an intergalactic war…whether she's dead or alive.

--

Final Frontier by @ruddcatha (M)

The year is 2376. Inuyasha Taisho has been reassigned as the new Tactical Officer to the USS Nobunaga under... Captain Sesshomaru? Join to see how the members of the Inuyasha Crew will handle a long term science and exploration mission as it takes a darker and more dangerous turn. (on hiatus)

--

[Star Wars Adjacent]

The Hidden Hanyō by @fawn-eyed-girl (E)

Higurashi Kagome is the best bounty hunter in Musashi. She takes job after job after job, all in order to help pay off her family's debt.

So when her boss, Miroku, tells her that there's a bounty that would wipe out her debt, she jumps at the chance. Even though Miroku says she shouldn't take the job.

Because the job is for a mysterious and dangerous yōkai, who is searching for a hanyō who went missing fifty years ago.

A hanyō that, it turns out, only Higurashi Kagome can find. Because the hanyō is Kagome's soulmate.

So now, Kagome is faced with an impossible choice: turn him in, collect the bounty, and save her family... Or take him and run.

Which will she choose?

[ladyfawkes]

Eugene Appreciation Week | Day 6: Protect and Sacrifice

Desiderium by @Ladyfawkes and @trekkiehood

Current Chapter 10: Never Surrender

Current word count: 18868

Rated T for graphic descriptions of violence, physical torment, events during a POW setting

Chapter Summary: For the first time since being attacked and abducted, Eugene wakes up.

Chapter 10: Never Surrender

The first time Eugene awoke, he had been turned on his side. Someone had placed the tapered part of a large syringe in his mouth. He gagged on the warm stream of saltwater being actively injected and immediately began vomiting, which in turn yanked and pulled and twisted up all of the severed and injured muscles and tissues just below and to the right of his stomach. It felt as if his guts were on fire and actively trying to push themselves out of the wounds that cursed sword had given him. He tried to bring his arms down to fold them around his wound in front but he’d found his wrists were tightly bound with ropes instead.

“It huuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrts,” he howled mournfully, in earshot of whomever was near. Or at least he would’ve howled, had his cry not cut out halfway through. Only then did he realize how stupid he was to have used his voice. Instantly, he became so drained he started shaking. For he not only unwittingly revealed this weakness to his enemy, the action induced Eugene to use the most injured, raw parts of himself. His reaction, however, had at least been visceral, instinctive, and utterly involuntary; he had no control over it. However, if Eugene thought he’d felt nausea and pain before, that was almost nothing compared to how he’d felt in the here and now.

After Eugene had fallen unconscious, he’d clearly and repeatedly aspirated what little stomach contents he possessed into his lungs and sinuses. A pained groan escaped him regardless; His raw throat and sinuses pulsed with a dull throb in the back of his head every time he tried drawing a breath.

“Believe it or not, I am trying to help,” said a tiny voice beside him. “Sometimes, though, it’s gotta get worse before it can feel better,” continued the voice. Gradually, Eugene’s top half was raised at an angle. The old cloth beneath him soaked with blood and vomit was removed and replaced; the fresh one was folded over several times and placed underneath his nose, mouth, chin, and neck. He was still on his side but was given a bolster to put under his ear and top half of his head as further support at this new elevated angle. His shaking slowed slightly. However, in the back of his mind, Eugene still recalled how precarious was his position. Therefore he could not bring himself to trust this mystery medical person. The captain was still bound at the wrists and ankles, after all. He assumed his boots were long gone. There was no way they’d leave footwear accessible for a prisoner -- especially not one they’d have no intention of ever releasing.

Rather than finding any comfort in what had just been said or done by this funny-voiced person, Eugene stiffened as the syringe wielder injected even more saltwater into each nostril. Though Eugene still choked, coughed, and gagged very violently, the entry-and-exit wounds through his midsection were simultaneously given moderate compression from either side until he’d cleared out the last of the salt water. The compression action alone had diminished his pain, nausea, and the nasty sensation that his guts were spilling out by about 30%. And he didn’t throw up again either. For the time being.

“I would cut your bindings, as they’re so useless and even cumbersome,” mumbled the voice, “but Regis would have us both hanged immediately….” Though Eugene struggled valiantly and tried to become an active information-gatherer like his training demanded, nothing proved to him that he was too far out of his element more than the traumas of this particular interaction. Even his own weakness shocked him. Though the name “Regis” had instantaneously provoked distinct emotions from within.

The mystery person again mopped up Eugene’s face from the deluge of saltwater. “I know that was awful,” commiserated the individual, “but I’m betting your throat and sinuses are no longer killing you. That it’s much less painful to breathe, at least from your neck up?”

Eugene said nothing….and only scowled until he did gingerly test breathing…. and it was indeed far easier and less painful now that the aspirated stomach acid had been cleared away. Buuuuuut he had this permanent stitch now, this ache below his right lung….Eugene seriously wondered whether he would ever breathe deeply again.

“Well, that’s all right, playin’ possum,” said the voice. Can’t say as I blame you, nosiree, captain in the enemy camp and all….” and the person bustled about, chattering aloud to Eugene but mostly to himself. “Oh, and my name is Clarence, my designation here is ‘apothecary’, although my duties compass a great deal more.” Was it just Eugene, or did ‘Clarence’ sound a little bitter? Could this be a rift Eugene could press to his advantage? “This possum skill is good,” the Clarence person rejoined, “because the more ill and unconscious you are, the more put-off Regis will be…..I know since he already walked away once due to being so disgusted by the state of you. You were supposed to have been brought whole and unharmed….and Javeen, Regis’s 2nd, truly learned to regret his actions.”

Eugene’s shivering persisted and worsened although it was clearly a warm day outside. He had no earthly idea how much time had passed since he was first abducted nor how long it had been that he’d worn anything from the waist up due to being stripped down by...Javeen, was it? He guesstimated it had been at least two days since he’d eaten or drank anything...but it felt more like 6 or 7 days because of his injuries. As an orphan, Eugene knew well the ravages of starvation. He’d faced it many times as a child and youth and young adult. And this was….not like that. At all. It was infinitely worse.

Though this small apothecary minding Eugene clearly couldn’t match him in size, he removed and shared his tunic nonetheless. Or at least he attempted to share. “I’ve got on several layers,” mumbled the little man….

“Curse it,” the apothecary finished, as he realized Eugene couldn’t possibly be dressed in normal clothing while still bound at the wrists. And a few seconds later, very abruptly, Eugene’s wrists were blissfully cut free of the ropes that had bound him.

In another wholly involuntary action, Eugene automatically turned from his side to his back, his arms fully separating so his chest could expand and he could breathe in the air his oxygen-deprived body so desperately needed.

The apothecary seemed to have anticipated his needs and again gave Eugene compression so as to minimize the sensation his guts were falling out as he greedily sucked in more and more shuddering lungfuls of air. “Oh deary dear, no wonder that was so difficult for you,” the little apothecary fretted. “Broad chests and large arms do not do well for one’s lung capacity when they’re all mashed together. I can’t imagine Adonais himself could handle his wrists being bound in such a way….”

Breathing in as if it were going out of style was exquisitely painful but this pain was also infinitely worth it. Then Eugene coughed and….it was chunky style, i.e. some of the leftover goodies the syringe hadn’t been able to remove earlier. He turned his head to the side and spat it out. “Good!” said the apothecary. “That’s even better than you getting more air. We need you to cough up all of that junk. And breathe as deep as you can, at all times, even when it hurts.”

Unexpectedly Clarence seized Eugene’s hand and placed it around the cushion he’d been using. “Anytime you need to sneeze, cough, or what-have-you, press the cushion against your midsection. It will help a little. Regis’ll just have to hang me then, he can’t very well have me heal you if you’re gonna go off and die of aspiration pneumonia, nosiree…..”

Heal me in order to hurt me, ugh, thought Eugene. Talk about mixed signals. Now that he was laying on his back, Eugene’s head near the base of his skull started throbbing with the renewed pressure. In spite of himself, Eugene reached up with his left hand and felt the back of his scalp.

Clarence continued bustling about. It was registering through Eugene’s pain-haze that this is the same apothecary that had just given him full use of his hands. Even handed him a projectile. Maybe this guy isn’t what he seems? Eugene considered. Nope. NO. Don’t get lulled by a false sense of security. Considering his wounds and the fact his ankles were still bound, Eugene was basically still immobile anyway, even with full use of his hands and arms. Well, almost full use. If he moved his right arm in a certain way, it tugged all the way down to his worst wound and made him see twinkly pain stars in front of his vision. He determined to keep that arm closer toward him at all times to avoid triggering that horrible lightning twinge. And this meant he couldn’t reach down far enough to slip the ropes off his ankles even if he’d tried. Eugene realized the physician knew exactly what he was talking about by deeming the binds “useless”. His prisoner was going nowhere and this little man knew it.

The physician (Eugene had already substituted ‘apothecary’ in his mind) took note of Eugene’s movements. “Ah yes, I see you’ve discovered the other little 'present' Javeen and his men left for you: that nasty goose egg on the back of your head. I advise against making any more sudden movements? I’d hate to see you vomit again.” Fanfriggentastic. Here was yet another thing that explained to Eugene why he was in such rough shape….Javeen’s men had brained him earlier. Although he couldn’t recall when it happened along with why he’d felt so beat-up and bruised all over, everywhere….those things were still a mystery to him.

The physician did his best to dress Eugene in the too-small tunic of his. Again, he apologized -- APOLOGIZED!! -- for it having been all he’d had on-hand. Ill-fitting though it was, Eugene had finally stopped shivering. Once again, Eugene found second thoughts about this strange little man creeping into his consciousness. Next, the physician had grabbed what looked like a Coronian saddle blanket and draped it around Eugene’s shoulders, offering another layer of warmth. It finally caught up to him regarding what that meant; the physician had handily kept him from slipping fully into shock.

He’d also made dang sure that Eugene could breathe as well as could be expected…..by cutting his binds….and whatever that syringe debacle was…..although the process itself was nightmare-ish, it couldn't be denied that everything had worked as intended. Sometimes things have to get worse before they can feel better. Not to mention the man had gone out of his way to ease Eugene’s pain with that cushion compression trick. Already Clarence had engaged in at least two things that were probably directly against protocol by doing just a tiny bit more than the bare minimum.

Clarence steepled his hands and considered Eugene’s positioning. “I’m gonna need better access to that wound on your back,” he said. “Don’t use any of your own power to help me turn you; I’ll do all of the work. Is that clear?”

Eugene shrank a little at such intense scrutiny paired with the direct order….yet said nothing. It was the most demanding Clarence had been thus far. The apothecary sighed shortly, clearly not taking silence for an answer this time.

“I mean it, Mr. Tough Guy. This is one instance where you must be like a living ragdoll and let me do all the rest. Do you think you can handle that?” Clarence paused briefly, appearing to consider something. Eugene simply stared at him. “You can communicate by whispering. Actual whispering, not sotto voce style. It requires far less lung capacity and is unlikely to cause much pain. I say again, do you think you can trust me? Because if you try to ‘help’ even a little, you could cause those wounds to push outside what’s meant to remain inside.”

“Yes,” Eugene whispered without hesitation. He didn’t know exactly what it was about this interesting apothecary that elicited his trust. And then it occurred to him as Clarence very slowly turned his patient's legs to his left side, encouraging Eugene to breathe through the pain: Clarence cares.

Not to mention….Clarence was right; whispering barely hurt Eugene at all….in complete opposition to when he’d shouted earlier upon first waking.

When Clarence went to turn Eugene from right to left by grabbing his right arm, however, they ran into a semi-unexpected snag. This arm, it appeared, could not be pulled...lest it trigger that nasty stitch Eugene had experienced earlier. So the apothecary took the saddle blanket and refashioned it into a type of jacket-sling so Eugene’s right arm was held secure against his chest; now his patient didn’t have to worry about his right arm being at the mercy of whatever gravity felt like doing with it.

With his free arm, Eugene lightly held the cushion against his gut. Then Clarence managed to carefully and successfully roll Eugene’s upper half onto his left side without any additional complications. Eugene was allowed to rest after all the additional activity. His side without the wounds was naturally far more stable and for the first time since awakening, the mere act of breathing didn’t make him wanna pass out from too much pain. Although it was still comparably arduous and taxing by trying to breathe deeply as instructed. The last time Eugene could recall feeling this helpless was when he had a nasty case of typhus around age 5 or 6 that had nearly killed him.

“Right now, I’m preparing an anesthetic for that wound in your back,” murmured Clarence. The apothecary was using medical terms that until that point in time for which Eugene had had very little use. It made Eugene wish he’d read and paid more attention like Rapunzel.

And mentally conjuring his beloved sweetheart so easily within such a natural context suddenly sent unbidden shockwaves of loneliness, hopelessness, and despair crashing through him. Regis would never release him and Eugene knew it. He’d gone to far too much trouble convincing others that Eugene no longer existed amongst the living. Past the end of his needfulness for this prisoner, the mad king might eventually attempt to use Eugene as bait at a later date. But until then, Eugene was still being secretly held here, wherever ‘here’ was...which had to mean that it was becoming more likely with each passing hour that Javeen’s decoy ruse had worked. That whatever was left after the fire the enemy troops had started, and after Corona’s soldiers watched their own captain get struck down, it was practically a given that nobody from his kingdom was out searching for Eugene right now.

In spite of himself, the back of his still-raw sinuses welled up and started dripping with these instant pent up emotions. He sniffled softly at first but when Eugene pictured himself back in the nursery, rocking Kleisonne and singing their special song….considering that Rapunzel has to sing it now….it was more than he could take. It had already been over two months since the last time he had left them to take up arms at New Old Corona and even though he could see Corona Island from the top of the mountain pass, as captain, Eugene felt as if he might as well have been a million miles away. With so few fighting men, with so few soldiers who’d actually experienced prior sustained combat much less led through it, such inexperienced leadership, and only a rather ancient stockpile of weaponry….(Corona had been at peace for hundreds of years, after all...) Eugene simply could not leave his station under any circumstances….not even to see his family. The kingdom’s needs had been too great….still are too great. Had his father’s battalions arrived yet from the Dark Kingdom? Probably not. Eugene had a feeling he’d be hearing all about it from the apothecary, chatty as he was. But then….but then -- one shining light of realization cut through the pain haze and fear fog….piercing its way through his overwrought mind and body. Rapunzel was actually queen now and thus not at the mercy and whims of what others thought or felt anymore. Not really. And Eugene could sense with absolute certainty that Rapunzel would not rest until she had found identifiable remains by means of incontrovertible proof. And once they found the only clue Eugene had managed to leave behind, Rapunzel’s resolve in finding him would become dang near indestructible. He’d just have to try and find a way to escape -- or more practically, considering his woeful state of being, somehow get word out ASAP so that Corona would still be performing a rescue, not a recovery.

Eugene hissed rather loudly at the sudden harsh stinging sensation emanating from around the wound in his back. The sharp intake of breath had in turn disturbed everything else within Eugene’s predicament. “My apologies,” Clarence spoke out, “I’m usually accustomed to patients who are already unconscious by the time I get to them,” he explained with a hint of nervousness.

Aaaand he’s apologizing again. For unintentionally hurting me. Truly this guy was proving over and over he really wasn’t Regis’s mad scientist henchman. After Clarence was finished with the stinging stuff, he grabbed some type of salve that Eugene was sure he already knew pretty well. Tallow, the same stuff used as a base for candles, also made a great healing and moisturization agent. It sealed the wound away from everything else including dirt and further abrasions.

It was basically how Eugene had avoided having too many scars for so many years, and the one main reason why he appeared completely unscathed, despite all of the bar fights he had been swept up in, and the smaller now invisible wounds he’s had. Although he currently rolled his eyes at his own past vanity by trying to achieve physical perfection with flawless skin. Eugene was certainly gonna have some gnarly scars after this….provided he lived long enough to actually heal from his open wounds and captivity….Eugene inwardly admonished himself to stop thinking morbidly. And to instead be grateful for Clarence and his incomprehensible kindness in such a morbid setting. And if Eugene weren’t already laying down, he would’ve been bowled over by what the apothecary did next. Clarence not only carefully cleaned and applied tallow to every inch of the abrasions those ropes had caused, he covered the red welts on Eugene’s wrists with long knotted-off strips of floursack cloth. It was such an unexpectedly….kind thing to do, to tend to wounds caused by a prisoner’s restraints…..Eugene was momentarily taken aback….and currently lost in thought. And this is when Clarence figured he’d had as good a time as any to crank up the hallucination juice.

Somewhere behind Eugene, something that smelled vaguely of incense and oil started burning nearby and he started coughing. Clarence reminded him about the cushion trick and the coughing sensation eased off and Eugene began to feel oddly and unexpectedly relaxed. His cognitive body functions had largely gone dormant and he was floating in a soft white haze. He felt….groovy. Every once in awhile, lightning streaks of pain might interrupt his dreaming as Clarence, who was not only a good apothecary but a well trained surgeon, worked on sewing up Eugene’s wounds.

Clarence couldn’t have Eugene eat or drink anything prior to surgery so that effectively eliminated anything taken by mouth when it came to easing his patient’s pain at this time. So the apothecary took the one safest route left to him; the psychoactive one. The main problem was that psychoactives didn’t technically knock you out….at least not the ones of which he was in possession.

The surgeon was distinctly worried that even if Eugene had tried to ingest any medicine or even water, it very well would have triggered pain so agonizingly distressful that he wouldn’t be able to stop screaming once it got started. Based on the prior blood and reflux content he’d seen so far, (as well as how his patient had reacted during his first few seconds upon waking) Clarence strongly suspected part of Eugene’s problem was a nasty duodenal tear and that meant high-intensity stomach acid was busy slowly seeping itself out everywhere it wasn’t intended to be, both inside and outside of his patient. Unneutralized stomach acid pouring itself into one’s abdominal cavity was indeed Not Good at All, especially since that includes everything else that regularly accompanies stomach acid. Clarence's plan was to be as hands-off as possible. He'd witnessed far too many patients die of resulting infection directly caused by a surgeon's brash (and yes, stupid) tendency to just dig around in open wounds. Clarence still didn't know if his patient needed to be sewn up all the way or if drainage sites needed to be packed as he healed.

All things considered, this “enemy” captain shouldn’t even be conscious. Eugene had to be practically dying of thirst and yet he wasn’t complaining. Here he was, on this makeshift exam/surgery platform, high as a kite, tripping aloud about fluffy purple bunnies wearing watermelon hats. Or was it purple watermelons wearing pink bunny hats? Whatever that meant, thought Clarence, with some amusement.

Clarence seemed to have an internal immunity against the “incense oil” he was burning for his patient’s sake. He was both annoyed and grateful for said immunity. He also fervently hoped this patient would stay distracted long enough with pleasant hallucinations in order for Clarence to do what he needed. It wasn’t like him to operate on a patient without explaining everything thoroughly, but he was hoping against hope that by subtracting another layer of self-awareness, it might somehow help Eugene stay distracted even longer. Besides, you can’t rightly swallow much of anything when it’s just going to…..leak back out such a nasty hole in your vital organs. Above all else, the young captain needed that tear repaired as quickly as possible.

Real things about world history discovers/innovations: When 'syringe' is mentioned here, it's not like a hypodermic needle or even an oral medication syringe. The size of syringes in the 18th century were more the size range of a can of spray deodorant on up to a large can of hair spray.

“Okay, Captain Fitz-Humpty-Dumpty, let’s try and put you back together again, shall we?” murmured the surgeon to himself, as he took one last glance at his overstocked supply of incense oil.

@gleamful-lanterns @kingreywrites @autumn-ravenclaw

A/N: In order to keep this an element of realism in this historical setting, you can imagine the amount of research that went into building this single chapter. Medicine was taking some monumental strides starting in 16th century (1500s) onward.

[kureis-writing-hell]

What makes us

First || Previous

This one isn't based on a prompt. I tried to base it and it didn't work and I had to scratch it whole. This is a story of Nao's childhood and what happened to him before his 18th birthday.

