#my heart aches when people think being tested positive is a death sentence

[writing-imagines]

Truths and Tattoos // An Ellie Williams imagine

Possible warnings: blood, gun use, reader feeling guilty (?)

Request: If your requests are still open can I get Ellie from last of us with a creative and quiet s/o whos covered in tattoos everywhere but her face and palms and Ellie finds out in one way or another that her s/o is also immune to cordyceps? Maybe the reader gets bit and doesn't turn or something??

You leaned against the counter of the abandoned supermarket, your sketch book open, and revealing your newest drawing of what used to be the bakery section. Even though you hated patrol duty with a passion you loved getting to see places and drawing them. Patrol also gave you the freedom to imagine what the world used to be like before everything went to hell.

Of course, you couldn’t enjoy the imagery of people walking around, not worrying about infected, because it always caused an ache to form in your chest. While being immune to the cordyceps was a huge weight off your chest, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. You had been bitten a dozen times and never even developed a fever, but the second someone inhaled spores they would be sentenced to death. It wasn’t fair and your dozens of scars and the tattoos that covered them were a constant reminder of how unfair life was.

You let out a sigh and closed your sketch book, unwilling to let your guilty thoughts interfere with work. You picked your backpack up and slid your sketchbook inside, making sure it wasn’t in a bent position. Once you threw your backpack over your shoulder, you made your way to what used to be the produce section to look for your girlfriend.

“Ellie? Where’d you go?” You called out as you rounded the corner. That section of the store was pretty dark, the only source of light came from a medium size hole in the roof. You couldn’t help but notice the debris and snow on the floor underneath the hole, you could have sworn it wasn’t there on your first sweep of the building.

“Ellie? Come on, where are you?” You called out again as you looked around the room. Normally, you would be freaked out about not being able to find your girlfriend, but you knew Ellie liked to pull pranks on you, especially when it was just the two of you on patrol.

You decided to play along with her possible prank and moved to the middle of the store. The center of the store had to be one of the creepiest places you had ever been to. Unlike the produce section, it was pitch black thanks to there being absolutely no windows. You turned on your shoulder flashlight before making your way past aisles.

“Ellie, come on. I’m getting a little tired of this.” You continued walking, an eerie feeling settling over you with each passing second. As you reached the remains of the frozen section you heard a heart stopping scream and crash. Without hesitation you quickly pulled out your pistol and aimed it in the direction of the crash, your flashlight only revealing a few feet in front of you.

“Who’s there?!” Your mind started to race as you tried to make sense of the situation. Had someone really managed to get in the store and evade you and Ellie? Another scream echoed through the empty store, causing your heart to nearly pound out of your chest. Against your better judgment you slowly started walking down the nearest aisle, trying to listen for the scream again.

When you reached the end of the aisle you pointed your gun around the corner and slowly moved out into the open. Even though your heart was racing you pushed on, fully determined to find out who managed to get past you. The blood curdling scream grew louder and louder the closer you got to the front of the store. Once you reached the remains of the checkout area you found the culprit of the scream and the cause of the crash.

Lying underneath a large metal shelf was a runner. He was desperately clawing at the floor in an attempt to escape. You felt a twinge if sadness at the sight, even though the runner could tear you to shreds. You took a few steps closer, causing the runner to swing his arms at your ankles. Once you saw he was completely stuck under the shelf you lowered your pistol.

“How the hell did you get in here?” You mumbled to yourself. The runner continued to reach for your ankles and let out a grunt. A pain formed in your chest as you continued to look at him. He was a healthy living person at one time and now he was a near mindless monster trapped under a grocery store shelf, completely at your mercy. You didn’t want to kill him, but you also couldn’t go searching for Ellie knowing he could possibly escape. With a shaky breath you aimed at his head.

“Sorry. I hope-" You were swiftly cut off by another loud scream behind you. You turned around just in time to see another runner sprinting towards you. It was only a few steps away, leaving you with no time to react. It knocked you to the ground, causing you to let go of your pistol.

All you could do was throw up your arms and scream. You couldn’t scream any words, just loud animal like howls. You fought hard to keep it’s jagged teeth away from your neck. In the midst of keeping it away from your jugular, your right hand and forearm suffered several deep bites. The runner’s teeth shredded right through your winter coat. Just as the runner bit down on your wrist, several gunshots rang out above your head, causing a loud ringing in your ears. You watched the runner fall off you before closing your eyes in pain. Not only did your arm hurt, but your ears felt like they were going to explode.

You felt two hands grab your shoulders and shake you. You forced yourself to open your eyes again. Much to your relief it was Ellie kneeling beside you and shaking your shoulders. Her lips were moving but you could only hear muffled sounds.

“Ellie.” Your eyes widened and you scrambled to hug her. She wrapped her arms around you, not caring about the uncomfortable position.

“Are you okay?” You were relieved to hear her voice instead of the ringing. Ellie pulled away from the hug and quickly looked you over. It only took a few seconds for her to notice the bite marks that pierced through your tattoos and the blood rolling down your arm.

“No, no, no, no.” She held your wounds in an attempt to stop the bleeding. You looked down to see blood rolling down Ellie’s hands and pooling on the floor.

“Fuck!” Ellie let go of your arm and walked over to the fallen shelf where the runner was trapped. The runner was dead and surrounded by blood. Ellie put her hands behind her head before quickly dropping them to her sides and kicking the metal shelf.

“Ellie.” You said, your voice barely above a whisper. Ellie turned to look at you, tears running down her cheeks. You forced yourself to stand up, trying to ignore the sting of the bites.

“I can’t believe it. I’m so sorry, y/n. I should have been with you.” Ellie attempted to hold back her tears, but failed as they continued to stream down her face. You felt a lump form in your throat as Ellie fully broke down in front of you.

“I don’t want to lose you.” Her voice was shaky as she looked at you, her eyes locked on your wounds. You stepped towards her and cautiously held her hands.

“You’re not going to lose me.”

“Your arm is covered in bite marks.” She whimpered.

“I-I’m immune. I can’t turn.” You looked down at your feet, noting a few blood droplets sat on the toes of your boots. After noticing Ellie stopped crying you looked up to see her confused expressions.

“What?”

“I’m immune. I’ve been bitten a dozen times, walked through millions of spores, and I’m still alive.” Ellie’s jaw dropped a little and her eyes widened. If it would have been any other situation you would have laughed.

“Oh my God.” She looked at all your tattoos, slowly putting the pieces together. You nervously bit your bottom lip, silently hoping your confession wouldn’t change things between you two.

“I should have told you sooner, but this isn’t exactly something I can just drop on someone and hope they can keep it a secret.” Ellie didn’t respond, instead she looked at you with a bewildered expression. After a few seconds of silence you spoke again.

“Please say something...” Ellie allowed herself to blink, somewhat pulling her out of her daze. She looked down at the ground, letting out a sigh before looking at you again.

“I’m immune too.” Now it was your turn to be shocked. You raised your eyebrows at your girlfriend and let go of her hands.

“W-What?”

“I was bitten by an infected when I was fourteen and I didn’t turn.” Ellie frowned and rubbed her tattoo, making you connect the dots in your head.

“Holy shit. We’re both immune.”

“We’re both immune.” She mumbled, holding her tattooed wrist close to her body. You could feel her change in demeanor, but didn’t think much of it. Ellie always acted weird after revealing personal stuff.

“This is great, right? Since we’re both immune that means we could find a cure and-”

“There is no cure.” Ellie mumbled before taking a small step away from you. You frowned at her response.

“How do you know?”

“Because-” Ellie stopped herself to find her words. You watched as she nervously twiddled her fingers.

“Joel brought me to the Fireflies. They did a lot of tests and there’s no cure.” Ellie let out a sigh and glanced at the ground. You frowned, mainly out of disappointment that there was no cure, but also because she had never mentioned Joel taking her to the Fireflies.

“Oh...you never told me that.” You said with a shrug.

“There’s a lot I haven’t told you because of...you know.” Ellie ran her fingers over the raised skin on her wrist.

“There’s some stuff I haven’t told you either.” You shrugged again, this time putting your hands in your coat pockets. Ellie looked up from her wrist and looked you in the eye.

“I guess we have some talking to do then.” Ellie said, the faintest smile tugging at her lips.

“I guess we do.” You couldn’t fight the small smile that crept up once you saw Ellie’s smile.

“Come on, let’s get you patched up and back to Jackson.” Ellie walked over to you and protectively wrapped her arm around your shoulders. You leaned into her side as the two of you made your way back to the horses.

“Hey Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for saving me.”

“You can thank me later by washing my clothes. These are my favorite jeans and they’re covered in blood.” Ellie smirked and you elbowed her in the side, eliciting an exaggerated groan.

The rest of your journey home in silence. You knew Ellie was probably thinking of how she was going to break the news to Joel that she told someone else she was infected. Joel loved you so it probably wasn’t going to be a big deal. All you could think about was how you weren’t alone in the world anymore and how happy that made you.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x gender neutral reader #ellie williams x male reader #the last of us imagine #ellie williams imagine #the last of us #the last of us part ii #the last of us part 2 #the last of us part 2 imagine

[danddymaro]

Erron Black x Reader | Pt.1

For the most part, this will have quite a bit of sexual stuff, (like, A stupid lot in my opinion) because it was my mood during writing the draft and I figured, why not make this a full-blown story rather than a one-shot thing? There is some plot thou, there really is! It's a bunch of bullshit, but who knows, one of you might like it! 

It starts off slow, but give it a try none the less.

Flashbacks are in italics : Example

Thoughts are italics  in quotes : ‘Example’

Fixed

Word Count:  2466

Pt. 1 |   Easy pray

The young woman trailed her eyes up to the maroon sky, noting it to be nearly identical to the one from the day before, and perhaps the one before that day as well.

A scarce amount of clouds hovered over the sky, most if not all being large and gray, altogether seeming like a heavy fog set upon the land. Nevertheless, she lived on without a worry, knowing that despite the menacing manner which the clouds presented themselves with, their current state was no sign of danger.

Perhaps in another realm it would be something to worry about and fret, but she knew that in Outworld, it was nothing to worry about.

- It never really was.

From time to time, it would thunder, and when it did, it was frightening enough that when the harsh clapping sounds echoed, the booms descended down to the surface, violently rattling every one of the pitiful creatures that roamed the land.

On those days, she couldn't hide the dread she felt. 

Even in the present time, she shivered as she recalled what it felt like to be raked by one of those harsh roars.

Much more, it hit her worse remembering she was alone.

In her little hut, there was no other person to accompany her, and all in all, it made the wretched days much more gloomy. It made the shivers in her body last longer than they should as well, the effects amplified by her solitude.

With a gentle, placid smile, she picked up her watering pail, holding it with two hands by its thin, metal handle, all the while striving to maintain the small expression of contentment she showed out to the world.

She aimed to uphold a positive outlook, but even then, inside her mind, she continued to think negatively, the gloomy thoughts mudding the bright approach she attempted to maintain.

' Alone, as always, I'm here all alone,' she thought to herself, wondering what company would feel like.

'Alone in this world; In this vicious world, left forelone,'  She added.

She was starved to touch another person, to truly feel accompanied in the dark world, and she just couldn't help it. 

She knew her heart was weak and sensitive, far too much for A person native of Outworld. So much so, she couldn't help but wonder if her existence in the realm was nothing more than a mistake disregarded by the gods.

"I always wonder if this is truly my home," She said lowly, having doubt in her heart.

"Is this where I was truly destined to be?"

She also wondered about what lay in other lands, considering what life was in any other place besides her homeland.

Were they all so grey and gloomy, or did there exist one with colors all about?

Colors...Ones that were warm;  ones that could match her heart.

Slowly, her left hand trailed up, barely grazing her chest as it hovered over her soft heart.

She felt like a flickering flame trying to exist in a cold plain, helpless to the icy winds which surrounded it.

Her home, though being one she loved, was filled with many people whose hearts were jaded. However, she supposed that years within ongoing, vicious wars would cause people to eventually grow numb. 

So, she couldn't blame anyone for growing cold. While succumbed to the mercy of a tyrant, it was a miracle if anyone held a positive outlook on life.

' I'm not one to complain,' She reminded herself, ' I shouldn't be one to complain,' She reasoned, knowing that there were many who suffered worse fates.

She was lucky to be unbothered by their emperor. Fortunately, she was no one to him,

'So it's not all bad,' she thought with the single solace, thoroughly fearing Shao Kahn's violent, wicked reign.

'I'd never wish to be at that man's mercy,' She added with plea, hoping they'd never cross paths.

With the small, tin bucket in hand, the very one with a crudely painted Daisy drawn onto the rusted metal, the gently smiling woman let out a small puff of amusement, knowing that what hurt her most were her own doubting thoughts. 

'I should just stop doing that...thinking so much...' She mused.

Sometimes her mind wondered too much.

Sometimes she thought too much outside of reality, stuck in daydreams, pondering over the meaning of her nightmares, or, at least, what little she could recall. 

There wasn't much she could remember, no matter how hard she tried, but there was always a constant, one that both brought her tenderness and pain ;

A voice. 

Just the single voice of an unknown woman brought her both sentiments.

'- But I'm unable to let go,' She added, weakly.

Out of all the things she held onto and simply couldn't forget, it was the unforgettable voice that seemed far too familiar.

'That woman's voice... it makes me feel both warmth and ache within my chest.' She thought to herself. 'It haunts me so much, and though it hurts to recall these dreams, I want to know who she is.

I want to know where I can find her.' She thought determinately.

Sprinkling the cool showers onto the plants, her smile visibly faltered, her mind plagued by the strange person,

'Sometimes she's all that makes me happy. She's the only thing that makes me feel loved.'

"Maybe that's why I always have other realms in mind," She muttered dryly.

'Are you waiting there in one of those many lands?' She wondered helplessly, all while thinking of the low, melodic rumble of the voice.

'I just can't remember. ' 

As far as she knew, she didn't know anyone that matched the voice.

'But at the very least, being by these here...with these little beings, I feel like I'm somewhat close to you.

Whoever you may be,

Wherever you may be,' she thought with feather-light comfort.

Her focus then was on the little flowers set beside her door. They were tiny, little, yellow faces, all filled with pollen staring back at her with enthusiasm and life. They were strange little things, not native to Outworld, and from what the elderly man had told her, a rarity to come across in their realm.

'Strange and fragile, just as I am,' She thought with a soft, understanding look directed at them. 

A single press of the finger could harm the small life, destroying it. 

Such a delicate thing was in her possession and with all the joy in the world she cared for it, each and every day tending to them.

"Forget me nots," she said softly, "You have so many meanings, all so tender, all so sweet." She started.

 "Perhaps, once, you knew who that person was. Perhaps you know well who she is, and you try to make me remember."

Shaking her head, she then laughed with amusement, going as far as to throw her head back at her ridiculous musings,

" Wouldn't that be strange? ," she said with a giggle, dragging her index below one of the blossoms, scarcely grazing it with tenderness.

"No," she said shaking her head, still chuckling, " Strange is talking to you bunch, all while thinking that somehow you understand,"

'What loneliness can do to a person,' She silently thought, knowing how deranged she might seem to others. 

Yet, there was no helping it. 

"Well, at the very least we have each other, right?" she added pleasantly, her voice touched with sadness.

Farther away, a man observed her, watching each and every movement she made, not missing a single motion of hers,

" Looks like I've found you, little missy," the brunette said lowly, his eyes trained straight with a hawk's glare on the (h/c) haired young lady.

His dark roasted coffee-colored eyes watched the woman, a dark brow slowly raised at her as she continued to pet the small garden. Her mouth then moved, no doubt speaking to the blossoms as she maintained her small smile, unaware of his watchful stalking.

He wasn't hiding, nor bothered to spy from any farther distance, having the certainty that it wasn't needed. Instead, he leaned on a homely fence opposite to her home, his arms crossed over his chest as he continued to observe his target. 

"-Too easy," he huffed, the little piece of wood that was being held in between his teeth soon spat out and thrown to the side, "Entirely too easy," he added with notable disappointment intertwined with his words.

 With a click of his tongue, he adjusted his mask before properly clipping it back on. 

His right hand then slid over his revolver, a low, blue sigh falling past his lips, "Guess I won't need to use you," he muttered, easily coming to the conclusion he wouldn't have to use anything but his own strength and wit on his current job.

"(f/n) (l/n)," He said while testing the name out on his own tongue, "I'd say you're one lucky girl," he then said while stepping forward, advancing towards the home with squared shoulders.

"A very lucky one," he added with a smirk twitching his features, the man feeling a swell of pride at the thought of his previous accomplishments.

Any time anyone made it on his list, it was a guaranteed death sentence, however, in his current target's special case, he wasn't ordered to do any of the sorts, which truly was a stroke of luck for the young woman.

He had the task of capturing her, all in one piece. 

- Not a ding or a scratch, she was to be delivered without a hitch.

Granted, he wasn't one for little errands like the one he'd just been assigned, but then again, he wasn't the kind to turn down such an award either.

Abruptly, he stopped, watching as she startled, jumping and dropping her watering pail before she ran inside her home, far too preoccupied with what she had in mind to close her door fully.

And yet again he thought to himself about how painstakingly easy it was to catch the woman.

Making his way towards the home, he took a firm hold of the linen rope strapped to his side and unattached it as he crossed the doorway of her hut, his predator eyes sharp as they searched for her figure.

'Now where'd she run off too,' He thought to himself while skimming his eyes over the small space.

His nose twitched, a strong, aromatic scent attacking him right as he invaded the space.

A linger of herbs danced in the air too, all intertwined with the scent, pulling his attention to a small room where the (h/c) haired woman stood, her back facing him while she dimmed the fire before her.

"How could I be so careless? " she said with mortification, eyeing the empty pot. All of the water she had started to boil in it was long gone, evaporated.

'This is not even the first time it happens,' She thought with the same dejection, upset that it had happened yet again, all because she had spent too much time overthinking. 

Her hand then slid up her face, holding it as she inhaled a deep breath, 

'I can't keep living this way...' She declared, knowing that all the time she spent pondering was harmful to her. 

She knew it was for the best, yet, slumping her shoulders, she released a shaky breath, her heart tightening at the thought of letting go.

Suddenly, an arm coiled around her shoulders from behind her, while simultaneously, another strong, large arm wrapped around her midsection, quickly pulling her towards a hard body.

With rounded (e/c) eyes, she craned her head up, striving to look back, soon capturing the sight of a masked man as his dark eyes calmly peered down to hers.

Frozen, she watched him with glimmering (e/c) eyes, her face going pale, the female far too aghast to properly function.

"Now, you just hold still, " he ordered her, the deep muffled rumble of his voice causing a violent shake to rake over her body. 

Like the merciless thunder of her realm, it attacked her, shaking her to her very core.

'What's going on?' She wondered, still struck stupid, paralyzed with shock and fright.

'what is he doing in my home?'

It was then that the weight of the situation fell upon her, soon understanding just what the man was doing as he began to press a bind around her,

'No...This can't be...This simply can't be!'

Shaking her head in denial, she squirmed, thrashing around to force him to let go. Her legs then collapsed, and falling onto all fours, she managed to slip out of his hold before he gripped her any tighter.

'I have to get away. I have to run,' She thought with a frenzied mind.

With harshly panting breaths, she stumbled to stand, managing to do so on wobbly legs, hastily making a mad dash out onto the outside world, far away from the stranger.

'I have to run...

I have I hide... '

Leisurely stepping out to follow, the man then sighed. 

Erron shook his head, his right skimming down his side to the holster at his side. 

Soon holding his gun with a steady hand, he aimed, taking his shot. 

The single bullet ricochet, landing right in front of her just before she stepped farther from him.

Falling to her knees with horrified (e/c) colored eyes, she stared at the landed shot before her, unable to find the words to shove out of her knotted throat, 

'That... That could have killed me,' She thought with certainty. ' How did he even do that? ' She added with the same terror.

Her hand shook as it rose up, soon holding onto the lower portion of her face as it squeezed tight, the hand suppressing all her frightened whimpers,

'Is he going to kill me? Did...Did he just miss?'

" That blue whistler didn't miss," He told her, counting his victory as he took long strides to her shaking body. "Just in case you were wondering," he added before stepping behind her, towering her crumpled, defeated form.

