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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years

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Work of Art (Diego Hargreeves x Reader, Kinktober

A/N: Rather than try and finish 2 more fics this week, as would be necessary to finish the original Kinktober list I posted, I played a little shuffle, and combined the two remaining ones, tossed some stuff, added new stuff. Because frankly I’m running out of steam[iness], though really, this is further than I ever expected to get on this project. Anyway...the final fic. Hope you enjoy. Word Count: 2440 Kinktober Prompts: bondage, knife-play, marking Rating: E(xplicit) Content Warnings: dom/sub (dom reader), bondage, knife-play, marking kink, pain kink, begging, teasing, praise kink, oral (both male and female receiving), biting, blood, overstimulation Cross-posted to AO3 here.

“Stop squirming so much,” you laughed, dropping the soft cotton rope to start over. “You’d think I was torturing you or something.”

“You’re sitting there, dressed like that, looking that gorgeous, and not letting me touch you,” Diego pointed out. “Find me the part that isn’t torture.”

You rolled your eyes, finally securing the last knot to keep Diego exactly where you wanted him, despite his continued wriggling.

“Unless you want actual torture, stop complaining.”

“Actual torture? You couldn’t if you tried.”

You raised a challenging eyebrow and smirked. He swallowed, instantly regretting his words.

“Well then, you wouldn’t mind if I just…” you walked over to the bedroom door, pausing dramatically in the doorway to look back at him. “Left you there then?”

“Wait, no, Y/N,” he called after you, voice straining with ill-concealed desperation. “Please. I promise I’ll behave.”

You waited a few beats longer, until you heard his faint whine, pleading for you, before you returned to the bedroom, satisfied that he knew your threat was serious. When you returned, he gave you his best penitent expression, which was admittedly, just a little bit ruined by the way his eyes trailed hungrily over your figure in the lacy, nearly see-through negligee you wore when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

“I could do whatever I want to you like this,” you observe off-handedly, still standing near the end of the bed, studying his bound form.

He wasn’t completely immobile, though you had originally tried to convince him to let you trap him in that way. But he was tied enough that he wouldn’t be going anywhere or able to pull his usual stunts to try to take control. And he looked so pretty: stretched out on the bed, hands bound above him with just enough slack to be able to twist and grab the thin wrought-iron rails supporting him, another thin set of ropes wrapped around his waist and secured to the underside of the bed. If you were being honest, it was a bit like the damsel tied to a railroad track in an old silent movie, but it was a look that worked for him, especially the way the blue ropes stood out against his skin.

“And you’d like that wouldn’t you,” you purred, taking a few steps closer. “You like to act tough but really, you’re just craving to be used and controlled. Isn’t that right baby?”

His cock twitched at your words and you couldn’t help but smirk, enjoying the visual evidence of your effect on him. He nodded in answer to your question, even as he strained against his binds. You stopped, waiting expectantly for him to use his words. It had taken a long time to convince him to let his guard down and be vulnerable like this, and you wanted to be sure that he was both capable and willing to bring it to a stop if he needed to.

“Yes,” he finally panted. “Please, use me, do whatever you want to me. Please, Y/N.”

“You look so good like this, like a work of art. What would you do if I decided I wanted to just sit here,” you plopped yourself down on a stool in the corner and folded one leg over your knee, leaning forward so you could still see his face. “And admire the art?”

He shook his head. “No, please, please touch me, hurt me, fuck me. Do anything, just please, do something.”

“You’re so right.” You stood again, sauntering to the edge of the bed and staring down into his face, gently running your nails down the side of his face, swiping them across his lips, drawing back harshly enough that they caught when he tried to suck a thumb into his mouth.

“My pretty boy.” He shivered bodily, as much as the ropes would allow, at your words, throwing his head back against the pillow.

“Do you like that? Being called pretty or being called mine.”

His face flushed and you repressed a giggle.

“Both,” he admitted shyly.

“Do you want me to keep doing it?”

“Please?”

“Of course, my pretty boy, all mine, all laid out and gorgeous for me.” A dangerous glint crossed your eyes as he tried to buck upward, a bead of pre-cum welling from your words alone.

“Maybe, I should make sure everyone knows that you’re mine. Make it clear that they can look,” you ran your fingertips down his sternum, “but they can’t touch. Would you like that?”

You suspected that by the end of the night, he would grow tired of your prompting. And yet, if he paid attention, he would see that through this, he had more control than he ever did otherwise.

“Yes, Y/N. Claim me.” There was a hint of frustration and desperation in his voice, and you decided not to push him any further before giving in.

Slowly, making sure his eyes were trained on you the whole time, not that he had dared to look away for a second so far, you straddled him, just above where the ropes crossed his mid-section, moving at a pace that made tectonic plates look like speedboats.

Settling comfortably, you leaned down, pressing your body against his, only the gauzy layer of your dress separating you. You let your breath ghost over him, teasing at the sensitive spots behind his ear and beneath his jaw. And then, sure that he wouldn’t be expecting it, you dipped your head lower and bit down harshly on the soft spot where throat met clavicle. Diego cried out, thrashing under you but unable to move, and just as importantly, not seeming like he was actually trying to get away from you. You felt the slightest hint of blood welling up and laved your tongue over the spot, soothing the worst of the sting but maintaining enough pressure to draw the blood toward the surface, ensuring a heavy, dark spot would be left behind.

“Mm,” you purred, pulling back to look at his face once more, the blissed out look on his face sending a jolt to your core. “You mark up so well for me Diego, but I don’t know if that little spot’s going to be enough.”

He gulped nervously. “Will you leave another?”

“I had a better idea, if you trust me…” you forced him to meet your gaze.

“Absolutely.” It was the firmest his voice had been since you began.

Hesitantly, you reached over to the nightstand, picking up one of the tiny precision blades that he used sometimes, though never in this way obviously. Palming it, you held it up for him to see. His eyes widened.

“I promise, I won’t hurt you, not really,” you explained, dropping any act or pretense. “Lightest touch only. Just enough to leave a mark that will heal over without a trace. Or I can put this away. It’s up to you.”

His eyes flickered back and forth from the knife to your face.

“Do it,” he said, voice gruff with desire. The muscles of your cunt clenched and fluttered at the sound, but you tried to ignore the feelings and focus on him. “...please?”

You kissed him passionately, trying to pour into it all of the thousand feelings coursing through you: how badly you wanted him, how much you loved him, how grateful you were that he trusted you like this.

You rocked backwards, letting your ass brush teasingly against his straining erection as you inspected your canvas.

“Now, my pretty boy,” you taunted, “where shall I make my mark. There are so many options…”

You trailed the flat of the little blade along the column of his throat, watching his Adam’s apple bob, dangerously close to the point. You traced outward, first over one side of his collarbone and then the other and then down over the taut muscles of his chest. He hissed as you turned the blade so that the needle-sharp point was against his flesh as you traced circles around his nipples with just enough pressure to create a sting. Finally, you stopped, poised just above his heart.

“Shall I write my name right here?” you asked, “label your heart and lay my claim to it.”

“It’s yours,” he countered, “already yours.”

“Well then, let’s make it official.”

You turned the blade again so that the full edge was pressed his exposed skin, biting your lip as you watched the little specks of red well up in the shape of your initials, tracing over them once, twice, thrice. He moaned louder with each pass, high and needy and threatening to overwhelm you, but he held himself perfectly still, one wrong move potentially spelling his end. You admired the endurance and discipline it required almost as much as you admired the patterns of pain you were tracing around the letters now, little hearts and swirling shapes. You followed behind the knife with open-mouthed kisses, as you wanted him to experience the sting and ache at the same time as you wanted to draw them away and spare him any suffering.

“Please,” he breathed. “Please, haven’t I been good?”

You looked up, a little startled at the question.

“Of course you’ve been good. You’ve been so good. Perfect, obedient, beautiful. You’ve been all those things Diego,” you assured him.

“Then please, I can’t take anymore. Please stop teasing me, no more games.”

You frowned. It wasn’t the safeword you had agreed to, but maybe…

“Please, don’t I deserve a reward?”

Oh.

“Of course you do baby. Do you want to cum now?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“No?” you startled.

“No. I don’t want to cum yet. Not until I taste you. I know you’re wet, I know you. I want that sweet little pussy all over my face.”

“Well who am I to refuse you whatever your heart desires?” You said, eyes sparkling with mirth before you rose up on your hands and knees, crawling over him until you were poised, hovering just out of reach of his tongue, which was already darting out to run across his lips.

His hands strained at the ropes, and you knew that if his hands were free, something you could have given him with a few flicks of the little knife if you wanted to, they would be gripping your hips with bruising strength and holding you down while he pleasured you. You closed your eyes, letting the image dance across your eyelids while you sank down.

Diego’s tongue flicked through your folds, tasting your gathered wetness. The groan that followed vibrated up through you, and it took all of your willpower, and the sharp bite of your nails into the palm of one hand, the other braced on the headboard, parallel to Diego’s own arms, not to break from that sensation alone. He sucked hard on your sensitive clit and you keened, grinding down on his face just as he moved his attention, tongue diving into you. You continued to move, hips bucking in rhythm with the thrust and flick of the wet muscle inside you, his name falling from your lips like a prayer and then in a primal scream as he flicked and sucked at your clit again, alternating back and forth faster than you could keep track of. He answered each sound you made with one of his own, groans and moans and hums mixing with his clever mouth to drive you over the edge, and then again without warning as he refused to let up.

“Oh fuck!” you cried out, “Fuck, Diego, yes! You make me feel so good baby!”

As a third orgasm tore through you, you pulled from him, trembling in the aftershocks as you tried to catch your breath.

“That was so good baby,” you panted. “You always know how to make me feel so good. But now it’s your turn.”

You slowly slunk down the bed, trailing kisses and little nips along his skin until you reached your destination. Looking up to check on him, and because you knew how much he loved the sight of you making eye-contact as you sucked him off, you wrapped your lips around his dick and slowly lowered your mouth onto it, taking him as deep as you could until he bumped at the back of your throat and tears stung at the corners of your eyes. Curling your hand around the base of him, the other bracing yourself against his thigh, you set an unstable pattern, working him rapidly, twisting your fingers and bobbing your head up and down only to suddenly slow, so that you were all but still, holding him in your mouth and the length of his cock with your tongue and then resuming your motions, trying to keep him on his toes. He bucked his hips as far as the ropes would allow him, trying to match your patterns with thrusts of his own, and crying out your name over and over.

“Oh, Y/N,” he moaned. “I’m so close. I’m so fucking close.”

You squeezed gently on the base of his cock at the same you hollowed out your cheeks, taking him as deep as you could and he came with a feral growl, his cum filling your mouth, hot and salty and you swallowed down as much of it as you could, fighting the urge to gag.

Slowly, you slid him out of your mouth and stood. Your own fluids were rapidly cooling on the insides of your thighs as you made your way shakily to the bathroom for some warm cloths to clean you both up.

As you returned to Diego’s side, you noticed the way he shivered and sweat. Concerned, you quickly slit the ropes, freeing him to curl in on himself.

“Diego, baby?” you asked softly, stroking the damp fabric over his skin soothingly. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he said slowly, sounding hoarse and slightly out of breath. “That was just a lot…”

“Too much?”

“No. No,” he shook his head, reaching around to grab one of your hands in his. “It was perfect, I’m just…I’ll be fine.”

You bit your lip, not sure if you believed him and concerned that you’d gone too far, all in the name of showing him how amazing he was.

“How can I help?” you asked, wanting to follow his lead and speed his recovery.

“Just, hold me, please.”

“Let me finish cleaning us both up, and then I can definitely do that,” you said with a smile, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I love you, Diego.”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

#Kinktober: Sinful Sundays #Diego Hargreeves x reader #Diego Hargreeves Kinktober #Kinktober 2020 #smut #I hate this title but I'm tired and I can't come up with a better one #it still counts as Sinful Sunday if not every timezone has hit Monday yet #right on the dot also still counts

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

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Survey #446

“so you can throw me to the wolves / tomorrow i will come back, leader of the whole pack”

Favourite cheese? American. Superman or Batman? I know literally nothing of Superman, but I like Batman. Who are your best friends? The only person I consider a best friend is Sara. Name the 3 most important people in your life: My mom, Sara, and... I suppose myself since I cherish my mental health VERY deeply. Are you currently learning from anyone how to play any instruments? No. Do you know anyone who is overly flirty with people? Girl or a boy? In my personal opinion, yes. I do believe it's possible to be "overly" flirty, considering you can really lead people on. It's a she. Do you believe vampires are real? Not the stereotypical Twilight kind. No. Have you ever been to a porn website? Were you addicted to it afterword? No. I'm really not into that. What is the most disgusting thing you think the opposite sex can do? I think the most disgusting thing anyone can do is commit rape. Would you rather be able to teleport or freeze time? Which one seems best? I feel teleportation is obviously more convenient and useful in dangerous situations. Have you seen the movie Twister? Did the tornadoes look real to you? LKJFL;AKSDJFKLASJDLFKA;WE NOOOOOOOOOO. I am WAY too terrified of tornadoes to watch that. Have you actually been through a devastating natural disaster before? Hurricane Floyd was pretty devastating. I was too young to really remember it, though. Did your mom ever fix your eggs and bacon into a smiley face as a kid? She probably did. What fast food place, in your opinion, has the best french fries? BOJANGLE'S, AHHHHHHHHHHHH. Do you believe one day aliens might take over the planet Earth? I mean, it's possible, but I don't know. Do you remember when they used to actually throw candy out at parades? I didn't know they stopped. Does it bother you when people burp around you or do you do it too? I couldn't possibly care less, it's a natural bodily function. Just because of societal standards though, I don't burp in public, though, but only around family and close friends. What is one kind of music you’d do anything to not listen to in the car? Anything like rap that has a STUPIDLY loud bass that just annoys everyone within a ten mile radius. When was the last time you babysat, if ever? Did anything bad happen? A year or two ago, for my nephew. No one else was free to watch him, so I had no choice. Nothing bad happened, besides nearly having a panic attack. Do you ever talk to people you met online through webcam? Or is that weird? No. Even Sara and I don't do it, because I'm too self-conscious of how I look. Even though she's seen me plenty before irl. Would you ever consider becoming a scientist? Why would you or why not? Well, I majored in biology briefly... I wanted to be a wildlife biologist. I just adore animals and thought I could do it. I just couldn't handle school. When is the next time you’ll talk to the cousin you’re closest to? I'm not especially close to any of my cousins. Are you really into vintage things? Have you ever been into that stuff? Yessss! is writing something that you enjoy doing? Definitely. Would you rather read or write? Write. Would you rather draw or take photographs? If I wind up being very proud of the product, I prefer drawing, but I take pictures far more. When was the last time you cheated at something? I have no clue. Has anyone ever copied off of your homework assignments? I think so? Do you have any pictures of celebs saved to your computer? ... *stares at my folder labelled "Mark"* What would you consider your favorite holiday? Why is this? Christmas. I love the whole vibe of it. The weather, the smells, the treats, my niece's and nephew's excitement... I adore all the lights and decorations, the gratefulness for family and your loved ones in general... I just love Christmas. If you’re a girl, do you have big hips? Too big? I'd say my hips are normal. Girls, do you think you look good in dresses or not? God no. Not anymore. Have you ever taken a pottery class before? Nope. How many times have you seen Star Wars? Be honest. Once. I didn't like it. Has your best friend ever made you cry? Yes. But in her defense, we've both made the other cry. Have you ever entered a talent competition? God no, I ain't got shit to flaunt. Are you smiling in your Facebook profile picture? Yes. If you wear eye shadow, do you put on a dark colour or a light? And if you wear mascara, what colour is it? I only ever wear black for both of those. What is your favourite Christmas movie? Jim Carrey's How the Grinch Stole Christmas. What do you get complimented on the most? My Markiplier tattoo, actually. What do you think of your best friend’s ex? One I REALLY don't like, the other I'm neutral about. Are you biracial? No. Do you have Pop-Tarts in your house right now? No. We try to not buy them, given they're just TOTALLY empty calories. They don't fill me at all. Is anyone’s birthday coming up? No. Does/did either of your parents serve in the military? No. Do you like sour candy? I LOVE sour candy. Where would you like to go on your honeymoon? Alaska, to see the Northern Lights. Do you usually wear sunglasses when you’re driving? I haven't driven in well over a year. Hell, maybe two. But no, because I'd need prescription sunglasses. Ignoring nutrition, could you live off veggies for the rest of your life? God no. Has anyone taken their shirt off in front of you? Yeah. What time do you usually have dinner? 5:30-6:30, usually. What’s your favourite meat? Chicken, I think. What is your favourite meal of the day and why? Breakfast. I just enjoy breakfast foods. What colour is your shampoo? White. Tell me a silly little old wive’s tale you believed when you were a child: My older sister got me to believe that if you said a word a ridiculous amount of times, it'd be the only word you knew how to say anymore, lmao. Shut up, I was little. What was the last magazine you bought? Do you subscribe to any? I don't buy magazines. Whose Facebook profile did you last look at? Was there anything that caught your attention? Uh, that's a good question. Do you regret your last relationship? Not at all. What’s better, mashed potatoes or sweet potatoes? Mashed potatoes, though I'm picky with them and the texture. Did you ever used to make cookies, cakes, or pie with your grandma? No. Do you like kids? Not especially. They ask too many questions and can be really rude, even though I know they usually don't mean to be. What are you listening to? I'm watching Gab Smolders play Dino Crisis 2. I finished her playthrough of Final Fantasy X, so now I feel a void in my soul that I am trying to fill with a new series lmao. Do you burn incense? Not really anymore. I'm not against it, I just... haven't. What is your favorite kind of cracker? Cheese-Itz. Can you name a single song by Billy Joel without looking it up? Yeah; I can name a few, actually. My dad loves Billy Joel, so I heard him a lot growing up. "Piano Man" is a classic. Do you like regular peppermint candy canes, or do you prefer different flavored ones [fruits, bubble gum, cinnamon, etc.]? I actually really like the Jolly Rancher ones. Have you ever been kissed while sitting atop the hood of a car? That's actually possible... but I'm not sure. I think I have a faint memory of lying on a car hood with Jason before. What do you think is the dumbest/tackiest piercing? I don't like calling a piercing either of those, like if they make someone feel more confident and attractive, good for them. I can say I'm personally not a fan of the smiley piercing, though. Have you ever requested a song on the radio? No. When I was a kid at a birthday party, though, one of the girls did. Does your mother still take care of you if you get ill? She helps a lot, yeah. What is one song that always brings back memories every time you hear it? Honestly, too many. I attach way too aggressively to songs. Do you currently have any pimples? Not currently, no. Did anything disturb your sleep at all last night? Ugh, yes. I couldn't sleep for shit. How does it make you feel looking at pics with your ex and someone else? I have only seen one picture of Jason with the girl he dated after me and it. Set. Me. On. Fucking. Fire. It's pathetic. If you’re not in college, why? All it did was give me emotional breakdowns. What do you think about MTV? I am way too out of the loop on what goes on on any TV channel to answer this. What was your very first day of your very first job like? What’d you do? How long did it take you to get the hang of it, and feel comfortable with working? This was waaaay too long ago... All I remember is actually being hopeful, though nervous. I never got to the point of feeling comfortable there. Or at any job. If you have a dog, are they friendly to strangers or other dogs? We don't have a dog, but we do have a cat that is EXTREMELY skittish around strangers. Someone he doesn't know comes through the door? He's bolting to hide. Do people ever comment on or joke about your driving? Well, I got flipped off once by a driver, so... I'd consider that a silent comment. I, to this day, don't know why they (it was a group of guys) did it, but it's stuck with me. What was the last thing to move you? Are you easily moved or inspired? The ending of FFX alsdkfjkaljlkwjer. And yes. If you`ve ever seen your very favorite band, did you cry when you saw them? Was it like a dream come true? If you`ve never seen them, do you think you would? I haven't, but I probably would a little bit. Of all the reality competitions you’ve watched, who are some of your all-time favorite contestants and what shows were they from? From America's Got Talent, I adore(d) Landau Eugene Murphy Jr., as well as Prince Poppycock. I keep up with them both on Facebook. Ever had a friend named Alex or John? One of my closest online friends was Alex. A couple years ago she just... got a boyfriend and fell off the face of the earth. Are you happy with your relationship status? I mean... no, I'm ridiculously lonely, but being single is for the best right now. What kind of stuff do you like on your hot dogs? Just ketchup and mustard. Have you ever been in a spelling bee? No. What is the most annoying thing that your parents do? Mom absolutely always assumes she's right. Dad repeats himself like CRAZY. Would you say you’re someone who has good manners? Yes. Did you parents know what gender you were before you were born? Actually, the doctors couldn't determine mine (or any of Mom's kids') because my legs were ALWAYS crossed when they did ultrasounds. Mom says she "knew" I was a girl, though. Have you ever been addicted to something unhealthy? I'm addicted to caffeine, yes. Who makes the best desserts in your entire family? Hm, I dunno. Do you have good dreams or nightmares more? I have very severe sleep apnea that results in very violent nightmares almost any time I sleep without my APAP mask. Even WITH the damn mask, I have them a lot. When was the last time someone insulted you? What was the insult? *shrug* Do you have trouble reading small fonts? Yes. I used to find it aesthetically pleasing, but my vision is just too bad now, even with my (shitty) glasses. Do you know anybody that believes that magic/witchery truly exists? I think so. Do you find watching animals in their natural habitat to be exciting & fascinating? Absolutely!! The last time you had sex: did you want it, or did the other person want it? ... You know it's supposed to be a mutual desire, right?? What does your sibling(s) call you? "Britt." Has anyone you’ve known claimed to be psychic? Maybe? I'm unsure. Did/do you believe them? Hell no. I don't believe in psychics and believe people who claim to be so are manipulative pieces of shit. Is anything annoying you right now? I am bored to an inexplicable level askldjfla;wejlr. Have you ever worn a pair of scrubs? Yeah. Anything in your room that you’re hiding from your parents or someone else? No. Have you ever felt abandoned? Well yes. By definition, my dad abandoned our family. Where are you? I’m in my bed. What’s been the worst part of this day? I've just been so, so bored. I'm sick and fucking tired of dealing with anhedonia. Who last encouraged you to better yourself? My therapist.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''throne'' by bring me the horizon

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solastia · 4 years

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Say You Won’t Let Go | 4

Pairing: Jimin x Namjoon X Seokjin

Word Count: 3K

Notes: Shortish, but I decided to split up what I was working on since the smut I have planned is taking a while and I wanted to get something out to you guys. Anyway, I think it's pretty obvious where I'm taking this lmao. Lemme know what you think and oh yeah, we're still missing someone, huh? ;)

A gloomy cluster of clouds had settled over the small village, reflecting the moods of those who lived there. Jimin stared up at the sky, hoping the rains would hold off for a few days until after this crisis was past. The last thing he needed was the added worry of his mate trying to battle in the middle of a storm. Namjoon could handle himself in a fight just fine, but his beloved was surprisingly clumsy and him slipping to his death was a real possibility.

They’d decided the best course of action was to set up a camp halfway between the village and where the possible hostile party was spotted. There the warriors would train day and night, as well as keep up a patrol of the surrounding areas so that no one could get past them to the village. Halfway was a two-day journey, so it had been a while since Jimin had gotten to see his mate. Three whole days without him. Two long and lonely nights.

He sighs morosely and turns back to watch the villagers bustling back and forth as they prepare to evacuate. Everyone had been working day and night since they learned of the looming threat. The caves were now mostly liveable and the animals were sealed away. Those that couldn’t work - such as the elderly and young children - were already in them along with a few guards just in case. Their main concern at the moment was gathering and securing as much of their food supply as possible. Homes could be built quickly if they got destroyed, but the crops that took so long to grow and preserve were much more precious.

Surprisingly enough, it was Seokjin that was his biggest help at the moment. Jimin supposed that without Namjoon around to be jealous over it was easier for him to make an effort to be kind and include the other omega, and so far it had proven to be a great decision. Seokjin threw himself into the work right alongside everyone else. He carried grain, herded animals, and best of all was amazingly good with numbers and actually liked making lists. He had lists of everything from livestock numbers down to every speck of seed they had. The moment he finished a task, he went right back to Jimin asking what else he could do to help him, as well as making sure that he’d taken time to eat. He was loath to admit it, but Jimin had a feeling this whole ordeal would have been much more difficult without Seokjin around.

They were now all starting to gravitate towards the big bonfire in the middle of the village as many took the chance to prepare their suppers and fight off the crisp evening airs. Jimin observed quietly as Seokjin and Taehyung giggled together over something the elder omega had said, his ridiculous laugh enough to even make Jimin quirk a small smile in amusement.

Seokjin was quickly winning the people over with his easygoing and good-humored personality. Even Taehyung, who was firmly on “Jimin’s Side,” couldn’t help being drawn in by the man who had taken to treating him like a younger brother. Seokjin was currently teaching Taehyung how to make the lamb that Jungkook went crazy over, so he’d be able to surprise his mate when the warriors all came back from their camp.