A series in which Chisaki Kai goes through therapy

Tw: hinted csa (child sexual abuse, it's really just a tiny hunt but it's there), blood, death

Shit went down when Nikodem was only a few years old. In a fight between a hero and a villain his parents died. People told him it was a miracle he was saved, but later on he would regularry think it was rather a curse. It started a life of misery for him: a foster family that gave him away once his quirk manifested, a dirty, poor orphanage ruled by a man, who liked little boys a little too much, another foster family that used him as a servant, another one and another one. No one really wanted him, no one cared about him anymore. Every year less people were interested in adopting him, creeped out by a frowny kid with a crazy look in his eyes.

Often, Nikodem thought that he would never find home. But then he met that girl.

She was new. Other kids kept themselves away from her, even the staff was reluctant to approach her. It was said she predicted her parents’ deaths then, right before she ended up alone, she pointed out the exact date and hour her grandmother died. It was her quirk, obviously. A shitty, creepy one, that made her see a clock on people’s heads, counting down to their deaths.

They got along well. She was two years older than Nikodem but, contrary to the boy, was a bubbly rain of sunshine. Nothing seemed to be able to break her, not her quirk, not the place she ended up in. Despite that, families still wouldn’t take her in.

She told everyone to call her Mara. It was taken from her name and Nikodem found it pretty. Mara was the only one he enjoyed spending time with. He enjoyed her stories, her future plans, the way she could kick ass and piss the staff off. He enjoyed everything about her and would follow her everywhere.

When Mara turned sixteen she stood face to face with Nikodem and told him they were going to run away. There was nothing he wanted more than that - to leave that wretched place. So they packed, gathered a few other kids that wanted to run as well, stole some food and vanished.

No one cared. There was an article about them in some magazine, a handsome man spoke some words about them in the news but other than that no one cared about a few orphans. They left the city, the district, they ran from a train because they didn’t have money to pay for the ticket and Nikodem for the first time ever felt free. Happy.

They had a house. After running they found an old factory in the suburbs of another city. Quickly they learned how to use their quirks for stealing food, clothes, books and whatever they wanted. Everyone had their place in the gang, someone played with old parts and fixed motors, so they could get around easier, someone cooked, someone learned how to patch up wounds. Nikodem quickly started calling them a family, everyone did.

They danced, laughed, watched stars and loved at that time.

“What would you do if you knew you’re going to die tomorrow?”

They were sitting on the tin roof late in the night, only Nikodem and Mara. The rest had a campfire under them, celebrating nothing in particular. The view from the roof was amazing, the stars and the night sky were swallowed by the lights of the city, but it was quiet. At that hour even the city was asleep.

Nikodem turned to Mara, frowning. Finally something clicked and, with a shocked face, he covered his forehead. Mara laughed.

“You can’t cover it, dumbass! Don’t worry, you still have a lot of time. I’m just asking.”

“You did that on purpose.” Nikodem pouted and lowered his hand.

“Maybe! So? What would you do?”

Nikodem thought, for a moment. He turned his face toward the view and watched the lights. Mara drank her beer, waiting for his answer.

“I’d kiss you.”

The girl chocked on the beer, sputtered and looked at the boy surprised. Nikodem could feel his face getting hot, even his ears and neck were probably red at this point, but the color got lost in the darkness. He didn’t dare to look at Mara and even if he would he couldn’t see how she also blushed.

“Okay,” she said finally.

“What?”

“Okay. We may kiss.”

Nikodem looked at her, finally. He again covered his forehead.

“It was true, I’m going to die tomorrow, right?”

“No you’re not, moron!” Mara pushed him playfully, hiding her embarrassment. “I just want to do it too!

And so they kissed, under the stars, on the roof with the best view ever.

They got good at what they were doing quickly. They wore masks for stealing, they used upgraded motors for moving around, they came in, stole what they needed and then wandered around the city freely, because no one would ever suspect a bunch of children. And now everyone was talking about them. Their masks, something they picked up from dumpsters, were so popular everyone knew how they looked. They had fans and enemies and they had heros after them. Yet every night they had a party in their base. They drank alcohol, ate good food, kissed and made love. And they were free.

She never told him, or anyone else from their gang, when they’re going to die. But once she told them about her own number. Apparently she could see it in the mirror and Nikodem never ever hated quirks more than in that moment. It was just wrong.

Mara was sick. There was something in their family, something too scientific for Nikodem to understand, that killed her mother and mother of her mother. Normally, raised in a normal house, she would survive till her late twenties. With expensive treatment and medications she could maybe live till her forties. Her current number allowed her to stay alive till she was twenty three.

Nikodem didn’t accept it. He couldn’t. It wasn’t her fault she couldn’t afford a better living situation or meds. He was angry and he was determined to get even more money, to allow her the treatment she needed. Everyone agreed to him, except Mara. She didn’t want to draw too much attention to them and she was already used to the idea of dying. She was angry at him, for a while. Then she couldn’t anymore.

Nikodem was sixteen when he told her he loved her too much to let her go that easily.

.

They couldn’t go on the raids when it was raining because it was too risky. They used to store the food for winters because during them it was too dangerous to raid the city. They did only necessary to survive every year. Now, it changed. And now they realised they were way more powerful than they thought. Their gang was classified as rank B villains, with Nikodem deemed their leader, classified as rank A. There was more planning, more stress and way more risk but, surprisingly, it brought them all even closer to each other.

It was just getting warm, the snow still didn’t melt in the darker corners of their base but the days were sunny and bright and hot. And the rain that came wasn’t risky. It was warm, too. It washed over Nikodem’s stress and worries and Mara’s long, pretty dress. And they danced in it, laughed and kissed.

“You’re turning eighteen this year, we should throw you a party!” she said once they were inside, in dry clothes, drinking hot tea.

“It’s still a few months.”

“So? Isn't any reason to party good?”

“But it’s a birthday. We should celebrate it when it comes.”

Mara pouted. She looked so cute, with her nose and cheeks still reddened, wrapped in a blanket from head to toes. He loved her so much.

“Look at you, what made you smile like a dumbass? That’s a rare sight.” Embarrassed, Nikodem turned his face away. Mara laughed and clung to his side. “I like it, you have a funny smile. You should do it more!”

He decided to try his hardest.

.

Blood.

Everything around him was red and it was his fault.

They were so close to getting enough money for Mara that Nikodem got impatient. He wanted to gather enough as fast as possible and he came out with the idea of that raid. It was going to be the hardest one till now, but they had a good plan. They planned it for a month. And it worked out! But then the heroes found their hideout.

“Those are children! I had no idea those were children, I couldn’t know!” lamented one of the heroes, the one that came in first. Under his quirk the roof of the old factory collapsed, something caught fire and the tanks they had stored exploded. Most of Nikodem’s gang was outside, thankfully, but they also got hurt.

They still had masks on when other heroes arrived. They fought. Nikodem got crushed under the part of the factory and couldn’t get out on time to help them. He had to watch how his friends, his only family, fought for their lives and lost. Blood spilled all around him and he couldn’t do anything.

When he finally got out the heroes were searching for survivors. But no one could survive this. They were either crushed under the factory or fought till death. And Nikodem stood in the puddle of their blood.

It hurted to move, it even hurted to breathe but he had to find Mara. He had to make sure she was alive and help her, and anyone else that still could be alive, escape. He was their leader, he came up with that raid, it was all his fault.

Stepping over the body of his friend, someone he ate breakfast with this morning, he went forward. The heroes were arguing, Nikodem could hear his voices, but didn’t pay attention to them. He took off his mask and threw it away, searching for a different one, one that he knew Mara was still wearing.

He found her, laying right by a part of the factory that miraculously didn’t fall on her. There was still a hole in her stomach that Nikodem immediately jumped to, to cover the bleeding. Mara trembled and huffed something that Nikodem didn’t understand. Holding his shirt against her abdomen with one hand he took off her mask.

Her lips were covered in blood but she was smiling. She kept looking at him and Nikodem was glad she was awake.

“That went to shit, eh?” she rasped.

“Don’t joke now, please.” Nikodem couldn’t hold back his tears. It was slowly hitting him, what exactly happened.

“I want to tell you something.”

“You shouldn’t talk, you’ll tell me once you get better but now you have to save your energy.”

She smiled at him and her smiles were never that sad.

“I knew this was going to happen.” Nikodem only shook his head. “Yeah. I did the math when everyone’s numbers started going down. I never thought they could change before.”

“It’s all my fault.”

“No, it’s not.” Mara coughed and spit some blood. “If anyone’s then it’s mine. I should have told you to stop with the raids but I knew no one would listen. And it made me happy to know you all are doing this for me. Selfish.”

“You weren’t selfish!” sobbed Nikodem. “I was, I wanted to spend more time with you and I took your time away!”

“That’s not true.” She managed to laugh a little. “You actually let me live. Everyone else too, but you especially. Thank you.” Nikodem shook his head again. He could feel blood sipping through the material of his shirt. “Can I have one more selfish request?”

“I’ll do anything for you.”

“Live.” Mara lifted her hand and touched Nikodem’s forehead. He grabbed it and helped her keep the arm up, snuggling into it. It was too cold but he didn’t mind. “Your minutes are tickling down but I don’t want you to die because of me. Please, promise me that you won’t die.”

“I don’t want to. How am I supposed to, when everyone is dead? I can’t live without you.”

“You can.” Her fingers brushed just slightly against Nikodem’s forehead. “Please. Do anything you could. Don’t fight these heroes, surrender, do anything you can.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to die knowing everyone I ever loved died because of me.” She was speaking more and more silently. “At least you. Especially you, Niko.”

For a moment Nikodem tried to hold back his tears. But they didn’t. They started flowing harder.

“I promise,” he whimpered. “I’ll do anything. I swear.”

Mara opened her eyes wider and, after a moment, smiled wide. Her thumb brushed against Nikodem’s forehead and then her hand went limp.

“I’ll ask them, I’ll beg them to help you. They’re heroes, maybe they have a healing quirk, you’ll be fine too!” Nikodem made a crooked smile, one that was meant for comfort but he knew Mara would laugh at it. “I could even pay them, the money should be fine in the safe. We’ll be okay.” Mara didn’t answer. Her eyes kept looking at him and her smile didn’t vanish but she wasn’t reacting at all. Nikodem felt his heart sink. “Mara? Mara, don’t joke, please. Dagmara!”

When the heroes found him Nikodem was still sitting by Mara’s body. He didn’t fight, he surrendered and let them handcuff him. He lost everything but he made a promise. And that promise would keep him alive.

[tanoraqui]

Grave dirt baby... 🥺✨

me, procrastinating my actual fic? no... GRAVE DIRT BABY A-YUAN

HEY TUMBLR FUCKED UP ALL MY BULLET POINTS ON THIS THE SECOND I HIT POST BUT IT’S 4AM SO I’M LEAVING IT UP ANYWAY. STUPID GODDAMN WEBSITE.

Wei Wuxian has been in the Burial Mounds for like 2.5 months out of what he doesn’t yet know will be about 3. He’s not even sure he’s going to survive yet. But he has managed to manifest an evil sword - the evil sword - out of the aether/ambient resentful energy/an attunement set with an unwise touch in the belly of an evil turtle

and he does know that he’s not going to survive if he doesn’t get the power of the Burial Mounds under some sort of control

so he cuts his arm and with blood running down the blade, draws something adjacent to the first demon-summoning flag but as an array in the dirt. He stands in the middle and - keep in mind that he more or less hasn’t slept in 2.5 months - plunges the sword into the center, still coated in his blood, and draws in all the resentful energy of the Burial Mounds

was it supposed to go into the sword? Into himself? Into just the single 4ft diameter array area, a column of bound death? who knows, not Wei Wuxian! it’s pure gut instinct

u know what else works on gut instinct, thought? Fairy tales.

And in a fairy tale, why, clay of the earth plus iron enough for a blade plus still-warm blood to show the way...

There’s an implosion and Wei Wuxian is standing - somehow still standing - in a small crater where the array used to be, and his evil sword is plunged into the belly of a baby

He yanks it out in horrified reflex, and realizes a moment later that the baby seems unfazed by this. If there was even a wound, it closes before his eyes, and the glimpse he had showed something more bloody clay than flesh beneath the skin

the iron sword crumbles as he pulls it away, as though rusted a thousand years. the baby turns its head from the iron shavings that falls on it, but then reaches up for Wei Wuxian with a cheerfully demanding cry

he picks it up, of course. (he’d think he was hallucinating if he wasn’t absolutely and utterly aware that he’s not)

it is, as far as he can tell, with physical and spiritual resentful inspection, an absolutely normal baby

oh, except when he looks really closely. Then he can sense the neutron star–dense knot of resentful energy where a golden core might (but will definitely not have room to) form. Also, it can command the dead, and when he holds it, so can he. He’s not sure if it’s a proximity-based power share or if he’s passing his desires through the baby, but even Wei Wuxian, at about 3 months with no food save the rage of the dead and no rest save the promise of final release, has to stop investigating at some point. He has things to do!

specifically, he has Wens to kill

so instead of the iconic shot of the dark flautist in the moonlight, we get the dark, uh...man singing a very spooky lullaby to his baby in the moonlight. It is still deeply creepy. It’s a making-it-up-as-he-goes tune based on a Yunmengi lullaby that he certainly learned from neither of his foster parents, and the lyrics are along the lines of, “let them remember what they did, sweet little potato, let them remember why they’re dying”

yeah he’s been calling this child “Little Potato” for 2 weeks 

why

is that not how you name a child

sometimes when he’s more annoyed at it, he calls it “Little Radish”, or even less appetizing root vegetables

by the time he walks in, the baby is asleep in his arms and he’s not singing anymore, just letting the dead do his will. This is what Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji see. The subsequent conversation, Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu at their feet, goes like this:

LWJ: Wei Ying. You have a baby.

WWX: Oh, uh...

PLAY DUMB!

WWX: What baby?

NOT THAT DUMB!

WWX: Oh, this baby! Haha yeah. I...found it.

JC: What the fuck

WWX: Yeah, weird, right? Right near the, uh...

LWJ: They said you were in the Burial Mounds

WWX: Yyyyup. Yes that is. I found this baby by the side of the road after I walked out of the Burial Mounds.

JC, briefly too morbidly fascinated to think about either the demonic cultivation they just watched or the fact that he wants to hug his brother like he’s never wanted to hug another being in his life: What did you name it?

WWX: ....

JC, desire to hug intensifying together with exasperation: oh my god

Sometime in the next couple days - after sleeping a bit, maybe - it occurs to Wei Wuxian that his raw instincts were right and things will go very badly for little A-Yuan (his siblings insisted he name it) if anyone finds out that he’s a not-yet-walking, not-yet-talking little neuron star of resentful energy. So he takes the iron shavings that are all that remain of the Stygian Turtle Sword and forges them into a Tiger-shaped Seal. He also carves a bamboo flute, like he’d been thinking about before the whole...baby thing. He loudly proclaims both to be dark and terrible weapons

(it really is helpful. The sword was...kind of A-Yuan’s other parent, after all, in addition to their third partner, the Burial Mounds. Chenqing gives him finer control of whatever stray resentful energy he chooses to pick up, and the Stygian Seal lets him channel A-Yuan’s power at need, even when not touching him. Which is good - a battlefield is no place for a baby)

even if that baby thinks ghosts and ghouls exist to pick him up and rock him or toss him around (babies like to be tossed)

Wei Wuxian puts so many goddamn spirit-repelling charms on that child, and lets it be marked down to the paranoia of a survivor

using whatever resentful energy he picks up is generally more effective, actually. Less strong, but it quickly becomes clear that the way this works does, in fact, involve Wei Wuxian communicating his desires through A-Yuan, or at least A-Yuan has to put up with the loan of power. There’s nothing quite like abruptly losing control of a field of corpses because the baby got abruptly uncooperative with anything that wasn’t barfing

the baby does eat, for the record. As far as Wei Wuxian can tell, he doesn’t actually need to, but once WWX fed him once, when they first left the Mounds, he wanted it all the time

he still takes A-Yuan with him when he can. That is the paranoia of a survivor. A-Yuan is...

“A battlefield is no place for a baby, A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli says gently, as he sets out from Carp Tower after another stolen visit, another failed attempt to convince Jin Guangshan off his ass. “And you are...so busy. LanlingJin takes in orphans, you know...”

“A-Yuan...he’s my blood,” Wei Wuxian says quietly. He’s never been good at lying to his shijie

Whatwherewhenhowwho, he’d see on her face if he was looking at it. But he isn’t. It’s not shame, though, she can see (it really never is, with Wei Wuxian). Fear of disappointing her, slight resignation...but mostly acceptance. Determination. Something almost like contentment.

(When Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangj first took him back to whatever resembled a base camp - somewhere in Qinghe, probably, or maybe Lanling - he had to let a trained healer look at A-Yuan, physical and spiritual examination, and he held his breath and calculated how many people he’d have to kill to get out of here, how fast he’d have to move to not hurt his brother or any particular friends; thought, oh, he’s mine, in a way he hadn’t before - as a child, a son, not just a very strange weapon - 

“He’s quite healthy,” said the doctor, mildly surprised, bouncing A-Yuan on one knee. A-Yuan gurgled happily. “About three months old?”

the longer Wei Wuxian took to answer, the more disapproving her stare got. But that did make sense)

Then all else can be dealt with later. “You should still leave him here,” Jiang Yanli says firmly. “You need to look after yourself and A-Cheng out there. I can look after A-Yuan.”

It takes a bit under two years to win back the lost and burnt territories, scour the Wens out of every crevice, corner Wen Ruohan in his precious Nightless City and bring it tumbling down. Nobody will know the timing but A-Yuan sleeps through the final battle, smiling at dreams that would make a grown man weep in horror. Somewhere, his father is playing a lullaby

About a week later, Jiang Cheng stalks into Wei Wuxian’s bedroom, which he shares with A-Yuan. One of the first rooms rebuilt in the new Lotus Pier. A-Yuan is there, too, playing with blocks while Wei Wuxian idly drafts talismans

“A-jie said the kid is yours,” he says, crossed arms. “Like, yours-yours. When the fuck did you do that?”

(Wei Wuxian has thought about this, by now; gone over the pros and cons of every possibility, the politics and potentials and maybe even the giddy possibility of telling something like the truth)

(the guiding principle is: he has no interest in drawing on the “Stygian Tiger Seal” ever again. The Sunshot Campaign is over. His loved ones are safe, and he sees no reason why they shouldn’t all live long, happy, normal lives)

(also/though, he will burn Jin Sect, Carp Tower, and all of Lanling to the ground before the new Chief Cultivator should touch his son)

“In Caiyi,” he lies. “Right before I got kicked out. I, uh, snuck out a lot more often than you noticed.”

His brother squints at him suspiciously. But Wei Wuxian can also watch him do the math in his head and reluctantly admit that it works.

“So are you claiming him or what?” he challenges. “’Wei Yuan’? You have a courtesy name - wait, no, you are not naming that kid again. You’re going to make his courtesy name be Carrothead or something.” 

“Should I let you pick it, oh wise and noble shidi - no, shushu?!” Wei Wuxian teases, as A-Yuan gets tired of his blocks and starts climbing up him like a jungle gym

Jiang Cheng sighs like the north wind - gusting long and hard, with just the faintest chill to suggest that the skies will be weeping, soon

But...

Despite some evidence to the contrary, Wei Wuxian is generally fully aware of when he’s about to cross a line that cannot be backtracked over. So he meets Wen Qing in the city, and before going to Lanling, he nips into Lotus Pier and picks up A-Yuan

He might leave A-Yuan with Wen Qing in the city when he goes to Glamour Hall, but Qiongqi Pass happens with a toddler watching silently from Wei Wuxian’s hip. Does Wei Wuxian tell him to look away, bury his face in baba’s shirt, or does he not bother, knowing the sort of song that makes up A-Yuan’s sweet dreams?

The Wens become the second through 51st or so people who learn what A-Yuan is. Wei Wuxian briefly considers trying to hide it, but, honestly, there are dead things everywhere on the Burial Mounds, and despite his genuine efforts, he cannot convince A-Yuan that a fierce corpse is anything but the ideal patty-cake companion. (They’ll play with him for hours! It’s a two-nearly-three-year-old’s dream!)