"Tongue-tied Darlin'?" he asked her, receiving no reply, just a would-be silence riddled by muffled snivels.

Her harsh pants became louder as she then clutched her chest, his question falling onto death ears, 

'Why...' she thought to herself, ridged coldness gradually swallowing her whole.

"I guess so," he muttered, shoving her down with his left hand, watching as she landed ungracefully, far too numb to move. 

His right hand gripped her arms, unkindly pulling them back before quickly binding her wrists behind her.

Tightly shutting her eyes, she inhaled the dirt beneath her, fiercely struck by the horror of the skilled man, not knowing what awaited her at the mercy of his hands.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Next : A familiar Sense

#erron black x reader #erron black x reader insert #mortal kombat fanfic #mortal kombat fanfiction #mk fanfic #mk fanfiction #erron black fanfic #erron black fanfiction #mortal kombat #mortal kombat erron black fanfic #mortal kombat erron black fanfiction #mortal komat x y/n #multi part fanfic #erron black x female reader insert #erron black story #erron black love story #erron black x y/n #erron black x fem reader #erron black x fem reader insert #erron black x f reader #erron black romance story #mortal kombat x reader

[hanadolphieron]

lunar artist!yeojin; chapter five~

warnings; swearing, gun shots, gun wounds, death, explosions, grenades, sky battles, war in general, kissing, (ooo) crying

genre; sci-fi, strangers to friends to lovers, angst, a meager amount of fluff

pairing; im yeojin x gender neutral!reader

word count; 1.8k

summary; your small crater town on the moon was rarely visited. one day, artist!yeojin travels all the way from mars to paint the serene, wistful scenery of your planet.

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

yeojin moves away from the doorway, toward you and the soldiers. 

“move,” she says, “i can handle this.”

“copy that, general,” they respond, scurrying towards the exit.

wait. general? 

yeojin commands this fucking army?

you have got to be kidding me. here you thought she was about to free you and give herself a cool redemption arc, but no. she’s the general of the army that has decimated your planet.

stalking closer, yeojin stands in front of you, reminding you of all the times you’ve been in this same position- staring at each other silently, understanding completely what the other is thinking.

however, this time, you’re wrong about yeojin.

glancing towards the door to make sure no one’s lurking, she grabs the cuffs around your wrists, unlocks them deftly, her small hands moving as fast as the lunar crabs that scuttle across the surface of the moon, than does the same to your ankles, rescuing them as well.

you fall into her arms. you must have been hanging on the device for a long time, considering the weakness of your joints and limbs.

her scent envelops you. it’s familiar, smelling like muddy vanilla encompassed in sunshine. you almost relax and let yourself stay in her hold, but you catch yourself.

you’re supposed to be repulsed by her. infuriated by her entire being. 

your heart doesn’t agree with that. you push it to the side.

“well? you’re not even going to thank me?” yeojin says accusingly. she seems to have gotten her attraction under control, and doesn’t feel as conflicted as you.

“what am i supposed to thank you for? the destruction you’ve caused to my planet? the thousands of lives lost thanks to your command? do you really think i’m that weak? weak enough to just fall back into your arms? narcissistic enough to only care about my feelings, and not the hearts of all the people down below us?”

“look!” she yells, “i’ve told you before, i didn’t have a choice! i had to take this position or who knows what the government would do to my family! did you never listen to anything i said? any of the comments about how corrupted my planet is? and you think you’re not narcissistic..”

your mouth opens to defend yourself, but you realize you don’t have a response. you do remember all those things she’s said to you. you remember every single moment. you had prepared yourself to treasure them once the two of you settled down together, two hopeless romantics. it seems that image was just conjured up the hopeful thoughts of your mind.

leave, your brain says. you listen, turning away from yeojin, powering towards the door. 

you know it’s a bad choice. walking headfirst into what could be a battlefield is incredibly dumb, but at this point you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

you couldn’t be near her. it was too much. 

you couldn’t say hurtful words to her, burning through the ties of your relationship that you’ve loved so much, and can’t have taken away.

yeojin seems to regret her words, and quickly steps in front of you, grabbing your arm, “wait, y/n, please, it’s dangerous out there.”

her words aren’t laced with sarcasm or mockery, as if she was calling you weak. you want her to be mean and insult you. maybe then you could hate her.

you still let go of her. ripping your arm away from her protective grip, you storm out of the door. she tries to follow, but you break into a run. today’s leg day it seems.

luckily, the corridor hasn’t been turned into a war yet, and you sprint down it, following the sound of gunshots.

you know the violence will give you cover; yeojin can’t go racing through open fire and survive, she would be an idiot to do so.

rounding the corner, footsteps pounding against the ground, echoing throughout the hallway, you catch sight of red fire.

only a few moments ago, you wanted to run away from the same explosions, but now, you seek their loud blasts and comforting smoke.

everything feels surreal. you push your legs to go faster, powering toward danger. 

you reach the room, which you realize must be the hanger, and slide behind a crate that has been partly blown up by gunfire. you pray that yeojin doesn’t see you, and has enough common sense to not follow you here.

however, you catch sight of her, she’s made it to the entrance of the hanger. you can barely make out her figure, the blasts of bullets and grenades obstructing your vision and making your eyes tear up.

pulling your eyes away from her, you look at the ground next to you.

a lifeless face looks up at you. the right side of it is so messed up it doesn’t even look lunar. the eye is bulging out, sitting off center. a bullet wound cuts through the neck, leaving a gaping hole. the whole face is ashen, covered in smoke and blood. 

you can’t even scream.

you sit there, paralyzed, staring at your fellow comrade. the one who said they were going to be the one to protect you.

this could have happened to you. when that grenade went off and you blacked out, that was a lucky chance. you should be dead right now.

you tear your eyes away from it, the image burning in your mind.

staring across the hanger to yeojin, you realize she’s gone. for some reason, you feel an urgent need to find her. desperation overtakes you. something is happening to her. you can’t place what it is, but you have an aching, pulsing, screaming, crying, guilty feeling in your gut.

your eyes searching frantically through through the smoke around you, you see her.

see her get shot.

it doesn’t happen in slow motion like you hear about in books or stories.

it’s more of a blur. you don’t see the bullet, or when it hits her. you just see yeojin fall to the ground, mouth opening and making a noise you can’t hear. 

red clouds your vision. you don’t know if it’s blood or anger.

forgetting all sense of self preservation, you race over to yeojin. 

somehow, the bullets flying around you seem to miss your tall, slender lunar body and you make it yeojin, and fall to your knees in front of her.

all past regrets and resentment are gone. all you know, all you need, is for yeojin to live through this, and stay with you.

leaning down over her form, you see the wound. it’s a gaping, crimson hole in her side, gushing blood.

ripping apart your shirt like all the cool heroes in the movies you saw as a child, you push it up against her, temporarily stopping the blood flow.

it starts bleeding through within seconds. she’s already unconscious. you don’t want that to escalate. but there’s nothing you can do. she’ll be gone within seconds. gone forever.

and you’ll never see her contagious smile again. or her cackling laugh. or the pitch of her voice raise at the end of her sentence whenever she teases you. or her unreadable resting face.

she’ll just be another body. another number, lost to endless, depressing data.

you’re sobbing at this point. taking her head and resting it in your lap, you can’t stop the tears. you stroke her hair, reveling in its coarse strands. they soon become wet with your tears.

you don’t bother checking her pulse; you’re too scared too. she’s breathing, but for how long?

the salt from your sorrows streams toward the open wound. you feel bad, knowing how salt hurts flesh, and move to stop them, hands shaking.

but something curious happens.

the tears don’t seem to hurt yeojin. they seem to help her.

the small bit of flesh inside the wound that your tears touched is not red anymore, it’s the color of her skin. it is skin, you realize.

your weeping is healing her.

and that’s when it hits you. your from neptune. where some people’s tears are known to heal others. you fucking bimbo. 

you have saved others before?! on the playground, when your best friend skinned their knee, you cried for her, testing your powers out. and another time, when you’d broken your leg trying to open the fridge and was too embarrassed to admit this to your parents. and countless more

and you hadn’t even thought about it now, when you’re in dire need.

panicking now, practically stabbing your tears to make them well up again, and scraping the past sobs from her head and pushing them at her wound.

you’re busy with this, working the fasted you’ve worked in years. you’re useful for once. you like saving lives.

you don’t look at yeojin’s face, still afraid to see it unmoving and ghastly gray. 

however, it is the exact opposite.

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

yeojin’s eyes flutter open after feeling nurse-like hands stroke frantically against her forehead, arms, and side.

she’s delirious for a moments, and doesn’t know where, what, who, why, or when is going on.

when she finally comes to her sense after a few minutes of blinking, she still thinks she’s gone crazy.

it’s you, the one who has run away from her countless times. you, who she thought was never going to come back. you, who she supposed was going to go back to her lonely life and never be seen again. you, who she guessed couldn’t care less if she was gone. 

and she calls out for you, her voice a scratchy whisper.

you turn to her, wide eyes glistening, face wrinkled in pain and exertion, beautiful, messy hair framing your soft face. 

your features light up, all of them turning up and making her cracked, dry skin brighten in return.

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

you can’t believe it. she’s alive. when you thought all hope was lost, even if your sorrow somehow created life, a miracle happened.

squealing her name, and cupping her face in your hands, you bend over her and place a sloppy, ecstatic kiss on her forehead. her beautiful lips are parted in a smile that hurts you deep down, knowing that you almost lost it.

and that’s when you know.

and you can’t wait any longer. you need to have her, now and forever.

you repeat what did a few moments ago, except this time on her lips. you lean over her, pressing your chest up against hers, clasping her cheeks in one of your hands, the other reaching around to brush against the back of her neck, and push your lips up against hers.

you’ve never done this before, yet it feels perfect. feels so right, despite everything that’s happened. 

and as your desperately engulf each other, never wanting to let go, as fire burns in the background, as others fall around you, you confess, “i love you.”

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

masterlist ~ previous

#femifics #loona #im yeojin #loona imagines #loona fluff #loona angst #loona reactions #loona scenarios #loona x reader #yeojin x reader

[sigritandtheelves]

Hi!! I’m the anon that has bothered you about Simple before. I definitely have not forgotten about, but no pressure! Whenever you choose to gift us with the next chapter is great!!!

I’ve had this message for so long… thank you anon, and I’m sorry this took so long, but here you go. 💛

Simple

Chapter 5

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

PG-13 | 2k wds | pre-XF AU | MSR, Melissa/Samantha

A/N: I’m not sure if taking a break helped my writing at all—it still felt like pulling teeth to get any words on the page, but I did put them there, so… here? Sorry.

—

January, 1990 - Stanford

She was down to the wire now, and the pressure was on. Surrounded by books, diagrams, and piles of notes in a cocoon of preparation for her second licensing exam, Dana had barely made time to eat for weeks. Studying was both necessary and the only thing keeping her mind off of the deep, lonely ache inside her. In bed at night, she oscillated between feeling crushed by the weight of the uncertain future, which seemed to press her down into the mattress… and the light fluttering of hope, the pulse of joy and desire when she thought of Fox Mulder. She imagined him as he’d been on that last morning, touching her face, his eyes searching hers, the solid feel of his hips between her knees. Her mind was a storm of medical facts and the interrupting image of his face in her memory, lowering to touch his lips to hers as he made love to her on her sister’s guest bed.

Then, inevitably, she would think of the residencies she might be offered in St. Louis or Albany. She thought of the fact that long-distance relationships rarely worked out, in the end. She thought of Fox getting tired of late-night phone calls, and of all the other women who were right there in D.C. already. She thought of Daniel, who had found her twice now at the hospital, pulled her into an alcove, and dropped less than subtle hints that he thought she should stay with him.

(“You’re a brilliant doctor, Dana. Just imagine what it could be like, the two of us.”)

She’d been firm, but he’d dogged her about why, and she couldn’t answer. She thought of his teenage daughter, of his wife who’d done nothing to deserve this, of the sharp jealousy she’d heard in his voice the day she’d broken things off. (“Is there someone else?”)

“Damnit,” Dana mumbled when she caught a mistake in her work. She erased, blew away the pink-gray shavings, scribbled another string of names and symbols. She appreciated the clarity of the answers on these tests: there was right and wrong, true and false. Nothing like the foggy, dark path toward her future, which she could not see.

It was past four in the afternoon when the phone rang—she’d been hovering over her coffee table working on her notes the whole day, and the low-hanging sun through the kitchen window surprised her with the hour.

“Hello?” She answered.

“Ah, there you are.” Fox’s voice, like a cool breeze cutting through humid air, made her smile. “I thought maybe I’d imagined you.”

“I’m here,” she said, nearly breathless with the pulses of joy the sound of him brought her. “And you? Are you real?”

“I’m real. Lonely, but real. You okay?”

She hesitated a moment. “Yes. Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Hmm.”

“What about you? How’s that strange case you’re working on?”

“It’s fascinating. I wish I could get your opinion on some of these medical files, but I’m not sure how this other agent would feel about outside opinions. She’s kind of territorial about her work.”

“Oh.” Dana turned that sentence around in her mind several times. Territorial. She. “But it’s, um, it’s going well? Your new, ah… arrangement?”

“Yeah. It’s good. I can’t wait until I can tell you more about it. Speaking of which, I may not be able to call for a few days. We’ll be out in the field. Out of town, I mean, for the case.”

Dana swallowed and sat down on her kitchen chair. “Oh,” she said again. “Where will you be?”

“Ohio. Near Columbus.” There was another pause where she could hear him thinking, even as the image of him on the road with this other woman elbowed its way into her mind: on a plane, in a rental car, face to face over a table at some diner in some small town, in a motel room… “Dana,” his voice was a gentle interruption. “Are you really okay?”

She wanted to tell him that she was fine. It was silly, she thought: there was nothing to be done right now, and worrying could only make things worse. But the soft tug of his voice, the concern at its edges, made her want to confess. “I’m so scared,” she whispered.

He was quiet a moment. His voice, when it came across the line, was so soft she barely heard it. “Scared about what, Dana? About us?”

She squeezed the phone cord, wrapped its loops so tight around her index finger that her skin turned red. “About the future,” she said. “And yes. About us. I mean, is there an us? What will happen if I get placed in Reno or Boston? Won’t you get tired of this?”

She heard his deep breath over the line, heard the rustle of him changing positions. “Are you tired of it?”

“No!” She said, perhaps too quickly. “No. But you have another kind of life. You must want something more than whatever this is.”

“Dana, what I do… It takes a lot out of me. You haven’t seen that part of it yet, but it’s hard. I’m a mess most of the time. And Sam, she’s pretty good at pulling me out of it, but the thing is…“ he took another deep breath. “Since I met you, you’re the only thing that makes it better. Remembering you. Thinking of you. So no. I’m not going to get tired of it. Even if I only see you twice a year, I’m not going to get tired of it.”

Dana’s face was hot—she could feel its flush. Her heart hurt. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he said. “So if you want there to be an us, there’s an us. At least until you get tired of me.”

She imagined him broken after a case, unshaven and rumpled with those sad eyes looking at her. She imagined how she would hold him, kiss his eyelids, let him cry if he needed to. She imagined a lab where she might work, where he’d call her in the middle of the day, excited to tell her some impossible thing. She imagined a world where they fit together like this—complimentary. Interlocking. Seamless.

“I do,” she said. “Want it, I mean. I think—yes. I want it very much.” Her flush of affection was so surprising and strong, she’d almost said she thought she loved him. Too soon, she thought. I can’t possibly. But somewhere inside her, she knew that she did.

“That’s good. Then we’re an us. And the next time I see you, I’m going to show you what a good us we are. With wine and maybe some dancing and a kiss so long and slow you’ll forget your own name.”

“Oh god,” she said, glad she was sitting down.

“Yeah,” he said. “With some of that too.”

Then she was laughing and missing him so hard she felt it in her bones.

—

January, 1990 - Ohio

“Agent Mulder, tell me more about yourself. Why did you join the FBI?”

Agent Fowley drove the rental across a flat suburbia. They were outside of Columbus, now, heading to the site of three unexplained deaths. Fox fidgeted with the map in the passenger seat, aware of his new partner’s curious energy.

“I was recruited out of my PhD program,” he said. “I showed an aptitude for behavioral science, and I enjoy the work. Profiling, I mean. It’s like puzzles, only when you get it right, you save people’s lives.”

She nodded, with a half-smile that said she understood. “No power fantasies, then? No grand heroic ambitions?”

He smirked. “No.”

“That’s good,” she said. “I’ve known enough men in the Bureau like that. Not married?”

He cleared his throat. “Ah, no. Not married.”

“Hmm. Me neither.”

He watched her drive, svelte in her black suit and carefully adorned with understated but expensive jewelry. She carried herself well, shot daggers with her looks when she felt disrespected (a fact he’d learned while visiting the Arlington PD with her last week), and she missed nothing in the case reports. She was intimidating as hell, but she seemed kind at the same time. Kind in the eyes, and in the way she angled herself to listen.

Unless that was flirting. God, he was bad at this. As clever as he was at profiling, Fox had always had a terrible time discerning for sure if a woman was flirting with him or just being nice. With Dana it had been different, a kind of immediate magnetism that made every glance and word and gesture feel charged. It hadn’t been deliberate or game-like at all. He thought of Dana’s frank curiosity, her sharp confidence in her work that softened into subtle apprehension about him—about them. Because they were a them now. She was maybe even sort of his, and this realization warmed a place low in his abdomen. He could flirt freely with Dana just by being himself. But he would need to be careful around this other woman.

Hard-frozen and empty soybean fields appeared around them, gray and frostbitten, as they passed beyond suburbia. The fields then gave way to strip malls that dotted the lazy, rolling hills outside their small-town destination. He and Agent Fowley dropped their things in two adjoining motel rooms, then met at the diner across the street to go over their case notes. She was all business, strategizing the order of their interviews and examinations—except when she ordered a slice of pie with a guilty smile. “Just this once,” she said, offering, for the first time, a hesitant vulnerability. She offered some of the pie as well, but he declined.

Later, in a farmer’s small kitchen, she wielded questions like knives. while he collected careful observations. They worked well together, a harmony between studious and persistent. By ten, they were back at the motel with more interviews planned for tomorrow. “You were good out there today,” she told him. “Insightful. I wouldn’t have picked up on that thing with the pen.”

He shrugged. “I’m sure you’d have figured it out.”

Her eyes lingered, perhaps just a little too long as she fiddled with the key to her room. “Well,” she said, and now her voice was husky, just a tad playful. “Good night.”

He swallowed hard and wasted no time with his own key. “G’night,” he said.

In his room, he double checked that the adjoining door was locked and dropped onto his bed, face first into his pillow. It was definitely flirting, and that was bad. Bad news bears. The Danger Zone. He was terrible at rejection, miserable at letting women down easy, probably because he’d so seldom had to do it. He was usually the one undergoing the rejection. In some other time, some other version of the world, he knew this would play out differently. A weaker version of himself would give in, would fall toward her like a desperate lost animal until she grew tired of him and left.

But he had Dana now, and just the thought of her made him feel strong. He remembered the feel of her pajamas under his hands while they slept on the couch, how she’d come down the stairs in soft flannel, nervous at first, like he might change his mind when he saw her. But when they looked at each other across the living room, her socked feet quiet on the carpet, it was as if the tumblers of a great lock clicked into place and they were just them again. They watched A Christmas Carol on TV with her head on his chest, like they’d known each other a thousand years. He needed her now (needed her always), so he drew on the strength he’d found with her that night.

In the morning, Fowley drove again. “Is it a left up here?”

He checked the map. “The second one.”

“Agent Mulder,” she said. “Can I call you Fox?”

“Um.” He cleared his throat. “I, ah… I’d like to keep this professional. If that’s alright with you.”

“Of course,” she said, stiffer now, sitting upright in the driver’s seat. “I just wanted to say thank you. For taking time out of your work in BSU to do this, I mean.” She put on her blinker and made the turn. “Agent Mulder.”

He nodded, and they were silent for the rest of the drive.

Three days later they were on their way back to D.C. When Fox got home, he put in a request for two days off (a long weekend) and booked a Thursday morning flight to California.

