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howtowhumpyourhiccup · 3 years

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Winter Whumperland Day 9: Planned

Summary: Written for Winter Whumperland Day 9. Set in a Modern AU, follows up on Day 8 'Lucky'. The police aren't coming for him and he doesn't know if his friends or family even know where to look. With not just his own health and safety on the line, Hiccup knows that if he wants to escape, he wants to do it in a way that ensures Viggo can never lay a hand on him again.

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hiccup, Viggo

Pairing: Vigcup, past-Hiccstrid

Words: 5 218

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: “countdowns”, “running out of time”

Whumpee: Hiccup

Author’s Notes: Ah, another prompt that started out as a 2,5k something and has now become a 5k monster. And Day 12, at 6k, IS STILL NOT FINISHED YET! :'D

At the very least, it makes me curious to see what the final word count will end up being.

Anyway, here it is! The chapter that reveals both Hiccup's previous plan to escape as well as what he saw on the computer in Day 3.

Constructive criticism is appreciated! Including on the tags, because holy hell, they get more difficult with each one-shot!

Enjoy!

Ao3

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The police aren't coming for him. As days turned into weeks and weeks into months, the hope of being found by the people meant to find him seemed to slim with every morning he has to wake up next to Viggo Grimborn.

It's through Eret that Hiccup will find out that they aren't looking for him at all, that they've simply arrested the first guy they could conveniently get their hands on and called it a day. It apparently didn't matter whether they got the true culprit, or culprits in this case, or if they even find a body or not. Hiccup's disappearance is a closed case.

But before that life-ending trip in the mountains, well, life-ending for at least two someones, Hiccup has no idea what could be keeping the cops from finding him for so long. It's a disheartening thing. For all those tv-shows and movies about the police going through hell and back for the civilians they're supposed to serve and protect, Hiccup is feeling strangely abandoned.

And he can't see his friends ever coming for him, though he knows they must have surely looked. And his father, he's more the "let the right authorities handle it" kind of man, but he must've searched for him, too.

But if they have any idea where to look or how to go about helping him, he wouldn't have been here for as long as he has. His best hope of getting out of Viggo's clutches is to find a way out himself. Ironically enough, he means to break free through those authorities his father so relies on.

Hiccup could remove the watch, could somehow safely remove the shock band from his ankle he hasn't tried yet, take his prosthetic from the safe, take his clothes, take his cat, and then finally take his leave. He could go home, be surrounded by friends, tell everything to the police, ... and then what?

Give Viggo and Ryker the chance to destroy everything related to him and disappear? Allow him the time to make up an iron-clad tale about how Hiccup had run away with him? Having no idea his friends and father didn't know of his plan to run away until they were in too deep? And really, young people can be so crazy when it comes to love, he wouldn't be the first to run away for the sake of the person they think is The One.

And Stoick, such a big man, they've all seen how angry he can be on his first and last press conference. Viggo believed him when Hiccup told him his father was physically violent with him and just wanted to keep him safe! And he is especially bad when drunk. You can't blame a foolish man with too good of a heart for getting himself into trouble trying to help this young man out.

Besides having the money to get him the best lawyers money can buy, Viggo is also a master manipulator. Playing on Hiccup's need to help others to get close to him, earn his trust, and get to know him well enough to know which buttons to push to break him makes that clear to him now. Viggo can spin any tale he wants and Hiccup fears the number of people that will believe him.

He's seen it before, innocent people painted in such a bad light that they are bullied and ostracized to the point of disappearing, too afraid to come out and speak the truth any more. He doesn't want people to see his father that way.

It's true that Stoick has a temper, but against his son, he's never so much as raised his voice. He doesn't want Viggo to hurt his family, too.

Viggo is nothing like Dagur. Dagur was more like your run-of-the-mill obsessed stalker who believed that he deserved and needed a boy three years younger then him to fill the missing void his deceased parents left him with. He was a tragic product of his life, of loss he couldn't process. And if he can take Heather's word, Dagur has been putting effort into getting better.

Hiccup thought he knew what obsession looked like through him and so he didn't recognize the warning signs in Viggo.

Viggo, who doesn't have a tragedy that shaped him to be the way he is. Viggo, who is unrepentant in his ways, who doesn't care who he hurts or how bad. Viggo, who is so selfish and arrogant that he would rather bury a failed project six feet under and start over than ever admit defeat.

Hiccup never saw the warning signs.

"He swallowed up two hours of your time, Hiccup!"

His last conversation with Astrid suddenly comes to mind. Dagur demanded his time as well, but that's just it, he demanded it. Viggo was 'nice' about it in that he asked and then played on Hiccup's emotions without him realizing it to get him to say "yes".

A master manipulator. This is why Hiccup needs evidence if he wants him convicted. If it becomes a "he said, he said" kind of trail, he's already lost. And really, who'll believe him when he tells them Viggo... did things to him, a man.

And then there is another possibility that he's afraid of. The police not arresting Viggo quickly enough to keep him from coming back for Hiccup and doing gods know what to him in retribution.

At least that's something Dagur tried to do, too, when he heard of the restraining order placed on him. He was to be arrested for breaking it, for breaking it multiple times as a matter of fact, and he couldn't bear with that. Though in that case, Dagur had blamed Hiccup's father and his friends for keeping them apart and tried to convince Hiccup to disappear with him. It was the only way they could be together in his eyes, if they started over together somewhere far, far away. He completely blindsided that it was Hiccup who wanted that restraining order in place.

If Hiccup leaves the Grimborn mansion, he wants to be sure he'll never have to see it again. And he'll want to make sure he doesn't mysteriously vanish the second someone blinks. He doesn't want White Spot to inexplicably die from poison or from being run over either.

And, oh Gods, what if he's out there and he comes after Astrid? Snotlout? Fishlegs? The twins? The sanctuary isn't chock-full of cameras either, what if they manage to hurt Toothless in some way? Or pay someone to hurt Toothless? His father seems untouchable, but what about his mother? There are too many ways in which the Grimborns can get back at him and Hiccup would rather spend the rest of his life rotting away in that basement than let anything happen to them.

And that is why he needs to get onto that computer, why he snuck into the study while Viggo's at work and Ryker is sleeping off another hangover.

He's stolen the key to his bedroom and locked it from the outside. If he wakes up before Hiccup finishes what he intends to do, there'll be hell to pay. Wooden doors don't really stop a man like Ryker.

But who better to break into Viggo's computer than someone who knows his way around one?

Hiccup hobbled into the study using the crutch they'd provided him with, begrudgingly so on Ryker's part as Viggo sees it more as something they can take away if their guest is being ungrateful, and he sits down at the desk. It takes only a minute or two, but he manages to get past the password.

A breath of relief quietly leaves him, he's become a bit of a quiet person, and he sags.

Viggo better not see him, he disdains a bad posture. Hiccup can't even begin to count the amount of comments or "corrective slaps on the wrist" he's gotten for not sitting or standing up straight. At some point, when Viggo was particularly sick of Hiccup sitting slouched, he tried to buy him a corset so that maybe he could finally sit with a straight back for once.

But Viggo isn't here and Hiccup gets to sag. He can threaten him if he's not here.

At first, Hiccup isn't sure what he's looking for. Something illegal, for sure, but what? The party guests from the other day have given him the idea to try and look for something. Viggo's company specializes in import and export, surely, he has to have something shady saved on his computer. He has the ships and containers, he can take things in and out of the country without a problem.

Someone as smart as Viggo isn't going to look up "how to treat broken ribs" online, so it's not like it's as simple as looking up his browser history. Would he search and buy the medication needed to stave off pneumonia online? Drugs can be found on legal sites, he wouldn't even need to worry about turning any heads.

What Hiccup needs from this computer is virtual evidence, but searching for it isn't going to be a walk in the park.

Hiccup rolls his shoulders and adjusts his position in the chair, it rolling in place.

Sitting in this chair is difficult. He'd lean back, but he can't. And just sitting there isn't doing him any favors either. There are painful welts all over his back from last night's games in bed and that makes just about everything a little difficult for him.

He'd let Viggo do it. Because if he didn't it would happen either way and then it would be made so much more unpleasant.

So while uncomfortable as he possibly can be does he look deeper into this computer, doing everything mostly on a glimpse alone to get through it all quick. He can't afford to dilly dally in every file. And if he doesn't get this done, there will be many more nights of these "games".

Viggo isn't like most people, he doesn't have games or other files or apps he would deem unnecessary on his computer. Most of what takes up space on his internal hard drive is what he considers important. For him, that seems to be stuff that he's taken home from work and nothing more. And they're all fairly recent as the oldest file Hiccup has come across is a little less than two years old.

And then he clicks on something inconspicuous and a little window pops up and asks for a password. Hiccup raises an eyebrow, suppresses the need to comment on it, and quietly gets by this one as well.

Finally, after what Hiccup realizes has been a quick two-hour search, he's found something promising.

There are folders named with serial numbers that translate as dates to him and the many files within are also coded with numbers following that same date. The oldest one appears to be from a little over half a year ago, the hard drive has last been cleaned out then. Just as he thought, Viggo isn't a fan of leaving a trace.

He clicks on one of those documents and then another and another and another. Hiccup's expertise may not be with economics or Viggo's branch of work, but he is often smarter than people give him credit for. He can still figure out that what he's looking at is some seriously shady stuff. Everything from exporting fake goods to exotic animals and even drugs, no wonder Viggo is a rich, rich man.

So Viggo isn't just a criminal that kidnaps and abuses people, he's very into the black market, too. A terrifying thing, honestly. He's seen movies, he knows how these things go. So he turns his attention to a different crime he might be able to exploit.

Embezzlement, bank fraud, insurance fraud, forgery, just all kinds of fraud and all that gained him, and only him, money. And that, that can work in his favor. Because if there is something people don't like, it's when someone else is hoarding money. Especially if it's all garnered illegally.

taking his eyes off-screen for a moment, Hiccup strains his hearing to see if he can pick up any sounds inside the house. It's still quiet and that means Ryker must still be asleep.

So focusing back on the screen, he gathers as many of these suspicious documents as he can find and then searches for the e-mail app Viggo uses, which is the only one present on this entire device.

He pauses for one nervous moment as he clicks on it, grimacing and holding his breath, and sees that Viggo is apparently the kind of person who legs himself off after every use.

He's lucky. He can log on with his own address and log back off without drawing suspicion.

But then he realizes he doesn't actually know where to send all of these to and briefly does he almost panic.

He doesn't have a lot of time here and Viggo does sometimes have the tendency to come home unexpectedly to "surprise him".

Does he send all of these to the police of his city? Do police even handle cases like fraud? Surely, they do? And do police stations even have e-mail addresses to mail to?

Hiccup feels a sense of anxiety creeping up on him. He doesn't have a lot to work with and he realizes the chances of this plan working aren't big, it all boils down to a gamble. His freedom, it will depend entirely on whether or not they will check an e-mail from the outside or not.

But his chances are good enough, aren't they? His full name is right there in his e-mail, they're not going to ignore a message coming from "Hiccup Haddock", right? Even if they've given up on him?

He doesn't feel like he has much of a choice. It's not like he can put all of this on a USB, run away, and personally get it to the police. He can't even leave the house, not even to get into the yard! And even if he did, he'll run into the same problem of risking giving the Grimborns enough time to either disappear, hurt him more, or both.

So Hiccup swallows his worries, feeling like he can't do this if he lets his fears get to him like this. E-mailing the police will have to do.

To distract himself, Hiccup continues his search for more incriminating information. He's not going to fit all of it in just one measly e-mail, but the more the merrier.

On his search for more, Hiccup comes across another one of those inconspicuous folders like the others he's looked through. Though this one, for some reason, is titled differently. Instead of the numbers used with the other folders, this one is named "personal project".

Despite the name change, Hiccup is confident he can find more evidence in this.

The second he clicks on that folder, he regrets it.

There are photos instead of files in this one, a lot of them. Some are very compromising, sensitive, the kinds you'd only find on one particular site on the internet.

And they're all of him.

Some were taken before his abduction and clearly without his knowledge. Like someone had been hiding behind corners with a camera and followed him in his daily life. There are photos that come from online, he recognizes the ones his girlfriend took and posted with his permission, which Viggo has stolen without.

And then some were taken after his kidnapping and those are the worst.

Because these are so humiliating. So, so humiliating! Compromising positions, in several states of undress, from almost every part of his body, ... And to make matters worse, he can't remember any of these ever having been taken.

What he does remember? The many, many times when he would randomly pass out during his time in the basement.

Staring at the countless pictures, Hiccup feels like he's burning. The fire that eats him alive isn't made out of a physical flame, it's the shame burning him to a crisp. Like he's been soaked in gasoline and lit up with a match, like he might actually writhe and scream.

Before he can stop himself, he's crying.

He's not thinking of Ryker when he does. Hunching forward, his face in his hands, he sobs and hiccups and sniffs. He's not quiet about it either.

He had no idea these pictures were being taken, no idea at all. But here they are, staring at him in the face, mocking him. He feels so humiliated.

It takes him a while to pull himself back together again. He doesn't know for how long he sits there, bawling his eyes out, struggling to breathe. The weight of what's been done to him has come crashing down on him once more and now it feels like he's drowning.

He wants to delete these pictures and hope that Viggo doesn't have them saved anywhere else. He wants to throw the whole damn computer away just to be sure, take his crutch or something heavier and then smash it to bits.

But he can't. Because if Hiccup does get rid of them, Viggo might notice that they're gone when he revisits them. And he's going to notice a missing or broken computer and that'll mean the end of him.

So as horrible as it is, he has to let every single one of them be.

Or maybe he doesn't quite need to leave them alone.

Pure anger on his face and tears still in his eyes, a white-hot rage that he's unfamiliar with coursing through his veins, he faces those pictures again.

Viggo thinks he can just make these pictures without his knowledge, without his permission, without expecting them to be used against him?

Fine. He, too, can play that game.

Viggo and Ryker will rot, even if it's the last thing he'll do.

Even if it means he'll be drawing his last breath at the end of all of this, they will pay.

Hiccup adds them to the list of things he'll be sending to the police. He'll worry about how these will make him look later, right now he's not in the right mindset to worry. He just wants Viggo to face the consequences of his actions.

This is proof of some of the abuse he's had to suffer through thus far, it's proof that he's been stalked prior to his abduction, and it will only make their list of crimes bigger and therefore the time they'll be serving longer.

Or that's what he hopes.

The police station of his choosing has a neat little "send e-mail" in their contact info and that's what he clicks on. He clicks on it several times, each e-mail filled to the brim with incriminating photos and files and all send from his address. The black market stuff they'll hopefully find on their own. That is, if Viggo is apprehended too quickly to wipe his device clean.

Hiccup hits send on the last one and has to take a breath.

He's an exhausted mess, his sleeves are wet with tears and filthy with snot. He should get cleaned up before his "beloved partner" comes home.

But he allows himself a moment of sweet, sweet vengeance.

"Well now, Viggo, I hope you like living with a timer." Hiccup tells the man, though he isn't here. From the second he met the man to the night of his kidnapping he's lived with one, whether he realized it or not. Now Viggo gets to live with one for a change.

And hopefully, this one will run out a lot quicker than his did.

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When Hiccup ran away in the snow, Viggo wasn't expecting to be caught as quickly as he was, maybe there was a chance he wouldn't even be caught at all.

Wandering aimlessly in a forest with one foot broken, the other missing, and unprepared for the cold, the chances of Hiccup surviving at all were slim, to say the least. And that fishing town, they weren't close enough for someone familiar with the area to reach it in time, let alone someone who has never been there before.

But here he is, sitting at a table in an interrogation room in a police station. Not Port's as he's already been handed over to a different station. More specifically, he's been brought to New New Berk's.

But the agent standing opposite to him with a carton cup of lukewarm coffee in their hands, they're not from around here and that makes Viggo wonder what exactly he's been caught for.

Is it for fraud? Blackmarket dealings? But all of that information should be locked behind a password and he's been meticulous in what he keeps and deletes. he's even gotten rid of an entire hard drive just to be sure.

