#when they retrieved his body his lungs were filled with mud

[radio-charlie]

I think the whole genting area should be evacuated and thorough sitechecks + reinforcement + zoning be conducted because that place is just constant disaster waiting to happen. during rainy seasons please just stay away from all these developed highland areas feels like nobody ever gives a fuck abt safety until a whole bunch of ppl get buried alive

#the 1995 landslide is what killed one of my grandparents #when they retrieved his body his lungs were filled with mud

[aggressivelyclueless]

trick

it’s october now yeehaw let’s go!!!

first: a warmup. it’s about wes, and about a very odd sense of humor.

"Shit."

Wes was a second too slow.  The screen on the infrared camera in his hand was registering in greens and aquas, all swirling together and without shape.  It had turned a blind, or perhaps stubborn, eye to what he'd just witnessed: a fleeting glimpse of what he was certain was the Phantom of Amity Park.

A crooked arc of lightning flashed through the cracked and cobwebby window, but it was the thunder that followed which made Wes jolt.  He'd spent no less than an hour in the abandoned library, surrounded by dust and books and the worsening mold problem that had spelled doom for the building three years prior - no less than an hour, long enough for the sullen clouds over the lake to sweep in and bring the storm with them.

At dusk, Wes had been certain he'd had time.  He hadn't needed his windbreaker then.

He didn't like the looks of it out there.

But the Phantom had come and gone, and for Wes that meant any more time spent here would be futile.  He'd been trying to pinpoint the tricky spirit for months; where most dead manifested in the house where they'd departed, or haunted the gravestone that bore their name, the Phantom did neither.  He (Wes was quite certain that this ghost was a he) was rumored to appear in any dark corner or empty space in town.  More than once, Wes heard accounts of those that sighted him, sometimes within minutes, often blocks apart.

Some said that he was looking for someone (his murderer was a popular fill for that blank) or something (his body, said those trying to be dramatic), but after so long spent chasing shadows, Wes was of a different mind.

Perhaps the Phantom was looking to be remembered, or perhaps he was looking for a home.  Wes leaned slightly toward the latter; it was a suitable explanation for why he got around like he did.  In either case, Wes seemed to be the only one that had taken up the interest in finding him (which, admittedly, got him widely mocked at school), and tracking him down seemed like the first step toward helping him.

Well, it had seemed like a straightforward idea at the time.  The Phantom, if he even knew that Wes was searching for him specifically, wasn't making it easy.

There was no telling where the ghost might have disappeared off to, and the longer that Wes stood there in the dark, the more hopeless were the chances of finding him again.  He went to the door, grabbed the handle, hesitated, flung it open, and hesitated again before venturing out into the driving rain.

The cold hit him first.  Without his windbreaker, he was soaked through in seconds, and he was sure that his will would cave and he'd retreat back into the shelter of the building again.

He didn't, but not for lack of want.

There, atop a burnt-out streetlight, swaying slightly in the wind and casting a crooked and gangling shadow, was the Phantom.  Every ounce of him was black as pitch, except for those eyes that lanced right through Wes and seemed to fixate on something beyond him.  Wes had found him.

Or perhaps he’d been found by him.

Was it that inhuman stare that held him still, or was he simply too terrified to move?

Then, in a blink, the Phantom was gone.

Wes' breath caught in his chest.  He staggered into the empty road after him, but the lamp flickered weakly back into light in the ghost's absence.  Come back, he wanted to say, but his throat had locked itself shut and he could barely breathe.

But the Phantom hadn't left him.  Halfway down the block, another one of the lightposts quit with a hard pop.

Wes' mind ground to a halt as he took off after him.  That ghost had to know he was there - he had to be leading him, why else would he stay two steps ahead?  The rain blurred the roadside into a stark gray-black void ahead of him but he couldn't quit now.

Wes was afraid he'd lose him but, barely, he didn't.  Even in the cold, his lungs were burning, and the only thing he could hear over the rain was his own panting breath.  The last light at the end of the road had gone out.  He had no idea where he was.  He hadn't been reading the signs, only chasing after the ghost in the hope that he'd learn something important - some piece of history, or even the spirit's name.

Why else would he allow himself to be followed like that?

Wes shook wet strings of hair out of his face, trying to discern the Phantom's outline atop the post.  He wasn't showing himself, but he was there.  "Phantom?"  Wes' voice was almost lost to another crack of thunder overhead.  He was drenched and freezing, but he wasn't finished.

The lightpost crackled back to life, and he saw the Phantom's bright eyes through the dark past the roadside.  The light winked in and out like a pair of fireflies, and without a thought Wes followed.  He was so close, he could almost hear the spirit's voice coming to him from ahead, and in the dark he clambered over a squat stone fence, his sneakers almost slipping on the wet grass on the other side.

The Phantom waited for him, perched like a shadowy gargoyle atop a tall pointed stone, and in a flash of too-bright lightning Wes knew where the ghost had led him: the Knife River Cemetery, and he stood just at the edge of a gaping and empty grave.  The loose soil underneath was turned to a black puddle by the rain, and for a moment he could do nothing but stare down into it.

He looked back at the headstone - what are you trying to tell me? he wanted to ask, but those bright eyes were gone, and the shadow of his form was gone too.

"Phantom?  Please - don't go. . . "

A moment, too long, of nothing.

And then two hands of ice rammed him behind the shoulderblades and he pitched forward, flailing, into the empty grave.

- - - -

It was coming up on one in the morning when Wes dragged himself upstairs.  Defeated, exhausted, shivering, caked in mud and dirt under his fingernails, he all but collapsed in his room.  He'd had to leave his camera behind.  Would it be safer to retrieve it after the rain had dried up?  Probably.  He wasn't going to go back out there tonight.

He ran himself the hottest shower he could bear.  Even then, it took almost fifteen minutes for his shivering to quit, and it would take longer for him to really, truly warm back up.

The Phantom had tricked him.  What did you expect? he thought bitterly, did you think he was going to sit around and chat?  With you?  What makes you so special?  Of course the Phantom had nothing better to do than float around and play tricks on the living, and that was using the term loosely - shouldn't Wes count himself lucky that he'd gotten home at all?

When he shut his eyes, he could still see that rectangular hole.  He'd half filled it in again to get out, and the stone at the top had been leaning a little more dangerously than he was comfortable with by that time.  He wondered, hysterically, if it would topple before the rain stopped.

By the time he shambled back to his room he was dead on his feet.  He was thinking of how long he'd sleep in; Saturdays were great for sleeping in, especially after the hell of a night he'd had.  His hand smacked twice at the light switch before fumbling it on, and he threw on the warmest set of pajamas he owned.

But then he spotted the camera on his desk.  It was dripping, all the cracks filled in with liquefied mud and cold clods of dirt, its screen cracked from when he'd tossed it out of the grave to get both his hands free.  It was registering in bland yellows and greens, except for the tangle of cracks which didn't register anything at all.

And except for the cold blue spot by the window.

Wes looked up but saw nothing, and a second later the icy shape of blue slowly began to soften, and then it dissolved altogether.

#Ectober Month 2021 #Ectoberhaunt 2021 #Ectoberhaunt Trick #danny phantom #fanfiction

[bee-kathony]

when the masks come off | Benedict & Sophie

What would have happened if Benedict recognized Sophie earlier in the story? What would he have done?

Saving a young woman from the clutches of three incorrigible rakes had not been on Benedict’s agenda for the night. But what kind of man would he have been if he simply walked past and let them have their way with her? The fear in the woman’s eyes stopped him in his tracks.

It was her eyes that spoke to him — first for help, and then something deep in his soul told him he knew these eyes and that he must save her.

Benedict hadn’t even wanted to come out to Cavender’s tonight, but perhaps this — saving this woman — was the reason for his presence. After all, he did believe in destiny and fate, and all that nonsense about there being no true coincidences in life.

“Sophie Beckett,” the woman had said.

The soft lilt in her voice struck a chord in him. As if he’d heard that sound before, but as much as he tried, he couldn’t place it. There was something about this woman… something familiar.

After he removed Miss Beckett from their grasp, Benedict had led them to his phaeton. They sat side by side now, arms and legs brushing as they bumped down the road.

“I don’t know how I can even begin to thank you for what you did back there,” Miss Beckett said, looking over at him. This was the third time she had thanked him, and Benedict had to admit it felt nice to be the hero, even if just for the night.

“It was nothing more than what any respectable gentleman would’ve done,” he tried to wave off her compliments, feeling a blush creep up his neck. “I shudder to think what they would have done had I not come along.”

Miss Beckett shivered next to him, and he thought not from the cold.

“You must be freezing,” Benedict tried to shrug out of his jacket, holding the reigns with one hand. “Take my jacket to keep warm, I think it is going to rain any moment now.”

“Oh,” Sophie smiled shyly, looking as if she did not want to accept. But once he got both arms free, he tucked the garment tightly around her shoulders. A warm feeling spread throughout him as he looked at her wearing his clothing.

They continued down the road in silence, both unsure of what to say. It wasn’t every day that Benedict went around, saving young misses from house parties. He had four young sisters, however, and the thought of harm coming to them was enough to make his blood boil. In his mind, Benedict thought of how he would react had Miss Becket been his mysterious lady in silver. He would have done anything to protect her and save her from ruin.

A chill raced through his veins as he thought of his lady in silver. It had been many weeks now since he had let his mind picture her. Over the years, her image had faded, and her features had become less pronounced. Her hair had been light, and long locks had tumbled around her shoulders. Her figure was slim, but still full in all the right places. Benedict would always remember the way she felt in his arms — her warmth had spread throughout his body, and he knew he’d never be cold again.

It was odd, he thought, that he would think of the lady in silver tonight. Usually these days, something he saw or heard sparked a memory, but there was nothing he had seen tonight to do so.

Benedict gripped the reigns, feeling the chill of the night air blow past. He shivered, huddling in on himself. The cold he had just gotten over was still lingering, and Benedict knew that if rain started to pour, he would never be rid of it.

“You must be cold too,” Sophie said and he nearly jumped, remembering that she was there, so lost in his thoughts. She began to take the jacket off, but he stopped her, placing his hand on hers. Warmth spread up his arm, and he nearly jerked it away.

His eyes met hers and the most curious feeling washed over him.

“What is it?” Sophie blinked, her face pale, and eyes wide. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Perhaps I have,” Benedict looked at her, that strange feeling settling in his chest. There was something about her he couldn’t place. “Are you sure we have not met before?”

At this, Sophie’s mouth opened and closed. Her cheeks flushed red, which he thought very odd indeed.

“I am sure we have not,” she said, shaking her head. “I know I would not forget such a meeting.”

Nor would he.

“Have you spent anytime in London, perhaps?”

“No, none at all,” she said quickly, almost as if the words had been waiting on her tongue. “I have never even been to London!”

Benedict shivered again, feeling a few rain drops on the top of his head.

“Here, you must take this,” Sophie tried to give him his jacket back. “Please do not take offense, but you do not look well, Mr. Bridgerton. You are quite pale.”

“It’s this damn cold I had,” he sniffed. He wouldn’t allow her to freeze, so he placed the jacket firmly around her body again. Sophie was stubborn however and moved closer to him, her body now fully pressed beside his. Her arm hooked through his, and she huddled close. Benedict felt as if his heart would suddenly burst at the contact. It had been many years since he had been intimate with a woman, let alone come in close contact. Of course, he had attempted to lie with a woman once, but his heart had not been in it… nor had his body. With every touch, every kiss — Benedict only thought of her, his lady in silver from the masquerade.

She had haunted his dreams for the past two years. It was her voice that he heard asking him to dance, and her smell of rosewater that kept him sane. He had not stopped looking for her, but he was growing discouraged.

“Where are we going?” Sophie asked as she gently laid her head on his shoulder. The act was so intimate, so familiar that Benedict felt his heart squeeze.

“I have a small cottage just up the road,” he nodded ahead. “We shall stay there for a night or two. And do not worry about your reputation,” he smiled faintly and looked down at her to see a similar smile. “You will be properly chaperoned. The caretakers will be present, and I promise to refrain from doing anything untoward.”

“I did not think you would,” Sophie smiled warmly and moved closer to him.

As they continued down the bumpy road, the air grew colder, and Benedict began to cough. It was then as he thought he would hack up a lung that the rain began to pour, soaking both of them to the bone.

“How much farther is it?” Sophie had to yell over the sound of the rain.

“Just a mile or two ahead,” Benedict yelled back, coughing and feeling utterly miserable. Damn cold.

“Mr. Bridgerton, you must give me the reigns!”

He looked at her like she was crazy. “This is not something you would be able to control, Miss Beckett.”

But Miss Beckett was a stubborn woman, and as he doubled over, coughing up his lungs, the reigns transferred into her hands and she took over. Surely he would meet his death now, either from pneumonia or a road accident.

As the rain began to come down in sheets, Benedict managed to direct Sophie towards My Cottage and soon, but not as soon as he’d have liked, they finally arrived.

“Go find cover under the eaves,” Benedict pointed towards the door. “I will just be a moment to unhook the horses and take them to the stable.”

Sophie hopped down, her feet landing in mud, but came around to him.

“Your fingers have gone numb, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said and began to help him with the bridle. Together they freed both the horses and led them to the stable, seeing them safe for the night.

“I am sorry,” Benedict coughed as they reached the door to My Cottage. “This is not very,” cough, cough. “Very gentlemanly of me.”

“You have done more than enough to prove tonight that you are a gentleman,” Sophie smiled, wiping her hand across her brow. “You saved my life Mr. Bridgerton!”

It was then that Benedict saw her lower lip begin to tremble, and soon tears fell down her cheeks as the weight of what had occurred earlier finally hit.

“Oh,” he gathered her into his arms. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

Benedict held her as she let out the tears she’d clearly been holding in. Anyone would have been afraid, and he was foolish to think that she would not have been. As he held her against his chest, he let his hands settle around her back, softly stroking. Warmth filled his chest, and once again, that same familiar feeling crept back.

He’d been thinking it all night… that he knew Miss Beckett from somewhere. But she had told him she’d never been to London, and it wasn’t as if he spent much time elsewhere. This did not dissuade him from wondering if he’d met her before.

“Are you better now?” He asked, pulling back to look at her.

She wiped her eyes, attempting a smile.

“I’ll be fine now,” she nodded. “Thank you.”

He grunted, unsure of what to say. “Let’s get inside and start a fire, does that sound good?”

Sophie nodded, still wiping fresh tears from her face. But as Benedict knocked on the door to the cottage, a sinking feeling came over him. It appeared that the Crabtrees, his caretakers, were not at home.

“Where the bloody hell could they be?” He swore and banged on the door again.

“What will we do? Break a window?”

“No,” Benedict chuckled, then coughed several times, feeling like death. “I know where the spare key is hidden!”

This of course meant that he would have to venture out into the storm again to retrieve it, so he left Miss Beckett on the doorstep and went around the back. Tucked under a medium size grey rock was the key and with shaking hands he turned the lock, walking into darkness. The Crabtrees were certainly not here.

Benedict walked through the house, his body shivering, and unlocked the front door.

“I don’t know where Mr. and Mrs. Crabtree are,” he croaked, coughing again. “But they’re certainly not here!”

“We’re alone?” She asked, her eyes wide.

“Certainly!” He laughed at her expression, and then pulled her inside, shutting and locking the door behind them.

They stood in darkness, their bodies pressed together. The heat of her breath warmed his neck, and Benedict wanted to lean down and kiss her. He’d been wanting to all evening, but she’d escaped a near rape — his kisses were the last thing she needed now.

“I shall start a fire,” Benedict whispered, breaking the silence.

“Good,” Sophie said softly, and then he stepped reluctantly away from her.

He stalked towards the hearth, gathering what he needed and striking a fire, nursing it until it became a full blaze, heating the cold room instantly. Next, he went towards a small cupboard and grabbed towels for them.

“Use this to dry off what you can,” Benedict said, offering her a small towel. “Once we are not dripping wet, I will find you some dry clothes to wear.”

“You have ladies clothes here?” Pink tinted her cheeks, and Benedict caught himself smiling.

“No,” he shook his head, biting his tongue. “But surely you can wear a pair of breeches and one of my shirts for the evening?”

“Of course,” she nodded quickly, the pink tint growing into a deep blush.

Sophie took the towel and rubbed it along her arms and neck. Then she moved it over her head, drying her short blonde hair. As the towel covered the top half of her face, Benedict froze.

It was the shape of her mouth that startled him. Since her eyes were covered, he was not distracted by their beauty — their soul sucking beauty that drew him in. The towel covered her eyes… almost like a Demi-mask.

“Stop,” Benedict reached forward, his hand touching hers on the towel.

“What?” She sounded almost afraid.

“Do not move,” Benedict said softly, his heart racing. Memories began to return to the forefront of his mind. Thoughts he had thought were long lost. Miss Beckett’s hair was much shorter than the lady in silver’s, but ladies were allowed to get haircuts. Her figure was much the same, perhaps a bit slimmer than it had been years ago.

Her lips… the full and pouty lips that he so often dreamt of.

“Mr. Bridgerton—“ she started to removed the towel, but his hand tightened on hers.

“Please,” he begged. “Do not move.”

Could it be her? His lady in silver that had fled the ball without telling him her name? Miss Beckett was a servant, so that could explain why no one, not even Lady Whistledown had recognized her. And perhaps why she had told him so few details about herself. She thought he would not like her if he’d known she was not some superior Lady.

“Sophie,” he said her name softly as his thumb brushed lightly against her bottom lip. She gasped, but stood incredibly still. Benedict bent his head, suddenly feeling like his cold has disappeared, though he knew it lingered still.

Nothing mattered in this moment other than kissing her. If she was the lady in silver, the woman he’d dreamt of for years… a cold could not stop him from kissing her.

“What are yo-“

He pressed his lips to hers, silencing her question.

A thousands sparks of light appeared behind his eyelids as their lips touched. Warmth filled his chest, and he thought his legs would give out. Benedict slowly — so not to startle her — wrapped both hands around her waist, pulling her close and deepening the kiss.

“It’s you,” he mumbled, parting her lips with his tongue. She allowed him to bend her to his ever whim, and her hands snaked their way around his hips.

“Benedict,” she cried, clutching him harder.

Tears of his own fell down his cheeks, and he wanted to shout at the feelings bursting in his chest. He had found her! Benedict had found the woman he’d been searching for all this time. And he’d found her in the most peculiar of places.

They kissed for what could’ve been hours, neither one wanting to part, but Benedict had a few questions for her.

Benedict took a step back, keeping his arms tight around her waist, and looked down at her. The towel had fallen down in their embrace, and her hair was mussed. He smoothed it down with his hand.

“I can explain,” she began, unable to meet his gaze.

“Yes,” he nodded. “I think you better.”

“I need to sit,” Sophie said and he walked with her to a small divan across from the fire. Never once did he stop touching her, and he pulled her close, taking both her legs to lay across his lap.

“I have been searching for you,” Benedict said softly, tilting her chin to look at him. “For years, Sophie. Where did you go?”

Her lip trembled, and she looked scared.

“I did not know how to tell you who I really am,” she sighed, twisting her hands together in her lap. He moved one hand slowly up and down her back in comfort.

“A servant,” he said, and she nodded, though he felt she was holding something back.

“I was never supposed to be at the ball,” she wiped at her nose. “I was never supposed to meet you. And I was certainly never meant to actually like dancing with you.”

“I liked dancing with you as well,” Benedict smiled and took her hand, lacing their fingers together. “I suppose I can understand why you did not tell me who you were.”

“I am sorry,” Sophie looked at him then, her eyes telling a story he so wished to hear.

“I have many more questions,” Benedict stroked her cheek. “But I feel as if I might collapse at any moment.”

“Oh!” Sophie jumped, her hands flying to his face and pressing against his forehead. “I nearly forgot that you are ill.”

“So had I,” he smiled, then coughed deeply. “Finding the woman of your dreams can do that to a man.”

Sophie blushed, then leaned in to kiss the tip of his nose. “I dreamed of you too.”

Benedict sighed and pulled her close. “How am I ever going to let you go?”

“Don’t,” she smiled, pressing her head against his.

They sat there, in shocked silence before Benedict’s body began to shiver uncontrollably.

“Oh dear,” Sophie climbed off of the divan. “You need to lie down and get under the covers, Benedict.”

“I think I shall stay right here,” he mumbled, his eyes feeling heavy. Falling forward, he let out a grunt as his head hit a soft pillow.

“The fire is already started,” Sophie muttered, and he opened one eye to see her flitting around the room, searching for a blanket, he thought.

“In the cupboard,” he pointed in the direction.

“Ah,” she said, gathering two very fluffy blankets and laying them across his body. “Now, do not move, Benedict.”

The next thing he knew, she was pulling off his boots, and struggling. He knew he should help her, but his body had succumbed to fever and chills. Benedict drifted off to sleep, and for the first time in nearly two years, he felt happy.

++++++

Sophie sat beside him all night, and into the next day. As he slept, she had found suitable dry clothes and put them on. They were very big on her small frame, but there wasn’t much that could be done about that.

When she first saw Benedict at the Cavender’s, she had allowed herself to hope for the first time in years. Here was her prince charming, come to save her. Sophie had thought about their meeting again nearly every night since the ball. This however, was not a scenario she had ever imagined.

Benedict slept soundly on the divan, one leg hanging over the side. She had done what she could — feeding him sips of water and broth, and making sure that he kept warm under the covers. She would have felt better if he was in his own bed resting, but there was no way she could have moved him.

Last night she had told him as much of the truth as she was able. Yes, she was a servant, but she could not work up the nerve to tell him that she was also a bastard. A bastard of a man that did not want her. Sophie had never felt like she belonged to anyone, but in Benedict’s arms, she had felt safe, wanted, and completely his.

She watched him sleep, and as she did, tears fell freely down her cheeks. Benedict had found her, and he had recognized her after all. There were many obstacles ahead, and many more questions he would no doubt ask, but all that mattered was that they had found each other.

Hours later, Benedict woke with a start, sitting up straight. He looked much better, and he should, Sophie thought — he’d nearly slept for eighteen hours.

“You’re up,” Sophie said, and his head jerked to the left to look at her.

“Is this a dream?” He blinked a few times, shaking his head from left to right. “Surely you are not really here.”

Sophie rose from her chair across the divan, and came to sit beside him. Her hand rested over his, and she squeezed it.

“I assure you that I am real, and I am not leaving your side, Benedict.”

He let out a deep sigh, his body crumpling as he rested his head against her shoulder. Sophie had needed the thought of Benedict to feel sane these past few years, but she had no idea that he would have needed her just as much.

“Do you feel any better?” She asked, raising her palm to his forehead. “Your fever has cooled considerably.”

“I feel much better, actually,” he raised his head. “But I do not know if that was the sleep or if that is because I finally found my mysterious lady.”

She blushed, feeling her heart well up three times its size.

“You slept through the night and nearly all of the day,” she said.

He looked around the cozy living room, blinking. “So Mr. and Mrs. Crabtree have not returned?”

“No,” she shook her head. “It has been raining since last night. I suppose if the roads are flooded, they can’t return.”

“Hmmm,” he grunted, and then his stomach let out a loud rumble.

It was then that Sophie realized she had not eaten in quite some time herself.

“There should be a bit of food in the larder,” Benedict made move to rise, but she put her hand on his chest.

“You are to stay right there,” she kissed the tip of his nose. “I am perfectly capable of finding something to eat for us.”

Moments later, she returned with a bit of cheese, a few apples and a few cuts of what must have been sausage. They ate her findings up quickly, both too hungry to speak. Once sated, Benedict turned to her, and pulled her onto his lap as he had done the night before.

“I still have questions,” he said softly. “But I think I do not care to know the answers just now. All I want is to hold you in my arms and never let go.”

Sophie sighed, feeling all at once protected and safe. She moved one hand to the back of his neck, allowing her fingers to slide through his thick hair. Benedict moved his hand to her waist, and turned her face to his before placing a gentle kiss to her lips.

Desire bloomed in her stomach, and Sophie moaned as he parted her lips. She knew that he was still weak from sickness, but the strength of his hold on her proved otherwise. In her mind she pictured this moment so many times. Touching him now paled in comparison to those dreams.

Sophie knew that she did not want to become anyone’s mistress, not even Benedict’s. For he could not want to marry her, as she was still a servant — his lady in silver or not. As a bastard of a wealthy and uncaring man, Sophie would not allow herself to fall pregnant with child and repeat the same mistakes as her mother.

But she had thought all this as she lay alone in her own bed, and not while the man she loved was kissing his way down her neck, and his hands pushed at her skirts.

“Oh Sophie,” he mumbled against her neck, his tongue snaking out. “I’ve thought of touching you,” he sighed. “Of kissing you right here for so many nights.”

Sophie blushed at his admission, and angled her neck for him.

“I even touched myself,” he pulled at her shirt, popping open the buttons. “I thought of you, as I took hold of myself. Of your body against mine.”

“Oh God,” she moaned. “I thought of you,” she nodded quickly, goosebumps crawling over every inch of her skin. All rational thought left her mind as Benedict slipped his hand into her shirt, cupping her breast.

His face moved up to look at her, his lips plump.

“Did you touch yourself?” He asked, brazenly.

Sophie bit her lip, feeling shy, but she nodded.

“Jesus,” Benedict said under his breath as he looked at her. “This has to be a dream. I do not deserve you.”

“It is I that does not deserve you,” Sophie cupped his cheek.

“Sophie,” he gulped, his eyes transfixed on her lips. “You may say no of course, but I very badly want to be inside of you.”

There was nothing that could have prepared her for those words to tumble out of his lips. Of course, she knew what occurred between a man and a woman, but she never thought she would ever experience that feeling. As she sat on his lap, Sophie had felt him grow hard under her thighs, and she knew this was proof of his desire. Her own desire had pooled deep in her belly, and there was a wetness between her thighs.

No, she did not want to repeat her mother’s mistakes, but in this moment, Sophie wanted him. She wanted to feel loved, and cared for. All her life, Sophie had sought the approval of others. She had allowed herself to be pushed around, and broken.

Benedict looked at her — he looked at her as if he knew all of her deepest and darkest secrets. This was a man that would not leave her, or abandon her. This was a man that would show her what physical intimacy was, and he would do it gently.

“I want you,” she said softly, almost a whisper.

This was the answer he sought, for his lips claimed hers again, much deeper this time. Benedict grabbed her waist and pushed her to lie back against the divan. He hovered over her, his thigh between hers. As he pressed down to kiss her, she felt his arousal pulsing against her thigh.

“I have never…” she trailed off, feeling suddenly very shy to say the words out loud.

“It will hurt,” Benedict said, looking pained. “I will try to be gentle, but you must tell me if it is too much.”

Nodding, Sophie reached for his hand, feeling much more comfortable when she was touching him.

His hands returned to the buttons of her shirt, and he undid each one, his fingers slightly shaking. It occurred to her then that maybe he was just as nervous as she was.

Benedict opened the shirt, laying her bare before him. His gaze lingered on her breasts before he lightly grazed each nipple with his fingers. They hardened instantly, and she sucked in a breath.

“Do you like that?”

“Yes,” she nearly choked on the word.

His finger moved swiftly across each nipple, flicking it back and forth until both stood at stiff peaks. Then, his tongue was on her, and Sophie thought she would surely die from the pleasure.

He swirled his tongue around her areola, then sucked deeply, hollowing his cheeks. Sophie cradled his head, watching as his tongue moved on her skin. He placed kisses on her tender skin, and continued to suck while his hands went to the buttons of his own shirt, removing it quickly.

Sophie allowed her hands to travel down over his chest, earning deep moans from his lips. She shivered as the vibrations moved across her body, and then let out a startled cry as his hands found the waistband of the trousers she had borrowed from him. They were very loose and came down easily. For the first time in her life, Sophie lay bare, and exposed underneath a man.

Benedict placed a gentle kiss to each breath before pulling up to look down at her.

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he sighed happily. “I am convinced this is a dream. But not even my dreams could conjure this kind of perfection.”

Sophie blushed, turning her face into the pillow to hide.

“No,” he took her chin lightly between his fingers, turning her to look at him. “You must never hide from me. You are too lovely to hide. Your beauty should be appreciated every day. Your skin should be touched,” he ran his hand lightly down her stomach. “You should be loved,” he whispered. “Every day.”

“Benedict,” Sophie felt tears spring to her eyes and then his lips were on hers, desperately wanting to be closer. He had been slow in removing her clothes, allowing her to grow comfortable with him, but now he moved quickly in taking off his trousers. His hard length rested against her thigh, and Sophie squirmed at the heat of it.

“Please tell me if I hurt you,” Benedict kissed her cheek, jaw and ear as he took hold of himself, guiding it to her center.

Sophie clutched his shoulders, unsure of what to do with her hands. He nudged her legs wider apart, and she wrapped one loosely around him, allowing him to stroke his cock against her. She was wet, and he slid in easily.

“Oh!” She cried out at the intrusion, not entirely disliking it, but it was a sensation she had never known before.

“Are you okay?” Benedict paused, cupping her cheek.

“Yes,” she answered quickly and then flexed her hips, urging him on.

“Sophie,” he grunted, his head lowering to rest against her chest. Benedict pushed forward slowly, inch by inch until he was at her maidenhead.

“This will hurt just a moment,” he kissed her lips, wanting to take the pain away.

Slowly, he pushed forward and Sophie felt a flash of pain across her entire body. It was very uncomfortable, and she wasn’t sure she could take him moving anymore. Benedict was panting above her, and she could tell that he was exerting immense self-control.

“You feel so good,” he kissed her lips. “Please tell me it feels good for you.”

“It does,” she said, wincing as he moved into her further. “Just… hold still a minute longer.”

He nodded, his hair tickling her forehead.

After several minutes, Sophie felt herself open up around him, and soon it did not hurt as much as it had before. Her hands moved to the small of his back, and she urged him to go deeper.

Benedict pressed forward, and Sophie moaned. She grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly as he began to move in a steady rhythm. His hips snapped against her, and he was flush against her, fully rooted. A tingling sensation raced across her body, and she angled her head to find his lips.

Hungrily, Sophie devoured him, wanting to take more of him inside of her. She did not know what to do, but she moved her hips off of the divan, and meeting him in his thrusts. Benedict moaned and sighed above her, his body tensing under her fingers.

“Please,” she begged for more.

“Anything,” he muttered, and pounded against her, leaning up on both arms to arch his back. Sophie looked into his eyes, feeling completely seen.

He moved one hand in-between their bodies, touching her between her legs. She let her gaze drift there and gasped as he began to touch her, stroking her and making her belly tighten. She was building to something, something she knew she had to reach or she would scream.

“More!” She cried out, grabbing onto him and pressing her hips up.

Benedict smiled, his fingers and hips moving faster. Soon Sophie was breathing hard, and as he moved inside of her, stroking her inner depths, Sophie found what she had been searching and climbing towards as light exploded inside and over her body.

“Benedict!”

“Sophie,” he cried and snapped his hips a few more times, before his body shook, then settling to rest over hers.

Her hands settled on his damp back, wet with perspiration from their efforts. She took was sweating, and her limbs felt loose. Sophie knew she could not move even if she wanted to. Benedict sighed heavily and turned his face to look at her.

“I have never felt something like that in all my life,” he smiled widely, lopsided just as she loved.

Knowing this fact made her heart soar. For she knew that Benedict was experienced — her readings of Lady Whistledown assured her that all the Bridgerton men were somewhat notorious rakes. But Benedict was different, and she had known this from the first moment they met.

“From this day forward,” she said softly, reaching up to push a damp curl from his head. “I do not wish to be parted from you.”

“We shall remain together,” Benedict lifted his head, and grasped both sides of her face. “Forever, and always.”

“Forever, and always,” she repeated and met his lips for a kiss.

They had many challenges ahead, but they would face them together, hand in hand. Sophie had been searching for this kind of peace her entire life, and it was here in this moment, lying in Benedict’s arms that she found it.

