#ignore me trying to manifest werewolves again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

clickerflight · 2 years

Text

Clove: Silver Stake #1

Masterlist

This is actually an idea I’ve had bopping around in my head for a while now. It’s about time that I finally put it to writing.

Werewolf whumpee, Witch and Vampire caretakers

TW: Cuts, Bruises (to the point of probable internal bleeding), dehumanization

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

Despite the pain across all of his skin, despite the twisted ankle and the missing teeth, despite his tender scalp from having his hair pulled at when he was in trouble, despite the weapon of silver he was forced to carry, burning his palms and forearms, Hyrum was always glad to be outside. The wind did nothing to soothe the aches of his body and the sun only made his burns hurt worse, but they certainly soothed something inside of him that he always forgot was hurting until he was outside again.

He limped through the trees, focused on one painful step after another, the bottoms of his feet raw from how long he’d been forced to run the day before without shoes. Which also meant that his muscles were extremely sore. The shafts of sunlight through the trees did help a bit with that, though.

Hyrum choked on a scream, falling to his knees as another burn manifested itself on his calf muscle. He leaned forward, carefully cradling the silver weapon as he gritted his teeth through the pain. His Master didn’t like screaming. Hyrum tried his best to keep from making any noises around his Master. Sometimes, even breathing too loud would get him and extra whipping.

The burning stopped and Hyrum had to catch his breath. He forced himself back to his feet. There was only one way to end this pain. His master had told him he’d need to kill the vampire on the hill before he would remove the curse he put on the werewolf.

“This is training,” his master declared, watching his weapon curl up on the floor as a burn sizzled across his bare chest. “It has to be done to make you strong enough to truly serve me. The time will come when you are the blazing soldier in front of me and it will all be worth it. Just you wait.”

Hyrum couldn’t imagine what prize would be good enough to make it all worth it, honestly, but for now he didn’t have time to think about that. He had to kill the vampire before this curse killed him.

Hyrum looked up through his matted hair, holding back whimpers as he approached the edge of the forest. He was almost there. He hadn’t really been sure that he would make it.

He peered out of the forest, ignoring the curls of smoke coming up from where the weapon, the silver stake, was making contact with his skin. There was the house on the top of the hill, surrounded by flowers that his master had said were grown with the help of dead werewolves as fertilizer. Hyrum shivered, his tail curling up between his legs slightly. He watched as several human children and their mother came out of the house and traveled down the path. He watched as a vampire came out of the house, sun hat in hand as he went out to his garden. Hyrum tensed, pausing for a moment that felt like years before he dashed out across the grass, trying to be as precise with his movements as he could. He couldn’t fail. He wouldn’t fail his master. He didn’t know what sort of punishment would be waiting for him if he couldn’t complete this one task.

……………………….

Ephraim loved getting up in the middle of the day, despite how his body told him that he was supposed to sleep, despite how he had to force himself to get up even though the moon wasn’t overhead to help lift his weary body. He opened a thick curtain made by one of the nice old lady’s in the village and looked out on his garden. He smiled when he saw the lilies open, inviting the sun to shine. His smile revealed his fangs, his right one chipped and broken. He saw a couple of the neighbor kids minding (bothering) his chickens and the oldest looked up and waved. Soon, three young children were piling through the door and telling Ephraim all of their stories at once.

“Eef! Eef!” the youngest child cried out in his excitement. “I caught a bug!”

“You did?” Ephraim asked with delight, crouching down to see the lady bug in the sticky child’s hands. “Oh! That’s a lucky one. Be very careful with him.”

“It’s a her!” the middle child, Kate, insisted, tugging on Ephraim’s sleeve. “That’s why they’re called LADYbugs!”

“Oh, right, of course,” Ephraim agreed. “Who wants some bread and butter?”

“MEEEEEE!!!”

Ephraim grinned as the children all bounced around him.

“All right, all right, blossoms,” he laughed. “Everyone take a seat at the table.”

The three kids got into the comfortable chairs and laughed and talked and poked the ladybug as Ephraim pulled out thick slices of bread and loaded them each with butter and put them in front of each kid. They started eating, John, the oldest, managing a thank you before starting in.

Ephraim buttered some bread for himself and was about to take a bite when he heard a knock. He went to the door and opened it to find Anna, the mother of the three kids, standing there apologetically.

“Oh, Ephraim,” she said with a smile. “Did my kids wake you up again?”

“No, ma’am,” Ephraim said warmly, letting her in. “They spotted that I was awake and wanted to talk to me.”

“Look, mama!” the youngest child yelled. “Bread!”

“I see that, Dimitri. Did you thank Ephraim here?”

“Thank you, Eef!!”

“You’re welcome,” Ephraim smiled. He buttered another slice of bread and offered it to Anna, who took it and nodded her thanks.

It was strange. Ephraim was no longer mortal, and yet he felt more alive than he ever had before. Most humans hated and feared vampires, but Ephraim was just their neighbor. He was the man who would watch the town whenever the moon was up in the sky pulling on his almost inert blood. He could be there with his inhuman speed if there was a fire or if one of the sheep on the hills needed some help birthing a lamb. He was their friend. Part of their family.

Ephraim couldn’t keep from smiling as Dimitri, Kate, and John played and talked. He soon found himself yawning, thought, and Anna took that as their signal to leave.

“Rest well, Ephraim,” she said as she herded her kids out of the door. “I’ll try to keep them quiet.”

“Not a problem, Anna,” he said, leaning out of the door to wave at all the kids as they scattered across the grass and plants of his hill. The sun pickled a little bit against his skin, and while most vampires hated it, Ephraim had grown accustomed to it in his many hours of tending his garden. After watching all of the children leave, he decided he would fight the pull of sleep for just another couple of minutes and check up on his tulip situation. They would need thinning out soon and he was not looking forward to that.

Ephraim knelt down to look at the flowers on his tomato plants, cooning to them a little and stroking their leaves. He heard a raucous of flapping wings and squawking birds and looked over his shoulder to see that his chickens were loudly clearing a path for a very quick visitor. Ephraim jumped to his feet, dashing to the side as the attacker lunged at him with a silver stake. Ephraim was too sluggish to fight what seemed to be a werewolf. He was pretty sure he’d glimpsed a tail. Ephraim turned and tried his best to run down towards the village, prepared to let himself roll down the hill if that was called for. He felt the stake just miss him again, something dark and disgusting rising from the metal. Ah, of course it was cursed.

Ephraim heard a muffled sound of pain behind him and then something thumping to the wild grass, a horrible dull thunk echoing right after.

Ephraim slowed down, panting as he turned. He saw the werewolf sprawled across the ground, by luck tripping and smacking his head on a rock. The stake rolled out of his grass and Ephraim didn’t dare touch it. It was obviously cursed, and made of silver if the burns on the boy’s hands were anything to go by.

He took a few steps up the hill again and looked down at the werewolf. It was…. Horrible, to be honest. The werewolf was just one big smeer of bruises. Over top that, there were cuts that looked to be caused by everything from knives to whips. His back was a mess of whip marks, a few of them open and infected. There were burns all across his barely clothed body and now he had a head injury to complement everything else.

Something huffed up the hill towards him and Ephraim nearly fell down in his haste to look. The old witch of the village, Margie, had hiked up her skirts and was making her way up the hill with her basket of supplies tied to her back.

“Margie,” Ephraim said, relieved that she’d come. He could sense a curse coming off the boy too, now that he was no longer holding the spike of silver. “How’d you know I needed help?”

“Anna saw you getting chased,” Margie squawked. “And I sensed a curse approaching the village. I’m glad to see you’re okay.”

Ephraim nodded as she finished her climb and put her basket down next to herself. She growled to herself and soaked her hands with some liquid. She grabbed the stake, turned it over a couple of times, muttering, before she pushed it down into the ground and sprinkled some powders over the top. She nodded to herself and turned to the boy himself, just as he whimpered, a painful looking burn suddenly blossoming out across the skin under his eye.

Margie tutted, putting a hand on the boy’s forehead and throwing her head back, shrieking words in a different language. She fell quiet and waited for a moment before she nodded. “Some simpleton’s curse,” she said, “Easily broken. We’ll leave the stake here. Being in the ground for a bit will cleanse it. Do you have enough strength to haul him up to your house? We need to see about those injuries.”

Ephraim nodded. He crouched and pulled the boy up into his arms as Margie got to her feet, swearing at each crack of her bones. Ephraim was startled by how light the boy was. He was completely unresponsive as Ephraim worked his way up the hill. Margie actually reached the house first, opening the door for Ephraim. The vampire set the boy down on the couch and stepped back as Margie hustled over to him, checking his wounds and peeling back what filthy rags he had to see what else was hiding.

Ephraim brought her a bucket of water and sat down, exhausted, as she started cleaning all of the wounds and skin she could get to.

Even clean, the boy didn’t look much better, and even unconscious, he was shivering and twitching.

Ephraim stared at all of the cuts, burns, and bruises. At the open burn wounds from the stake and the hanks that were falling out of an already unhealthy head of hair, not to mention the mange-like rash on the boy’s arms, legs, and face.

He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Who in the world would ever do this to a living creature?

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

Part 2

@wolfeyedwitch I believe you wanted to see this when I’m done. Please let me know if you want to be tagged in any continuations I might make

#writing #whump #vampire #caretaker #dehumanization #in the realm of #pet whump #werewolf whumpee #cuts #curses #silver #stake #witch #I had so much fun with this #NGL #Ephraim is the bestest man #and one of my father figures

60 notes · View notes

heliads · 3 years

Text

I Need a Savior

Based on this request: "A songfic for My Demons by Starset? Stiles and the reader are twins. She’s a witch and part of Scott’s pack. The reader helps Scott and the others get rid of the nogitsune and save Stiles."

masterlist

There’s a video playing on your computer. You’re sitting before it, knees tucked up to your chest like you’re a child right now instead of watching yourself as one on the screen in front of you. Your eyes are glued to the two playing figures as if they’ll find some way to save you from the mess you’ve found yourself in, as if by watching what you used to have you’ll be able to have it all back once more.

You’re not alone in the video. The four-year-old Y/N rarely was, and in this particular video her laugh is joined by someone else- your twin brother, Stiles. He’s racing after you in a grassy backyard, in the midst of some no doubt momentous game of tag. He’s shouting something at the top of his tiny lungs as he goes, something about how he’ll always get back to you in the end. If only you could make that same promise now.

The video ends, but you still sit there, unable to move. It’s barely been a few days that your brother was fully possessed by the Nogitsune, but the loss still cuts at you like a knife. Stiles is your twin brother, older only by ten minutes or so. You’ve never had to go without him for longer than a few hours- he’s always there, at home or at school or at your father’s station. This, knowing that he’s somewhere within Beacon Hills but utterly gone to you, is an entirely different kind of pain.

A knock sounds at the door, and you look up to see your father hovering in the doorframe. His attempt at a reassuring smile drops as he sees the video still up on your screen. “I thought I heard voices.” You sigh. “I miss him, Dad. I miss Stiles.” Sheriff Stilinski sighs, walking inside the room at last. “So do I. We’re going to get him back, though. Don’t worry about that.”

You throw your hands in the air, frustrated. “We don’t know that! We don’t know that at all. This is so out of our range that it’s almost crazy. I mean, you barely even started to believe us about the supernatural. You didn’t trust us that werewolves existed, and now my brother has been possessed by a spirit that’s thousands of years old. None of us have any proof that we’re going to get him back.”

Your father winces for a second, then his expression smooths over again. “I’ve heard what you said about all your other exploits with Scott. He never gave up on anything or anyone, and I know you won’t either. None of us are giving up on Stiles, and even if it means that we have to play the long game to get him back, we will. Sure, I may not completely get why Scott McCall went from a kid with terrible asthma to a werewolf, but I know we won’t leave my son behind.”

His voice twists slightly as he says ‘my son’, and you’re hit with the distinct memory that you’re not the only one grieving someone you might have already lost. Yes, you lost your twin brother, but the sheriff lost his son. You can’t snap on him completely. So, you close your laptop screen, forcing the image of you and Stiles away into the darkness, and stand up. “What do you say we get some dinner? It’s late and I’m hungry.” Sheriff Stilinski nods, accepting this best attempt at an apology, and heads back downstairs. You’re left in the dark again, alone.

You can’t help but think through the whole thing over again. Your dad’s right- there’s no way Scott or you or anyone else is remotely considering letting Stiles go. You’ve seen Scott before, and you’ve known him for almost as long as he’s known your brother, so you know for a fact that he won’t give up until your twin is back and as he should be.

Besides, you’ve got another tool in your kit that will help you rescue Stiles- namely, your magic. You are a witch, just like the women in your family before you. Well, just like most of them. Your mother, Claudia, should have inherited the power of the family coven, but the magic seemed to skip over a generation and it went to you instead. Your grandmother kept the power of the witches a secret until it manifested in you a few years ago. You’ve learned spells from her, and you’re hoping that you’ll be able to use at least one of them to save Stiles.

This, actually, is what you find yourself doing the next day. Scott calls you up early, saying something in a rushed tone about how he found an old story about a healing spell in some dusty text in Deaton’s storage. You head over there immediately, and are surprised to find that Scott’s spell just might work. It’s fairly simple, as spells go, but it’ll take a lot out of you. In the spell, you’ll be able to peel back the Nogitsune’s control over Stiles, but you’re not sure that you’ll be able to completely eradicate the spirit’s presence from your brother’s mind, you don’t have enough power for that. Then again, even a brief reprieve for Stiles may help you save him.

So, you, Scott, Lydia, Allison, Isaac, Kira, and the rest head down to where Stiles was last spotted. Derek’s waiting for you there, and he points wordlessly into the Beacon Hills preserve. “I think the Nogitsune is trying to find the Nemeton. He just went in there a few minutes ago.” You nod your gratitude, already slipping between the trees. You used to play in these very woods with your brother when you were small, doing your best to escape your father’s watch long enough to have some fun before the rules came crashing back down around you.

When you see Stiles at once, you almost wonder if you’ve stepped back into your memories. It makes no sense- surely, you should be able to tell that this is an ancient spirit and not your brother. You should know your twin by soul and heart and word, shouldn’t you? Yet, for that one moment, you want to run over to him, sure that Stiles has managed to shake the spirit possessing him and come back to you.

Then Stiles turns around, and you’re hit by a wave of utter wrongness. There’s no other way to describe it- this being is your brother in flesh, sure, but in nothing else. There is no soul in the eyes looking at you, no love or even familiarity in the gruesome smile twisting this thing’s lips. The body is your twin brother, but the mind, oh the mind is so far from being him that it’s almost repulsive.

The Not-Stiles leers at you from where he stands amongst the trees, taking a few steps towards you as if relishing your horror. “Ah. I see my sister has come to visit me.” You shake your head. “I’m not your sister. You’re not him.” The Nogitsune shrugs. “Well, I see I can’t fool you like the others. Unfortunate.” Scott and the others have reached you by now, and your old friend hands you a scanned copy of the spells. You take it wordlessly, although you notice that the Nogitsune’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly at the transferral of the document.

Seconds later, its voice rings out across the forest again, and you swear you can detect an almost nonexistentant strand of nervousness in the spirit’s voice. It’s as if it’s woven trepidation in with the usual array of emotions as it toys with Stiles’ vocal chords. “What’s that about?” You ignore it, beginning to read the spell. You can only hope that it will work, that it will clear the Nogitsune from Stiles’ mind long enough to speak with him.

You finish reading out the spell and stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do next. At first, it looks as if the spell hasn’t done anything at all, and then the boy in front of you that was previously not your brother spasms slightly, bending over at the waist. When he straightens, you know at once that Stiles is back. You run to him, unable to keep a slight sob from tearing its way out of your throat. “Stiles!”

He catches you in his arms. Stiles feels the same way he always has- your brother is well and truly back. He stammers at first, hand rising to his temples as if he can’t believe that he’s back in control once more. “Y/N- it’s me. I’m me.” You muffle another sob. “How are you? Are you okay?” A dark look crosses Stiles’ face now, so mute in its agony that you almost think the Nogitsune has come back to possess him once more.

“It’s bad, Y/N. It’s really bad. I keep trying to fight, but it’s like I’m going insane. Even now, I can feel it circling around me like a vulture.” He grabs at your hands now. “I need you to save me, Y/N. I’m becoming it.” You try to speak, but you can’t find the strength. Already, the power necessary to cast the spell is wearing at you; you’ll only be able to keep it up for so long.

Stiles seems able to sense this, and his voice takes on an additional note of urgency. “I need you to make everything okay again, Y/N. I can’t fight this forever.” You shake your head slightly, afraid to let him down yet knowing that you can’t do much more. “I’m not all-powerful, Stiles. I wish I was.” Something like a broken half-smile flits onto his face. “You’ve always been able to take my pain away, Y/N. Not like Scott, but because of you. We are one and the same, are we not? We’re twins. I know you can do this.”

The spell is clawing at you now, practically tearing you into pieces. You manage to fight it back. You can’t let him go yet- you just got Stiles back. “What can we do? How do I get you back?” Stiles looks panicked, as if he can physically feel the Nogitsune forcing its way back into his head once more. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I just need you, Y/N. Save me if I become this demon.”

Then you’re stumbling, lost in an intense thicket of pain. The spell is overwhelming you now, and through tears you release it, letting your thin veneer of control go once more. Scott and the others catch you before you fall, but you’re not paying attention to yourself anymore. No, you’re looking back at your brother, or the body of a boy that was once your brother. The Nogitsune is back, and all traces of Stiles can only be seen in his physical form once more. You feel like sobbing, like breaking down entirely, but you remember what Stiles asked you to do. You have to save him, and that is exactly what you intend on doing.

In the end, you do save him, along with Scott and the others. You barely have time to mourn Allison’s death before you’re plunged into yet another peril, this time to take the Nogitsune down for good. You end up separating from the pack as they go into battle, choosing instead to maintain protective spells around the area that will keep the Oni and other aspects of the Nogitsune from killing your friends. The cost of maintaining all of that magic is wearing on you, but you stand firm. When Scott calls out to you, asking you to give him one last ounce of strength or courage or anything, you do it. Anything to save your brother.

They come out of the school in the end. Walking with them is a dark-haired boy who’s been your friend since birth, someone who was there to take his first steps with you and make you laugh when no one else could. For a second, you draw back, terrified that after all of this the Nogitsune might still be lurking under some crevice of Stiles’ mind, ready to draw him back under again, but when your brother looks at you, you breathe a deep sigh of relief. It’s him. It really and truly is.

Before you can run to him, though, Scott is offering you a small container. “We trapped the Nogitsune inside it, but it could escape at any moment. Can you secure it?” You nod, the spell to contain the evil spirit already running through your head. A second earlier, you would swear that you didn’t have enough energy to levitate a feather, let alone trap a thousand-year-old spirit, but you’re not about to let any chance of harm come to your twin again.

When you finish the spell, you see Stiles straighten up beside you, as if one last chain binding him to the earth has been released, one final shackle broken. You carefully hand the now-bound contained to Scott, and wrap your arms around Stiles. He holds you tight for a second, then steps away, holding you at arm’s length as if he’s almost forgotten what you look like. “Thank you for helping me. Scott told me that you’ve been using your magic to save us.”

Scott nods fervently. “I don’t know that we could have done it without her. Her spells saved our asses several times over.” You can’t help but grin shakily at that. “I needed to get you back. Anything else didn’t really matter.” Stiles hugs you one last time. “Thank you, anyway.” You smile back at him. “Of course, we’re family. You’re my twin, I would do anything for you. Besides, you asked me to save you and so I did. We don’t have to be our demons anymore.”

teen wolf tag list: my savior @underc0vercryptid

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski imagines #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski oneshot #teen wolf #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf oneshot #stiles #stiles imagines #stiles x reader #stiles oneshot #teen wolf stiles #teen wolf stiles imagines #teen wolf stiles x reader #teen wolf stiles oneshot

92 notes · View notes

cupcakemolotov · 3 years

Text

At Horizon’s Edge

I promised @lalainajanes a space fic sometime before Covid, so that could have been two years ago or three, who can remember anymore, but here it is. I hope you enjoy it!

You can read the story at A03 here if you prefer!

Synopsis: Sometimes when a girl goes on a shopping trip to pick up a new pair of boots at the local, and somewhat hostile, human space station, she accidentally aids and abets a prison break instead. What happens in the black really doesn't stay in the black.

Warnings: Alternate Universe; Alternate Universe - Space; Alternate Universe - Fantasy; Alternate Universe - Soulmates; Alien Cultural Differences; Alien Technology; Werewolves; Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known; Werewolves in Space; Werewolf!Klaus; Alien!Caroline; Mostly Alien at Least; prison break; Accidental Rescue; Some Gore; Non-OTP Charachter Death; Found Family

Caroline slid into her pilot’s chair just as the comm on her dash beeped for an incoming transmission. Glancing over at the seat where her co-pilot sat, Enzo gave her a grim look. He didn’t agree to her plan, and she didn’t blame him. She wasn’t usually given to bouts of insanity but every day in space was a new one, and sometimes life tossed surprises at you with the impact of live grenades.

“Five minutes until gate clearance.” He paused and then sighed, rolling his shoulders with a reluctant acceptance. “I hope you know what you are doing.”

So did she.

Five minutes was an eternity when facing the guns of the space station they had just left. Named after a moon in the humanities home solar system, Titan was one of the few remaining stations that still traded directly with Earth. They were also very proud that they maintained the largest population of pure blooded humans outside of Earth Solar System, even by Earth’s exacting standards of what was considered human these days.

If she’d cared to check, the history logs on her computer would tell her all about the wars that had nearly decimated Earth and its colonized planets, of the laws that banned anyone who carried alien DNA in their veins. The justifications of a world terrified by how humanity could change in the cold void of space and their desperate, grasping fingers trying to avoid change.

Caroline had long since stopped caring about earth’s collective opinions, and the stars cared not all about the blood in your veins. Not all of humanity bent to fear, the far flung colonies that still lingered though they’d been abandoned by their home world. They’d learned to adapt, to change. There were wonders and nightmares in space that Earth could never imagine, but right then, none of that was particularly helpful.

What she cared about was getting out of Titan’s airspace as quickly as possible without getting blown to bits. The conversation she needed to have to do that would require her to be very, very careful. Blowing out a breath, Caroline hit accept.

Half a heart beat later, and the familiar eyes of Marshal Tyler Lockwood popped up on her screen. He looked worn, older than the last time she had seen him. The thick black of his hair had faded to more gray than the salt and pepper she remembered from their last conversation, and the creases in his forehead, and at the corner of his eyes, were a sign of his human heritage more than any of the military patches on his uniform.

Old. He had started to look so old.

“Marshall Lockwood,” Caroline said, tucking away any hint of sorrow. “This is a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He grimaced, his face telling her exactly what he thought of either of them enjoying this call. Her ex-lover did not enjoy being reminded of their past, which was why she made a point to do it every time he initiated one of these little catch ups. A little pettiness always did wonders for her mood.

“Forbes. You’re leaving early.” He looked down, the line between his brows deepening as he clearly checked something on his tablet. “We had expected your stay at the station to last for another 48 standard hours.”

Brows arched, Caroline tipped her head to the side and studied him. “I wasn’t aware that you were watching my flight plans so closely.”

A hint of derision entered his eyes. “You are dangerous, Forbes. I keep an eye on dangerous things.”

She was dangerous. But not in ways that Tyler could plan against, and they both knew to target her specifically because of her heritage went against a dozen interstellar laws. His team could enforce station laws while she was standing on it, but here, on her ship, minutes from making a FTL jump, what she did should have been of no concern to them. This wasn’t space owned strictly by humanity, where it could control its population down to its DNA.

Tyler was walking a fine line.

Smiling, she settled a bit more comfortably in her chair. “Awe, that’s so sweet of you. Being so concerned about your people. I think you’d be more relieved to see the back of my ship than making demands to justify why I would leave when we both know you're not entitled to that information.”

His mouth tightened at her jab. “Generally that would be the case but you’re predictable. This breaks your usual pattern, and that gives me cause for suspicion.”

She shook her head in false exasperation, deliberately misunderstanding him. “My personal life is none of your business, remember? You made that choice decades ago, no reason to get sentimental now in your final few years.”

Her words were below the belt, but Caroline had never really been able to help herself where he was concerned. Walking away from her, walking away from the future they had been building together had hurt. Decades had softened the sting, but some scars still bled.

“I wasn’t asking for personal reasons.” His words were clipped, the edges sharp and cutting.