And yet, he knows Hiccup messed with his computer, he's caught him crying in front of the screen through a hidden camera. Though, he has figured by now that it meant he'd found Viggo's personal photographic collection of him.

It was amusing at the time. It served Hiccup right for sticking his nose in places where it didn't belong.

But that collection was protected, too, and so maybe Hiccup found more than just those photos. As a matter of fact, it might even be the most likely scenario. he regrets admitting to not thinking of Hiccup figuring out what he was looking at when he saw those hidden files.

But if it is only that, then maybe he can still get off with a relatively light punishment.

As Viggo is having his inner monologue with himself, Agent Mackle stares at him with a look the man can only call contempt. He finds the way the younger Grimborn brother is sitting there horribly arrogant. With his posh suit, polished look, expensive jewelry and accessories, straight back. The only signs of what might be distress are the heavier than usual bags under his eyes and the slightly frazzled hair, that latter is a feat with how short it is, and he only knows because he's seen pictures of Viggo before.

But it's not enough, not with a monster such as this one, and Viggo Grimborn has been a monster to many people.

They should be doing an interrogation, however, so they speak up.

"He was found, just so you know." Viggo looks up to the agent.

"Your brother. Dead, head split open with a shovel, you didn't even try to hide his body, did you? Bad enough that you don't care about laws and morals, but then not only did you decide to disregard human life, you also decided that your brother's wasn't worth it." Mackle starts, completely astounded by the lack of any feeling or remorse in one man. How much the victim must've suffered with him.

Or rather, victims.

On his own brother's death, the suspect doesn't have a comment and Viggo even looks away again, seemingly uninterested. Whether this is a ploy or because he truly doesn't care, Mackle finds both options agitating.

Viggo had been caught trying to leave Port to go back home, taking his luggage, and planning on taking his personal boat to get away. A messy escape for someone who looks like he prizes himself on his tactics and thinking things through.

But then, Port police also found his brother face down in a thin layer of snow in what was clearly meant to be a shallow grave, so something must've gone down that made the suspect want to pack up and leave in a hurry.

He hadn't even bothered to cover Ryker grimborn with a blanket or a tarp or anything, he just left him to be feasted on by foraging scavengers. What brotherly love there must've been between these two.

But oh, they do have something to say that might be interesting to Viggo.

"And oh, he was found, just so you know." Viggo, again, looks up to the agent, who sips from his cup. Except, this time he doesn't look as bored as he probably figures who they must be talking about.

"Hiccup Haddock, your little "pet project"? That's what you called him, right? He was found alive, despite you and your brother's best attempts at silencing him." There is a certain flavor to telling a criminal that they haven't succeeded in destroying a life. Well, haven't succeeded in destroying this one.

"And it's thanks to him that you won't just be charged with fraud and all that good stuff, but also multiple counts of kidnapping, murder, abuse, and, the most fun of all, all kinds of sexual assault. That's a long, long list Mr. Grimborn." Agent Mackle tells him, their disgust barely hidden. They're in their late twenties, maybe earlier thirties. Viggo can't pin an exact number on them.

He raises an eyebrow at the usage of "multiple counts", but he's not responding otherwise.

"I can already hear you think. How do they know? How can they arrest me for any of that with no bodies?" Mackle walks around, imitating how they think the suspect before them might sound as they pace, and then they face him again.

"Well, your last victim has a pretty good idea of where your brother buried your victims since you two were kind enough to take him to your murder cabin to kill him there, too, if, and I quote from Hiccup Haddock himself, he "didn't fall in line". He was kind enough to tell us in return." Mackle informs Viggo, making it clear they've been talking to him.

It worked for as long as it did because of the cabin's isolated location. It was on private property, which means people would keep away from that part of the forest. And kids, if they snuck on and saw something they were never meant to see, they would keep to themselves for fear of getting into trouble. Keep to themselves and very possibly repress everything they might've seen until it one day comes back to haunt and ruin them.

For effect, they lean on the table, cup still in hand.

"We've searched the property, Mr. Grimborn, and we're digging every single one of those poor souls up as we speak. We'll be making a lot of families happy this holiday." They continue.

"Well, probably not happy since their missing loved ones were found dead, after all, but they'll have close at long last." There is only a little sense of justice here. Viggo's arrest and sure to be punishment will not bring all those people back, but at least he'll finally be stopped. And it'll all be because of Hiccup.

There is still not a word from Viggo, but what did they expect? They have to suppress a sigh as they straighten.

"You were hard to catch, I'll admit that. We've recovered three of the bodies, so far. Their clothing, personal effects, and even physical traits helped us identify them. Let me tell you, we never would've linked them together." Mackle takes three of the case files he has on a neat stack on his side of the table and flips them open.

"There is no connection between gender, appearance, ethnicity, religion, and with your latest victim, no connection between sex either." He skims through some of the pages. There is even a "John" amongst those three.

The one thing they do have in common, though? Smarts.

"A med, student, a biochemist, an ambitious lawyer, and now an aspiring expert in draconic behaviors. A dragon whisperer if you will." Well, that is what the victim's closest loved ones have told them.

Closing the case files, they grab them and drop them back on the large pile of suspected victims, making quite the bang on the table. Viggo doesn't jump as badly as they would like.

"So tell me, how does it feel to know you were taken down by one of your pet projects? One of your many, many victims? I'm sure you thought you were smarter than all of them." Agent Mackle asks, hoping to finally break Viggo with at least one of these. All they want is a little crack in that stoic façade.

And finally, there is a response on Viggo's face, but not one they'd like to see. A smirk appears on his face.

"You ask me how I feel?" He asks and his gaze meets Mackle's.

"Hiccup and I know each other. The reason I could keep him under my thumb for so long is because I know him and therefore know where to push. I know how to get him to make certain sounds, I know how to make his body react that way I want it to react, I know how to make him obedient to me, the point is, agent, I know Hiccup through and through." Viggo takes a pause, enjoying this little confession of his.

"To the world, I'll be known as a monster, but I will also have my business empire-"

"Had. I don't think many of your partners or clients will want to have anything to do with your business anymore. Especially not now that they'll know you've been frauding your way into all of that money for your own gain." Agent Mackle quickly retorts, not liking Viggo's energy and enjoyment in all of this.

"However," Viggo completely ignores them, simply continuing to talk and sounding as arrogant as he possibly can. "Hiccup will only ever be known as the one who got away and he'll be lucky if that is all that he's known for. Even you only refer to him as my victim."

Mackle doesn't know what to say, furrowing their brows while Viggo's smirk remains true.

"So no matter how much he fought to get away from me, Hiccup Haddock will never escape the fact that he still belongs to me in the end." Viggo looks away at that, taking this as another checkmate. And the brand will prove that, too. Even if he has it removed, there were still be the scar of where it once used to be.

Mackle has seen a picture of it, seen the "V.G" burned into his flesh. They've seen many pictures depicting Hiccup. That a 19-year-old boy had to go through something like this... Age is another thing that didn't factor into what Viggo sought for in a future victim, but two of the identified bodies and a good amount of the suspected victims are young. Though Hiccup definitely stands out as the youngest of the bunch.

The worst part out of all of this is that Viggo isn't showing the slightest bit of remorse. He got caught and all he shows is a sick sense of pleasure in the knowledge that he and Hiccup will forever be connected through this.

He couldn't even care less about the death of his older brother. All that matters to him, is Hiccup.

Feeling sick to their stomach, Mackle takes their cup and the stack of yellowish folders, each thicker than the last, and leaves the interrogation room. They leave Viggo to wallow in his bad, bad thoughts.

#amow winter whumperland #12wwday.9 #rtte #httyd movies #modern au #hiccup haddock #hiccup whump #viggo grimborn #vigcup #one-sided vigcup #tw: rape/non-con elements #tw: implied rape #tw: implied non-con elements #tw: implied non-con #tw: rape/non-con #my fanfics #planned

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yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy · 4 years

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Hearthway Hollow Chef Ryker Part 1

So what happened when I commissioned @momolady for the Hearthway Hollow Chef thing was there was a miscommunication/misunderstanding and when I got the commission back, I loved it! But there were just a few details that I wanted changed and instead of letting Momo change it, I noticed that I could change the document itself and so I, like an inexperienced commissioner- went ahead and changed the details myself in the original document - like Del was actually 8 because Del is based off of my daughter, who is actually about to turn 8 and Zara is my OC of myself so I put in more details about me personally in there. And what started off as a little tweak here and there...turned into a remodel of a house and by the time I was done, if you read this, you’ll notice the bones are kind of the same but everything else is mostly different, I bastardized my own commission because I couldn’t let go of tiny little details. I rather innocently and unintentionally broke probably every rule there is about commissioning writers. And I’m sorry. I have apologized to Momo who has been so patient and so kind and so good to me and she totally held my hand through all of it because while I have done commissions for other people, it was the first time I was the commissioner for once and then of course, I had to write FANFICTION of my own commission, but did I base it on the original? no. I based it on my bastardized version. But Momo is very very very cool in letting me show the bastard version and the fanfic to the...however many followers I have that might like this other than me and if no one does, that’s fine, at least it gets to see the light of day.

Enjoy. This is basically my hypothetical dark but sweet fantasy if my husband died and Werewolves were real and what I would do after I would grieve.

Hearthway Hollow- Chef Ryker

I was hoping a trip would be what we needed, something Del and I could share even through our subsiding grief. My husband and Del’s father- Michael, passed away last year and I felt it was time that I start living again and try to move on with my life. Del chose the location of our vacation after hearing some of her friends talking about it. I had also decided that driving would be fun, nothing like a good ol’ fashioned road trip. I’d be able to show Del tourist traps, fun locations, and introduce her to some very good food.

After Michael passed, Del did a 180 and became just as picky of an eater like her father was when he was alive, what once had been an adventurous eater, she quickly transformed into the kind of kid who only eats chicken nuggets, much less only would eat the foods Michael had once enjoyed. I think that was how she was choosing to grieve his loss and keep his memory alive in herself. But being a foodie myself, I was getting a little frustrated from eating the same things over and over and over again, I wanted to try to gently coax her out of that shell she put herself in. What better way to do that then a fresh change of scenery?

The trip down south was going to take us a couple of days, we were headed to Myrtle Beach. I hadn’t traveled like this in years, back in the day, Michael and I used to go on roadtrips all the time, trips up to Michigan and the Great Lakes to see my family that remained there, to Cedar Point, Kings Island, things like that because we all loved roller coasters. We even went on a vacation when I was pregnant with Del. Michael and I had always hoped that one day, we’d be able to take Del on road trips more often because traveling with small children could be a nightmare. Michael had an old camaro he restored himself as a teenager and a motorcycle, both were great in helping make kids but neither were very kid friendly once they were born but he had been so patient in waiting for Del to grow up and be big enough to be able to join him. But then...well, time ran out, cut so very short. Now it was up to me to pick up where he left off. This was step one.

We stopped in North Carolina for a rest stop, I got gas and took Del to the bathroom. While there we got some drinks and a couple of snacks for the road. As we were checking out Del was looking over the brochures for tourist attractions by the door.

She gasped dramatically and loudly. “Mom!” She yanked a brochure from the stand and all of the ones in that cubby came shooting out.

“Delilah!” I huffed as I knelt down to help her pick them all up. “You have to be mindful and aware of what you're doing." I gently reminded her.

“But Mom!” She prances excitedly as she holds it out to me.

I sigh and take it. “Hearthway Hollow Forest Wolf Reserve,” I murmur as I look over the pamphlet. “Wolf rehabilitation and study center, located in Hearthway Hollow. Come see the wolves that make Hearthway Hollow the treasure of the mountains. Donations help in the rehabilitation of the endangered wolves of the area. Hmm”

“I can pet a wolf, Mom!” Del bounces excitedly.

I turn to the cashier at the register. “This Hearthway Hollow, is it close by?”

“Oh yeah,” she says with a cheery smile. “You just follow Locklear Road and the signs will direct you the rest of the way.” She says as she points in the direction of the road itself.

“What’s it like?” I ask cautiously.

“It’s amazing!” The cashier gushes. “I go to the local college there and I plan on moving into town soon.”

I think for a long moment. “Any good restaurants? Places to stay?”

“Oh there’s tons of good places to eat. I would check out Guillermo’s, it’s my favorite place to go. My friends and I go there to celebrate after tests and junk.” She then smiles at Del. “There’s a killer park and a community pool there too, she’ll love it. If you’re looking for a place to stay overnight, just go to Big Billy’s Hardware.”

I furrow my brow. “A hardware store?”

“It’s the heart of the town! Big Billy looks scary, but don’t worry, he’s just a big pappa bear kind of guy and he’s a sucker for cute kids. Take your daughter in there and he’ll find you a four star place to stay dirt cheap,” she laughs.

I think for another long moment while I pay. As I get back in the car I look over to see Del clutching that brochure for the wolf reserve. Wolves have always been her favorite animal, aside from sharks... and snakes... and tigers... and unicorns, her father used to watch nature documentaries with her, and both of them would play wolves on full moons. Perk of living in the middle of nowhere, so many stars to shine in all their glory in the night sky.

“Are we gonna go, Mom?” Del pleads.

“Honey, we have a schedule to at least try to stick to.” But she can sense that my resolve is weak.

Del giggles and wriggles in the passenger seat. “So we’re going?” Well, what’s a few more hours on a detour?

“... Yeah ok." I find Locklear road and started traveling down it. Sure enough, I started seeing all sorts of signs for Hearthway Hollow pop up. There was a turn coming where the massive ‘Welcome to Hearthway Hollow’ sign stuck out like a sunrise against the dark trees.

Entering the town was like stepping into one of those picturesque paintings. The main downtown area was all old brick buildings with enchanting storefronts. But I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve come home, it was strange yet familiar and I didn’t realize how much my soul had ached for it. But by the time we found the reserve, it was closed for the day. Well, it would be open tomorrow. We could afford to stay in town for a night and see it first thing in the morning then get to Myrtle.

“Let's find Big Billy's hardware store then,” I say. “We’ll find a place to stay the night, get something good to eat for dinner, and tomorrow we’ll go visit the wolf reserve? Sound like a plan?”

“Yes!!” Del cheers excitedly.

The hardware store was easy to find, it looked like many of the other buildings, but there was just something about it that stuck out like a sore thumb. It was the classic hardware store, but the sign hanging above the door was a black wolf’s head, snarling and gnashed teeth, with Billy burned into the side.

As we walked inside there was old music playing over a stereo, a young man was behind the counter and arguing with someone in the back.

“Hello?” I ask. “I’m sorry to bother.”

The young man looks at me and smiles. “One sec, let me get through with this.” His smile vanishes and he snaps towards the back. “I’ve got a customer! Shut the hell up!” He glances back to me. “Hi, I’m Jack. Sorry about that, arguing with the old man.”

“Don’t call me that!” A thunder like snarl comes from the back and the walls nearly shake.

“Oh uhm-” I hesitate. “I’m in town for maybe a day or two with my daughter."

“Hi,” she waves.

Jack breaks into a big grin. “Hi there!” As he waves back.

“I was told if I came here we’d be able to find a place?” I ask. “I’m sorry if I was misled. I don’t mean to be a bother.”

Jack shakes his head. “Nonsense, I’m sure the old man has a few places he can rent for a couple of days.” He turns and whistles. “Yo! Billy! You got some potential renters up here!”

There is snarling and growling before a man who is more mountain than anything comes from the back. I’m sure back in his day he was a real looker, hell he’s quite good looking now, but there is a dark look in his eyes as he walks out.

“I’ve got a couple of cabins,” he huffs as he takes out a three ring binder without looking up at me. “Lemme see here, lemme see.” He glances down, seeing Del staring up at him with big bright blue eyes that matched mine and an awed expression. “What’s this here,” he leaned forward with a big grin which she quickly mirrors. “How old are you?”

"I’m eight.” Del beamed proudly.

“You’re really close in age to my granddaughter,” he chuckles.