#sorry this is VERY long lol #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton fic #bridgerton fanfic #sophie beckett #benedict x sophie #my fic

[the-marvel-ous-hobbit]

To Slay a Dragon: Ch. 4

Summary: Radagast and Wargs.

Word Count: ~5300

part three || part five

Morning sunlight aggravates the pounding behind my eyes as I stare at the leafy canopy above the trolls’ campsite. The glare holds me captive as effectively as the burlap encasing my body. Each breath draws the smell of rich, damp earth into my nose. Garbled voices drift past my head, mingling with the birdsong. It might almost be peaceful, if it weren’t for the agony radiating from my shattered ribs.

I still can’t believe we made it through the night unscathed, broken ribs aside. I should be grateful the trolls in this land are as stupid as they are ugly. If it had been three of Skyrim’s trolls, we wouldn’t have been so lucky—especially with Kili throwing himself blade-first into a fight without a second’s thought. Idiot. I should be angry with him—the fire devouring my chest is basically his fault—but the relief at seeing the sun rise drowns out any sense of ill-will.

A vision of wide green eyes flashes in my mind, reminding me of the reason I jumped into that troll’s path. I’ve never reacted like that to save anyone before—instinctively, without a shred of rational thought. A sure-fire way to get yourself killed—or, in my case, seriously injured. But if I hadn’t, if Bilbo had been on the receiving end of the blow that knocked me flat, would we have survived the night at all?

I let out a slow breath through my nose, wincing and struggling to believe I just watched the same Hobbit who was scared to leave his armchair stand up to three fully grown trolls with barely a quiver. He saved my life.

Maybe Gandalf is onto something after all. Perhaps there’s no need for me to leap to Bilbo’s rescue. But something within me seems determined to protect him. If I were to give any thought to it, I might say it’s because I’m trying to make up for something.

I cram that thought back into its box and firmly jam on the lid. Not today.

“Hello?” A curly-haired silhouette blocks the glare from the sun. I blink, forcing my vision to focus. “Are you alright?”

Bilbo’s question fans the fire in my chest. Metallic warmth floods my mouth as I clamp my teeth down on a whimper. I have to get something to fix my ribs before I pass out. I squint at Bilbo, at his mussed hair and concerned eyes, teeth gritted against the pain. There’s no way I can even stand in my condition, let alone walk to get my pack. But the thought of someone else touching my possessions feels like a hand squeezing my insides.

Don’t be so stubborn.

The voice is as familiar as my own, and my heart aches to hear it, even if it’s inside my own mind. I can picture the exact expression on his face as he says it—the long-suffering exasperation on his hardened features contradicting the endless patience in his soft eyes. I swallow thickly and force myself to speak.  

“I need—can you bring my bag?” The words climb up my throat, emerging in a hoarse whisper.

Bilbo’s brows knit, then he nods and disappears from view. I let my head drop back amongst the leaves and close my eyes, praying Bilbo doesn’t possess any tendencies to snoop. I doubt he would understand half of the things I carry with me, but they’re all I have in the world, and I’m not very good at sharing.

Snatches of conversation reach my ears across the campsite—the Dwarves discuss the night’s events in breathless, excited tones punctuated with bursts of raucous laughter. Their familiar noise is a welcome distraction from my laboured breathing and the bile rising in my throat.

Bilbo reappears, clutching my pack between his small hands. It’s half as tall as he is, and the breath whooshes out of him as he sets it on the ground beside me. Before I can fully register the next problem, he ducks his head and reaches to untie the sack. Even after weeks on the road, he still smells vaguely of lavender and sweet tea underneath the dirt and sweat. He fumbles a little with the knots, tongue poking between his teeth. His breath is warm on my neck, chasing spiders down my back. My fingers curl around an invisible blade.

I close my eyes and force my breaths to slow. This is Bilbo—he’s half my size and unarmed. Never mind that, he saved my life not an hour ago. Why would he go to the trouble only to pull a blade on me? The idea of him wielding a blade is almost laughable—this sweet, innocent creature doesn’t have a violent bone in his body.

But he’s not innocent. No one is.

A twig snaps. Opening my eyes, I see Bilbo standing several feet away, hands folded behind his back. He doesn’t meet my eyes, gazing off towards where a few of the Dwarves are wrestling in the dirt. The vice around my chest eases, but only slightly.

I struggle to sit up, my ribs barking their protest. I could just ask him to get what I need from my bag, but I’ve already defied my instincts one too many times today. A face flashes before my eyes—a certain red-headed Nord who would repeatedly test my skill and patience by seeing how easily he could filch my possessions, and grin widely at my frustration when I failed to conceal them properly.

The lump in my throat returns, thick enough to choke on.

After a bit of fumbling, and with my teeth clenched hard enough to hurt, I manage to retrieve my prize. The glass vial is about the size of my pinky and contains a deep red liquid. I yank out the cork and drain the liquid in one swallow. The potion burns down my parched throat, hits my sternum and blooms outwards like a mushroom cloud. Bones shift and crack, knitting together behind a fresh surge of agony. A whimper escapes through my teeth, and the pain subsides. Cool air fills my lungs, and they expand joyfully inside my newly-healed ribcage.

Bilbo’s wide eyes dart between my face and the empty vial. “What was that?”

“It’s medicine.” I kick the sack off my legs and wiggle my toes inside my boots, flinching as blood surges to the deprived muscles. “Of sorts.” Bilbo’s eyes shine with more questions, but he looks away, fiddling with one of the shiny gold buttons on his waistcoat.

With the pain finally gone, my gaze drifts to the three large figures across the campsite. Gandalf is busy examining the statues—he raps one smartly with his staff like a schoolteacher disciplining a student with his cane. The troll’s stone eyes stare off into the trees, forever oblivious. The dagger still wedged in its thigh glitters like a ruby encased in a halo of sunlight.

Leaving Bilbo and his questions behind, I roll to my feet and cross the glade to retrieve what’s mine. The Blade slides from the stone with no resistance, returning to my hand like a loyal pet. As its familiar weight settles in my palm, something else previously absent slots back into place in my chest.

Footsteps approach through the bracken a few feet from me. The slow, deliberate steps can only belong to one person. I duck behind the statue as Thorin emerges from the trees and strolls towards Gandalf. Though he’s half the Wizard’s height, he does his best to look down his nose at him.

“Where did you go to, if I may ask?”

“To look ahead.”

“And what brought you back?”

“Looking behind.”

I swear if I roll my eyes any harder they’re going to get stuck. Maybe Gandalf deserves some credit for saving our hides, but it’s also very possible this entire thing was somehow his fault. Thorin gives a barely perceptible nod of thanks, despite the tightness around his eyes that echoes my sentiments.

“Nasty business,” Gandalf mutters, glancing up at Lazy Eye. “Still, they’re all in one piece.”

Thorin doesn’t miss a beat. “No thanks to your burglar.”

Gandalf raises his chin. “He had the nous to play for time. None of the rest of you thought of that.”

Thorin looks sheepish for all of half a second before he sighs through his nose. “And what of the Elf? For a supposed dragon-slayer, she wasn’t any help at all. She almost got Kili killed.”

My breath freezes in my throat, my fingers digging into the statue beside me hard enough to hurt. Gandalf holds Thorin’s gaze, their expressions a perfect contrast. Thorin’s thick brows form a harsh ‘V’ over his eyes, his chest rises and falls a little too rapidly.

“I made my reservations regarding her clear from the beginning,” Thorin growls. Each word is like a fist driving into my gut. “If any of my kin are harmed because of her—”

“Our agreement still holds.” Gandalf’s voice is perfectly flat, mirroring his placid expression. “You may seek retribution as you see fit, as promised.”

Thorin nods his assent, and the conversation moves on. My pulse pounds behind my eyes. The Night Mother’s breathy whisper hisses inside my mind, repeating the words of the contract she burdened me with over a year ago. The Blade twitches in my hand, yearning for blood.

Why did I let him live?

With some effort, I shove the Blade into its sheath at my waist and stagger across the clearing on heavy legs. Curious eyes drill holes in my back, but I keep my gaze fixed on my feet. Crouching by my bag, I dig through the contents, hyper-aware of the steel pressed against my thigh.

It shouldn’t bother me, knowing that Gandalf and Thorin have an agreement about my death, as though they both expect me to betray them. At one time, I might have applauded their foresight. But after all the effort I’ve made to repress my assassins’ instincts—the same ones drilled into me by the very person who haunts my every step—I ought to be granted some kind of reprieve. I thought I’d left the distrustful glares and concealed blades on Skyrim’s grey shores. How naïve I was.

Curling my shaking hands into fists, I force a lungful of air in through my nose, hold it, and slowly release, my eyes shut tight. With each slow breath, the heat gradually subsides.

His approach is silent, but I sense Bilbo’s presence before he speaks. He hovers behind the pale curtain of mud-smeared hair brushing my shoulder—I tuck it behind my ear and turn to look at him. The gold buttons on his waistcoat gleam as he bounces on his toes.

“I wanted to thank you,” he says.

I blink at him. “Why?”

His nose twitches like a rabbit’s. “I saw you save my life. I may not have much experience with adventures or fights, but I do know a thing or two about manners.”

With my hands tucked inside my pack, I slowly uncurl my fingers. “You saved my life too. We’re square.”

A tentative smile brightens his face, and he offers me a slight bow. Against my better judgement, I smile back. He strolls over to join the Dwarves—they’re getting ready to move off. Upon reaching them, he turns and waves at me, beckoning. I nod, motioning for him to go on without me. My eyes dart to the troll statues. Thorin and Gandalf are nowhere in sight.

I inhale one final time and push to my feet, swinging my pack onto one shoulder and my hunting bow onto the other. My fingers brush the hilt of the Blade, and something inside me stirs, sending a thrill through my fingertips. Perhaps I will fulfil my contract after all.  

*

The trolls’ cave is located further into the trees, and is easy enough to find. The stench is ungodly—even standing outside the entrance, it’s enough to make my head swim. Gandalf leads Thorin and a few of the others down into the darkness, whilst the less foolhardy among the company remain out in the fresh air, taking stock of our situation and the gear we left back at the farmhouse.

I don’t feel much like talking to anyone—my thoughts are muddied by lack of sleep and snippets of the exchange I overheard between Gandalf and Thorin. I feel Bilbo’s eyes land on me repeatedly as we wait for the others to return, but I don’t dare to look at him. I don’t trust myself to control my expression, and if Bilbo finds out about my decision, he’ll go running straight to Gandalf. Wizards are far too unpredictable to engage in a fight. It’s just common sense to avoid confrontation with people who can bend the laws of nature to their will. The only thing to do now is pray for a quiet day of travel once we’re finished here.

“Bilbo.”

As if on cue, Gandalf looms out of nowhere like a wraith. I roll to my feet, alarmed at his silent approach, but he doesn’t even glance at me. He’s gazing down at Bilbo with a strange intensity, holding a sheathed dagger in one bony-fingered hand.

“Here. This is about your size.”

Bilbo stares at the blade like it might bite him, but eventually takes it. In his small hands, it’s about the size of a sword.

“I can’t take this.” Bilbo’s voice is a breathy whisper as he holds the dagger back towards Gandalf. The Wizard fixes him with a look that immediately ceases his uncomfortable shuffling.

“The blade is of Elvish make, which means it will glow blue when Orcs or Goblins are nearby.”

Bilbo’s eyes widen, as though Gandalf is trying to gift him a live snake instead of a magic Elvish dagger. “I have never used a sword in my life.”

“And I hope you never have to.” The Wizard echoes my thoughts, low and sincere. “But if you do, remember this: true courage is about knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one.”

A cold sensation spreads through my gut. I turn away before my face can betray me. If the Wizard can read minds, I’m done for. I suck in a breath, forcefully shoving my fantasies of murder into some deep, hidden recess of my brain. Gandalf’s attention doesn’t stray from Bilbo, but I won’t be fooled.

I pause, lifting my head to examine the forest. The trolls’ cave is enclosed by a circular wall of rocky slopes, with only one way in and out. It’s actually a pretty smart place to hide a treasure hoard. Upon first arriving, I scanned the surroundings for potential threats, and was satisfied nothing was waiting to ambush us. Now, a rhythmic pounding that can only be footsteps approaches from beyond the safety of the rocks and trees, heading in our direction.

“Something’s coming!”

Thorin’s yell bounces off the trees, and the Dwarves swarm like agitated bees, readying weapons and moving into defensive positions. Bilbo stands frozen, clutching his new dagger with white knuckles.

“Stay together!” Gandalf draws a blade from inside his robes and strides towards the Dwarves, leaving Bilbo and me alone.

Bilbo turns away from the chaos and gingerly draws the dagger from its sheath. It’s simple but beautifully made—the blade elegantly curved and engraved with delicate designs. The hilt fits perfectly in his hand.

Just like that, the only harmless member of the company is equipped to kill.

Before I can get caught up in the opposing emotions, I cross to his side and we hurry towards the others. Branches crackle and snap in the distance, growing louder at an alarming rate. Footsteps pound the earth, too numerous to count.

Something big bursts out of the undergrowth mere feet from our defensive circle. It skids to a stop in a spray of leaves and dirt. I blink once, twice, a third time. For a moment I think I’ve inhaled Gandalf’s secondhand pipe smoke, because what I’m seeing cannot possibly be real.

“Thieves! Fire! Murder!”

What fresh lunacy is this?

“Radagast!” Gandalf lowers his sword, a smile lighting his bearded face. “It’s Radagast the Brown!”

Wonderful.

*

Radagast the Brown presents a bizarre picture, even by the standards I’m accustomed to. He’s both similar to Gandalf—tangled grey beard, scruffy, mismatched brown clothes, massive brown hat, mage’s staff—and wildly different—Radagast is several inches shorter, somehow even more deranged looking, and has bird shit in his hair. As the two of them converse in barely-audible murmurs, I swear his hat moves. A quick glance around at the Dwarves’ expressions—which range from curiosity to fascination to poorly-disguised disgust—confirm I’m still not hallucinating. I might almost feel better if I were actually going mad.

As the two Wizards wander out of earshot to continue their conversation, movement catches my eye. My gaze is met by eight pairs of liquid black eyes belonging to the large brown rabbits tethered to the sled Radagast crashed in on. The biggest one regards me with a tilted head and twitching whiskers, each of us unsure what to make of the other. I wait for it to open its mouth and speak. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if it began reciting poetry.

Across the clearing, Radagast is speaking rapidly, gesturing wildly with his hands and Gandalf has become a silent grey statue. I catch snatches of words I don’t fully understand—‘Dol Guldur’, ‘Necromancer’, something about giant spiders and spirits of the dead. Bilbo sits beside me and peers into my face, eyebrows knitted. The air practically vibrates with unasked questions.

Radagast concludes his tale, visibly trembling and clutching his staff so tight it’s in danger of splintering. Gandalf reanimates, offering a pull on his pipe. Radagast instantly relaxes as a puff of herbal smoke wafts around his head. Gandalf leans closer to him, and Radagast fumbles beneath his filthy coat, producing an object wrapped in brown cloth.

The temperature plummets as Gandalf unwraps the sword. Bilbo goes tense beside me, and the Dwarves’ quiet chatter falls silent. A palpable sense of wrongness pervades the clearing, turning my blood to ice in my veins.

“That is not from the world of the living.”

The words settle around my shoulders like a heavy cloak. I’ve had dealings with creatures beyond the mortal realm—those experiences are scorched into my memory, and I’d rather not repeat them, thanks ever so.

Gandalf’s frown deepens as he examines the thorn-like blade, but he rewraps it after a couple of heartbeats. The dread dissolves and my breaths come easier, but the warmth fails to return to my body.

A low, chilling howl cuts through the silence.

“Was that a wolf?” Bilbo’s eyes dart between the Wizards and the trees. “Are there wolves out there?”

“Wolves? No, that is not a wolf.”

Am I to infer from your tone it’s something much worse? Excellent.

An enormous, four-legged shape crests the rocky slope behind Bilbo. The creature is easily three times the size of a wolf. Its yellow eyes regard us for a moment, saliva dripping from bared fangs as long and sharp as the Blade in my hand. A growl rumbles up its throat, and it leaps. Thorin’s blade slices into the back of its skull, but not before it takes down an unfortunate Dwarf with its massive front paws. A second beast appears atop the rocks behind Thorin, and an arrow zips past my ear, thudding into its shoulder. Knocked off balance, it tumbles down the slope and is met by a mighty swing from Dwalin’s hammer.

“Warg scouts!” Thorin yanks his blade from the twitching body. “Which means an Orc pack is not far behind.”

“Orc pack?” Bilbo’s voice echoes my own disbelief. How did I not notice a pack of Orcs on our tail?

Gandalf advances on Thorin, face like thunder. “Who did you tell about your quest, beyond your kin?”

“No one.”

“Who did you tell?!”

“No one, I swear!” Thorin’s eyes dart to me, then back to Gandalf. “What in Durin’s name is going on?”

“You are being hunted.”

Brilliant.

“We have to get out of here.” Dwalin’s gruff voice is tinged with fear, his tattooed, knuckle-dusted fingers tightening around the handle of his hammer.

“We can’t, we have no ponies!” Ori skids down over the rocks behind us, Bifur on his heels. “They bolted!”

Another spine-chilling howl echoes in the distance. The Dwarves glance at each other, gripping their weapons tighter. Bilbo’s eyes are wide and frightened in his pale face. I hope Shadowmere has found somewhere safe to hide—he’d never abandon me, but he’s also not stupid enough to take on an entire pack of Orcs.

“I’ll draw them off.”

I turn to gape at Radagast, at the fierce determination blazing in his eyes and the bird shit caking his hair. Are all Wizards in Middle-earth completely insane?

“These are Gundabad Wargs,” Gandalf protests. “They will outrun you!”

“These are Rhosgobel rabbits!” Radagast’s tone is utterly serious, and his eyes gleam beneath his ridiculous hat. “I’d like to see them try.”

I need a lie down.

*

Radagast might be a complete lunatic, but those rabbits of his can really run.

Beyond the trees, an area of open grassland littered with enormous, jagged boulders and smatterings of tall pines extends for several miles in every direction. Crouched behind one of these boulders, the company and I watch Radagast careen recklessly across the plain, a dozen Orcs on his tail. I can’t decide whether to stare at the bundles of furry lightning pulling the sled, or the pack of baying Wargs with Orcs astride them like horses. The sight is equally horrifying and morbidly amusing.

“Come on!”

Gandalf’s yell draws us away from the safety of the treeline and out onto the open, where Thorin quickly takes the lead. Ducking behind boulders and weaving up and down hills, we work our way across the plain as fast as the  Dwarves’ short strides will allow, accompanied by a distant chorus of barks and whoops.

At least one of us is having fun.

Several times during our flight, the Orcs cross directly in front of us, though always at a safe enough distance that we don’t draw their attention away from the Wizard and his rabbits. Each time, Gandalf ushers us in a new direction with only a brief pause. At first, the zigzagging back and forth seemed nonsensical and fuelled purely by fear, but there’s a deliberateness to it. Clearly he has a plan, but I’m not sure whether to be relieved or nervous.

We scramble over more boulders, and Radagast’s sled cuts in front of us again, the Orcs even closer on his heels.

But something’s wrong. There’s one missing.

Thorin ducks behind another boulder, and the rest of us pile in after him. Beneath the Dwarves’ panting, I hear snuffling, low growling and claws clicking on stone above us. Craning my neck, I catch a glimpse of matted brown fur and glistening teeth—one of the Wargs is pacing around on top of the boulder. It’s so close I can smell the musky, wet-dog stink of its fur and the rotten stench wafting off its rider.

Further down the line, Thorin nods at the bow in Kili’s grip. Kili’s eyes bug, but he slowly draws an arrow from his quiver. In a burst of movement, he leaps away from the rock, twists and shoots. A snarl, and the Warg lands almost on top of us, half-crushing its rider beneath its bulk. The Dwarves ready their weapons, and the wounded Orc meets the business end Dwalin’s hammer. The others launch into the fray, hacking and smashing with no finesse whatsoever. Bilbo remains by my side, his blade quivering. Howls and screams echo across the plain, deafening and endless.

The Orcs charge straight for us.

“Move!” Gandalf yells. “Run!”

The adrenaline sizzling in my blood urges me faster, despite the burn in my legs reminding me I’m exhausted and out of shape. Small rocks and grassy knots threaten to snap our ankles with every step, but there’s no time to pay any attention to my feet. The Wargs are unbelievably fast and show no signs of slowing.

I lose track of how long we spend running to and fro across the cursed plain, screeching to a halt and abruptly changing direction every time a Warg blocks our path. If the landscape were flat, we would have been run down several times over. Still, the Dwarves’ short strides are no match for the Wargs’ loping gait. Though their speed and stamina is impressive, it’s not enough to outrun our pursuers.

“We’re surrounded!” Fili crashes through the grass as two Wargs crest the hill behind him. There’s at least one in every other direction—they seem to rise from the earth itself, forming a loose circle around us. They’re too far away to attack, but close enough to prevent us making a run for it. Desperate faces cast about every which way, searching in vain for an opening.

“Here!” I usher Bilbo towards another rock—our only salvation in an otherwise open and vulnerable position. The others hurry towards us as the Wargs stalk closer.

“Where’s Gandalf?”

“He’s abandoned us!”

Impossible. He was here a moment ago, and there’s nowhere to hide, and no way he could have slipped through the circle of Wargs. He’s simply vanished.

Looks like here is where we make our final stand.

“Hold your ground!”

The least I can hope for is getting to watch Thorin get eaten.

Gandalf’s voice rings out behind me. “This way, you fools!”

That’s just rude.

Unseen by everyone except Gandalf, the ground beneath the rock opens up to reveal a tunnel, presenting us with an underground escape route. I can’t see what’s at the bottom, but whatever it is can’t be much worse than a dozen ravenous Wargs.

Thorin hops up onto a rock near the entrance and ushers the Dwarves inside. A Warg breaks formation to lunge at him, but is cut down by an Elvish blade wielded with deadly skill. A growl ripples through the enemies’ ranks, and they close in faster. Below, I can vaguely hear Gandalf counting the Dwarves as they slide into the tunnel.

“Five… six…”

I turn to look behind me. Kili’s dark hair whips in the breeze as he launches to arrow after arrow towards the Wargs and their riders. Some hit their mark, others lodge harmlessly in the ground. His rhythm is slowing. The nearest Orc sneers at him. I yank the bow from my back and unleash an arrow. Kili shoots me a startled look, but grins and swiftly nocks another arrow. The bow hums in my hands. My arms burn with the effort, but still the Orcs keep coming.

“Kili!”

My shout is echoed by Thorin’s, and we bolt for the tunnel. I shove Kili ahead of me, hot breath on my neck and the stink of must and rot in my nose. Kili disappears, followed closely by his brother and Thorin. I barely have time to slow before the ground dips sharply. My knees and shins bark as I land awkwardly in the dirt. I lie there, winded and unable to move, staring up at the roof of the small cavern and waiting for the Orcs to follow.

The sharp blast of a hunting horn is the last sound I expect to hear. Dust rains down, dislodged by thundering hooves above. Arrows zip through the air and thud into flesh, drawing screams from the wounded and dying.

Something heavy tumbles down the slope, sending up a cloud of dust. Weapons clatter as the Dwarves jump to attention, but they’re threatening a corpse. Thorin bends to retrieve the arrow lodged between the dead Orc’s eyes. His face twists into a scowl.

“Elves.”

I barely manage not to roll my eyes at his tone as I pick myself up off the ground and dust off my trousers. Something twinges in my knee—an old wound that never healed properly—but a quick inspection confirms no new injuries. I glance at Bilbo—he’s pale and trembling, but otherwise unharmed.

In the ensuing silence, Dwalin’s gruff voice echoes from the back of the cavern. “I cannot see where the pathway leads! Do we follow it or no?”

“Follow it, of course!”

As the Dwarves move off, Gandalf murmurs, “I think that would be wise.”

I’m almost too tired to wonder what he’s scheming at.

The tunnel morphs into a deep, narrow cleft bordered on both sides by towering walls of solid rock. In some places, it’s barely wide enough for the Dwarves to squeeze through, let alone Gandalf and me. My palms sting, scraped and bleeding from bracing them against the rock. All things considered, it’s a small price to pay after the day I’ve had. Exhaustion envelopes my brain in fog, burying any thoughts concerning Thorin and his impending demise. It’s actually a relief.

Also, I hope Radagast is all right.

The sliver of sky visible through the crack above fades from blue to purple, and shadows engulf our path. The Dwarves’ chatter lapses into silence. A faint but noticeable hum builds in the air, lifting the hairs on my arms.

Ahead of me, Bilbo stops. Slowly, he turns to look at me, then at the Wizard behind us. “Gandalf, where are we?”

The Wizard glances between us. His blue eyes gleam unnervingly in the dimness. “You can feel it.”

“Yes. It feels like…” Bilbo glances at me, and I nod. With less focus on where I’m putting my feet, I can taste metal on the back of my tongue. “Well, like magic.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” Gandalf says softly. “A very powerful magic.”

A voice bounces off the rock walls, reaching us in a stifled echo. “There’s light ahead!”

With a glance at Gandalf’s placid, unreadable expression, I follow Bilbo towards the smell of fresh air and the soothing sound of trickling water. The tunnel opens into the pleasant evening, and my jaw drops.

We emerge onto a small outcropping overlooking a deep valley. A settlement nestles against the opposite cliff face—white walls, golden roofs and delicate arches shimmer in the light of the setting sun, surrounded by lush greenery and vibrant gardens. At least a dozen waterfalls gush from the rock into the river far below. The heady scent of a hundred different flowers fills my nose.

As I gaze down at the valley, warmth unfurls in my chest and seeps into my muscles, spreading through my limbs and pooling in my fingertips and toes. I catch myself smiling like an idiot, and quickly pull myself together before anyone can see. But I can’t squash the comfortable peace that has settled over my body.

Home. This place feels like home.

“The Valley of Imladris,” Gandalf announces. “In the common tongue, it’s known by another name.”

“Rivendell.” Bilbo’s smiling face glows in the soft evening light as he gazes out over the scene. He seems transfixed, his small body trembling slightly against my arm. The Dwarves shuffle about on the platform, restless and unimpressed.

“Here lies the Last Homely House east of the Sea.”

Thorin rounds on the Wizard, his face a thundercloud. “This was your plan all along,” he growls. “To seek refuge with our enemy.”

“You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf snaps. “The only ill-will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself!”

Bilbo and I exchange a glance. A laugh bubbles in my throat, and I bite my tongue to stifle it.

“You think the Elves with give our quest their blessing?” Thorin asks, voice tinged with something almost desperate. “They will try to stop us.”

“Of course they will,” Gandalf says. “But we have questions that need to be answered.” He raises his chin slightly. “If we are to be successful, this will need to be handled with tact, respect, and no small degree of charm. Which is why you will leave the talking to me.”

What could possibly go wrong?

@moloko-tyan ; @bluelinkmp  ; @inumorph ; @psychomanias   

#the hobbit fic #dragonborn au #tes: skyrim #crossover fic #to slay a dragon

[little-ligi]

Febuwhump - No. 9

No.9 - Buried Alive Fandom - BBC Merlin Wordcount - 1272 @febuwhump​

The scream burst from Arthur as the floor gave way. The walls tumbled in. The ceiling collapsed. The earth tunnels he had been running along reduced to nothing but a roaring rushing sound as they caved in on top of him.

Silence descended again once the earth stopped shifting. It was a deafening silence, not a single sound reached his ears except for his own ragged breathing and groan of pain. He had fallen on his front, his face pressed down into the dirt, the heavy weight of rocks and soil on his back.  

He should have let Merlin come with him. No, he corrected himself, he was glad Merlin wasn’t here too. So that he was not trapped down here with him. Buried under goodness knows how much earth and stone. Buried alive.

Continue reading on Ao3, FF.net or below! 👇

He tried to calm his breathing, which had sped up into frantic gasps as terror flooded his mind. He closed his eyes – not that it made much difference; it was pitch black under here anyway, his torch had been smothered in the collapse – and tried to steady himself. He brought his breathing back down slowly, concentrating on the pounding of his heart that was echoing in his ears.

Once he had his panic back under control, he focussed on working out a plan. Merlin wouldn’t come looking for him for another few hours, he’d told him to wait at the camp. So he’d have to find a way out of here on his own.

A small part of Arthur hoped that Merlin had ignored the command as usual and would be following him already, ready to pull him from the mess he was in just as Merlin liked to claim he always did.

He shook his head. He was a prince, the finest warrior in the kingdom. He was not going to lie here and wait for his manservant to rescue him like he was some bloody damsel in distress.

He didn’t have time to sit around waiting anyway; the air felt heavy, thick. What little he had, trapped in this hole with him, would soon be used up. He needed to find the surface, or a part of the tunnels that hadn’t collapsed, and he needed to find it quickly before he suffocated.

He twisted himself around until he could get his hands out in front of him and began scrabbling at the wall like a mole. The soft dirt was, luckily, fairly easy to move. He scooped it out and squashed it underneath himself, slowly inching forwards.

His heart leapt as his fingers dragged at a small rock and suddenly a draught of cold air hit his face. He was through! He was out!

His celebration was short lived though, as he realised it was just a small crevice bringing in cold air from somewhere further down the tunnels. But it gave him something to aim for. He dug with renewed vigour, widening the crevice and gasping in the cool air, crawling along on his belly.

Several times, he managed to cause more cave ins, bringing torrents of mud down on top of him, cutting off his meagre air supply.

He thumped the ground in front of him in annoyance after once such cave in, swearing under his breath when that made more mud rain down into his hair. It was everywhere. The dry dirt grinding into and through his chainmail, under his gambeson. It was working its way down the back of his neck, getting slick with sweat to make unpleasant sticky mud.

He pawed uselessly at the neck of his chainmail, the constricting metal almost garrotting him. He wanted to get it off. He couldn’t breathe. He was hyperventilating again and he hadn’t found the airway.

Gasping and choking, he managed to hook his fingers underneath his pauldron, yanking it harshly until he ripped it from his shoulder. He used the curved metal as a scoop, digging chunks from the wall of earth in front of him. He grunted with the effort, digging with all his might.

He dug until his shoulders screamed with the effort, until his fingers hurt, until his lungs could barely take the lack of oxygen anymore. Until finally he broke through. His pauldron met no resistance as he thrust it forwards for another scoop. Cold air rushed onto his face and he took a huge gasping lungful of it, coughing harshly when dust followed the air down his throat. He stuck his hand through the hole, feeling around. It wasn’t another tunnel. It felt like a cave, a big open space. Or at least big and open compared to his cramped tunnel.

Pushing forwards on his belly, he wriggled through the hole into the wider cave, letting out a breathy laugh of disbelief that he had managed it. But no sooner had the laugh left his lips, his movement dislodged a large stone from the top of the tunnel he was squirming out of and the whole thing shifted and crashed down on top of him again. He couldn’t move. He was trapped.

Tears sprung to his eyes as he coughed and spluttered out the soil that had filled his mouth. He was never going to get out.

He let out a scream, a ragged hopeless scream.

“Merlin…” he cried helplessly. His strangled cry was barely more than a whisper.

He let his head drop. His forehead pressing into the soft mud below him as tears cascaded over his dry eyelashes. He lay and wept, defeat crushing him as surely as the earth and rocks.

Something flickered at the edge of his sight. His head shot up, bumping the roof of the tunnel and sending more mud down the back of his neck. But he didn’t care. It suddenly wasn’t pitch black anymore.

His eyes opened wide. Surely he was seeing things, the lack of air making him hallucinate. There was a blinding light coming towards him. Silvery blue, a small floating orb of swirling light. It felt familiar, friendly. It was the same light that had helped him in the caves of Baloch when he’d gone to retrieve the Mortaeus flower.

This time he did not fear it, or doubt it. He eagerly reached forwards to brush his finger against its shining surface. It was cool to the touch and bobbed as his finger touched it. It reminded him of something but he couldn’t quite figure out what.

Nevertheless, as it slowly drifted away from him, it gave him the courage to pull himself forwards after it. With a lot of struggling and wriggling he got free from the rocks holding him down.