Thinking of the warriors so far away makes Jimin shiver as he was wracked with more worried thoughts of his mate. He hoped Namjoon was eating and keeping warm. That he hadn’t stabbed himself or anyone else with a dagger yet. That Yoongi was able to talk him down when the burdens of his position got to be too much.

He shivered again, drawing his fur wrap closer to himself. It was strange how he couldn’t stop shivering despite the fact that his body actually felt too hot. He supposed stress was making him get sick. Wouldn’t that just be perfect timing - to fall ill in the middle of a tribe war. Well, if there was anything he was good at it was making things worse.

He clenched his teeth as he felt another chill, gripping his fur with a tight squeeze. The heat it added was making it worse, he was sure, but Namjoon’s scent was so strong on this one that he was unwilling to give up the comfort it brought him.

But it was so hot.

He missed his mate so much.

Had he already checked their healing supplies?

He needed Namjoon.

Head hurts so much.

Did they stack enough wood for fires?

“Here, drink this.”

Jimin startled and looked up at Seokjin smiling down at him gently, holding a mug of something steaming. He took a quick sniff, scenting chamomile, ginger, and honey.

Not that he needed the heat the drink would add, but as he’d studied with Healer Lily he knew the calming effects of Chamomile and accepted the cup eagerly. He would need extra assistance to get some sleep later.

“Thank you,” he responded softly before taking a large sip.

Seokjin settled into the spot next to him on the elaborately carved bench, sighing as he got comfortable. Jimin tried not to breathe in too deeply of the rich caramel scent, trying to focus on the more neutral calming ones from his tea instead. He supposed whatever was making him ill was affecting all of his senses, because he could barely stand anyone’s scent all day. Seokjin’s though...he smelled amazing. Like the sugary sweet sauce that his grandmother used on her baked apples. It was everything he could do not to nestle against the other omega and beg to be scented and cuddled. He didn’t want to freak him out, however. Seokjin wasn’t familiar yet with Jimin’s tendency to be overly touchy.

Seokjin cracks his neck with a tired sigh, glancing down at Jimin with concern.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you’ve been looking a little out of sorts today. Is there anything you need help with?”

Jimin waves off his concern, sending him a friendly albeit strained smile.

“No. Might be getting sick is all. I’ll get some herbs from Healer Lily later.”

Seokjin nods in understanding. “A combination of stress and changing weather can do that. We’ll probably be dealing with lots of people falling ill soon.”

He reaches out a hand to Jimin’s forehead, frowning at the temperature and light sheen of sweat building there.

“You do feel really hot like you have a fever,” He observes Jimin thoughtfully, his eyes growing larger with concern. He leans in and sniffs Jimin’s neck. The omega shudders as Seokjin’s hot breath hit his throat, and the thought of baring it to the other wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

Seokjin’s breathing hitches and he grasps Jimin’s shoulder. “I think you might be nearing your time.”

Jimin growls, refusing to acknowledge the conclusion that even he himself had secretly come to.

“That’s two months away. I’m fine. Just a little sick. I’ll go to sleep and it will be fine.”

“Should I send a message to Namjoon, just in case?”

Jimin shot up from the bench quickly, suddenly eager to run from Seokjin’s constant questioning.

“No! He’s busy. We’re busy. Everything is fine.”

And like a coward he ran away from him, escaping into the Healer’s hut.

Lily was already in there, still packing away her supplies. She looks up when Jimin enters, her welcoming smile dimming as she takes in his scent.

“Jimin…”

“I know. Now is not the time, though. I have people counting on me to save them. Namjoon’s counting on me. I don’t have time for this.”

“If it was anyone else I’d be able to give you a pouch of herbs and guarantee it would hold things off until you’re ready, but your body has often been a difficult one for me to figure out. I’ll give you the herbs, but I can’t promise they will even work the way they are supposed to.”

Jimin growls in frustration, running his fingers through his hair. “So what am I supposed to do? Why is this even happening? I’m two months early!”

“I imagine the stress affected your cycle. It’s very common, dear. I will give you the herbs and we can hope for the best.” She ruffled around in a large sack, pulling out a couple of smaller packages and handing them to him with a shrug.

“If you want my honest opinion, I think you should just head to the caves and ride it out without them until your mate arrives. We have everything well in hand here and everything is prepared to be stored in the caves. You’ve done all you can, Jimin.” She grasps his shoulder softly to comfort him as he groans, planting his face in his palms.

“Just stay close to your people, just in case.”

He sighs in defeat and clutches the bags of herbs close to his chest, murmuring a distracted goodbye to the old healer. He hurries back to his nearly empty dwelling, glad that he’d at least had the foresight (or honestly, Seokjin had) to leave a few dishes behind.

He sets a kettle of water to boil over the small contraption that Yoongi had made them last year when he’d started tinkering around with their blacksmith - a portable cooking surface that only needed a bit of tinder to get going. Jimin loved it because he didn’t have to deal with the firepit or go to the cooking lodge to make something. He could fire it up right there in his house and have a lovely cup of tea without worry.

He shoved some twigs and birch bark into the opening and struck his fire-steel a few times in front of it, blowing when a spark finally took. The simple act of starting a fire was familiar and calming enough to get him out of his head for a moment.

He hummed to himself as he grabbed his kettle and filled it with water he had collected from the cooking lodge earlier. He opens the leather bags and sniffs at the herbs, nodding as he recognizes them. He figures one cup will do for now and pinches about two spoonfuls of herbs into the water. He sets the kettle to boil and sits down at his little table, ignoring the twinge of longing when he spots his furs. He would love nothing more than to just wrap himself up in his nest and have Namjoon make love to him for the next few days. He’d feel safe and loved, nestled in those familiar strong arms.

Instead, he was here, alone, trying to save their village.

The wooden door opened as Seokjin shuffled inside, smiling when he spots Jimin.

Perhaps not completely alone, he guesses.

“You saw Lily?”

Jimin nods, waving towards the kettle. “This should stop it. I at least need to make it long enough to get to the caves tomorrow. After that...I guess we’ll see.”

“Well, if you need anything in the meantime just let me know. I’m here to help,” Seokjin says brightly, but Jimin can see he’s merely trying to cheer him up. He was so nice.

“Why were you unmated so long?”

He gasps and covers his mouth, but the damage has been done.

Thankfully, Seokjin just chuckles. “ You know, that’s been everyone else’s first question. I was starting to wonder when you would ask.”

“I’m sorry, you don’t need to answer.”

He shrugs and grabs a mug from a shelf, pouring Jimin’s now boiling tea. His eyebrows crinkle as though he’s lost in thought, even as he shuffles around and pulls out the small crock of honey and adds some to the mug. He pushes it towards Jimin with a flat smile.

“I suppose if anyone around here deserves the full story, it’s you.”

Jimin takes a sip, watching the other omega curiously.

“To put it bluntly, I’ve never been attracted to alphas.”

Jimin nearly spits his mouthful of tea, swallowing it with a cough at the last moment instead.

“What? But you...and he...you have…” he stutters, trying to understand.

Seokjin nods, “Don’t get me wrong, as far as alphas go, Namjoon is very handsome. My body instinctively recognizes him as Pack Alpha and my bonded mate, allowing me to do...what we do. Perhaps in time, I can see that he could easily become one of my dearest friends and potentially a wonderful father for my pups.”

“But…” Jimin prompts, leaning over his cup curiously.

“But, “ Seokjin shrugs, “I just have never been romantically attracted to alphas.”

“So, that means…”

Seokjin quirks an eyebrow in amusement. “That means I am romantically and sexually attracted to omegas, yes.”

“Oh,” Jimin took another sip of his tea, staring at the quietly laughing Seokjin in shock.

“Indeed. Don’t you have intersex couples here?”

Jimin thought about it, shrugging.

“If we do, I don’t really know. I’m not saying it bothers me, I just wasn’t expecting it.”

Seokjin nods, leaning in his chair as he observes Jimin.

“What about betas?”

Seokjin shrugs, “Never really met anyone that intrigued me enough to wonder.”

“Have you ever…”

“Yes. That’s why I was unmated for such a long time.”

“Oh, I see.”

Seokjin sighs and props his chin in his hand, looking at the wall beyond Jimin.

“His name was Jaehwan. We’ve known each other since we were kids, much like you and Namjoon. Things progressed over the years and I fell in love. I thought that was it. I was going to grow old with him, give up mating and pups. I was fine as long as I had him.”

“So what happened?” Jimin asked, thoroughly enthralled in the story, his heart already hurting for the man since he knew the ending.

“A neighboring small pack petitioned Jaehwan’s father, wanting to court him and make him Pack Omega. And Jae...he was thrilled. Said Hakyeon was beautiful and he was so happy that an alpha wanted to make him Pack Omega at his age. He couldn’t stop talking about pups and mates and…”

Seokjin sniffled and Jimin flew into action, crawling around the table to stroke the omega’s arm in comfort.

“He didn’t think anything was wrong with the way he was acting. When I finally got enough courage to ask what he was going to do about me he said that we both knew we couldn’t stay together forever because that’s not how omegas work.”

“I hope he...falls into the ocean and gets eaten by a whale,” Jimin spits.

Seokjin chuckles softly, wiping his eyes of the couple tears that had escaped.

“So fierce for someone so small.”

“Hey!”

Seokjin truly laughed that time, loud and obnoxious like the ones he always shared with Taehyung. Jimin didn’t know why making him laugh like that made him feel proud.

“He didn’t fall into the ocean. That was a few years ago now. I hear their pack is doing well and he already has a pup and another on the way. I’m...happy for him. I think I loved him too long to really hate him,” Seokjin sighs.

“Anyway, everyone in my pack knew of my...preferences, so no one pressured me to move on after that. When we heard of this packs need...I don’t know. I wasn’t trying to escape or anything. My father was perfectly fine with me staying there and being who I am. He already has a dozen grandkids from each of my siblings. I just...I heard Jungkook and Yoongi talking about the situation and I could see how their hearts were hurting even having to make such a request. They told everyone how much the two of you were in love and what a sacrifice you were making for your pack. I couldn’t stand by and let someone take advantage of what the two of you had. I really am here just to help. Not to hurt you or Namjoon or this pack.”

“Thank you,” Jimin finally responded quietly after a few moments.

Seokjin nods, leaning over to place his hand on his forehead.

“Still feels hot, but not much worse than it was earlier. How long does the tea take to kick in?”

“Depends on my body, which usually is the worst. Maybe an hour.”

“Hm. It’s late anyway, let's go to bed and see how you feel in the morning.”

Suddenly, the thought of sleeping alone yet again was more than he could bear.

“Can you…nevermind. It’s stupid. Sorry.”

Jimin flushed, cursing his pre-heat brain. He scrambled to his furs and crawled inside.

“What do you need, Jimin.”

The way that Seokjin was hovering over his furs and speaking so forcefully had Jimin shivering with something he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“I just...when I’m in heat I need...to cuddle. A lot. It’s really annoying and I’m sorry for even asking. It’s probably really awkward.”

“I’d love to if it’s really alright. I sometimes get extra touchy during my heat too, so I understand.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, scoot over. Just don’t hog the furs, it’s fucking freezing out there.”

Jimin laughs as Seokjin slides under the furs with him, hearing the ‘perfect’ omega cussing somehow extra funny to him.

“Aren’t you from some place where it snows all the time?”

“Doesn’t mean I liked it! Maybe that's the real reason I left. I was sick of having to set my dick out to thaw every spring.”

Jimin curled up as laughter wracked his entire body until his belly hurt. Finally, Seokjin pat his head and yawned loudly.

“Night, Jimin.”

“Goodnight.”

Jimin smiled to himself as he drifted off, warm and not alone for the first time in days.

#bts #bts fic #bts fanfiction #abo #poly!bts #mxm #solastia #say you won't let go

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brokenmimir · 4 years

Text

The Curse of the Golden Hoard

White Rose Week 2020, Day 5: Curse

In Vale, success breeds misfortune as readily as failure.

(Sequel to The Ruby Eye of the Serpent King)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24718948 https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13615480/1/The-Curse-of-the-Golden-Hoard

Weiss rolled her eyes as Yang threw the door open, the solid oak banging against the interior wall loudly, drawing the attention of all of Beacon. Normally she would've been angry at the brute attracting the potential ire of as many dangerous people as routinely visited the small tavern, but in that moment she was too elated to care.

Still, appearances had to maintained, even if her heart wasn't in it. “Yang…”

“Sorry, ice queen,” Yang sang. “Guess I forgot my own strength. How 'bout I make it up to everyone with a round of drinks on me!”

“Yeah!” the room cheered, and Peter Port smiled behind his thick mustache as he began preparing drinks for the relaxing crowd, who were all discretely tucking away the weapons they had prepared against the forceful entry.

Yang strutted over to their usual table, throwing the heavy sack she'd been carrying down on it, making it clink suggestively for those with an ear for gold. Blake did the same, and then Ruby as well, until all three looked at her expectantly. Finally, with a long suffering sigh, Weiss heaved her own sack onto the table, privately enjoying the sound of their new fortune.

“We're going to be robbed the moment we step out of here,” Weiss complained as she sat down, an unrepentant Ruby hopping onto her lap with a grin. Weiss grunted a little at the weight, as for as petite as she looked, the barbarian girl was all densely packed muscle, built lean and wiry for maximum speed and agility.

“Like anyone can take us,” Yang snorted. “I don't know about anyone else, but I'm feeling good tonight!”

Blake grabbed their drinks, a glass of mead for Ruby and red wine for Weiss, and soon all four clinked their glasses together. “To friends and family!” Ruby cried.

“To a job well done,” Blake added.

“To having fun,” Weiss put in.

“To being filthy stinkin' rich!” Yang crowed, and all four downed their drinks. “Hey Port, another round on us!"

“There's no way we're going to make it back in safety after this,” Weiss said. “And you'd better not dip into our haul to pay for all of this; we haven't even divvied it up yet.”

“Ugh, you are such a killjoy,” Yang groaned. “Come on, live a little! When are we ever gonna get this much again. And it wasn't even illegal!”

“Well, not very illegal, anyway,” Blake drawled. “I'm sure we broke some laws. You can barely breathe in Vale with pissing off some magistrate.”

Weiss hummed thoughtfully. “The tower was probably owned by someone, for all that it's been abandoned since the Grimm attack centuries ago. Furthermore, we are supposed to declare any salvage for tax purposes. So on at least two levels we broke the law.”

“Ugh, Vale sucks,” Yang groaned, before taking a swig of her ale. “Of course, I can't party like this back home. Even if I brought back this good've a haul somehow the elders would've just taken it to 'spend on the village' and I'd be expected to go right back out there.

“So not that different,” Weiss chuckled. “Except here, everyone's so corrupt that no one is going to report you for not following the law. It's just a matter of if you can keep your ill gotten gains.”

Hours later, drunk with success and alcohol, the four girls staggered out of Beacon and onto the filthy streets of Vale. Not even stepping over a mugged corpse could get Ruby down that evening. Nothing could distract her from how right everything felt.

When she'd first arrived in Vale five months before she'd been an outsider, a barbarian unable to understand or accept anything about the city she'd been warned about her entire life. The first person she'd made a real connection to, Weiss, hadn't really simplified things, as the beautiful woman had represented everything her people had looked down upon about the city folk.

But somehow, after those few short months, full of combat, wealth, deprivation, magic, fear, and joy, they had bonded more strongly than she ever thought she could with an outsider. She spent more time with Weiss than she did her own sister, despite both of them being in the same city. And somehow, she wouldn't change a thing.

“Hey, which way should we go?” Yang asked, as she casually slugged an opportunistic moron in the jaw. His head snapped around, teeth flying, before he collapsed bonelessly onto the ancient cobblestones.

After pausing to rob the thieves of the few coppers they had, Blake pointed down the street. “Ruby's place is closer.”

“It's my flat,” Weiss grumbled. “I'm the one who signed the contract for it."

“Ruby's sounds good,” Yang agreed. “Come on sis, let's go crash you're place and split some loot.”

Weiss grumbled a little, but Ruby could tell that it was mostly for appearances, and even that stopped when she moved close enough to rest her head on the other woman's shoulder. Weiss actually blushed a little, which Ruby found more than a little funny. Weiss had no shame at all about nudity or sex, but honest, public affection made her quite embarrassed.

Once Yang and Blake had dealt with the criminals who had seen or heard about their largesse and its probably cause at Beacon, they made good progress, soon arriving at Weiss's apartment building. Unlike the cheap flophouses and rundown hovels that populated most of the poorer part of town, it was a newly renovated building, one only two blocks from the nicer living spaces that surrounded the Great Market. Obviously the owner either expected for merchants to be bold enough to make the journey through the crime ridden streets in exchange for cheaper rent, or they thought that the market district would soon grow to encompass the building. Either way, it was far nicer than it had any right to be, and had been available for a price that they could (barely) afford.

Once Weiss had the door unlocked they entered the main living area, and without a word all four began to dump their sacks out in the center of the floor. Coins and small gems made up the bulk of the haul, but a variety of statuettes, jewelry, and idols joined the growing pile. It was an impressive display of wealth, and for all that gold had relatively little allure for her, even she felt herself caught up in the moment, drooling over enough wealth to buy her village.

“Weiss,” Yang said distantly.

“Yes?”

“Remind me to team up with you more often,” Yang sighed joyfully.

Weiss smirked, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder smugly. “Of course. A little bit of research, and enough muscle to make it through some Grimm infested ruins, and we have more money than we know what to do with.”

“Little bit of research?” Ruby asked. “Weiss, you've done nothing but plan this thing for weeks now. I was actually getting a bit worried.”

“Why would you be worried?” Blake asked. “A good score always requires careful planning.”

“'Cause I've never seen Weiss fret over this kinda thing before,” Ruby said. “Usually Weiss doesn't worry about money at all. It was more than a little odd.”

“This was a lot of money,” Blake said, patting her sack.

“Not as much as the snake guy had,” Ruby pointed out.

“No,” Weiss grunted, before smirking. “But this is gold in my home. There's a big difference.”

“Hell yeah, there is,” Yang crowed, scooping up a handful of gold coins and tossing them in the air. “We're rich!”

It was far too late at night when they finally finished splitting the money, and with the help of a few bottles of wine that Weiss had gleefully shared, Blake and Yang were in no condition to walk home, so she graciously let them sleep on her floor near the fireplace for the night. With their own fortune secured in sacks, Weiss and Ruby retreated to their bedroom, where, after a brief moment of thought, she dumped the sacks on the center of the bed.

“What are you doing?” Ruby asked with a giggle.

“Just a fantasy of mine,” Weiss said, removing Ruby's cloak and letting it fall to the floor. With deft, well practiced fingers she swiftly stripped Ruby completely naked, taking a moment to admire her strong, lean form. As she always did she leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the scar she'd received fending off an assassin to save her life, before straightening up and shoving the barbarian back onto the bed.

“Hey! Ack!” Ruby complained. “That's cold.”

“If that's another ice queen joke,” Weiss grumbled as she straddled her lover.

“No, I mean, it's like, really cold,” Ruby said. “And kinda hard. And a little pointy.”

Weiss giggled like a child as she hovered over Ruby, sliding a hand through the gold and gems covering her bed. “Ah, come on. I've always wanted to make love in a pile of gold, and this is my chance. You're not going to say no, are you?”

Ruby just smiled up at her. “How much wine have you had to drink, anyway?”

She giggled again. “Way too much.”

Instead of replying Ruby pulled her down, and the two began to kiss, quickly growing heated as hands wandered. Eventually Ruby started trying to pull at Weiss's clothing, and she pulled back, standing from the bed.

“What?” Ruby panted.

“Just stay there,” Weiss said, before slowly, sensually beginning to remove her own clothing. She'd seen many, many dances put on to entertain crowds and rile up guests for more personal services, and while she'd never felt a need to put on such a show for a lover, she put every bit of her grace into it, the slight stumbles her drunkenness caused interfering very little with the display. Ruby's silver eyes were wide open, and Weiss grinned like the cat who caught the canary as she finally stripped the last item away, letting the silken undergarment drift to the ground.

She straddled Ruby again, but before she continued she spotted a piece of treasure sitting beside her lover. It was the appropriate size and shape, and with a wicked grin she picked it up, before leaning down and kissing Ruby again.

“Ack! Cold!”

Ruby wasn't sure what woke her up. Normally after so much mead and intimacy with Weiss she'd sleep the whole night through, but something pulled at her consciousness. It was a cold feeling, and at first she mentally blamed the treasure pile that Weiss had insisted they sleep on like they were legendary dragons. It wasn't quite that, however. The cold was deeper, in her heart, and she found herself shivering despite the blankets and warm body next to her.

Opening her eyes, she couldn't really see anything. It was dark, even darker than it should've been, as normally some dim light made it through the windows even deep in the heart of the night. She swallowed thickly, knowing on some level that something was wrong, although she couldn't put her finger on what. The same deep, primal sense that warned her when a dangerous beast was lurking about in the wilderness told her something was very, very wrong.

“Weiss, Weiss, wake up,” she whispered, still slowly turning her head from one side to the other as she tried to make out something in the pitch blackness. “Weiss.”

“Ughhhh,” Weiss groaned, shifting slightly closer and tossing a leg over her hip. “Again? You're starting to wear even me out.”

“Weiss, something's wrong,” Ruby whispered.

“Yeah, you're not asleep,” Weiss mumbled. “I promise, I'll do whatever you want… in the morning. Just need a… a little more sleep.”

“That's not… ugh,” Ruby groaned as Weiss fell back asleep. With a sigh she pushed her lover away, standing up stiffly and stumbling from the bed, coins and other valuables falling to the floor in a cascade of invisible gold. The sound seemed strangely dampened, however, as the heavy metal should've been louder falling more than a foot onto the wooden floor.

“I am never going to sleep on money again,” Ruby whimpered, rubbing her back and wincing when she dislodged a coin that had managed to embed itself into her flesh. No, she definitely wasn't doing that again, no matter how excited her weird fantasy had made Weiss.

It was hard finding her clothing in total darkness, especially since she'd been a bit distracted by Weiss while she'd stripped her. Once she finally had something on she reclaimed her battle scythe and carefully opened the door to the rest of the apartment, not wanting to risk walking in on her sister and Blake having their own celebration.

Instead, it was pitch black as well, but she could hear muffled snoring coming from the center of the room. “Blake? Yang?”

They didn't respond, even when she called again, and with her heart pounding in her throat she stumbled through the room, heading to where Weiss kept a candle for dark nights. Usually they navigated just fine by starlight, but sometimes her lover wanted to read in the evening, and she had to have something for that.

Normally finding the candle in the dark wouldn't have been difficult, but it felt like she was somehow being watched, like danger was all around her, ready to pounce. The longer she spent in that dark, quiet room, the more she felt vulnerable, like she was being hunted by an unknown predator. With unsteady hands she finally grasped the fine beeswax candle, a gift from herself to replace the stinky, smokey tallow Weiss had been using, and she pulled flint and steel from her pouch.

It was only as she tried to strike the tinder that she realized how badly her hands were shaking. She actually paused in her work in surprise, not quite able to believe it. It felt like it had been years since she'd had such a strong, useless reaction to fear, and yet here she was, shaking like a child on her first hunt. For the first time she was almost glad that it was dark, since it meant that no one could see her weakness.

After taking several long, deep breaths to gather herself Ruby finally regained her control, striking the flint and steel to produce strangely dull sparks. It took several tries, but finally the tinder took, and then the wick thereafter, lighting the candle.

It did almost nothing for the darkness. The large candle should've provided enough light to easily make out the room, but instead it seemed to be little more than a single point in the middle of a deep, dark blackness. She couldn't even see the walls of the room, and it was far from being so large as to make that reasonable.

Something was very, very wrong.

Ruby quickly, methodically searched the apartment. It wasn't very large, but with her light the way it was she had to take her time looking everywhere. Everything was as it should be, with no signs of intruders or anything else strange, other than the muffling of all sound and dampening of all light.

Yang and Blake were still asleep, which she supposed was strange in its own right. Yang was a heavy sleeper, but normally it was impossible to do anything without waking Blake up. Even a shift in the pattern of your breathing would cause her cat ears to twitch warily, but Ruby was able to crouch over her, burning candle in hand, without it disturbing her dreams.

With nothing wrong inside of the apartment, Ruby decided to check one last thing before waking up the others. Opening the door, she crept outside, looking about warily, before heading down to the street. While they were usually dark at night, with most honest citizens (for some meaning of the term) carrying lanterns if they had some business at that late of an hour, the stars and distant buildings usually gave enough illumination for her trained eyes to navigate the streets.

Instead Ruby looked around, frowning at the excessive dimness, before deciding to walk a bit to see where the dimming effect began and ended. She had only begun to walk when she spotted a body lying against the side of the building. She almost moved on, her time in Vale having conditioned her to ignore peopleliving or dead lying in the street, something that had been difficult to get used to after growing up in insular, tightly knit Patch. Without Weiss or Blake around to scold her for it, she decided to check on the person.

They were a woman of more than twice her years, with a face made up with powders and creams to seem younger, if poorly,something severely undermined by black streaks under her eyes. She was dressed in very little clothing, and from what Ruby could guess, were she younger and more attractive, the Weiss she had first met upon arriving in Vale would probably have paid for her services.