“My daughter,” Jack huffs. Ah, so he’s either his son or son in law, that dynamic makes sense now.

Billy rolls his eyes. “What are you doing here then?” He asks Del.

“The Wolf reserve, but it was closed by the time we got there,” Del answered as she starts to pout in disappointment and I see Billy sympathetically mirror her expression. Yeah, papa bear for sure.

I pet her long blonde hair comfortingly as I stand beside her. “She saw a brochure for the wolf reserve and they’re her favorite animal.” I add.

“Besides sharks,” Del corrects me.

“Two very good choices,” Billy takes a key from behind the desk and hands it to me. “Address and everything is on the keychain,” he says. “Small cabin, good for a new family.”

A cold, stabbing pain radiates through my chest. “It’s just me and Del,” I softly corrected.

“Ah,” Billy nods. “Well, it’ll still work out for you. How long you plan on staying? A week?” He asks.

“Just tonight,” I say with a nod.

Billy chuckles. “Well, $65 a night, regardless.”

I balk for a moment, letting my jaw drop. “That’s it? For a cabin?”

“I got a lot of cabins, they ain’t getting used.” Billy says with a shrug. “Kid discount.” He motions to Del.

“Oh wow, thank you. I promise, we’ll keep it clean.” I pay in cash in advance which makes Billy happy and then I take Del’s hand to go back outside. “Oh uhm...I was told to try Guillermo’s,” I reply. “Where is it in town?”

“You go down Main Street and make a left on Lupine Avenue, it’ll be right next to the Silver Bullet a few blocks that way,” Jack replies as he points and gestures in the right direction. “It’s great, you really should try it before you leave.” He added.

“Ok, thank you!” I wave goodbye as I take Del back to the car.

We find the cabin, which is located pretty close to town. It’s behind a house where there is a moving truck parked out front. I see a woman sitting outside fanning herself by a stack of boxes.

Del and I go into the cabin, and aside from it being a little stuffy from being shut in for a little while, it’s cute and cozy and even has air conditioners in the bedrooms and the living room, and it’s pretty clean and still really nice. There’s plates and cups in the cupboards and silverware in the drawer even and a coffee maker. Nice.

“This is like the Three Bears house, Mom!” Del races around, investigating every inch of the place. She then opens the curtains in front of a sliding glass door in the back off the kitchen. She gasps loudly as she sees the endless void of woods behind the cabin and presses her face to the glass.

“You think wolves can see us?” She bounces on her toes.

“If you leave that curtain open,” I chuckle.

“Come on! Let’s check out the woods! They call to me, I must explore!” She dramatically implores me as she gestures to them.

But before we can, I hear a knock at the door.

A bit timid, I peek through the window to see the woman from the house below at the door. As I open the door she has an embarrassed look at her face.

“Hi, sorry,” she scoffs. “I know you’re here just trying to enjoy your vacation, but uhm-” she fidgets in place. “The electricity at my place was supposed to get turned on today and it’s not.” She holds up her phone and charger. “Do you mind?”

I shake my head. “Not at all, come in.” I readily invite her in.

“I’m Amelie, by the way,” she says quickly.

“Zara, and this my daughter Delilah, Del for short.” I reply and shake her hand.

“Thank you, so much, Zara. I need to call my boyfriend and tell him the electricity isn’t on yet, but of course my phone dies.” Amelie goes into the kitchen and plugs her phone in there.

“Are you just moving here?” I ask.

Amelie shakes her head. “I moved to Hearthway Hollow about a year ago. I just got engaged, so my fiance and I decided to find a new place together. He didn’t wanna live in a house so close to his work, I didn’t want to live directly in the woods. This was a compromise,” she chuckles. “So, how did you end up here?”

“The wolf reserve,” I say with a shrug. “Me and my daughter are headed to Myrtle Beach for a vacation and decided to take a detour on the scenic route.”

“The wolf reserve is pretty cool. If you’re lucky they may have the rescued wolf pups out by now.”

“Oohhh,” Del and I ooh.

“So a beach vacation with just the girls,” Amelie chuckles. “Did you have to leave dad at home?”

“Oh uh-” I start off unsurely and fidget with my wedding ring. “No I mean-” I press my lips into a tight line. “Michael, my husband, he died about a year ago so its just us." I say as I gesture to Del and I.

"He dropped dead of a heart attack at work out of the blue." Del blurted out and I huff and fix her with a look.

Amelie gasps horrified. “Oh, oh I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s ok,” I shake my head. “It’s taken some time and a lot of therapy but we're OK. Michael planned ahead and had his affairs in order so we're taken care of and now we get to get back to living and try to move forward. We wanted to create some new happy memories, get us out of the house and a change of scenery.” I explained as she nodded solemnly.

“Well, you came to a great place. Hearthway Hollow,” she smiles for a moment. “I don’t know what it is about this place, but it’s a perfect spot for healing. When I came here I was-” she shakes her head as her eyes grow glassy for a second. “I was in a really, extremely, horribly bad place. Hearthway Hollow, in a way, saved my life.”

“Oh wow,” I murmur.

“I suggest letting yourself linger here for a while, you’ll never know what you might find.” Amelie gives me an encouraging smile. “Aside from the reserve, what were your plans?”

“Oh! Well, I was told to go to Gueillermo’s,” I start.

Amelie gasps. “That place is awesome! My fiance’s best friend is the owner and head chef there, he does absolute miracles with food it’s a fusion restaurant so there’s a little bit of everything. Shahan and I were going there tonight, you should join us and get the special treatment,” she says with a grin. “Shahan and Ryker grew up together, they’re practically brothers.”

“Ryker?” I murmured to myself.

That evening, Del and I get dressed up and go to dinner with Amelie and her fiance Shahan. The restaurant already looks packed, but we are taken to a back room into the most comfortable booth that’s a half moon shape as I slide in the middle with Amelie on my left and Shahan on the other side of her with Del being on the other side of me on the end and the booth itself has a front row view of the kitchen and the chefs already hard at work like a well oiled machine, I noticed everyone is in baseball caps so I can't tell who the head chef is. It's an upscale Spanish fusion restaurant and the smells coming out of the kitchen are making my mouth water and stomach growl. The menu is killer and I want to order all of it because it's all Michelin star quality food but at Olive Garden prices. And it's mostly farm to table and seasonal, featuring produce and meats from right here in Hearthway with only a few exceptions, like the seafood. I'm impressed.

“So, what do you like to eat, Del?” Shahan asks as we look over the menus.

“Chicken nuggets,” Del says, grabbing at some crayons on the table and drawing on the paper place mat in front of her, fllipping it over to the back and using it as her canvas to create another masterpiece.

“She’s a picky eater as of late,” I sigh. “I’ve been using this trip to broaden her horizons a little.” I explained.

“How is that going?” Shahan asks.

“Stalemate,” I grumble.

“Well, if anyone can get her to try new things, I think it would be Ryker,” Shahan chuckles. “We grew up together, basically lived with me and my family after his dad passed away.”

“His dad died too?” Del asks softly and the look on Amelie’s face tells me she didn’t get a chance to tell him that yet as she looked at me apologetically which prompted me to smile reassuringly at her.

“Oh uh, sorry kid,” Shahan says gently. “You miss your dad?”

Del nods. “He dropped dead of a heart attack at work, so his last words to me were from that morning ‘Hurry up or you’ll miss the bus, have a good day at school, I love you.’ We used to do everything together, he was teaching me archery and how to ride a fourwheeler and a dirt bike and how to handle a knife, because I’m not in school I get to carry it around all the time again, this was his.” She explained as she stopped drawing and brings out the pocket knife from her pocket and shows Shahan and Amelia who both have a myriad of emotions on their face as she expertly flipped the knife open to show them before I take mine from my purse and open mine and reveal that it was a matched engraved set and Amelie and Shahan look almost near tears.

“Wow, that’s an awesome knife, can I see it?” Shahan asks respectfully before she let him take it as he looked it over before Amelie took mine, both of them studying them for a moment, appreciating the excellent quality of them before he tested it’s sharpness by shaving a patch of hair off of his forearm before he handed it back to her before she folded it up and put it back in her pocket as Amelie handed mine back before Del continued to draw on the paper placemat, her crayons nearly snapping in her hands with the force she’s using to color with them now so that she doesn’t start to cry.

“Shahan!” A man comes around to the table before he sees me and his eyes grow soft yet excited. “Oh wow, new people.” He smiles at me like I’m the moon and I can’t help but mirror his smile.

The man that stands in front of me has me dumbstruck like I’m a high school girl again. All I can think of is ‘Hello Mr. Beefy Beef Man’ because he’s this tall- like probably almost six foot, maybe an inch or two short of it, but a big burly guy, his chest is like a barrel and his shoulders and chest are really big and well muscled like a lumberjack with tree trunks for arms and a bit of a beer belly because guys, especially bigger ones who love food often have those too and I take that as a sign I’m going to eat very well tonight. He has a heavy dose of farmer’s market hot to him and is giving me the strong but soft vibes that I am digging. He’s wearing the white chef jacket but a nice heavy duty apron on and a baseball cap from Cedar Point of all places, which is my favorite place on earth. He’s got dark brown, almost black hair judging by his immaculate beard. His bright blue eyes look me over and I am smitten instantly.

“Well, hello there,” he says with a deep charming voice but bright friendly tone. “Is this couple here bothering you?” He teases and I can’t help but laugh.

“No!” Del blurts from her spot.“They invited us.”

The man then suddenly seems to realize there’s a child next to me but he doesn’t falter, instead he chuckles. “Well, I am certainly happy to hear that.” He smiles at her.

“This is Zara and Del, they’re renting the cabin above the new house for a spell,” Shahan replies. “Amelie invited them out.”

“You did?” The man laughs looking at Amelie with surprise.

“I’m growing, learning to trust,” Amelie defends herself. “This is the Ryker, by the way,” she says to me.

“THE Ryker, I like that,” he laughs. His bright smile turns on me and I am that dumbstruck teenage girl again with a hurricane of butterflies in my stomach. “Ryker Guillermo, at your service.” He holds out his big, meaty but sexy hand to me and it’s all I can do to not giggle like a loon as I shake it firmly. My small hand disappearing into his. His hands are so warm and a bit calloused from hard work which for me is another really good sign. He has a good grip but so do I.

“Huh-hi,” I choke out. “Nice to meet the miracle worker. I’ve heard so much about you.” I say.

“Aww, are they bragging on me?” He says. “I just try to make good food, that’s all.” He shrugged as his cheeks stained cherry and he kicked at an invisible stone on the floor as his smile turns bashful.

“What’s the special tonight?” Shahan asks.

“Good question,” Ryker laughs. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Chicken nuggets,” Del chimes in.

Ryker makes a face. “Bad news sweetie, this is an anti-chicken nuggets restaurant.”

“Excuse me?!” Del blurts as she puts her hand over her chest and fixes him with a look like a true southern bell who’s just been scandalously outraged and I have to cover my mouth to keep from laughing too hard as Amelie and Shahan lose it because the girl has spunk and personality for days as I smile up apologetically at Ryker.

“You do realize if you eat too much chicken, you’ll become a chicken?” Ryker says. “Do you want to become a chicken?" He asked and I want to kiss him for taking that so well and using humor to diffuse this situation.

"That's not true." She countered suspiciously as she narrowed her eyes at him, seemingly measuring him up.

"Are you sure? There's a saying, 'you are what you eat', where do you think that saying came from?" Ryker teases and Del seriously thinks it over. "Could you trust me to make you something just as delicious as chicken nuggets but way, way better? Because I can." Ryker offers as Del considers that too. “It will be super awesome, I promise.” Ryker crosses his heart. He then winks at me and I melt like butter as Del looks him up and down a little wearily before she makes her decision and simply reaches out and offers him her pinky for a pinky swear.

“Pinky swear.” Ryker immediately swears and hooks her pinky with his and shakes before Del finally gives him a smile. Before I offer my pinky too and he does the same to me, both of us laughing again.

“Surprise me, I trust you.” I offer which makes him smile even brighter.

“You got it.” Ryker beams before he leaves the table and I can see his hair is short and well cut and I greatly appreciate his fine figure from behind and I have to bite my lip when he has one hell of an ass on him. The thirst is killing me.

A few moments later the waitress brings by a basket full of screaming hot freshly fried tortilla chips and a bowl of salsa and a bowl of white queso along with a charcuterie board with meats and cheeses and all kinds of stuff on it.

“Wait, is that queso blanco?” Del realizes as her eyes grow wide before she grabs a chip and dunks it and eats it and then tries to hog the bowl all to herself as I sample the salsa first and I feel like I’m just shoving a whole garden into my mouth.

“Oh my god,” I gasp. “That’s some Willy Wonka intense flavors, but it’s the best salsa I've ever had.” I practically moan before the waitress comes back with a second bowl of queso for the rest of us having seen Del try to hog the first one and gives us our drinks including a bottle of wine on the house. But one sip and I realize it’s dry and I make a face.

“Do you not like dry wine?” The waitress asks.

“No, I’m very tannin sensitive, do you have anything sweet?” I asked hopefully.

“Like sangria sweet or alcoholic juice sweet?” She asks.

“Alcoholic juice sweet.” I immediately answer.

“I gotcha girl.” She nods sagely with a grin before she returns with another bottle, this one is AMAZING and I take a picture of the label so I can find it and buy it for myself.

“Much better,” I praise as Amelie takes my previous cup and pours the contents into her wine glass.

“Can’t let this wine go to waste.” She tells me which makes me giggle.

Ryker returns several moments later, carrying out the plates for us. “I hope you all enjoy,” he says. “I tried something a little different tonight, after all I have a pinky promise to make good on.” And my heart melts like the queso.

Del giggles as she looks at her plate and her eyes light up when she sees a moat of queso around the main dish and her eyes light up. And for my platter, it’s like I have at least six different dishes loaded onto it and I can’t decide what I want to dig into first but one of them is a mini copy of Del’s plate.

“These are my special Shawarma enchiladas.” Ryker explained as he gestured to Del’s plate before he points to each thing on mine and tells me what each thing is as my smile grows bigger and bigger and brighter and brighter with every new thing until I feel my smile is making my face split in half is so big and excited. He really did put half the menu on this plate and it’s everything I had my eye on too. How did he know?!

“Do your tattoos mean something special to you or did you get them just because they look cool?” Del suddenly asks as Ryker is thrown for a loop but recovers quickly as a big smile blooms on his face.

“A bit of both…” Ryker says as he starts to point out each one that shows on his forearms and explains each one as Del listens closely and respectfully as she continues to eat, talking with her mouth full occasionally and before I know it, Ryker has pulled up his sleeves to really show her the other tattoos on his arms which she eagerly looks at as I can not help but notice how strong and muscular his arms are and start fantasizing about massaging them and them wrapping around me. He looked so strong, I wonder if he’s strong enough to pick me up and toss me over his shoulder and haul me off and pound..whew, ok, gotta get my mind out of the gutter. I gotta actually listen to the conversation he’s having with Del since Del has then showed him her temporary tattoos on the back of her hands that she got at the supermarket.

“So does your mom have any tattoos?” Ryker asks since Del’s attitude was typical of kids with parents with tattoos and I nearly choke on my food and furiously shake my head no.

“No, I’m scared of needles.” I answer, my mouth covered because I still have a bite of food in my mouth before I quickly try to finish it.

“She has to give herself shots every month for her migraines and she has a hard time not getting panic attacks just doing that.” Del added and I have to nod in agreement to that.

“Wow migraines bad enough you give yourself shots for it?” Ryker asked as he looked physically pained by that.

“Oh yeah, I get the kind where I lose my vision, I’m super sensitive to light, sound, motion and throw my guts up for four to five days at a time, several times a month. With the medicine, I get one or two a month and with my other two migraine meds, it’s reduced to feeling awful for not even an hour before they kick in and then it’s over, it doesn’t get downgraded to a headache the size of Texas either. It’s worth trying to get over my fear of needles for.” You explained with a nod and big gestures.