His fingertips were bloody and ragged, the nails ripped down past the quick, the skin shredded. But he used them to scrape through the earth regardless of the pain, dragging his aching body along. The light guided him through endless tunnels, directing him into paths where stronger rocks or more solidly packed earth kept the ceiling of the tunnel up away from him. He was no longer digging through soft dirt, but crawling through firm fully formed channels.

And when he finally, finally, tumbled from the tight tunnel into an open cavern he heard a shout of his name. The orb of light flew towards the figure scrabbling through an opening – through which Arthur saw the light of the sky – and Arthur saw Merlin’s worried face.

He managed to lift himself into a kneeling position just as Merlin skidded to the floor in front of him. Merlin grabbed him in a firm hug and he let himself sag against his manservant’s chest. He was free.

#febuwhump2021 #febuwhumpday9 #buried alive #bbc merlin #fanfiction #arthur whump #ligi writes

[shinobis-of-ninjago-au]

Shinobis of Ninjago

Pilot 2: Ruler of Shadows

Prologue Pilot 1 (Pilot 2-Part 1, Part 2, Part 3), Episode 1

Later in the week, the ninja had neared the final weapon: the Sai of Absorption. The temple they were sealed in was carved out of a dormant volcano deep inside a forest. Mystake had decided to stop about half an hour or so from the temple, wanting her team to be at their best when they retrieved the weapon.

That night, when they made camp, they relaxed. Seliel had brought a set of travel drums and was singing. Nya, Pixal, and Skylor were dancing around the fire, occasionally singing if they knew the words. Mystake had tucked herself away in the corner against a tree and was meditating.

Skylor bent down next to Seliel and whispered something to her. Seliel smiled and nodded. She began to play a different beat, one that was bouncy and folk-like. Skylor began to dance, twisting and turning. She pulled in Nya and Pixal and spun them around a few times. When she finished, the others applauded and began asking her questions.

"That was an Ignacian dance." Skylor explained. "Kids are taught that dance and we perform it at parties and the Harvest Festival. But that was nothing, you should see Jay and I dance together."

Everyone grew quiet, looking to one another. "Umm, who's Jay?" Nya asked.

"Jay, mi hermano. Have I never said his name before?" Her teammates shook their heads and she looked down, ashamed for overlooking such a simple detail.

"It's fine." Seliel shrugged. "As soon as we get the sai, we're going to save your brother. Obećanje." ('Promise.')

Skylor smiled gratefully. "Thanks."

They continued to dance the night away. Sooner or later they fell asleep, letting the fire die out as it was a warm night. They had taken hour shifts and it was Skylor's turn, perhaps around three o'clock in the morning. She sat up against a tree with a little bit of rope, tying it into knots and untying it.

She thought about what she would do when they rescued Jay. She would hug him tightly and probably not let go for the longest time. Skylor sighed, undoing the figure-eight knot she had just done.

"Skylor."

At the sound of her name she looked up. Spotting a shadow in the bushes she stood up. "Who's there?"

"Relájate, soy solo yo." ('Relax, it's only me.')

The konran's face drained of colour as Jay stepped out of the bushes. His clothes were clean, as well as his face and hair. His skin was pale and his eyes were grey, devoid of any colour. Skylor blamed it on the moonlight and stepped forward, too shocked to say anything.

"Tengo que ir." ('I have to go.') Jay whispered. He turned around and disappeared into the bushes. Without thinking, Skylor scrambled after him.

They chased each other through the forest, Jay's giggles echoing through the trees, but they were dull, unlike his usual ones that were filled with life and could get anyone laughing.

Skylor stopped, looking around, for she had lost track of Jay. She groaned, turning around and punching a tree in frustration. How could she have lost him! He was right there.

"¿Jay? ¿Jay, dónde estás?" ('Where are you?') She called, cupping her hands around her mouth.

Hearing a twig snap behind her, she turned seeing Jay with one arm extended. His face was relaxed, no worry visible in colourless eyes. A loose smile formed hollow words, echoey almost.

"¿Vienes, Skylor?" ('Are you coming Skylor?')

Skylor smiled, taking his hand. He led her through the trees, both laughing as they danced under the stars. She wasn't sure how long they were gone from the camp, but at this point, Skylor didn't care. Jay was back.

They stopped dancing, giggles dying down. "Sígueme." ('Follow me.') Jay said before taking off again. She followed him until they reached the dormant volcano where the sai were supposedly located. Skylor stopped, letting Jay enter the volcano as she stared at the temple.

It had been carved into the rock, golden pillars framing the entrance made of red doors. As she walked across the stone bridge, she peered over the side into the water. It was dark, black in the nighttime light.

One of the doors had been cracked open, most likely Jay's doing. Pushing open the door further, Skylor gasped in amazement.

The walls were stone and carved with golden drawings, only reflecting the light from the golden pair of sai that lay on a miniature version of the temple located in the centre.

"Jay?" Skylor's voice echoed through the empty temple. Turning back towards the sai, she found Jay standing in front of them. "Ahí tienes. Vamos vamos a casa." ('There you are. Come on, let's go home.')

Jay tilted his head. "¿Por qué? Me gusta aquí. La maestra ha sido tan agradable". ('Why? I like it here. Master has been so nice.')

"Maestra?" ('Master?') Skylor murmured. "¿Qué estás diciendo? ¿Qué has hecho con mi hermano?" ('What are you saying? What have you done with my brother?')

"No sé de qué estás hablando, hermana, estoy aquí..." ('I don't know what you're talking about, sister, I'm right here.') His voice morphed from hollow to that of a woman's, cold and calm, sending a shiver down Skylor's spine. His body faded, a shadow taking his place on the wall, red eyes shining off the stone.

"Misako." Skylor growled. She reached for her sai, only to realize that her scabbards were empty.

"Forgot something?" Misako asked, a smirk audible in her voice.

"You can't hurt me, you're banished, trapped in the Underworld." Skylor said, trying to hide her shaking hands.

"That is why you are going to remove the Sai of Absorption for me." Misako's shadow shrunk and moved to the side, gesturing to the sai.

Skylor scoffed, placing a hand on her hip. "Yeah, I don't think so. There's no way you can make me do anything."

"Are you sure?"

At the sounds of chains rattling, Skylor looked to the back of the temple. A figure dropped from the ceiling, hanging limply. Skylor's eyes widened in realization and horror before narrowing in anger.

Jay hung there, clothes torn, skin caked in dirt and mud, and hair matted. Cuts were visible on his arms and legs, clothes brown with dried blood in places and a deep gash on his face, running through his right eyebrow and down his cheek. When Skylor called out his name and he didn't respond, she knew he was unconscious, or worse.

"What the hell did you do to him?!" Skylor shrieked, turning on the shadow.

"If you don't remove the sai, how else shall you save your precious little brother?" Misako teased, ignoring the screaming girl in front of her.

They chains dropped, bringing Jay closer to the back of the temple, where it dropped off into the old dormant magma chamber.

"Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock." Misako's voice echoed through the large room, only adding to Skylor's anxiety.

Skylor closed her eyes, forcing back tears. She wasn't going to lose Jay, not again. Taking a deep breath, she mentally went through her plans. She should've woken the others, not run into this without thinking.

Knowing she would regret it, Skylor took off running. Grabbing the sai, she ran up the wall, getting momentum and using it to push off. Grabbing the chain, she stuck one of the sai through a link and broke it. Using one hand to hold onto Jay and the other to the rest of the chain, she started swinging. She knew she probably shouldn't be moving her brother, but having no other option, she let go of him, watching as he landed safely on the other side of the temple.

She swung off after him. Picking him up and tossing him over her shoulder, Skylor started for the doors. Misako's shadow appeared in front of her and she got into a fighting stance.

"You can't hurt me, you're only a maldita shadow." Skylor proclaimed.

Misako hummed and clicked her tongue. "Little girl, you must learn that everything has its uses. Though I must thank you, your brother was very helpful."

"What. Did. You. Do. To. Him."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. I would be more concerned for your own well-being."

Skylor's shadow began to peel off the wall, becoming three-dimensional. Laying Jay on the ground, Skylor pulled out the golden sai. Twirling them in her hands, she lunged forward, only to go right through the shadow. Turning around, she roundhouse kicked it, the move unsuccessful.

Her shadow reached out, grabbing her shoulder. Bringing Skylor close, the shadow brought up its knee into her chest repeatedly. The shadow dropped Skylor to the ground where she doubled over, coughing.

"Am I being too hard?" Misako questioned.

"Not at all." Skylor replied, getting to her feet. She swayed side to side, her vision being filled with spots, but she stayed standing.

Skylor continued to throw punches and kicks at the shadow, including swings with the sai. The shadow in return, threw its own, landing multiple hits. The shadow threw one final punch, sending Skylor spinning back to where Jay was laying.

A bright light appeared on the wall next to the shadow. The konran looked over, seeing a figure standing next to a flashlight. They moved their hands in front of the beam of light, fingers appearing on the wall.

Forming a finger person, the shadow puppet kicked the shadow, sending it skidding back a few feet. The shadow shook its head and ran forward, prepared to attack. The shadow puppet sent another kick, Skylor's shadow flying across the temple before shattering into dust against the wall.

The figure turned off the flashlight, shoving it into a satchel strung over her shoulder, and running over to where Skylor was. She helped the girl to her feet, making sure she could stand before picking up Jay over her shoulder.

"Mystake?" Skylor croaked.

"Yes." She answered. "Come, let's get you and your brother out of here."

"Sister." Misako greeted, voice as calm as ever. "I see you protect one, but what of the other three?"

"They are safe." Mystake replied. "Far from your grasp, Misako."

"I would not be so confident..."

Ignoring her older sister, Mystake turned to Skylor. "My sister must not unite the four weapons. We must keep them apart." She led them past the miniature temple and towards the doors.

"Awaken guardian of the deep!" Misako cried, putting on a facade. "They're stealing the sai! You must not let them escape!"

There was a low rumbling from the back of the temple, deep within the magma chamber. Skylor froze, looking over her shoulder. A dark figure shot out of the hole and soared over top of their heads, landing in front of them, shaking the ground.

Skylor reached over to Mystake, pulling the flashlight out of her satchel and turning it on. The beam fell upon a spiked tail, then a scaled body that moved with every breath of hot air. Wings were stretched out as Skylor moved the beam to the creature's face. Yellow eyes stared down at them, the flashlight reflecting off tips of fanged teeth.

The dragon let out a roar, so loud that Skylor surprised Jay didn't wake up.

"There's no way out. Misako's taken away all our options." Skylor said, voice shaking as the dragon's tail thumped against the ground, sending a shockwave through the temple.

"All but one."

Before Skylor could ask what Mystake meant, Jay was shoved into her arms and the sai in her hands were gone. Turning around, she spotted Mystake standing by the edge of the drop.

Skylor let out a nervous chuckle. "Mystake, what are you doing?"

"If Misako is to bring the weapons here, then I will take the Sai of Absorption to the Underworld. It is my sacrifice to make." Mystake said, pulling out a cloth from her bag and wrapping the sai.

"No, it's mine, I shouldn't have come on my own. There's got to be another way." Skylor pleaded.

Mystake replied by smiling and falling backwards, disappearing into the magma chamber.

"I will see you there, sister." Misako's shadow disappeared, glowing red eyes gone from the wall.

Skylor fell to her knees, flashlight dropping to the ground and turning off. She pulled Jay close, sobbing into his chest.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I messed up. I messed up bad. I shouldn't have come alone. You're hurt, Mystake's gone, I don't know where my team is. I failed." Skylor took a deep, shuddering breath, listening to Jay's faint heartbeat. "I'll be a better sister. Please, I just want you to be okay. I'm sorry."

She curled into a tighter ball, Jay still in her arms and the dragon's hot breath against her neck.

————————————————

Seliel rolled over, for something felt off, though she wasn't sure what. She opened her eyes, squinting in the light. Light? It couldn't have been dawn yet, Skylor should've woken her up a long time ago. Though Seliel knew that the redhead was eager to retrieve the sai and save her brother and would most likely have stayed awake the entire night, they all had enough honour to respect Mystake's orders. Sitting up, she realized her teammates were nowhere to be seen, as was her Sensei.

What she did see was skeletons. Maybe one and a half dozen surrounding their camp. Not taking her eyes off the one in front of her, Seliel reached for her staff, but only getting a fistful of dirt.

The one in front of her, one of the top generals if she remembered correctly, held up her staff, waving it teasingly. Seliel made a move to stand up, but before she could, two skeletons grabbed her arms and began dragging her backwards. Two more were waiting for her, Pixal and Nya in their arms.

A gag was shoved into Seliel's mouth and a cloth tied around her head, keeping it in place. The three ninja were thrown against a tree, rope being pulled tightly around their torsos, binding them to the trunk.

Her eyes drifted over to where Samukai was bent over the golden weapons, examining them. Seeing that they were the real things, she picked them up.

She turned towards the ninja, looking down at them. "I believe these belong to Lady Misako now." She turned back to her troops. "To the Amber Temple!" She ordered. The army cheered, beginning to climb aboard their vehicles. Samukai walked over to hers, but was stopped by a shadow appearing in the tire. Realizing the darker shade and red glowing eyes, Samukai bowed. "Mistress." She greeted.

"My sister has taken the sai to the Underworld. Return immediately and bring the weapons to my hand."

The shadow disappeared, leaving Samukai confused, but she followed her master's orders nonetheless. "To the Underworld!" Samukai shouted, changing plans. "The Dark Lady wants us to return home."

The army cheered once more, climbing into their vehicles: trucks and motorcycles alike. The party sped off, leaving the ninja sneezing in the dust.

Seliel exhaled, something resembling a sigh. Nya began to shift beside her and she peered around the trunk, seeing a glimpse of steel. Nya moved her leg to the side, revealing a sword hidden underneath. She used her leg to slide it up to her hand. Gripping the hilt, Nya used the sword to cut through the ropes. It was slow going, but eventually the ropes snapped.

The shinobis removed the gags from their mouths, breathing deeply.

Seliel ran over, squeezing Nya tightly. "Nya you lijepi genij! ('beautiful genius!')

Nya smiled and flipped her hair playfully. She knew that from Seliel's tone it was a compliment. "I try."

Pixal patted Nya on the back. "Well I must say that was an excellent performance, we might need to save the compliments for later. There are more pressing matters at hand."

Nya and Seliel nodded, following Pixal to where the skeletons had dumped their weapons and bags. Donning all the knives and shurikens they had taken off before going to sleep, they grabbed their main weapons from the pile. Taking to the trees, they set off after the skeletons.

"Hey," Nya said. "Did ya'll see Sensei or Skylor?" Her teammates shook their heads. "Should we go back an' look for them?"

"I think they'll be okay." Seliel assured. "The weapons are our main priority." They stayed quiet as they ran through the trees until Nya started chuckling. "What?"

"Nothing, just... they took the Golden Weapons but left our regular ones lying around. Sometimes I forget how stupid they can be."

Seliel joined in the giggling. "Well, they're skeletons. They don't really have brains."

After a few minutes they reached the main road that led through the forest. Hearing the revving of engines down the road, they followed the noise. Minutes later, the red glow of taillights filtered through the trees, and the three kunoichis picked up their pace.

When the vehicles came into full view, the ninja slowed to match the pace of the vehicles. They could hear Samukai shouting at the drivers to go faster. The motorbikes leading the party disappeared in a flash of light, leaving the bigger vehicles to race through the forest without an escort.

The kishu signaled her team to advance, and the three jumped down. They landed on the largest vehicle—something resembling a monster truck—the one that happened to be housing the Golden Weapons as well as Samukai.

Seliel and Pixal waved at Samukai teasingly, keeping the attention away from Nya. The scout scooted her way along the side of the monster truck, careful not to fall off. The Golden Weapons were stored in a locked cage at the back of the truck, two guards keeping watch.

Grabbing the sash of one of the guards, Nya threw them over the side. Side-kicking the other, she turned to the cage. Reeling her fist back, she punched the lock. "Okay, that's why they make keys." She hissed, waving her hand to ease the pain.

Knowing she would need a lock picking kit and that she left hers at camp, Nya crawled on top of the cage to get one of her teammates' attention. She was met with the end of a staff in the face.

At the sound of something hitting metal, Seliel turned around, taking note of her teammate lying on top of the cage. Taking down one more skeleton with her bo-staff, she knelt down, placing a hand on Nya's back. "Nya! Sorry I didn't see you." Nya sat up and removed the lower part of her mask, her cheek and angry red. Seliel winced. "We'll get that checked out soon."

The truck jolted forward, seemingly going at twice the speed it was before, impossible by human standards. Not used to the speed, the ninja soon lost their grip on the truck, tumbling onto the dirt road. The last of the army disappeared with a flash of light, leaving the three kunoichis coughing in the dust. Nya began to say something, but was hushed by Seliel.

"Save your breath, you don't need to say it. Znam. ('I know.') We've lost."

#Shinobis of Ninjago #Shinobis of Ninjago Au #Skylor Emilia Gaudjoso #Jayson Leonardo Gaudjoso #Nevya Eda Walker #Seliel Jordane Babic #Pixal Julien #Mystake Garmadon #ninjago au #ninjago #ninjago ask blog #ninjago fanfic #ninjago fanfiction #ninjago fan continuity #golden weapons #ninjago skylor #ninjago nya #ninjago seliel #ninjago pixal #ninjago mystake #skylor gordon #nya smith #seliel #pixal borg #jay walker #ninjago jay #ns1 #pilots #Ruler of Shadows

[andisinger]

Black Crow Chapter 4

Word Count:5209 Warnings: Blood, violence, cursing   A/N: Hey everyone! Hope you’re enjoying the story so far. Likes are appreciated. Love you guys <3

    I woke the next morning, the sun gleaming on the particles of heavy dust floating before my tired eyes early in the morning. The silence of the foreign town was broken by the blacksmith's heavy hammer falling on metal while his forge burned at such an intensity I could feel the feverishness of the bright flames. Horses shoes clopped against the decaying cobblestone ground around the wealthier spots in the distance. Chickens clucked as their clawed feet kicked dirt behind them only to peck at anything that lay silent beneath the leaves. I could hear the entirety of the world while I lay still, watching the particles floating delicately in the air. 

    A small, dark grey bird flapped its wings violently before landing with a bounce on the board above my stall. Its small head twitched back and forth, the small beady black eyes capturing the light as it watched me in the small room. I was frozen in place, staring at this tiny bird. Kav exhaled heavily next to me, the sudden deep noise spooking the bird. The long wings flapping with the gentle breeze to take it back into the early morning sky. 

    Roosters around the town began to crow a few moments later; their loud cries raised Kav’s head. I smiled and patted her cheek. Her wiry fur coated in strands of hay. 

“How about a run?” I asked her. Her ears flashed towards me and her eyes twinkled in excitement. The two of us left the barn quietly leaving behind the other three members of my pack to watch my weapons. 

     The sun had not begun to rise yet, shielding the two of us in darkness. We made our back to the edge of the solemn town at a steady trot; before us lay the wilderness, untamed in its vastness. Kav broke into a full gallop, her lungs expanding and pushing out my legs with every heavy breath she took, her quick legs carrying us into the tall grass of the field nearby. Her quick paws and talons pushed us farther away from the town. The grass around us moved as if it were waves in the sea; the cool wind combined with Kav’s speed causing a whistling as the blades of grass slapped and brushed against each other.

    Kav and I chased the night away; the morning sun finally arrived as we sat on a hill watching as the light of day altered everything around us. The secrets and viciousness of night dissipated from over my shoulder. Cries from the animals of the night changed into the roaring sounds of the animals that claimed the day. Nearby, Kav held her nose to a small hole, sniffing loudly then growling playfully. A smile blossomed across my lips; she began to dig, kicking the dirt under her and dirtying my wool covering further. 

“Kav.” I called, giggling. 

     The large beast dug and grabbed a small animal; its small bones crunched and cracked as she devoured it quickly. I watched the sun rise again, silence swallowing me whole. Kav snorted, her ears lifted and she stood tall; her broad chest filling with air as her attention returned to the town. Lifted her head, she howled. A deep sound that reverberated through my bones, she was returning the call to the other wargs left behind. Kav stood waiting for a moment, eyes still focused on the town that was hardly visible now. 

     She howled again; a higher sound that caught my attention. They hadn’t responded. I stood beside her, looking towards the call, an anxious feeling brewing in my stomach. 

“Let’s go.” I told her. We moved quickly again, pounding feet and aching lungs making towards my pack. We were within reach when Kav and I were taken from the left side. The force of an unseeable creature throwing me from her back and into the grass that swallowed me whole. 

    Kav was on her feet again; growling and circling something I couldn’t find. My first instinct was to reach for my bow only to find my thigh bare of my quiver and the cool wood missing from my shoulder. Kav snapped, barking and pouncing onto the creature with messy gnashing jaws. Heavy grunts and cries rang through the air as I pushed my way through the thick blades of grass. My lips pursed into a whistle that rang out towards my other beasts. 

    Kav had the beast pinned under her paw; the beast thrashed and screamed. It’s pale skin smoking from the rising sun, long, sharp fingers stabbing at my beast, it’s gleaming eyes dulling as Kav lowered her jaws around the creature's head. The grass around us whistled as the other wargs came to tear at the humanoid creature. Steaming flesh being thrown around the field; the roaring, high pitched screams muted as the beasts tore the Bruxa limb from limb and devoured the slender flesh that flexed over spindly, red muscles. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the ghastly sight; the feminine head hung behind down with the jaw slacked revealing sharp white teeth behind grey lips. 

    The four wargs worked as a team while they shredded the Bruxa as if it were a piece of parchment; they swallowed the flesh in an instant, their pink and spotted tongues lapping the blood that fell. Hod snapped at the young nameless wargs, teeth barred as his head hung low and his shoulders broad. The silver male tucked his tail between his hind legs in submission, the black female pinned her ears against her broad neck with a small growl rolling from her chest. I whistled again, a long deep sound that changed their stances as I approached. 

“Let’s go back into town, see what they have to offer.” Kav’s wet tongue lapped at my nose. I smiled as I patted her shoulder, mounting Hod so I could see the land around us. 

    The tall grass now flat where I had been tossed, blood soaked into the soil creating a thick mud that clung to every available surface. The sun rose higher in the sky, the town clung to its exhausted demeanor. The townsfolk slumping around lazily doing their daily duties in silence apart from the noise their work made. The animals cried as they fled from the five of us as we made our way back into the stables to retrieve my weapons. 

“Good morning.” A tired, yawning voice said behind me. 

“Morning.” I replied. My hands secured my quiver along with my packs to the strap secured around the base of Hod’s neck. 

“Where is Geralt?” The bard asked. I inhaled sharply and shook my head. 

“That’s not my problem.” I turned to look at him.

    His eyes intently watching the wargs surrounding me, with every movement they took, Jaskier twitched uncomfortably. I chuckled as I realized he was unsure of what to think of massive beasts; they stood shoulder to shoulder with me, their heads lingering over mine at the right angle. 

“You’re afraid of the wargs?” I asked, moving towards Kav, her breath escaping her small nostrils and wafting my hair behind my shoulders. Jaskier scoffed, his brows furrowing as his lips pulled into a smile. He shuffled awkwardly to lean against the door of the stall which opened wider, throwing him off his balance and almost to the hay covered floor beneath us. I giggled as I patted the young wargs now focused on my palms. 

“Would you like to pet her?” I asked, my hand stroking the black rough fur on her ribs. Her head aimed at me but her eyes looked at the loud bard up and down cautiously. 

    His brows shot up his forehead, a bright smile stretching his cheeks and lighting a sparkle in his eyes. Jaskier’s hand shot out to pet her, the black warg lifted her lip as a warning. 

“Not so fast.” I warned, slowly his movements. Jaskier dropped his hand, his smile drooping slightly. 

“Let her smell your hand first.” I instructed; taking his hand in mine, I stepped closer to him to bring his hand towards the beast. Her face softened, her ears flicking as she sniffed our hands. I removed my hand, allowing her to familiarize herself with Jaskier’s smell. The bard chuckled excitedly as the nameless animal licked his palm.

“This is amazing.” He said, I whistled through my teeth for Hod to come closer.

    I smiled and giggled as he continued to allow her to lick his flesh. Hod’s body pressed against mine in a trusting stance, I pressed back into his side with a smile and a pleased pat to his neck. Jaskier looked at me, his blue eyes twinkling as if he were a child surrounded by sweets. 

“What’s her name?” He asked, the wargs eyes less attentive and more relaxed. She licked her lips, her head lifting to begin to lick his cheeks and nose. 

“She does not have one yet. Naming ceremonies only occur in Myomel after she has completed her training.” I told him. 

“Myomel?” Jaskier questioned, his eyes closed as the black warg stepped closer to continue wetting his face. 

“My home.” Glancing out the window, the visage of my father smiling at me faded with the wind, a strange feeling stung my heart; I quickly looked back to Jaskier who was happily laughing as he stroked the fur on the black wargs cheek. 

“Her fur feels so rough.” He stated. 

    I nodded in agreement and rested my head on Hod’s neck, the leather strap around the base of his throat tugging slightly at my hood. 

“Do all your people wear hoods?” Jaskier asked. 

“Apart from elders, yes.” I informed him while adjusting my wool cloak. 

“Why don’t elders wear hoods?” He asked turning away from the warg. Stepping between them, he stretched his hand out to Hod. I rewarded the black warg with red dragons breath as I spoke. 

“They have earned their positions.” Hod allowed the excited bard to stroke his face down to his neck. The older, experienced warg enjoying the feeling of appreciation. Jaskier and I spoke for sometime about my people and how we lived, he swallowed the information with glee and excitement. 

“Not many people have so much information about your people.” He said, turning to me with a brilliant light behind his eyes. 

    The sun had risen higher in the sky, the day now approaching its peak. My wargs had had their fill earlier in the day, but I had not; my stomach growled and rumbled beneath the skin. Sighing, I smiled. 

“I’m going to eat.” Turning to walk from the stables, Jaskier followed, attempting to hum an unfamiliar tune. He was creating a song, a song about the unknown people of Myomel. The town was an overwhelming grey, the sun did little to light the unexciting town. The dull color extended from the mud on the ground to the members that inhabited it. Everything was mute, dull, boring; nothing bolder than the three newcomers who were simply passing through. 

     However, outside of the edge of the town, everything was bright, alive, vibrant. It seemed as though this place appeared to be where anything went to die; any resemblance of life dulling and eventually fading from the world outside. I sat across from the bard, he spoke endlessly; his words strangely brightening the small room only lit by a single fire in the corner. His excited attitude brought white light through the windows banishing out the shadows that loomed over us. 

“Do your people only eat vegetables and fruit?” Jaskier asked, his elbows resting on the table as he leaned forwards to look at my plate. I sighed, growing tired and agitated at the incessant talking and questioning. 

“Yes, we do not eat meat apart from ceremonies.” 

“What kind of ceremonies?” 

    I stuffed my mouth with potatoes and carrots while I eyed him from beneath my hood. The fraying edges blurring the sight of the top of his face. Chewing and swallowing, I moved to answer. “Weddings, naming’s, birth.” 

“Did you get a naming ceremony?” He asked. I nodded, opening my mouth for the sweet fruit. 

“What is your name?” Jaskier asked. His arms falling flat to the table as he dropped and tilted his head to try and look at my face. I turned to look out the window. 

“We do not share our names.” I stood quickly and made my way out of the room. My hand tossing a small silver coin at the man behind the bar. The coin rattled against the wood while it rolled and tossed. My stomach was hardly full, my wargs could sense the emptiness approaching. The beasts in the barn rested as I approached; their ears perking, their eyes opening then dropping as they licked their lips. 

    In the stall next to them was the Witcher; white hair half done up after being brushed carefully. His hands tugged on his saddle roughly; the leather squeaking slightly as it rubbed against itself. We stayed silent as we both prepared our animals for another day. The silver warg lifted his head, resting it on the edge of the stall towards the Witcher next to me. 

“Keep your beasts in your stall.” His gruff voice said as he tugged on the pouch near the hock of the chestnut gelding. Scoffing, I lifted my brows. 

“She smells something.” I told him. 

“If she does not want to lose her nose,” He began, turning to face me with his brows stitched together and his lips in the familiar tight line, “she should move it.” 

    I stepped forwards, placing my arms over the barrier between the two stalls. 

“You would die if you tried.” The Witcher inhaled deeply, his chest broadening. The cold leather of his armor pressing into the skin of my hands as he moved quickly to remove my hood. 

“Warg Rider.” He snarled, holding the hood to my shoulder blade. 

“Witcher.” I spat back at him, teeth barred while my beasts watched carefully waiting for the whistle to attack and tear him limb from limb. 

“Move your beast.” 

“Move your hand.” Our eyes locked; gold against blue, out of the corner of my eye was a flash of light. I could not break the challenge, I could not allow the Witcher to be the victor once more. My nostrils flared for a moment as I licked my lips. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier called, his voice nearing the door of the stables. 

    The Witcher released my hood, I tugged it up quickly over my head once more shielding my face from the sight of anyone else. The gleeful footsteps of the bard approached through the sloppy mud that slapped as he ran into the hay of the stables. The Witcher resumed his dictatorial heaves on the withering leather straps. 

“Geralt, where have you been?” Jaskier asked, I ignored their meaningless conversation by looking out the window to find the blinding light that flitted by. 

“What do you want, Bard?” The Witcher spat. Jaskier approached with his sputtering nonsense. 

“The people here are plagued by- oh, what did they say it was?” Jaskier groaned as he struggled to remember the name of the monster. The light flitted passed the window again, catching my attention. 

“It lives in the abandoned castle; the townspeople said it ate its mother.” Geralt paused, tilting his head to look at the forgetful bard. 

     I rushed out of the stall; the wooden door opening behind me as my animals followed behind me. Hod shook his head as we looked towards the field reflecting the sun with every wave of joy from the gentle cooling wind. Patting his shoulder blade, I wet my lips. They could not see the spirits, only sense them; this was no ordinary spirit, a gleaming ball of light. 

“What are you doing?” Jaskier asked, his head close to mine to see what I was looking at. My hand shot out and secured his throat against my palm. 

“This does not concern you, Jaskier.” Jaskier nodded rapidly; his blue eyes wide and his hands around my wrist. I could feel him swallow before I pushed him back then mount Hod; the wind whipping across my cheeks as I searched for the spirit. 

    This was the spirit father told me of, the first spirit of the forest that bore everything as we knew it. We ran after the spirit; galloping feet pounding into the pine needles on the forest floor, panting breaths that spurred our sides, the light circled bases of the trees and climbed to the tips of the leaves then fell back down to the ground below. The light paused ahead, the two young wargs continuing their chase passed the sphere that exuded a feeling, a pulse point. Hod skidded beneath me; as he leaned back, I was launched forwards to grab around his neck. The handle of my sword scrapping harshly against my ribs, Hod turned and stood still as we regained our footing. 

    Dismounting hesitantly, I made my way to the first spirit. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it; it seemed to lengthen before my eyes. 

“Lenna n'e lle cam. (Stretch out your hand)” A mangled voice commanded while I stood nearby examining the light. It was somehow flat, yet spherical; it was every shape while having no defining shape. I swallowed then extended my hands underneath the light. The light fell onto my flesh; in an instant, I was swallowed by the blinding rays. My arms fell heavy while still feeling weightless. I couldn’t help but feel a joy growing in my chest, warmth spreading through my veins as the spirit stole me away from the world. 

    Everything was empty, pure as the newly fallen snow; the trees above waving gently against the summer breeze. Before me, stood the first spirit; long black hair that protruded and cascaded down his front from beneath his hood which covered his face. 

“Sina naa i' men things nae e' i' beginnien. (This is the way things were in the beginning)” He said, his voice distorted and augmented, moving like a river as he spoke. His long fingers rested against my palms while he looked up; his hood falling away from his face to reveal sharp green eyes with flakes of grey about them. His pale skin contrasting with his dark eyebrows that stretched to his temples; his thin pink lips stretched as he spoke. 