She also shouldn't have been passed out in the streets, without any sign of injury or intoxication causing her collapse. Ruby checked her pulse, and was relieved to find it, although it seemed slow, sluggish. She tried to shake her awake, but she didn't react at all, and it was then that she noticed something else odd. The black streaks, which she had assumed had come from tears mixing with kohl, were slimy and thick, and her eyes widened when she realized that their was a black streak on the wall behind her as well. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but if she had to guess, she'd say that the black ooze ran straight up the wall towards her window.

Ruby's fear sharpened, no longer seeming quite so baseless. She might've been able to dismiss her instincts crying out that something was wrong, or even somehow assumed that the muffling of sound and light were only in her head. But this was far more suspicious, and the only thing that kept her from running up the stairs was the burning candle in her hands, and how difficult it had been for her to light it in the first place.

As she hurried back towards the door she noticed two more bodies, this time a pair of laborers, tall and strong, collapsed near the street corner. While the woman may have been taking a break in the alley before continuing her walk or job, they were obviously taken by surprise, simply collapsing on the spot without a word. It was enough to make her speed up her step, using the arm holding her scythe to shield her candle as best as she could from the wind of her movement.

When she reached her door she paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, leaning her deployed battle scythe against her shoulder so that she could carefully open the door without setting down her candle. It creaked open, and the gloom within was somehow even thicker, more impenetrable than before. The candle barely seemed to do anything, but she could somehow see something moving in the dark.

“Yang? Blake? Weiss?”

There was no response, but she heard something shifting in the room. Jaw tightening, she stepped inside, carefully shutting the door before her, before raising her scythe, choking up her grip to provide control one handed. It was a poor way to fight, but without better lighting she had no choice.

She slowly made her way across the room, eyes darting about, her heart jumping every time she saw something move, but every time it was simply her eyes playing tricks on her. Every figure was a piece of furniture, every attacker was naught but a shadow shadow, every monster an illusion when examined properly in the dim light.

When she reached her sister she nudged her with a toe. “Yang. Yang… Yang!”

She didn't move, didn't react. Finally, Ruby looked down, only to gasp at what she saw. Trailing down her face were the same thick, slimy black trails, as something apparently poured from her eyes, before being drawn across the room in the direction of the bedroom. One final glance at Blake to verify the same thing, and she was moving towards the bedroom door, keeping one eye on the slime trail while looking around for danger.

She didn't even bother opening the door, simply kicking it open, the loud slam a barely audible thud. Looming over the bed, over Weiss, was the most hideous creature she had ever seen.

It was thin, with long, spindly limbs, the feet coming to a single, sharp point, while the arms ended in three long, slender claws. The rest of the body was like a human shadow, angular and distorted, but recognizable in form, with bony plates scattered here and there, notably a skull and ribs. The face was vaguely human in shape under the bone, with burning red coals for eyes, and a gaping, fang filled maw.

Without hesitating she lunged forward, swinging her scythe in a broad, desperate stroke, hitting nothing but air. Unfortunately, the fast motion made the candle gutter out to almost nothing, and she was reduced to standing perfectly still, knowing there was a monster in the dark, unable to do a thing to stop it. She tried to listen, tried to feel the motion of the air, or see something in the dim ember of candle light, but it was like being wrapped in a blanket of night. All was still, silent, and shadowed.

After far too long the candle finally stopped sputtering, and Ruby turned about looking for the monster once more. It was when she had turned halfway around that she saw it, the thing having moved behind her, ready to attack once more. She swung her scythe again, trying her best to shield the candle with her body, but once again the tiny light failed, and she could do nothing but stand still, desperately hoping to find it before it could attack her again.

Then she felt the claws dig into her back. She reacted instantly to the sneak attack, diving forward into a roll that ended with her swinging her scythe, and this time, finally, she made contact. The monster broke its silence with a loud, terrible screech, which tore through her, scraping her bones for marrow and hollowing out her heart, leaving nothing but ice and fear behind.

This time she could hear it moving, the dullness slightly receded, and she didn't even hesitate, dropping the now completely snuffed candle on the ground as she spun in place, swinging her scythe right towards where she was sure the monster was. She made contact once again, and this blow sheared through something, and a moment later she heard something thump onto the floor, before the shrieking renewed.

Unfortunately her next swing missed, and her follow up hit the wall, so she paused, holding her scythe in both hands, trying to slow her breathing as she listened for the monster once again. She almost lashed out when she heard another sound, only to pause as she recognized Weiss's voice, even if she couldn't hold onto the words passing through her ears and mind. She shuddered, the motion agitating the cut on her back, and then the room was finally illuminated.

Weiss, nude and beautiful as ever, crouched on the bed, her sword in hand covered in a pale, spectral blue flame. She looked weak, her hand trembling, unable to fully stand as she held the weapon as high as she could through her enervation, trying to provide the best light she could. Ruby could see the lines of black slime down her own face, as whatever had happened to the others has been done to her as well.

Then Ruby turned, reacting almost before she sensed it, swinging her scythe once more at the monster. It was looming behind her once more, its left hand missing from her earlier attack, and, finally able to see, Ruby aimed her swing directly towards its neck. The scythe cut through, and the head bounced away, breaking down into the same black ooze before turning into the oily, smokey fog of a dead Grimm, its body slowly following.

“Weiss!” Ruby shouted, lowering her scythe and turning to her lover. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah,” she rasped, raising a shaking hand to her face, rubbing away the slime with a look of disgust. “What the hell was that?”

Weiss had never felt so completely drained in her life. Not after performing all night magical rituals with Cinder and the others, not after the frantic, desperate sword training lessons her sister gave her before she left to become a mercenary, not even after the wild, week long benders that dragged her to half the houses of ill repute in the city trying to forget everything. It was as though every bit of energy had been ripped from her body, leaving nothing but exhaustion in its place.

She'd used what little energy she had left to cleanse and bind Ruby's injury, the process wearing her out so badly that her lover had been forced to dress her, as she could do little more than slowly shift her limbs by the time the process was complete. Ruby had, much to her protestations, actually carried her into the main room, where she set her on a large chair and lit several candles.

Blake and Yang stirred sluggishly, Blake finally sitting up and blinking dazedly around the room. She didn't even seem to the notice the slime on her face, her nearly vacant expression only gaining a little focus when she saw them. “Weiss… Ruby. What happened?”

“Grimm,” Ruby answered. “I've never seen anything like it.”

Blake blink a couple of times, before starting to stand only to collapse when her legs wouldn't support her weight. She blinked down at them, an expression of betrayal on her face, before looking back up at Ruby for answers.

“I don't know,” Ruby said. “Weiss's the same, and I think it wasn't just us. There were some people in the street the same way.”

Weiss gathered her strength for a moment, before speaking, her voice small and weak. “The Grimm must've gained strength by taking ours. Given enough time we'd be dead, and it probably would've expanded the area effected. This whole block probably would've died before anyone noticed if Ruby hadn't stopped it.”

“How come you weren't effected?” Blake demanded.

“I dunno,” Ruby said. “I just… woke up. When this whole thing started. Dunno know why.”

Weiss sighed, leaning back into her seat as Blake and Ruby talked. She was too tired to really maintain a conversation, but she hadn't wanted to lapse into silence while Ruby was obviously upset. She smiled slightly, glad for the diversion, as she let herself mentally drift.

She had managed to fall asleep again, only to awaken when the smell of cooking bacon filled the air. They rarely made their own food, with Weiss knowing nothing about how to do so, and Ruby being limited to roasting fresh game over a campfire, but Yang had somehow picked up some real cooking skills, and when she came back to herself it was to the sight of the exhausted blonde hunched over the fireplace, slowly poking at crisping bacon in a pan, bread sitting on the stone nearby to heat.

“You're awake!” Ruby said.

“Mmm,” she hummed. “Did anything happen?”

“Uh… good news or bad news?” Ruby asked, moving to sit beside her on the seat.

Weiss narrowed her eyes. “How bad?”

“Uh… we're all alive, so it could be worse news,” Ruby hedged.

Weiss frowned. “So, very bad news.”

“Kinda,” Ruby agreed with a wince.

Weiss groaned in dismay. “How about good news… then breakfast… then bad news.”

Yang chuckled. “Gotta recharge before the bad?”

“Well, the good news is we're all alive,” Ruby said brightly. “The Grimm's gone, and the longer they've been up the better they've been feeling.”

“Yeah, you really need to put some meat on those bones, Weiss,” Yang taunted. “You're the only one who fell back asleep.”

Weiss glowered at her, not even breaking her expression when the other woman handed her a plate of food. “I also helped Ruby deal with the Grimm, while you two slept right through it.”

“Details,” Yang dismissed.

As annoying as the woman was, she prepared a filling meal. The fresh, hot bread was slathered with honey and fruit preserves, and the bacon was crispy, just the way she liked it. After crunching on a piece she groaned ecstatically. “Alright… you get to live.”

“How kind of you,” Blake drawled, although Weiss noticed she hadn't even looked up from her own breakfast.

Once they were all finished, Weiss leaned back against Ruby, a smile on her face as she finally felt a bit more human. “Okay, so what's the bad news.”

“Um… maybe it's better if you see for yourself.”

“See for myself?”

“Yeah… why don't you check our room.”

It was another typical night at Beacon, with Weiss nursing her red wine while Ruby sipped at her mead. Blake and Yang had gone elsewhere for the evening, probably driven off by Weiss's smoldering temper. Even most of a day after finding out the truth, her lover still wasn't over it.

“I can't believe it was all trash,” Weiss grumbled again.

Ruby chuckled. “Well, you know… easy come, easy go.”

Weiss glared at her, before sighing and slumping against the table. “But there was so much!”

The golden treasures they'd taken from the abandoned tower had turned out to be anything but valuable. With the Grimm cursing it dead, the treasure had turned out to be nothing but corroded scraps, rusty iron, and broken clay and pewter bits. Weiss hadn't been able to determine whether the fake treasure and associated Grimm had been an intentional trap placed by the tower's former owner, or if it had been something put together by the Grimm seeking gullible treasure hunters to prey upon, but either way they had been left with nothing.

“What's really bothering you?” Ruby asked.

“What do you mean?” Weiss asked, her back tensing slightly.

“Weiss, you're the one who taught me what 'easy come easy goes' means,” Ruby pointed out. “Usually you're the first one to shrug that kinda stuff off. So why're you so upset now?”

Weiss was quiet for a long time, before finally sighing. “You know our apartment?”

“Uh huh,” Ruby hummed. “What about it?”

“Before… before we moved in together… before we got together, I didn't have anything beyond what I could carry,” Weiss said. “Just a belt pouch of money, the clothes on my back, and my ancestral sword. Otherwise, I would fight or steal to fill my pouch, and then find someone's bed to sleep in for the night. It's been… years since I've had a room that required a lease. I haven't… I haven't had a home since I left Schnee Manor.”

“What's wrong with that?” Ruby asked.

“Everything,” Weiss sighed. “And nothing. I guess… I was used to a lifestyle once, where I had roots, and books, and fancy candles, and staff cooking me meals, and a warmed bed ready for me at night. All with a steady roof over my head and no risk of losing it all. Well, no risk until I chose to throw it away. Then I had nothing to lose, but that meant I had nothing at all. I was rudderless, alone in crowds, with nothing to depend on, and nothing depending on me.

“But now… I don't want that anymore. I want a life with you. With a home, and a bed, and the security not to need to run when things go wrong. Money… money had no value to me when my family had so much of it, and no value to me when I needed no more than I could take in a day. But now… now I don't want to risk losing this… this life we're building.”

“I had no idea,” Ruby said, taking her hand. “This has been really bothering you, hasn't it?”

“It should bother you, too,” Weiss said. “Vale chews up and spits people out. That was fine when I didn't care what happened to me tomorrow, but I don't want that anymore. I want… I want a tomorrow, not just a today. And a tomorrow requires more than odd jobs and petty crimes.”

“Then we'll find more.”

“It's not that simple,” Weiss said.

Ruby grinned at her. “It's only not simple if you make it not simple. Besides, even if something does go wrong, I know how to live in the forest with nothing at all. We'll figure out how to get by, I promise.”

“Dolt,” Weiss said, rolling her eyes.

“Hey, who's worrying about silly stuff here,” Ruby said. “You know, you should share this stuff with me. We're in this together, you know? You don't have to worry alone.”

“I- huh,” Weiss said, leaning back in her seat. “I suppose you're right.”

“Of course I am,” Ruby said with a grin. “Now, how 'bout I get us another round of drinks, and then we can figure out what we can do next, since I guess we have to pay money to that landlord guy every month.”

“Sure,” Weiss said with a smile. “Together.”

#white rose week #white rose #ruby rose #weiss schnee #rwby #fanfic

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theultimatefanficwriter · 4 years

Text

True Friends-Monodam x Reader

Completely platonic relationship Requested by Paigeloime on Wattpad

Trigger warning: Suicidal reader, angst

You were still in shock.

You still couldn't believe you were stuck in a...a 'killing game'. How could you accept such a fact? It was such a far fetched idea!

But regardless, here you were. And every day you were scared it would be your last. You stayed away from everyone, even the seemingly friendly Kaede, Kaito and Gonta. You couldn't be sure it wasn't just a cover to get close to you so they could kill you.

You couldn't trust anyone here, no matter how badly you wanted to.

Not to mention there were those annoying 'Monocubs' around that popped up randomly. They just made the situation even worse.

Well, the green one, Monodam, you think his name was, wasn't too bad. He was quieter than the others, and seemed to want peace, unlike his siblings who only wanted the killing game to continue.

Again, though, you couldn't be sure it wasn't a ruse. He was one of Monokuma's children, after all, and Monokuma wanted anything but peace.

Eventually you started to believe you were just being paranoid thanks to Kaede's constant optimistic attitude and her bringing everyone together under the shared goal of escaping.

Then she was found guilty for Rantaro's murder.

It seemed so unlikely. Kaede? Murder? You would think that the only way you could use those two words in the same sentence is if the words 'would never' between them. But here you were. Sure, she was trying to kill the mastermind to end the killing game, but still. That just strengthened your belief not to trust anyone.

From then on after that trial, you only left your room for food, and nothing else. You also tried to make sure only to go to the cafeteria when no one else was there, but you weren't always successful.

Kaito would attempt to talk to you, try to cheer you up and make you his 'sidekick', but you'd just cower away. Tenko would offer to protect you from the 'degenerate males', but you'd decline her offer and leave as quickly as possible. Kirumi would offer to make you something to eat, but you'd just grab something yourself and head back to your room.

Shuichi and Kaito still tried to include you in things. They'd knock on your door almost daily to ask you to join them in activities. Most of the time you'd stay quiet until they left. Eventually, even they stopped.

It's been a few days since then, and you were currently laying on your bed, staring at posters on the wall opposite side of your bed. They were of some movie you, as the Ultimate Actress, were in. You looked at yourself in those posters and thought back on the memories. You were happy then. You had no worries.

You let out a sigh as you picked at your skin anxiously. You hated being all alone. You preferred being around others. But you just couldn't risk it. You were too afraid that somebody would kill you.

"Rise and shine, Ursine!"

You jumped in surprise at the sound of the Monocubs' introduction words. Your head shot to the middle of the room, and there stood Monodam. You blinked, staring at him for a moment. "Um...h-hello?" You greeted him quietly.

"Why hello, bear." Monodam said to you. "I have noticed that you have not been interacting with your friends. Is there a problem?"

You continued to look at the small robotic bear as you slowly threw your feet over the side of the bed. "I...I don't have any friends here." You muttered.

"That is not true!" Monodam argued. "Everybody here is your friend!"

You shook your head. "I can't risk that belief." You told the Monocub quietly. "A potential friend is also a potential killer." You shook your head vigorously. "I'm way too scared to risk that."

Monodam let out a robotic hum, which you assumed was supposed to be equivalent to a 'hmm' sound. "What if I were to be your friend?" The green bear asked.

Your eyes widened. "I-I'm sorry?" You stammered. "You? My friend?"

The bear nodded. "Correct. That way you would not be frightened. I will make sure you are not harmed as we 'hang out'."

You stared at the bear for a long time, unsure how to process this information. Sure, the green Monocub was the one you would say you "trusted" the most, but that was a very loose "trust". You weren't sure if you trusted anyone. Although, Monodam did always seem to want everyone to get along, so...maybe this could be a good way to get out of your room for once?

You sighed and shrugged, standing on your feet. "Alright, fine." You agreed. "Are you sure you won't get in trouble with your dad or siblings for protecting me, though?"

Monodam shook his head. "If it is only for one day, everything should be fine." He hobbled towards the door, which you found kinda cute, causing you to cover your mouth to stifle a giggle. You walked over and opened the door for the small robot. He walked out, and you followed, closing the door behind you.

"So, where are we going?" You asked, looking down at your new 'friend'.

"That is up to you." Monodam answered. "We could head to the recreational room. Or the swimming pool opened up, as well as your research lab."

You stopped walking for a moment. "Wait, my research lab opened up?" You asked.

The robotic bear nodded. "Correct."

You nodded. "Then we're headed there." You told him. "Lead the way."

Monodam led you to a bright red door with a drawing of two stage lights crossing over one another. You placed your hand on the doorknob and turned it. As you opened it, your eyes widened as you took in your surroundings. At the back of the room was a stage, one that reminded you so much of your happiest memories. There were props and backdrops and cameras. It made you feel so...safe.

You walked slowly up to the stage, the soft metallic thumps behind you letting you know that Monodam was following you. You went to the side and walked up on the stage, turning and taking in your surroundings. You felt a smile start to form on your lips, for the first time in days.

"You seem much happier." Monodam pointed out in his usual robotic tone. You turned to look at him. The robotic bear was standing in front of a row of chairs that were placed in front of the stage.

You gave the small robot a genuine smile and nodded. "I am." You confirmed. "This is the first time I've felt this happy since getting here." As you continued to look around, a thought hit you, and you gasped, turning to look Monodam in the eyes. "Oh! Let me re-enact a scene from my favorite movie I've been in!" You offered. "It'll be a bit difficult without anyone reacting to my line but-"

"Oh, we have a solution for that!" Monodam interrupted. He hopped onto the stage and went into the wings. He soon pulled out a rack of grey mannequins. With a bit of struggling, the small robo-bear managed to pull one off, getting it to stand on it's feet. "You just need to enter it's settings, and it will be your acting partner!"

You felt your smile grow even wider. "This...this is amazing." You told the green bear. "Thank you so much." You flashed him a grin. "So with this I can re-enact the scene perfectly! Go wait in the seats! I'll be ready soon!" You rushed off behind stage, grabbing the rack and pulling them with you.

About half an hour later you were ready, and preformed your favorite scene from your favorite movie you had been in. The acting bots were almost exactly like your costars in the actual movie. You had such a fun time re-doing the scene that when you were finished with it, you were smiling like an idiot. You heard a slow, rhythmic clang, and you saw that Monodam was clapping. You giggled and bowed, the acting bots following suit before walking back to their rack and deactivating.

"So, how was it?" You asked the green Monocub. "And be honest."

"It was spectacular!" Monodam praised in his monotone voice. Despite that, you could still detect the excitement in it, which made you smile. "I would expect nothing less from the Ultimate Actress!"

You felt yourself blush from the praise. "That's really sweet, Monodam." You said, smiling. "And...thank you. For taking me here. I really needed this." You hopped down from the stage and walked over to him, leaning down and giving the small robo-bear and hug. Monodam didn't react for a moment, seemingly confused. Eventually he placed his arms around you. You pulled apart from him, still smiling. "I think I might try hanging around the others again." You informed him.

The green bear's head shot up. "You mean you are going to make friends?!" He exclaimed.

You covered your mouth and giggled. "We'll see, Monodam." You said, making your way to the exit. "I had a lot of fun. Maybe we can hang out again if your dad and siblings will let you." You smiled and waved goodbye to him as you made your way to the cafeteria.

It was around dinner time, so your appearance in the cafeteria surprised everyone. They all stared at you, which made you feel a bit uncomfortable, but you simple swallowed back the feeling and sat down at the table. You were nestled between Kaito and Shuichi, and were in front of Keebo and Kokichi. Eventually everyone looked away from you, and Kirumi made you a plate to eat. The four around you, however, began to bombard you with questions.

"Where have you been all this time, Y/N?" Keebo asked. "Have you been feeling ill?"

"Have you been plotting a muuuurder?!" Kokichi accused in a playful tone. At least you think it was playful. You never knew with him.

"How come you never answered Shuichi and me?" Kaito questioned, placing a hand on your shoulder. "We've been tryin' to ask you to be apart of our nightly training sessions! It's a great bonding exercise!"

"It...actually is." Shuichi agreed quietly.

You looked between the four of, giggling. "Well, in order." You began. "In my room being scared for my life, so no, not ill." You answered, pointing at Keebo. You turned to Kokichi and pointed to him. "No." You turned and pointed at Kaito "I was scared to trust anybody after the whole thing with Kaede. I needed space." Lastly you pointed to Shuichi. "I'd love to give it a shot now." You looked between the astronaut trainee and the detective. "If you'll still have me?"

Kaito beamed at threw his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into your side. You let out a startled yelp as you fell out of your seat. You laughed along with the others, and for the first time in a while, you felt happy. You felt like you had real friends.

For a while, you were really happy. You became pretty close friends with Kaito and Shuichi, and you and Monodam actually hung out quite often. The two of you of you visited your research lab many times, and you performed scenes and sometimes entire television episodes you were apart of. You actually considered the Monocub a good friend. Sure, he was one of the ones who brought you here, but you felt like he was different.

The green robo-bear seemed to actually care about you. You've been able to read between the lines whenever he spoke, so now you could mostly make out which emotions the bear was expressing. Because of this, you could tell that whenever he spoke to you, he seemed to actually care about you, and actually consider you a friend.

At the moment, you had just finished re-enacting an episode of a soap opera you had been in. You smiled and bowed as the acting bots returned to the rack as normal. Monodam clapped as normal. You hopped off the stage and sat beside him. "You know, I never thought I'd become friends with a Monocub." You admitted. "But you're really nice, Monodam."

"All I want is for everyone to be friends." The robot responded, looking up at you. "You are the first one to take me seriously."

"Well, I can understand why." You sighed. "You are one of the ones who brought us here, so trusting you might be a bit hard." You smiled softly at him and pat his head. "But I'm really grateful you came to me the other day. I'm not scared anymore. I mean, I'm still a bit paranoid that someone will kill again, but I've spent so much time with everyone, I'm starting to think that won't happen."

"That makes me happy to hear." Monodam gave you what you had come to understand to be a smile. "I hope that is the case. I just want everyone can be friends."

"That would be nice." You agreed, leaning back in the chair. "I really hope it can happen."

Of course, that was just wishful thinking.

The next day, Ryoma was found dead during Himiko's magic act, which you had only now heard about. You stared at the bones that were once the Ultimate Tennis Pro as the blood stained water pooled around everyone's feet.

And you passed out.

The rest of the students noticed as you fell to the ground. Kaito and Shuichi got to you first, Kaito frantically checking for a pulse. When he found one, he let out a relieved sigh. "She's alright. Just shocked, probably." He informed everyone. He turned his gaze to Gonta. "Hey, Gonta. Mind taking her to her room?"

The bug lover nodded, gently picking you up bridal style. "Of course! Gonta gentleman! Gonta make sure Y/N gets to her room safe!" He headed out of the gym and made his way to the dorms, where he entered your room, placed you on your bed, and quickly left, like a true gentleman.

You blinked open your eyes, finally coming too. As you opened them fully, you noticed a certain green robo-bear sitting at the foot of your bed. "M-Monodam?" You asked, rubbing your eyes.

The Monocub turned his head to look at you. "Rise and shine, Ursine." He greeted you, though his usual tone was more solemn than usual, even through his robotic voice. "I am happy to see you are alright. When you fainted I got concerned."

You frowned as you finally recalled what you had witnessed.

Ryoma Hoshi was dead.

You grabbed your arms and shivered. "Yeah, I...I'm fine." You muttered. "Just...I was starting to trust everyone, and suddenly someone gets killed again." You felt tears threaten to spill from your eyes. You sat up in your bed and hugged your knees. "Monodam...why did you bring us here?" You asked the Monocub quietly.

You didn't get an answer for a long time. "I...cannot tell you that, Y/N." Was his eventual reply.

You sighed in annoyance. "I figured you'd say that." You mumbled. "But...I thought since we'd gotten close..."

"We have become very close friends, indeed." Monodam let out a robotic sigh. "But I am forbidden from revealing that information. I am truly sorry."

You gripped your knees tighter as the tears began to fall slowly but surely. "I...I'd like to be alone, Monodam." You said quietly.

"Are you sure, Y/N?" The Monocub asked you, walking over to you and tilting his robotic head. "You seem to still be in shock. Perhaps having a friend would-"

"I said leave me alone!" You screamed, pushing Monodam away from you before burying your face in your knees.

Monodam stumbled back. When he caught his footing, he watched you for a few minutes as you sobbed softly. Eventually he let out a robotic sigh. "So long, bear well." He said sadly before disappearing.