“Well I’m happy you’re getting relief.” Ryker smiled, his own relief visible on his face. “Well, bon appetit, I gotta get back.” Ryker excused himself.

The enchiladas are served with a vibrant salad and a small dish of black rice mixed with chorizo and what tastes like heaven. I have never seen Del eat something with as much fervor as she did those enchiladas and I of course feel like I’m inhaling my food and my eyes want to roll back into my head but I keep catching Ryker looking over to me while he continues to work, stealing glances at me and Del and all I can do is try to smile over my bulging cheeks and offer two big thumbs up and every other hand gesture I know that means good and now my eyes instantly seem to find him in the kitchen and I can’t take my eyes off of him and I notice he’s not yelling at anyone and while he gives clear direction, it’s always given respectfully and kindly.

“I take it she liked the meal?” Ryker asks, coming back to the table after we finished eating and getting the leftovers boxed up.

“It's been forever since I've seen her so excited to eat something new, we loved it, it was so good, best meal of my life, thank you,” I gush. “Thank you so so so much.”

“It was exquisite, that queso blanco was sublime.” Del praises and Ryker is impressed with her vocabulary.

“How old are you again?” He asks curiously.

“Eight, I just graduated the second grade and I’ll be in third grade in the fall.” Del answered proudly.

“That’s awesome, high five.” He offers which she readily gives. “Well, I wanted to send something else home with you I thought you might enjoy these later. You can warm them up for breakfast even.” Ryker invited as he revealed the largest ‘to go’ bag already filled with to go boxes of more food. Having been working on this while we were eating.

“Oh wow, thank you so much!” I gasp. “We will probably be back before we have to leave again,” I say with a big grin as I suppress the urge to get up and hug him and kiss him all over for being as awesome and amazing as he is.

“I hope you do,” his voice is gentle yet so hopeful. “Well uhm, back to work!” He seems to want to linger but he pulls himself away. When the waitress comes back, I ask for the bill but she informs me that there isn’t one. That Ryker waived the bill for our whole table.

“Aww, he didn’t have to do that, he’s so sweet!” I fawned before I made sure to give the waitress a very hefty tip, which was what I thought I would be paying for the meal to begin with which makes her happy.

As we leave, we don’t notice Ryker come out and talk with the waitress and pick up Del’s drawing that she left and look at it appreciatively before he carefully folded it up and put it into his pocket.

That evening after Del has a shower and she’s taken to a food coma in bed, I go to the kitchen to unpack the to go bag and I find a bottle of wine! It’s the same wine I enjoyed with dinner! As I place the containers into the fridge a piece of paper falls out and floats to the ground. It’s the kitchen’s receipt for our table and I see that we were coded as ‘Chef’s special guests’ with instructions for Del’s food ‘Make it perfect- pinky promise’ and mine is ‘greatest hits, give her everything’. And I’m just so touched I start tearing up but I can’t stop smiling before I turn it over to see a note written on the back and I see a phone number and a message scrawled on it. “If you need any advice to combat your picky eater, call me. Ryker.”

My head nearly explodes, I have the cute chef’s number!

“Yyeeeaaaasssss!” I squeal before I clamp my hand over my mouth to keep myself from waking Del up but I can’t help but jump up and down and celebrate and do a victory dance in the kitchen in front of the sliding glass doors who’s curtains are still pulled back before I put the number into my phone and dig into the cheesecake Ryker had sent with me as I plug in my headphones and dance around the kitchen while eating the cheesecake which is my favorite dessert and it totally tastes homemade and out of this world. I’m so lost in my own little world that I don’t see two light green eye shines from in the woods and I definitely don’t notice them getting closer until their right at the edge of the woods before I get tired and put the left over cheesecake away and start stripping down to my underwear because my impromptu workout has me sweating and I had turned off the airconditioners downstairs before we left as I go through the cabin and start turning the lights off as I go. I get ready for bed and I’m on cloud nine. I can’t help but think of Ryker as I try to fall asleep, keeping the window open since it has a screen so it won’t let any bugs in and the spring mountain air is just so sweet and refreshingly cool so I don’t need to run the air conditioner and before I know it I have a need that needs to be fulfilled so I grab my little vibrator that I packed and a little bottle of lube and get down to business and in no time at all I’m trying to stamp down my voice but still let a pleasured keen escape as I find my release before I heard clawing on the side of the house that almost sounded like it was right underneath my window... on the second floor of the cabin.

“What the hell?” I frown as I get my phone and use the flashlight feature to look out the window to see if I could see anything and I wonder if there’s a raccoon or something outside. But the clawing stops and I hear the tell tale signs of something running back into the woods, must have been a big raccoon, I just shrug it off and go to sleep.

#Hearthway Hollow #my bastard version of this commission #but yay it gets to see the light of day

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autumnwoodsdreamer · 5 years

Text

A Tough Act to Follow

Characters: Ryker Grimborn, Viggo Grimborn, Trader Johann

Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort

Rating: T

Words: 1, 774

.....

Chapter 1: Rescue Me and I’ll Never Be the Same

The Submaripper rammed into the Shellfire with tremendous force, knocking the colossal dragon backwards. The chains keeping the ship strapped to the creature’s back buckled and snapped, sending the ship plunging into the churning waters.

It happened so suddenly that Ryker had no chance to get clear—he couldn’t even brace for the impact. He screamed his brother’s name out of anger, frustration, and even desperation as the ship slammed him into the water at full force.

He felt his ribs break and his lungs lose all the air they held in a mere instant. The ship sank quickly, mercilessly dragging him down with it—somewhere in his clouded mind he knew that was just as dangerous as outright drowning.

His hope fading and his vision rapidly growing blurry and grey, he clawed at the rough metal and kicked with all his might, fighting to get free, to get to the surface, to get air, to live.

Disoriented and already too deep in the frigid water, he couldn’t figure out which way to swim and his body was too dense with muscle to float. Lungs frantic for air but resisting the urge to take a breath, he searched all around for a sign to guide him upwards. A few stray strands of weak light caught his attention and he poured every last ounce of strength he possessed into swimming towards them.

Unable to help himself, he gave in and took a breath before he completely broke the surface. His lungs immediately rejected the salt water, forcing him to cough it out as he struggled to find something to hold onto to keep him from sinking back down.

Blindly, his arms found and wrapped around a broken piece of timber from one of the many ships destroyed that day. Numb and utterly exhausted, he just held on and focussed on breathing, completely unconcerned with the water carrying him who-knows-where.

Eventually, he raised his head and tried to get his bearings but there was nothing but a scattering of wreckage to break up the miles upon miles of sea stretching out in every direction. The only landmark he could make out was a plume of black smoke peeking over the horizon, presumably rising from the reawakened volcano on the Edge. He thought he could hear snatches of voices carried by the wind over the water but he couldn’t find it in him to care any more.

Defeat overrode his desperation. His grand scheme to wipe out the Dragon Riders and their allies had failed horribly. It wasn’t simply that he had lost a game (though his brother probably would’ve written it off as such without changing shade)—no, he’d lost so much more than that: he’d lost men and the respect of any that remained; the debris littering the dark waters around him was all that was left of his empire and his livelihood; and he’d failed to save Viggo.

From the start, he knew it was risky inciting a mutiny and going ahead with Project: Shellfire before it was entirely ready, but just the mere hope that he could end the war, restore their way of life, and save his little brother all in one fell swoop was more than enough reason to try.

Viggo’s grasp on reality had always been rather slim but his obsession with besting Haddock had pushed him well over the edge. As the game went on and the stakes rose ever higher, Ryker watched his brother rapidly lose what little regard he had for his own health, ignoring basic needs like sleep and sustenance as he focussed solely on outmanoeuvring his greatest opponent. No, the game had to end, and—for Viggo’s sake—it had to end soon.

And now, as the current pulled him further and further away from the cursed Outpost Island, Ryker realized the game had ended... just not in the way he had so fervently hoped it would...

The cold seized him rapidly, sadistically sapping sensation from everything but his broken ribs. What little daylight remained faded quickly from then on and he resigned himself to a night adrift in the water, clinging for all he was worth to a scrap of split wood.

A part of him still longed for a rescue and his arrogance promised him he’d get one but he believed that less and less with every hour that passed. Still, his tired mind insisted that every sliver of debris around him was a ship on the horizon and every gust of wind was a voice calling out to him.

At first, the imaginary voices sounded like those of his men directing him to a nonexistent shoreline, then it turned into Viggo telling him to just hold on a little longer, and then his subconscious decided to really play dirty and convinced him it was Olina and the girls begging him not to give in to the cold or the exhaustion, to keep fighting, keep breathing, and come home.

As his bleary eyes fixed on a patch of moonlight glinting on the unsteady surface of the water and his mind decided it was yet another ship, something inside him caved and he let himself believe it. And, while he was indulging the fantasy, he may as well have it that it’s his wife and his daughters on the deck waving to him. Why not? He was going to die out here anyway; what was the harm in pretending that the woman he loved and the children he adored were the last faces he saw?

The illusion drew nearer, its shape morphing from the sharp, sturdy, squarish design of the Hunters’ vessels into the more rounded form of a typical Viking ship. Ryker couldn’t figure out why his mind would pull such a cruel trick on him now; there wasn��t a single fibre of his being that wanted to see anything at all related to those wretched Riders, even if it was only imagined. No, until his last breath, he wanted to see Olina and Daleia and Fallon and Norell; he had to see them.

Try as he might, he couldn’t change the ship’s shape, couldn’t see his family on board, couldn’t even hear their voices anymore. The ship stubbornly kept its round shape and its slightly goofy dragon figurehead and it just kept coming closer and closer and a man with a very distinct accent kept calling and—

Oh.

Crazy, intoxicating hope reignited as he realized the ship carving across the pitch black water wasn’t a figment of his imagination. He could see it; he could hear it; he could even feel it.

Ryker thrust his arm high in the air and waved wildly, forcing out the loudest yell he could muster to snatch the attention of whoever manned that ship—friend or foe, at least it was a chance...

“Oh, what good fortune this is!” the man on the deck exclaimed as he adjusted the sails to slow the ship. The warm glow from the lanterns onboard conflicted with the moonlight reflecting off the water, rendering him as nothing more than a silhouette, but that hardly disguised his identity: the entire Archipelago could recognize that eccentric but weak-willed merchant by voice alone. “I saw all that depressing debris dirtying the waters and was about to reset my course when I could’ve sworn I glimpsed a man desperately clinging to the wreckage! And, apparently, I had! Come aboard, friend! Come aboard!”

Ryker abandoned the broken piece of timber that had saved his life for a good few hours and swam closer to the old ship as the other man hoisted a heap of coiled rope up and over the side of the ship, grunting and panting as if it were some great exertion. With numb, shaking hands, Ryker grasped the rope, wrapping it up one arm to ensure he didn’t slip as he somehow scraped together enough strength to pull his battered and bruised body up the side of the ship.

The merchant who came to his rescue made no move to assist; rather, he stood back and watched with an overly anxious expression as Ryker heaved himself up over the side and came tumbling onto the deck, just barely managing to keep himself from collapsing in a heap on the weatherbeaten wood.

“You look utterly exhausted!” the man—Johann—remarked and scurried off to rummage through some nearby crates. “You must’ve been drifting hither and thither for hours! If I hadn’t been passing by this very night...” He shivered dramatically. “Well, best not to dwell on the what-if’s, I suppose.”

“Leaves you barren.”

“Pardon?”

Ryker shook his head. “Nothing. Just... something my brother used to say.”

Johann paused in his search and turned to peer at him with measured scrutiny. Despite his jovial face and his colourful person, there was something critical and almost cold hidden behind his eyes as he examined the Hunter. Whatever it was, it faded away in an instant. “Ah, you must be the elder Grimborn brother!” He pulled a woollen blanket from one of the crates and shook it out before draping it over his newest passenger’s shoulders. “Why, yes! I had heard about some grand commotion in these parts regarding you and your brother. I, personally, prefer to steer clear of all the violence; my heart is quite frail—I fear it wouldn’t tolerate such horrors!”

Ryker scoffed, earning him an indignant glare from the trader.

“Laugh if you must! Some day you’ll be nearing my age and it won’t seem so silly anymore!”

“Ha! I’d be surprised if you were even old enough to be my father!”

Genuine anger flashed in the trader’s pale eyes but, again, it faded quickly. “Well, at least all the commotion seems to be over for the time being,” he said, fishing a canteen out of another nearby crate and holding it out the Hunter. “I have business to conduct with a peculiar fellow in the far north—the far, far north. I don’t imagine you’d be much inclined to accompany me all that way, not after all these harrowing experiences...” he trailed off and raised his eyebrows, very obviously prompting an interjection.

Ryker ignored him for a minute, much more interested in gulping down water until he was almost sick. He handed the now empty canteen back to the trader and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, waiting till the brief spell of nausea passed before he spoke. “Will you be passing the Northern Markets?”

“Of course! I need to procure more wares for my trade and—”

“Johann?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

#still on my httyd kick to recover from marvel #ryker grimborn #viggo grimborn #trader johann #httyd #how to train your dragon #rtte #race to the edge #fic #au

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hundredhq · 5 years

Text

*✩◞ did you hear that they sent nolan ryker , jude carter , nova sung , lyra aduo , alice cheshire & basilea fortuna to the ground ? if their bracelets don’t transmit vital signs in twenty-four hours , the ark will assume the ground got them. jacob elordi , danielle rose russell , jennie kim , zendaya , kiernan shipka & lulu antariska are now taken.

*✩◞ JACOB ELORDI / MALE / HE & HIM ╰ * arrested ten months ago for committing aiding & abetting , nolan ryker is originally from alpha station. at twenty-one years old , the reticent scorpio is quite the paradox and always reminds their peers of worn paperbacks, hard liquor, boisterous laughter, hidden birthmarks, ethically questionable decisions, & leather bomber jackets. known for always humming a favorite tune under his breath at the oddest times and having their lucky touchwood-fumsup charm on them at all times , it’ll be interesting to see nolan on the ground. hopefully being skilled in tracking & map reading will come in handy – may we meet again. / kd , 21+ , cst , she&her , n/a

*✩◞ DANIELLE ROSE RUSSELL / CISFEMALE / SHE&HER ╰ * arrested one year ago for committing medicine theft for personal use, valerie “jude” carter is originally from factory station. at nineteen years old , the impulsive scorpio is quite the catalyst and always reminds their peers of blue eyes that threaten to water, avoiding human connection, and a smile that never quite reaches her eyes. known for always scrunching up her nose in distaste at the oddest times and having their floated mother’s worn out leather jacket on them at all times, it’ll be interesting to see jude on the ground. hopefully being skilled in manipulative lying that gets her her way will come in handy – may we meet again. / penny , 21 , cst , she/her , no triggers

*✩◞ JENNIE KIM / CISFEMALE / SHE/HER ╰ * arrested two years ago for stealing rations & evading arrest, nova sung is originally from agro station. at twenty years old , the whimsical cancer is quite the rose colored glass and always reminds their peers of giggles and squinty eyes smiles, the fresh scent of rain on soil, dreams of being drenched in moonlight. known for always braiding her hair at the oddest times and having their friendship bracelet on them at all times , it’ll be interesting to see nova on the ground. hopefully being skilled in gardening will come in handy – may we meet again. / blondie, 26 , est , she/her , n/a.

*✩◞ ZENDAYA COLEMAN / CISFEMALE / SHE/HER╰ * arrested two days ago for committing treason to leak ark secrets, lyra aduo is originally from alpha station. at twenty years old , the dauntless scorpio is quite the regicide and always reminds their peers of a perfectly pressed cadet uniform, sardonic quips and saccharine smiles, the weight of a heavy crown. known for always whistling an eerie tune at the oddest times and having their fathers guard id dog tag on them at all times , it’ll be interesting to see lyra on the ground. hopefully being skilled in combat will come in handy – may we meet again. / emma , 21 , pst , she/her, eating disorder tw.