She laughed. “Such lies you tell. But there isn’t anything dramatic about my departure, Tyler. Your collection of goods suck right now. Did someone piss off High Command again? Would it honestly kill you to announce it when you have trade-shortfalls? Manifests exist for a reason, you know, and it’s such a waste that your ‘council’ won’t let anyone bring in additional goods. Seriously, I could have avoided this whole trip and it would have saved me some time and docking fees.”

Absently, she wondered if his jaw got stuck like that these days, clenched down on a brutal line that left the muscle jumping tautly. “You expect me to believe you couldn’t find the correct dress size so you decided to ignore two days of your itinerary? I know you better than that.”

Caroline scoffed. “Actually, you don’t know me, Tyler. It’s been fifty years since we last had a conversation that didn’t involve us insulting each other. Your personal opinions about my love of a well organized schedule are outdated.” The lie slipped easily from her tongue, and next to her Enzo rolled his eyes. She flipped him off, just outside of view of the camera. “My irritation at the lack of proper boot sizes available aside, you’re not usually this pushy. You want to tell me what’s really going on? And why you need a scapegoat?”

Tyler’s jaw turned to stone for a long moment, and she forced herself to appear bored. Every moment he delayed was another that they crept closer to their escape. He finally unlocked it enough to speak, words harsh. “We had a prison break.”

She didn’t have to fake her surprise, brows arching high at both his reluctant admittance and what it meant. Very, very few people knew that Titan had an advanced and secure prison system. Dear Old Earth had always enjoyed making its problems vanish, and Titan was one such place they used to keep their hands clean. Those shipments from Earth of goods and perishables that made Titan so popular as a trade station came with a dirty secret: in the belly of those ships were people. Political prisoners, murders, terrorists, inconvenient witnesses who needed to disappear. Titan housed them all. Some would be kept in the cold bowls of the station and others shipped off to one of the max-prisons deep in the black of space.

None of them ever escaped.

That Titan was a prison was a dirty little secret and not one that could be allowed to get out. But such secrets, buried in metal and technology, were very hard to hide from her. Tyler knew it, though he was bound to keep some of her secrets. As she was bound to keep the worst of his.

“You don’t lose people.” Caroline said slowly. “What happened?”

“He had help.”

Brows coming together at the word ‘he’, she frowned. “And now you want me to find him.”

Tyler’s face could have been carved from stone. “No, Caroline. I want to know if he is aboard your ship.”

Next to her, Enzo lifted three fingers in her peripheral vision. They’d only been talking for two minutes and it’d felt like twenty.

“Tyler, that’s far fetched even for you. I don’t let random people on my ship. You know that.” She didn’t have to fake the bitterness in the curve of her lips. “If I remember correctly, it was a major point of contention in our relationship.”

He ignored her, only the flex of his jawline a sign that her words had hit home. “I want to board your ship.”

“Absolutely not,” Caroline said flatly. “You have no grounds.”

“I have more than enough circumstantial evidence.” He spread his hand in her view, eyes like flint, shoulders square. “We scanned your ship, and while there are only three bodies registering onboard, we both know you have the capability to hide someone.”

She arched a brow. “That’s a violation of at least three treaties, Tyler.”

Marshall Lockwood didn't seem bothered by that. “I also know that there are at least two smuggling compartments on your ship that are capable of housing a human for short periods of time without them suffering from asphyxiation.”

There were now four compartments, and all of them could hide people for up to four hours without risking asphyxiation but were rarely used for such purposes. Smuggling people was difficult, goods were safer. Goods didn’t talk about ships and captains and give people ideas. But there were some things she couldn’t stomach, and sometimes a girl needed to be prepared.

But Tyler didn’t know that.

It’d been fifty years since she’d let him step foot on her ship. And unfortunately for him, she was hardly the only crew member with secrets. Smuggling had brought such interesting bedfellows into her life, and she’d violate more than three treaties to keep them safe. But her ex didn’t need to know that, and none of it would save her, if he opened fire at her. The point blank range of those canons would destroy her and everyone who would be caught in the crossfire.

Right then, Tyler was a problem and she could show no weakness.

“Circumstantial evidence of what exactly? “ she tilted her head and let scorn drip along her words. “That your super secret prison had an escapee and I am conveniently close to blame? That is ridiculous and we both know it.”

“You’re a Tech Witch.”

Next to her, Enzo tensed at the derogatory term and Caroline let her smile sharpen. Her mother’s blood wasn’t an unknown quality of hers, but saying so here, on this channel with who knows how many witnesses, put him perilously close to breaking the agreements that bound them both.

“Marshall, my ship cleared your security systems ten minutes ago. We accepted the standard cargo check before we left the docking bay, and I am told they were very thorough. Other than requiring a scapegoat in the form of my non-human DNA for whatever inside job you're attempting to cover up, you have nothing.” She nodded when he remained silent. “You have nothing.”

Something beeped, and he glanced down. When he glanced up, nothing had shifted on his face. “I could request you return to the docking bay or face the canons, Forbes.”

Caroline shook her head. It was a threat, but here, for now, she had the upper hand. This kind of PR move for humanity would be costly, but Tyler didn’t worry about those decisions. But him, personally, and the blackmail she had?

“We both know why you won’t.”

The skin near his eyes visibly tightened and she let her smile dimple. They both knew her death would act as a trigger for a number of unpleasant consequences for Tyler. What bound them was contractual, but she had never trusted him to do more than keep the letter of the law, and today had proved she’d been correct in her assessment. If he could have violated the spirit of their contract, he would have. Lucky for her, he couldn’t. Tyler’s secrets could destroy everything he had worked to build in his life, and even now, less than a decade or two from his death, he wouldn’t risk her ruining him.

Her previous lover had always been a coward when it counted. Earth had its enemies, and so did Titan, and she knew almost all of them. Today might cost her, but it could cost him far more.

Letting her knowledge show on her face, she showed her teeth. “Do you even want to tell me who it is that you lost that has you so desperate?”

There was a long, long silence as he stared at her and she just waited. Time was on her side now, the clock burning down. In the back of her head, she counted down.

Sixty seconds. Fifty-five. So close.

The gleam behind Tyler’s eyes turned calculating, and he dropped the name as if it was supposed to mean something, as if it was supposed to bring the weight of her guilt crashing down on her shoulders. “Klaus Mikaelson.”

Caroline just stared at him in surprise; she hadn’t expected him to tell her. The ghosts between her and Tyler faded a little more every year. Humanity might have extended their lifespans as far as they could be stretched, but they would never match those whose DNA held the remnants of long lived, non-human races. Soon Tyler would be one of the few living memories left from the single year of her life she had spent planetside.

Klaus Mikaelson was another.

Gathering her thoughts, Caroline shook her head, forcing herself to focus. “If he is alive, he should be nearing a century on a planet with less medical knowledge than your Station. He should be either senile or dead.” She pushed back a loose strand of hair that slid into her face, the pale gold as much as her mother’s blood as her fathers. “Out of all of us, I’m the only one cursed, remember?”

Next to her, Enzo made a grunting noise of disagreement, his disapproval clear. She waved a hand at him. Her hidden clenched fist relaxed as Enzo bared his teeth but started the sequence to activate the first of what was going to be several jumps. Right then, she didn’t care how much he hated Tyler. They’d be harder to trace once they arrived at the major traffic lanes, but first they had to make it. She didn’t dare take her eyes away from her screen.

Tyler sighed, the sound deep and an echo that caught in her chest. His dark eyes creased, and for the first time the Tyler she’d once known peaked at her from behind the Marshall. “You’ve never been gifted at lying, Caroline.”

She laughed at him, the sound bitter. “No, Tyler. You’ve just never believed me when I spoke truly. I was never your enemy.”

His face told her that he didn't believe her. He never had. “I won’t forget this, Caroline. When we prove that you helped, and we will prove it, not even your precious interstellar laws will be able to protect you.”

The call ended just as their clearance to enter the gate came through. Caroline cut the open line, and immediately started backtracking through her systems to make sure that Tyler hadn’t tried to leave her a present. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Earth, and it’s subjects, tended to see laws as flexible when it suited them.

The initial scrub didn’t take long, she’d never skimped on security and her ship did not endure itself to strangers programs, and the surface diagnosis came back clean. Jaw set, she triggered the deeper scrub that would erase the identifiers that they had used to dock at Titan.

She’d known she’d have to burn the remaining dregs of that life soon, but hadn’t expected it today. Better to make a clean cut, erase her existence here in Pure Human Space now than end up in the darkness of its prison, driven mad by the hum of machines she could hear but not touch.

“Ten seconds until FTL.”

Switching to her main screen, Caroline pulled up the screens to monitor their progress. Closing her eyes as the universe started to blur with the faster than light speed jump, she inhaled slowly and didn’t breathe again until the sound of space tearing around them drowned out the anxious rush of her heartbeat.

It took twenty minutes after they passed through the gate to clear enough space to make the first jump. They didn’t quite dare engage their cloaking device until they left the jump points. It took another precious half hour before they finally winked out of existence as far as radars were concerned. But the muscles along her spine didn't relax until Enzo finally gave her a nod.

“We’re clear. No one followed us, which means they didn’t have enough time to scramble a ship. We’ve got a sixty minute window before this airspace becomes too hot for us.”

Caroline laughed. “Good thing we won’t be here that long. Go ahead and start planning our next jump.”

Enzo tipped his head. “Are we sticking to our plan then?”

“For now. I don’t want to risk picking up a tail, and they won’t be able to follow us from here. As long as we stay out of Federation space, we should be okay for the short term.”

For now. If they were going to stay that way was entirely dependent on what exactly she had gotten them into. Grimacing a little, she hit the comm button. “Bonnie? Everything alright down there?”

There was a pause and then the droll voice of her closest friend came back over the mic. “So far everything is holding up. I did a fast scan once we cleared the gate, and I didn’t find any extra tech that might have been dropped in the ship.”

“Thanks, but we’re clean.” She pressed her hand against the panel, listening to the hum of engines and the computers that were as familiar to her as the back of her hands. The curious hum of its voice. “I’ll be down shortly to deal with our pickup.”

“Better you than me.”

Enzo leaned back, watching her with dark eyes as he waited for her to finish her conversation. “You sure this is what you want?”

Caroline snorted and unbuckled herself. “I think it's a little late for second guessing, don’t you?”

A shrug. “We could space him.”

She laughed, this one far more genuine. “If he threatens you or Bonnie, I promise, he’ll find himself ejected. But until then…”

Enzo crossed his arms, gaze dark. “You think he might know something about your mom.”

Eyes sliding shut, Caroline sighed. She wished she could have given him that as the reason, but it hadn’t been. Not then. Now… “I don’t know if anyone knows what happened to my mom.”

“Be careful, Gorgeous.” Enzo’s mouth tightened at the corners. “The past can make you bleed.”

She knew that far better than anyone should, but arguing with Enzo about unnecessary reminders wouldn’t get her anywhere. “Yeah.”

Tipping back into his chair, Enzo studied her. “I’ve still got a friend or two on that station. I could arrange it so Lockwood stops being such a problem.”

She shot him a look and he shrugged unrepentant. “He has no teeth.”

“Gorgeous, we both know that’s hardly the truth. He’s going to do his damndest to make your life difficult. Even if he sticks to your bargain until he dies, you’ve got nothing to protect you after his death.”

Caroline shook her head. “Legacy means everything to Tyler. I don’t think he’ll so easily let me ruin it.”

Enzo snorted but turned back to his computer. “I’ll make the next jump.”

Understanding it for the grumpy acceptance but not an approval that it was, Caroline lifted hand to acknowledge she heard him, and left the bridge. The door closed behind her, leaving her in the quiet corridors, only the sounds of her boots loud over the hum of the ship as she walked.

She wished she could explain her impulsive reaction to Enzo, wished she could find the words that gave her actions any kind of logic. Particularly since she couldn’t explain to herself.

Walking around the corner, she found Bonnie waiting on her. There was grease smeared on one cheek and her mouth was pulled into a frown. Sighing, Caroline rubbed her forehead. “Are you going to yell too?”

Bonnie seemed to consider that, the data pad she held tapping against her thigh before she sighed. “I’d like to. But would it do any good?”

“Probably not.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She held out the data pad with a sigh. “I still have a bottle of that shit you call liquor in my room. When this is over, you’re going to owe me an explanation.”

Caroline’s fingers curled around the peace offering. “It’s a pretty long story.”

“You noticed I said an entire bottle?”

There wasn’t much she could say to that. “Deal.”

Bonnie nodded and tipped her head towards their small medbay. “Good luck.”

Taking a deep breath, she nodded and pressed her palm to the door, unlocking it so she could step inside. He was waiting for her, the familiarity of him the same punch to her system as it had been before. He’d lost the horrible prison uniform, Bonnie must have felt far more charitable than she’d wanted Caroline to know. But then, her friend had spent her own time in the prison uniforms herself and still avoided the color orange.

But that meant he was now shirtless, his bandaged ribs on display, his expression guarded.

Caroline gave herself a moment to absorb that change in perspective, to take him in. The tumble of curls still touched the tops of his ears, but he’d cleaned up his beard so that only a short stubble remained, leaving behind a man’s face, thin from his time beneath Titan but hardly weak. His eyes were gold touched blue, and awareness brushed down her spine. The decades since she had last seen him were stacked behind his eyes, visible in the way he had grown into his skin.

But the impact of him, the jolting rush of recognition from earlier still lingered beneath her skin. The sudden awareness of who he was and the bone deep hello she couldn’t explain. Which made no sense, had made no sense when she was hauling his ass through Titan. If the boy who had once been kind to her was buried beneath lean muscle and a hardness she recognized from her own mirror, she didn’t see him. This man, with his steady gaze and roughened features was a stranger.

She didn’t know what to think of the way he watched her. He brought so many complications with him. Tipping her head, she arched a brow with more casualness than she felt.

“Werewolf, huh?” Caroline kept her voice even, and the edge of his mouth curled. “I’d have remembered that if you’d mentioned that little detail before.”

He took his time responding, gaze dragging down her body in a thorough perusal that left her skin tingling as if he’d touched her. “Caroline Forbes. I must say, you were not who I was expecting.”

She snorted. “Yeah, well, me either. I wasn’t there to rescue you.”

His gaze narrowed. “Then why were you there?”

Caroline kept her voice bland, shifting her weight to tap one boot against the floor. “New boots.”

And Klaus Mikaelson blinked at her as if the words that were coming out of her mouth were in a dialect he had never heard before. She felt a perverse amount of satisfaction from that. The Klaus she had known had been a few years older and nearly unflappable, outside of the mercurial moodiness of his temperament.

“New boots.”

“Yup. And lucky for you that I decided I needed them. There are reasons that Titan has never lost a prisoner before.” She tossed the data pad in front of him. “I don’t know who or what you were expecting when you made it onto the surface level, but if I hadn’t found you and decided to help, you’d have been collared and sent right back into the depths of the station.”

Caroline wasn’t certain she’d ever shake the shock of it: turning the corner, and finding Klaus standing there. Klaus, who she had thought of only in the safety in the dark of space, when she allowed herself to remember that tumultuous year she’d spent with her feet on solid earth. She had hoped for him to have married, to have had a batch of sarcastic moody children, to have grown old having survived the machinations of his mother.

Another quiet piece of her past disappearing before she’d gained even so much as a hint of a wrinkle.

But he hadn’t, and now she didn’t know what to think.

When she’d seen him, his beard had been too long, the shackles from his cell had still been curved around the bones of his wrists. He’d been slightly hunched, the blood on his uniform not just from whoever had gotten between him and his escape, and the way he stood said something had hurt but he was on his feet.

Somehow, she hadn’t gotten any of that blood on her. Right then, she was regretting that a little. A single touch of his skin against her own, and she’d have managed to avoid some of this conversation as she’d been given the answers. For the first time, she cursed the prison uniform for more than its obnoxious color and terrible material.

And now here she was , struggling to understand the certainty she hadn't felt in decades when she’d seen him. Her mother’s blood never forgot an enemy, but it also never forgot a friend, and once, a very, very long time ago, she’d thought of him as such. The punch of that knowledge had been staggering as they’d stared at each other, too much between them, and she’d heard the alarms blaring from beneath the soles of her feet.

She hadn’t been able to turn, to leave him like she should have. Swearing at him, at herself, she’d moved forward and slid her arm beneath his and gritted out an order to stay quiet and to follow her.

And he had. Now here they were. On her ship, trying to outrun the long reach of Titan. His gaze finally left her face and lowered to the datapad before returning to hers in a silent question.

“Bonnie is med-trained,” Caroline lied easily. “She did a data scan before I came in when she was tapping up your ribs. I know earth uses the prisoners below Titan for experimentation, but did you ever hear them mention what they were putting into your blood?”

“Bonnie,” Klaus said softly. “Is a witch.”

She didn’t lower her eyes. Esther had been a witch. “Is that going to be a problem for you?”

Not even a flicker of a lash. “No.”

“Because if it is,” Caroline said, “I will toss you into the airlock myself. Werewolves can last for a few minutes in the black, you know. Not long enough to live, but long enough to fight for it.”

The yellow in his gaze spread in a wash of power. “Threats already?”

“Duh,” she replied. “This is my ship, my crew. I might have saved you, but you try to harm them, and you’re going to see what it’s like trying to breathe in a vacuum.”

Klaus laughed, low and rich, and it ran across her senses like a touch. “Your threats have gotten better, love. I approve.”

Caroline snorted. “I’m touched. Really.”

He didn’t move towards her, but the sudden intensity to the way he watched her, the wolf clear in his gaze, left her very aware of the careful distance and one table between them. “I think you’ll find that even here, on this ship you’ve claimed and marked as your own, that I am not so easy to destroy.”

She didn’t doubt he believed that, that he was capable of horrible things, even injured, but she refused to give him an inch. Not here, not now. Not yet. Not when her ship would tear itself apart to protect its heart. “So says the werewolf that had to be rescued from humans.”

Klaus’ gaze narrowed, a flicker of deep seated rage there and gone again. “The result of an unfortunate betrayal, one I plan to deal with as soon as I am off this ship.”

There was something dangerous there, something terrible that kept her from asking the questions that lingered on her tongue. “Are you going to be a danger to my crew, Klaus?”

His head angled to the side, and there was nothing soft about his expression. “Will you believe my answer?”

“You’ve never lied to me before,” Caroline said slowly, feeling her way through the strange sense of knowing she hadn’t been able to shake. The buzzing of her mother’s blood. She wanted to believe him. “I don’t have a reason to think you’d start now, though you were apparently keeping some pretty big secrets.”

Klaus went motionless in front of her, the flex of his jaw unexpected as he stared at her. The wolf slowly faded from his eyes as he clearly weighed her words. “I intend no harm to your people, Caroline. Witches or no. But I cannot say the same for my enemies.”

She shoved her fingers through her bangs. “And just who are they?”

“Why did you rescue me, Caroline?”

She blinked. “Does that matter?”

A hint of a dimple curved along his cheek, and Klaus crossed his arms, leaning against the table. She tried very hard to ignore the shift and flex of muscle, the bare skin still on display. The fascinating movement of his tattoo. “Very much, I’m afraid.”

She mirrored his stance, arms crossing across her chest. “And why is that, exactly?”

“Caroline.”

“Klaus.”

“I’ve answered a number of your questions,” he pointed out in a reasonable tone that made her teeth clench. “It's only fair that you do the same, don’t you think?”

“I wasn’t the one rescued.”

His teeth gleamed in the lighting. “A man has reasons to be concerned when a near stranger offers him his freedom. Particularly in such… serendipitous circumstances, don’t you think? The black is full of terrible things. Slavers. Blood Witches. Those influential human scientists who wish to unlock the immortality of magic without the cost. We knew each other a long time ago, love.”

Her eye roll was automatic. “Oh yes, I’ve risked my reputation and my neck to drag you off to a backwater moon so you can become someone’s wolf bitch. How did you guess?”

The hint of amusement that had tugged at his lips disappeared, and something hard entered his eyes. “The truth, if you please.”

It was a velvet threat said in a voice lined in steel. She hadn’t liked that tone from him when she’d been seventeen, and she liked it even less now, knowing of the wolf that lived under his skin. She forcibly reminded herself that she’d have questions if he’s just up and rescued her too. Locking him in the med bag until he was reminded of his manners wasn’t a smart decision. Yet, at least.

She lifted her chin and held that inhuman gaze, unblinking. “You were something of a friend, once. I hadn’t forgotten that and I have no love for cages. Though I suppose I should worry why humanity decided to bury you in their favorite graveyard. There are some things even I won’t look past. Are we going to be enemies, Klaus?”

Truth and lies, they tangled together and she wondered if he saw them. None of that had been in her mind when she’d seen him, none of that had mattered. Her reaction had been inexplicable and confusing, and it wasn’t something she was willing to discuss. Not now, preferably never.

“You don’t want me as your enemy, love.”

Caroline scoffed. “I’m not sure I want you as my friend. The last werewolf I made an acquaintance of was a real dick, and this conversation isn’t shaping up to prove you’re much different.”

“And would that werewolf happen to be the esteemed Marshall Lockwood?” His words were casual, as if that information actually existed outside her head. As if he knew. But Klaus had known Tyler once, and that made her wonder.

“Marshall Lockwood is not up for discussion .”

Klaus brow arched with intrigue. “So the rumors are true.”

“That would depend on the rumors.” It was a strain, to hold that slightly bored expression. To keep her pulse steady.

“Lockwood should have been promoted past Marshall decades ago.” Klaus dragged his gaze down her face, and for a heartbeat she imagined those eyes lingered on her lips. “The why’s have always generated a great deal of speculation. He passes as human, you see. He is also loyal even when that loyalty is detrimental. The rumors of blackmail, of alien involvement have been rampant for years.”

She’d made a point not to follow those rumors, and it was a struggle not to wince. No wonder Tyler hated her. But she remembered the way he’d spat Tech Witch, the way he’d made it clear to anyone around him, and that wince turned to anger. He’d made his choices.

“You’re pretty knowledgeable for a man who was locked away in the depths of Titan.” Caroline said slowly. “Why exactly did they toss you into their comfy retirement home? Werewolves take resources to hold.”

His smile was slow and sharp. “Humanity considers me a threat.”

“That hardly makes you special.” She waved a hand towards the walls of her ship. “Earth considers everyone not fully human a threat. It’s a long, extensive list.”

“True. Let’s say then, that I have made an effort to be noticed.” His eyes glittered. “They are well aware of who I am.”

“How wonderful for you. How?”

Klaus studied her for a long moment. “When you said you couldn’t return, you meant it, didn’t you?”

Her breath caught in her throat at those softly voiced words, the memories they dragged violently to the surface. The way she could almost smell the smoke, feel the splash of her mother’s blood against her face.

“I never lied to you.” Caroline said. “Even then.”

Especially then.

Not when she had a choice.

He gave a nod, the wolf back in his eyes, as if he had come to some internal decision. “Esther didn’t survive you leaving the planet.”

She blinked, frowned. “Esther was amassing a cult following, how did anyone get through that? And how does this answer my question?”

A sharp slash of a smile. “I killed her.”

Caroline stared at him. Esther had been his mother. “I don’t understand.”

He lowered his arms, shifting his weight carefully. “My mother… Esther was a monster. And so was Mikael.”

“They did try to sacrifice my mom, so no arguments there.” She let the bite of her nails into her palm ground her. “But they were also powerful, which is why we ran.”

And why she’d been willing to barter with Tyler’s mother to get him off that world, the one family with limited permission to leave the planet without the terrible protocols. Not that it’s done her any good, in the long run. Tyler had chosen to bury what he was and to become something he wasn’t. And she...

She’d woken to the cold berth of her ship alone, the only clue the blood that had stained the walls, the floors, of what had been her mother’s room. That ship had been destroyed in the heart of a sun, the blood too potent and the horror of it too binding. The ship sang too mournful song, a song of rage and sadness even as she watched it disappear in an explosion that erased it down to the last molecule.

“Yes,” Klaus agreed. “But by rescuing Liz, you allowed the rest of us to find our freedom.” A lowering of his lashes, charm in every word. “I suppose that means you’ve saved me twice.”

For a long moment their gaze held, and the room felt several degrees too warm. It had been Klaus’ hands who had caught her when she had staggered at the weight of her mother. Klaus who had told her to go, as the screams around them had grown in fever pitch as the fires Kol had set to burn began to consume houses.

Clearing her throat, Caroline shook her head. “If you killed Ester that debt is even. But what does any of this have to do with you escaping that planet and pissing off enough people you got tossed into Titan? Stop avoiding my questions.”

