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alicemitch09writes · 3 years

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lame

10.

you’re both so lame

Bakugou Katsuki was roughly 16 when he realized the stakes to be the best, the top, the number one hero. It was more than having a strong quirk, physical strength, keen observational skills, smarts, or being brave – it was all these things he realized that he lacked something more. He realized that you had to have heart, compassion, something he sorely lacked.

After all, what good is a hero working for himself and not for others?

Failing his Provisional License Exam made him realize that, putting up with shitty Half-and-Half.

He could be the hero he wanted to be, but that'd put him in leagues of Endeavor, and there was no way he wanted to wind up as shitty as that old fart.

He was lacking, but he just didn't know where. No, he knew where he lacked but just didn't know how to consider them.

He wanted to be more, bigger - become a better version of himself.

Considering his shitty self, however, that seemed like a laughable and farfetched idea.

“Are you stupid or something?”

He looked up at the figure who stopped in front of him under the pouring rain, meeting your gaze - surprised, annoyed, angry, and worried, all at once. Too lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t realized that it had rained and that he was soaking.

Grabbing his hand, you forced him to his feet. “Come on, get under here.” Once under the umbrella, you practically shove it in his hand, letting him hold because he was taller. Slipping your bag in front of you, you rummaged through your things for a handkerchief. Once finding it, you wiped his wet face, grumbling under your breath. “Seriously, if you want to be number one, we can’t have you getting sick on me.”

At the sound of your voice, your mothering, he slowly came to. “Sorry,” was the most intelligent thing he could think of saying to you. Going back on your words, he found his voice again. "you remembered."

Rolling your eyes, you poked between his brows. "How could I not? It was all you could talk about." Shaking your head, now that his face was dry, you began to walk, he followed. “So, where’re ya headed?”

“Home.”

“Really? School break?”

It still surprises him at how easy it is to speak to you now, even after everything. And he means everything. It amazes him how natural it was to talk to you, how at ease he feels.

“Something like that.”

Humming, the two of you make your way through the wet road, waiting by the crosswalk as cars pass by, the light overhead blaring red. “Well, you’re lucky I’m heading home. I’ll just drop you off first, okay?”

Once the light blinks green, the two of you began to walk with the crowd.

Shrugging, he adjusts his hold on the umbrella, slipping his free hand into his pocket. “Yeah, alright.”

You said nothing else, and walked on, the falling rain filling in the noise.

In turn, Bakugou had little else to say with his mind riddled with his thoughts filled with insecurities and fears regarding the path he wants for himself.

At 16, he realized now how quirks were nothing more than an added bonus, they could either make or break you, depending on its usage. Like you said in middle school, there’ll always be other quirks better than yours, and nobody would give a damn about how you well you did in junior high when you get to the real world. UA was such an eye-opener. That, and you and Deku.

Now, as he turned to you, watching you hum a tune under your breath as you skipped happily on the wet ground, carmine eyes softened as he realized just how much he wanted to be someone’s hero.

“For what it’s worth…I’m working my way to the top.”

Blinking, you turned to face him, the corners of your lips lifting. “Yeah?”

Nodding, he regarded you in kind regards, feeling the darkness seep away just by the curve of your lips, the warmth in your eyes. “Had a few speed bumps to get through, first.”

“And how’s that working out for you?”

Exhaling, sharply, he tilts a bit, careful to not bring the umbrella with him lest he gets you wet. “…exhausting, but no way am I fucking giving in that easy.”

“Glad to hear that then.”

At 16, he remembered that one thing he wished for the moment he got his quirk, the one person who mattered the most to him, the other person who helped propel him to the top, he finally remembered what he had to do.

Finally smiling, the best he could do anyway, you rolled your eyes at him, playfully punching his chest. “There’s the fucker, I know.”

Being friends with someone like Midoriya Izuku is both a blessing and a curse – one, you have this sweet cinnamon roll, whose life goal was to be the best hero at his own pace whilst ensuring that people are safe and sound; then, there’s the fact that he’s disturbingly perceptive and dangerously analytical. For short, he can read you like a book.

Since you were younger, Izuku knew of your crush on Bakugou.

He was actually rooting for both of you to end up together, which was only solidified during the ‘proposal’. Dear God, that was so long ago!

Even when the blond boy turned out to be a shithead, lording over with his overgrown pride, Izuku was there to assure you that your crush is valid and that there's almost something good underneath Kacchan's pride.

One Valentine’s day, sophomore year of middle school to be exact, with some push from your green-haired best friend, you were planning on giving Bakugou Katsuki Valentine’s chocolates. The idea intimidated you to no end, but it was a step. Your mother had helped you make them, all while teasing you throughout the process. Your dad had cried the whole time, whilst your grandparents drank tea to the tune of his wails.

You had given some pieces to Izuku, who enjoyed them much to your relief. So now, the only problem was actually giving them to the blond boy.

“B-Bakugou-kun!” a girly voiced called out, startled, you hid, back against the wall. “I-I made you chocolates! T-These are for you!”

It didn't help that you were not the only one who harbored a crush on him, in fact, half the population liked him, you had a lot of competition. Izuku would say that you had a leg against the rest, just because you were childhood friends. (To which you'd roll your eyes on because it was so fucking cliche)

"HAH?"

"Um, um...I was hoping to give them to you! A-Also, I-I...like you! Please go out with me-"

"Like I'd go out with an extra like you," he cuts her off harshly, sadistically. "none of you are fit for someone like me." There was a whimper, followed by a dark chuckle. "And you have the gall to actually hand me these? You must be outta your mind. Double, if you think I'd ever want to be found dating an extra like you."

Though they weren't directed at you, every word said sent a painful jab to your heart, loosening the grip on your chocolates.

You should have known better that Bakugou wasn’t one for Valentine's Day, he’d either snub the gifts, burst them to bits, or pass them to his ‘friends’. Today was no different. Braving a look, you saw as he harshly took the chocolate off the girl's hands and blew them to bits, his 'friends' laughing behind him while the girl stared in horror before running off crying.

Had that been you, it could've been worst.

Bakugou Katsuki could care less about feelings or liking someone, he cared for nothing but himself.

So, instead, you gave them to Izuku, meaning he got two chocolates for Valentine’s Day.

"EH!? (Nickname), what happened!?" seeing the look in your eyes, Izuku was by your side.

“Sorry, Izuku, I couldn’t do it.” you murmur, defeatedly.

“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”

You could only exhale, limply leaning against him. Still worried, he wraps an around your shoulders, squeezing comfortably. Seeing the chocolate in your best friend's hands, you felt the burn in your eyes, the squeeze in your chest, remembering all that time you spent working on it only to go to waste. In a way, it was metaphorically like dealing with your feelings, this stupid one-sided crush.

“Honestly? I’m tired of this stupid crush.”

Numbness washed over you, crawling over your nerves.

Seeing the weariness in your eyes, Izuku relents his words and works on a smile. “I-I’ll give you double for White Day!”

Smiling weakly, you replied. “Thanks, Izuku, I look forward to it.”

(Unbeknownst to the both of you, a blond teen listened in, hands balled into fists, sparks going off, before stomping away angrily.)

“Um, Aizawa-sensei, is there a reason why we’re doing night classes?”

Lazily glancing at Jirou, seeing her in gear like the rest of her classmates, who seemed tired and confused for being in the gym at 09:06 in the evening.

“Since you’ll be heroes soon, you have to keep in mind that you work around the clock. Meaning, there’s a chance that you’re more likely to work day shifts or night shifts.” His students shifted, reacting to his words.

“Well, that’s true.” Satou nods, arms crossed against his massive chest.

“Well, I work better at night, since I love to sleep in~” Kaminari says, grinning ear to ear.

“Tokoyami-chan, wouldn't you be better suited for the night?” Asui asked Tokoyami, who nodded once.

“Yes, as Dark Shadow and I have been making progress.”

“That being said, we’re only doing these night classes at random, to properly prepare yourselves. With that in mind, I’ve called for help with these classes.”

The class gasped in unison, half were excited, half were in awe. After all, it’s not every day you get outside help. Who knows who they'll meet?

As if being summoned, two figures appeared from the shadows, both sporting ninja-like costumes and donning masks - a sly kitsune on the small female, and a stoic angry-looking fox on the tall male. Together, the two bowed - holding their fists in their palms - at Aizawa, then at the class.

Standing straight, they began to take off their masks, lowering their hoods.

Midoriya and Bakugou gasped, immediately recognizing the two whose eyes glinting a dangerous yellow.

“They are from the Yoruichi dojo, they’re trained and proficient in combat, especially at night. We'll be under their care.”

“E-EH?”

"Hold up!"

“Isn’t that Midoriya and Bakugou’s childhood friend?”

You waved a two-fingered salute, rather nonchalantly. “Yo!”

“(Nickname)!” Izuku called to you, excitedly, his shock wearing off.

“What are you doing here?” Bakugou shouted, still in shock.

Tutting you folded your arms against your chest, fixing a dull look towards your childhood friends. “Weren’t you listening? Or were your explosions too loud that you’ve gone deaf?” those words were specifically directed towards Bakugou, who yelled incoherent words at you. Turning your head away, avoiding his yells, you stuck your tongue out childishly.

Beside you, your grandfather stoically took in the group before him, before his eyes fell on green and blond. “So, this is the two of you donning your heroics? Not too shabby.” Says your grandfather, the two boys stood straighter, much to the shock of their classmates, especially for Bakugou.

“Shihan!” Bakugou and Midoriya say in unison.

“Ah, the two of them straightened up!”

“Even Bakugou!”

“Just who is this old man?”

"He's the head of the Yuroichi clan," Aizawa said, hands still in his pocket. "a retired underground hero who's trained countless heroes, mastered the art of stealth and even earned the respect of several Yakuza clans for his many feats. He is simply called Shihan." Scratching at his cheek, he added. "Even I trained under him."

"That's an impressive track record," remarked Yaoyorozu, Todoroki nods beside her. "Countless heroes have been under his wing, he must be that impressive."

"Y-Yakuza clans!?" shrieked Urakaka.

"An experienced underground hero to help us further enhance our skills, as expected of UA!" Iida praised, hands moving animatedly, his classmates were careful not to get hit by them.

"He even trained Aizawa-sensei, that's so cool!" Kirishima comments, fists bumping producing a satisfying 'clack' sound.

“But, 'Shihan'? Isn’t that just a title?” Mashirao asked, confused. Beside him, Mezuo shrugged.

“Well, you get to know his name only if you’ve rightfully earned it.” You tell them, dangling against the banister, legs swinging.

...

“What the hell?”

“When did she get there!?”

Giggling, you drop to the ground soundlessly, landing next to Izuku to hug his arm. Shooting the blond a look, you playfully kicked his boots.

"(N-Nickname)!"

“Granddaughter,” called your old man, arms folded behind his back. “get over here.”

“Yes~” taking a step back from your friends, you flipped backward to your grandfather, landing easily into a seating pose, yellow eyes alight with mischief.

“W-Wait, sensei, you said that we’d have to train against them right?”

“Correct. The Yuroichi clan is the best martial artist you’ll find, but you won’t hear squat of them in the real world because of how good they keep their façade.” At that, you winked at your (still) gaping best friends. “That being said, within this class, you’ll see exactly how you’ll fare in the real world especially at night.”

Impassively staring out, your grandfather continued to stare down at the students of Class 2-A, his yellow eyes gleaning on each one of them whilst you rocked in place beside him.

“You may have had your work studies, internship, and last year's fiasco cut out for you, but that's still a fraction of what's to be expected of you as heroes." Some of the group fell silent at the mention of their freshmen year, a lot of things happened to them that forced them all to grow up too fast.

"Yuroichi,” Aizawa turns to you - cutting everyone's thought process, bringing them to now, you blink. “you can start out by picking the person you’d like to go against.”

Humming, you gave the class a good look, yellow eyes dancing from person to person. Izuku's detailed analysis flowed in your head, regarding each of his classmates.

Eventually, you chose Ochako, because you had been told that she’s one of the best combatants in class. Also, she had a rather interesting quirk you'd like to see with up close.

"I won't go easy on you, (Name)-chan!" the brunette says to you, fists clenched against her chest.

Nodding, the two of you walk forward to the mat, Class 2-A stood in line to watch from the side.

“Good luck, Ochako-chan! Gero~”

"Ochako-chan, let's go!!!"

“Go kick some butt, Uraraka!”

“This’ll be good! Some girl on girl action!” someone said, which was met with an angry bark and explosion soon after.

“Take your position,” says Aizawa. “everyone, keep your eyes on the two.” Lifting his hands in the air, readying. “Begin.”

Just as his hands slapped against each other, the slap resounding throughout the gym, you had Ochako pinned down to the ground, both her palms open and outstretched away from each other.

“What!?”

“What the hell?”

“She’s too fast!”

From his spot, your grandfather scoffed angrily, unimpressed. "Granddaughter, don't show off."

Smiling cheekily, you released the brunette and walked back to your position. "Yes, yes. Sorry~" came your breezy reply, to which he rolled his eyes at. Turning to Ochako, you offered a peace sign in apology. Rolling her shoulders, her eyes remained wide in confusion at how fast it all went down.