*✩◞ KIERNAN SHIPKA / FEMALE / SHE-HER╰ * arrested ten years ago for being framed for murder , alice cheshire is originally from alpha station. at nineteen years old , the eccentric aquarius is quite the loon and always reminds their peers of give off an aura of distinct dottiness, scarred fingertips from years of turning pages, a pair of odd socks always on her person, pastel colour paint smeared on pale limbs. known for always staring off at the oddest times and having their pink pearl on them at all times , it’ll be interesting to see alice on the ground. hopefully being skilled in hiding & camouflage painting will come in handy – may we meet again. / emj , 19 , awst , she/her , none

*✩◞ LULU ANTARISKA / CISFEMALE / SHE/HER ╰ * arrested three months ago for committing an illegal spacewalk, basilea fortuna is originally from mecha station. at twenty-one years old , the adroit aquarius is quite the escapist and always reminds their peers of shadows unearthed beneath troubled eyes, a collapsed bottle of wine running the tiles red and forbidden desires kissed by whiskey lips . known for always tinkering at the oddest times and having their arrowhead on them at all times , it’ll be interesting to see basilea on the ground. hopefully being skilled in engineering will come in handy – may we meet again. / artemis , 24 , cet , she/her , none

#accepted.#phew ; that was the best thing to wake up to–#love u all love ur muses we're ecstatic

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itsclydebitches · 5 years

Note

Something silly that just popped into my head: the daughter of one of Oz's incarnations having... boy trouble.

Catch me laughing at this ridiculousness :D

Updated prompt list is here!

“Sweetheart, I’m going to need you to explain that again. Just a little more slowly…”

Disembodied, Ozma surveyed Iola’s condition while keeping an eye on their surroundings. It was their usual arrangement. A family man for over a decade before they’d joined, Ryker had never been one for the battlefield. Not as a soldier anyhow. All Ozma’s knowledge and muscle memory meant little when faced with a man who had steadfastly devoted his life to healing wounds, not causing them. Ryker soothed; Ozma fought. It was far from a perfect arrangement, but Ozma was content these days to watch their back, a slight nudge encouraging Ryker to keep one hand near their cane. The other was given the privilege of drying Iola’s tears.

After all, she had been his daughter first.

Do you…? came the incomplete thought and Ozma sent back a mental image of him shaking his head. No. He’d dealt with a lot over his lifetimes, plenty of drama surrounding his children, but he’d never found one of his girls naked and sobbing in the market district before. Iola had always been a lithe little thing, born early and horrendously small compared to her siblings. Seeing her vulnerable in such a way had set their teeth on edge and covering her with their coat had done little to alleviate that fear. Now she just looked small.

“What happened?” Ryker asked, a little more insistent this time. His professionalism was sneaking in, a doctor’s tone demanding that his patient articulate their ailment so he would know how to help. Ozma allowed him to do another quick survey of Iola—no noticeable injuries, no signs of a struggle–before going back to his peripheral watch. She’d been out with a boy tonight. A lad one year her senior from a neighboring village, constantly gifting Iola with fruit from his family’s orchard; awkward smiles that she’d returned. He’d seemed like the honest type.

Then where the hell is he now? Ryker growled. His mental tone was a striking contrast to the gentle expression he kept aimed at his daughter. If he hurt her—

Do not be hasty! We must not think the worst of people, particularly when there is no evidence to judge them on. He doesn’t appear to be here now. If they were attacked the boy may be in even more danger.

A pang of regret ran through them before Ryker’s attention returned to Iola. A grimm attack. Raiders. The town to the East said to be conquering other settlements. None of these would explain them finding their girl two neighborhoods past where she was supposed to be having dinner, naked and scaring the young woman who’d bustled Iola into her home.

Ryker gave his youngest a shake, just sharp enough to generate some focus. “Sweetheart. What happened?”

Iola was still very near choking on her sobs. “Micah he… he…”

Ozma felt their fingers tightening around her shoulders. “He what?”

“He’s going to hate me now!”

…What?

Ryker’s reaction was much the same, a surprised jolt that briefly sent them off balance. Ozma looked for something to say and managed only a stuttering, confused mess of thoughts.

How embarrassing.

“Hate you?” Ryker repeated. His hands smoothed down Iola’s arms, ending at her hands. He gave her fingers a squeeze. “Honey, what...where’s Micah now?”

“The ta-tavern…”

“So you left?”

“I didn’t leave him!” Iola shrieked, all childish panic and indignation. She wrenched her hands out of her father’s grip and gave him a sound pounding on the knee that actually had some heft to it. Despite Ryker’s protests, Ozma had been insistent that they train their girls in basic hand-to-hand and aura manipulation. Iola hadn’t been much interested in graduating to weaponry, but her fist still packed a punch.

Which was always reassuring. With the knowledge that they were both apparently safe, Ozma took note of his growing humor. Ryker sent him the mental equivalent of a slap over the head.

I believe I’m beginning to understand what happened here.

Care to share?

But Iola was already speaking again, a babble of words pouring forth now that she’d started, her fingers twisting in the fabric of Ryker’s pants. Something about suddenly moving from her place beside Micah, his own hands clasping hers (too much information, perhaps...) and then all at once she was here, naked, and Micah was never going to speak to her again.

That last part seemed both obvious and non-debatable. Ozma chuckled.

It looks as if Iola has discovered her semblance. Although it does seem to have an… unfortunate side-effect. Particularly for a teenage girl. No need to panic though. There may well be a way of fixing that. Ozma briefly took control and more firmly fixed the buttons on their coat, falling apart after so many years of use. His fingers glowed faintly with magic. Iola was far too distraught to notice such things.

“It will all be fine,” he said.

Iola didn’t seem to think so. With more tears she buried her head against their chest and wailed high enough, long enough, that the neighbors poked their heads in through the window, wondering what in dust’s name could be going on. Ozma merely smoothed one hand down her back while Ryker used the other to give them an awkward wave.

It’s never easy, he groused.

Never, Ozma agreed. Horrendous, isn’t it?

Funny that he was smiling though. Ozma gathered Iola up, remembering smaller, equally precious girls in his arms, and tipped that smile into her hair.

#rwby #rwbyfic #Ozpin #Ozma #Anonymous

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witchfall · 5 years

Text

to melt the gilded seams: ch. 1

direct sequel to ‘the silver lining still remains’

In the aftermath of the Abel disaster and the revelations about her childhood, Emma Ibori has kept busy preparing to end the secrecy surrounding her life and the true origin of androids. Connor, meanwhile, continues to pester Markus about the feasibility of human-android marriage laws.

But Emma’s life no longer feels like her own…a vagary made from Connor’s increasingly busy schedule, the strange looks her best friend Ryker gives her when they think she isn’t looking, and an exhaustion born of a dread that sinks into her bones from simply leaving the house.

When she finally acts, the axis tilts – but not as she expects. To keep Emma and Connor safe from a growing terrorist threat (and a Cyberlife executive sniffing where he shouldn’t be), Jericho is going to make a spectacle of the one thing she wants to keep to herself: her singular relationships with the RK800 and WR600.

But as the world turns its glaring eyes their way, how long can their silent fault lines hold?

[Rating: T (except some swears)]

{Ryker is owned by @popsicletheduck, Sam is owned by @vaniccio, Chase is owned by @caitlynmellark and Messi is owned by @thenervousmedic. Thank you for letting me borrow your children!}

Read it on ao3 here.

---

April 2040

Even with Connor in D.C., it takes Emma, Chase, Messi and Ryker little more than an afternoon to pack up the entirety of Emma’s physical life into boxes. That’s how she finds herself alone in an empty bedroom -- once hers, but barely ever that -- riding the sharp waves of a sudden whim.

She pulls the memory box out of the dusty top shelf of her closet and settles it on the carpet with a thick clank. She feels a little high from the remnant dust as she digs into the sea of school photos, report cards, flimsy movie tickets and plastic vacation baubles for the sake of...what?

She searches until she finds the photo some part of her remembered. Her father and mother -- Ji-hun and Shara -- smiling together at the head of a long table. The lighting is poor; someone was taking photos with the flash on. But Mom has flowers woven into her curls. Her dress is a simple cream color with a boatline neck and her laughing grin is radiant. Dad is laughing, too, teeth perfect white, navy suit wrinkled but fitted, purple bowtie slightly askew. His arm is around her mother’s shoulders. Their cheeks nearly touch.

She can almost hear her mother’s voice, honeyed and happy for once. “Oh, we had no money. Both of us in post-grad. We just hurried and married. That’s what we wanted to do.”

She turns the photo around to read the writing on the back. “Shara and Ji-hun wedding, June 1, 2013.” She does the math in her head and realizes: she is older than they are in this photo. The dissonance makes her chest feel numb.

But their love could reignite the sun.

She covets a memory like this for herself so viciously that she has to close her eyes and go somewhere else in her head. Because that’s what she’s looking for, for reasons hard to fathom -- proof that even lives that end in tragedy could still see bright spots of joy.

---

June 2040

[REPLAY MEMORY?]

[ACCEPT]

“Hey darlin’.”

Emma sighs heavily, pulling her fingers through her thick auburn curls to throw them over her head. She looks down into the phone camera from an angle that suggests she is leaning up against her new headboard, pillows tucked in against her back.

“I’m glad I caught you before you fell asleep,” Connor hears himself say, and the relief settles like warm gauze both within the memory and without. He studies the video call closely. Her olive skin is pale. Her freckles stand out like dirt against glass and heavy, dark circles weigh down her cognac brown eyes. He watches her until he catches the orange flash of light behind her pupils.

A pulse of life. A flash of difference.

“You almost didn’t,” she says. “Feel like I’ve been fighting off a nap all day.”

“Your new medicine?”

“Maybe.” She closes her eyes.

“Have you been experiencing any strange side effects?”

“It’s hard to tell anymore.”

“I remember the doctor saying something about experiencing a strange electric feeling--”

She rolls her head back.

“Can we not? Can we talk about something else? Please?”

It normally goes like this. Her patience for talking about her health has only declined as his worry has skyrocketed. Anxiety is such a worthless emotion; it perpetuates itself in a cascade pattern and lingers in his biocomponents. But he has not been with her for the past three weeks, and that fact rankles him so much that he has to rejigger his breathing protocol to fire correctly, just as he did in the memory.

[END MEMORY PLAYBACK]

His programming demands action regarding the most important of his mission parameters (the constant [PROTECT EMMA] that buzzes in the corner of his eye), and yet to do that, he has to be away in Washington, D.C., doing his job. Talking to politicians and lobbyists in gold dining rooms with dark wood lining and crystal chandeliers to convince what feels like the entire world to sign Markus’ comprehensive Android Rights legislation into law.

To convince them that they really are people, willing to assimilate.

Connor glances down at his work phone -- something he obtained out of preference by his largely human team for “security reasons” -- and scrolls to his photo gallery with practiced precision. He lands on a photo of Emma leaning over his shoulder in a Detroit park, grinning down at the camera. The sky shines cobalt blue behind her wild hair, and her laughing smile reveals her bright white teeth.

He misses her so fiercely he routinely runs diagnostics to ensure a part of him isn’t actually, literally missing -- but then, a part of him is, in a way. He can hear Hank scoffing from here. But Hank, Connor thinks, would agree.

Only a two-hour flight remained of the fog of this three-week work trip. The constant typing in front of bright screens. The painful mediation of hope.

“Grip it any tighter and it might shatter.”

He flicks his gaze up toward his aide, in the seat across from him.

[NAME: HALE, SAMANTHA // LEGISLATIVE AIDE BORN: 10/13/2013 CRIMINAL RECORD: NONE]

“I thought you might actually relax for once.” Her words are clipped and efficient and teasing. She watches him over a thin, swiftly scrolling tablet, unreadable as amber.

He smiles slightly. “There is a saying about what happens when you assume.”

She smiles back. Like a mirror. “You’ve been looking at that picture for a while.”

Some switch jolts inside of him and he opts for silence.

Her smile inches closer to genuine. She glances down at his phone. “Sorry. You still hold it like a toddler learning how to play cards.”

He looks out the airplane window, over clouds and distant flatlands, where the people are small as mites. “I’m...glad to be going home.”

“She’s cute.”

Connor turns back immediately. Sam’s dark gaze pierces him through.

“An android?” she asks.

He stares at her until he realizes she is genuinely asking.

“No,” he says quietly.

Sam's eyebrows shoot up a single centimeter. She places the tablet on the thin table between them and leans back in her leather chair, watching him. He’s seen this look before. Part of him steels in preparation.

“This explains a lot,” she says.

“Not for most people.”

“You’ve been in a terrible mood for the past week.”

“Have I?”

She smirks, but it fades immediately. “You don't talk about her much.”

“I don't want--”

The words die in his vocoder. I don't want her to get hurt. From attention. From my enemies.

Even thinking the words feels like setting the last slab of stone on an already creaking cart. Emma has considerable mechanical alteration (“a cyborg,” she explains plainly), but she's also a bright, mouthy, endlessly kind human being, and he wishes there was a way for everyone to see her as he saw her. She is determined to press on for the sake of truth -- tell the whole world how she became what she is so that no one suffers from the secrets anymore. So that humans have a new understanding of their connection to androids.

He had recently begun to understand the intoxicating calm of lies.

“You're worried about her,” Sam notes quietly.

“Always.”

Sam purses her lips against a number of unspoken things. “What does she do?”

“Carpentry,” he says.

She’s good at deduction and that’s why she is on this plane and not back in D.C. with the rest of his team. He knows what she is really asking, but he's not willing to give her this yet. She reaches for her cup of ginger ale, long drained, and taps her fingernails against the glass. “Are you worried it will become an issue?”

“In what way?” he asks.

“You tell me.”

“It’s been fine so far,” Markus says from across the cabin. Connor slides his gaze toward Markus, who watches them both with the reserved warmth of a curious patron. Simon, sitting across from him, pointedly keeps his eyes on his tablet -- but the PL600 is always listening.

Sam finally turns away, toward the airplane window, brows furrowed in thought. She slides a blonde hair back behind her ear and breathes out through her nose for five seconds straight.

“You can ask, Ms. Hale,” Connor says softly. “I don’t mind.”

He really doesn’t. It feels like a pressure release, speaking of Emma openly like this.

She doesn’t look at him, but her mouth relaxes slightly. “How long have you…?”

“Since November 2039.”

She sits up immediately. “Since--”

Her mouth snaps shut again. Her eyes search his face. How had he kept this hidden from her, his blood hound? What else could he hide from her?

What did he intend?

He leans back in his chair. Tension releases in a soft tick from his back that he catalogues away for future upkeep. “And hopefully for as long as we both are alive.”

Her mouth turns downwards. He thinks for a moment that she is going to say something angry. Accuse him of hiding key intel that prevents her from doing her job — she can’t protect his image if she doesn’t know everything. She can’t handle his affairs if he keeps half the workload to himself. But the tightness around her eyes loosens and he realizes she isn’t angry.

She’s thinking of the other side of the coin of “how long.” The collision of immovable object and unstoppable force; “how long” for an android has a different definition. He knows this because he is thinking of it, too, like he has been since he first saw Emma bleed. He knows because he can smell sadness and pity from a mile away after living in its stink in D.C. for so long.

But as soon as he notices this, she raises her hands as if giving up. A smirk erases all hint of emotionality.

“Well, now I’m definitely glad I am coming along,” she says.

He squints at her. He can feel Markus watching them.

“I’m really curious to meet the type of woman that puts up with you and isn’t even paid for it.”

---

It’s happening again.

Emma counts the flowers. Tastes their colors, pink like fizz and yellow like lemons and -- no. Not right. Start over.

Cement yourself to this moment, here in Ryker’s garden. Feel the too-hot summer sun on skin and the licking breeze out of the northwest, bringing a promise of cooler air from Canada. Settle your knees deep into the grass. Do not think of the snapdragons and how they smell like citrus.

One of the handlers in that hellhole house of her youth always smelled like tangy flowers and bleach.