Another flash of teeth, a deliberate god behind his eyes. “And where have you been all these years, Caroline?”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

Hand sliding to her hip, Caroline glared. “What do you mean? Space is a big place.”

“You’re not an easy woman to find,” Klaus said casually. “Even when one knows what to look for.”

Unexpectedly, her heart jolted into her throat. “You shouldn’t have been looking for me at all.”

The dip of the crease of his cheeks, the curve of his smile were all predatory. “No?”

“My mother paid her debts,” Caroline said bitterly, chin lifting. “I owe you nothing.”

“No,” he repeated, voice softening. “You do not. I believe if anything, if what you say is true, I owe you.”

Her gaze narrowed, but his eyes didn’t waver from hers. Motioning towards the pad on the table in front of him, she firmed her words. She was done discussing her mom. “I bet Titan’s food sucked. I’ll find you an energy bar while you read that report.”

She turned her back to him, and it itched along her spine. But even a werewolf couldn’t get a clean jump on her in her own ship and to flinch now would be to lose ground. Digging through the supplies they kept for emergencies, she found a shirt that would probably fit with something like regret. Another drawer for one of Bonnie’s stashed meal replacements, and she walked over and set them both in front of him.

For a moment, she imagined she could feel the heat radiating from his skin, even with the table between them. She shook the thought off, ignoring the way she could almost pick out the scent of his skin beneath the sterility of the prison smell. Klaus, for his part, had done as she said and was looking at the data pad, the full line of his mouth pressed into a thin line.

“You’re sure this is accurate?”

“Bonnie doesn’t make mistakes,” Caroline said. “Not about this. And neither do I.”

“Why show this to me?”

She tipped her head and studied him. Considered the words she wanted to say. “Titan is full of the echoes of old ghosts. The kind humans cannot see, even in the black. The kind that skitter along nerves, that flicker with the hum of an engine, that race across a tablet screen in the shape of quick anomalies and distortions. What that station swallows, it keeps.”

There was no judgement in Klaus’ eyes at her reminder of her alien blood, the gifts that left her far more integrated into technology that should be possible. Tech Witch. If only it was so simple.

“So you’ve said.”

“So I did.”

Those brilliant eyes narrowed. “Tell me, love. Your people avoid human space. Yet, here you are. Why?”

Her lips twisted. What few of them were left. “We avoid humanity for good reason. We… the best way to put it is we leave behind our own echoes, and too many… well, this ship would swallow its enemies too. Titan would never allow that sort of integration, but they fear it. What it could become.”

“Titan has no consciousness, no knowing.” Klaus said, as if he’d been prepared for what she would admit. “It’s halls are lined with human nightmares, not the kind your people give shape to.”

“Humanity has never been so simple.” Caroline returned. “The remnants of my people… they litter empty colonies like broken alters. What humanity tries to do with those bits and pieces could never be allowed on earth, could never be allowed to be seen as anything but human invention.”

“Nanotechnology is not new.” He pointed out, referencing the report she’d given him to read, the details Bonnie had included for him. So he could understand. “Humanity has been experimenting with improving vaccinations and healing for more generations than have passed since your people’s first contact. Even in the black, the science of it has trickled out into space. Improved healing, improved health, longer life spans as organs stop failing quite so quickly.”

“What we suspect that they have injected you with is not so simple.” She gave him a brief smile, barely more than the bitter curve of her lips. “Over the last twenty years, we’ve discovered that the scientists on Titan have been less than satisfied with the dozens of prisoners that earth sends them each year as experiments. They’ve turned their eyes towards slavers, towards their own people when it suits them. I can’t imagine how delighted they’d have been, to have found themselves in the position of having a werewolf in their grip. Whatever they injected you with, it’s going to be dangerous.”

Klaus ran his finger thoughtfully down the screen of the pad. “Experiments with what technology survived the fall of your people seems like a bit of an extreme jump in logic. Earth would never sanction such things as the fallout should it be proven would be terrible.”

She’d once thought the same. That had changed. Caroline held out her palm, nudged her chin towards the pad. “There is an easy way to tell. If Bonnie was right. If we’re wrong.”

A simple touch, and she would know just what part her people’s cast off ruins were being used in the torture of those Titan claimed as its own. To see what they had shoved in his veins, this man-made monster who might now carry worse sins in his blood than he knew.

In front of her, the line of his throat went taut, the cords of his throat in sudden, sharp relief. What blue had returned to his eyes disappeared under a wash of gold so potent, she felt it sizzle across her nerves.

“Ah,” he murmured, voice dipping low and deep. “That might be more complicated than you know.”

She frowned. “Why? If they managed to inject you with their bastardized nanonites, touching you will let me confirm. Removing them is the complicated part.”

And would require help. Not something she thought the wolf would enjoy. Not when he was injured.

“Tell me, Caroline, do you know why Earth, why the Federation, put such a strict quarantine on my home world?”

The sudden switch of topics sent warning fingers dragging down her spine. “You mean other than it being infested with witches and apparently the occasional werewolf, the two things they like to pretend don’t exist?” She wrinkled her nose. “I always assumed it was one hell of a prison planet.”

There were a few of those, scattered around the galaxies. Klaus’ homeworld had been unique in that it was beautiful, and it inhabited more than just a prison carved into an otherwise uninhabitable chunk of rock. But it was also full of horrors, and not all of them had been man made.

He laughed softly, but there was no amusement in his eyes. “You’re not entirely wrong. But what they wished to trap there is more complicated than blood and magic.”

“Very few things are more complicated than either of those,” Caroline said carefully. “And all of them are alien in nature.”

The flicker of approval on his face shouldn’t have mattered. “Earth has mostly forsaken its children spread among the stars, but not all survivors consider themselves lost. My mother certainly didn’t.”

“Your mother was a fanatic.”

A tip of his head in casual agreement. “My grandmother called it an artifact, my mother thought it was a map. My father knew it for the danger it was, and it cost him his life.” He gave a careful shrug of his shoulder. “The werewolf homeworlds have long since been thought to be lost, though most people believe their Armadas must disappear to somewhere. Esther sought to change that.”

“The werewolf homeworlds?” Caroline repeated incredulously. “No one even knows if they truly exist, or if they do, how they came to be.”

A thoughtful glance from beneath his lashes. “So you do know the stories.”

“Yes, because they are stories.” She crossed her arms with a scoff. “It’s everyone’s favorite boogeyman bedtime tale. Particularly once their ships started to have more frequent sightings.”

“Enlighten me.”

Caroline rolled her eyes. “Of what, rumor? Urban legend? Seriously, Klaus. What could you possibly have not heard? The stories that blame witches for your existence, the gift that the black pulled from your blood? The ones that blame earth's scientists who went deep into the heart of a solar system that no longer has a name. Or my personal favorite, the ones that blame my mother’s people, though how they came to those conclusions I don’t know. They left behind experimenting on flesh and blood eons before they were destroyed. There is no fact behind any hint of a rumor that currently exists.”

“The werewolf gene is an interesting one,” Klaus murmured. “It breeds true but not always in strength. Ansel thought it had to do with our longevity, that when born on planets where it was peaceful, we didn’t need that strength.”

“Ansel?”

“My father.”

“Your…” staring at him, she struggled to find a coherent thought. It hadn’t occurred to her that Mikael couldn’t have been Klaus’ father. But perhaps it should have. Esther had been a witch, as were her children. All except one.

“What are you saying?”

“Esther’s ambition knew no bounds,” Klaus said. “She planned to use your mother’s blood to find the werewolf homeworld, to activate the map she suspected your people had left behind. And then she hoped to conquer it. But to conquer, she needed a weapon, one she could bind with the familial bond.” Another careful movement as he rolled his shoulder. “Ansel wanted to know if having a son under the horrors of our moon would grant strength back into his line. For a while, they’re politics aligned. It was short lived, as was with most things my mother touched.”

Caroline swallowed hard at the implications of his words. That he was that weapon. That her mom was a key to finishing worlds long lost. “That’s insane.”

“Perhaps. My mother was certainly many things, and sane was not one of them. But my father.” A slow tilt of his lips, the blunt edge of his teeth barely visible. “My father was not wrong. Though he was not entirely right, based on Tyler’s pathetic existence.”

“This,” Caroline said slowly, straightening her shoulders. “Is not your home world.”

The I am not your prey, hung between them.

His smile widened. “Esther did not expect you or your strength to defend your mother.” His wolf glimmered in jagged shards behind his eyes. “That seems to be a weakness in my family, as twice now, you have surprised me, when I know better. I’m very aware of where I stand, love.”

Strength that had eventually failed her. That had left her with nothing but the smeared remains of her family. “Why tell me this? Why bring up any of this?”

“I looked for you,” Klaus said, voice dipping into a caress that was almost a touch. “All these long years that I’ve spent among the stars. Hunted for a mention of your ship, chased every glance of gold from the corner of my gaze. And yet, when I looked for you naught, when my only thought was survival, there you were.”

Caroline’s stomach flipped at his words and she forced herself to hold his gaze. “I didn’t want to be found.”

“So I’ve gathered.” The dryness in his tone almost wrangled a smile from her. “But finding you has never been about just want, Caroline, but need.”

She bared her teeth. “So I am just an alien to you.”

Klaus moved, a slow deliberate shift of his body to remove the barrier of the table between them. Caroline had to sink her heels into the floor to hold her position, and while he didn’t touch her, he was close enough that when he dipped his head, his breath brushed along her chin.

“If only it was that simple.” He tipped his head, the movement strangely wolffish. “If only. You know what I am.”

Her fingernails dug into her palm as she wondered when she’d started to lose control of this conversation. “Yup. Werewolf, asshole, planet born. Big deal.”

An exhaled noise of amusement. “Alpha.”

She blinked. Blinked again. “Alpha of what? A backwater planet that eats its people regularly as it’s own wonderful world of sacrifice? Sounds awesome. Big congrats.”

A dimple creased his cheek. “You wanted to know who my enemies are, love? They are many, and varied. Earth, certainly. A number of werewolf tribes. The families of those whose son’s I left broken in my path to ruling. My inheritance from my father came with a heavy price, but it did not come without its gifts. Thankfully, the Armada did eventually see my value.”

“Armada,” she rasped. Swallowing, she tried again. “The werewolf armada. You are seriously trying to tell me you escaped your homeworld, and… what. You challenged your way right to the top of leadership? In the werewolf armada. The ships that are nearly impossible to find, that are made up of mercenary bands and other wonderful, loving people and they just let you stroll in and start killing people?”

“Yes.”

He sounded so unbelievably satisfied. “Well, clearly that didn’t stick since you ended up in the bowels of Titan.”

“Careful,” he murmured.

“Or what?” She wiggled her fingers, careful to not touch him. “You’re still on my ship, presumed alpha or not, and I can still space you. I probably should.”

An arch of his brow, though nothing about his body said he was worried about her threat. “Oh?”

Caroline gave him an annoyed look. “Have you not listened to a single thing I’ve said? Nanobites, Klaus. My people’s technology that’s been fucked about by humans into who knows what, swimming around in your bloodstream. Do you know what else they put in those things? Trackers.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, ah.” She lifted her chin. “Which brings us full circle to the original problem. I need to see exactly what they injected into you, and then Enzo and I might have to remove them, which is going to be a bitch for everyone. Otherwise dumping you on a planet to apparently contact your armada to come pick you up will mean absolutely shit. You’ll be cooling your heels on Titan in a matter of hours.”

“Enzo.” His voice turned cool, the line of his shoulders stiffening. “Who is Enzo?”

“My co-pilot,” Caroline said. “And someone I trust.”

Klaus moved, a quick shift of his weight that put his nose and mouth excruciatingly close to the skin beneath her ear. His breath was hot and damp, and she froze as he breathed deeply. “You don’t smell of him. So not lovers. Good.”

Caroline spluttered and took two steps back, cheeks hot. “That is none of your damn business.”

“I think you’ll find that is not entirely the case the moment you put your hands on me, Caroline.” His eyes met hers, and there was nothing human in the expression behind them. “You marked me decades ago.”

She straightened her spine, denial on her tongue, even as beneath her feet, her ship hummed with attention. “I did no such thing.”

His laugh echoed harshly between them and he prowled towards her, the line of his jaw set. “No? I disagree. So does my wolf. You’ve been in my blood so long, what does a mere echo of your people compare? Even the other wolves, the ones who sought my favor, who wished for my benevolence never quite dared ask for more than what I offered. They too, saw the claim you’d etched into me.”

“That’s impossible.”

An amused, indulgent glance that spoke of too many things that left her so very aware of how close he was standing to her. “Is it? You know the stories of your people as well as I do. My kind have a similar belief, though it is rare away from our worlds. Of claiming, of mating.”

Her fingertips tingled with the need to feel that uncompromising edge of his jaw and she swallowed. Tried not to think of the way her blood reacted to him, the impulsive need to help him. Mate. Impossible. “Klaus…”

His head lowered, lips lingering so close to her own. “Why did you save me?”

Caroline gave a tiny shake of her head, terrified that she’d give into the need to lean just a little forward. “I told you.”

“New boots,” Klaus murmured. “I suppose it doesn’t matter.” He straightened, and smiled, dimples on full display, cutting deep. “There is an easy way to tell. If I am right. If I am wrong.”

Her throat ran dry.

Klaus spread his arms slowly, moving to lean back against the table. “Do your worst. Go ahead, tell me what runs beneath my skin. All of it. But, Caroline.”

She took in a deep breath, lifting her chin to meet those moon glow eyes, that daunting smile.

“Don’t say that I didn’t warn you, love.”

#my fic #klaroline #klaroline fanfic #klaroline update #i am braced

32 notes · View notes

vulpinmusings · 3 years

Text

Letters from Buxcord #11: An Elemental Headache

In this Monster of the Week mystery, Ash confronts multiple personal frustrations.

Samantha,,

Either you’ve already read the letter I addressed to Noctus or I’m telling you these stories in person, so I won’t bother repeating my unexpected run-in with Meis N’cral a week ago. I’ve spent most of this week refitting N’Cral’s ship, to the best of my limited mechanical ability, into a serviceable fall-back shelter and secure storage for the materials I’ll need to perform the spell that will bring me home.

And to be quite frank, the sooner I can get out of Buxcord, the better.

I also finally got “Mr. Penn” to open up about his true nature. I’m still not sure if he’s the same entity as Nollthep or another “spawn,” but that’s not exactly a deal killer anymore. Penn describes himself as the spawn of a god-like being that’s holed up somewhere in Buxcord, unrelated to that demon sealed in the cottonwood tree but held in place by the same barriers, gathering power in an attempt to break out into the wider world and plunge it all into a state of mindless insanity. Penn has come to care for Buxcord and its populace as they are now, and so is now in open rebellion against his former boss/creator/Master/what-have-you.

A morag after my own heart, wouldn’t you say? And certainly an easier project than Noctus was (and you can tell her that if this letter doesn’t have to go through her to reach you). Don’t worry, I’m not planning to bring him home; I’ll just help him deal with his former master and then get him set on a nice self-discovery path. And at least one ethics lesson.

A couple days after scoring that confession, my dull daily routine was livened up by the uncommon sound of an ambulance siren from the east side of town. Considering the historic trends, I went immediately to Bayou Boating to see what was up. Penn, Lea, and Piper were already there, dealing in various ways with an agitated group of tourists. It appeared that one of their number had suffered a deep cut to their leg during the end of their boat tour, with no apparent cause except for an unusually large wave of water splashing into the boat.

It wasn’t much to go off of, but at this point that’s all it took to get Piper on board with supplying me and the usual suspects a boat to go investigate. And since Fitz apparently hasn’t come to work since before the N’Cral incident, there was nobody that Piper had to work around to get us that boat. (I think Penn’s first solo task should be accounting for everybody that he and his ilk have interfered with in some way or another…)

The attack had occurred not too far from shore, so it was a short trip to what turned out to be an even shorter search. Penn leaned out over the side of the boat, dunked his head underwater, and promptly resurfaced to say he’d seen a strange orb moving through the water. And the instant he finished explaining, the orb rose into view inside an animated tentacle of water. Figuring it to be some sort of elemental construct, I advised everyone to get onto the nearby island so we wouldn’t be quite as surrounded by deadly water. There were a few missed jumps and fumbles, but we all made it ashore without much harm, whereupon I tried to freeze the elemental solid. My spell came out as more of a blast of ice than the intended temperature manipulation, and the orb was knocked out of its tentacle. Piper flew up to grab the orb, but threw it away from herself almost immediately because of how cold it felt. Penn used his razor whip to slam the orb onto dry ground and I hit it with fire, expecting to neutralize the construct with its opposing element.

I severely misjudged. The orb absorbed the fire and formed a fire elemental body from it.

Lea called up a wave of dirt to try and smother the fire, which might or might not have actually put us up against an ersatz golem, but the orb floated itself over the dirt and fired back at Lea. As Lea dealt with that, Penn pulled out his combat umbrella and stabbed at the orb, knocking it back into the water.

I should have left well enough alone, but I hadn’t quite caught on to the thing’s nature, so I froze the area where the orb had gone underwater, and wound up just making it into a massive ice golem, with the orb safely hidden in its center of mass. It punched Lea out of the air, shrugged off a handful of Penn’s blast powder, and then clobbered me when I tried to pull its attention off Lea and also melt through its ice to expose the orb to fire again.

My intention was to carefully work the thing back around to water and then work out a plan to isolate the orb without giving it any other elemental properties, but Penn decided that it would best if the thing was just not near us anymore so we could all catch our breath. So, Penn cast a spell to teleport the elemental away without determining a destination. And it worked, so we were out of danger with no clue where the elemental was now.

Not ideal.

We returned to town, and I considered going to check Simone’s grimoire for any references to adaptive elementals. As we neared the sheriff’s office, however, we heard a commotion and ran over to see Sheriff Ragland and Officer Weaver trying to hold the ice elemental off with shotguns. And there was a crowd of civilians forming to see what was going no.

After we all gave Penn the stink-eye, I told Lea to fly to my apartment and grab Simone’s book while Penn and I went to assist the police. We opened with a combination of an umbrella stab and a Tangler while shouting, in vain, for everyone to clear the area. When the elemental broke free, I magically reinforced Penn’s umbrella as he opened it as a shield. Lea came back at this point, tossing me the book and then landing to summon a wall of earth between the fight and the bystanders as well as vines to restrain the elemental so I could consult the book in peace.

The book helpfully told me that the orb is known as an Arcane Core, an adaptive elemental construct that is drawn to active spells and considered to be a physical manifestation of magic. That made it the second big thing I require for my return trip spell, but it would only serve if unbroken and the only way to preserve its form while neutralizing its threat it to drain the elemental magic out of it.

I don’t think I have ever missed Carmilla and her ever-so-potent magebane gel more than at that precise moment.

When I explained the conundrum to my companions, Penn theorized that he might be able to drain the magic out of the orb and into himself, if he could get into physical contact with the orb for long enough.

At this point, the crowd was becoming very anxious. I… will save that particular rant for later, after I finish telling of the fight. Lea took it upon herself to try to calm everyone down while Penn and I engaged the elemental again. I blasted it with fire hot enough to expose the core but not cause it to shift, which was less than ideal but sufficient for Penn to get a solid grip on the orb. The ice beast punched us both before I could get it in a Tangler, and at that point it was just a matter of holding out until the ice melted away and the orb went dormant in Penn’s grip.

With the danger neutralized, I turned my attention to helping Lea with crowd control. And now it’s rant time.

Have you ever wondered what it would be like if the majority of our world’s population were ignorant of the existence of magic and mythics? Well, pop on over to this universe if you want to see. Or better yet, don’t. I don’t know why those in the know have been so intent on keeping the masses ignorant of magic and whatnot, but the result is a population utterly unprepared to react rationally when an elemental starts rampaging in the streets and the local experts, such as they are, arrive to contain it. Perhaps Buxcord sees an unusually high number of monsters and magic incidents for this world, but that’s even less of an excuse to allow the Buxcord locals to remain ignorant of basilisks in their swamp, feral werewolves at their music festivals, and skvetchte demons and chaos beings locked up in local trees. People can die – have died – because next to nobody knows what to be on guard for or how to properly react when a faerie-spider possesses a guy and invades the local hotel.

There’s only so much that I, with the help of a drug-addicted and half-trained faerie girl and a chaos creature of still-dubious quality, can do if the bulk of the remainder in town just have a collective panic attack when trouble strikes. And I’m not sticking around this town, this skvetchte universe, any longer than I have to.

So, yeah, I’m probably not going to try too hard to help that certain raposinho to correct his experimental portal spell after I get home. Not unless we can figure out how to aim it at any other universe.

-Ash.

#MOTW #Vulpin plays

1 note · View note

weasleydream · 4 years

Text

The life and grief of Percy and Y/N Weasley - Part 4

Here we are for the fourth part! As you will see, things are slowly becoming darker and darker... But I love this part! In fact, I think it’s one of my favourite.

Also, let’s pretend Episkey only works with broken bones (because honestly I can’t remember if it’s the case)

I have forgotten for the previous chapters but the original idea is from @mostmediocreravenclaw <3

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

(gif not mine)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Their first job

When I was little, I used to think my Hogwarts years would be peaceful. I saw myself playing Quidditch, spending sleepless nights with Percy while talking about everything and nothing, being the perfect older sister for Ron and Ginny when their time at school with us would come. Well, all my seven years had proven me wrong. At the end of our sixth year, Ginny had disappeared and had been taken to the Chamber of Secrets. Percy had taken the responsibility to warn our parents, and it had probably been the most difficult thing in his life. Our very last year had been marked by Sirius Black’s breakout from Azkaban and the presence of Dementors around the castle.

I guess that explained why I was kind of relieved when Percy and I passed our NEWTs. We had both had excellent results, and the Ministry of Magic’s doors were wide open in front of us. Percy wanted to be Minister for Magic. It was his ambition since we were little: all his hard work at school, his implication into his prefect and Head Boy jobs, everything he had done until now, he had done it to fulfil his dream. I was confident: one day, our Minister would be called Percy Weasley.

There was a time when I would have the same ambitions as my twin, but eventually, I understood I wasn’t meant for a big career. I was too shy, too introvert, and I had troubles with standing the anxiety. Plus, if Hogwarts had learnt me one thing about myself, it was the fact that I loved taking care of magical creatures. It was something I shared with Charlie, one of my older brothers. My excellent results in Care for Magical Creatures, both for my OWLs and my NEWTs, had permitted me obtain a job in the Beast Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control for Magical Creatures.

I was placed into the Dragon Research and Restraint Bureau. It was honestly the division I wanted the most to be in, and I was quite glad I had been accepted. However, my days weren’t really eventful. No one let me go in the field, and all I had to do was classify some reports. Sometimes, I found reports from Romania, where Charlie worked, but I had never seen one of his.

My free time consisted in few things: I spent as much time as possible with Percy, who was Barty Crouch’s assistant, but his free time was much more rare than mine and when he wasn’t here, I read some books and old reports I took from the Department archives. It was really interesting, and I didn’t learn only about dragons. One day, I had found informations about a service for werewolves support. When I had asked Dad about it, he had answered with a shrug. “It was useless, no one never manifested. It’s been dissolved a few years ago.”

I was currently sitting on my desk, a book about the different species of dragons in the hands, when someone knocked at the door. I looked up to see Percy. He seemed exhausted and was holding a report in his right hand and a paper bag in his left one.

“Mind if I eat with you?”

I glanced at my watch. 3:00 p.m.

“You haven’t eaten yet?” I asked, concerned.

“No.” He sighed.

I gestured him to come and made some place on the desk. Percy practically fell on the chair and yawned longly. I took the report and read out loud its title, amused.

“Cauldron bottoms? Very interesting.”

He rolled his eyes and started to recite why it was so important, because the accidents could be serious, bla, bla, bla.

“Relax Perce, I was just joking. You’re worrying me, though. When was the last time you slept an entire night?”

He took a big bite in his sandwich, obviously not wanting to answer. This was one of my twin’s biggest flaws: he was too much invested in what he did and didn’t mind threatening his own health. I always had to remember him to take care of him, even if he didn’t really listen to me. However, I had to admit I had the same problem.

“It feels like we haven’t eaten together since forever.” I said. Percy nodded.

“I know, I’m sorry for that, Y/N. But, you know, Mr Crouch knows he can count on me and I don’t want to disappoint him.”

“You won’t, don’t worry. I trust you for that and I’m sure he does too.” I smiled softly at him. I was still sitting on the desk, and I just had to extend a hand to ruffle his curly hair.