When you heard the telltale sound of the Monocub's leaving, you glanced over to where Monodam had been. Seeing that he was gone, you grabbed your pillow and clutched it to your chest, sobbing louder, tears flowing freely now.

You had no one left. Sure, Monodam still seemed to be on your side...for the most part. But even he is putting this killing game before you. So maybe your friendship with you isn't as important as he had made it out to be.

And now another one of your 'friends' had killed someone. You really couldn't trust anyone. Could you?

You stayed in your room the whole time everyone else was investigating. The others occasionally came to check up on you, but you waved them off quickly, until you eventually told them all to just leave you alone.

You didn't want to go to another trial. You didn't want to watch another execution. You couldn't take it.

You slowly stood from your bed and made your way to your door. Slowly opening and peeking out it, you didn't see anybody, so you quickly left your room and began to make your way to you research lab. You managed to get there without being spotted. You closed the door behind you and quickly made your way to the backstage. Grabbing some rope you found in the prop section, you tied the rope into a noose and made your way to the catwalk and tied the end of the rope around the railing. You made your way back down and grabbed a step ladder, placing it under the noose.

You swallowed as you climbed up the ladder and placed the rope slowly around your neck. With shaking legs, you kicked the step ladder out from under you, and gasped as you felt the rope begin to suffocate you.

Your vision was starting to go black when your lab doors were suddenly kicked open. You heard running footsteps and shouting footsteps, but you couldn't make any of them out from the ringing in your ears. You noticed shapes run up to you, but they were only shadows. Then suddenly, you fell to the ground with a thud, and you sucked in a large gulp of air.

"...hell....here?!"

"Did someone...her?!"

"She's...alive, so if it was...murder they must still be here."

The voices were slowly becoming audible, and the shapes were coming together. You saw Kaito crouching above you, worried eyes looking at you as he kept turning to Kirumi to ask what to do. You coughed, which earned everybody's attention. Suddenly you saw not only Kaito and Kirumi in front of you, but also Shuichi, Maki, and Kokichi.

"Y/N!" Kaito said, relief in his voice. "What the hell happened to ya? Are you alright?!"

"Y/N, who did this to you?" Shuichi asked, the detective on the verge of panic.

"Did anyone do this to you?" Kokichi questioned, placing a finger to his chin. "Or was this your doing?"

"Why would she have tried to kill herself?" Maki snapped at Kokichi. "She has no reason."

The Ultimate Supreme Leader shrugged and continued to look at you. "It's just a thought."

You propped yourself up on your elbows and looked between them all, anger building up in you. "Why..." You muttered.

"'Why'?" Shuichi repeated. "'Why' what, Y/N?"

You clenched your fists. "Why...Why did you cut me down!?" You screamed, taking them all aback. "I want out of this place! I want out! Why do you keep me here?!"

Everyone looked surprised, except for Kokichi, who looked at the others smugly. "I told you."

Maki shot him a warning glare. "Do you wanna die?" She snapped. "This isn't the time for that."

"Why do you want to kill yourself, Y/N?" Shuichi asked softly, reaching a hand out to place on your shoulder.

You jerked away from him, and jumped to your feet as fast as you could. You backed away from the circle of people. "Don't touch me!" You hissed. "None of you actually care about me! One of you killed Ryoma, so why would I think you wouldn't kill me?!" You backed up as Kaito stood up from his crouching position, his face contorted in confusion. Shuichi continued to approach you slowly, his arm still outstretched to you.

"Y/N, calm down." He tried to soothe you. "No one here is going to hurt you."

You shook your head vigorously and continued to back up, making your way to your lab doors. "I can't believe that. I just...can't trust anyone." You muttered. You looked between Kaito, Kirumi, Maki, Kokichi and Shuichi before turning around and sprinting out of your research lab. You heard them shout your name, but you ignored them in favor of running back to your room.

When you got back in there you slammed the door and quickly locked it. You pressed your back against the door as you felt tears began to fall down your face, a familiar feeling to you by now. You slowly slid down to the floor, your knees pressed closely to your chest as you buried your face. You stayed that way for a long time, sobbing into your knees.

After a while, you felt something touching your leg. You slowly looked over, and saw Monodam. You glared at him and drew your leg in away from him. "Leave me alone." You muttered. "I don't want to talk."

"Why did you try to do that?" The Monocub asked you.

You sighed in annoyance. "I want to be free." You said quietly. "And that's the only way to do it."

Monodam tilted his head. "This is not the way to be free." He insisted.

You turned your head away from him. "Whatever. Like you'd understand anyway. " You murmured. "How did they even know what I was doing? I was so careful. It should have worked."

There was a long silence.

"I informed them of your situation."

Your head shot over to the green robo-bear. You stared at him before your eyes narrowed. You pulled yourself to your feet and walked closer to him. You glared down at him, your fists balled up tight. "...why?" You growled. "How could you?"

Monodam looked up at you. It was hard to make out emotion on his robotic features, but you swore you could see...sadness? But at the moment you were too angry to care. "You are my friend." The bear answered you, his monotone voice quiet. "Even though father and my siblings were angry at me for interfering, I could not let you die like this."

"You should have." You snapped. "I don't want to be here. And I'm not your friend." You walked around Monodam and sat on your bed, still glaring at the Monocub. "You bring me here against my will, then when I try to escape this hell you force me to stay? How could we be friends?"

The robot looked confused. "But I thought we had become good friends?" He said to you, his head tilted. "Is saving your life not what a good friend would do?"

You sighed in annoyance. He had a point, that is what a friend would do. But it isn't what you wanted him to do. "I just can't go through another class trial, Monodam." You muttered. "That's too much stress."

"You are strong, Y/N." The Monocub assured you. "You just need to believe in yourself and your friends." Monodam hopped up onto your bed beside you and placed his small robotic paw onto your leg. "And despite what you say, I am your friend."

You felt a smile form on your face despite yourself. You looked down to the green robo-bear and pet his head. "Yeah, fine." You relented. "...Thanks for saving me, Monodam."

The green bear nodded and turned to look up at you, the widest smile you've seen him produce yet on his face. "Anything for my best friend."

#danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #monodom #angst #suicidal reader #Suicide attempt #x reader #reader #fanfic #fanfiction #request #platonic relationship

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awkwardplantwrites · 4 years

Text

Finding Magic Chapter Five

Chapter 5: 2470 words / Reading time: 11 minutes

Genre: Fantasy/Adventure/Action

Find the chapter on wattpad (Bippick is my wattpad username)

New to the story? Missed some updates? Find all the chapters here on tumblr

(Artwork by @pe-ersona ~ Feel free to let me know if you enjoy the story!)

The forest grew more dense the further they walked in. Moss grew on rocks, branches swayed above them, and leaves and flowers littered the ground. A dirt path worn into the ground by previous travellers was nowhere to be seen, as if they were the first people to enter this forest. Pepi looked at Renato. The rope still bound them at the wrist, unable be cut it apart without magic.

Renato looked like he'd seen better days. His middle parted, dark brown hair had grass stuck in it, mud covered his favourite navy blue cloak, and he had a bruised eye that seemed to throb with every step they took. Renato tightened his lips, rubbing his wrist where the rope hung.

Pepi overheard some of the conversation between Renato and Helaine that morning. From what he understood: Renato felt like Pepi wasn't telling the whole truth. Which - if you remember a certain cousin Rupert from Chapter 3 - was true. Though Renato wasn't honest either. He hadn't said a word about his injuries, as usual.

Pepi patted him on the back. "How're you feeling? It's not even afternoon and we've already had quite a day, huh?"

Renato perked his head up, a glisten of interest within his tired eyes. "I'm alright, how are you?" Pepi rolled his eyes at the automatic response.

"We've lost our wagon. You won't be able to rest if you become weak. Might I remind you you're ill? Do you want me to carry your bag?"

"Oh, uh," Renato stammered, fumbling with the bag straps on his shoulders. "No need, I can carry it." His eyes wandered to Pepi's with a question in them, but he blinked it away. "I'm tired," Renato admitted.

"We went to bed late last night."

Renato furrowed his brow. "It's not… It's a different type of tired. I don't think you'd understand."

Glancing down at his own black boots as they trode on wildflowers and grass, Pepi combed his fingers through his hair. "The kind of tired where you feel as though you're dragging the entire world on your shoulders, and it's heavier with every step you take. Something like that?"

"… Something like that, yes." Renato fiddled with the clasp of his cloak.

The trees had become so dense that they had to walk in a single file line. Birds sang no songs. No deer or rabbits or foxes strolled around. Even the breeze had silenced and the trees now showed no movement. Their footsteps seemed to make no sound either. Pepi bit his bottom lip, heart beginning to race, and his breathing hitched. He scrambled into his backpack with shaking fingers, pulling out two small loaves of bread.

"Let's eat! We- we skipped breakfast and boooy am I hungry after all that running!" He stuffed some into his mouth and passed the other to Renato.

Renato took the bread from Pepi with his free hand and tutted. "Pepi, I know you love the sound of your own voice. However, it's possible to have a period of silent tranquillity." He nibbled into the crust.

Looking around for any sound, movement, any life at all in the forest, Pepi's heart beat a little harder. "D-dont you find it s-strange that it's this quiet?" He wiped the sweat off his brow. "To be honest, I… I can't stand being in a place with no noise. It really scares me."

"Oh. I like the quiet. I don't understand what's frightening you. We can talk though. I might space out but I'll do me best to distract you."

"Finally, Renato the Entertainer. That's all I've ever wanted."

"If you want entertainment, I can tell you stories. Me mam says I get me storytelling skills from me dad. I like reading about folklore and history," Renato spoke softly. "You know, I enjoyed getting to know Kater and Helaine. Hearing about their lives was like listening to tales from history books. Less extravagant, but still interesting."

"I guess so, yeah. Save your stories for when we're at a campfire and there're others who can listen. Most people never learn to read and I bet they'd love to hear them."

"True. Helaine was also telling me about Spirit's Eve. It sounded fascinating. People hung up decorations, they were playing games, dressing up… She also told me about holidays. Where you celebrate. Have a feast Take a day off. I'd like to bring that to Llantry."

"Ah I noticed, though I thought it wasn't the right time of year. Don't you get time off to be with your friends?"

"No. We work then go home. It's difficult to have friends in Llantry. You know what everyone in town's doing, because it's the same thing they've always done. There's never any need to make small talk. We're all like an old married couple, where they sit side by side all day without saying a word."

Pepi still knew of their eerie surroundings, however, Renato's voice calmed him. "This journey's quite the break of routine, then isn't it?"

"I've never left Llantry before, so yes."

The more Renato spoke, the more guilty Pepi felt. Renato was tired yet he saw to Pepi's needs without question. As expected of a healer and leader. The guilt doubled. Why should Renato comfort him when he got nothing in return? Renato earned Pepi's respect and gratitude but even then it wasn't a fair exchange. There were certain things Pepi felt too afraid to share about himself. But if Renato wanted the truth from him, for him to open up: it was the least he could do. If only a little.

"Did I ever tell you I come from a massive family?" Pepi asked.

Renato looked upwards in thought. "Don't think you have."

"I have way too many cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. We're close to our extended family. Plus there's my nieces, nephews, brother, and sisters…"

"I'm surprised you have enough air in your lungs to list all those relatives!" Renato gave a small smile. "What's their names? How old are they? Are your siblings candy merchants too?"

Pepi chuckled, feeling a small weight lift off his chest at Renato's brightening expression. Then it fell right back where it left as it dawned on Pepi how much he'd been shutting Renato out. He answered Renato's questions, gushing over his youngest niece's first words, his brother's banter, and his uncle's farm.

"If it isn't obvious already, Uncle Wylas is my favourite uncle. I liked to run over to his place when I wanted to skip out on cleaning duty and get away from the house. He made a chicken coop that looked like a ship and we gave the chickens pirate names. One time we got an artist to draw Blackbeard, a chicken who just had to get the most corn in the mornings, wearing an eye-patch." He showed it to Renato.

They came across a clearing, with a river in the middle that had small waterfalls streaming into it. Pepi revelled in the sound. The area seemed to sparkle, with glowing yellow bugs sitting on long strands of grass, and luminescent butterflies flitting from flower to flower. Pepi and Renato sat on the riverbank, finishing the last of their bread. Pepi noticed Renato gazing at a flower beside him that looked like a wild daisy with red petals. Renato picked it with his free hand, bringing it to his nose to smell. The petals closed, reopening with a burst as smoky gas covered Renato's face. Pepi laughed as Renato coughed.

"That's what you get for picking a flower!" Pepi commented, taking the flower to put into his pocket.

Pepi took his boots off to dip his feet into the river, watching as colourful reeds drifted around his ankles. Renato lay down with a sigh.

"Do trees know where their next arm's going to come from?" Renato asked. "A tree starts growing a branch. It doesn't mind this new arm. It says, 'Hell yeah man, I got another arm so I can get more sunlight and live life!'"

"I don't know," Pepi replied. "You've got me thinking now. Do you have any other thoughts about trees?"

Renato dragged Pepi over to a low hanging tree branch, giggling as the leaves brushed over his head and fell to the ground. "It's petting me," he laughed. "Pet sounds like Pep. Pep-pep-pepepepep."

"By Lidion," Renato gasped. "What if people's hair was like tree roots? And people absorbed food and water through their hair? A moment ago y-you could've been sipping water from that river with your hairy legs!"

"You're being more amusing than usual." Pepi picked the leaves out of Renato's hair. "It worries me."

"Believe it or not I've a wealth of humour, I'm just very cheap." Renato pulled Pepi down as he lay face down and groaned. "Me head feels like it's buzzing." Renato clutched his head and smiled as though he couldn't force his muscles to frown. "Am I flying? Why is the grass so sharp?"

A rustling nearby made Pepi sit up in full alert. He peered around them. Finlay flew out his pocket pulsing yellow, but he was still concerned. Pepi put his boots back on.

"Who's there?"

Renato yawned. "Probably just an animal."

Standing in front of Renato, Pepi shook his head. "I haven't seen a single animal."

From a bush appeared small humanoid creatures.

"Fairies!" Renato gasped.

The fairies ran as fast as their little legs could carry them, shouting in high-pitched voices. "It's the human, he came back! Quick, get his instrument!" A few fairies darted back to the bush and returned with a string instrument that Pepi recognised.

"My lyre! I thought I lost it… But how did you- why do you-"

"Do you just know everyone everywhere, Pep?" Renato pulled at Pepi's trouser leg.

"Uh, no, it's more like they all know me and I haven't the foggiest idea why they do." Pepi picked up the lyre and inspected it. It really was the one he'd lost, with the exact same wonky engraving of his name, the same scratches. He put it into his bag.

"Cast us a spell, human!" The fairies climbed onto Renato, poking Pepi in the leg. "We want to see you do the pretty lights again!"

"What are you talking about? I can't do magic," Pepi told them.

"The human doesn't know! Doesn't remember! Niklam erased his memory!" The fairies tittered. "What a trickster!"

Pepi brushed the fairies off his leg, who fell onto Renato's chest. "Wait, who's Niklam?"

The fairies ignored him, choosing to fly over to the flowers instead. The flowers were about the same size as them, and the fairies pulled at the petals, shoving their faces into the flower head, laughing when the petals closed over their heads and gas covered their faces.

Pepi rummaged in his bag with one hand then took out the job hiring poster from two months ago, showing it to the fairies. "Is Niklam the one who gave me this? Who are they?"

However, like Renato, the fairies were too busy being silly to notice him. Some attempted to fly but stumbled in their takeoff and fell down, laughing hysterically. Pepi put the poster away and groaned.

"They're so cuuute!" Renato laughed with them as some fairies made tiny braids in his hair.

Other fairies noticed the rope tying the two humans together and snapped it apart using a flame spell that singed Pepi's wrist.

"Ow! A simple magic knife would've cut it just fine."

A fairy wearing shorts and a garland of Autumn leaves flew clumsily up to Pepi's face. "Shay tanks to us! We helped yuh. Yuh should looshen up a liddle." The fairy raised their palms, shooting a spell in Pepi's face.

Pepi jumped up and began playing the lyre, then danced to his own music against his will.

"Oh no," Renato sat up, leaning on his elbows. "They used a charm spell on you!" His head fell back down and he laughed, causing the fairies dancing on his stomach to stumble.

Normally, Pepi loved playing music; in fact, he wanted to be a travelling minstrel one day. But something was wrong with Renato and Pepi had a spell cast on him that neither of them could reverse without magic. He'd been correct to be on edge the moment they stepped into this forest! Pepi tore the lyre from his own hands and stuffed it into his bag. A fairy shot another spell at him, forcing Pepi to sing as he continued dancing.

"Shoo little flies and get off my knight or you'll be in for a nasty surprise!" Pepi swatted the fairies off of Renato, who fired spells at Pepi that missed by a long shot. "Renato, we need to be on our way since we've got places to go and shouldn't stay!" Pepi sang and pulled a dizzy Renato up to his feet, jerking Renato because of his jig.

The fairies suddenly screamed and flew away into the forest upon seeing something. There was a crack of thunder. Pepi looked at the fairies’ line of sight and cried out in joy upon seeing a large black horse jumping down the waterfall and into the river. Finlay flew out of Pepi's pocket and hit him in the face, but Pepi ignored it and shoved Finlay back into his pocket.

"We're saved, we are! By a horse of the night, which can take us far until these fairies are out of sight!"

The horse stopped in the river, staring at Pepi with glowing white eyes, as water dripped down its massive mane that looked like a bundle of riverweed. For a second, Pepi thought back to his encounter with the dragon in Llantry, how it locked eyes with Pepi like this horse did. Rearing its head back, the horse let out a harsh neigh of chilling laughter. Then, galloping out of the river, it stood high above Pepi and Renato.

"That's a bad horsey…" Renato mumbled, holding onto Pepi's shoulder for support in standing while his mind spun.

"We need to break the spell or I'll dance forever and you'll never be well!" Pepi found a big rock to climb on, to make jumping onto the horse's back easier, and guided Renato up. Renato swung his legs over its back, slumping forward onto the mane as he complained about the smell.

"Let's go to the nearest town, hold on tight or you'll fall down!" Pepi warbled, grabbing their bags, and sat behind Renato on the horse while his legs bounced up and down like they had a mind of their own.

They rode out of the forest and time started again. Birds tweeted in bushes, the rain hammered down, and thunder rolled in the distance. The horse wailed. That's such a Mood, Pepi thought.

tag list: @quilloftheclouds @ashesconstellation @city-by-the-sea @imturtlelyawriter @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword @books-of-lunacy @agnodice-writes @siarven @fantasy-shadows @worldbuildng @wannabe-word-palace @dreamsofbooksandmonsters @twentytwohearts @pe-ersona @writersloth

thanks for reading!!

interact with this post or message me to be added to the tag list and you’ll be mentioned in future FM posts and updates :D

#writeblr #wip #writing #original #fiction #fantasy #writers #novel #fm tag #finding magic #awkwardplantwrites

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wearejustvisiting · 4 years

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THE VISAGE PART 1: Messages from the Mists

So I was GOING to get an AO3 account, but they’re doing maintenance on the website’s invitation system, so I can’t. I’ll have to check back when things are all clear.

BUT I wrote the prologue to my fanfiction today.

It is a recursive fic involving the gods and universe from @snellyboi‘s SPOP universe. I’m very nervous to be showing it off. But this is the Prologue to a multi-part, multi-chapter fic about a girl who leaves the horde.

The prologue is 1,686 words long. I will be writing maybe a chapter a day, but I do plan on finishing this work. if I get an AO3 then I’ll have more incentive to do this every day.

Enjoy!

PROLOGUE: A Disciplined Disciple

Eliana Okaram. It meant something in Old Etherian...not First One, that language was long dead and unrecognizable. But in what little she'd read on the subject from books she'd 'borrowed', she was aware that her name meant something important. It meant fire, or bird, or rock, or...something. She didn't know what order it was. What was it with Etherians and weird names for birds?

Eliana Okaram…

Eliana knew Shadow Weaver's lab was not the time to think about this...she was convinced Shadow Weaver could read her thoughts, could see what she was thinking all laid out. That's why Shadow Weaver put those plugs behind her ears. That's why Shadow Weaver made her cover her eyes whenever she slept. She could see into her. Eliana knew she could.

“Eliana...” A gentle cup of the chin, a subtle twist of the head. Eliana lost control to her. “You're growing well...what a fine soldier you will make...” Shadow Weaver said, turning away and walking to a small table of tools. The taller woman took one in her hands, something resembling an angle grinder…

“Thank you, Ma'am...why have you called me here?” She was wise for a 10-year-old. Exactly as wise as Shadow Weaver needed her to be.

“Don't worry, child. We're going to deal with those pesky little marks on your back.”

“...Marks? You mean the circular ones on my back?” Three concentric circles, surrounding an inverted triangle. Hard to miss when you're bathing.

Eliana continued, “I thought they were normal, that all human children got them...”

“No, child. If you wish Hordak to keep you, you'll need to get them removed...” Shadow Weaver took Eliana, and laid her onto her stomach, lowering her shirt to make her back visible.

“Why? What's to bad about them?” Eliana asked.

“They mark an illness...something that's hard to cure, something that weakens the spirit...”

“Oh...”

“Don't fret, my child...I shall cure you of this illness...and you shall not remember how I did it.”

“...what?”

The whirr of machines, the sound of a scream, but no pain…

A flash of black, a darkness...and then…

Eliana woke up in her bunk, positioned on her front...she tried to rise, but gasped out in pain. She laid flat on her stomach and huffed, what had happened to her? She slipped the cover off of her eyes to try and catch her bearings. Shadow Weaver was wrong about the monsters that went after children's eyes, or maybe they just didn't want Eliana's. Either way, she'd become more flagrant with her disregard of that particular rule.

Eliana saw her arm. Perfectly normal...she slowly and painfully slipped out of her bunk, walking over to the room's mirror, usually used for personal care...she turned to see her back, looking over her shoulder…

Her back was covered in bandages, all tinged with some horrible liquid...she couldn't see color. She knew that much. But she didn't need to be told that color. She knew what it was. Her back covered in blood and cuts and scrapes, all hidden by gauze and tape. Hiding her markings…

She knew why, of course...it was a miracle Hordak was letting her keep her hair that long. He wasn't much for expression amongst his ranks. Eliana couldn't blame him...the other kids would surely be jealous of her marks. Of course! That's why Shadow Weaver wanted to get rid of them...but...if that was the case, why not just make her wear a shirt? The cat lady already bathed privately, why not Eliana?

Eliana got back into be, the soft, familiar ringing lulling her to sleep.

The heft of the staff came down onto Eliana's back, knocking the wind out of her and sending the 12-year-old girl sprawling. She sputtered as she looked up to see who had landed the blow. As she looked back, she saw her..Force Captain Catra...of course, it was always her. Force Captain Scorpia was there, too. Followed her around...Eliana didn't know or care why.

“Hey there, longhair.” Catra used a nickname given to the girl unceremoniously by a few...less-than-friends. No one was friendly enough to stop her from this, even as people passed by.

“...What is it, Force Captain?” Eliana asked, through gritted teeth and hidden fist.

“What're you doing near here, anyways?” Asked Catra, looking down at the younger girl.

“I'm on special orders from Force Captain Enric.” Eliana replied, slowly beginning to calm herself. She couldn't afford another fight…

“Well, stop it. You got new ones.” Catra said, getting closer. “Because you've been moved to MY team.” She smirked gently, forcing Eliana to look at her with a hand on the chin.

“...Yes, Force Captain.”

“Scorpia is going to be securing a fort on the Plumerian border. YOU, though, You're coming with me.”

“Force captain, I'd probably be better suited for a role with force Captain Scor-”

WHAM.

Eliana's head was protected from the steel wall only by Catra's hand, which didn't do much to break the impact. She huffed, looking Catra in the eye...one yellow, one blue. She could see those colors...she thought. Maybe they were different…

“I'm your CAPTAIN now...so you're going to do what I say...understand?”

“...Yes,” She spoke once again through gritted teeth and angered expression, “...Force Captain.”

“Good. Listen,” Catra showed her claws, “YOU aren't Shadow Weaver's special little pet anymore. You never were, and you're not anymore.” Catra threw Eliana to the ground.

“...I'm in charge here, Eliana. And I don't take well to people who think they're better than what they are...”

Silence from Eliana...she simply looked up, a mix of anger and disgust on her face…

“Briefing room in 45 minutes. You're getting your rank and assignment there.” Catra simply walked away.

“Scorpia, get moving. You need to be at the fort by nightfall.” Catra said, before turning a corner.

Scorpia walked over to Eliana, helping her up from the floor. She smiled gently, rubbing one of her shoulders with a closed pincer and patted her back. She looked the young girl over. She noted the bruise on her face, and the messy bun of hair atop her head. But the main concern was the eyes...still that strange dull gray.

“Hey, kid, don't feel too bad...Catra's just going through something right now.”

“...She's always been like that, Scorpia. She's been 'going through' something ever since Shadow Weaver started acting up...”

“Well...you weren't the only one who spent time with her.” Scorpia said, as she began to move towards the transport doors.