    I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his visage; the unspeakable beauty before me, why me. He looked up to the green tree tops that faded. The leaves fell, brushed away in a moment leaving behind bare branches. The trees groaned and cracked, most collapsing around us. 

“Maa pelu. (Look around)” The ground was wet with black sludge, screams of monsters and humans alike filled the air, grey ash fell consistently from the sky to cover the trees that had fallen nearby and to rest upon my shoulder. My heart filled with agony, sadness, and rage; I looked back to him, his skin a sickly grey lined with creases and red eyes that pronounced the green that had faded. 

“Mani marte?(What happened)” I asked. My voice a harsh murmur against the hot wind from the East and the frozen wind blowing from the West. 

“Sina naa mani nauva Nilfgaard sana val. (This is what will be should Nilfgaard take power)” He replied. 

    His hands wrapped around my wrists as he clutched me closer; my brows furrowed in confusion at the sudden action. His face was millimeters from my own, his breath was neither cold nor hot, present and lingering yet dissipating and vanishing. 

“Stay yassen i' witcher. (Stay with the Witcher)” He commanded. I nodded slowly, his grip only tightening around my wrists. 

“N'at spirits nyare amin a' evade i' witcher. (Other spirits told me to evade the Witcher)” I informed him; I couldn’t look away, his magic held our eyes together, glued our sights together. 

“Amin naa qhuagi, i' yeste' fea.  Lasta il- a' n'at spirits nan' a' amin.  Amin uma il- show amin a' i' unworthy. (I am Qhuagi, the first spirit. Listen not to other spirits but to me. I do not show myself to the unworthy)” He spat pulling me closer by my wrists. 

“Amin naa i' reason lle naa sinome. (I am the reason you are here.)” The memory came flooding to me; the bright light, falling through the trees near a warg sighting. 

“Lle? mankoi amin?(You? Why me?)” I asked, causing him to lean back and inhale. 

“Lle ume il- belong eller.  Lle belong sinome. (You did not belong there. You belong here)” He replied, his tone softer now as his thumbs soothed the skin. 

    I shook my head in disbelief. 

“Lle caela sai- um-.  Sii' auta. (You have much to do. Now go)” He said. Opening my eyes, I was surrounded on all sides by my wargs who sniffed carefully to ensure my health. I lifted myself slowly; Hod’s large head sliding beneath my elbow to pull me to my feet. The first spirits' words rushed into my mind as I held Hod’s cheeks. 

“We’re going to need more Wargs.” I glanced at the two nameless, young beasts who watched carefully, waiting patiently for my next action. 

“We need to have a ceremony.” I told them. 

     Attempting to take a step, my knee buckled and I fell before them. Hod exhaled and lurched forwards, his nose bumping against my shoulder blades. My hands glowed a bright white that dulled as it entered my skin and rested beneath the skin through my veins, running with my blood. Hod helped me to my feet once more, Kav’s wet nose helped push my leg over as I rested on Hod’s back. The five of us once more alone; nothing greater than a rider and their beasts. The young silver male licked at the back of my hand. 

    With a small kick, the five of us were off again to find the Witcher and the Bard. Fleeting paws and talons that carried us at great speeds. Above, a crow called, it’s wings struggling to carry it at the same speed. A large carriage was crossing the road, open in the back revealing a small woman with a curved back and short black hair. Purple eyes caught my attention once we had come closer. The young woman leaned forwards, her brows furrowed as she called out to me. 

“Warg Rider!” 

    Beneath me, Hod lifted his head to unleash a guttural howl that carried across the land to the fleeting cart. The five of us had returned to the town to find the Witcher gone without Jaskier. 

“Warg Rider!” Jaskier called, his lute bouncing against his shoulder blade. 

“Where is the Witcher?” I asked down to him. He shook his head and pointed towards the East. 

“Do you know how to ride?” Jaskier furrowed his brows. Rolling my eyes, I grabbed his collar and pulled him behind me. Hod growled beneath me, his shoulders rolling in anger. 

“Ere' sina coiasira. (Only this time)” I told Hod. Jaskier’s hands wrapped around my waist while his head rested against my shoulder. 

“Sorry, did you say something?” He quipped as I kicked the warg under me. 

    While running, I released a long rolling whistle for the other wargs. Kav snapped at the black warg who attempted to take charge in finding the Witcher’s scent. The three of them galloped ahead while we lingered behind; they spread out in all separate directions, their noses in the sky or on the ground below. Jaskier tightened his grip around my waist as we galloped further into the wilderness. The black warg shattered a tree as she made her way through the forest to return to my side. In her mouth was a small black pouch with his scent; strong, too strong. I cursed as I sent her forwards again. 

“He knows we’re following him.” I told Jaskier behind me. He made a small sigh as if to speak; I didn’t let him have the chance as I squeezed Hod’s sides making him gallop faster than before. 

    The distance between my beasts and I dissipated, calloused paws and long claws tearing into the flesh of the earth as we galloped across an open field. The sky above us was open with litterings of eggshell clouds dancing across the soft blue air, the grass around us tried to hold us in place. Jaskier rolled his head, looking around at everything passing by at breakneck speed. Far off in the distance, the silver male howled, a deep howl that echoed across the waters, the hills and into the field where we ran. The three wargs I had sent to find a scent now joined next to us; growling and snarling, teeth snapping and gnashing. The six of us chased the scent as the sun began to fade behind the mountains. 

     The air around us thickened with the smell of the Witcher, his blood and his strong medicines that burned and singed my eyes. Stopping at the crest of the hill, we surveyed the area below; vast in its expansion, green covering everything the eye could see. 

“Are we stopping for the night? I feel quite nauseous.” Jaskier said, his tongue wetting his lips. 

“Not until we find the Witcher.” I responded, my eyes searching every sliver of land I could see. 

“What about beasts in this area? Without Geralt-” 

“I’m a beast tamer, we have no need for Geralt.” I interrupted. Kav snarled at Jaskier, her lip curling to reveal her aged teeth; I smirked at the sight before sniffing once more. The soft smell of burning leaves and small twigs, the Witcher had made his camp in the woods. 

“Even tamed beasts can fight back.” Jaskier said, adjusting his seating on the large Warg. 

“Perhaps you would like to walk?” I questioned. Jaskier shook his head quickly, his chin shriveling as he denied the offer. 

“A thicker beast perhaps.” Chuckling, I dismounted Hod. 

“Wha-” 

“You ride alone.” I told him, patting Hod on the shoulder and giving him orders to deliver Jaskier to the Witcher in the woods. 

    Kav and I stood resting besides each other for a moment, then it was a race; who could find the Witcher faster. Kav and I were being closely followed by the two young wargs who yipped and chirped excitedly. 

“This is horrible!” Jaskier yelled as I passed him quickly. 

“Grab between the shoulders, squeeze with your heels!” I responded. Kav sniffed, taking a sharp right turn between two thick trees that smacked Jaskier in the cheek as Hod followed. I laughed as we ran through the woods following the fresh smell of smoke. Jumping down into the creek, cold water splashed across my face and wet my cloak as we approached the Witcher speaking to his horse. 

“Witcher!” I yelled dismounting. 

    Leaning against a fallen log, his legs crossed as he sniffled for a moment and watched me. 

“Where is the Bard?” 

“The spirit of the Forest came to me, he showed me what the future holds.” 

“There is no spirit of the Forest. Those are children's stories made up to soothe nightmares.”

“He showed me the world will fall to ash should Nilfgaard take power.” 

“Nilfgaard has a strong army.” “Everything will die. Including you.”

“Then what do you expect me to do?” He yelled, sitting up closer to the fire. Jaskier approached finally figuring out how to slow the racing beast. His feet failed him and he fell onto his back after attempting to dismount as I did. 

“Gods! That was horrible.” Jaskier panted, The Witcher and I stared at each other in the soft light of the fire nearest him. 

“I say you get off your ass and help me.” I kneeled by the fire as I spoke. 

“Oh, so you have a plan.” The Witcher said leaning back once more, his lips tight in anger. 

    Shaking my head, I licked my lips. 

“We need to create a plan. Do we know anything about them? Gather information.” Geralt sighed heavily, he took to his feet to walk to his horse tied close by to a tree. 

“Nilfgaard is no threat.” “As of yet.”

“Or ever.” The Witcher retorted. His shoulders turning towards me, his hand tightly gripping the leather strap of his pack. 

“The spirit-”

“There is no spirit!” He yelled, the veins in his neck throbbing as he pulled the pack clean from the rest of the leather. Hod snapped his jaws, growling low in his chest besides Jaskier, his head hanging low as his muscles tensed. Kav snarled, her shoulder tensing as I stepped closer to her. My quiver close to my hand and the cold wood of my bow ready to be pulled in defense. 

    The Witcher watched the beasts as they sunk to the ground preparing for a fight to the death. The chestnut horse reared into the air, neighing and shaking his head against the slender rope beneath his chin. The Witcher dropped his pouch to reach for his sword. In an instant, my bow was secured in my hand with an arrow pointed at the center of his forehead. 

“We’ve killed Witcher’s before.” The shimmering blade was exposed now, as ready for a fight as we were. 

“I’ve killed Warg riders before.” My nostrils flared; I could not kill out of any emotion, only of necessity. 

“Go ahead and try.” I stated. The young silver male snapped his jaws besides Jaskier, his eyes aimed for the Witcher’s throat. 

     The Witcher stepped forwards, closer to the young black warg who’s jaws snapped and chomped with saliva. 

“One more step.” I warned, my bow still fixated on his forehead. 

“Call off your beasts.” 

“Put away your sword.” I demanded. The Witcher tightened his grip around the handle. I turned my bow away to the chestnut gelding secured to the tree and loosened my arrow. The thin rope snapped, releasing the frightened horse that galloped through the woods with fading hoofbeats. I rested my bow by my side in an attempt of peace. 

“Put away your sword, Witcher.” I said, my tone softer now. 

“Call off your wargs.” He spat, his teeth tight together. 

     With a single whistle, the four beasts ran past us and into the forest after the poor horse. 

“That was tense.” Jaskier chuckled, his hands resting on his knees. I smirked at him beneath my wool hood. The three of us sat around the fire listening to Jaskier’s telling of his first and only warg ride through the wilderness. The Witcher swallowed his drink then held his cup between his hands, his massive arms resting on his matching thighs. 

“You owe me a horse.” “Buy one with the coin you stole from me.” I said as I stoked the fire to press the embers into the ground below. 

“Where?” He asked, his temper rising once more. 

“Myomel.” I replied. 

     Jaskier inhaled sharply with an excited gasp. The Witcher sat staring into my eyes with his lips in a small smile. The flesh not truly pulling against itself to reveal any teeth or brightness in the eyes.

#witcher imagine #the witcher #Witcher #Jaskier #jaskier imagine #jaskier x oc #the black crow #Geralt #geralt of rivera #geralt x reader #geralt imagine

[foursideharmony]

Collateral Damage (Part 1)

Summary: Roman gets into trouble while questing in the Imagination. Rescue arrives, but will the rescuer be all right? A gift of sorts for @today-only-happens-once

Word Count: 1,829

Relationship(s): Platonic LAMP, with some extra Prinxiety focus

Warnings: It's a whump/hurt/comfort fic, sooooo... Plant-monster, violence, nausea, injury, villain!Remus, torture, blood, gross eye stuff, fainting

Roman often said the Imagination was dangerous. The vast majority of the time, this was flagrant exaggeration. The truth was that the Creative Side had an excellent handle on his realm and had learned to build in all kinds of fail-safes, in case a quest or other adventure started to turn sour in an unplanned way. One of his favorites was a staple of the “game” he called Wandering Monsters, wherein he would hat up, venture into the wilderness of the kingdom, guided by his intuition, and face whatever it threw at him. He kept the far reaches of his realm stocked with not just all manner of fantastic creatures, but conceptual fragments of them—traits that could combine unpredictably to generate new monsters, so that he never knew just what to expect.

Once he had battled a fire-breathing winged toad that exploded into thousands of regular toads upon its defeat. That had been rather disgustingly memorable. Then there had been the lamia-sphinx, who forced Roman to solve the riddle of her beauty or be devoured. On yet another occasion, instead of generating a monster, the landscape itself became more hazardous as he traveled, producing sinkholes and avalanches. It was always fresh, always exciting...and always escapable if Roman found himself in over his head, thanks to the fail-safe.

For this particular episode of Wandering Monsters, he found himself descending into a fetid marsh. (That should have been his first clue that something was amiss.) He kept to higher ground as much as possible, avoiding the standing water, but every footstep squelched in slimy mud and he was constantly harassed by clouds of gnats. He was weighing the merits of just calling off the adventure altogether when a patch of scummy water several paces ahead of him erupted in khaki spray and the monster appeared.

It was...a blob. Well, a wad—a shapeless mass of tangled plant matter about the size of an elephant, with no discernible aesthetic or grace. “I ruined my boots for this?” Roman complained aloud. “I have half a mind to just—aah!”

He trailed off in a startled scream as two vines lanced out of the mass toward him. He brought his shield up in time, but the impact still tipped him over, and he slid headfirst down a muddy embankment and into the water. For a panicked moment, Roman was trapped that way, head submerged, lacking the leverage to right himself, until he got the presence of mind to jam his sword into the mud and use it as a handhold to haul himself up. He sputtered, spitting out foul water—

—and suddenly found himself swinging wildly in the air, upside-down. The monster had extended another vine and hoisted him into the air by one ankle. Roman slashed at the ropy tendril only to realize that he didn't have his sword because, duh, it was still stuck in the bank and he had lost his grip on it when the creature yanked him away. But his shield was still there, strapped to his arm, and it was good steel, and a dull edge was still an edge.

The monster thrashed back and forth, making Roman helicopter in the air and robbing him of any chance to bring his shield within reach of the vine that held him, as well as making him faintly motion-sick. It let go on an upswing, sending him tumbling upward, and then snatched him with more vines, these lined with thorns that dug through his clothing and pricked his flesh. Roman gasped with the sudden shock of pain, only to find his breathing constricted as the vines coiled thickly around his torso, squeezing the air from his lungs.

Enough was enough: time for the fail-safe! Roman banged his feet together three times and wheezed “There's no place like home!” (because he respected the classics). The scene sloshed around him, there was a rushing sensation, and he landed on his butt on smooth tile. His sword clattered beside him.

It had worked. He was back in the hall of his castle, safe and able to assess the damage at his leisure while he waited for Phase Two of the fail-safe to kick in. The thorn-wounds stung and itched, but they didn't seem too deep; Roman figured—

The sense of something shifting behind him dragged the prince out of his train of thought. Roman whirled around to see something that should have been impossible—the marsh monster was there, in the hall with him! It had followed him, through the retrieval spell, and that could mean only one thing.

He should have realized.

“Oh, Rooooomaaaaaannnnnnn!” squealed the voice he detested. “What's wrong, brother dear? Don't you like your new friend? I made him just for you! Say hello and PLAY NICE!” Remus's voice dropped to a growl on the last two words, and the plant creature extended a heavy vine and slapped Roman, sending him tumbling over the marble and adding a multitude of bruises to the pinprick cuts he had already sustained. His whole body twinged in protest.

Roman staggered to his feet. He hadn't managed to grab his sword, and could only watch as the monster galumphed toward him, vines lashing. It moved something like a gigantic amoeba—bulging irregularly toward the front and then flowing into the bulge, its movements erratic but averaging out to forward motion. Remus was perched atop it, sitting cross-legged, his morningstar laid across his knees, grinning like he always did when serious violence was in the offing. Roman juked to the side just as they arrived, so that the mass of stinking plant matter shambled past him. It was leaving a disgusting trail of mud and scum all over his floor, and that made him angrier than the injuries. How dare—

“Whoopsie-daisy!” Remus screeched, realizing that Roman had evaded him. “None of that, now!”  He swiveled atop the monster and it reversed course without even turning, shooting its vines out what had been the back and was now, apparently, the new front. If such terms even meant anything in relation to such a shapeless thing.

“Remus, go home!” Roman snarled. “You're not welcome here!”

“Oh, so you can invade my side of the Imagination, but not vice-versa? That's hardly fair!”

“I didn't invade—look, I don't have to justify myself to you!” The scratches were really starting to sting, as if the monster were made of nettles. Roman could barely manage to dodge the new strikes—he needed his sword! He turned and darted back the way he had come, and promptly slipped on the sludge left by the creature's passage. Roman's chin met the marble hard enough to fill his vision with black sparks, and he tasted blood.

“Ooh, Roman, I like the way you think!” Remus said, and before Roman could wonder what the hell he was talking about, the plant-monster had him by the ankle again—both ankles this time. Roman's stomach roiled, made more sensitive by his near-concussion, but before he got a chance to see whether he was actually going to be sick, the creature whipped him across the room.

In the next instant, he slammed into a pillar, the impact sending savage pain exploding all up and down his body. In the instant after that, the pain came again as he dropped to the floor. He could scarcely breathe, it was so excruciating, and he definitely couldn't move, even to desperately crawl away when Remus and his “pet” approached again.

“Poor little Princey,” Remus said, sing-song. “He's all black and blue! Not a very balanced color scheme—too cool, too somber. I know! We'll brighten it up with some RED!” On the last word, a thorny vine raked at Roman's back, tearing right through his sash and jacket and leaving burning scratches in his flesh. The assault continued, Remus cackling as his minion tore Roman's clothes to shreds and his skin to something not much better. Where the HELL is Phase Two? the prince wondered frantically.

“Enough!” he gasped out, prompting a pause in the torture. “P-please! What do you want, Remus?”

Remus rolled his eyes so hard that they literally popped out of his head and bounced on the floor, adding revulsion to Roman's catalog of horrible sensations. “What, you never heard of family bonding time?” he said, ichor dripping from his empty sockets.

Roman closed his eyes against the hideous sight and began to hum softly, trying to dull the pain to something manageable. He didn't get very far before Remus's voice cut in, rasping like sandpaper against his battered awareness.

“Hey! Don't ignore me when I'm talking to you! Where are your manners?”

Back in the swamp, Roman thought sourly, but he didn't bother responding out loud.

“I asked you a question!” Remus roared. Then, suddenly as mild as if they'd been discussing recent movies, he said: “You know...there's something I've always wondered. Why does the prince always get to be so handsome?”

Roman's eyes snapped open with alarm. Remus, in possession of his own eyes once again, had shifted position atop the monster, lying on his stomach, head propped up on one hand while the other twirled the morningstar almost negligently. “And whatever would he do,” the Intrusive Side continued, “if that were taken away from him?”

He made a sharp gesture, and several vines zipped out and coiled around Roman's sprawled limbs, pinning him in place. Remus twiddled his fingers in the air, and another vine, this one dotted with barbed thorns, emerged and hovered, poised over Roman's face, quivering with what seemed like monstrous anticipation.

Just as the vine struck, there was a soft explosion of ultraviolet and a smell of ozone, and someone was there, intervening. Roman's vision was becoming hopelessly blurred; all he could make out was a mass of black and purple. Virgil...?

Virgil had blocked the vine with his forearm, his baggy hoodie sleeve bunching up and cushioning him from the damage as its momentum whipped it around his wrist. “GET OUT!” he bellowed, his voice reverberating with the Tempest Tongue. The force of his shout struck Remus like a physical blow, sending him tumbling backward along the top of the marsh monster. “OUT!!” Virgil repeated, wrenching at the vine wrapped around his arm.

The stress of the situation lent him power, and the monster...unraveled, like a ball of yarn. Remus made an extremely undignified noise as he fell amid the collapsing vines, and in a puff of acrid smoke, he was gone. The remains of the plant creature...remained, strung out in slimy, noisome piles in what was supposed to be a luxurious and fashionable palace hall.

Near-silence fell over the space, punctuated only by Virgil's panting breaths as he came down from the peak of his fight-or-flight state, and by Roman's own ragged breaths. His wounds throbbed hotly, seeming to expand, and he realized why, just as the room started to spin away into blackness...

To Be Continued...

#sanders sides #fanfiction #ts remus #collateral damage

[nukyster-blog]

Changing course:  Chapter 8) Into the Abyss.

.-.-.

Another day started and Ivar woke up due to muscle cramps. A strong, painful contraction rippled through the muscles of his calves, making his feet spasm and grit his teeth. Now that he was forced to sleep on a cold damp floor, the pain and cramps came more frequently. In Kattegat, his mother would apply hot drenched skins to lessen the tension, or order a thrall to run him a hot bath. 

Of course such luxuries were out of the question in this damned shed. Aside from massaging and stretching his feet, there was no practical solution that would magically make the pain go away. 

To make Ivar’s morning even more sour, the Giant barged through the door. Inspecting the sack of peeled onions, an approving hum escaped the tall man’s lips. 

With three long-legged strides, he was right besides Ivar and sank his calloused fist inside his pockets. 

Ivar half expected the brute to draw a knife and gut him. But that thought could not have been further from the truth. The Giant retrieved a key, which unlocked Ivar’s shackles.

Without a word the Giant exited the shed, carrying the onion sack on one of his broad shoulders.

Ivar’s breath had been caught inside his throat, his eyes still staring at his free legs in disbelief. Piglet scurried around the edge of his box, eyes still groggy of sleep. That soft gleam quickly casted out once her gaze focused on Ivar’s unlocked shackles.

  It took the both of them a moment to put two and two together. In that moment, Piglet’s hand had covered her mouth and Ivar’s jaw had nearly dropped to the floor. 

Then their eyes locked like magnets, one with predatory desires and the other growing out of proportion. 

Ivar flung forwards and chased Piglet out of the shed like a rabies maddened dog. The young woman managed to slam the door in his face and took a sprint across the muddy field, leaped over a wooden hedge and tumbled down onto the ground. 

Ivar dragged his body alongside the door and found himself knee and elbow deep in mud and pig feces, the murky grim did not stop him from slouching through the mess to close the distance between his prey. 

Ivar was about to throw himself up the hedge when Piglet squatted back on her bare feet and picked up a hoe, ready to imbed the iron blade into his skull if he dared to leap up. 

Piglet fumed words in her mother tongue, undoubtedly curses and stomped the wooden tip of the hoe angered on the cobblestones. 

Ivar only glared at her with an unrelenting stare. Baring his teeth, he barked like a dog which startled Piglet, letting the hoe slip through her fingers. 

He could hunch his upper body over the frame, it was not a tall fence and it was the only obstacle between him and Piglet. Although it would please him to strike out to that inferior creature, his newly learned place in this world made him pause his chase. 

As it was, his insufficient hunt had earned him another round of mockery and ridicule. Serfs, peasants and maidens stopped their daily labour to wonder what monster had scared the dark skinned slave girl all across the pigsty. 

Although every inch of his body was clayed with mud, Ivar felt utterly exposed. He’d made a fool out of himself and looked not much better then the pigs that joyfully tottered around to greet their new cage mate. 

Ivar tried rubbing the mud from his chin, only wiping more of it onto his face. To make his humiliation worse, Piglet vengefully emptied a trough over his head. A mixture of spoiled leftover food, rotting crops and yeasting oats dropped all over his head, face and lap. 

The pigs' curiosity evolved in gluttony, nearly breaking their short stubby paws to be the first one in line for the feast. Ivar had to push and pull between wiggling tails and fat bellies to crawl himself out of the circle of pigs. By the time he managed to free himself, Piglet was long gone and he found no better option than to hide back inside the shed. 

Word must have spread about his little frenzy. Ivar had dozed off a little and the cool water hit him like a battering ram. What hit him next was the Giant’s fist. It knocked him out for a brief moment.

He woke up while his body was dragged along by the Giant; the man’s fist locked around his ankles. Like a rag doll, he was pulled across the pigs tide and quickly the flooring changed: cobblestones made his head bounce up and down. A grey sky drifted above him, an unpleasant drizzle watered onto his face. The hazy silhouettes of an immense fortress flash by him, but the world was spinning too hard for Ivar to focus. Once his eyes did manage to focus, they focussed on one solid thing; a well. 

“Wait, no, no please-” Ivar tried, but the Giant picked him up by both shoulders and threw him down the dark chimney.

Ivar’s faint cry echoed all the way down until his feet hit the surface, followed by the rest of his body. The cold water seeped through his ragged clothes and took him under. His arms made a weak attempt to keep his head above water, but soon his clothes weighed him down. He screamed, again and again and managed to smother a whimper as a bucket tied with a rope, dunked down next to him. 

Ivar tried to steady himself, as good as he could. Like a fish caught on a hook, he was being reeled in. 

The Giant sat on the stone edge, while two peasants did the heavy work. 

With a cold deadpan expression, the man rubbed his thumb over Ivar’s dirty cheek, then rubbed off the mud on his own trousers and tsked. 

Without any warning he gave Ivar a hard nudge against his chest, who’s arms flung around in desperate need of something solid, anything to remain above ground. 

The second time Ivar hit the water was even worse, because he knew that this was nothing more than a game to his master. A sick little game to show him who was in charge, a game he might not survive. 

The trial of being pulled up and pushed back down repeated itself two more times, before Ivar’s illusions of surviving were gone. Once the water reclaimed him, his arms lacked the strength to resist. Soon, the oxygen deprivation took away his thoughts and like a body without a soul, it reacts to reflexes. Ivar took a breath and water started to fill up his lungs. His body grew heavy and he sank further and further into the darkness, swallowing him whole. 

.-.-.

A/N: So yet again, Ivar mistreated Piglet and I’m not saying he deserves being drowned repeatedly… But I certainly enjoyed writing the whole thing. I must say I’m very much in love writing this entire story, it’s rather refreshing to write about a new fandom and I love doing all the research. Ivar is a very rewarding main character to drabble about and there are a lot of options for the storyline.

Thank you again for reading and you’d make my day by leaving a comment!

Xoxox Nukyster  Them tagged ones:  @xbellaxcarolinax @youbloodymadgenius @saldelys @shannygoatgruff @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa @readsalot73 https://lauraaan182.tumblr.com/  @pieces-by-me

#vikings fanfic #vikings fandom #ivar the boneless #Ivar as a slave #ivar's heathen army

[justlookatthosesausages]

“In the eye of the storm” ◊◊◊◊ a post-Frozen 2 fanfic ◊◊◊◊ CHAPTER 6: All hail

There was no doubt. Elsa kept turning the crown between her fingers, and it was indeed her sister’s. Why was Anna’s crown lost in the middle of nowhere?

A flash of her younger’s coronation came to her eyes, smiling as she held the orb and scepter. It got layered with a vision of Anna suffering, and Elsa winced. She lost her balance, almost falling in the mud.

Her blood turned cold, and it wasn’t just a metaphor. The magic glow in her hand turned in a higher shade of blue, and the big ice snowflake she was making float above her palm was getting brighter and brighter, but also colder and colder. The air around it started to turn to smoke. The rain passing near her skin turned to snow before touching the ground.

The blonde’s breathing hitched, and she was staring at the crown in her hand like she was facing a ghost.

“Anna...” She moaned, her eyebrows twisted in a devastated expression.

Rask suddenly neighed, warning her of the sudden cold on the path and taking her out of her reverie.

The Snow Queen startled, and shook her head.

“No. No, this can’t be true. You can’t be...”

Even by whispering, she couldn’t say the word. She gulped, and stood up. With a trembling pace, she walked back to her horse, and was about to climb on his back.

However, when she touched the back of Rask’s neck to get up, the stallion neighed in fear, the touch being extremely cold.

Elsa gasped when she understood and apologized right away. She took a step back and tried to calm down her breathing. However, her twisted mind kept imagining a hundred sad ways Anna could have lost her crown here. She squeezed her eyes shut with a groan.

“Stop it. Stop it!”

Her fists clenched in anger at herself, and in the process, she crushed the glowing snowflake. It turned to ice dust that fell to the ground, plunging the path in darkness again. In her other hand, however, she felt the hard steel of Anna’s crown, and the tips ornated with crocuses pricking her skin as she clamped it. Elsa stopped at the pain – both physical and psychological – that it procured her, and looked down at the object, her gaze lost in the rain.

She remembered that, on the first day she had seen the crown, she had admired how the color of its green enlightened Anna’s eyes. She remembered that, when Anna had lifted her head after she crowned her, her gaze had descended from the crocuses of steel to the teal blue eyes just as powerful and solid of her little sister, staring right back at her. In that moment, Anna simply was the most beautiful Elsa had never seen, and she actually didn’t watch her long because she then saw blur due to the tears filling her eyes. Hopefully, she had blinked them away and continued the ceremony, supported by Anna’s touched smile, and later the claps of all the people present in the chapel.

Another thing had hit Elsa that day at Anna’s coronation; she knew instantly, by staring at those unique eyes, that her little sister would be the most amazing person she had ever seen. She would fight for what’s good, she would always be open-minded, she would always turn danger away, but also, she would never ever surrender.

Elsa’s gaze lifted up. Her eyes were determined now. Anna had to be safe. Somewhere.

She approached Rask, gently stroking them in excuse and care, and once the horse snorted, she climbed on his back.

Slamming her ankles against his flanks to send the stallion into gallop, she prayed for Anna to be safe in Hitiheimr, holding her crown close.

=======

Elsa quite literally barged into the kingdom. She had come to Hitiheimr in the past when she was Queen, so she knew where to head to the castle’s gates. Hopefully in that sad downpour time, nobody was in the streets, and as the castle had no ramparts, she got to the entrance really quickly. She hesitated between jumping off Rask and running to the doors, or gently putting the horse in the stables. When she saw the armored guards walking to her with voulges, their helmets and plastrons shining in the light of dawn, she preferred to go for the second option.

Elsa hoped down the horse, and was about to run to the stable boys. The stallion neighed to get her attention. She twirled around, because he sounded like he warned her that she forgot something. She followed Rask’s nod and saw that she was covered with mud from her feet to her tibias, not being very white anymore.

With a gasp, she cleaned herself in a burst of scrubbing snowflakes, and the heavy rain did the rest.

“Thanks, Rask.”

The Arendellian horse neighed.

It attracted the servants’ attention, and they came to her as she entered the stables. She explained the situation, and soon the guards came to her because they thought she was a thief – and very indiscreet one, remarked one of them, for she was entirely dressed in white with a clear blue ice armor. Elsa presented herself and summarized the urgency, then took leave and went to the castle’s heavy portcullis.

Hitiheimr’s castle was more medieval and had rounder shapes than Arendelle’s. Its stones were brown and black, and it had several towers, which gave it a haunted aura in the grey early light of day, though Elsa truly didn’t care. She explained her venue to the guards on the other side of the grid. They opened it up for her in a concert of metal chains and grunts, and the portcullis was barely one meter high off the stone that Elsa slid underneath and ran past them. Confused, they looked at her make her way through the courtyard, and into the castle.

The interior was way less lit than Arendelle’s corridors, due to the lack of windows and the use of fire torches on the walls as mere light. Elsa knew that this was an advantage and meant that the castle’s walls were thick and more apt to block invaders, but in that time, she was begging to see better. Her panicked steps led her into every corridor, her eyes scanning every face searching for Anna. There were a lot of people between the royals, their politicians, and the Hitiheimr staff. Elsa couldn’t help but frown at the crowd. Weren’t they supposed to be in a meeting? Did it end already? No, she could tell they were all waiting, and that nothing had started yet.

At a corner, Elsa’s gaze was attracted by a cascade of fiery orange on her right, and thought it was the flame of a torch. However, she then turned her head again and realized that this flame was at her height, and it was talking with a black man who looked exactly like... Mattias.

“ANNA!!”

She had yelled her name with all the force in her lungs, and it echoed against the stones of the walls. Many persons turned around, but once again Elsa didn’t care at all.

As she ran at full speed to her sister, the redhead followed Mattias’ shocked stare and turned around, just in time to have a bright white thing grabbing her arms with full force.

“ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”

A very noisy bright white thing.

“What the—”

Elsa was checking every inch of her body, palpating her arms, legs, face, and so on.

“ARE YOU ALRIGHT?!?”

“Sweet goodness, Elsa, yes, I am. What are you doing hhhh—?”