Percy’s ears became red and he couldn’t help but grin. He always reacted like that when someone complimented him, and I particularly loved being the one making him blush. My way to show him I loved him. He looked at the picture of a dragon in front of him, probably looking for another subject of conversation. He seemed to eventually find one and asked me with a small smile:

“Do you know when Charlie will arrive at home?”

Charlie, along with Bill, would join us at the Burrow and everyone except Mum would go to the finale of the Quidditch World Cup. I was pretty sure Hermione and Harry would be here too.

“I reckon he’ll be here in a week or so.”

“Bet you’re gonna spend hours talking about dragons, am I right?”

“Probably.”

We kept talking about the World Cup, wondering who would be the great victor. It was a current conversation around the diner table since Dad had announced us we would go. When Percy glanced at his watch, half an hour later, he jumped off the chair and barely took the time to tell me he had to finish his report before storming out. These scenes were quite frequent with him, but it didn’t really bother me. I just wished I could spend more time with my twin.

Two weeks later, the Burrow was crowded. Bill and Charlie had arrived a week ago and Hermione and Harry the day before. Percy was right, as soon as he had arrived, Charlie and I had started a passionate conversation about dragons and it had lasted for hours. I had also spent a lot of time with Bill, listening his thrilling adventures in Egypt. It was good to see the family reunited like this, but no one could be happier than Mum.

Mum was a very strong woman. I had always wanted to be like her. When it came to her family, she could be a true lioness, but she also always became so emotional. When Charlie had arrived - he was the first one - and had taken her in his arms, she had cried like a baby.

Her happiness didn’t prevent her from getting angry at Fred and George, though. The first time, she had scolded them because they had given a Ton-Tongue Toffee to Harry’s cousin. This time, she woke me by yelling something about their OWLs and their inventions. I groaned and glanced at the window. Merlin, the sun wasn’t even visible, and Bill, Charlie, Percy and I still had a few hours before apparating in the campsite with Dad and the others. Understanding there would be no use to try and sleep again, I left the room, careful to be quiet, and joined Mum in the kitchen.

“Already up, dear?” Her cheeks were still red from anger.

I just groaned in answer and started to eat some bacon. Then I helped her with a few chores which maintained me busy until our hour of departure. We said goodbye to Mum and apparated at the entrance of the campsite. We asked for our emplacement and joined Dad. Eggs and sausages were boiling on the fire. We were eating when Ludo Bagman arrived, warned by Dad’s signs.He proposed us to bet on the match, and Fred and George took the opportunity to show one of their inventions, betting all their savings in the same time. Dad wasn’t pleased, along with Percy who thought it was inappropriate to show the false wand to a member of the Ministry, even if it was Bagman.

When Barty Crouch arrived, Percy immediately jumped on his feet and proposed him some tea, only to be called Weatherby once more. Fred and George obviously found it hilarious and I glared at them, hoping they would catch the message and stop. It was something really vexing for Percy, and he didn’t take it well at all. Of course, they ignored me and kept teasing him until the moment when we finally reached our seats in the stadium.

I didn’t think the match would be so short, but it barely lasted an hour. We were all heading to our tents, talking animatedly about Krum’s performance. We sat around the little table, mugs with hot chocolate in the hands. I was debating with Harry about one of the penalties when Ginny fell asleep and Dad told us to go into the tents. My little sister snored loudly as soon as her head touched her pillow, but I was still too excited to close my eyes. It was the same for Hermione, and we both sat in my bed.

Hermione was younger than me, yet I had always appreciated her, since her first year at Hogwarts. We were quite similar at the time, but she had grown and we were now a bit different. I still considered her like a good friend, though.

“So, how’s your work at the Ministry?” She kept her voice quiet to not disturb Ginny.

“In fact, it’s boring. No one let me see dragons, my days are spent reading reports.”

“Oh, sorry… And Percy? He seems really implicated.” She remarked, amused.

“He’s way too much. “ I muttered. “He doesn’t really sleep and is always stressed.”

Hermione shrugged while telling me he would eventually relax. She yawned and went to bed, wishing me good night.

It seemed like only a few seconds had passed when Dad barged in the tent, yelling we had to wake up. I jumped off my bed.

“Take care of the girls Y/N, there are Death Eaters!”

No time to dress up. I grabbed a jacket and slipped in it. I was still in my pajamas when I got out of the tend, my wand firmly hold in my right hand. I urged Hermione and Ginny toward Fred, George, Ron and Harry and joined Percy. He was next to Bill and Charlie, rolling up his sleeves. When he saw me, he grabbed my wrist.

“Y/N, you’re going with them.” He nodded toward our younger siblings.

“No way.” I hissed. “I stay with you.”

He was obviously on the verge of arguing but finally gave up. He perfectly knew I could be stubborn when I wanted to.

“Okay, but you stick with me.”

I nodded and followed him between the flaming tents. People were screaming, and I could see the muggles that directed the campsite levitating. Their two children were there too. I groaned in front of this awful sight and ran behind Percy toward the responsibles. I cast as much spells as I could, trying to distract them long enough to rescue the muggles. However, their wands were producing green flashes of light, and they didn’t care about who was touched. The flames were higher on their passage, the campsite felt like a hell on earth.

My heart stopped when I heard a woman screaming. I quickly turned around: she was holding a baby pressed against her chest and was facing two Death Eaters. Without thinking about it, I ran toward her and placed myself in front of her.

“Go!” I screamed.

I was now alone against two. Fortunately, they didn’t seem to be the smartest of the group, and they were still laughing when I petrified the first one. The other stopped, shocked, and tried to disarm me. I quickly created a shield in front of me, and I was trying to tie him up when he send me in the carbonized tents behind me. I caught my breathe and yelled as loud as I could.

“STUPEFY!”

The Death Eater flew back and landed in a burning tent. I got up, wanting to find Percy, but a sharp pain exploded in my ankle. Great. By now, the fights were over and a terrible silence had taken place, only interrupted by the flames crackling. I was only wearing a short and my bare legs were covered in cuts. I limped toward the woods, where I knew I would find my younger siblings. The pain was almost unbearable when I reached the first trees, and it became excruciating when Percy almost jumped on me and we fell backwards.

“Y/N where were you? I told you to stay with me! I was so fucking afraid!”

“You’re swearing? You must have been terrified!” I joked.

He looked up to me with tear in his eyes. His face was concerned, in fact it was one of the first times I saw him that anxious.

“Sorry Perce, but this woman, with her baby… I couldn’t let her face two Death Eaters alone and -”

“You fought against two Death Eaters?” He interrupted me. “Alone?” I nodded. “For Merlin’s sake Y/N, are you crazy? You could have died!”

“But I’m still here. I’m too skilled to die, my dear.”

I wanted to reassure him, but the dangerousness of my acts slowly crept in my mind. He was right, I could have died. I threw my arms around Percy’s neck and he pressed me against him.

“It’s okay.” he murmured.

Dad kneeled next to us and stroke my hair.

“You’ve been incredible, Y/N, but Percy’s right. You shouldn’t have done this.” I nodded once more, not daring to look at him. “Are you hurt?”

I mumbled my ankle was painful and Percy immediately murmured Episkey but nothing happened.

“It’s not broken, you will have to wait until we’re at home. Mum will know what to do.”

He helped me getting on my feet and supported me on our way to the tents without a word. He led me toward my bed and left. Just before getting out, he stopped and murmured:

“Don’t ever scare me like that, Y/N. I don’t want to lose you.”

We slept a few hours - or we tried to sleep, because I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing the Death Eaters - and took a portkey before the dawn. Percy was next to me, helping me walking, and we were a few steps recessed from the others. We saw Mum running outside, hugging Dad then Fred and George. When she saw Percy and I arriving, she rushed toward us and hugged us. Then she placed herself on my other side and we made our way to the kitchen, where she quickly healed my ankle and we ate a needed breakfast. When Dad announced he had to go back to the Ministry, Percy approved and told he would go too. He was back to his pompous self, as usual in front of our family, but I didn’t hear what he said after because the exhaustion took over me and I fell asleep, my head falling in my now empty plate.

The following week had been very difficult for Dad and Percy. Both cancelled their holidays and spent all the days at the Ministry. Dad always came back a bit later than Percy, but my twin had a lot to do with all the accusations against Barty Crouch, along with the secret preparation of the Triwizard Tournament that would take place at Hogwarts. Some tensions appeared between Dad and Percy, along with Hermione who got angry as soon as someone talked about house elves. Personally, I had to face Fred’s and George’s glares. It seemed like they hadn’t appreciated mine at the World Cup, when I wanted them to stop teasing Percy.

The Triwizard Tournament brought me back to Hogwarts for the first time in November. Charlie had sent me an owl, asking me to join him in Romania before the 20th of November. He showed me the reserve he worked in, and it was the very first time I saw real dragons. It was awesome, these creatures were majestic, their beauty was terrifying and enchanting. I helped him and other wizards to bring them to the Forbidden Forest, next to Hogwarts, and paired with my brother in order to control them. Hagrid arrived an hour later with the Beauxbatons director. We talked with him, mainly about Harry whom we were all worried about. And to say he was in danger was an understatement. Once in front of the ferocious Hungarian Horntail, he seemed really small and defenseless. I was biting my nails next to Charlie, who was ready to intervene if things turned bad. However, Harry cast a spell and his broom arrived. After an amazing flying demonstration, he caught the golden egg, beating the three previous Champions.

The second time I went back to the castle was for the Christmas Eve. I had heard Barty Crouch was sick and I knew Percy replaced him for many things, including the Triwizard Tournament. Of course I was happy for him: it was a great occasion to be remarked and maybe to get a promotion. However, I hadn’t seen him in weeks and I really missed him. That’s why, when I had received an owl from him inviting me to attend to the Yule Ball with him at Hogwarts, I had almost screamed of joy.

The Great Hall was decorated with silver frost and plant guirlandes hanging from everywhere. Percy stood straighter than ever as we reached the table intended for the Champions and the jury. He wore a navy blue robe, bought especially for the occasion. My dress was quite simple, it was burgundy red and also brand new. I sat between Percy and Madame Maxime, looking curiously at the Champions. The four of them were accompanied by someone, and I recognized Hermione with Viktor Krum. I wiggled my eyebrows at her and she blushed. Harry came next to Percy and the both of them talked about Barty Crouch. I started a conversation with Madame Maxime: she seemed pleased to see my admiration for her horses.

After the diner - which was excellent, as usual - the Champions went to the center of the Great Hall and started to dance, the music being played by the Weird Sisters. Of the corner of my eye, I saw Dumbledore asking Madame Maxime to dance with him. A few seconds later, a particularly pretty Durmstrang boy came in front of me and took my hand. I glanced at Percy, who was glaring at the boy, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t because it was an unacceptable behaviour. Not from me, anyway. I danced with the guy and when the song ended, Percy appeared behind me.

“Do you want to go for a walk in the gardens?”

I smiled and followed him. Soon, the strange restraint vanished and we were talking about everything and nothing, recalling good memories from when we were young and wondering who would win the second task. We didn’t stay outside for too long, though, because the air was freezing. We headed back to the Great Hall and passed next to Fred who was dancing with Angelina Johnson. George was nowhere to be found, Ginny was dancing with the clumsy boy who had forgotten to give back the Sorting Hat at the beginning of his first year and Ron was sitting next to Harry, obviously angry. Percy and I sat at an empty table, still chatting. Other boys asked me to dance with them, but I refused each time, wanting to spend some time with my twin. It had clearly been a long time since the last time he had forgotten about his work, and I wouldn’t give up on him.

Indeed, I didn’t give up on him at the Ball, and I didn’t give up on him either after Barty Crouch’s disappearance. Percy had to submit to an interrogation about the orders he received by owl. It was very difficult for him, and the worse arrived with the letter who indicated him he wouldn’t be able to judge the third task.

“You can come with Bill, Y/N and I.” proposed Mum during the diner. “We will spend the day with Harry. The poor boy will need a bit of distraction.”

“No, thanks Mum.” Percy answered sadly. “I’m not sure it would be a good idea.”

I was sure he didn’t want to come face to face with Cornelius Fudge, but we couldn’t force him. He got up, leaving his plate half-full of mashed potatoes, and climbed slowly the stairs.

“Mum, I think I won’t come either. I don’t want Perce to stay alone.”

She sighed and nodded. I didn’t follow him, knowing he needed space. My decision didn’t seem to please him because as soon as I told him I wouldn’t go to Hogwarts, the morning of the third task, he got angry.

“I don’t care about what you say, Percy.” I had grabbed firmly his wrist before he slammed the door in front of me. “I stay with you, you have no choice.”

Finally, I managed to cheer him up by babbling on about dragons for hours. He listened to me, finally getting interested, and even asked me to lend him some books.

“Perce?”

We were both lying in our beds and reading.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t worry for your place at the Ministry.”

To be continued

Part 5

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #percy weasley #percy weasley x twin reader #twin reader

38 notes · View notes

aion-rsa · 3 years

Text

“God God – Whose Hand Was I Holding?”: the Scariest Sentences Ever Written, Selected by Top Horror Authors

https://ift.tt/3kHWU1Y

Many people have a very intimate relationship with books. And horror books can get under your skin like no other medium, whether you’re peering at a scary novel under the covers as a youngster or devouring new or classic horror as a grown up. Good horror writing sticks with you.

For Halloween we’ve attempted to round up some of the scariest sentences ever written – and who better to ask for their recommendations than some of the finest horror writers and editors around? We asked some of our favourite experts to tell us the line that scared them most and why. Any suggestions of your own? Let us know in the comments.

To Serve Man by Damon Knight

Scariest sentence: “It’s a cookbook,” he said.

Is there a better whammy of an end line than this? Ten to one you’ll know the story that precedes it: Seemingly benevolent aliens, the Kanamit, arrive on earth, promising peace and prosperity. The aliens are as good as their word, and start whisking “lucky” humans off to their planet for a “ten year exchange programme”. A U.N translator, who (rightly) thinks this is all too good to be true, sets about translating the aliens’ favourite book, which, from its title, “To Serve Man,” is assumed to be an innocent handbook. It ain’t (see the last line). The story and its funny/bleak ending has haunted me since I first read it as a ten-year-old, way too young to consider that it could be read as an allegory about the horrors of colonialism. Back then all I could think about were the people the Kanamit had lured aboard their ships, unaware that they were destined for the table (or the Kanamit version of Masterchef). It still gives me chills. – Sarah Lotz author of Missing Person out now from Hodder.

I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream by Harlan Ellison

Scariest sentence: “I have no mouth. And I must scream.”

If I tell you the name of this Harlan Ellison story, it’ll give away the last line… “I have no mouth. And I must scream.” I remember when I first read that ending, only to find myself caught in a loop where those two sentences kept echoing through my head. Reading it again right now, it’s still hard not to pinch my lips as tightly together as possible and try giving the ol’ lungs a good bellow. Still sends shivers down my spine. – Clay McLeod Chapman, author of The Remaking, out now from Quirk Books

Movies

How Hulu’s Books of Blood Movie Taps The Mind of Clive Barker

By Don Kaye

Cabal by Clive Barker

Scariest Sentence: “She knew what men afraid, and afraid of their fear, were capable of.“

According to some criminologists, the root cause of many violent acts isn’t anger but fear. Fear of rejection, of failure, of abandonment, of loss. In this early novel by Barker, the link between fear and violence is only subtly hinted at–which makes it all the more frightening. He alludes to the heroine��s personal history with violent men, leaving the reader to fill in the blanks. – Andrew Schaffer, author of Secret Santa, out 10 November from Quirk Books

The Sibling by Adam Hall

Scariest sentence: “He’s put the clown in her room,” Lorraine said quietly.

As a species, our goal is to keep clowns out of our bedrooms and living spaces and yet here’s some monster deliberately inserting a clown into someone’s room, ignoring the fact that since at least the dawn of time clowns have been mankind’s natural predator. The resigned tone of that “quietly” really drives home the horror because clearly this is not the first time. – Grady Hendrix.

Squelch, John Halkn

Scariest sentence: “It still doesn’t make sense to me. Moths attack sweaters and fly around light bulbs. They don’t devour humans.”

It doesn’t make sense to me, either, but if moths have stopped attacking our clothing and started attacking our bodies then count me out. I’m done. – Grady Hendrix.

Night of the Crabs by Guy N. Smith

Scariest sentence:“What a beautiful night,” Pat remarked, as they passed alongside the barbed-wire fence which enclosed War Department property. “If only we didn’t have to worry about giant crabs.”

Sometimes you just wish you lived in a simpler world. – Grady Hendrix.

The Farm by Richard Haigh

Scariest sentence: “The pigs,” then her control snapped. “Look, they’re coming out,” she shrieked. “Oh, sweet Christ. The pigs!!”

Every time I leave the safety of New York City I fully expect this to be the last sentence I hear as I am devoured by angry livestock. – Grady Hendrix, author of The Final Girl Support Group out July 2021 from Titan Books

The Girl Next Door by Jack Ketchum

Scariest sentence: “I’m not going to tell you about this. I refuse to.”

That’s half of chapter 42 from Jack Ketchum’s The Girl Next Door. And The Girl Next Door is a novel that, just as Joe R. Lansdale says at the head of his story “The Night They Missed the Horror Show,” doesn’t flinch. So, if the narrator is looking back to having seen something that even he can’t put on the page, then . . . how bad must it be, right? I’ve talked to other readers of this novel and they’ve told me about chapter 42 as if the narrator actually fleshes it all out for us, and they (myself as well) all flinch as if traumatized from having had to read those words. Except they never did read the words of what actually happened. But that’s Jack Ketchum, for you. He doesn’t need to actually say it on the page to get it into our head. Worse, this is a chapter that never leaves you, either. Worse than that, you kind of become complicit just for reading it. – Stephen Graham Jones author of The Only Good Indians, out now.

In the Hills, the Cities by Clive Barker

Scariest sentence: “In Popolac a kind of peace reigned. Instead of a frenzy of panic there was a numbness, a sheep-like acceptance of the world as it was. Locked in their positions, strapped, roped and harnessed to each other in a living system that allowed for no single voice to be louder than any other, nor any back to labour less than its neighbour’s, they let an insane consensus replace the tranquil voice of reason.”

As a much younger person, reading this story for the first time, I was overtaken by awe at the imagery; not unlike Mick who chooses to hitch a ride on the impossible doomed giant made of city denizens. Re-reading it now decades later, the story and these lines fill me with bone-deep dread. Like the referee/car thief and Mick’s lover Judd, I cannot bear to view the inevitable fall. – Paul Tremblay, author of Survivor Song, out now from Titan Books.

Home Burial by Robert Frost

Scariest sentences: ”Don’t – don’t go. Don’t carry it to someone else this time. Tell me about it if it’s something human.”

The line here that I consider scary is ‘Tell me about it if it’s something human.’ Because of the implication that people may carry within them things that are not human. In this case, I imagine the ‘it’ that may not be human to be something so deeply felt and instinctive that it is pre-language – and so pre-human, almost. Something primordial that requires translation or mediation – and perhaps in that, change or diminishment – in order to be sensible to another sentient being. It is the suggestion that maybe our most fundamental aspects or thoughts – our most important feelings – cannot be properly communicated that is terrifying, to me. It makes me think of each person as a dark pool, with their lived experience and true feelings becoming manifest at the bottom, and the communication of these things to others being only what is visible through the surface of the water, from above.

As much as I do believe that all communication is imperfect, and that it is difficult for people to know each other truly, I take comfort from two things – one is love, which is, I think, a kind of deep, fundamental knowing and acceptance of each other. The other is fiction, which (in my opinion) is often an attempt at translating ideas and feelings that, coming from our deepest places, we don’t otherwise have the language for. – Tom Fletcher, author The Witch Bottle, out 12 November from Jo Fletcher Books.

The Talisman by Stephen King and Peter Straub

Scariest sentence: “You’re the herd now, Jacky.”

I read King & Straub’s The Talisman when I was 15, at a time in my life when I’d said goodbye to one bunch of friends and hello to another, and the friendship between Jack Sawyer and his werewolf friend Wolf resonated strongly with me. In Wolf’s culture werewolves are farmers and fiercely protective of their herds who they protect by locking themselves away every month. The problem is that Jack and Wolf are on the run and Wolf’s change is coming upon him, and there’s nowhere to shut Wolf away. So when Wolf turns to Jack with blazing eyes and says this, it’s simultaneously a promise of protection (‘I will die for you’) but also a warning (‘I will tear you to pieces’). The chill with which Jack realises that his best friend loves him but will probably kill him anyway has stayed with me ever since. – James Brogden, author of Bone Harvest, out now from Titan Books

Movies

I Am Legend: Why Can’t Matheson’s Masterpiece be Done Justice on Film?

By Dan Hajducky

I Am Legend by Richard Matheson

Scariest sentence: “The watch had stopped”

I think a lot of us can relate to the feeling of getting caught up in our work and letting the hours pass us by without much thought. In the case of Robert Neville, the central figure in Richard Matheson’s seminal I Am Legend, getting lost in the hours is the most horrific thing he could possibly do. The simple four-word-sentence that has scared me more than any other in all my days of reading is “The watch had stopped.” If you’ve read the story, I’m sure you remember how those words burned into you. – Rachel Autumn Deering, editor of Hex Life, out in paperback from Titan Books on November 10 2020

One for the Road by Stephen King

Scariest sentence: “And I think she’s still waiting for her good-night kiss.”

I’m not easily scared, but occasionally I get a real chill up my spine. Shirley Jackson did that with the last line of The Haunting of Hill House. But if we’re talking about one line that lingers, that still makes me remember the way it felt the very first time I read it, I have to go with the last line in Stephen King’s short story “One for the Road,” from his collection Night Shift. It’s a vampire story, a sequel to ’Salem’s Lot, about a family whose car is trapped in a blizzard on the outskirts of a town plagued by vampires. That last line is “And I think she’s still waiting for her good-night kiss.” There, I just felt it again. That shiver. All these years later, it still works on me. – Christopher Golden, editor of Hex Life, out in paperback from Titan Books on November 10 2020

The New Mother by Lucy Clifford

Scariest sentence: “Now and then, when the darkness has fallen and the night is still, hand in hand Blue-Eyes and the Turkey creep up near to the home in which they once were so happy, and with beating hearts they watch and listen; sometimes a blinding flash comes through the window, and they know it is the light from the new mother’s glass eyes, or they hear a strange muffled noise, and they know it is the sound of her wooden tail as she drags it along the floor.”

The scariest sentence ever is from The New Mother by Lucy Clifford. The strange tone of the writing, the situation in the story and the fact that the new mother is not in any way human… – David Quantick, author of Night Train, out now from Titan Books

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

Scariest sentence: “God God! Whose hand was I holding?”

This scene perfectly conjures the feeling of being afraid in the night. Distance, time, sound – all the natural laws of the daylight world grow slippery and loosen. It’s a unique sensation – no other fear has the visceral, unhinged quality of cold terror in the dark. Shirley Jackson puts all of this on the page – she takes Eleanor and the reader into that same heightened, accelerated state, she makes our hearts race, she makes us feel alone, disoriented, lost in the night with only a friend’s hand to cling to. And then she saves us – the lights come on, our heart rate slows, and the rational world seems to settle into its proper channel again. And at last Eleanor sees: the friend whose comforting hand she held in the dark has been on the other side of the room all along. – Catriona Ward is the author of The Last House on Needless Street out 18th March 2021 from Viper Books

The Haunting Of Hill House: How the Extraordinary Episode 6 was Made

By Louisa Mellor

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

Scariest sentence: “God god – whose hand was I holding?”

It’s from a scene about two-thirds of the way through the novel. Eleanor and Theodora go to sleep in their adjacent beds in one of the many bedrooms in Hill House. They sleep with the lights on because of previous frightening incidents. But Eleanor wakes in the night to find the room plunged in darkness, and hears an eerie voice muttering from the next room. The darkness and the frightening sounds go on endlessly, and Eleanor is filled with a mounting sense of dread. She reaches out blindly for Theodora’s hand and holds on tight.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

But when the lights finally come back on, Theodora is several feet away, sitting up in her own bed, too far away for Eleanor to have touched her. So the hand she was holding belonged to someone or something else. It’s a brilliantly oblique bit of horror – the realisation that the monster was right alongside you, inside your guard – and every adaptation of the novel references it in some form or other. But I don’t think you can beat Jackson’s chilling, deadpan prose. – Mike Carey author of The Trials of Koli, out now from Orbit Books

Books

Who Was The Haunting of Hill House Author Shirley Jackson?