—end chapter five—

go to chapter six

#a thing i wrote #simple #chapter 5 #i can't promise it's good...

[kazhewbrekker]

vilify me - chapter 5

it’s finally done ! thank you all for patiently waiting.

(AO3 Link) (Chapter 1) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3) (Chapter 4)

“When I said I wanted to shower with you this wasn’t what I meant.” Warner snorted from beyond the glass wall that separated us. I was currently curled up against the tiled floor of our shower, my knees hugged into my chest, with warm water splashing in my face like a hurricane. I’d had better late nights. In fact, if I really put my mind to it, I could think of plenty of ways I’d rather be spending the evening with my partner in crime.

“Not right now,” Warner answered and a pout tugged at my lips. Damn telepathy. “Just focus on relaxing, love.”

“Easier said than done. Emma practically waltzed in here, told me I was as good as dead, and then demanded I return with her to the place of my future execution.”

I could hear his disapproval. “You’re not going to die, Ella.”

“What makes you so sure?”

A part of me wished I asked sarcastically, but genuine fear crept into my voice. I needed my pillar of strength. I needed the Warner that had always held my hand when the panic seemed to rise like a wave over my subconscious. He was so utterly confident. That confidence was something I lacked and desperately needed.

“Project Canary is still in testing,” he began. I closed my eyes and listened to the timber of his voice bounce off the walls. “Which means your mother won’t use it on you until she’s absolutely certain it will work. I’d guess Emmaline wants to take you back to Oceania in order to test Canary herself.”

“You guess?”

I heard a lick of a smile, “I know. Emmaline wants to confirm your mother’s experiment in order to find the best way to counteract it.”

Emmaline was strong. Her ability far outclassed my own in almost every field, it was why mother had always preferred to work with her while I was thrown into the military. A new type of weapon for them to play with. But if Emmaline was right, Canary might become useless, there was the possibility that Emmaline’s psychokinesis was powerful enough to destroy the kind of machinery that would make Unnatural abilities null.

“It’s a risk.” Warner confirmed my own thoughts, “Not one I’d take.”

I ran a hand through my hair. My fingers caught on the ends.

“What’s our alternative? We’re running out of time, Aaron, and it’s not like I can hide forever.”

“We wait.” I opened my mouth to disagree, but he cut me off. “Listen to me. Emmaline has the right idea. The best possible outcome is that we can disable the effects of Canary before you get hurt. But, we have to play this smart, we don’t have all the information and until we do there’s a higher chance of failure.”

“I never thought I’d see the day where you agree with Emma.”

In a different situation, I would laugh at how my comment soured his mood. “Hilarious.”

Under the shower spray everything looks so simple. I could imagine for a minute that I wasn’t some kind of genetic experiment gone wrong. One that had to be controlled. In the presence of Warner, I could be a normal girl. Just another person with ten fingers and ten toes. Except, things could never be that easy or that simple. I was a mutant. I did have a power so destructive that occasionally even I couldn’t control it. But none of that mattered, what was at stake here was my freedom. My life.

I sighed and stood up from the tile. Twisting the shower hand off, I leaned against the glass door and opened it a crack. I peeked out at Warner, who was leaned against the counter opposite of me. He looked content, the smallest of smiles on his face, but I knew him better than that. I could see the clench in his jaw from thinking too hard. I could see the worry in his eyes when he met mine. I held out a waiting hand.

“Towel, please?”

He reached behind him on the counter and held out a towel for me, I nodded in thanks before closing the shower door again and sagging against it.

“You can stay here as long as you’d like, love.” I could hear the weariness, how he was agonizing over my own dilemma. It was moments like this where I felt I didn’t deserve him. I sighed and wrapped the towel around myself before exiting the shower.

Standing with a towel wrapped around chest, I observed him. Warner was still in partial business attire, his collared shirt was unbuttoned on the top and the only article of clothing he’d removed was his dress shoes when we’d enter the bedroom. He’d been too preoccupied with throwing me under the hot water after my breakdown in the dining room to dress down. It had been too long it seemed to me since we’d had an honest heart to heart. Warner crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes never leaving my face, as I moved closer to him. Close enough that I could feel his body heat.

“So, we wait.”

He nodded as I placed my hands on his chest.

We had been in a bubble for a few weeks, so long in fact that I had forgotten the fluctuation of his abilities. Having Emmaline appear and push his buttons, as well as mine, had brought them to the forefront. So, now when I touched him it was like the walls glowed. I was aware that most people couldn’t visualize Warner’s emotional manipulation like I could. The difference was I visualized everything when it came to my own ability, it helped me keep track of what was reality and what was fiction. I wasn’t even sure that Warner could see the effects of his power. It didn’t matter, for now I could enjoy the slow falling of his breath and how all the puzzle pieces fit back together.

Warner leaned down to press his forehead to the crook of my neck, one of my hands came up to cradle his head, and just like that we were wrapped around each other. His arms winding around my waist and holding me closer, my remaining palm still pressed against his heart, tightly between us. There was no fear, Warner only wished to hold me closer, hold me together. I kissed his temple lightly before blowing air against the shell of his ear.

He pinched my waist.

“It feels like we haven’t had a moment to ourselves in awhile.”

Warner kissed the side of my neck, “What about the past two weeks.”

“Not long enough,” I laughed. “No, a true quiet moment is when I get you all to myself for at least…”

He leaned back to watch my face with assessing eyes, eyes that could read me like a business report. My hand fell down to his cheek, which he leaned into without a second thought and a sigh left my lips.

“At least?” He prompted.

“I want a year.”

He blinked in surprise, but a grin slowly formed over his face. Before I could elaborate he swooped down and pressed his lips to mine. I melted into the sensation as it drifted to the corner of my mouth, then swiftly soft pinpricks on my cheeks, my chin, my nose. I was under the spell of Warner’s own brand of adoration. Something I would gladly drown in.

“Only one year?” He finally asked.

“If I could have every year for the rest of my life be a quiet moment with you,” I gasped as his lips resumed contact. Only leaving to question the end of my sentence. "—I would. I want to. Forever.”

“That’s reassuring.”

I felt like floating. Like flying. My laugh bubbled out of my chest and I had no power, no want, to restrain the urge. I flung my other arm over his shoulder as his hands traveled down to my thighs, lifting me with ease and settling me against him. I had forgotten my current attire was a poorly tied towel around my chest and watched it fall to the floor.

“Whoops,”

Warner tilted his head back, in another life I might have thought him to be praying, but the smile never left his face. Or his eyes. His attention never left me after that, whatever strength he’d wished for he had been granted. As he whispered promises into my skin, “We will have forever.” And I believed him.

I was falling apart. In the good way. In the really good way.

Warner’s hands pressed to either sides of my hips, barely grazing the skin as he kissed his way down my neck. I tried not to focus too intensely on the feeling of him above me. Of the delicious press of his weight on the rest of my body. How I wished I could stay here forever, die beneath him.

“Ella,” his voice tingled on my skin. There was something dark and breathless about it that left me with an ache between my legs. An ache that I immediately pushed far, far away from my mind. “Ella, stop thinking.”

I bit my lip and chanced opening my eyes.

My cheeks flushed. Warner looked down on me, meeting my eyes with ease, and I could look nowhere but at him. His kiss-bitten lips, the shining of his eyes, how even without a smile he seemed to be glowing. Oh God, and his hair. If Warner could see the state of his appearance I’d wonder if he would be upset at the disheveledness or impressed because it had been done by me. That’s my affect. The effect I have on him.

“Can’t help it.”

Warner hummed, dropping a kiss to my sternum. “Why’s that?”

I was still wearing a tank top and one of my numerous pairs of shorts. For all intents and purposes, I was in decent attire. Why then, did it feel as if I was in the most revealing outfit on the planet? Suddenly, the insistence of my skin being shown as much as possible by the Reestablishment had a new perk. One that didn’t involve untimely death.

I heard a groan and decided to ignore it.

With my current outfits for professional use, much like the one I was currently wearing, that meant that Warner would have this much access to my skin at all times and able to do the things he was currently doing, with his mouth, at any time—

“I’ll stop.” He sat up.

I grabbed his arm and tried to pull him back down. Now I was use to his heat, this special brand of heat. “No,” I whined, “please. Stay.”

Warner gave in easily, settling back into his previous position, but there was skepticism on his face. “Are you sure you want to keep going? Ella, if you’re uncomfortable—”

“I’m not. I promise.” Though I wasn’t doing much to prove otherwise. “I’m just trying not to… y'know.”

“The entire reason I asked you in the first place is because I don’t know.” He said, blankly.

I fidgeted with my hands for a moment before clasping them behind his head, the wisps of hair that had fallen out of place on his neck tickled my skin. I tried to focus on that, something steadying, and when it didn’t work, I moved to the sounds of our breathing. How we almost shared one set of lungs. I could feel his breath on my lips as he tried to calm down. I felt his hand cup the side of my face, his thumb caressing circles onto my cheek before settling on my bottom lip.

“I don’t want to rush you,”

“You aren’t.” I said.

Warner shook his head. “I don’t want you to think that we have to, that you have to.”

I didn’t know what to say. What could I say to that? Here he was, thinking that I didn’t want him, as if there was ever a universe where I wouldn’t want him. And I was being overwhelmed by the smallest of things. Yes, maybe I’d never touched another person the way I touched him. But what did that mean really? These were new experiences I was sharing with him and only him, only him ever, and I couldn’t let anything ruin that. Not for us.

I met his eyes, finally, after avoiding them for so long. “You’re not rushing, I’m not uncomfortable, I like this. I like us, you. It’s just different.”

“Different how?”

“You hold my hand and hug me, but for years that’s been all the physical contact I’ve ever gotten. And now, right now,” I swallowed, “I want you to touch me everywhere. All the places no one ever has before.”

I could feel my cheeks burn and the soothing cool that was his hand as it continued to hold my face. And I watched as the look in Warner’s eyes shifted again from something calm to anything but. He looked devastating. A million faces, a million lives we’d led together and I had never seen the intensity of this expression grace his face. It wasn’t like fire, as his eyes darken to the point where the edges of green were almost unnoticeable, it was like ice. Harsh and frostbitten as he pressed his lips to mine again.

Warner cancelled whatever meetings were being held today. I had insisted against needing any form of moral support, but he had insisted that it wasn’t everyday he got to see Emmaline actually fight. I wasn’t stupid, Warner had trained with her alongside the other Supremes’ children, he didn’t need anymore time to assess Emmaline’s skill set. And we didn’t spar often, of anyone I was at the most disadvantage.

Maybe that was why I took my time getting ready.

When fighting against anyone that wasn’t Warner, there was a very particular outfit that I had to wear. The reasoning being that often when challenges requiring physical power had a way of setting off my ability and if I was engaging in hand-to-hand combat with my sister, I wouldn’t want to see the result of my power being used on her. So, I wore a kind of wetsuit that covered everything from my neck to my fingers, it was tight and breathable and created with my exact measurements in mind. The Reestablishment had had nothing to do with this creation, it was entirely Emmaline’s design and gift. If it could be called that.

She hadn’t been all that pleased to know Warner was teaching me how to fight. But she got over it.

It turned out, after careful assessment, that my ability was linked more to the physical self then Emmaline’s, which tended to lean towards the mental prowess. I was thankful for that realization and even more so as the distinction grew stronger. Our abilities, while alike in sheer power, were not the same even on a scientific level. I sometimes wondered if our mother knew and then realized that of course she did. She just wouldn’t have ever told us.

Emmaline knocked on the bedroom door at 6:30 exactly, much too early for my taste, and gave a once over to my attire before promptly calling the elevator down to the training room. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be offended at how she dismissed me. I settled for disinterested.

I was more acquainted with Warner’s training rooms then she was, but that didn’t stop Emmaline. She walked to the center of the padded area in the middle of the room. It gave enough support to be acceptable for practicing combat, while also not being so soft that hitting the ground wouldn’t debilitate you. Well, debilitate some people, I didn’t really need to worry about anything other than damaging the floor. I followed her movements and stood on the other side of the makeshift ring. Emmaline tilted her head to watch me and I steeled myself against her. My telepath of an older sister was like something akin to a predator.

“Rules?” Warner said, in my peripheral I watched him circle us before settling in the middle, off to the side with his arms crossed.

Emmaline smiled for the first time this morning. “Standard. Though,” I felt a chill. “I’d like to make you a deal, how’s about it?”

“No.”

She clicked her tongue, I couldn’t tell if her irritation was fake or not. I was too concerned with her movements. Surely my sister wouldn’t attack me before Warner had even called for us to start. But her smile deepened, and the lips usually coated in a ruby red shimmer, looked deadly under the fluorescent lights of the training room. I rolled back my shoulders and settled on the balls of my feet.

“If I win—”

I snapped at her, “I already said no, Emma.”

“If I win,” she repeated stronger this time, “you’ll come with me. We’ll face Mum’s experimentation together like it was meant to be. And then with Canary out of the way, you’ll be free to continue torturing and killing as you please.”

She had to be joking.

Warner met my eyes for barely a second and that was all it took to know. Emmaline was serious, that was her plan for dealing with Project Canary, something that our parents had had on the back burner for a least seven years now. Did she have so little faith in our mother’s ability to create a counteractive to our abilities? Perhaps she really didn’t care, not about me, not about what this would mean to me. Just what it would mean to her.

“Call me selfish all you’d like,”

“I will.” I said.

Her grin didn’t falter. “Make your proposition then, I don’t have all day.”

I considered her, something I could only ask of Emmaline. It was true that the opportunity to be granted a favor by my sister did not come around often. Usually, if she did help me, it was with methods that I didn’t agree with and completely without my knowledge.

What would it mean to finally have something I asked for? And what would be worth putting my life on the line like it was now? I watched my sister’s eyes, mirror images of my own, reflecting my own thoughts back to me. The second I decided, she would know. She was in my head. The least comforting of thoughts.

“Clock’s ticking, Els.”

I bent my knees and released a breath of air I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. My lungs had started to burn. “How about this—”

Emmaline was already shaking her head, but I wasn’t looking for her reaction. Even from a distance I could see Warner’s eyes shining with the same kind of determination I felt boiling beneath my skin. Like we were connected, two beings entirely one and the same. “Good idea,” was all he said. I couldn’t help but agree.

“If I’m going to be sacrificing my safety it’s only fair.”

Emmaline scoffed. “You’ll be perfectly fine. It isn’t my fault if your psyche is so fragile that the thought of being powerless for a second is so terrifying that you’ll piss yourself. I would’ve thought Anderson raised you better than that, huh?”

Low blow. I clenched my teeth, “You’re the one that wanted a deal. Besides, all I want is an IOU, one free favor whenever I please. That isn’t that far off from what I’d be doing for you is it?”

She considered this, shifting her weight from leg to leg. I knew it was an act. Emmaline rarely changed her mind after it had already been made up. But as was the nature of her ability, she could see multiple steps ahead of every person in the room. Even Warner, who could copy her telepathy like a mirror image, didn’t have the practice it took to completely structure every possibility in seconds like Emmaline could. I only knew she could do this because we had once been children. We had once shared everything with each other.

“A favor if you win, a favor if I win.” She nodded to herself and adjusted the gloves on her hands. “Fine.”

“It’s agreed then?” Warner said.

If I wasn’t so on edge I would’ve smiled, but instead I just said, “If you’re done then I’m ready to kick your ass.���

Emmaline winked before dropping into a similar position, except her body was slanted to the side. I recognized it as the style Nazeera favored. I had less experience fighting with Nazeera then I did with Emmaline and I could tell that without picking my brain, my sister had known this. But it didn’t matter, Emmaline was a strong opponent, but I was built for battle. I was a weapon, through and through. Dangerous. Lethal.

“I’ll call it.” Warner said from the sideline, “Best two out of three.”

The room crackled as I felt the frequencies pick up on our bodies tensing. I knew that Emmaline could feel the currents, sometimes even hear them, but she couldn’t see them like I could. If I really focused. There was a winding band around my sister that spanned the entire room and beyond. Anywhere her power had touched the frequencies would linger like a cat lounging in the sun. Even Warner’s own ability hung in the air like a banner, same as my own. The three brushed against each other, making the large room look that much smaller. But I couldn’t afford to be overwhelmed. Or else mother dearest would take all this away. The way I perceived the world. The shield that had kept me protected from the Reestablishment’s worst attacks.

“Start.”

We had never been similar, but in this second, Emmaline felt like an echo of myself. Maybe we weren’t twins, but I wouldn’t believe it far off that our souls were. Cut from the same cloth. Foils.

She sprung forward at the same moment as me. Our forearms collided and the frequencies sparked, irritated from the lack of contact. My powers pulsed from beneath clothing. I repressed it, swiftly. The last thing I needed was Emmaline calling forfeit because I had cheated. Her leg spun out and knocked my shin, but with a twist I threw myself to the other end of the mat. Emmaline circled me like a lion. I didn’t give her time to pounce, pushing myself back to my full height and striking out with a well-timed punch that brushed her cheek but didn’t make contact and another that she ducked beneath.

Emmaline turned to the side and with a sharp jab, hit me between the lungs.

The punch didn’t register. I let out a breath and felt my body collect the pressure and dissipate it. Emmaline narrowed her eyes and dodged backwards, out of range of a well-purposed kick that I flung in her direction. I wasn’t naive enough to think Emmaline couldn’t take me down even when my invincibility was active. I also didn’t put it past her to play dirty.

As we circled each other once more I made note of my mental facilities. The usual wrapping sensation that I felt when Emmaline was inside my head wasn’t present. I kept my eyes on the frequencies that I could feel hanging in the air around us, I wondered if she was keeping tabs on them as well. It would make sense, while Emmaline wasn’t nearly as sensitive to the frequencies as I am, she relied on them just as much for her ability to work properly. Which meant—

Knuckles hit my nose with bruising force.

I braced myself against the ground and swung out with my own forearm, pushing Emmaline away from my face where she’d gotten too close. As I twisted away from her, she righted herself in her starting position. One foot in front of the other with enough timing for me to knock her kick out of the way and counter by grabbing her leg and pushing her back. She fell to the mat and rolled back onto her feet.

I gritted my teeth, my powers were dulled without the connection to skin. Her hit had honestly taken me by surprise. I knew in the back of my head that Warner would be drilling that mistake into my skull for years to come.

Emmaline huffed from across from me. It was obvious at this point that we were in a stalemate. Maybe we weren’t entirely on par, I was inclined to believe that Emmaline was better at combat than I was. But with the added help of my ability there wasn’t a way for her to properly land a hit on me. Which kept her at a disadvantage and there was nothing she could do to combat that. Maybe the rules should have been better clarified. She smiled at me and my body tensed.

She crouched in a moment and her legs spun out at me, I wasn’t quick enough to stop her from tripping me, so my back slammed into the mat underneath me. Before I could climb back to my feet, my sister grabbed my legs and held me down. As she attempted to grab my torso, I used my unnatural strength to use her momentum against her, pulling us to the side. I swung my fist at her head and hit her ear that left a ringing even I could hear. Her elbow cut up against my chin as we rolled across the side of the mat.

It was almost ridiculous how we slid away from each other, crawling off our bellies and onto our knees. And then the air changed. It was like a breeze, but tinged with electricity. I reacted before Emmaline could fully warp my mind in anyway.

My hands slammed together and then into the floor, sending a wave towards her that pushed her onto her back. She sat up as I stood, her eyes wild and angry. I flexed my fingers waiting for a psychological attack. That’s why I didn’t see the metal bar falling until it crashed into me, pressing me to the floor. She was damn lucky that I was made of something stronger than steel, because the impact would have killed anyone else. I reached out a palm and sent a pole in her direction. Emmaline deflected it easily.

I couldn’t beat her in a battle of telekinesis. So I gripped the metal that held me to the floor and ripped it in too, freeing myself. She sent more objects flying, the frequencies picking up as my own spun to protect me. I stopped weights and benches in their tracks, only a few of the larger objects hit my chest with enough force to push me back a couple of inches. But nothing else sent me to the ground. She wouldn’t catch me by surprise again.

“That’s what you think.” Her voice registered too late.