Do not think of listening to that handler’s Monday afternoon soaps. Of the cold hallway floors sticking to the back of a smaller Emma’s legs. Of Noah leaning his head into her shoulder “to listen better” but really because being apart felt like staring down a big hole into nothing and--

Suddenly she’s a little girl again. She feels the world slip between her fingers, replaced by a sizzling anger that cleanses every thought. Something beeps in her head. Noah’s small face, innocent and pale, hovers superimposed on the face of Abel, the man who tried to kill her and Connor. The two repel like the same side of a magnet.

Her ears ring, high-pitched and trilling like mad bells. Her vision fuzzes out like an old TV. Her lungs seize. {PROCESSING --MEMORY!!ERROR. VARIABLES76857. ERROR UNKNOWN.}

“Ryker! She’s doing it again!”

Emma blinks a few times. Chase’s voice. Grass. Garden. Sun. Wind. Come out of it. Breathe.

For fuck’s sake! Breathe!

{ERROR. ERROR. ERROR------8978792*&^*^&^----ONLINE}

“I can’t look away for five minutes to get tools anymore,” she hears Ryker grumble, but in the way they do when things are truly going to shit. She hears the telltale pitter-stomp through the grass of Messi following not far behind. Emma rises to her feet, as if to make a point, and the world spins. She can’t catch her breath.

“Ibori. What happened?” Chase instantly reaches his arms out to stabilize her. “Look at my face.”

“Nothing,” she lies through her teeth. Chase merely stares at her as if she just announced that the sky is green. “Another fucking memory resurfaced.”

“Everything is alright, remember?” Ryker reminds her, though they grasp tightly to her wrist, turning it over to check her pulse. A gardener should not be so good at doing that, some distant part of her thinks. “The rate’s been slowing.”

She resists the primal urge to pull her wrist back, but not before Ryker notices her hand flex into a fist. They release her immediately.

“I’m going to call the editors,” Ryker says. “You can’t do this yet.”

She covers her guilt by smashing her palms into her eyes and dragging her hands down her face. “If we put it off, the journalists start doubting,” Emma says, as she has explained for what feels like the 500th time this week.

Ryker looms over her, standing with their crutches. For once, the full impact of their height difference -- their 6’2” to her 5’5” -- makes itself apparent. “You don’t think they’d believe you after sitting with you for interviews for hours at a time? That maybe you’re a little mentally unready for this?” “I’m not having this argument with you again.” She digs a toothpick out of her pocket, unable to look them in the eye. Normally, this is the point of the conversation where Ryker freezes as if to recollect themselves and Emma sorts through the weird signals coming from her cyborg brain, and then they both apologize and completely skip over whatever it is they were talking about. Peace is a balm best applied thickly. This time, Ryker fishes a set of familiar flash cards out of their shirt pocket and shoves them at Chase, who watches the exchange with a brittle expression. "Then I'm not having any part of this. I'm going inside." Her heart gives a lurch. "Come on." "No. I'm not talking about this anymore," they snap. "Don't stay out too long or you'll sunburn." The creaking of Ryker's crutches fades until she hears the backdoor to their house slam behind them. She jams the toothpick between her teeth and bites down until she is certain she can look at Chase or Messi and not burst into tears. "It okay, Miss Emma," Messi says softly, pulling on Emma's wrist. "Ryker just tired." "I know," she says, and she knows because it’s her fault. Emma sits down back in the grass. Messi presses her hands deeply into Emma’s thigh as a form of pressure therapy and hums a little child’s song, from somewhere deep in her calming medical programming. Emma absently untangles strands of Messi’s thick, long hair. Chase settles into a wicker chair set up close to Ryker's latest flower beds. He closely examines the flash cards. "Where were you born?" he reads off one. God. Maybe she isn't ready for this. “I’m tired of pop quizzes about myself," she says. "Can’t we just have some nice garden time? In quiet?” Chase holds the card primly in both hands, eyeing her suspiciously over its edge. She closes her eyes against another wave of vertigo. She can nearly hear Natalie, her therapist, speaking in her head. Think of things to be thankful for. Connor is finally coming home. She won’t have to pretend that she can get through the night by herself while curled up in painful knots on Ryker’s couch. She won’t lie awake, afraid of the dark and what she might remember of it. She won’t feel like a pathetic loser pining after someone who has only been gone three weeks. Three long-ass, terrible weeks. “It’s publishing tomorrow morning, Ibori," Chase says, as if explaining this to a child. "People are going to ask. They are going to try and find holes." "I'm gonna remember. My body won't let me do anything damn else." Both of them fall silent at that. For a moment, the only sound between them is Messi's soft humming. "Hmm," Chase says after a long moment, which is Chase for Yeah, I don't believe you.

---

Emma used to make a sport out of fading into crowds. I am among you, but not a part of you, she'd think, and she would disappear before anyone could ask her why she was drinking alone.

Hank pushes a black coffee across the small table. {IDENTIFIED: COFFEA ARABICA, 172 DEGREES F. } “Sorry. Decaf only for you.”

{ACCESSING LOGS…} “Goddamn meds,” she manages. She wraps both of her hands around the cup, like Connor would do if he was here. He could never drink it.

{STARBUCKS COPYRIGHTED BLEND. DO YOU LIKE COFFEE….*&*^*&????}

“Em?”

Her muscles twitch and lock up in strange places. She takes deep breaths. Cut it off at the stem. It doesn’t have to be like this.

{EMMIE I DON’T KNOW ABOUT THIS…}

Quit it.

“Emma!”

She blinks hard and watches as Hank yanks the coffee cup out of her tight grasp. Only now does she realize she has squeezed the cup until its boiling hot contents spilled over onto her skin.

“Burning yourself won’t do the trick,” Hank gruffs. He tugs at the napkin dispenser and dabs at her knuckles lightly.

“Sorry,” she says automatically. She grounds her feet to the floor. The hand still tingles. She gets the feeling it should hurt more than it does, but the busy airport atrium has flooded her with so much stimuli that she is shocked when she sees that the spill has left a red welt on her skin.

(Noah -- Abel -- he said he didn’t feel pain anymore, didn’t feel anything--)

“Connor won’t like that,” she mutters.

Hank scoffs. He finishes cleaning the table and tosses the napkins into the nearby trash-can. “Yeah, he’s gonna be out of his mind now, thanks for that. Lucky I’ve dealt with worse attitude problems than you...”

Hank refers to it as an attitude problem because he knows she laughs when he does. An attitude problem would be laughably, wonderfully normal. “Great,” she mutters.

His eyes soften. “North'll be back with our clearance soon.”

She huffs and lays her forehead (and burned hand) on the cool metal table.

Current security policy is that no one may be in the private plane receiving area who is not a passenger until within 20 minutes of the landing time. In a fit of anxious energy, Hank and Emma arrived at least an hour early, but they’d been waiting for close to 40 minutes already.

Meaning…

“There she is.” Hank sips his coffee. “Just like I promised. Our boys almost here?” he says to North.

“We’re in luck. They’re ahead of schedule. They’re already taxi-ing in.”

Emma looks up to see North with a rare, true smile on her beautifully carved face. Her hair is in its usual side plait, though she is experimenting with blonder highlights that stand out like ice against her dark clothes. She brandishes the thin pass tablets like three playing cards.

Emma is up and moving out of the chair before North can say another word.

She raps her knuckles against her thigh as she speed walks to the private jet gates, past a dancing water fountain and quiet museum displays of old world cars that feel like pockets of a different time and place. She half-runs down a windowless, wide hallway lit with shades of purple and green like some petrified nightmare vision of the future, all cornerless architecture and the constant feeling that you have to be going somewhere.

Her phone is vibrating, but her hands are shaking too much to pull it out of her pocket. She shoves her credentials at the TSA agents who give her strange looks, but they let her pass once North catches up to wave them off.

“I swear it was decaf,” she hears Hank mutter to North.

Emma reaches the gate, eyes fixated on the gleaming jet rolling down the tarmac. The creamy, nondescript white of an undecorated fuselage, dark windows and an extended walkway remain her only obstacles. All that is left is waiting, which is nearly impossible for her to do. She turns around to speak to Hank and North only to find they are still somewhat far behind.

She runs through a mental checklist. Connor is on that airplane. Ryker is at home watching one of their favorite late afternoon nature programs and keeping an eye on Messi, who is likely experimenting on the dirt in their garden. Chase is on the late shift at the department store. Hank is coming up behind her. Her aunt and uncle are...doing whatever it is they do.

{eeeEEEmmmmiEEEEEE}

You do not own me, you are not real. You are just one aspect of my thoughts.

But then, Natalie was not programmed to deal with the fussy, indeterminable nature of a wetware-enhanced human brain. So. There’s that. Emma falls into one of those black beam seats one always finds in airports and bounces her knee until the pressure against her heel thrums through her whole body.

“Emma.”

For a moment, she is so absorbed in sorting out her thoughts that she looks up and expects Hank.

But she knows that voice.

She rises to her feet at once. “Hey,” she says. It comes out a breathless whisper, weighed down by everything beneath it. Connor strides down the walkway at unnatural android speed. His polished dress shoes click against the hard floor.

His face is stolen from an angel in Venice. Dark eyes, warm as homemade cake, a smile, a--

She hears the luggage -- his little chrome luggage, the pieces she helped him pick out at the mall -- click to a stop just as an arm crushes around her middle. A hand snakes behind her neck. She’s pulled into an embrace so tight that feeling finally fully returns to her senses, rushing in like water through a cavern. Her eyes burn.

“I missed you so much,” he says, straightforward and breaking and quiet. “I was certain something was wrong with me.”

He pulls back to look at her, and his smile flickers. His hand around her neck moves to touch just beneath her eyes.

“Sorry.” She sniffles and apologizes, like she does too often anymore. “I know it was only three weeks.”

“It was terrible. I was very bored,” Connor says, in that deadpan way of his, and it makes her laugh. She throws her arms around his neck and plants the kiss she’d been dreaming of for three weeks right on his mouth, all stupid bravery. He takes a deep, sudden breath through his nose and pulls her tighter against him, sighing softly, like he finally could accept that she was really here, really wanted him back, more than anything. He only breaks away to speak so quietly against her mouth that she wonders if she imagined it. “...my love...”

“God, you’d think you hadn't seen each other in 5 years.”

Emma doesn’t even turn around to flip Hank off. He laughs. She laughs. She looks back, carefully ensconced in Connor’s arms, and puts her hands up as if to say, ‘Guilty.’

Hank walks toward them. “What am I, chopped liver?”

A cool hand touches her burned one almost in an instant.

“...Emma.” Connor’s voice tightens. “What happened?”

“Oh, here we go,” she mutters. And Hank, that asshole, laughs more.

---

As soon as Connor settles into the back seat of Hank's old Ford, a strange weight lifts from his thirium pump. He takes a long, unnecessary drag of the scent of old leather, dusty blankets and the sickly sweet tinge of alcohol from a bottle that once broke open on the carpets years ago. A human wouldn't notice it, he thinks, or they would comment. But then, he doesn’t want to think about the differences between himself and humanity.

He wants to watch Emma curl herself into the backseat -- all human sighing and complaint, beautiful and alive.

Emma clicks her seat belt and contours herself to his shoulder, leaning so that her forehead lays against his neck. He wraps an arm around her, pulling her against him so tightly that he has to triple-check to ensure he isn’t crushing her. She doesn't complain.

"Comfy," she mutters, as if angry about it. He presses his nose into her wild red hair.

Lavender. Chipped plywood. The summer wind. Coming home.

(How long would this go? How long could he do the stretches without her? He's adaptable. He is built to be the perfect teammate. Adapting to human ingenuity, fine, he is quite capable. They did not prepare him for human desires. Of any kind. The very notion of wanting something is supposed to be foreign to him and he has never wanted anything more in his life than this feeling, like he’s finally climbed through the earth to see the sun.)

He’s startled out of his reverie because she starts snoring softly. Hank's eyes flick to the rearview, as if finally granted permission to speak.

"You really doin' alright out there?" Hank asks. His voice is quieter than usual. He clears his throat and looks pointedly to Emma for a moment. "Pretty long work trip for you."

Connor casts his gaze out the car window to the rolling cityscape of Detroit. He catalogs the strange pinging in his heart as another type of homecoming -- a realization of what was missed. "It's what it is," he says flatly, because he is not sure what else to say. "People act like they want to hear what we have to say. But...I see the way they look at us."

"Oh?"

He meets Hank's eyes in the mirror. "Sometimes it's fear. Sometimes it's pity. Sometimes it's...an anger I don't understand."

Hank makes a sound of disgust. "Fuckin' politicians..."

"They don't know how to talk to us, I think."

"But you're okay?" Hank asks, more intently than before. "You feel safe?"

"We're safe, Hank," Connor says softly. He holds Hank's watery gaze until Hank is the first to turn away, eyes back on the road. "It would take a very determined terrorist to strike the Congressional halls in D.C."

"Who's the blonde? The aide you were tellin' me about? She looks very...serious."

"Sam. Yes. She's helping me gather intel before our next big excursion. She is...as you say."

"Heh. Coming from you..."

"I know," Connor says. “She has her work cut out for her.”

Hank finally smiles into the mirror.

"Man, lemme tell you, when I last visited D.C...."

Connor lets Hank tell some anecdote about a previous trip, in which people "weren't even allowed on the damn sidewalk on Pennsylvania Ave. to take pictures of the damn White House," because it seems to help Hank steady his vitals. But once Hank runs out of asides, Connor decides to finally address the flashing warning in his vision. [PROTECT EMMA.]

“Was she okay?”

Hank sighs. Connor squints, considering all the reasons why Hank may lie to him about this.

“She'll give you some bullshit," Hank says after a long moment. "It's a mixed fucking bag. But she's...holding on better than I would. I'd say.”

The turn signal blinks. Connor syncs his breathing with it as he re-orders his sudden splatter of thoughts. "She's...the article..." "Tomorrow morning." He freezes. He hadn't forgotten -- he rarely forgets anything -- but this particular insight had been shoved far back enough in his processes that he hadn't realized the date of publication on the story about her horrific youth was so soon. He's nearly seized by a protocol that would have prompted him to yank her entirely into his lap.

"I should have been here," he whispers, horrified. "No," Hank says, firmly. "You know that isn't how this works. Not anymore."

Connor closes his mouth. He knows. How this works is that he lives and works separately from the love of his life even as she’s withering half a country away. He knows that’s how it is supposed to work.

But he’s running out of context. All the pains are new and strong and he is running out of assurance that all of them are survivable.

---

As soon as they reach Hank's, the trio decides to keep a quiet night in. Hank insists on cooking because Connor just got back from a long trip, which prompts Connor to protest he isn't tired like that, which prompts Hank to tell him to shut up and sit down like the thankful asshole he should be, which makes Connor remind everyone he doesn’t actually eat any food...and so it goes. Emma loves every second of it.

She drinks chamomile tea with honey (Connor's version is a close second only to Ryker's) and sits on the couch between Connor and Hank in a warm haze watching baseball. Eventually, Hank excuses himself to bed. Emma and Connor quickly leave to Connor's room. Everyone's tired of pretending to be anything but exhausted.

That doesn't stop Connor from kissing her as soon as the door is closed. Soft and gentle, he presses in on her jaw, the corner of her lips, her mouth. He holds her tightly against his chest as if he could keep all the world away, and she leans into him, believing it. But it's all a trick, she realizes too late, to pick her up and deposit her in the soft down comforter he bought just for her.

He sits on the mattress and unbuttons his shirt sleeve.“You have a lot of sleep to catch up on, my love.”

“Hrmph,” she says from within a down cocoon. She sits up, blanket still wrapped around her body and head, and leans forward as if to issue a challenge. “Maybe I want to kiss you all night. What about that?”

“Have you taken your medicine?”

“Yes…”

“Then you'll be falling asleep in about an hour.”

“Try me.”

He scans her face for a long moment before he leans over to kiss her on the nose. “Somehow I missed you acting like this, too.”