By Don Kaye

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

Scariest sentence: “No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.”

I’ll be surprised if no one else has picked these sentences, although maybe not, because I’m blatantly cheating for choosing the entire first paragraph of The Haunting of Hill House. It is a classic of looming dread, and it’s probably generated more commentary and criticism than any other first paragraph in a horror novel. I love it. – Ellen Datlow, editor of the Best Horror of the Year annual series.

A Head Full of Ghosts by Paul Tremblay

Scariest sentence: “It was so dark it was like nothing was there in the room but us. Only the nothing was actually something because it filled my eyes and lungs and it sat on my shoulders.”

Paul Tremblay perfectly captures our universal fear of the dark in these two lines from A Head Full of Ghosts. That made the flesh on my skull crawl when I read it. The wording is simple but so effective: in one, two, three increasingly creepy instances Paul transforms what’s simply darkness into the tangible, the intimately dangerous… as darkness tends to do. – Thomas Olde Heuvalt, author Hex and Echo, forthcoming from Nightfire in 2021

Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs

Scariest sentence: The Black Meat is like a tainted cheese, overpoweringly delicious and nauseating so that the eaters eat and vomit and eat again until they fall exhausted.

I read Naked Lunch in high school and it was a mind-destroyer. Thankfully, it is also a mind rebuilder. You can turn to any page and find sentences that bewildered, disoriented, horrified, and excited me. So that’s exactly what I just did: I opened the book randomly to page 55 and found one. Disgusting, delightful decadence! – Daniel Kraus, coauthor with George A. Romero of The Living Dead, out now from Tor Books.

The Masque of the Red Death by Edgar Allan Poe

Scariest sentence: “And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.“

It’s ‘illimitable’ that does it for me, though the capitalisations and the against-the-advice-of-grammarians superfluous first and second usages of ‘and’ add quite a bit. That first ‘And’ – the one your teacher told you not to start a sentence with – is a pointed touch and does a lot of work, indicating that all the bad stuff in the rest of the sentence is a consequence of what’s gone before in the story … which, this season, seems like the most pointed tale of mystery and imagination ever written. – Kim Newman author Anno Dracula 1999 Daikaiju out now from Titan Books.

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

Scariest sentence: “In the unending, crashing second before the car hurled into the tree she thought clearly, Why am I doing this? Why am I doing this? Why don’t they stop me?”

Discussions of the prose of Shirley Jackson’s monumental The Haunting of Hill House tend to focus on its famous opening paragraph. Certainly the beginnings of both the novel’s first and second chapters offer a wealth of riches for scholarly consideration, rhetorical analysis. Yet it’s this long sentence from the novel’s second-to-last paragraph that comes to mind if I’m asked to name the most frightening line in the book. Indeed, it seems to me one of the most frightening sentences of any novel or story I’ve read. Obviously, there are lines whose immediate impact is greater, which have a more substantial visceral effect (Clive Barker’s fiction is rife with these). But I’m not sure any echo in quite the same way. At this moment in Jackson’s narrative, Eleanor Vance is being made to leave Hill House, the dwelling with whose structure her personality has become entangled and confused. Seemingly unwilling to be separated from the place, she steers her car straight toward an enormous tree at a curve in the driveway and steps on the gas. “I am really doing it,” she thinks, “I am doing this all by myself, now, at last.” This would be an awful enough end for Jackson’s protagonist, but with the sentence that follows and finishes the paragraph, she gives the screw a final, diabolical turn. Eleanor experiences a moment of clarity, which tells us that her thoughts of just a line before were not clear. She is not accelerating toward the tree of her own volition—or, not only of her own volition. Something else is at play here, some other factor. Is it the “whatever” Jackson has described walking in Hill House, the unspecified, (possibly) supernatural force (which might be any one of a number of ghosts, or an aggregate of those ghosts, or the house itself, brought to occult life by the peculiarities of its design)? Or is it some submerged part of Eleanor—guilt at her role in her mother’s death, or anger at her expulsion from the group brought to Hill House to study it? She doesn’t know, and she is trapped in her unknowing, as the final instant of her life stretches on and on, “unending.” Her ultimate motivation obscure to her, all she can do is wonder why no one is stopping her. With hideous irony, the power, the control Eleanor was celebrating a moment prior turns on her, her freedom becoming the freedom of death. The line passes as quickly as the crash it describes, and in its speed, it’s easy to miss everything going on it. To say it’s another example of Jackson’s skill as a writer feels somehow inadequate, as it doesn’t get at the way the sentence braids claustrophobia, terror, and confusion. It’s the kind of writing that haunts you in quiet moments, long after flashier, louder lines have faded into silence. It’s the kind of writing that reminds you of the horror story’s particular power, its reach and its resonance. – John Langan, author of The Fisherman, out now.

Pet Sematary by Stephen King

Scariest sentence: “Sometimes dead is better.”

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Nobody says this line better than that guy in the first Pet Sematary movie who used to play Herman Munster. Although John Lithgow did his best. King struck on an age-old wisdom when he showed us the folly of trying to bring people back once they’re gone. Just as WW. Jacobs did in The Monkey’s Paw and Shelley demonstrated (albeit piecemeal) in Frankenstein. You’ve got to be careful what you wish for. Sometimes, dead really is better, and far less likely to come back and stab you to death with a scalpel. C.S. O’Cinneide is the author of Petra’s Ghost, out now from Titan Books.

Pet Sematary by Stephen King

Scariest sentence: “Darling,” it said

This line has to be read in the context of an entire, brilliant novel that went before. It’s really not something I want to give away, because of spoilers, but if you’ve read this one, even hearing the final line again should send a shiver through you. The writer was at the top of his game – and that’s saying something – and it remains his most terrifying novel. Here’s the line: “Darling,” it said. – Tim Lebbon, author of Eden, out now from Titan Books

The post “God God – Whose Hand Was I Holding?”: the Scariest Sentences Ever Written, Selected by Top Horror Authors appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/31T5a7G

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

2 notes · View notes

elena-mayfair · 5 years

Text

Shadow from a past

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader, Ethan Hunt x reader (it's complicated), John Wick x reader (wait for it)

Warning: None

Word count: 4842

Disclaimer: I don’t live in New York and never been there so everything is based on my own imagination and sources like movies, tv and games. Forgive me any inconsistencies with a real world. Also I do not own the gifs, credits to the authors. Also also, English is not my first language so I apologize for any possible mistakes.

Summary: I don’t want to spoil to many details so lets just say it is crossfiction between Supernatural and John Wick with a bit of Mission Impossible.

Shadow from the past: Chapter 1

“Be careful while looking into the darkness. Be careful because you might like what you find there”

Dreams. They can be blessing and the curse at the same time. When you hope for them to come usually they are nowhere to be found. Or worse, they are coming but they are not exactly what you were hoping for.

***

“Concierge. How may I be of service?” soft male voice with a slight French accent spoken to the phone.

.........

“It’s Y/N/L. Is he back?”

…

“Miss Y/L/N. I am sorry but I have not seen him tonight”

…

“Thank you. Please let me know if he shows up”

….

“Of course miss Y/L/N.”

….

“Thank you”

….

“Miss Y/L/N…” soft voice spoke again after brief silence “I don’t mean to overstep any boundaries here but how is your wound?”

“What wound?....” no response on the other side of line “Charon? What wound?”

“There is a bullet in your arm....there is a stab wound in your abdomen and left thigh. You are going to die…and there is nothing he can do about it. You are going to die….and no one will mourn after you…”

….. … … … …..

***

You abruptly opened your eyes. You were lying in the bed breathing heavily trying to pull yourself back from a dream. Room was completely dark, one of the benefits of not having a windows in the bedroom. You slowly started gaining conscious. Your hands drifted to your stomach subconsciously but your cold fingers did not found anything suspicious. You slowly and gently got up from a bed trying not to wake up man who was sleeping right next to you.

“It was just a dream” you thought to yourself rubbing your eyes “just a fucking dream”.

You got up from a bed and quietly went to the bathroom. You shut the door behind you and turned on the light. Sudden, sharp and unapologetic whiteness of the celling lamp was hurting your eyes but at the same time it was good for bringing you back to reality.

“Fuck I look like shit” You looked at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes seemed to be tired and sad at the same time, there were visible dark circles below. You haven’t dream this kind of nightmare for years.

“Screw it…there is nothing I cannot fix with a make up” you thought to yourself while splashing cold water on your face.

“Hey sweetheart” you felt a hand wrapping around your waist. You stood up from a bathroom sink with your eyes still closed only to feel him standing right behind you “Having hard time to sleep?” he asked with a husky voice burying his face in your neck and kissing you lightly.

“Dean...” you whispered and put your hands over his wrapping his arms tighter around you “Did I wake you?”

“Nah…alarm clock did” he replied brushing his lips over your neck.

“Liar” you whispered “what time is it?”

“After 6am”

“Damn… it is way too early to be awake” you sighed “Coffee or bed?” you asked turning yourself in his arms to face him. He looked adorable with his messy hair and sleepy green eyes.

“Sweetheart as much as I wish to go back to bed with you….” he started

“I know I know…research, we got work to do blah blah blah” you cut him off annoyed a bit “I’m gonna make some coffee than” you kissed his cheek and left him in the bathroom for his morning routine.

You dressed yourself quickly. Black sweatpants and black tank top seemed like a good option for not such a good morning. You tight your hair in loose messy bun just enough so they would not fell on your face. You grabbed your phone from a night stand and brown leather which was hanging loosely on the chair. Coffee was the mission but on your way to kitchen you decided to take a small detour and walk outside for some fresh air.

Morning was cold and gloomy, dark clouds were all over the sky and morning sun was nowhere to be found. You reached to your pocket for a package of cigarettes and a lighter. It was a routine already. After a nightmare like that you needed some cold air and cigarette.

“What the hell was that” you thought to yourself inhaling a smoke. You closed your eyes enjoying a morning cigarette and you saw it all flashing back. This elegant, modern classic room…old rotatory phone, black satin sheets on the king size bed, Blanton’s Single Barrel Bourbon on the night stand right next to fully loaded Glock 26 and your body cover in blood. You put a cigarette into your mouth and started rubbing your left shoulder “Some wounds will never heal” you thought to yourself.

Dream caught you of guard. True, you were used to a nightmares, you had them since you could remember, way before you entered supernatural world. Perks of being a witch. Your dreams were always vivid and felt very very real. Sometimes there were more than just a dreams. Premonitions would be more accurate, visions of…you didn’t know exactly of what. It’s not like you foreseen the future. It was more a feeling, a warning manifesting through your dreams. Sometimes you had hard time to interpret them correctly and you never talked about it with Dean or Sam. They would understand but you didn’t want to worry them. Especially Dean who was worrying constantly even if he was doing his best not to show it. And there was of course another site to all of it…he did not knew everything about you. There were things that you left hidden from everyone, well almost everyone, but Dean was one of the people that you kept secrets from. Not because you didn’t trust him, you did. He was your friend, your partner, your safe haven and for over 6 years now. And that was the reason why you kept a secrets from him. You didn’t want to ruin what you found here. But past is a past...it creeps out in the darkness, lurks form the shadows, and you can never outrun it.

You inhale thick smoke one last time and you went back to a bunker. Smell of coffee hit your nose and you smiled to yourself hearing Gimmie Shelter by The Rolling Stones playing in the kitchen. You entered a kitchen and saw three steaming cups of coffee on the table, two black and one white, just as you liked it. Sam was sitting in front of his laptop going through morning news as he did every day. Dean on the other hand was behind stove waiving plastic spatula to the beats of music and humming words of the song under his nose.

“Rise and shine Y/N!” he smiled to you “bacon and eggs what you think?”

“Nah thank you I had a breakfast already” you smiled sarcastically sitting down opposite to Sam.

“Yeah… I can smell your breakfast up here” Dean frowned “I thought we’re passed this subject”

“Oh gimmie some brake Dean!”

“I’m just saying smoking ain’t good for ya sweetheart”

“Yeah yeah…and your greasy bacon is?” you snapped back “Dean I don’t have a strength to argue with you before my morning coffee”

“How about some smoothie?” Sam asked lifting his head from a screen of his laptop.

“That sounds more like it. Thank you Sammy” you agreed with a smile

“Oh so that’s how it is?!” Dean teased “smoothie over bacon and eggs?! What’s wrong with you people? Smoothie for god sake…”

“I prefer something energizing and easy to swallow at the morning. You know that hun” you replied with a slightly apologetic voice “I appreciate a gesture but I’m really not feeling like eating anytime soon” you added.

“That bad huh?” Sam asked placing a banana-strawberry smoothie in front of you “Dean mentioned that you had a rough night” he added seeing your puzzled face.

“Yeah, but not that bad as he described it. I had worse”

“You looked pretty freaked out” Dean said sitting to your right with a plate full of eggs, bacon and crispy toasts on a side.

“Like I said…”you said changing your voice slightly to emphasize your words “I had worse. Can we change subject? Sam, you found something good?”

“Yes actually. I believe I found us a case” Sam replied looking back at the screen of his computer.

“Great!!” you almost clapped your hands with excitement. You were feeling very much like hunting today “what is it? Ghost, demons, werewolves, shape shifters, vampires? Please say vampires” you added with a childish voice.

“Someone is eager to hunt…” Dean noticed.

“What?! Don’t blame a girl for need to hunt things and save folks” you replied with most innocent smile that you could master in this moment.

“Mhm…”Dean hummed “more like to put a bullet or ten in some monster head” he pointed out sarcastically.

“I don’t know yet to be honest” Sam continued ignoring your little exchange with Dean “Twelve bodies dropped dead”

“Where?” Dean asked chewing on his bacon.

“New York” Sam replied “One witness reported over dozen of dead bodies in one of the fancy clubs in Manhattan. All brutally murdered, at least 3 bullets per body”.

“That doesn’t sound like us. It’s more Gangs of New York than Ghostbusters” Dean mumbled through eggs.

“Maybe. But there is more to the story” Sam scrolled a bit through the article “Witness is 25 years old Karen Davis, collage student. She stated that over the course of about 5 minutes she heard multiple gun shots and saw bodies dropping on the floor. She run outside along with other people. She called police and when cops showed up she went back to club with a company of three officers. And this is where it’s getting interesting. All bodies were gone. No trace of a gun shots, blood, bodies or anything. Like nothing ever happened”

“So what cops are saying?” Your interest definitely peeked.

“Nothing. Mass hysteria caused by a prank. No bodies, no case” Sam replied.

“Worth checking out” you stated “maybe it’s a hunting. It’s a New York. Lots of people could die in there. We’ve seen that before. Ghost trapped into loop reliving their own death”

“Alright looks like we do have case” Dean drank what left of his coffee and stoop up “You kids go grab a gear and pack our stuff and I’m going to check on baby. It’s a day ride to New York”

“Fancy club in New York…” you sighed “That means suits, heels and ties”

“That’s right baby! It is time for tight skirt and heels!” Dean smirked at you and left to garage.

***

Two days later you stood in front of NYPD 14th precinct in Manhattan New York. It wasn’t your typical hunting area. Rarely were you hunting in the big cities like New York, frankly you could remember one or two cases which you took in big cities. All of it due to the fact that it was definitely tougher to do your job here than in small cities. People were tougher to crack, harder to talk with and they usually pretended that they see nothing even if they undoubtedly saw something. And police…police was whole different story all together. Let’s just say that it was easier to fool small town cop then big city cop. But couple last weeks were quiet and frankly you all started to actively search for a job. You especially were bored out of your mind and annoyed with your daily routine. Because what hunter can do when there is nothing to hunt? Argue with Dean over socks he left again next to the bed in your shared bedroom. Or his boxers he left on the floor in the bathroom. Or how messy bathroom sink looked like every time after you finished your make up. Or the fact that he wants to watch Aliens six time over last two weeks. Or about how much he drinks, or how much you smoke. Or how much Sam is annoyed by both of you. Or the fact that you forgot a pie…again.

It was about time for a hunt because you all were starting getting on each other nerves.

“Alright, time for a show” you thought to yourself looking at your reflection in the Impala windshield.

“You look absolutely amazing” Dean complemented sizing you from head to toe.

“Well thank you mister” you smiled with a charm. You knew very well how good you look. You did your absolute best today. When putting your outfit today you decided to look professional but sexy and dangerous at the same time. You decided to wear black leather-ish fitted pants with high waits, black sleeveless satin blouse unbuttoned just enough to cause a distraction to any cop that you will talk to today. You left your heels home, only woman knows how hard it is to run in heels, and you bet on your trusty suede booties which looked like they were one with a leather pants. On top you put your favorite brown leather jacket which was always useful, especially for hiding gun on your lower back. Hair you put into tight, sleek high pony tail.

“Still got it” you thought to yourself satisfied of the look that you managed to put together. It was New York, and you had to be honest with yourself, you and New York had a history together. As much as you wanted to suppress memories creeping out in every corner you couldn’t. There was something odd about being back in Big Apple. Something strangely comforting and familiar yet oddly unnerving at the same time. Something was off and deep down you felt that clearly.

Dean stood right next to you and fixed his tie just to teas the fact that you were checking yourself out in the windshield.

“Well how do I look?” he winked at you.

“Dangerous… if you get any lucky maybe some foolish girls will end up in your bed today” you winked back at him and walked towards the precinct.

“If you get any lucky maybe you will score today too. With this ass it won’t be hard” he teased quietly but loud enough so you could hear him.

“Hush! Behave yourself” you scolded him with a smile “Be professional, we got work to do”

“Yes mam!” with that Dean approach the counter “Agent Page and Tylor FBI” he introduced himself and you flashing badge in front of the officer.

“We’re here about shootout in the Skyfall club” you followed flashing your badge and slightly hovering over the counter. You didn’t even have to think about what you do or what you say, it was routine already for Dean and you. You did that together way too many times.

“Follow me agents.” Police officer replied shortly with a slightly shaky voice and he led you to the commissioner office.

“Like taking candy from a baby” you thought to yourself satisfied that everything was going smooth like usual. Until it didn’t…

….

It was only split of second, you weren’t even truly sure if you really saw what you thought you saw. Or more like who you thought you saw. Maybe it was a wave of brown hair, or way he walked, or the smell of leather, fresh air and Code by Armani which followed him. All of that was more than enough to lose your cool for a moment. You slowed down loosing your rhythm with Dean and your eyes followed the smell and the felling.

….

“Was that…” you thought to yourself.

……

“Agent Tylor?” Dean voice brought you back to reality “Everything alright?” he was looking at you disoriented.

….

“Yeah…” you said with barely audible voice “Yes agent Page, everything alright. It was just a hunch. Though I saw something” you added out loud catching up to him. “Shall we?” you added and you entered commissioner office not waiting for Dean.

Office was dark, full of boxes, office containers, coffee cups and papers lying all over. Cigarette smoke was floating in the air clearly visible in dimmed light which immediately caused irritation in Dean. Commissioner was old school cop who surely seen too much in his long years of duty.

“Commissioner Loeb” he introduced himself not lifting his eyes from the document he was trying to read “Agents…?”

“Tylor and Page” you introduced yourself and Dean “We would like to talk to you about…”

“Yeah Skyfall club shootout. I heard” he cut you off with his eyes still focused on the document “Nothing to talk about here. There is no case. There never was one to begin with”

“We will decide if there is a case or if there is none” Dean spoke up with cold gruff voice “We would like to see case files” he added.

“Of course you would like to see case files” still looking at the document “But let me ask you this one agent” he emphasized last word “Why FBI is suddenly interested in none existing case involving shootout which never happened?”

“Well commissioner” you spoke up “it is none of your business I believe. And correct if I’m wrong but I believe we are the one here who are asking a questions. Your job is to politely answer them and help us do our job” you added with a smooth voice at you sat down on the opposite side of the desk. “You don’t mind?” you asked rhetorically reaching for a cigarettes in your pocket and lighter on his desk. That move definitely caught his attention, exactly as you hoped it would.

He finally looked up from the document which he was so stubbornly reading just in time to see your cleavage exposed while you were hovering over his desk.

“I definitely don’t” he said firmly not even trying to hide his interest in your breasts. You could swear that you heard Deans jaw clench while he took two small steps to stand right behind you.

“Stupid rules don’t you agree?” you said lighting up your cigarette “No smoking indoors. I wish I could find an asshole who came up with this rule and show him what I think about it”

“I completely agree with you agent Tylor” commissioner replied. You knew you had him on a hook. Just like you planned.

“Call me Y/N” you replied looking him directly into eyes “So about this non existing case involving shootout which never happened” you continued “Files? I’m sure you have a report somewhere here”

“Of course, of course” commissioner started going through pile of folders stacked on the side of his desk “Got it! Here you go agent Tylor” he handed you over a folder with a smile that immediately created in you need to punch him in the face.

“Thank you commissioner” you smiled charmingly and passed folder to Dean without even looking at it. You played your part, you got a files.

“See…that wasn’t so hard wasn’t it?” Dean uttered with a snarky voice taking a files from you. He quickly went through the pages “That’s it?”

“Well that’s all we could gather” commissioner defended himself “Like I said there is no case.”

“Let me make this straight. You did get 911 call from a panicked girl who reported that she heard multiple gunshots and she saw at least dozen of bodies dropping on the ground and you didn’t even bother to take an official statement from her?” Dean summarized.

“You forgetting agent that after my guys arrived to check out so called shootout they found absolutely nothing. No guns, no blood, no bodies, no tracers of any shootout” commissioner defended again “You won’t tell me that someone wiped this place clean in a matter of less than 20 minutes”

“Yeah that is exactly what we could expect from you and your guys” Dean snapped back “We gonna keep this and do expect visit from upstairs” he waved the folder and started to walk out.

“Thank you for cooperation commissioner” you put down your cigarette and followed Dean.

“Agent Tylor!” commissioner rose up from his chair “Let me know if you need any help. Any help at all”

“We won’t” you replied with charming smile and you walked outside with Dean.

“Like taking candy from a baby….”

***

“Well that was a bummer” Dean stated and open passenger seat doors for you “We got stinking pile of nothing”

“I kinda expected that to be honest, we knew right from the get-go that this case stinks for miles” you took your gun out of the holster on your lower back and sat comfortably in passenger seat.

“Yeah we did but I kinda hoped that they will give us something y’know, anything to catch onto. And we don’t have even witness address.” Dean took his seat in the driver seat “Let’s hope that Sam had a better luck with researching on history of the building”

You stayed quiet, your eyes focused on the entry to the precinct.

“But let me tell ya sweetheart it was pure pleasure to watch you in action” Dean smirked and turned on Impala’s engine. She purred pleasantly. “The way you played that cop! You were on your A game! New York is bringing out your inner famme fatale” he continued but you were not there anymore. You drifted in your thoughts thinking about smell of leather and Code. Impala purred quietly trying to bring you back from your thoughts but you drifted even further.

…..

You thought about dark grey 1969 Ford Mustang that you used to love so much. You could see him quietly driving with his hand on your knee. You could see his small smile and his stealthy looks in your direction when you were looking outside of the window relaxing while wind was blowing your hair. You could feel his gentle touch, you could taste bourbon on his lips and you could smell Sauvage by Christian Dior on him mixed with gun powder and something else…something dangerous.

…..

“Y/N you with me?” Dean gave a worried look pulling you back to reality.

“Mhm…” You couldn’t shake of that feeling that rising up inside you. Feeling which was telling you that this case is far from your normal supernatural gig. That there is no hunting, no ghosts trapped in the loop and that you should have never come back to New York. There was a passed creeping in the shadows and you knew very well that you cannot outrun it.

“I’m sorry babe, I zone out” you looked back at Dean “I was thinking you know….we don’t have any lead except the club so let’s go check out the club. What you think? I bet we will spot our witness there”

“You really think that three days after shootout she will be already back on the dance floor?” Dean hesitated.

“I’m sure of it. See this is a New York it’s Manhattan and Skyfall is apparently hot in this season. If you want to mean anything in your little social world you gotta be there. Shootout or no shootout. That’s how it is here”

“You would know would ya’. You used to live here” Dean pointed out”

“Yes I did. Many many years ago” you replied shortly” “In a very different life” you added silently and you drifted again in your thoughts.