Elsa only needed for her sister to say the word before hugging her tight and burying her face in her neck. The air got ripped from Anna’s lungs at the force of the embrace. It wasn’t the most powerful she had ever given her, but it definitely entered the top five.

“El...sa...”

She tapped her elder’s back like she was stuck in a wrestling match. The blonde parted the hug, and she gasped as she could finally breathe.

Anna held to her sister’s shoulder, the other hand on her chest, panting as she retrieved oxygen.

“What in Odin’s name...”

“Hello, Mattias.” Smiled Elsa.

The man blinked at her sudden happiness, probably due to know that Anna was safe, and he awkwardly bowed.

“G... Good morning, Your Highness.”

Elsa returned to inspecting Anna’s state, her fingers checking her neck. “Are you sure you’re not hurt somewhere?”

The redhead swatted her hand. “I’m fine! Will you please tell me what the heck you’re doing here?”

The Snow Queen let out a long exhale, the effort and panic that held to her during the ride finally slipping out.

“I had to make sure you were okay.”

Anna blinked in bewilderment. “Well, I am, but now I’m starting to think that you aren’t. Are you feverish again?”

“No! I’m perfectly healthy!”

Everything in her behavior stated the opposite. Elsa had messy hair, and she had just soaked Anna with her hug because of how much rain she still had on her.

“When did you arrive?” Asked Mattias, surprised nobody warned of her arrival the day before.

“I just did. I’m coming from the stables.”

Two pairs of eyes widened in front of her.

“You traveled by night?” Exclaimed the general.

Anna frowned.

“Then where’s your...”

She then realized that of course, Elsa wasn’t accompanied by any guard.

“You came alone?!”

The Snow Queen genuinely couldn’t see where the problem was, and got intrigued by their expressions. “Why, yes.”

Anna massaged the top of her nose.

“Okay, now... How to phrase that politely... ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR GODDAMN MIND?”

Elsa startled at the shout, and Mattias urged to quiet her. Some leaders turned around at the sound, and exchanged some commentaries.

Anna pushed the soldier’s arm.

“Are you— Stop it, let me talk to her. Are you aware of how stupidly dangerous it is to have come to me and done such a travel?”

Elsa was about to reassure her softly, however she actually frowned and grumbled.

“Oh, so when you go, it’s the safest path in the world, but when I go, it’s perilous?”

Anna replied with as much force, and the two sisters fought out loud with sharp arguments.

“Please, don’t quarrel again...” Insisted Mattias, his jaw clenching.

He addressed a sorry gesture to the people watching them. The sisters were fully sending each other’s aggressive remarks now.

“Your Highnesses, you’re making a scene. Please stop.”

Elsa finally was the one who paid attention to the general and his worry, so she forced the redhead to quiet down.

“Anna. If I risked my life like that, it was to make sure you were okay. But now that I know you are, I’m infinitely relieved and happy.”

The Queen pouted. Elsa kept going.

“I couldn’t sleep at night thinking you were out there, maybe trapped in this storm, and we didn’t receive any missive...”

“The messengers are all busy traveling the country to get information from the Southern Isles.” Stated Anna, thinking out loud.

Mattias nodded.

“That explains it.” Understood Elsa.

Then she frowned. “Wait, the Southern Isles?”

Anna waved her hand to dismiss the discussion. “We’ll come back to it later.”

Elsa sighed, actually retrieving her normal breathing only now.

She looked at her sister with a smile, and hugged her tight. This time, the hug was slow and tender. Mattias smiled at the scene, and Anna closed her eyes as she embraced her elder warmly.

The blonde inhaled Anna’s scent to calm herself down, and when she passed a hand in her long hair, she realized something.

“Oh, wait.”

She parted from the hug and Anna lifted a curious eyebrow. Elsa noticed that she had been crying a bit, but looked down to the clear blue satchel made of ice fabric that she had crafted at her waist.

She took out Anna’s crown, and it shone at the light of the torches suspended on the walls.

“I think this belongs to you.” She announced, half gently and half sarcastic.

She handed it to her sister. Anna’s eyes went big as she gasped in surprise, the bright crown reflecting in her pupils.

“Oh my gods, there it is!! I’ve been looking for it everywhere!”

Even Mattias seemed impressed and relieved at the vision of it.

“She had searched for it all day yesterday, we had started to lose hope.”

Elsa stared at them. “Wait, so nothing happened? No accident? No aggression? Nothing? You just... Dropped it in the mud?”

“I had the very bad idea to put it in the back pocket of my orange bag. You know, the one with the hole at the bottom that I keep forgetting to sew? The question was: when did the crown fall?”

Elsa blinked disconcertedly. “Are you serious?! Why do you still have this bag???”

Anna pouted. “Because it’s pretty!!”

Elsa buried her face in her hand.

The redhead then frowned, looking at the item in her fingers. “Wait, you found it in the mud? Then why is it so clean?”

She inspected it. It was shining brightly, like the day she received it from the blacksmith and tried it for the first time. She turned it between her fingers, and blabbered in amazement.

“Wha— How? It looks brand new!”

Elsa followed her gaze. “I had to keep my hand busy on the way to not freeze the reins of my horse, and not hurt him. So I focused on twirling it in my hand again and again. I was a bit fidgety...

“But I had it for more than ten years. Like, I know there was a rust spot here. It’s not just cleaned, it’s...”

“Oh, yes. With the Northuldra, I’ve come to learn how to maintain metal, especially metal blades after hunt on old rusty knifes. Almost all of the Sami people carry a knife. I just used my magic to polis it. With the right amount of vibrations by condensing billions of snowflakes... What?”

She noticed that Anna had been smiling deeply at her words.

“What did I say?”

“Nothing. Nothing more nerdy than usual.” Grinned the redhead.

“So you really came here on a horse?” Intervened Mattias.

Anna turned to him comically. “That’s the part that surprises you?”

The sisters chuckled, and after admiring it some seconds again, the Queen lifted the crown and put it back in her hair.

Elsa smiled tenderly. At last, everything was back to normal.

“Thank you so much for bringing it back to me. It could have been lost forever.”

“You’re welcome. I wasn’t going to keep it for me anyway...” She joked to chase her emotion.

Her younger stared at her, and she could tell that Elsa was still affected by the haunting thought that Anna possibly didn’t make it to the kingdom.

A memory of her voice echoed in her mind. ‘If I lost you, I think I’d lose myself.’

She bit her lip and held Elsa’s hand in hers firmly.

“Are you hungry? We can ask to get you something.”

“Yeah, actually, I didn’t bring anything for the travel, and the emotion starved me, so...”

The Queen shook her head. “Why doesn’t that surprise me. I’ll ask for Hitiheimr servants to get you the same things we got for breakfast.”

“If that doesn’t make you late for the meeting... But it is my understanding that you won’t start until the King of the Southern Isles has arrived, isn’t it?”

“Yes, exactly.”

A silence passed.

“You’re very tempted to make an allusion to Hans, uh?” Guessed Anna, grinning.

“Very. But it’s his brother, so I’m not going to.”

The redhead nodded.

“It’s the occasion for you to take a break. For me as well, I have to admit. You gave me such a fright when you appeared...”

“You definitely both need it.” Advised Mattias, smiling.

His gaze then went to Elsa. “And if I may, I think you’re in great need of a towel as well.”

“I’m fine.”

Anna winced, looking at her from head to toe. “I’m not. It’s the second time in two weeks that I see you running to me completely alarmed and drenched. Please do your floaty water thing before I have a cardiac arrest.”

“Got it.”

Under Mattias’ wide eyes and dropped jaw, Elsa closed her eyes and focused, taking the raindrops out of her ice and snow clothes and hair. They flew and vanished in the air, then she passed a hand in her short spiky bangs to add an aesthetic layer of ice.

“Heavens, that is amazing.” Muttered the general.

The few royals who had witnessed the scene in the corridor almost fainted at the sight.

“Let’s get you something to eat.” Smiled Anna. “Mattias, you can close your jaw.”

The soldier smiled as the two sisters walked away, and he followed. So Elsa had made it all the way here only to check that her little sister was alright... They both had traveled the distance from Arendelle to Hitiheimr for two very different reasons and goals. Yet they shared the same motivation.

He discreetly chuckled. They truly were one leader and one protector, and forming a complete Bridge.

=======

“Wait, what?” Exclaimed Elsa, not believing her ears.

“You’re coming with me. You came all the way here, no? Then make yourself useful.” Teased Anna.

“But...”

“The King of the Southern Isles has just arrived. It’s now or never to ask to have another person present at the meeting. Be by my side during the meeting. If you will, of course.”

The blonde missed a heartbeat, her mouth trembling a bit as she had to take that suggestion in. She then closed it, and bowed with a smile.

“It would be an honor, Your Majesty.”

The royals all assembled in the meeting room, and the King of the Southern Isles appeared next to Anna, Elsa and Mattias as they were the last persons to pass the door. He talked to the King of Hitiheimr who was standing by the entrance.

“Please forgive me for my late arrival. The sea is raging, and our ship got delayed.”

“It’s alright, Your Majesty.” Assured their host. “After you.”

Mattias stared at him with disdain. He found it very rude to be late. If the monarch knew the sea was stormy, then why not leaving early? He lived on an island after all, surely they could plan these things.

Elsa stared at him with guilt. The man surely had risked his life coming here, but also the life of the advisor coming along with him – as the King of Hitiheimr suggested each monarch could be accompanied with one – and each and every life of the sailors on the ship. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t that bad if he died, for he had numerous brothers who could inherit of the kingdom, and that the death of twelve siblings would never be enough to pay for the crimes Hans had committed towards Anna and her.

Anna stared at him with an undeniable hint of arousal. The King was muscular, tall, had an apologetic smile that could stop an arrow in mid-air, and piercing green eyes which seemed to get into her very soul and gave the promise to grant her every wish. Her throat got dry when she noticed that he would sit in front of her. If only his family didn’t carry the bastard who had tried to kill her...

The three of them hurried to shake those bad thoughts out of their heads, and mentally apologized for being this judgmental.

They all took place around the large table. It was more rustic than the one in Arendelle castle’s meeting room. It had more curves and thicker wood, noticed Elsa, so despite the different style, it actually was just as beautiful.

Anna explained the presence of Elsa to everyone, asking for the acceptance of her sister among them. Anna then took her seat between the King of Efstfold and the King of Bjargland.

There were a dozen monarchs. Mattias winced internally when he saw that, in all the room, only one other woman was wearing a crown. All other royals were men. He turned to Elsa. The blonde must have known this sad fact already, for she didn’t react. After all, she had been Queen of Arendelle herself for 3 years, so she surely had had meetings with people around this table. Mattias then realized that it meant that nothing had changed in 11 more years. Only two women in power were seating in the council, against six men.

All sat, and their advisors stood up next to them, behind the chairs, to leave the lead to their superiors. Mattias was standing on Anna’s right side, and Elsa on her left.

After presenting everyone, and the topic of this exceptional venue, the session started.

The King of Hitiheimr started to remind everyone why they were assembled here on this day, then turned to Anna.

“Queen Anna, I suppose that you wish to start.”

“Exactly. Thank you, King Isak. Your Majesties, I had the chance and yet the misfortune to see the progress of the storm that affects us all today.”

She explained how it led them to all gather in urgency, and they agreed.

“It is a storm that is not to be taken lightly.” Advised Anna.

“It fuels itself with the force of Nature, and therefore, won’t be stopped by human means.” Completed Elsa, bringing her knowledge, and her addition surprised everyone. “To alleviate it, we are required to think strategica—"

A King coughed in a way he wanted discreet, but it actually wasn’t at all, being in fact very rude. When everyone turned to him, he smiled.

“Pardon my interruption, but I don’t think that Lady Elsa should interfere. We were allowed to bring only one advisor with us, and it’s properly unfair that Queen Anna gets to be this surrounded.”

Several murmurs appeared around the table. Elsa gulped and took this as a cue to exit the room, and she left without a word. Anna however held her wrist right away. Before the blonde could even look down at the freckled hand grasping her, the younger tugged Elsa back to where she had been standing.

“My sister won’t go anywhere.”

This brought a cold silence in the room, and the King of Blómvegr encouraged the presence of Elsa by asking her a question.

“Surely you can bring us more information as you’re here, Lady Elsa?”

The blonde gulped as all gazes fell on her. “Yes. I can. I think that this storm may be magical, and created by two Spirits.”

“May be?” Repeated the King of Efstfold, frowning. “What do you mean, ‘may be’?!”

He was outraged, and another ruler joined in the anger.

“Aren’t you the Fifth Spirit?”

“Y-yes, I am...”

As she struggled with her words, she couldn’t help but notice that they hadn’t been surprised at the mythical part of her sentence. What annoyed them was her incompetence. It hurt her right into her heart.

“And aren’t you supposed to know it, as the Fifth Spirit?” Intervened now the King of Mosiland.

Elsa clenched her jaw, her emotion rising, and she thought of Honeymaren to not break into tears.

“They’re right!” Pitched the King of Efstfold, exclaiming again. “Why don’t you do anything to stop it? It’s your duty!”

Elsa felt stupid. “I... I tried, but...”

“You tried.” Sighed the King of Bjargland. “And failed, apparently. And now we’re all impacted by this storm.”

Elsa lowered her eyes, ashamed. Anna was as red as a beet, however, and furious of their behavior.

“Why are you even here, Lady Elsa?” Grumbled the same monarch, his tone severe. “This is a high board meeting. Not a—”

“That’s right.” Cut Anna, and everyone turned to her because of her clear voice. “She wasn’t invited to this meeting and King Isak had to kindly accept her presence among us. She’s not even allowed to intervene in this discussion.”

Elsa turned to Anna, about to say something, but the redhead’s eyes were on fire and she kept going.

“Which is why, if you’ve got anything to say to my sister, you go through me.”

All got impressed by her regal voice.

“And I’ll speak in her name for the rest of the conference. On that note, before you have any question regarding means of resolution by magic, know that I can attest that Snow Queen Elsa, as the Fifth Spirit of Nature and guardian of Ahtohallan, did all she could to stop this storm before even coming to Arendelle.”

A respectful silence followed. Mattias looked at Elsa with smiling eyes. The blonde was stunned, her big azure blue eyes sparkling at the light of the chandelier. Anna cleared her throat and kept going.

“This storm has magical origins, and it’s growing more and more every passing day.”

Some trusted her words, but others stared at her with spite.

“And I suppose that this magical manifestation stops right at the Northuldra territory borders?” Insinuated the King of Bjargland.

Anna had to bite her lip to not grunt at his annoying tone.

“No. It may be a magical storm, it is nationwide. Which is why we have to act all together to protect all of our people. Including Sami tribes.”

Half of the royals at the table nodded in agreement. But several groans fused. The other half still had trouble understanding the need to generously help the tribes which offered nothing in return, for they weren’t interested in joining the country’s market trades.

This was a one-year old debate, and the Kings kept being close-minded on this point.

“And I suppose that you merged with their land without telling us?” Accused a leader.

Elsa found that intervention rude, but kept her reverential mask of silence.

Anna stared at him.

“In fact, we never intended and will never intend to merge Arendellian and Northuldra territories, despite our relationship based on peace and respect for the past 11 years.”

She purposely weighed those positive terms to tell them in subtext that they better not critic her position towards the Sami people.

“It’s a deliberate choice.” She continued. “That way, we can ensure that nobody would build a house or a facility on a border of Arendelle thinking it’s a virgin land, when in fact it’s Northuldra territory.”

The same groaning Kings than before groaned again.

“Even if the Northuldra don’t have houses there?”

“Yes. It’s still their land.” Insisted Anna. “And I forbid any acquisition or colonization of it.”

The monarch who asked the question grumbled, and he took note of something on his papers. Elsa understood that her sister had just cancelled a plan of his.

“Now I think that we stepped out of the topic.” Coughed slightly the King of Hitiheimr.

“Yes. As I told you, the magic storm knows no limits and no borders in every meaning of the term.” Summarized Anna, and she side-looked at Elsa who approved with a discreet nod. “Now or never is the time to unite, and take care of everyone in this perilous period.”

Anna’s teal blue eyes inspected all the council members before dropping her tactical decision.

“I think that we should all ask our armies to stop what they are doing and order the soldiers of each of our kingdoms to help the citizens, and help build infrastructures which could have suffered so far.”

The Kings of Efstfold and Mosiland scoffed as they lost their breath.

“Mobilizing our armies?”

“Are you insane?”

Mattias frowned at the direct insult. If it was in a less diplomatic context, he would have attacked the monarch back in Anna’s defense.

“I am very sane, Sir. This is a deeply thought assessment.” Assured the redhead, firm in her response, and she didn’t need Mattias’ support.

“But... Your Majesty, with all due respect...” Started the King of Blómvegr. “What proves us that this is a safe solution?”

An advisor bent to talk to the ear of the Queen of Ellriheimr, thought he did it high enough for the whole room to hear. “My Queen, I don’t think this is a good suggestion to follow. It could be a trap.”

The leader frowned as she thought. She made eye contact with Anna, who obviously had been listening to that guidance to argue against.

“Queen Anna, can you attest that you won’t use this opportunity for an assault?”

“Yes, what proves us that this is not all a ruse, and that Arendelle won’t attack us as soon as we withdraw our armies?” Frowned the monarch of Efstfold.

Anna was shocked by the accusation. “Never would I do that!”

Her surprise was genuine and could be read on the honest woman’s face. Those who had trusted her so far understood that she meant no harm, but for the other remaining, she had just implied war.

“Do you intend to take advantage of that magic storm to extend the territory of Arendelle? And reinforce your position as the leading kingdom?” Frowned the King of Bjargland.

Anna’s jaw dropped. Not only this was a strong allegation, but it also was stupid, for Arendelle was by far the largest land of the country, and had no purpose nor desire in extending more, especially after inheriting from Runeard’s plans.  

However, their mistrust was legitimate, and Anna had to pledge the dubious faces turned to her that she wasn’t scamming anyone.

“King Markus, you know deep down that such a thought would never come to me.”

Mattias and Elsa exhaled discreetly, happy to see Anna had the correct answer.

“Queen Britt, King Kjetil, our geopolitical relationship goes back many years. My sister herewith has already proven to you of Arendelle’s peaceful intentions when she was on the throne.”

The two leaders lowered their gazes, exchanging even another between them and admitting they judged her too quickly. And just like that, the Queen of Ellriheimr and the King of Efstfold joined Anna’s decision and listened carefully to what she had to say for the rest of the conference.  

Two Kings still had not much trust in her. It was mainly due to the anger to listen to the decisions of the youngest monarch around the table who also happened to be a woman, but never would they admit it out loud.

“King Tom...” Started Anna, addressing to the head of Mosiland, and Elsa was impressed at how well she slid their names with a regal way, to be familiar with them without being disrespectful. “...Our two lands already had been in a similar situation a few years ago when a cliff had collapsed down South and fell on a road that both our kingdoms use.”

He bit his lip. “And Arendelle helped us without compensation.”

They all looked down, regretting a bit to have raised their voices.

His counterpart of Hitiheimr smiled, and took advantage of a silence to add: “Arendelle and Hitiheimr have been partners for several generations now, and we didn’t have a single problem in our history.”

He turned to his right, where the King of the Southern Isles was seating. “I suppose that you don’t see any harm coming from Arendelle as well, King Ruben?”

The man who had been silent and observing until now finally smiled. “None at all. Besides, we have a long debt of forgiveness towards Arendelle that I’m afraid will never be fully returned. So I stand by Queen Anna’s choice.”

Elsa and Anna noticed that he had been staring at them as he talked, and they were glad it had been addressed. They both nodded quietly.

The redhead eyed all of the monarchs. “To prove to you all that I don’t intend to attack you, I’ll leave here in Hitiheimr the general of my army, Destin Mattias, for as long as this storm lasts.”

She gestured to the soldier on her right, and they all widened their eyes in surprise. Did she just point to her advisor?

Elsa missed a heartbeat, but Mattias remained stoic.

“He’s someone you can trust with your life, and I sincerely believe you can all place your future in his hands without blinking an eye. He’s an acutely skilled soldier, and an excellent general. His competences in strategy are close to perfection. As you can see, he’s also my advisor today, because he happens to be my counselor. In other words... His presence here and away from the kingdom of Arendelle is a proof that I stand no chance if I attack you. Without general Mattias, I am in disadvantage to operate such an action.”  

Every monarch dropped their jaw. Elsa smiled at Anna’s wisdom, and if she wasn’t keeping her serious attitude for the conference, she would have cried.

Anna then pushed everything further with another promise.

“I also engage myself to give all the resources of Arendelle you might need right away.”

A round of gasps and mutters went across the table. Whispers came from advisors to rulers and back.

Elsa hurried to Anna’s ear, taking advantage of the jumble it had created to speak.

“Anna, you can’t be serious. Your people need those resources.” Panicked the blonde with wide eyes. “You can’t do that.”

The redhead placed a hand on hers as she was holding to the arm of her chair to bend to her.

“Don’t worry. I did the math the night before last.” Murmured back Anna. “It’s a solid plan. Trust me.”

Elsa stared at her for a moment, then smiled. “Okay.”

Anna smiled back, and her expression turned back to serious as she looked at the leaders again.

“What do you think?” Inquired the Queen to the council.

“This is a colossal statement, Your Majesty.” Puffed a King.

“It is indeed.” Smiled Anna, slightly sarcastic. “I let you think about it.”

As the leaders all mumbled about it again, she gave a quick look at Mattias, who approved her speech with a smile and a nod. Elsa looked down at her younger, whose eyes were sparkling with intelligence and determination. She had prepared everything. Elsa’s heart filled with pride to call her her sister.

She bent to her sister once again.

“Wait... If Mattias isn’t at your side as you travel back to Arendelle...”

Anna turned with a smile.

“I’ll come back with you, remember? I don’t risk anything.”

Elsa smiled widely.

The King of Blómvegr cleared his throat for everyone to quiet, and spoke to everyone. “I think Queen Anna convinced us all. It is a one of a kind time, and it calls for special measures. I agree with you, Your Majesty.”  

Anna gave him a thankful nod.

“I also agree to mobilize the army of my kingdom and share its resources.” Announced the King of Bjargland.

“King Isak and I also follow that movement.” Stated the King of the Southern Isles, after a quick look at his ally.

The Queen of Ellriheimr held her chin as she thought.    

“You are certainly right. As long as we cannot predict the progress of this storm, our kingdoms should help each other out.”

The King of Mosiland slammed his hand on the table, a bit too heavily, and everyone startled. “Alright, I join my kingdom to do the same process as well.”

The remaining monarch, of Efstfold, seemed convinced now that his seatmate had picked a side. “I join the movement.”

Elsa and Anna got flabbergasted by how fast they reticent monarchs had changed their decision. Mattias, however, wasn’t surprised. Anna’s persuasion power was always impressive. Once, she managed to pressure him enough to wear a hat as he was about to have a walk with Halima. Despite him finding the hat ridiculous, she used the right arguments, and less than ten minutes later, he was at the store buying it. Halima hadn’t detached her eyes from him for the whole stroll, and it had been a milestone in their relationship. He couldn’t have thanked her enough. On another thought, Mattias noted that without Anna’s tenacity and assurance, Elsa’s life journey would certainly have been different.

Little by little, all leaders had accepted to join the treaty, and when the King of Hitiheimr asked for voters to manifest themselves, all rose their hands in favor. The host took in the fact they all agreed with his role of witness. He stood up happily.  

“Then the decision has been taken unanimously! All Kingdoms will help wherever the need arises.”

As everyone clapped with diplomatic smiles, Anna couldn’t believe her eyes. She was the ghost of herself as she forced her face into a royal one and applauded along, doing all she could to not cry right then. She felt Elsa’s hand on her shoulder, squeezing there. Her sister was as emotional as she was.

They had made it! They had made a peaceful and assisting treaty based on mutual aid! The redhead gulped. How many times has she dreamed about this moment happening since she became Queen more than ten years ago? She felt like she should have done a bucket list to have the joy of crossing that line out with all her might.

“Alright. The meeting is over. Thank you all, Your Majesties, ladies and gentlemen, for your vivid participation.” Smiled the King of Hitiheimr.

He turned to the redhead. “Thank you especially, Queen Anna. Your dedication and honesty truly make this country stand.”

Anna blushed slightly, and Mattias and Elsa had a proud nod of agreement. The Queen masked her blush with a smile and a bow.

“Thank you, King Isak. But you’re the one keeping it together.”

A silence passed as they all nodded.

“That’s right.” Said the Queen of Ellriheimr. Thank you for your hospitality and your time.”

They all left in good terms, slowly exiting the room and shaking hands or bowing. Elsa felt intense warm in her soul at the sight, and the magic coldness calmed a bit in her veins.

=======

A hand slid in Anna’s as she walked in the corridor. She was used to this specific touch, and turned with a smile before even seeing her sister’s face.

“Thank you for defending me during the meeting.” Smiled Elsa tenderly. “Recently, I started doubting of myself and my capacities as the Fifth Spirit.”

Anna held her sister’s hand tightly.

“I’ll always defend you from anyone who aims to demean you, Elsa. And by the way, that means you too if you continue to depreciate yourself, young lady.”

Her expression had switched from loving to scolding, and they had suddenly stopped in the hall. Elsa bit her lips in a faulty manner.

“Because, seriously? Do you hear what you say?” Exclaimed Anna. “How can you doubt of your skills, when earlier, you literally have made water levitate from your body?”

A smile stretched the blonde’s lips.

“You’re right.”

“Damn right I am.”

They chuckled.

“You shouldn’t swear here.” Giggled Elsa, looking around them like the Hitiheimr castle was a sacred place.

The sisters kept laughing, and Mattias walked to them. Anna’s behavior changed when he was near, and the elder noticed that her face was covered with worry.

“Sorry for being this dramatic during the meeting. I didn’t intend to throw you into the fire like that.”

The man chuckled. “It was fine. You did well. It was exactly like we planned.”

Elsa’s jaw dropped, and she smiled. “You two planned that? Oh, of course you did.” She then comically slapped her forehead. “You two will never stop amazing me.”

Anna looked at her general.

“Mattias, is it okay if we leave now?”

“It’s perfectly fine, Your Majesty. I will handle things here. I’ll be of great help in the management during the crisis.”

The sisters smiled at his anticipation. The soldier grinned.

“Also, may I add, it was an excellent meeting. You lead admirably. And you have a remarkable sense of improvisation as well.”

Anna smirked and shove him gently on the arm.

“When will you stop complimenting me for little things, Mattias?”

He smiled. “I’m afraid I’m unable to stop since I saw you destroy the dam that day.”

Elsa put a hand on her little sister’s shoulder. “That was impressive, Anna. I agree with him. You were incredible, and everyone got speechless!”

“Well, one or two Kings couldn’t stop criticizing me, but... I’m not gonna cite their names.” Giggled the Queen.

An hour later, the servants prepared their horses, and Elsa made sure that Rask agreed to ride over this soon. To the stables staff astonishment, the stallion had a lot of energy and was even very enthusiastic to have an epic ride with Elsa again. She giggled, and the redhead tied her heavy fur coat, she looked at Elsa’s equipment, which had been reduced to the bare necessities.

“You really did fast, uh? Just a bridle. Thankfully, your horse doesn’t seem to mind. Hey, did you at least warn Kristoff that you were leaving Arendelle in a hurry??”

Elsa bit her lip. “No.”

Anna’s face stretched in shock, and the blonde hurried to correct herself.

“But I sent him an ice statue message just earlier! I told him we’re both alright and that we’re making our way back home.”

Anna sighed. “Okay.”

Elsa’s azure blue eyes seemed to still be marked with the panic that had rose in her when she saw Anna’s crown lost in the night.

“How do you feel?” Asked the younger, her voice melting to a soft level.

The Snow Queen turned to her. That tone could make her burst to tears instantly because of how warm and caring it was, and with her tiredness, she was close.

“I... I thought I had lost you. And... I feel like if something happens to you in that storm, it would be my fault.”

“Elsa, don’t say that. It’s not your fault at all.”

“You’re right. Not directly. It indirectly is my fault. Because of me, people are in danger every d—”

A finger had sealed her lips to be shut, and she startled at the gesture. Anna sighed, her arm stretched.

“I suppose that if I tell you one more time that you’re not responsible, you won’t believe me. So, hear me out, sis.”

She took her finger off Elsa’s lips, and the blonde was attentive.

“Even if you were the culprit, and I were injured, I would not be resentful. If you can’t counter it, why would I be angry at you?”

Elsa let out a noise that was a mix of a wet gasp and a relieved whimper. It was like all stress had lifted her soul, all weight had been taken off her shoulders, and she let them fall in a sigh.

A smile appeared at the corner of her lips.

“You’re so comprehensive. Sometimes I wonder what kind of miracle allowed me to have you as my sister.”

Anna smirked. “You should ask Ahtohallan. That’s what the Bridge is all about, I suppose.”

After they exchanged a smile, the redhead bent her head.

“Hey, are you sure you don’t want to take a break before we go back to Arendelle?”

“No, I told you, I’m fine.”

“And I told you to stop lying to make me happy. I know you haven’t slept last night as you were hurrying to check on me.”

“You know me two well, it’s unfair.” Muttered Elsa.

Anna pretended to not have heard that. Her elder gave up.

“Okay, we’ll stop to make a camp on the day. The night will fall on our journey back anyway. Do we have a deal?”

“Definitely.” Grinned Anna, who won everything in this situation; Elsa’s health, and a night of ice hut camping under the stars with a transparent roof to stare at them like Elsa always made them.

The horses were brought, and they mounted them before going in the strong wind. They made their way out of the castle after thanking everyone.  

At one of the windows of the towers, Mattias looked at them riding away. The King of Hitiheimr approached with a smile.

“They are unstoppable, aren’t they?” Admired the monarch.

The general grinned with a nod.

“Yes, sir. They truly are.”

#woooo what a chap ladies and gents what a chap #so much stuff #so much flangst #and i still have a headache from the queen and kings names UGHx1000 #i'm gonna make a post about why tf they're name like this #anyway i'm gonna take a 2 days nap after this hahah #what did you think of this chapter? #do you want to kill me for the stress at the beginning? of course you do #put a little ⛄️if you wanted to kill me :D #share and comment! #in the eye of the storm #frozen 2 #snow sisters #frozen #post frozen 2 #kristanna #elsamaren #frozen fanfics #disney #disney fanfictions

[maxparkhurst]

Trial and Error

May 29th

Deep breath in…

Slow breath out.

Time felt nonexistent in this surreal space. Max watched the shop’s amber glow shift along the water’s surface. It was almost like being in another plane of existence; an existence where her body was independent of her head, and where she filled her lungs with water instead of air. She wondered if this was what being pickled in a jar would feel like, adrift in stagnant water with only the pressure in your ears for company. She had to admit, it wasn’t so bad.

Deep breath in…

Slow breath out.

Augustine’s silhouette glided across the surface and reflected back at Max in its ripples. He stared intently at his pocket watch, his lips puckered in a demur pout as he nodded in tandem to each beat. It was like watching him through a distorted looking glass- his childlike features warped into a pseudo version of himself. Max stared curiously at her brother, knowing full well he couldn’t see her, and allowed a subtle smile to touch her lips. There was a bit of euphoria to be found submerged in water. She was free to observe the world unobstructed through this slightly askew lens; everything else- sound, smell, touch- muted. Restricted to only one sense, Max felt weightless and light.

Deep breath in…

She held that breath as she followed Auggie’s form. He crossed the basin’s length and disappeared over the side. Her lips parted in protest when her lungs seized. A bright, poignant sting started from her nostrils and ran all the way down her throat as her shoulders buckled. Drowning. The thought struck Max in a flash. I’m drowning!

Max erupted from the water, drenching the floor in her wake. Hunched over the basin, she heaved and retched into it. The contents of her stomach emptied and the water clear from her lungs, she fell back onto her haunches and gulped down as much air as she could muster. It took her a moment to realize Augustine was by her side. He patted her back vigorously with one hand and threw a towel over her head with the other, drying her hair before a chill could set it. “How long was that?” she wheezed between breaths.