She smiles. He rises to begin unpacking his luggage, placing perfectly folded clothes into his drawers.

His room is no longer a place of spartan order, at least. She framed a few of his pencil drawings to hang on the wall; at least one of them is of her alone, looking over the Detroit River (he insisted on that one). Some drawings are of Hank and Sumo, of Markus laughing in a garden next to North and Simon, of Josh reading quietly against a window. He also hung a drawing from Messi that is mostly abstract color splotches. She glances to the dresser and the collection of objects there: his DPD badge and official portrait, a snow globe with a beach santa inside it (“I like the dissonance,” he said as explanation once), an old quarter collection, and a rubik’s cube.

But all his work clothes are still the same uniform he prefers, she notes with some humor. It's like out of a TV show where the main character has a closet full of exactly one outfit. He folds pants and hangs shirts and she relishes the quiet domesticity of it all like inoculation against the loneliness of other nights.

“How is Ryker?” Connor asks, breaking the comfortable silence.

She pulls in the comforter tighter around her. “Fine.”

He looks at her back over his shoulder, expectant.

She sighs. “I made them mad.”

“But you're always so agreeable.”

She snorts an involuntary laugh. “Yeah, real picture of function over here.”

He hangs the last shirt and turns back fully to her. She takes in a sudden breath at the weight in his expression -- at the way his frown could break glass.

“They don't think I should publish tomorrow, but it's too late,” she blurts as if being interrogated. Anything to stop his face from looking like that. “It’s gonna happen sooner or later and I’m so damn tired of sitting on it like it’s a bomb ready to go. I’m good, you know? I just want it done.”

He sits on the mattress close enough that her knee slips over his lap and she sinks in toward him. He wraps one of her many loose, coily hairs around his finger quietly. “Something is bothering you, though.”

Her eyes feel misty. “I’m just tired.” And then, against her better judgement, she adds: “I had another memory relapse today.”

He freezes, like he tends to do when she talks about this, and it makes her feel worse but she can’t tell him that.

“It was fine,” she says quickly. “They aren’t happening as often.”

“This isn’t the one that prompted you to burn you hand.”

“No, that wasn’t---that was just me...zoning out…”

She thinks of Noah’s voice, booming in her thoughts, because hiding from it gives him -- it -- power, and thoughts are not reality. She thinks his name so intently she nearly says it. Luckily, she bites her tongue.

Because already she has said too much.

Connor leans in toward her until their foreheads touch. She expects him to kiss her, but he places his hands firmly around the small of her back as he pulls her into his lap, lips not quite touching. Her legs straddle him and her arms circle his neck, prompting the comforter to fall to the floor. She feels a strange heat from the vulnerability. But he holds her tightly against him and she welcomes the pressure.

His mouth is beside her ear. "I can't keep spending time away from you like this.”

“You have to.”

“You're more important.”

She pulls back to look at him. “More important than all of android life?”

His shoulders loosen. He buries his face in her neck and she cradles his head with one hand. He can't keep talking like this because she is tempted to agree. But he has to build a life outside her own. That is what she swore she would never let him give up.

There is so much he hasn't seen…

“It's okay, darling,” she says softly. “I'm not dying yet. I still got shit to do.”

“Like drive me insane,” he mutters.

She laughs. His grip tightens and her stomach flutters. “In a good way?”

He leans back just enough so that their foreheads meet again. She settles her gaze on his cheekbones as his eyes seek hers. “On occasion.”

Finally, finally, he sighs, like giving in to her orbit, and he kisses her until she can’t think about anything but him.

---

21:37 Lil.lion.lady74: we'll be over by 7

21:37 Lil.lion.lady74: love u

21:38 Lil.lion.lady74: im sorry. i hope one day you can forgive me.

It is 5:47 a.m. Ryker sits on the edge of the couch. They reread Emma's last texts. They reread and reread and reread, like they’re looking for some hidden meaning they keep missing. Maybe the words will summon her here to answer all the questions they can't seem to ask. Or maybe the words will fall inert to the ground.

They eye the small laptop on the coffee table for a long moment, afraid to open it. But then, they need to take their own advice: there is no use hiding from something that is true. Her story is out there. Everyone's eyes will turn her way. The gaze of the world will eat her up like a pest, leaving the plant dying and brown in its wake, and she thinks she'll be able to come out of this whole. But Ryker knows better than anyone what it means to believe that right up until it’s not true anymore.

So they grab the laptop and go out into their garden to sit in quiet as the first hints of a coming dawn paint the world in soft hues. It's a carefully planned operation, with the crutches and the laptop and managing both, but Ryker is a master of the front-pack, as Emma christened it. Moving from living room to kitchen only takes five more steps of organization than the usual android, rather than the....more....that it used to be. Before they learned how to maneuver on one leg.

They settle on their patio chair, the favored one with the daisy-patterned pillows that have somehow survived the Detroit elements. Emma got it for them, and they will take it with them wherever it is they end up going. Ryker. Alone.

No time to think about that now. They take a deep breath and smell the roses and the snapdragons, soon to wilt in the summer sun. They open the computer to see what damage has been done. Emma got them this laptop so they could watch their shows while sitting in the garden. She moved the WiFi router so they could stream things without issue.

She…

You're just a project to her. Something she can fix in a falling-down house. Except Ryker won't let any human fix them, not even Emma. Maybe life would be easier if they let her. They should do the correct android thing and repair their leg, but something still stops them, a fear like ice against their spine. But also an indignation; they shouldn't have to be anything except what they are. Isn’t that what freedom is about?

Do humans know what it is like, to have freedom dropped in your lap? Some must. Some must still wonder, somewhere, but they’re probably all here already, helping the Volunteer Corps. And one of them, Emma, their Emma, no longer their Emma, uses her freedom to throw herself on the pyre.

They open the Detroit Free Press site to the doe eyes of a three-year-old Emma -- curly auburn hair cropped to her ears, skin yellowy and wan, freckles constant. She stares at the camera utterly flabbergasted, like it had caught her doing something she shouldn't be. Her eyes almost glow.

A LIFE HAYWIRE:

Cyberlife inspired a decade of innovation. But that innovation was built on the back of a survivor of dangerous cybernetic experiments. Her name is Emma Ibori. She was age 3.

Their biocomponents click and squeeze. They've seen this picture before now, but only in momentary snippets. That was all that they could afford, unless they wanted to spend an afternoon in inexplicable tears. But now, as they confront the picture in its final print, the tears become extraordinarily explicable. Ryker will never know what it is like to be that small. Ryker will only understand what it is like to be that tiny and helpless from reading this story about it happening to this person that they love -- this person who somehow grew from that, like an oak from an acorn. They reach out to touch the screen and the picture zooms in slightly, making Ryker's vision blur.

They're too different. It's too much. How could they ever have thought that it could work, them being best of friends for as long as they both would live? Emma grows on and on and on and Ryker is just here, waiting in the garden for dawn.

Ryker loses track of time reading the story. Suddenly they hear the telltale creaking of their backdoor opening. 7:00 a.m. on the dot. Emma, harried and true, and Connor, frustratingly impeccable. They are followed by Chase in his duck pajamas and Messi in her long nightgown, both of them coming from Ryker's bedroom. The sight is jarring and lovely; a splash of unexpected color in a flower bed. And everyone is on time. Connor is good for something.

Emma stares at Ryker, with a fear not dissimilar from the picture on the tablet. "What's the damage?"

"It's..."

The words die on their tongue. Her face is pale except where it’s flushed red, her fingers subconsciously twining in anxious knots.

How are they going to do this right? Where do you go, once you leave an anchor behind in a world that won't stop changing?

"There’s no damage,” they lie. “Not yet.”

#detroit become human #connor x reader #dbh connor x reader #dbh connor x oc #dbh fic #connor rk800 #Dbh connor #dbh #a garden in detroit #to melt the gilded seams #established relationship #queerplatonic relationship

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okayyeahsurewhynotcool · 5 years

Text

Name: Ryker Barrington Goes By: Ry, Rye, Mr. Bar,

Age: 33 FC: Ricky Whittle

Location: TBD Born In: TBD Grew Up In: Grew up mainly in his hometown (TBD), but attended college in Georgia and NYC before having to move back home. Ethnicity: White, Black, Indian Tattoos: whatever FC has.

Job: Garbage Man/waste collector during the day, dance instructor (Ballet and Contemporary) in the evenings. Worked three jobs up until a few years ago when he could just work two now that his younger brother was older now. His third job was first working at a fast food place when he was around 24/25, then quit that job to work overnight security for a parking lot.

Ryker also signs up to both choreograph and be part of the cast of productions at the local theater.

Education: College, earned his Performing Arts degree.

Sexiual orientation: TBD, but straight for now. Relationship Status: Recently single.

He has a dog named Lasagna.

Traits: stubborn, keeps to himself, loner, hard-working, few close friends, grumpy but can be friendly while working, passionate about dance, low-maintenance, takes a while to open-up/be comfortable, jaded, careful, fixer (of things, not people), practical, holds grudges, playful but only to those he is close with, athletic

Quick Bio: When Ryker was 100% sure he was going to play professional football when he was older. He fell into the sport when he was in middle school and stuck with it all through high school. He received a football scholarship. and was on his way to be the next football star. When he got to college, his coach asked him if he ever considered taking a dance class to help with his balance. He told him no, but looked into it. He was hungry to become the best, so he would do whatever it took.

Little did he know he would find a new love; dance. He stuck with the idea of playing football for his freshman year but changed courses as his love for dance grew. He applied for a new college, specializing in performance arts, and was accepted into the best school for it. For two years he worked hard at being the best dancer he could be.

His life changed the day after one his recitals when he was 21. His mother called, confessing once they left the city that his father was very sick. They had hid it from him for a few months so it didn’t interfere with his recital. His father was going to refuse treatment. There was a low survival rate and he just wanted to live out the rest of his days the best he could. Torn and unsure of what to do, Ryker said he would finish out his semester and then drop out. His parents didn’t want that. Their compromise was that he would come home for the summers but finish his degree.

His father died three months after he earned his Performing Arts Degree. A year later, his mom died after a sudden heart attack. It left the 24 year old responsible for his little brother who was 15 at the time. He was clueless. Just when his career was supposed to take off he had to assume the role of a parent.

He moved back home to take care of his younger brother, Titus. Most of his family members lived out of the country, so Ryker was left to take on the responsibility without much help. The sudden responsibility left the 24 year old stressed and a little bitter. He knew it wasn’t fair, but while everyone else was moving up and on in their careers and partying, Ryker had to work three jobs and help his moody teen-aged brother through the tragedy of losing his parents and through high school.

When he was 30, he met a woman. Recently, she had broken off their engagement because she had met someone else. She claims nothing sexual, other than a few hot makeouts, has happened but Ryker highly doubts that. Things were broken off about six-eight months ago.

#new muse!#rykerbarrington #rykerheadcanon #rykerquickbio #rykerface #crappyquickbio #rykerplots #come love on him #he's essentially the grump version of Grayson LOL

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voidfirenate · 5 years

Text

LFRP- Nathaniel Castor

The Basics ––– –

Age: 26 Summers old

Birthday: 22nd Sun of the 4th Umbral Moon

Race: Half Midlander Hyur / Half Ishgardian Elezen

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Bisexual

Marital Status: Single

Physical Apperance - ———

Hair: Dark Wine Red with soft white bangs that twist ever slightly they almost curl.

Eyes: Lavender

Height: Around 6′8″

Build: Athletic, with broad shoulders and large leg muscles from his goon years.

Distinguishing Marks: Scars over his right eye and bridge of his nose are paled to the damaged done to the left corner of his mouth. Where a blade had sliced clean up from his bottom lip up to about level with his nose making him have a cleft.

Common Accessories: He wears a green pendant and red vial around his neck. One was a gift from a dear friend of his and the other something from his father.

Personal ––– –

Profession: Marshal of his FC, while also being a part time music teacher

Hobbies: Playing music, committing crimes, or sleeping

Residence: Ul’dah and Ishgard as he bounces between both frequently

Birthplace: Ul’dah

Religion: The Twelve

Patron Deity: Nald

Fears: Being restrained against his will and losing his family.

Relationships———

Spouse: None

Children: None

Parents: Father is sort of alive. Long story, but his mother is definitely dead.

Siblings: He has. . . Too many siblings to count, but two that he knows about or is closest too is his older brother Ryker, and his twin Than.

Other Relatives: On his Mother’s side, he has an Aunt with her husband. On his fathers side he has a slew of aunts and uncles but notable is his Grandfather for whom he frequently sees in Ishgard.

Extra: Nate doesn’t talk about his older brother and very few know he has one.

Traits ––– -

* Bold your character’s answer.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Additional information ––– –

Languages: Common, Xaela, and Thanavarian

Aether: High amounts of aether, most of it gives off a voidal aura

Lore: Lore bending. Deals with voidals for power coupled with his father being a full blood Ishgardian makes him a halfie. Mixes some interesting plots for him.

RP Hooks ––– –

Ul’dah: Anyone that was raised in Ul’dah may have bumped into him a time before since he is a known trouble maker. He ran a Ruffin group in his teen years of fourteen an up but most notable was he was a slave till he was eleven. He still lives there and frequents the streets.

Ishgard: Nate did move to the Ishgard in the last four years before the end of the Dragon song war. He caught the fancy of a bastard of Dzemael house, so he was signed on as a sort of extra knight. He’d been taught by a dragoon that adopted him so he knew how to use the spear appropriately.

Ala mhigan: His mother was Ala Mhigan as well as her whole side of the family. A good bunch fought in the war against Garlemald but he’s not met many of them so if anyone wants to work out a tie of blood or something that would be nifty.

Voidal: I bend lore. So I will be up front and say Nate made a deal with a voidkin inheriting their powers at a price of course but thats to be discovered in rp. So I’m down with most anything dealing with spirits/voidkins/voidkin hunters.

Trouble: Nate. . . likes trouble. So ya wanna rob a bank? He’d be down. Man loves his coin. A Lot.

Gambling: He is a frequent Chocobo race gambler. Maybe ya lost to him or more than likely he lost to you. We can play it out haha.

Availability——-

I’m CST time with a bit of a up and down schedule. I’m going military by the end of march but after that, once settled, I’m good with things. I am in a FC, one I’m devoted too, but looking to create connections with my boi that broaden his world a bit. My Saturday evenings are booked as well as my Sunday and Wednesday. Other than that, I’m free on Discord or in between.