***

Two hours later you were standing in front of the Skyfall club waiting for your partner who was on “finding parking spot” mission. It was Friday evening and lack of a parking spot was something that you very much expected. But Dean being Dean wouldn’t agree to leave baby and take a cab. Even when faced with all the logical reasons presented by you he still stubbornly refused. You were wondering which was more inconvenient for him, the fact that you dared to suggest that taking a cab is a better option or the fact that you decided that he needs to go shopping. While going through his clothes you sadly discovered that you have only two options, suit or flannel and destroyed denims none of which was suitable for high class club in Manhattan. You forced him to where simple white shirt with sleeves rolled up to an elbow and dark blue denims the only one which didn’t have any history of hunting on them and not because they were the only one clean, it was because he hated them and never wore them. He claimed that he looked like a hipster douchebag and never listened to your counterarguments.

“Where are you Dean” you thought to yourself looking at your watch. It’s been over 20 minutes and you were starting to feel like ditchable prom date. You took a deep breath scouting your surroundings. You knew this area very well, you recognized the streets, the corners, the alleys… there was history looping in every one of them. Couple blocks away there was a small jazz club which you used to visit very often, and a bit further the hotel in which you stayed way too many times. You knew it was there without need to see it. Beautiful Neo-Renaissance building glooming on the corner of the street, inconspicuous on the outside, with a velvety black canopy above the entrance and two doorman standing on both sides of the stairs. Suddenly the strange feeling from earlier came back and hit you with twice of a force. “Fuck it, I need a drink…or ten” you thought to yourself and entered the club alone.

Place was crowded with people in their 20’s and 30’s searching for a glimpse of happiness. It wa lighted with warm yellows, browns and golden lights spreading more exotic and cozy vibe, something you definitely did not expected. You were expecting more cold blues and whites and silvers and more modern vibe. It was a pleasant surprise none the less. You smoothly maneuvered through the dance floor to the bar. You leaned over the bar waiting for a bartender to come to you.

“Whisky on the rocks” he said with a wink and placed a glass in front of you “Something good am I right? Glenmorangie 18yo” he poured you double with single ice cube.

“Well…impressive” you stated taking a sip of your favorite whisky.

“Oh honey I’m good but that that good” he smiled “it’s from guy over there” he pointed with his eyes to the booth in the corner behind you.

You smiled and turned back thinking that Dean finally manage to find a parking spot but there was no one there. Only an empty whisky glass on the table and empty sit.

Hundred thoughts went through your head all at once and felling of unease rose up deep inside. Your heart started pumping much faster than usual. You knew you lied to yourself. You never said a word to Dean about 18yo scotch that you’ve been currently drinking…how he would know. You took a glass and walked straight to a booth. You didn’t know what for honestly. You wanted to check for a clues, you wanted to find out if your felling was correct. Or perhaps you wanted to prove yourself wrong. Memories flashed through your mind…

Mustang, jazz, Sauvage, Glenmorangie…his love voice, his gentle touch, his small smile, his “This won’t end up well”…

You were making your way through the crowd, eyes focused on the glass, trying to suppress all the memories coming back to you. You forgot about case, about witness, about shootout about everything else. You were almost there, you could see clearly that ice did not melted yet, you could smell…

….

Code

…..

You froze in your place for a moment absorbing sudden shift in the atmosphere around you. You knew that this time you did not imagined it. Everything else disappeared, loud music seemed to be distant, dancing people seemed to dance in slow motion, reality shifted and slowed down.

You slowly turned around and you saw him walking directly towards you with his big brown eyes focused like a laser. Light was twinkling on his face almost masking curiosity mixed with anger, surprise and a bit of happiness… perhaps?

“Y/N” he said without braking an eye contact. He stood few steps away from you his hand dangerously close to his side, where he most likely held his gun.

….

“Ethan” you replied with trained, polite voice.

…..

“You working again?” he asked still completely focused on you. His face tense in the anticipation.

And with that question you knew, you were sure that there was no case, no ghost, no hunting and there was definitely a shootout. You knew that he was here, he order you a drink and he is involved in all of this. Past catch up with you, there is no other way than forward. You knew that to that question there was only one correct answer.

…..

“Yeah, I am”

***

Chapter 2

#dean winchester #john wick x reader #john wick #dean winchester x reader #supernatural #john wick fanfic #john wick imagines #John wick fanfiction #Dean winchester imagines #Ethan hunt #ethan hunt x rader #mission impossible #supernatural fanfiction #Crossfiction #Supernatural owns me

130 notes · View notes

necroarchy · 4 years

Text

ARTHAS’ RP PLOTTING CHEAT-SHEET!

Want new-and-exciting plots for your character? Long to reach out to more of your followers, but don’t know where to start? Fear not! Fill out this form and give your RP partners both present and future all the of juicy jumping off points they need to help you get your characters acquainted.

Be sure to tag the players whose characters YOU want more cues to interact with, and repost, don’t reblog! Feel free to add or remove sections as you see fit. Template here.

Mun name: Frost

OOC Contact: Ask/IMs. Discord if we’re close.

Who the heck is my muse anyway?

Arthas Menethil is the Lich King of the Scourge, which means that he is the tyrannical god-emperor of various undead creatures (zombies, ghosts, wights, vampires, and Frankenstein-esque monstrosities just to name a few). He was originally a heroic, benevolent man before falling to evil and deciding he liked it down in the dark.

In addition to his Scourge, he is worshiped and obeyed by an assortment of organizations of various living beings, and even a certain pack of werewolves. He is the most powerful necromancer in the world, and has aspirations of killing everyone to raise them as subjects for his kingdom of the dead.

Points of interest:

Fall of the Lich King happened, wherein he died after Frostmourne was shattered. Bolvar was the Lich King for a while. Kel’Thuzad eventually found and stole Arthas’ body before resurrecting his lord, and they gallivanted around Azeroth during the Cataclysm, trying to find the shards of Frostmourne and stay out of public sight. Eventually (in MoP) they make their way back to ICC, kill Bolvar, and Arthas is the Lich King once more.

My portrayal of Arthas borrows heavily from Rise of the Lich King in addition to Warcraft III and Wrath; I more or less ignore what Chronicles says about him, because I prefer the way that Rise explored his struggle between humanity and inhumanity and it gives me a bit of content to work in regards to building up an idea of who Arthas was in life, and how that stays with him in death.

The Lich King is a god(ish) and Arthas has the ego, power, and cult to back up that mentality. He can and has murdered dozens of heroes with little more than a wave of his hand; is capable of resurrecting ancient, powerful entities to serve him in undeath; grants “blessings” upon those who earn his favor; and possesses an empire of slavering monsters chomping at the bit to do absolutely anything he says. ‘Human’ is not the word for what he is anymore.

And Arthas was once a man; no matter how hard he has ever tried, no matter what he’s done to himself or to anyone else, Arthas is still plagued by the vestiges of his humanity, which often manifests as him taking a special interest in certain individuals: Jai.na, Andu.in, adventurers, and (negatively) Syl.vanas for instance. As a result, his reactions to people are sporadic: he might show surprising lenience or tolerance for acts of defiance and opposition should the perpetrator tug on the right heartstring.

Arthas has a daughter whom is generally his Deathlord in the pertinent verses. Her status as his daughter is relatively common knowledge post-Wrath of the Lich King, and is a contentious spot for him.

What they’ve been up to recently:

WARCRAFT: Arthas has been (quietly, quietly) aiding in the repulsion of the Burning Legion from Azeroth, for he despises his old demonic masters and has no intention of losing his world to them. He is also busy reestablishing the Scourge as a power to be feared, and returning Northrend under his control. With the conclusion of Legion, he is now focused upon rebuilding his kingdom after the Burning Legion trashed it again and also I’m paying zero attention to what’s going on in Battle of Azeroth so idk any way to really integrate him!!! Also we’re gonna just ignore everything that kickstarted Shadowlands because fuck that noise.

SWTOR: Darth Necrolis, once a promising Jedi Knight, now an insidious Lord of the Sith, seeks out the eldritch knowledge of Darth Nihilus and even the Emperor, Vitiate, in his quest to obtain immortality. Although, gifted with the frightening ability to bind Force ghosts to himself, one wonders if his search is redundant at this point.

Where to find them:

WARCRAFT: Northrend in general, and Icecrown in particular, are the Lich King’s usual haunts, along with other Scourge strongholds such as the Plaguelands or Naxxramas. He may also wander through areas of present note because he’s a curious lad. (Aka the current expansion’s region: Broken Isles for Legion, Pandaria for Mists, etc., etc….)

SWTOR: While Necrolis can generally be found nearly anywhere in Imperieal space, Dromund Kaas and Korriban are perhaps the safest locations to catch him. He may also be within his citadel on the wintry planet on Northrend.

Current plans:

WARCRAFT

RESTORE THE SCOURGE: We trashed his kingdom last time we took a gander through Northrend, and he’s hard at work not only repairing what we broke, but reinforcing it. To that end, he seeks to otain new resources and sources of power. Azerite, for example…

CORRUPT THE KNIGHTS OF THE EBON BLADE: Particularly from Legion onward, the Lich King has his eye on Acherus and its denizens, subtly setting in place plans to turn the world against him and leave them no recourse but to return to the Scourge.

KILL EVERYONE: Self-explanatory.

SWTOR:

CRUSH THE REPUBLIC: Jedi are nerds and he WILL stuff you into a frozen space locker.

OBTAIN IMMORTALITY: He’s going to end up devouring a planet a la Vitiate, I feel.

BIND MORE FORCE GHOSTS TO HIMSELF: More ghosts = more power = good.

BECOME THE NEW EMPEROR: You’re not a real Sith Lord if you’re not trying.

Desired interactions:

SCOURGE AND CULTISTS: What’s a king without his kingdom?

ALIVE: I don’t write a lot with or about Arthas prior to his fall, and I really should. It’s a fun exercise in trying to show those hints of the boy who will be king, and the boy who might not have.

DEATH KNIGHT: Back when he was still on Ner’zhul’s payroll and edging the line of being a little too human in his monstrosity.

POST-RESURRECTION: OR Arthas “Matthias Lehner” Menethil wanders around Azeroth trying not to get caught out as Arthas Menethil whilst hunting down the erstwhile remnants of his shattered sword.

THWART HIS PLANS! I don’t think I have any real developed antagonistic relationships on this blog which is a shame.

SWTOR - LITERALLY ANYTHING: Pls, I’m begging you, indulge my SW love.

Offered interactions:

MONSTER DAD: Arthas adores inhuman abominations and eldritch beasts, whether they were Once a Man or were never mortal to begin with, and he’ll adopt (”adopt”) any and all at the drop of a hat.

DEAL WITH THE DEVIL: For the low, low price of your immortal soul, all your dreams can come true if you just make him an offer. Or, better: he makes the offer to you.

ANNOYING BYSTANDER: Arthas loves to just show up and talk shit at everyone around for no apparent reason, it happens in canon and it happens on this blog all the time. Let’s see you try to kill that big evil demon while the fucking Lich King is off to the side reading a magazine and criticizing your talent choices.

“JOIN” THE SCOURGE: Fight the Lich King! Die to the Lich King! Get resurrected as an atrocity against life by the Lich King!

Current open post/s:

No.

Anything else?:

I’m very slow and prickly, but in the way that grandfather spider in Spirited Away was, so don’t worry too much about it.

Tagged by: reposting ‘cause it’s been a while

Tagging: this was. a lot.

#﹙ ɪ·ᴍ ᴅᴏɴᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀɢʀᴀᴅ ɪ·ʟʟ sᴛᴜᴅʏ ᴜɴᴅᴇᴀᴅ ɴᴏᴡ. ﹚ ooc.#﹙ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴀɢᴜᴇ ᴄᴀᴜʟᴅʀᴏɴ. ﹚ prompts.

2 notes · View notes

thereismagicinthesepages · 5 years

Text

Pop Culture Entity Challenge: Hircine, Part 1

Stolen from @highpriestness

This is meant to be a sort of bonding and questionnaire in regards to spirits, entities, and deities you may work with in Pop Culture.

You can use it as a 30 day challenge, an ask meme to ask for questions, or simply write them all however you feel.

General Questions:

1. What is the name of the entity and what is their canon universe?

Hircine. The Elder Scrolls anthology.

2. What drew you to this entity? What drew you to their world?

The Elder Scrolls universe has been close to my heart for a very long time. In particular, Skyrim. It’s a beautifully created fantasy world full of colorful characters and lore, and it came to life for me. I’ve put many hours of playtime into the game, running new characters with varying skills and trying new things. It’s always a unique experience and one I never regret diving into.

Hircine himself interested me from the first time I met him in-game. He is the Great Hunter, and the quest in Skyrim (my first encounter with him) leads you to him by way of helping a werewolf NPC who had been cursed by him. Many of the characters in the game frame Daedra as being evil or bad, they are considered demons against the godly presence of the Aedra; the Divines. Hircine’s actions throughout this quest are harsh, but he is also one of the more agreeable Daedra.

Hircine appears in the game as a white stag that you need to hunt down and kill, then his Aspect will appear to tell you to hunt down the same werewolf who asked for your help. You can refuse, but he will warn you that other hunters will be going after the werewolf regardless. You then have two options; Defy Hircine and save the werewolf from the hunters, or join the hunt and kill him. Either way, Hircine will reward you with one of his artifacts. I always choose to spare the werewolf.

What actually draws me to Hircine is my already great love of nature. Deer and Wolves have always been very close to my heart, wolves in particular. Hircine is the father of lycanthropy and thus werewolves are his people. Also while I myself am not a hunter in the strictest sense, I do support and respect those that do hunt, and I respect and make use of animals’ sacrifices on a regular basis. I often pick up roadkill or take hunter waste and use the bones, pelts, feathers, ect. in crafts, as offerings to my gods, or just as general decor,

Also, going back to Hircine’s Quest, if you choose to kill the hunters to save your werewolf friend, Hircine remains impressed with you for “turning the hunt inside-out.” He appreciates alternative thinking, and he just wants to see his Hunters overcoming obstacles to reach their goal. That’s the true Hunt, and he reminds me of that frequently. I don’t have to dawn a bow and shoot a deer, my Hunt can be any goal I’m reaching for, every obstacle I am trying to over come, regardless of how small or massive. Afterall, hunters take on prey of all sizes, right? From a hunting spider catching a tiny insect, to a dragon hunting a mammoth.

3. Did you choose them or did they tap you? How?

A little bit of both. I am a fairly recent baby witch and pagan, and at first I was really only looking into “real” gods, in particular I started with the Egyptian and Greek pantheons, as I already had very strong connections to both. However, I did begin to see others weaving pop culture into their witchcraft, and I eventually discovered Pop Culture Paganism. It clicked for me, it made so much sense, that these worlds and characters that I put so much love and time into, that someone put heart, soul and life into, could be considered “real” and hold power in their own rights.

I already believed in the Infinite Universes theory, wherein there could be a universe out there somewhere where literally anything could exist. Hearing that others worshiped gods based on works of fiction, or even other non-deified entities from those works, was eye-opening for me. I started researching. I wanted to learn more. I found a particular tumblr user who worshipped the Daedra and that clicked with me. I love so many of the Daedra, something about them always spoke to me. Clavicus Vile, Sheogorath, Molag Bal, Hircine....

Shortly after this revelation, I started researching how to worship PC entities. I wasn’t really all that solid on my more “traditional” pagan beliefs, let alone branching out into mostly uncharted territory. There was so little help on how to begin. I found posts about manifesting, about working with them as spirits, as archetypes, creating thoughtforms and servitors.... It was a lot of information to pick through, and a lot to think about. Even now I’m having some trouble beginning working with some entities I’d like to approach, because thus far all of the beings I’ve been working with are considered gods in their own rights. I am having a harder time figuring our how to work with a mortal character who may not want to be deified.

Regardless, while I was in the midst of all of this research and soul-searching, Hircine did tap me. I had actually forgotten the initial feeling, I had to go back to my journal to remember. I was asleep in bed asleep one night and heard a sort of crinkling sound. I got a vivid vision of large, leather boots crunching through dried leaves in a dense forest. My mind immediately screamed Hircine.

I put off contacting him for a bit after that, as I was still unsure, but upon realizing that the Hunter Moon was coming up, I couldn’t ignore the signs. I found a young buck skull that I got from a roadkill deer I processed a few years ago, and set it and some crystals out near a window where they could absorb the moonlight. I left him some bread and water, and waited.

I don’t remember if it was the following day, or a few days later, as I’m terrible at keeping an up-to-date journal, but I know that shortly thereafter, I was heading to work early in the morning. As I was walking out to my car, I felt a compulsion to look out at my back yard. There were a number of deer standing there. That’s not so uncommon, we have a doe that seems to frequently hang out behind the house, I see her often. What was unusual, is that she was accompanied by three other does. I usually only see the one. As I cautiously stepped forward for a better look, a large buck suddenly bolted past, leading the does back into the woods.

The feeling of elation that rose inside of me was amazing. I love seeing deer anyway, but to me it was very strongly a sign from Hircine. I sensed a presence there that I’d never before experienced. I thanked him, watched the herd leave, and continued on my way.

Since then, I get occasional messages from him, either in similar form, or just hearing his voice. I get this with most of my main deities, either hearing them in my head, or just getting a strong feeling about a situation and knowing it to be one of my gods communicating. I have a fair number of deities I appeal to, so sometimes it’s hard to decipher who exactly is trying to speak. I have no such ambiguity with Hircine, as I always distinctly hear his voice from the game, that clever, echoey sort of voice that emanates from the Stag aspect.

4. How do you typically communicate?

This is what I get for writing too much for each question;; As stated above, he often speaks directly to me, in the voice I know as his from Skyrim. He often gives me advice, though it’s usually in a sort of “tough love” form. If I’m feeling frustrated or discouraged, he’ll tell me things like “a hunter presses on regardless of hardship” or “the hunt is not yet over”. Usually it relates to hunting, but it always fits my circumstances.

5. What role does this entity play in their universe?

Hircine is the God of the Hunt and Father of Manbeasts. He created the various forms of lycanthropy in Tamriel. Every Era, he will put on a Great Hunt for which he will choose a number of mortal candidates to participate in. It could be as simple as sending hunters to kill a rogue werewolf, to making his champions navigate a maze of Daedric creatures while transformed into hares.

Hircine is revered by hunters and offers his followers the chance to hunt with him for eternity in the Hunting Grounds, Hircine’s Oblivion Realm. He has a fondness for predators, and values Strength, Speed, Guile and Cunning.

6. What kind of relationship do you have with this entity?

I offer my personal “hunts” to Hircine, using his wisdom to overcome the obstacles in my life. He offers me advice and council, occasionally being stern about it, but really only when I need it. We have a pretty positive relationship, I think. I have always had a reverence for nature, and I think he appreciates that. While I don’t actually hunt animals as prey, I still am able to take the lessons he teaches to put towards everyday life, and I am still able to offer him what I consider traditional offerings, like bones and pelts from animals, due to my taxidermy work.

7. What aspects does this entity reside over?

Traditionally, the Hunt is his Sphere, called many names (the Great Game, the Chase, ect). I also consider the other traits he values as being part of this. He values strength, speed, guile, and my personal addition; cunning. He often appears as a fox to trick people, and will grant those he finds to be clever knowledge and tricks of their own. He takes pride in seeing someone openly defy him and turn a hunt around on his chosen hunters.

He values loyalty. He values nature and animals and a respect for them. He values pride in oneself and strength of heart and character. He values independence, but also the ability to run with a pack or herd. He values both the hunter and the prey, and he values someone who can flip on those roles very highly.

8. What kinds of offerings do you/would you give this entity?

I am still discovering this myself. Certainly a very traditional offering to Hircine is the act of hunting. Again, I alter this to be overcoming challenge or reaching for a goal. I will sometimes dedicate such things to him as offerings. I would also offer him animal bones or pelts. I believe he would like prey animals, like deer or rabbit in particular, but also predators like wolves or big cats. I often offer him cool water, which is a traditional offering for many old gods, and in the wild is such an essential thing. Though I have not yet, I would offer him natural foods; berries, fruits, thinks like that.

I offer him meat sometimes, usually whatever I have, though I think he would particularly appreciate things like venison, rabbit or bear meat. I have given him a number of stones and crystals in the past, things close to the earth. Alcohol is another thing I have and would like to offer him. Particularly I think he would appreciate red wines and mead, though I have access to neither right now.

Arrows, arrowheads, daggers or hunting knives, bows, and other hunting tools would be other good things to dedicate to him, I think. Especially if they’re used to hunt with. Imagery of deer, wolves, bears, foxes or werecreatures would all be good as well. I also associate him with crocodiles, mostly because of his Daedroth creatures. I feel like he would also appreciate tattoos as well, particularly of a tribal sort.

9. What kinds of animals, stones, elements, plants, etc do you associate with this entity? Why?

Stones I used for him were clear quartz, like a clear lake or like the full moon. Moonstone, for obvious reasons; bloodstone, representing blood from his prey. Red or orange stones, representing the blood moon. I’m still learning and experimenting with others.

Animals that I associate with him, I mentioned some, but really any hunter animal. Wolves, bears, foxes, crocodiles, spiders, and birds of prey in particular. Deer and elk are also very strong associations for me, as well as other antlered or horned prey animals like gazelle. I also associate him with other creatures in Tamriel such as Daedroth, dragons, unicorns, sabrecats and werecreatures. I also have a loose association with him and sharks, again for the predator aspect.

I strongly associate him with the element of Earth. I always feel a connection to the Earth with him, to plants and animals and nature. He makes me feel very grounded and in touch with my surroundings. I could also connect him to fire, for the occasional harshness he exhibits, the flaming reds of the blood moon, his ability to go from warm and gentle to fierce and burning. I could make connections to air and water as well, but Earth is certainly the strongest elemental association for him, to me.

Plants are tricky, I’m still learning meanings and correspondences so I have trouble pinning them to spirits and deities, though I do strongly associate him with Hemlock and evergreens in general. As well as with fall foliage. I have the image of a stag moving through a forest of evergreens and that feels very Hircine to me.

I associate him with the smell of musk, pine, and a general earthy smell, like freshly disturbed soil. I associate him with the smell of the forest, with the crisp mountain air. The sound of birdcalls and wolf howls. The full moon.

10. Are there any songs, books, or quotes you associate with this entity? Why?

I’m still looking for things like this that remind of of him. Of course there are his in-universe books such as The Totems of Hircine, and any of his spoken dialogue in game (”Well met, hunter” springs to mind), but as for things in our world, one song I really strongly associate with him is “The Stampede” from The Lion King soundtrack.

11. How and when did you first encounter them as an entity?

Told the story above, but there was the strange dream/vision of him walking in the woods, and then the buck in my back yard.

12. How are they particularly involved in your life? Do they teach you anything specific? If so, what?

He teaches me patience and control, dignity and pride, perseverance and strength. He reminds me that a successful hunter has to be aware and in control of her surroundings. He reminds me that sometimes the prey escapes, and that’s okay. He reminds me that even the greatest hunters sometimes lose their mark and go home hungry. He reminds me that it is important to keep trying and keep improving. To keep my eyes on the target, but not to get lost in it either. The wilds are dangerous and they require my attention. They are also beautiful and demand my reverence.

There is excitement and also sadness in a successful hunt. You have taken something very beautiful and precious from the world, and that demands a moment of introspection. But you have also triumphed over your trial, and you will continue to thrive now with all that the hunt provided you. You have food, tools, clothing and shelter. The good sometimes comes with the bad, there is balance in all things and that must be accepted to be able to move on with one’s life.

He teaches me that there is a time and a situation where one should rely on the pack, be content and dependent upon the presence and assistance of others, but there are also times when the hunter must venture out alone. Some prey are best taken down with a group, some are best to be hunted solo.

He reminds me that all things are not as they seem. The hunter may hide himself from the prey if he is skilled enough. I must take care not to become the prey myself, and if the hunt should turn upon me, I must be clever and resourceful enough to escape my hunters. I must be mindful of those hidden hunters, and I must be hidden myself to be successful; either as a hunter or as prey. The strong and the smart survive, I must be one of the two to live; I must be both to thrive.

13. Do they have any identifying symbols in canon or otherwise?

Deer, mostly. Hircine is most known for appearing as a stag, or having the head or skull of one. But he has also appeared as a fox, a bear and a man. His children are the skinshifters, the werecreatures. His weapons are the spear and bow.

14. Do they have alternate versions, verses, or canons? Do you communicate with all or some of them?

Hircine appears slightly differently in each TES game, though it is always the same entity. I have based most of my worship on his appearance in Skyrim, as that is the one which I have the deepest connection with.

#pop culture entity challenge #popcultureentitychallenge #pc pagan #pop culture paganism #pop culture pagan #pop culture magic #my gods: Hircine #pcp Hircine #pcp gods #pcp entities #my gods #hircine #TES

11 notes · View notes

roguishlydangerous-achieved · 5 years

Text

@tigerincahoots continue from here.