Aizawa, unfazed by how fast things were going, stood idle. "Alright, we'll try again. This time, play fair." He says to you, mostly. Eyes flashing red in warning, causing chills to run down your spine, your expression sours a bit.

This time though, as you both circled the training mat and settled into positions, you took a deep inhale, eyes closing. As you exhaled, your eyes slowly peeled open and revealed (e/c), much to the confusion of many - save for your grandfather, Aizawa, and your best friends.

"Begin."

Ochako struck first, coming at you with her hands open to take you down, but you managed to dodge easily in time, rolling on her back to land on your feet. Striking for her head, she easily deflected your attack and grabbed your arm. Anticipating this, you twisted your whole body, causing her to lose balance and trip.

"Uwa!"

"That was so cool!"

"GO KICK HER ASS, URARAKA!"

While the class cheered, as the fight went on, two boys were especially keyed on the fight between the two females, taking note of your eyes.

Surging towards you, trying to get at you again, you stood your ground and waited. When she was within reach, you easily slipped your arm in hers and twirled around, as though you were doing the rodeo, and tossed her. Disoriented, she quickly got back to her wits, throwing punches your way, which you parried off quickly. And with your attacks, she easily dispatched your chances.

It was a rather even match.

"Wow, they're amazing..." commented Sato under his breath.

"I keep forgetting how good Uraraka is in terms of close combat." Sero seconds, just as Ochako aptly deflects your kicks.

"Yeah, but have you seen Yuroichi?" Throughout the fight, you ensured to knock away Ochako's hands - removing all chances of her using her quirk, cutting all her openings, and slipping through her defenses. "Damn, since's good."

Ochako grabbed hold of your arm, and you let her. Feeling weightless a playful smile plasters on your lips, much to her confusion, before you grabbed at her arms, throwing yourself back and using gravity to your advantage, maneuvering with her weight until you kicked her by the backs of her knees. Once again, the brunette found herself pinned to the ground. "And, dead."

"Alright, Yoruichi wins."

A series of cheers echoed behind you.

Grinning, you got off Ochako - who immediately released her quirk, and helped her up. "Thanks for the fight, Ochako~"

Despite being bruised all over, she mirrors your grin. "My pleasure, (Name)-chan! You're so cool!"

"Not as cool as you were!" you swayed a little, finding your footing. "Man, your quirk is no joke."

"Now, can anyone tell me what happened?" Aizawa turned to the class expectantly.

For a moment, there was silence, before Sero spoke up.

"Um, Yuroichi moved too fast?"

"And?"

"She...well, she shifted her fighting style time to time." Mashirao added, his tail noticeable shaking excitedly.

"Oh yeah! That!" Kirishima blinked, like he had a light bulb moment, hammering a fist into his open palm. "It's like one of those characters in those fighting games!" Ashido, Sero, and Kaminari nodding in agreement.

"And because of Uraraka's fighting style, she had to be the antithesis of her to catch her off-guard." Todoroki supplemented.

Aizawa nodded - save for Kirishima's comment, at every comment. "Anything else to add?"

"She was studying Uraraka," muttered Katsuki, arms crossed against his chest. "from the moment she chose her to the moment she stepped in the mat."

"Also, with her quirk allowed her to predict exactly how she'll attack." Izuku seconds in, remembering your eyes flashing quickly from (e/c) to yellow. "However, she only used it when it suited her."

Narrowing your eyes at your childhood friends, you called out. "Hey, that's cheating! The two of you know too much!"

"No, that's true." Aizawa pointedly ignores your complaints, nodding at the two.

Grumbling under your breath, Ochako could only give you a laugh before handing you a towel. Nodding in thanks, you dropped to the ground, sitting.

"Alright, so now, you've just paid witness to what you're up against. Next, we're going to test the rest of you. Shihan," Aizawa turned to your grandfather "I believe you've made a decision?"

Your grandfather grunted. "Yes." he nods, turning to the shorter man, shoulders relaxing. "Standard Rabbit Hole exercise."

Pursuing your lips at your grandfather's words, eyes widening slightly, you hummed afterward. "Heh, okay~"

"What does that mean?" a confused Asui asked, poking at her cheek. "Gero?"

"I believe it's an exercise where a whole group is to capture one chosen person. It's a common stealth exercise that the military uses." Yaoyoruzu explained kindly.

"You heard him, your objective is to capture Yuroichi."

Half the class blinked in disbelief, eyes wide like saucers.

"Wait, all of us?"

"All of you." Shihan confirmed with a small smirk, one that sent chills down the students' spines. Aizawa mirrors his mentor's smirk, albeit it was a smaller and softer-looking one.

"The person to catch her gets a free lunch stub for a week."

Mirroring your grandfather's smirk, you hopped to your feet. "Well, this'll be fun."

When you were younger and when your quirk first started to appear, it was rather unpleasant. Because first of all, you had your first period. You honestly thought you were going to die then and there had your mom and grandmother not been there to guide you. Second, straight after your period, you were overwhelmed by senses you started feeling - smell, sight, hearing, taste. It was all too much that you puked, nearly passing out on the spot.

It took you a while to get used to it, scared shitless at how much you could feel and sense things, and especially how more alert you these were happening at night.

At the time, Izuku was wildly concerned about how you've been losing sleep. You didn't have the heart to tell him about your quirk just yet, fearful of the power you had and how alienated Izuku would feel.

You were ever grateful to have such an amazing family to walk you through your quirk, the family's secretive history, and being a hero in your own way.

Since you were younger, you had joked that your family might have been descendants to ninjas, something your grandfather had yet to confirm or not. (Judging his dealings with Yakuza, you'd bet it was true)

Training hadn't been easy over the years since you were expected to master a great deal of martial arts. Some years later, you were forced to go through rigorous training to heighten your senses, learning when to turn them on or off. From your grandmother, you had learned to preserve energy and make use of them any time during day time, just remembering its drawback.

Quirks were always an added bonus, something that just made you special than the average man. Yet, quirks don't make you.

You learned that from your two best friends - Izuku, quirkless at birth, but proved that even without a quirk, you could still be a hero; and then Bakugou, though was gifted with an amazing quirk, if you had a shitty attitude, you were basically nothing without it.

Yellow eyes gleamed under the light, a glint of mischief playing through that mirrored the mask in your hand.

At the age of 14, you finally mastered your senses, allowing them to come on its full potential once it was dusk. Per family tradition, you were given a mask - one that helped protect you and leave enemies unaware of you using your quirk.

Now, at 17, you were seeing your quirk - quirks, as a whole - with a new set of eyes.

Donning the mask on, a loud blaring alarm rang out, signifying the start of the exercise.

The fox was ready to play.

20 against 1 should be an intimidating feat, but you, it felt strangely exciting. That, or maybe it was the warrior in you. These kinds of things were exciting in a way. This play of cat and mouse - well, rabbit, the thrill of the chase, stealth, saboteur, ambush - you could feel your blood tingle in glee.

The object was simple: one of the twenty students had to find and capture you. Should be easy, considering they had really strong quirks and experience you sorely lacked.

But as a Yuroichi, you were always taught never to underestimate your enemy and to always make use of your environment as much as you should use your quirk, they always helped to your advantage.

5 minutes in and you were caught in what seemed to be a crossfire of students, all deadset on capturing you - for their grade or that week's worth of free lunch. Frankly, having everyone come at you all at once was adorable, yet, it was rather fool-hardy.

It made them all the more reckless.

Grunting, you felt the echolocation sound back to you, giving you an idea of the area around you and the number of students in the way. Mapping your way, you avoided grabbing hands (appendages, tapes, and acid, oh my), hopping from one's shoulder to one's head, until your foot met the wall. Kicking yourself off, you were sent back, hands grabbing a ledge before using your weight to drop the ladder a few inches.

Hanging upside down, you lazily eyed the two heroes before you who individually kinda reminded you of grapes and banana.

"We got her!"

"That lunch is mine!"

Carefully coursing through the two, whisking through the grape boy’s balls, until you were in front of them, hands moved at lightning speed striking their abdomen, sides, and inner biceps, leaving them paralyzed and down.

"I-I can't move...?" Satou flexed his fingers but to no avail.

"GAH! Bested!" Mineta's balls fall to the ground, no longer sticking and rolling off like a ball.

Sensing someone behind you, you threw yourself forward, ice barely kissing the tips of your sandaled feet, barreling on the ground before crouching.

"Mineta, Satou! Are you okay?"

"How and why are you down?"

"S-She did something to us...!"

Mismatched eyes watched you coolly, you didn't let up, stance readying.

You felt a rush of lighting behind you, followed by iron-clad soles hopping wall to wall. Seeing the mismatched teen's shifted posture, you smirked beneath your mask. Just as hands touched your head, you grabbed hold of his wrist, striking your knuckled index finger on his arms, before tossing him to the mismatched teen, his eyes widening at the incoming body.

"(NAME)!" an explosion sounded off.

As smoke filled the area, you stilled a moment, grunting lowly before turning on your heel and rushing the opposite direction. Hopping off the ground, you leaped building to building, not stopping once even as heroes followed after your trail.

Turning on your heel, eyeing the remaining heroes, you gave a two-fingered salute before falling backward. In midair, you twirled around, dodging an incoming combo move by Ochako and Sero, using the latter's body to cushion your fall, Ochako knocked out next to him.

Suddenly, you found yourself in some open area, with the remaining class surrounding you. Beneath the mask, you were smiling - almost madly, like the fox.

Easing into a stance, you all but raised a hand, flexing your index forward as if to say, 'come at me'.

And then it all came in a blur.

Attacks came left and right, but you were in tune with your senses enough to avoid each hit that came. You moved like water, fluidly, unyielding, splashing coolly on to the other even though the hit wasn't yours.

With your whimsical and unpredictable fighting style, it made it difficult for the class to know how you'd approach each of them, using their confusion to your advantage. Moves quick as lightning struck through through the bodies, but not enough to kill just enough to bruise and leave a mark. Adrenaline spiked through your veins, making you feel alive as your body danced with quick, harried moves. Not a single wasted hit. Carefully dodged attacks. Perfectly executed moves.

You were listening. Listening to everything, commanded only by your drive to fight. It was in the family and your blood was singing with every move. Hearing. Reacting. As your grandfather had said, you had to be one with the creatures and dance the night away.

Despite being unable to use his other arm, Izuku readily deflected your attacks with Black Whip working on trying to catch you off your feet. What he forgot was how much you knew him, how much you had helped him with his Shoot Style, and just how much you had predicted his actions. Letting Black Whip capture you, you allowed yourself to be swung around. Reaching Izuku, you took advantage of the proximity and wrapped your legs around his torso, thumb, and index finger pressed together jabbed at his elbows. For extra measure, you pressed at his inner arms.

Swinging your form back, yellow eyes fell on mint and blond who were fast approaching, hopping off your now paralyzed best friend.

A great leap over, you appeared between the two powerhouses. Grabbing their wrists, you forcefully tugged, switching sides and throwing them off, before kicking down to their ankles up to their torsos. Angered, Katsuki lifted a hand, to blast you away. Apparently, Todoroki thought of the same thing. Thankfully you ducked in time, but not enough time for the boys to realize their actions, and a loud explosion sounded off. The two were incapacitated from the blast meter...and anyone caught near it.

You landed soundlessly in front of them all, a few scratches on your costume but your fox mask still smiling.

Thirty minutes later, twenty students were down, half were paralyzed, unable to move their limbs, and had to be helped up by a fellow classmate, and half had bruises on their bodies. A smirking Shihan greeted them, next to an impassive Aizawa, eyes glinting with a strange glee.

"All twenty of you failed to capture Yuroichi," it was a simple statement, but man did it hurt their ego. First day of sophomore year and already they failed. "I'm not going to mince on you one by one, we can do that tomorrow. For now, tell me where you went wrong."

Grunting, the group looked at each other before it was Jiro who spoke first. "W-We were caught off guard...?"

"Correct."

"Yuroichi was too skilled." Mezo added, holding on to one of his arms.

"That's debatable, as you all should be, too, considering what you've been through in your first year. Anything else?"

Whilst the class were discussing amongst themselves, you walked towards your grandfather, his eyes regarding you with a soft, praising mien. He didn't say it, but the look in his eyes was the highest form of praise you'll get from him. Also, he handed you a bottle of water. Gleefully, you took off your mask, grinning toothily to your old man. Rolling his eyes, he ruffled at your sweaty hair.

"She fought dirty," came Katsuki's loud statement, glaring daggers at your smiling form, a bottle of water halfway through your mouth. You offered a peace sign, chugging at your drink greedily. "she's well-adept in close-ranged combat, especially because she knows all forms of martial arts and used it to her advantage and throw the lot of us off."

Izuku turned to his friend, eyes shining, as though he took his analysis right off his head.

"Furthermore, she used the situation to her advantage." Tokoyami's voice was loud and clear, Dark Shadow - a little worst for wear, nodded beside him.

"Explain."