Her jab was timed, as soon as I held out my hands to push back the large piece of metal she’d sent hurling at me, her fist connected with the back of my head. The pain was instant and overwhelming, it was all I could do not to crumple to the ground and admit defeat. But in the back of my mind I remembered what I had put on the line, I felt the weight of that decision resonate and fall backward with enough force to grab my sister by the waist and knock her down with me. It was a poor decision, a terrible one. My palms grasped the sides of her face and knocked the back of her skull against the mat until the collision was too much.

Her free hands, which had reached out to stop me, now held aloft. They coaxed her from my own, I could feel myself slipping as she filtered through my thoughtless head.

Emmaline’s tone was rough. “Enough, that’s enough. Are you listening, Ella?”

“Yes.” I barely managed, settling back on my knees.

Emmaline stayed on the ground. After a moment I felt her frequencies slip out of my head and settle back against her as if assessing the damage my own had done. The shame and guilt of how I’d won started to claw its way up my throat. But before I could speak, Emmaline’s hand grasped my own with a comforting squeeze. My sister, though a truly awful human being, would still love me. Even if I was a monster. Even if I was a monster to her.

“That’s enough.” She whispered, “You won. It was my fault for using telekinesis first.”

We sat in silence for a moment before Warner entered my field of vision. There wasn’t an ounce of worry on his face, but I could see through it. I didn’t have to read the frequencies or have telepathy to understand what he was thinking, feeling. I looked back to Emmaline as she finally rose. There was a breathless air about her.

“No, I’m just at fault as you.”

Emmaline raised an eyebrow. “Then who wins the bet?”

“No one does.” Warner answered.

We both looked to him as he spoke. Emmaline crossed her arms, “That complicates things.”

“No one wins.” He stepped closer, “This match was never about the bet, it was about you both trying to prove something to each other because you’re stubborn and can’t be bothered to have a civil conversation.”

Emmaline scoffed, “You’re one to talk about being stubborn.”

I looked down at my hands, blocking out the both of them, still unsettled by my own lapse in control. Two weapons of mass destruction that no sane person should be given access too. Sometimes I felt too powerful for me. Like I would destroy everything I touched, even the things I loved. But what was the alternative? Without this power I was vulnerable to the people I had wronged. And not only that but I couldn’t protect the people I needed to.

What use was I to Emmaline if I couldn’t crack the world in two.

They watched me now, listening in without really meaning too. Warner’s face dissolved into something no longer lacking in emotion, something worried almost, like he was considering picking me up and taking me far away from the thoughts that plagued me. I recalled our conversation from the night before. I turned to my sister.

“He’s right.”

She rolled her eyes, “Of course he is.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Emma. I hate that.” I said. “I won’t go with you and you don’t owe me anything. We’re even, now you can go home and start scheming.”

Emmaline stretched her arms above her head, trying to look at ease but the tension in her muscles settled. Her nonchalance was exhausting. Why couldn’t we just be honest with each other for once? I knew why, this was a competition. It always was between us. Who would break first.

“Is that what you think I do? Scheme?” She said, finally.

“Am I wrong?”

She considered this before shrugging. “Not really.” Then she walked off the mat to find her water bottle.

I only realized she was giving me a minute to collect myself when Warner appeared behind me, his hand wrapped around my elbow, drawing my attention back to him. Most of the worry that fluttered around him had shifted away, but there was the ghost of it in the back of his mind. I could tell from the flicker in his eyes, the shape of his shoulders heaved over slightly. He really did have fantastic posture.

“Yes?” I prompted.

He shook his head and brought a hand up to run his fingers through my hair. I cringed, not from the contact, but because I was sure to be drenched in a sheen of sweat. My hair would not have survived. He noticed and dropped his hand, palm up so I could take it in my own. I did, and gave it a squeeze before looking back to my sister who was pointedly ignoring us.

I bit my lip. “When are you leaving?”

“Now,” she said. Then amended, “Whenever I want to.”

“So, now, then?”

Emmaline collected her things and walked back over to us. Just like Warner, she never did anything by halves. It was always with purpose. “Better now then later, yeah? Nothing’s going to get done the longer I wait.”

“That sounded like you’re pointing a finger at me.”

“You’ve never been good at fulfilling tasks,” my chest tightened. “That’s not news to anyone. Just make sure Anderson never catches on that you use your work time for less productive habits.” She looked pointedly at Warner, who stayed collected somehow as she breezed past us.

“I’ll call you.” I watch as she gets in the elevator. Her face is blank and emotionless. She’s feeling too much, nothing at all, even Warner seems to zero in on her. “Fly safe.”

“Don’t bother. If something happens you’ll see me again soon.”

And then she’s gone. Granted, she’s still in the building, but she’s already making plans hundreds of thousands of miles away. I’d forgotten how easily Emmaline walks in and out of my life like she’s a supporting character and not one of the most important people to me. We never even got to have a conversation. The air goes sour.

“You could still catch her.” Warner tells me gently.

“And what would that do?” I shook my head. “Emma doesn’t do heartfelt conversations. We both know that.”

“She would if you asked.”

I looked back at him, try not to focus on how empty the room is without her. “Aaron, no.”

He understands, because of course he does. He can read my heart easier than I can, so he folds me into his arms. And instead of thinking about how my sweat is bleeding into his dress shirt, all I can think about is how I’m relieved.

For a moment, she was going to win. I could tell that I was on my last legs. If she’d broken me down I would be on the plane with her. Flying off to be placed neatly in the manicured hands of my mother. The closest woman in the world to the Devil. She was going to rip me apart the next time she saw me. I knew that for a fact. With Canary, she might actually manage to.

“She won’t touch you.”

I pulled away just enough to give him a tired smile. “No, she won’t.”

#shatter me #unravel me #ignite me #juliette ferrars #aaron warner #restore me #defy me #kenji kishimoto #emmaline sommers #ella sommers #tahereh mafi #shatter me trilogy #shatter me fanfiction #vilify me #my writing #I AM ALIVE #ive been working on this chapter for so long I feel like dying #I hope to god there's no mistakes #I also wanted to add more but ?? #it was getting long and I was getting tired #so next time #okay

[setfreeexcerpts]

Chapter 26

Spurring On Our Death

_________________________________________

Though certainly not a prerequisite, lest we put God in a box, it seems that the more deeply spiritual, operational incisions initiated by the Holy Spirit coincide with times when one has been veritably leashed (sometimes physically, whether through injury, searing crisis or otherwise) to such foreign practices as stillness, silence, and sincere meditation on the Truths of God and His Word.

For our part, we label these times as “interruptions to our productivity.” For the Spirit’s part, He labels them as opportunity.

Oh, Christian friend, it is in such times our loving and gracious God is giving us a painful pause intended to spur on our death. And more often than not, we hate every minute of it.

All we can do is think about what isn’t getting done. “Lord,” we say, “what duties should I be carrying out right now which I am incapable of doing because of this cursed stillness?” All the while, the week, month or quarter year of relative incapacitation ticks away, pregnant with God’s purpose for us, and…we miss it.

The One who gave his life to gain relationship with us is stilling us and calling our name–but we cannot hear him because we are too concerned with our self-importance. The ears of our heart and soul are stopped up with the temporal. And we fail the test.

I can nearly see all of heaven, from the angels pausing from their work to our great cloud of witnesses, holding their collective breath when we are stricken with such times of what we call “unproductive stillness”– and we fail to recognize that it was a time divinely ordered for our becoming into Christ.

Your time of involuntary stillness may not be as incapacitating as was Dr. Rich Edwards’, but if gifted with such, I pray the outcome will be comparable. In his book, Not a Fan, Kyle Idleman tells this man’s story. I’d like to recount it here.

On February 10th, 2006, I was in control of my life and I liked the direction things were going. I had a thriving chiropractic practice, two sons and a devoted wife. On February 11th, everything changed.

I was heading out to my hunting cabin where I planned to meet up with friends and hunt wild boar. As I drove along, I could see the effects from the severe drought we had been experiencing. Everything seemed to have dried up and died.

By the time I had reached the road heading to the cabin, it was dark. As I turned, I missed the road and ended up in five feet of thick brush. I tried to free my truck by putting it in forward, then reverse repeatedly. The friction from that somehow ignited the brush. Within seconds, the truck was a large torch.

I reached for the door handle to escape, but the electrical system burned out and I was locked inside. Seconds later, the window exploded. I don’t really know what happened after that. I have no idea how I got out of the truck. The next thing I remember is walking down the road to the cabin telling myself over and over, “Don’t stop. Keep going.”

When I reached the cabin, my friends thought I was wearing some kind of three-dimensional, leafy hunting outfit. But it wasn’t camouflage. It was shredded, charred skin.

A Medflight helicopter took me to a burn unit where I was told I wouldn’t have much of a face left, and I would probably lose my sight as well as the use of my hands. God put an absolute halt on my life.

I was so busy being successful, I was on such a fast track, that God was a part of my life, but he wasn’t the most important part. He was not on the throne of my heart or at the center of my universe. I was at the center.

I don’t believe God caused the fire, but I believe God allowed it because he wanted to get my attention. Like a parent who tries to get through to a child, God grabbed me by the shoulders, sat me down and said, “I want you to listen to me.”

That was the beginning of a spiritual awakening in my life. Over the next four years, the doctors amputated seven fingers. I couldn’t use what was left of my hands for even the simplest of tasks, but the doctors said there was nothing more they could do. That’s when my wife, Cindy, asked about the possibility of a hand transplant.

That began a time of waiting, testing and prayer. We spent countless hours reading the Bible and praying together. Finally, the day for my double hand transplant arrived. Twenty surgeons and three anesthesiologists took seventeen and a half hours to attach my new hands.

Many people have pointed out that it was a miracle I didn’t die in the fire that day. That’s true, but in a very real way, I did die in that fire. The man I was died that day, and God gave me a new life where I’m not in control but have turned the controls over to Him. I’m not in charge of my life anymore, but have submitted everything to Jesus.

These days my wife and I constantly pray to be used by God in any way he wants–to bring glory to himself. It may sound crazy, but I would rather have gone through all of this pain and suffering, and all of these challenges and have the relationship with Jesus that I have now, than continue down the path I was on before the accident without that relationship.[1]

May I ask you a question? 

Given the torrid pace of your life, how but through a time of your being dropped onto a bed of stillness can the voice of God be heard in your life? 

Likely, you are too busy to hear otherwise! How can He become your great Love if you’re incessantly consumed with the affairs of this world? How but through incapacitation might you recognize how broken and dead you really are in your overly confident flesh?

Oh, how God sits, waiting, His figurative hands folded patiently. He does not want what we can do firstly. He wants us. Broken. Humbled. Tender. Delivered from ourselves. In times of quiet and lengthy need, the odds of our looking longingly (and long enough) heavenward, significantly rise; it is in these times we stand the best chance of understanding the delivering value of a complete death to self, without which we are destined to a life of relatively powerless self-exertion.

Left to ourselves and without giving up, we are like those Habakkuk prophesied about in Habakkuk 1:11 where he spoke of the Babylonians as “that ruthless and impetuous people….guilty people, whose own strength is their God.” I don’t think this is meant to be our encouragement to live likewise–in our own strength.

No, our own strength, if we desire a vibrant walk with the Spirit of God, must be ruthlessly slayed.

I know this is a tremendously counter-cultural message, but it is the only way. 

When, after all, did we start finding it important to live sensitively and tolerantly in line with the cultural persuasions of the day? Certainly this is not the picture we see when studying Jesus’ life. Certainly this is not the picture we see when observing the lives of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, the lives of Moses and Aaron, the life of Stephen, the life of the disciples, the life of Paul, and so on. Instead, those surrendered to God live in notable contrast to their culture’s modus operandi.

But while our need is for self-abandonment, positioning us for a life empowered by the Spirit of the Living God who aches to be unleashed within us, we seldom find the time for the prerequisites God often uses for such positioning–stillness, silence and sincere meditation on the Truths of God and His Word.

Such practices do not naturally coexist at the breakneck speed of our hectic lives. Like it or not, the busyness of America and much of the developed world thrills our adversary. 

While Satan knows he cannot have our souls, he is ecstatic about the unexamined pace of our lives. 

For it is this hurried (dare I say frenzied) pace at which many of us well-meaning Christians lead our lives that aids and abets such a low bar of spiritual expectation.

Yes, our adversary must keep us away from lives of contemplation by incessantly filling our eyes, ears, minds and hearts with things that, at worst, please temporally and relatively, and, at best, occupy our time with spiritually neutral substance. And while it would be difficult to point out what is wrong with our daily, weekly, monthly and, before we know it, yearly pursuits, it may be a better question to ask what is right with them.

And so as a result of the “busy and good” commotion of our lives, we seldom ponder the proposition that our Christian walks were intended to be so much more than fire insurance–a journey relegated to the enjoyment of good music which lifts our eyes heavenward while possessing a gracious heart of thanksgiving to God for saving us from hell.

Were there a thematic declaration of prognosis for our spiritually shallow and weak living to which I could point, it would lie in the content of the single-sentence paragraph you just blew past.

PAUSE to PONDER

How have you responded to painful experiences that have inhibited your busy and productive life?

Have you ever considered the possibility that there may be more to these ‘interruptions’ than meets the human eye?

If you are a Christian, and your omniscient and omnipotent God is love (I John 4:8), can you trust Him with your life? How about with the unexpected and painful circumstances that change your plans, even radically?

[1] Kyle Idleman, Not a Fan; Chapter 3

[deansleather]

An Agreement

Pairing: Crowley x Reader Prompt: Crowley for @spnhiatuscreations week 6, and “Is this goodbye?” for @cas-is-my-hero ‘s 100 Followers Celebration (I tweaked the quote, hope you don’t mind Summary: After being sent wrongly to Hell, Crowley decides to compromise; your life back in exchange for one date with him. Simple and harmless, though something seems to change as the night wears on. Word Count: 3942 Warnings: fluff! technically death, but this is in the SPN world; no one dies for long, just a basic idea of what happened is told

If you’d like to join any of my tag lists please message/ ask or add yourself to my google doc tag list! Whatever is easiest for you!

A/N: I have got to say, I really enjoyed this one. I certainly have a little thing for the King of Hell, and I hope you enjoy this as much as I! As always, FEEDBACK IS LOOOOVED! EVEN JUST A LIKE HELPS 

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“A bad boy can be very good for a girl.” ― Melissa de la Cruz, Girl Stays in the Picture

           You woke up on the ground, resting on a red rug. The room smelled of cologne, sulfur, candles, and a little like iron, a strange mixture that was both pleasing and unsettling. You felt as though you were awakening from a yearlong sleep; everything was hazy and blurred, and the moment you began to move everything started to ache. Your head was throbbing, and as you began to take in the unfamiliar surroundings, your stomach started to knot.            

           The last thing you remembered was the car, coming all too fast as you ran to push the little boy playing ball from his definite demise. You weren’t really thinking, but subconsciously you had hoped you had a chance of living. It was strange; you had a body, you felt sentient, yet you couldn’t tell if you were alive, per say. You had expected to wake up to the beeping of hospital monitors and the rustling of their stiff sheets. Even with the effects you were currently feeling, there was no way you would feel so okay without heavy medication.

           “We’ll never get anywhere with her in this state,” a man sighed, his accent striking to you. What was it? Scottish? British? You heard a snap, and suddenly the haze was gone, your body now entirely able and well. You blinked a few times, pushing yourself up from the ground slowly, testing your limits.

           “What the hell?” you asked yourself, looking down at your body to find no injuries, not even a scratch of road burn.          

           “You’re more correct than you realize,” the same voice taunted. Definitely British. Slowly, you raised your eyes to the owner of the accented tone, your heart skipping a beat at what you saw. He was shockingly intimidating, his eyes digging into your soul from over his glass of golden drink, you presumed alcohol. He sat on a thrown, red and black and intricately designed. He wore a suit, his crossed legs lifting up an extremely shiny shoe. You gulped as you finally let your eyes meet his, the intensity of his gaze staggering.      

           “What’s going on?” you murmured, rubbing your clammy hands on your legs. He smirked, setting down his drink on the stand beside him, slowly lifting from his seat and walking towards you. When he was just mere inches away and you were sure your heart was going to hop out of your chest, he stopped.        

           “You’ve been sent to Hell, love,” he divulged, his hands behind his back. “It’s where the naughty girls go.” You shook your head, looking around the room at what must’ve been his cronies.

           “No, no, no,” you rushed, panicked. “There must be something wrong, I’ve tried so hard-“

           He raised one of his hands, making you stop in your tracks. You weren’t sure what it was, but there was something so damn daunting about him. It hit you in that moment, the reality of the situation.

           “Wait,” you murmured, your breathing practically stopped. “Does that make you…Satan?”

He chuckled, shaking his head as if he was appalled.    

           “No, Luci is off gallivanting with the Winchesters. I’m much better.” He winked. You weren’t sure what most of his sentence meant, but you felt comforted that you weren’t speaking to the Devil himself. “I’m Crowley, King of Hell.” You were about to question the semantics, but he reached his hand out to one of his followers, a clipboard weighted with papers handed to him. He looked down at it, calling out a stranger’s name. He squinted at the words, looking back and forth from you to the paper.

           “…that’s not me,” you inputted, relief flooding through you. “My name’s Y/n Y/l/n.” He shook his head, glaring at the man closest to him.            

           “What is this?” he hissed, his eyes blackening. Your heart dropped. The man stuttered.

           “I-I don’t know sir, she came in just like the rest, everyone else has been correct today…”

           Crowley growled under his breath, closing his eyes to think. He threw the clipboard back at the man’s chest, looking to you calmly.

           “Well, I suppose you should start heading north,” he sighed.

           “So, I’m dead, huh?” you said, laughing without humor. You rubbed your face, muttering to yourself. “I’m not ready to be dead, I have so much to do. I was just trying to save that boy I didn’t realize this was all going to happen. I mean who expects-“

           “Shh,” he hummed, placing a finger on your lips. Your heartbeat fluttered once more. “I’m willing to create a sort of…compromise.” He raised an eyebrow.

"You're not supposed to make deals with the Devil," you said. He laughed at this, bringing a small smirk to your lips.

           “Well good thing I’m no devil then.” He placed an arm around you, leading you towards a small wooden stool near his thrown. You sat down, thankful for the respite. “You’ve made quite the impression, I have to say…I like you.”

You blushed at the sentiment, feeling both pleased and ashamed. You had just seen his demon eyes, and yet here you were, pining over the supposed King of Hell. Could it get any more backward? But as he kneeled in front of you, you realized why he was so intimidating. It wasn't the throne, or the demon onlookers, or his position in Hell of all places; you found him sexy.

           “So, what do you propose?” you whispered. He smiled at you, brushing a piece of hair from your face.

           “Go on a date with me,” he said simply, his accent making the sentence even more charming. You squinted your eyes, suspicious of his intent.

           “If this is a coy way of asking for sex the answer is a solid no-“

           “No, no,” he defended, putting his hands up, his amusement at your distaste palpable. “Just an innocent little playdate, you and I.”

           “Alright,” you nodded slowly, still unsure. “So, what am I getting?”

           “Besides the night of your life?” he teased. “I’ll undo all this messiness. You’ll live to see your bland little life once more.”

           “My life’s not bland-“ you began, quickly cutting yourself off. The King of Hell was offering you a very generous agreement, best not disrupt it. “It’s a deal.” He smiled, clapping his hands together.