Contact Information ––– –

HEre is a good place to get a hold of me or at my discord Nate-Castor#0102

#ffxiv #ff14 #nathaniel castor #balmung #rp #oc rp #os&r #ffxiv balmung #balmung rp #lfrp ffxiv #ooc friendly

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fathersonholygore · 6 years

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USA’s The Purge Episode 1: “What is America?” Directed by Anthony Hemingway Written by James DeMonaco

* For a recap & review of the next episode, “Take What’s Yours” – click here

We open on what looks like a cult-like commune. A girl named Penelope (Jessica Garza) remains there in the name of her parents, “on the anniversary of their giving.” Her brother Miguel (Gabriel Chavarria) is elsewhere in the city at Kantrow rehab facility. He’s trying to find his sister, but she recently checked out. Miguel’s a Marine, who’s come home for Purge Night. A woman at the facility lets him look at her discharge info. He sees the name Henry Bodreaux signed on the release. We’re also able to see the year is 2028. There’s also Jane (Amanda Warren), heading off to work on Purge Night. Her mother Lorraine (Deneen Tyler) wants her to stay in hospital with her, the safest place. Her daughter refuses. “Commencement” is looming and the city’s ready to shut down for the evening, so Jane gets going to the office. Rick (Colin Woodell) and Jenna (Hannah Emily Anderson) are a bourgeois married couple. On Purge Night, for them, it’s a night out with the other bourgeois elites who are able to live without worry for the evening. Because everywhere else people are boarding their windows, buying up ammunition and survival supplies, and they’re preparing either to protect themselves/their homes, or go out hunting. In a seedy neighbourhood, Miguel chases down a man looking for information about Bodreaux. The worried brother can’t “wait another hour,” he’s getting shit done before the Purge even begins. Not like he’s doing any killing. Well, not yet. Who knows how far he’ll go after his sister’s cryptic message. On the 38th floor of a building, Jane and her co-worker Mark (Adam Stephenson) are locked down for the entire duration of the Purge. It’s a cushy office, plus they’re there to work, right? Shouldn’t be an issue. What we’re seeing is the rampant capitalist urge of these people, who can’t even take the night off when the rest of America’s burning, they’ve got to get in every last dollar! “We are the scarred, the beaten, the souls irreparably damaged,” Tavis (Fiona Dourif) tells her cult followers. They all put on their hoods and head out into the garden behind her. Then they all board a blue bus together. Wonder where they’re headed. Jenna and Rock are seeking to build housing for the “less fortunate,” which is why they’re snobbing around at a big party with elites. The couple claims they’re not rich, yet they’ve got crazy security on their home while the rest of the neighbourhood has to resort to hammers, nails, and plywood. Either way, they’re hoping this Purge Night will help them help themselves business wise. At the office, Jane and the team get a call from their boss, Don Ryker (Billy Baldwin). He’s called to tell them about big bonuses if they close a big deal during the evening. This gets everybody excited, as well as the fact Jane’s brought good booze for them to share. Typical bunch of financial vultures. Rick and Jenna arrive at the Stanton party. We begin getting a sense they’re really willing to sell their souls for what they want— glimpses of a recent night out suggest their morals might not be altogether pure. Either way, their one focus in being at that party is to climb that social ladder. Later, we’re given glimpses of Lila Stanton (Lili Simmons) having a threesome with the married couple. She’s the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Stanton, and this adds a compelling layer to the mystery. In an abandoned building, Miguel’s taken to look for Bodreaux. They meet a couple hopeful Purgers keeping a young woman on drugs chained up for their “Purge dessert” later on. Except mentioning Henry only makes the dudes suspicious. This puts him in a fight, though his Marine instincts get him out quick, and he’s able to help the lady get free of her chains. She actually knows Penelope and where she’s gone. On the blue bus, everyone’s preparing to “escape the pain” and head into “the invisible.” A great sign, not at all unsettling. The news reporters are preparing to get whatever coverage they can manage without getting slaughtered in the streets. Up in the office, Jane’s got a secret. She’s secretly messaging somebody, going downstairs despite the other floors being unsecured. Past the maintenance area at a door she meets a woman, someone who’s going to be Purging. And they’ve got a transaction to make. Jane’s hiring herself an assassin. Miguel continues his search finding the cultists who confirm Penelope – “Sister Penny” – is one of them. Miguel and his sister’s parents were killed on Purge Night years before. He finds out Penelope’s being “Purged upon.” She’s being sent out to sacrifice herself— suicide cult by Purge. Creepy shit. At the party, Jenna talks to one of the maids, Catalina (Paulina Gálvez) briefly. They discuss the Purge, how Jenna doesn’t like it but is there to do business with Albert Stanton (Reed Diamond). The wife, Ellie Stanton (Andrea Frankle), seems like an awful woman. She’s all about the NFFA – the New Founding Fathers of America – and so is her husband. All those people there are Purge supporters, “the great liquidator of our time.” An interesting line as Ellie says “we made this country great.” Very timely. Everyone at the party’s got to stay all night, too. Given it’s Purge Night. It could get wild inside. They all get masks of various serial killers, whom the people worship as those who “Purged before it was legal.” Terrifying. Perfect, though— the capitalists are just going a step further and killing people off to ensure good profits for America and a healthy, prosperous society, or some such other bullshit. And then the countdown begins, as the Purge officially commences. On the street, Miguel uses his night vision to give him a better view of the mayhem. Shots are going off. People are dragged from the backs of cars, others are beaten with baseball bats, a man’s tied to a lamppost and whipped brutally. Cars are tipped and burned. “Good Leader” Tavis and her cultists are on their little blue bus, intending to help “the sinners release their hatred.” One of her followers is about to head out and get Purged willingly as the next step to the Other Side. She sends him out to the street. A bunch of people in masks stand waiting, weapons at their sides, and the young man allows himself to be butchered.

“They risked their freedom because they knew the incredible life changing, healing power of violence, of killing.”

I was sceptical about this TV series when it was announced. Father Gore loves the movies, but wasn’t sure it’d make a good series, of any length. Nevertheless, the first episode has me hooked, and I’m going to enjoy watching this play out. Lots of room for sociopolitical commentary, some of which has already begun. That’s what I’ve always dug about The Purge and its sequels, there’s so much relevant material to our times. “Take What’s Yours” is next time.

The Purge – Episode 1: “What is America?” USA's The Purge Episode 1: "What is America?" Directed by Anthony Hemingway Written by James DeMonaco…

#Capitalist #Class War #Crime #Cult #Fiona Dourif #Gabriel Chavarria #Jessica Garza #NFFA #Purge Night #Serial Killer #The New Founding Fathers of America #The Purge #Totalitarian Government

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mischieflord777 · 6 years

Text

Daggo “A Tale of Two Chiefs” Chapter 1:

Dagur had heard about what happened with Hiccup and Grimborn in the caves. But he didn't, for one second, believe he was dead. Certainly not when no one had even found his body. The Berserker chief told his brother he was going out on a flight to relieve his troubled mind, and he was, but the only way to do that now was to find Viggo. Dagur knew, but would never admit aloud, he wasn't as clever as Viggo, but Dagur was good at sneaking around. And during his time under Ryker's command, he had over-heard discussion of Grimborn's birth place and how it had always been a place of comfort for the man. So that's where Dagur was heading. He'd been flying through the first light and now to last light. He was tired as was Sleuther, but he knew they were close and he wasn't stopping now. He brought the triple stryke to a halt as he noticed and island down below, he told his dragon to head down seeing no sign of a trap. Dagur searched the island for what seemed like hours, until he found a cave leading underground. Torches lined the walls and lit the way downwards and Dagur was caught thinking "Of course Viggo had born in darkness." He chuckled then headed down, Sleuther following close behind. Silently they moved ever forward through the dimly lit path, but came to sudden stop when they heard ragged breathing followed by a grunt of pain. "Viggo?" Dagur called out.

The voice coughed but then responded. "I knew someone would come looking for me eventually, but never once did I envision it would be you, Dagur." He wheezed. "Do not linger in shade, come in."

Dagur went into the cavern where the voice came from and was shocked at what he saw. Viggo laid on a rock bench carved and protruding from the wall, furnished of course, but rock nonetheless. His back toward Dagur exposing his remaining two arrows in his back. Dagur knew by this action alone he meant no disrespect, he couldn't lay on his back so laid on his side. "You're hurt." Dagur whispered in pure shock.

Viggo sat up to look at Dagur, which took some effort, but he managed. "Look upon my face, Dagur. You know I have survived worse."

Dagur nodded. "You are a strong man, if nothing else." He heard growling from the corner. A skrill emerged from the shadows and stood defensively in front of Viggo.

Dagur recognized the skrill he had once tried to tame and knew that he now belonged to Viggo.

Sleuther growled back protectively, smacking his tails on the ground as a warning.

Dagur quieted him then proceeded to drop all his weapons, leaving him vulnerable. "I come in peace, dragon."

The skrill's eyes narrowed and he growled again.

"I'm not here to hurt you...either of you. I swear it." Dagur said respectively.

"Onyx, let him speak. Away." Viggo said giving him a hand signal.

The skrill ruffled his wings but moved aside, watching wearily.

Dagur sighed in relief. "You trained him?"

Viggo simply nodded.

"Cool name, Onyx." Dagur said with a smile.

"Thanks." Viggo responded. "I've never named a pet, let alone a dragon before, but I thought it suited him well."

Dagur was concerned about the arrows wounding Grimborn. He approached the man but hesitated. "You are a worthy man and I wish to help you. But only if you will allow me. So I ask you, may I?"

Viggo was unsure, but eventually nodded after giving it some thought, exposing his back. "Remember Dagur, attempt to kill me and Onyx will not hesitate to act first."

Dagur looked at him. "I already gave my word. I have no intention of hurting you further. We are in the same boat Viggo." He reached for his saddle bag with his healing supplies. He had brought some medical shears to help him remove the barbs. "Viggo, the barbs will hurt more and possibly damage something important if I just yank it out. I need to cut some of the surrounding skin so I can pull them out without puncturing or tearing something vital."

"Do what you must." Viggo said bracing himself.

Dagur worked quickly, precisely but gently removing the unnecessary skin, then removed the arrows slowly. "Done with the removal, I just need to make sure it doesn't get infected." He said.

"You don't have to. As a matter of fact, I prefer you to not." Viggo said concerned.

"Viggo, you would die from the bacteria with the wounds you have. I won't have your blood on my hands." Dagur said getting his herbal anti-bacterial paste and applied it to his back.

Viggo winced, it stung, then burned, and then melted into an icy coolness.

"One last thing. Just to make sure." Dagur said getting out some some surgical vines. He'd used them on himself before, so he knew as bizarre as it was they worked. He took out his needle and starting sewing up his wounds so he wouldn't bleed. "If you tell anyone I can sew, I swear to Thor."

"It's our secret, on my honor." Viggo said sitting up. He could move freely again without being in danger of hurting himself. He stood up, surprising himself at how effortless it was to do so. He noticed scraps of his clothing on the ground and assumed Dagur had had to cut his suit in order to heal his wounds. "Well, I might as well change my shirt. I do hope you don't mind."

Dagur shook his head. "No, it's alright."

Viggo nodded his head and went to a chest against the far wall, his valuables were obviously stored somewhere more secretive, but his necessities where there. He slowly took off his shirt, grabbed another and walked back to Dagur, intending to give him a reward for his work. "Why did you help me?"

Dagur wasn't listening, as a matter of fact he was drooling. He was shocked by the state of Viggo's body, besides from the scar on his neck, he was untouched and ripped as all hell. He had abs, a six pack of them. He licked his lips at the muscles rippling all throughout his chest and arms. But Dagur tore his attention away from his lust when Viggo coughed to get his attention. "Sorry, my mind drifted. But I told you. You and I are in the same situation. We both used to be on the wrong side of the war, we were both thought to be expendable by our employers. We both now see and own dragons as equals, we respect them. I was once where you stand now."

"You're not wrong, Dagur." Viggo said with a chuckle. "but you were never expendable, my dear. You were just too much on an opponent. I excel at tactics and planning. But you...you're excel at hand to hand combat. I'd have never been able to best you, and that had me concerned." Viggo smiled. "Because, let's face it, Dagur, you don't listen to anyone. You're your own man. Orders don't suit you unless you're giving them."

Dagur laughed, knowing he was right. But then his eyes were torn to his neck scar. He touched his three talon scar tattoo that he had on his eye as his other hand reached for the scar on Viggo's neck.

Viggo watched his hand but didn't flinch away, he was like a wild dragon, but he was starting to trust Dagur like he had never trusted anyone before. He let Dagur touch his scar.

"How?" Dagur asked. "How did this happen to you?"

Viggo sighed, he hated this question. "It's why I became a dragon hunter. Nothing more than a reminder."

Dagur moved his hand to caress Viggo's face. "Grimborn." He said sternly. "Tell me."

"It's a long story." Viggo said trying to avoid discussing it, but saw Dagur wasn't letting up. "How much time have you to spare?" He sighed, giving in.

"I've got all the time in the world Viggo." Dagur responded coolly.

"I was young when this happened," he said gesturing to his scar. "a child. My only passion back then was learning more about dragons. My tribe was known for hunting them but I never was interested in destroying their species. I've always had a thirst for knowledge, but it was the dragon species that I could never seem to learn enough about. But one day, as fate would have it, my curiosity got the best of me, and I got too close to the wrong dragon. An angry and injured dragon that I had never seen before or since. And as I moved to help it, it scratched me, deeper than the scar that remains today, nearly killing me. My father killed it, got me to a healer, but later died from his own wounds. I never knew my mother or what happened to her, all I knew was with me out of commission, Ryker was left to rule the tribe."

Dagur rolled his eyes. "Bet that went well." He said sarcastically.

"Fantastic." Viggo replied with an equal amount of sarcasm. "Nearly started three wars, and then his argument for why he should stay in charge was that he cleverly avoided three wars just because the other tribes didn't think that immature child was worth their time."

Dagur chuckled. "The dragon, what was it?"

"My father called it the Deathwing." Viggo growled aggravated, putting his shirt on finally. "But he made sure that the lens that revealed all the knowledge of it's species was destroyed along with it. Declaring the dragon too dangerous to encounter before he passed."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Viggo." Dagur replied quietly. "Your father died for you."

"More like because of me. If I had just let that dragon be, he'd still be alive." Viggo sighed, sitting down next to Dagur. "I wish he were. Sometimes even I don't know what to do."

Dagur wiped a tear from his eye. "My father died because of me as well."

Viggo looked to Dagur in shock. "Oh Dagur, you have my deepest condolences." His eyes narrowed. "But that means you found him?" He questioned curiously.

"Shipwrecked, fighting off Grim Gnashers from the dying dragons on Vanaheim. Shortly after I took over the Berserker tribe."

"And how is that you're fault?" Viggo raised an eyebrow at him.

"I refused to let anyone search for him, those who defied me were executed."

"I see. No wonder Krogan's idiotic plan didn't work."

"Heather." Dagur growled lowly. "He planned to trap her and possibly kill her in order to gain her lens. Promised her he found our father alive, said he'd take her to him."

Viggo looked away awkwardly. "I was against that plan from the start. But unfortunately Krogan and Johann are not good listeners, especially when reason and common sense are involved." He sighed. "I heard news of a battle of the armies. I do hope your sister and the others are alright."

"They're-they're fine.” Dagur said nervously. “No one was hurt on our end. but Johann is dead."

"Oh really? How did he meet his demise?" Viggo said smiling, he hated Johann.

"Frozen to death by the king of Dragon, then his statue was shattered and decimated by yours truly."

"Krogan's also dead."

"No, he escaped." Dagur answered thinking Viggo was asking.

"Oh that wasn't a question, Dagur. Someone left his body out to sea, it washed up on the shore a few days ago."

"It wasn't us." Dagur replied holding his hands up innocently.

"I didn't think it was. I knew that the riders and even your berserkers wouldn't have been the cause of what made him arrive in the state he did. He'd been put through torture while he was alive and died by decapitation. But he showed up even more ravished by beasts of the ocean who decided to sample him as a meal. It was pretty gruesome and I suspect it was his employer from the north. His men captured Krogan, took him back, and his punishment for failing was torture and then...death."

"Wow. That guy sounds like bad news. I'll have to tell Hiccup about him, as well as our allies." Dagur said on alert.

"Our?" Viggo questioned.

Dagur smiled. "Viggo, I know you were once a proud chief, and while I can't give you that title back with most of them wiped out by Johann's attack. I'd like you to be my adviser to the berserkers. Thor knows I need one." Dagur outstretched his hand.

Viggo eye's widened. "You're serious? You want me to advise you? Me?"

Dagur nodded. "I can think of no one better for the position."

"Then...I accept." He took Dagur's hand, but wound up hugging him. Dagur didn't expect it, but hugged back.

"Thank you." Viggo said, pulling away.

"For what?" Dagur asked.

"Giving me a second chance." Viggo smiled.

"No problem, we should head out." Dagur said, standing up.

"It's late, Dagur, and it's long ride back to Berserker island and I know you had a long day riding here. You're welcome to stay here for the night and get some rest." Viggo said gesturing to a cot in the corner.

Dagur yawned and nodded, taking up on the offer. "Thank you." He said yawning again, and quickly fell asleep.

Viggo smiled as he saw Sleuther curl up next to Onyx, and Onyx accepted him. He laid back down to sleep, dreaming of his position to come and how he could benefit the tribe.

@thederangedgrimborn Here it is, hope you love it!

#daggo #dagur the deranged #viggo grimborn #fanfiction

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