Augustine paused. He bit his lip and focused his efforts on toweling Max dry. After a prolonged silence, he answered, “Four hours.”

“Damn it.” She said in a whisper, her voice coarse against her raw throat. Her fist smacked into the floor. “Just...Damn it.”

“I thought we had it that time…” Augustine lamented. He settled cross-legged next to Max, slipping off his glasses to clean them on the edge of his shirt. He inspected them bleary-eyed in the light and breathed a dejected sigh. “Was hoping we would, anyway.”

A twinge of guilt tugged at Max when she saw the dark circles under his eyes. He must’ve been exhausted. She couldn’t blame him; they’d been at it for hours. Slivers of grey light peeked through the drawn curtains, washing the siblings and their efforts strewn across the shop in a muted glow. Candles burnt to the nub, books cracked half-open on their spines, papers covered front to back with scrawlings, and ooze-filmed vials laid scattered across the shop’s floor and counter. The cauldron frothed with their latest edition of Aquatic Breathing, its putrid scent of Blackmouth Oil mingling with the bile floating in chunky motes inside the water basin; both were doomed to be dumped in the back alley.

Max smacked the sleep from her cheeks and pulled them taunt with a frustrated groan. “I don’t get it… Where are going wrong?”

They’d tried nearly everything; extracted the basic oils from the stranglekelp, distilled and reduced the Blackmouth oil, let the whole affair simmer in calcium and lime sulfates, and even threw in a pinch of salt for added measures. Its potency was fine. It made breathing under water almost feel like second nature, unlike their first attempt which almost ended in Max waterboarding herself. Duration, that’s what it lacked. To last eight hours they needed a key component. Something specific, yet simple.

“Something,” Max thought. She pressed her lips together and rubbed at her temples. “Something crucial but glaringly obvious.  Run through it: Calcination, Dissolution, Separation, Conjunction, Distillation-”

“What did you eat?” Augustine tucked his glasses on top of his head, gingerly peering into the water basin. His nose wrinkled at the rancid scent which drifted up from it. “Smells like ripe cheese. Do you chew?!”

“Ripe cheese…” Max echoed. She perked up as a thought flashed. Her lips curled with a manic grin. “You genius boy. Ripe cheese!” she exclaimed, leaping to her feet.

Augustine dumbfoundedly blinked at Max. “I’m not following…”

“You-you-you ferment it! You ferment cheese to make it ripe, right?!” She gestured wildly in the air before promptly turning on a heel. She swept the counter clear of its vials and candle nubs and opened its drawers, rummaging through them in search of her chalk. “It makes the taste…” She snapped her fingers as if it would summon the right words. “Makes it taste.. I don’t know… More potent!”

Auggie’s glasses slipped from his curls and plopped down onto the bridge of his nose. “So...We’re making cheese?” he questioned, canting his head.

“No!” Max snapped, slapping a box of chalk onto the counter. “Focus, Augustine! We’re fermenting the Stranglekelp and then extracting the oils.”

“Oh…” Auggie drawled. He pushed his glasses up and rose to his feet, tentative in approaching his sister. He watched as she drew one large circle on the counter followed by a series of smaller ones inside all connected with a single, angular line. “Do we even have enough time?”

“No,” Max said pointedly. She discarded the chalk over her shoulder and brushed the dust from her fingers. “So we’re going to cheat a little.”

Augustine’s eyes widened with sudden realization. “Oh!” he chimed, looking down at the transmutation circle inscribed on the wood. His awe melted into a mild perturbation as he lifted a brow. “I thought you said the Siren’s Stone was only used for emergencies?”

Max spread hands out with a nonchalant shrug, looking off with a tired smile. “I deem this an emergency.”

“I deem it as you having too much coffee and not enough sleep.” Augustine balked when Max shot him a look and sleeked off with a sheepish grin. “I-I’ll get the kelp…”

Max chuffed and turned her attention to the circle. She noted its curvature and made certain that each line connected with the correct node; transmutation was a complicated art and a wrong connotation could spell disaster for their project. When all was double checked and a pile of kelp was placed in the certain, Max ducked under the counter and retrieved a lock box hidden in its shadows. There was nothing ornate or complicated about it. Just a wooden box and bronze lock sealed away the single most valuable object the Parkhurst’s owned- a Siren’s Stone.

The box’s key laid hidden amongst the miscellaneous objects cluttering the desk’s drawers. The idea of keeping it in such an obvious place may have looked negligent from an outsider’s perspective, but in Max’s mind it was the ultimate safety precaution. She rarely knew of people who checked beneath their noses. She fumbled with the box’s tumbler and cracked it open, her face washed with a crimson glow. A Siren’s Stone, not quite unlike a Philosopher's Stone, was an essential component in transmutation. It was the driving kinetic force. The only difference between it and its counterpart was that a Siren’s Stone had a limited number of charges before it became unstable and disintegrated. Max couldn’t remember the last time she’d used it; it was anyone’s guess to how many more uses she’d get out of it.

She laid the stone amongst the bundle of kelp. It glimmered with an ethereal, crimson light like a ruby buried in a pile of mud. Her hands hovered above the circle as the air grew dense. Augustine watched from over the counter’s lip, huddled behind it in case things went arie. Max flexed her gloved fingers and closed her eye.

Deep breath in…

Slow breath out…

Her hands clapped together, their echo resonating in the growing quiet.

Focus on your intent.

Max felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end as an electric current coursed through the shop. It pulsed from the stone, its light growing brighter by the second. Vials shook in their castes and books shivered in their shelves which teetered dangerously from side-to-side. Sparks flew from her fingers as she forced  her hands apart, fighting against a magnetic pull.

Deep breath in….

Slow breath out…

 “Please work…”

She slammed her hands down onto the circle. Light erupted from the inscription and struck the shop with a blinding flash. Moments passed. And as the dust settled and the shelves no longer shook, Max peeked her eye open. Relief bubbled in her chest and was expelled with an airy laugh.

“Yes!” she hissed, cocking her head back with a sigh.

Augustine poked his head out from behind the counter and beamed down at the now rotten kelp sitting on the counter. “Woah…” he breathed, readjusting his askew glasses.

Max retrieved the Siren’s Stone and held it aloft. It glistened in the morning’s light as if it’d been just conjured; they’d been granted another day with the precious gem. She wiped it clean on her trousers and tucked back in its lockbox where it’d remain under the counter. “Clean out the cauldron, Auggie,” she breathed, meeting her brother’s inquisitive- albeit tired- eyes- “We’ve got one more shot at this.”

Augustine straightened and gave his sister a firm nod. He wrestled the cauldron from its hook and pushed out the back entry-way. Max turned her attention to the rotten kelp, pinching a strand between her fingers and twirling it. “This might actually work,” she muttered to herself, “Just maybe…”  

Continuation from here

#The Alchemists #| Trials of Alchemy | #Maxinora #Augustine #The Parkhursts #IC #RP writing #Original Writing #dribble drabble

[chroniclackofselfpreservation]

Creatures of the Night

Chapter 16 - when love’s reliance ends

Back to the Beginning   < Previous chapter / Next chapter >   

AO3

Masterlist

(TW: verbal and physical abuse, PTSD, flashbacks, toxic relationships, graphic imagery)

(The title of the chapter comes from "Unkindness" by Charles Swain)

This can’t be happening, was what Virgil would have thought, had he been in a decent state of mind when he was swallowed by the Witch Queen’s beast. Instead, he fought the urge to faint as hot slippery muscles contracted around him, forcing him deeper into the demon’s gullet. 

Ursula was right. He was pathetic. He should be fighting right now. Scratching and biting; anything to get the serpent to throw him back up.

But he did nothing.

It was like his mind couldn’t completely register what was happening. That, and the pain in his newly broken leg kept him just dizzy enough to keep him unfocused. 

Panic coursed through him like someone had opened his mouth and stuck his face under a waterfall, and yet he wasn’t yowling in terror. He was barely thrashing.

Virgil couldn’t breathe, but he couldn’t tell if it was the white hot terror of imminent death seizing in his chest or the disgusting lumps of slimy muscle pressing into him, suffocating his small frame.

He could shift into a human. Right? That must do something. 

No. Bloodwyrm had eaten plenty of humans before. Unless he could turn into something bigger, there was no hope. He was going to die here.

His lungs burned. His leg sent spikes of pain up his entire body every time the muscles pressed down on it. He choked on bitter, tacky fluids he couldn’t name.

Virgil vaguely felt Ursula’s presence in his mind. 

I can’t believe you’re being serious right now, she complained.

How long before he hit stomach acid? How quickly would it kill him? Would he die from the burning or just drown first? He couldn’t believe he was going to be digested.

Alright, fine, hold on… she muttered, their connection waning. 

Virgil’s lungs spasmed and the sticky slime filled his mouth, his nose. His body felt heavy. His eyes slipped shut…

                                                * * * * * * * * * *

“...dead? Can I take his eyes? They’d go for some solid coin.”

“Shut up, he isn’t dead yet.”

Something pressed down hard on Virgil’s ribs, forcing whatever blocked his throat up and out. He squirmed weakly as he vomited up juices that definitely weren’t his own. All of his limbs felt weighed down, like he’d just waded through mud… or… 

Images and smells assaulted him out of nowhere. His ears filled with that horrid squelching sound, and his eyes flew open, his breath catching in his chest.

“What’s wrong with him?” Remus asked, poking him. Virgil wanted to growl, to scream, to claw Remus’s eyes out, something, but he couldn’t move, staring blankly ahead and suffering through the agonizing sensations wracking his mind.

“He’s all slimy,” The hobgoblin noted.

“I think Bloodwyrm swallowed him,” Ursula said. A wave of her hand, and Virgil was dry once more. 

Virgil let out a shuddering breath, curling in on himself. 

Remus poked him once again, and he shivered. 

“Leave him be, goblin,” Ursula said softly, getting up and walking away. Remus grumbled something under his breath, but obeyed. Virgil should have been grateful for that small act of kindness, but he couldn’t. 

He couldn’t think of anything else but the feeling of being eaten.

                                                * * * * * * * * * *

Days passed in a blur. 

Virgil didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure he could, at this point. He stayed in his human form as much as possible, vainly hoping that being big and intimidating would help him feel better. 

It didn’t.

He still woke up screaming, or as a terrified, confused cat. Everything he did was exhausting. His heart constantly raced at little things, like the lights being out, or the sound of Remus swallowing his food. 

That was what really got him. Remus would chew his food loudly, gulping water down, watching Virgil from the corner of his eye. Virgil would usually end up storming out of the cottage, or getting so worked up he swore he’d kill Remus in his sleep. 

Sometimes, he was so angry he thought he’d explode, but for no reason in particular. When he finally did start speaking again, Ursula rolled her eyes and asked if he was finally over “the whole mission-thing.”

“I’m fine,” he lied. Remus grinned at that, and Virgil felt a little pocket of dread open up inside him. He hadn’t told either of them yet, but he couldn’t use his powers. Aside from shifting between a cat and a human, he hadn’t been able to perform any of his usual magic. 

He was useless, and now completely helpless to defend himself from Remus. It was only a matter of time before they figured it out.

                                                * * * * * * * * * *

“What do you mean you can’t do it?” Ursula demanded around a mouthful of stew. 

Virgil’s chest constricted. “I—I don’t know, I guess I haven’t been myself lately, and—”

Ursula slammed her spoon down on the table and Virgil flinched. She pointed the utensil at him like a weapon. “You’re still hung up on what Bloodwyrm did, aren’t you, you pathetic cat? I thought I told you to stop freaking out about it. It’s over. It happened, like, a month ago, now.”

“I’m not freaking out about it,” Virgil protested, but it came out halting and breathless. “I don’t know why my magic isn’t working.” 

“Nature spirits almighty! You’d think you were tortured or something! You just broke a leg, Virgil, stop being such a baby about it,” she said, throwing her hands in the air. “I might just get it in my head to make Remus my familiar instead of you, how about that?”

Remus perked up. “Really?”

“No, you’re too ugly,” she said, waving a hand. Remus snorted, nodding in agreement. 

Virgil shrank down. 

“For crying out loud, you stay in that human form so much, it’s like you think you’re a person, or something! Get a hold of yourself, you aren’t a kitten anymore. Bad things happen to everyone, Virgil. You aren’t special,” she grumbled. 

“I’m sorr—”

“Shut up! Could you be less pathetic for five minutes?!” She snapped, and flung her bowl of stew at him. The bowl struck Virgil’s shoulder and bathed him in scalding broth. He cried out, stumbling back. 

“There’s your dinner. I’m done arguing with you. Go clean yourself up before you get crap all over the floor,” Ursula muttered, walking off to her room in a huff. Virgil wiped his face, careful not to flick his hands and get it everywhere. He went to go outside, but his hand was covered in broth, and he didn’t want to touch the doorknob. Wiping it on his tunic as best he could, he stepped outside into the freezing air. 

“If I were Ursula,” Remus mused, leaning out of the kitchen window the leer at him, “I’d send you back to the palace and have Bloodwyrm finish the job.”

“Go away, Remus.”

“No, I don’t think I will,” he said, rocking a little on the sill.

Virgil glared at him, but he couldn’t deny the streak of fear coursing through him. He knew it would only be a matter of time before Remus realized that Virgil couldn’t fight back anymore. 

His grin stretched. “What’re you gonna do? Cry really hard? You know, I heard that if you stomp on the ground and say his name four times, he’ll show up.” 

Virgil stalked away, off to the river to clean himself up. He heard the crunch of Remus hopping out of the window and tromping through the snow after him. Virgil may not be able to fight back with magic anymore, but he was still taller than Remus by two and a half feet. That had to mean  something, right?

Virgil knelt in the snow at the riverbed, quickly shucking off his stained tunic and dunking it in the water. If he were his normal self, he could have been rid of the stain in a matter of seconds with a few quick words. Now, he was shivering next to a river like… like a mortal human. 

He was a familiar. A magical creature. And yet in that moment by the river, with Remus tracking lewd pictures into the fresh snow only yards behind him, he’d never felt more human. 

“Kitty! Come check this out! Did I make the tits too big?” Remus shouted, apparently forgetting his previous engagement of pestering Virgil. “What am I saying? Tits can’t be too big. They are a bit lopsided, though.” He shrugged. “Points for realism, I guess.”

Virgil didn’t respond, shivering as the winter breeze swept over his bare shoulders. It was going to take forever for the fabric to dry if he hung it outside. Maybe he’d hang it by the fire, and keep a careful watch on Ursula’s bedroom door. 

His hands became numb and clumsy with cold as he wrung out his tunic. It still smelled like stew. 

He’d have to try and warm himself by the fire as well, if that didn’t attract too much attention.

Steeling himself, Virgil dipped his cupped hands into the stream and splashed his face with the icy water, working the tacky broth from his skin and hair. 

A ball of snow struck the back of his neck, and he nearly lost balance and fell into the water. 

Remus hooted triumphantly and sauntered over. “You know, I think I’m gonna miss your old self.”

Virgil glowered up at him. “What are you talking about?” 

Just as he said the words, something smooth and wet wrapped around his ankle. Virgil’s head filled with the glint of smooth gold scales and he scrambled back, managing to slip on the bank and tumble into the icy stream. 

“Old Virgil didn’t make it so easy,” he said, crinkling his nose. 

Seething, Virgil pulled the slimy black root from his ankle, and chucked it at Remus, who easily dodged. 

He started back toward the cottage. “See you inside, kitty-cat!”

Virgil stood, trying to still his shivering body and hammering heart. He retrieved his tunic from where it had landed in the snow, and made his way back to the cottage as well.

The cottage meant warmth and shelter from the elements.

But it also meant pain. And memories. And shame that hung around his neck like a chain.

Yes, it was in these moments Virgil felt more human than ever.

                                                * * * * * * * * * *

Six months later.

Virgil followed behind Ursula as his normal, four-legged self, watching her back and tensed shoulders. They hadn’t been back inside the Witchlands in decades. Not much had changed. 

Ursula fingered the charm she wore about her neck, something she'd spent months crafting for the express purpose of slipping past the banishment spell keeping her out of the Witchlands.

Remus walked beside Virgil, absentmindedly trying to grab his tail as it swished through the air. 

Ursula was in a bad mood. Primarily because the entire reason she’d needed the charm was so she could meet up with someone who apparently knew how to fix Virgil. 

He was proving more than a little inconvenient to say the least. 

They all rounded the side of a hill and found a quaint little log cabin nested among the trees. Smoke seeped from the chimney and warm light shine from the windows. 

Ursula stalked forward, pushing the door open without knocking.

A figure in a billowy green blouse, brown leather corset, and cotton pants looked up from her seat beside the fire. Her hair was the color of coal smoke and her eyes as amber as the setting sun. 

She smirked. “You know, Ursula, maybe if you had more manners—“

“Oh, shut up, Amaryllis. I need a favor.”

The other witch shut the book open on her lap. “A favor?”

Ursula scowled. “I broke you out of a demon-guarded dungeon, you know.”

Amaryllis winced at the word “demon.” Virgil guessed she must have similar, bad experiences with the beast. As did most people who crossed its path.

“More like blowing a hole in the wall and letting us take care of the rest,” she muttered. “Fine. What do you want?”

“My familiar’s broken,” she said, stepping aside and gesturing to Virgil. 

“Really?” Amaryllis said, looking between Remus and Virgil skeptically. “Which one is he?”

“Don’t be smart,” Ursula snapped.

Amaryllis rolled her eyes, then fixed her gaze on Virgil. His ears flattened against his head against his will, his tail dropping to the floor. He’d grown hateful of attention.

The black-haired witch looked at Ursula and Remus. “I’m going to need you two to step outside.”

“Are you serious?”

“As the constellation.”

“Whatever,” Ursula muttered, turning on her heel and pinning Virgil with a glare. He took half a step back, watching as both she and the hobgoblin left. 

Amaryllis grabbed her book and reopened it, leaning back into her chair. “Finally,” she sighed, touching her finger to her tongue and turning a page, “She’s such a terror, isn’t she?”

Virgil shifted, unsure of what to do. Should I shift to a human? he thought. How would he talk with her otherwise? Unless, of course, she didn’t need to talk to him.

“Oh you’re quite alright the way you are, Virgil,” she said, not looking up from her book. 

Virgil stiffened. She knew his name! 

You can hear me?

The witch’s eyebrows knit together. “Of course, I can. I’m a witch.”

You’re not my witch.

“So? As long as you want me to hear you, I can. Jeez, did Ursula not teach you anything?”

Virgil shrank. Sorry.

Amaryllis’s eyes went wide. “What? No! I wasn’t mad at you, I’m angry with Ursula if nothing else.” Her voice went soft. “What has she filled your head with?”

Can we get onto the part where you fix me? Virgil asked impatiently. The sooner he was out of the spotlight, the better.

“Okay,” she said, though she looked as if she was definitely not okay with moving on. She glanced at the corner of her cottage, but there was nothing there. “What seems to be the problem?”

I can’t do magic anymore.

“What do you mean?”

Other than shifting, I can’t do magic. It just doesn’t come out. Even shifting gets hard if I’m… upset… or something.

“Do you have any idea why this is happening?”

…Yes.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

No.

Amaryllis’s eyes narrowed and Virgil’s pulse picked up. “Was it Ursula?”

No, he said, then carefully thought to just himself, though she certainly hasn’t helped. 

The witch set her book on the side table. “When was the last time you sat on someone’s lap?”

Virgil went still.

“Or let someone pet you? Any type of affection?”

...I don’t remember. 

Amaryllis patted her legs. “Would you like some?”

Virgil hesitated.

“You can say no, if you want,” she said. “Whatever you decide is fine by me.”

He padded forward slowly, fighting with himself inside. Yes, he wanted it, but at the same time his body was freaking out at being within range of her hands. Hands that could grab and tug and hit. How was this supposed to help him fix his problem?

Entirely too soon, he was at her knees and was faced with a decision. Biting back on his fear he leaped from the floor to her lap. He remained facing her as he sat down on her legs, but couldn’t bring himself to look at her, instead fixating on the arm of her chair. 

“Thank you for trusting me, Virgil. That was very brave of you.”

Virgil felt his throat grow right with emotion. He couldn’t cry as a cat—not the same as a human would, at least—but it would have been a close thing had he been in his other form. 

“Can I touch you? Feel free to say no,” she said. Virgil was shocked. She was being so gentle with him. It made sense, seeing as he was broken, but he wasn’t used to being asked permission for anything. 

Go ahead, he said, still not meeting her eyes. He tried not to jump when the tips of her fingers grazed the fur along his spine, but his body jerked anyway. 

Sorry.

“You don’t have to apologize,” she said, petting him again, this time with her full hand, scratching very softly. 

Virgil felt his eyes closing, a deep rumbling filling his chest. He greeted the purr joyfully, like a long lost friend he hadn’t seen in ages. 

Amaryllis stroked his back, his legs, his chest, even the side of his face. Virgil felt more relaxed than he had in… in a really long time, now that he thought about it. She ran her hand over the top of his head and down the back of his neck—

Every muscle in Virgil’s body tensed. He felt dizzy and suddenly weightless. Tossed through the air into a gaping, fanged maw…

Her hand left his fur immediately. “I’m sorry. I should have asked.”

He blinked, swallowing back the revulsion creeping up his throat. He shook his head. It wasn’t your fault. It was actually quite nice, he said.

She smiled softly. “Your claws are buried in my legs, Virgil. I think that’s a pretty clear sign you aren’t alright.”

He looked down and saw with mounting horror that she was right. He’d hurt her. He retracted his claws as fast as he could, scrambling back off her lap. She didn’t try to grab him, which he was a little thankful for.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, he blurted, ears pressed flat.

“I assure you, I’m fine. Look, I’m barely bleeding. It was just a scratch.”

He’d made her bleed. Oh, Ursula was going to kill him. 

We need to leave soon, he said, glancing nervously at the door. Can you help me get my magic back, or not?

Amaryllis looked at him sadly, but stood and said, “Yes, I can.” She rummaged through a few of her things before pulling out… a button? It was black and oblong, with purple swirls spiraling toward its center.

What’s that supposed to do?

“It’s a talisman—well, not yet, but I’ll make it one in a minute. It’s sort of like a link, connecting you to the magic you lost.” She lifted a finger. “Now, this doesn’t fix anything. Without it, you’ll remain as you are until you go through the much longer process of actually healing.”

But I’ll be able to do magic again?

“Yes,” she said, almost sadly. “You will do magic again.” 

The witch fixed the button to a chain, looped it around his neck and chanted sweetly, “Stitch the soul and patch the heart that power never again shall part. As long as round the neck you wear, this talisman shall your load bear.”

Virgil felt something click back into place inside of him and he couldn’t help but give a content little sigh. 

Amaryllis stood and opened the door without another word. Remus was a little ways off chucking pebbles at birds. Ursula stood from her seat on the front steps, looking between them. 

“Well?”

“He should be fine, now. Just make sure he keeps the talisman with him all the time,” Amaryllis said.

Ursula left with little thanks, Virgil trailing after her.

Virgil’s life would not get easier, but he would never forget the kind witch of the woods who reminded him what it was like to be loved.

#tw verbal abuse #verbal abuse tw #verbal abuse #tw physical abuse #physical abuse tw #physical abuse #ptsd tw #tw ptsd #ptsd #tw flashbacks #flashbacks tw #flashbacks #tw toxic relationship #toxic relationship tw #toxic relationship #tw graphic imagery #graphic imagery tw #graphic imagery

[laughing-with-god]

Pen Pal I

Summary- As a lonely person, the idea of exchanging letters with someone apart from society was actually quite appealing to you.  In a random act of charity and desperation, you sign up for a pen pal and get paired up with an inmate named Jungkook.  The letters were meant to help him cope with prison life, but little did anyone know it was actually driving him more mad.  

Warning- Yandere/Prisoner Jungkook x Reader.  Mature themes.  Mention of mental disorder/

Words; 5.3k

‘Solitude, isolation are painful things and beyond human endurance’- Jules Verne 

“Don’t be nervous.” 

The older man kindly smiled at you, age making a brief appearance in the form of the wrinkles that graced his eyes when lifting his lips into an expression of sympathy.  

Pure fear clawed itself within your stomach, your eyes watering on their own accord and your limbs quivered with panic, the tremors shaking through your entire being.  You ducked your head, not wanting anyone to see your moment of weakness, but also knowing that you couldn’t bear having your unfiltered emotions put under these strangers’ microscopes for them to cruelly dissect for their sick entertainment.  

Your throat felt all too dry, the esophagus was almost trying to strangle you into silence with the way it began to feel parched and scratchy without reasonable cause.  Your chapped lips pursed themselves, another form of your body attempting to quiet you without consent of the owner of said body.

You took a deep breath, although your lungs seemed to have shrivelled up and stubbornly denied any new oxygen.  A choking noise escaped you as you briskly tried to obtain ownership of your missing voice.

“I-I...don’t know where to start.”  

Your voice was bleak and raspy sounding even to you. When the vibration of your own tone pierced your ear drums, you ducked your face even further away from peering gazes. It was the sound of an utterly defeated woman, a broken shell and a foolish imp who is just now suffering her consequences as life finally chose to let the weight of her naive actions crumble her weak frame.  You didn’t deserve any sympathy. Shame dusted your face ruby red, and a hot tear trailed down your pale and fear-stricken face.

“Well, the beginning is always a good place to start any story.”  The father-like man soothed, his voice sounding like thick honey, not too deep or domineering but also thick enough to fill the room with his message.  

You shuddered one last time and gulped down any last fantasies you had of completely running away from this gladiator-like platform into the safety of your humble nest, away from anyone who wouldn’t understand you.  You couldn’t let him win.

“I-I….I have a-always been afraid of the world.”

--

You weren’t sure why you weren’t like most people.  

You didn’t know which one of you guys got it wrong, you or them.  

A case could be made that you were the mentally fucked one that desperately needed treatment to solve this ‘condition’.  After all, what kind of weirdo is so afraid of society that they instantly get panic attacks when forced outside? Surely you had a mental issue, a couple screws loose or a very fucked up past.  

But on the other hand, you were all too willing to side-eye the ‘them’ category with a few questions and judgements in hand.  

Why would anyone want to be so vulnerable in the outside world?  An outside world where people are robbed, beaten, raped and killed daily.  A world that’s so loud and cruel while being the epitome of unforgiving. A world where people only look out for themselves, ready to backstab anyone if it meant that they would get an advantage.  

What kind of sane person would choose that world over the comfort of your own home?  

Your home was your safe-place,  perfectly designed for your needs.  And you never saw any reason to leave it.  

It was heaven to you.  A cloud of maternal comfort that enveloped you like a hug just by being inside it.  Your favorite scented candles would smother your apartment in the pleasurable essence, all the books you were oh-so fond of were waiting for you to retrieve them from their loyal stations on your bookshelf, all of your cherished songs could be heard quitely playing from your record player and your go-to movies and shows were always just a click away.  You indulge yourself in this safe-haven you had created, never wanting to leave it.

Your therapist (who used to make home visits) would say that she was certain you had Agoraphobia; deathly fear of leaving one’s home.  

She went on to tell you that this phobia almost always had a triggering point, no one was just born with such mindset.  

And this is when your past came into play.  

But could anyone blame you?  

Watching one’s sister get ran over by a car when you two were supposed to meet up for lunch, was enough to traumatized anyone.   

But, you digressed.  

You didn’t like talking about your sister, or the hectic driver who couldn’t handle the complex city streets and thus ended up murdering an innocent bystander because he wasn’t paying attention.  

You’d like to think that you have always hated the outside world.  Even from the age of 7, you’d fake sickness to avoid having to go outside with the other kids to play at recess.  Your mother had always told you that you were her little homebody. While other kids wanted to go to parks or have water-gun fights, you begged your mom to just give you some hot-chocolate while you catch up on the lastest Junie B. Jones novel.  

It was your sister who was the free spirited social butterfly.  

She was only two years older, but looking at the two of you together, people always assumed that you were the wisest and mature one, incorrectly pinning you as the older.  

Your sister would make mud-pies and bike race with other kids from the neighborhood.  She would come back from an afternoon in the backyard, skin freshly sun-kissed from her adventures and shove a bug in your face, telling you to say hello to her new ‘pet’.  She would puff out her chest and order you to point out the kid who told you that you were ‘weird’ before marching up to them at the park and yelling at their face, warning them to never come close to her little sister ever again.  She would sneak into your mother’s makeup bag and half-hazardly paint your guys’ faces, telling you that she wouldn’t mind giving you tips on how to get the perfect blush.

Even as you two got older, she continued her fiery ways.  

She was the first girl to not mind boldly showing off her bra-strap during middle-school.  She was the first girl of her grade to makeout with someone, being the initiator. She was the first girl to throw a highschool party in your neighborhood when your mom left for one weekend.  

She was the one to always step out of into society and declare the world as hers.  

You admired her for that, always wondering how she found it within herself to never give a fuck what anyone thought of her.  How is it that she never crumbled even in the most unfortunate situations? Her willpower outweighed any self-doubt, meanwhile you were the direct opposite.  

You have always been a deep-thinker, drowning yourself in ‘what ifs’ and made up scenarios that would likely never happen.  You were very tender-hearted, but also very intelligent. You couldn’t solve the puzzle that was the human behavior, and this is why you sheltered yourself from the selfish and greedy enigma that was civilization, knowing it would only baffle your mind and hurt your heart.  

It wasn’t like you were always a crazy hermit, a sad recluse.  

You were just reserved and quiet, but you still managed to have a job and go out from time to time.

It wasn’t until you saw what the outside world could really do that you made the leap to go with what your gut has been telling you all along and fully disassociate with the public.

Being way out there could only get you like your sister; splattered on second avenue while cars just honk and speed by, too bothered with the afternoon rush to give the tragedy a second glance.  

Thus, you haven’t left your apartment in a grand total of six months.  

You got your groceries delivered, any new clothing or purchases were shipped directly to your door and you had someone take away any garbage for you.  

You had no reason to leave the cozy retreat of your apartment.  

Even the therapist that your mother had forced upon you had to come directly to your apartment in order to talk to you.  

Life was going perfectly fine, until one day you woke up...off.  

You laid face up on your cushiony mattress, eyes simply observing your plain white ceiling as the sound of pattering rain rang from outside.  

It was like a gaping hole was torn into your chest overnight.  

You felt yourself desperate for something...you weren’t quite sure what.  A craving that was clawing from the inside out. You scrunched up your face in confusion at the foreign and indescribable feeling.  Your attempted to find the words to decipher what your emotions were, hoping this would lead to an answer. After some investigation, you identified the feelings of emptiness, hollowness and somehow very forlorn.  

This puzzled you because when you live alone in your own home without any outside forces at play, very little could cause you discomfort.  

It wasn’t until you got up and began making a bowl of cereal while a show played in the background that a conclusion finally dawned upon your anemic and foggy brain.  

You were lonely.

Without any consent or knowledge on your part, you felt your eyes water up as they watched the pixelated screen in your living room, glassy orbs drinking in the playing scene with a look of yearning.  

It was a sitcom; two friends were simply bickering over a stupid debate, but the banter was witty and humorous, causing the outdated laugh track to ensue at the perfect times.  

You...wished you had that.  

You wished you had someone to communicate with.  

Someone to exchange thoughts, ideas or jokes with.  You weren’t the most social person, but you were still human.  And isolation only hurted you in the end.

It was tiring to have the walls as your only friends.  It was pathetic to feel the sheer excitement of reading or watching something so good and wanting to talk to someone about it, only to realize you couldn’t.  It was borderline soul crushing to conclude that you could drop dead in your own home and it would take weeks for someone to recognize your absence of life.

But….you still couldn’t bear leaving your home.  

The harshness of reality was still fresh in your mind’s eye, the corpse of your sister laying in the street while the buzz of city life continued all around you, the only witnesses being the in-sensitive assholes who held up their phones to capture the bat-shit crazy scene before bouncing.  