Eliana followed close by, “Any idea what she's going to do with me? Gonna send me on some suicide mission and finally let me die?”

Scorpia shook her head, “No, no, no! She wants you alive...I think she wants you to be a courier or something. Deliver packages and all that.”

Eliana shook her head, “Better than KP, I suppose...I'll brace myself.”

The transport doors opened, and wind poured in from the outdoors, transports heading in and lifting off, getting assigned. Scorpia knelt down to eye level with Eliana, squeezing her shoulder with a pincer.

“You'll be fine. Promise.”

Eliana watched as Scorpia boarded the transport...and then, Eliana made her way to the briefing room. Looking at her hands, she thought for a moment about existence...she quelled those thoughts. She didn't need to be thinking about that right now.

Eliana heard that ringing in her ears...she was hearing it more often nowadays. Less a lullaby, more a nuisance.

“In your 2 years as a courier, you have done nothing but good things for the Horde, Eliana.” Force Captain Holst was in charge now, having taken Catra's Unit. He was a genuine man, but a Horde man, nonetheless. This was just a recording, but Eliana could hear the man shift uneasily in a seat once belonging to Hordak. Hordak was missing. Catra, too.

Everyone was missing.

“But it appears the Horde's days are numbered...I'll be honest with you, Eliana. I'm sending you on this mission so that you can escape.”

The words on the tape seemed hasty and ill-formatted. Not official like they once were, not the way they were supposed to be. Nothing was the way it was supposed to be anymore.

“Pack everything you can, and work your way to Rosetree. It's the capitol of Plumeria, home to the queen. Try and fall in with the locals there, maybe start a new life.”

Eliana packed what she could...drawings, a small flag, the eye-mask she used to sleep, a collection of amulets...she would take them off of the people she had to dispatch. Amulets for the gods. She kept THOSE well hidden. Other than that, not much to pack, other than clothes for a few days, even some clothes she'd snuck out of Bright Moon on a mission.

“Your mission, to any officers that might stop you from escaping, is a spying mission. You're officially being placed there to spy on Perfuma of Plumeria. But you're not doing that.”

She walked to the transport doors, past the few watching eyes that still looked her over, past the security cameras that couldn't catch her anymore. She still had the circles on her back, and constellations on her arms. No one was taking those away from her now. Not a damn soul even wanted to touch her.

“Wear your black clothes, and slip out at night. If you keep walking, you should hit Rosetree by dawn. Just keep walking. If you see enemies, keep walking. If you see friends, keep walking.”

Eliana heard that ringing...she was wearing her visor, something all of the couriers wore to keep themselves focused. She didn't know why, she just...figured she should wear it. A flag of a dead empire.

“I'm setting you free, Eliana. You know what that word means? In Old Etherian?” The tape asked as if she could answer it…

“Firebird. Phoenix. Burn down, and start anew.”

Eliana slipped out of the courier's barracks one last time. She still heard the ring. It was almost constant nowadays. She looked over the destroyed Frightzone, as if the carcass of a great beast...and she began walking. She repeated that to herself…

Burn down.

Start Anew.

#She-Ra #Fanfiction #Fandom Shit

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thedistantstorm · 5 years

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Keep On Rising (Until the Sky Knows Your Name) 03

A story about how an orphaned Amanda Holliday comes to belong in the Last Safe City and the family she finds along the way.

(Or, the story of how Commander Zavala finds himself responsible for one Amanda Holliday.)

Chapters: 01 | 02

This time: The head matron asks Zavala to talk to Amanda about her performance in school.

"I was hoping you might have a word with Miss Holliday," Karena says, when talks of budget constraints and board of governors interference subsides. She slips it in so casually with her usual status updates that he finds himself nodding before he thinks anything of it. These maternal types would make excellent politicians, he thinks for what must be the thousandth time.

"What can I do?" He asks. It would not be the first time he's addressed bad behaviors or given pep talks to a child who needs it. Especially considering most of them look up to him in some capacity (though it was more due to 'superpowers' than the fact that he was the Commander of all Guardians).

"Well, they sent home first trimester grades." Karena slides an envelope to him. "Failing marks in every subject except PE. I don't know what to make of it. The teachers are beginning to wonder if she can read."

Zavala opens the envelope, pulling out a report card and letter. It's exactly as the matron described. "It's possible she can't." Survival didn't often leave room for more than the most basic of education.

"Amanda can read." Karena's tone is firm. "I caught her with her nose in a book the other night at nearly o'three hundred." She hands him something else. A bound notebook. "She's bored."

Amanda Holliday is, in fact, very bored. "This is…" Sketches of ships, vehicles, sparrows. Old ones, clearly from memory, notes in childlike scribbles. Repair information and basic specs for rovers Zavala hasn't seen in decades. The differences between different ship classes, times they pass overhead. Fuel conversion, basic wiring diagrams, all drawn from scratch. Things that should not be in the mind of an eight year old girl, but are. Surely, a combination of intelligence and necessity.

"I can't secure educational funding for her if she won't prove she's intelligent. Hell, I can barely get help for my stragglers. You know that."

He does. "You think she's got all of this all in her head."

"She told four of my staff how to change rotors, oil, and tires on the vehicle we have out back. Said she'd done it before."

"Clearly you don't suspect-"

"I do. She got annoyed when they wouldn't let her roll the tires, though they're bigger than she is. I could hear that little drawl of hers all the way over here in the building." Karena sighs, and he can see the worry lines, etched hard into her face. "She won't talk to me about it. I've tried. I asked her about tasks when she was on the roads. She was despondent for days."

"I doubt she will fare better if I ask." His eyes lock onto hers. "But if you would like me to encourage her to participate in classes… that I am able to do."

"Please." Karena frowns. "She's in her room, on restriction. I cannot reward this behavior, even if it does set her back to do so. At some point," The matron sighs again, "I have to stop treating her like the exception. She'll never overcome her trauma if I do."

"How can I-"

"You've seen things beyond the walls. She knows it, told me so, that after day you let her sleep in the sitting room." Her weathered fingers fold on the tabletop between them. "She feels like you understand her. She trusts you." Karena blinks, her eyes both sad and warm, evaluating him. “Anything you can do to encourage her, I’d appreciate.”

The girl in question is sitting in her bunk, refusing to look at the pile of homework beside her. The exception is the maths worksheet with multiplicative tables on it. She's flipped it over - since the houseparents had taken her notebook - to draw on.

When the knock comes, the paper gets flipped back and tucked away under a history textbook.

"Zavala!" She blurts, in a surprised - happy - chirp, but tenses immediately at the sight of him.

And the orange envelope in his hands.

He doesn't have an angry look. Not a scary one, like when Ma would threaten to blister her keester if she didn't help gather kindling for the fire because she was tinkering with scrap again. This one is almost sad, but not quite.

"She told ya," Amanda grumbles, when he closes the door behind him, pulling the chair tucked in the corner closer to the bed. He sits down directly across from her.

Zavala hands her the report card after he pulls it from the envelope, tilting his head. "Perhaps you could read this to me."

"Don’t need ta. S’all fails," She grouses, not quite accepting it from his hand.

One eyebrow goes up, and he inches the report card closer to her. "On the back. What your teacher said."

She looks down at it, eyes moving over the words, then back up to him. “I don’t-”

“Read it,” He instructs, tone broking no argument. “Please.”

A sigh so big it looks like she’s shuddering erupts from her. “Fine.” She shifts, holding it up in front of her like a shield. “Amanda Holliday is a quiet girl and does not cause trouble.” She looks up at Zavala. He’s watching her. “She does not, how’ver, c’m-complete tasks or parsipit- participate,” She frowns, inspecting the cardstock, “In classwork or activities. It is dishay- dishor-”

“Disheartening,” Zavala clarifies, softly.

“Disheartenin’ to see such a young mind be so ill a’verse to learn.” She swallows hard, looking up to him. He’s still watching her. Her vision blurs.

Disappointment. This feeling is disappointment, she remembers. He’s disappointed in her. She wonders why she cares so much what he thinks, when she’s only met him five, six times? Maybe? The thought is fleeting, the knowledge of his disappointment in her overwhelming all other thoughts on the subject.

“And the rest,” He says, still in that cool, soft tone. He doesn’t shift gears even when that first tear falls and she’s crying.

“P-please ‘ncourage Miss Holliday to complete ‘er homework and be an active p-participant in class.”

She sniffles, holding it out to him with a trembling hand. He takes it from her and sets it on the windowsill to his right. “Thank you.” Her head shoots up in confusion. Seeing that he has her attention, he continues, “Is there anything preventing you from participating in class?”

‘There’s a pause. “No sir,” She murmurs, like she would whenever Ma or Pa would talk to her about misbehaving.

“Are you unable to read the materials or instructions your teachers give you?”

“No sir.”

Zavala pulls his chair closer when her head sinks down, and she’s only looking up at him through a nest of hair and dark lashes. “Your teachers put a great deal of effort into their lesson plans, to teach you things. By refusing to take part in that, you are not only hurting yourself, but making a poor reflection on everyone in your support system. That includes Matron Karena and the other houseparents.” She flinches, clearly not having thought of that. “And me,” He finishes, as a barely audible afterthought.

His message is well received. Her eyes are glassy and brimming with tears when she looks up at him, shocked and distraught. “M’sorry,” She whimpers, between great, guffawing sobs. “...’m real sorry,” She hangs her head again, afterwards.

A strange thing happens then, on the other side of the conversation. Zavala has to squash down the feeling of sympathetic distress, of hurt that burns in his gut from causing this child’s discomfort, even if it is the truth. His Ghost pings gently in his mind, tugging soothingly on that place deep inside him in that well-worn way she did when he felt anxiety.

“I didn’ know it made ya all look like that,” Amanda babbles. “...’m not anybody’s,” She shrugs, trying not to think about that too hard. “I didn’t mean ta-”

“I know. That is why I am telling you,” He cuts in, before she goes back to pieces. She hangs on his every word. “I do not believe you meant anyone ill-will. However, your teacher contacted the matron. She was under the impression that you might not know how to read, that no one had taught you how.”

“Ma taught me how!” She all but shrieks, thanks to the high-pitch of her youth, defensively. Zavala does not flinch, but she sees his eyes narrow at the sound. She dials it back. “A’course I know how to read.”

Both eyebrows go up to that. “Clearly,” He retorts, with a pointed glance at her report card.

She narrows her eyes at him. “Ya knew.”

“I do not believe you are ‘ill-adverse to learning.’” He considers her a moment. “Do you know what that means?”

“Yessir,” She slurs. “Means ‘m not a fan of it.”

“Are you?”

“Huh?”

“Do you like learning?”

“Yeah.” It’s quiet, like a church-mouse.

“Then why this?” He picks up the report card, waving it. Her mouth opens wide with a protest, her entire body heaving as she inhales to make her point and make it loud. “Yelling will not make your argument more compelling. Be honest.”

“‘S boring, Zavala,” She answers, willing herself not to raise her voice. “I’m not stupid like my classmates.”

“Amanda.” The rebuke is obvious.

“I’m not sorry fer it,” She argues. “It’s true.”

“It certainly does not appear that way based on your grades.”

She looks at him. "I don't need to learn what they're teachin'. I know it."

"Even City history?" He presses lightly.

"We've been doin' geography." Her eyes dull. "I know about geography. I been out there," She scoffs, growing more upset with every word. "I c'n read a map, know my cardinal directions."

Zavala sighs, but his words have an edge that demand her attention. "Amanda, you need to prove it. I do not doubt you know how to determine North from South. However, your instructors cannot possibly know that without you participating."

There is a stalemate between them. It lasts for hardly a moment. Her unhappy green-blue gaze is no match for him, not in the slightest. She looks away. Sighs.

"I got a’lotta work to do."

That wins her a smile. "You don't strike me as the type to back away from hard work, Amanda."

"It's not hard, it's jus-" She motions to the stack of books and papers, exaggeratedly.

He chuckles, almost amused. "Perhaps don't put it all off next time, hmm?"

She pulls out mathematics first, using a textbook like a lap desk. Pulls out a pencil and gets to it. He watches her move through the questions rapidly. Hands it to him. "Here."

Instead of the homework, he eyes the drawing on the back of an Acadia class ship, eyes sliding back to her in a silent question.

She shrugs. "The other side," She grouses, when he continues to inspect it silently. "That sides 's not my homework!" His lips purse, and she erupts into giggles upon the sparkling glint in his eye. He's messing with her. "This's serious! I'm provin' myself!" She parrots, when she gets it together, still shaking with silent giggles.

Children are so impressionable, he thinks, flipping the page. He's not so sure what he's expecting, but the mixed equations, basic ones, are all correct. His Ghost nudges him, mentally.

It had taken her under a minute to do twenty five problems, she informs him. Perhaps easy is correct.

"What is nine times eight, Amanda?"

"Seventy two," She answers without hesitation, popping up and peeking at the page top-down. "D'I mess it up?"

"No," He tilts his head, studying her. "Show me something else you know how to do."

"I've never seen anything like it," The teacher says, still a touch surprised.

Karena is not. Amanda is outside on the swings. It's a little after recess should have ended, but on parent-teacher conference days it tended to run over, much to the children's delight.

"One day she's disinterested, the next you'd think she'd always been at the top of the class." The teacher is young, the matron thinks. She resists the urge to pat her hands when they finally rest on the desk between them once more. "Whatever you did, it's working for her. I-" She shakes her head, mousy brown hair swaying with the gesture. "My peers say she'll test well above her year in mathematics and science. There are programs, you know. Keeping her enrolled here is a waste."

The matron frowns. "I know. I have applied for multiple scholarships, but…" She waves her hand, unwilling to debate how such things are swayed by politics. "If we have the money left in our budget, perhaps I could get her in a supplemental program." She looks out the window at the girl, blonde hair flapping about as she soars higher and higher, back and forth. It will never happen. They won't break even this year without charitable donations. "But I am responsible for the wellbeing of forty-three other children, and I cannot play favorites."

#destiny fanfiction #shipwright september #amanda holliday #commander zavala #zavala is tower dad

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bpdanakins · 5 years

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Name ten favourite characters from ten different things (books, tv, film, etc.) then tag ten people

I was tagged by the dear @gffa who clearly enjoys making these lists and seeing everyone else also struggling with just choosing ten. It’s hard but I shall do my best sdfk <3

1. Lara Croft - Tomb Raider Okay, let’s just get it out: I prefer reboot!Lara. idk I know some people think she sucks and the games suck for whatever reason, but I found the games and their mechanics super fun, and Lara’s story really compelling. She was a young girl who was determined to make her own way in the world, and instead went through something extremely traumatizing. She kept pushing through, kept getting back up no matter what the world threw at her. She went on this clear journey that was compelling and fun and messy. She wasn’t perfect. She pushed people away, she fucked the world up because she was determined to find the answers she felt would make all she went through make sense. Her survivor’s guilt was present really well in RotTR but most especially in SotTR. People were dying but she was so focused on finishing her personal mission. She was numb to it despite the fact it still horrified her. And her arc ended well. She finally was able to reach a place where she was able to let go of her losses and try to join society again. And I’m gay for her. So, you know.

2. Senua - Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice I cannot recommend this game enough. It’s tough to play bc it’s not just a horror game but you feel a lot of Senua’s anxiety, which is part of the point to the game. Senua’s a Celtic warrior who suffers from psychosis, and the game devs worked directly with both professionals and those who experience psychosis. There’s a whole mini doc to it which is great, even if you can’t stomach horror. You’re in Senua’s head with her throughout the game. You see what she sees, you hear all she hears, and she talks to you directly at times. But the beauty of the game is Senua’s true journey. She goes on a quest to try to rescue a loved one she lost to Vikings, but the real story is about a girl realizing she’s not a monster for seeing the world differently. That the abuse and ableism she faced weren’t her fault at all. There’s so many little things I can point to in this game that just made me so emotional, and it’s such a beautiful and necessary story to tell. Senua is great and deserves a hug.

3. Anakin Skywalker - Star Wars If you asked me at what point in my life Anakin became one of my favourite characters, to the point I frequently talked about him even on my main blog at random intervals, I couldn’t tell you. I haven’t the faintest idea; he just was. And if you asked me why he was a fave early on, I also couldn’t tell you lmao. It might partially be that I grew up on the prequels, and maybe at such a young age I didn’t really grasp at first that this was a story about a guy who was already revealed to be a villain, but I haven’t the faintest clue. He just is now, and I’m so passionate about his story. He’s complex and difficult and written so well. You want him to be happy, you feel heartbroken seeing a good character fall so deep, and you want to smack him upside the head a whole lot. You laugh at his silly dialogue (which he has as Vader too smh), you cry when you see him struggling, you become horrified by his actions. His story’s also a great inversion of the Chosen One trope - whereas usually we see Chosen Ones struggle, become imperfect and undoubtedly traumatized, they remain heroes the whole time. Anakin doesn’t. He becomes the bad guy, one of the worst in the series (Palps takes the award tho). But even then, when you think this guy has nothing to offer but an intimidating villain, he’s shown to have good. And then we see how much good he had all along, the good he forgot and was punished for and hated himself for. His heart that had good intentions but he chose the worst actions. He’s complicated and I love him. And more over, I love how many people who struggle or have mental illness can relate to him. I love that he wasn’t treated as a guy whose actions were glorified, but that were honest in both the good ones and the bad ones. Anyone can fall, and anyone can get back up, if they choose to. I just. Love him. He means a lot.

4. Commander Shepard - Mass Effect I know that Shep is technically the player’s character and can be any combination of person, but anyone who’s played Mass Effect would get why they were put here. The original trilogy for Mass Effect touched on so many things, and was a really emotional one. You had your great moments with friends, you had your struggles against both unknown horrors, and horrors close to home (so to speak). There are so many small moments that stick out to you, and idk how many people can say that playing this story didn’t impact their life in a meaningful way, bc I can’t see how it couldn’t. I’ve played the games many times, but even after all of this, there are moments that I not just still get emotional to, but take on new meaning as I go through my life. And Shepard’s the hero of the story. They’re not perfect, and they can downright be an ass if you play them that way, but their story is one of perseverance, of fighting on even when entire worlds are being lost and everyone is still looking to them. Everyone needs them to find a solution. But even then, it’s a story about friendship too. About tons of amazing characters that all have their own motivations, their own pasts and goals and hopes and failures. About how all these varied characters become a found family. And so Shepard’s the hero of the story, but their companions aren’t just there to be sidekicks, but end up with all their own accomplishments and arcs and you go on this journey with all of them. idk the whole series is great dsalkkljads

5. Lexa & Clarke - The 100 Let’s not talk about how terrible this show got and how messy it was because we all know. But it started with a really compelling story that was interesting, and to see two characters on screen who were flawed but understood each other, and to have them both be women - one who was a lesbian and one who was a bisexual?? It made me so excited and it’s a really flawed show but it meant a lot to me at the time to have a couple like that on a tv show, and so despite all its flaws, that relationship still means a lot to me.

6. The BAU team - Criminal Minds Yeah, I put the entire friggin team down, and that means all of them. There was only maybe two or so characters that were on it I didn’t like so every iteration is put down. Criminal Minds isn’t exactly a complex show; it’s a typical crime drama, and its unique feature is that it looks into the behaviour and minds of criminals instead of finding the science, like we saw with CSI. But the episodes were compelling and entertaining to watch, and, what do you know, there’s a found family at the center of it all and naturally I’m a sucker for it. Strangely enough this show is kind of a comfort one to me, bc it’s entertaining but not always overwhelmingly emotional. I can put it on at any time and just have it on in the background, or when I’m not feeling well, and I’ll enjoy myself. Also strangely enough, I’ve seen almost every episode enough times that there’s a game in my house to see how long it takes for me to recognize the episode and its plot once a rerun is put on lmao. There’s a lot of good shows like this out there - I enjoy SVU a lot too - but something just draws me to the characters on this one. We’ve been with them for, what, 14 seasons?? And we’ve seen them go thru some shit, we’ve seen them grow and change and they’re all really unique. It’s not a complex show but it is good enough to just binge. A part that plays in it is probably the time in my life I started getting into it too, but I’m alright with standing by it.

7. Korra - Avatar: The Legend of Korra I probably don’t need to wax poetic about atla or atlok much at all. I just love her journey, as a brash and overconfident girl who realizes that being the Avatar is hard, the people expect so much and there’s a lot put on your shoulders. That, when things go wrong, people will blame you. She went and became this giant blue monster thing, but her struggles were all human. Her PTSD was shown really well, despite it being a kid’s show. She’s fun and her journey is lovely and it’s definitely true that Korrasami did it way better, and both characters are bi women too (◡‿◡✿) We Do Not Talk About That Dumb Love Triangle Nonsense Though

8. Chloe & Max - Life is Strange What can I even say about this game? I don’t know. If you’ve played it, you’ll know why it’s here. It’s.... way deeper than you’d think it’d get at first. I love the story, and I love the journey Max and Chloe go on together. I love their friendship, how Chloe was always trying to uplift Max and encourage her to follow her dreams, and Max just doing the impossible for Chloe. I love their relationship, because it was built on support and love and struggle. I love their complexities, their flaws, their strengths, their times together. I just fskljdjlksfd love them, I love this game and all its various stories and character arcs. It’s all so beautiful and raw and unique and yay, another pair of ladies loving each other is on this list.

9. Solas - Dragon Age: Inquisition Okay. There’s a TON of characters I adore in Dragon Age, and to be honest, I don’t know he’d be my absolute top one. But I do like his story. I love Dragon Age companions, because, like in Mass Effect, they’re all their own characters with their own stories and journeys. Solas is flawed. Like, really flawed. Here’s another guy on my list who went and fucked up the world a bit. His worst actions (and the consequences of them) were built on good intentions, on his desire to help his people. We can get into the way this direction BW went with the elvhen religion was icky, but it’s a different conversation. I adore elvhen lore and I love exploring theories on it all the time. For Solas, I just like that he’s complex. I mean, he’s still silly and kinda weird, and he loves to hear himself speak on topics and loves Lavellan for encouraging him to never shut up, but most of all I kind of like their relationship? A friendship with Solas is still great, but I like that it’s an asexual one (don’t fight me on this, idc, it’s how I see it). It’s soft, built on mutual respect, one with no pressures or expectations. Solas asks for time and Lavellan gives it. There’s no fade to black s.ex scenes that so many times aren’t optional in BW games. I just really like my asexual wolf god egg ok

10. Mulder & Scully - The X Files Okay, it’s super hard to choose characters for this holy heck. BUT I really, really, really love their relationship. Mulder is an idealist who believes in the supernatural, and Scully his pragmatic scientific counterpart. And we could talk about how Scully’s character as a woman in science meant to a lot of people, and how Mulder’s tenacity to not give up on his beliefs is a nice one (when it’s not getting him into trouble). Their relationship is the slowest of slow burns in television history, I think. But it’s good that way. Scully starts out thinking Mulder’s just a delusional guy, one who’s intelligent but wastes his accomplishments, and he knows that. Then they go through shit, they’re a team and many times it’s them against a whole bunch of unbelievable stuff (and their own government). What I loved most was also their son, and I’m literally deleting all knowledge of the new seasons from my brain bc I think it was gross and took away from the story, but I liked that they were so close, loved each other so much despite there not really being a romance yet, that Scully trusted to go to Mulder to donate to her bc he was the only one she could think of for this. It’s another asexual relationship on screen, and it’s built on a love that happens over time. I just fljksdfkjl could go on about it too.

This was hard lmao. I wanna give an honorary shout out to Peggy Carter since she had wonderful lines like: “I know my value. Anyone else’s opinion doesn’t really matter.” Which is *chef’s kiss*. Peggy was the true unsung hero of the MCU and they gave her and Steve a weird ass ending.

idk who to tag bc I’m not sure who’d be into this, but if you’re willing, I’d love to hear from @sapphicfinalpam, @mariaromanovs, @vinterskald, @zombiefishgirl, @nb-aziraphales, @serkonans and anyone who feels like doing it. Feel free to obvs ignore this, or only make a list without rambles, idk. I am never too sure about who’s into this or not, but if I didn’t tag you and you wanna do it, you can just say I tagged you and I definitely wanna read what you have to say!

#liz.txt #long post #there are others who were left out bc this shit's hard!! jldskljf #thanks gffa (◡‿◡✿)

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uomo-accattivante · 6 years

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What would it look like if, in 2018, the most talented actor in all of Hollywood actually lived in New York City to be near the theater, avoided social media, and had zero interest in growing his personal brand? Well, he’d be poised to have one hell of an interesting career. Here, Zach Baron talks it out with the man himself: Oscar Isaac.

Oscar Isaac slips unnoticed through his neighborhood of the past several years, Williamsburg, Brooklyn, on a gray January afternoon. He's been in New York long enough to know how to avoid drawing strangers' attention; he's also just naturally gifted at hiding when he needs to hide, whether on-screen or off. When he takes a part, he tends to disappear in it. Already, his catalog of doomed, slightly abrasive idealists—whether in the Coen brothers' Inside Llewyn Davis; the tech sociopath he played in Alex Garland's Ex Machina; or as a quixotic, ill-fated mayor in the Paul Haggis–directed HBO series Show Me a Hero—is one of the most surprising and vivid early bodies of work we have going in movies today. He's the rare actor who seems totally indifferent to whether or not he is loved. So of course people love him.