           “Perfect, I’ll pick you up at six.” Another snap of his fingers and you were home, zapped into the room next to where your friends sat looking through your stuff, their crying sounding through the house. You looked in the mirror before stepping out to greet them. You looked disheveled and sickly, which was perfect. It would take a hell of a lot of explaining to clean up this mess.

~~~~`

           Six rolled around much too quick; it turned out to be a lot of work explaining how you, who was dead hours before, waltzed into your living room like nothing happened. You claimed amnesia; you figured it was better than witchcraft or insanity. You did manage to get dressed up in the time you had left though, putting on makeup, a dress, doing your hair, the whole nine yards. If a full-on suit was his day wear, you figured a night time date with him was practically ball gown worthy. You did wear comfortable shoes though; dying can take a lot out of a girl.

           Your door bell rang at six o’clock sharp, your heart racing at the sound. You were sitting on your couch, trying to breathe deeply. You were going on a date with the charming, handsome, British, and extremely enticing King of Hell. No biggie.

           You opened your door, instantly faced with Crowley looking…well, dashing. It was an unusual word for you, yet it just fit. His hair was gelled, his suit even more delicately tailored and perhaps even a little old-fashioned, the roses in his hand adding to the effect. He seemed to have speech taken from his as well, his eyes lighting up as he took you in. His eyes squinted as he smiled, an extremely endearing trait.

           “You look…” he shook his head, trailing off. “Well, breathtaking.” You smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you felt the heat rush to your face.        

"Why thank you, you don't look too shabby yourself." He smirked, putting out his arm, prompting you to follow him. You linked your arm through his, gratefully accepting the flowers as he handed them to you. You closed the door behind you, double checking to make sure it was locked. He smirked at the action but made no comment. "So, where are we going?"

"Now, what fun would it be to tell you?" You scoffed but didn't push it. You weren't sure what the boundaries were with him, and you didn't plan on getting on his bad side. He escorted you to his car, and while you were no expert by any means, even you could tell it was out of most people's price range. Ruling Hell had to have some perks.  

           The car ride was silent, the only noise the sound of your heart thudding in your ears. You got so paranoid that he could hear it, you rolled down your window. Hair done or not, you really weren’t ready for your true feelings to be revealed to him. The windows were tinted so you could barely see out of them anyway, it was a nice relief to at least slightly see where you were being taken. He had promised there would be nothing inappropriate happening, but you still felt uneasy with putting all your faith in him. There was no way the ruler of Hell was entirely wholesome.

You saw bright neon lights in the distance as the car turned onto a graveled side road. The air felt heavy, slightly tacky even; you hoped that the date would take place indoors, as there seemed to be rain coming very soon. Finally, the car pulled to a stop in front of a quaint square building adorned with bright lights and advertising posters. The largest of the lights flashed each letter individually.

S M A L L ‘ S  J A Z Z C L U B

You whipped your head around to face Crowley, a smile growing on your lips. He looked encouraged at your expression and you could swear you saw a little blush, but it could’ve just been the flashing lights behind you.

“This is great,” you exclaimed, nodding quickly. “I’ve never been!’

"It's a ball," he winked. "Nothing too extravagant, though something told me that was the way you'd want." You nodded, thankful. You had imagined some sort of excessive party that would unavoidably exhaust and embarrass you in one way or another. This was much better, needless to say, and by the sight of the other women entering, you dressed accordingly. He exited from his side, rushing to get the door for you. You laughed, letting out a shy "thank you" under your breath. This was it, you were going on a date with Crowley. Something about the laughter coming from the building and the bright lights calmed all your nerves, leaving you just with a feeling of exhilarated zest. You heard distant thunder, as you began to walk in.    

“Sounds like we made it in the nick of time,” Crowley commented, leading into the club, past the hostess after giving her a polite nod. You looked at him strangely, unsure. He continued to lead you deeper into the club, until you were in your own private corner booth, curtains draping at the back of the semi-circle seat. Crowley extended his arm, allowing you to sit first. You were shocked by the comfort of the seat, especially with the petite size of the place. It wasn’t often that places like these had anything but hard, wooden chairs. “Can you see the stage alright? I can rearrange if not.”

You smiled at his doting, nodding in affirmation.

“Yeah, actually I have a really good view.” The booths had been slightly elevated in the back, giving you the perfect spot to see every bit of the stage. Saxophones were leaned against seats, a large bass and drums planted next to each other, all tied together with a microphone in the middle. The place was extremely pleasant; it smelled of wine and incense, and the lighting was just dim enough to set a mood without blinding every customer. Crowley motioned over a waiter, ordering both your drinks at your request. It was a deep red wine, though it surprisingly wasn't too tart or burning; it tasted almost sweet and warmed you as you drank.

“Thank you,” you murmured, taking another sip. “For…everything. You didn’t have to do what you did I’m sure, and this is a small price to save my life.”

“Well, it can’t always be death and punishment. Variety is the spice of life, isn’t it?” he purred, his voice deep and rough. Jesus, if his job was to tempt people over to the dark side, he was doing one hell of a job.

“When is the show supposed to start?” you asked, looking eagerly to the stage. You saw him smile in your peripheral.

“Eager, aren’t we?” he teased. “Once they get most of the meals out, I believe.” You rolled your eyes, causing him to laugh.

“Who cares if we eat,” you continued, enjoying his reaction. “I’d rather enjoy some jazz as I starve, thank you very much.”

“Maybe we should avoid another death, no?”

He shook his head, and you thanked the waiter as he put bread on the table. You both grabbed a piece, you nibbling at it mindlessly. He looked to you with squinted eyes, deep in thought. You set your bread down, resting your arms on the table to lean in towards him.

“What you thinking about?” you asked, feigning nonchalance.

“Just curious,” he prefaced. “How did you die? You don’t seem like the type to have a target on your back.” You laughed, shaking your head.

“No, definitely not. I ran out in front of a car-“ you began.

“That tends to do the trick,” he nodded, smirking at his own ornery remark.

"I wasn't finished," you insisted. "I was pushing a little boy out of the way."

“Ah, I see,” he murmured. “So, you enjoy playing the hero?”

“Well,” you shrugged. “I obviously don’t do it often, or you’d probably have seen me before this.” He nodded, the logic passing whatever he expected to hear. You thought for a moment, looking from your hands to him.

“What is it, love?” he pressed, his eyes never leaving yours. You blushed.

“Well,” you sighed. “I guess I’m just not sure what I can and can’t ask you. I definitely don’t want to…offend you.”

“Pissing off the King of Hell does seem unwise,” he agreed. “Though I doubt you would push me that far.”

“Well then, uh, I guess my first question is, well, what is Hell, exactly? What do you do to the people?” you asked tentatively.

           “I’m sure you’re imagining the whole chains and torture devices, and there are some crevices left like that, but it’s mostly standing in a line now,” he stated simply. You blinked at him.

           “…standing in a line? That’s Hell?”

"Can you imagine standing in a line for all eternity?" he quipped. You shrugged, weighing his words.

           “But what about like, I don’t know, Hitler?”

           “Love the originality, darling. There are plenty of evil bastards in history to choose,” he teased.

           “Alright, Stalin, Napoleon, Hitler, all the big bad guys. Their punishment is just to stand in a line? That seems to…I don’t know. Fall a little flat?” you expressed, dissatisfied. He smirked.

           “Don’t you worry dear,” he assured. “I have all the grossest bastards in a special corner of Hell. Their punishment is perhaps a little harsher than your average thief’s.” You smiled, feeling a strange comfort with that. You continued your interrogation endlessly, letting him also pick your meal as you had been too consumed in the conversation to peruse the menu. It wasn’t long before the meal came out (he had picked the most expensive meal on the menu, you later noticed) and the band started playing. You weren’t nearly as engrossed in the music as you were in Crowley. Thankfully, the music was the perfect volume to create some ambiance, but not force you to shout.

           “Alright, so this might be a touchy subject,” you started. “But…what’s the deal with God? If there’s a Hell, then there’s gotta be a Heaven, which means there’s a God, right?”

He nodded. "There is a God, a bit of a wanker, a dead-beat dad at best if you ask me."

You grimaced, and of course, Crowley noticed.

           “What, don’t appreciate the blasphemy?” he taunted. You shook your head, looking at your food very intently.

           “No, no, not that religious just…don’t really wanna piss the big guy off, either,” you admitted.

           “I suppose that also makes sense,” he relented. “Though there’s little need to worry, he’s not much of the strike down type. Half the time he’s nowhere to be found.”

           “Mysterious ways and all, huh?” you joked, raising an eyebrow.

           “You could say that,” he murmured, chewing in thought. He looked you up and down, smiling slightly as he set down his utensils. “Enough of the existentialist. Let’s talk about you.”

           “Alright.” You laughed nervously. “What do you want to know?”

           “All of it, everything there is to know,” he insisted. “The night is young, and I’m here to listen.”

           And so, you told him everything you could think; your birthday, about your family, your favorite books and poets, what shows you watch, what shows you hate. He asked about your exes and you reluctantly even shared that. There was something about your relationship that seemed so…open. You supposed he had been alive for countless centuries, but it was more than that. It was as if you could tell him anything at all and he would eat it up, listening to you with wide eyes as he soaked in the information. It felt nice and undeniably sweet, though it seemed strange to associate the word with him. Despite his title, he had been nothing but sweet and gentlemanly, and he deserved the credit.

           Too soon, your forks began scratching against empty plates and the band said its final goodbye. The light began to brighten and waiters rushed around to pick up the last of the plates. The night had ended, and too early for your taste, though you’d never admit it. Crowley begrudgingly stood up, extending an arm out to you.

           “Seems the night is coming to a close. Shall we?” You nodded, blinking the tears from your eyes. How ridiculous, you’d just met the man and you were this upset at parting ways? Maybe you had too much wine. Or perhaps you just really, really, really liked the witty, charming, handsome, and extremely British man. The ladder was most likely.

           The ride back to your house seemed shorter than it was before, which just figured. You weren’t ready to get out of his car that smelled deliciously of his cologne. You didn’t want to lose sight of his suited figure and watchful eyes. You’d miss the deep lilt of his voice when he spoke to you, much gentler than you’d seen him speak to anyone else.

           You just weren’t ready for goodbye.

           He walked you up to your front porch, both of you silent as you stood awkwardly in place. What was the protocol here? It wasn’t often that you dated demons, but you doubted that it was the wisest choice. Who knew what would come of keeping in touch, or if his intentions were nearly as pure as he had been leading on.

           “Crowley?” you murmured, clearing your throat.

           “Yes, pet?” he responded earnestly.

           “I know I’ve bombarded you tonight.” You smiled. “But can I ask just one more question?”

           “Of course.” He took a step closer. “Anything.”

           “Why did you ask for a date? You could have asked for anything. What did you get out of this?”

           He looked away for a moment, nothing but the rustling of the trees making a noise. You heard the thunder from earlier, but much closer this time, and both of you watched as the dark clouds above moved closer and closer. He was quiet until tiny droplets began to fall, neither of you moving to avoid them.

           “Do you really want to know, Y/n?” he whispered, his expression unsure.

           “Yes,” you insisted without hesitation. He breathed deeply, taking his time, thinking through every word as he spoke.

"I've seen countless souls over the past centuries, sweetly good and deliciously bad, and yet all similar. Then there's you, all these years later. When they pushed you beneath my throne…well, I had a hard time holding myself together. Part of me was pleased to have you in Hell, at my constant bidding, but I knew it was unlikely you belonged there. Of course, I was right, I always am, yet there was no victory in this. I wanted you to stay; I wanted to stay with you. This little…agreement was the only way I could imagine that happening without turning you off. I knew my usual seduction would do little on you. So,” he finished, gesturing around him. “Here we are.”

           “Crowley…” you began, unable to speak properly. There weren’t enough words, how could you ever express your feelings? Speaking just wouldn’t do it, but you could think of one thing that may just get the message across. Gently, you cupped his jaw, rubbing your thumb against the stubble of his beard. Incredibly slow, you leaned in to kiss him, his lips needy and ready once you connected yours to them. Tenderly, he grabbed at your waist, his hands sending shivers up your spine. The rain began to get stronger around you, making both of you slick and soaked, but neither of you cared. It was as though the world had turned off for a moment. He rubbed up and down your arms gently, just enjoying you. You felt him smirk into the kiss at the feeling of goosebumps. Eventually, you were the one to pull away, your breathing heavy. Crowley seemed barely winded.

           “I suppose this means I’m not alone in the sentiment?” he retorted. You blushed, feeling a sense of uncertainty. Was this really the right thing?

           “I-I really should get some sleep.” You cleared your throat. He nodded, taking a step back. You took out your keys, prompting him to walk off your porch towards his car.

           “Thank you for a lovely night,” he whispered, getting out his own keys. When he was halfway down your walkway, you called to him.

           “So, is this goodbye?” you called. He stopped, turning on his heels to face you. “I mean, like permanently?”

           “It doesn’t have to be,” he stated calmly. There you both stood, the rain continuing to soak you, though neither of you budged as you thought over your next move. Who knew what the right thing was? King of Hell or not, you liked him, more than you had anyone in a long time. Someone had to rule the underworld, and you turned out to be lucky it was him. Even if you ended up being sent to Hell for this, at least you’d have him as company.

           “Screw it,” you muttered under your breath. “C’mon, let’s go dry off.”

           He smiled, walking back to you and wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

           “Lead the way,” he said, a sense of pride overcoming him. “I’m going wherever you are.”

 ~~~~~

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[darthrevaan]

Angst war prompt! RVB15: That really is the Reds and Blues. They died on Hargroves ship and he brought them back. Back wrong.

Here goes nothing! Thanks for the prompt ;)

Dedicated to Jo for helping me talk through this idea and giving me massive inspiration, even when she doesn't watch RvB xxx

Title: lay this body downWords: 2,792Summary: Lavernius Tucker knows who he is, and what he's doing. He knows why the Reds and Blues are taking these missions; he knows why they have to work with Charon. Lavernius Tucker knows who he is. (Doesn't he?)

Warnings: Violence, Body Horror, Character Death

Written for @rvbficwars Angst Week!

Also available on AO3

lay this body down

Even through the helmet filters, Tucker could smell smoke.

For a long, disorienting second, he couldn’t remember wherehe was. What the fuck is happening, whyis everything on fire-

My name LaverniusTucker, he thought, I’m on Blue Team.I’m part of the Reds and Blues. He’d recited the same mantra so many timesover, he could do it almost without thinking now; focusing on the repetition ofthe words was calming, grounding him to reality. My teammates are Church and Caboose. I’m part of the Stingray StrikeTeam. I work for Charon Industries.

By the time he reached the end he could see on his HUD thathis heart rate had slowed, that his breathing was back to normal. He was backin the moment, and he knew what he was doing.

“Tucker?” Church’s voice over the com. “Are you done? Weneed to bug out.”

“Gimme another second,” Tucker told him. He focused on hishands again, and what they were doing; downloading information from a computerterminal. Strange; he’d only been halfway through the hack before his moment ofdisorientation. Now he was done. Had his hands been moving without him?

“Tucker,” Churchsnapped, “We need to go now.”

Just working oninstinct, Tucker thought, hitting a series of buttons. “It’s stilldownloading, Church, stop whining.”

“We’ve got cops coming in, west side of the base,” Simmonssaid.

“More on the east side too,” Donut added.

“Tucker for fuck’s sake-”

“I can’t make it go faster!” Tucker yelled, “Just wait abit-”

It felt like something kicked him square in the middle ofhis back; all his limbs stiffened and spasmed, sharp, searing pain arcingthrough his body. He slumped forward, warnings from his armour screaming in hisears; in the second before he lost consciousness he heard someone far, farabove say, “Okay, I’ve got him, let’s…”

/

Tucker woke to the familiar, flat unnatural light of aspacecraft.

He struggled a little, and felt what he’d expected to; hewas restrained. He hadn’t expected it to be quite so thorough, though. Insteadof cuffs, there were straps over his chest, thighs, ankles, hips and head. Itfelt like he’d been strapped into a hospital bed. Weirdly, he was still in hisarmour  - and despite his enhancedstrength with the suit on, he couldn’t break whatever bonds they’d lashed himdown with.

“He’s awake, sir,” someone said behind him.

“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded. “I hope you know whoyou’re fucking with-”

“We know,” the voice snapped. “We’re not afraid of Charon.Stay quiet.”

Tucker had been referring to the Reds and Blues  - no one was supposed to know they wereworking for Charon. He felt a cold thread of unease stir in his mind. Who werethese people?

It only took a few moments for someone else to arrive.Tucker could hear their footsteps, but his attempts to turn his head and lookwere prohibited by the strap across the front of his helmet. They’d fastened itbelow the visor, over where his mouth was underneath, so he could still see thearmoured figure who stepped into view.

“It’s you,” Tuckersnapped, “Figures. What the fuck do you want?”

“So you remember me,” Carolina said, one hand on her hip.

“Er, yeah I remember you, bitch. Pretty hard to forget thetraitor who turned out to be working for Hargrove the entire fucking time.”

“Interesting,” Carolina said.

“‘Interesting’? Is that all you have to say for yourself,you lying fuck?” Tucker yelled. “We trusted you!”

“So you believe I betrayed you to Hargrove…when, exactly?”

Tucker stared at her for a moment. “On the ship! On the Staff of Charon! We get to Hargrove andthen you turn around and start shooting at-” He cut himself off with a growl.“Why am I fucking explaining this? You were there!”

“And how did I get away?” she asked, sounding ascondescending as a kindergarten teacher.

“If I’d seen you getting away, you wouldn’t have done,”Tucker snapped. “I don’t know how the fuck you did it. Just like I don’t knowhow the fuck you could side with Hargroveover us, for…for what, money? Fuck you.”

“So why are you workingfor Charon now?” Carolina asked.

“Like you don’t know.”

“I don’t,” Carolina said. She was irritatingly calm. “Whydon’t you tell me?”

“Because you and your buddy Hargrove corrupted people withinCharon and the UNSC with your littlesplinter group,” Tucker said. “We’re rooting them out.”

“I see.” She didn’t sound convinced. “While this isenlightening, Tucker, we need to perform some tests now. Don’t worry; you’ll beasleep for all of them.”

“What? No, don’t you fucking dare-” Before he could finishthe sentence, everything suddenly went black.

/

When he woke again, the room was dark. He couldn’t rememberbreathing in gas or getting injected with anything; his memories simply shutoff, like the power cord on his mind had been pulled. Tests? What the fuck did she mean by tests?

All he knew was he had to get out of here. Fast.

Tucker tried struggling against his bonds, but they werecinched incredibly tight; he could barely wriggle.

He lay still again, thinking. What could he do? They’d boundhim very effectively to the bed, so it looked like escaping from his currentposition was a no-go. He’d have to wait until someone loosened the straps.

There was a soft whoosh on the other side of the room,accompanied by an increase of light; someone had opened the door. It closedwithin a few seconds of opening, and whoever it was didn’t announce themselves.Tucker lay, listening intently, and caught the sound of something, probably aboot, scuffing against the floor.

“Who’s there?” he demanded.

A dark shadow in the shape of a person appeared beside him,in the same position Carolina had taken earlier. “Shut up, Tucker,” a familiarvoice said, “It’s me.”

“Why the fuck are you here!” Tucker yelled.

Something connected hard with the side of his helmet,starting a dull ache in his head. “Shut up,I’m trying to help you!” Wash’s voice snapped. “For fuck’s sake, Tucker, whatthe hell is your problem?”

“What’s my problem?”Tucker snapped. “What’s my problem?! My problem is I never wanna see yourstupid asshole face again!”

Wash paused. “What?”

“Didn’t hear me, fucker? I never want to see you again.”Tucker could feel a sharp pain in his chest rising, just thinking about Washbeing in the same room as him again. He desperately wished he could move, justso he could punch him through the fucking wall.

“Tucker- Look, I don’t care what Charon’s told you, what youthink I did, but I’m here to help you now, so I need to you shut up and stopyelling,” Wash snapped. “I need to know what Charon did to you  - Carolina’s found something but she’s nottelling me anything-”

“Is this to do with those tests she was giving me earlier?”Tucker asked.

“I don’t know, probably. Do you remember anything?”

“I was out cold.” If Wash was going to tell him what thehell these two wanted him for, Tucker could pretend to play nice. Probably. IfWash was feeling sympathetic enough to help him out of these straps, he could definitely play along. “What are yougoing to do to me, then?”

“I think…I think I need to scan your brain. They’veobviously been messing with your memories, making you think…Well.” Wash movedsomething off his shoulder; it looked like a black lump, but Tucker assumed itwas a bag, because Wash took something else out of it and held it up. “Iprobably need to take off your helmet to do it.”

“Can’t,” Tucker said, “This armour needs a special machineto come off.”

Wash’s silhouette cocked its head. “Tucker, that onlyapplies to Spartan armour. Old Spartanarmour, at that. Your armour’s always come off and on manually, remember?”

“This is new-”

“And based on the Spartan VI design, which doesn’t need themachine,” Wash said firmly. “What, afraid I’ll think you’re ugly?”

It was so warm, so like the old Wash, that Tucker had to bite his tongue on a scream offrustration and anger. How could Wash think he could waltz in here, pretendlike nothing had changed-

The strap holding his head in place suddenly loosened. “Keepstill, let me take your helmet off,” Wash said. Tucker felt the pressure of hisfingers, the tug as he tried to pull the helmet off  - but nothing happened.

“Told you,” he said. “Can’t take it off.”

Wash tugged a few more times, making a frustrated noise ashe continued to fail. “I’m pressing the release seals,” he said. “I can’tunderstand why they would…” He sighed, and his hands disappeared. “Fine, I’lljust scan you with the helmet on.”

“Fine by me,” Tucker said. Inside his helmet, he grinned alittle; one of the straps was gone. Didn’t get him any closer to using hishands, but it was something.

There was a long silence as Wash fiddled with whatevergadget he’d brought. He waved it around over Tucker’s head, then looked at it,tapped the screen, and swore.

“Are you fucking it up?” Tucker asked acidly.

“I’m doing it exactly the way the instructions tell you to.”Wash fiddled with it some more, waved it over Tucker again, and cursed. “It’snot showing any reading on any chart.According to this, you’ve got no vitals, no brain activity, nothing.”

“Well my HUD begs to differ,” Tucker snapped. “And so doesthe fact that I’m, uh, alive, unless you hadn’t noticed, genius.”

Wash blew out a frustrated breath. “This might be beingblocked by the armour,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced. “It shouldbe showing something, at least…”

It was at that moment that the light turned on.

Wash whirled round, going for the gun at his belt; Tuckerwhipped his head around too, now free to look at whoever was in the doorway.There were four figures, frozen in a tableau of furtive sneaking; a woman andthree men.

Four familiar figures.

“Sir,” Andersmith said, sounding surprised.

“Guess you’re here for the same reason we are,” Bitterssaid.

Wash took his hand off his gun. “If you’re here to find outwhat happened to the Reds and Blues, then yes.”

Taking that as silent permission, they moved into the roomalmost as one. “Have you found anything, sir?” Jensen asked.

“Only that my scanner doesn’t work.”

The easy, trusting waythey entered the room, their casual deference… “You’re working with these guysnow?” Tucker said, trying not to yell the words.

Palomo tipped his head. “What?”

“Ignore him, I think he’s been implanted with falsememories,” Wash said.

“That’s what youwould say, you back-stabbing-”

“Shut up, Tucker,”Wash cut him off. “Do you want us to find out what’s wrong with you or not?”

“There’s nothing wrongwith me!”

“Praxley said they were doing scans with the big equipment,turning up weird stuff,” Bitters said. “She gave us the code to get intocomputer.”

“Good job,” Wash said, “Do you know how to use it?”

“Jensen does.”

Jensen walked all the way around Tucker’s bed, glancing athim and then hurriedly looking away. He watched as she walked over to the farside of the room, where a computer terminal was set into the wall. The othersfollowed and blocked Tucker’s view as she woke it up and began to tap commands intoit. Bitters handed her a piece of paper, presumably with the passcode writtenon it, and Jensen navigated her way through several screens that Tuckercouldn’t see before she landed on something. “It must be these,” she said.“But…”

“Where’s the body?”Palomo asked.

“It just…looks like a machine,” Andersmith said, his voicehushed.

“What the fuck are you guys looking at over there?” Tuckerdemanded.

None of them seemed to hear him. “This can’t be right,”Jensen said. Tucker saw the light flicker as she changed screens. “They have tobe somewhere else-”

“There’s no other deep scans with today’s date, Katie,”Bitters said.

The flickering stopped. “But it can’t…” Jensen trailed offinto silence.

Slowly, Wash turned around and looked at Tucker. He hadn’tsaid anything; the expression on his face was like stone. “Tucker,” he said.His voice sounded hollow. “When was the last time you took your armour off?”

“I-” The answer should have been on the tip of his tongue,but it was weirdly hard to remember. “Like, last week? We do a lot of missions,man, I-”

“When was the last time, exactly?”Washground out, his voice icy cold. “The date, the time.”

“Dude, I don’t remember the exact time! It’s not like I’mtaking notes-”

“When was the last time you ate, Tucker?” Wash demanded.“When was the last time you slept? Whenwas the last time you took your armour off?!”

“I don’t know!” Tucker yelled. “What the fuck is this-”

Wash advanced towards him, his expression suddenly murderous.Tucker instinctively tried to back away, but he was strapped to the bed, unableto shift more than a few inches. Wash suddenly had a knife in his hand, a bigone, and where the fuck had that comefrom-

Wash leant over him and made a slash across his elbow joint,right where he wasn’t protected by any plate. Tucker yelled, partly from thesmall flare of pain, but mostly from fear of the enraged Freelancer hangingover him.

“Wash, what he fuck-” he heard Bitters say.

“There’s nothing here,” Wash said, “Nothing but wires…”

Tucker felt the knife again, cutting deeper this time. “Whatthe fuck are you doing?!” he yelled, voice screechy with panic.

“There’s nothing here!” Wash said, louder this time.“There’s nothing-”

Tucker’s world flared with burning, white-hot agony,centered on his arm where he could distantly feel the knife hacking at him, as if Wash were tryingto perform some kind of fucked up surgery. It took a while for him to realizethe person he could hear screaming was himself.

Suddenly the knife was gone, though the burning painremained. Tucker knew nothing but that pain, felt nothing, saw nothing, heardnothing-

Until suddenly the pain was gone.

For a moment he was confused, his mind too jumbled to mustera single coherent thought. Then a wash of relief flowed over him, so strong itwas like a drug. “What the- what the-” he could hear himself saying, withoutreally meaning to.

“I’m sorry,” Carolina’s voice said, “I didn’t mean for youto find out like this.”

Tucker looked up. He was still mostly strapped to the bed;Carolina was standing beside him, arms folded. Wash was nowhere in sight.

“What the fuck,” Tucker gasped, “What the fuck.”

“I didn’t anticipate that,” Carolina said. “I should have.I’m sorry. We’ll repair the arm for you.”

“My arm,” Tucker gasped, and looked down at it.

It hung loosely, the forearm clearly half-detached from therest of him. A thick liquid was flowing out of it, but it was deep black, notred; there was no flesh. Just machinery.

There’s nothing here,Wash’s voice wailed in his head, Nothingbut wires!

“What the fuck is that?” Tucker’s voice cracked, his bodyinstinctively trying to scoot away from the alien, inhuman wreckage that usedto be his arm. “It’s not- it’s just- it’s just wires!”

“I thought you’d realized,” Carolina said. She soundedstrangely cold. “This is what Charon really did to you. You’re not human;you’re an AI piloting a robotic suit of Spartan armour.”

Tucker couldn’t speak. He couldn’t form words, couldn’tthink-

(How was he speaking, anyway? If he didn’t have a mouth, howcould he form words? He didn’t have a mouth. God, he didn’t have a mouth)

“I’m not,” he stuttered, “I’m not- I’m- I’m real, I am real,I’m real…”

“The stress of this revelation is having a disturbing effecton his mental state,” an unfamiliar voice said from nowhere. “I would like toput him into a, well, I suppose you would call it a coma, to help him cope.Then perhaps I can talk to him in a virtual simulation, make it easier for himto accept his new reality.”

“Do it, Jena,” Carolina said. Then to Tucker, “She’s ourship AI. She’ll take care of you.”

“I’m real,” Tucker insisted. He could feel his mind slowing,his vision going dark at the edges. “I’m real, I’m…I’m real…”

“You are real,” Carolina said. Her voice was hard and cold.“But you’re not Lavernius Tucker.”

#rvb angst war #red vs blue #lavernius tucker #agent washington #rvb #one day we'll cruise down blood gulch avenue #mine #tw: violence #tw: body horror #tw: character death #goodluckdetective #asked and answered

[toomanywordsnotenoughink]

Solo un besito mas...

“Hey, you know I love you very much?” I nudge my niece. We are sitting on my bed playing some game or other like we always do when she is over.

“Yea I know” She’s always reluctant for words. Then she grabs my hands softly and asks “Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“That you’re really, really sick this time?”

I sigh. Here she is short of 11 years old and having to face a reality I wished to shelter her from. “Yes darling. Unfortunately it seems I’ve run out of lives. But hey! No worries! When I go you can have all my nail polish and jewelry okay?” And I smile hoping to remove the sadness out of the reality.

“Okay Mimi” she says and stays quiet for a while. “And Mimi?”

“Yes”

“I love you too” and she kisses my cheek. The most gentle and purest gesture that she could give. And in that kiss grants me all the love that she possesses.

I try not to look directly at her, because if I did I’d break right in front of her. But from the corner of my eyes I see her eyes water and she discretely wipes a tear. So I look up at the ceiling trying my best not to cry. And I remember that quote from the “Fault in our Stars” that says:

“Much of my life had been devoted to trying not to cry in front of people who loved me, so I knew what Augustus was doing. You clench your teeth. You look up. You tell yourself that if they see you cry, it will hurt them, and you will be nothing but a Sadness in their lives, and you must not become a mere sadness, so you will not cry, and you say all of this to yourself while looking up at the ceiling, and then you swallow even though your throat does not want to close and you look at the person who loves you and smile.”  ― John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

I didn’t want to be a mere sadness.

Since about October of 2015 things began to take a downward spiral health wise for me. I was constantly hospitalized weeks at a time with symptoms so vague it was hard to diagnose. 2016 was spent for the most part on tests and more tests, and diagnosis after diagnosis. The doctors sure that a lot of it had to do with my anatomy because of a previous surgery didn’t really have many answers. Few people had lived past all I had. A lot of it is still uncharted territory.

So when we learned during fall that I had a rare condition we met it with mixed feelings. We could finally make sense of what had been happening. But at the same time we were diving head first into such a rare syndrome with very little medical expectations that I’d even be able to survive. It turns out my large intestine and pancreas had made the hole in my diaphragm big and climbed up to my chest. This collapsed my left lung and made it very difficult to breathe. I was extremely tired, and even a walk to the kitchen would leave me breathless. I spent the next months strapped mostly to bed. I couldn’t really handle going anywhere or even walking. With not enough oxygen even holding a conversation too long became unbearable.

I saw 3 surgeons before one decided that surgery was my only way of surviving. But this would be a majorly invasive surgery with a lot of complications in the horizon. Because of my previous surgery in 2009 I’d developed a staph infection in my blood that causes me to fight long term use of antibiotics. My body begins to fight them as viruses. This makes me very prone to infections.

Additionally, because of the previous surgery being so invasive, my body in its healing created a lot of adhesions. This would become a problem because the adhesions would hide vital veins and even position of organs. I was also highly anemic. So going in surgically was a feat. One that not just any surgeon would take on.

A Friday after a doctor’s appointment I began to be so out of breath my sister rushed me to the hospital, by Sunday my body went into total shock when my small intestine began to strangulate and my stomach began cutting blood supply to my organs. I was dying. The surgeon was rushed and within an hour I was downstairs being prepped for surgery.

Nothing prepares you to say a final goodbye to the people you love. With only a 25% chance of making it out alive off of the surgery, we were, for lack of a better word, a mess. My stats went downhill so fast we had very little time to prepare. My brother barely made it before they wheeled me away.

So on a Sunday morning we said our goodbyes, there were promises made, kisses, hugs, and a downpour of tears none of us could stop from coming. All of our hearts were aching. I made sure that my parents wouldn’t be alone during the surgery. And I shot out a goodbye text to my best friend. I made the anesthesiologist wait till my brother arrived and I was able to say goodbye to him and my niece. I realized how truly hard it was, really, to see someone you love slowly slip away right before your eyes. And worst to realize there was nothing that you could do to stop it.

There wouldn’t have been enough time in the world that morning, even if things hadn’t happened so fast. There never is when we are saying goodbye. In my last conscious moments I couldn’t help but cry uncontrollably. I feared that I was leaving a million things unaccomplished, a dozen projects unfinished, and so many words unsaid. Being deathly sick feels like getting to the end of the book and realizing 20 pages have been ripped out and you will never know how the story ends.

But that is death. It doesn’t matter if it’s sudden or it’s been a long time coming, it will always cut off life in the middle of a sentence. And no matter how prepared for it you think you are the rest of your untold life will always be the part that is the greatest loss.

My last thoughts were a memory I held close to my heart. Me at 4 or 5 at kindergarten drop off, and how every morning held the same routine. Instead of saying a short and sweet goodbye to my mom I would always drag it on never wanting to leave her side. I’d keep running back to her time and time again and burrowing my face as far into her stomach as I could. She’d stroke my hair, kneel beside me and in between the whimpering I’d whim “Solo un besito mas”.  (Just one more kiss).

Many hours later, thanks to Jehovah I was out of surgery. Everything had gone great and with no major complications the surgeons had successfully repaired the diaphragm and put almost everything back in its place. I awoke in a haze to my family hovering over me. I was incredibly happy to see them.

I spent the next weeks slowly recuperating till they finally let me go home to finish healing. Now I wish I could say this is my happy ending. That this is the ending to this heart wrenching turmoil, never having to face it again. But unfortunately that is not the case. In 5 years the syndrome will reoccur again. Once you are prone to this type of thing it will continue to occur each time getting harder and harder to fix the diaphragm.

I could look at this as a glass half empty type situation, but I refuse to. Worry doesn’t empty tomorrow of its sorrow. Its 5 whole years that I didn’t have before. And maybe that isn’t all the time in the world. Maybe in the end I will still leave a million things left undone and a thousand words left unsaid.

But it also means 5 years of being with my loved ones. 5 more years of memories, of hugs and kisses that I would have not been granted before. And maybe that’s not a lot and it may never be enough in the eyes of many. But too me it means everything. Because if being granted the chance I’d run back every time even if just for… solo un besito más.

#solo un besito mas #miriamsoltero.com #miriam soltero #miriam soltero blog #life as i know it #life as i know it blog #love you most project #the love you most project #love you most

[muridgreenthumb-blog]

Chapter 2

Meant to post this last week but I got busy and distracted >_>

Chapter 2

A Kind Witch…?

 They boy struggled to breathe as he twisted and turned and ran and drowned in his dream.  Angry colours at first and then twisted trees enveloped him, terror gripping his mind. He tried to run from the monsters who gave chase, but a great tidal wave rose up and swallowed him, leaving him in the suffocating dark…

 ~          ~          ~

 His mind slowly awoke from its sleep, though his eyes remained closed. He tried to remember what woke him and images of his nightmare came back and his heart began to race.  Trying to sit up set him into more of a frenzied panic as his body seemed locked into place, like he was paralysed.  The dream, the nightmare he had had, once so vivid now seemed so lost, dissipating like steam in the wind while he tried to remember what the heck had happened.  He cracked an eye open to get his bearings but snapped it shut almost immediately as the piercing morning light stabbed his eye.  

Squinting his eyes open, the black shapes surrounding his vision turned into frost-bitten trees.  A light fog hung in the air and grey clouds choked the sky.  His senses became aware of a sizzling sound and the quiet plinking of strings pulled in a melody.  

He tried stretching his head backward to look above and got a face full of pumpkin.  That wasn’t what he had been expecting.  

The sensation of not being able to move proved too great as panic started to rise inside him.  He twisted and turned, a searing pain from his ribs ripping across his torso as he tried to find out what on earth was going on.  He rolled onto his side in his struggle, an arm stuck down, the other across his chest, cheek in the dirt, facing the music - and froze.

 ~          ~          ~

 The witch sat on her stool, looking at her surroundings with bleary eyes, breathing in the crisp, morning air. With ice shards lining everything like cream on a cake, the temperature was colder than an ice selkie's breath.  

Ice selkies were like these adorable chinchillas that looked like their bodies had been stretched long and turned white.  They were deadly because people would pick them up and suddenly freeze as its breath froze them from their adorable tiny mouths.  There was an epidemic for a while before a doctor made a cure for the frozen and a vaccine for the untouched.  Now people could keep them as pets.

Usually prepared for this type of weather, she had wrapped herself in her thick, baggy, woollen pyjamas, hand knitted by her.  So of course there were holes, and so she also wore a dressing gown made from kangaroo fur and leather slippers with woollen insides.  Her long, wild hair hung down her back and shoulders, keeping the edges of her face warm.  She kept her stitched-up hat on her head for good measure.

Her arm was aching.

She had woken up two hours ago, and waited for the boy to wake up as well. She was supposed to be leaving today, and she couldn’t bring him with her.  After a while of waiting, she grew tired and got out her violin, hoping that maybe the melody would wake him up with ease.  Thirty seconds into her plan that wasn't working she grew frustrated. She dug the bow across the strings, causing a cacophony of squeaking and the pain in her arm to flare and yelled “Wake up!”

Nothing.

Well, she couldn’t really blame him, being half starved and half dead.  At least he looked half dead.  Again, she hoped he wasn’t dead.

Having bad experiences with people before, she felt the need to practice introducing herself.  Not having much contact with the world at large left her feeling like she had missed out on learning social skills:

“Hello!  Oh my goodness I sound like a little girl.”

“Hiya mate, I’m Murid!  I... I’m a flippin’ captain of a pirate ship, wanna go across the seas?  UGH.”

“Hello I’m Mughidgrenthumnb- Greenthumb, Greeeeeenthumb…  I’m extremely glad you’re not conscious.”

“You’re alive right? …yep, you’re alive.”

“Hi I’m Murid and I really wish you’d wake up.  I need to leave.”

“Hello poor and malnourished boy whom I saved from death last night, I’m Murid. Wake up.”

“I. Am.  Murid. Greenthumb.  How.  Are. You?  As you can see, I barely interact with any other sentient beings.”

“Hi I’m Murid who are you why are you homeless.”

“Hi I - oh my goodness what am I doing.”

She grew bored and self-conscious, so she decided to just get on with breakfast.

So she sat on her stool, watching over the last of her eggs and bacon with a little remorse.  She had plenty of other food, but she had to steal this stuff - it's not like she had any pigs or chickens to make food from. Her violin lay across her legs as she played a quiet tune, plucking the strings and cradling her right arm.  

Alright, what on earth am I gonna do with this boy when he wakes up?  Murid pondered as she shifted in and out of thoughts.  Well feed him obviously, but what after that?  I don’t wanna try any introductions again, that went terribly and he wasn’t even conscious for that.  He’s in pretty bad shape.  I don’t know what kind of accommodation I can arrange for him; I can’t arrange anything. They’d probably execute him if they knew he’d been with a witch… I hope Thatcha’s ok.

She shifted her gaze to her wagon, covered entirely in vines and leaves of a pumpkin plant.  The boy was lying near one of the pumpkins.  Well, it’s not like I don’t have plenty of space…no, no, no, no, I don’t know this boy and for all I know he could be a witch hunter or something.  A homeless one.  Plus, he’s a human.  And why on earth would he wanna stay with me?  The only reason would be if he were really desperate.  Or, he could just stay with me until I come across a suitable village, or even an orphanage!  Then I can drop him off and be on my merry way!  Alone.

Murid gave barely a pause to that last thought.  She heard movement behind her but kept on strumming then stopped when she heard it a second time.  She looked behind her thinking He must be moving in his sleep agai- oh!” she started.  The boy was staring straight at her, twisted in his sleeping bag. Murid stared straight back at him, her heart rate rising with the colour in her cheeks.  Trying to keep calm, she had to remind herself that there was no way at all that this boy could harm her.  He was sick and his bones, while mended, would still be painful, there was no way he could harm her.  He was just a simple, injured human.  He couldn’t hurt her.  

He couldn’t hurt her.

“Uh, mo-morning!” Murid finally blurted, fumbling with her violin and words. She placed it down (the violin, not her words) and got up.  She then proceeded to trip over her violin, stumble, almost knock over the pan on the fire and hit her violin, the thing pulling notes on its own accord, and finally toppled the stool over to its side.  Murid got out of the entanglement and looked at the mess.  

“That wasn’t really what I wanted my first impression t’be...”  She muttered under her breath.  The boy continued to stare at the strange girl as she straightened her violin and up righted the stool and pan.  He didn’t dare move, even as she walked over to him (who was trying to act like nothing had happened).  

“Hello!  I – ugh… are you alright? ‘Cuz you look kind’v… caught up in that.” She pointed out, keeping at a safe distance.  He paused when she said this, taking a look down at himself, then tried to pull his arms out.  Murid let the show continue for a while but was getting frustrated just by watching him; she crouched on the balls of her feet and reached out with caution but he jerked away from her hands, making her jump.  Murid looked at him and recoiled back slowly, a resentful expression on her face.  

“I’ll, um – I’ve got your breakfast cooking.  I’ll just, go get it.” Murid muttered.  Her voice lilted with a strange accent, with her 'r's relaxed and her 'a's and 'ou's drawn out.  Her “i’s” sounded she was saying “i-ye” or “oi”.  And she seemed to mistake sentences for one big long word, joining two to three words at a time into one.  The boy finally got his arms out despite the fiery pain stabbing into his side, and shuffled back against the pumpkin behind him.  

He stared at this creature as she made her way around the camp fire, quiet terror gripping him.  He had seen her face, the colour of this girl’s skin and hair, the iconic style of that pointy hat – she was a witch.

Witches were vile.  They were evil, they were wicked, they were awful, and deemed justly so because of their use of Black Magic… whatever that was.  Ok, so he didn’t know what was so bad about Black Magic or what magic even was, but still, people talked about it with enough distaste for him to know it was a Bad Thing.  Being a witch meant that you lived in exile, banished to the wilderness, and you were to follow those rules unless you wanted to hang.  He had come across the carcass of a burnt down house in town once. Apparently, the couple had come into a close encounter with a witch from the outside as they were travelling back to their home town.  Simply for that, the witch had burned their house down.  Witches were bad, bad, bad, bad.  Even so, he had to admit… this one was prettier than what he had imagined them being.

Coming over with full hands, cutlery rattling, the witch laid a plate of food in front of him.  A clay mug followed next, full of steaming tea.  He noticed that she kept her right arm in a crooked position.  

“Ugh… food,” she pointed at the plate then hurried away.  The boy looked at the breakfast as if it were a live octopus. It was bacon and eggs, and it smelled delicious, but he couldn’t make sense of it; why was this witch giving him food?  Why had she not killed him yet, or used him as a specimen to test Black Magic on like all those horror stories he had heard about?  Who was she?  Why was she acting like a… like an actual person?  

He snapped his head up at the witch as she sat down in front of him, still keeping a distance between them.  She winced when she put down her mug and plate, rubbing her right arm. Her eyes shifted up to him and he froze.

“…food,” she pointed again.  

The boy looked at the steaming plate and then back at her.  “Because you kinda look like you haven’t eaten fer a while…” He continued to stare at her.  She sighed, putting down her fork.  

“Alright, here’s the deal O silent one.  We eat our breakfast, and if you don’t eat yours, I’m gonna have it, cuz I've been savin’ that beggs and acon.  UGH eggs and bacon.  And then I’m gonna bring you back inta town, and leave you there.  How’s that sound?”

Murid waited for some kind of reply from him; when it didn’t come, she just shrugged and tucked into her breakfast.  She looked like she was struggling to get the food on her fork, like she wasn’t used to her left hand.  His eyes trailed up and he studied her face.  She had laugh lines around her mouth, like she smiled a lot.  Her eyebrows were low and determined, but her eyes had a more innocent nature, more trust in them.  Looking at them he noticed something odd about the colour.  The left one was a light, sea blue while the other was dark blue, not quite black but… duller.

She raised an eyebrow at his gaze and he switched to his plate.  It occurred to him that he might anger the witch if he didn't eat her food.  Thinking fast he grabbed the fork and played around with it, hoping he looked like he was about to take a bite at any moment.

Murid leaned forward slowly.  “…y’do know what do with food right?”  she whispered loudly.  He flinched and looked at her.  

“Y’know, you cut it up, then you put in ya mouth, and then you chew-” The boy squinted and started nodding along with her, as if to say “Oh haha, very funny”. Murid stopped and snorted, smiling at him, and the boy surprised himself by smiling back.  Something changed in her face.

“I’m, Murid, by the way…” she introduced herself.  “What’s your name?”

The boy paused, considering his options.  Murid watched him quizzically as he grabbed a nearby stick and started scrawling in the dirt.  Murid tilted her head around to read the shaky writing.

“…Todd, Wor…Worthington?” she repeated aloud.  He nodded at her.  

“Well.  Hello!  Todd.” She gave a tentative grin.  He smiled back and took a nibble of the fried eggs.  That small nibble awoke a hunger in him that had since been dormant for weeks. With all honesty, he did not care if this food was poisoned or not, it tasted good and he was hungry, end of story.

 ~          ~          ~

 Murid doused the fire with a bucket of water before taking his and her plate.  The witch paused, looking from the dirty plates to the freshly put-out fire.  

“Darn it,” she whispered and clenched her fists.  “Ah I’ll clean ‘em later…”

Todd felt, so good.  But it was a painful kind of good; though his stomach had cried for food for weeks, finally giving it some made it realise it didn’t think it would get this far.  Now it was trying to remember what to do.  While he watched Murid move around her campsite, Todd thought, weighing his options and choices.  She looked like she was packing up.  He picked up his stick.

Murid came over to her… guest, fluffing a coat she got from the wagon.  “Alright, I got you a coat so you won’t be so cold…” she quietened when she saw him looking up at her, his stick pointing down at the ground.  More writing. It said, “what’s going to happen to me?”

“Oh…” was all Murid could mutter.  Todd thought it was because she found the answer hard to say, but really she was just thinking ‘Is this an existential question or is he literally asking me what I’m going to do with him in the next hour or so? ‘Cuz I don’t know what happens when you die’.  She decided it was the latter.  

“Um, well, I was going to take you as far as the edge o’ town.  Then leave… you there… y’know, like, like dropping you back home after a sleep ovah!” she gave a smile, but it was a forced one. She knew how cruel that sounded. Save a homeless guy’s life then leave him back in the situation that had gotten him into trouble before.  His eyes stared into hers, wandering.

“Look… I’m sorry I can’t help you more, but I’ve done all that I can.  I took you to the doc, almost got HIM in trouble, I saved your life and gave you a meal.  And if I could, I’d seeya every day and cook you meals and help you to find some way of livin’ and get’ya off the street.  But I’m a witch.”  She crouched on her haunches.  “I can’t DO anything.  If they saw you with me – the rest of the humans – thay’d kill me AND you.  Every moment you’re with me you’re in danger and it’s bad enough you’ve spent half a night with me.  Green Skinna’s, y’know how they work?” Todd shook his head and Murid’s face fell.  “Darn it I wish someone knew.  But what I do know is, thay can track me, like I’ve got a scent or something.  And that’s gonna rub off on you.”  Murid paused. “Not, not that I’m saying I smell. I-I take, baths, quite regularly th-thank you, I don’t stink.  I mean, mean that thay have devices, and thay know things I’ve been near if, if I linger-” Murid flailed her arms.  “Look, it’s just too much, ok!  I’m a danger t’you, and your a danger t’me… I’m sorry…” she shrugged with a grim look. He took a moment to take in what she was saying.  He knew she couldn’t take him in – he didn’t even think she’d offer – but he was hoping for help of some kind.  If he went back there and onto the street again, he’d…

His eyes pricked and his mouth contorted, biting away tears and he tried to hide his face.  The witch’s eyes widened; ok she’d expected him to be upset, but she didn’t expect him to cry.  Another bewildering thought slapped her - when did she get attached to him?!  

“Oh, um, ugh, oh gosh don’t- don’t cry, please, uh… HERE WAIT-” she yelled and bounded off, flinging away the coat as she darted into her wagon again.  Todd sniffed curiously; what could she possibly give him that would make this all better?  It may have been his ears playing tricks, but he swore when Murid ran out of the wagon again she had sounded far away, as if down in a long corridor. She jumped down and crouched in front of him, a necklace with an orange crystal pendant dangling from her hand. She was holding it out to him.

…

Was she bribing him?

“This!  Is a magic thing!  It does magical stuff!  Here, take it ‘n’ sell it off back in town.  Take it to the lady with that weird eye, she’s nice and can appraise it for you for a good price.  It’s worth a lot, trust me.  Probably’d, rent you… food Idunnohere.”  Without waiting for a reply she slipped it over his head, patted said head, and got back to packing.  He clamped a hand over his head with a frown and looked down at the pendant.  

‘What does it do?’ he thought.

“It gives you the ability t’read aloud your thoughts.” Murid replied over her shoulder.

‘Oh ok, well it would be worth a lot if itWAIT WHAT?!’

“Well, I’m assuming y’can’t talk ‘cuz you’re a mute?” Murid guessed, looking at him.  Todd stared her.  How could she hear him?  How was he talking?  He hadn’t spoken to anyone in years. No, no he couldn’t talk.  This necklace didn’t do anything, she was just playing a trick.  

‘She’s just trying to get rid of me with a trinket.’

“She’s just tryina get rid of me with a trinket,” Murid mimicked with her arms crossed.  

‘You can hear me?!’

“Y’can hear me?”

Todd made a face at her.  ‘Ok, you can stop copying me.’

“Ok you can stop copying me.”

‘I’m the ultimate fart master.’

“I’m the ultimaHEY” and he laughed.  She came over to him, holding out her hand.

“Here, give it,” she gestured to his necklace.  He took it off and handed it to her.

“Ok, now say something.” She instructed.  She waited but not a peep came from him.  She re-placed the crystal against his collarbone.  

“Now say something.”

‘…what are you doing?’ Todd’s thoughts rang out clear in her mind, as if he were speaking aloud.

“See?  You can talk now.  Either use it to get a job or sell it off,” she said not unkindly, handing it back to him. He looked at her, the necklace, back at her and at the necklace again.

‘So you can actually hear me?’

“For goodness sake, yes.”

‘What number am I thinking of?’

“Potato- potato?” she stopped and gave him a weird look.

‘I wanted to make sure you weren’t lying,’ he grinned a sheepish grin.

“I am currently having a full on conversation with ya, how could I fake this?” she said dubiously.  Todd didn’t know what to say so he just offered another grin.  It stayed there and grew wider.

‘This, this is fantastic!  I can, I can talk to people now!  Sort of. No more flimsy sign language! Ever!  At all!  Hey how does my voice sound?  Is it deep? I bet its deep.’

“Ugh, well…” Murid began.  Todd’s heart immediately sank when she uttered the word ‘ugh’.  

“It’s kind of hard to describe.  Do you know how t’read?”  Todd shrugged.  “Ok, well… when you wrote your name inta the dirt, you sounded out the lettas in your head, right?” He nodded.  “And you said your name in your head?” He nodded again.  

“Your voice is kinda like that – when you’re reading something and you have that little voice inside your head that says the things you’re reading out loud, and you can hear it but your not forcing it.  It’s kinda like that.  As if I’m reading, the words, that you’re… saying.”  Murid looked back at Todd’s blank face.

“Y’know what telepathy is?” He nodded.  “You’re now telepathic, ‘s’long as you keep it on.” Explanation. Done.  

Murid motioned towards the fallen coat.  “Go ahead and put that on and get up.” She turned and pulled something out of her pocket.  He couldn’t see what it was until she threw it into the air; the marble caught the light and seemed to hang suspended in the air for a millisecond before it came back to Murid’s hand.  She flicked her hand around and smoke poured out, spreading long and tall.  The smoke solidified, forming a staff with a milky blue crystal ball at the end.  The more he looked at the ball the more details surfaced from within.  The centre was a pearly white, dissipating into a blue, semi-transparent outer layer.  Little fractures dotted throughout the sphere reflected and caught the light like tiny little stars.  Wow it was pretty.  And big.  Todd thought she could wallop someone in the head pretty good with that thing.  She chucked the staff out in front of her and it landed in the air sideways, hovering.  It grew stirrups, bristles at the other end and two metallic rotors.  

Well… This was the weirdest Monday.

“Ok.  Get on!” Murid stuck out her hand at the hovering broom with a big, plastered smile.

He raised an eyebrow at her.  They were going, to fly, on a broom? He had thought that at least that part about witches were just a myth.  Alright then.  

“How’s your feet?  Y’can walk, right?  I mean, you’re standing…” Murid nodded at him, breaking off his thoughts.  Todd looked at his legs.  Yes, he supposed he was standing.  He couldn’t… really feel his legs though…

“So you can walk?” Murid asked again.  Todd nodded, not moving.  ‘Just gimme a sec,’ he said off-handed.  Murid inched closer but didn’t say anything.  He brought a skeletal, veiny foot forward, and took one step.  He smiled at Murid, showing her that he was ok and she raised an eyebrow.

Then his vision turned splotchy and a million bees were buzzing in his ears. He fell forward, feeling lighter than air and heavier than stone in a bizarre combination.  When his head stopped tingling and his eyes refocused, he realised he was looking up at the witch, her arms hooked under his armpits.

“So you can walk?” she asked again, both eyebrows arched.  He gave a sheepish smile.  Murid rolled her eyes and pushed him forward, giving herself room to manoeuvre his arm to sling around her shoulders.  The two hobbled over to her waiting broom and she made him place his hands on the broom to keep his balance.  

“Alright, now just hook your legs underneath my broom and hold on with your hands.” Murid instructed, lowering their ride a little.  

‘You’re so good with helping you should be a broom instructor.’ Todd cracked, lifting a shaking leg.  This caught Murid off guard and she spluttered.  

“Well if we’re goin’ off on talents here you should go talk to actors about howta faint!” she jeered.  

‘Ha.’

She looked at how he was seated and gave an over-the-top thumbs up and a wink. He squinted his eyes disapprovingly at her.  She got on in front and pulled a pair of goggles out from beneath her hood and fitted them over her eyes as Todd slowly leaned to one side and fell off.

After a few minutes of laughing Murid helped Todd back up.

“Ok enough fooling around!  I’ve really gotta go.”

‘Oh but I’m having so much fun.  Any other household items you want me to mount?  A tea pot perhaps?’  He barely got that joke out between his grinning and Murid doubled over, shaking.

“It’s a flipping impressive piece of magic and metal so stop makin’ fun of it!” She gasped.  

‘Doesn’t change the fact you can still sweep your floors with it.’

“Shut up!”  She looked at this grinning boy and she was glad that her eyes were full of tears of laughter, otherwise he would’ve noticed they were actual tears now.  This wasn’t fair.  

Her smile faded and her eyes grew wide when she heard them, her gaze growing hunted.  Her ears pricked and her stomach shot cold.  Todd noticed the change of mood and he gave her an odd look.  She looked off in the direction of the town and she listened, hearing their intent and their gadgets whirring and their… they were barking.  

“Ah, shivas tonight,” she breathed.  Murid didn’t give Todd an explanation; she just turned and grabbed the broom.  It reformed into a staff and she picked all of her campsite up, the pans, the rug, her violin, the stool, all in a dark purple vapour and moved it into her wagon with a wave of her arms.  She cringed, keeping her right arm stiff.

‘What’s wrong?’ Todd asked, utterly confused.  She ran to her wagon and sat down on the seat at the front before she looked at him and he could see the raw fear in her eyes.  She flickered them from the trees and back to him.  After a moment, she got up again and rushed over.

“Ok!  Todd Worthington!  Y’got one of two options because I gotta scarce myself immediately.  One: you go off and hide somewhere, wait for the Skinna’s to pass and get back t’your town and hope by the Five they don’t execute you for bein’ witha witch or Two: …you can come with me.” The last words hung in the air.  Her shoulders were so far up they were almost stapled to her ears and she was holding her breath.  After a heartbeat she reached her hand out.  Todd stared at her then down at her hand.  He could hear them now, a group of these “Green Skinners”.  He could hear strange machines whirring and beeping and horrible dogs booming.  He looked at her hand, looked into her eyes, grinned and took it.  Murid flinched like she’d been shocked, taking a moment to look at his rip and then at him in disbelief.  She made a better hold on his hand and hauled him over to her wagon, Todd running like a newborn foal.      

‘Uuuuhhh, shouldn’t we be getting away from these people?’

“We are.”

‘Then why are we sitting on a wagon that’s stuck to the ground?’

Murid reached up and pulled down a smooth pumpkin vine, holding them like reigns.

“Who said it was stuck?” she tilted her head, and pulled.  The vines that encased the wagon moved, writhing like snakes and he felt the air rush past his ears and his stomach drop.  He looked over the side and gasped; they were very high up.  Four strong, spindly vines held up the wagon like legs, each attached to a pumpkin below as if they were feet.  Murid raised and lowered and shifted her arms and the vines responded, swaying the wagon and turning towards the forest, the opposite direction of the town.  The trees were a bit dense.  Todd was worried they wouldn’t be able to make a quick getaway. Murid wasn’t.  She just raised them up high above the tree tops and now the path was clear as day.  Howls and whirrs resounded behind them and there was a woosh and Todd fell back against the force of the wagon leaping forward and they left the danger, the town, his home, her fear, and the morning behind them.  Before them was the day.

(pls tell me if you find spelling errors I somehow miss them???)

#magicandmettle #writing #imaddcraze #maddinup

[maddinup]

Magic and Mettle

Chapter 2

A Kind Witch…?

 They boy struggled to breathe as he twisted and turned and ran and drowned in his dream.  Angry colours at first and then twisted trees enveloped him, terror gripping his mind. He tried to run from the monsters who gave chase, but a great tidal wave rose up and swallowed him, leaving him in the suffocating dark…

 ~          ~          ~

 His mind slowly awoke from its sleep, though his eyes remained closed. He tried to remember what woke him and images of his nightmare came back and his heart began to race.  Trying to sit up set him into more of a frenzied panic as his body seemed locked into place, like he was paralysed.  The dream, the nightmare he had had, once so vivid now seemed so lost, dissipating like steam in the wind while he tried to remember what the heck had happened.  He cracked an eye open to get his bearings but snapped it shut almost immediately as the piercing morning light stabbed his eye.  

Squinting his eyes open, the black shapes surrounding his vision turned into frost-bitten trees.  A light fog hung in the air and grey clouds choked the sky.  His senses became aware of a sizzling sound and the quiet plinking of strings pulled in a melody.  

He tried stretching his head backward to look above and got a face full of pumpkin.  That wasn’t what he had been expecting.  

The sensation of not being able to move proved too great as panic started to rise inside him.  He twisted and turned, a searing pain from his ribs ripping across his torso as he tried to find out what on earth was going on.  He rolled onto his side in his struggle, an arm stuck down, the other across his chest, cheek in the dirt, facing the music - and froze.

 ~          ~          ~

 The witch sat on her stool, looking at her surroundings with bleary eyes, breathing in the crisp, morning air. With ice shards lining everything like cream on a cake, the temperature was colder than an ice selkie's breath.  

Ice selkies were like these adorable chinchillas that looked like their bodies had been stretched long and turned white.  They were deadly because people would pick them up and suddenly freeze as its breath froze them from their adorable tiny mouths.  There was an epidemic for a while before a doctor made a cure for the frozen and a vaccine for the untouched.  Now people could keep them as pets.

Usually prepared for this type of weather, she had wrapped herself in her thick, baggy, woollen pyjamas, hand knitted by her.  So of course there were holes, and so she also wore a dressing gown made from kangaroo fur and leather slippers with woollen insides.  Her long, wild hair hung down her back and shoulders, keeping the edges of her face warm.  She kept her stitched-up hat on her head for good measure.

Her arm was aching.

She had woken up two hours ago, and waited for the boy to wake up as well. She was supposed to be leaving today, and she couldn’t bring him with her.  After a while of waiting, she grew tired and got out her violin, hoping that maybe the melody would wake him up with ease.  Thirty seconds into her plan that wasn't working she grew frustrated.  She dug the bow across the strings, causing a cacophony of squeaking and the pain in her arm to flare and yelled “Wake up!”

Nothing.

Well, she couldn’t really blame him, being half starved and half dead.  At least he looked half dead.  Again, she hoped he wasn’t dead.

Having bad experiences with people before, she felt the need to practice introducing herself.  Not having much contact with the world at large left her feeling like she had missed out on learning social skills:

“Hello!  Oh my goodness I sound like a little girl.”

“Hiya mate, I’m Murid!  I... I’m a flippin’ captain of a pirate ship, wanna go across the seas?  UGH.”

“Hello I’m Mughidgrenthumnb- Greenthumb, Greeeeeenthumb…  I’m extremely glad you’re not conscious.”

“You’re alive right? …yep, you’re alive.”

“Hi I’m Murid and I really wish you’d wake up.  I need to leave.”

“Hello poor and malnourished boy whom I saved from death last night, I’m Murid. Wake up.”

“I. Am.  Murid. Greenthumb.  How.  Are. You?  As you can see, I barely interact with any other sentient beings.”

“Hi I’m Murid who are you why are you homeless.”

“Hi I - oh my goodness what am I doing.”

She grew bored and self-conscious, so she decided to just get on with breakfast.

So she sat on her stool, watching over the last of her eggs and bacon with a little remorse.  She had plenty of other food, but she had to steal this stuff - it's not like she had any pigs or chickens to make food from. Her violin lay across her legs as she played a quiet tune, plucking the strings and cradling her right arm.  

Alright, what on earth am I gonna do with this boy when he wakes up?  Murid pondered as she shifted in and out of thoughts.  Well feed him obviously, but what after that?  I don’t wanna try any introductions again, that went terribly and he wasn’t even conscious for that.  He’s in pretty bad shape.  I don’t know what kind of accommodation I can arrange for him; I can’t arrange anything. They’d probably execute him if they knew he’d been with a witch… I hope Thatcha’s ok.

She shifted her gaze to her wagon, covered entirely in vines and leaves of a pumpkin plant.  The boy was lying near one of the pumpkins.  Well, it’s not like I don’t have plenty of space…no, no, no, no, I don’t know this boy and for all I know he could be a witch hunter or something.  A homeless one.  Plus, he’s a human.  And why on earth would he wanna stay with me?  The only reason would be if he were really desperate.  Or, he could just stay with me until I come across a suitable village, or even an orphanage!  Then I can drop him off and be on my merry way!  Alone.

Murid gave barely a pause to that last thought.  She heard movement behind her but kept on strumming then stopped when she heard it a second time.  She looked behind her thinking He must be moving in his sleep agai- oh!” she started.  The boy was staring straight at her, twisted in his sleeping bag. Murid stared straight back at him, her heart rate rising with the colour in her cheeks.  Trying to keep calm, she had to remind herself that there was no way at all that this boy could harm her.  He was sick and his bones, while mended, would still be painful, there was no way he could harm her.  He was just a simple, injured human.  He couldn’t hurt her.  

He couldn’t hurt her.

“Uh, mo-morning!” Murid finally blurted, fumbling with her violin and words. She placed it down (the violin, not her words) and got up.  She then proceeded to trip over her violin, stumble, almost knock over the pan on the fire and hit her violin, the thing pulling notes on its own accord, and finally toppled the stool over to its side.  Murid got out of the entanglement and looked at the mess.  

“That wasn’t really what I wanted my first impression t’be...”  She muttered under her breath.  The boy continued to stare at the strange girl as she straightened her violin and up righted the stool and pan.  He didn’t dare move, even as she walked over to him (who was trying to act like nothing had happened).  

“Hello!  I – ugh… are you alright? ‘Cuz you look kind’v… caught up in that.” She pointed out, keeping at a safe distance.  He paused when she said this, taking a look down at himself, then tried to pull his arms out.  Murid let the show continue for a while but was getting frustrated just by watching him; she crouched on the balls of her feet and reached out with caution but he jerked away from her hands, making her jump.  Murid looked at him and recoiled back slowly, a resentful expression on her face.  

“I’ll, um – I’ve got your breakfast cooking.  I’ll just, go get it.” Murid muttered.  Her voice lilted with a strange accent, with her 'r's relaxed and her 'a's and 'ou's drawn out.  Her “i’s” sounded she was saying “i-ye” or “oi”.  And she seemed to mistake sentences for one big long word, joining two to three words at a time into one.  The boy finally got his arms out despite the fiery pain stabbing into his side, and shuffled back against the pumpkin behind him.  

He stared at this creature as she made her way around the camp fire, quiet terror gripping him.  He had seen her face, the colour of this girl’s skin and hair, the iconic style of that pointy hat – she was a witch.

Witches were vile.  They were evil, they were wicked, they were awful, and deemed justly so because of their use of Black Magic… whatever that was.  Ok, so he didn’t know what was so bad about Black Magic or what magic even was, but still, people talked about it with enough distaste for him to know it was a Bad Thing.  Being a witch meant that you lived in exile, banished to the wilderness, and you were to follow those rules unless you wanted to hang.  He had come across the carcass of a burnt down house in town once. Apparently, the couple had come into a close encounter with a witch from the outside as they were travelling back to their home town.  Simply for that, the witch had burned their house down.  Witches were bad, bad, bad, bad.  Even so, he had to admit… this one was prettier than what he had imagined them being.

Coming over with full hands, cutlery rattling, the witch laid a plate of food in front of him.  A clay mug followed next, full of steaming tea.  He noticed that she kept her right arm in a crooked position.  

“Ugh… food,” she pointed at the plate then hurried away.  The boy looked at the breakfast as if it were a live octopus. It was bacon and eggs, and it smelled delicious, but he couldn’t make sense of it; why was this witch giving him food?  Why had she not killed him yet, or used him as a specimen to test Black Magic on like all those horror stories he had heard about?  Who was she?  Why was she acting like a… like an actual person?  

He snapped his head up at the witch as she sat down in front of him, still keeping a distance between them.  She winced when she put down her mug and plate, rubbing her right arm.  Her eyes shifted up to him and he froze.  

“…food,” she pointed again.  

The boy looked at the steaming plate and then back at her.  “Because you kinda look like you haven’t eaten fer a while…” He continued to stare at her.  She sighed, putting down her fork.  

“Alright, here’s the deal O silent one.  We eat our breakfast, and if you don’t eat yours, I’m gonna have it, cuz I've been savin’ that beggs and acon.  UGH eggs and bacon.  And then I’m gonna bring you back inta town, and leave you there.  How’s that sound?”

Murid waited for some kind of reply from him; when it didn’t come, she just shrugged and tucked into her breakfast.  She looked like she was struggling to get the food on her fork, like she wasn’t used to her left hand.  His eyes trailed up and he studied her face.  She had laugh lines around her mouth, like she smiled a lot.  Her eyebrows were low and determined, but her eyes had a more innocent nature, more trust in them.  Looking at them he noticed something odd about the colour.  The left one was a light, sea blue while the other was dark blue, not quite black but… duller.

She raised an eyebrow at his gaze and he switched to his plate.  It occurred to him that he might anger the witch if he didn't eat her food.  Thinking fast he grabbed the fork and played around with it, hoping he looked like he was about to take a bite at any moment.

Murid leaned forward slowly.  “…y’do know what do with food right?”  she whispered loudly.  He flinched and looked at her.  

“Y’know, you cut it up, then you put in ya mouth, and then you chew-” The boy squinted and started nodding along with her, as if to say “Oh haha, very funny”. Murid stopped and snorted, smiling at him, and the boy surprised himself by smiling back.  Something changed in her face.

“I’m, Murid, by the way…” she introduced herself.  “What’s your name?”

The boy paused, considering his options.  Murid watched him quizzically as he grabbed a nearby stick and started scrawling in the dirt.  Murid tilted her head around to read the shaky writing.

“…Todd, Wor…Worthington?” she repeated aloud.  He nodded at her.  

“Well.  Hello!  Todd.” She gave a tentative grin.  He smiled back and took a nibble of the fried eggs.  That small nibble awoke a hunger in him that had since been dormant for weeks. With all honesty, he did not care if this food was poisoned or not, it tasted good and he was hungry, end of story.

 ~          ~          ~

 Murid doused the fire with a bucket of water before taking his and her plate.  The witch paused, looking from the dirty plates to the freshly put-out fire.  

“Darn it,” she whispered and clenched her fists.  “Ah I’ll clean ‘em later…”

Todd felt, so good.  But it was a painful kind of good; though his stomach had cried for food for weeks, finally giving it some made it realise it didn’t think it would get this far.  Now it was trying to remember what to do.  While he watched Murid move around her campsite, Todd thought, weighing his options and choices.  She looked like she was packing up.  He picked up his stick.

Murid came over to her… guest, fluffing a coat she got from the wagon.  “Alright, I got you a coat so you won’t be so cold…” she quietened when she saw him looking up at her, his stick pointing down at the ground.  More writing. It said, “what’s going to happen to me?”

“Oh…” was all Murid could mutter.  Todd thought it was because she found the answer hard to say, but really she was just thinking ‘Is this an existential question or is he literally asking me what I’m going to do with him in the next hour or so? ‘Cuz I don’t know what happens when you die’.  She decided it was the latter.  

“Um, well, I was going to take you as far as the edge o’ town.  Then leave… you there… y’know, like, like dropping you back home after a sleep ovah!” she gave a smile, but it was a forced one. She knew how cruel that sounded. Save a homeless guy’s life then leave him back in the situation that had gotten him into trouble before.  His eyes stared into hers, wandering.

“Look… I’m sorry I can’t help you more, but I’ve done all that I can.  I took you to the doc, almost got HIM in trouble, I saved your life and gave you a meal.  And if I could, I’d seeya every day and cook you meals and help you to find some way of livin’ and get’ya off the street.  But I’m a witch.”  She crouched on her haunches.  “I can’t DO anything.  If they saw you with me – the rest of the humans – thay’d kill me AND you.  Every moment you’re with me you’re in danger and it’s bad enough you’ve spent half a night with me.  Green Skinna’s, y’know how they work?” Todd shook his head and Murid’s face fell.  “Darn it I wish someone knew.  But what I do know is, thay can track me, like I’ve got a scent or something.  And that’s gonna rub off on you.”  Murid paused. “Not, not that I’m saying I smell. I-I take, baths, quite regularly th-thank you, I don’t stink.  I mean, mean that thay have devices, and thay know things I’ve been near if, if I linger-” Murid flailed her arms.  “Look, it’s just too much, ok!  I’m a danger t’you, and your a danger t’me… I’m sorry…” she shrugged with a grim look. He took a moment to take in what she was saying.  He knew she couldn’t take him in – he didn’t even think she’d offer – but he was hoping for help of some kind.  If he went back there and onto the street again, he’d…

His eyes pricked and his mouth contorted, biting away tears and he tried to hide his face.  The witch’s eyes widened; ok she’d expected him to be upset, but she didn’t expect him to cry.  Another bewildering thought slapped her - when did she get attached to him?!  

“Oh, um, ugh, oh gosh don’t- don’t cry, please, uh… HERE WAIT-” she yelled and bounded off, flinging away the coat as she darted into her wagon again.  Todd sniffed curiously; what could she possibly give him that would make this all better?  It may have been his ears playing tricks, but he swore when Murid ran out of the wagon again she had sounded far away, as if down in a long corridor. She jumped down and crouched in front of him, a necklace with an orange crystal pendant dangling from her hand. She was holding it out to him.

…

Was she bribing him?

“This!  Is a magic thing!  It does magical stuff!  Here, take it ‘n’ sell it off back in town.  Take it to the lady with that weird eye, she’s nice and can appraise it for you for a good price.  It’s worth a lot, trust me.  Probably’d, rent you… food Idunnohere.”  Without waiting for a reply she slipped it over his head, patted said head, and got back to packing.  He clamped a hand over his head with a frown and looked down at the pendant.  

‘What does it do?’ he thought.

“It gives you the ability t’read aloud your thoughts.” Murid replied over her shoulder.

‘Oh ok, well it would be worth a lot if itWAIT WHAT?!’

“Well, I’m assuming y’can’t talk ‘cuz you’re a mute?” Murid guessed, looking at him.  Todd stared her.  How could she hear him?  How was he talking?  He hadn’t spoken to anyone in years. No, no he couldn’t talk.  This necklace didn’t do anything, she was just playing a trick.  

‘She’s just trying to get rid of me with a trinket.’

“She’s just tryina get rid of me with a trinket,” Murid mimicked with her arms crossed.  

‘You can hear me?!’

“Y’can hear me?”

Todd made a face at her.  ‘Ok, you can stop copying me.’

“Ok you can stop copying me.”

‘I’m the ultimate fart master.’

“I’m the ultimaHEY” and he laughed.  She came over to him, holding out her hand.

“Here, give it,” she gestured to his necklace.  He took it off and handed it to her.

“Ok, now say something.” She instructed.  She waited but not a peep came from him.  She re-placed the crystal against his collarbone.  

“Now say something.”

‘…what are you doing?’ Todd’s thoughts rang out clear in her mind, as if he were speaking aloud.

“See?  You can talk now.  Either use it to get a job or sell it off,” she said not unkindly, handing it back to him. He looked at her, the necklace, back at her and at the necklace again.

‘So you can actually hear me?’

“For goodness sake, yes.”

‘What number am I thinking of?’

“Potato- potato?” she stopped and gave him a weird look.

‘I wanted to make sure you weren’t lying,’ he grinned a sheepish grin.

“I am currently having a full on conversation with ya, how could I fake this?” she said dubiously.  Todd didn’t know what to say so he just offered another grin.  It stayed there and grew wider.

‘This, this is fantastic!  I can, I can talk to people now!  Sort of. No more flimsy sign language! Ever!  At all!  Hey how does my voice sound?  Is it deep? I bet its deep.’

“Ugh, well…” Murid began.  Todd’s heart immediately sank when she uttered the word ‘ugh’.  

“It’s kind of hard to describe.  Do you know how t’read?”  Todd shrugged.  “Ok, well… when you wrote your name inta the dirt, you sounded out the lettas in your head, right?” He nodded.  “And you said your name in your head?” He nodded again.  

“Your voice is kinda like that – when you’re reading something and you have that little voice inside your head that says the things you’re reading out loud, and you can hear it but your not forcing it.  It’s kinda like that.  As if I’m reading, the words, that you’re… saying.”  Murid looked back at Todd’s blank face.

“Y’know what telepathy is?” He nodded.  “You’re now telepathic, ‘s’long as you keep it on.” Explanation. Done.  

Murid motioned towards the fallen coat.  “Go ahead and put that on and get up.” She turned and pulled something out of her pocket.  He couldn’t see what it was until she threw it into the air; the marble caught the light and seemed to hang suspended in the air for a millisecond before it came back to Murid’s hand.  She flicked her hand around and smoke poured out, spreading long and tall.  The smoke solidified, forming a staff with a milky blue crystal ball at the end.  The more he looked at the ball the more details surfaced from within.  The centre was a pearly white, dissipating into a blue, semi-transparent outer layer.  Little fractures dotted throughout the sphere reflected and caught the light like tiny little stars.  Wow it was pretty.  And big.  Todd thought she could wallop someone in the head pretty good with that thing.  She chucked the staff out in front of her and it landed in the air sideways, hovering.  It grew stirrups, bristles at the other end and two metallic rotors.  

Well… This was the weirdest Monday.

“Ok.  Get on!” Murid stuck out her hand at the hovering broom with a big, plastered smile.

He raised an eyebrow at her.  They were going, to fly, on a broom? He had thought that at least that part about witches were just a myth.  Alright then.  

“How’s your feet?  Y’can walk, right?  I mean, you’re standing…” Murid nodded at him, breaking off his thoughts.  Todd looked at his legs.  Yes, he supposed he was standing.  He couldn’t… really feel his legs though…

“So you can walk?” Murid asked again.  Todd nodded, not moving.  ‘Just gimme a sec,’ he said off-handed.  Murid inched closer but didn’t say anything.  He brought a skeletal, veiny foot forward, and took one step.  He smiled at Murid, showing her that he was ok and she raised an eyebrow.

Then his vision turned splotchy and a million bees were buzzing in his ears. He fell forward, feeling lighter than air and heavier than stone in a bizarre combination.  When his head stopped tingling and his eyes refocused, he realised he was looking up at the witch, her arms hooked under his armpits.

“So you can walk?” she asked again, both eyebrows arched.  He gave a sheepish smile.  Murid rolled her eyes and pushed him forward, giving herself room to manoeuvre his arm to sling around her shoulders.  The two hobbled over to her waiting broom and she made him place his hands on the broom to keep his balance.  

“Alright, now just hook your legs underneath my broom and hold on with your hands.” Murid instructed, lowering their ride a little.  

‘You’re so good with helping you should be a broom instructor.’ Todd cracked, lifting a shaking leg.  This caught Murid off guard and she spluttered.  

“Well if we’re goin’ off on talents here you should go talk to actors about howta faint!” she jeered.  

‘Ha.’

She looked at how he was seated and gave an over-the-top thumbs up and a wink. He squinted his eyes disapprovingly at her.  She got on in front and pulled a pair of goggles out from beneath her hood and fitted them over her eyes as Todd slowly leaned to one side and fell off.

After a few minutes of laughing Murid helped Todd back up.

“Ok enough fooling around!  I’ve really gotta go.”

‘Oh but I’m having so much fun.  Any other household items you want me to mount?  A tea pot perhaps?’  He barely got that joke out between his grinning and Murid doubled over, shaking.

“It’s a flipping impressive piece of magic and metal so stop makin’ fun of it!” She gasped.  

‘Doesn’t change the fact you can still sweep your floors with it.’

“Shut up!”  She looked at this grinning boy and she was glad that her eyes were full of tears of laughter, otherwise he would’ve noticed they were actual tears now.  This wasn’t fair.  

Her smile faded and her eyes grew wide when she heard them, her gaze growing hunted.  Her ears pricked and her stomach shot cold.  Todd noticed the change of mood and he gave her an odd look.  She looked off in the direction of the town and she listened, hearing their intent and their gadgets whirring and their dogs barking.

“Ah, shivas tonight,” she breathed.  Murid didn’t give Todd an explanation; she just turned and grabbed the broom.  It reformed into a staff and she picked all of her campsite up, the pans, the rug, her violin, the stool, all in a dark purple vapour and moved it into her wagon with a wave of her arms.  She cringed, keeping her right arm stiff.

‘What’s wrong?’ Todd asked, utterly confused.  She ran to her wagon and sat down on the seat at the front before she looked at him and he could see the raw fear in her eyes.  She flickered them from the trees and back to him.  After a moment, she got up again and rushed over.

“Ok!  Todd Worthington!  Y’got one of two options because I gotta scarce myself immediately.  One: you go off and hide somewhere, wait for the Skinna’s to pass and get back t’your town and hope by the Five they don’t execute you for bein’ witha witch or Two: …you can come with me.” The last words hung in the air.  Her shoulders were so far up they were almost stapled to her ears and she was holding her breath.  After a heartbeat she reached her hand out.  Todd stared at her then down at her hand.  He could hear them now, a group of these “Green Skinners”.  He could hear strange machines whirring and beeping and horrible dogs booming.  He looked at her hand, looked into her eyes, grinned and took it.  Murid flinched like she’d been shocked, taking a moment to look at his rip and then at him in disbelief.  She made a better hold on his hand and hauled him over to her wagon, Todd running like a newborn foal.      

‘Uuuuhhh, shouldn’t we be getting away from these people?’

“We are.”

‘Then why are we sitting on a wagon that’s stuck to the ground?’

Murid reached up and pulled down a smooth pumpkin vine, holding them like reigns.

“Who said it was stuck?” she tilted her head, and pulled.  The vines that encased the wagon moved, writhing like snakes and he felt the air rush past his ears and his stomach drop.  He looked over the side and gasped; they were very high up.  Four strong, spindly vines held up the wagon like legs, each attached to a pumpkin below as if they were feet.  Murid raised and lowered and shifted her arms and the vines responded, swaying the wagon and turning towards the forest, the opposite direction of the town.  The trees were a bit dense.  Todd was worried they wouldn’t be able to make a quick getaway. Murid wasn’t.  She just raised them up high above the tree tops and now the path was clear as day.  Howls and whirrs resounded behind them and there was a woosh and Todd fell back against the force of the wagon leaping forward and they left the danger, the town, his home, her fear, and the morning behind them.  Before them was the day.

Author’s note: This is the second chapter of my novel!  Tell me what you think and if you’d like to read more! MAn I dunno I just like wriiitiiiing stooriiieeesss...

#magicandmettle #magic&mettle #writing #muridgreenthumb #toddworthington