Part of you was very well aware of how absurd and self-pitying your lifestyle and reasoning was, but you couldn’t help but cling to the warm cocoon that was your home.  In your mind, this was a way of grieving. Many people mourn differently, and this just so happened to be your version of grasping with the death of a loved one. At least it wasn’t as self-destructing as other people’s ways, like drinking too much, spending yourself into debt or relying on drugs.  

You just wanted to be alone, safe and comfortable.

What was so wrong with that?  

However, an outlet for some form of communication was needed.  

This is when you pulled out your laptop, beyond grateful that you lived in the digital age where the internet was good ole’ reliable.  

‘Making friends Online’  you typed into the search bar and waited patiently for the results to load up.   

‘FriendMatch- an online service to help you make friends within your area!’ You cringed at this, not liking the idea of said person being very close to where you lived.  The possibility that they could push to meet you was too troublesome.

‘Why You Should Never Make Friends Online.- Scary true stories.’ Not what you were looking for.

‘Flirt.com- Make friends or possibly more ;)’ Again, not what you were looking for.  Looked like a hookup site disguised as ‘friendly meetups’ to hide the fact it was basically a one-night stand program.  

‘Omegle- Chat to strangers via webcam or chat’

With a sigh at the realization that this was probably the best you were going to get, you clicked on the omegle website.  You knew how it worked, given that in middle school many kids would use it to chat with strangers for fun at their lack-luster sleepovers.  

You waited to get set up with a random stranger, reminding yourself that this was just a temporary procedure to brush up on your rusty social skills.  

Your webcam was turned off, but the incoming stranger had his on.  

It was a middle aged man, sat in a dirty and eggshell tank top on a bed with his hand reaching down and out of camera.  You scoffed to think what this fucker was up to.

‘F or M?’ The man typed with his free hand.  You canceled out of that chat.

The next one was a girl, she was laid on her bed wearing a red lingerie set with her makeup and hair done to perfection.  

“Buy my premium snapchat.”  She purred into the camera, you scoffed and exited out of this chat as well.  

The next stranger also had their webcam off.  

You waited for them to type anything, but the chat was dead silent.  It was obvious that they were waiting for you to make the first move.  You inhaled a deep breath and prepared yourself for the first interaction you were going to have with someone who wasn’t your mom or therapist in half a year.  

‘Hi.’  You lamely began.  

You saw dots appear on the screen.  

Then disappear.  

Then the dreaded ‘the stranger has ended the chat, click here to start a new one!’

You wanted to throw your laptop against the wall.  

You almost forgot how sex-crazed and self-centered people were.  All you wanted was a nice conversation but common decency was not an etiquette for the internet.  

You felt embarrassed that you worked up all this nerve for nothing.  It wasn’t a big deal, and you knew that, but it still was a form of you putting yourself on the line to communicate with the very thing you feared- humans.  Only for your fear to be proved significant once again.

You sighed and exited out of the site, back to the search page.  

You scrolled past the results, pouting at the lack of websites that could fulfil your needs.  It wasn’t until you saw one thing that made you pause your scrolling.

‘Why Getting A Pen Pal Is The Best Thing I’ve Ever Done- Quora ’  

Hesitant but curious, you clicked on it,

‘To be honest after years of being a stay at home mom, I never got used to the emptiness of the house after my sons went to college.  I really wanted someone to talk to, just on friendly basis and a good once-a-week type of deal was good enough for me. I watched a true-crime documentary and that’s when the idea of being a pen-pal really hit me.  There are tons of lonely inmates sitting in a cell block of a prison and with no one from the outside world to talk to. I signed up for the program and it’s been a godsend. Me and my pal (George) really just connected and I try to get him through his week as he tries to help me through mine.  It’s a nice bonding experience and very eye-opening. 100% would recommend to anyone feeling a little lonely. It’s a kind thing to do and everyone could use an extra friend!”

A pen pal.

You first thought that anyone who would write letters to prison must’ve been family or friends with someone who actually was in prison.  Why else would they take time out of their day to send a letter in an age where everything is done electronically?

But the more you thought about it, the more appealing the concept became.  

An inmate was someone whom was completely removed from society, someone who most likely felt as isolated as you.  Someone who knew how harsh and cruel the real world was (hell they were evidence of such statement) and someone who you wouldn’t have to face or run into, unless you gone out of your way to see them.  

It was almost a perfect answer to your problems.  

You quickly looked up a pen-pal program to join.

--

‘Dear Mr. or Miss. Prisoner

How would you feel if I told you that someone knowingly locked themselves up in their own jail cell?  

Because I have.  

I haven’t left my apartment in six months, haven’t talked to anyone in about seven.  I never step foot outside my home, petrified by what the outside world holds for me. I don’t know why I’m so afraid of society, all I know is that when I muster the courage to step out; I break out into hives and a panic attack begins to brew.  Thus, I have locked myself up in my own home. A pathetic recluse terrified by a fear that’s completely made up in my own head. Please, tell me what you think of this.

I can imagine that an inmate forcefully locked up in a cell against their own will would read the above and scoff.  Why would someone who has freedom at their fingertips so readily deny it?

I don’t know….but there is a downfall in my strategy of locking myself away from the rest of the world; I’m so lonely.  So lonely, that I decided to sign up for a pen-pal in prison who is probably wondering why such a mentally unstable person had reached out to them.  I just need some interaction, I’m starved for comradery.

What’s your name?

What’s your favorite food?

Please….anything.  

-Regards, Y/n ‘

--

A week later, the familiar knock at your door signaled the incoming of mail.  

You made your way over to where the envelopes were hastily pushed through the slot on your door.  

Bills, coupons, flyers and…...a letter.

You suddenly got flashbacks to when you put your heart onto a college-ruled paper with sloppy handwriting and a self-pitying passage onto a faceless inmate who without a doubt had better shit to worry about.  

You honestly didn’t expect any response, knowing that it was more about you just writing down what you felt more than it was about getting a response.  You didn’t know what to expect when you would open the letter. Probably a ‘you ungrateful bitch, you have everything I want and you lock yourself up for no reason?!’

Or at least something along those lines.  

But, a buzz of excitement still ran faintly through your veins.  Someone was going to be conversing back with you.

With shaking hands, you carefully opened the envelope.  

‘Dear Y/n,

Well, I would feel rather….accepting.  

I think you must be a very wise person to keep yourself far from the wretched claws of society.  The world is fucked and you would have to be a fool not to know that. When I get out of prison, I’m going to keep myself as far away from the public as possible.  I don’t think you’re pathetic, I think you’re just someone who is too fragile for this crazy hell-hole.

I’m lonely too.  Perhaps we can help each other out in this arena.

To answer your questions;

My favorite food is lamb skewers.  

My favorite color is red.  

And my name is Jungkook.  

Please tell me more about yourself.  What triggered you to hide yourself away from the world?

Is it too much to ask for a picture?  I hope it doesn’t sound creepy but it would be very nice to put a face to my new friend.

~Love, JK’

Your heart leapt.

It was a very short letter, but the contents meant the world to you in that moment.  

He called you his ‘friend’.  

You hadn’t had one of those in years.  

He acknowledge your paranoia, giving it reason and not making you feel like a freak.  For the first time in your life, you felt understood at face value. You didn’t need to defend your lifestyle with him. Instead of trying to convince you that your fear was irrational and to try to get you to get out of your comfort zone, he embraced your reasoning and accepted it without a harsh line of questioning.  

Stunned, you took the letter over to your bed to analyze once more.  

His handwriting was very neat and careful, you wondered if that reflected back into his persona at all, or if he was just someone who naturally had very good penmanship.

He had asked for a picture, and an unfamiliar feeling of anxiety plummeted your stomach.  

What if he thought you were too ugly?  

Or what if he was just some freak who wanted some jerk-off material?

But….you couldn’t deny that you also wanted to see the face of the guy who you would exchange letters with.  You supposed it was natural to want to have a clear image of whom you were communicating with. Afterall, it was kind of intimate the things you shared.  

You smiled and got excited to write another letter.  

But first, you had to find out to make yourself presentable for a photo.  

--

Dear Jungkook,

Words cannot express how thankful I am that you answered my pathetic call for help.  Seriously, it’s been so long since I have talked to anyone so openly and some might say that a random inmate it a bad choice for such companionship but I disagree.  Call me crazy Jungkook, but I think we can understand each other very well. I nearly cried when you called me your friend. I’m afraid I’m not a very interesting person to get to know.  My favorite color is (color), my favorite food is (food), I am (age) and I’m (height) tall. Very bland, I know.

To answer your question on why I hide myself...well it’s a long story.

People tell me that I have a phobia, a disorder of the mind that I should see a shrink for.  To be honest, I think I’m the sanest person I know. I have always had a general fear of all things concerning the public.  It wasn’t until I saw my sister ran over in front of me and how the city just kept moving on as if nothing happened that I realized how little the outside setting cares for me, and how little I shall care for it.  My home is heaven on earth and I see no reason to leave it for the chaos that lies outside.

Here is that picture you asked for, I’m sorry I’m not much of a looker.  But hey, when you hole yourself up for months on end, why feel the need to be prettied up for someone?  I don’t know if this is allowed, but is there a way I can see what you look like? I think it’s only fair.  

Much love, Y/n’

--

‘Dear Y/n,

I thought you were a very smart person but obviously not.

‘Not much of a looker’ ….what a fucking joke.  

You’re by far one of the most breathtaking things I have laid eyes on in a long time (in or out of prison).  It’s a good thing you chose to stay indoors, men are pigs and they wouldn’t hesitate to eat you up the moment they got the chance.  

On a more somber note, I’m very sorry to hear about your sister, Y/n.  The world is a very sinister place and you shouldn’t have to witness such a tragedy in the midst of some city bastards who have their heads too far up their asses to notice anything else.  

Your home sounds lovely, I’m sure it’s a very homey and comfortable place.  I bet you’re the type of person to make any guest feel right at home. I also don’t see why you’d want to leave it.

I understand your pain, Y/n.  It’s almost as if we’re kindred spirits.  When my mom passed away, no one gave a shit.  They all just were just focused on throwing me in jail, labeling me a criminal without knowing my story.  

I do not think your first letter was a ‘pathetic cry for help’.  

I think we were meant to find each other.  

I think that we have a lot in common.  When two people find each other under unconventional circumstances and have such mindsets and tragedies in common...well, that’s has to mean something. Right?  I await your letters now with great anticipation. It’s the highlight of my days.

Here is a picture of me.  

Quite the ladies man, am I right? :)’

--

Dear Jungkook,

…..I guess you’re not the worst face I’ve seen.

Just kidding, you are very handsome.  Surprisingly young looking too. How old are you?  I was half expecting a 40 year old man to be on the receiving end of my letters haha.

Thank you for the compliments, although I’m afraid I’m average looking at best.  My sister was the better looking one between us two.

If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your mother?  

I understand if you don’t wish to talk about it in greater detail.  When my sister first died I was very annoyed at the people who would pry.  Isn’t it funny how when someone dies everyone suddenly becomes interested? Humans are fucked I swear to god.  My mom had to hold me back at her funeral, some people really came in and had the audacity to make it about themselves.  

As for your stance on us being connected in some way, I have to say the evidence sure is stacked.  When I attempt to explain my fear to people, they all look at me like I’m crazy or try to convince me it’s all in my head.  I think my fear is very rational. I think you were the first person I’ve ever encountered to just accept it and even agree with it to a certain extent.  I’m very happy that you enjoy my letters. I enjoy yours too. You’re the only person I communicate with and you seem like marvelous company. How do you spend your days in prison?  Walk me through a day in our life.

Love, Y/n

P.s Jungkook, you never told me why you’re in prison’

--

My Dearest Y/n,

You can’t deny this face, Y/n.  Many women have tried and failed.  

I’m 21 years old, sorry if a middle aged man was what you wanted.  

And I doubt that your sister was better looking than you.  Darling, you’re kind of my dream girl if I’m being real with you.  Your face is so cute and round, your eyes are very wide and innocent, your nose is so tiny and cute, your hair looks very soft and forgive me but your lips are too pink and soft to be allowed.  I would hang your picture on my wall, but I don’t like thinking that m cell mate could get his rocks off on your image, so I keep it folded neatly under my pillow. I apologise if this is too forward but it’s your right to know just the effect you have on me.  I am a man in prison, afterall. I’m very lucky you stumbled upon the pen-pal program.

As for my mother, well she got very sick with terminal cancer.  She died about a year ago. Around the same time your sister died if my calculations are correct.  Odd how intertwined our tragedies are...

I don’t do much in this barren wasteland.  Get up, get breakfast, shower, outdoors time, then I usually draw or catch up on letters to you, lunch, recreational time, workout then dinner and lights out.  Very boring. How about you? Walk me through your day-to-day.

-love, Jk

P.s. You’re really adorable, you know that right?  It’s nothing too bad, don’t worry. Just robbed some places because I was desperate to get the treatment for my mom.

--

Dear JK,

My day to day is also lifeless, I’m afraid.  

I basically read books all day or watch old movies.  Throw in a couple meals, naps and showers in there and you got a day in the life of Y/n.  

Today, something scary happened though.  My mom showed up to my apartment all drunk and belligerent, hollering that I’m a fuck up that needs to live in the real world and get out.  She even said that she sometimes wished it was me instead of my sister who got ran over.

...I don’t think I’ve ever felt such shame than in the moment.  

I really wanted someone to protect me from her...from what she represented.  She was a symbol for the unstable and wild whirlwind that is what lies outside my door.  I felt violated, my cozy home no longer safe. But, I suppose she was right. I am a disappointed.  Drunk words are sober thoughts.

Jungkook, why am I like this?  

Perhaps you can show me your drawings sometime, I’m sure they’re excellent  I get the sense that you’re an artistic soul.

And I’m very angry on your behalf that the justice system failed you.  I’m sorry that you were just trying to save your mom.

With love, Y/n.

--

My Dearest Y/n,

Your mother is an idiotic drunk who wouldn’t know common sense if it slapped her in the face.  With all disrespect, what does that woman know? How dare she come to your residence and berate you for being the ‘fucked up’ one?  She’s the one who attempted to find a solution to her problems at the bottom of a bottle...how hypocritical.

What are your favorite books and movies?  

I didn’t read or watch much when I was free, I was too busy with my mom.  I still drew a lot though, even as a free man.

Here is a few pieces of my art.  I hope you don’t mind that I used you as the muse.  I think I got your face down pretty well though, didn’t I?  I practiced it so much, I may know it better than the back of my own hand.  

You know….we may want to upgrade our letters into actual phone calls.  Tell me what you think of this idea. Call it weird, but I can picture your voice so delicately in my head when I read your letters.  I bet it’s very sweet sounding, a gently sculpted face has to have an equally dulcet voice.

Love, Jk.

--

My Dearest Y/n,

I’m sure you must’ve gotten busy, why else haven’t you written in a week?  

Or maybe your doing your best to start calling instead of writing.  

Please send back a letter though, as soon as you can,  In this cell, the only thing I have to look forward to is your letters.  

Love, JK.

--

My Dearest Y/n,

Where have you gone?  You haven’t forgotten about me have you?  

I thought you said you were like me, afraid of the world and unwilling to be bare to it.  I thought we were the only ones who understood each other….

Please, stop this silence.  

Love, JK.

--

Y/n,

This isn’t funny anymore.  

I need to know that you’re okay.  

Please, even if it’s a letter cussing me out...I just need to know you’re fine.  I’m locked away and couldn’t do a wellness check if I wanted to.

What happened to my friend?

Love, JK.

--

Dear Jungkook (or should I say Easter Bunny?)

I know what you did.

I know that you lied to me.

I know you’re a murder.

Friends don’t lie to each other, Jungkook.  

I think it’s best if we find different Pen Pals.  

All my best wishes, Y/n.

--

My Dearest Y/n,

I see you found out about the nickname the hideous press gave me.

Well….I think this type of revelation is best talked over in person.  

I’ll see you soon.  

--

I honestly think this chapter is trash and I’m sorry it’s not better.  It’s such a new concept that I honestly have very little experience doing a framework like this.  I wanted it to be focused on the reader bc it’s vital character development for later chapters that will be way more intense.  I hate filler chapters but there will most likely be a 1.5 chapter to help you guys understand wtf just happened.  Please lemme know what you thought of this trash chapter.  

#yandere #yandere bts #jeon jungkook #BTS jungkook #jungkook #yandere jungkook #bts #bangtan boys #kpop #my writing #obsessive #love #prison #pen pal #chinkbihh

[ceratonia-siliqua]

Heaven Is a City We’ve Been Priced Out Of (Ch 1)

Another death is nothing, but the life he finds in the wake of it means everything. --- After taking out a target, Bucky just plans on getting home and going from there. Running into heaven in the form of the skinny little slip of Peter Parker was not part of the plan. Doesn't matter now though, Bucky isn't leaving without the mysterious angel in the slums.

AO3 LINK 

Warnings: Underweight character (due to poverty), violence, drowning, mentions of drugs (no usage), and possessive behavior.

The ones like this. The slow ones. They were one of the few times he truly felt something other than indifference. One of the few times he felt pity. As the grimy little thing seized in his hands some part of him, the once human part, hoped that this was a release. A sad, painful life this thing had lived, it was written in it’s skin. The dirt, the leathery hide, the wrinkles, all signs of a poorly lived life. A series of mistakes that lead it to Bucky’s hands to die, drowned in less than a foot of water as he held its face submerged in a bucket by the neck. Sinking it would have been too obvious, holding it in the river itself too loud. So he sat here, stiff as steel, unflinching as he felt the body desperately suck in water looking for air. Pained gurgling that had made lesser men empty their stomachs. Thought he could hear the lungs sloshing.

It gave one final kick and slumped. Bucky held it there a few moments longer, making sure the deed was well and truly done. He let go and the bucket slipped, the homeless man slumped to the ground, now drenched in water. Bucky’s arms covered in scratches which had bled under the dead man’s fingernails. He dragged the body towards the river. The yawning void of night swallowing the scene, a bad part of town where predators lesser than him lurked. No one would see the man who had to die. The man who had stumbled in on a Family dealing, a deal meant to be so secret not even Bucky knew the details. Why they had sent their top enforcer made sense in that light, even if the man was an easy kill, failure was too dangerous to risk.

Bucky silently slid the man into the water. Waded in, washed under the man’s nails to remove evidence of his existence. Scooped mud from the bed of the river to redirty them. He went out till he was chest-deep, rolled the body in the water to ensure nothing was dry. Let the body settle face down before pushing it out into the current, watched as the mass of tattered cloth was whisked away in the turbulent, black water.

He got out, stripped his wet clothes off and threw them, wrapped in a plastic bag, into the ratty backpack he had brought. Put on beat-up jeans and an old T-shirt, a well-worn coat and barely held together shoes. Picked up the various ‘valuable’ trash he had originally put in the bucket before setting off. The last article of clothing dawned, an old blue baseball cap.

The quickest way back was through the tent city he had originally come through. He retraced his steps, the man in the river already forgotten, just another body that marked him a killer. It seemed as though those within the homeless encampment knew that as well, the dirt paths between the cluttered tents strangely empty. Prey could always sense the proximity of a predator it seemed.

He was studying a strange sculpture in front of one of the tents when he walked into something. The clattering of cans and the short point of contact led him to believe it had been a garbage can until he heard a high “I’m sorry!”

He was going to ignore it, keep walking and leave the rat to scuttle amongst its filth when he caught a flash of the boy in front of him. The kid could barely have been older than eighteen. Big doe eyes and wild oaken curls, milk-white skin hidden underneath dirt and poverty. For the second time that night he felt. This time it wasn’t pity, there was certainly sadness but this feeling… it warmed him. His very bones sang with the image of divine beauty before him. The dim street lights in the distance seemed to build a hazy halo and for a second Bucky wondered if he had truly found an angel. It seemed as though God had a cruel sense of humor to place such beauty before him after he had smothered a helpless soul only twenty minutes before. He wanted to reach out, feel divinity on a carnal level. He wanted to-

“I’m so sorry sir!” The sweet bell of the angel’s voice brought him back to reality. To the fact that the angel was kneeling in the dirt at his feet, scrambling for cans that had been dropped and scattered. No place for a being of heaven.

He crouched down and helped pick up the trash, placing it in a plastic grocery bag where the others that had been retrieved sat. “It’s alright, shoulda been lookin’ where I was goin.”

They picked up the rest of the cans in strangely comfortable silence, though Bucky wished to hear his voice once again.

“Ah, thank you for helping me. Most people would have either taken them or kept walking. I really appreciate it.” The kid looked up at him. Those honey brown eyes melting his heart, their gaze saying so much more than his words could.

“Of course, seems rude to walk away when you were in need’a help.” As though he hadn’t been planning on just that.

“Still, thank you. I don’t think I’ve seen you around? Are you new here?” Those sweet eyes blinked at him, curious as they melted through every wall he’d ever put up.

“Yeah, just came to this part of the city, didn’t know it existed before.” Not a complete lie, though Bucky had never been one to care about the morality of such a thing. Yet, lying to this man more than needed made him feel off kilter, like there was something wrong about it here and now.

“Oh, yeah, most people don’t know about it. They don’t want to think about us, sadly it’s easier to forget than try to fix it.” The kid stood up. Bucky mirrored him, never taking his eyes off him. “I’m Peter by the way.” A frail, bone-thin hand reached out towards him.

Bucky saw that hand and it was like he’d been slapped across the face with it. Suddenly the sallow body before him came into focus, the beauty still fiercely present but a sickness hid behind it. Something in him broke at the sight, a protective instinct he didn’t know had been living buried under his skin ripped through him. He took that hand ever so gently, wanted to cradle it between both of his own but refrained. His closed fist swallowed that tiny hand. He could feel every knob, every knuckle, bone, and tendon shifting under that paper-thin skin. He didn’t dare squeeze, terrified he would shatter it. “Bucky, pleasure to meet you.”

Peter blushed and it stoked a fire inside of Bucky, the flare of pink bringing life back into that now too pale looking skin. Bucky had to resist every instinct to consume the angelic little thing as Peter politely pulled his hand away.

“Well Bucky, I know it’s a bit late but would you like to come by my tent? I don’t have much but I’d like to treat you to a snack if you’d be willing.” The kid wouldn’t make eye contact, glanced away. Bucky wanted to hear him say his name again, wanted to hear it whispered in his ear between gasped breaths and screamed as he slotted himself inside Peter’s body.

“Course, doll. Lead the way.” He gestured absently with his hand towards the dirt path.

Peter strode ahead, so trusting as he left Bucky at his back. It made the hunger grow. In his world, trust was everything, to have it so easily given made him want to know more. Made him want to keep Peter and all his innocent trust to himself.

The journey took longer than he expected. Peter’s tent seemed to be on the very edge of the encampment, a fact that set off alarm bells in Bucky’s head. The farther his tent was from the center the more likely he was to be attacked and harmed. Such a frail thing would be easily overpowered and wounded. It triggered a rolling swell in his gut, a muted anger that these people would leave someone so vulnerable on the outskirts in a place set up to provide safety in numbers. That anger only bloomed into a simmering rage when he realized Peter had a limp. He’d seen enough of them to know it, even as Peter clearly tried to hide it. It wasn’t an old knee injury-induced one, Bucky had seen enough busted knee caps to know it. No, this limp was from a hip injury, how it occurred was beyond him but that fact was as clear as day.

Peter brought him to a dark green tent that had seen far better days. It had been patched with duct tape, plastic bags, and even small strips of cloth. It was filled with numerous holes too small to bother patching up, that said, there were spots where the fabric puckered from being sewn together. This tent was old, older than Peter. Pointed to the fact that even amongst the homeless this boy was at the bottom rungs of poor, barely sitting above those without tents. Peter stopped in front of the zipped up entrance and faced Bucky.

“There isn’t much but it’s mine. It’s meant for four people but it might still be a little tight. You’re a lot… broader than I am so I don’t know, hopefully it’s not too small.” Peter gave a nervous smile, like he was trying to make Bucky comfortable with all this.

He wasn’t, but not in the way he knew the boy was worried about. “I’m sure it’s lovely doll, don’t be nervous for my sake. I can promise I’ve seen worse things.” Far worse. Terrible, terrible things.

That blush popped back up again, warmed Bucky up once again only to be doused by a bucket of ice water. Peter opened the tent, inside was almost harder to see than the outside. A pile of bags filled with cans sat in one corner, waiting to be recycled for change. A small pile of food, barely worthy of being called a pile as it consisted of a few cans and a plastic tray of cookies, all carefully taken care of and clean despite the dirt that seemed to cling to his skin. Ratty blankets took up a third of the floor space, all threadbare and providing a poor illusion of being better than sleeping on dirt. Each detail chipped away as his cold heart, somehow thawed out by this angel disguised as a wretch. It should have been frightening, to become so attached so quickly, to want to protect this being with every fiber of his own. It was foreign, completely alien to Bucky but in a way, it grounded him. Just the short time he’d already been around Peter made things feel sharper and brought him into the present. Like he had been dissociating, barely within himself all this time and Peter was a light sent to return him home. Bucky had never been a religious man but in this moment he felt as if Peter may be something beyond human, a gift sent specifically to pull at Bucky and make him feel.

Peter took off his shoes, beat to hell red converse that were held together by hope and tape. It was such a domestic and ingrained activity, yet strange to see in this context. Slapped Bucky across the face as once again he was forced to acknowledge that this hovel was Peter’s home and had been for god knows how long. Bucky set the bucket he’d been carrying outside and slipped his own shoes off, seeing how clean the floor of the tent was earnestly kept.

“You can bring your shoes in, just stick them by the entrance. Some people will take anything not nailed down.” Peter said it jokingly but it only made Bucky wonder if the sparse belongings were because of someone following exactly that code.

“I have cookies, they’re fudge stripes! I got them a few days ago, this nice old lady offered to buy me a snack. I… probably should have asked for something a little more substantial but I couldn’t resist. It’s been a long time since I’ve had sweets.” There was a distinctly sad note to Peter’s voice. Bucky hated it, never wanted to hear it again. Too permeated by sadness already.

“Doesn’t hurt to enjoy the little things.” Not that he got to enjoy much of anything.

“Well, I’m glad I have them at least. It’s a bit harder to share stuff from a can. My spoon broke so I just kind of drink out of them. I don’t think you’d appreciate swapping germs with a random stranger all that much.” Peter smiled as he opened the tray of cookies, slid out the plastic holder, and held it out to Bucky.

Bucky tried not to think about how he wanted to do a lot more than just swap germs with Peter. But, he was a man of control, and even though this slip of a thing was working his way under Bucky’s skin in the most pleasant of ways, it didn’t suddenly void his training. He took two cookies after Peter encouraged him to take more than one.

“So, Peter… How long have you lived out here?” Took a bite of the cookie, hated the taste of over-processed flour and cheap chocolate but was willing to put up with it when Peter beamed. He seemed to take pride in being able to give despite having so little.

“Oh, here specifically it’s been about six months but I’ve been homeless for about a year total.” Peter was shoving a cookie in his mouth as he rustled around in the blankets, looking for something. Bucky zeroed in, watching as even with this helpless one he could not break the need to be on guard.

“And how’d you end up homeless, kid?”

Peter stopped and looked at him. “I know that there are a lot of stereotypes out there but it wasn’t drugs if that’s what you’re thinking,” he resumed looking, found his prize in the form of a small box of cigarettes. Bucky couldn’t help but note the irony. “I lost my aunt and uncle in an accident. I lived with them for most of my life after my parents passed. They didn't have life insurance so I was on my own. Had to sell everything to pay off their debts and then my hips were crushed in a car accident three months later. I lost my job and all the insurance payouts went to medical bills because I didn’t have health insurance. Seems like insurance is the root of all evil in my stories,” He laughed and offered Bucky the box of paper wrapped nicotine. He explained when Bucky shot him a look. “I don’t smoke but they’re good for trading. You said you were new to this whole thing so I thought it might help you out some to have these.”

Fuck, fuck, this god damn kid. He couldn’t leave him here. Couldn’t let such a sweet soul rot out here in slums of the city. Bucky’s world may be dark but at least it isn’t this. At least there is food and a bed. At least every moment wasn’t trying to survive solely on chance and the kindness of others, however rare it may be. Could be yours. You could keep him safe, an angel all your own. He doesn’t have to say yes… A voice whispered in the back of his mind, dark not like his own but… persuasive.

“Peter, you don’t have to give me those… I’m not homeless, I was just passin’ through. Was headin’ to my car just on the other side of all this.”

Peter wilted, set the pack of smokes off to the side. “Oh, I’m sorry for assuming. People just don’t usually come through here unless they are.”

Bucky gently caught Peter’s hands, startling them both. “Peter, let me take you home. Let me treat you right. You shouldn’t be out here, let me take care of you.” Knew he sounded crazy, could see it in Peter’s eyes.

“Bucky… that’s really kind of you but…” I don’t know you; know if you’re safe to go with. Peter didn’t say it but Bucky could hear it.

The same voice whispered to him, telling him to just go the easy route, pick up the kid and leave. No one would notice but… Seeing him wilt like that just from Bucky rejecting the cigarettes told him all he needed to know. The beauty on the outside was alluring but the peaking light of his personality was something he wanted, needed. He wouldn’t risk destroying that, not now.

Bucky reached into his back pocket and flicked open a pocket knife, held it out by the blade to Peter, didn’t miss him flinch. “I know I’m askin’ a lot here, doll. Can’t have trust without earnin’ it. If you don’t feel safe then you can take a stab at me.” Covering the blade he set his fist lightly just below his ribs. “Just take a shot here, blade isn’t long enough to kill me but it’ll still hurt like a bitch.” He held it out again, this time a little closer to Peter. Let the knife rest on his open palm this time.

Peter picked it up very carefully. The knife was carbon black all over and the blade about as long as his pointer finger. Bucky used it for a variety of things. It wasn’t a great weapon but it was reasonable for someone on the street to casually have. Even if Peter tried to stab him, he didn’t have the training to do much damage, and Bucky could easily stop him before it plunged through his skin. No, this was about proving something. Showed that Bucky was willing to give this stranger a weapon to defend himself to prove he meant no harm, risking his own hide if Peter ended up being the “dangerous” one here.

Peter looked up at him out of those doe eyes, so large in his hunger ridden face. “Okay, I’ll go with you, but only for tonight.”

Bucky wanted to laugh, Peter wasn’t leaving tomorrow. He’d go the peaceful route first, certainly, but Peter had sealed his fate by taking the knife.

Bucky shuffled out of the tent. “Let’s go. It’s gettin’ late and we’re gonna have to run through somewhere and pick up food. I’ll have groceries delivered tomorrow, you can tell me what you like and I’ll make sure it’s in the pantry.” He could feel Peter’s need to protest, wanted to grin when it didn’t come. The temptation already enough to stifle complaint.

He slipped on his shoes, picked up the bucket, and held out his hand to Peter. The young man gave it a suspicious glance before gently taking it. Bucky did let himself smile this time, happy to have this tiniest of surrenders. His car was only a few minutes away but he had a feeling Peter would grow tired. The hand not only a warming point of contact but a way for Bucky to assess Peter’s exhaustion.

“Come on, sugar. Car isn’t terribly far. Food and shower seem like priorities right about now so we’ll go somewhere quick. Any preferences?” Bucky wasn’t normally a talker, in fact, the amount he’d spoken in the last twenty minutes was more than he had willingly in the last four months. Something about the kid made him chatty, made him want to run his mouth just to see how Peter would react to every word.

“Um, just something warm.” Peter squeezed Bucky’s hand for stability as they clambered over uneven ground. Peter had closed the knife and was holding it in his other hand, not quite relaxed but not strung tight. “I’ll really eat anything, it’s just cold and I think something warm would help.”

The word ‘cold’ pinged in Bucky’s mind as he realized that yes, it was. Things like that didn’t normally come up on his radar, weather was one of those things that just was so he was inclined to ignore it. He only ever considered it when he needed to dress appropriately to blend in. He slowed for a second and slipped his hand from Peter’s to remove his coat, handing it off to Peter.