He's found success as a leading man only recently, but in a way that seems impossible to replicate; he's done it, improbably, as an actor, rather than as a brand, or as a fun talk-show presence, or just as a handsome face that cameras happen to have an easy time with. (Up close, he is in fact handsome, but in what I'll describe as an entirely non-Hollywood way—a fortuitous assemblage of the right imperfections.)

In the past year, Isaac had a small part in George Clooney's Suburbicon and a large part in Rian Johnson's Star Wars: The Last Jedi, which he's just finished promoting. In March, he'll star in Annihilation, Garland's second film. Isaac plays a military man and husband to Natalie Portman, and spends most of the movie shirtless and in fatigues, exploring the limits of his own sanity. It's a Technicolor nightmare of a film, and Isaac, characteristically, feels right at home in it.

There's a degree of difficulty to nearly every part he takes on, dating back to his breakthrough with Inside Llewyn Davis, where he made a wastrel folk singer who's hard to love into someone who holds your eye in every scene. At a Hollywood moment when audiences are learning to suspect what goes into success—think of Harvey Weinstein and of all the careers he seemingly elevated or destroyed—Isaac's work makes it plain what went into his: a prodigious amount of old-fashioned talent.

In conversation, he's self-deprecating about the work but honest about his own abilities—like, for instance, his skill with the guitar. “I think the fact that I can play really well kind of sealed the deal on that one,” he says about being cast in Llewyn Davis.

GQ Style: Is that natural talent, being able to play well, or is that training? Oscar Isaac: I've been doing it for a very long time—I should be way better for as long as I've been doing it. But singing and playing guitar by myself is something that I've done for a while.

But it's more than just singing and playing in that film. Llewyn Davis is an unsympathetic character who also needs to hold an audience's attention throughout the film. How do you go about making that happen? I found him very likable. He just doesn't do stuff like smile. But it never crossed my mind that he was not going to be likable. I just assumed like, “Yeah, I understand this person. And if I understand him, I'm sure other people are going to want to understand him, too.”

Inside Llewyn Davis was when I think most people really noticed you for the first time. Did that film change things for you? Yes, without a doubt. I mean, the day that I got the part, I got like 15 offers or something. Immediately everyone was like: “Oh, oh, the Coen brothers think he's good? Oh, okay, well, then he's probably good.” And then they sent the offers. It's silly, to a certain extent. I mean, they didn't know if I was going to totally beef it. But it ended up being good, and it changed everything.

Sometimes I can't tell if your performances are the result of natural ability or of a ton of preparation—for instance, in the now famous scene in Ex Machina where you dance, I've always wondered how much of that is “Oscar can dance” and how much of that is “Oscar is technically adept at doing what the script asks him to do.” That's what it is. It's like, okay: I need to make it look like I'm really good at doing this thing. What is everything that I have to do to make it seem that this is something that I can do or that this person does believably? It is a bit technical in that way.

Is that the same kind of technical challenge presented by something like X-Men: Apocalypse, when you're playing a giant blue villain? In X-Men, not so much. I think I was just marveling that I was able to stand and not fall over. I was wearing a crazy suit, encased in prosthetics and plastic. I was just sweating into my face and had no way of reaching my face. I couldn't turn or look. That was very hard. That was just surviving. You see me surviving in that movie.

I assume acting in the Star Wars movies, where there is so much other stuff going on around you, is a little bit like that. The truth is, in all movies, you're just a piece of it. In everything you do, there are so many people that are making something. Obviously this is exponentially bigger, but you're still serving somebody, you're servicing some thing, and when you're making it, it just goes back to trying to make a good character, or trying to make it honest, trying to make it believable, and knowing that sometimes you're just there for scale: “Just stand closer to the spaceship so they see that we really built it.”

How do you tune out the spaceships and do believable work, then? It's challenging—you get very self-conscious because the things that you're being asked to do are so strange and difficult to relate to. For instance—and this also speaks to Rian's great eye for detail—I'm in a little cockpit that they've built, and they've got the close-up, and they say: “Okay, so you're driving. Now I want you to look to your right and you see one of your resistance pilots blow up, and then you look to your left and you see another resistance pilot blow up, and then you look forward, and then I want you to make a calculation that we're losing too many people, and then I want you to say, ‘Pull out,’ right? But don't do it from fear. Do it from a place of assertiveness, but also I want to see how dramatic it is, right? And so…go.” With no words, right? And so it's very difficult not to feel like, “Wait, what am I doing here?” And to synthesize it all to make it work. But it's a fun challenge as well. And Rian was right there. It's like: “Okay, that one felt like it was a little too afraid.” “Okay, well, that one felt too casual now, so…” And sometimes it gets even weirder when you're in space. Space makes things weirder. [laughs]

So you're committed to one more Star Wars film. This is my understanding. I don't really read what I sign. [laughs] But from what I've been told…

Have you ever been part of one thing for as long as you've been part of this? No, not at all. Or done something where you do one and then go back to it later or don't know what you've signed up for. I don't know what the next story's going to be. I have no idea. So you just have to go with it.

You've been able to do other stuff in the meantime, though, like Annihilation,right? I was shooting that at the exact same time as Star Wars, so that just felt like playground time. It was very condensed. I think I was only on it for nine or ten days in a row.

Alex Garland shoots seem really intense. It was definitely intense and full-on. But I would kind of come in, sometimes still dressed in my Star Wars stuff, and change out of it and put the fatigues on, and just have fun with my friend, you know? Alex and I became very, very close, and I find him to be an incredibly authentic person, and super talented. I didn't think it was going to work, but the fact that they were shooting at Pinewood [Studios, near London], on the same lot as Star Wars, that made it possible. I could literally walk from my set on Star Wars over to the Annihilation set. That was pretty cool—that felt like old-school Hollywood, like in the ’30s. Or it made me think of Pee-wee's Big Adventure, when they go on the studio lot for the first time and you see all the different productions.

What about Garland's work makes you come back to do it again, do you think? The very allegorical nature of sci-fi, and particularly with Annihilation, the idea that we self-destruct, we are doomed, and we do it to ourselves. That it's actually in our genes to self-destruct. That's the reason he did the whole movie. And I think, for me, I get very drawn to these characters.

Why? Because we're all doomed. You and me and everybody.

We end up in a restaurant not far from Isaac's apartment. In our booth, he looks at my wedding ring and asks: “How long have you been with your wife?” He just got back from his honeymoon, he says, down in the Caribbean—in the New York afternoon light his skin still retains an improbable amount of sun. He asks what my wife does, and I tell him. “That's cool,” he says, “an editor and a writer, two journalists together.” He and his wife, the documentary filmmaker Elvira Lind, got married last March. Their son, Eugene, was born last April. I'm wondering why this is a conversation we're having. We've just met, and Isaac has always seemed reluctant to talk much about himself; part of what draws you to him is that you don't know much about him. But I don't end up wondering for long.

He's had the kind of year, it turns out, that you think about for the rest of your life—one of those 12-month periods so full of life and death and all the attendant highs and lows that you can't really even comprehend it. Your own recent history ends up feeling like a foreign object in the palm of your hand: You look at it and have no idea what exactly it is you're looking at.

GQ Style: Why did you decide to get married now? Isaac: Tons of reasons. She's Danish—she's not a citizen, and she was very pregnant, and there was an element of figuring out “Well, where are we going to be?” And us wanting to be a family unit a bit more. Also, the Danes, they don't really believe in marriage. I think it has a lot to do with the equality of the sexes over there. Marriage doesn't mean anything financially, because the state takes care of people. So the marriage itself becomes less important. But, you know, at the time, right before it happened, my mom was ill, and so I saw her carrying my child, bathing my sick mom—seeing her do that, I just thought: I want to be with this person forever and ever. And I just wanted to take that extra step as well. And so my mom passed in February and we got married in March and our son was born in April.

Have you processed all that yet? It was a wild year. I think I'll be processing it for the rest of my life. There's a little bit of an untethered feeling since then. A lot of stuff that I felt I knew and had direction about now just feels a little bit disconnected and floating around.

Immediately after that, you starred in Hamlet at the Public Theater in New York. Were you able to compartmentalize all those feelings while doing that show six times a week? It didn't really afford me the luxury, because Hamlet is about everything. In fact, it gave me space to deal with stuff that's unimaginable and impossible to comprehend and to give voice to it, give word to it. This fucking guy William Shakespeare wrote this thing that's like a religious text—it helped give a context and an understanding in words to some of the deepest feelings that I think a human can experience.

Was it overwhelming at any point, processing those emotions onstage every night? It was very physically overwhelming. The thought was “I'll do the play at night and be home during the day.” But when I was home during the day, I was a vegetable. I was constantly connected to a steaming machine to steam my vocal cords. I was on vocal rest—I couldn't speak. But I felt like it gave me a psychological space to deal with a lot of stuff. And in fact I was afraid when it was over that I wasn't going to know where to put a lot of the pain—but also the joy—of those two things happening right on top of one another. But you figure it out. It feels like it was a dream now. It was just a few months of performing, and then it was gone. It's as if it didn't happen.

I was going to ask if you felt like you got any closure when the show ended. But it sounds like— No. No, not really. But it was one of the most incredible experiences of my life, and my wife, God bless her, was with a newborn at home while I'm doing Hamlet, and that was a lot to deal with. She's an incredible woman. But doing something like that, because it's something personally so profound to do, it loosens things up a little bit. So at the moment it doesn't feel so much like I have to hunt for that thing that's going to be so fulfilling that I have to do it, because that already happened. You climb the mountain and then you get there and you just see a bunch of other mountains. And eventually I'll get to the other mountains, and they'll be slightly different. But I think, those feelings of—that drive of youth, like, I need to say something—I'm sure that'll come back at some point. But after doing Hamlet, it feels less burning in me.

Isaac has been in New York since 2001, when he came up from Miami to do a play and eventually enrolled in Juilliard. He's 38. Audiences may have only noticed him around 2013, but Isaac has been doing this for more than 15 years. Part of the maturity and ease of his on-screen presence surely dates back to his first years in New York, when he made the same mistakes most of us do—and gradually, through failure and disappointment, learned how to be an authentic person, in his life and in his work.

Soon, he says as we order another round of drinks, he'll move out of this neighborhood to a new one in Brooklyn. His place around here is 650 square feet, and right now everybody's on top of one another. He loves the apartment—“great windows, man.” But it's time to let it go. He's only just now, he says, catching up to the present, and what it demands.

GQ Style: What was it like working as an actor in Miami? Isaac: I was constantly auditioning for stuff like Spanish commercials. A couple movies. I remember my mom driving me around to all these auditions, and getting the phone call with my mom that I didn't get a commercial, a film commercial in Spanish. I was crushed. But I think it got more difficult the more little things happened—like after I got out of school, and I got a job that I liked a lot, on a film by Scott Z. Burns [2007's Pu-239]. Early on I did feel that if they just gave me the one shot, I'd show the world, I could show everyone. And then, right out of school, I get the shot, which was a great role. It went well. And then…that was it. And so then I was like, “One more shot.”

Did you find Juilliard illuminating? They break you down and build you up into an actor. And there were elements of that that I really enjoyed. Even when they tried to put me on probation because they didn't think I was trying hard enough.

Were they right? No, I was trying really hard! Maybe I just had like a bad couple months where I just… I was trying, I was trying too hard really.

Is there a Juilliard technique that you still consciously employ? I think the basic thing is just the time doing it. The amount of time getting to do scene work and putting plays up and having an audience.

Is there stuff you learned and thought, That's fascinating, and I'll never use that? There were a lot of things that you just kind of let roll off your back. Especially the stuff that tried to get very much into, you know, “Why did you make that choice? What does that say about you as a person?” And that stuff, I just kind of heard it and then just let it go, knowing that that's not my bag. What it says about me as a person is not my concern.

Certain directors, like Ridley Scott, seemed to notice you relatively early on. And in 2010 Scott cast you as one of the main villains, King John, in Robin Hood—did you feel like you'd made it then? Not “I made it”—but like, “Fuck yeah!” Also, being a Latino kid from Miami, where the best you could hope for is going out for Spanish commercials and, like, Gangster Number Three, which is crazy. And then to have Ridley Scott be like, “Yeah, you can be king of the whites.” It was amazing.

After lunch we wander outside and walk back to his place at a nostalgic pace. He points to the new condo buildings on one block: “This used to be, like, a cool lighting store.” At a coffee shop, he orders a cortado, then feels for his wallet, only to realize he doesn't have it. He shrugs and gives his best movie-star smile: “You got me?”

Part of what he's doing now, he says, is trying to disengage himself from the machine he's finally found so much success in. “It's difficult, because you've been waiting so long for people to say yes,” he says. “And then, when you get a lot of yeses, it's very difficult to say no. But there are so many more logistical things that come into play for me now, especially with my family. And I do think it's important to take the time and go back to the well and refill and not just be so concerned with output. I think a lot of it's just not making plans and doing stuff around the house and normalcy—just quiet. Those kind of things I find refill me. You can hear things better when things get a little quieter.”

GQ Style: How much of the time are you actually in New York? Isaac: It changes all the time. I'm here now for a couple months, and then I think I'll probably just be here for really three months out of the whole year.

Is it a conscious decision to live here, rather than in Los Angeles, where your industry is based? Well, theater was always super important. I always knew I wanted to do theater in New York. So L.A. wouldn't have been an option because of that. I like L.A. But I don't like myself in L.A.

What do you mean by that? I just feel anxious when I'm there. And I just get annoyed with myself more. It's not L.A., it's me. There are definitely a lot of tempting things about it. It's like the ring in Lord of the Rings—you put it on and you're like, “Whaooo, no!”

Do you feel like Hollywood is doing enough that you're interested in? So much of the industry's money and time go into stuff like Star Wars, rather than stuff like Annihilation. I think there's a lot out there. Especially now that TV has opened up a whole new way of telling stories.

What was your experience doing a six-part series on HBO, with Show Me a Hero? It's just crazy, because you're doing a six-hour movie in two and a half months or three months. That was insane. Sometimes the ones that are the most difficult end up being the ones that you remember the most or feel most accomplished by doing.

The director of Show Me a Hero, Paul Haggis, has been accused of sexual misconduct by multiple women, although he has denied all the allegations. You've worked with him—how do you make sense of that story? It's wild. I mean, who knows? It's impossible to know. It's what's so strange about this moment—like, how do you make an informed enough of an opinion about things?

I wonder if in the future you and other people working in Hollywood are going to have to find more thorough ways of vetting the people you work with. Yeah…I need to know way more about people. You want to have faith that there's a system, a very fair and just system that will make sure this shit doesn't happen, but that's failed, clearly that's broken down totally. So then what happens? It's got to go to the streets, right? And that's when there's collateral damage. But that's part of it, too. If you don't have a system in place that people can have faith in, then you have to demand it, by any means necessary. That's the only way to move forward.

Do the Weinstein revelations make you rethink your relationship to the industry overall? No, because I wasn't affected the way some people were—horribly affected by those fucking predators. I wasn't a victim of that stuff. So as far as the way I interact with it, obviously I think there's a reckoning that was going to happen and needed to happen. The chickens have come home to roost. And I don't think it's just something that's going to die out. I think it's a real thing that's going to bring about change. I feel hopeful. It feels like sometimes the stuff that goes on in this particular industry would be illegal in any other one. It's that weird art-commerce water—there's something about that really murky place where you go to dinners and you have drinks. You know, even this, what we're doing right now. It goes on in this weird grayish place, you know? And so people that have that predatory thing, they can just take advantage of every single aspect of it. There's an intimacy about it that's really nice, but the fact that that can be leveraged in such an awful way…

You were talking about pulling back a bit from work, anyway—seems like you've really chosen stuff with a high degree of difficulty in the past. It's just the best stuff that I've been able to get, you know? Especially the early stuff—it was just auditions. You audition for a lot of shit, and then you hope they give you some of the stuff, and luckily I was able to get some of those roles. I guess after Llewyn Davis it became more about, like, All right, I gotta choose.

Is there a type of part you get offered a lot now that you regularly turn down? Haha, no. No. Keep on offering, please.

This story appears in the Spring 2018 issue of GQ Style with the title “The Long Play.”

Zach Baron is GQ's staff writer.

#oscar isaac #annihilation #gq style #gq magazine #jason nocito #star wars #the last jedi #ex machina #inside llewyn davis #show me a hero #x men: apocalypse #suburbicon #robin hood #gq

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chezzkaa · 6 years

Text

Numb pt 9

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Lumberjack AU Pairing: Ryan Haywood x Reader WC: 2900+

“I fucked him.” You sigh noisily over Lauren’s ecstatic squeals, sinking in your seat.

“You did what?! Oh my god, Y/N, tell me everything.”

“Dude...” You don’t know where to start, the night playing itself over and over again in your head. “It was incredible. I don’t even know how to explain it.”

“Was it romantic, or more like ‘fuck me now’?” You can hear her pacing, like she can’t sit still. Her energy trembling through the phone line.

“Romantic, I guess? He stayed with me during a mild snow storm, and I ended up on his lap-”

“How do you just end up on someone’s lap?” she demands through a laugh, continuing to call away from the receiver and into, presumably, another room. “You owe me 20 bucks, Trev. I told you she’d fuck him!”

“Wait!” You can hear scuffling, the familiar voice of Trevor growing closer. “Y/N, you fucked him?”

“I most certainly did, now pay your woman.”

She laughs, the sound of crinkled notes being handed over accompanied by a begrudging grumble. “Nah, he’s my woman now, bitch.”

“Was it at least good sex?” He doesn’t sound at all defeated, instead he’s rather eager. “Am I paying Ren Ren because you had good sex with a strapping lumberjack?”

“Does that make me a prostitute if money’s changing hands?” you ask, trying to wrap your head around his teasing.

“Someone’s a prostitute in this situation,” Lauren agrees. “It’s gotta be Trevor.”

“Why’s it gotta be me?”

“Because if you call me a prostitute I’ll kill you,” she says simply, and you can almost see her shrug.

“I’m not arguing,” he admits, leaning closer to the phone and pressing a quick kiss to Lauren’s temple. “If I’m paying you that means I’m getting laid.”

“Oh, gross,” you hurry, “not right now you’re not. I need to talk to you about the weird entity-”

He cuts you off, rushing through a quick ‘it was good talking to you i’ll see you later byeee’ before hanging up.

---

Folding your phone over in your hand, you consider your options.

Not with Ryan disappearing early in the morning, because if you’re honest, you’ve done your fair share of vanishing acts. You aren’t a child, or even a teenager, and you’ve never really been fussed about a silly game of cat and mouse. You’re not about to have your mind run in circles over a man seeing you naked, or see yourself questioning where he’s gone because, frankly, it’s none of your business.

What is your business, however, is whatever the fuck tried to get through your projection charms last night. You’ve run all the numbers, even though you’re terrible at maths, and come to the sound conclusion that every tree that’s been uprooted from the forest, frozen roots curling like agonised fingers and flung against the side of the lodge, couldn’t possibly have made the sounds.

The knocking was too consistent.

Intelligent, that might be a better word.

And besides, a tree wouldn’t leave you struggling for breath. Wouldn’t taint your body with absolute fear, every touch of the walls seeing your charms ripple with strain.

No, it’d be pointless to argue that it was anything without a pulse.

You do, eventually, decide that asking Ryan about it is the only option. Testing the waters and seeing where you stand, rather than diving straight into the depths of the unknown that you know not everyone is as open to accepting as Lauren, Trevor and Alfredo. Some information is better than nothing, and you make a mental note to strengthen your barriers before another night takes hold.

So instead of demanding where Ryan’s been, or prying an apology for his absence, you shoot him a quick message asking whether he’d like a drink for when you finally manage to step outside and head to work. His response comes before you can collect your stones from the windowsill, the almost instantaneous exclamation of ‘hot chocolate!!!’ popping up in the process of crafting another message destined for Jeremy.

You swear at the way it makes your heart flutter.

---

Jon’s just as friendly as ever, chatting with the detective across the counter as Jeremy lounges in the booth he’s claimed. Warmth spills from the cafe’s windows across the street coated in ice and snow, so white that it takes on every colour splashed across it. Every step brings you close to its welcoming arms, the smell of coffee and cakes crunching underfoot like they’re compressed into one glorious scent. But the pair don’t see you, too enraptured in one another’s company, burying laughs in their cups. It’s only once you enter with the swirl of snow - of which has made short work of taking back everything the sun had thawed a day or so earlier - that they break away from each other.

“Y/N!” Jeremy greets eagerly, slipping from the booth in a stumble of limbs and a smile more comfortable than what had graced your home hours before. “Bout time you showed up.”

“It took a while to fight through the snow,” you complain, hugging him close before taking Jon into your arms. “Besides, I asked you here.”

“And here I was thinking Jeremy was here for my glorious company,” sighs Jon into your hair before drawing back, swiping the empty cup the cop had abandoned on the table.

“I’m always here for you,” Jeremy insists, following him to the register, “I swear!”

“Don’t waste your breath,” Jon laments with a fist locked in his tumbles of hair, “you’ve moved on. I can see it.”

“It’s nothing,” Jeremy rejects, looking as though he’d take the man by the collar and shake him if it weren’t for the fact that he’s now working on a second coffee. “She means nothing to me.”

“It’s true,” you confirm. “I’m an inconvenience.”

“An inconvenience!”

Jon glances over, studying Jeremy through fogged glasses before working on the milk. “I can’t take back someone that’s so mean to their friends.”

“God damn it,” he groans, mocking a glare at you.

You shrug, finally letting out the chuckle that’d been mounting since the interaction began. “My bad. I thought he’d go for it.”

Jeremy shakes his head, accepting the cup he’s offered and tossing a few coins back. “Well, I’ve always been a lost cause. Besides, Jon isn’t my type.”

“Ouch,” winces the man behind the register, looking unfazed.

“Don’t worry Jon, no one will be good enough for our dear old Inspector.” Jeremy scowls into your teasing sentiment, but you continue regardless. “Speaking of which, I wanted to ask you if I could swing by the station today and dig into some of those files.”

“Sure,” Jeremy beams, pleased to have your help. Even though you’re unfamiliar with the case, he’s eager to have another set of eyes combing through incase there’s something he’s missed. “I can bring you with me and drop you off home if you want. I’m about to head out.”

“Nah, you go on without me, I can meet you there. I’ve promised Ryan a hot chocolate.”

His face falls, mumbling his goodbyes and excuses to his feet before bolting for the exit. You watch him go, the low sulk of icy blue hair cutting the blinding snow. Out the door with an ill timed jingle and towards his car without a single bounce in his step to be found. Helpless, you attention shifts to Jon, who seems just as put out as you do. He sighs and momentarily buries a hand in his hair, pulling a face before gently removing the reusable takeaway cup from your hands and beginning to work.

“What was all that about?”

Jon doesn’t respond immediately, face squishing while he searches for the words. “Jeremy’s been having a rough time. A lot of stress in his work and personal life.”

You nod as though you understand, and in a way you do, but the fact he hasn’t spoken to you about his troubles stings when you know it shouldn’t. “Would it help if I talk to him?”

This time Jon shakes his head, sharp jerks that stop your offers of comfort in their tracks. Apologetically he smiles, frothing milk with a subtle scream. “I don’t think you being around would help the problem. It might make it worse.”

With a start your expression drops with your stomach, despair and guilt pooling around your ankles like a blanket while your vulnerable body shivers in the cold. Chewing your lip, you watch Jeremy through the window, officer finally lifting his forehead from the steering wheel and sighing with the weight of his shoulders. “It’s because I’m the problem, isn’t it? I was so excited to see him, and he was so eager I just assumed that we could be friends. I didn’t even think about the fact it could bring back bad memories-”

“No no no,” rejects Jon gently, finishing your drink before taking both of your hands in his across the counter. He bounces them, one corner of his lips pulled into a smile. “That’s not it.”

You can’t look at him, glaring at the beautiful cake display while his palms warm your fingers. “Then what’ve I done?”

“It not necessarily you,” he starts, careful with his choice of words. You look up, taking in the sincerity flooding from ocean blue eyes and the subtle quirk of his eyebrows knitting together. “It’s just, well. It’s complicated. Jeremy is interested in Ryan, and you’re kinda getting in the way of his plan.”

You didn’t think it were possible, but your stomach drops even further.

---

You don’t linger at Hay Woodworks, and that’s not because you don’t want to. The smile Ryan had thrown your way when delivering his drink was enough to make the ice encasing the town melt, and the frown that crosses his expression at your quick retreat back into the outside world even harder to deal with.

But it wasn’t these things that made it hard to stay. It’s the fact that every gust of wind rattling against the windows has you jumping when he’s around, has you waiting for the screech that clots your blood and halts your heart. The calm that inhabits his body leaves you uneasy, like the night had been nothing more that part of a routine. A regularly scheduled freight that scares the life back into someone so they can finish the week with vigor.

And it worries you. The empty ache that rattles against you ribs crying out for something in the way of answers, for him to at least acknowledge that the knocking hadn’t been normal. For Ryan to grip the tops of your shoulders and ask if you’re alright. To at least act different; shaken up or on edge. Something. Anything. But you got nothing besides the same smile that always has your heart racing.

That’s not to say you don’t consider asking about what had happened last night. But the question that clings to your tongue remains trapped behind tight lips and a polite smile, fearful of what the answer may be. The possibility that he’ll confirm your suspicious that the howling and knocking that’d ravished the lodge hadn’t been the wind like you willed it to be.

You can’t deal with it, can’t handle the potential for ridicule for working yourself up over nothing, or idea of him telling you that something stalks through the snow storm. To save your peace of mind you leave with the question, tucking it under your tongue to keep it from spilling down your front.

It’s easier to accept his pretence of not noticing anything out of the ordinary, of not acknowledging that something had been desperate to claw their way into your home. Easier, you repeat firmly, to ignore it. Prepare, protect, but pretend that it’s merely precautionary. Pretend that every element making up your being isn’t screaming.

You’re on the path to the station in no time, following the cobblestone and stopping every now and again for the children that bolt out in front of you. You’re recognising them now, the few times you’ve seen them outside of the community garden project giving them enough courage to squeal your name as a hello while they rush about. Far too much energy for their own good, you think, waiting for a girl named Bea and her bouncing tight curls to pass in front of your knees before moving on. Enough energy that they ought to be able to share. But you don’t spare it much time, waving the group on and continuing your venture across a dusky Motbury until the worries you have surrounding Ryan fade away with the approach of the police station.

The same greeting you’ve come to expect meets your entrance, a warm gust of artificial heat and a cheery “what the fuck do you want, asshole?” from Michael. He tosses you a grin across the reception, watching you shake off the snow that’s started falling again. You hurl him the middle finger and an equally wide smile, and he beams even brighter. “You here to make a complaint?”

“Complaint?” you ask, perplexed and slightly weary.

He shrugs, still grinning. “Yeah, I imagine Ryan’s getting a little handsy at this point. I can arrest him, if you’d like.”

“On what grounds?”

“Pretty sure he cut down some trees without a permit a few years back,” Michael teases into some files he’s pretending to check, tutting and shaking his head. “He’s a menace to society.”

“The only handcuffs he’ll be in are my own,” you shoot back coyly, leaning against the desk while Michael loses himself in giggles that can only be described as those belonging to a gremlin. “I’m guessing Jeremy’s been talking about us, then?”

Michael nods, punctuating his words with a shrug. “Taking about you? He doesn’t shut the fuck up about it, and it’s not just Jeremy. The whole town practically knows you guys are gonna end up fucking. It’s kinda obvious, especially considering the way he looks at you. Not that it’s our business… unless you wanna share details. In that case, I’m all ears.”

“I’m sure you are,” you chuckle, not at all bothered by small town gossip. “Speak of the devil, where’s that little shit?”

“My little shit of a boss?” he questions, taking the widening of your smile as a confirmation. Calling over his shoulder and into the depths of the offices, you hear scuffling and a muffled yelp after his bellowing. “HEY JEREMY, THAT GIRL’S HERE FOR YOU.”

“I have a name.”

“I know.”

It only takes a few moments of light, and eventually aggressive, banter between Michael and yourself before Jeremy stumbles into the small reception. You stop instantly, taking in the exhaustion you swear wasn’t there the last time you saw him, hair a mess of sad blue and expression so drained that you’re surprised he isn’t in a shallow grave. And although this isn’t the first time you’ve seen him so invested in his work, you know it’s getting the better of him.

He doesn’t seem to notice the pang of concern shooting through your chest, greeting you warmly and opening the door leading from the waiting rooms into the offices. Michael tosses you a shit eating grin as you pass, mumbling faintly about having a spare pair of handcuffs if you were ever to need them. You ignore him, following Jeremy and trying to keep his sleepy footsteps and slumping shoulders from bothering you. It doesn’t take long to draw to a stop, the gentle click of a door opening and a rush of cold making your hair rise, but no more so than the office itself.

The file room makes you flinch, papers stacked so haphazardly it a miracle they haven't fallen. It's painful to see the disorganisation, the cork board so jam packed that information talks over each other, and the desk drawers lined with evidence bags. And they don't contain much. A splinter of wood here and a woollen mitten there. The space screams with nerves, a tight bundle immediately forming across your shoulders and tugging incessantly at the back of your neck. You don't know we're to start, so overwhelmed that it takes Jeremy's directive hand to steer you towards the first faded brown file.

"This was the first kid that went missing," he says around a sip of cold coffee - of which you're starting to think is straight up energy drink as a substitute for sleep hidden in a takeaway cup. "And over there are all of the complaints made of knocking during the storm." He gestures to another shelf, a little more coherent this time with its coloured tags. "You're welcome here whenever you'd like. I've made sure to give you clearance with your pass. Just tell reception if you don't want bothering. Just, try not to take things home. And that doesn't mean you should live here, either."

You're nodding, drifting towards the desk and sitting. It feels... Odd. That's the best way to describe it. A feeling of routine familiarity that you haven't experienced in a long time. Still, your face doesn't give you away, the smile you offer to Jeremy seeing him return one just as bright. "Thanks J," you say, pulling the file over and opening it, "I appreciate it."

"Hey, if you can help us in anyway, I'll take it. We've got a job to do."

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necrowriter · 6 years

Text

the eight swans, part two (what happened after)

(Part One)

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

Over time Bran began to to learn to do things one-handed. Occasionally the wing was a help, as a counterbalance or something to brace against; far more often it was a hindrance. It got in the way, poked out in all the wrong places, and seemed to cramp or twinge no matter what position he tried. It took him weeks to find a halfway comfortable position to sleep in.

When he needed help, he went to one of his siblings, if he could, the same as Elise did when she struggled with little things that her hands would not co-operate with. They could have gone to anyone in the house; almost all of the household would have fallen over themselves to help, and often did whether or not help was actually needed. Among the family there was no production, no fuss, just quiet, sure hands doing up buttons or opening a latch. They were used to helping each other anyway.

The morning they went to visit their father, Conall and Jack helped Bran into a waistcoat and a coat that Marhaus had had quickly tailored specially for him, and Conall did up his tie, muttering a little as he stumbled over a skill that had gone quite rusty over the past seven years. On the other side of the room Nathaniel and Lucas fastened Elise's shoes, put up her hair, and helped her button her coat.

It had taken some time to find out--as much as they ever could find out--what had happened to their father. Lord Marhaus employed some men to go find out what they could, and soon enough they came back with the ill news. They had known that he was gone, but they did not know when, or why, or where he was now laid in rest, and if they had hoped that something would be eased in them when the scant information was delivered, they were doomed to be disappointed.

He was four years dead, of grief and drink turned into a long and cruel illness. They gathered around his plot and said nothing for a long time. They had been scared as they waited, especially the younger ones, scared of what they might find, scared of what he would think of them. And they had been angry, especially the older ones, the anger of seven bitter years of blame and confusion and loss. Why had he done what he did? Why had he abandoned them so easily?

But they had still wanted to see him again.

There were nettles growing in the graveyard, prickly, burning things running rife here in the pauper's yard where no one bothered to tend the ground. Elise reached forward and pulled one from the ground. Its sting meant barely anything to her scarred hands.

Rain began to fall, cold and sparse, and Bran reached out and drew Elise under his wing as she sobbed, completely silent, as she had learned to be a long time ago. The others drew near around them, their long coats flapping like wings, and together they walked back to the train station.

The word became lodged in Bran's head early on, like something caught in his throat and blocking his breath. Amputation. He kept returning to it, prodding at it to feel the itch as he might a loose tooth, and it did itch. Bound up in that uncomfortable, ill-fitting, aching-itching word was the question which everyone who met him seemed compelled to ask.

Why not just cut it off?

Not an unreasonable question. So not unreasonable that Lord Marhaus called for a surgeon the very day after the hanging--the very best that could be found, he assured them all with a smile--without consulting anyone at all on the matter, least of all Bran. But then, Lord Marhaus was used to knowing best.

Lord Marhaus was used to being obeyed because he was always obeyed, but Conall, twenty-three and scraggly-bearded but tall and strong and loud, was used to being obeyed because he was used to making the hard decisions, and consequently there was a tremendous row when he found out. “You had no right,” he said, drawing himself up like an angry cobb about to strike. “It's his choice what he wants to do with it, and no one else's.”

Lord Marhaus spluttered. “But he cannot simply go about with a bloody great wing sticking out of his shoulder-”

“Why not?” Conall said, in a tone like a door being shut. “We have all gone about with bloody great wings for seven years, and no one has seemed too bothered by it.”

In the end the surgeon came around anyway, because no one had told him not to, but it was firmly agreed that he would conduct an examination and nothing more. Dr. Boyd came very highly recommended by London society as being respectable, skilled, and unflappable in the face of strange cases, although whether he was the best that could be found was never strictly determined.

Bran sat on a stool in the parlor, bare-chested and shivering as a ring of family members watched him be examined. Winter had come in hard, and even with a good fire going at the end of the room the air was prickling cold against his skin. He reached out his hand and felt Elise's scarred skin against his own as she took it, ever so gently.

Boyd was a wiry man with narrow eyes behind narrow spectacles, and muttonchops so thick that his head seemed framed in a gray lion's mane. Everything about him was stern and forbidding, from the narrow-eyed glare to the sharp bark of a voice, which made the delicate gentleness of his hands all the more surprising. He muttered and tutted to himself as he felt the bones of the wing, and the joint where bird met boy. It was not a clean seam but a slow shift with a patch in-between that was neither one thing nor the other, where small half-formed feathers poked from open skin. The surgeon paused to feel one of them through two fingers.

“Does that not itch?” he asked.

It took Bran a moment to realize the question was more conversational than clinical. “Only when I look at it,” he replied. “It seems like it should, but it doesn't really, as long as I don't think about it.”

“Well, pardon me for bringing it up then,” Boyd muttered, and Bran had to smile a little.

It seemed an age before Boyd finished, although in fact it had taken much less time than anyone had expected. Bran gratefully wrapped himself back into a blanket. Shirts had lately become quite an obstacle for him. Soon enough Marhaus would have some modified for him, but Bran found that even those tended to be rather uncomfortable, and he wore them as little as he politely could.

“Well?” Marhaus demanded.

“Well what?” Boyd said.

Marhaus harumphed. “Well, what do you think?”

Boyd glanced at Bran with pursed lips. “That's definitely a wing alright.”

Bran decided he rather liked Dr. Boyd.

“Could you remove it?” Marhaus asked.

Dr. Boyd made a face. “To be honest, I'm not really sure. It would be rather more complicated than a regular amputation, which is of course risky enough. It's not simply a wing pinned on to a normal shoulder, you see. The joint there is not quite like anything I've seen. It seems to be halfway between bird and human. I wouldn't be able to pinpoint the spot where one ended and the other began, and even if I could, navigating the bone and muscle there would be quite a challenge. I might do more harm than good.”

Marhaus frowned at this unexpected complexity. “You can't just...cut the whole thing off?” he asked hopefully.

Boyd gave him a withering look. “The 'whole thing' comprises almost the entirety of the young man's shoulder. I doubt he'd survive an operation of that scale and if he did, the resulting hole in his torso would hardly be good for him. The best method would leave the shoulder portion intact, but with the complexity of the bones there even that could do damage at the base which would be exceedingly difficult to repair considering that absolutely no one has any experience doing so.” He shrugged. “I'm not saying it's completely impossible, but it's certainly not a task that can taken lightly.”

Marhaus did not quite know what to say to that, so Dr. Boyd packed up his bag and told them to call him if there were any developments. “For now, though, I think it best to leave it be,” he said.

For a long while afterward Bran had nightmares of saws and worse things, when he did not dream that he was too late to save his sister from the noose. Eventually he stopped dreaming of saws, though not of hangings, and the question resurfaced. Perhaps, Marhaus thought hopefully, they could cut only part of it off, enough that Bran could easily hide the rest with a bit of plucking.

“I don't understand the fuss,” Lord Marhaus said to Conall. “Plenty of young men going about short a limb or two these days. He'd fit right in.”

He didn't understand when Conall laughed long and harsh at that.

Bran, at just seventeen, knew better than to think he or his siblings would ever fit in anywhere again, but in any case that was not his greatest concern. He thought about it more practically; certainly life would be more convenient with a mere stump instead of an alien limb. Would it be worth the saw, to sleep easier at night, to fit into his shirts, to not be looked at with shock and confusion by everyone but his siblings?

He thought about it a great deal. He thought about it when Marhaus said he would fit right in and shook his head slowly.

“People would think I was a soldier, then,” he said. “I'm not. I never was.”

Marhaus only frowned in confusion.

“People know what I am now, when they look at me,” Bran said, still slow, finding his way word by word. “At least, as much as they can. As much as I do.”

Marhaus tried, but there were many things he did not understand. In particular he did not understand why the eight were so hesitant at his offer to give them back their father's house, even when the witchfinders had confirmed there was no magic left, no curse lingering over it or the brackish brambled land the witch had left behind. That land, the land that their father had so coveted and his children had paid so high a price for, was in the end little more than a tangle of woods and a rolling field of heather and wildflowers. He had wanted it because it was strategically placed, and she had wanted it because it was hers; now it was theirs and they were not sure they wanted it at all, but someone had to make a choice about it.

Conall, investigating their father's accounts, found that he had never sold the land, even when he had nothing else left. His business had fallen to shambles and all his money withered away, but he had managed to hold on to those few bleak acres for which he had lost his children.

They had been society, once, but they had lost that; Conall and Jack kept a few scraps of memory of etiquette and propriety, but mostly what they knew was hand-to-mouth practicality and relying on no one but themselves. They muttered and nodded and tried to smile politely when Marhaus showed them off at dinner parties or to reporters, but they all hated it. Life with Lord Marhaus was unimaginable luxury compared to what they had known before, but the price they paid for it was more attention than they could stand. Bran and Elise got the worst of it, having to stand politely in the face of open gaping and bombardments of questions.

There was no question that they had to leave, but they were not sure where to go.

The land meant something to them, although they were not sure what. The house didn't. They tried, tried to live in halls they had once known like family, tried to fill up the empty echoing space with themselves, but they could not. Those days were too far gone. And there was no question among them of building a house on the witch's land, even if they had wanted to remain there; but neither could they quite bear to leave it behind entirely.

On a gray quiet day some six months after the gallows, the eight of them stood at the top of the hill that the heather field crested up to, looking down. They all looked out over the fields, wild thick grass speckled with the bright spots of flowers. The trees were in full green leaf and whispered together in the breeze.

“It's a beautiful bit of land, in its way,” Jack said, almost wistfully.

“But is it ours to take?” John said.

“No. But then, neither is it anyone else's,” Conall said. “And if we do not use it, someone else will, and who knows for what. Most likely they would clear it out and put a road through it as Father intended to do.”

Even John looked askance at that. They all still had some wildness in them from seven years in the sky, and a preference for land to be left free and open.

And there was something in them, a sense that this land in particular should be left alone. As memorial, perhaps, but a memorial to what?

Conall spoke to a long time to Marhaus about it—about memorials, and matters of money that Conall knew he didn't understand, and about the importance of keeping promises, which he very much did. Marhaus, for once, listened. A swan's wing, they say, could break a man's arm, but Marhaus's concern was more with those dark glaring eyes.

Marhaus was not a cruel man, as such. He was, in his way, kind, or at least he did what he thought were kind things. Marhaus was used to knowing best. When he called in the surgeon, he knew best. When he showed them off to society, he knew best. When he found Elise in the woods and brought her back to live among civilized people despite her silent, desperate protests, he knew best.

The only time he did not know best was when they took her to the gallows. He had looked back at her over and over, watching her fingers bleed as she worked furiously to finish the last shirt. He did not, deep down, believe what they said about her, but for the first time in his life, Marhaus had had no choice in the matter.

He had taken in Elise and treated her very well, as well as he could, and he took them all in after the hanging, welcoming seven confused young men into his household, but still they could not, quite, forgive him. If he had not interfered, things might have been different.

But one thing they knew was that Marhaus, when he knew best, was implacable, and so when he agreed whole-heartedly to Conall's suggestion they all breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that he would make their idea unstoppable.

With his help they sold their father's house, and the land it stood on, and with it they bought another: smaller, much smaller, and far from the city, but with it came land, wild and free and unconstrained by any curse. Marhaus never truly understood why they would do such a thing, but when they spoke about it among themselves, wondering what to do, Bran had said, “I need someplace where I can learn to be myself again,” and nothing more had been needed.

This house was not meant for eight young people, not by far, but they had lived in a charcoal burner's hut for seven years and had no complaints. They slept two or three to a room and jostled past each other in the kitchen, laughing, in the mornings. There was plenty of space outside, if they wanted. They cleared the weeds and trimmed the grass in the yard, but otherwise let the land do what it would.

Jack, strong and quiet and gentle, did well as a hand on a nearby farm; he had a way with the animals that amazed the farmer, making friends with the most ornery bull on the property his very first day. Conall did odd jobs for a while before managing to land a steady position at a large local store. Christopher, Nathaniel, Lucas and John were old enough to work if they wanted, but they were still skittish and uncertain of the human world.

“Stay here for a while and enjoy some peace for once in your lives,” Conall told them when he and Jack first went out. “We'll make do.”

Of Bran and Elise working there was no question, at least not yet.

Jack brought home day-old newspapers when he could get them and read them out loud in the evenings when they were all gathered around the small fireplace. Conall rescued some old and extremely battered books from a bookseller who would have thrown them away, and they became the treasures of the house, gently used and lovingly cared for. It was a motley collection, comprising a couple of novels, a child's primer, and a very old Bible. John read the Bible meticulously from end to end, thought very hard about it, and composed a list of questions he had. Bran gravitated toward the novels and read them out loud to Elise for practice, slowly at first, word by word, his surety growing with every chapter.

When Christopher was not teaching them, they set up a kitchen garden beside the house, growing whatever seeds they could get and tending them carefully. John, who could not see far off but had a keen eye for close details, went foraging in the woods for mushrooms, nuts, free-growing herbs and anything else wild that might aid a meal. Lucas and Nathaniel went out and set snares for rabbits, and occasionally brought down a deer with the ancient hunting rifle Conall had managed to acquire. They went about it with grim, quiet necessity, always granting as quick a death as possible and never killing anything they would not eat, and no matter how lean the rations ran, they never shot birds. None of them would eat fowl of any kind for the rest of their days.

When Jack first came home with the knees of his trousers worn straight through, Nathaniel went to Elise. “Can you teach me how to sew?” he said. “Someone will have to be doing it around here and I reckon you've done more than enough for a lifetime.”

Elise taught him what she could, and he worked out the rest himself, bit by bit, sitting hunched with a needle by the fire while Jack read the newspaper. The patches on Jack's clothes were ragged at first but quickly improved. Mrs. Kellnick, the farmer's wife, raised an eyebrow at Jack and gave her compliments to the girl that did his mending.

When Jack gravely replied, “Actually, it's my younger brother, ma'am,” she blinked at him and then laughed out loud.

“Well, isn't that something,” she said. She looked at him carefully for a moment and then said, “Why don't you bring him around sometime? I've got more sewing to do round here than anyone could keep up with. I can't pay him much, but he could pick up some pocket money.”

“I don't mind,” Nathaniel said when Jack brought it up that night: so now they had three jobs. It did not, true enough, bring in much more than pocket money, but it was no less appreciated for it. Nor did the job pay only in money; despite her declarations that now she could finally hand the sewing off to someone else and spend her time elsewhere, the farmer's wife tended to linger and check in on Nathaniel often, correcting his techniques and teaching him new things, with the result that his sewing improved rapidly.

She also tutted disapprovingly at his bare frame and found excuses to give him food: “Test this soup for me, would you?” “Here, I've made more of this bread than I meant to, someone may as well eat it.” “I can't fit anymore of this pudding into the icebox, why don't you finish it off for me.” Or, sometimes, just: “How about a scone? You've been working hard.”

Nathaniel smiled and thanked her and tucked what he could away into a pocket to share with the others later. They were, in many ways, still a flock.

At home, Lucas would nibble at his share and ask questions of Nathaniel to relate back to the farmer's wife: how long did she cook this? What was in the sauce? Long ago Lucas had learned by trial and error the barest necessities of how to clean and cook the deer and rabbits Conall and Jack managed to bring down by moonlight. Then they had not been concerned with anything beyond not starving for one more day, but now, with a tiny kitchen and a little garden and dented dishes handed down from Lord Marhaus's cabinets, Lucas began to concern himself with making their small meals taste better and last longer.

Eventually, when Nathaniel had asked enough questions to fill half a cookbook, the farmer's wife rolled her eyes and exclaimed, “Lord have mercy! Why don't you just bring the boy over here and he can ask me himself?”

It was hardly surprising to find struggling families or underfed young men, then, in the wake of the war, so she passed no particular comment when Jack arrived the next day with another boy just as hollow-faced as the first. She showed him around the kitchen, answering his questions, of which there were many, and then put him to work canning blackberries. But at the end of the day, when Jack came in muddied and tired to take them home, she asked him, “How many of you are there, anyhow?”

“Eight, all told, ma'am,” he said.

“Hmm,” she said. “And your parents?”

Lucas and Nathaniel glanced at each other, but Jack only shrugged and said, “Gone, ma'am.”

“I see.” She looked at them a moment longer and then said, “Wait here a moment.”

She left and came back with a large jar of cherries, canned that spring, which she gave to Lucas. “You did good work today,” she said. “Come back if you want.”

Lucas hugged the jar to his chest like it was made of gold. “Thank you, ma'am.”

She watched the three of them troop off and shook her head. Enough struggling families, enough young men going about those days short a limb or two: no one asked questions.

When there were five jars of preserves paid for a day's work on the kitchen shelf in the little house, Conall came home and remarked, “I hear the pastor is looking for someone to help him keep up the church. Sweep and all that. He's getting old, having a hard time.”

There was silence for a moment. Everyone looked at each other. Then everyone looked at John.

“You don't have to go if you don't want to,” Conall said. “But if you're interested-”

“No, I think he does have to go,” Lucas said, a smile playing over his face. “Because if I hear one more sermon about how Genesis doesn't make sense-”

“Alright, alright,” John huffed, but there was a gleam in his eye.

The next day Conall took John to town with him and introduced him to Father Hale. John was small and as skinny as the rest of them and tended to squint, but Conall could sell ice to a polar bear and before long the pastor agreed to take John on, at least for the day.

John swept, and dusted down the pews, and weeded the little garden out back. When he made tea for the pastor, whose hands tended to shake on the kettle and spill the water, the old man smiled at him and told him to make a cup for himself as well.

John held the chipped cup close to him and said, “Father, may I ask you something about Genesis...”

When Conall came back that evening, he asked, “Well, Father? Will he do?”

“Oh, yes!” Father Hale chortled happily. “I haven't had that good of an argument in years!”

Conall looked sideways at John, who shrugged a little sheepishly.

The pastor could not pay much, but it added to Nathaniel's pocket money and Lucas's payments of food. He and John argued happily over scripture all day. “How is it I've never seen you at service?” Father Hale asked before too long; he might not see well anymore, but he was a shrewd man and knew who came to church and who didn't.

John shrugged and mumbled something about being needed at home. The pastor let it go at that, disinclined to chase off good help when he had it. And John was good help. He would argue religion all day but he never argued about anything else; when asked to do something he did it and did it well.

The only time he hesitated was when, after about a week, Father Hale asked him to weed the churchyard.

“I'm afraid it's gotten a bit overgrown in the corners,” he said apologetically. “Oh, and do take the heavy gloves; there are nettles and things growing out there.”

John stopped, and gave him a look that had the pastor crossing over and putting a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder without being entirely sure why. “What's the matter, lad?” he asked gently. “Not scared, are you?”

“No...no, Father,” John said quietly. “I'm fine. Thank you. I'll be sure to take the gloves.”

John weeded out the churchyard in good time, but the pastor, looking out the window, did not miss the way he tended to stop and look at the nettles when he found them, as if he expected something of them. When John came back in Father Hale had the kettle on and a plate of slightly stale biscuits out. “Sit and have a few, why don't you,” he said, and when both of them were sitting at the table with a cup of tea he started a debate that lasted for an hour and a half, until that look on John's face had faded entirely.

The house was growing more and more quiet during the day, with Lucas gone more often than not and only three of them left most days. There was a general feeling, never spoken but clearly felt by all of them, that someone needed to stay home to look after Bran and Elise.

They were not helpless: Bran had by that time become fairly adept at managing with one hand, and Elise at managing with two hands that did not work very well, and if there was anything one of them couldn't do they would take it on together. But they were still the youngest and the smallest and they all remembered too well what had happened when one of their number had been left behind.

Conall had not yet forgiven himself for letting Marhaus take Elise away, no matter how many times they told him there was nothing he could have done. “They would have shot you,” Elise whispered to him when he made his apologies in the midst of a long, bad night. “They nearly shot Christopher. They would have killed all of you, if you had been there.”