(he doesn’t want to convince him, not really. The last thing he wants to do ever is give A-Yuan anything to be scared of)

nor could he possibly wish that A-Yuan not be...obviously hale and hearty, running rosy-cheeked and strong around these hills of death that slowly seep the energy from any humans, animals, or even sturdy root crops

“So, uh, this is actually my demon baby,” said Wei Wuxian as they all settled in

“this day has been so weird already, this might as well goddamn happen”, said the Wens collectively

“You created a living child out of dead earth, so I’m going to take that as a yes that you can bring my brother back,” said Wen Qing specifically

“...fuck. I mean, yes. I mean - fuck,” said Wei Wuxian. “I- of course I will.”

(it doesn’t work like that, though)

The 52nd person to find out what A-Yuan is is Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian very much does not tell him. They have a pleasant toy-shopping trip and lunch in town, and then the alarm talisman goes off and Wei Wuxian grabs A-Yuan and Lan Wangji tugs them both onto Bichen and when they arrive, Wen Ning is roaring. Lan Wangji knows what’s important; he takes A-Yuan so Wei Wuxian’s hands are free and he doesn’t have to worry about his son

except Wen Ning, black-eyed with rage, throws Wei Wuxian into a tree hard enough to crack a rib, and even as Lan Wangji raises Bichen, A-Yuan shouts,

“Uncle Ning, stop!”

and Wen Ning stops

(as a rule, Wei Wuxian can’t take over with himself and Chenqing anything A-Yuan is controlling, unless A-Yuan lets him, and vice versa. To eliminate variables, Wei Wuxian had made sure that any reins on Wen Ning were his (Wei Wuxian’s) alone. But in that moment, before Wen Ning came fully back to himself, his reins were swinging free - and they were back within the bounds of the Burial Mounds, where A-Yuan was always strong)

and Lan Wangji puts several pieces together at once and prays to every single god in heaven and every ancestor he’s disappointing right now that this was a miracle of love and a very cute child piercing through a fierce corpse’s mindless rampage. That he simply...hallucinated the burst of resentful energy he just felt from the child in his arms

but he’s absolutely, utterly aware that he didn’t

Wei Wuxian explains, stilted and awkward at the bottom of the hill. Challenging and terrified. Holding on to A-Yuan. 

Lan Wangji promises to keep the secret. 

Wei Wuxian takes Hanguang-jun’s word

Remember, oh, remember, that Wei Wuxian walks A-Yuan back up the hill until A-Yuan gets tired and Wei Wuxian picks him up, on their one-and-a-half–man plank bridge through the dark. Remember remember remember that before he can finish speaking that line, there is light - the clearing is lit with lanterns and secret-keepers 2 through 51, and I suppose 53 now that Wen Ning is awake, are waiting with dinner and warmth and welcome. Reader, remember this.

But then...

Aunt Qing and Uncle Ning had gone, and then, with a terrible expression on his face, so had A-Yuan’s baba. Now his baba’s anger and sadness is so strong that the weight of it makes A-Yuan cry from hundreds of miles away, and he curls into Granny’s arms and sends his baba everything he can. Will everything be okay, then? Will everyone come home; will they be able to smile again?

(oh, A-Yuan...)

(No.)

A-Yuan - Wei Yuan, Little Potato (when he’s good for baba or bad for Aunt Qing) or Little Radish (inverse); one day to be Lan Yuan, Lan Sizhui - was born in the good old fairy tale way of earth and iron and blood. It’s a hard thing for any child to lose even a single parent - in one day, in one minute, A-Yuan loses two of three, as the father of his blood burns away in hand the last shreds of Stygian iron, and promptly loses control of his own resentful energy

(the Tiger Seal does nothing like explode, in this world. It was never more than a prop - but a vital one. the benefit of proving it destroyed would be worth the loss of a parent, if only a second didn’t follow on its heels)

A-Yuan has been a dead thing (or close enough) come to life all his life, and both dead and living have been his friends and family. But he’s never felt the transition the other way: from life to death

It’s no wonder, really, that he can’t remember it afterward. No wonder that even on the land that was the last part of him, he was feverish and barely conscious when Lan Wangji stumbled, bleeding, off of Bichen, and took in his arms. No wonder that he remembered very little at all, including the dead. 

But he would be okay. Under physical and spiritual inspection, he’s a perfectly normal boy. He may not be able to form a golden core (there's something in the way), but there are...workarounds. He’ll grow up in one of the most heavily spiritually warded enclaves in the world, safe and loved as he relearns (mostly in secret) what he can do

(For the sake of this story, and A-Yuan’s survival as something close to canon, let’s say there are some truly dark things in the forbidden section of the Lan Library, that could only be used for nefarious purposes - though, I suppose we already knew that. Let’s say there are talismans that will disguise the very nature of qi, so resentful energy may appear spiritual. Let’s say, Lan Xichen becomes the 53rd to know the truth, because his brother needs help - and it’s Wei Wuxian’s child, okay? It’s just Wei Wuxian’s child, quiet and unsure rather than laughing as he always was. If you were in the inner circle of leaders of the Sunshot Campaign, you have absolutely met this child, probably held him and bounced him on one knee)

(What keeps Lan Xichen up at night isn’t the concealing amulet he helped his brother make, which Lan Yuan wears at all times around his neck. It’s the silence he keeps every time he meets Jiang Wanyin’s eyes over a diplomatic table. If anyone had the right to know Wei Yuan survived... But Sandu Sengshou killed Wei Wuxian, everyone knows that, and now he hunts demonic cultivators - what might his pride drive him to do to his nephew, if he ever learned the truth? (Selfishly, Lan Xichen know that if Lan Wangji lost A-Yuan, even just to living at Lotus Pier, Lan Xichen might lose his brother. That fear ebbs with time passing, but the the longer he hasn’t spoken, the worse it would be to do so...))

They don’t restrict Lan Yuan to the Cloud Recesses, no more than any other novice. For memory of their mother, neither of them could bear that. Jiang Cheng does eventually see him at a conference, and stops dead. Years have passed, but that is an entire goddamn nephew, right there. But - how? No, it can’t be. That’s...everyone knows Lan Wangji hated Wei Wuxian. It’s just...and someone would have told him. The Lans value propriety above all, after all.

Anything that can be done with spiritual cultivation can be done with demonic cultivation, save heal. Lan Sizhui makes up for it with an encyclopedic knowledge of undead and monsters, and a prodigal talent for Inquiry

On their first night hunt, the young juniors face ghosts. Unfortunately, this is when Lan Jingyi learns that he’s terrified of ghosts. He’s hiding behind Lan Sizhui and panic is contagious, and the senior accompanying them is in a different room of the abandoned house, and Lan Sizhui forgets that he’s holding a sword and just shouts, “Stop! Go away!” 

the ghost, of course, obeys

Lan Jingyi peeks out form behind him. “Did- did you do that?”

“I don’t know,” Lan Sizhui admits (except that he’s absolutely sure he did)

There’s another flicker of movement, just the wind blowing ashes but Jingyi whips around with wild eyes. “Can you do it again?”

[friendship. my point is, he’s a demon baby but he has family and friends who love and accept him.]

And one day, some absolute fucking morons are going to bring him back home, where he can never be anything but strong, and threaten his friends and family? And the threat is an army of his old playmates, commanded by an attempt at recreating some combination of Chenqing and the Tiger Seal? He couldn’t manage it in Yi City, but now A-Yuan, Wei Yuan, Lan Sizhui stands on earth that has never stopped being part of him, or maybe he’s never stopped being part of it. If he closed his eyes he could feel every foot on it, living and restless dead. And they’re threatening his baba - who he remembers, as the earth remembers its old partner, even though the blood is changed - and his father Hanguang-jun, and his extended family and friends?

No.

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Red Dead Cupid: Friends in Arms

Hello @katerix I’m your Red Dead cupid! I chose your request for Landon Ricketts x f!Reader being best friends, passing time\chilling together, when not busy maintaining an order around. I hope you like it! @rdr-secret-cupid​

I also chose a bit of a different writing POV, just trying something a little different. 

I lean back in my chair, the heat washing over me. It isn’t really much of a bother anymore, I’m long used to the unforgiving sun. It’s a requirement when you live down in Mexico. I take one last drag from my cigarette and then throw it down, pressing it out with my boot. On my left is the small table with my shot glass of whiskey, the chair on the other side empty but expectant for its usual occupant. 

After a moment of watching a hawk lazily circle on the air currents, the chair creaks. I look over and see my most trusted companion and lifelong friend. Landon Ricketts. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, and yes it is the famed Landon Ricketts, the fastest draw in the West and famed gunslinger. 

He sighs heavily and drinks his shot of whiskey, grimacing at the burn. He looks worn out, but he always looks that way. After all, he hasn’t had a quiet life until recently, if you can really call his life now quiet. I do though, but that may be because I was with him a decent amount of the time he was living wild in the deserts of America. 

“Them Gutierrez boys giving you trouble again?” I ask as he leans back, pulling out a cigarette. 

“When aren’t they?” he says in his gruff voice. 

“I’m surprised you’ve been as patient with them as you have been,” I comment. 

“I’m tired of those days, y/n. And I’ve told you, I wanna give that nonsense up, try for something different. But, guess even in a different country, I can’t escape my past.” 

I sigh, knowing what he means. As a teenager, Landon found me as a wild orphan, threatening anyone and challenging absolutely everyone to a gunfight. It was a dark time for me. I’d lost my family and through the anger that rose from my grief, I tried taking it out on everyone around me. Landon came through town, and how could I not challenge him? The most famous gunslinger. 

I still remember the way he looked at me when I threatened him. He just laughed and turned his back to me, so I shot him. Or tried to. I was a real bad shot and my bullet whizzed right past him. But he turned back to me. Guess I made some kind of impression on him, because after that, he took me in. Taught me how to shoot and fight. 

We ran together for a few years after that, became just as close as two gunslingers could. It wasn’t unusual for people back then to confuse him as my father, which sometimes we played along with if we were robbing someone. But the truth was it bothered me. Landon was never a father figure to me, but he was my friend. He was the only person who recognized my anger in my youth as a plea for help. I trusted him more than anyone. 

In my late twenties, I ended up drifting off from Landon. Not on purpose, but he was always on the move. He had to be with his notoriety. At one point, I didn’t see him for so long I just sort of made my own way and fell into a gang of outlaws. Having a dirty history myself, I fit right in. The leader, Dutch, was a good man at first, but he ended up going crazy when the gang fell apart through a series of tragedies. By that point though, I’d already fallen in love and married his right hand man Arthur Morgan. 

I loved Arthur, more than anything. He was one of the few members in that gang who knew my past with Landon, but he kept my secret. I didn’t tell anyone about Landon because I didn’t always appreciate his fame. Whenever anyone found out I ran with him, they’d bombard me with questions about him. It was always about him. Arthur understood, and he didn’t talk or ask about him much.

But then, Arthur died in 1899 of tuberculosis. His death crushed me. Dutch was so far gone in his madness that I just ended up leaving. Besides, the gang was finished by that point anyways, sometimes I’m amazed I didn’t end up getting killed in the process. I was so lost though when Arthur passed, I don’t remember much from after that period. I buried him and then I remember I stayed near his grave for a long time. 

A couple of months passed after Arthur’s passing. I was still lost in my grief, living near his grave. One day, Landon showed up in the cabin I was living in. He said nothing but he threw down a newspaper at my feet. The top article was about my gang that fell apart. 

“How did you know?” I asked. 

“Because I know you,” Landon said. “I may not have been around much, but I know you. You think I didn’t know about your marriage to Arthur? When I read about him, I knew I needed to find you. I’m very sorry for your loss, y/n.” 

Landon was the first person to comfort you about Arthur. I didn’t want to live like this anymore, in my solitude and kept company by nothing aside from my grief. Although I was still shattered, I considered going with Landon, but I told him I didn’t want to live the wild life of an outlaw anymore. 

“I’ve done that already,” I said, “I don’t wanna do it anymore. It leads to nothing but pain.” 

Landon agreed and said he wanted to do the same. He was also tired of the life, of any man who had even a sliver of confidence challenging him to a duel. He wanted to help people, to make some peace out of the violence he’d sewn. 

So after that, I went with him down southwest. At first, we tried settling in places like Armadillo and Tumbleweed. But Landon’s fame followed him and he couldn’t escape the life he was trying to leave behind. That was when I decided that maybe it would be better to go down to Mexico. After all, everywhere I went reminded me of my husband. I just wanted to escape the memories, not because I regretted my marriage, but because I just wanted relief from my pain. 

Landon agreed to the idea of Mexico, so a few years ago we settled down in the town of Chuparosa. It was a fairly wild town, overrun with gangs and troublemakers. It took some time, but we got it tamed. It was Landon’s idea to sort of make ourselves the equivalent of sheriffs, as the town lacked any real form of law. I half-heartedly agreed, even though being a peacekeeper was the opposite of what I used to do and the kind of person I used to run from. 

But even down here, Landon was chased by his past. Sometimes a vigilante would come, having heard of Landon’s presence and would try to take him on. Luckily those types of men were few and far between.  Every once in a while, one of the gangs we’d chased out would come back and try to cause trouble. But we were more than a match for them. The Gutierrez brothers were the last to not get the hint, until today. 

Landon puts out his cigarette. Just as I’m about to say something, a young woman comes running up to him. I recognize her of course, Luisa Fortuna. A fiery member, and an enthusiastic member of the rebellion going on in Mexico. She’s breathing excitedly. 

“Ricketts! The Guiterrez brothers. They’re back!” 

Landon sighs and leans forward. He checks his pistol before reholstering it. “How long before I end up having to shoot these fools?” he says and stands up. I follow him, telling myself I can help if things get out of hand. Truth is though I just want to see these idiots get what they're owed. They’ve been a problem for too long and getting far too confident.

Just as we’re rounding the corner to the main street, I hear a familiar voice, taunting someone. That voice… it brings the dull pain I’ve sat on for ten years. I jog past Landon and find on the main street one of the Gutierrez brothers facing someone I haven’t seen since my gang fell apart. He’s grown older and he looks far more serious than I’ve ever seen him, but there’s no denying who he is: John Marston. 

As Landon joins your side, John and the Gutierrez brother suddenly draw their weapons and shoot. John’s bullet finds its mark, but the other Gutierrez brothers pull out their guns to avenge their fallen brother. However they’re no match for John. Not that I’m surprised. He learned from some of the best gunslingers. I think the only person who had a better education in shooting is myself thanks to Landon. 

When the last brother falls, Landon saunters forward as John holsters his gun. “I must admit, I’m impressed. Not many men would take on all the Gutierrez brothers and even fewer who could have taken them all down.” 

“Who are you?” John asks, his eyes mean. It’s a bit strange, he always had a light in his eyes. Then again, I haven’t seen him since Arthur died after he sacrificed himself to the Pinkertons to save me and John. I guess it’s really no surprise that he’s changed too since then. 

“Landon Ricketts. This is my town, I been trying to keep these boys under control, obviously not well. But now I’m curious. A fella like you who can take all of them down without hardly blinking an eye, I gotta ask. What you doin’ all the way down here?” 

“I’m lookin’ for… some old friends of mine. One of ‘em came running down here and I think he’s met up with the other.” 

This strikes me. He must be looking for me, but how did he hear I was down here? I walk out of the shadows of the building and look hard at him. John’s eyes widen. 

“Y/n? What you doin’ down here?” 

“Thought you said you was lookin’ for some old friends. I assumed you meant me.” 

He shuffles his feet a bit. “No, I wasn’t. I didn’t even know you were down here.” 

Landon turns to me. “You know this man?” 

I nod. “Yes. He was my husband’s brother. I thought you were dead, John.” 

Over the next few hours, the three of us sit at the saloon and talk. I tell John about my relationship to Landon and why I came down here with him after that whole mess with the gang. John then discloses his past, how he tried to come clean of his outlaw days. He and Abigail ran a ranch outside of Blackwater, but then the Pinkertons, in their determination to get Dutch, took his family hostage in order to get John to hunt down his former gang members. 

When John tells me this, I feel a plummet in my stomach. I lean forward and look at him, daring him. “So these Pinkertons want you to kill your old gang members. That mean you’re gonna kill me?” 

John looks at you, his brows furrowed. “I don’t know, y/n. I’m not sure the Pinkertons even know you’re down here. I assumed you died shortly after Arthur…”

Landon looks between the two of us but doesn’t interrupt. He knows I need to settle this myself. Landon has never been a man to fight my battles for me. It’s proven a frustration in the past, but at this moment, it’s appreciated. 

“Then John, I don’t know how much I can be of help to you. I ain’t giving those bastards a reason to kill me. If they’re going after Javier and Bill just for their associations with Dutch, they’ll definitely want me dead too. I was married to Dutch’s right hand man, after all.” 

Landon turns to me. “I think you’re making a mistake, y/n.” 

I turn to refute him, but he cuts me off. “You’ve been wasting away with me these past ten years. I haven’t wanted to say it, but whatever happened with that gang broke you. I don’t know what this Arthur Morgan was like, but I’m guessing he didn’t give his life up for you and his brother to see you live like this.” 

“He also hated revenge. Always said it was a fool’s game. I’m not killing Bill and Javier.” 

“You don’t have to,” John says. “I’ll do the killing, but it would sure be helpful if I had you by my side.”

I sigh. Landon’s right, Arthur wouldn’t want me to let John go alone. Not after everything he gave up for us both to live. However I’m sure that the end of this journey will end in one way: my death. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad though. After all, Landon’s right. I’ve been wasting away in liquor and grief down here. I stopped living a long time ago. 

I throw back my shot of tequila. “Alright, John. I’ll help you find Javier and Bill.”

I glance over at Landon and see he’s smiling. Now that I think about it, he’s never wanted this life for me. He used to say I had a fire that could not be doused. He must have known that this life, sitting in this hot, boring town and watching my life go on without me was never for me. That’s why he never searched for me while I was with the gang. I was doing what made me happy.

As I think about it, I realize now how much I’ve missed that life. Running wild and free. No it was never easy, but it was me. Living in this town as a sheriff is not what I want to do. I’m not cut out for it. I realize that John is giving me an opportunity to do what I’m meant to do. Sure, it won’t bring back the glory days from the gang, but it’s the next best thing. And if I die doing it, it’d be better than dying here, old and wishing I could have done things differently. 

Finally resolved, I stand up. “Okay, John. Let’s go find these bastards and get your family back.”

[spirit-of-vengeance]

@spxcemuses @mr-mansnoozie @xxstar-bluesxx

Guess who gathered enough mind to finally write her full backstory of Western Verse. Her being a bounty hunter is set in the Wild West time period (1865-1895), there is no current year(s) to set her story in mainly because I don't want to make a mistake messing up the timeline.

Calm before the storm

Her father, Attila a lesser Hungarian noble whom supported the 1848-1849 revolutionary war but after the failure of it he escaped emigrated to America to avoid the Habsburg revenge, soon followed by his brother Gábor. He could save a small amount of his fortune along with his two most important horses: a purebred Lipizzan stallion and an extremely rare Akhal Teke mare. He had settled near a small town, due to his financial situation and education as a noble he established a school with the support and approval of the local church. To quieten his guilt for abandoning his country in its peril, he poured all of his heart into educating children; at least he is still useful in some way.

One day, a group of artists traveling artists, acrobats traveled through the town and the aristocrat fell in love at first sight. She was like the queen of fairy from the folk tales he'd heard in his childhood, she was tall, blue eyes sparkled like light sapphire, long golden brown hair floated ethereally with every twirl. The smitten lord shamelessly courted the the graceful acrobat, determined to know at least the name.

The group had stayed in the town for a few weeks, allowing Attila's and Myra's romance to blossom; after a month she ended up staying with him, just like in true fairytales.

My obsession with angst backstory strikes again

The lord was in love, deeper than poets could express it. Since the loss of his home and country he had found his place in the universe along with the perfect companion by his side. He paid less attention to the school, the church and other public affairs; it wasn't like he abandoned them but became more withdrawn to spend time with the love of his life, especially after the birth of their daughter. She was almost the perfect miniature of her mother, same beautiful hair glinting gold in the sunlight, only her eyes were the brightest emerald green he'd ever seen.

While Myra's heart and aura was as pure as a fairy's; the local church was beyond distressed. They claimed that Attila had completely abandoned helping those in need because of her wicked seduction. When they witnessed her performing for the amusement of the crowd, the 'temptress witch' brand couldn't be lifted. They gathered a few enthusiastic townsfolk whom shared their views and a few morally questionable men whom only wanted a piece of the lord's fortune.

10 year old Karma was awakened from her deep slumber by her frantic father; smoke and yelling blinding her senses as he carried her out of the burning house into the nearby forest so the mob won't find her. He promised her he will be back but he had to return into their home for Myra; he couldn't leave her inside. Karma watched her dad disappear into the flames, the air filled with suffocating smoke and religious shouts for god to smite the sinners. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the spot where her father was gone, waiting for her parents to stumble out of the half collapsed building; but that never had happened. She sat unmoving from her spot, struck staring into the flames then into the ashes as the sun has risen.

Birth of the marksman

Attila's brother, Gábor arrived the next day after hearing the news, he was the one whom found Karma still staring at the ruins in a catatonic state. He couldn't avenge his sibling as it meant endangering his niece and she has lost more than enough.

Gábor expected her to become a soft spoken, reserved lady once she overcame her trauma; that theory was soon abandoned when once he had awoken to his niece practicing with his rifle outside with frighteningly great accuracy. The young girl naturally had an extraordinary aim and after a few long talks, he'd seen the determination burning in her to avenge the murder of her parents. Given by her mother's dance lessons, she was also flexible and capable of many different acrobatic moves; this combined with her aim proven to be a very dangerous combination.

To not awaken suspicion he told his friends Karma was an orphan whose parents were killed by bandits and he had adopted her to give her a family and education. Karma was fascinated chasing greater heights of her skills, this involved reading every possible book about anatomy, marking, engraving the useful spots of the body. Karma knows where to shoot to disarm, to cause a slow death, to paralyze, to disable for life and when it is only a warning: an injury which will heal with time. Along with her accuracy, her drawing speed only can be compared to lightning. Although she prefers/most comfortable with her dual revolvers (model undecided yet), she is still a menace with shotguns, rifles, flintlocks and even bows due to Gàbor's 'A Hungarian is not a Hungarian if they can't use a bow' mindset.

The bounty hunter quicker than death

Karma had her first official gunfight at the age of 18 on the auction. for Vihar (Storm), the filly of her father's horses.

Detailed post about Vihar

She officially entered the bounty hunter business when she was 20 and Vihar was 2, aiming for the most dangerous criminals whom committed the worst acts possible. In her early years after the kill she slit open corpses she trying to find the bullet, surverying the damage it caused and adding filler information to her anatomy knowledge. Of course she didn’t bother burying the bodies, she knew as a woman she has to be extremely vicious above talented to be hired and mutilated dead bodies did send a great message & served as cement for building her reputation. The name Karma wasn't entirely her idea, many thankful family members claimed that karma has came for their loved ones' murderers. Her talent spread like wildfire among the men of law, glad to be rid of the dangerous scum; with careful planning, use of environment and Vihar as backup she had wiped out gangs, not solely focused on individuals.

Unfortunately her reputation summoned an unofficial grand price on her head as well in certain circles; they had tracked her back to her uncle's house. The battle claimed Gábor's life and nearly her sight as her right eye was almost slashed out. The new loss opened old wounds: her not being able to protect her loved ones. She couldn't look into a mirror, the scar a reminder how despite all years of training she wasn't untouchable; after burying her uncle plan to gain control over her psyche already formed.

She took a knife and carefully carved four half circles around her eye to form a crosshair with her pupil being the middle of it. She made sure she kept the wounds open for enough time to scar as visibly as the vertical cut; she wanted a symbol to add to her legend. Excuse my pathetic excuse of an edit, I'm not good in this, nor I can draw.

Now Karma is 25, Vihar is 6, both of them in their peak physical prime; the name Vihar is also symbolic a little, Karma is the lightning to her horse. She is dancing on the thin edge of bounty hunting and being an outlaw as she often takes...side jobs to help people who deserve it and usually that person doesn't have a bounty on their head, therefore it is technically murder.

Local antisocial feral monk & cocky gunslinger feral lady / addition of the AU with the amazing @mr-mansnoozie

Near her uncle's house, Karma had discovered a cave and a grumpy mute monk living in it along with his pet bear. The monk, Sandy eventually became a second uncle to the traumatized angry orphan, he taught her how to move & creep upon someone soundlessly, disappear without a trace, cover her stances and behavior patterns of various animals. Before and after returning from a job she always visits her uncle of choice for a chat; a silent way to prepare him to the possibility of her not coming back. But she always do. She considers Sandy as part of her tiny family, although his...copying mechanisms with his own traumas were a bit strange to get used to; she adapted quite fast, after all who is she to judge with a past like that?

I'm a dead man walking, Hell's at my door.

aka collection of small headcanons

🎯 Her dual revolvers are called Salvation and Damnation because she's dramatic

🎯 Karma has a small sketchbook filled with anatomy drawings for further practice.

🎯 She actually can sing, but rarely does, only to Vihar since she never received positive feedback on it. Her voice is gritty, rugged and deep; definitely not the usual and desired sounding from a woman.

🎯 If her target was an outstandingly cruel bastard and/or one of those whom killed her parents she uses a little psychological torture. After fatally wounding them she starts whistling (for the most terrifying experience wear headphones & close your eyes while listening) as they try to crawl away or beg for mercy. The first time the whistle gets shrill & more intense is when she lazily reloads, knowing she has both the time and the upper hand. The second pace shift is when she aims; she shoots during the last, long drawn out high note.

🎯 This is her only verse where Cindy is afraid, no terrified of fire; during her....26 AU's she's always been associated with fire despite dying in or being wounded by it. In this verse she is more tied to lightning, the scent of smoke is enough to send her into a silent panic attack and despite loathing the cold she will never sit close to the fireplace. Her other deep fears include injuring her hands & sight and losing Vihar. Her horse is the only remaining family member of hers, she can't fail her too.

🎯 Most of Karma's scars, injuries are a result of her standing between Vihar and a knife/bullet/ even a bullwhip when a criminal was smart enough to catch on their deep emotional bond.

🎯 She has recurring night terrors about the night her parents died, she always wakes up in cold sweat; she's sort of used to them. Though, sometimes she still cries but thankfully Vihar is there to comfort her.

🎯 Karma has a special morning stretch routine to keep her flexibility and warm up her hands & keep them steady and fast.

🎯 Due to her dad and uncle she received high quality education

🎯 For the untrained eye, the belt of her hat are simple crosses while in reality, they are inverted crosses to symbolize her stance with Christianity

🎯 Karma's middle name is Emerald, given by her father due to her eye color.

🎯 Karma was first inspired by League of Legends Miss Fortune because that name alone is great but unfortunately she is too pirate coded for a western so I abandoned the relation. Though when Karma is not being the 'Call me a slow reader but I only made it to the Dead part, the or Alive didn't register.' ; her personality is similar to hers.

🎯 Due to her dad, Karma is actually half aristocrat. Not like she cares about it the slightest; the only indication of noble blood is her idle stance. It is an unconscious mirror of how her father used to hold himself: back straightened to almost impossible point, left arm behind it, right hand resting on the grip of in her case, revolver instead of hilt of a sword.

🎯 If given the chance to live a normal life, she would've grown into a captivating, lively young woman, much like her mother but with the aristocrat elegance of her father; finding a suitor who lives up to her parents' and her standards would've been the challenge of the century.

🎯 Her special move is called Dance of Death. This is used as last resort when she's facing more opponents up to 12, as with her dual revolvers she has 12 bullets without reloading. She mentally marks the stances of all opponents, predicts their movement, firing order and possible way of their bullets before whirling out of her hiding place. Each pose minimizes the chance of getting shot, and with each change of movement two bullets are fired, two men drop dead.

🎯 Her accuracy isn't just 'gun goes boom >:D' but a combination of natural talent, endless practice, movement prediction, sharp, quick thinking & analytical skills and different techniques molten together to utilize them all at once

🎯 Her hair is now as long as her mother's, she always keeps it in a single tight braid to keep it out of the way; without her hat and hair down she actually loses some of her dangerous edge.

🎯 The only physical memory Karma has of her parents is her dad's hussar sword she found underneath the ruins of the house, it was protected by a very thick wooden box & a lock of her mother's hair is tied to the grip. She has hidden it in the nearby forest, her thoughts often wander to it along with the wish to wield it.

[signalterminated]

Altered Item S-96 (Control/TMA crossover)

a while ago when i was playing Control i wrote up a little crossover fic for fun. a week or 2 later i found out jonny was streaming control on twitch which was one hell of a coincidence. i figured i might as well post this here in case anyone else finds the concept interesting or fun to play around with.

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

ALTERED ITEM S-96

Description: 

A black and white children's book titled A Guest for Mr. Spider. Story details a cartoonish spider greeting flies as "guests" to his house. There are two doors on each side of the house but no furniture save for a single table with withered bluebells. Each fly has a moniker as a name that refers to their individual species.

Setup for the story is cyclical: one page introduces a fly offering a gift to the spider in an attempt to appease him. Subsequent page heavily implies Mr. Spider ate them after being dissatisfied with the gift. The final fly is shown offering his own son to the spider for reasons unknown.

The doors and Mr.Spider are depicted as being progressively bloodier. Mr.Spider's abdomen is also swollen to gargantuan proportions but the text states he wants more, even desiring another guest for dinner. Last page of the book is a cutaway of the right hand door that simply says, "It's polite to knock."

Ability:

While unsettling, the pages themselves possess no visible paranatural qualities. The reader is instead put into a trance while reading that can only be broken by an outside force or intervention. Age, gender, height, or any other physical characteristic does not seem to affect the potency nor threshold of interruption for this trance. 

The reader is rendered oblivious to their surroundings but is capable of walking, oftentimes significant distances. Furthest distance recorded for this effect was [REDACTED] observed at [REDACTED]. So far no measurable distance has been noted as a "minimum" requirement, though a median of approximately [REDACTED] has been recorded for all controlled tests.  It's possible that the distance a reader must travel is random, or (more possibly) is quantified by factors we are as of yet unable to ascertain. 

The reader eventually reaches a stained door. The door is different colors depending on the environment but the stains remain consistent regardless of locale. If left uninterrupted, the reader will place the book against the door and knock on it. It's uncertain if this is necessary to prompt the next part of the ritual or not, as testing beyond this point is fatal for any subject. 

The door opens to reveal pitch blackness. Shortly after, the reader is yanked inside by limbs described as [REDACTED]. No one taken by the creature behind the door has ever been seen again. 

See S-96-CV-1 for further details regarding testing.

S-96-CV-1

Variables:

Various factors have been tested to determine the strength of the book's controlling properties. Photography had proven to be impossible in both digital and film formats, as any photo taken always comes out completely black, damaged, or distorted beyond recovery. Video recordings of the book being read have been tricky to establish, as digital equipment will almost immediately glitch and stutter within a range of [REDACTED] of the book. Attempting to use even an advanced zoom feature from far away results in similar phenomenon. 

So long as the patient's back is obscuring a view of the book, it's relatively safe to record. Additionally the effect operates in a far more reduced capacity while S-96 is closed, causing glitches and technical issues within a range of [REDACTED] instead. 

Strangely enough, motivation presents more of an obstacle in attempting to monitor S-96. Nearly every agent instructed to photograph or record the book reported a sudden lack of motivation to do so when approaching the containment room. Many formulated excuses for why they couldn't at that very moment. Others simply forgot why they were there. Installing sheets of Black Rock within the containment room helped reduce this effect considerably but did not eradicate it.  

See JS-P1-95 for an interview from the only known survivor. 

JS-P1-95 

Transcript for an audio recording between Jonathan Sims, aged 8, and a child therapist appointed by local protection services. Interview occurred approximately 2 days after the disappearance of [REDACTED].

Therapist: Hi there, Jonathan. 

Jonathan: Call me Jon please, ma'am. 

Therapist: Right, of course. How are you feeling, Jon?

Jon: I'm not sure, ma'am. 

Therapist: Please, call me Imogen. And that’s alright. After what you went through, that’s a very normal reaction.

Jon: Noth—

(There is a brief moment of silence followed by the sound of clothing rustling. Jon is shifting uncomfortably in his seat.)

Jon: Yeah. I guess.

Therapist: What were you going to say, Jon? Remember, I’m not here to judge you.

Jon: O-okay. It’s just...nothing about this feels normal. 

Therapist: How so, Jon?

Jon: You won’t believe me.

Therapist: You told the police that you saw [REDACTED] being kidnapped. They believed you, right? So will I.

Jon: I didn’t tell them everything.

Therapist: And why is that, Jon?

Jon: Because what I saw, it...it doesn’t make sense. It was really dark out but I know what I saw, and...

(Small set of hitching breaths followed by a deep breath. Jonathan appears to be repressing a breakdown very well for a child.)

Jon: It happened so fast but I saw it. It took him. 

Therapist: What took him, Jon?

Jon: Mr. Spider.

(There is a brief onset of soft static here. Most likely due to the age of the recording.)

Therapist: ...Mr. Spider?

Jon: From the book.

Therapist: What book, Jon?

Jon: A Guest for Mr. Spider! He took the book when he pushed me and I followed him a-and he knocked on the door and --

(More shifting, this time including papers and seats. Jon is breathing harder and the rest of his sentence is unintelligible.)

Therapist: Jonathan, take a deep breath. There you go. You’re okay.

Therapist: Now, tell me about this book. The police never mentioned finding a book by that name.

Jon: That’s because he was holding it. Don’t you understand!? The book, it made him go there. It forced him to knock on the door and...and then...

(A small sob followed by the hushed cooing of the therapist. Jon seems unresponsive and there’s the creak of a chair, followed by silence.)

Jon: I don’t want to talk about the book anymore.

Therapist: Okay. That’s okay. You’ve done very well so far.

Jon: I’m not a toddler.

Therapist: I’m sorry, Jon. I know you’re not a toddler, this is a lot for anyone. Even an adult.

Jon: I knew you wouldn’t believe me.

Therapist: Now what makes you think that?

Jon: I can see it. I see a lot of things.

(Recording ends here.)

There are no other audio logs regarding this incident. Additional services were turned down by Jon’s grandmother, [REDACTED], and there are no other records of him seeking out professional treatment in the following years.

For more information regarding Jonathan Sims, refer to JS-19-UAE.

JS-19-UAE

Initial Impressions: 

Jonathan Sims displays a very high intelligence for his age. Whether due to trauma or his orphaned status, he exhibits a world weariness rarely found in a child. This emotional aloofness coupled with a lack of any close relatives might indicate an affinity for future leadership. 

Bureau agents stationed in the UK are instructed to closely monitor his activities for the following 2 years. This is to determine potential eligibility in the Prime Candidate Program and to assess if the Altered Item will return to claim its intended victim.

Pre-Adolescence to Early Teenhood (10-13)

Jonathan Sims has exhibited no further paranatural abilities. He appears to have thrown himself into academic pursuits and has not made contact with any other Altered Items. The book mentioned in his initial therapy session has not appeared within his vicinity, nor has it been reported by any other agent stationed in Great Britain. 

As of now, surveillance will continue, albeit in a reduced capacity.

Teenhood (13-17)

Still no indication that Jonathan Sims possesses any paranatural talent. However, he appears to have a heightened sensitivity to paranatural events and items. There have been at least 4 instances where he nearly stumbled upon AWE’s or Altered Items, only to just skirt by them. Each instance has been logged in a separate report and successfully apprehended before it could catch public attention. 

Whether this is a 6th sense keeping him out of danger — or drawing him to it — is currently unknown. 

Early Adulthood (18-21)

Agents recently discovered the book mentioned in Jonathan Sims's therapy session. It does not appear to be tied to him in any way, given the fact it was found in a check-out bin at the [REDACTED] Library in [REDACTED]. It was contained successfully by [REDACTED] and shipped back to the Oldest House in a crate lined with Black Rock. 

Jonathan himself has become a full time student in Oxford. He has exhibited no latent talents or abilities of interest. Due to his growing age and the fact the book has been found, his eligibility in the Prime Candidate Program has been revoked. 

That being said, he is an excellent accidental bloodhound. More than once his intuition has led him within the range of an AWE or Altered Item. By proxy, we are made aware and are able to act quickly to avoid further disaster. 

Whether these items are reacting to his presence, seeking him out purposefully, or this is all simply coincidence is not yet determined. Closer study could risk exposing Bureau operations, as Jonathan has grown increasingly paranoid since teenhood. Measures have been taken to avoid any further unintended alterations in his usual behavioral patterns. 

Adulthood (22-24)

Nothing to report between college and entering the workforce. His grandmother's death led to a period of instability but nothing atypical of a grieving individual. 

ADDENDUM: Jonathan's habit of accidentally brushing up against the paranatural has culminated in a job at the Magnus Institute.

While not tied to the Bureau, the Magnus Institute has been partnered in some capacity with the Bureau for over 2 decades now. This coincidence has been logged as potentially being influenced by paranatural forces. 

An ambassador will be sent to the Magnus Institute to investigate and negotiate with the current Director of its operations, Elias Bouchard. Extra caution should be exercised to avoid arousing further suspicion from Jonathan or the Institute. 

[wordsablaze]

Ch.8. Beneficial Blue

Blue Buttercup Almost like buttercups, it took Jaskier a lot of time and trouble to bloom and find his place in the world, but it wasn’t all so golden… (aka: yennefer was his mother way before he was jaskier)

A/N: can’t even see canon anymore but soft yen is worth it imo :p @dauntless-hufflepuff-pride x

previous chapter

-

It’s three days before they need to leave the house again.

“Yenny, why are you frowning?”

Oh, and she’s taken to frowning a lot over said three days. She can’t help it, she’d felt something wrong with Lord Ambrose’s house and Julian had said the same.

“It’s nothing, Julian. Are you hungry?”

Julian shakes his head, simply curling back into her lap again as he starts playing with the fabric of her dress, which seems to be a nervous habit of his. She can’t understand how it brings him comfort but she can’t bring herself to stop him either.

(It’s somehow comforting to her too.)

A part of her hates this, hates that she can feel so… comforted… by someone so small and fragile and confusing - It’s dangerous and she doesn’t like that.

“Do we have to go back?” he asks, pulling her out of her thoughts.

Yennefer sighs, running her fingers through his hair. “We do. You can stay here if you want but I’d rather you were with me.”

He tightens his grip on her dress and makes a strange noise before replying, “Stay with you, like you said.”

(She can’t believe he still wants to stay.)

“Okay well, we’ll have to leave soon then. Are you ready?”

Julian finally sits upright and stares at her, almost amused. “Aren’t we matching again?”

Yennefer doesn’t know how to comprehend the fact that four words can mean so much to her so she just settles for nodding and watching as he grins before running off to go find his chemise.

She takes the very brief moment of solitude to inhale and exhale slowly. She’s not paranoid, of course not, but even a simple job is different now that she has someone else to be worried about.

Maybe everyone at Aretuza had been right in thinking that life should be a one-woman show and that needing other people or having other people need you is just a euphemism for having a weakness, a liability, a way for things to go wrong and-

“Yenny, I need help with the buttons!”

(Either way, it doesn’t feel right to deny Julian her help.)

“Hang on, Julian,” Yennefer sighs, kneeling down to see what he’s done.

It’s not that bad, to be fair, he just seems to be struggling with doing up his doublet again. She does it for him without questioning it, only for him to frown at her. “You can’t see the matchy jewel!”

“The what?” Yennefer blinks.

Julian pokes her shoulder. “My new jewel. You traded for it.”

Oh.

(She’s pretty sure she’d trade almost anything for him if he needed it.)

“Your necklace? Hang on…” she trails off, unfastening the top button so he can pull the necklace out and have it on display.

She doesn’t tell him that she’s reinforced it with magic so it will never fall off or get lost. The only way it will come off is if he removes it himself but he’s yet to show any signs of wanting to do so.

“Are you ready to portal now?” she asks softly.

Julian nods, but lifts his arms above his head, curling his fingers. She sighs but lifts him up with one arm, making sure he’s secure before creating a portal and stepping through it.

He makes a pained noise as they do, clinging onto her as if his life depends on it. But a few moments of her stroking his hair later, he grins widely. “Your magic is fun.”