“These games are annoying me.” The shifter rolled his eyes under the curious glance of the warlock and he could feel the partial tension in the air. He could feel the faint scent ofAROUSAL that came from the other man and nevertheless – Elias was so blind to the most obvious of signals. What was he supposed to do? Rent a small aeroplane and toss flyers around the damn yard? “If you don’t understand subtle moves, then I guess I need to me more DIRECT.” To be fair, Kevin did enjoy a more direct approach. Why he didn’t tell Elias all the dirty things he wanted to do yet was beyond him. But that was about to change. No more Mr Nice Tiger. No one could be that oblivious to the obvious.

Closing the distance between them, Kevin pressed his hand against Elias’ chest, pinning him to a nearby wall. Their bodies were close now. So close that he could feel the mage’s breath against his skin. So close that all he needed to do was LIFT his knee just a bit to brush it against Elias’ crotch. “Look at me that way one more time…” Whispered words sounded like velvet coming from the shifter’s lips, his gaze full on PREDATORY when he glanced towards the brunette. “And I will rip every item of clothing you have. I will bend you over the nearest flat surface and I will eat your tight, perky ass until you howl with pleasure.” Yes, Elias was a virgin but Kevin didn’t really care about smaller details.

“Look at me like that ever again and I will shove my hand down your pants and make you cum in a matter of SECONDS. Don’t forget, Sparkles. I can catch the scent of your arousal. I can hear you swallow thickly when I’m close. If you want a piece of me… all you have to do is kneel and open wide. Got that?”

Elias was about to turn and thank Kevin for driving him back home after a long evening. Despite his tiredness. He was glad the event ended with a happy ending. The werewolf pup was returned to his parents. The local pact will take him in and teach him the way to run under the moonlight. And the kid didn’t have to give up his life like so many newborn werewolves did out of fear and confusion.

The door shut behind them with some force. There was an unspoken urgency from the way that door hit the frame. Next, Elias was already being pinned against the wall by brute strength. He gasped in surprise, took a sharp breath as he felt Kevin’s form pressed against his body. “Wh-” He didn’t even get to finish a single word. The Shifter was so close he could see his own reflection from those blue eyes. Yet, it wasn’t his reflection that caught his attention. It was the primal urge behind those eyes.

“I-I don’t understand...”

There, Elias looked at Kevin the exact way the man warned him not to. There was innocent in his eyes, mixed with the suppressed desires the warlock tried to ignore. He swallowed, hard, just as the Shifter announced how he could never hide those things from the predator.

The knee that brushed against his private part was always threatening. Yet...Elias felt his size grew, hardened at the touch. It wasn’t just the contacts. It was those bold words. So unshameful. So unapologetic. Elias was well aware that he could escape. So many spells, so many options...Yet, he found himself weak within the Shifter’s trap.

Perhaps he wanted to be weak.

“...You know I want you.” Elias finally mumbled in a low voice. It was weak, but he knew the shifter could hear him loud and clear. “I...I just don’t think you want me back. Not the same way I want you. You act like you are incapable to do so. Like you are some monster that doesn’t deserve it.” Elias bit his lower lip, eyes glared firmly back at the Shifter. “You are so good in physical intimacy. Yes, I desire your body. Well fuckin’ done. Yet, every time I try to know more of you, you locked yourself away like you have burnt the key to your feelings ages ago along with your hopes and dreams.”

Elias pushed with clenched teeth, his power vibrated in the air. The energy was so dense it manifested into a glow of blue light. He slammed the other man down onto the ground, the blue psionic force quickly reached and grasped around the Shifter’s wrists, pinned his arms firmly against the wooden floor.

“If you are going to take me, I will not be taken as prey,” Elias said as he lowered himself to the man on the ground. His heart was pounding fast as if it was injected directly by a shot of adrenaline. It was not difficult to tell that Elias was in no way familiar with these movements. Still, he closed the distance of their faces. Their noses touched, the warlock tilted his head and sunk lower. There was a moment of hesitation but it only lasted a second.

Elias blushed his lips against the Kevin’s. It was gentle yet thirsty at the same time. He could hear the breathings of the other man, he could smell his scent, he could feel the heartbeats pumping from the Shifter’s chest.

He let go, pressed his body against the Shifter’s muscular form.

The moon shined through the window and showered the two with her gentle lights, cast long shadows across the living room floor where the Caster kissed the Shifter deeply.

#tigerincahoots

3 notes · View notes

remuslxpns · 5 years

Text

The Room Where It Happens

Band of murders. Monsters. Destroyer of everything, of hopes, of dreams. It was just one thought, repeating itself with vitriol and hatred, over and over again. Remus knew it was what some had thought about werewolves for centuries but knew it was being surfaced in a harsh light. It consumed him; a low hiss that pounded through his skull and threatened to overwhelm his senses. Soulless, evil, deserving nothing but death.

There was one thing Remus Lupin knew; one crystal clear thought that rung true above all of his doubts and confusion. Marlene McKinnon was deceased; mutilated with nothing more than the broken shell of her remains left for the deranged wolf. The thought of his friend–a member of his childhood and trust–being reduced to a chew toy for a wolf in the throes of war and it had been enough to cause his blood to boil and his patience wearing thin.

Remus brows furrowed together and his brain worked at a rapid pace to piece together the loose strands of information he’d gathered over the last week. Peter Dorcas, and Arthur, still missing in action and had no updates. Marlene, killed during a brutal attack and being left with nothing but a blood bath. Regulus left with a blood message. Now, this.

Every atom in the air seemed tight as Remus’ eyes darted over the pages of the Daily Prophet. He had been warned this would happen at the headline only mocked him in return. Remus sucked in a sharp breath, scanning the blurred lines and trying to make sense of it all. Lyall Lupin. The familiar twitch of frustration thrummed in his chest as he continued reading, clutching the pages more tightly in his hands. The last paragraphs of being either registered or detained caused Remus to pull away very suddenly, as if he had been burned, and climbed to his feet. Running a shaky hand through his hair and averting his gaze from the newspaper, Remus swore under his breath. He could feel his chest rise and fall unevenly, his lungs feeling too tight to even attempt to breath through this.

All that existed in that space was forcing all of these angry sensations to simmer down as he cast one last gaze at the Prophet. If Remus was going to have his piece of mind about this then he needed to play his cards right. He couldn’t react viciously again, not when he could be arrested to go to Azkaban on the precipice of something more. His father held the potential to ruin his life some more and he mercifully and meticulously crafted this with Camilla and the others in the department no doubt. So he tried to ignore the sickening feeling in his gut to protect his instincts to go to Wales and see his father. His heart was racing at an alarming rate and he slowed his mind down enough. His father would not be in Wales at this time and be at the Ministry instead.

The gears in his mind were pumping faster than ever now, and Remus found himself losing a harness of his senses. Usually he was adapt to be sensible and be realistic but he was not naive to his emotions. After the homicides of the other wolves, the Wizarding community would be less likely to trust every werewolf they came across.

And as Remus glanced down at the newspaper he now picked up again and held loosely in his hand, he knew what he had to do. He needed to be in there; the room where all of it had happened. Gripping the newspaper tightly in one hand, Remus let it crumble to the ground deceased. Remus grit his teeth and carefully inserted himself into the fireplace and plunged the powder down at his feet before disappearing.

It had only been a few days since Remus was at the Ministry last but never had he set foot in the Regulation of Magical Creatures Department. But Remus pushed through the doors and his mind snapped, his blood freezing to ice and his heart thudding with anger against his rib cage. It had been since his mother’s funeral in winter that Remus was face-to-face with his father. They were strangers tied to the same name despite the seasons changing. The creature bill being passed only reached another step in the history and turmoil brewing between them for years. So many years had Remus heard his father enforce the idea that he was doing what he thought was right for Remus. It never had been and Remus never considered his father had his best interests at heart except for his own selfish feelings. His mind was having a hard exercise of trying to control his emotions that felt more like a weapon now than anything. He was a danger to himself. A monster.

The room seemed to still when they finally realized Remus was standing there. The sound of murmurs were spoken softly and papers ruffling seemed to drift off. He realized the department must be having a field day with their recent regulations and Remus had not expected any eyes on him. But his eyes sought his father out who was standing with his back turned and Remus fumbled with his words.

It seemed to dawn on Lyall that his offices’ attention was being spread elsewhere and he turned to face Remus. Lyall blinked, the fog clearing a little and from his expression he was expecting Remus to be there. Remus could still feel the draw to how his body was burning with rigid anger. In that moment he stared blankly at his father, his words twisting like the knots in his stomach. For years, Remus knew his father resented him and did not try to think it more than what it was. The registration being passed and with his name attached was a violation of what he thought his father was. The last pieces of his father were stacked away in the lines of the act.

Remus tried to open his mouth at first, but nothing incoherent words were made possible. Lyall murmured something to someone beside him before waving them off. The room seemed to follow and continue at their pace before Remus’ presence interrupted them. His father was approaching him now and Remus’ throat felt like it had been stuffed with cotton balls.

“Remus,” Lyall said kindly, a shimmer of worry in his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Remus felt haunted by the words and fell silent, confusion swelling in him. Why was he there? There were many parables of why he was there and he didn’t understand why his father did not know. The registration flashed in the back of his mind and he only stared in return with anger tinting his gaze. The silence was misconstrued for a response and Lyall nodded as if in understanding.

“If you are not going to say something then please speak with Marcel about scheduling-,”

It felt like an eternity before Remus could concentrate on his words. Lyall was already turning as if brushing Remus’ presence as nothing more than an ill visit.

“Would you just fucking listen to me?” Remus bursted, his voice ringing off the walls and feeling his face pale. His father was trying to dismiss him even after the registration and his blood felt like it has run cold. Remus couldn’t suppress the boiling rage inside him any longer. There were many things he had tried to tolerate during the war but the outrageous proposal by his father to keep an eye on him and others like him was not something he could accept so easily. Lyall stopped in front of him, turning back to face Remus with a shivering glare.

“Remus, you don’t understand. Be sensible, please-“

Remus felt a rumble of ironic laughter squeeze through him somehow in that moment and couldn’t contain its appearance. “I don’t understand?” Remus spoke coldly, glaring at his father with nothing short of rage. “Don’t you dare say that to me. You have no idea what you have done.”

His voice was chilling even to his own ears and he did not spare attention to the eyed he was receiving. Lyall looked weak and uncertain in front of him, his hands stuffed into his pockets and his posture tight. Remus felt like a short had died in him and he was trying desperately to latch on to anything to balance himself.

“You never cared. Did you? As soon as I was bit you did nothing. Mother was the one who was there every night! You hid upstairs while you locked me in the basement-Oh, please. You were thinking about yourself and how it effected you and your appearance. And now? Were you even thinking of me when you signed your name?”

“I was trying to protect you. Your mother-“

“My mother did that. She died and now you failed to do that...”

His senses had gone cold and white and Remus was vibrating now with no sense of calmness returning to him. Remus failed to see the employee scurry out of the room after a nod from Lyall.

“Remus, I loved your mother. And I loved you. I never did anything to hurt you. Your mother promised me to take care of you...this is helping-“

“It’s helping nothing. Do you even realize how many lives you signed away in favor of thinking of yourself? Don’t you see that you just created a manifest of these innocent lives. They will only be seen as monsters because you allowed them to.”

“You are being unconsciously mistaken of what this means and thought you wiser to be respectful of your actions-“

“Don’t talk to me about respect! You have no fucking idea and don’t you dare pretend to. I have never felt less like your son than now.”

The silence dripped into the room and Remus knew he was gambling dangerously as he picked his words. The room seemed to fade, his eyes strained on his father’s broken face and he only felt a nudge in his back.

There was a point of anger one reached where they did not express themselves in violent, frantic outbursts; there was a moment of calm. An eerie, false sense of security before an oncoming storm. And after Remus had regained himself, he allowed his body to tighten and his mind to hone in on his anger. He wanted to channel his rage and he had. So Remus allowed Kingsley to pull him out of the room like a child and his eyes fell to the floor of the corridors as he walked with a grim face. He felt hatred for his father bloom deep within his abdomen, threatening to overwhelm him with each heavy step he took. Remus did not have a hint of guilt except his last words that hung in the tense air and the look on his father’s face was something he couldn’t forgive himself for. It was something that would haunt in his nightmares and Remus blinked away hot tears that were threatening his eyes.

#tw: death mention #tw: violence #I'm still scratching around in the same old hole // para #self para: the room where it happens

5 notes · View notes

hanneswrites · 5 years

Text

it’s been so, so long (chapter 4)

Chapter Title: Lay my head, under the water; Aloud I pray, for calmer seas

Pairings: Sam Winchester/Gabriel | Dean Winchester/Castiel | background Crobby

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.8k

Chapter Summary: Dean-centric chapter with a bit of focus on both DeanCas and Bobby/Crowley. || Feathers are found and decisions are made.

Three Weeks Later

Dean sat at the kitchen table, twelve individually spaced black-as-night feathers laid out before him as he thumbed through the yellowed pages of a somewhat-ancient text on trickster gods. His eyes kept blurring, not quite able to read the words in front of him, but his fingers turned the pages all the same. The night outside is loud--crickets singing and the far-off sound of cars whirring past on a rural highway. Bobby had headed off to catch some shut-eye a few hours ago. Sam was in the living room, searching for something on his laptop with the television going at a low hum. This should feel normal. Should feel good, even. Sammy was safe, Bobby was alive and well, and the world wasn’t ending. Or, at least if it was, he didn’t know about it. Cas wasn’t here. Cas hadn’t been here in a few weeks. Almost a month. And there was a heaviness in Dean’s stomach, a constant breathlessness in his lungs. It didn’t feel right without Cas here.

Chilled night air drifted in from the open kitchen window, tugging lightly at the pages of the text he hadn’t been able to focus on for hours. Dean closed the book and let his eyes slip shut.

It was colder, all those nights ago. A bit muggier. They were hunting a pack of werewolves, trying to get back into the swing of things after dealing solely with the apocalypse for close to a year. The pack was active near Bobby’s house, so they settled down, enjoyed the comforts of having their own bedrooms for once. Hunting werewolves would be a walk in the park, almost ingrained in them by now, like riding a bike. And yet, as Sam and Bobby both eventually surrendered to sleep, Dean sat at the kitchen table, guns laid out, meticulously cleaning and checking and reassembling. Castiel was beside him, sitting too close, his knee resting against Dean’s thigh as he stared out the window. If they weren’t alone, maybe Dean would have told him to move.

An hour passed, and Dean had cleaned all of the guns he had brought in with him. The clock on the stove read 2:18am and Castiel was still beside him. His hand was on Dean’s arm, stilling his hand before he could move to start cleaning the first gun for a second time.

“It’s clean.” Castiel said, and Dean relented, though Castiel did not move his hand. They stayed like that for a few minutes, bile rising up into Dean’s throat as his heart beat quicker and quicker until Cas took his hand away. He started on the first gun again, and Castiel’s hand moved to his thigh, warm even through the thick, lined fabric of his jeans. Cas didn’t say anything else that night, but he stayed with him until morning, got up from his chair around 8am and started a new pot of coffee.

People always talk about realizing you’re in love like it’s some grand event. Like it washes over you when you least expect it, like a grand romantic gesture would suddenly have you struck head-over-heels for someone. And Dean was sure that for some people, that may be how it happened. But loving Castiel? Realizing that he was in love with Castiel? Felt like breathing. Felt like laughing. Felt like something that had always been there. Felt like home . It was nights like these, nights where his anxiety, his paranoia overwhelmed him and made him feel like he couldn’t breathe, that really nailed the coffin. Soft reassurances, warm comfort, no pushing, no prying, just letting him work through it on his own, but still there if he felt he needed help.

They returned home from the hunt without injury and Castiel guided him to his room, settled him down on his bed and told him to sleep. He did not protest when Dean pulled him down into the covers with him, apart from pausing to slip off his shoes before curling around him and entwining their fingers together.

Dean jolted back into awareness as Sam shuffled into the kitchen, the old, worn-down floorboards creaking beneath his feet, coffee mug in hand and a golden feather sticking out of the pocket of his robe. Groggily, Dean wondered if Sam was aware that the feather was there. They seemed to show up in the oddest of places; places where they shouldn’t be able to be without someone having noticed them being placed there. Every day there seemed to be a black feather tucked away somewhere Dean knew it hadn’t been the previous day. They hadn’t talked about it, but Dean knew that the same thing was happening with Sam. Golden feathers hidden away in his clothes, his shoes, his bed. Each feather Dean saw was less pure-gold and more of a shining amber, though he was half-sure that may be his mind playing tricks on him. They had been cooped up in Bobby’s house all week, reading text after text, poring over websites on angel feather lore, only to find nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just the odd historical reference to wings as a whole, or whackjobs on religious forums talking about how “angel feathers were messages from God himself” or “it means He is near”.

“Find anything?” Sam’s voice was rough and Dean got a sudden, unbidden urge to pour some honey in Sam’s coffee.

“Nope.” Dean said, snapping hsi book shut. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to will the drowsiness from them.

“Same here.” Sam said. He recoiled as the coffee touched his tongue, nose scrunching up in bitter distaste.

“Is that coffee still showing up?” Dean asked. If they weren’t in this situation, if Cas was still here, if the threat of not knowing where he was or if he was hurt wasn’t looming over him like a reaper, Dean would probably have teased Sam about getting addicted to trickster coffee. Probably would have been more concerned about it, really. In all reality, they didn’t actually know where the coffee was coming from or what exactly was in it and Dean probably should be more concerned about that.

“Yeah. Every once in a while. Less and less though, lately.” Sam said, and then gestured to the feathers Dean had laid on the table, “More feathers?”

“Every day now.”

“Anything new?”

Dean looked at the feathers, touching his fingertips to the edge of the one that had arrived just this morning.

“Hot--eh--”

“GedUnPaDonGonGraphUr.”

“ Dean.”

“ Bond.”

Shaking his head, Dean chuckled softly, “Just a bunch of broken syllables, my name, and the word ‘bond’.” Dean could see Sam perk up at “bond”.

“That’s...interesting.” Sam paused for a moment, “You know, you’ve been getting a lot more feathers than I have.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe the feathers have something to do with a bond? You and Castiel would obviously have a stronger one...for a variety of reasons. It would make sense that Gabriel and I would have a weak bond. But…” Sam trailed off, eyebrows knitting together. A minute passed and Dean was growing impatient. He wanted this to be done; he wanted Cas back.

“But? Out with it, Sammy.” Dean snapped.

“Have you been receiving anything other than feathers? Noticing anything missing from your room? Feeling anything strange?” Sam asked, his voice soft, like he didn’t want to bring this up.

“No?” Dean answered.

Sam hummed and took out his phone, scrolled through something and eventually put the phone up to his ear.

“Hey, Crowley.” Sam said, and Dean’s blood ran cold in his veins.

-=-=-=-=

Crowley appeared in the living room about 30 minutes later, hellhound in tow, smiling like a goddamn child on christmas morning.

“It’s been much too long, darling.” Crowley drawled, eyes focused intently on Bobby. The old hunter sighed and flopped down on the couch, downing the rest of the beer in his hand.

“You saw me this morning, ya old bastard.” Bobby said, expressly trying to ignore all of them. Dean frowned, moving more toward the center of the room, inching in between his surrogate father and the demon.

“Love you too, Robert.” Crowley grinned wider and then turned to face Sam, “What’s so special that you needed to call me in, Moose? It’s not like you to call me up for just an evening chat.”

“Cas is missing.” Sam said, “Do you know anything about angel feathers?”

Crowley considered them for a moment, eyes searching for something in Sam’s face before snapping himself up a glass of whiskey.

“Get into a scuffle with your boyfriend and he goes missing, so naturally, ask the king of hell to track him down and solve all your problems, eh?” Crowley smirked, focus now shifted to Dean.

“ Crowley.” Bobby all but growled from the couch, and Crowley chuckled.

“Angel feathers are pretty powerful stuff. They have traces of grace in them. There was a saying in hell, back when I was first recruited, that said something along the lines of: if you need to kill an angel, stab a feather through their heart. Not sure if that’s true, but always worth a shot.” Crowley said, absently patting what Dean assumed to be the hellhound.

“Anything about communicating through them? Leaving messages? Clues?” Sam asked.

“Back in the day some angels used them to convey messages to humans in their charge without having to physically manifest.” Crowley said. He sat on the couch next to Bobby, shooing the hunter’s legs out of the way so that he would have enough room.

“Could you use Darla to find him?” Bobby asked as something seemed to nuzzle into his lap.

“Hellhounds aren’t really equipped to find angels. Not enough scent to them.” Crowley said.

“What if we got some of Cas’ feathers?” Bobby said.

“Uhm. Ex cuse me?” Dean said, “We’re not using a hellhound to track down Cas.” Sam shot him a look, like he should keep his mouth shut and Dean glared back. There was no way in hell he’d he giving one of Cas’ feathers to Crowley, let alone a fucking hellhound.

“Maybe. No promises.” Crowley continued, ignoring Dean in favor of leaning back into the couch, refilling his empty glass with another snap of his fingers. “It’s been a while since you invited me onto a case. If I help you, what do I--”

Bobby cut him off, “You get to be invited back, idjit.” Bobby folded his feet into Crowley’s lap and Crowley huffed in defeat.

“ Fine.” Crowley grumbled.

Tagged: @archangelgabriellives

#sabriel #samgabe #sam winchester #spn #supernatural #supernatural fanfic #my fanfic #hannes writes #2018 #it's been so so long #wip

10 notes · View notes

mincamzfic · 6 years

Text

when the moon rises (03)

warning: kinda gore kinda not

-03-

PREVIOUSLY...

“Danger was never a problem for us, Jimin.” Jin stated calmly. He glanced at you once again. “I know you most likely feel angry, misunderstood and out of your liberty. However, we try to prevent the downfall of Jimin by losing his mate and the downfall of the supernatural if another Healer were to be killed. I hope you understand.”

Why did he mean by “the downfall of the supernatural”? It sounded like something straight out of a movie. Were you like superwoman? Does the supernatural world rely on you, now? What the hell, you were living peacefully and discreetly since you knew and now this.

The car pulled up in a very familiar driveway, one you’re slowly growing to despise. Jimin was the first one to get out of the vehicule. He walked fastly towards the house, clearly trying to get away from you as soon as possible. You watched him and once he disappeared, you rolles your eyes and loudly sighed. Hell would start once again. What about your job? Where you really going to be stuck there?

“Y/N, if you don’t start walking, I will drag you in myself.” Jin threatened you. You raised a brow at him, doubtful of his words, while he menacingly looked at you through his slittes eyes. You hated being bratty but honestly, what else could you do? Nothing but show your miscontement. You scoffed, grabbing your bag from the tiled pavement, heading towards the pits of hell.

Right when you came in, the air felt tense. Everyone stopped what they were doing for a moment before miserably trying to ignore your presence. Namjoon came up to you as Jin went off somewhere else.

“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry because if you were I wouldn’t be here.” You spat. You hated this place. You hated Jimin, you hated Jin for lying and teicking you, you hated Namjoon for ordering this for selfish reasons. The man in front of you sighed.

“ I’m sure you’d be glad to meet The Man once again, hm?” He pronounced with his deep voice. It was very reassuring, the way he talked. If it wasn’t for the anger boiling your entire body, you would be as obedient as a puppy and rationalize the situation.

Speaking of which, Namjoon led you to the basement. He said that He would be waiting for you down there. First things first, you had to go through the Healer Ceremony. You’ve heard bits about it but you don’t really rely on oui-dires. You laughed to yourself. This felt like the day day of your execution. Everything drastically turned serious. The whole pack was there, at least, the seven most important of the pack.

“Hello again, Y/N.” The Man spoke gravely, as usual. “ Please lay down on this table. The ceremony will begin.” he motionned with his hand.

You took a step back. What was the rush? You didn’t understand what was going on.

They all looked at you intently, waiting for you to move. But you wouldn’t. And you didn’t like the attention you were getting.

You coughed, feeling uncomfortable. “ Why do I need this ceremony, though? What does it do?” you asked.

You heard a ‘tsk’ somewhere to your left. “Just get on the damn table Y/N.” A voice you knew too well said.

“You can always leave, if this is a waste of time for you.” The Man intervened. “However, since she his your mate, I would not suggest.” The Man then turned to you. “The Healer’s Ceremony determines your faith. While you will be on this table, you will experience The Vision. It shows you a glimpse of what the futur will bring you. As a Healer, depending on what The Vision showed, it is your duty to change the future or manifest it.”