At any rate, no matter Conall's derisive comments about fitting in, no matter how much they all knew they did not and never would, they were not ready to reveal what they had been through to anyone else. Six of them could hide it: no matter that they had dreams of flying, or nettle scars running white under their shirts, no matter that John balked to pick nettles or that Lucas had to excuse himself to the outhouse and throw up when the farmer's wife cooked a goose, no matter all that they had been through, they looked normal, and were treated, more or less, like anyone else.

It was an intoxicating experience after seven years of lonesome wilderness, but they were also practically concerned: no one knew if they would be treated as well, still be able to keep their jobs, and be left alone to live their lives, if the story got out. After all they had once been cursed as demon-spawn, and worse, shown off to society. And the youngest two, whose scars showed more clearly on the outside, could not venture out without breaking their careful silence. They might be able to conjure up a story to explain Elise's scarred hands, but it would raise questions, and there was of course only one story that could explain Bran.

So Christopher stayed at home to keep up the front if anyone came around, and the other two stayed with him, waiting for their brothers to come home and tell them stories of the outside world. They kept up the cottage, worked in the garden, or explored their little property. Jack spoke sometimes of trying to turn it into a farm of their own, but that was a long way off if it ever happened.

Bran read through the novels and the leftover newspapers over and over. He gathered firewood and stacked it near the cottage, weeded the garden, did whatever he could to help. The others were working, bringing in money or food bit by bit, all save Christopher, and the only reason he remained behind by now was to look after them. Elise did not work now but, they all agreed without ever having to say it, had done enough for a lifetime. “It's our turn to look after you,” Jack told her when she had spoken one evening of feeling useless. “Don't you dare say you're useless. You're the only reason we're here at all.”

Bran, sitting quiet in the corner with his wing folded over his knees, did not say that he too felt useless and spare, as useless and spare as his own wing, and had nothing to show for it, had become that way not by performing any heroic deeds but by sheer circumstance. He knew they would tell him otherwise, and that it would do nothing to help. He turned his face to the fire and said nothing.

In the end, of course, it came out; later they would have to admit that it was surprising that they managed to keep their secret for as long as they did. The story had been quite public, after all, and had briefly been a topic of interest all over the country, being the sort of tragic yet inspiring tale the nation ate up in the days after the war. Perseverance and grit leading to a triumph over adversity, a plucky young heroine, tortured young men: it had it all. But being a tale that was already over and done with by the time anyone found out about it, there was not much to sustain interest, and as it faded away people did not, generally, remember such details as the names of the siblings. No more did they generally remember details such as the number of siblings that were living back in that old cottage, since no one had yet seen more than three of them together.

But someone figured it out. They never found out who; it may have been multiple people simultaneously. Someone ran across an old newspaper article, or read a reprint of the story in the current news, and realized they knew the names. Someone heard the story from a relative, visiting from the city, who had been there to see the hanging, and realized they knew the faces that were being described. Someone perhaps had no other impetus than a vague recollection of something they had heard that happened to combine at the right moment with something they were thinking about just then, and came to the realization all on their own.

Wherever it started it from, it seemed to suddenly be coming from everywhere at once. Suddenly the whispers were in the store where Conall worked and in the church on Sunday morning and circling around the farm. They got barely any warning, had all of one evening between the first stirrings of gossip and the full outbreak, and in that evening they huddled round the fire and discussed what to do.

“We could leave,” Christopher said, though he didn't sound very happy about it, and no one else was either. They had been working so hard, making progress bit by bit, and how could they throw all that away? Besides, they had come to be quite fond of their little cottage and its garden, of the woods and fields that they had, very slowly, begun to feel safe in.

“We could,” Conall said, slowly and ponderously. “But I don't know where we could go that it wouldn't catch up with us again in time. Not unless we left the country, maybe. Damn Marhaus anyway! Why did this all have to be so public?”

They spared a moment to think disparagingly of Lord Marhaus, but the matter at hand quickly distracted them.

“Do you think they'll hurt us?” Elise asked.

“Over my dead body,” Conall snapped back at once; but then he sighed. “I really don't know what they'll do,” he admitted. “It may be that all we can do is wait and find out.”

Bran did not go out the next day, not even to weed the garden. He sat by the wall, turning the pages of one of their books over and over without seeing them. It was almost a year now, since the hanging, since Elise had freed them, and he still felt trapped in a body not quite his own.

Mr. Kellnick gave Jack an odd look when he came to work the next morning, but said nothing. Lucas and Nathaniel had remained behind that day, making the house almost as crowded as it had been in their first days. But Mrs. Kellnick pulled Jack aside while he was putting on his coat for the walk home.

“Yes ma'am?” he said, betraying no emotion. Jack could have a face like stone when he wanted to.

“Is it true what they're saying?” Mrs. Kellnick asked, never being one to beat around the bush.

“What are they saying, ma'am?” Jack said, his hands still clutching the scarf he had been wrapping around his neck.

“Lots of things,” she said. “About you and all your brothers, and your sister. That you're witch-cursed, and you turn into swans at night. Sounds like a load of old nonsense to me.”

Jack hesitated, wondering if it was better to take what seemed to be a chance to hide for a while longer or to come clean; then he saw a glint in her eyes and realized he had already given himself away. Mrs. Kellnick was shrewder than she looked.

“It's...partway true, ma'am,” he said. “We were witch-cursed once to be swans during the day. But we're not anymore. Our sister broke the spell.”

He waited.

Mrs. Kellnick looked at him for a long moment. “Huh,” she said at last. “Swans.” She cocked her head. “What was it like?”

Jack struggled for a moment to find some way of describing being cursed for seven years, living every day trapped in an alien body, spending every night watching your sister suffer to cure you, all the while struggling to survive far away from any human aid.

“Bit wet,” he said.

Mrs. Kellnick laughed and flapped a dishtowel at him. “Get on with you. No, wait a moment.” She went back into the farmhouse, leaving Jack standing confused outside. After a moment he finally finished wrapping his scarf.

She came back out a few minutes later, carrying a large basket. “That's for you to take home,” she said, handing it to Jack, who was so astonished he almost dropped it. “Don't you dare try to refuse. I've seen how skinny you are your brothers are, and what the other five look like I can't begin to guess. I'm not much of one for charity but it sounds to me like you lot have had a hard enough time already.”

Jack gripped the basket with both hands and stammered. Mrs. Kellnick waved him away. “Go on now, really. And bring your brothers back next time. I don't know what they think they're hiding from, but they're amazing workers and I don't intend to lose them now.”

With that she turned and went back into the farmhouse, leaving Jack to walk home in a state of some shock. The basket had enough food for all of them to go to bed that night with fuller stomachs than they'd had for months, and there was still a little jar of honey and a packet of tea for Lucas to tuck away in the cabinet with the preserves.

Not everyone was as kind. Conall was peppered with questions all day, which he evaded politely when he could and answered as shortly as possible when he couldn't. The store manager said nothing outright, but he became somewhat more curt than he had been and tended to give Conall odd looks. Others were more abrupt: the pastor received a number of complaints, both by letter and in person, that a witch-boy was working in the church.

John did not dare mention the subject, did not even start any theological debates as he worked, but he found out Father Hale's feelings on the matter rather abruptly. “I need you to take a letter for me, lad,” he said as John made the morning tea. “Hands are a mess this morning and I keep blotching the paper.”

John thought the pastor's hands looked quite steady, but he only said, “Yes, of course,” and went to get paper and a pen.

“Ahem,” Father Hale began, and paused to take a sip of tea. “Dear Editor. I have received many complaints lately from citizens who seem to be concerned that a supposed 'witch-boy' is working at the church. Put 'witch-boy' in quotation marks,” he added helpfully.

John's stomach went cold and his hand clenched around the pen, but he kept writing. “I would like to address all these complaints at once in a public manner,” the pastor went on. “The boy in question has been working for me for almost four months now. He is an excellent assistant who keeps the church sparkling clean and helps me with many things I cannot do so well anymore, and he makes a wonderful cup of tea.” The pastor paused to take a sip of his tea, as if to underline this point. “He is a pious and hard-working young man and I see absolutely no reason for these hateful rumors to be spread about him. Furthermore, I might add that I have been a priest for nigh on half a century and should certainly be able to recognize witchery when I see it, let alone be ignorant to it working beside me for four months. This vindictive gossip should cease immediately before it becomes dangerous. There is no cause for anyone to be upset. Sincerely yours, etc.” He nodded in satisfaction. “We'll send that on to the newspaper straight away and hopefully it will clear things up a little.”

John's hand was shaking on the pen. “Father-” he said.

“Drink your tea,” Father Hale said. “Oh, and then I need you to run down to the store and pick up a few things. Best go before it rains.”

The vindictive gossip did not quite cease immediately, but it did ease up a little. It was certainly helped by the decidedly non-witchiness of the brothers, who showed no signs of sprouting feathers no matter the time of day. But one question remained, circulating among the mutters.

None of them had mentioned Bran, not once, not even when questioned all but directly. The most they would allow was that they had a brother who stayed at home with their sister, being shy and too young to work: nothing else. Oh, but the newspapers had mentioned Bran quite a bit; after all he was one of the most interesting parts of the whole story. Conall had sternly refused to let anyone come near him with a camera, but enough people had seen him, during the execution and afterward. Some of the papers had printed sketches and artist's depictions, some more accurate than others, and imaginations had run wild. The story was heavily distorted now, but the notion that there was one brother who was not quite right lingered in the public consciousness.

It was, perhaps, only a matter of time.

Christopher was doing the washing-up, and Elise was napping by the fire, when Bran went outside alone. Not far: he never wandered far from the house when the gossip was still circulating. Just far enough to get a bit of the fresh cold air and see the trees. Looking up at the clear cold-blue sky, he did not see the children sneaking close until it was too late.

Things might have gone differently if he had not been wearing the cloak Lucas had made him. It was plain and a bit shapeless, but it covered him well and was warmer than any coat he could have worn, and had a simple clasp that could be done and undone with one hand. With his wing tucked tight against him in the cold and covered in the cloak, Bran looked a bit odd, but not in any immediately definable sense.

The children stared. Bran stared back.

It had been four months since he had seen anyone but his siblings. Over those four months he had imagined and feared the moment when he was found out many times-in his head it usually involved pitchforks and torches and yelling-but now that he was finally confronted with it he had no idea what to do.

The children-there were two boys and one girl, all equally covered in mud-were likewise perplexed at not getting what they had imagined. They had come to see a monstrous deformed witch-creature, not a plain young man who seemed to be a bit asymmetrical, and not really all that much older than them.

“What do you want?” he asked simply after they had stared at each other for a while. It was all he could think to say.

The oldest, or at least, the largest boy drew himself up. “We-we came to see the witch-boy,” he said, doing his best to be staunch and bold.

Bran blinked at them.

“They say he's really monstrous,” the other boy piped up with the open lack of both tact and self-preservation of the young and scrappy. “He's got feathers all over and claws for feet.”

“And a beak for a nose,” the girl added.

“Yeah, and yellow eyes,” the leader added, not to be outdone. “And he doesn't talk, he just caws like a bird.” He bounced on his heels uncertainly. “So...have...have you seen him?”

Bran, who had been trying to figure out why they were describing to his face things about him that were clearly not true, had in that moment the lightning-strike of realization that they did not know it was him. They thought he was, perhaps, another searcher, here on a mission akin to theirs, to catch a glimpse of the witch-boy.

He had said to Marhaus, what seemed now a long time ago, “People know what I am now, when they look at me.” After months alone in the cottage, fearing the mob, worrying over the burden he placed on his brothers, he had forgotten why that had once seemed important to him. But now, for the first time since the execution day, someone had looked at him and not known. It was somehow both exhilarating and disquieting.

Is this what it would be like? he thought with a strange, detached feeling of sudden clarity. To cut it off? To be able to go out among people and not seem so terribly, immediately strange? And to hear them speak in such a way about me without knowing who they were speaking to?

The children were watching him. He felt, though he did not know it, much as Jack had: caught between a chance to escape and a chance to explain. The world seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for him to make a decision that would send him hurtling down one path or another.

He thought he saw his life pass before his eyes-no, two lives, running side by side, two futures that he might have unfolding before him.

“Yes,” he said.

Their eyes widened. “You have?” the leader squeaked. “What did he look like?”

“He doesn't have claws for feet,” Bran said slowly. “Or a beak for a nose or yellow eyes, and he can talk just like anyone else. And he doesn't have feathers all over. He looks...a lot like you or me.”

The children glanced at each other scornfully. The leader made a noise of disbelief. “Are you sure you saw him?”

“You probably saw someone else,” the girl postulated. “The real witch-boy doesn't look like that. He's all scary and ugly. How do you know you saw him anyway, if he just looked all normal and boring?”

“He isn't completely boring,” Bran said, and paused for a moment: that was a description of himself he had never really considered. “He...has a wing in place of one arm.”

The children brightened. This was more like what they had come for. “A wing?” the smaller boy said. “Like a bird's wing? What did it look like? Was it big and scary?”

“It looks like a bird's wing, and it's big, but not really scary,” Bran said. “It's white, like a swan. He kind of walks a little funny, because it's heavy and awkward. But he isn't monstrous at all.” Or so I hope, he added to himself.

They did not seem entirely convinced. “I don't know,” the older boy said. “Are you sure he didn't have yellow eyes? Or claws? I mean, did you see?”

“How do we know you saw him at all?” the girl demanded, sticking her chin out mulishly. “Maybe you're making it all up. Everyone knows he's all weird and ugly, everyone says-”

Well, here it was, right down to the wire: the choice. It felt a bit unfair, to be confronted with it so suddenly with no time for preparation or deliberation. But then, such was life.

Bran took a deep breath and undid the clasp of his cloak.

If he had not been so terrified, he might have been amused at how their jaws dropped and their eyes went wider than one might have thought possible. He stretched out his wing, gently, shivering a little at the bite of the wind.

“You're-” the older boy whispered. He stood on his toes, trying to see if Bran had yellow eyes after all, but was disappointed to find them brown. “Why didn't you say you were him?” he said accusingly.

“I thought I did,” Bran said, with a half smile.

The girl reached out tentatively and brushed the feathers with her fingertips. “You're like an angel,” she said softly.

Bran shuddered and shook his head. “I'm just a person,” he said.

They did not hear Elise open the door or pad out into the yard, did not see her until she was right next to them, looking at Bran with wide what have you done eyes. Bran folded his wing back down and moved to put his hand on her shoulder.

“It's alright,” he said. “They were just...curious.”

Elise looked at him, then at the children, fingers tracing the scar tissue over her hands. Bran was not sure what to say. The two of them could hold entire conversations without saying a word, but explaining why he had done what he had done seemed beyond his ability.

“I...had to show someone eventually,” he said finally. “It was this or hide for the rest of my life.”

She shifted her feet, bare and cold in the grass, and said nothing, but he thought she understood after all.

The children were looking at Elise's hands with almost as much curiosity as they had looked at Bran's wing. “How did it happen?” the older boy asked.

Bran hesitated, not sure where to begin, but then Elise in her pale whispery voice said, “Would you like to hear the story?”

All three children nodded fervently.

“Well,” Elise said, “you may as well come inside where it's warm.”

Christopher nearly shattered the plate he was holding when they came into the house with three nervous children in tow. “What are you doing?” he hissed, flicking soap suds all over the kitchen.

“We're explaining,” Bran said.

“We're going to make them tea,” Elise said. “And tell them the story.”

Christopher stared at them in shock. His eyes flicked from them to the children, standing huddled close together and looking unsure that they had made the right choice.

“Well,” he said, after a long moment. “I suppose it's your story to tell, if it's anyone's.” He returned to washing with a shake of his head, though he kept throwing glances over his shoulder.

Bran led the children into the main room and put the kettle on over the fire. The children kept looking around as if expecting to find evidence of witchcraft, but there was only the chair before the fire and a few bare possessions: Nathaniel's sewing basket, the carefully stacked pile of newspapers, a couple of old guttering oil lamps.

When the children were sitting nestled in blankets and each sipping politely from a mug, Bran began.

“We were cursed by a witch, it's true,” he said. “She once lived very close to us.” The children gaped and glanced around in renewed concern.

“She wasn't a very nice woman, I'm afraid, though neither did she harm anyone. She only wanted to live on her land alone and be left alone. But our father wanted to buy this land and develop it...”

He told the whole story, beginning to end. Occasionally Elise would correct him on something, or offer a quiet comment, but mostly she just listened and nodded along. Christopher came in before too long and added a few contributions of his own. It was always Bran who picked up the thread again, though.

When he was done the children looked properly impressed. “But that's so sad!” the girl exclaimed. “And now you're all alone?”

“Of course not,” Bran said, drawing his brother and sister close. “We have each other.”

“Things are a bit hard, but we get on,” Christopher said.

“Things are better than they were,” Elise whispered.

They sent the children off home not long after- “Your parents are probably worried,” Christopher said, a little uncertainly, though the three only rolled their eyes. The girl paused at the door, shuffling her feet back and forth.

“I-I'm sorry I called you weird and ugly,” she said all in a rush, and ducked her head.

The boys stopped as well and glanced at each other, looking a little abashed. “I'm...sorry I called you a monster,” the smaller one said after a moment.

“Yeah,” the older one said. “You're not a monster at all.” Then, before Bran could think of anything to say, they all ran off.

“Well,” he said to no one in particular as he turned back into the house, “what do you think of that?”

“I think it'll lead to trouble,” Christopher said, but he left it alone at that.

Bran spent the rest of the day sitting in front of the fire, running his fingers over his feathers and thinking.

It did lead to some trouble, although mostly for the children, who got royally reamed out when it came out that they had been trespassing and bothering the neighbors and going into strange houses and who knew what else. There was considerable alarm from some quarters as to what nefarious witchy reasons the family might have for inviting in helpless children (“You're lucky you didn't wind up in the oven, like Hansel and Gretal,” the girl's older brother told her gleefully, but she only scoffed at him and said that they didn't even have an oven) but this was tempered somewhat by the fact that nothing untoward appeared to have happened to them in the least.

That Sunday, after considerable and lengthy discussion, all eight of them went to church. “People are only going to wonder and make things up until they see me for themselves,” Bran pointed out. “I might as well get it over with.” Their entrance was met with considerable hubbub, but Father Hale only smiled and carried on.

Bran spent the entirety of the service looking up at the lone stained glass window at the back of the church, depicting an angel descending, caught between earth and sky. The congregation stared at him in awe and murmured to see what seemed to be an angel walking among them, but he could only see this as another mockery, another thing he was not, only a half-formed mimicry of.

After the service, while his siblings mingled uncomfortably, Bran walked over to the high stained glass window and looked up at the angel. He wanted to find disapproval, disappointment, condescension maybe, something he expected, something he could rail against. But the angel's face was kind and calm and seemed to know something he did not.

He felt a hand upon his shoulder and turned to see Father Hale standing behind him.

“It's been a long time since I had such a hard job keeping a captive audience,” he said to Bran. “You distract people, my lad.”

“I don't mean to,” Bran muttered.

“No, I daresay you don't.” Father Hale looked up at the window. “What do you think of Gabriel, then?”

“He looks...more beautiful than I will ever be.” Bran shook his head and looked away. “I know what people think, but this is no gift from God. I know that much.”

“Ah, everything is a gift from God,” Father Hale said, but in a distracted sort of way as though it were more habitual than anything. “But you were not, in fact, sent to inspire my flock, I don't think. What you are meant for, I cannot say.”

“A punishment,” Bran said. “A curse upon my father-”

“No.” Father Hale's grip tightened on Bran's shoulder, though not enough to hurt. “You are a young man, you are your own person, as are your sisters and brothers, and a great cruelty has been inflicted upon you. It is no kind of justice to punish the innocent for another's crime. I want you to remember that, and never in all your life think that this was deserved. But,” he added, looking into Bran's eyes, “I beg you not to pay this forward. Do not continue this cycle, do not spread the cruelty further.”

“I have no intention to,” Bran said, and he did not, truly, would not even if the witch were not long dead and gone. “But I do not know what I should do.”

“I don't know that I can offer any good occupational advice,” the pastor said with a wry twist of his mouth. “But I think that if you do nothing else for the rest of your life but bear this burden with as much courage and grace as you can muster, that will have been a life well lived.”

Bran thought of those words often afterward; when people stared or muttered, when his joints ached through the night, when he mouthed over that dread word amputation and considered if it was the right thing after all. Sometimes it was hard not to let the anger eat up his days, and at those times he thought he understood, truly, what Father Hale had meant about using his life well. Some days it felt like he had to pour everything in him into not hating. Some days it felt like it would take him the rest of his life to not be angry.

There was still noise and distrust, but there was also an elderly woman who came by the church one afternoon to drop off eight hand-knitted scarves with an astonished John. There was a package from Lord Marhaus's housekeeper with tea, ginger snaps, blister balm, notes from half the serving staff and a stern chastisement for not writing to let them know how the siblings were getting on. There was a box left for Conall at the store after he mentioned to the town bookseller how much Bran enjoyed the novels; they opened it around the table and found ten more battered books with an apologetic note that it was all the bookseller could spare for the moment. Bran devoured them all eagerly.

“I think,” he said to Elise when he had finished the last one, “I'm going to write.”

“Oh?” she said.

“Yes,” he said firmly. “Because...because I'm not ashamed of who I am, but I want people to be able to see, well, all of me, if you follow. If they just look at me, they see who I am, but they don't see all of it. If I can talk first, before they've already made up their minds--then I can really tell them things.”

Elise laid a hand against his wing. “I follow,” she said.

Conall brought home pencil stubs and paper leftover from packaging, and Bran covered every inch in words. He read it out loud by the fire at night, after Jack had finished with the newspapers. It was clumsy at first, stumbling words and awkward sentences, but he had a supportive audience.

Much to Bran's surprise, Elise one day picked up a pencil and, using both hands to steady the implement, drew a bird on the corner of his paper.

“I wanted to make something,” she said, almost apologetically. “Something that didn't hurt.”

They did not expect much more for Christmas Day than to break open the preserves and honey and put some extra wood on the fire, so when Mrs. Kellnick told Jack in no uncertain terms that they were all coming around for dinner he nearly swallowed his tongue.

“Oh, ma'am,” he said weakly. “That's eight extra mouths to feed-”

“Don't you start with me,” she said. “We could use the company. It'll just be me and Bill and here, what with...what with...”

Jack remembered all too suddenly that Mr. and Mrs. Kellnick had lost both of their sons to the war. On sudden impulse he gave the astonished woman a hug.

“Of course we'll come, ma'am,” he said.

For a moment she held onto him, and he thought he heard a faint, distant sob-but when she let go her eyes were dry.

“Good,” she said. “And don't you worry- there'll be no turkey, nor goose.”

Jack laughed, though in truth he had been a bit concerned.

There was, indeed, no poultry of any kind served, but when they entered the farmhouse on Christmas Day they found a table laden with just about everything else they could have imagined. Mrs. Kellnick fussed over Conall (“Oh goodness you're a handsome young man-you look so like my Brian...”), John (“Oh my poor dear, you do need glasses, don't you? Oh, I can tell, you squint at things just like my brother did-”) and Christopher (“Good gracious, you're pale, don't you get any sun? And so skinny, the lot of you...”).

Then she saw Elise, and promptly burst into tears.

Things got a bit confusing at that point. Elise, unsure of what else to do, stood and let Mrs. Kellnick hug her and sob incoherently. All anyone could make out were muffled variations on “my poor child”.

At long last she let go, wiping her eyes, and turned toward the door where Bran was hovering awkwardly. “You must be Bran, then,” she said, looking him over critically.

“Yes ma'am,” he said.

She gently brushed aside his cloak and looked at his wing. “Well, if that isn't something,” she said softly. Then she embraced him, hesitantly, as if afraid he might break.

There was quiet for a moment, and then Mrs. Kellnick straightened up. “Well, come on, then,” she said. “No sense standing about here waiting for the food to get cold.”

Later--after, for the first time in months, all eight could honestly say they had eaten as much as they could; after they had retired to the sitting room for tea and brandy, where Bran discovered with some consternation that the fat old gray house cat thought his wing made for an excellent bed; after John had been coaxed to read from the Bible and Bran had with considerably more coaxing acquiesced to read a few of his poems; after they had all been hugged several times over and Mr. Kellnick had clapped them all on the shoulders and muttered gruffly about enjoying having them there; after they walked down the path to their house in the twilight with their coats flapping like wings--later, when Bran and Elise were standing out in the garden looking up at the stars, Elise said, “I think I'd like to learn to paint.”

Bran looked at her. “It'll be hard,” Elise said, looking down at her hands. “But...I want to be able to speak. To really say what I mean. I was silent so long and I...I don't mind not speaking, but I can't stand to be silent any more. Does that make any sense?”

Bran reached out his wing and she laid her hand against it, rough scar tissue brushing against soft feathers. “Yes,” he said. “We'll shout at the world together, you and I.”

Somewhere, on a patch of land that had once been witch-cursed and was now a well-preserved public park, swans settled peacefully on the water.

Somewhere else, eight once-cursed siblings did not quite live happily ever after; but they did live, and there was happiness, after, and for them, that was enough.

#writing #fantasy #fantasy writing #fairy tales #two-parter #one-off #the eight swans #the eight swans part two

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