"She's well acquainted with the night, similar to my quirk, to which she uses her full potential and take us out whilst we are unaware of her capabilities as a fighter."

"A bit of stretch, but more or less right on the money." says your grandfather, nodding at Tokoyami. "Though, a few of you did give her a run for her money."

About to protest, you recalled Todoroki's ice, Katsuki's forwardness, Izuku's many quirks with One for All, and even Hagakure and Uraraka's teamwork, shoulders shrugging as you nodded once.

"It just goes to show that some of you may have underestimated Yoruichi for the mere fact that she has a latent quirk, too bad. Lest you all forget what happened when you all dealt with Togata Mirio last year?"

Your ears perked at that, remembering Izuku talking a mile about this amazing senior of his.

"Just because someone lacks in one aspect, doesn't mean they can't compensate elsewhere. Today's exercise shows that some of you are still leagues away from fully realizing that, and some of you are yet to be a testament of being more than your quirks. You all failed today. But make no mistake, there'll be brighter days to come. Or evening."

Aizawa's roundabout way of comfort did its job, easing the moods of his students. It was easy to find how he's such an amazing father figure to the class and yourself.

"Yuroichi-san, you were so cool!"

"Ne, ne, can you tell us more of your quirk?"

“More importantly, what the hell did you do?”

"You're seriously like that one character in those video games!"

"Can you do other stuff, too?"

Suddenly, the class was on you, questions were thrown left and right - it was making you a bit dizzy. Despite their injuries, they never looked so alive. You take a cautionary step back.

“Yes, please! (Nickname), please tell us!” Izuku asked eyes lit with life, his fingers making writing gestures.

“Yeah, Mineta and Satou were fine moments ago, then they’re not!”

"Hey, don't forget about Aoyama and Kaminari!"

"Tokoyami, too! I thought they'd be toe-to-toe at least."

"Oi, give her some fucking room to breath, stupid extras!" yelled Bakugou, hands sparking in warning.

Finishing your drink, you smiled at your explosive friend in thanks. "Well, my quirk's called 'The Night One', which means that I have the senses and abilities of nocturnal animals." Some nod at that, some try to digest the information. Giggling, you continue. "It basically means that I can see like an owl, hear like a bat, move like a cat, smell like a raccoon, and the like. It's major drawback though is that I get really sleepy in the morning and dehydrated."

"Why dehydrated?"

"Well, nocturnal animals are known to move better because there's no sun and it's easier for water balance to keep the body going. In the morning, all my water reserve's used up and I constantly have to keep myself hydrated to move."

"That makes sense," comments Mezuo, Koda nodding next to him.

Somewhere, Kaminari's and Ashido's head were spinning from the mini-Biology session.

“And as for what I did to some of you lot, it’s called ‘Chi-blocking’,” you explained simply, earning mix reactions – some were intrigued, some were confused, and some seemed perplexed. “In simpler terms, hitting your pressure points." Bringing your hand up, balling them into fists but curling index finger inward exposing the second joint, your thumb then locked in behind it to support the new position. You strike at nothing, just showing how you did what you did. "Which means that by blocking these areas, I’m also blocking out your quirks. After all, my quirk’s not that great, so I’d have to compensate greatly in martial arts.”

“That was a mouthful, foolish girl.”

Rolling your eyes at your grandfather, you flipped back to return to his side.

"She's practically a ninja at this point," nods Mashirao.

"Right, right, right!?" Hagakure says excitedly, jumping up and down.

"Eh, maybe. But again, my quirk's not that impressive."

"Nonsense, your quirk's plenty amazing, (Nickname)!" says your best friend, ever so ready to assure you, eyes bright. "It's perfect for any stealth mission!"

Katsuki nods, shooting you a look. "What Deku said. Don't sell yourself short, (Name)."

Your best friends' words made you smile the most, you duck your head into your scarf-hood to hide a dopey grin. "Dorks."

"Alright, that concludes tonight's lesson. Your classes have been adjusted. Get some rest."

"Ah, geez! Would you look at the time!"

Time check: It was now 02:32 am. To you, that's practically noontime.

“Oh," you say mostly to yourself, catching the attention of your two best friends, who turned to you. "and this might be probably too late to tell you guys now, but I’ve been transferred to UA, specifically in the Heroics Department…specifically in 2-A. Your class.”

Your parents were pro-heroes alright but were good at keeping a low profile and keeping a front. Many of their friends - the Bakugous and Midoriyas, especially, were led to believe that your father worked as an IT specialist while your mother was a customer support supervisor. It was a good alibi, especially considering that they were night shift jobs.

You could understand why your grandfather, parents, and Aizawa-san, chose to remain under the spotlight to save lives. You realize that it was rather half-assed of you to throw away their legacy, despite the fact that they were okay with whatever you wanted to do with your life so long as you were happy.

But you wanted to do more. You wanted to make them proud.

"This was more or less a formal introduction."

Their eyes bulged as your words began to sink in.

"I'll be in your care now~"

“…WHAT!?”

Name: (Name) Yuroichi

Quirk: The Night One | A quirk that grants the user the abilities and skills of every nocturnal creature, heightening their senses, abilities, and more but only at night. Because of its nocturnal nature, the user is rather restless and dehydrated during day time.

Power: 4/5

Speed: 5/5

Technique: 5/5

Intelligence: 4/5

Martial Arts: 10/5

Life at UA was…interesting. Much more interesting than how Izuku put it.

As much as you hated to leave your old school, your club, and your grandfather, you knew that it wouldn’t be fair to just hide away forever. You wanted to make something of yourself, regardless if it meant a shitload of challenges.

Thankfully, you had your best friends to keep you on your toes, making your transition to UA quite smooth.

Oh, and there was also the class, who readily took you in.

You found yourself getting along with Tokoyami, because like you, he worked well at night, and Ojiro, because he was a martial artist like you. Shoji was also an interesting character, as was Todoroki. Koda was someone you adored because he could get all the animals - especially the nocturnal ones you've been so fond of. Mostly, you hung with the boys, never really getting over your boyishness. But, you did enjoy Ochako’s company. And then there was Jirou, whom you shared a similar interest in a certain music genre. Momo made you feel like a cheap peasant, undeserving of her presence and grace. The rest of the girls were too girly for your taste but were nice enough.

Hitoshi - who had been placed in Class 2-B, was someone you'd considered a good friend. After all, you did help train him. He seemed to see you in the same regard. At times, when both of you were free or there'd be joint classes, he'd spar with you.

The struggle though was keeping up, now that you’ve mastered the way to balance out your energy. With enough water intake, you were up and about, allowing you some rest at night. Still, it was difficult to stay awake during classes. Thankfully, your teachers understood and allowed you to sleep in, your classmates – Izuku, mostly – had notes ready for you when you woke up.

After years of public school, you felt rather out of place in a prestigious school such as UA. It had a sort of elitist feel to it, especially since practically everyone was working their way to be a hero. Or a side-kick. Or a something. But, then again, it was just like every high school. You were going to make the most out of it.

“Why’re you still working, anyway? Isn’t your family loaded or something?” Katsuki asked with a frown, fingers wrapped around his drink.

(E/c) eyes narrowed down at the blond.

“What, so I’ll mooch off them like you? Fat chance.”

Summer break finally came, you miraculously survived a semester at UA and were allowed to go home for your short vacation.

But first, you had a shift to cover.

Your two friends decided to tag along since all three of you were going to spend your breaks at Mustafu anyway.

“But didn’t your parents leave you money?” Izuku's bright green eyes turned to you, head tilted slightly.

True. A fat sum of money was left under your name when your parents died, waiting for your perusal.

“Yeah. But I just want to work, yanno?”

Truth was, working was supposed to be a distraction to help you cope with your parents’ death. After all, you had lost your closest confidant - Izuku, busy with One for All, and Bakugou had been a dead fuck at the time, they were all you had. You may have your grandparents, but it was just different when it was your parents who knew you best and all. When they died, a part of you died as well. You were left hollow, numb.

But now, things were...things were great.

"And besides, I donated some cash to my old school, specifically my old club." It kinda hurt to mention your old club, because you really enjoyed your time there and everyone was welcoming and warm (even though some gave you the stink eye because you were your grandfather's granddaughter). "They need it more than I do. I just had to make it Anonymous though."

"I'm sorry you had to leave your old club, (Nickname)."

Waving it off, you replied. "Nah, they'll be fine. Besides, they've always been plenty strong on their own." Humming in though, you shrugged then. "It does suck that it means I won't have to spar much though."

"You spar plenty in UA anyway," Katsuki scoffed, running a hand through his hair. Izuku nods furiously at this.

"You'll give Gunhead a run for this money at this rate!"

Since your transfer you were fast becoming the top (female) combatant in the class - maybe even your whole year! It also included the fact that you've had martial arts awards under your name and a family name as a sort of branding.

"Well, yeah. That, and I don't have to pretend I'm quirkless anymore."

Both your friends reacted to that, mulling at your words. The word 'quirkless' cutting deep for both of them - all three of you, but you're all way past it now considering the path you've all decided to walk on.

"But it is nice to know that I'm free to exercise what I can do to the best of my abilities." You flex out your hands, turn them up, and gazing at your open palm, closing them to a fist.

"That's the spirit, (Nickname)!"

"Just don't let it go to your head."

"What, like you?"

"At least I'm strong."

"Fuck you, I'm plenty strong on my own, too." Turning on your heel, intent on returning to the counter. "Don't forget who beat your ass without having to use their quirk, asshole."

Katsuki sputtered on his drink, its contents flying everything much to your chagrin and joy. You couldn't help snickering.

Izuku could only laugh at you both, hashing out words at each other - words that weren't full of venom of hate, all in good fun, and just full of youthful energy. Somewhere, your manager eyed the two of you worryingly, especially at the language spewing out of your mouths.

The two stayed until the end of your shift, the three of you walking home comfortably under the night sky. Just like old times.

When you participated in your first Sports Festival, it was during a high time when you had mastered using half the energy reserve for the daytime. Coursing through so many obstacles was not an easy feat, especially when it was a hot morning and you were losing water in your system fast. Conserving energy for a nocturnal quirk user was not easy, after all.

Countless water bottles were finished in record time, boosting your system for the remaining games.

It was only during the semi-finals (yes, for some reason you made it that far) that your body finally gave out.

Slowly blinking your eyes open, only for them to snap shut at the bright fluorescent light above you, you groaned weakly. Fabric conditioner, soft pillows, fresh-smelling sheets, - you were at the clinic. The smell was almost too much. There was an aftertaste at the back of your mouth, but couldn't put a name on what it was exactly.

"Did I lose...?" you slurred, body heavy, your mind in a haze.

Trying to recall your fight, a slight frown fixed itself on your face. Everything that happened came out blank, your mind seemingly wanting you to shut down. Then, something soft nudged between your brows, as though to smooth it out. Blinking, you realized that it was someone's thumb. Once the frown eased off, the hand hung there, unsure what to do with it, before tucking strands of wayward hair away from your face.

Slowly, everything came into focus. "Katsuki..."

"That was quite the fight you had there," he comments, voice tight. You hum, things slowly returning to mind.

"He overloaded my senses," you remember, shuddering at the memory. You had been up against a Tech Support student, who was armed with all sorts of knick-knacks. "it was horrible."

"Yeah, it was." He grumbled in response.

The student you were up against armed himself with all sorts of knick-knacks to disarm anyone, and since your quirk gave you finely tuned senses, he thought you were the perfect candidate to test out his latest works. When it happened, small sparks were dangerously coming out of Katsuki's hands. He half-tempted to jump in then and there, but couldn't out of respect for you. Izuku had to hold him back, but even he was frustrated at how one-sided the fight had seemed. The memory of you falling on your knees, senses overstimulated by the Tech student who proudly advertised his knick-knacks to spectating companies, much like Hatsume Mei's a year back, sent him roiling. But then, you had used a tactic he and Izuku never saw you do before, you took off your jacket - to which, Mineta and Kaminari excitedly watched - and wrapped it around your head, leaving you blind. The Tech Support had tried to overstimulate your senses again, but with scaringly fast reflexes, you got to him, beat him to a pulp, and knocked him out for good. "But I'm proud of you for winning that bout."

Turning to your side, you worked on a smile. "Thanks," but did you really win? You did pass out after all. Maybe it ended in a draw? "where's Izuku?" you asked instead, in the end caring very little about your match.

"Probably preparing for his match," he replied, relaxing in his seat. "He's up against Monoma."

Ah, him.

"That would've been interesting to see."

"Like Deku would lose."

"Exactly."

Yawning, you rubbed at your eyes, realizing just how heavy your body feels, how you felt tingly all over.

"How are you feeling?" the concern was thick in his voice.

"Heavy." You reply, nosing your pillow. "Tired. Weak. Irritable? Hungry."

Unable to help himself, he laughs.

At the sound of his laugh, a sleepy smile broke into your face. Reaching out a hand, you took his hand in yours, giving it a small squeeze.

Unsurprisingly, his hand was much larger than yours but ever so gentle and warm to the touch. Much to your surprise, however, his hand was actually softer than it looked - despite having to blow up every goddamn time. Also, it had a sweet scent coming off of it, like burnt sugar. Nitroglycerin sweat.

"'anks for checkin' up on me, for being here..."

As much as he can, Bakugou tried not to implode then and there. His chest though? It was pounding, madly.

So instead, he held your hand tighter.

The next few minutes were filled with a gentle rumble coming from the ongoing fight, both of you were wondering how it went because it's your broccoli boy, some yelling from outside (to which he had half a mind to yell to keep their voices down), their voices softly discussing each other's earlier matches, some pointers, and Bakugou's upcoming fight.

"...Do you know who you're up against?"

"Dunno, don't care."

"Liarrrrrrrrrrrr." you dug your thumb nail into his skin, teasingly.

He barely flinched, face smug. "So what? I'll win either way."

"You are so full of shit, you know that?" Gone was the animosity and venom in those words, enough to crack a grin on the blond's face.

"At least I didn't puke all over the stadium."

"Exaggerating my case makes you look bad, just so you know." With your free hand, you weakly punched him. He caught your hand and tucked it back to your side.

His other hand holding yours the whole time.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, the door creaked open to reveal your green-haired best friend, tired-looking yet standing tall. Victorious.

"Hey, 'zuku..." you called out weakly. "Congrats."

The green-haired teen offered a small smile in return. "Hey, (Nickname), how are you feeling?"

"Better now that my boys are here," you chuckle, feeling tiredness creeping. "didja win?"

Nodding, your friend turned to the blond. "Kacchan, it's time for you to prepare."

Bakugou blinked, eyes dropping. Smiling sleepily, you tug your joined hands, carmine meeting (e/c), a happy sigh leaving your lips. "Go win some...Katsuki...'kay?"

Exhaling softly, eyelids falling close with lashes kissing the tops of your cheeks, your hold loosening in his, carmine eyes took in your sleeping frame. He stayed a few minutes, just watching you sleep. Just as he stood, he remembered your joined hands.

Unable to help himself, he raised them to his lips, kissing the back of your hand, your knuckles, and fingers.

The door shut behind him as he walked on, his best friend walking behind him. If Izuku made mention of the fact that both of you held hands, realizing that it had been like that long before he came to fetch his best friend, or that he purposedly walked out when you fell into a slumber, he made no mention of it.

In February, you got word of your grandmother had finally come home. Excitedly, as you were granted a leave, you merrily walked on the snowy streets, practically skipping out of UA.

"Where has she been all this time?" Katsuki asked next to you, hands in his pocket. He was insistent on walking you to the station. Izuku had "other things to do", the little sneaky shit.

"Things." You reply, cryptically.

"Things." He repeated, dumbly.

"Like I'd tell you, dork." you roll your eyes at him, the snow falling all around. "And don't worry, even Izuku has no idea where my granny's been."

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, his eyes settled on you, his jacket - that he lent you a few days back, because you're so reckless under the snow and 'how could an idiot forget their own fucking jacket?' - dwarfing your frame.

The relationship between the two of you was a hot topic amongst students in UA. Everyone knew that you were childhood friends who had a rift and rocky relationship growing up, but now, everyone saw that something had changed. Mostly, people noted how Bakugou was especially towards you.

There was no name, no label, no nothing yet - Izuku sometimes felt like knocking both your heads together in frustration - it felt rather nice to just be in his presence and bask in this wonderful feeling. And whenever he can, he'd purposedly leave you two when you were lounging, studying, or keep people away from intervening between your supposed moment.

"How long you gonna be out?"

"Hm, two days tops. Granny brought some treats with her and I've been meaning to spar with her." you continue trekking, humming happily under your breath.

"How come I've never seen her?"

"Oh, you have. Both of you. It's just that she likes to be in the background."

He tries to think back to his childhood, trying to remember the times he spent at your place, trying to remember, but the longer he tried to ransack his memory, the more he was left with nothing. And that led him to a snowball pelted to his face.

"OI!" your laugh resounds as his rage fuels up to melt the snow.

"Bet you were trying to nail down, weren't you?"

"I can't help it! I don't remember her!"

Scoffing, you throw another snowball, which he melts easily with his quirk. "It's okay. I mean, what's to remember about you anyway? You were loud, so full of shit, a tiny, whiny, demon. The complete opposite of sweet little Izuku- hey!"

Out of nowhere, snow pelts you in the head. Katsuki smirks at you, happy to get back at you.

"Katsuki, you fucking ass!"

He sneered, bending over to build snowball and throws them. With your quirk, you easily dodge. "Fucking cheat!"

"Don't be a sore loser, Katsuki!"

Squeals and laughter fill the sidewalk, passersby avoiding the mini-snowball war between two teens lest.

"Alright, alright, I jest! Come on!"

Catching his breath, the blond wipes his mouth with the back of his gloves. "You fucking started it."

"Don't act like you didn't have fun, Katsuki."

He liked the way his name came out of your mouth. There was just something about it that made it more special, and really acknowledge that it was his name. It was different when his parents say it.

His name means ‘victory’ and it might as well be one whenever you say his name.

"By the way," you call, cutting him off his reverie. "don't forget to ring your parents time to time, yeah?"

"Where is this coming from?"

You shrug easily adjusting your backpack strap and shaking the snow off your hair, leaving it frazzled. "All this talk about my granny made me think of families, mine, Izuku, yours." Hastily, you run a hand through it.

"My folks are fine."

"True," the train station came to view, snow continuing to fall down the sleepy city "but that doesn't mean you should stop checking up on them."

His nose scrunches, uncomfortable with the topic of coddling. "Do you talk to them?"

"Duh, what do you think?" you gave him a look, almost offended. "I talk to Auntie Inko, too. Not just my grandpa, you know."

The fact that you take the time to talk to Izuku's mom and his parents spoke plenty, seeing how fond the adults were of you. He could imagine just how close the lot of you were, remembering the many dinners you three have had and the holiday visits. Also, there was the fact that you were an orphan.

As much as he hated his old hag nagging at him, his father's needless coddling - he was lucky to have parents like them. You didn't have that anymore.

Grumbling, he complies. "Fucking fine."

Reaching a crosswalk, the two of you stop at red, cars whisking through. Despite being damp from the top up, his quirk helped warm him just a bit. He'd have to hurry back to the dorms lest he catches a cold. The fact that he was with you, however, that made him warm - fuzzy, annoyingly warm that he could feel from his head to his toes. When the light flashed green, the two of you walk.

"You've changed." you say, he turns to find you staring at him in awe, surprise, pride in your eyes. “What are you up to?”

He feels his blood rushing to his cheeks, feels something catch in his throat, feels a flutter in his belly.

“Small things. Little things. Anything for a chance at redemption.”

“…a chance at redemption.” you repeat, testing the words.

He sighed, eyes forward. “For you, Deku, and myself.”

Bakugou Katsuki truly has grown so much since you last saw him. It made you proud, so fucking proud.

Weirded out by your silence, he turns to you, about to berate, only to freeze at the way you were glowing at him, for him.

It was reminiscent of the one he remembered from his childhood. That silly girl with dirt on her hands and fingers, leaves on her (h/c) hair, holding his hand with a flower ring she made for him. It was the one smile he could never forget, treasured, and one he'd never thought to be at the receiving end ever again.

“You’re so lame, you know that?” Sputtering, you didn’t give him a chance to explain himself before tossing him something. “Here,”

Although caught off-guard, he catches it easily. Way too easily.

Asshole.

He didn’t have to ask to know what it was, cheeks warming and reddening.

“Happy Valentine’s Katsuki~” giving him a two-fingered salute, you walked into the train station, smiling silly to yourself.

“O-Oi!”

Looking over your shoulder, (e/c) eyes blinking curiously at him, he could very well see your cheeks were just as red.

“…expect double- no, triple on White Day!”

Snorting, the silly smile returned, only, it was aimed at him. Surprised, but honored.

“Lame ass.”

Izuku was in the common area, furiously checking up new hero updates on his phone, a bag of chocolates shaped like All Might you had given earlier half-finished, a cup of hot cocoa sitting next to it when the front door slammed open.

“Oi, Deku!”

“Ah? Kacchan?”

The blond teen walked towards him, noticeably wet and red in the face.

Once he stood in front of him, he seemed to deflate. Scratching the back of his neck, chin tucked in, his actions very uncharacteristic of the loudmouth he’s used to making the green-haired teen worry.

"Kacchan?"

“…w-what does (Name) like?”

"Eh?"

His eyes caught on something on Kacchan's pocket, chocolates. Not just any chocolates, those were your chocolates!

Unable to help himself, Izuku combusted then and there – finally, his ship was coming to life!

[end]

masterlist

#lame #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki fic #bakugou katsuki angst #bakugou katsuki angst fic #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha angst #bnha fic #bnha angst fic #mha #mha x reader #mha fic #mha angst #mha angst fic #bakugou x reader

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cno-inbminor · 4 years

Text

a/n: iwaizumi occupies an unhealthy amount of thoughts in my head. yay for another drabble dump! kind of recycled a soulmate!au from another fic of mine.

wc: 1.4k; angst; gets a little risque but no smut.

vampire!iwa, soulmates via red string + reincarnation, person A can see it but person B can’t.

“y’know, roaming the earth for nearly 400 years doesn’t sound that bad.”

“it’s torture in its own way, trust me.”

“haji, i know you’re a vampire and everything, but must you be so angst-y and brooding all the time?”

“leave my house.”

hajime pretends that your laughter doesn’t make the corners of his own lips twitch upward. his attention, albeit divided, is directed towards the book resting atop his crossed legs, a cheek pressed into his left fist with his elbow on the arm rest. the cotton sofa chair he sits upon is a relic from britain that he was given from the king himself in 1833, and you’re amazed that it hasn’t turned to dust yet. hajime thanks the development of good upholstery cleaning products.

his onyx gaze flickers to where you stand with your hands clasped tightly behind your back, perusing the titles on one of his many bookshelves lined against the walls. though he’s completely desensitized to the smell of human blood, the scent of yours is moderately more tempting than he’s used to. part of him is disgusted with himself, a tiny yet monstrous fraction of his soul simply keeping you around because he’s addicted. the realization sticks to him like grime and muck on skin, a pain to wash off, and grimace settled deep into invisible wrinkles. while his goal wasn’t to achieve complete humanity, he didn’t like being reminded that he exists as a monster, a foretold dangerous creature of the night.

“you have a first edition of pride and prejudice?!” you cry out, fingers hovering reverently over the spine. you’re afraid that if you touch and try to open it, the pages will scatter towards the cherry hardwood ground quite unceremoniously, and that hajime might rip your neck open for it.

of course he’s silent in his steps to move closer to your figure, nonchalantly pulling back the book from its position. he relishes in your quiet, nervous intake of air and opens the cover as if to let you know that it’s not as fragile as you believe. the awe in your eyes is captivating, and he tries not to bore holes into the side of your face. you’re charming in many of the same ways as your previous lives, though that’s a secret for him to keep for now.

“you know what’s absolute batshit crazy? this alone could cover my living expenses for two or three years.”

hajime shrugs. his sense of money has also gone downhill over the years, but he’s a simple man with very few material needs. the most sizeable portion of his tremendous wealth goes towards art and literature, and he believes it pays off in moments like these.

“i could cover your living costs until you die,” he supplies and another soft peal of laughter leaves your chest. your inevitable, human death doesn’t trigger a twinge in his chest, not at all. he’s past that -- it’s been over ten lifetimes, this one won’t be any different.

“that’s sweet, but i don’t need a sugar daddy,” you chuckle, sliding the novel back into the shelf. “there are plenty of others who could use your help. go build homeless shelters, donate a shit ton of money to charities and causes. or you can be a sugar daddy for other people. plenty of people would sign up in a heartbeat knowing that you were willing to give money without asking for some favors in return.”

“i have built homeless shelters and made large anonymous donations to several places over the years. what do you take me for?”

“a dark, brooding vampire that pretends the sun still burns his skin.”

hajime rolls his eyes and walks away, choosing to return to his seat and open his book again. he feels you adjust and balance yourself on his arm chair, leaning above him to read the words as he goes along. you know that he slows down his reading speed for you, turning the pages at a more human pace to accommodate your needs. it’s charming and quite touching, romantic in a similar vein. perhaps it’s silly that you’ve developed a crush on an immortal creature, but you and hajime seem to click so well. even just after a few weeks of getting to know him, he feels so familiar, like a best friend you’ve known all your life. so incredibly reliable, protective, helpful, intelligent, ridiculously handsome that it should be a crime, and caring -- it’s frightening to some degree, but also comforting more than anything.

“you’re a 400 year old vampire, yet you choose to waste your time with me,” you mutter, the words tumbling off your tongue before you can stop yourself. “compared to you, i’m pretty much a child, probably extremely immature. so why bother? boredom? curiosity?”

hajime almost stares incredulously at you for such a ridiculous assumption, though severely underestimating how close your face is to his. once again, he finds himself getting lost in your gaze. it’s as breathtaking as the first time those centuries ago, and you are so painfully unaware of the effect you have on him. the bond, the red string of fate becomes the center of gravity. after all this time, he can’t control and stop himself from glancing at your lips then back up, trying to give you time to deny his advances. though like always, you reciprocate his actions, leaning closer towards him, mouth slightly parted with bated breath and electric anticipation.

the warmth of you quite nearly sears his skin, and he can’t help but sharply inhale at the first touch of contact. god, he’s missed this so much. he’s missed branding the shape your lips into his brain, he’s missed how alive he feels in these moments, he’s missed being able to hold you in his arms and claim you as his yet again. hajime wants nothing more than to pick you up by your thighs and carry you to his bedroom to remind you just who exactly you belong to, who you’ve always belonged to. the passion nearly hums in his veins but he keeps the pressure against your lips to a minimum, relishing in how soft they feel against his own. he never wants this to end -- fuck needing blood for survival.

you’re all he needs.

a soft moan sneaks away from him when you push harder against him, seeking fuller contact -- who is he to deny you? he places a tentative hand on your nape to keep you stable, though it doesn’t take long for you to slide into his lap and straddle him. your own hands fist his obsidian strands, tightening and tugging when you pull back for air and he finds refuge in the skin on the column of your neck. he nips and sucks until you’re almost whining to kiss him again, his hips grinding against where you might need him most.

it’s almost too much, but you can’t find it in yourself to stop. there’s something inside you that screams you’ve been craving this, that this intimacy with hajime is everything that’s been missing from your life. you feel so complete, a sensation so terrifyingly thrilling because you couldn’t imagine what would happen if hajime ever left you.

“i need you,” you gasp against his lips, grinding down on him for extra measure and throwing shame out the window. your scent washes over him in crashing waves and intoxicates his soul yet again, the grasp of his hands on your waist surely bruising your skin now. it’s the tipping point, the slip in the house of cards, the leap into another endless rabbit hole that will only bring him torment again in sixty years. and though every lifetime he tells himself that he’ll keep his distance, that he’ll be nothing more than a good friend, he can’t help but relapse and give in. it’s too hard not to, and all the pain, suffering, and agony of waiting for you to be reincarnated is worth it if he can have you again.

“if you’ll have me,” he murmurs. it’s silly that he’s trying to make sure you’re aware of your own actions, as if the soulmate bond wasn’t tugging on your heartstrings this whole time. there’s no one more perfect for him than you, nor him for you. written in the stars, foretold in the legends, there was no escaping it.

“please,” you beg, driving the metaphorical stake through his chest. it ensures another death, another ending that most would spend eternity running from.

but effortlessly lifting you with one hand beneath your thigh and the other wound around your waist, he takes it all, prepared to die once more.

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi x y/n #iwaizumi #hajime #iwazumi hajime #hajime x reader #hajime x you #haikyuu #hq #iwaizumi angst #hq angst #haikyuu angst #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #iwaizumi scenarios #haikyuu scenarios #everyone get some good quality sleep if you can!! and drink water!

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painted-crow · 4 years

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Some Discworld Sortings

@missbrunettebarbie: Monstrous Regiment, The Truth, the first 3 City Watch books, Going Postal, Mort and Unseen Academicals. And I would love to read those sortings :)).

I already have most of Unseen Academicals’ Sorting written out--I just need to tweak it for publishing :)

The short version of UA

The cast of UA is a pure-House matched set, aside from some models, and the characters each swap models around and interact with each others’ primaries in interesting ways. Glenda is a Hufflepuff/Hufflepuff, Juliette is a Gryffindor, Trev is a Slytherin, and Nutt, of course, is the loudest double Ravenclaw ever (I love him).

Nutt helps Glenda realize her community’s worldview is toxic and stop seeing herself through their lens. Glenda then stops pushing the same worldview on Juliette and starts encouraging her to follow her Gryffindor instead. Nutt doesn’t remotely fit into the class framework Glenda’s used to, and he challenges her assumptions just by existing. (Glenda also picks up a Gryffindor secondary model from Juliette that’s very healthy for her, but that’s getting into a bunch more detail that I’ll save for the full post later.)

Nutt’s system is very Hufflepuffy, but he sees himself as more of a tool than a person, and Glenda consistently argues with him about this until he starts to believe her. Then she’s his champion in the community, where Nutt desperately wants to belong but keeps getting rejected for what he is. It’s such a good ship, they’re so healthy for each other--and if you’re looking for a wholesome, fuzzy romantic subplot with an autistic-coded character, it’s right here.

Trev slowly un-Petrifies as he starts to let himself care about his friends, and they in turn inspire him to contribute and make something of himself. It’s not immediately obvious that Trev is Burned, because he’s so carefree--but he’s carefree because he isn’t letting himself care. He’s an orphan, and he’s felt helpless for a long time.

We know he’s unburned when he finally prioritizes his loyalty to his living friends over the promise he made years ago to his mother (who seems to represent the last loyalty relationship Trev had, and he's still holding on to her; letting her go means Trev has accepted that he has new relationships and those are real). Juliette’s presence in particular reignites his ambition--he wants to do better for her, be better for her, and that gives him direction in a way that his previous goals of leisure and self-preservation didn’t.

(That’s what’s going on with their primaries. Eventually I’ll get off my butt and fix up the full post.)

A quick sampler of main characters from the other books...

Monstrous Regiment

Polly is a Slytherin primary. The whole reason she joins the army is to rescue Paul (and, secondarily, to make sure she has a stable future when her father dies--otherwise some unreliable relative of hers inherits the inn, she’s not allowed to own it because of Nugganite customs). Ravenclaw secondary, I think, for how much her narration criticizes the others for not having a plan.

Going Postal

Moist is of course a double Slytherin--he's blatantly obvious. He has a Claw secondary model but he tells us through the narration that he doesn't value it quite as much as his Slytherin. He's also very good at performing Puff secondary and seeming like a reliable people person, but the second he's asked to actually be reliable and hardworking he starts to go nuts and look for dangerous, exciting stuff to do.

The only thing that really ties him to Ankh-Morpork, aside from its general entertainment value every time Vetinari tries to give him a job where someone inevitably wants to kill him, is Adorabelle (who is also a threat to his life, just a little, enough to be interesting). She’s a double Slytherin too, but she spends most of her time in neutral state--yet she’s even managed to turn her neutral state into a game to play with Moist. Of course he’s enamored with her, lol.

City Watch series

Vimes is a Ravendor: he has very thoroughly laid out views about the law and its role in choosing the right thing to do. You could argue that he’s a burned Gryff, given how tight of a lid he has on his “inner darkness” (that shows up more later, and he’s not being entirely metaphorical), but he seems pretty stable and content with his system. Vimes doesn’t trust himself without his checks and boundaries, but he seems to be okay with that, even if he’s secretly afraid that the rules and accountability he’s laid out for himself someday won’t be enough.

His system doesn’t always match up with the law, but he uses the law to make sure he doesn’t stray too far off moral ground and into taking his wrath out on the guilty. Vimes actually gains a really useful reputation in later books as being fair and consistent and impossible to corrupt.

As for his secondary... he’s known as “Vetinari’s terrier.” He thinks he should be better at Ravenclaw secondary (putting together clues and so on) but mostly he runs off charge and intuition. There’s a really silly bit in Thud! where he’s constantly arguing with a magical Palm Pilot Sybil got for him, because he doesn’t have the patience to learn to use it. Whether he likes it or not, he’s a Gryff.

Sybil is either a Puff or Gryff primary; I lean towards Gryff for her. She’s got this very certain, intuitive core to her, and while she clearly holds a lot of Hufflepuffy values, she’s also very hard to sway or influence. She’s very solid in her morality, and I think that’s one of the things Vimes loves about her. Vimes has to work at staying moral 24/7, while Sybil just... is.

She’s a Ravenclaw secondary with a REALLY loud Hufflepuff secondary model. Hufflepuff is how she was raised to behave, and she likes it a lot, but she uses Ravenclaw without even thinking about it--the number of times she just pulls the "I happen to be prepared for this very specific situation" card out of her hat is wild, and she doesn’t even seem to think that what she’s doing is unusual.

It’s most obvious in The Fifth Elephant: not only does Sybil speak Dwarvish, but she sings a piece of a Dwarf opera to get them out of a tight corner, and then she semi-accidentally becomes an expert trade negotiator out of sheer curiosity, reading up on the notes left by the previous ambassador.

Also, it’s really cute that Vimes is a Ravendor and Sybil is a Gryffinclaw.

Carrot is hard to Sort. He gives off REALLY strong Hufflepuff vibes, of course, and he knows everyone and can be empathetic toward anyone. But he’s actually really hard to read. Angua certainly keeps expecting that he’s hiding layers of himself, but that’s probably because she’s got a lot of Slytherin to her (either Slytherdor or double Slytherin, her secondary might be a little singed; her primary definitely is).

I want to say that he’s a Hufflepuff secondary who’s really good at adapting to and mirroring other people, and Angua keeps mistaking this for Slytherin secondary. I think he’s a Gryffindor primary with a lot of Hufflepuffy values, like Sybil, and maybe he has a Slytherin model specifically for Angua (he drops everything for her early on in Fifth Elephant, possibly staking his life on the fact that she’ll come and find him when he does) --but I could be persuaded otherwise.

Phew, this is longer than I thought it’d be.

#sortinghatchats #meta #discworld #terry pratchett #paint speaks

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andythane · 3 years

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HOLY WATER CANNOT HELP YOU NOW I’VE COME TO BURN YOUR KINGDOM DOWN

MAY 19TH, 2021. OUTSIDE OF LAFAYETTE, LOUISIANA. notes & tw: this is literally all just bloody, brutal violence of every kind. andy, along side wes and wyatt, gets revenge on the rogue’s responsible for attacking rowan in february. italics are flashbacks, ps. tw for very graphic murder, lots of blood, violence, gore (eye, specifically), stabbing, decapitation/dismemberment, tc ahead. please read at your own discretion, it’s a lot.

The first time he kills someone, he’s twenty years old. Four months after he’d been officially patched into the club, reconciled with Rowan, and started this new chapter of his life. He knew what the patch sewn to his cut meant -- He had grown up next to it, had seen his father come home at all hours of the night covered in blood with a smile on his face as he slapped his gun onto the kitchen table and happily declared he needed a beer. That being said, doing it yourself and hearing stories were so comically different it made his head spin.

Most of the ride, he’s quiet, staring out the window of the Wyatt’s jeep as they drive through the backroads. There’s not much conversation to be had once they’ve gone over the plan, all three men knowing exactly what they’re going to this warehouse for. It’s roughly a two hour car ride, giving Andy enough time to go mentally go over the weapons he’s brought with him -- The gun tucked into his cut, one tucked into the waistband of his pants, one strapped to his ankle; The knife tucked in his boot strap, the other in the sheath of his belt. He’s nothing if not prepared. Andy goes over their placement for the thousandth, unneeded time, thinking through every what if scenario he could find himself in. It’s not often that his paranoid nature actually becomes a benefit.

They know the layout of the building, where each of them will cover, and the amount of people that will be there -- But he likes to prepare for the worst and the best, knowing from experience that they’re likely going to meet a mixture of both. Andy’s planned and executed this kind of thing enough times to know how to go about it blindfolded. At this point, it’s just like riding a bike.

He wonders what Wes is thinking, if his mind drifts back to Jace asleep at home, unaware of the violence going on around him; If Wyatt is imagining Iris in her hospital bed three months ago, scared of the oxygen mask strapped to her face. All Andy can think of is Rowan, sobbing in his arms while struggling not to move and potentially injure herself further, tearfully telling him why she hadn’t shown up to dinner.

It’s been a while since he’s found himself in this kind of mindset, having hung up his metaphoric hat when it comes to hitman jobs in the last few years. After his time in prison, Andy knew he had to lay low -- Being on parole, and having a daughter to raise changed his priorities. While the money from his ‘freelancing’ had been nice, he and Rowan had enough saved to last them a lifetime, especially with his cut of the guns the club sold, and her salary. There was no need for it now, not like when they were struggling to pay rent and put Rowan through school. Though, he couldn’t deny the high that came with planning a job was one Andy didn’t know he desperately missed. It used to scare him, how exciting he found this -- The rush that came from a stake out, figuring out each detail all the way down to the small possibility, the thrill of actually pulling his gun and breaking through the door. Now he welcomes it like an old friend.

He always imagined it would be a fair fight -- Or at least, not like this. Whenever the thought came to mind, he pictured himself wrestling some bond villain looking guy, the two diving for the gun that had been cast aside. It was naive, childish even -- But he didn’t expect that he’d be pointing his gun at someone who couldn’t be much older than him, one who was sobbing through swollen eyes, pleading for his life. His father kept his hand’s firmly planted on the kid’s shoulder’s to keep him from squirming out of the rickety chair, acting like this was a prize for a job well done. This could easily have been me, Andy thinks. Had this job gone wrong, he has no doubt Cronus wouldn’t hesitate to put him into that chair, make an example out of his son. Only, it didn’t. It was nothing short of an absolute success.

His father says something, but Andy doesn’t hear it. Jason is somewhere in the background cheering him on. Andy’s heart is pounding in his ears, both hands holding tightly to his gun, fighting to conceal the fact that they’re shaking. The gun is pointed directly at the poor kid’s head, Cronus’ steady hands keeping him from getting away from his obvious fate. Andy glances to his father for a moment, the wild look in the man’s surely meant to be read as adrenaline fueled pride. This is Andy’s first job after being patched in, and he had proved himself thus far. Now he just needed to finish this. Andy wishes he had the strength to lift his arms just that much higher, and put a bullet in his father’s head.

In that moment, he thinks of Rowan; Part of him wishes he hadn’t, based on the way his jaw clenches and his chest constricts -- He doesn’t want her to ever know about the horrible things he’s going to do, the horrible thing he’s about to do. Rowan shouldn’t have to see him for what he really is, what he’ll grow up to be: A monster. The rational part of himself reminds him that she already knows, and she’s still waiting for him at home, ready to pull him into open arms once he passes through the front door.

He pulls the trigger.

The kid’s blood splatters across Andy’s face.

They move quietly, each taking different sections of the warehouse. Wes covers the open space where the guns lie, Wyatt takes the small offices turned into ‘bedrooms’, while Andy takes the conference turned war room. He knows this is only a piece of the Rogues puzzle, but it’s a step in the right direction. They don’t plan on leaving anyone behind to tell the others what happened -- The grizzly scene and blood splattered across the walls will paint the picture for them.

His back remains against the wall, pulling his gun from his cut as he moves quietly, the three men in the conference room too distracted by their own conversation to notice Andy slipped into the dimly lit room. He makes presence known by firing a bullet into one man’s -- His name is Sam, based on the conversation Andy heard before entering -- knee, which creates a flurry of action as everyone tries to dive for the guns on the table. It’s the obvious move, one that Andy had anticipated. His hand reaches for the underside of the table between the four men seconds after his gun first fires, sending the flimsy plastic table over, their guns scattered and out of reach.

Sam fits one of the descriptions Will gave him, of a shorter, stocky man, blacked out ink covering him aside from a poorly done mermaid tattoo covering his throat. The man across from Sam fits the bill, as well -- Blonde, long hair, scar across his cheek, entire right arm covered in blacked out tattoos. Jack, Andy’s memory recalls. The man in question tries to make a run for one of the guns, but Andy stops him with a bullet to the stomach. Enough to knock him down, but not enough to immediately kill him. He wants them alive for this, to feel the same terror and pain Rowan did that night. They’re not going to be lucky enough to get a bullet to the head first.

The third and final man is one Andy recognizes now that he’s face to face. His name is Danny, but he’d been called Tex during his time in the club. (The nickname was stupid then, and it’s stupid now, Andy thinks.) He had his ink blacked out and left town roughly ten years ago after screwing the club over. The surprise reunion is enough to catch Tex off guard, enough that he hesitates, eyes narrowing as he takes in the scene in front of them. Both Sam and Jack bleeding on the floor, the former clutching his leg and screaming to the third to Do something, you fucking idiot. So, he does. The man charges forward, managing to knock Andy to the ground given the fact that he’s got about a hundred pounds on him.

They struggle as Tex tries to wrestle the gun away from Andy, before it gets thrown to the side in the fight. Punches are thrown on both ends, a ringing settling in Andy’s ears after a particular blow to the side of his head, though it doesn’t deter him. Andy manages to roll them over, holding the other man down with knee pressing down on his throat. Tex claws, scratches, and hits Andy in an attempt to get out from under him, but the cut off of oxygen makes it more difficult. He gets a few good blows in, though -- There’s blood dribbling down Andy’s arms from scratches, bruises that have already begun to form. He doesn’t notice, too focused on keeping the man under him from getting out of his grip. His hands move to hold Tex’s head, Andy’s thumbs digging into the inner corners of his eyes, gouging them as deeply as he can manage.

He can’t help but wonder if the three men have realized this isn’t about killing them; It’s about watching them suffer.

The fact that Tyson is still breathing is enough to send Andy into a tailspin. He had hoped the spineless piece of shit had fucked off somewhere, given that he hadn’t made an appearance in his and Rowan’s life in quite some time. Andy’s attempts at optimism always seem to be met with harsh reality, though, one that consistently proves the obvious: It’s childish to try and see the best out of a situation like this. He knows this as he throws the man off his front porch, knowing he has to take care of this problem himself -- Restraining orders and the local cops just aren’t going to cut it. Not when he and Rowan have a fragile six month old daughter sleeping in a crib down the hall.

His downfall is the fact that he reacts, he doesn’t plan. Andy knows better. The reason he’s been so successful with the club is his commitment to discretion, detail, and planning. He analyzes that night over and over for the next three years from the comfort of his prison cell, imagining how he would have killed Tyson if he had taken the time to do it properly -- Instead of grabbing his baseball bat, and kicking the front door in. He would have made it last longer, Andy decided. Prolong his suffering, before letting him gain a shred of hope that he’d make it out alive — Before finally putting him in the ground. That being said, the satisfaction that comes from the look of pure fear on Tyson’s face the moment he sees Andy come through the door? Unmatched.

The mental image is one that never fails to bring him a swell of pride. He can still hear the sound of his bat crushing bone, feel the way his heart skipped a beat with each and every hit. It didn’t matter if there was blood flying, covering him in the evidence; The fact that he hadn’t been quiet in his entrance; The sound of distant sirens headed their way, after a loud, shrill scream rang out. All that mattered was crushing Tyson’s skull, ending the iron grip he’s had on Rowan’s life for the better half of a decade. He didn’t care what happened next, as long as his wife and daughter were able to live in a world where Tyson Grant didn’t.

He only regrets not being able to finish the job that night.

It occurs to him, as his foot comes stomping down on Sam’s already shot knee, that he hasn’t done anything like this since prison. He’s gone on runs, jobs, the works -- Hell, he even threatened to brain Will in his own home. Everything pales in comparison, though. In prison, they had to be more creative; Breaking bones, cutting off fingers, slitting throats before the guards showed up. It was all quick and dirty, done by hand. There was no choice in the matter -- If he wanted to finish out his sentence, see his wife and daughter, even have a chance of making it to the end of the week at all, Andy had to get rid of the other guy. The protection that came with being a Primordial didn’t go as far as one would hope. There’s a reason they used to refer to him as the Grim Reaper. Years later, and he’s made it clear that he hasn’t lost his touch.

This man doesn’t want to fucking die, though. The way he keeps clawing at Andy, yelling obscenities between each scream of pain. He makes proclamations about how he’s going to kill Andy, calling him every name in the book as he tries and fails to fight for his life. A hard kick to the head shuts him up for a moment, disorienting him enough before Sam musters up enough energy to stab Andy in the calf, almost successful in knocking him to the floor. Clearly, the man got a last surge of something, accompanied by a knife he hadn’t realized Sam had on him. This only provokes an annoyed grunt and eye roll from Andy. He stumbles down onto one knee from the surprise of the movement, a stab to the man’s arm with the knife from his boot strap gets Sam to let go. He does, going limp as his knife is stuck in Andy’s calf. It doesn’t stop him from continuing the effort though, within a moment Andy’s on top of his unconscious victim, stabbing him in the chest over and over again like he’s in a cheap horror movie.

In that moment, he loses himself -- Something snaps, taking him back to the night he’d gotten a call that Rowan was in the hospital, the way he so desperately pushed down all of the anger and rage that came with knowing she’d been hurt at the hands of these assholes. Everything he’s fought to hold at bay for the sake of his wife, the kids, his sobriety, the club -- It all bubbles to the surface now, when he’s not worrying about keeping the kids safe and Rowan above water. When all there is is this room, and him, and the people that have to pay for the crimes they’ve committed.

Every emotion he’s expertly avoided, every ounce of it boils over as he stabs the Rogue over and over until they’re both covered in blood. The need for vengeance for what they did, the way they turned Rowan’s life upside down and left her afraid to look over her shoulder; Guilt over the fact that Andy, yet again, couldn’t protect the person he holds so dearly; The power that comes with knowing these men are at his mercy, ready to beg for their lives in a last ditch effort to survive what’s coming next. It all hits him like a freight train, leaving him a little dizzy. Though, that may be from the hits he’s taken himself, blood he’s lost -- Andy doesn’t take the time to find out. Instead, he comes to once he realizes the man under him is long dead, having succumbed to the injuries inflicted after the first few stabs.

The revelation stuns Andy momentarily, as he tries to catch his breath. If there was any witness to this, they’d see how frenzied the moment had become, that there was far more pent of emotion attached to this than Andy initially realized. Eyes glance to the two men left -- Tex, having passed out, and Jack slumped against a wall trying to stay conscious, a string of profanities passing his lips in a hoarse voice. His attention turns to his hands after that, steady but covered in a mixture of Sam’s blood and his own. A blood soaked piece of hair falls forward and onto his cheek as Andy wipes his hands off on his shirt, a wave of frustration running through him. Of fucking course he’d get blood in his hair, and now -- More on his face. He makes a mental note to book an appointment for a haircut.

They cut the man’s fingers off one by one, moving slowly and deliberately. The man in question, Gerald, is tied to a chair in the kitchen of the prison, thanks to a guard that’s on the MC’s payroll. No one is going to give a second thought to the sound of muffled screams or a hacksaw from the locked up tool shed going missing for the night. Andy’s only been out of the hospital for a day at this point -- The guy he’s torturing, having been responsible for his brush with near-death. Gerald felt bold enough to go after Andy with a homemade shank, trying to get even for some issue he held with Cronus. It was laughable to him, considering Andy hated his father just as much as this sorry bastard.

Andy had hoped to make it through his sentence by keeping his head down (for the most part, at least) doing what he needed, sticking with the right crowd -- Club members who were serving life sentences. His name gained him respect, plenty of other inmates happy to keep an eye on Cronus’ boy, but the revenge he’s getting tonight is what gains him his reputation. He becomes the go-to for these kinds of things, the one his fellow club members call on to take care of problems they have behind bars. Rowan’s words ring in his head -- Do what you have to do to stay alive. Come back to me. Playing executioner for the club wasn’t his first choice, but if it’s what kept him safe and gets him home, so fucking be it. Plus, killing the man who had tried to murder him in the showers brought Andy plenty of satisfaction. What kind of person would he be if he let some jaded idiot get away with almost killing him, right?

First the fingers, then his hands, and so on and so forth -- Dismemberment isn’t something new, Andy himself has had to cut up a few bodies so they can get rid of the evidence before. Though, typically speaking, the person isn’t still alive as they do it. Watching this guy suffer was just icing on the cake. Each time Gerald passes out, they cauterize the wound and pull out the smelling salts to give him a fake sense of safety -- That now they’re done, eye for an eye, the message is sent. Only each time he’s lulled into a half-dazed security, they stuff the rag back in his mouth and cut off another limb. It was going to be a long night.

He finds himself with a moment where he can tend to the wound he’s gotten — It's not a particularly deep stab, but it hurts like a bitch and that stupid knife looks fucking dull once he pulls it out and can actually get a good look at it. Not wasting anytime, and to make sure he doesn’t lose too much blood, Andy works quickly. The last thing he needs is to pass out and run the risk of getting himself killed, or having to have Wes haul him out over his shoulder. He has to get creative for now, knowing they can’t exactly make a pit stop at the ER on the way back and he doesn’t want to call Rowan after, given the fact that they’re bringing one of the Rogues back with them to get information out of -- So he moves to rip off part of Sam’s torn pant leg so that he can get pressure on the wound. Using a piece of folded up denim, he holds it against his injury, tying a piece tightly around his calf to keep it in place. It’s not great, but it’ll do for now, until he can get to a proper first aid kit. Andy can practically hear Rowan in the back of his head, scolding him for getting hurt in the first place. Once she knows the context, he’d imagine she probably wouldn’t think much of the injury after.

The sound of Tex’s screams pulled his attention, the man having regained consciousness and begun to panic -- The knee jerk reaction from Andy is to pull his gun back out, silencing Tex with a bullet to the chest. Andy unloads the rest of his clip into the man as he approaches, finding himself feeling lighter and lighter with each shot, despite the fact that he’s now limping. An unbearable amount of helplessness has weighed on him the last six months — Like all he can do is watch these terrible things happen from the sidelines, only able to help tend to the aftermath rather than keep his loved ones safe. What has left him lying awake at night as been the feeling that he’s constantly one step behind, always a minute too late — Whether it’s the shipment getting hijacked and Blake getting to him hours later, homes being burned down while he’s shooting up a warehouse, his own wife lying beaten and bloody in the middle of the street while he sits at a restaurant waiting for her. One thing after the other.

It’s unclear what kind of man it makes him to take such pleasure in revenge -- That he isn’t haunted at night by the people he’s killed or the homes he’s wrecked for the right amount of cash. Maybe it’s proof that he really is his father’s son, or that he’s just as heartless as people believe him to be. Andy’s not sure if it matters much at this point. The idea of knowing he is sending these assholes to an early grave gives him a sense of peace he hasn’t felt in a long time, one he wasn’t sure he’d ever know again after Valentine’s Day. This isn’t the end of the Rogues, but it’s retribution for what they’ve done, bringing him more clarity than ever before. Anyone who hurts the people he loves deserves to die screaming.

Confusion finds him when the sound of a gun firing fills his ears with a familiar ringing, a bullet hitting the dead man on the ground in front of him rather than its intended target. Andy follows the direction it came from to find a wild eyed Jack, having managed to pull himself across the floor in a bloody heap, far enough to get to a gun, clearly struggling to hold himself up right even while propped against the turned over table. He had the element of surprise on his side, but Andy has the benefit of not having been shot in the stomach -- So he moves quickly across the small room, easily smacking the gun out of the man’s hand. It’s clear Jack is running on pure adrenaline and spite, though now that he got his one shot in, it’s running out. Fists colliding with the man’s jaw only speed up the process, though before he finally gives up and slumps over to side and lands on the floor -- He spits blood back at Andy, clearly trying to get in one last fuck you before he dies. Jack doesn’t get much of a reaction out of Andy, instead he stands up fully, giving the half-conscious man a good look before the heel of his boot meets his head over and over until he is long dead and unrecognizable.

#blood tw #murder tw #violence tw #gore tw #death tw #eye gore tw #stabbing tw #decapitation tw #overkill tw #gun tw #dismemberment tw #gun violence tw #stalking tw #prison tw #if i missed any sort of tw or tag for a tw please give me a shout!!!!#self 02.#it's been a long long time since i've been able to write andy going feral.............................. i need a drink <3

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nobodyfamousposts · 4 years

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BURN THE WITCH! Part 4

It took more time than it should have to lose the akuma and her followers. Partly because of the shoes and the disguise as a whole doing more to slow her down than it did to protect her. Mostly because of just how many people were currently after her—and wow, was it a lot!

But she had managed to not only escape with life and hair intact (despite the attempts of the damn hairnet), but also find a place to hide until the akuma was dealt with.

From what she had observed, the akuma’s effects were carried by hearing her speak from that scroll of hers. Almost immediately after spouting off something else from the “list”, anyone within earshot would join the increasing number of minions, even if they had just been trying to run away moments prior. It was like the akuma could incite anger in anyone…self-righteous anger, and all of it specifically targeted at Lila.

She was going to have words with Hawk Moth about this. If he had an akuma able to enthrall people like this, why hadn’t he given it to her? She could have made much better use of it than Rose, of all people. Now he had an akuma solely focused on revenge instead of the masterpiece Lila could have been. Honestly, she would have Ladybug and Chat Noir defeated by now!

As it was, Lila had to survive. And to do so, she had to make do with her own skills.

Fortunately, the akuma’s reach—while growing—was only as far as people could hear her. Which made the boat at the Seine a perfect place to hide out.

Especially since the old woman and her son living there were easily drawn in.

“It’ll be all right, lass. You’re safe here.” The woman said, reassuringly. “We’ll man the gunnery if any of those fools try anything. They can’t get to you here.”

“Thank you! I just…I just don’t know why this would happen.” Lila gave another well timed but ultimately fake sob into her hands.

“Don’t worry.” The guy—a teenager, and not a bad looking one, either—rested a hand on her shoulder. “Ladybug and Chat Noir will fix this soon enough.”

Lila forced herself to smile. “I hope they do.”

If only because this was the one akuma she didn’t want to see win. Otherwise, she would fully be cheering for their demise. Possibly with popcorn.

Assuming she wasn’t the one doing it herself, of course.

“Luka, keep an eye out in case someone followed her here.” The woman ordered.

“On it.” Luka, apparently, guided Lila to the couch to rest before he moved to another part of the room. The woman took a pair of binoculars to one of the windows, trying to peer through them to see further into the distance.

Lila sighed and was preparing to finally relax.

“Why is the akuma after you, anyway?” He asked while grabbing something from the corner.

To her credit, Lila did acknowledge that Marinette had at least tried to help her. And surely the girl who helps everyone would want to continue to be of use. Even if she wouldn’t necessarily like what Lila was currently using her for.

But in Lila’s defense, Marinette DID shove her in a closet.

“I was helping with a friend’s charity work and some money went missing. There was a huge fight over it today and one of my classmates tried to blame me for the loss.”

“That’s horrible.”

“I know!” Lila continued, hiding a smile. “Rose is kind, but she is so forgetful that she could have lost the money anywhere. Then Marinette took advantage of the opportunity to claim I did it.”

Luka paused at that. “What?”

Lila nodded, mournfully. “She’s been against me from the first day I started school.”

Technically true.

“She’s been bullying me, calling me names, trying to convince everyone I’m a liar.”

Also technically true.

“I’m sure she was happy to paint me as the villain today, and everyone believed her.” Lila proclaimed with a little sob. “Nobody would even listen to me! Then Rose got mad and became an akuma, and Marinette left me to perish!”

“That doesn’t sound like Marinette.”

Immediately, all thoughts halted as she realized her mistake.

These two knew Marinette.

Okay, no big deal. She can just spin it.

“That was what I thought, too. But she showed her true colors when I tried to make friends with her! I even offered to help her with her crush on Adrien. But she’s just so jealous.” Lila insisted, laying on the charm and tears. “She’s been telling everyone such horrible things about me.”

Luka’s frown only increased though.

“She hasn’t mentioned you to me.”

She shook her head. “Then I’m sorry, but it seems you don’t know her that well.”

“What are you talking about?” The mother demanded, confused and annoyed. “That girl comes over here all the time. She’s a wonderful girl and a wonderful friend to our daughter.”

Wait…daughter?

The boy narrowed his eyes at her in suspicion.

“Where was Juleka in all this, if what you’re saying is true?”

“She wasn’t there.” Lila said, thinking quickly. Better not to implicate their daughter or try to throw her under the bus if they were getting suspicious already. “I know if she had been, things could have worked out. She’s such a good friend, and would never think badly of me.”

But Luka only looked angrier. He held up a remote.

“Then why is she with the mob?”

Lila spun in surprise at the sudden blast of sound. It turned out that the thing he had grabbed before was the remote to the television. Which was on—if muted during Lila’s story-telling.

On the screen, the akuma was standing in front of the Eiffel Tower reading from her list. The video showed Witch Hunter and her followers in full detail. Including Juleka.

Juleka, whom Lila was now realizing had to be the daughter and sister of the two in the room with her.

“She’s been influenced by the akuma! It’s her power.” Lila explained hastily.

But Luka chose to ignore her in favor of unmuting the television, which showed the akuma speaking and reading more of Lila’s crimes from the list. The scroll almost seemed to glow momentarily before she started to read.

“This just in! The Witch just tried to turn two innocents against Marinette and even their own family member. She lied about the cause of the fight! And this is after she already tried to sacrifice Marinette to save her own skin!”

Both mother and son froze at that.

“WHAT?!”

And as if it couldn’t get worse for her, the news proceeded to play a video from earlier. One that Lila had not realized was being recorded at the time.

It showed in full detail the inopportune moment where Lila shoved Marinette out from behind their shared hiding space and attempted to direct the mob’s anger onto the clumsy girl.

Slowly. Slowly…they both turned on her, furious.

“It’s not what it looks like!” She tried to claim. “She was already part of the mob and I was trying to get away from her. I was in danger!”

The two glared at her, clearly not buying it.

It seemed Lila had made a miscalculation as to the limits of the akuma’s range of influence.

Or perhaps it was just that she hadn’t counted on her would-be rescuers being family to one of her classmates.

The woman glowered at her. Without even looking, she grabbed a sword off of the mantle and pointed it at Lila with a ferocity she hadn’t seen before. In that moment, she appeared every bit the pirate she had previously been pretending to be.

“Make her walk the plank!” She yelled.

“We don’t have a plank, mom.” Luka growled, seeming downright disappointed by the fact.

“Then throw her overboard!”

It seemed her sanctuary was short-lived.

_____________________

“Kettle corn! Ready-to-cook over a fire kettle corn!”

Marinette sighed. “Master, not you, too.”

The man cheerfully sold a container to a customer, completely disregarding the problem as well as Marinette’s presence.

“Master Fu, please! The akuma is influencing everyone! Even Tikki is affected! And if I don’t do something soon, they’re going to burn Lila at the stake!”

The man gave her a blank stare.

“And what part of that is supposed to be the problem?” He asked.

“See? He gets it!” Tikki chirped.

“Sometimes, Marinette, an infected bud must be pruned for other flowers to grow.” Fu stated calmly as he imparted his wisdom.

“But flowers aren’t people!”

“It’s a metaphor.”

“Flowers don’t scream when you prune them!” Marinette shouted.

Tikki floated up to her chosen, trying to calm her. “Marinette, sometimes an akuma can actually be a good thing! Remember Bubbler?”

Marinette just gave her a dry look. “You mean when you lectured me for stopping Chloe from kissing Adrien, said it was an abuse of my powers, and emphasized doing the right thing? Remember that? The right thing? The moral choice that involves NOT letting people die just because you don’t like them?”

“This girl has been an obstacle to you and an ally to Hawk Moth.” Fu pointed out. “Would it not be better to simply let her be removed?”

She moaned. Honestly, it annoyed her when Tikki or Fu lectured her and had to be the voice of reason and morals she was pushed to adhere to rather than the support she needed in the moment. But this wasn’t support. It was just life throwing more temptation at her by having two of the people whose moral compasses she trusted pushing her to not care!

Give her a break, life! She’s having a hard enough time as it is!

"No!” She insisted. “I need the Dragon miraculous to stop this akuma! So please, help me!"

"Another time perhaps, now is the time for popcorn!"

Marinette glared, put off at the way Fu ignored her to sell another container of popcorn to a customer.

Might as well try to take advantage of the situation though. While Fu was distracted, Marinette attempted to reach around him for the gramophone.

Fu slapped her hand.

She grabbed her hand in surprise before looking at him with a pout.

Master Fu didn’t even react.

She growled.

“Okay, that’s it!”

Later, Marinette decided as she picked up one of the pans, she would let herself feel bad for this.

Much later.

#ml fic #witch hunter #lila sucks #marinette dupain cheng #tikki #luka couffaine #anarka couffaine #master fu #poor marinette #marinette is done #rose lavillant #is there anyone sane left?

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vaguelyrotten · 3 years

Text

Like a Lily In a Flood

Title: Like a Lily in a Flood Artist: @myulalie Beta: @another-random-stranger Pairings: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, mentions of Jimon and Reyhill Word Count: 70k Warnings: Mild Gore, Beheading, Nearly being eaten alive and burned at the stake, Discrimination, Sickness Summary: Alec returns home to find his town plagued by a mysterious illness. Unable to find a cure, he ventures into the woods to seek help from an unlikely source. We must not look at goblin men... This fic was created for the Shadowhunters Mini Bang 2021: Presented by the @malecdiscordserver

Chapter One

It was raining.

Then again, it was always raining in Idris when it seemed to matter most.

Alec dipped out of the carriage with a sigh and made a beeline for the manor’s front door, knowing that he was going to get wet regardless.

“Alec,” his mother said coldly as she opened the door. “It was nice of you to take time out of your busy schedule and join us in our time of need.” He sighed, following his mother into the house and stripping off his soaked jacket.

He stood, dripping wet, in the foyer as Maryse looked him over with a hard eye. “It doesn’t look like the city nor the additional training you are supposed to be receiving are doing you any good. Honestly, what was even the point of sending you? You should have stayed here. You could have taken over the household when your father fell ill.”

He knew that his mother meant for her words to hurt him, and there was a time only a few years ago when they would have, but no longer. Getting out from under his parents’ thumb had done wonders for his mental health. He knew who he was now and that he had the ability to choose his own path.

So right now? Standing in the foyer of the house he hadn’t set foot in for two years, soaked to the bone and under his mother’s scrutiny? He felt nothing...and it felt good. “You have Jace,” he replied after a moment, accepting the towel that their butler Hodge was offering him.

She scoffed, crossing her arms in that way which meant an argument was coming. “Jace has his duties and you had yours. You were supposed to be head of this house, and this town, after your father retired.”

He’d first left for the city under the pretense of studying law but he’d fallen out of love with that and discovered that his true passion was architecture. He, of course, hadn’t informed his parents of his decision to switch his field of study. They’d be disappointed and there would be words, and while their opinions no longer mattered to him, he needed to be in the right frame of mind for that conversation. He didn’t foresee himself wanting to take that dive any time soon. “I left for the family’s best interest. We need to get out of here. This town is killing all of us.”

Before his father had fallen ill, he’d meant that metaphorically. Generations of Lightwoods had lived in Idris for nearly two-hundred years and had held the position of mayor for most of that. In that time, his family had grown crueler and colder. Once, they’d been a light in the darkness for the people in this town, rescuing them from disaster and leading them through. Today, the Lightwoods still led… but they definitely no longer did it with Idris’ best interest at heart.