(He always says that as if she isn’t capable of destroying the continent.)

“Let’s go find this rogue mage, okay, little one?” she asks instead, lowering him to the ground and letting him take her hand as they start walking, following the trail of uncontrolled chaos that seems to buzz in the air.

It’s not long before they reach what looks like a small hut. “I wish these idiots had better decoration skills,” Yennefer mutters.

“Yours is way nicer,” Julian agrees, and she’s abruptly reminded that she might need to be careful what she says if there’s someone else with her. It really wouldn’t do to have Julian call unhinged mages idiots, now, would it?

“Who are you?” someone asks sharply, drawing their attention to the man standing at the doorway.

Julian gasps and steps behind her, his free hand clutching at her dress once again.

(It’s oddly satisfying.)

“Yennefer of Vengerberg, here to determine whether or not you’re actually Lord Ambrose’s problem.”

“Leave now and I won’t be forced to fight you,” he replies, all but growling at them.

Yennefer rolls her eyes. “You wouldn’t last five minutes but do go on wasting your breath if it pleases you.”

The other mage lowers his hands and looks over them both, shaking his head. “I’m not the problem here and I have no intention of orphaning the boy. Haven’t you been to his manor yet?”

She’s not sure what he means because there’s no way someone with such appalling aesthetic sense could defeat her and there’s no way he could know who Julian’s parents are, but she chalks it down to him being somewhat crazed.

“What about his manor?”

(She doesn’t like the idea of having missed something.)

Julian steps out from behind her and squeezes her hand. “It was bad energy, like you said.”

The other mage looks at Julian in shock and Yennefer is immediately hit with the urge to remove his eyes for daring to do so. But before she can say anything, he nods at Julian. “Yes, exactly. There’s another mage staying with him and poisoning this town.”

Yennefer shakes her head. “That’s a heavy accusation to make for someone surrounded by chaos. Where’s your proof?”

“You weren’t following my trail, Yennefer of Vengerberg, you were following the residue of his magic on me,” the other mage says, stepping inside his hut with the nerve to assume she’s going to follow.

She immediately has every intention to set the place ablaze but Julian tugs on her hand so she decides to let the mage live for a little longer. Just until she knows what’s happening anyway.

(If Lord Ambrose is playing her, he’s not getting away with it.)

“What’s your name?” Julian asks the mage.

“Marcio, and you?” the mage, apparently called Marcio, replies.

Julian glances up at Yennefer before replying, which warms her heart just a little. When she nods, he turns back to Marcio and grins. “I’m Julian.”

“Where are you from, Julian?” Marcio asks as he searches a very disorganised desk.

Yennefer squeezes Julian’s hand as he shuffles uncomfortably and clears her throat. “He’s with me. Now, are you going to make a fool of yourself for much longer?”

Marcio sighs. “I made a note of every time someone went missing. And each time, there was a witcher in town to slay a monster exactly a week later.”

At that, Yennefer’s curiosity piques. Along with confusion and the slightest of awe, because if what Marcio is implying is actually happening, there’s a darker shade of magic involved that really shouldn’t even be possible.

(But it also shouldn’t be possible for anyone to desire being with her as long as Julian has and yet here they are.)

“What kind of monster? Big scary ones with lots of teeth?” Julian asks, his eyes wide.

Yennefer blinks, almost having forgotten that he’s a child and had never seen a bestiary of any sort.

Shifting uncertainty, Marcio nods. “Sometimes. It’s rarely the same one twice.”

“Are you going to fight them, Yenny?” Julian looks back up to her, no doubt in his eyes that she can do such a thing. Gods is it empowering to see the faith, however misplaced, that he has in her and her abilities.

She nods at him. “Of course. But first I think we need to figure out where they’re coming from, monsters don’t usually have a rota.”

(Not even the ones inside her head.)

Marcio chuckles. “They’re coming from Ambrose’s manor. I haven’t been able to get closer than a mile or so.”

Yennefer raises an eyebrow. “We were inside just a few days ago.”

“The mage knows of me and my attempts to stop him but you weren’t a threat to him-” he holds his hands up, fingers splayed, as Yennefer narrows her eyes- “only because you didn’t know what I know about him.”

“You’re lying,” Julian blurts.

Yennefer resists the urge to look at him and instead watches Marcio glance at him nervously, his teeth briefly worrying his lip before he laughs. “Why would I lie to you?”

(She’s so tired of everyone lying to her.)

She shifts her gaze to the room they’re in, searching for anything to verify his version of the truth. Amongst all the chaos and clutter, there’s nothing to suggest he’s making things up, except for…

“Is that him?” she asks, nodding her head to a scribbled drawing that’d clearly been discarded in anger. One of the men in the drawing is clearly Marcio but the other she doesn’t recognise.

Marcio follows her gaze and pales just enough to confirm her suspicion. “You were working together on whatever it is happening in this town, weren’t you?”

Julian steps behind her once again as Marcio’s smile curls into a grimace, both of his tiny hands now clasped around hers as he goes quiet, clearly waiting for her to do something, seeking her protection.

(How dare Marcio even talk to Julian through his lying teeth.)

“It wasn’t my fault! It wasn’t meant to be like this, it was just-”

“Toying with chaos that you couldn’t begin to understand?” Yennefer interjects, clenching her jaw. “Mages like you don’t deserve magic.”

Marcio steps back at the venom in he words, as he should, but he doesn’t give up, shaking his head slowly. “I wasn’t lying before, I swear it. He really is responsible for the disappearances and I need your help.”

“Yenny doesn’t need yours,” Julian says quietly.

(It takes all her willpower not to smile at that.)

Not that Marcio would have noticed because he’s too busy looking startled. “Please, there are innocent people in this town.”

Any other day, Yenenfer would have rolled her eyes, told him that there are so-called innocent people everywhere, and left him to clear up his own mess. But any other day, she wouldn’t still be internally smiling at the trust a small child has placed in her.

She sighs. “I couldn’t care less about your pathetic partnership and its failure. I will do what I came here to do and if you even think about interfering, I will see you as part of the problem. Do you understand?”

“He does,” Julian replies for him, grinning.

Marcio stays silent as Yennefer sends him a biting glare and leads Julian out of the hut, back towards the manor. He remains silent as they leave, for which she’s grateful as she’d rather not expose Julian to the sight of a dead mage just yet.

(He deserves better than her violence.)

“How did you know he was lying?” she asks Julian.

He just shrugs. “I don’t know. His words weren’t right, that’s what always happens when people lie.”

Yennefer can’t figure out what that means but she doesn’t push him to explain because she doesn’t want to know who else had lied to him. Well, that’s a lie, she does want to know, but she doesn’t want to upset him by asking.

And anyway, he’s one of very few people who have actually managed to help her so she doesn’t mind giving him the benefit of the doubt. She just nods at him. “Let’s go fix this mage problem, okay?”

Julian nods back eagerly. “And then can we have jam again?”

This time she can’t help smiling, she really can't. So she lets herself do so and nods. “Of course, little one. We can have all the jam you like.”

“Thank you!” Julian beams as if she’d just promised him the moon and stars.

(She would promise him those as well in a heartbeat.)

As the two of them continue walking, she makes a mental note to somehow acquire more jam on their way back.

-

one day i’ll crosspost to tumblr with no delay, but yesterday was not that day...

-

thanks for reading !! masterlist | witcher blog: @itsjaskier | next chapter

[stormcrawler75]

Bug Hunting

Notes: This is a fic that @bleepblopbloop56 and I wrote together! It was super fun to collab with him and I really, really hope that we can do it again!

Summary: The tiny part of the day where Virgil was able to go over to his friend Logan’s house and hunt bugs were Virgil's favourite part of the day. He only wished that he didn’t have to deal with Logan’s older brothers whenever he did so.

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

The tiny part of the day where Virgil was able to go over to his friend's house and hunt bugs were Virgil's favourite part of the day.

He got excited each time the Orphanage's patron smiled at him, patting him on the head and telling him that he could run along to the Heart-Picani's residence and play with their son. Virgil would always drop whatever he was doing and run out of the Orphanage's door, the patron watching the seven-year-old the entire time, straight down to the big red house on the corner with a white picket fence around it. Logan would almost always be sitting down in the yard, looking close at the grass with his "Bug Hunting Glasses" on and a magnifying glass in his hands so he'd be able to look at the little creatures. Virgil didn't usually say anything to Logan while they were bug hunting. He just sat beside the other bug, gasping and nodding at the proper time while Logan rambled on about bugs.

It was Virgil's favourite activity.

It seemed to be Logan's favourite activity too. He liked talking to Virgil about bugs, even if it was obvious that the younger boy didn't understand all of what Logan was saying. Though, Logan seemed determined to help Virgil learn and snuck him several books that he took from the library so Virgil would have something to read while he was alone in the Orphanage. Virgil was quickly starting to understand that Logan showed his affection by giving little gifts to his friends and family, be it books, sweets, or other little things that he knew Virgil would like.

Virgil liked spending time with Logan. Just like he was doing now.

"Virgil look! I caught one!" Logan flashed a toothless grin from across the yard, a little ant crawling around in his muddy little hands. 

"Whoaaa!" Virgil made his way over to him, worn-out tennis shoes stomping down the flowers as he went. "He's so small!" He leaned down, so his nose was almost touching Logan's palm. "His name is Antony," he said firmly, glancing up at Logan with a nod.

Logan wrinkled his nose at the pun. "No puns," he whined. "Bug hunting doesn't involve puns!" Logan's hatred of puns was well known to Virgil and it was because Virgil was such a good friend that he copied Mr. Patton's puns at every opportunity he could.

Right as Virgil was about to try and think of other puns that he had heard Logan's Daddies use before, one of the Daddies poked their head outside. "Logan, Virgil! It's time for lunch!" Their smile wavered a little. "Keep your little friends outside this time, okay? I'm sorry, Kiddos, but no bugs are allowed in the house."

"Okay, Daddy," Logan called, laying his hand in the grass to let the ant crawl off, then smearing his muddy hands down his overalls to wipe them off. He offered Virgil his hand with a large grin. "C'mon, Vee!"

Virgil grinned at Logan, taking his hand and standing up. He followed Logan dutifully, kicking his shoes off when they entered. The mate was full of shoes, Logan's light up space ones, Mr. Patton's bright yellow crocks and their dirty work boots, and Mr. Emile's freshly shined brown leather shoes. And, much to Virgil's horror, Logan's older twin brothers' shoes were there too, lying discarded beside Mr. Patton's.

Oh no.

"Boys," Patton called from the kitchen. "Come on, it's lunch! Roman, Remus! Get down here!"

Virgil's heart dropped when he heard a door slam from upstairs and he quickly took Logan's hand, stepping behind him nervously. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Logan glanced at him with an obviously concerned frown, not understanding why the sound of his older brothers running downstairs would effect Virgil so much. And of course, he wouldn't understand. Virgil had never told him about the teasing.

It wasn't even a big deal! It was just a little teasing, that was all. Teasing about his hand-me-down clothes, his long hair, and the purple and black patchworked hoodie that was on the edge of being thrown out. It was nothing! Just some stupid things that shouldn't upset Virgil as it did.

"What's wrong with you?" Logan pouted, pulling Virgil into the kitchen and getting up on the step stool by the cabinets to reach the sink and wash his hands. "Don't you want mac and cheese?"

"I'm fine," Virgil mumbled, looking over his shoulder. He hunched down in his hoodie as he waited for Logan to finish washing his hands. He tensed when he heard two pairs of footsteps behind him, talking over each other to their dad. Virgil swallowed and quickly stepped up the footstool when Logan got down, numbly washing his hands as quickly as he could.

He could feel them staring at him. Neither of them said a single word to him but they didn't have to. He could feel their eyes on his back the entire time he was washing his hands. They were going to say something, he knew that they'd say something soon. Why wouldn't they say something, they always said something.

But they didn't say a single word all through lunch.

Virgil sat beside Logan, staring down into his half-empty bowl, only half listening as Logan, Roman, and Remus chattered to Patton happily about their days so far. Remus and Roman didn't even look Virgil's way. It was driving him crazy. Why hadn't they done anything yet?! They always did something by now!

It would be only a few minutes after Patton started to clean up the lunch dishes that Virgil got his wish. It was when Mr. Patton's back was turned and they were washing dishes, Logan helping them gather up plates and put them on the counter when Remus slid a folded up piece of paper toward him. Both him and Roman were giggling, the nine-year-olds looking at Virgil mischievously. Virgil stared at it warily for a few moments before he slowly unfolded it.

There was a crudely drawn picture on the paper of Virgil in a red dress, blue tears going down his face, and big-city buildings around him. In big block words at the bottom were: L I T T L E O R P H A N V I R G I L

Little Orphan Virgil. Like Little Orphan Annie. An orphan girl with a happy ending, who got a family at the end. Not like Virgil. Virgil wouldn't get a happy ending, not like Annie. This drawing was so wrong that it almost made Virgil want to laugh. But, instead, he started to cry.

It seemed to catch the twins off guard, Roman's smile falling and Remus flinching back in his seat. Virgil's soft cries quickly escalated into loud wails, the piece of paper being clutched in his hands. There were frantic footsteps behind him and Remus tried to snatch the piece of paper back. But a larger hand gently batted Remus' hand down and then there was Mr. Patton, crouching beside Virgil. "Honey, what's wrong," they cooed.

Virgil couldn't respond, crying too hard to say any real words but instead just offering up the drawing with shakey hands. Mr. Patton slowly unfolded the paper, staring at it for a second longer than they meant to. "Did you two do this?" They asked, turning around to look at the guilty twins. "Hold on one second, honey," Patton cooed, standing up and pulling Roman and Remus out of the room, calling for Emile in the process 

Logan raced over with an expression of concern on his face. "Vee! Vee, what's wrong?" He pulled Virgil down off the chair, into a tight and slightly awkward hug, Logan only liked hugging his Daddies, but it didn't help Virgil stop crying in the slightest. He just sobbed into Logan's shoulder. He made a little sound of surprise when he was plucked from Logan's arms and cradled against a large chest. He looked up and saw Mr. Emile smiling down at Virgil gently.

"I think that we could all use some quiet time," he said, holding Virgil with one arm and taking Logan's hand with his free one. "Come on, you two. Let's go upstairs and I'll put on some nice Steven Universe for the three of us, how does that sound?" When Virgil's tears died down from wails to hiccups and sniffling, he smiled proudly. "Alright, some nice cartoons it is! Come on, now."

He led them from the kitchen and pass the living room. Virgil happened to glance inside and found Remus sitting on the couch and Roman curled up in an armchair. Mr. Patton was sitting on the coffee table and all three were quietly talking, tears shining in the boys' eyes. Virgil quickly looked away before the twins could catch his eyes, burying his face in Mr. Emile's shoulder. He really didn't want to talk to them right now. Right now, he just wanted to sit with his friend and watch a cartoon.

Unfortunately, like so many things in Virgil's life, things only went his way for so long.

They were only finishing the first half of the show when Mr. Patton came knocking on Logan's door, smiling softly. "Virgil, can you come on down, please? Remus and Roman have something to say to you." They looked so tired and sad when they were looking at the two boys and held out their hand to Virgil, who hesitantly. He really didn't want to talk to Remus and Roman. But this was Mr. Patton who was asking him. He couldn't just say no, not after they and Mr. Emile let him come over each day and hunt bugs with Logan. So he took Mr. Patton's hand and let him lead him away from the concerned Logan and Mr. Emile, who kept Logan in his lap and stopped him from running after them.

Mr. Patton led him downstairs and back to the living room where Remus and Roman were waiting for them. Remus was pouting down at the couch, actually looking regretful for once. Roman, on the other hand, looked like he was this just a few words off from bursting into tears. In fact, as soon as he saw Virgil, he sniffled and ducked his head. 

Nope, not real, this had to be a dream. There was no way that Roman and Remus actually felt sorry for teasing Virgil. Nu-uh, they hated him! But then, why was Roman and Remus crying? They weren't actors, as much as Roman said that he was.

Patton picked Virgil up smoothly, placing him on the table and sitting down next to him. "Okay, Remus, Roman. Do you have something you want to say to Virgil?" They watched them both calmly and with an encouragingly little smile. 

Roman mumbled something under his breath, sniffling and keeping his eyes to the ground. For a moment Virgil thought that would be it and Mr.Patton would let him go back to his cartoons, but when he looked up at Patton to see if that was that, Patton had their eyebrow arched and was giving Roman a pointed look. 

Ultimately, it was Remus who blurted out, "You always spend time with our baby brother and we got jealous!"

Roman's head snapped up. "Remus!"

"It's true!"

Virgil felt like his world had been flipped upside down and he just stared at them. "Wait, what?" he looked between the two in confusion. "Nu-uh! You hate me, I know it! You're always teasing me and making fun!" He crossed his arms stubbornly and glared at the ground, tears pooling in his lies. "'m not stupid. I know you're lying."

Roman glanced over at Virgil and flushed. "We... um, thought that Logan liked you better than he likes us. So we tried to make you go 'way so Logan would play with us again like he used to do. It was really," he took a few moments to properly pronounce the word, "immature and mean. We should've tried playing with you too 'stead of being mean to you. And we shouldn't have made fun of you not having parents. That was super mean." He gave Virgil a sad look. "I couldn't imagine not having my Daddies. I'm really sorry."

"Me too," Remus cut in, giving Virgil a toothy grin. "We shouldn't have been mean to you. Besides! You can't be that bad if you like bugs! Maybe you can help me get Roman to eat a bug!"

"EWWWW!!!"

Patton chuckled and cut in before a full-blown argument could break out. "Okay, okay. Now, Kiddos, is there anything else you have to say to Virgil?" He gave both of them a pointed look.

Remus and Roman glanced at each other and said in unison, "We're sorry, Virgil. And we'd really wanna be your friend."

Virgil stared at the two of them, trying to figure out if they actually meant what they were saying. Finally, he said hesitantly, "No more teasing? Promise?"

"Promise," Remus said with a grin that he usually only reserved for Roman and Logan. This one didn't look so mean. 

"Promise," Roman repeated. He was looking at Virgil in determination like nothing could stop him now from becoming Virgil's best friend ever. It made Virgil both a little nervous and excited.

Patton smiled down at him. "Well, Kiddo?"

Virgil didn't say anything for a long moment before he gave them both a tiny smile. "I forgive you." He didn't say anything about them being friends. He was scared that this was an act and he really didn't want to get his hopes up.

But, as he'd soon learn, once Remus and Roman put their minds to something, they almost always got it.

[ahtohallan-calling]

chapter 6 of promises to keep is here!

[kristanna / 18th c scotland au / love and angst and kiltstoff in equal measure / rated t / 4k words this chapter]

masterpost

“Is that what you want, then?” she demanded. “Want to throw away the gift you’ve been given and waste away?”

She watched from behind as his shoulders tensed, but still he wouldn’t turn and look at her. “Well, Kristoff? Is it?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said at last, his voice so low she could barely hear it.

chapter 6: a new promise

They were still clinging to each other when Anna heard the door swing open and felt Kristoff stiffen in her arms. She rose back to her full height and turned, keeping a hand on Kristoff’s shoulder, to see her sister peering in, eyes wide, and what looked like half the town behind her.

“See, Miss Elsa?” little Addie said, triumphant and unaware of the tension in the air. “I told you there was a stranger.”

Anna squeezed Kristoff’s shoulder as she replied, “Not a stranger. This is…this is our friend Mr. Bjorgman. You were only a wee little bairn the last time he was here.”

Elsa came in then, extending a hand. “Kristoff, welcome home,” she said, faltering when he didn’t rise to meet her.

Anna felt him draw in a deep breath before he pulled away. Glancing over she saw he was reaching for a cane that she hadn’t noticed propped up against a table. He took it in hand and took two heavy steps towards Elsa, who smoothly switched hands in order to grasp his free one. 

“It’s good to be back,” he said, his voice low.

Something in Anna’s chest was suddenly too tight, something behind her eyes too hot. It had been ridiculous, she realized now, to expect him to come home unharmed, to think it would all be alright, just as it once was, but to see the way his shoulders curled inwards, the way his head hung low, the way his knuckles whitened as he held onto the cane in his hand…

Her thoughts were interrupted by someone clearing their throat, and she looked to see Ross, who she supposed she ought to stop thinking of as just the carpenter’s boy now that he’d been doing the work on his own for two years. “Are there any others?” the boy– hardly a boy now, too, anyway, she realized– asked, the last embers of hope shining in his eyes.