“Bucky, you don’t have to give me your coat. It’s cold and you’re already doing so much-”

“I’ll live, cold doesn’t bother me much and you need the insulation.”

Peter looked like he wanted to protest, and seemed about to. Bucky cut him off by taking the coat back briefly so he could drape it across the smaller’s shoulders. He picked Peter’s hand back up and went back to their march towards the car, charmed briefly by Peter’s childish huff as he followed Bucky’s lead.

It didn’t take all that long. The car came into view, exactly where he left it. It was a painfully dull car, one of the various work vehicles the Family had on hand that he was given to use. The license plates were regularly swapped and all under false identities just in case it was ever linked to a scene. It was a perfectly serviceable car, which was why Bucky didn’t think about the challenge it might pose for Peter’s injured hip.

Bucky unlocked the car and opened the passenger door for Peter, who stood there staring at it. He naturally read it as hesitation, Peter possibly reconsidering.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Ready to catch him if he ran or lunged.

“Yeah, um, I- I can’t crouch that far without… without my hip locking up and falling.” Clearly embarrassed to admit, refusing to look at Bucky.

Relief. “Oh, doll, I’ll help you. Come ‘ere.” He gently maneuvered the smaller man so his back was against the open door frame. “Put your ‘ands on my shoulders and I’ll lower you down.” The ‘h’s disappearing in the softness of his accented voice.

Peter complied, held on tight as Bucky bent his knees and braced Peter with an arm just below his rear and a hand on his lower back. Bucky had lifted and lowered enough bodies to know it needed to all be in the knees as he crouched to help Peter down. Nearly purring as those arms wrapped around his neck, clinging to him as Peter was guided down into the seat.

“Thank you, Bucky.” Peter withdrew, not in fear but merely to situate himself, buckle in.

“Anytime.” Shut the door carefully and moved around the other side, scanning the area for anything abnormal, anything he should worry himself with. Nothing but the empty night looked back at him. He dumped the trash in the bucket into the bin in front of his car where he’d found it and stuck it in the back seat as he climbed into the driver seat.

Peter had his hands folded in his lap. The knife still closed and now resting between his clamped thighs. Bucky wanted to reach over and feel the soft muscle giving under his hand, to pet at the pretty thing next to him. Instead, he jammed the key into the ignition and listened as it hummed to life. Pulled away into the night without looking back, for the first time bringing back a life where he should have left death and death alone.

#siliqua writes #winterspider #bucky barnes #peter parker #peter parker x bucky barnes #mafia!bucky #hitman!bucky #homeless!peter #bucky is real sweet on this kid #will i ever write something other than winterspider? #god only knows #one day ill write s'tucky like I promised #but today is not that day

[darkhymns-fic]

Memories of Coffee

Not every memory would be pleasant, but they come to him, unannounced. The cup of coffee, however, stayed warm in his hands.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Kratos Aurion/Anna Irving, Lloyd Irving Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: Written for @krannaweek Day 1: Hot and Cold. This came out longer than I meant it to so I hope it reads ok! (The kranna starts not long after the beginning, promise).

—

Kratos had long tried to forget about Anna, even after he had discovered her grave at Lloyd’s home. But memories had a way of sneaking up on him at the most inopportune moments.

As the campfire crackled in the quiet night, he heard soft muttering from a few feet away. He noted that Lloyd had been a restless sleeper ever since he forcibly joined their group, the Chosen never protesting it. Kratos waited, already predicting when the boy (his son) would wake up, his uneasiness of the journey settling in on his consciousness, even when he was unaware.

Such instincts could have been learned, could have been inherited. It wasn’t Kratos’ place to say.

Keeping his eyes on a sleepy Noishe, who softly wagged his tail as he laid on the ground near Kratos, the footsteps he expected soon came, followed by a tired voice. Of course, the boy must have noted the empty space near him, prompting him to ask the one who called himself a mercenary

“Hey… Where’s Colette?”

He only briefly turned to find Lloyd standing before him, rubbing at his eyes. The firelight caught the shade of familiar burnished brown hair, and Kratos had to turn away, facing the west. “You should be sleeping.”

Even after taking up on his training lessons, Lloyd would still get highly annoyed with him, as he did now. “Ugh, well I can’t. Shouldn’t Colette be sleeping then?”

“The Chosen is over on the hillside,” he said, along with a brief nod towards the direction.

A small pause, one of incredulity, or so Kratos assumed. “And you just let her go off by herself?” Lloyd said accusingly. “Some guard you are! I thought things were dangerous!”

“The Chosen requested it,” he simply stated, and was soon answered by an irritated scoff. He turned back to find the exasperated boy, still very tired, but now already heading towards the west, the fire still highlighting his hair.

“Well, I’m gonna make sure she’s okay if you’re not doing anything.” Again, that irritation, and it was something in that which finally made Kratos stand, reaching out his hand to grip Lloyd’s shoulder.

“H-Hey! What are you-?”

“Over here first,” he stated, turning back to the campfire – as well as the pot of coffee he was brewing. He knelt to retrieve the kettle, along with cups he had gathered previously for the occasion.

Lloyd was too confused, as well as too fatigued, to ask him. And that was fine, for as he examined the coffee, one of those old memories came back, like the soft rumblings of a storm, where all one could do was wait out until it was over.

---

.

.

.

Anna had said virtually nothing to him the entire night, even as her footsteps lagged behind his, even as she nearly tumbled headfirst onto the ground because of exhaustion and refused his help. Kratos felt the same, his Exsphere pushed to the limit to keep his own body going. Although it had been days since breaking out of the ranch, it felt as if they were always being chased.

“Here we can rest,” he said finally, to break the silence between them. The grove he picked was far out of the way of most villages in Sylvarant, hopefully not well-drawn on most Desian maps either. He already set about to make a campfire, careful to not use any of his magic, careful to not reveal too much to the woman who had once been in shackles.

But Anna would still say nothing, instead simply seating herself on the ground, hands over her knees, pointedly looking away from him. The simple clothes they had given her at the ranch was frayed, nearly ripped apart on one side. They only had time to pass through one town, Kratos quickly shopping for a few essentials, such as food, gels, and a traveling cloak for Anna. He blamed himself for not getting her new clothes, but she had barely accepted the cloak as it were, only doing so when the night had grown too cold.

So many questions to ask, but she wouldn’t talk. He didn’t know how to help her talk, to at least assure her that danger was gone this very night. He didn’t know how to explain on just why he had done all this for her in the first place.

Maybe a warm drink would smooth away tension, he had thought dimly.

On his quick shopping trip, Kratos had acquired some coffee, as well as a kettle to help brew the liquid in. He made their campfire, all while Anna stayed seated on the ground. He felt her eyes on him then, turning back briefly to find the firelight bounce against burnished brown hair. But still she said nothing. What other words could be said? Their entire time together had been awkward, mainly filled with the dread of being found by Cruxis. It was not his place to make her trust him, when he had just broken her out of the ranch with barely an explanation.

So he put his efforts into making something, pouring the liquid in a tin cup before handing it to Anna. Her face had been hidden in shadows, only slightly revealed as she raised her head, the firelight shining off her features.

“This is hot coffee,” he told her. “Please drink if you wish.”

It was then she finally spoke her first words in hours. “Coffee? This late at night?��

Frankly, it was the reaction he hadn’t anticipated. Kratos cleared his throat, feeling as if he had just been scolded. “It would be prudent to stay aware of our surroundings,” he offered as explanation.

At that, Anna looked back to the cup he held out to her, before gently taking it from him, carefully avoiding his touch. She didn’t offer her thanks. He didn’t expect it. He politely turned away so that she could drink it in peace. Maybe he could arrange for better shelter for them with the trees overhead-

That was when he heard a sharp choke, followed by coughing. Hand instinctively going to his sword’s hilt, he turned back towards Anna. Had an enemy snuck through?

Instead, Anna was spitting out the coffee, some of it hitting the campfire, making it hiss. “Ugh! What is in this?!” she yelled.

Kratos was stunned. “What’s wrong? Are you allergic to coffee? I didn’t-”

“N-No! I’m…” Another cough, Anna wiping away at her mouth with the hem of her cloak. “Just… this tastes completely awful!”

He blinked in response, but said nothing in his defense.

“And… this isn’t even hot? It’s ice cold! How did you manage that?”

An embarrassed flush coated his cheeks. Ah. His Exsphere. He had adjusted it so that he would not need to sleep, to eat or drink, or to even feel. Of course, that included temperatures…

Finally, Anna had stopped hacking her lungs out, still clutching the tin cup, though now holding it out in front of her a few feet as if it were a cursed artifact. “It tastes like… complete and utter despair,” she said with a grimace. “Have you never made a pot of coffee in your life?”

Well, the last had been quite some time ago…

Instead, all he did was look down at the ground, finally releasing his grip on his sword. “Forgive me. I suppose my skills have been lacking in that area.”

Another silence between them, except from the crackling of a newborn campfire. Then, Anna laughed. Softly, lightly. She stunned him again, but for now vastly different reasons.

“You act as if you had just poisoned me,” she joked, shoulders shaking in mirth. Until she stopped, eyeing him under her eyelashes. “That’s not true, is it? Was this your attempt at finishing me off?”

Kratos stuttered, at a complete loss on what to say. “I-I would… would not do something so underhanded-”

She waved him off, still sporting a grin. “Okay, okay, you’re forgiven either way.” She took a deep breath, bringing in the tin cup close to her chin. “But, this is amazing in it’s own way. I had no idea coffee could taste so much like mud, right down to the texture.” She laughed again, looking up to him.

Kratos knew by now that he was completely red in the face. “I suppose it is acceptable to laugh at my shortcomings.”

At that, she tilted her head at him. Again, the firelight caught her hair. Again, Kratos was at a loss on what to say next.

“You are…the most serious, and the most dour person I have ever met.” She said this thoughtfully, eyes flicking back to the cup cradled in both hands before lifting it to take another sip.

Widened eyes and a short step forward. Yet Kratos hung back helplessly as Anna sipped down the rest of the coffee with obvious distaste in her expression. “Anna-” he started, a bit aghast that just now, after their escape, he had finally used her name.

She had caught onto that as well, her eyes sharp as she lowered the cup from her lips. A shudder went through her, but she smiled. “Still tastes horrible, and it’s making me colder… but it will keep me up for sure.”

Again, he couldn’t resist one final apology. “I am sorry. It was thoughtless of me to not think that you would want to sleep.”

She shook her head, then reached for the same kettle that Kratos had used, pouring more of the terrible coffee into her cup. Once done, she then handed the cup to him.

Anna continually stunned him, and in his surprise, he automatically reached for the proffered coffee, remembering to adjust his Exsphere’s capabilities. Ah. Even without the absence of touch, he should have noted the lack of steam from the coffee…

“Drink it.”

Kratos raised his head at her. But her smile showed it wasn’t really a punishment.

“Stay up as well and talk with me tonight,” she said. “I’ve had a hard time sleeping anyway. Another voice would be good.” But something flickered in her expression then, something that pierced through him, but softly. “Unless you don’t need this coffee to stay awake.”

She knew more than she let on. It was those same searching eyes that drew him to her in the first place.

Kratos swallowed the coffee in one sip, his taste buds back in full degree. At least Anna had been happy.

.

.

.

---

Lloyd’s impatience was palpable, brimming in the air like the summer heat. But Kratos kept his motions in careful control, this time examining the pot, adjusting the flames of the campfire, stray embers buffeted by a brief wind. He had practiced ever since that night.

There were several mugs at the foot of the fire, much of them plain and bought quickly for travel. But Kratos noted two kinds; one made of wood that looked weathered, unpolished, but sturdy. It had been crafted well and would last for several more years to come. The other was of expensive porcelain but nicked on one side, patterns of swirling blue near its rim. Kratos handled this one carefully, for it would only be more damaged if it was dropped, if it would even survive the fall.

By the time he had finished pouring the coffee into both, he stood up to face Lloyd, who still looked impatient and a little peeved, but blinked at the proffered mugs.

“Take these for yourself and the Chosen,” he said. The steam rose from the mugs, only to quickly dissipate with the wind.

Lloyd looked at them, then back to Kratos, confused. “Coffee? This late? Why?”

Memories come up when you least expect them to. But he was careful not to let anything show. It was not a burden that Lloyd needed at this time. He would have plenty more to come.

“To stay aware of our surroundings,” he had said, looking back out into the distance, for he was on watch, after all. “Assassins chase after the Chosen. Keep an eye on her.”

For Lloyd’s eyes, like his mother’s, were sharp. Not everything would be hidden from him for very long.

“…Okay,” Lloyd finally said, taking the mugs. “And… thanks.”

The boy (their son) finally left, heading towards the west, towards the small hill where the Chosen stood. He spared a quick glance to see her turn at the sound of Lloyd’s footsteps. The smile she gave was familiar, he felt, and only given the moment her eyes settled on Lloyd coming close.

Kratos thought at first about listening in, to understand the moment of Lloyd’s discovery. But instead, he minimized his hearing, so that all he could hear was the gentle crackling of the fire before him.

“This night is colder than I thought… I think your coffee has frozen my insides.”

“Well, I have also now suffered the same fate. But as long as we stay near the fire, we should warm up.”

A brief shift, her traveling cloak brushing against his side. “This cloak is warm however. I don’t mind sharing this if you needed it.”

Kratos closed his eyes. He still remembered the taste of the coffee.

#krannaweek19 #krannaweek2019 #tales of symphonia #kratos aurion #anna irving #kranna #lloyd irving #fanfiction #one shot #I might only have enough energy for one more fic if I can

[smol-and-grumpy]

Dear Dean (Chapter 3)

Re-post

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC (Jamie Blum)

WC: 3.8k

Summary: After taking Saint Lo, by sheer dumb luck, Lieutenant Dean Winchester from the 29th Infantry Division, Baker Company, received a truckload of replacements for his platoon that was falling apart. Little did he know, that one recruit would change his life forever.

Chapter Warnings: Angst, hope in midst of fear, i dunno man

SERIES MASTERLIST

July 23rd, 1944

The night had a crisp chill to it, and it started to drizzle after dinner, gently at first, but by the time Dean stepped out for sentry duty it was just pouring. Dean didn’t need that, to be honest. He’d rather be somewhere dry, somewhere warm.

Standing in the dark, soaked through his combats, he wondered why he changed the sentry rota and fucking put himself in it. He should’ve lead by Sam’s example, then at least he would’ve been kept out of the rain, but Dean’s mouth was much faster than his brain, and it frequently got him in trouble. He checked his watch with a flip of his wrist, as he stood at the meeting point, waiting on private Blum to arrive. It was Oh-two-forty-seven. Bambi still had three minutes before Dean’d rip him another hole.

Dean waited under cover from the rain, and watched the water fall from the roof in streams. His socks are already damp, and he was feeling increasingly cranky. The night was going to be a disaster. He heard Bambi before he saw him, heavy boots stepping in puddles of rain and mud made their way to the meeting point, sprinting even. There was the noise of shuffling and the rain pelting against the helmet of the small private.

“I’m here, Lieutenant!” Private Blum shouted loudly and a little out of breath, but nonetheless with a grin on his face, which in turn, made Dean suppress a smirk. Someone was really happy to be on sentry in the dead of the night.

Dean fought against his urge to echo the grin but instead, he opted for a frown and a roll of his eyes. “Fucking stop shouting, will ya?”

“Shit, sir, sorry!” Bambi apologized, his voice a mutter that almost got lost in the clattering of rainfall.

Dean studied the private’s face in the dim light of the fluorescent bulb beneath the roof of the meeting point. Bambi’s eyes were still big, although they look tired and weary. He studied the little of Bambi’s nose and the high of his cheekbones. Bambi reached up to adjust his almost-too-big helmet though at was slick with rain, as he straightened up, almost to attention. Something about the private was off and Dean was still trying to figure out and put a finger on what irked him about Bambi. What it was that made Dean want to take the private under his wings and protect him?

“Lieutenant Winchester, I’ve got a joke for you…”

“Come on.” He took the private to the most western point of their route, both of them walking in silence, only the sound of rain to accompany them. It was kind of weird and uncomfortable to say the least, and Dean could kick himself in the ass for taking Bambi with him. Not only was he green, but he was also quiet, and Dean was almost bored to tears. He should have opted for Sergeant Harvelle. At least Harvelle always had a joke ready, even though it was the same kind of joke, a little lewd and all kinds of stupid, but Dean wasn’t exactly picky. He gets what he gets, seemed to be a motto that stuck with him like an old piece of chewed gum he stepped on. It was stuck to his boots ever since the day he got off that landing in Omaha.

He was lucky he got off at all, to be honest.

The bullets rained down on them on that beach. Dean had to haul himself over the sides, and he wasn’t prepared. He wasn’t prepared for the sheer weight of his equipment combined with the pressure of sea water. He hit the water feet first, and he sank and sank and sank. There was no way to get to the surface because his haversack and his rifle were pulling him down. He reached up, clawing through the water, his lungs burning, when he decided to ditch everything that was weighing him down. Dean found himself with only his bare hands to defend himself on the battlefield. He was scrappy, but not scrappy enough to last long without a weapon.

Captain Mills shouted, asking who had a weapon on them and then he asked Dean directly and Dean shouted out an answer “That bitch tried to drown me, sir!” - “Go find another one!” and that’s what Dean did, crawling over dead bodies to retrieve a functioning rifle, trying to avoid the open eyes of the fallen soldiers.

Dean and Bambi took a turn and walked in the direction of the most eastern point, the rain still coming down restlessly and sometimes, he thought the angels were weeping with them. Dean could feel the wetness seeping into his cotton undershirt. His socks were now completely wet. They were going to be soaked come Oh-five-hundred.

To Dean’s surprise, private Blum didn’t complain. Not even once and Dean wondered if he too, could feel the water slowly filling up the boots that were promised to be waterproof.

They talked a little. Dean knew now where Blum was from. “Trenton, North Carolina, sir.” How he grew up. “No mom. Dad ate a bullet. Just me and my brothers, sir.” How he was looking up to his brothers and how he missed them. “Tough motherfuckers, but yeah, I worry. Jameson always was a terrible shot.” Dean knew the feeling too well.

At almost Oh-four-hundred-hours, he got to know a lot about Bambi but he kept his life to himself, and Bambi didn’t dare to ask him questions. Even if he wanted to ask, he didn’t. Dean could see the twitch of his lip, and furrow of his eyebrow as he considered his words carefully before he let them go. Dean would have answered them if he would’ve been asked, but he knew that Bambi was scared of him. Dean wondered if he was really giving the impression that he was untouchable at times and he thought that he maybe should change. War was tough, no doubt; but private Milligan was right, they deserved to smile every now and then.

“Come on, Lieutenant! Just one joke. Just one smile, not everything has to be so goddamn serious all the time…”

He walked Bambi across the muddy field to reach their next checkpoint. It was almost impossible to cross the flooding field, and Dean felt himself sinking deeper with each step he took. He certainly didn’t sign up for this and right about now, Dean wished more than ever, that he didn’t take up that sentry duty. Mud was the worst. Hard to get off and there would be days until they would be able to wash themselves with warm water.

As Dean took the next step, squishing into the soft earth, he heard Bambi go down next to him with a heavy splat. The private landed face first in mud, sprawled out like a damn X. Dean looked down to him and Bambi looked back at Dean with his face covered in brown mess. He blinked a few times, trying to see through the mud.

“Shit, Bambi, you alright?” Dean tried to sound concerned. Bambi reached up to wipe the mud off his face, but was met with a handful of mud, somehow making it worse. Dean’s carefully placed facade slowly crumbled. The next thing he knew, he was throwing his head back in a full body laugh, one that Dean didn’t know if he’d ever recover from it. It felt good. He haven’t laughed like this in a while and there were tears in his eyes.

He could hear private Blum mutter something incoherent under his breath that sounded something like Fuck you, sir, but Dean didn’t pay attention, he was busy wiping away the tears of laughter that blurred his vision.

“Help me up, Sir?” Blum asked, holding out a muddy hand for Dean to take. He stared at the privates muddy hand, considering not taking it. “Come on, sir. I’m gonna fall again if I try to get up on my own.” He could see a young Sam in front of him then, complaining after falling down, just needing his brother. Dean grabbed at Bambi’s small hands in an attempt to pull him up.

Nobody could prepare him for what came after, though. Dean pulled, but it seemed by some grace of God, Bambi gathered his strength and before Dean could even blink, he was lying flat on top of the private, his helmet dipped in mud and it was only thanks to his reflexes that Dean could hold his head above the sinking puddle. He barely managed to avoid dipping his face into the mud like Bambi did.

Dean was taken by surprise, his mouth hanging open, and muttered out a “What the fucking fuck?” before Blum turned around beneath him. They were face to face and then Bambi smiled, his white teeth shining through the mud on his mouth and jaw, and Dean stared into doe eyes that almost sparkled through the dirt. They were so big and brown and full of laughter as Bambi’s body shook under him.

All of a sudden, Dean felt his blood rushing through his head, the pounding of his heartbeat echoed in his ears and he couldn’t hear the rain anymore. It was like the whole world stopped existing, as if there’s only the two of them in the mud and the only thing he could hear was the laughter of private Blum, light and free, but then that died down, too. Dean suddenly knew that they’d been in the position for too long, but he was unable to move.

His eyes were staring into Blum’s big ones before they travel down, resting on the private’s mouth. Bambi realized the stare and he wiped away at the mud with the back of his hand. Now Dean could see the lips. They were pink and plum and slick with rain. The flash of the edge of Bambi’s teeth were showing as his lips were still crooked into a grin. Dean noticed the heavy breath coming out of Blum’s open lips. It was warm against his own damp face. Normally when someone got this close to him he was yelling, or being yelled at. Hot, sweaty breath on his mouth. “Winchester can you tell me why you’re such an epic, fucking disappointment?” His eyes landed on a drop of rain falling down on the private’s top lip, and Dean’s mouth felt really dry, despite all the rain. Dean darted his tongue out, licking away the feeling of dryness on his lips. Bambi, unknowingly, mimicked him and licked his own bottom lip. And then a voice pulled Dean back to reality.

“Lieutenant? Sir!”

Dean jolted to his knees, scrambling up and held out a hand for Bambi to take and that time, he was fucking prepared. He wouldn’t let Bambi pull him down a second time.

“Sorry, Sir, if I was out of line.” Bambi gladly took Dean’s hand and let Dean pull him up to his feet.

Dean should have shouted. Dressed him down and probably put him on latrine duty from there to Germany, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t with those big brown eyes staring up at him like he knew he fucked up. Damn those eyes. Instead, he just chuckled, and adjusted his helmet. “We’ll be needing a fucking shower after sentry, Bambi.” His hand came up to wipe at the chunk of mud that was logged between Blum’s shoulder and neck helping the private get rid of the dirt.

They continue to walk in silence now, Dean still recovering from what was happening between them. There was a feeling in his gut that he couldn’t quite put a finger on. It was bugging the hell out of him.

When they arrived at the further most outpost, they heard someone calling. “Thunder!”

Bambi and Dean replied with a, “Flash.” Dean raised an eyebrow, he was a little impressed that Bambi knew the code, and used it correctly.

“So fucking glad, Sir!” A rough male voice said.

They could see three figures walking towards them as the guard from the 3rd Battalion let them pass.

Dean studied them as they limped towards him. There were two parachuters that supported a third one who probably broke his leg on landing. One of them stood before Dean and Bambi, as the other one still supported his friend. He straightened up to attention and greeted Dean with a nod in salutation. “101st Airborne Division, sir. We missed our target. Had to find a way around. We were hoping that you guys would be here already.” Dean could see from his suit that it was a sergeant. He was maybe as tall as Dean and as broad.

“Jim?” Bambi could be heard saying next to him.

The sergeant looked down to Bambi, his eyebrow furrowed into a knot in the middle, as if he was trying to categorize Bambi in his head. And then when realization hit, his face was blushing and Dean could see that the sergeant’s lips widened into a smile. “Jamie?”

Bambi nodded frantically before his voice broke into a laughter and then he climbed up Jim’s body in a hug and to Dean’s surprise, Jim didn’t say no. He just tightened his grip around Bambi, as to support the small private and when Bambi was up there, the sergeant spun him around, laughing.

Dean felt like he’s intruding and that he probably should step away, but he was the Lieutenant, and it was his fucking sentry duty. He cleared his throat loudly, which prompted Jim to let Bambi down and straighten himself up. Dean coughed lightly, to suppress another grin because Jim was now muddy, too.

“This is my brother, Lieutenant. Jim Blum.”

“Great to meet you, Sergeant.” Dean nodded in greeting.

Then Bambi turned to Jim, still smiling through the mud on his face. “Lieutenant Winchester’s my platoon leader.”

“Oh…” Jim Blum said and Dean could see that something clicked in Jim’s mind and then he blurted out a  “Oooohh.. Well, shit. Thank you for taking care of my brother then, Lieutenant.”

Dean nodded in reply. His heart felt heavy. Taking care of someone was not really his specialty. “Get yourselves checked at the medical tent and report to Battalion Staff. Someone should be in the tent.”

“Yes, Sir.” Jim, squeezed Bambi’s shoulder before he took his men to the medical tent.

***

Reveille’s at Oh-five-hundred and when Dean and private Blum walked to their billets, the soldiers were already pouring out of the door, walking to the mess hall to fetch breakfast.

Even though Dean was staying with the other platoon leaders and NCO’s of Baker and Able company, they still stayed in the same building. They stepped in and navigated their way past the stream of soldiers coming out of it. Some of them looked at the pair and cringed their noses. Yeah, Dean could smell it himself, thank you very much.

As they got to the landing where they were staying, Dean took off his helmet and pointed his nose in the direction of the showers. The water was cold but he liked to pretend that it was warm. He get what he gets, isn’t it? “Private, shower and I’ll see you in 10 minutes.”

“Sir –” Blum paused, as if he wanted to say more but he didn’t. Dean lowered his head and walked to his room to change for showering.

Dean was in the showers quickly, he gotta live up to his own time frame and he was hungry. Hoping that there’s something left before he had to be ready at Oh-six-hundred. However, when he was inside, Blum wasn’t there and he wondered if Bambi was so freaking quick that he finished before Dean even got a change to come in. Dean didn’t pay much attention as he soaped himself with cheap soap and washed away the mud that was stuck behind his ears. Dean closes his eyes, relishing himself under the spray rain of the shower head. It lacked pressure and yes, it was cold, but he liked to pretend that he’s back in Kansas, with high water pressure and a warmth to the wetness that soothed his pain. He opened his eyes again to Blum walking in, still in his shirt and combats.

“I..uh.. sorry, Lieutenant.” Bambi’s voice was small, almost as if he was embarrassed and Dean wondered if he’d  ever seen a dick before, because Bambi’s eyes lingered a fraction too long on his private part. Dean wasn’t a prude, but somehow it felt uncomfortable. He decided to just not think about it and finish showering. Bambi’s got 3 brothers, he sure as hell should be used to seeing dicks?

Dean noticed after a while that Bambi was still staring at Dean’s lower half and he might have been wrong, because he couldn’t see it as Bambi’s face was still a little muddy but Dean could swear that Bambi was blushing.

“Never seen a dick, Bambi?” He asked grumpily, trying to get Bambi’s attention and divert his gaze away from Dean’s dick.

“Yeah, sure have, sir. But uh.. “ Dean could feel that Bambi was trying to come up with a good clap back. “..never such a small one, Lieutenant, is all.” The grin that was on Bambi’s face was undeniably, a wicked one.

“Fuck off, it’s cold water, alright. Jeez, relax. Wanna know how you’re holding up, private.” Dean replied with a growl. It bothered him, very much so, and he could call the private out, tell Bambi to strip right here but he doesn’t. He’s a leader, not a fucking dick. So, instead, Dean finished his shower and dried himself with the little towel they provided and got out without a glance back.

When Dean was dressed and ready, he thought that he wanted to see if Bambi was finished, but when Dean stepped out into the landing on their floor, he could still hear the water running. He didn’t want to peek, he really didn’t, but the door was open a creek and on the passing, he caught a glimpse Bambi. A glimpse of his narrow waist and full ass cheek which in turn made Dean tense and there’s a flutter around his stomach. And Dean knew that he was not queer, nuh-uh.

Shaking Bambi out of his head, Dean pulled back and opted for calling in there. “See you at Oh-six-hundred, private!”

After the morning briefing, the soldiers had time to themselves for a couple of minutes and Jamie excused herself in a rush to search for Jim. She found him sitting on the steps, or what was left of it, of a fountain. “Hey,” She said, sitting down next to him.

He didn’t turn to look at her, his eyes focused on his clasped hands. “So, private Blum, huh?”

She could hear it in Jim’s tone that he wasn’t pleased to find her there. Jamie was a little sad, but she understood. She wouldn’t be pleased either. Jim wanted the best for her, and there she was, letting him down.

“Look, I’m sorry, Jim, I really am.” She bit back tears, fully intending not to cry when she was out in the open.

“Jamie, what the fuck do you think you’re doing? What the hell, I thought I made it clear that your only job is to stay behind and fucking stay alive?” Jim turned to her. He was angry and fumbled with his cigarette tin. Like a lot of men, Jim took on smoking. He never smoked at home, the money was too short for luxuries. “If they find out, you’re so fucked! Hell, maybe I’ll be fucked. We all will be!”

“They won’t.” Jamie sighed, and then she said with a calm voice, “Not if you keep it a secret.”

Jim looked at her, shaking his head in disbelief. “Jamie, you’re a fucking girl!” He hissed. “How many secrets can you keep from them? You’re fucking bleeding every month. Someone will notice! And, and… What if you die? Fuck, you’re with the 29th. You’re actually the one who goes face first into combat. You’re the first they’ll be aiming at!” Jim nearly spat in her face from the strain of keeping his voice down and being angry and wanting to shout it out.

“You’d have done the same, Jim.” She lowered her head, put it between her knees and stared at the ground. “I haven’t had my period since the day you left, by the way. Four fucking years, Jim. That’s how much stress I’m under. When Jameson left, I didn’t want to exist anymore. I just.. I..” Jamie’s voice broke, and she wiped at her wet eyes with the back of her dirt smeared hand before they could drop down her cheeks.

Jim took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled before he rubbed at his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. He suddenly started to chuckle. “Shit… Fuck, Jamie. Why are we like this? Our family is so fucked up. I don’t even know where the others are.”

Jamie looks up again, grinning. “I don’t know either, but I know that you’re here.”

“Well, not long. I’m leaving again this afternoon.” Jim put out his cigarette on the sole of his boots before he flickered it across the street. “Jamie. Take off your helmet.”

She did what her brother asked of her and Jim rolled his eyes as he saw her hair. It was growing back unevenly and he ruffled his palms through it. “Grow it out, will ya? Not all men have such short hair. A bit longer and you’d look great.”

Jamie elbowed him in the ribs before they both laughed.

“Keep close to Winchester, alright?” Jim putting his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

“Why?”

“I heard he’s a good guy. He lost a kid out of sheer stupidity and he’s blaming himself still. It wasn’t his fault.” She looked up at him, wondering how Jim always managed to make friends everywhere he went. “And I saw how he looked at you, Jamie. If looks could kill, I’d be dead when you climbed up my body last night.”

“Shut up.”

“True! Maybe he sees something in you worth protecting. I hope he does. He’ll keep you save, alright. Keep him close. Don’t try to fuck it up.” It was more a warning because he knows that Jamie tend to fuck things up. Jim probably couldn’t even count on both his hands how many times he had to come and haul her ass out of whatever shit situation she was in. The fights, he had to break, the boys he had to chase away.

“I won’t.” Jamie said truthfully.

“Good. Also don’t get dead.”

“I try.”

“Fuck you.” Jim chuckled, looking around to see if someone was watching them. He could see Winchester standing off near the building, talking to some other Lieutenants, but his eyes were fixed on them. He probably didn’t even listen to what the others were saying. Jim pulled Jamie close anyway, kissing her forehead twice and ruffled his palm through her hair.

CHAPTER 4

#dear dean #dean x ofc #dean x oc #dean winchester x oc #dean winchester x ofc #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction