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holicanth · 3 years

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Hanging on to Threads

@shinoweek 2021 Prompt 1 - Solitude

Words: 2.7k

Genre: Angst. Horror. Suspense. Crime(?) Implied Shinohina

Warnings: Implied murder.

Author’s Note: This is part 1 of my Shinoweek 2021 series!! The whole series would be 4-5 parts and possibly have each prompt (chapter) released in chronological order.

Summary:

" A shinobi must constantly suppress their emotions, follow a strict set of rules that they decide among themselves, and avoid extraneous conflict. "

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

To his classmates, the grand tales of Konoha's history sounds like a distant, outdated fairytale, but Shino likes to think that there are things to learn from everything.

Tobirama Senjuu was renowned for his pragmatic approach to things, whether it be national or international. A model shinobi whose discipline has shaped the lives of generations after, and Shino revered him greatly.

Shino had thought, that if every shinobi were to follow the the Second's ninja way then surely Konoha would be much stable as a country, and considerably stronger against their rivals. If every ninja had kept their emotions on bay, then surely everyone would resolve conflict peacefully and level-headedly.

Even Shino himself takes pride in his ability to control his emotions. He was sure that nothing in the world could ever shake his roots.

That is, until his own brother was taken from him.

(Shino thinks he can picture the scene. A sunset. A lake. The dry voice of a man. And his brother. A serene yet glutted scenario.)

His father came that day, with a crooked man on his tails.

Unpleasant.

Something spiked in his heart when Shino heard the man demand for him.

His bugs had sensed that his father was just as perplexed.

"He is your son. He must be exceptionally talented."

Shino could've sworn that the man was plotting something behind his back. There was no way that he would've had any use of him. He was just a young boy, barely ten. Shino had thought of a million reasons why he in particular was selected until--

"Why don't you take me instead?"

Torune jumped off the tree and stood in front of Shino.

"I'm the son of Shikuro Aburame, after all."

And soon after, the man had sealed his brother's fate. Torune was to go with him the following morning. Forever.

And there was nothing that Shino could do to persuade him otherwise.

Torune had sacrificed himself. So that Shino could have relationships with others. So that Shino could have a significant bond with his friends. The relationship between the two could be said as distant, but Shino had considered him as a brother, while Torune had thought of himself as a burden.

The morning comes and goes too fast and Shino was unable to stop him from leaving. He spent the whole night thinking, creating a heartfelt speech that would have swayed his brother, making up excuses so that he won't leave. All of that crushed by the thought that he wouldn't be able to come up with a better solution. Shino knew that negotiating with Danzo was going to end up with himself being taken away. A cold morning and a silent goodbye was the only thing Shino had to bear with.

But even after years has passed, nothing about that day made sense for Shino. He didn’t know why, and ultimately he was banned from speaking of that day even with his own family. He had felt, with great intensity, a feeling that he can't quite describe with anything but he word "unpleasant" Was he angry? scared? anxious that he'll be next? All he knew was that his chest tightened every time he thinks about it, an unnamed sense of wary washing over his five senses.

The thought always haunts his mind—the fact that a human being can be forgotten out of existence. To be killed by proxy, as if their life had no meaning in the first place.

Therefore Shino tries to honor his brother. He set a list of rules for himself. Followed it thoroughly. He tries to emulate his brother’s strength. And in the process, make comrades on the way, just like his brother requested.

(The years pace faster than usual. Shino has yet made any meaningful connections outside of his teammates.)

Yet when he's matured his powers enough to protect lives, he found himself falling out of the map all the while. Flimsy friendships with the bare minimal civilities. No one recognized his potential (nor his face) and there was active attempts of isolation from Konoha itself.

Shino was alone yet again.

He's heard the word from his father. That something internal was stirring up inside Konoha, messing the clan hierarchy, opening doors to clan discrimination. He's seen the Uchiha fall bait to it already, what are the odds that his clan wouldn't be next?

(By proxy, Hinata should also be subject to such mistreatment, seeing how The Hyuuga themselves are a noble clan involved in the scuffle. The Konoha elders seem to think otherwise. The Hyuuga are valuable.)

Hostilities or not, Shino knows enough about the Second's manifesto to figure the Uchiha massacre, but this time, all clues fall cold.

There was no talks about the Aburames. What would Konoha do with them, and how they would dispose of them. Outsiders dig up lies from spread rumors, but clansmen know the source of those rumors are none other than those they pay subservience to.

(Shino had thought that his newly found ability should be shared, but his family were in massive disagreement.)

Shino had always been aware of the Aburame's dojutsu. A technique that allows one to link their vision to an insect, granting them the candid ability to spy with the littlest trace of chakra. One so undetectable that the Yamanakas haven't noticed that the pests that ruins their flowers aren't merely parasites.

This dojutsu—The Senrigan—is regarded as superior in range to the Byakugan, which cannot reach intercontinental levels and are visible when activated. You wouldn't notice an Aburame using the Senrigan, what with their dark shades and stoic expression. Even within the clan, the ability is rare. It requires the finest chakra control and level headedness to connect to one bug, and years more to connect to a whole swarm.

The Senrigan requires exceptionally high amounts of concentration and will. A single mistake has Shino bedridden for days with migraine, and it requires Shino to be absolutely still in the process, akin to the Yamanaka's mind transfer jutsu.

Training comes easy to Shino, who has decided that it was his second priority (the first being his brother's promise) to do all his endeavors perfectly. He is diligent, and determined to awaken the Senrigan as soon as possible. Shino is aware that the situation in Konoha is brewing bad news; there is nothing but suspense and disarray in the air

But even after obtaining such power, his problems were still far from finished.

Konoha knows Shibi Aburame as a smart individual. Tactical, cold, and precise.

And Konoha’s intention was clear as day. Leaving Shibi from many clan meetings was downright disrespectful. And having the ANBU on lookout near the Aburame compound was just the beginning of Konoha’s hostility. Shibi has seen the Uchiha massacre, and there was no way he will let the same happen to his family

Therefore just like Torune, Shino was isolated to his house immediately after his Chuunin promotion. Cultivating chakra and beetles, preparing for a battle that might not happen.

(The Aburames were being faced with open discrimination. It was always known that their relationship with Konoha was shaky even before the peace treaty)

And that is where his doubts are all confirmed.

He tested the Senrigan on his friends. Once. Then twice. Then it becomes a routine as he claims that it was all for "practice"

(Shino was foolishly hopeless, but even a fool should stay optimistic and dumb.

He had hoped that the Senrigan failed him. That he heard wrong. That he had tailed the wrong ninja.)

There was no one that noticed him gone, no one that searched for him. Not even his teammates.

Not even the pretentious Naruto

It has been two years since the Chuunin exams. Shino has been missing (protected) since then, and no one bats an eye towards it. No one questions it. Even the Hokage seems eager to wipe the Aburames out of Konoha

Shino knows by heart that the Nara and Yamanaka heads have told their heirs to not speak a word about this. The Inuzuka and the Akimichi would be left out of the discussion completely, while the Hyuuga are given the splendid task of periodical supervising, along with the ANBU.

(Of course, he knows that a civil war is on its way to hit them, but to think that Hinata had not asked about him either! His migraine hurts him just a little more.)

In the next few bedridden days, Shino's thoughts linger to an old friend. One whose face he wouldn't forget, and one who wouldn't forget Shino's name either.

Uchiha Sasuke.

Perhaps he had felt the same loneliness—to live in a village that sees your family name first before your own person

Shino's mind was spiraling, swirling, filled to the brim with outrageous whispers and his fading sense of clarity. How could he have been forgotten just like that? Like he was never an important comrade. Like he never existed in the first place. But at the same time his voice of reason yells at him to shut up. Stop thinking. There is nothing he could do but wait for a decree from the Hokage, or an official statement from the Konoha elders.

But then an equally terrifying thought caught his attention.

What if Konoha had seriously intended to wipe off the Aburames?

To eliminate, and sweep the whole incident under the rug.

Would his father--the clan representative—be able to coax their way back? To assert that the Aburames were still useful?

(He scoffs. Begging Konoha to spare mercy on the Aburames would be such a pitiful sight. He can't imagine his father bowing down to them, nor can he foresee a favorable negotiation for his clan's future. Shino knows better than anyone that Konoha doesn't keep records of the Aburame's achievements. It was going to be a methodical, efficient depletion.)

It was all so horrible. The way his friends leave him out of the picture. The way they rejoiced over Naruto's return. The fact that something wrong was happening and his teammates were either in full acknowledgement or were turning a blind eye.

(He sees the way Team 8 functions without him. Kurenai has become more hands-on and active. She doesn't come to class drunk anymore, and actually teaches the other two justsus. Kiba and Hinata both steadily improve under her lead. And somewhere in his heart, he feels a clawing, steep anger whenever Kiba acts differently around Hinata. The three of them act like a perfect happy family. Perfectly ignorant to the missing participant)

Was it sweat that rolled down his face? Fatigue and stress had burned him down, thrown him off balance and hit him with a reality he wishes he could just sleep off. Every morning comes to slap the brutal truth on his face, and the fact that his father had been more and more cornered by the Konoha elders had him irked.

He holds his breath and recalls the man he loathes. The same one who took his brother.

A daring idea comes to haunt Shino's mind. If Danzo Shimura adores the Aburame's abilities (having appointed many from his family to be his consultants), then perhaps Shino could lobby him into making the situation better for his clan.

But Shino? The boy was barely old enough to wager a significant deal with Danzo.

Unless of course. If he'd exchange his dojutsu for his clan safety.

(To jump into the lion's den.

There was a revengeful, spite-filled excitement that came with it.)

A shinobi must constantly suppress their emotions, follow a strict set of rules that they decide among themselves, and avoid extraneous conflict.

Shino decides this is for the best. He repeats the words endlessly. Sometimes muttering, sometimes coming out only as a sigh. His footsteps are accompanied with his chants, but it stops abrubtly in the middle of the desolate road.

Solemnly he looks upwards. The moon emerged from the clouds as if it were saying goodbye to him. Bathing him in soothing light that calms his nerves. A sight he'd remember.

(And along with that, the moon reflects to him the eyes of a particular girl.

One whose house was just steps away.)

Shino finds himself transfixed. He could stop any moment now, visit a friend, and ask for help from anyone who'd be willing to listen to his problems. Hell, he might even beg Naruto to help him. The brat must've had a shred of empathy left in him.

A string of hope tugged at his heart, trying to assure him that there must be something else that can be done. If he meets Danzo now what would happen to him? What about Torune?

What about his teammates? His friends?

(He leaves that thought adrift, noticing the howling winds and the clank of a familiar wooden cane.)

"Aburame. Explain what business you have prowling around late at night."

Score.

Danzo Shimura emerges with his two bodyguards. A Yamanaka and--

Torune.

Shino had known that Danzo was en route towards the Hyuuga clan. Shino had expected bodyguards to accompany him. Shino had not, however, suspected that one of his entourages would be his brother himself.

Something speaks for itself in the silence that ensues. Bitterness and resolve had taken over Shino, who had turned to look at them with a gait of arrogance. Torune shook his head in disbelief.

"I'll have to assume you're out on an assasination if you don't answer." Danzo sneers, thumping his crane to call attention.

"You lowlives have been hiding something from us, haven't you? Especially you," He points towards Shino.

"The Aburame heir, Shino Aburame."

(Shino analyzed the three in front of him. Whatever words he says, everything will determine how he'll get out of this situation.

Dead or alive)

"Answer him," Torune barks, a choking coil hanging around his throat. "Or you will have to be detained."

(The Yamanaka boy behind them had gestured to his master to use his jutsu, which was promptly denied.)

He took off his hood and grimaced. There was no headband from which the moonlight can reflect itself on. Fists clenched, he was set on negotiating his terms.

"I have no business with the Hyuuga." He says in a practiced tone, "But I have things I need to discuss with you, Danzo Shimura."

Shino made it clear that he will not address him formally.

"You brat. You think you can get away with disrespecting me? You must have a justifiable reason to speak to me like that."

"Speak, runt," He growls "Or it'll be more than your life you'll lose."

Torune flinches at the statement, eyes darting to Shino as if warning him to follow whatever he fucking says. To not fucking disobey Danzo.

Instead Shino finds a rush of tranquility—a childish confidence that doesn't hesitate when he touches the rims of his shades.

"You have an interest in utilizing the Aburames--my clan." His bugs slowly hover around. "And you've made it obvious that our village wants us gone."

(Shino thinks he ordered his bugs to stay. But apparently they respond to the thrumming of his heart instead of his mind.)

"You are afraid of us. You want us under fear and control so that you may use our members as fodder."

His bugs have started buzzing loudly.

"You want to steal the Aburame's secret technique for your own benefit," Shino throws his glasses "And you want to sacrifice our clan for the sake of this lousy, corrupted village."

Despite the moon hiding in the clouds from him, Shino can still see. Even in the darkness. Even when he has shut his eyes. He knows that Torune is panicking. He knows that Yamanaka ninja was pulling out his tantō. He knows that Danzo was unfazed, even though he has begun tapping his finger rather impatiently.

"I've come to offer you a deal, Danzo Shimura," Shino speaks defiantly, "In exchange for the Aburame's secret technique you will oath to protect our clan. This oath shall be a blood contract, and my bugs will bear witness to it shall you ever betray your words."

Shino finally opens his eye. Two green orbs pierce the darkness, suspense filling the air around the compound. His bugs have formed a sort of mist around him, buzzing quietly in his honor.

"I will become your eyes, ears, and guardian until the day you die. That is my offer to you, Danzo Shimura."

(Shino laces his words with deceit. Something he hopes can fool the man into dismissing it as a child's foolish speech.)

A growing laugh bursts from the man. His normally astute image shattered into a cocky countenance. He walks towards Shino, smirk evident in his eyes.

"You Aburames always have the best deals." He replies, zealously.

"I'm more than glad to have you cooperate with me. Come."

Danzo walks past him, a trail of bugs following his feet.

The sight unfolding before Torune could be described as his worst nightmare—the green eyes, the bug manipulation, Danzo and Shino's involvement...

But he looked down, and followed his master instead.

The Senrigan was at full bloom.

There was no way Shino could go back to his previous life.

#Shinoweek #shinoweek2021 #Shino Aburame #Shino #Aburame headcanons #Aburame meta #Naruto headcanons #Naruto meta #Naruto #It's my first time writing and posting fanfiction!! i hope yall like it :D #english isnt my native language #sorry for the weird grammar i guess #shinohina #team 8 #shinoweek 2021

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chidoroki · 3 years

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The Promised Neverland S2EP8

aka: scared for the anime and my health

Happy TPN train wreck Thursday. How’s the anime gonna upset the majority this week? Not sure. Can’t hear the complaints with “Identity” blasting.

“Emma’s Agony” as the bastard finally reveals himself.

The look on Norman’s face is how we all look while watching this season: scared and confused.

Jeez, there’s like no life in Isabella’s eyes when she hugs Norman.

I’m not gonna say the anime re-used shots of him taking the test but.. that’s exactly what they did.

At least we’re getting ch74 animated..

Is this other dude Smee though?

Oohh we actually get to see Vincent in Lambda! With the little note Norman left for him! I know those were extra pages in the mange but for the life of me I can’t remember which chapters they’re from right now.

Ah, okay, wow.. I wasn’t expecting to see Cislo and Barbara LIKE THAT!!

Oh my god Zazie too!! They have his little tiger plush on the table aw.

Wait, I lied. Those quick shots of the crew are from ch153!

So the facility does have the other children in that colorful room and.. demons eating them in the next room, okay..

If I ever coughed up blood I’d freak out so bad.

“I can obtain explosives.” Bro HOW??

Also, can’t tell if this is “Cold-hearted Isabella” playing or not but the song sounds fairly the same.

Hey, at least they’re showing us more of the Lambda escape, sorta.. along with all the casualties.

Ahh that guy really was Smee! i can’t believe we live in a world were we see him animated and not yuugo, like wth.

Oh that quick glimpse of ch129 too. We’re jumping around all over the place today huh?

So, question! Since Norman brought up dying, is he and the crew actually going to? Because Adam is no where to be seen and he was the cure for the seizures. I know people have been wondering about this already but still a major problem!

I can’t believe we’re getting snippets of ch143 and Ayshe is no where to be seen. I’m hella sad right now.

And here comes “Tension”.. again.

Shit! This demon’s large ass foot just scared the crap outta me!!

Yeah, that’s a lot of poison the Lambda crew has. I mean, I knew that but not that many crates full! Damn.

At least the voice actors have it easy with the kids wearing their demon disguises. They wouldn’t have to worry about matching lip flaps.

“But he’s certainly rushing things.” Ah, Norman must also work for Cloverworks.

Oh special necklace, what purpose do you serve in this adaptation I wonder..

“January 29th, 2047.” Oh look, a full year after Goldy Pond was supposed to go boom.

Okay but the red sunset they have going on right now in the forest looks real pretty.

Norman’s cape is.. black? Not white?

“I will gladly become a god or a devil, Emma.” AAhh he said the thing but they didn’t give us the fantastic angel/devil panel that goes with it! Sure he’s giving such an intense look and the sun setting behind him is a nice touch but it’s not the same! How disappointing.

Fuck these demons and their goddamn jump scares! Holy fucking shit!

Aahh Emma! Is that how she gets hurt?

Don’t lose the necklace, darn it! I still haven’t a clue on what it can do for you in this timeline but it’s important! Somehow! I hope?

Emma fighting back despite her injury, HELL YEAH! That’s my girl!

Oh? Mujika found the necklace though. That’s good.

Did they just.. re-use the scene from ep1 for Emma? When Ray was running from the demon and jumped over the tree exactly like that? C’mon Cloverworks, ya serious?

I know what y’all are gonna say and I don’t care, I absolutely love all the fantastic kills Ray is getting!

Aww my boy was so scared too! But he’s relieved now! As he should be!

OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE! Stop stop STOP! This is the THIRD DAMN TIME demons managed to make me scream this episode!

Thank you Sonju.. ah, help me, I need to breathe.

Aww Emma is so happy to see them.

An explosion.. Norman started his plan early hm?

Shit, that poison works fast!

I believe this song played in ep1 as well, when we first met Sonju & Mujika. Also reminds me that I need to listen to the new s2 soundtrack eventually.

The Lambda crew be looking like Itachi during the Uchiha clan massacre.

Friendship with head pats ended, now Ray putting his hand on Emma’s shoulder is my best friend.

Ooohh I’m really loving this song though!

Aw the blind demon was worried for Emma!

NORMAN!! Don’t you fucking dare kill that demon child!

Oh.. the demon child’s name was actually Emma.. no wonder the blind demon was happy upon meeting our Emma and why Norman just hesitated.

“I knew this day would come.” OHH! THIS SONG!! This is the one Obata teased back in October on twitter!! We finally get to see what scene it plays in! Yeesss! I’m so happy!!!

The blind demon didn’t degenerate? ... wait a damn second! Is he the same old demon from ch163?? Did he have a name? I know blind demon has a name but I honestly didn’t think we would see him again so I didn’t care to remember it.

Norman! Can you not please!!

Does the small child demon have the same voice actor as our Emma? Because they sounded so similar when saying “I don’t.”