Kristoff bowed his head; Anna hesitated for a moment before stepping forward to stand beside him, but he didn’t reach for her. “No,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”

—

That night his dreams were of Callum’s lifeless body beneath his horse and Lachlan with the rope around his neck and the rattling of chains, all of it watched over by the silent, sad-eyed chorus who had come to his door yesterday and been disappointed to see it was only him.

Anna would have stayed all night if he had let her, but once they had all dispersed and she had seen to it that he had supper, he had kissed her forehead and insisted that she go home and sleep in her own bed. “I don’t care about my reputation,” she’d said, keeping her arms wrapped tight around his waist. “They know how I’ve mourned you, anyway, and that we want to get married. They’ll not say anything.”

A lump had risen in his throat. Did she really still want that, after all this time? He had dreamed for so long of seeing her again, but he hadn’t dared to hope for what might come after, not since he had broken his promise to her to be home before the first snows fell. He was nearly two years late, and it made something in him ache to know that she had been left just as desolate and hollowed as he had by this godforsaken war that he knew would never truly end, not for him.

“Aye, they might not,” he’d conceded, “but you won’t be able to rest well here. And they rely on you now, don’t they?”

And she’d sighed and admitted it was so, and he would have offered to walk her home, but he had seen the devastation in her eyes when she realized he hadn’t even come home whole as she’d begged him to, and so to save her the sight of him hobbling beside her, he had waved her goodbye and watched from the window until she disappeared from sight.

He rose at sunrise the next morning, changed into the least moth-eaten of his shirts that were still folded, untouched, in the trunk at the end of his bed, and set off to give what little comfort he could.

Sometimes he could tell the truth– “aye, he was very brave, and it was over before he knew it was happening. We buried him with full honors on a hill by the loch.”

Other times, he lied, knowing that perhaps he was damning himself by doing so. It was worth it, though, to see the relief on a widow’s face when he said, “and he took down three redcoats with him, they’ll write songs about that one,” instead of “I held his hand and wept with him until the bitter end”.

Anna caught sight of him that first morning, but he shook his head slightly, letting her know this was a journey he needed to make on his own. It took nearly a week to visit them all, and each night when he returned home his leg ached and his heart weighed a little more. She came to him at night, still, bringing him food she’d made herself and telling him stories about her day as they held hands across the table.

On the sixth day, he stood in front of Bridget MacLeod’s door, his free hand raised to knock, and unbidden, the memory rose in him of the last time he’d seen Callum alive and well. “Do you think my son’ll recognize me?” he had asked as they refilled their packs the eve of the battle.

“Of course he will,” Kristoff had reassured him. “You’re his father still. Can’t forget a thing like that.”

He heard Bridget murmuring then through the opened window, what sounded like a lullaby, and he lowered his hand and walked away.

That night, when Anna reached for him across the table, he pulled his fingers back, and they spent the rest of the night in silence. The next morning, the sun rose, and he stayed in bed watching it, tracking its movement across the sky the whole day, rising only when Anna knocked on his door.

And that was how he spent the next day, and the next, and on and on until they all blurred together, punctuated only by Anna’s smiles that grew fewer and farther between.

—

She came in one day in late July and found him sitting in front of the dark hearth, staring hard as if by doing so he might will the ashes to life.

“Good afternoon,” she greeted him, and from across the room he sighed and bowed his head.

“I don’t think I can be a smith again, Anna,” his voice strained and full of stories he hadn’t yet told her.

She crossed to him, hesitating before daring to lean down and kiss his cheek. He didn’t react, too focused on whatever shadows only he could see. “That’s alright,” she reassured him, smiling faintly when he wrapped his arms around her and leaned against her. “We’ll find other work for you.”

Kristoff sighed and closed his eyes as her hand went to stroke through his hair, untangling the messy strands. 

“It isn’t alright,” he said quietly. “None of it is. And I’m sorry, Anna, I– I can’t in good conscience marry you if I cannot even provide for you.“

“Oh,” she managed to say, feeling as if a wave had caught her off balance and flattened her against the sand as it swept over her, choking the air from her lungs. “I– I’ll still keep bringing you supper if you like, I…I’ll not have you starve.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but after a moment he returned his gaze to the ashes. Anna blinked hard, willing the tears to stay locked away, as she pulled back from him. “I’ll…I’ll be back later then, I suppose".

No reply came, and so she turned to the door and left him to his ghosts.

—

The first time he had been able to tell Anna thank you in her own tongue, she had beamed and thrown her arms around his neck, and though he hadn’t understood the babble of words that had rolled off her lips, he had heard the joy in them and known it was because she was proud of him, and he had loved her ever since.

She had carried him through those frightening first weeks as an orphaned boy far from home who still woke up weeping and calling for his parents in a language no one else understood. When the kindly older couple who had taken him in had passed, too, she had been away from him for the first time, living with an aunt in Yorkshire to be trained in the ways of English ladyhood, and still she had sent him a letter full of her condolences and promising to come home right away if he’d needed her. Every grief he’d endured, from boyish heartache over lost marbles to the yawning ache of never truly belonging, she had shouldered alongside him, carrying his burdens without a second thought.

And he liked to think he had returned the favor in some small way, had shielded her from what sorrows he could and supported her through those he couldn’t, had laughed at her mischief and wiped away her tears, had cherished her in his own clumsy ways and had somehow miraculously won her heart.

In a way, he supposed, wedding vows would be redundant; had they not already been living them out all along?

But there was more to it than that; no matter how deeply he loved her it would not keep her clothed and fed. The war that had crippled him body and soul had only brought out her determination, her strength, and he could not bear the thought of being the iron chain that fettered her to suffering.

But he was still selfish enough not to turn her away when she came by each night with supper for him. He didn’t dare to talk besides telling her “thank you” and “good night”, but he would sneak glances at her as she set the table for him, as she ate in silence with him, as she made sure there was enough for him to break his fast in the morning. 

It broke his heart afresh each evening to see the new ways sorrow etched itself over her features. He knew it was his own fault and still did not know how to comfort her, not without risking further harm. It grew harder each day to stomach the food she so carefully prepared for him, to even dare to look at her, and still she kept coming, kept doing all he would allow to care for him. It was a shadowed, empty reflection of the life they might have had together if he had never left, and it was all he had to cling to, and as much as he hated himself for it he could never bring himself to turn her away, even knowing how deeply it hurt her to see how he could no longer bring himself to look her in the eye.

In his dreams at night, though, he did look at her, and he held her as close as he could, kissed her over and over as he wished he dared to in daylight, and she would open her mouth and speak to him as freely as she used to, though the words were not her own; it was the language of his homeland, and he no longer recognized the words, only the shape of them, and knew somehow they meant he was loved.

And he woke up each morning in an empty bed with an aching leg and wished he hadn’t.

—

“Eat, Kristoff,” she said, with a new, frantic edge in her voice. “You’re going to starve yourself if you keep up like this.”

He didn’t even look at her. “Is that what you want, then?” she demanded. “Want to throw away the gift you’ve been given and waste away?”

She watched from behind as his shoulders tensed, but still he wouldn’t turn and look at her. “Well, Kristoff? Is it?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said at last, his voice so low she could barely hear it. 

“Why not?” she snapped, hands on her hips.

“You should have left. You should have thrown out the ring the moment I broke my first promise to you and found someone else, someone who would care for you like I can’t. You should be in a fine house in the city with a husband who– who relies on only his own two legs to stand, and–”

He trailed off, his shoulders sagging forward, and the fear that had been festering in her over the past weeks overspilled its bounds and came spilling out of her hot and bitter as bile. “Is that it, then? You think I’m some feeble little wretch who runs weeping at the first sign of hardship, and that’s why you’ve gone and cast me aside?”

“Anna…”

         She moved to stand in front of him, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it. “I taught you your letters myself when I was but a wee bit of a girl, did I not? And I didn’t know it, but even then it was for the love of you, in the hopes that one day when I opened my heart to you you’d be able to understand!”

“I’m sorry, Anna, but I’m not the man–”

“Aye, I ken well enough that you’re hardly a man at all, are you? Certainly not the man I love.”

He reeled back as surely as if she’d slapped him in the face, but she went on, her fists clenched and trembling with fury. “I’m still waiting for that man to come back from Culloden, and I’ve a feeling I’ll be waiting for a while yet. But wait I shall, because he told me he’d come home to me, and I’ve never yet known that man to break his word, not to me nor to anyone else.”

He started to bow his head, but before he could she set her hand under his chin and raised it, forcing him to look her in the eye. “Don’t act like you’re the only one who’s gone through hell and back,” she said, her voice starting to shake. “I’ve lost you once. I’ll not do it again, not if there’s something I can do to stop it this time.”

“I’m sorry,” he said weakly, and something in her shattered at the sound of it.

“I love you, Kristoff,” she said, moving her hand up to rest against the side of his face. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, and suddenly she was fighting back tears. “And I’ll go on loving you just as much even if you never find your way back to me.”

He nodded, just barely, and didn’t open his eyes. Anna leaned down and kissed his forehead, lingering there for a long moment. “I’ll leave you to your supper, then,” she said, hoping he would ask her to stay, but he only nodded again, opening his eyes to watch in silence as she walked away.

—

A knock came at the door the morning after. He didn’t stand; whoever it was, they were looking for a man who was no longer there.

The knock came once more, and the voice he had expected not to hear again in this world called, “Kristoff, I know you’re still angry with me, and you’ve every right to be.”

His brow furrowed. He was the one who had been wronged? No, Anna, he wanted to call back, it’s me who’s let you down, but before he could she went on.

“I’ve brought you a visitor. And lunch, too, if you’ll have it.”

For a moment he hesitated; if she were alone, then perhaps he would dare to crack the door, and then he heard a little laugh as Anna whispered something, and curiosity took hold of him.

He reached to where his cane rested against the table and rose to his feet, taking a deep breath to steady himself before crossing to the door. He swung it open and froze.

There she was, wearing the dress she’d worn to bid farewell to him those two years ago, and her hair spilled the color of warmth over her shoulders, and she was smiling free and easy at the child in her arms with eyes the same shining blue as hers and a shock of familiar dark hair.

Kristoff stood rooted to the spot, not even stepping aside to allow them to come in. She looked up at him expectantly, the only sign of her nervousness the way she worried her bottom lip with her teeth.

“Anna,” he said, his voice hoarse; though he suspected the answer, he still had to ask. “Who is he?”

Her smile softened then, tempered by the ache that still hadn’t faded. “This is Callum’s boy.”

“The one they called…”

“Lachlan, aye. After his grandfather.”

Kristoff had to clear his throat before he spoke again. “Well, I– I suppose the two of you would like to come inside.”

“Actually,” Anna said, sounding almost shy, “we were wondering if you’d like to go for a walk with us to the moor and take your lunch there.”

His fingers tightened around the cane; her eyes flickered towards the movement, and before he could speak again she said quietly, “It’s alright. Lachlan and me both like to take our time dawdling from place to place.”

“Are you sure? I…I don’t want to ruin your afternoon.”

She stepped closer then, the boy in her arms peering curiously up at the both of them, and when he didn’t pull away, she rose up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “I want you there,” she said quietly. “Whether you feel like talking or smiling or anything else doesn’t matter. I just want to sit with you for awhile in the sun.”

The sun. He hadn’t even realized it was shining today. “Alright,” he heard himself say, “but let me carry your basket.”

The smile that bloomed over her face then was the most beautiful thing he had seen in his life. “I suppose we can allow that, Lachlan my darling, don’t you think?”

The boy, overcome by shyness, turned his face quickly away and hid it in her shoulder, and she laughed and set a hand gently on his back. “He’s a sweet little thing, really,” she explained, moving back to allow Kristoff to step outdoors. “Just doesn’t quite know what to do with strangers. He’ll warm up to you soon enough, though, I know it.”

As she spoke, her voice grew higher, breathier, as she watched him step outside for the first time in weeks. For a moment he thought he saw tears glistening in her eyes, but then she turned and set Lachlan on his feet, laughing when he toddled off straightaway in pursuit of a butterfly.

They followed after him, Anna guiding him when he wandered too far from the path that led up the hill, and to Kristoff’s relief she hadn’t exaggerated how slowly walking was when Lachlan led the way. Every flower, every animal, every little thing that caught his attention was studied and chased and cooed over, and before long Kristoff realized he was smiling, too.

When Anna caught sight of him, she fell back from Lachlan’s side for a moment and extended a hand. “Let me carry the basket.”

“I can carry it myself, it’s no trouble,” he said hurriedly.

“I know you can,” she replied, shyness creeping into her voice once more, “but that way we’ll each have a free hand.”

Understanding dawned on him then, and without another word he held out the basket, not lowering his hand again until she had taken it in one of her own. Her fingers slipped through his then, holding on tight, and his smile broadened when he felt the press of the iron ring she still wore.

He cleared his throat. “I never…” he began, losing track of what he meant to say when she looked up at him, eyes clouded with worry once more. “I…I’m sorry,” he said for what felt like the thousandth time.

She squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry, too,” she said, “for being so angry with you last night.”

“I was angry with myself,” he said softly. “For not being who you want. Or who you deserve.”

Anna looked at him with a surprising fierceness in her eyes. “You’re what I want, Kristoff. You’re who I ached for every hour of every day you were gone. I’ll not pretend it doesn’t pain me to see you come back hurting like you are, but you’re still you.”

He paused then, letting go of her hand so he could reach up and cup her cheek in his hand. “My Anna,” he said, his voice thick with unshed tears, “how can you show me such grace?”

She reached up and pressed her fingers over his, turning to kiss the palm of his hand. “I love you, that’s all.”

A shout came from the path ahead of them, and they turned to see Lachlan had succeeded in catching a frog. “Look, Aunt Anna!” he squealed, running over with raised hands to show off his prize.

“What a dear little creature,” Anna cooed. “But set him loose, now, so he can run home to his mother and have some supper.”

The boy knelt down and did so, waving goodbye until the frog hopped out of sight, and reached up with grubby hands in a silent request for Anna to carry him again. She handed the basket back to Kristoff before lifting the boy, who immediately wrapped his arms around her neck. “Is Mister Kris eating lunch with us?” he asked curiously, his blue eyes round as saucers as they began to move again.

“Aye. I think he’s earned it after carrying the basket for us all this way, don’t you think?”

Lachlan considered it for a moment. “Maybe. Can I still have a whole sandwich to myself?”

She laughed at that. “If you can manage to eat it all, yes.”

To Kristoff’s surprise, the little boy did manage it– well, most of it, at least; when a flock of birds landed nearby he leapt to his feet with a squeal and immediately began tossing crumbs towards them. When it was all gone, he came back, babbling all the way, and the moment he was sat on the blanket once more he yawned, and a moment later was asleep, curled up with his head pillowed on his hands.

“Callum was the same way,” Anna said fondly. “He’d drive you mad all day running around getting up to mischief, but then he’d just fall straight asleep before he had a chance to get in trouble for it.”

Kristoff swallowed hard. “Sounds like someone else I know,” he said, trying to tease, but she saw through him and turned to him, looking worried as she set her hand over his where it rested on the blanket.

He couldn’t bear to see her look so pained; he turned away, starting to apologize once more, but it seemed Anna had had enough of that these past weeks. “Look at me,” she said softly, and he obliged, drawing in a deep breath to steady himself.

Her eyes were solemn, and he loathed himself for it; before he had left, she had been all light and laughter and sweetness, and now he had stolen that away from her, had left her–

“Don’t,” she said, as if she could read his thoughts, and he winced as if she had struck him. “Don’t go down that road, Kristoff.”

It was tempting to close his eyes, to turn away, but he had broken her faith too many times already, and so he kept his gaze steady on hers, even as she leaned over, cradling his face between her palms, and his heart began to pound.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said; he opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him with a quick shake of her head. “You did all you could, all anyone could have done.”

“I can’t make sense of it,” he said, the words that had been locked inside of him for so long suddenly pouring forth. “If there was nothing more that any of us could have done, if that was always what their lives had been leading to, then what’s the point of any of it? All of it, just gone in a moment, and– and all I could do was watch, Anna, I–”

A sob tore itself from his throat as he said her name, and at last he did give up and look away in shame. But still her hands were there, brushing lightly over his cheeks as she wiped away the tears that were finally set free. “It’s alright,” she whispered, over and over as kept close beside him, waiting with him until the storm of grief had passed again, at least for a little while. 

“I’m sorry, Anna, I promise I–”

“No,” she said firmly, setting her fingers under his chin and tilting it upwards until his gaze met hers again. “You’ve made enough promises. Let me have a turn.”

His eyes widened as she leaned closer to him, pressing her forehead against his and reaching down to clasp his hand. “I promise to listen to you,” she began, “whenever you’re ready to tell me about what’s happened to you. And I promise to hold you whenever you need to know I’m still there, and I promise to let go when you need to be alone.”

“I love you, Anna, and I…I’ve wasted so much time already. I…I don’t want to be alone, not ever again,” he said earnestly, and she squeezed his hand a little tighter.

“You won’t be, I promise that too,” she reassured him. “I’ve spent too long already without you. There’s not a thing in heaven or earth that’ll come between us again.”

“I wish I’d never left you.”

“And if you hadn’t, then you’d be telling me now that you wished you had gone in case there was something you could have done.”

He went still suddenly, enough that she pulled back in concern. “I…you’re right, aren’t you?”

“Well, I certainly hope I am. Otherwise I’m not doing a very good job of comforting you.”

A laugh escaped him then, a creaky, rusty sort of sound, but a smile bloomed on Anna’s face all the same, so beautiful he couldn’t help but lean forward to kiss her, and out of practice though they both were he felt a sudden thrill in his heart; perhaps the rest of the world had fallen to pieces around him, but this, but them, at least, held steady even when nothing else could.

“I love you,” Anna murmured, settling her hands behind his neck to keep him close. “And I always will.”

“Is that another one of your promises?” he asked, surprising even himself with the teasing glint in his voice, and she grinned again.

“It is,” she said, kissing him again, “and I promise I’ll keep it.”

A/n: huge credit to

@gabiwnomagic

for her help writing a couple of lines!!

[thebiasrekkers]

Make It Right [BTS Mafia!AU]

Pairings: Jin x OC | Taehyung/Hoseok x OC | Yoongi/Jungkook x OC Genre: BTS Mafia!AU Warnings: Graphic Violence, Heavy Language, Angst, Smut, Slow Burn WC: 3,228 Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 “It’s always darkest before the dawn…” It’s a dog-eat-dog world in Seoul, South Korea. One has to dwell in the shadows in order to reach for the light. What are you willing to sacrifice in order to feel the sunlight on your face? What will it take to drag you back into darkness? How long will the journey be to make it right?

AO3 | WP

Chapter 15: Burning Up

"Live life however you want, it’s yours anyway. Stop trying, it’s okay to lose."

Jungkook’s feet were heavy as he made his way up the stairwell that led to Eden’s rooftop apartment. The brick was cold against his palms, but he hardly felt it. His mind was racing – no, reeling over Yoongi’s arrival. He couldn’t help but wonder how the two of them knew each other. Yoongi made no mention of knowing someone like Eden and she was the sort of person who unintentionally stuck out. He’d only known her for a few months, but it seemed like she knew Yoongi for even longer. Longer than he could probably guess on his own.

When he reached the top, he paused. There was silence below him. Curiosity compelled him and so Jungkook took a few steps towards Eden’s front door. He opened it slowly, then closed it.

But he remained outside.

Quieting his steps, Jungkook crossed the rooftop and stood near the edge of the building. Keeping to the shadows, he leaned over and peeked down below. Even from that height, he could see Eden shaking and it wasn’t from the cold. His eyes shifted toward his friend, watching the man he admired so much as he took another slow drag from his cigarette.

“You,” Eden began, the anger clear in her tone.

“That’s right. I’m one of the Golden Jackals.”

Yoongi’s voice was cold. He spoke to her the way he did just before he was preparing to pummel someone into the ground. He’d never heard him speak that way toward a woman, however. Which made Jungkook curious.