You weren’t convinced but how bad could it be? You walked towards the wooden table. You lightly hiked your leg up before stopping mid-air. You hesitated. The Man encouraged you with a motion of his hand. For once, his face was reassuring and not cold.

“And what happens if I don’t do it?” You asked, putting your lef back down.

“You will fail. No matter your attemps on saving people or by your ability with frequencies, it will be too chaotic. This Ceremony lays out your life, their lives, on a map.” He answered you, solemnly.

Still hesitant, you sat on the table before laying down. The Man placed down crystals of prtection as he recited a protection spell you recognized. He then insteucted you that the Ceremony would now begin. He chanted another spell that put you in a trans. You felt like your were floating in the air, the same feeling one would get before having the illusion of falling down. Your head hurt. Your muscles tensed so hard you thought they would crush your bones. You whimpered in pain. Your nails digged into the surface beneath you. Wood went under your nails, your skin started to bleed. You felt like falling before everything went still. You even thought your heart stopped beating. It felt like forever when you took your first breath.

On the outside, in the real world, The Man verified the time. 8 minutes. 8 minutes that you were out. The Ceremony usually last for more or less 15 minutes.

“What do we do,now?” Jungkook asked.

“We wait.” Jin responded, in a matter-of-fact way.

*Back into your mind, you could see. Now you saw what The Universe wanted to show you, what The Universe wanted you to refrain from happeneing.

The Man saw your hands shaking. He checked the time. 11 minutes. He would start worrying yet. Once 15 minutes would strike, he had to pull you out, if you hadn’t already.

*Blood. So much blood. You heard pained howls, pained cries. You thought one of them was yours. Whom were you crying for?

Another scenery.

You were alone. You were in a forest, one you weren’t familiar with. There was mist. It was raining. You looked down. Corpses. Corpses of wolves everywhere. Werewolves. You felt yourself scream and kneel down. It was the cry you had heard earlier. It was really yours. You cries for the wolf in front of you. Who was it? You felt intense love for that person, to see its dead body felt like someone ripped half of you. You felt empty.

17 minutes. Your eyes were convulsing and also your body. He had to pull you out. The Man searched through his herbs, he couldn’t find anything.

“What’s happening?” Jimin asked, worry filling his voice. He hated to sound like he cared, if it wasn’t for his wolf trying to win over, he wouldn’t be bothered.

“Boys, keep him in check. His wolf will take over sooner or later, I don’t want him near her! You heard me?” The Man shouted, panic slowly creeping up to him. It is not normal for a Healer to be out so long during the ceremony. He didn’t want to risk losing you.

*Another scenery.

It was chaos. You were dying. Your energy was being drained. They had won.

Your nose was bleeding, you were still convulsing. Where was that damn plant when he needed it?

“What the hell his happening?” Jimin growled. This was both a question addressed to himself and a question from his wolf adressed to The Man. A roar. The Man stood still. Red eyes watched him.

“Hello, Raven.” The Man slowly turned around. The room went silent. Only your body hitting the table and erratic breathing was heard. “Please, let me do my work. She will be fine.” The Man wasn’t scared of the wolf but he knew Raven couls be vengeful.

Jungkook let out his canines and claws, amber irises glowing his eyes. Namjoon, as the Alpha, showed his glowing red eyes to the younger Alpha. They shared a look with the Beta before nodding to each other. Raven was pushed back by the two other wolfs, the rest of the pack in defense mode. This let The Man do his work. He heard roars, slamming on the wall and struggling. He didn’t have much time. 21 minutes that you were out. He abandoned his herbs and casted another spell. He wasn’t used to use those kind of spells, it was one you would use to rejuvenate the Dead. He didn’t like it, but he had no choice. He waited.

A cough.

Everything went still once again. Raven was watching you. He struggled against his brothers even more, he only had you on his mind.

“Let me see her.” He gruffed lowly. “Let me see her!”

A deep breath.

A slow expiration.

#bts #park jimin #kim taehyung #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #jung hoseok #jeon jungkook #min yoongi #bts werewolf au #jimin werewolf au #bts angst #bts fluff #bts smut #jimin angst #jimin fluff #jimin smut #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #whenthemoonrises

181 notes · View notes

snowbellewells · 6 years

Text

Run to Me (in the Dead of Night)

Hello Everyone! I’m presenting the first installment of my second CSSNS offering: my werewolf MC. The idea for this fic has been in my head a long time, but I really needed this event to finally make me put pen to paper and give it a try. Though I love reading werewolves in stories, I haven’t really tried to write them myself before – so I hope I have done it justice. Also, don’t think I’ve forgotten that this is a CS event, just because Killian doesn’t physically appear in this prologue. You get a hint that he’s nearby, and I promise you’ll see him soon.

** Other things to note: Graham (and a few other characters from earlier in the show’s run) play larger parts in this divergence from early season two than they did in canon. If it seems like there’s a lot of set up in this first bit, that’s why. I’m trying to explain how some of them are still around and how it fits together differently from canon. Basically – in most respects – we’re at very early season two, the curse has just lifted and everyone knows who they are again, except Graham is still alive (how gets answered as we go along) and Emma and MM don’t go through the portal to the Enchanted Forest. Rumple never turns the wraith loose on Regina because Belle hasn’t been found; therefore the portal isn’t open for Emma to be pulled into.

I don’t hate Regina. However, it did bother me that she never even had to apologize or show real remorse for what she did to Graham – nor did it makes sense to me that no one ever seemed to figure it out, even once the curse broke and they knew magic existed. Since Graham is still around in this and has his memories, what happened comes out, and Regina does stay more of that conflicted, but still vindictive and dangerous, character we saw in season one and throughout season two.

I think that’s it for now… I hope you will enjoy and come back next week. I aim to post every Friday for the duration of the story, which as of now I am estimating will be around 10 to 12 chapters.

Don’t forget to send @wingedlioness some major praise and flailing for her AWESOME art to go along with this. The two she did for this first part make me feel like my fic has a movie poster!! (I only pray it lives up to the hype!!) She did others for me that I will post with the parts of the story they accompany.

Tagging: @cssns @kmomof4 @laschatzi @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @linda8084 @bmbbcs4evr @ps1473-4 (Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for this fic as well.)

By: @snowbellewells (TutorGirlml on ff.net)

~~ prologue: leaves on the wind

The crisp fall air of late September blew Emma Swan’s long, golden curls back over her shoulders and off her neck, tangling them together and causing a shiver to skitter through her as the chilly breeze of early evening glanced along her bared skin. Even as she clattered down the front steps of the diner, eager to get out of the rather close and over-warm space and the heavy, grease-scented air, she still felt it: the sense that had been following her around lately, more than any simple gossip or slander would account for, resting heavy on her shoulder, of being watched. Glancing around the outdoor seating area of Granny’s and down the quiet main street, deserted but for a few leaves blown here and there and Marco tinkering with the sign that hung over the door of his repair shop and pausing on his ladder to offer her a friendly wave and doff of his cap.

Emma tried to shrug off the troubling impression; eerie though it was, she wasn’t sure that it wasn’t just some manifestation of her own jumbled thoughts and fears, a tingling in her bones that had been discomforting her ever since the curse broke, almost a week ago now. Willing her hard-earned nerve and bravado to reassert themselves, Emma rolled her eyes at herself and how she had just mentally referred to the curse that had changed everything she’d come to know on its head as casually as if it were laundry day or a trip to the movies – just a regular little life-altering occurrence – and gathered the still warm carryout bags Ruby had pressed into her arms just a moment before closer to her chest as she picked up her brisk pace down the sidewalk. Something in her psyche wanted to kick her for running as she left Storybrooke’s most popular eatery behind her, but Emma honestly wasn’t in the mood.

The tiny hairs along the back of her neck prickled as she crossed the opening of the alley between Gold’s pawn shop and the library. She threw a glance down the dim space, but told herself to relax and blew out a frustrated breath before squaring her shoulders and moving on. Whatever sort of creepy premonition vibe she was picking up on lately, it simply had to be in her head. For one thing, this was the smallest, sleepiest, stuck-in-the-eighties town ever; beyond fights at the local watering hold between whom she now knew were three of her mom’s dwarves and guys she had learned were Jack Sprat, Tom Thumb and a definitely not-so-little Jack Horner, and the occasional clichéd kitten up a tree, nothing ever happened here – or at least, nothing of the normal criminal variety. Besides, she already knew who the supposed villains were – and she was well-acquainted with the fact that skulking around subtly wasn’t any of their styles.

No, the sense she felt was probably that same one she had experienced some time back, when Mayor Mills had run her smear campaign trying to overturn Emma’s appointment as deputy. Then, it had been judgmental eyes on her back and whispers that ceased when she walked into a room; now it was awkwardly hushed awe and averted eyes or slight bows when she tried to approach a group casually, and still the constant scrutiny – ill meant or not – and whispers, probably about how unprincess-like she, as their long lost princess, had turned out to be. In any case, the way it made Emma’s skin crawl uncomfortably really didn’t change that much from one case to the other.

Curling she and Graham’s dinner more protectively into her elbow, Emma sighed resignedly as she walked on, kicking at a stick on the pavement at her feet. Thinking back to those unpleasant weeks when she had almost given in, packed up, and moved on, the upheaval of the last several days didn’t seem quite so intense. Back then, it had seemed as though she was clinging to her tenuous bond with Henry by such a fragile, thin thread. Graham offering her the deputy sheriff position – and thus a legitimate reason to remain in town – had been a genuine boon, and when it had seemed as though that might slip through her fingers too – as good things always seemed to do in her life – Emma had almost hit the road once more. She’d been so close to taking off back to Boston, or anywhere really, it didn’t matter… she was always going to be alone.

No matter where she went, people never truly changed that much. Emma had learned that long ago, though Henry’s boundless optimism and the quaint little town’s charm had almost let her forget. It never got easier to ignore the labels that had followed her for most of her life – brought back to glaring focus by the newspaper expose Henry’s adoptive mother had ordered in her bid to see Emma ousted from her new town role. ‘Runaway’, ‘Thief’, ‘Orphan’, ‘Hussy’, ‘Teen Mom’, ‘Jail Bird’…those nasty words dogged her steps for the few days after the paper’s publication in the suspicious narrowing of eyes and disapproving pursing of lips as much as in any audible speech. For all too many moments, it had looked as though the little berg she had begun to hope could be a real home was going to turn its back on her. No matter how far or fast she ran, the barbed tips of both truth and rumor about her never failed to pierce Emma’s hard-won armor. She might be good at pretending the wounds didn’t sting, but she knew now more than ever that she would do well not to forget just how quickly the tide of public opinion could turn.

Even now, with the curse broken, and her tentatively coming to believe that she had not been an unwanted infant abandoned carelessly on the side of some deserted road, the lost little girl inside her still flinched at cruel jabs both real and imagined; there would never be enough time passed to make that completely go away. The childhood and adolescence she had weathered was an inner wound that would always draw blood – even as getting to know Henry, his forgiveness for her giving him up, his boundless blind faith in her, and meeting her parents after all the years lost, and learning how desperately they had indeed loved and wanted her, how they’d had no other choice but to give her what seemed her best chance and believe they would be reunited someday; even all those truths being brought home to her couldn’t undo everything else she had known before.

Upon reaching the sheriff’s station at last, Emma raised her chin from where she had buried it in her collar against the chilly wind and her hair being whipped across her face and into her eyes. She turned the knob and pushed into the station’s dingy and antiquated entryway, also finally shedding the odd sensation of eyes following her as she entered the squat cinderblock building. She could feel her mood lift slightly almost at once. In truth, this was the first job she had genuinely enjoyed doing in years – not only because she was good at it and got paid well, but for the fulfillment and sense of purpose it brought. Clearly, Graham had needed the second pair of hands; they’d be putting the filing back in order until next December, and the man couldn’t make a decent pot of coffee without somehow getting grounds in it to save himself. Still, he respected her and they worked well together. Emma was determined not to let down her guard and grow too comfortable again, but this sleepy little hamlet could almost feel something like a place to belong – not a description she would ascribe to any of the other places she had landed before.

A wry smile curled her lips just before she called out to let Graham know she was back with their food. She certainly wouldn’t take back Henry’s appearance on her doorstep and his bringing her here – whatever happened next. And watching the first real friend – outside of her 10-year-old and her own mother – she had made in years muttering to himself in his office, rifling through the haphazard piles of paperwork stacked all over his desk and running an occasional frustrated hand to swipe his errant curls off his forehead, she grinned even more warmly. They had exchanged one kiss – some months back now – but had decided to simply remain friends rather than risk the comfortable working relationship they shared and Henry’s hurt, as he cared so much for both of them, if it failed. They had somehow managed to simply go on as if it were a one-time gesture of affection and remain the partners and friends they were – for which she was constantly grateful. Graham was warm, open, supportive, and just lighthearted enough to crack truly awful jokes simply to see her roll her eyes, snort, and smile, but he was also capable and as driven as she was, determined to do their jobs well and protect those in their charge.

Stepping into the doorway of the lamp lit office, Emma had raised her hand to knock on the frame, but Graham looked up alertly before she could even complete the motion; hazel-deep eyes finding hers unerringly as if he had sensed or scented her presence before it could be humanly possible. She used to marvel at the uncanny ability her boss possessed; be it hearing, smell, or some other awareness, it was impossible to sneak up on him or catch him by surprise. Of course, now that the curse was broken, Emma knew, though she was still trying to wrap her head around it, that it was his werewolf nature allowing him that ability – his lupine senses were heightened and made him effectively alert and aware of everything. Smirking slightly she had to admit to herself that wasn’t at all a bad skill set for a sheriff to possess.

Shuffling forward almost bashfully, Emma held out the to-go bag in explanation, even as Graham waved her in without question, a welcoming smile on his scruffy face and stood to pull the visitor’s chair facing his desk over to the end of it where they could eat together more comfortably. Graham took the still steaming brown bag that Ruby had handed her with an understanding and apologetic smile not five minutes before and began to spread their meal out on his desk. They’d shared their evening meal right there nearly every night they both worked since he had hired Emma, and it was a settling bit of routine normalcy that soothed her jangled nerves as she sunk into the seat before her.

Graham looked up at her with a grateful crooked smile and the bright eyes that Emma would challenge anyone not to be charmed by (there was a reason she had kissed him that one time after all). “Thank you, Deputy,” he quipped, a playful emphasis on her title. “It was definitely time for a break.” He gestured at the stacks of files and paperwork all over his desk at those words.

Once they had both settled into their seats, Graham didn’t hesitate to take a huge bite out of the Philly Steak hoagie he’d ordered, munching happily and even closing his eyes in bliss with a low hum of satisfaction deep in his chest. For a moment, Emma could only watch, trying to remember if her friend – for all that he looked so trim and wiry – had always had such a voracious appetite and she merely didn’t notice before, or if it was a trait of his recently reacquired wolf within. She was still sometimes too stunned to believe that both he and his adopted sister Ruby, her two closest friends in Storybrooke beyond her parents (that was taking some adjustment too) could both shift into large wolves by the light of the moon. They had been born with the ability in the Enchanted Forest, and that side had merely been buried along with their true identities while under the curse. It was why Graham’s birth parents had abandoned him in the woods – or so he had told her, as he could only assume when he didn’t even remember them – to be found by a preteen Ruby on one of her nightly runs and brought back to live with she and Granny, folded into their little family as simply as if he had already belonged there. Emma had yet to see either of them transform, but she also knew in her bones that neither of them would lie to her. She had simply attempted to reconcile this one more bit of her new normal in her mind and move on without treating her friends any differently; even if, in moments like that, she did gawp at them in wonder. “That good, huh?” she finally managed with a chuckle, amused enough by his good natured enthusiasm and almost child-like joy to put aside her own cross mood and paranoia of being followed.

Then, she bit into her own first taste of Granny Lucas’ unparalleled onion rings and let out her own ecstatic moan at the hot, crisp, greasy goodness on her tongue. Graham laughed out loud in response, the whooping, uncalculated ring of it doing much to completely repair Emma’s clouded outlook. “I don’t know,” the sheriff countered her previous jest saucily, “you tell me.”

Emma nodded enthusiastically, her own eyes alight as well, and her mouth full of her first buttery toasted bite of Granny’s grilled cheese. When she could speak again, she conceded gladly, “Yep, you’re right. Granny’s is the best – and Ruby slipped bacon on here for me again. It’s like Heaven between two slices of bread!”

Graham snickered at her creative praise, and the two of them settled into a comfortable silence, busily munching on the food spread out before them and humming in pleased enthusiasm. Once they were finished, Emma began gathering up wrappers and napkins as Graham sat back contentedly in his chair, wiping crumbs from his front with his hand and grinning at his deputy in full-stomached satisfaction. “Well, that hit the spot,” he stated cheerily, eyes sparkling when she nodded in agreement with his words. He paused a moment, as if uncertain whether he should voice what he was about to say or not, then added, “I’m glad. You look a lot happier than you did when you first came back in here.”

Though she truly attempted not to – had long since decided in the months she and Graham had worked together side-by-side that the good hearted sheriff was trustworthy – Emma felt herself stiffen and begin to close off. She didn’t need any more concern over her emotional state and how she was dealing; her mother was doing enough of that to serve for a dozen people. The barrier she threw up was almost involuntary, no matter how well-intentioned she knew her boss was. Old habits were hard to break, and even more so when she felt half the time as if the town’s very borders were closing in on her, that she would never find “normal” again, and as if her every move was being scrutinized and probably coming up well short of what must have been expected in a long lost royal.

To his credit, the soft-spoken lawman didn’t push and delve into further questions. He backed up slightly, hands raised in appeal, before lifting a file from the stack before him and turning to put it in the corner cabinet, offering her a bit more space as if he had read her mind. ‘No, more likely he sensed the fear or frustration on me,’ her mind supplied unhelpfully, remembering his heightened shifter senses once more. Though he had his foster sister, and Granny, and Henry blatantly adored him, trailing after the sheriff or begging him to ride along on patrols, Graham seemed like a somewhat reluctant loner himself. Emma sensed he understood self-protective walls and keeping others at arm’s length all too well, even if she didn’t know everything he had been through. He might be willing to listen, but he clearly wouldn’t force her to talk.

She could ask him how he seemed to know, seemed to be on the outside looking in, but it really wasn’t fair when she was unwilling to share in return. Ruby had explained to her once – on an ill-fated girl’s night that only she and Ruby had made it to the end of – Mary Margaret and Ashley ducking out embarrassingly early – that shifters like them could only be contained for so long, and that though he had loved she and her gran and been happy with them, he had mostly returned to the forest when he came of age, living off the land as a skilled huntsman with a wolf he considered his brother at his side. It was only after a month when he hadn’t stopped in for even a supper or a quick visit, that they learned he had been commissioned for a job by the Evil Queen – and when he had failed to return, she had feared him dead. It wasn’t until befriending Snow White and hearing she and Charming’s whole story put together that Ruby had learned the fate of her adopted sibling was much worse: he had been made into one of Regina’s heartless black knights, his very mind and will subject to her whims and control.

Henry had told Emma all this as well, long before her waitress friend confided in her with newly-restored memories post-Curse, but Emma hadn’t truly believed him at the time, merely nodded along to humor her highly imaginative son as he’d flipped through his storybook not long after she and Graham had shared their single, ill-fated kiss. Graham’s collapse just afterwards, her panicked 911 call and what the confused Dr. Whale had vaguely labeled some sort of isolated cardiac event, had given cooler heads time to prevail where taking the romantic feelings behind that kiss much further had been concerned. At the time, Emma hadn’t questioned his awed “I remember” epiphany, chalking it up to disorientation from his impending health episode. Now she knew that somehow his memories had been returned to him before the curse breaking did the same for everyone else in town. Henry had been thrilled, and she knew that Graham had listened to her son seriously after that, truly joined his “Operation Cobra”, because he knew Henry was right, and wanted to help bring everyone back to themselves as well. He just hadn’t attempted to share it with her, knowing she would think him crazy and that it would push her even further from the truth. Instead, he had bided his time, and helped where he could, waiting and hoping and believing until the Savior could no longer deny who she truly was.

It made Emma chuckle lowly, and shake her head in amused disbelief; their whole world had changed, and yet here stood her friend, patiently waiting as he always had. He turned to look over his shoulder at her sound from where he stood at the open filing cabinet, head tilted to the side as he studied her curiously, until Emma finally admitted, “Yeah, I wasn’t in the best mood. It felt like everyone in the diner was wondering how I could possibly be their Princess. My parents keep fussing over me and trying to make up for 28 years in a week, and we still don’t know where Regina’s hiding or what she might be plotting next. It’s just…it’s a lot….that’s all.”

She blew out a breath, still not sure what compelled her to open up exactly. To her intense relief, Graham didn’t try to offer empty platitudes about it all being fine and not to worry. He merely nodded in understand, adding, “I’d imagine so. Our world back in the Enchanted Forest – your own family even – wasn’t real to you at all, and now it’s all been dumped in your lap.”

Emma bit her lip to hide its almost quivering a little at the emotion he summed up so succinctly. She wasn’t used to feeling so shaky and out of her depth – and she certainly didn’t like it. That didn’t even begin to factor in the weird sensation of being watched that she had experienced repeatedly, nor of being followed, though she kept feeling it crawling up the back of her neck the last couple of days. That had to be just a reaction to the other upheavals around her –if she could only convince herself of that fact.

Suddenly, Emma had to get out. The pressures of wondering what the Evil Queen might throw at them next, how to keep her son safe – while at long last getting to actually learn to be his mother, trying to reconnect with her own parents, and trying not to disappoint everyone else looking on, was overwhelming her once more. The walls of the station seemed to be drawing in, along with the suffocating weight of all that responsibility mentally added up as well. It really was more than any one person – a sane one anyway – should be expected to handle at one time.

Luckily, it had taken her long enough to fetch their dinner, that a quick glance at the clock back out into the main room over the coffeemaker and microwave showed that it was nearly quitting time anyway. She needed to get back to her room at the loft – if only for five minutes completely to herself to put her head back on straight – before she hyperventilated.

Before she could voice some excuse about the supper not sitting right or needing to help Henry with his homework, Graham looked up at her again, warm gaze concerned and voice soft in understanding, “Emma, you don’t look like you’re feeling well…”

She started to protest, even as she had been about to claim just that, but she didn’t want to seem like she was slacking, nor for her distress to be so obvious. She used to have a much better poker face. Graham waved off whatever comeback she was about to voice anyway. “Seriously, this place is so quiet they shouldn’t pay both of us to be here anyway. I’m closing up myself as we speak. I’ll put the phone on rollover to our cells at 9:00, and then I’m heading out too. You’re only gaining about twenty minutes.”

Shaking her head at his once more almost unbelievable kindness, Emma didn’t even try to protest further. Instead, she slung her jacket back over her shoulders and nodded her acquiescence as she stood. “If you’re sure,” she finally caved, “but make me return the favor sometime, okay?”

“Done,” Graham assured her, his expression genuine and further comforting her that he didn’t resent the early exit or her needing some time to regroup.

Another minute, and she was out the door, hesitating but a moment on the curb outside to button up her red jacket and pull her knit beanie down over her ears against the chill in the late September breeze. She stepped out briskly, crossing the street and picking up speed as the night had already lengthened into dark and the air had gone chill. It was only as she passed by the storefront with Dr. Hopper’s offices above on the second floor that a scuffling noise caught her ears enough that she turned sharply, peering once more down a narrow alley between buildings. She could have sworn the shadows shifted as something – or someone – drew further back out of sight. Emma tried to focus on the area where she had seen movement, practically holding her breath as she stared into the hovering blackness. Whatever had alerted her was clearly long gone though. She wasn’t running around in the night alone chasing what was probably a stray cat, nor was she going to let her jangly nerves imagine even more monsters than the ones she had already learned were real.

Turning back to face the street, Emma made herself move on toward the home she shared with Mary Margaret – and now David and Henry too. She couldn’t help the foreboding that skittered up her spine; no matter how many times she told herself she wasn’t being followed, that nothing was there, she was no longer sure that reassurance was true.

As if to seal her unease, just as she closed her fist over the door handle to enter their building’s stairwell up to the loft, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end in the night stillness. And it was then that a stark, shivering note rose on the chill air – coming from the nearby forest at the edge of town, but carrying in a haunting, wild cry, clear as a bell. It was the howl of a wolf, letting them all know it was there.

#cssns #cs au mc ff #run to me (in the dead of night)#prologue

80 notes · View notes