BOI! I’m about to jump through this damn screen and knock you out if you kill these demons! I swear!

Ah shit, here comes our Emma. You’re in big trouble now boss.

Aw my god, they really gave us tiny, scared Norman for a quick second.

But I won’t be fooled by cuteness and neither will my girl!

So we’re kinda back at ch153 now right? Oh boy. This ep was a roller coaster, but the good kind!

Anime, if you’re gonna include new scenes ya better have Emma slap Norman when she confronts him this time.

#the promised neverland #episode reaction

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chayacat · 3 years

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Devil’s Sweet Star (20)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut

***

All artists have a muse. An inspiration. Motivation, unwavering will. A signature of their own. It’s impossible to copy the work of an artist, because he always leaves a part of himself, a small detail, whether in the choice of shapes, lines, colors, etc., which allows us, little observers to recognize his work. We could take the example of Vincent Van Gogh, Pablo Picasso, Sandro Botticelli, Michelangelo, Andy Warhol and finally Salvador Dali. All these artists had a particular signature, a little something that made their works unique, inimitable. Yet many have tried to reproduce them in order to make money. And even if some of them succeeded, they quickly found themselves behind bars.

But Danny is an... Particular artist. His works are particularly... Bloody. Certainly, he’s an assassin, but an assassin who wants to leave behind a trace of his passage, a piece of him in this vast world. Something that will remind everyone that he existed. At least Ghostface existed. But if every artist has a muse... What's Danny's muse? To tell the truth... He's got two. The first is simply envy. His insatiable urge for blood, to hear the gentle howls of his victims and to see the authorities tearing their hair out in the face of the lack of clues, is the reason he does this. As for his second muse...

Well, his second muse is you. For him, you are a precious jewel that he must protect at any price. No one should approach you and he won't let anyone near you. Of course, you will have the right to have friends, but don't plan to spend too much time without him. Besides, he feels frustrated that you prefer Jed to him. His alter ego is so boring compared to him! And yet how many times did he tell you? How many times did he tell you to think carefully?

And yet you chose Jed. But what happened that night ... He will remember it forever. Those little chills he felt on your skin when his tongue ran through your belly, your chest. And your little moans...A twisted smile appeared on his face just thinking about it. He's going to make you languish, but he's going to enjoy himself. And if you change your mind... it is beyond the seventh heaven that he will take you.

But for now, he has a more urgent matter to deal with. Because tonight is the big night. Everything was ready. Hoggins had brought charges to McKellan, who of course had retaliated strongly. How does Danny know? It's a journalist don't forget it. During one of his nightly visits, he had spied on a conversation between the two men and judging by McKellan's tone, the exchange was muscular.

“it's been so long that I've been waiting for this moment ... You dared to attack my angel in front of me. It's time for you to pay. I'm going to make you the best masterpiece ever created." He said, looking at McKellan house.

He had checked everything. He knew everything by heart. The round of the guards, the presence of the camera, McKellan's habits... absolutely everything. No surveillance camera.... humph, he thinks he's so untouchable that he doesn't feel the need to have security cameras. Poor fool. You're going to bitterly regret your arrogance. And Hoggins is going to pay the price.

It does not enchant Danny to attribute this murder to another, but if it is to see Wilhelm go round in circles, the game is worth it. He had parked his van in a place well out of sight. McKellan's villa is a staple, isolated from the city. No neighbourhood, no one to see or hear anything except the guards. Danny will never understand the rich and their desire to get away from people. Even if in a way, it feels good to have nothing around you, except the birdsong and the rustling of the leaves. But for these people, it's mostly a way not to mix with the "plebe".

He put on his mask and proceeded to the villa discreetly. It's time for the show. It's time for the massacre. From the bushes of the rear terrace, he watched the guards stationed. He knows that in a few minutes they will move to the sides and go around up to him. He must therefore move forward without being spotted to the building. And indeed after a few minutes, the guards moved. They always start at the inside of the terrace before returning from the outer sides. It was therefore cautiously but without concern that Danny advanced, not without paying attention to the flashlight that often came in his direction. Once near the walls, he glanced inside.

As expected, it was impossible to get in from the back as the number of guards was too large. But he knows where McKellan's office is, and he knows that in exactly 20 minutes, he's going to go to his office and lock himself in and listen to music. He always puts the volume to the fullest, a significant advantage since so no one will hear him scream. He will be the only one who has the privilege of hearing it. Perfect. Once he's dead, Danny will have exactly 1 hour to make his masterpiece and leave because the guards will start suspecting a problem because of the music. Obviously, their boss listens to it every day for the same time. So, if it goes beyond the usual time slot, it's not normal.

Danny passed on the right side of the villa, on the side of which McKellan's office should be. And indeed, the second window of the office is open, surely to ventilate the room. He climbed to the gutter and clung to the balcony to enter the room. And the least we can say, is that this was to be the richest room in the house. He had something in common with Hoggins.

The walls were white marble making the room brighter. The many decorations in gold and red, as well as carpet flooring of the same color, recalled the time of ancient Rome. The few sculptures also for that matter.

“A passionate man of Ancient Rome... that will make my pleasure even more... Living. He will not only be my best masterpiece... but also the masterpiece of this room. It would almost bother me to soil this place of his filthy carcass and pig's blood. But he has to pay for touching and insulting my little angel...my precious love.” He said looking all around the room.

He saw multiple objects that could be used for him, including multiples knife that look much sharper than his own. He could steal them but Ghostface is not a thief. He had taken a rope that he had found in the garden shed a few nights earlier. Like all the strings he took... this one will help him keep his "work" still.

He had the diagram of his artistic project in mind, with every little detail, of what he was going to cut to what he was going to leave whole ... Nothing much. He looked where he could hide and wait to strike. The cabinet in front of the desk will be the ideal hiding place. As soon as he will be close enough... he will catch him. Suddenly he heard footsteps. McKellan is on his way. Danny hides in the cupboard and waited. McKellan entered, furious as ever.

“Hoggins asshole... after all the services I have rendered to you to enrich yourself like a fat pig, you dare to accuse me?? I should cut your balls off... And this little whore and her damn coffee... not only has it not closed but it also gains in reputation! I'm surrounded by fools.” He said heading to the CD player. “Maybe I should kidnap her and torture her...or sell her as a prostitute...I’m sure that she can make a lot of money...”

Danny's blood was boiling. How dare he imagine for a second making you a toy for filthy fat pigs??? For a bonus profit??? He wanted to jump on him now, he wanted to slit his throat, butcher him, tear him to pieces... But if he goes out now, the guards will hear him and his whole plan will fall apart. He's got to stay calm. He's got to stick to the plan. As soon as he's at the cabinet level... he can attack. McKellan set the music on and turned the sound loud enough for the guards outside the room to hear it. Either he's deaf or he's crazy. Or both.

He stood for a few minutes in front of the reader before starting to "waltz" with his eyes closed. He reached the level of the cabinet and once in his line of sight, Danny went out to knock him out with a blow. He used the rope to tie him to the chair. He knows that from now on, he has 1 hour to do what he has to do. And he intends to take advantage of it. McKellan awoke after five minutes, trying to get away. The music was too loud for anyone to hear, so he looked at the knives but was quickly attract by a sinister sneer.

“Well, well... You finally woke up. You have a beautiful office. In fact, you have a very nice house, I would almost be jealous if it were not yours. Such a beautiful home for a rotten man like you... It's a shame.” said Danny, playing with his knife.

“You...I should be honoured by your presence... but unfortunately, I'm not very friendly with psycho like you. Hoggins sent you, didn't he? he's just a bastard.” Said McKellan with disgust.

“Sorry to tell you, but I'm not a man you can hire... I am acting and I will always act on my own. See if I'm here... it's because you and I have to settle.” Replied Danny before sticking his knife in McKellan's leg, making him scream.

“YOU LITTLE SHIT!!! I’M GONNA CUT YOU HEAD OUT!!!!

“You see... You attacked someone very precious to me... and if there is one thing, I hate more than anything in this world... is that a rotten man like you, touch on what belongs to me. I'm sure you're wondering who I'm talking about. The "whore" as you like to call her, the boss of the Nebula... No luck for you... She's mine. And I'm going to make you regret every word you say. I hope you enjoyed your last musical moments... But don't worry... I intend to make you the masterpiece of your collection. And my best signing. Let the show begin.

He cut off the leg where he had planted the knife, with a dry blow, recovering it before it fell to the ground. He did the same with the second and put it all on the desk. He stopped for a few seconds to listen to McKellan's delicious screams about the "tragic" loss of both legs. What sweet music to his ears... But unfortunately, he can't enjoy it very long, he has a countdown to respect.

“Oh... It hurts? I'm really sorry... I should have gone more slowly to lengthen the pleasure. But don't worry... I still have material. And limbs to cut you up. It's too bad you can't see that.”

“Please please ! I... I will give much more If you kill Hoggins for me! I can make you the richest and the happiest man in this pathetic city! All the women will fall at your feet! You don't need that little slut! She's good for nothing! Just a little whore who thinks she's going to make a career!”

" I don't think you understood. I'm going to tell you one last time. One...” Danny started, planting his knife in one of McKellan’s arms. “I don't work for ANYBODY. If you think I'm just a puppet, I want you to know that I'm just for myself. I'm only doing this for my one and only pleasure. Never, and I say NEVER, would I work for anyone, even less for a rotten man of your kind. But if it makes you feel any better, Hoggins is going to come and keep you company in hell. Two...”

He thrust his knife deep into MacKellan’s arm to keep him awake until he finished talking to him. He drew his face closer to his.

“I only need one woman and that's her. I won't let anyone.... ANYONE, treat her like a good-for-nothing. You threatened her, assaulted her, you even sent someone several times to kill her. She is mine and only MINE and I will not let anyone near my angel, you fat pig!”

Danny pulled his knife out of Mackellan’s arm before repeatedly stabbing McKellan's skull. He recoiled inwardly at the sight of this bloodied, lifeless skull. He cut off his arms, then cut off his tongue and cut off his belly like a pig. He took out all these innards, cut them to a certain length and used them to tie his victim once again, one end ending deep in the throat, like a snake coming out of his mouth. He made sure to hold his arms and legs on the top of the skull, like deer antlers. How can he do that? A magician never reveals his secrets. Once his work was finished, Danny took out his camera.

“Look at you, you’re a masterpiece....MY masterpiece! You get exactly what you deserve you Motherf*cker. Now my little angel is safe...Almost if we count me in the lot. Well! Smile for the camera!” Danny said before taking a picture. “Oh, I almost forgot the message! It’s necessary to give a lead to this dear Wilhelm ... even a fake one. Hoggins... You might not like the next few days.”

He wrote a bloody message on one of the walls of the office, leaving the policeman and the guard thinking that Hoggins was the author. One way or another. Then he quickly but discreetly left the premises before the guards were alerted by the unusual extension of the music. He returned to his van, changed, put his Ghostface outfit and mask back in the bag before heading home. On the road, he couldn't help but stop and burst out laughing, a laugh as he thought about what he had just done. The adrenaline was still running through his veins, he could not calm down.

He took a few minutes to calm down, then take the road again and went home. He parked and looked at your window. Everything was off and given the time, it was normal. Everyone was asleep, no one to testify anything to the police. Everything is always perfect. He went up to his apartment, entered, closed the door and walked to his office with his bag in his hand. He put it all down on the couch and looked at his hunting board, a satisfied smile on his lips.

He took his red felt, which was still working despite the rage of the last time, and bared McKellan's face with a long cross. That's it. He's finally dead. And there's more to kill. Hoggins is next on the list. But Danny will let time pass before attacking him. For now, he's going to focus on you. His sweet little star, his precious love, his angel. He looked at his bag, perhaps a little visit is necessary? Anyway, you sleep then ... you're not likely to say much.

A light cool wind entered your room, but it didn't seem to bother you. You were warm in your duvet with a radiant smile on your lip. Danny, or rather Ghostface was above you, a big smile behind his mask. He stayed for a few minutes without moving before lifting his mask slightly to kiss your cheek delicately.

“You can finally sleep easy, my angel. That fat pig won't do anything to you anymore. But never forget that you belong to me. Sleep well my love, hoping I'll be in your dreams.” he whispered so you don't wake up.

He put a small piece of paper on your nightstand to warn you of McKellan's death. The word is simple: "He's dead." He knows you will understand who it is. He left as discreetly as he had come, to go to bed as well, despite the little adrenaline he had left. It's going to be a long night.

But Damn it was so delicious.

***

(I'm practically about to pass my code exam! I'm so happy! hoping we won't be confined to the date where I'll pass it. I want to thank you all as much as you are, you are almost 40 to follow the poor little French potato that I am! In the meantime, I hope you will love this chapter as much as the others! they all deserve to be appreciated so much! Have a great weekend to you all! See ya!)

#dbd fanfic #dbd #dead by daylight #ghostface #danny johnson #jed olsen

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justauthoring · 4 years

Text

No Reason To (38/50)

Prompt: “And I guess… when it comes down to it, I trust you.”

A/N: AND HERE WE GO! The final part to season five!

Also, longest chapter to date check.

Send me a little comment in the ask section or leave it below on what you thought of this chapter. As usual, I hope you all enjoyed!

AGAIN, remember if you’d like me to continue this series, just leave a little comment or an ask letting me know. I will NOT continue the series if no one wants me to.

Please don’t plagiarize my work!

Pairing: Stiles x McCall!Reader

Based off of: Teen Wolf 05x17, 05x18, 05x19 & 05x20!

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Y/N.”

“But like... absolutely positive?”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Lydia turns from her vanity, facing you with a roll of her eyes. “Yes,” she emphasizes the word, shaking her head at you in exasperation. “My mom even said she was cool with me coming back, and that’s... well, that’s a feat on it’s own.”

Biting your lower lip, you shrug from where you’re sat on the edge of her bed, wrapping your arms around your knees and tugging them closer against your chest. “I’m just not sure it’s such a good idea,” you mumble, voice a whisper despite the fact that Lydia can hear you perfectly. “With everything that happened and--”

“I’m fine, Y/N.” Lydia sighs, a frown marring her features. You don’t miss the concern that starts to bleed into her expression, her frown deepening as her voice softens. “What’s got you so hesitant?”

Maybe the fact that your powers are out of control. Maybe the fact that, for once, you just want to be a normal teenager girl. Maybe the fact that you absolutely do not want to see Stiles, especially if Lydia is there (as wrong as that sounds). You don’t want the possibility of running into Theo. You don’t want to even really function as a human being anymore because everything’s so messed up and scary.

“I just think we could have a fun girl’s day.”

Lydia lets out a light chuckle; “we’ve missed enough school, Y/N.” Pushing back round to her vanity, she grabs her brush back from where she’d left it, dusting the last little bit of blush to her cheek before pushing herself to her feet. “Besides, Scott still needs our help.”

Well, i’m sure I won’t be much help anyways.

You choose to remain silent. Simply following Lydia round with your eyes as she wanders over to her closet to grab a sweater. As she moves towards you, intent on grabbing her bag that’s resting next to you, you let your gaze fall to your lap, pulling your sleeves over your palms to hide the marks you’ve created there, inhaling deeply.

“Y/N,” Lydia calls softly, causing your eyes to flicker upwards onto her own. You pause at the deep frown marring her lips. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good,” you assure, forcing a bright smile onto your lips that you pray is believable. “Just tired.”

She leans a little closer, as if inspecting you. “You do look tired,” then, leaning back, she bites her lower lip. “You’re sure that’s it?”

It’s not-- “Yeah, of course.”

Ignoring her still wandering gaze, you push yourself up to your feet, nodding to yourself before smiling over at Lydia. “Let’s go,” you urge, heading for her bedroom door. “We don’t want to be late.”

Lydia rolls her eyes; “two minutes ago you didn’t even want to go!”

“Mason says it’s not just a transmitted frequency. It’s high powered. Like it has to be a really strong signal.”

“And that’s causing it to shift?”

“No, I don’t think it’s just that,” Scott shakes his head, “last night Argent said that it’s getting smaller. What if the Dread Doctors are trying to make the Beast grow faster?”

Furrowing his brows, Stiles speaks up; “with frequencies?”

“No, by shifting.” Scott clarifies, “the frequency is just the trigger. The important part is when it shifts into the werewolf.”

Pausing a moment, your eyes widen; “like Peter,” you offer, meeting your brother’s gaze. He’s eager to nod in response.

“Right,” he smiles briefly, “when Peter was an alpha, he got stronger every full moon. Eventually, the burns healed and he was back to normal.”

“So, the Dread Doctors don’t want to wait for the full moon,” Liam concludes, pulling your eyes on him, nodding lightly.

“They want the Beast to be as strong as possible as fast as possible.”

“Because of Parrish.”

“So,” Lydia speaks up, “if this is happening tonight, what are we going to do?”

“Uh,” Stiles mumbles, raising his hand and pointing his pointer finger, “we got one clue to go on.” Moving to his bag, he opens it, searching through for a moment before pulling out a selection of photos, setting it in the middle of the table. “Those came from the hospital,” he explains, as you and the rest lean forward to get a better look at the photo of a footprint. “Whoever’s lurking inside the Beast is wearing a size ten of indeterminate make.”

Scrunching your face in confusion, you turn to Stiles, “indeterminate?”

“Means it’s a partial print,” he explains, “basically, it was all we were able to get considering all the fire, blood and carnage.”

“How many size ten’s are there?”

“Only one with Parrish’s blood on the sole,” Stiles offers lightly.

“So are we going to try to get the game cancelled?”

Nodding at Liam, you quirk a brow; “good question.”

“No, we’re going to play,” Stiles answers bluntly, “but we’re just going to hope really hard that it doesn’t turn into a blood-soaked massacre.”

Your face is pretty similar to the ones on Lydia and Liam’s.

“Okay, um,” Liam begins, taking a moment to pause, “but, aren’t we kind of missing out on a chance to catch this thing? We don’t have the ‘who’, but we have the ‘where’ and ‘when’.”

Turning to Scott, you shrug; you have to admit, Liam’s not wrong.

Wincing, Scott sighs; “there’s too many people,” he reminds.

“And,” Lydia begins, “we still don’t actually know if it’s going to happen. It just might end up being a regular lacrosse game. It’s possible, right?”

“Oh, it’s absolutely possible,” Stiles nods.

Sighing, you set your head in your hands; “just not very likely.”

“So, we’re still getting the game cancelled,” Liam concludes.

“We’re getting the game cancelled.”

“Mason, you know your part...?”

“Corey and I break into the Devenford Bus and search their shoes.” Mason relays back with ease, nodding his head at Scott.

Malia steps forward in the next second, “I take out the TV vans.”

“And,” Stiles moves to finish off, “right before the whistle, coach forfeits the game.”

“The rest of us are looking for a size ten with a bloody sole.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you swallow thickly; “simple enough.” Well, if all goes to plan. But, you don’t add that part, simply nodding back at Scott when he turns to you with a smile.

“Just out of curiosity,” Malia speaks up, “what if it doesn’t work?”

Well, you can’t really blame her for asking.

“What if we have to go up against this thing? I mean, I hate to bring up bad memories, but Scott’s still healing from what Theo did to him.”

“No.” Kira whispers, pulling all eyes on her, “he’s not.”

Brows furrowing, you turn to your brother in surprise. He simply smiles back at you, “she’s right.” He assures, and then, at the still questioning gazes sent his way, he slowly rises up his jersey, showing off the fact that, indeed, no wound is left.

Touching your own stomach, you purse your lips; “that’s why it didn’t hurt anymore.”

Snorting at your comment, Scott lowers his jersey; “it happened the night we got Lydia out of Eichen,” he explains, eyes drifting across everyone briefly. “I healed. When were all together again,” he puts emphasis at glancing over at you, “when we were a pack.”

Liam smiles; “the Beast doesn’t have a pack.”

“Not like us,” Scott nods, “we can do this, guys. No one dies tonight.”

Your eyes widen when the Coach blows his whistle. However, it’s not to forfeit the game.

Pushing yourself off from where you’re sat, you rush forward, squeezing past people, just barely, and making your way to Scott within record time. You grab onto his arm tightly before he can run off into the field. “Scott,” you whisper lowly, glancing around quickly before meeting his gaze. “What’s going on?”

Shrugging his shoulders helplessly at you, Scott’s eyes widen; “I don’t know.” He swallows thickly, trying to appear calm but you can blatantly see the panic in his eyes. “Just... Just stay here, okay? It’ll be fine.”

He’s pulling himself from your grasp before you can say anything more. Lips parting as he runs off into the field, meeting up with Liam along the way, you let out a huff, spinning in the spot.

“Y/N.”

Blinking at the sound of your name, you just meet Stiles’ gaze as his hand slips around your arm, lightly tugging you with him. You don’t fight his grip, scrambling to catch your footing as he weaves you amongst and through people. The second your eyes catch sight of a police car, you start to follow him more easily, flickering your eyes up to the figure stood by the car.

Stiles’ dad.

Stilinski turns at the sight of his son, nodding at you briefly as Stiles’ hand finally falls from your arm. “Coach won’t forfeit,” Stiles explains plainly, slightly out of breath.

Nodding his head, Noah crosses his arms; “I can see that.”

“What if we call in a bomb threat?”

Turning to Stiles with wide eyes, you shake your head; “that’s not a good idea.”

He turns to you in disbelief; “why not?”

“Stiles,” Noah calls, pulling his son’s eyes on him, “you remember the bomb threat at the airport three weeks ago?”

“Yeah, of course I do. It was all over the news.”

Quirking a brow at Stiles, you wait for him to get it.

To be fair, it only takes him a moment longer.

“I see your point.”

“Woah.”

Blinking, you feel your body tip, your legs turning to jelly beneath you.

Having been behind the bleachers, searching for bloody shoes, size ten as Scott requested, no one sees you. And for that, you’re glad. Your hand instantly rises, gripping onto the edge of the bleacher tightly, your knuckles turning white from the force of which you hold on with. Your vision turns hazy and blurry, and the familiar pang begins in the back of your head.

Just like that, your stomach twists and tightens with fear, knowing that without a doubt, it has to do with your powers.

“Not now,” you growl, teeth clenching together in frustration as you try to fight it. But you can’t. You never have been able to before. And they’re happening quicker, more frequently. Having read Anne’s diary you know why; it’s getting worse. Your powers are getting stronger and because of it, you’re getting weaker. Letting out a small cry of distress, you shake your head. “This is really not a good time.”

You force your gaze upwards, holding yourself up as you try to peer through narrowed eyes and feet for the familiar sight of Scott’s jersey. You’re not sure why. It’s not like he can just leave his game, not realistically at least. But maybe, maybe he can feel what’s happening and maybe he can come and help. Maybe he’ll sense something’s wrong, because you don’t want to do this alone. You’re tired of doing it alone.

But you can’t find him. No where in the crowd of people do you find the familiar number eleven, and your heart sinks with the realization. You don’t know where he is. You don’t remember seeing him having run off, mainly because you’d been so focused trying to find the person.

“Come on, Scott...” You whisper, voice shaky, faint. “Where are you...?”

A muffled cry leaves your lips in the next second, pressing your palm firmly against your lips to avoid alerting attention from anyone around you. It’s then you realize how different this feels. It’s not the familiar ache, and while you’ve always built a sweat when having an episode, it feels different this time. You’re not just clammy but it feels like a pit of fire is growing in your stomach, spreading throughout your entire body and touching every inch of you.

Your skin feels as if it’s burning. From the inside out.

Pushing off of the bleachers, you only make it a few, measly steps before you crash to the floor. Your knees scrape across the grass painful, creating a light burn sensation but amongst everything else, you don’t really feel it at all.

You force your eyes open, eyes lowering to your hands which you hold up towards yourself shakily, There’s an glow of purple around you, in response to your powers, and it’s growing deeper and more pressing by the second. A sob breaks past your lips, your nails digging into your palms in response, touching the already marked injuries and digging deeper. But, the pain help soothes. Helps distract you from everything else.

Helps you distract from the inevitable. From what you can’t stop.

You can’t lose control here. Not here. There’s hundreds of innocent kids around you, your friends are here. Your power had been strong enough to knock down trees and rumble the earth, and that had been when no one else was around. You had no idea what you’d be capable of surrounded by many.

You were meant to be protecting them, and suddenly, with a simple blink of the eye, you’ve turned into the monster threatening their lives.

You feel as if you might break your jaw, clenching so hard, forcing the pit of fire in you to go away; or at least, stay put. You will yourself with every inch of what you’ve got not to lose control. To not become what you’re so afraid of becoming. You try to ignore the deep terror that settles in you, try to ignore the biting panic and focus on controlling yourself.

It has to be possible. It just has to be.

Just because a few things are similar doesn’t mean you’re her!

Scott was right. It didn’t. Your great grandmother was who she was, and you’re who you are.

It isn’t fate. It doesn’t have to be your fate. You... You can change it.

You’re not her, Y/N. You could never be.

Listening to the words, letting them echo in your own mind, your eyes clench shut tightly, your entire body tensing.

You could never hurt someone...

You know what it feels like...

That’s why you never could hurt someone...

But you have. You’ve hurt people.

You hurt Stiles that day when, even for just a second, you doubted him.

You barely even hear the choked sob that breaks past your lips. Your mind feels as if it’s in pieces. There are multiple things being screamed at you all at once and you don’t know what to believe. You don’t know what to listen to. But you just want peace, you want clarity. You want to understand. More then anything.

“Y/N?”

You don’t hear him. You don’t hear the voice. Curled into yourself, you’re too lost in your own mind to hear anything else but the wandering, piercing thoughts.

But you feel the hand. Even if the touch is feathery light, you don’t miss the hand that lightly falls onto your shoulder. It startles you, a cry of surprise leaving your lips as your powers instinctively react. Whoever touched you is sent flying back, a cry of surprise leaving their lips that is luckily not heard over the cheers of the lacrosse game.

And you’re sure you would’ve carried on, sure your powers would’ve continued to have a hold over you if you hadn’t caught sight of the red jersey. If you hadn’t seen the familiar number of twenty-four. If you hadn’t seen, even if just for a second, the warm brown eyes of the boy you loved.

It’s him that snaps you out of it.

Snapping out of it, your powers dim, the fire fleeting as you watch Stiles slam to the ground, his head bouncing off one of the pillars. Your lips part in worry, pushing yourself up to your feet without a second of hesitation, rushing over to him and skidding to your knees in front of him. “Stiles?” You cry, pulling him into your lap gently. You gently tilt his head forward, checking for any blood or anything worse. You let out a breath of relief when there’s just a light bump.

It’ll probably get worse. But... there’s no blood.

“Stiles?” You call softly, eyes flickering to his own as he blinks rapidly, trying to gather his bearing. “Stiles, are you okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

“I’m good, i’m good,” Stiles gently cuts in, blinking up at you. “I’m good.”

You shake your head, shuffling back and keeping your hands firmly on his own as you help him to his feet. He wobbles lightly, but with your help, stays upright, your hands falling on his waist to keep him steady before leaning back enough to meet his gaze. “Are you sure?” You ask, a deep frown marring your lips. “You hit your head really hard--”

“I’m okay,” Stiles whispers, touching the back of his head lightly before setting his hand on your arm, “I promise.”

Letting out a light huff, you pull your hands back to yourself, cheeks warming slightly in response as you glance down at your feet with a deep frown.

“Y/N,” Stiles calls lightly, and your eyes fall shut, knowing he’d seen it. At least, some of it. “Y/N, it’s gotten worse, hasn’t it?”

Swallowing thickly, you shake your head; “I don’t really think now’s a good time to--”

“Now’s as good a time as any,” Stiles cuts in sharply, pulling your eyes on him with a blink. “Given I found you convulsing on the ground not a minute ago.”

Pursing your lips, you grab onto your left arm with your right hand, squeezing. “I didn’t mean to hurt you...” You whisper lightly, refusing to meet his eyes. “I really didn’t.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Stiles says without hesitation. “I know that. Y/N--” He stops abruptly, causing you to blink up at him eventually in confusion. Your eyes narrow and brows furrow when his gaze seems stuck on something, something on you, lowered slightly, eyes pointed towards your stomach. But that makes no sense cause--

“Your hands,” Stiles mumbles, voice a echoed whisper.

Eyes flickering lower, your eyes widen when, as if for the first time, you see the bruising, red and infected cuts you’d inflicted on yourself. Your palm is bleeding lightly, from what you assumed just happened, but you hadn’t truly noticed the cuts were getting that bad. The habit had just suddenly picked up and got worse progressively over time; you hadn’t known you’d been doing that much damage.

Moving to hide your hands, you shake your head; “i’m fine--”

But Stiles is quicker. He grabs your wrist before you can pull away, pulling your left hand closer and turning it upwards so the palm is facing him. You watch with a frown as his lips part, his other hand coming to lightly ghost over the cuts, before his eyes flicker up to your own. “Y/N....”

“I’m fine,” you lie, “really... They’re not that bad--”

“Not that bad! Y/N, you’re bleeding!”

“It’s...”

But you don’t have an excuse.

And it seems Stiles isn’t sure how to reply either. For a moment, both of you are silent, eerily so. Stiles hasn’t let go of your hand, and instead, he watches you carefully as you desperately try to avoid his gaze, frowning heavily.

Then, and it happens with a blink of the eye, he takes a step forward, lips parting; “Y/N, i’m--”

But he’s cut off by a piercing screech. His hands leave your own as you both of you press your palms against your ears, trying to block out the high-pitched screech as you glance around for some sort of answer.

Then, suddenly, it just stops.

“What was...--”

“Stiles,” you call, head turned towards the news vans. There’s a faint growl, and your heart sinks with realization at what it is. “It’s here.”

Stiles’ eyes flicker from you to past you, catching sight of the Beast just as it appears. Your lips part in panic when you notice a figure running towards it; the figure unmistakably being Liam.

“Liam!” You cry, rushing forward only for Stiles to grab a hold of you, pulling you back. “Liam, wait!”

“In here, in here!”

Rushing forward, you pull open the door for Hayden and Stiles, glancing over your shoulder briefly just in case as you pull it completely open. Once they’re both through with Liam, you shut the door behind you, locking it just as Stiles calls out; “the desk, the desk!”

A cry from Liam’s lips snaps your gaze round, watching Stiles hastily shove off whatever had been on the desk to make room for the former. You rush forward to help him and Hayden pull Liam on top of the desk, wincing as he lets out another loud cry of pain. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” you soothe softly, rounding the desk to get to the other side and get a closer look at the injury. “It’s okay.”

Liam lets out a grunt.

“Liam?” Hayden whispers, voice pitched in panic.

“I’m okay,” he groans, jaw clenching as you and Stiles hastily work to pull back the torn shreds of his jersey due to the Beast. It’s merely because your mother is a nurse and some of the horror stories she’s told you that doesn’t have you gasping and gagging like the other two. And, because you know it probably doesn’t help reassure Liam.

“What?” He pants at them, “what, is it bad?”

“No,” Hayden tries to call in reassurance but of course;

“Very.”

“Stiles,” you hiss, sending him a glare.

Lips parted, he simply glances back at you with a wince.

“Okay, okay,” Hayden swallows thickly, “what do you guys usually do when this happens?”

“Oh, I usually pass out.”

Huffing, you sigh; “it’s true.”

“Still might do that.”

“You are not passing out on me,” you growl, sending a narrowed look his way. “Not this time.” Lowering your gaze, you pull back more of his jersey, catching the tail end of Stiles’ eyes rolling and him wobbling on his legs.

“Stiles!”

“Okay, okay.” Inhaling sharply, he nods. “Scott did this with pain. You can trigger it. Pain makes you human.”

“He’s already in pain.”

“No, no, that could work,” you nod, “maybe adding more can take away a little.”

Liam suddenly lets out a cry, sitting out as he pants heavily.

“Okay,” Hayden whispers, shifting lightly. “Take away his pain... take away his pain.”

Before you know it, she’s leaning forward, grasping Liam lightly by the cheeks as she presses her lips against his. You blink in response, shuffling on your feet, before, instinctively really, your eyes flicker towards Stiles’. Your cheeks warm when his are already on you, quickly adverting your eyes back to the two, focusing on paying attention if the action is helping Liam; even if only a little.

At the black veins that appear across Hayden’s cheeks, you figure it is.

Slowly pulling back, Liam falls back against the desk, letting out heavy, but calm pants.

“Okay,” Stiles whispers, “next time, i’ll kiss him.”

Letting out a snort, you swallow thickly, meeting Stiles’ gaze briefly before glancing down at your hands.

You don’t notice the way his gaze lingers.

“Just wait--!”

“I can’t--”

“Liam’s almost healed up, just wait until--”

“It’s Scott, Stiles,” you remind, turning your head over your shoulder to meet his gaze. Frowning, you inhale sharply, deeply. “It’s Scott. I can’t wait.”

Stiles purses his lips, the frown never wavering as he shakes his head at you. You know he doesn’t like the idea, but you can’t wait. Now that Liam’s healing, you can’t just stand around here and wait. The Beast was somewhere out there and so was Scott; and you knew your brother. He was probably out there trying to help kids and save lives. And he’d need help to do it.

Swallowing thickly, Stiles’ grip on you never loosens. Instead, his fingers tighten around your wrist, not painfully, but in a way that begs you to stay. You don’t realize it, but the reason why he’s so desperate for you not to leave is because the last time you ran off like this, you got stabbed and nearly died.

“What about your powers?” Stiles asks gently, voice a whisper. “You still don’t--”

Swallowing thickly, you pry your wrist from his grasp, meeting his eyes firmly; “Scott needs my help.” Then, at his silence, you take a step back, moving towards the door. “Lock the door behind me. Wait until Liam’s good to go before you open it.”

Taking a step forward, Stiles’ shakes his head; “Y/N, just--!”

But you don’t listen.

You’re out the door, shutting it behind you and sending Stiles one last brief glance through the small window. You feel slightly guilty at the panic that floods his eyes, but you know Liam won’t be far behind you. And even if you were terrified and had been the one to ask Scott not to make you use your powers, you could sense he needed you now. And you weren’t going to fail him this time. Not again.

It doesn’t take you long to find him. You follow the sound of growling and roaring and before you know it, you find yourself at the library. You slam the doors open and instantly your eyes zone in on that of the Beast, missing the teenagers hidden in the upstairs section of the library, between shelves and anything else, zoning in on the sight of Scott being tossed back and slammed into the stairs.

His name leaves your lips in a cry, catching the attention of the Beast. You freeze, for just a second, as the Beast’s sharp and cold blue eyes turn to you, focusing in on you. He completely blocks the sight of Scott but you can hear him cry out for you, voice muffled with groans and grunts of pain.

But he can’t help you. That’s what you came here for; to help him. So, you just gotta... do it.

“Okay, Y/N,” you whisper to yourself, shuffling on your feet slightly, swallowing thickly. “You got this.”

Swiping your hands upwards, a small grunt leaves your lips as you feel your powers surge forwards. It floods through your arms, from your shoulders to your fingertips, stopping the Beast just as it takes a lunging steps towards you. The purple aura hits it directly in the chest, sending it flying back into the stairs and just missing Scott who’d scrambled to get out of the way.

With wide eyes, you glance down at your hands. “I can’t believe that worked.”

“Y/N!”

Blinking at Scott’s bellow, your eyes widen when you see the Beast suddenly lunging towards you. How’d it even get up that fast? Your feet scramble beneath you, rushing backwards to avoid it’s hit, watching as it’s claws get closer and closer to you and the panic settles deep within you.

Then, another growl echoes, and the distant cry of duck echoes. You don’’t hesitate to listen, eyes watching as Liam lunges on top of you, his fists slamming into the Beasts head directly, sending it stumbling back.

In the next second, a shotgun firing echoes.

Glancing behind yourself, your eyes widen with relief at the sight of Braeden and Malia, the latter letting out a growl as her eyes glow blue, taking steps forward. The bullets that hit the Beast does more damage then you would’ve expected and, as the two fall next to you, you stand up, meeting Malia’s eyes briefly before flinging your hands before yourself, pushing your powers out of you.

You force the Beast to stay put for as long as you can, it writhing in response to your restraint held on him and the bullets ricochet off of him relentlessly. A scream begins to build at the back of your throat, your face turn red and strained from the force of your powers and keeping them directed. You’re careful not to lose control, now knowing the many teenagers around you.

You’re not like her.

And you’re not. You’re not like Anne. You don’t have to be. You can be different, you can get control of yourself. You just have to focus, Be less afraid. Believe in yourself.

You’re not a monster.

You help protect. Like your brother. Like Malia, Lydia and Liam. Like Stiles. You protect.

Feeling your muscles contract painful, you let out a huff, “I can’t hold on!”

“It’s fine!” Braden calls in response, “it’s hurt!”

Heeding to your words, you pull back, the Beast finally being able to jump up from it’s spot. For a second, you’re afraid it’ll retaliate, but it’s leaping out of the window in the next second, glass shattering loudly, before a light thump echoes as it hits the ground.

Without a second thought, you’re rushing over to Scott.

“You didn’t seriously think you were going to have a chance against that thing, did you?” Braeden bellows, shaking her at Scott who slowly limps over to her.

Panting, Scott shakes his head; “no.” Then, he shifts, and his expression hardens with determination as he glances at the shattered window. “But, I got it’s scent.”

With a nod from Kira, you step back, letting the door shut softly behind you.

However, you don’t notice the figures stood at the end of all. At least, not until you move to turn, a small yelp of surprise leaving your lips at the sight. Setting a hand against your chest, you let your eyes drift across the three figures, from Stiles on the far left, to Malia and then Braeden, lips pursing at the looks they’re sending you.

“What?” You whisper, stepping forward and making your way over to them. “What happened?”

Stiles turns to look at Malia who, avoiding his eyes, turns to Braeden.

Brows furrowing, you shake your head; “hello?”

“Tell her,” Braeden speaks up, nodding at Malia and gesturing towards you.

Turning to Malia, you quirk a brow.

“You know how my mother wants to kill me?” You nod, “I think she might want to kill you too.”

Lips parting, you pause; “well,” eyes drifting over to Stiles, you frown. “That’s concerning.”

Stepping forward, Stiles raises his hand; “I should probably have a gun.”

“What?” You exclaim without hesitance, eyes narrowing in absolute bafflement at Stiles. “Why should you have a gun?”

“To protect you,” he says simply.

Scoffing, you shake your head; “i’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

All he sends you is a pointed look.

“I wouldn’t give him a gun anyways,” Braeden says bluntly, crossing her arms over her chest as she turns to look at Stiles sharply.

His eyes bulge; “you have a gun,” his word slightly stammer, obviously coming up with some sort of excuse on why he should on the spot. “The Desert Wolf is trying to kill Y/N,” he gestures to you, to which you blink at him, “and i’d like to be able to protect her.”

“Stiles--”

“Braeden,” Malia cuts in, nodding over at her.

“What?” You mumble to yourself, arms coming up in exasperation.

With a huff, Braeden complies to Stiles wish, mainly because of Malia. But her face makes it clear she’s about to prove her point. Pulling out a handgun from her back pocket, she pulls to bullets out, gesturing the gun over to Stiles. He blinks with realization, hands hovering upwards slightly in preparation.

He doesn’t catch the gun when thrown to him. Instead, he makes a fool of himself, tossing it around a couple of times before it clatters to the ground loudly.

Letting out a sigh, you let your head fall into your hands.

“I probably shouldn’t have a gun.”

“My dad’s got an APB out...”

“For a five-eight sixteen-year-old?” You question lightly, turning your body towards Stiles.

“I recommended nine-foot tall rampaging werewolf,” Stiles replies, causing you to let out a snort, shaking your head.

“It still might not be him.”

Your smile fades at that, frowning over at Liam who glances down at his hands, wringing them together. Upon the many eyes that fall on him, he slowly glances up, catching your gaze first. Smiling softly and pitifully down at him, you purse your lips, sending him a knowing look.

Sighing, Liam’s shoulders drop; “but, Hayden’s at the school looking.”

Malia nods; “I can keep checking the woods.”

“My mom can check all the hospitals in the county.”

Blinking at the sound of Scott’s voice, you instantly straighten up in alarm at the sight of him walking into the kitchen. Your eyes drift across his figure in worry, looking for any sign of the injury he’d got last night. You settle, just a little, when you don’t see any.

Smiling, he nods at all of you; “we can find him.”

“What happens then?” Liam asks, not wasting a second.

“We figure out a way to save him,” you assure, smiling at him reassuringly.

“Okay,” Lydia nods, “where else can we look.”

Shuffling on his feet, Scott tilts his head; “we can ask Corey.” Your eyes narrow in confusion but in the next second, Scott’s reaching beside him, grabbing a hold of something, rather someone, and tugging him forward. You blink in surprise when Corey materializes, everyone flinching back in response as his eyes widen and he’s quick and desperate to explain himself;

“Wait, wait! It’s not my fault! They took him and I couldn’t do anything--”

“Who?”

“The Dread Doctors.”

“If you’re trusting Theo, i’m coming with.”

“Y/N--”

“It’s just a given,” you cut off, turning to meet Scott’s gaze with a nod. “We said we had each other’s back, remember? So,” you tilt your head for emphasis, “i’m coming with.”

Stopping you from walking further, Scott gently grasps your wrist in his hand, stepping in front of you. He steps close, causing you to crane your head upwards to properly meet his gaze, blinking up at him in surprise. It’s then, as you get a proper look, you see the concern in his gaze. The panic. It causes you to falter, just slightly, frowning.

“Are you sure?” He questions softly, nodding down at you, desperate for you to see just how serious he really is. “Because don’t feel like you have to do this. That anyone’s expecting you to. It’s okay if you can’t,” and then, he pauses, swallowing thickly. “I’d understand if you can’t.”

“It’s getting better, Scott,” you whisper, a light smile curling onto your lips. “It’s gotten better.”

His brows raise in surprise at that, lips parting; “it has?”

“Yeah,” you smile, nodding your head. “At the game, I had another episode. I tried to find you, but couldn’t. And it was bad. it was like this burning fire inside my stomach and I was so scared, terrified, that I was going to hurt someone. But then...” You pause a moment, lowering your gaze to your feet, licking your lips. “Stiles came. I ended up throwing him back but... but he snapped me out of it.”

Scott blinks, “Stiles did?”

“Yeah, but not just him,” you shake your head. “I think, similar to how you couldn’t heal until we were all together, I needed things to be better. I needed you back, and the rest of the pack. And... even if Stiles and I are... well, you know, we’re better. I think. But, it’s helping. It really is. It helped enough that I was able to hold off the Beast, even for just a bit, and help you without spiraling out of control.”

Lips parted slightly, Scott nods slowly, his grip easing as his gaze softens.

“And I can’t let Theo tear us all apart again.”

“He won’t,” Scott assures, not wasting a second to do so. “He won’t ever again.”

“I know,” you say softly, smiling up at Scott. “But, I need to be there. I need to go with you and Liam. Keep you safe.”

And then, Scott’s smile falters, even if only a little. Running a hand through his hair, brushing it back and out his face, he sighs. “Maybe it’s my turn to keep you safe...”

“You keep me safe all time,” you say simply, shrugging your shoulders up at Scott with a flicker of confusion at his comment. It didn’t make sense to you. How could he say that and not realize that his entire life, he’s been keeping you safe? That you feel safe every time he’s around and that while Stiles and the rest of the pack helped, it was him who held you together when you were falling part.

And it was him only.

“Just by having you by my side, I feel safer.”

Eyes widening in surprise, Scott pulls back; “really?”

“Yeah,” you say with ease, letting out a light chuckle at his surprise. “Of course.”

His shoulders fall, settling and his entire body relaxes. Scott’s lips curve upwards to mimic your smile and taking a small step back, he nods down at you. “Okay,” he whispers, “let’s do this then. Let’s find Mason.”

“They called him Der Soldat. That’s German for ‘The Soldier’.”

Inhaling deeply, you follow two steps behind your brother and Liam, already feeling the sour taste in your mouth develop at the sight of Theo. Every time you see him, you think; I can’t possibly hate him more than I do now. You’re wrong every time.

“I’m pretty sure he fought in World War Two.” Theo continues, spinning around to face the three of you.

“And he was a Nazi,” Scott adds, nodding.

“And an alpha werewolf.”

Pursing your lips, your brows furrow.

“The Dread Doctors were using him to prolong their lives,” Theo explains, “they’ve been doing it for decades. Actually, probably longer.”

Concern bleeds into Liam’s expression and with a shake of his head, he sighs; “how old are these guys?”

“Who knows,” Theo shrugs, “but wherever they go, he goes, too.”

Inhaling sharply, you step forward, falling next to your brother and sending Theo a pointed look. “So, where do we find him?”

Theo’s eyes flicker over to your own, slowly and carefully, and you ignore the bit of fear, the way your body tenses in response, pushing the feeling to the back of your mind. The key was to fight the fear, not let it consume you like you had. And that became ten times harder when dealing with Theo. But you were determined to hold strong; you were getting better and you were not going to let yourself fall again.

“Keeping him alive requires a pretty unique set of conditions,” he frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “There’s got to be a power source. It has to be underground...--”

“And on a telluric current.” Scott finishes for Theo, reaching into the pocket of his jean jacket and pulling out a folded slip of paper; the telluric map. With hesitance, he holds it towards Theo, and you watch him take it was a careful eye.

Pulling it open, the edges of his lips curl upwards; “looks like we’re going for a hike.”

“Where is he?”

“I thought we were looking for him.”

“You know who i’m talking about.”

Meeting Liam’s eyes briefly, you sigh.

“Deucalion?” Theo quirks a brow.

Scott shakes his head adamantly, “you shouldn’t trust him.”

Tilting his head, Theo is careful to remind Scott of the fact; “and you’re the one who let him live.”

Scoffing, you huff; “we’re not murderers.”

“You still think you’re gonna get through all this without killing anyone?”

Scott glances back at you, meeting your eyes carefully, before his hisses out; “no one said that.”

It’s then, out of the corner of your eye, you notice Liam slow. With a faint call of Scott’s name, you pull both his and Theo’s attention on Liam, watching him carefully as his eyes remains lowered, pausing in thought. Then, after a moment, he nods; “we’re close.”

“You get his scent?”

Meeting Scott’s eyes, he nods.

“Okay,” Theo says slowly, “which way?”

Liam doesn’t respond. He’s careful to avoid Theo’s gaze, turning to Scott, his alpha, the expression in his eyes saying it all. He doesn’t want to tell Theo and he definitely doesn’t want to bring Theo along.

Letting out a light chuckle, Theo paces on his feet; “you think you’re gonna leave me behind?”

Quirking a brow, you smirk over at Theo; “it would be preferable.”

Rolling his eyes at you, Theo takes a step towards you; “trust me, princess, you need me.”

Your eyes narrow at his pet name, jawing clenching. You can feel your anger swell, a long line of it given everything Theo’s done, but, the second you take a step towards him, Scott calls out sharply; “Liam.” And at the look on his face, it’s clear there’s no room left for argument.

Scoffing, you shake your head.

“Look,” Liam calls, still hesitant, “he wants to kill him.”

“I just want his power,” Theo says simply. “You want to fight someone that actually wants to kill Mason? Go fight Parrish.”

“Who’d you see when you put on the mask?”

“I already told you,” Theo huffs, “it wasn’t Mason.”

“Who was it?”

Turning to Scott, Theo sighs; “I saw a man dying in the snow,” he shrugs. “He was impaled on a spear.”

Scott’s eyes widen with realization; “it’s called a pike. Lydia told us the story.”

Nodding to yourself, you hum; “I remember.”

“Then you all know what it means.” Theo reminds, “time’s running out. Where is he, Liam? What direction?”

Liam’s clearly reluctant. But however, despite how much you might hate it, you can’t argue that right now, you do need Theo. So, with a small shuffle forward, you set your hand on Liam’s shoulder, pulling his eyes on you with a surprised blink. Sighing, you just nod, your expression clearly showing your distaste. But, in that moment, you can tell Liam understands just as much as you and Scott do.

There is no other option.

Stepping forward, Liam huffs; “this way.”

You follow Liam for a few more minutes, not that long, before you catch sight of some hut looking thing. Liam’s pace considerably quickens and he’s racing towards the door without second thought, reaching out to open it, desperate to get to Mason.

However, Scott stops him before he can. Grabbing hold of his wrist, Scott turns to Liam; “listen,” he guides.

You can’t hear, not as well as them. But if the widened expression on Liam’s face and the hope that bleeds into his gaze is anything to go by, you figure it has to be good. At least, as good as it can be.

“It’s him.”

He’s pulling open the door then, practically swinging it open. Scott sets his hand gently on your back, making sure you go in before him before following after you, Theo on the tail end. Rushing down the steps right behind Liam, you hesitate, slowing a little as you reach the bottom of the stairs. You duck, trying to peer through as best you can.

“Mason?” Liam whispers, making his way down the rest of the steps.

At one last turn, your eyes widen at the sight of Mason.

You all rush forward, Liam in the front, not hesitating a moment before he crouches down before Mason. You crouch down on the opposite side of him, Scott and Theo still stood, as your eyes drift across Mason for sight of any injuries. There aren’t really any, except for the giant needle sticking out of the back of his head that connects to a tube of what you can only guess someone who was once human.

Glancing back at Scott with wide eyes, you frown; “it’s connected to him.”

“What is this thing?”

Narrowing your eyes at Theo, you expect him to have an answer.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles, causing you to sigh as he shuffles on his feet. For a brief moment you take notice of the fact that he actually seems surprise. That he actually seems bewildered by the sight as much as you, Scott and Liam do. For once, he almost looks as if he doesn’t know everything.

“Liam,” Mason cries, voice weak, raspy. “I can feel it,” he gasps, “it’s in my skull.”

Mason movement causes the machine to whir, whatever that means. But, you assume it isn’t anything good.

“Don’t move,” Liam warns, voice desperate.

“Be careful.”

Spinning his head round towards Theo, Liam cries out; “what’re they doing to him?”

“I don’t know.”

Scoffing, you shake your head. “You’re supposed to.”

Theo’s eyes widen in response to your comment, and, still stood back, he huffs. “I’ve never--”

“Guys,” Scott cuts in, sending you a sharp look. “Let’s focus. Mason, we’re gonna get you out of here.” Mason doesn’t respond, and you don’t blame him. Instead, Scott directs his attention on you and Liam, nodding at you specifically. “Hold him still,” he warns and you’re quick to listen. Shifting forward like Liam, you grab hold of Mason’s arm and shoulder while Liam holds onto him by his waist.

“Okay,” Scott inhales sharply, “all right. I’m going to try to pull it out.”

Breathless, Mason nods.

“Let me know if it hurts...”

The second Scott grabs hold of the needle, Mason lets out a piercing scream. His body tenses beneath your touch and he’s moving to fight you. Scott’s quick to let go, hands falling by his side helplessly.

“It hurts!” Mason groans. “It definitely hurts.”

Turning to you and Liam, Scott swallows thickly; “I barely moved it.”

There’s a moment of silence, your eyes on Scott. The second you notice his eyes widen in alarm, falling on something past Liam, your own narrow in concern. But it’s then, as you turn to follow his gaze, you hear the familiar clicking. And, as you turn to look, your fears of what that noise is is only confirmed when you find a Dread Doctor stood directly behind Theo.

But the clicking continues, and your eyes widen as it gets louder. Glancing around, you swallow thickly at the sight of two more.

Scott pushes himself up to his feet, pacing to the middle as Theo follows his lead. “They wanted us here,” Theo mumbles, glancing around.

“Liam, Y/N,” you blink at the sound of your voice, “try to get that thing out of Mason’s neck.”

Meeting Liam’s gaze, you nod, shuffling forward. You grip onto Mason as Liam’s attention falls on the needle, his hands hovering around it, hesitant.

You flinch at the feeling of a thumping footstep, one of the Dread Doctors moving. “Theo,” it calls through it’s static-sounding voice. “Theo Raeken.”

“He’s coming with us.”

“Failure,” it continues, ignoring Theo. “Theo Raeken.”

Brows furrowed, you tilt your head, enough to see his face. You take note of the fact that at the Dread Doctor’s words, he seems to falter, his face hardening, becoming distressed as he stammers; “i’m not... i’m not a failure.”

“Liam,” Mason gasps, grabbing a hold of his friend. “Get out of here. Just go....”

“Not a complete failure,” the Dread Doctor compromises, “we learned from you.”

“Theo,” your brother calls softly, “he’s trying to get to you. This is what they want, don’t give it to them. We can’t beat them.”

“The mark of a true failure. Repeating the same mistake again and again.”

“We’re taking Mason,” Theo growls, turning towards Scott with a tilt of his head. Your lips part when you notice, faintly, the glow of his eyes, not missing the growl in his voice as he continues. “Then i’m taking what’s mine.”

Pushing yourself up to your feet, you tense as the Dread Doctor comes to a complete stop in front of Theo.

“Let him go.”

“You have the entitlement and narcissism typical of your generation. In that, you are a profound success..

“Liam,” you hiss, “try it again.”

He listens, surprisingly, his hand gripping the needle reluctantly. However, one tug and Mason’s letting out a painful cry once again, instantly halting Liam’s actions. With wide and panicked eyes, he turns to your brother. “Scott, I can’t get it out. I... I don’t know what to do.”

Scott races towards Mason, crouching before him.

“But,” the Dread Doctor speaks up, “your failure taught us one thing. The banality of evil. That you were and would always be an ordinary evil.”

“You think i’m ordinary?” Theo growls.

“We believed that to resurrect the perfect killer we had to start with the perfect evil. From you we learned true evil only comes by corrupting something truly good.”

Inhaling sharply, you shake your head, turning to your brother and Liam. “Not something.”

“Someone,” Liam finishes, glancing over at Mason.

Theo lunges at the surgeon before him. And against your better judgement, you find yourself jumping to your feet when all he manages to do is slam his clawed fist against metal. You hear, distantly, Scott cry out for you in panic, but you don’t listen, ducking a nearly successful hit across the head. Raising your hand, you turn to the Dread Doctor directly in front of you, halting it’s movements for enough time to kick your leg out at it.

“Okay,” you wince, stumbling back, “not a good idea.”

Ignoring the pain that radiates through your leg, you stumble back at the approaching surgeon, trying to gain your balance before a figure jumps past you. You blink in realization at the sight of Liam, knocking the Dread Doctor that had been after you, back.

“Y/N!”

Spinning round at Scott calling your name, you meet his eyes, understanding his meaning when he takes a step forward the last and final Dread Doctor. Kicking your leg back, you push your focus into holding the Dread Doctor in place, giving Scott enough time to run and lunge at it. His his practically does nothing.

Liam is tossed past you, distracting you when the surgeon steps towards you, allowing the other Dread Doctor to easily toss Scott aside.

Swallowing thickly, you glance around, whilst stumbling back, trying to find something. Your eyes zone in on the first thing, some sort of barrel, flickering your eyes towards the Dread Doctor and sending the object directly into it. You freeze when it does nothing.

“Well, shit,” you sigh, shuffling back.

“Y/N!” Scott cries, just as the Dread Doctor latches it’s hand around your throat, easily picking you up off your feet and into the air.

Gasping for breath, you claw at the hand, staring into the black eyes that stare back at you, kicking your feet wildly beneath you. You can’t tell, but Scott nor Liam can’t get to you because of the other Dread Doctor, and it’s clear Theo had already been preoccupied by the one that had been taunting him. Which means, you’re on your own.

Trying to calm your racing heart, the sound of Mason bellowing barely reaches your own ears as you let your eyes fall shut, forcing yourself to ignore the shortness of breath and the desperation for air. You put all your focus, just for a moment, into yourself, feeling that similar fire as the night of the game bubble deep inside of you. However, this time, you have control. This time, it’s you forcing it out.

Letting out a cry, your eyes flicker open, glowing purple as a heat of red floods you and the Dread Doctor. Your own flames don’t touch you, but the definitely touch the monster blocking off your air. However, despite the progress, despite the amount of controlled power that had just left you, the flames don’t do anything. It barely even effects the Dread Doctor.

That’s when the panic settles back in.

You can feel your face grow hot, feel yourself begging for air but not being able to get any. Your nails dig into the metal of the Dread Doctor, feet kicking wildly beneath you, trying to break away.

And just as you see black bleed into the corners of your eyes, the tightness around your throat eases.

You fall to your knees with a thud, a loud gasp breaking past your lips as your hand falls against your neck, skin sweaty as you inhale deeply and sharply. A body hovers next to you in seconds, and you glance up to meet Scott’s worried gaze, before turning to look behind you. Your eyes widen in surprise at the sight of Mason stood up, dropping the needle that had been stuck in him, breathless.

This cannot be good.

“Transformation,” one of the Dread Doctors begins, “transformation without frequency.”

Your lips part as a cloud of black smoke forms around Mason’s feet, slowly crawling up his body. But nothing beats the way his eyes begin to glow blue and the faint sound of him growling echoes. He’s turning into the Beast.

“Mason!” Liam cries.

“That is not my name.” Mason growls, but it’s not him. His voice is distorted, deep, unrecognizable. It isn’t Mason. “My name...”

And before your very eyes, he turns into the Beast,

One by one, the Beast takes out the Dread Doctors until there’s only one left. Scott is quick to pull you to your feet and into a corner, tucked with Liam, as you watch the Beast stomp it’s way over to the last one and in turn Theo. However, his attention doesn’t seem to be focused on Theo at all, easily knocking him aside and zoning in on the last surgeon.

The last thing the surgeon says is “success” before the Beast is digging it’s claws into the surgeons stomach, piercing the metal and causing the Dread Doctor to bellow over in pain. Clinging onto Scott, you press your back firmly against the wall behind you, watching in bewilderment as the Beast tosses the last Dread Doctor aside, it’s body limp, and drags it with him.

With Scott’s help, you pull yourself up to your feet, Liam with the two of you, rushing out of the room and out back into the forest. You blink at the sight of Parrish, or rather, the Hell Hound, lunging on to the Beast just as it drops the last Dread Doctor.

This was something you clearly didn’t understand. The only thing you did was that the Hell Hound meant to kill the Beast, but the Beast was also Mason.

Gun shots fire and you don’t have to even glance to know it’s Chris Argent, however, your eyes narrow at the sight of Gerard following closely behind him. Scott had told you what Chris had done, but, this is the first time you’ve seen Gerard in person.

The Beast cries out in pain, obviously feeling cornered, until eventually Chris stops. Your eyes narrow, trying to get a good look as the Beast somehow disappears, transforming into something else; something human. But, it’s not Mason.

“La Bete du Gevaudan!” Gerard cries aloud causing you to blink in bafflement. “I know your name. Do you remember mine?”

The man, this... La Bete du Gevaudan only hesitates a moment before spitting out, with clear hatred, the name; “Argent.”

In the next second, he’s running off and Parrish is quick to follow after him.

Stopping next to Chris and Gerard, Scott huffs; “who the hell is that?”

“You’ve seen the Beast of Gevaudan. That was the Man.” Gerard nods.

Turning to Chris, your lips part as he sighs.

“Sebastian Valet.”

“Can you keep him alive?”

“I’m not sure he technically is alive.”

“Screw keeping him alive,” Liam scoffs, “how do we get him to talk?”

“Personally, I don’t think we utilize torture nearly enough.”

“For once,” you sigh, meeting Stiles gaze, “I agree.”

Scott just shakes his head.

Then, Liam suddenly asks; “do you hear that?”

And you pause, halting just for a second to see if you do hear anything. But, of course, you don’t. You don’t hear anything and you’re left to glance over at Stiles questioningly as Liam and Scott glance around, faces furrowing in confusion and bewilderment.

In the next second, the Dread Doctor springs upwards and you let out a cry, your hands falling to your ears and pressing hard in response to the loud piercing screech. You stumble back on your feet, the entire floor beneath you rumbling as you wince, a light groan leaving your lips, desperate for the noise to ease, to disappear.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the Dread Doctor standing up on it’s feet, moving to leave.

Hands fall on you, tucking you into another. It takes you a second to realize it’s Stiles, but you don’t hesitate to curl into him, muscles straining as you try to block out the noise.

“Liam!” Scott cries, and somehow you hear it amongst all else. “Wait!”

Shifting in Stiles’ grasp, your eyes widen in alarm as Liam lunges towards the Doctor only to be sent flying back by some sort of force. It almost appears as if some sort of blue aura, it pulsating around Liam and sending him crashing into the wall of the clinic, clattering to the ground with a cry of pain.

The Dread Doctor escapes, and the piercing eases.

Slowly pulling your hands from your face, Stiles pulling back from you, you glance around in confusion, only for a second later for all of the examining tables to shake violently. You flinch back back, slamming into Stiles as all the tables slam into the adjacent wall, hard, before falling to the ground.

Liam is up on his feet, racing forward, in the next second and Scott moves to follow him.

“Wait!” Deaton bellows, his hand reaching out before him, racing forward.

The two stop, electricity sparking.

“It’s electrified.”

Brows furrowing, your shoulders fall.

Silence follows for a moment, before Scott calls out; “the cane.”

And you’re confused for only a moment, before, you realize they’re listening in on whatever conversation is happening outside the clinic.

“But they took it,” Liam adds, “they took the cane.”

“Maybe there’s something in here. Something about how he was a Genetic Chimera?”

“Mason had a vanishing twin.”

“Now we’ve got a vanishing Mason,” Stiles sighs, and you roll your eyes at his poorly placed attempt at a joke. Or... something.

“What does that have to do with him turning into a two-hundred-and-a-fifty-year-old French guy?” Liam stammers, “how does that even happen?”

“Hold on,” Deaton eases, “Scott might have something. Mason’s twin wasn’t entirely gone. That’s what made him a Genetic Chimera.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, licking your lips in thought. “The DNA was still there.”

“Metaphorically speaking,” Deaton nods, “the DNA of Mason could still be inside Sebastien as well.”

Lips parting, Stiles’ brows furrow; “how?”

“Life is energy,” Deaton begins, gesturing his hands around in explanation, “energy doesn’t just disappear. The Dread Doctors may have found a way to break the rules of the Supernatural world but there are some rules that simply won’t break.”

“So,” Liam starts, hopeful, “Mason can’t just be gone?”

“Somewhere in Sebastien he has to still exist in some form.”

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Stiles slowly pick up the helmet of the Dread Doctor you’d picked up from outside, glancing down at it in deep thought.

“A spark of energy,” Deaton continues, “a flicker of memory.”

“Hang on...” Stiles calls, confirming your previously thought thoughts. “Liam, you said Mason said something right before he turned.”

“He said, ‘that’s not my name’.”

Your eyes widen with realization. “He finally remembered his name.”

“Damnatio Memoriae.”

That’s right. Stiles had explained it early, a while back. That’s...

“That’s what they wanted.” Liam exclaims, nodding. “They wanted Sebastien to remember his name.”

“Scott, you know the myth of what happens when you call a werewolf by it’s given name?”

Scott’s eyes ease with recognition; “it turns back to human.”

Letting out a puff of air, you shake your head; “what does that mean?” Meeting Scott’s gaze, you push; “someone can just walk up to the Beast, yell Mason’s name and turn him back?”

"Not someone.”

“Lydia.”

“Lydia, this is gonna have to stay just between us since I can get fired for it.”

Fair enough.

“It’s a cortisone shot,” Scott explains lightly, smiling reassuringly down at her. “It’s gonna bring the inflammation down.”

Weakly, Lydia nods, eyes hazed.

Pulling the cap off the needle, Melissa nods at Lydia, who, in response, pulls her arm out, palm facing upwards. Instantly, Melissa winces, shaking her head. “Not there.” And you tense when you realize she means the needle’s gonna have to go in her neck, directly where she’d been hurt.

“Oh, yeah, okay,” Stiles gasps from beside you, “I’m gonna need to leave.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Melissa says simply, eyes still focused on her task. “You’re going to hold her hand.”

You falter, just for a moment. Just briefly. A flash of jealousy bleeding into your senses before you realize, this isn’t about you. There is more pressing things at hand. So, swallowing thickly, you take a step back as Stiles takes a step forward, huffing, “okay, fine. I’m not leaving, but I still might faint.”

You force yourself not to focus on the sight of his hand slipping into her own.

You’re being stupid, you hiss at yourself. Stop being so childish.

“Okay,” Melissa says softly, “here we go.”

In the next second, Liam’s body thuds to the ground. Blinking down at him, you roll your eyes.

As Scott steps forward to check on him, you replace his place, falling next to Lydia and setting your hand softly in her lap, meeting her gaze briefly with a reassuring nod. You know it won’t help the pain or really, anything else. But, you hope it makes her feel better. Even if only a little.

“Okay, Lydia, this is gonna hurt like a bitch.”

“Stiles, just slow--!”

He doesn’t listen, swinging open the door to your house without a moment of hesitance. However, he doesn’t make it even a step farther before a gun is pointed directly at his chest.

Eyes widening, your heart begins to pound madly against your chest.

“Oh, damn...”

You hadn’t noticed Malia. Not at first at least. But you’re glad she’s there because in the next second she’s lunging forward, grabbing Stiles’ by the arms and tossing him out of the way before turning to her mother and blocking you from her line of shot. As they scramble and fight against each other, you squeeze past, rushing over to Stiles.

“Stiles?” You call softly, pulling him up and towards yourself. “Hey, Stiles?”

He groans out in response but a tiny puff of relief leaves your lips when you realize he’s at least okay. He looks a little shaken and definitely dazed, but...

“Okay, okay, here.” Helping him up, you notice a second too late the figure of Malia’s mom, Malia this time completely out of sight, you and Stiles both glancing up at her slowly.

In the next second, Stiles is lunging to his feet, hopping over the couch with the intent to attack her. However, he doesn’t make it far, Malia’s mother grabbing Stiles and flipping him over, letting him slam into the cracked and broken glass table, stomach first.

Your eyes widen, unable to hide the cry of panic that leaves your voice as you bellow out; “Stiles?”

He spins round at the sound of your voice, rolling to his back, which then reveals the rather large shard of glass pierce directly into his shoulder. Your breath halts, getting choked at the back of your throat at the sight, the blood coating the clear glass. Slowly, Stiles’ eyes flicker up to your own, holding your gaze as his own lulls and rolls to the back of his head.

“Stiles!”

A cry of anger leaves your lips, directed only at Malia’s mother. It forces her back, slamming her aside and into the adjacent wall as you easily climb over the couch, ignoring the faint pain that radiates through your knees as you crouch next to Stiles, hands hovering over the shard.

“Jesus!” Stiles bellows, eyes bulging in pain.

“Okay, okay,” you gasp, “okay, i’m gonna pull it out, okay? I’m gonna...”

“Is that the right thing to do?” Stiles cries, wide eyes falling on your own amongst the pain.

“I don’t know!” You exclaim, shaking your head. “I think!”

“Y/N!”

“Trust me!”

He falls silent at that, and you ignore, just for the moment, as gun shots bellow. You try to act quickly, knowing Malia needs your help, but selfishly, Stiles comes first. He’ll... he’ll always come first.

“Okay, it’s gonna hurt. I’ll count to three.” Stiles just groans, face turning white as he withers in the spot. “One, two... three!” You rip it out, wincing as Stiles cries out in pain, his hand instantly falling to his shoulder and gripping on tightly. Swallowing thickly, you hastily brush back your hair, ripping off a strand of your shirt and moving Stiles’ arm, carefully, to wrap the clothe around, tying it tightly.

“It’ll help,” you explain numbly, nodding down at the look Stiles sends you.

Shifting, he moves to sit up, groaning slightly. You move to ask him if he’s alright before another gun shot rings and the familiar cry of Malia echoes.

Turning to you, Stiles’ eyes widen; “plan A.”

Nodding, you pull his backpack off of him, hastily searching through for the jar Scott had given him. Once you find it, you don’t waste any time, pushing yourself up to your feet, and turning, moving to the edge of the hallway adjacent to Malia. “Malia!” You bellow, “here!”

She catches the jar, recognizing it and you watch in anticipation as her mother continues to rush forward, stabbing her claws directly into Malia in the next second. Your body tenses in response, swallowing thickly as the jar falls to the ground, shattering.

There’s a moment of wonder, of panic, as her mother growls; “I want my power back,” but then, Malia’s eyes glow and, mimicking her mothers actions, she stabs her claws into her, her mother’s eyes instantly widening in fear of realization.

“I want my family back.”

Plan A works. You can sense and see Malia getting stronger as her mother gets weaker, stumbling back as a gasp of pain leaves her lips, her hands falling to her stomach.

She doesn’t make it very far, however, before Braeden appears, knocking her out.

You let out a sigh of relief, nodding at Malia when she meets your gaze.

“Okay,” you breathe after a moment, pulling everyone’s eyes on you. “Is everyone okay?”

“I,” Stiles calls, raising his hand (his good arm), “for one, could be better.”

Y/N...

With a soft groan, you shift at the noise, eyes flickering open momentarily.

Y/N, help me.

Your eyes snap open at that, the voice familiar. Strangely familiar. You knew it, but in that moment couldn’t place it. Couldn’t place a face to the voice or understand why when you heard it, it made your body freeze and your chest tighten and everything feel cold.

Nor could you understand why you were hearing the voice in the first place.

Help me... please.

“Theo...”

That’s why you knew the voice. That’s why it scared you to hear it.

It was... Theo. But that didn’t make sense. Scott had told you that Theo had been taken by his sister, where? You weren’t exactly sure. But he’d been dragged viciously through a hole in the earth. You remembered the relief that had flooded you at the news; even if you hadn’t been there to actually see his demise nor had you had any part in it, to know Theo was gone and ended up where he rightfully deserved had left you feeling at peace.

Even if only a little.

So why were you hearing him?

You’re the only one I can reach. Talk to.

Bringing your knees up to your chest, you press your chin against your knees, your hands falling to your ears as your eyes scrunch shut. You try to block out the noise, try to ignore the voice. Because it wasn’t possible. Theo shouldn’t be able to talk to you; he was... he was gone.

And you don’t want to hear him. You thought, finally, you’d gotten rid of him from your life. Even if you’d known the effects of what he’d done wouldn’t just disappear like him, you’d felt some relief at the thought that you wouldn’t have to face him everyday at school. Especially in your final year. That maybe, finally, things would just go smoothly.

So why?

We had a connection. You know it. You felt it.

“Shut up,” you whisper, shaking your head. “Just shut up.”

You can’t block me out. I’m in your head. And I won’t leave until you help me.

“No,” you mumble, words spilling past your lips rapidly and without rational thought. It barely occurs to you in that moment that you’re home, in your bed, and it’s the middle of the night. That Scott can probably hear you, and maybe even Melissa if you’re speaking louder then you think you are. But you can’t focus on that.

You want Theo gone.

“No, leave me alone. I-I won’t help you.”

Please, Y/N...

“No.” You argue, forcing emphasis on the word.

The fact that he even thinks, after all he’s done, that you would actually help him...

“Get out of my head. Get out.”

We had a connection, Y/N. We both know we did--

“No,” you hiss, “we didn’t.”

Yes, we did.

“Shut up. Just shut up.”

Help me, Y/N. Please. It’s... It’s hell down here.

“Good. It’s what you deserve.”

Y/N...

He won’t stop. He continues. Relentlessly. You feel yourself slipping with every time he speaks, turning inconsolable as you try to force him out. You can’t handle it, can’t imagine hearing him speaking into your own head for a moment longer.

And it hurts, aches, every time he speaks. You grow more and more irritated every time you hear his voice begging for your help. The audacity he has to even do so after how much he’d fucked everything up...

You’re surprised it takes you as long as it does to lose control.

“Get out!”

It’s a scream. It tears past your lips, shocking you. But as you pull your hands away from your ears, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your shoulder ease with realization that he’s gone. Theo’s gone. You can’t hear him.

A light knock on your door pulls you from your thoughts. “Y/N?”

It’s Scott.

“I’m fine!” You call quickly, maybe a little too quickly, shaking your head. “I’m okay. I’m... I’m okay. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Scott pauses, “you were screaming--”

“A nightmare.” Then you cringe. “But just a plain old nightmare. It’s fine. I’m fine, don’t worry about it.”

There’s an echo of silence, your heart pounding against your chest. But then, your eyes fall on your door knob, watching as it turns and Scott slowly steps in. There’s a deep frown on his lips and he looks concerned. “We promised we weren’t going to hide things from each other anymore, remember?”

Sighing, you frown, he’s right. You did promise that.

“I can’t explain it,” you shrug, meeting his eyes. “I just woke up and... Theo was talking to me?”

“Theo?” Scott questions, brows furrowed in bafflement. “But his sister--”

“I know and he was still with his sister, somewhere... He was...” Shaking your head, you swallow thickly. “He was asking me to help him. He said we had a connection and that he wasn’t going to stop until I got him out. But I got him out. I just... forced him out.” At the look on Scott’s face, you sigh; “I don’t understand it either.”

“But...” And Scott hesitates, frowning deeply. “You’re okay?”

You smile softly at that, nodding. “I’m okay, Scott. I promise.”

“Okay,” he nods and then he takes a step back, as if to leave. “If you need anything--”

Your smile brightens; “you’ll be the first one I go to.”

Satisfied with that, Scott bids you goodnight and leaves, shutting your door softly behind him. You watch him, waiting until you’re sure he’s far enough before letting out a shaky breath.

You might not hear Theo now, but that didn’t mean he still couldn’t come back.

Nor did you know why you could hear him in the first place.

With a small smile, you set your hand on Scott’s shoulder, pulling his gaze on you, tilted slightly.

“You okay?” You question softly, flickering your eyes faintly towards the shelf, where your signatures from the beginning of the year still laid. But most importantly, where Scott had also signed Allison’s initials.

Scott smile mimics your own and turning towards you completely, he nods. “Yeah,” he assures, “just... thinking.”

“You know,” you start lightly, “I think she’d be really proud of you, Scott.”

His eyes flood with hope, with this certain desperation and his lips part; “really?”

“Yeah,” you nod, quickly and firmly. “You’ve really become a hero, Scott. Someone worth following.” And then, pausing a moment, you shrug your shoulders. “I know i’m proud of you.”

Scott sets his hand over your own, squeezing it as you pull it from his shoulder. His gaze holds your steadily, smiling brightly at you. “Couldn’t have done it without you, Y/N. Any of it.”

Cheeks warming slightly, you lower your gaze, eyes falling on your feet briefly, before you laugh up at Scott. “Stiles and Lydia are waiting for us,” you explain gently, “you ready?”

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”

And you do. The both of you easily make your way down the steps, quickly catching sight of Lydia and Stiles just entering the library. They turn to you both as you make your way over, multiple greetings passing between the four of you as Scott takes a seat next to Stiles and you take one next to Lydia, directly in front of Stiles.

Time passes, conversation passing between all of you as you all idly work on your school work. But, amongst the conversation, you drift off, unable to stop yourself from glancing in front of yourself, directly at Stiles. And your cheeks warm when you realize he’d already been glancing at you, distant from the conversation too.

There’s a knowing look in both of your eyes. But one you don’t understand.

You can’t ignore the way your heart races when you meet his eyes, or the way your lips instinctively curl upwards in response. And you can’t ignore the way his eyes gaze back at your own, with what you can only describe as warm, or that his entire body seems to ease when he recognizes you looking back at him too. And it just seems to make sense then, the two of you off in your own little world.

But then Lydia’s calling for you and the moment is broken, and as you turn to answer her question, you fight the warmth that threatens to grow on your cheeks, for some reason embarrassed.

When you chance a glance back at Stiles, his attention is on Scott and your heart falls a little at the realization that whatever could’ve come from that moment; it’s gone now.

Part 39?

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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How Malignant’s Monster Calls Back to Stephen King

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

This Malignant article contains spoilers.

Malignant has a twist so wild you need to see it to believe it. Seriously, stop reading right now if you have even the faintest interest in watching James Wan‘s latest horror offering. You really don’t want to spoil this for yourself. Sure, you’ll either really love or absolutely hate the movie’s batshit third act, but the experience of watching the twist for the first time is worth the price of admission.

If you have watched the movie, maybe you left as astonished as I did. After all, the first two thirds of the movie play like a standard giallo-inspired slasher film before things go completely off the rails. You might say that some of the clues were there all along — indeed they are, maybe you saw this coming from a mile away — but when you thought you’d put it all together, did you really expect Wan to go through with something so ridiculous? I certainly said, “No, that can’t be it” to myself midway through the movie when the clues started adding up. It’s a new direction for Wan to be sure…

But Wan’s first trip into a new sub-genre of horror isn’t necessarily without outside influence. There’s a bit of David Cronenberg mixed with hints of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, but for the most obvious inspiration you have to look to the King of Horror himself.

Before we talk about Stephen King, you might be wondering what the hell was going on with Gabriel in the first place.

Gabriel Origin Explained

Safari Riot’s cover of the classic Pixies song “Where Is My Mind” seems so out of place when it first blasts through a scene in the movie, an over-the-top accompaniment to what seems like your standard slasher flick, but it’s actually incredibly appropriate — not just for the massive tone shift but the plot itself. (“Where Is My Mind” is also the iconic tune that accompanies the final scene of Fight Club, another tale of split personalities.) Madison’s (Annabelle Wallis) mind has been playing tricks on her (and the audience) the entire time. She thinks her creepy childhood imaginary friend Gabriel has somehow taken corporeal form and started murdering everyone who had a hand in “separating” him from her. But little does Madison know that the separation was much more literal than her simply forgetting a figment of her imagination when her baby sister Syndey (Maddie Hasson) was born.

It’s Sydney who discovers the truth when she goes back to the institution where Madison spent her early childhood before being adopted by their mother Jeanne (Susanna Thompson). In the basement of the abandoned Simion Research Hospital, Sydney finds the harrowing tapes that reveal Madison’s past with her “imaginary friend.”

Madison was born Emily May to a 15-year-old girl named Serena (Jean Louise Kelly as an adult, Madison Wolfe as a teen) who is forced to give her away to the institution by her mother due to Emily’s…medical condition. In a stunningly gruesome sequence of body horror, we learn that Emily was born with a parasitic twin attached to her head and spinal cord, which allows it to control her movements and thoughts. The doctors at Simion at first diagnose Gabriel as a “massive teratoma,” a malignant tumor that can grow with fully developed organs and tissue, but as we see in the movie’s opening sequence, they soon learn that this is something much worse and decide to cut him out off of Emily for good.

But they can’t get rid of Gabriel completely. Because the siblings attached at the brain, the doctors are forced to remove as much of Gabriel as they can, hiding what’s left inside her skull. Of course that means that Gabriel never truly goes away. He continues to speak to Emily, now Madison, from inside her head, at one point almost convincing her to kill Jeanne while pregnant with Sydney.

While Madison eventually forgets her “imaginary friend” as an adult, Gabriel returns after Madison’s piece of shit husband Derek (Jake Abel) brutally slams her head against a wall during an altercation. (Let’s just say I’m glad he’s dead.) The injury reawakens what’s left of Gabriel, who can reemerge through her head wound to control and contort Madison’s body and go on his killing spree. Madison experiences these murders as visions, as she watches her sibling slash his way through all the doctors that tried to destroy him as well as the mother who gave him away in the first place. Madison’s only able to stop him after he’s already massacred a police station full of cops and prisoners and made his way to the hospital to kill Sydney and Serena. Using the mental link she has with Gabriel, Madison manages to lock her sibling away, promising that next time he reemerges, she’ll “be ready for him,” setting up an inevitable sequel and a new horror franchise for Wan.

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

Gabriel and the Dark Half

Constant Readers will undoubtedly spend the weekend pointing out that Gabriel’s plot to control his sister in order to go on a murder spree is very reminiscent of one of Stephen King’s most famous books and movies, The Dark Half. The book and the movie directed by the late, great George A. Romero tells the story of Thad Beaumont (played by Timothy Hutton in the film), a writer of literary fiction in a bit of a slump by day. But he has a far more successful career by night as the author of dark crime novels under the pen name “George Stark.” Yet, the success of his Stark books feels like a curse to Thad, who is driven to heavy drinking and other vices when “the spell” of Stark’s prose. Now, a recovering alcoholic, Thad wishes to leave Stark behind and just write the literary fiction his agent and editor deem “boring.”

When the truth about Thad’s pen name comes out, the writer sees the perfect way to bury his career as George Stark once and for all — by throwing his pseudonym an actual funeral at the local cemetery. But Mr. Stark doesn’t like that very much. Thad’s pen name inexplicably “rises from the grave” to kill everyone he blames for his death — Thad’s editor, agent, and more.

You’re probably thinking it was Thad all along, but this is more than just another case of split personalities. Like in Wan’s latest, Stark was once actually very real, the sibling Thad absorbed in utero…except for a couple of teeth and an eye living inside of Thad’s brain. The “tumor” is removed from Thad’s head as a child, but he’s somehow unknowingly kept the spirit of his sibling alive through the books he writers, undoubtedly under Stark’s dark influence. It’s the kind of gory, supernatural twist King is best known for, and Wan sets out to celebrate the book with style. Mind you, this obviously isn’t a direct adaptation of King’s work but more like a spiritual successor to the book that pushes the plot much further into the ridiculous than even the writer did in 1989. Leave it to Wan to dream up an action sequence where a backwards (literally), contorting serial killer stabs his way through a building full of people to the sound of shredding guitars.

Even if you think Malignant‘s third act twist is an absolute mess, I’d argue it’s at least an interesting mess, a daring experiment in a corner of the horror genre we’ve not seen enough of in the past few years. Will this experiment lead to a new movement in body horror movies just as Saw for better or worse inspired years of “torture porn” movies and The Conjuring brought us the horror expanded universe? That remains to be seen. At the very least, Malignant is the kind of movie you’ll want to debate about with your friends as you exit the theater, even if it’s just to say you absolutely hated the twist. Aren’t you at least glad you saw it for yourself? The twist just isn’t as good on paper.

Malignant is out now in theaters and streaming on HBO Max.

The post How Malignant’s Monster Calls Back to Stephen King appeared first on Den of Geek.

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ilguna · 4 years

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Metanoia - Chapter Eleven (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 4.2k

Warnings; swearing, mention of murder and torture

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

You run your fingers over the white cotton sheet, trying to ignore the fact that you’re currently inside of the training center. You’d be able to recognize this place with your eyes closed. It’s made out of concrete with all the newest technologies. The people that are walking around here--especially the avoxes--have the same clothes and designs as the people inside of the training center.

Of course, the avoxes change clothes, but the things they wear are still outstanding and degrading to differentiate them from everyone else. They still look as best as they possibly can while also looking like a servant. That doesn’t mean that they can’t re-wear clothes though, which is exactly what’s happened.

The avox that stands in the corner of your room wears the same black and white plaid outfit that they wore during the night of the interviews. It’s a terrifying outfit, really. You absolutely hate it, which is another reason why you’re avoiding eye contact. You’d ask them to turn around if it weren’t for the fact that she has to keep an eye on you.

The doors to your “hospital room” are glass, you can see right through them. Which also means that you’re able to watch the doctors that come in and out of rooms. Some push carts, others don’t. It doesn’t really matter, all that does is that there’s brief moments where someone isn’t in the hallway.

They all look so rushed, as if they’re working on some sort of deadline. How fast they’ll move…

It’s almost as if there’s something going on out there. Or they don’t want you catching on to what’s happening.

“Huh.” you push yourself up from the bed, impatient at the lack of attention that you’re getting, compared to whatever is going on out there.

As soon as you get too close to the glass, the avox jerks forward and grabs a hold of your arm. It’s not a tight grasp, she just pulls you back a little, and then lets go. Hell, from what you can see, she’s fearful. Like you’ll blow up on her or something.

“Is someone coming, then? Soon?” you ask, and she nods.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair as you take a seat on the bed again. This time, you find something to occupy yourself. Firstly, there’s no cut on the back of your head anymore, it feels like. No bump, no dip, it might be completely healed. It really just means that you’ve been here for a couple of days.

As for everything else that has happened to you--it’s gone. No more scabs from the man-eating spiders. Your skin is smooth, but that doesn’t excuse every single little scar that it’s left behind.

Your heart twists, you hold your arms out in front of you, seeing the fresh scars. Next are your legs, which are even fresher. They’ve still got that bright color to them, not yet blending into your skin tone. And it’s probably because you didn’t pay as much attention to your legs as you did your upper body.

Which was because your upper body was being televised. For the rest of that day, you were only in a sports bra. There really wasn’t a point in your eyes to just strip down the bottom half of the suit to apply ointment that wouldn’t even stay put. No one would be seeing it anyway.

The scars are fixable, you think. It’ll cost money, but you can get clear skin again--’polished’ as they say. It would have to come before the rest of the tattoos, though… and the old tattoos would also have to be fixed in that case. A lot of money, and you’re not too fond of fixing those tattoos. They’re memories, keepsakes.

You could always just get the rest of your body fixed, and leave your arms alone to avoid all the fixing stuff. It’s your best bet.

You look to your left wrist to see the soulmate words. You rub your thumb over them for a moment, and then scowl.

They left you behind. They left you with Johanna and Peeta, which was the worst thing that they could have done.

They didn’t even wait. Or even try with you standing there--it’s not like they couldn’t have seen you! You were standing right fucking there beneath their noses. And with how everything had gone down, you’re sure they could have afforded one more drop. There was more than enough time.

The glass doors slide open, making you look up.

You can’t help the amount of rage that shoots through your veins instantly.

“And so we meet again,” the words are bitter out of your mouth, you press your lips together in a thin line.

President Snow.

He motions the avox out of the room, and she listens without hesitance. With that, Snow sits in the chair--that you hadn’t even noticed was there--and crosses his legs.

“Yes we do.” he says.

You clench and unclench your teeth while you stare at him, trying not to have an attitude, since this man can kill you with the snap of his fingers and not even feel remorse for it. However, it all goes out the window because he’s sitting right in front of you with a smug look.

This motherfucker has ruined your life over and over and over.

Before your first games, you had it good. You had a big, loving family. You had two sisters and three brothers, and a pair of parents that would do anything to protect you all. Your grandparents, aunts, and uncles, and cousins were all alive. You had big gatherings during the summers, and cried when they had to go home.

And then you volunteered for the games, as you were instructed to do. You won your games, and at the end of your so-very-rich victory tour, he presents you with the worst fucking offer you’ve ever heard. Sell yourself for more money. Money, jewels, riches, clothes, love--adoration.

Except, it wasn’t an offer, he was telling you. But what he wasn’t telling you, was that he was picking off those cousins, those aunts, uncles and grandparents. Next were those siblings of yours, and when you said no for the final time, your parents. You came home to a fucking massacre in your childhood home.

Everyone looked like they were frozen in place. They were shot, beaten, bruised and bloody, but they were right where they had been when it had happened. Your father was still in his armchair, your mother face-down in dirty sink water, your siblings playing in their rooms, reading books, sleeping.

It was all the same for the rest of your family too.

And when the first fucking check with your victory money came through, you used it all to put them in the ground. You basically had your own fucking cemetary.

The worst part is that you agreed after all that. He had killed everyone, and yet you still went through with it, as if you had anything else to lose. Your family was the only thing that you had left. It wouldn’t be the same if he killed friends, because it’s not you who would be grieving anymore, it would be their family.

While you were touring the Capitol on President Snow’s order, you got the tattoos done. You had the flowers done first for your family, every name had a flower that reminded you of them, and at your wrist would be the soulmate tattoo. You had your left arm done first so that the Capitol people would think that you were being sweet.

Then you had the graveyard done. And along came the graveyard, came the nastiest fucking attitude any of them had seen. It only took a week before Snow basically packaged you up and sent you back to District Two. He has to admit that it was smart of you to do that. And for fucksake, you’d do it again.

The attitude is a defense mechanism to keep the people who are too weak-hearted and manipulative-looking away. Only the ones who don’t care, stick through it. And they tend to be the more understanding type on top of that.

The last time that you saw President Snow--other than on tv or in person as the tribute parade--was when he tried to convince you to allow Tanith to be sold around the same way you were.

You felt so fucking smart then, for picking her out specifically. You basically told Snow ‘good luck’ with trying to find anyone she cared about to kill off. She’s a fucking orphan, and back then she didn’t really like you very much. So, he couldn’t get to her by attacking you.

With Zavian, he just wasn’t desirable.

“Stop staring and get to it already.” you snap, lowering your chin a bit as you bite your cheek.

Snow laughs, “Never was one for small talk.” he pauses for a moment, his face becoming more serious, “What do you know about Katniss Everdeen and her plan?”

Well, this can be a very easy answer, or a very hard one.

Technically, you don’t know anything. You don’t know any part of the plan that they had going on, except for the fact that they had to keep an eye on Katniss and Peeta the entire time. Just to make sure that they wouldn’t get hurt, killed or ran off. The only thing you had the slightest clue on, was the fucking time on when you guys would get out. And even then, it seemed like that was unplanned.

But at the same time, you know a lot more than you’re supposed to, thanks to that talk with Finnick before the interviews. His question of whether or not you were a loyalist was an immediate click. You knew in that exact moment that he was planning something with the others.

You look over Snow’s face, he’s studying you, waiting patiently. It’s only been a couple of seconds.

You can’t play dumb, you can’t say anything stupid or he will know and be on your ass almost as quickly as you knew of the plan.

“You want the truth?” you ask him, he motions for you to get started, “I didn’t know anything, I wasn’t told a single thing--I put the pieces together myself, and it wasn’t very easy to do. Which means, I could be completely wrong.”

“Tell me what you think you know, then.”

“I thought that Finnick, Katniss, Peeta, and Johanna were in an alliance, and that they were all getting along.” you lean forward, “I was wrong. Katniss wanted to kill Finnick in the cornucopia until he showed her some dumb bracelet that belonged to Haymitch.

“I only stuck around them inside of the arena cause Finnick and I are soulmates.” you hold up your wrist for Snow to see, “I wouldn’t have dreamt of doing it otherwise.”

Snow squints at you, ignoring your arm, “What else?”

“Finnick and I had a conversation thirty minutes prior to the interviews.” you lift your chin a little now, trying to recall the entire conversation, “The basis was an alliance between him and I, at least. I chose to ask because of the scores that they had all gotten, thinking that it would be better to be on their good side. I didn’t want to be hunted.”

Snow watches you hesitate, and you know that there’s no way you can avoid this now.

The thing is, you’re trying to not get anyone in trouble, while also saving your own ass, and it’s hard to do. Because you don’t owe any of them a single thing, but there’s something in your chest telling you to do it anyway.

You feel… anxious. And it’s your own emotion.

Your voice is quieter, “Finnick had asked me a peculiar question just before the conversation was over, and I still don’t know what it means.” Snow won’t be able to tell if you’re being truthful or not, “He asked me if I was a loyalist.”

Snow hums, rubbing his white beard, “That’s not it.”

You shake your head, “That’s it. Finnick knew that I had wanted to be in their alliance to be able to kill him and the others. He said that he wouldn’t let me in because of that, and then he asked me if I was a loyalist. I told him I didn’t know what he’s getting at.” you draw your eyebrows together, “That’s when Haymitch came around the corner, must’ve heard us talking or something. He said that the interviews had started, and the conversation ended after that.”

“Which hallway?”

“The uh--first hallway to the left if you’re standing in the main corridor. In the direction of leaving the backstage area.”

Snow nods now, standing to leave.

“When do I get to go home?” you ask, sliding off the bed to get to your feet too. He’s not going to leave the room until he gives you an answer.

“Soon. I want to show you something first.” Snow says, “Get dressed.”

He takes a step out, leaving around the corner. The avox comes in with some clothes, nicely folded in her arms. The doors don’t offer much coverage, but it’s not really anything they haven’t seen before.

You strip, pulling on the new clothing carefully, afraid of hurting your newly healed skin. It’s a pair of black skinny jeans, and a pink shirt with a breast pocket. The avox then holds out a pair of black tennis shoes for you to slip on after that. And when you’re done, she leads the way out of the room.

You follow her down the hall, passing by everyone who’s moving so quickly. When you get a glance through the windows into the courtyard, you can see that you’re on the base floor, and the building towers over you.

The hallways wind confusingly, but the avox manages. She has this place memorized as if there’s a map in her mind. For a while, you’re confident and unaware of your surroundings, until you pass through a hallway with cages. Only then do you get apprehensive.

Snow is in the next room, which is a corridor of white. The avox backs off, standing in the corner, and you take it upon yourself to approach Snow by yourself. He’s in front of a particular door, staring through the window in the door.

“Katniss Everdeen, Finnick Odair and Beetee Latier have been taken to District Thirteen, did you know that?” Snow asks, he looks at you briefly, before back through the door.

There’s a sick feeling in your stomach.

“No, I didn’t.” You don’t want to see what’s through that window.

“But you knew that they were taken out of the arena.”

Just thinking about that night gives you a goddamn headache, especially with all that happened afterwards.

After the hovercraft had left, you stared for what felt like forever. Feeling dejected and betrayed, especially with all the time that had been left over. No one came for you, so it was up to you to decide what would happen next.

When you had finally gotten over your feelings, you went ahead and found Johanna, who was right next to a panicked Peeta. Screaming in her face about how all of that was her fault. Johanna took it like a champ, with her mouth sealed shut and everything. But the second that you were there, Peeta turned on you like a rabid dog.

You tried to take a page from Johanna’s book as you calmly explained to him that Katniss, Finnick and Beetee were taken by a hovercraft.

Peeta didn’t like that, and with him getting in your face, an anger was rising from your stomach to your throat. Like simmering grease, only you’re not supposed to let grease simmer. Because it gets dangerous, begins to pop and burn the skin, and that was exactly what had happened.

You tried to get Peeta to back off, because you didn’t want to make a huge mistake with Johanna standing two feet away. But he kept pushing, and pushing, and pushing so you swung. He fell, and when he tried to get back up, still running his fucking mouth, you lost it.

You hadn’t felt that angry since you found out that your entire family was dead. You did everything you could possibly imagine to harm Peeta in that moment. The first kick to his ribs was the weakest, but the second definitely left some sort of damage. Then Johanna tried to come over, and you knocked her out without a second swing.

Peeta would have gotten the absolute shit beaten out of him if it weren’t for the second hovercraft that had shown up. Only, this one dropped peacekeepers, and you knew instantly that you were in huge trouble. With the arena falling apart, the fire eating at the forest around you, the lack of Katniss, Beetee and Finnick due to an earlier hovercraft, and the fact that you were clearly grouped up with the two morons.

Johanna was an easy grab, Peeta fought relatively hard, and there was no struggle from you. The only thing you actually remember is getting a sedative inside of the hovercraft, and that was it.

“Yes, I knew that they were taken out of the arena.” you answer Snow, blinking a bit to refocus your eyes, “And that means that Peeta and Johanna are here.”

Snow moves aside for you to see inside, and with the pucker of your lips, you move over to see inside. You clench your teeth, expecting the worst, and when you do finally look in, it’s… you can’t put it into words.

Peeta is strapped to a chair, malnourished, purple eye bags that are see able even from this distance. He looks nothing like he did before, he looks gross. Like a…

Like a boy that would have to file for tesserae to eat for the next year. A kid from the Seam.

You swallow thickly, “What the fuck?”

“If I find out that you aren’t telling the truth--” His voice is measured, but there’s an underlying tone, anger, you think, “--then I will bring you back from District Two. And I will be getting the real answers.”

If this is what they’ve done to Peeta--sack of flour, absolutely harmless--you can’t imagine what loudmouth Johanna looks like.

“I’m telling the truth.” you tell him, your eyes flickering back to Peeta.

He’s spotted you now, and the two of you stare at each other, eyes locked and neither of you move. With the look of you, he relaxes. It’s strange that the sight of you gives him so much peace, even though you would have killed him if the peacekeepers hadn’t come. But he must see something in your face, because he draws his eyebrows together, like he’s asking a question.

“How long have I been here?” you ask Snow.

“A couple of weeks.”

You look at him now, “I’ve been in a coma?”

“Medically induced. Those spiders weren’t just flesh-eating, they were venomous too.”

Not to mention your head injury, and everything else that had occurred inside of there. You might as well be lucky to be alive.

“I want you to do something for me, when you do get back to District Two.” Snow says, you look at Peeta again to see that the glass is blocked.

“Which is?”

“Show them that you are a loyalist, and get the rebels to calm down.”

One word spirals up in your mind, strong and stubborn that you struggle to hold down; No.

They have Peeta strapped to that chair like he’s an animal. They’re starving him, they’re depriving him of sleep, and that window is blocked because they’re doing something to him.

“I’m not agreeing to that until I get to see Johanna and anyone else you have here.” you tell him, “Only then I will try to get two to settle down.”

Snow smiles a little, “You’ll have two weeks.”

You nearly laugh in his face right then, but manage to hold it back, “I don’t have much of a choice, I’ve already agreed, haven’t I?”

Snow nods approvingly, before leading you right next door. In this chair is Johanna. Her hair is shaved, she’s soaking wet, and she’s thrashing against the restraints without control. You take back what you said about Peeta, this is an animal. Doing this to Johanna is like putting an angry lion inside of a small cage. It’s only a matter of time before she gets out and explodes.

She looks just as hungry and tired as Peeta does. But Peeta isn’t getting nearly as bad as tortured as she is. She looks like she’s been through hell and back, as if she’s seen the devil himself and laughed in his face.

In this case, Snow would be the devil, and she would be the exact fool to do something like that.

Johanna spots you the same way that Peeta did, by the off chance that her eyes glance over the glass. The second that she has, she relaxes for a moment, and the window is covered almost immediately after.

The both of them had the same reaction upon seeing you. You can’t think of a reason why, until it hits you. They have to be thinking that you’re here to save them. You’re seeing the state that they’re in, and they’re hoping that you’ll relay the message to tell someone of their condition, you’re sure of it.

Snow grabs your arm, yanking you along to the door across from Johanna’s. When you look into this one, you’re a little more confused.

“Annie Cresta wasn’t inside of the hunger games.” you place your hand against the glass, “Why--”

“Leverage.” Snow says simply, “Who would she belong to, Miss Rosecelli? Who would tear the world apart to get to her?”

It dawns on you then, and you nod a little bit. Finnick, obviously. This is Finnick’s girlfriend, the one that you told him to keep.

“What’s the point of having her if you’re not starving her like the rest?” you ask.

“I do have morals.”

‘Not very high ones’, you think.

“I’m surprised,” you look at Snow, “Considering all the other shit you’ve done, you still have a heart.”

Annie is healthy, that’s all you have to say about her. She’s got rope to twirl and knot, she’s got books to read, food to eat and a nice bed. She’s not strapped to anything, it looks like she has medication, and she’s content. You can’t help but to wonder if she’s secretly going insane or plotting her escape, though.

“One more room.” Snow ignores your comment, ushering you to the door to the right of Annie’s.

You shuffle over, thinking that Snow couldn't have possibly taken anyone else that would matter. Beetee’s girlfriend--or whatever Wiress was to him--is long gone. There’s no leverage to have against her.

“Take a look inside.” he’s smug.

You stare for a moment, before following his directions.

Tanith.

Your hand flies up, going to grab the doorknob, but Snow stops you, a tight hand on your wrist, “Just in case you thought that it’s only your life on the line.”

He’s threatening to kill her.

You clench your teeth together, not removing your eyes from Tanith. She looks almost as bad as the other two do. Except, Tanith is a few days behind. Snow didn’t start the process on her until recently. It won’t take long until she catches up, because he could make that happen at the snap of his wrinkly fucking fingers.

“I understand.” you grind your teeth.

She’s not awake to see you, Snow was anticipating this visit. He had her knocked out so that she wouldn’t try and fight against the restraints. She’s smart enough to slip out of them, it makes you curious if Snow knows that too, or he just wanted to see your reaction to having her unconscious. Like he’s trying to trick you into thinking she’s dead.

“The avox will take you to the hovercraft.” he lets you go, “Two weeks.”

Snow has just made the biggest mistake in his life.

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair metanoia #metanoia #metanoia chapter eleven

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metoo-desu · 5 years

Text

Sorry! Wrong Slayer! - 1/?

giyu x reader

Y/n’s Kasugai crow clearly wasn’t the brightest of the bunch. The first time she received her feathered companion right after the Final Selection, he flew into a tree before crashing into the new Demon Slayer’s arms. Not that Y/n minded, he never failed to amuse her especially when the crow flies to her right after completing a mission in the most clumsiest way. Oyakata even offered to replace the bird after Y/n jokingly told him that her messenger seemed to be ‘malfunctioning’. Of course, she kindly declined him, saying that the crow still gets his job done at his own pace that she never fails to make up.

“So I’ve been traveling west but I see no signs of demons anywhere,” the h/c-haired talked out loud as she weaved through trees in the darkest hours of the night when demons come out and play. She eyed the crow that perched on her shoulders and sighed, “Are you sure we were suppose to come this way, Poya?”

The black bird seemed as he stared off into the distance, second-guessing himself before he ruffled its feathers in realization?

“South! South-west! You must immediately run South-west!”

Y/n internally groaned. Of course the bird would give her the wrong direction to her mission, but thank god it wasn’t far off. Turning on her heels, she quickly ran to the right way, hurrying before the demon could make anymore disturbances or find more prey.

That night, she managed to arrive on time, quickly slaying the demon and going off to the next town over to rest.

Before she turned herself in for the night, Y/n rested out on the engawa, staring into the night sky and drinking tea. Poya helped himself with the piece of bread she left uneaten. Her e/c eyes narrowed at the bird, finding herself slowly losing her patience for the quite incompetent crow.

“If you want to keep this job, you have to do it right, y’know? If it were any other Demon Slayer, they would have replaced you the moment you crashed into that tree.” Y/n began scolding the animal, gently poking at his wing. “Luckily for you, I’m nice and I don’t like seeing a helpless and jobless Kasugai crow.”

He hopped several inches away from her.

Y/n frowned, “I’d hate to admit it, Poya, but you’re beginning to slow me down and time is crucial for this job. I could be a minute late and find myself in the aftermath of a massacre, and it would be all on me if that were to happen. So please, help us both out and do your job properly.”

If her friend, Shinobu, had seen her scolding a crow and begging him to correct its ways, the Insect Pillar would have mock and laugh at her before doing her a favor and replace it. Y/n laughed at the thought and poured more tea into her cup.

“How about you send a message to Shinobu for me, hm?”

Poya fluttered his feathers and let out a loud caw, showing objection to what she had just suggested, not vey fond of the Insect Pillar that always tried to rid of him somehow.

Y/n threw him a glare, “Well, you’re going to have to anyways. If you don’t send this message, then you can kiss your wings goodbye.” Without giving him a moment, she recited the message she wanted sent to Shinobu. “Now you better get on with it before I go to Oyakata for a replacement.”

Then off Poya went to the sky, cawing or more so crying into the night.

^ ^ ^ ^ ^

It was one of those rare days for Giyu to not have been assigned a mission as Oyakata thought he had been working too much without having a proper rest. So there he sat, under a tree with nothing else to do but heed his master’s order to rest. The man wasn’t even allowed to train.

He didn’t pay attention to the people that walked by him in a hurry to do their daily tasks around the Butterfly Estate, completely in his thoughts, deciding whether or not he should go out and eat at his favorite restaurant or to stay and eat whatever the estate prepared. The clumsy flutters of a crow snapped him out of his thoughts, his attention now on the black bird heading straight towards him with no show of slowing down.

“What kind of cro—“

Giyu watched the crow descend, crash-landing onto the grass and rolling towards the Water Pillar. It twitched in its spot next to the man before hopping back on its feet, the tiny bells that decorated its neck tinkling, the sound familiar as he heard it sometimes when he’d walk around the estate, followed by giggles from a girl.

The crow spoke, “Message from Y/N to..” Then it stopped, seemingly forgetting who the message was meant for.

“MESSAGE FROM Y/N!” It announced again, now disregarding the assigned receiver.

“‘We should get seared salmon when I get back from my mission! Had quite a rough time out here. And do you think you can come up with a toxin to euthanize this stupid crow? Thanks!’”

Giyu stared at the crow with a deadpanned expression. Most of the Kasugai crows have the intellect to understand the meaning behind the messages they are sent to deliver, but this one seemed to have no clue that its very own owner would send it to someone who would gladly listen to the request and brew up a concoction.

“I believe you were meant to come to Shinobu,” he told the crow. “Tell this Y/n I give her my thanks for helping me figure out what to have for lunch. I will also relay the message in the crow’s stead because of its incapability to find the correct receiver.”

The crow’s beak fell open, shaking under his gaze before gladly flying away.

^ ^ ^ ^ ^

*Next day*

“I can’t believe you got the wrong slayer!” Y/n exclaimed, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Whoever you sent that message to probably thinks I’m a heartless being! Only Shinobu would’ve understood the last sentence!”

The crow was absolutely flustered.

The h/c-haired stomped her feet on the ground and let out a groan, “You had one job, Poya! And I don’t get it! How is it that you remember every word in a message but fail to remember a mission?”

Y/n composed herself, sitting herself down on a nearby log. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “It’s okay. We’ll have to clear my name since you so obviously told them who I was. I do hope you remember who you went to because I’m sending you back to them.”

She received another caw of objection, but with another threat, Poya would have no choice but to go back.

^ ^ ^ ^ ^

“That is so funny!”

Shinobu couldn’t help herself but laugh. Giyu had actually went out of his way to relay the message meant for her. Since she was out on a mission the day the crow came to him, he had to wait the next day when she arrived, right before he had to leave.

“Is she really going to kill that crow?” He asked, curious but not concerned.

The Insect Pillar shook her head, “As much as Y/n claims to kill Poya one day, she wouldn’t. That stupid crow causes so much trouble for her yet she still can’t find it in her heart to replace him.”

“I see.”

“Yup! So don’t you worry about the crow!”

“I’m not worried about the crow. I think she should get rid of it as well.”

Shinobu agreed and looked up at the sky, calling for her own crow. “Right? Well, I’m gonna go ahead and reply to her as soon as possible. Gotta take up on that lunch offer! Seared salmon happens to be your favorite as well, would you like to joi— ah.”

Giyu had already left before she could even offer him to join the two when Y/n gets back, the man eager to leave the Butterfly Estate and on his way to his assigned mission.

By sun down, he heard the familiar flutters and bells from a distance, the very same crow returning to him once again. He looked exhausted from the way it flew and then it fell. Rolling his eyes, Giyu walked over to the crow, nudging it with his foot.

“Poya. You passed the Butterfly Estate if you’re meant for Shinobu.”

“To you,” the crow wheezed. “A message from Y/n.”

‘Sorry! Wrong slayer! I’m also sorry for the inconvenience my crow has given you but I thank you for relaying the message as I’m sure Poya wouldn’t have been able to if given a chance. Don’t think lowly of me if you truly believe I would rid of him because I have no intentions of doing so. It was merely a joke’

The Water Pillar crossed his arms and scoffed. This was quite an interesting situation Poya had gotten him in as he found himself curious about the owner.

He crouched next to the crow and responded to the message.

#tomioka giyuu #giyu x reader #giyuu x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #giyu #giyuu

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hysterialevi · 3 years

Text

Eitr | Chapter 8

Fanfic summary: In an alternate universe where the Raven Clan is wiped out, Sigurd ends up being rescued by the son of a Saxon ealdorman, and is tasked with being the boy’s new bodyguard. Upon meeting the boy’s father however, Sigurd soon realizes that the ealdorman is responsible for his clan’s destruction, and secretly plans for revenge while hiding behind the guise of a Norse pagan turned Christian.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male OC

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

ONE DAY LATER

ELMENHAM

Eivor ran his fingers gently along the edge of his father’s axe, feeling its worn blade kiss the surface of his skin.

At the moment, he was sitting in the same place where he first met Gjuki and quietly admiring the view of the open sea in front of him, secretly wishing he could traverse beyond its horizon.

After everything that had occurred in England these past few days, Eivor wanted nothing more than to set sail and leave this godforsaken war zone behind him. He wanted to return to Fornburg and feel the familiar warmth of Styrbjorn’s longhouse, and the icy embrace of Norway’s fjords.

He wished to see the night sky veiled behind the aurora’s shimmering waves once again, and to get lost in the never ending stretches of mountains that crowned the frozen landscape.

But most importantly, Eivor wanted to find peace. His soul still wrestled inside him like a hurricane goading the ocean, and now that the deaths of his fellow clan members had finally sunken in, the inevitable pain that came along with them also buried itself deep inside his heart, causing his spirit to wither away like a flickering flame.

He almost felt numb at this point. There was hardly anything left in him after witnessing so much death, and without any family to help carry his burdens anymore, Eivor found himself desperately searching for a reason to hope, and a reason to fight.

There was just so much misery being thrust upon him suddenly, and he didn’t know if he could muster the strength to overcome it.

“Oh, Sigurd...” he whispered to himself, “...I wish you were here, brother. You and I may not have seen eye-to-eye on everything, but your courage and ambition always stoked a flame inside me that I didn’t even realize existed. Not until after you were gone. ”

Eivor gazed out at the ocean, still holding onto his father’s axe. “But I assure you... I won’t let our honor lie in the mud. Just like Kjotve, I will find whoever did this to us and deliver them to Hel’s gates myself. Even if it kills me, I won’t let this attack go unpunished. That is a warrior’s promise.”

Standing up from the ground, Eivor slid the axe back into its sheathe and began heading towards the longhouse, only to freeze in curiosity when he saw a familiar face greeting him in the distance.

Not too far away from where he stood, Eivor spotted a man fervently riding towards him as the sun blotted out his figure, causing the viking to squint. He couldn’t quite see his face just yet, but purely based on the voice he heard calling out to him afterwards, he instantly realized who it was.

“...Broder?” Eivor murmured to himself.

The other man hurriedly hopped off his horse, jogging up to his friend.

“Eivor!” He called out, his voice heavy with fatigue.

Eivor met him in the middle, eyeing him with a look of confusion.

“Broder! You’ve finally returned... but you’re by yourself. Where is Gjuki? Why isn’t he with you? Has something happened to him?”

“No,” Broder replied, shaking his head. “Gjuki is fine. He’s just in Wedenscire at the moment, continuing our investigation.”

That took Eivor by surprise. “Wedenscire? What’s he doing so far south?”

“He’s investigating a castle called Forangal. It’s home to the shire’s ealdorman.” Broder paused for a second, unsure of how to broach the next subject. “...Gjuki’s found your brother, Eivor. He found Sigurd.”

The blond man’s expression sagged with sorrow. “...He did? And where is his body? Have you brought him with you? Or have the ravens already desecrated his corpse beyond redemption?”

“No, no, no.” Broder corrected. “He’s alive, Eivor. He didn’t die at Ravensthorpe. He’s helping Gjuki as we speak.”

Eivor felt his heart stop at the revelation. What did Broder just say?

“...What?” He whispered in shock. “...S-Sigurd’s alive? You’re absolutely certain it was him? Could it have been someone else?”

“There aren’t many Norsemen in England by the name of Styrbjornson, Eivor. I’m confident it was him.”

“Well, if he’s alive, why hasn’t he returned with you? Is there something that prevents him from coming home?”

“Perhaps I should just start from the beginning.”

Broder recomposed himself, finally managing to catch his breath after the lengthy journey.

“When you sent us to investigate Ravensthorpe for clues, we found a survivor there. A Saxon soldier. He was severely wounded, but not dead yet. Gjuki made him talk.”

Eivor shrugged. “And what did he say?”

“He told us that the people responsible for the attack were in Wedenscire, but wished to keep the ambush a secret. Apparently they didn’t plan on having anyone discover the true nature of their plan, and wanted to wipe out the entire clan. Men, women, children -- everyone. Unfortunately for them however, you and your brother both survived.”

“And what about their identity? Did this Saxon give you a name?”

Broder sighed. “I’m afraid he took that secret to his grave. Fear not, though. We found our own lead. After Gjuki brought us to Wedenscire, we found ourselves in a town called Agenbury. A fisherman there by the name of Wilfred claimed to have seen your brother. He said that Sigurd washed up on the shore one night -- beaten and bloodied -- and that he rescued him from the brink of death.”

Eivor failed to hide the skepticism creeping onto his face. “A Saxon stranger going out of his way to help a Norse in need? I don’t believe it. Compassion like that never comes without a price. What did this Wilfred want from my brother?”

The other man had no answer. “Nothing, if he is to be trusted. He said he simply helped Sigurd because ‘that is what the Lord God would’ve wanted.’ Make of that what you will.”

Eivor crossed his arms. “I see. And what about Sigurd? Where is he now? Is he still in Agenbury?”

“No. The day after Wilfred rescued him, the ealdorman’s children stopped by the town and decided to take Sigurd back to the castle with them. What for, I do not know. All I know is that the eldest was apparently rather... apprehensive about the decision.”

“So Sigurd is at the castle now?”

Broder gave him a nod. “Yes. He resides in Forangal and serves Ealdorman Aegenwulf’s children as a personal bodyguard. The only reason Gjuki and I were able to find him was because of a thegn named Raedan who came to visit recently. We managed to find some disguises, and walk right through the gates alongside his personal guard. That is when Gjuki met your brother.”

“They’ve made Sigurd a bodyguard?” Eivor questioned. “I expected he would be a prisoner.”

The man chuckled. “You and me both. Make no mistake though, your brother is not a free man within those walls. According to what Gjuki tells me, the Saxons there treat him with spite, and would drag him around like a slave on a leash. There is a particular man named Algar who constantly hounds him on a daily basis, and torments him without remorse. Fortunately however, Sigurd is not as soft as he thinks.”

Eivor found himself in a state of anger, and let out a scoff. “So, it is not enough that these Saxons have destroyed our home? Now, they must also enslave my brother and treat him like a dog? By Thor, if any of them have laid even a finger on him...”

Broder reassured him. “Do not worry, drengr. Sigurd is doing well from what I gather. But his situation grows more dire with each passing day.”

“Then we would be fools to sit here and dawdle. I will not stand idly by whilst these people make a mockery of our clan and spit on our honor.” Eivor brought his gaze to the longhouse, eager to speak with Oswald.

“Return to Gjuki,” he told Broder. “Tell him to continue his search in Wedenscire. In the meantime, let him know that I am working to forge more alliances across England. Soon, we will have an army strong enough to shatter the very core of the earth itself. Whoever these Saxons are, they will regret everything they have done.”

“Of course,” Broder complied, walking back to his horse. “I’ll bring Gjuki the news as soon as possible, Eivor.”

The viking gave him an appreciative glance, watching as the other man vanished in the distance. “Make sure you get some rest first, my friend. And food. You’ve had a long journey. You deserve a quick break before delving back into this storm.”

Broder smirked at that. “You’ll get no argument from me. Perhaps I’ll stay here for the night and regain my strength before returning to Wedenscire. But as soon as day breaks, I shall make my way back to Gjuki and bring him the news.”

“Thank you, Broder. For everything you’re doing. Take care of yourself in these trying times, and may the gods guide you.”

“You as well, Eivor.”

Bidding him farewell, Broder promptly climbed onto his mount and trotted away to the stables, leaving the other man to his thoughts as the day slowly came to an end.

By now, the sun had lowered itself into a canopy of peach-tinted clouds and soothed the land beneath with a gentle evening breeze. The activity in Elmenham was calm at the moment, and most of its occupants seemed to be spending their night in the longhouse.

Despite the serene nature of the town however, Eivor couldn’t help but feel a newfound fury growing inside him.

...Sigurd was alive.

He was actually alive.

Against all odds, his brother had escaped from the clutches of the half-rotten goddess, and survived an ordeal that massacred the rest of their clan.

They still had a chance to reclaim their honor. Even though Eivor had no doubts that the path ahead would be laden with obstacles, he remained confident that he and Sigurd would be able to plow through them as they always did.

Though, he couldn’t ignore the sense of fear that gripped his heart. He felt uncomfortable leaving Sigurd alone in a castle full of Saxons, and just based on the rumors he had heard about the people of Wedenscire before, Eivor assumed he would receive no love from the locals there.

He would have to work on forging more alliances, and quickly. Sigurd needed him now, and Eivor refused to simply leave him behind. Odin willing, he would soon be kicking down the gates of Forangal Castle itself, and bringing onto them the same hellfire that they delivered to Ravensthorpe.

He would not forget the slaughtering of his clan so easily, and neither would they.

~~~~~~~~~~

MEANWHILE

FORANGAL CASTLE, THE COURTYARD

Swinging his blade to the side, Sigurd struck the wooden dummy in front of him with great force and caused it to wobble on its stand, sending a few splinters flying into the air.

He had grown bored of his idleness in Forangal during these past few days, and wished to take this time to revitalize his thirst for battle. Part of him feared that he was becoming too comfortable within the stone walls of the castle, and did not wish to allow himself to be addled by the absence of combat.

His skills had become somewhat dull due to the lack of any true danger, and the last thing he wanted was to let the callouses on his hands go soft.

Unfortunately however, his body seemed to disagree.

Landing another blow directly on the dummy’s head, Sigurd brought the sword downwards in a firm strike, only to stumble when he suddenly felt a sharp pang stinging him where the arrows had hit his torso.

The pain wasn’t nearly as bad as when Edric and his siblings first brought him to the castle, but it was still enough to hinder his movement.

“Shit...!” Sigurd muttered with a soft hiss.

Bringing a hand to his ribs, the viking took a moment to examine his old wound and gently pressed on the skin, causing a painful throb to spread throughout his chest. He knew it wasn’t healed completely just yet -- Linette said the tissue would take weeks to recover -- but he assumed it would’ve been faint enough that he could’ve ignored it by now. Clearly, he was wrong.

Sighing in discouragement, the Norseman decided to take a break for the time being and placed the sword down before having a seat on a nearby bench, taking in the cool air of the dying daylight.

He wanted to continue with his training whilst he still had the chance, but he knew that if he kept pushing his body any further, he’d soon tear open one of his wounds again. And the scolding he’d receive from Linette after that was more fearsome than any foe he’d have to face.

Still, Sigurd couldn’t help but wonder how useful he truly was as a bodyguard if he couldn’t even defeat a mere mannequin. He had three lives depending on him at the moment, and he could scarcely guard his own.

Luckily for him though, the siblings seemed to have a healthy habit of avoiding trouble altogether. The twins didn’t appear to get involved with a lot of the political chaos occurring in Forangal, and Edric had enough levelheadedness of his own to know when something wasn’t worth the hassle.

In truth, the main thing that worried Sigurd was Algar. So far, the man had yet to physically attack him, and he seemed to obey Aegenwulf’s wishes of diplomacy -- at least, for the most part -- but the Norseman could only wonder how long it’d be before something else sparked between them.

He clearly knew more about the war in Wedenscire than he was giving away, and part of Sigurd suspected that he may have been aware of Gjuki’s presence. It was unlikely that he knew the bard’s name or his identity just yet, but... it wasn’t impossible. Nothing was.

Letting out a deep breath, Sigurd leaned back in his seat and listened to the soft sounds of the nature in the courtyard, allowing himself to relax for a minute.

Currently, the only things he could hear were the scattered chirps of nearby crickets, and the delicate rustling of trees swaying in the wind. The castle was actually quite peaceful when there was no one around to disturb the silence, and contrary to what he expected, Sigurd found himself to be quite fond of it.

Sadly though, it was short-lived.

Bringing his moment of solitude to an end, Sigurd’s ears perked up in interest when he heard a distant chain of footsteps coming towards him, leading him to glance to his side.

There, just behind the trees, the viking spotted Edric strolling in his direction with a casual expression on his face and a small cake in his hand, seemingly unperturbed.

The young man looked tired from all his running around with Aegenwulf and Raedan, but if Sigurd was reading him correctly, he would’ve said that the lord was delighted to see him again.

“There you are, you big brute.” Edric said jokingly, approaching the man. “I was looking for you.”

Sigurd eyed the treat in his palm with a smirk, quirking his brow in curiosity. “Were you? And what’s that you have there?”

The Saxon rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, this? It’s a soul cake. Remember? I mentioned them before? Nelda made a fresh batch today for Raedan and his family. I... I thought I could bring you one.”

The Norse couldn’t help but chuckle at Edric’s awkwardness. He clearly wasn’t used to giving people treats like this, and in a strange way, it only made him more endearing to Sigurd.

“You aren’t trying to poison me are you?” He teased.

Edric took a seat next to him, laughing softly. “Don’t worry. You haven’t irritated me that much.” He held the cake out, urging Sigurd to take it. “Go on. Give it a try.”

Sigurd picked up the cake, hesitantly taking a bite out of it. It was sweeter than he expected, and filled his mouth with a surprisingly lively combination of ginger and cinnamon.

“I like it.” He said. “It reminds me of some of the sweets that our people have.”

Edric beamed at the man’s comment. “Does it? What kind of cakes do the Norse eat?”

“Well, we don’t have cakes like this,” Sigurd clarified, “but sometimes we will eat bread with honey. It’s a simple treat that we like to have after a huge feast. That, and some fruits.”

“Do your people bake a lot?”

Sigurd smiled in an amused manner. “I’m not sure about all Danes, but my clan in particular had a man who loved to bake. His name was Tarben. He was a tall, burly Norseman who could’ve crushed your skull in a heartbeat if he wanted, but he had no interest in battle like the rest of us did. Instead, his passion lied with baking.”

“Sounds like your clan was full of all sorts of intriguing people.”

“It was.” Sigurd said nostalgically. “We had hunters, merchants, warriors, poets -- even a pet wolf. I think it’s safe to say there wasn’t another clan out there like us. We were one, large family of brothers and sisters merely trying to find a new home in England. But... well... it didn’t go as planned.”

Edric picked up on the sudden shift in Sigurd’s tone, hoping to comfort him.

“...Are you alright, Sigurd?” He asked.

The viking nodded. “I’m fine. I just... can’t stop thinking about my clan, you know? About the life we once had. It’s not a topic I enjoy lingering on for obvious reasons, but I often find myself drifting away into these thoughts regardless.”

“Aye,” Edric said in understanding. “Edlynne told me that you seemed preoccupied yesterday. Apparently, there was some... tension between you and Lady Moira?”

Sigurd scoffed. “I suppose that’s one way to put it. Lady Moira isn’t comfortable with the fact that I haven’t converted to Christianity yet.”

The Saxon let out a sigh. “I assumed so. You must forgive her. As imposing as she can be sometimes, it’s out of a desire to protect her children. From what I understand, they’ve already lost quite a few people to this war, so Moira’s response is only natural. Still, we shouldn’t excuse ignorance. It’ll only cause more trouble.”

A sudden thought crossed Edric’s mind. “Hey, Sigurd. I’m curious. Have you... ever considered converting to Christianity?”

The Norse shook his head. “No, for I see no reason to.”

“And I respect that, but I must confess that I’m worried no one here will ever trust if you if you don’t. Danes are often dismissed as mad heretics and blood-thirsty heathens. If you wish to remain a pagan, I’d only advise caution. You never know how some people will react.”

Sigurd took his words to heart. “I understand your concern, Edric. But for the time being, I have no desire to abandon my gods.”

“Fair enough. I know it’s a big decision, and not one to be made lightly. Do with your faith what you will.”

The nobleman paused for a moment, deciding to drop the subject. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to divert our conversation so drastically. I fear that Raedan’s talks of politics have simply been hammered into my head. The truth is, I came here for you.”

That caught Sigurd’s attention. “For me? Why?”

“Well, when Edlynne told me about your exchange with Moira yesterday, I feared that you might have been in a foul mood. I mean, you’ve been thrown into the middle of this Saxon fortress without having any say in your fate, and I know you’ve lost some of your own people to this war. It’s... a lot of pressure for someone to deal with, and I just wanted to make sure that you were doing alright.”

Sigurd smiled bashfully at the young man’s concern. “You are kind, Edric. I cannot deny that this past week has taken a toll on me, but you and your siblings give me the willpower I need to push through it. I’ll be fine.”

Edric chuckled gently. “You’re a strong man, Sigurd. And a good friend. It baffles me to think that I would’ve left you behind when we first met.”

The viking grinned playfully. “Do you still regret taking me in?”

“No. Not at all. In fact, I’m grateful for your presence. It’s nice to have someone new in this dreary castle, and... I must admit that... you’re rather charming.”

Sigurd took a second to process what he just heard. Even though he knew Edric was quite fond of him, he never expected the man to attempt taking his feelings further.

He assumed that he would’ve been promised to some thegn’s daughter by now like most noblemen were, but clearly, he was mistaken. Still, as unexpected as the compliment was, it wasn’t unwelcome.

“You think I’m charming?” Sigurd asked.

Edric smirked. “In your own aggressive way, yes. Some people might find my tastes peculiar, but I can’t deny that you’ve certainly caught my eye since we first met. I think... maybe that’s why I was so reluctant to bring you here to begin with.”

“What do you mean?”

The Saxon gripped the cross hanging around his neck, holding the pendant out for Sigurd to see.

“You might know this already, but my religion doesn’t take too kindly to people like me. Ideally, they would see me married to a woman, but... that’s not what I want. That’s not what I’ve ever wanted.”

Sigurd was somewhat surprised. “Truly? And does your family know about this?”

Edric’s face sank with shame. “No. I’ve considered telling them about it in the past, but... I wouldn’t know how to. There’s already so many things my father has to deal with. I have no clue how he’d react if he knew the truth.”

He paused briefly, raising a sudden question. “Do you... do you feel the same way, Sigurd? Have you ever had these thoughts about anyone? Or even about... me?”

The viking fell into a profound silence, unsure of how to answer Edric’s question. Even though the two of them had only known each other for about a week or so, Sigurd couldn’t deny that part of him shared the young man’s affection.

There was just something about Edric that drew him in like a moth to a flame, and he found himself unable to stay away.

His personality, his looks, his gentle eyes, the way he carried himself... it all clicked with Sigurd in a manner that he had never experienced with anyone else before.

There was an unfamiliar spark igniting between the two of them, and he wanted nothing more than to delve deeper into it.

Despite his longings however, Sigurd couldn’t ignore the sense of guilt that clung onto his thoughts. He couldn’t help but think about Eivor and his clan, and the war they were currently trapped in.

His brother needed him right now. He needed him to focus. Gjuki was the only thing keeping them in touch at the moment, and Sigurd couldn’t afford to waste his time gallivanting around with a potential lover.

Besides, it wasn’t his place to start a relationship with Edric. Even though the young man wished to treat him as an equal, Sigurd was fully aware of his true position. He was no more than a servant to the Saxon in the end, and he did not wish to take advantage of the nobleman’s compassion.

“I... must admit that I find myself drawn to you, Edric.” Sigurd said, his voice quiet with hesitance. “But... I’m afraid I can’t indulge in these thoughts. It wouldn’t be right.”

Edric tilted his head in confusion. “Why not? Is something the matter?”

“Your father is the ealdorman,” Sigurd explained. “He’s put a tremendous amount of faith in me to keep you safe, and I do not wish to abuse his trust. No matter how much I may like you, Edric, it wouldn’t be right for me to do this.”

The young man turned away from Sigurd, evidently somewhat hurt by the rejection.

“I... I see.”

“I’m sorry,” the viking said. “I wish things were that easy, but...”

Edric shook his head. “Say no more. I understand. You have your own responsibilities to worry about, and so do I. I... shouldn’t have let my emotions get the better of me. I apologize.”

Standing up from the bench, the Saxon stretched his arms and took a deep breath, finally ready to return to his duties. The sky had darkened into a deep shade of violet by now, and the scattered lights of multiple torches could be seen glowing around the castle.

“...I should get back to work,” Edric said, his tone much softer now. “I promised Hal and Sibley that I’d join them for dinner tonight, and I don’t want to keep them waiting.”

Sigurd glanced up at him. “Do you want me to come with you?”

The other man hesitated. “Well yes, but I’m not sure if Lady Moira would appreciate that. I know she becomes rather antsy around Danes. There’s also the fact that Algar will be there too. I suppose I’ll just leave the decision to you. It’d be lovely if you could join us, but I’ll understand if you don’t.”

Sigurd nodded. “Very well. Sounds good to me.”

“Great. Then meet me in the dining hall if you wish to come. If not, I’ll see you in the morn.”

Edric took his leave from the courtyard, waving goodbye to the man. “Goodnight, Sigurd. Take care of yourself.”

Remaining seated on the bench as the nobleman made a swift exit, Sigurd watched his friend disappear into the evening’s darkness as the shadows settled into the castle’s walls, shrouding everything in black.

By now, all the warmth from the sun’s beams had been erased from the wind, and tiny specks of light could be seen flickering in the air as fireflies began to float around.

It was a quiet night, considering all the new soldiers that were now running around the castle. In spite of Raedan’s bustling arrival and Aegenwulf’s ambitious plans for war, Sigurd found himself to be mostly unperturbed.

He had made quite a few friends in Forangal -- as well as some new enemies -- and even though not everyone was willing to accept his newly-given position, it seemed that most of them were able to obey the ealdorman’s wishes, at the very least. For now, anyway.

Still, Sigurd couldn’t help but wonder if he was a fool for pushing Edric away. Regardless of all the risks that came along with such a relationship, the viking knew damn well what his heart truly desired. There was no doubt in his mind that he would’ve thrived from a connection with the young nobleman, and yet... he couldn’t bring himself do it.

There were just too many unknowns obscuring the path ahead of him, and Sigurd feared that a new romance would’ve twisted the winding road even further.

“Well, well...” someone said, “the young lord certainly seems to be fond of you, doesn’t he?”

Whipping around to see who was speaking, Sigurd sprang up from his seat and jolted his head in the direction of the voice, only to find one of Raedan’s guards standing not too far away from him.

“Wait a minute...” the viking murmured, recognizing the person’s speech, “Gjuki? Is that you?”

The bard lifted his visor, grinning at him. “Hello, Lone Wolf.”

Sigurd flicked his eyes around, checking to make sure no one had seen the man. “What in Hel’s name are you doing here? I thought you told me to meet you at the pier if we ever needed to speak.”

Gjuki approached him. “No, I told you to light the brazier if you ever needed me. In the meantime, I’ll simply carry on with my investigation as I see fit. No reason to waste this uniform, after all. But to answer your question...” he took his helm off for the moment, breathing in the fresh air, “I’m here to keep an eye on you, of course. Hope you don’t mind.”

Sigurd crossed his arms. “I do, actually. I’m not fond of airing my private affairs for everyone to see.”

The other man chuckled. “Ah, yes. You and the nobleman. Quite a hopeless romantic, that one. What’s the lad’s name, again? Erik?”

“Edric.”

“That’s right,” Gjuki said, nodding in remembrance. “Forgive me, words can become quite muffled when you’re wearing a bucket on your head.”

The viking sighed in annoyance. “Look, what do you want, Gjuki? Are you going to follow me everywhere I go? I’m quite capable of handling my own problems.”

“Hmm, you might change your mind once you hear what I have to say.” Gjuki placed a hand on Sigurd’s shoulder, leaning closer to his ear. “Listen to me, Sigurd. I looked into that Saxon you told me about yesterday. The ugly one.”

“You mean Algar?”

“Yes. Him. Whilst he and the ealdorman were discussing politics in the war room, I took the liberty of tracking down his chambers. I didn’t find much in there -- just random books and spare clothing -- but one note in particular caught my eye.”

That piqued Sigurd’s interest. “Oh? And what did this note say?”

Gjuki laughed. “I wish I knew. Most of it was pure nonsense; nothing but the ravings of a madman. However, it did mention a hidden crypt somewhere. A crypt that requires a special key to open. A key... that Algar keeps on him at all times.”

Sigurd didn’t like where this was going. “So, you need me to steal the key? Is that it?”

“No, no, no. I will steal it. Your job will be to distract him.”

“Distract him? How? And when?”

Gjuki shrugged. “Well, your friend mentioned Algar would be at a dinner tonight with Raedan’s family, did he not? Perhaps that’s our chance.”

Sigurd threw him a look of bewilderment. “You want to attempt theft in front of two noble families, their guards, and a housecarl? If you get caught, we’re both dead.”

“Have faith, drengr. It’s not as difficult as you think, but I will need help. Just keep Algar’s attention away from me, and everything will be fine. Trust me on this.”

The viking let out a breath. “Fine. We’ll do this your way. Just... be careful.”

Gjuki slid his helm back on, giving him an assuring nod. “The same goes for you, my friend.”

He turned on his heel, making his way out of the courtyard.

“Anyways, you should probably get ready. I imagine the dinner will start soon. Algar is more astute than you’d think, and I’d rather be done with this business as soon as possible. I’ll be waiting for you in the dining hall.”

“And if you get the key? What then? Where do you want me to meet you afterwards?”

Gjuki eased the man’s concerns. “No need to worry yourself about that. When I get the key, I’ll locate this crypt on my own. I’ll find out what Algar’s hiding there, and bring you my discoveries as soon as I’m finished. You just focus on keeping him distracted. Let me handle the rest.”

Sigurd sighed in defeat, deciding to trust the bard for now. “If you insist.”

“Have faith, Lone Wolf. Soon, this storm will be over. We will learn the truth behind the attack on Ravensthorpe, and Eivor will bring upon these people a vengeance so fierce that they won’t dare to set foot on your lands ever again. There will be blood... and it will be glorious. That, I promise you.”

#assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #sigurd styrbjornson #gjuki haldorsson #edric #male oc #female oc #sigurd x male oc #ac valhalla fanfic #eitr

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