How deep was the connection they had?

There was a scraping sound on the pavement, drawing Jungkook’s eyes back to the scene that was unfolding in front of him.

“Min Yoongi, The Lightning Claw.”

Silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity. He couldn’t see Eden’s face, but he saw her reaching into her pocket. Jungkook’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“You son of a bitch.”

And then he saw her pulling a switchblade from her pocket. Jungkook’s body shifted involuntarily, reacting before his mind could fully process what was happening.

“You fucking…SON OF A BITCH!”

Jungkook knew there was not enough time for him to do anything. Before he could even inhale, Eden rushed at Yoongi and he unconsciously held his breath as his older brother stopped her within seconds of her plunging the knife into him. Her back was to him, but he didn’t need to see her face to imagine the fury in her eyes. There was a pained expression that filled his face as he watched Yoongi blocking her punch, holding fast to both of her arms.

Was it because he was a gangpae after all? Eden told him that she didn’t care about that sort of thing and he was inclined to believe that. But with how she responded to Yoongi, he had to wonder.

He wished he could see her face to accurately determine just why she was so mad at his brother.

“You liar! You goddamn fucking lying sack of shit!” She tried to break free but Yoongi refused to release her. “Let me go! LET ME GO!”

Jungkook blinked rapidly as he watched Yoongi spin Eden around in his arms, forcing her back against his chest. He took a step back, hoping that she wouldn’t feel the sudden inclination to look up and see him. There were grunts coming from them both as they struggled against one another. Taking a step forward, he peeked back down below.

“How could you lie to me? After all these years, you had me believing I was nothing to you!”

His lips parted slightly. Years? he thought, they’ve known each other…for years?

Brows furrowed, Jungkook’s lips pressed together in a thin line and he couldn’t help the envious emotion that clawed at his heart. Yoongi knew a woman like Eden for years and he’d been struggling to make a connection with her for the last few months. She hadn’t pushed him away, but she certainly wasn’t letting him through the walls she’d built around her heart.

Dark eyes shifted from Eden’s furious face to the guilt-ridden one that etched over Yoongi’s.

“I did it because I didn’t want you wrapped up in this shit, Eden!”

And then, like a bolt of lightning out of the blue, it hit Jungkook. He remembered the look on Yoongi’s face the other day when they finished up their business. When he asked Jungkook if the “Stubborn Tiger” knew about his background, about the life he lived. The remorse was evident then. Yoongi had regrets about something and now it was clear why.

Yoongi and Eden had been in a relationship.

“That wasn’t your choice to make! It was mine, you bastard! It was mine and you took it from me!” Eden’s voice cut through his thoughts and he looked down toward them. “You never even let me make the choice for myself, you asshole.”

When Eden sobbed, Jungkook’s heart twisted inside his chest. He’d never seen her so emotional. She was normally blunt, carefree and with a clap-back at the ready. She laughed loudly and always voiced her thoughts whenever she had them. Stubborn and even a bit reckless, Jungkook found himself drawn to her. After poking and prodding, he’d discovered that she was an orphan just like him. He’d believed there was a connection.

Was he wrong? Had he been completely wrong from the start?

He watched as Eden slapped Yoongi across the face, seeing her tear-stained cheeks shining under the streetlights. Jungkook never saw Eden cry over anything. Seeing it now, he knew that he wasn’t a fan of the look.

Even if she did look pretty when she cried.

“Is that why you finally decided to tell me the truth? Because you’ve figured out that I not only know Raelyn Unnie, but Jimin and Jungkook too? Because your little lie was finally going to come back full circle and kick you in the balls?”

His brother didn’t answer him. Jungkook hurt for Yoongi. He’d never seen him like this in all the years he’d known him. It left him feeling hollow on the inside because he knew there was nothing he could say or do to comfort his brother.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that, Min Yoongi?”

Her hurried steps reached his ears and Jungkook didn’t bother trying to hide or pretend that he’d just stepped out. A heaviness weighed on his heart, so heavy that he just sat down on the edge of the rooftop border. A cold wind blew against his back, causing his breath to come out as a small cloud. He heard her reach the top of the roof, but he didn’t have the heart to look at her.

Hearing her footsteps slow to a halt, he finally lifted his head to look up and saw that she was standing just a few feet away from him. Eden’s cheeks were smeared from where she’d probably tried to wipe her tears. When the next gust of wind blew, it caused her curly hair to fly in every direction.

“You saw?”

Jungkook nodded slowly.

He saw her eyes narrow. “You knew about it, didn’t you?”

His eyes widened.

“Is that why you approached me? Because you knew about my relationship with Yoongi?”

“What?” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “No, that’s not—”

She spread her arm out in a wide flourish. “Of all the shops in Gangnam, you decided to come to mine? Because you happened to have broken down nearby?” Her hand curled into a fist at her side and Jungkook felt his own hands forming into fists at his thighs. “Do you really expect me to believe that now?”

He rose to his feet. “Noona, I’m telling you that that’s not—”

“Just how long have you been laughing at me behind my back, Jeon Jungkook?!”

Once again, his body was moving faster than his mind could keep up. In seconds, he crossed the short distance between them and grabbed her by her wrists. Eden tried to wring her hands free, but he held onto them tightly. He could feel her shaking against his palms and when she finally looked at him, he could see tears forming in her eyes again.

It was like he’d been kicked in the gut.

“Eden!” He dropped the honorific for a moment – a slip of the tongue – but this caused her to stop moving long enough for him to collect his thoughts. “I swear to you, that I didn’t know. None of us did. Hyung never even told us that he had a girlfriend.”

A loud, bitter laugh exploded from Eden and it caused him to loosen his grip on one of her wrists. She flung it free so she could land a punch at his shoulder. Jungkook grunted, the blow taking him by surprise. He knew that Eden could fight, but he never imagined that her punch would sting.

“He and I dated for three years and you’re telling me that he never even hinted that he was with someone?” She released another dark laugh. “Do you take me for a fucking moron?”

“It’s true, Eden Noona.”

Jungkook and Eden both turned toward the direction of her front door and saw Jimin slowly closing it behind him. His brows furrowed and he brushed some of his chestnut hair away from his forehead.

“Jimin Hyung…”

Jimin slowly walked toward them, pausing just a foot away from them.

“We knew that Yoongi Hyung was dating someone, but we never knew who and he never outright told us. Whenever we asked to meet her, he refused to even give us your name.” Jimin sighed. “I never would have imagined that it was you, Noona.”

Jungkook saw Eden’s expression contort with anger and hurt. Her arms relaxed and he let go of her, watching as they fell limply at her side. She looked like someone had pulled the rug right out from under her and she’d gotten the wind knocked out of her lungs. More tears slid down her face and she didn’t even bother wiping them from her cheeks.

“So, all this time,” she said softly, her voice halfway broken from the yelling she’d done earlier, “he kept me hidden away. Like some dirty little secret.”

“That’s not true,” Jungkook replied, not sure if he wanted to continue speaking, “he was always happy whenever he said he was leaving to go on a trip with his special someone. He probably regrets not being honest with you.”

Eden cut her eyes toward him. “Don’t make excuses for him! He lied to me, to my face, for years! And I…I felt like…” She didn’t finish. Jungkook saw her take a breath, closing her eyes as she did so. When she finally opened them again, she looked at Jimin. “Is Rae Unnie alright?”

Jimin offered her a small smile. “Yeah, I tucked her into bed after giving her water and Tylenol. She’s passed out now.”

“Good.” Eden turned to head back inside and Jungkook grabbed the sleeve of her jacket. Without looking at him, she yanked her arm free. “Don’t. Just…just don’t.” Brushing past Jimin, she headed toward her front door. “…be careful going back home. Goodnight.”

And without waiting for them to wish her the same, she slipped inside and closed the door. Jungkook watched her silhouette shuffle around the front entrance before she disappeared inside. When Jimin sighed, Jungkook turned to look at him. He saw his own pitiful expression mirrored in Jimin’s eyes and he flinched slightly when he felt his brother’s hand falling onto his shoulder.

“Let’s go home.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he nodded.

“Okay, Hyung…”

Three Days Later Seoul – Jangan; Dongdaemun District South Korea

Jungkook’s brow twitched when Jimin’s fist collided with Taehyung’s cheek. The blow was swift, knocking Taehyung off balance and he watched him struggle to keep himself upright. When he finally did regain his balance, Jimin kicked him in the stomach. A loud grunt echoed through the warehouse as Taehyung doubled over in pain. But Jimin gave him no quarter; landing an uppercut to his jaw. Jungkook watched as his brother’s feet flew out from under him – his back crashing onto the concrete floor.

The warehouse was filled with shipping crates – a storehouse owned by Kim Pilsoo. Pilsoo Hyung stood near the entrance with a group of his men. Jungkook’s eyes lifted to spy Lee Minhyuk, the Jindo Dog of the Jade Fangs, standing nearby with his own entourage. His arms were folded across his chest, his auburn fringe falling just over his eyelids. Minhyuk’s expression remained neutral as Taehyung continued to receive his punishment.

No one made a sound except for Taehyung. He struggled to sit up and failed. Jungkook clenched his jaw tight, watching his brother only manage to roll over onto his stomach – using his forearms to lift himself up.

Jimin kicked him in the ribs.

Jungkook could feel the other members of their group shifting uncomfortably behind him. He held his arm out at an angle, his hand curled into a fist to get them stop their fidgeting. A wracking cough exploded from Taehyung and he vomited up a bit of blood onto the floor. A crimson trail trickled from the cut on his brow and droplets fell from his chin to mesh with the bloodstains on the floor. His cheeks were red and swollen from the abuse he’d endured from Jimin for the last thirty minutes.

Without even having to examine him, Jungkook could tell something was probably broken.

Finally, Jimin pivoted on his heel and swung his leg across Taehyung’s face – the heel of his boot crashing into his cheek. Jungkook could taste blood in his mouth as he watched Taehyung’s body flop from the impact. A few seconds of silence transpired and Jungkook sighed quietly, his eyes roving over Taehyung’s unconscious form.

Jimin wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his leather jacket. He looked at Lee Minhyuk whose eyes remained on Taehyung’s form lying prone on the ground. “Is that satisfactory?”

Minhyuk finally lifted his gaze to meet Jimin’s, his expression unchanged. Another handful of seconds passed and then he smirked, a scoff pushing from his chest. “Yes, that’s enough.” He glanced over toward Pilsoo and bowed his head politely. “Thank you for being the mediator, Pilsoo Hyung. I know Changkyun-ah appreciates it as well.”

Pilsoo grunted, gesturing for his men to move. They all took their places on either side of the door, forming a line across from each other. “Never mind. I’m just glad this matter has been settled.”

“So am I, Hyung,” Minhyuk said with a laugh, “so am I.” He looked at the men in his group and gestured with his chin. “Let’s go.” They bowed to him and began filing out of the warehouse. He paused, casting a sidelong glance toward Jimin and Jungkook as their own men began gathering Taehyung up from the floor. “Consider the offense resolved.” He flashed Jimin a wide smirk, his eyes narrowing. Jimin didn’t smile back. “It was good to see you, Jimin-ah.”

“Same to you, Minhyuk Hyung.”

No one else spoke another word as the Jade Fang members exited the warehouse. Pilsoo waited until they all were in their vehicles and drove away before turning to look back at them. The older man sighed and Jungkook could only hang his head slightly from shame.

“You boys need to be more careful,” he snapped, though his voice did not raise in pitch, “don’t you realize how much Hoseok is doing to maintain order? What you do reflects back on him.”

Jimin bowed deeply. “Yes, I know, Pilsoo Hyung.”

“You’re all young and a bit hot-headed, I get it. But things are different now. It’s not like when I was your age.” Pilsoo sighed. “Especially since you’re trying to go straight. Getting into this world is easy. Getting out is the hard part.”

Jungkook bowed his head but remained silent. Jimin spoke instead.

“We understand, Pilsoo Hyung.”

“Good.” They heard him sigh again; a tired sound. “Now go and get him looked at. I know it hurt you more than it did him, Jimin-ah.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jimin’s hands curling into fists at his sides. But they both refused to lift their heads up. Jungkook’s throat felt like it was closing. He finally closed his eyes, his face still pointing to the ground.

“Thank you, Pilsoo Hyung,” he heard Jimin say. The two of them stood back up, straightening their posture. Jimin looked at Taehyung who was still unconscious. “Let’s go.”

The others bowed to both Jimin and Jungkook, ushering Taehyung out of the warehouse. Jimin followed them, helping them get their friend into the car. Jungkook turned to give another bow of respect to Kim Pilsoo. Then he hopped into the sedan with Jimin.

Taehyung’s body was pressed against the seat and he groaned softly as he began to regain consciousness. “Is it over?” he asked while licking the cut on his lower lip.

Jimin didn’t answer him. Instead, he knocked on the window separating the backseat from the driver and passenger seat. “Cha Gangnam Medical Center,” he said, his voice even, “let’s go.”

Both Jungkook and Taehyung blinked at Jimin. “But, that’s the hospital Rae Noona works at…”

Taehyung tried to sit up but winced, causing him to sit back against the seat again. “H-Hyung…”

“Shut-up,” clipped Jimin as he folded his arms and closed his eyes, “I’m not doing you any favors. I just don’t want to hear your bitching later.”

Jungkook smirked, shaking his head as Taehyung tried to smile but wound up wincing again from his split lip.

They were all going to get an earful.

[justforbooks]

Herb Heilbrun was born October 11, 1920 in Cincinnati, Ohio to his father Herbert, who worked for his wife’s family business that “produced high-quality made-to-measure men’s suits” and his mother Mary Lou, who “Had a promising tryout during Hollywood’s “silent” era, but decided that life in the movies was no life at all after working severals grueling days as a film extra”. As a young boy who loved building wooden model airplanes, he attended elementary school at North Avondale Elementary in Cincinnati alongside his future best friend and Tuskegee Airman, John Leahr. Herb remembers December 7, 1941, when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. He didn’t hear the news until later on in the afternoon when he stopped at a favorite restaurant in the neighborhood called Sugar N Spice and all of the employees were sitting around listening to the news on the radio; the “Japs” were bombing Hawaii. He had just turned twenty-one in October and was working at the Wright Aeronautical defense plant that had just opened north of Cincinnati and within weeks he decided to join the Army Air Corps and do something he had always dreamt of doing… learn to fly. That following May in 1942 Herb passed the entry exams for the Air Corps and the Cadet Board of Examiners and was then sent home to await an opening for aviation cadet classes. He was finally called up in February of 1943. He had B-17 training in New Mexico and B-17 combat crew training in Texas. When he was finally ready to set off to Europe in a shiny new B-17G, everyone in his crew showed up except his waist gunner. Missing even one member of the crew forced them to be considered incomplete for combat and they were broken apart and placed into other squadrons as replacement crew members. Herb was forced to return to combat crew training and eventually was able to ship out overseas. November 1944, Herb landed in Italy with combat assignment in the 301st Bomb Group. Combat airfield life forced the men to live in a tent city, take off on runways made of interlocking steel mats and build furniture from from junked aircraft.

The following excerpt is from “Black and White Airmen - Their True History” (John Fleischman)

We have to fly whatever airplane is given to us because they’re always fixing something on them. “On February 1, 1945, Herb found himself  in a deathtrap, only it was his own side that nearly killed him. It was mechanical failure, not flak. The mission was an oil refinery at Moosbierbaum, just outside Vienna. The weather was awful. The B-24’s, which flew at lower altitudes, were more vulnerable to bad weather, so the pressure was on to get as many high-altitude B-17s as possible into the attack force. That put the major in charge of the repair shops for Herb’s squadron under the gun. The night before Moosbierbaum, Herb’s crew was on the order of battle, but rumor said that there weren’t enough airworthy B-17s for such a big mission. The major promised a maximum repair effort overnight. Herb had no idea what he would be flying in the morning.

Crews always had favorite aircraft, but except for the special Pathfinder ships, no crew had a guarantee of getting their “own” plane. Herb’s crew preferred “Haley’s Comet” a bright metal B-17G named by a previous crew after Jack Haley, the actor who played the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz movie.” That was the plane Herb’s crew wanted to fly most if it were on the flight line for the next day’s mission.

“The Comet was out of action for Moosbierbaum; they would have to take the luck of the draw. But when Herb reached his assigned aircraft on the flight line, he was stunned. It was a crate, an orphan B-17 from the Eighth Air Force in England that had crash-landed behind Soviet lines, been patched together, and flown out to Italy. It belonged to no one now unless the major’s repair crews tore it apart for spares or converted it into a squadron “hack,” a stripped-out bomber good enough to fly men to Naples or Rome on leave. Suddenly this old crate was pretending to be a bomber again, sitting there fueled, armed, and bombed up to join the order of battle. When Herb reached the cockpit and pulled out the plane’s logbook, he felt sick. The engines had 521 hours on them. Herb knew from his time at Wright Aero that an aircraft engine with close to 500 hours on it wasn’t safe. After 500 hours, an engine needed a total teardown and rebuild. To fly this crate on a combat mission was crazy. But it was too late. Planes all around them were going through the engine start drill. Any minute, the colonel’s ship would be rolling toward takeoff. The rest of the squadron had better be with him at 10,000 feet and building the attack formation within minutes. Herb remembered what he’d told his flight engineer before Brux: “We’re going to fly whatever airplane they give us. We’re going to fly it to wherever they tell us.”

Herb Glanced across at Harry in the copilot’s seat. There was nothing to do but start the engines and pray. Maybe an oil seal would blow on Engine Start. None did. Herb took off, climbed to his assigned position in the formation, and set out for Moosbierbaum. All four engines were running, but Herb was worried. To keep up with the formation, he couldn’t nurse his suspect engines. As the bombers crossed the Alps into southern Austria, the number one engine began to smoke and then vibrate violently. Herb shut it down and managed to “feather” the head propeller; that is, he rotated the blades into a neutral position to minimize air resistance. Unfeathered, a frozen prop would drag them down as surely as if the airplane had a ship’s anchor dangling from the wing.”

Now it was equally dangerous to turn back alone or go on with the formation to target. Running on three engines, Herb ordered the bombardier to jettison half the bomb load. The barrage tore up the Austrian pastures below them, but the lighter airplane picked up a little speed. They would be able to stay with the formation, Herb thought, if nothing else went wrong. Then engine number three erupted in smoke and violent vibration. Herb feathered the prop. On two engines, they were finished, at least, with this mission. Herb lowered and raised the plane’s wheels, the signal to his squadron leader that he was aborting, and turned his crippled crate toward home.”

The radios didn’t work, I couldn’t get fighter escort, I couldn’t get anything. So I called the crew and said, we gotta problem, I want you to charge your 50 caliber machine guns and stay with them. We’ve got two engines gone, we’re a long way from home, I don’t know what’s going to happen if we’re attacked, but we’re going to give em what we can give em!

I figured if I got over the Alps, the worst thing that could happen was that there’s a flat place before you get to the Adriatic that would allow us to either bail out or get it on the ground. We might be captured. We got that far and I made a little deal with the Lord, I didn’t say get me home *laughs* I was pushing that hard, I said just get me half way down the Adriatic because the British had launches in Yugoslavia and when they’d see an airplane they’d come out, pick you up and take care of you.

“Moosbierbaum was waiting for the rest of Herb’s bomb group with bad flak and terrible weather. The flak claimed two B-17s, and the weather scattered the attackers. But Herb and his crew were already fighting for their lives. The enemy was gravity. To get home, they had the Alps to scale first, and Herb would need every inch of altitude the plane could grab to get over on two engines. He ordered the rest of the bomb load jettisoned. The B-17 gained a little height, but the snowy mountaintops ahead still looked much too close for comfort. They had no Little Friends (P-51s) to protect them, but they had no choice. The guns had to go. Herb ordered the gunners to heave their heavy 50 caliber machine guns overboard, followed by anything else the crew could tear loose — the oxygen cylinders, ammunition, extra clothing, flak jackets, and helmets. They kept the radio, their parachutes, and the navigation chart. Somehow, they scraped over the Alps without attracting Luftwaffe attention. Herb recited one of his silent prayers, asking only to reach the coast. The minutes tick by. Herb caught a glint of sunlight ahead, flashing off the Adriatic. Then Herb saw a thin stream of oil drizzling out of engine number two. A B-17 can’t fly on one engine, at least not for long.

Herb prayed, “Dear Lord, please just get me halfway down the Adriatic.” His radioman made contact with an American flight control station so at least someone would know where they went down or if they bailed out. Herb, though, was determined to go home. He radioed ahead to the airfield, asking for fire engines and ambulances on the runway”… We got halfway down the Adriatic and I called the crew and told them we were going home. And I’ll never forget, I called base and said Foxtail one two to Long-skirt, I’ve got two engines gone, one leaking oil. I told them where I was at 7,000 feet and 75 miles away from you and I said if a group is landing please hold them and give me permission for straight in approach on one seven.

“Number two was leaking heavily now. Herb figured that he  had one pass at landing. They were too low to bail out now, and too crippled to go around the field again. It was land or crash. On February 1, 1944, Herb made one of the best landings of his life in the worst airplane he ever flew. He let the crate roll all the  way down to the end of the runway before coming to a complete stop. The crew climbed out, giddy with relief. They were home, safe, sound, and dry.”

The major came roaring up in a jeep. A magnificent landing, the major shouted, a magnificent achievement to make it back on two engines. “Lieutenant Heilbrun, you’ll probably get the DFC for this,” said the major, meaning that Herb would get the Distinguished Flying Cross, one of the AAF’s highest honors. What Herb almost got was a court-martial. For the next five minutes, the lieutenant told the major precisely what the lieutenant thought of someone who would send ten men on a bombing mission in an aircraft with more than five hundred hours on the engines. “Criminal” was one of the more polite words Herb used. Lieutenants did not talk this way to majors in the AAF, especially with so many enlisted men and officers standing around, soaking up every word. And yet Lieutenant Heilbrun said all that and walked away from the major. Maybe that was another reason for the DFC that Herb was awarded for actions above and beyond the call of duty on February 1, 1945.”

Herb continued flying, keeping his crew alive and ended his final Mission, with a total of 35, on April 16, 1945 - “Herb’s personal Victory in Europe day”.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[katedrakeohd]

A Stolen Moment 4

The Royal Masquerade Fanfiction

Part One / Part Two / Part Three

..............................

Pairing: Kaydan Vescovi x Julia Aster(MC)

Synopsis: Kaydan and Julia's detour to the town market comes to an end.

Rated: PG, for romantic fluff

Word count: ?? (Because I wrote it all here in the app)

Wacky drabbles #22 prompt:

It’s no surprise that things have turned out this way.

..

Kaydan and I stood amongst the crowd to watch and listen to the band. As townsfolk began to pair off and dance, Kaydan leaned over to whisper. "Would the Lady like to join in?"

"It's a very lively sort of music, I don't think I could keep up. I'd rather watch."

"As you wish," he murmured softly. His lips close to my ear. As he leaned back I could hear him draw a deep breath, "Did you pick something fragrant up at the market?"

Looking up at him I smile, "Yes, a new perfume. Do you like it?"

Kaydan is quiet for a moment, and then he leans in close and sniffs the spicy floral scent on my neck again, "It's..it's quite different. I find it.. pleasant."

Standing so close to him I can feel the heat radiating off his skin, and his breath on my cheek. Reaching up to place my hand on his shoulder, I feel his muscles tense as he straightens up and looks at me. "So that means you like it?"

"If you bought it just for my benefit I'm afraid you've wasted your money," Kaydan said, his brow furrowed with concern.

"I bought it because I like the way it smells. But if it entices you to be closer to me then it was definitely worth the price."

Kaydan blushes, "You shouldn't say such things. You're promised to someone else."

"Right now, there is nobody else I would rather spend my time with than you."

Kaydan's mouth opened as if to say something, but then his gaze shifted to something over my shoulder. "We need to go."

Glancing around to see what he's looking at, I spot Teapot making his way through the market. "Oh no, he's going to see us," I gasped.

Kaydan grabbed my arm and led me around the gathering of revelers, putting them between us and Teapot, "Come with me, he hasn't spotted us yet."

I pulled up my skirts in an effort to keep up with Kaydan's long strides, dropping the wrapped journal I had picked up for him. As he tried to lead me down an alley, I pulled back. "Wait, I dropped something!"

"Just leave it," he said gruffly, but upon seeing the hurt look on my face, he quickly apologised. "Sorry, what did you drop?"

I rushed over and picked up the book, then returned to Kaydan's side. "Actually it's something for you."

"For me? Julia..."

"Hush, now weren't you leading me somewhere?"

Kaydan takes another look back toward the market, and then points to a passageway leading into what looked like a private garden, "That way."

Grabbing me by the hand, Kaydan led me down the side of a stone wall, then we sidestepped through a flower covered arch. The idyllic scene before us was a stark contrast to the chaos of the busy marketplace not so far away.

We had come upon a narrow canal filled with water lilies and a flagstone path with a garden of beautiful flowering shrubs. Kayden led me over to a stone bench and we sat down.

My heart was pounding with fear of us soon getting caught, so I wasted no time and pressed the book into his hands, "Please, take this. As a momento of our trip to the market today. "

A smile tugged at the corners of Kaydan's mouth as he unwrapped the journal, "Another book? Are you trying to send me a message?"

I shrugged as he thumbed through the pages, "As a humble scribe, books are what I know best. Many of the pages are blank, so you can write in it whatever you like. The former owner used it as a journal. Perhaps the Mariner poet might have a pleasant memory to record?"

Kaydan tucked the book inside of his jacket, "I'll cherish it always, thank you."

Bringing his hand back out of his pocket, Kaydan blushes as he holds out his gift to me. "I got you something too. Here."

The antique pin with pearl accents sparkled in the sunshine as I turned it over in my fingers.

"It's beautiful Kaydan. I can imagine wearing it with my finest gowns. And it's sharpness could always come in handy if I need to defend myself in your absence."

Kaydan chuckled quietly, "The fact that you see my gift as a defensive weapon can only mean you've been spending too much time with me."

"Maybe it's your protective nature that keeps drawing me back to your company."

Kaydan's expression is serious as he studies my face for a moment. "Do you feel you need my protection Julia? Because if you do, please know I would do anything to keep you safe."

"Anything?"

"I'm the Crown Shield it's my job to keep people safe, especially those I feel need me the most."

Turning toward Kaydan I reach up to touch his cheek, "But what about you Kaydan, and your own safety. Who watches over you and keeps you safe?"

"My fellow guards look out for me just as much as I look out for them, but as their leader I've learned to take care of myself when needed."

"But at the end of the day, when your watch has ended. Who takes care of Kaydan, the man?"

Reaching up he takes my hand in his. "I believe we forge our own paths in life, and we should be the person we need to be. But since you came into my life I've been questioning what my chosen path should be. Do you ever wish you could live a different life? Let someone else shape your destiny?"

"As an orphan adopted into the Aster family my destiny has always been determined by someone else. I accepted my place and learned to adapt to what life gave me. But all that changed the night of the Masquerade. I was introduced to a life I had only dreamt of or read about in books. When you asked me to dance, you were the fantasy becoming real. We connected that night Kaydan, and I can't see my future without you in it."

"Julia.. I feel the same. I couldn't imagine my life without you being a part of it."

I can't hide my smile as Kaydan leans in closer to me. There's an expression of wonder on his face as his gaze drops to my lips, and I feel his warm breath touch my cheek. As I close my eyes I can hear his breath catch as I tilt my chin up to invite him in for a kiss. When our lips meet it's like nothing I've felt before.

All those glances, moments together, every touch when we danced, have led us to this point and I lean into Kaydan and kiss him back. Before I knew what was happening my hand was on the back of his neck, my fingers sliding into his hair. As a result of my touch Kaydan's kiss became more desperate, and I felt his strong arms wrap around me. At that moment, pressed up against his hard chest, nothing else mattered. We poured all of our feelings into the other's lips and relished the joy of being together. It was magical and terrifying all at once because we knew it couldn't last. We're both out of breath as the kiss ends, but we stay holding eachother.

"Julia..I.." he began as his eyes searched my face for the words he wanted to say.

"Ssh," I whispered, moving my hand to his cheek and resting my thumb on his swollen lower lip. "Don't spoil the moment with apologies or by grasping for words to explain what must happen next."

"But.." his eyes looked so sad, as we both hear the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Sssh," I whispered again as I leaned in to place a gentle kiss to his lips.

The sound of a gruff, but familiar, voice turned the fluttering warm feeling in my stomach to ice and Kaydan abruptly sat back and let me go.

"Hey, there you are!" Teapot said, walking up with our two horses in tow.

As Kaydan jumps up off the bench to face him, I bring my hand up to my lips and savour the warm feeling his touch has left behind.

"I've been looking all over this cursed place for you - ..."

As Teapot got closer Kaydan moved to block me from his view. But not before he caught a glimpse of the flush of rose on my cheeks.

His usual stern expression is quickly replaced by one of amusement as a wide grin crosses his face.

"Am I...interrupting SOMETHING?" he asked, looking from Kaydan's angry face to my own bemused expression.

Kaydan's frown deepened as he answered, "No, but as usual you have a horrible sense of timing."

I got up from the bench to stand next to Kaydan, and then gave Teapot a smile and a wave. "Hello, Teapot. Lovely weather today for a trip to the seaside."

Teapot nods, "Yes, lovely indeed. Uh Chief, we need to leave now if we're to join the carriage procession without being missed."

Beside me I saw Kaydan's posture straighten as he shifted back into work mode. He replied to Teapot with a terse, "Fine, let's go."

Kaydan turned and looked at me as I tuck my hand under his arm, "It's quite alright Kaydan, we both knew this afternoon detour couldn't last forever."

Teapot took another look at the way Kaydan and I are standing together and barked out a laugh. We weren't fooling him at all.

Kaydan scowled at him as he escorted me to my horse. "Something funny?"

Teapot smirked at him, "Oh not at all Chief, NOT AT ALL."

Kaydan helped me back onto my horse, his warm hand lingering on mine for a moment before letting go. After getting on his horse, Kaydan led the three of us back onto the main road.

As I tucked the pin Kaydan gave me away in my saddle bag, I glanced over to him. His hair is slightly mussed from where my fingers have been, and it makes me smile. He catches me watching him and for the briefest moment a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth and then it's gone. He's Kaydan the Crown Shield again, and all business as usual. Our stolen moment is now over, and it’s no surprise that things have turned out this way. But I can't help but wonder what will come next for our Mariner and Maiden.

:::

Tagging:

@gardeningourmet @samihatuli @jovialyouthmusic @sirbeepsalot @dcbbw @mfackenthal @bobasheebaby @pedudley @be-still-my-aching-heart @krishu213 @ibldw-main @chaotichuman0090 @emceesynonymroll @addictedtodrakefanfic

[argonaut--keene]

28 with Lup & Lucretia, please!! :')

28: “Girls night in?”

Word count: 1,817

Warnings: Death mention, survivor’s guilt, grief, alcohol (y’know, normal Stolen Century shenanigans)

Summary: In which Lucretia has had a difficult few years and Lup is determined not to let her be sad all by herself.

Send me more of these?

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It had been…a rough couple of cycles.

Two years ago, Davenport and Barry and Lup had all been killed in a negotiation for the light gone very poorly. Taako and Magnus stormed in the next day and took the light by force. “Should have just let them all die, those assholes,” Taako muttered that night as they fled the city to hide out in a remote forest until the year was over. Merle gently reminded him that not everyone on the plane was such an asshole and they did not deserve to die just because some of their leaders were terrible. Lucretia sat in the corner quietly, hiding the tears that dripped down her cheeks by letting her hair fall in front of her face.

In the next cycle, the light had been relatively easy to find. Lucretia had left most of the team on the Starblaster to do their research, and had taken Magnus with her on a months-long voyage through the culturally rich civilization. She had befriended their guides, a couple of kindly tieflings, and had been truly enjoying the journey when they were attacked by bandits. Both of the tieflings and Magnus were killed. Lucretia returned to the ship alone. She had a hard time writing anything down the rest of the year–it was too difficult to see the pages past the blur of her tears.

Nobody had died so far this cycle, but Lucretia was tired of being on such high alert. She was tired of spending her time grieving because every new person she met would be gone forever from her life within a year. Becoming even more quiet around her family, Lucretia withdrew from everything and tried to sketch every person she remembered meeting from the past five years. Two of those cycles, they had failed to get the light. Most of the people Lucretia was drawing were dead.

One evening, there was a knock at her door. “Do you need something?” Lucretia called distractedly. She couldn’t remember if the child she was sketching from one of the failed cycles was an elf or a human. How could she not remember something like that? All she could recall was that he had a freckle on the tip of his nose and he wore a purple stone on a string around his neck.

“Luuuuucy. Can I come in?” It was Lup. She didn’t sound urgent, but she did sound determined. And when Lup was determined, there was no point in trying to resist.

“Alright.” Lucretia closed her sketchbook as Lup bounded into the room.

“Listen, Luce, you know I love you to pieces, right? So please don’t get snippy when I tell you that you absolutely gotta stop hiding in your room all the time. It’s not healthy, babes,” Lup told her. “I know you’re an introvert, but this isn’t that. You’ve been avoiding us.”

Straight to the point then. I should have expected that. Keeping her expression neutral, Lucretia said, “I haven’t been avoiding anyone. I’ve just been busy with my work.”

“Your work, huh? Can I see it?” Lup hopped up to sit on Lucretia’s desk. She didn’t look like she had any intention of moving anytime soon.

Lucretia didn’t really want to explain what she had been doing. Lup might not understand why she needed to do this; and besides, Lucretia had a feeling that she would start to cry if she tried to talk about it. And she was just so tired of crying. She said nothing. However, she didn’t stop Lup from taking the sketchbook from her hands and flipping through the pages.

“These are nice,” Lup said softly. “Are these people you met during the cycles, Luce?”

Clearing her throat, Lucretia nodded.

“Who was this?” asked Lup. She pointed to a sketch of an older elf woman wearing a scarf on her head.

“I don’t know. I never asked her name. She was at a church I visited three cycles ago. She took care of the children who had been orphaned because of the illness that year.”

Lup’s ears positioned themselves slightly downwards as she frowned. “We didn’t get the light that cycle.”

“I know.”

There was a minute of silence as Lup turned more pages. Lucretia heard a quiet sniff when Lup saw the sketch of the young boy that wasn’t quite finished yet. Placing the sketchbook down carefully on the desk, Lup wiped her eyes and reached out to tilt Lucretia’s chin up. “You’re right, you have been busy,” she allowed. “That’s important stuff.”

“I don’t want us to forget them,” Lucretia stated simply.

“Yeah. Yeah, I get it. But, Lucy. You can’t isolate yourself, okay? Even if you’re sad, even if you’re having a hard time. Actually, especially if you’re having a hard time.” Lup smiled sadly. “Okay?”

Lucretia looked down at her hands and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Well, um, how’s this? I’m not gonna let you isolate yourself anymore,” Lup let her know. “We’re all hanging out tonight, I’m taking you out to the common room to have dinner and a fun night together.”

With a weary sigh, Lucretia said, “I’m sorry, Lup, I’m just…not up for that.”

Lup nodded thoughtfully. “Gotcha. Okay. I know exactly what we’re gonna do, then.”

“And what’s that?” Lucretia said.

“Well, if you’re okay with it, which I think you will be.”

“Lup.”

“Girls night in?” suggested Lup. “C'mon, just you and me, chillin’ in here and talking and hanging out. We can do whatever you want. I’ll make Koko bring us snacks and drinks.” She gave Lucretia a winning smile. “Whaddya say?”

“I say, I probably don’t have a choice in the matter,” Lucretia said, pretending to give in grudgingly. But really, that didn’t sound too bad. Lup could be loud and rambunctious when she wanted to be, but she was just as capable of being quiet and understanding, and she seemed to know instinctively when a person needed each type of affection.

“That’s my girl,” Lup said happily. She patted Lucretia’s cheek. “Now, I’m gonna be right back. Put on some PJs.”

Lucretia obliged, and put on her most comfortable pajamas of a t-shirt and flannel pants while she waited for Lup to return.

“You decent?” Lup barely waited for the answer before she walked right in, wearing a tank top and shorts and carrying several blankets and multiple bags of candy and chips.

“I try not to have food in my bedroom,” Lucretia said helplessly.

“I’ll clean up any mess, I promise. Now, I sent Taako to bring us hot chocolate and wine, ‘cause I wasn’t a hundred percent sure what kinda night we’re gonna be having. But uh, both? Both sounds good.” Lup was already setting up a blanket fort on Lucretia’s bed. “And I told him that he’s not allowed to have any, 'cause it’s girls night. I said that if he’s lonely without me, he can go cuddle up with Magnus. He flipped me off, but he is getting those drinks, so I think we’re good.”

Lucretia couldn’t help but smile as Lup chattered. She had to admit, the company was nice. She didn’t feel as trapped inside her memories anymore. And when Taako knocked on the door, saying that he was leaving the drinks outside and that he hoped Lucretia knew that he was definitely, absolutely furious that she was hogging Lup for the night, he was laughing the whole time and ended the speech with a “Have fun, you two,” so Lucretia figured that he wasn’t actually angry.

Lup pulled her into the blanket fort and handed her a hot chocolate. “We’ll switch to wine later. So…wanna talk about anything?”

“I…” Lucretia shook her head. She drank some of her hot chocolate. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, babes, anything?”

“I’m just, um, tired,” Lucretia admitted.

Lup flicked her ears. “Would you rather just go to sleep?”

“No, I meant…in general. I’m just tired. I feel like I can’t stop moving. I’m not…caught up with the rest of you, if that makes sense? I’m still stuck somewhere behind everyone else.  It’s why I’m trying to draw everyone, because…if I can record everything that’s happened so far, I might be able to keep moving.”

Lup hummed understandingly. She gave Lucretia’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “I get it, honey. I’ve had that feeling some cycles, too. It’s not easy to just keep leaving everyone behind, huh?”

“No. No, it’s not easy,” said Lucretia. “And it’s exhausting.”

“It definitely is that,” Lup replied. She paused for a second, then reached for the bottle of wine. “Time to switch drinks, I think. Hey, Luce? Get your sketchbook. We’re gonna sit and remember everyone we left behind and toast to them until we feel better.”

Lucretia didn’t argue with that.

A few hours later, they had gone through every single page in the sketchbook. Lup even remembered the names of a few more of the people in the drawings, and Lucretia penciled them in. Both of them were crying a little by the end. Lucretia decided that she didn’t want any more wine and curled up against Lup’s side with her sketchbook clutched to her chest.

“I’ve gotcha.” Lup sniffled. “Are you, um, feeling better?”

That’s a complicated question. “I think I will be,” she murmured. “I don’t feel…great, right now, but I do feel…lighter? That doesn’t make sense, I’m sorry.”

“It does make sense, I totally get it. Ohhhhkay, I think I’ve had enough wine. Hey, hey, c'n I like…stay here tonight?” Lup asked.

“Definitely.” Lucretia was glad that Lup had suggested it, because she probably wouldn’t have asked her to stay and she didn’t really want to be alone.

“Mind if I deconstruct the blanket fort? I’m not super chill with enclosed spaces,” added Lup.

“You built it!” Lucretia said, managing a quiet giggle. “But yes, of course.”

Lup laughed as well. She pulled the fort down and covered the two of them in the blankets. She put her arms around Lucretia’s waist and snuggled her close. “Thank you for saying yes to this,” she said softly. “I know I said we were doing it to stop you from isolating, but, y'know what? I kinda missed ya. I feel like we haven’t spent much time together over the past few cycles.”

“I’m sorry,” Lucretia whispered.

“Not your fault, babes. We get busy, life gets hard. Sometimes we die.” Lup chuckled. “Gods, what a weird thing to say so casually.”

“Pretty weird,” agreed Lucretia. She yawned.

Lup turned the lights off. She hugged Lucretia closer. “This was nice,” she said after a few minutes. She sounded sleepy. “Let’s do it again. Make girls night in a regular thing. Maybe not always with the crying part, but, y'know, sometimes we just need that.”

“I’d like that,” Lucretia said, closing her eyes. “Goodnight.”

“Night-night, Lucy.”