No, it was all about power. Alec hated that and all the politics that came with it. That’s what he had hoped to avoid by moving to the city. One day, he was hoping he could have his siblings join him.

His mother chose to say nothing more. He draped the towel over his shoulders with a sigh. “Let me see him. I’m here now, at least.” Alec had tried to get there sooner but the spring rain made getting across the river treacherous. He had to wait a couple of days for the water to get back to normal levels. His mother started up the stairs and he followed her without further comment.

“I have the house and the town to attend to. Someone has to run this place while Robert is indisposed. I’ll leave you to it but come find me when you’re done, Alec. We have issues to discuss.” She closed the door behind her, leaving Alec alone in the room with his very ill and unconscious father.

Alec had seen his father in a lot of ways — some good, some bad, but he’d never seen him like this. The older man was pale and clammy and yet somehow looked peaceful. This illness was like nothing the town had ever seen before. Their doctors had been completely stumped...the first few symptoms had appeared — loss of appetite, attention, and other cognitive abilities that soon gave way to fever. The fever never broke and eventually, the patient lost consciousness. They were slowly wasting away into nothing.

Except not quite. They’d realized that the first few patients never got worse in that way that they did when their ancestors had the wasting disease caused by bad fruit. Instead, their body almost seemed to be turning to stone. And that was frighteningly new and uncharted waters.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t come sooner,” he whispered as he touched the back of his hand gently to his father’s head. The fever was still there and his skin felt all too brittle. “But I promise I will do whatever is in my power to find a way to fix this.”

“We’re glad you’re finally here, Alec,” a voice said, pulling him from his reverie to turn to the door. “We tried to do the best that we could but...neither Izzy nor I are you, and Maryse just wants to keep doing that thing where she insists there’s no problem at all and it’s business as usual.” Jace closed the door quietly behind him and pulled his brother into a hug.

“Do you guys know anything? Mom’s letter was…” His voice trailed off as he searched for more polite words.

“Entirely lacking?” Jace supplied for him. “Unfortunately, nothing solid. They all seem to have fallen ill at around the same time. There are eleven total and they were all fairly recently on a patrol of the borders. We’ve hired sorcerers from the city, hedge witches, even a psychic or two, but no one can find anything wrong with them. They’re just...asleep. Asleep but slowly turning to stone it seems. We’ve got people digging through old books in the archives but no one has turned up anything even remotely similar to whatever this is.”

Alec wasn’t a doctor — he was, in fact, the farthest thing from one. Isabelle knew infinitely more than he did when it came to medicine. What he lacked in knowledge, he made up for in stubborn determination and his ability to think around a situation. If he wanted to find a possible cure for whatever was ailing the townspeople, he’d have to think outside of the proverbial box. “I’ll do what I can,” he said after a moment, giving his father’s unconscious form one last look before stepping into the hallway with Jace at his heels. “I’m not a miracle worker.” But he’d be damned sure he’d try to be one.

“I’ve got to get back. I just wanted to see you before you passed out or Maryse got to you first,” Jace replied, squeezing his shoulder and heading down the stairs towards the front door. “Good luck in there — she’s been… particularly Maryse since Robert took ill.” That fact didn’t surprise Alec at all. His mother had never dealt with change very well.

She was waiting for him in his father’s office, exactly where he had expected her to be. “Close the door behind you, Alec. What I’ve got to say need not fall on nosy ears.” He knew she was referring to Isabelle and her endless curiosity. While he didn’t necessarily agree with his mother’s request, he did oblige. “Take a seat.” She gestured towards a chair in front of the desk — one that Alec had distinct memories of sitting in any time he’d gotten in trouble when he’d been younger and had been called in front of his father. Alec chose the farther seat instead, ignoring the judgemental look that he received.

“As no cure has been found nor diagnosis made and your father’s condition is only getting worse, we need to prepare for the worst.” She pushed a yellowed document across the desk and Alec took it, scanning the page quickly before realizing what he was holding in his hand.

“This is his will,” he stated simply, his fingers glossing over the page as he quickly read through it. It didn’t look like it had been written recently. His mother nodded her head in confirmation.

“He’s been preparing for the worst. He’s already a few years older than your grandfather and your great-grandfather were when they died… and there have been stirrings on the borders. He was afraid that the men would be called to war any day now.” Alec frowned at that. He hadn’t heard of anything going on that would signal the start of a war. Sure, Idris wasn’t a big town but if war was truly coming, he assumed someone in his family would have told him.

“Oh, don’t give me that. There hasn’t been anything truly substantial. Some whispers, some unrest, but nothing more than that. Robert has been...unwell for a while now. He’s grown...paranoid. He had his will drawn up shortly after you left.” Her stoic facade had broken now and Alec could count on one hand the number of times that he’d seen his mother look truly lost.

“It was his idea to say yes when you asked to go to college in the city,” she continued, holding out her hand for him to return the will. “He thought getting out of here would keep you safe and if you were safe there would be someone to take over when he was gone. That’s what he really wanted and I’m sorry Alec, I know you’re enjoying your time at The Institute studying law but the family needs you here now.”

He wanted to argue. Angel, how he wanted to argue with her. He had had to fight tooth and claw to get them to even consider letting him into the city to further his studies. The Lightwoods had been here for generations and not a single one of them had ever left. This was home or at least it should be. Alec had always felt more alienated than most for reasons he tried to keep to himself.

So while yes, he knew that he should fight and argue and insist that he deserved to go back to the city because he had fought so damn hard for it in the first place, he knew that right here, right now… his argument would fall flat. The very best thing he could do was study and beg and plead and crawl through whatever hell he needed to to find a cure for this illness. When his father was well again and his father wanted him safe, he’d have a better chance of getting out of here once more. “Of course, mother, anything for the family,” he replied, trying to keep his voice level. “I’ll get to work at once.”

She sighed, obviously expecting more of a fight out of him and now not really sure how the rest of the conversation was going to go. “No, not at once. You’ve only just arrived and I’m sure you are exhausted. Besides, you’re still dripping on the mahogany floors. Go change before you ruin the antique wood, and say hello to your sister. She’s been waiting for you to get here.”

Alec didn’t bother with a response, simply turning on his heel and heading towards the stables — where he knew his sister would inevitably be hiding. The rain was starting to slow but Alec didn’t want to get even wetter if he could avoid it so he jogged across the cobblestones and pushed open the barn door.

Isabelle was, as expected, at the end of the aisle, illuminated by the grey hues of the rainy weather outside. She raised her whip above her head and snapped it towards a lone bottle on the rail with a loud crack. Alec continued to watch in silence for a few more moments as she set the bottle back up and went again. Finally, he let out a slow clap and watched as she tensed, relaxing once again when she realized who had interrupted her practice session.

“Good job,” he said, opening his arms to allow her to dash across the room to give him a hug. “You’re getting better at that. I dare say you might even be an expert.”

She snorted, her face buried in his shoulder as the two continued to hug. “Try telling that to mom. She still thinks it isn’t proper and that I should focus on finding myself a husband from a nice family. ‘Leave the weapons to your brothers, Isabelle. Men don’t want a wife who can beat them in a sword fight,” she mocked in a very good imitation of Maryse Lightwood.

“Ignore her. Any man you find would be lucky to have you. Besides, if you stopped, who would be my competition?” Alec asked, taking a step back so that he could look down into her eyes. “I’d have to practice with Jace and you know how he is...he—”

“Cheats,” she interrupted with a sniffle. “Yeah, I know. He hasn’t gotten any better, either. Still just as cocky, still a bad liar, and still telegraphs his moves.” She put the bottles back on the shelf and began to coil her whip back up. “He missed you, you know. I do too...and Max. It’s just not the same without you here.”

Alec knew that Isabelle knew exactly why he’d needed to leave. He also knew that she didn’t blame him, but the Lightwood siblings had always been close. He missed not being able to see them more than once a year.

“Mom’s been...harder since Dad got sick. She’s worried, we can tell, but she’s trying to continue as if it’s business as usual and you know how she is when she gets stressed,” Isabelle sighed. Alec knew all too well. Maryse tended to meddle in her children’s lives far more than was necessary.

That had, in fact, been the final straw for Alec. His mother had been dealing with some Idris politics and had decided to kill two birds with one stone. She’d set Alec up with a nice young girl from the village to strengthen the Lightwood family name and had given herself something to take her mind off the stress from work.

Alec had nearly ended up married.

Nearly. Luckily, Jace and Isabelle had stepped up to argue about Alec’s choice and happiness. The wedding had descended into chaos and Alec had set out for the city the next day under the guise of studying law.

“Come on,” he said after a moment, throwing his arm around her shoulder and pulling her back in for a quick hug. “Let’s head back inside. I want to change into something dry and I’ve yet to see Max. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see me.”

----------

Dinner was a quieter affair than Alec expected from a Lightwood family dinner. Without Robert there to judge them, his conversation with his siblings was light and easy. Jace and Isabelle caught him up on town gossip. Max tried to add his two cents when he could but the conversation strayed towards more adult topics like who was marrying who and what the Council had recently decreed.

“Mom says she’s going to send me to boarding school in the fall,” Max stated when there was a break in conversation. “I don’t want to go. I’ll have to wear a scratchy uniform and get up early and it’ll be so far away. I want to be like Jace and fight monsters!”

“Max, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Maryse replied with a glare. “The Carstairs Academy is a lovely school. They’ll teach you manners, for one thing. You’ll learn math, science, and history. You’ll be going to a proper school — like Alec. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

The little boy grimaced. “I don’t want to be like Alec...no offense. I want to kill dragons and fight trolls like Jace.”

“It’s less dragons and trolls and more about upset fathers and a fast horse, little man,” Jace replied, getting a smack on the back of the head from Isabelle. “What? It’s true.”

“That’s enough — apparently, none of my children have manners. Max, it’s past your bedtime. It’s time to let the adults talk.” Max looked about to argue but one look from Maryse had him pushing in his chair and shuffling out of the room. Once they heard the door upstairs shut with an audible thud, she turned her attention back towards her other children. “I’ll be leaving before the sun rises. I’m heading to Alicante tomorrow to seek help from the king. I’ll start in town, we’ll leave two days after that. I’ll be gone as long as it takes to make our case.”

Alec’s fork clattered to his plate. “What? You’re just leaving? Dad’s already indisposed and you’re just going to leave the town without any sort of leadership? You’re going to leave us here alone?” He was well aware that his parents had made some stupid decisions in the past but this had to be one of the stupidest that he’d heard.

“The rest of the Council is still in town, Alec, and in case you have forgotten, I brought you back. We’ve tried everything to cure this and nothing is working. We’re losing more people to this cursed disease each day. We’ve got to try something. Pleading our case to the king and hoping for assistance is all we’ve got left.”

Alec picked up his fork and said nothing in response. He was sure the anger was coming off him in visible waves. “I’m not going alone, Alec,” his mother said after a moment, choosing not to start an argument and stating the facts instead. “Two of your father’s men will be going with me. We’ll only be gone a couple of weeks. With luck, we return with a cure.”

----------

Much later that evening, well after dinner had finished and his mother and siblings had gone off to bed and he’d had time to cool off, Alec found himself in the library staring at shelf after shelf of books that his family had collected over the years. His mother was certain that they’d already exhausted every possible option they had for a cure here, but Alec had never been one to give up that easily.

There had to be something in the thousands of books that they had here — even if it was just a footnote in some ancient text.

Angel, where would he even start?

He walked past the first shelf and ran his fingers gently over the spines of the books, taking in the titles as he did.

A Brief History of Idris, Recipes From the Coast, Nursery Rhymes and Other Tales, The Art of Breaking a Horse…

There was no rhyme nor reason to how anything here was shelved and he wished he was back in Alicante where he had a card catalog to reference at the very least. This could be a futile effort… but he had promised that he’d try, so try he shall.

He pulled the first book off the shelf — A Brief History of Idris —- and flipped to the first page. It was written by one of his ancestors; a Lightwood whose name he didn’t recognize. Maybe, with luck, that Lightwood had stumbled across something — anything — all those years ago that could help him now.

He could hope, at least.

Two hours later, he’d scanned quickly through the book and found it to be completely useless. He’d learned exactly nothing. The ‘brief history’ had been exactly what every child in Idris learned in school. He pushed himself off the chair he’d settled in and placed the book on the shelf. He could skip the cookbook — the likelihood of him finding a cure in that wasn’t high — before he moved on to the next one. Nursery Rhymes.

He meant to skip that one too but as his hand hovered over it, he realized that many myths and legends were often based in fact. It couldn’t hurt to give it a try. At the very least it wouldn’t take him long to read.

Most of the rhymes and stories were useless — schoolyard songs or bedtime stories — but tucked away at the end of the book was one that seemed a bit out of place. This was a longer poem with far more complicated words than the rest of the book. He frowned and glanced at the title.

The Goblin Market.

What?

Alec of course knew of the goblins who lived in the woods — all children in Idris were taught about them. The goblins were dangerous and would kidnap and eat children if they strayed too far into the woods. They used to be friendly with the townspeople but a war broke out and that relationship had ended. The goblins had secluded themselves in the woods — keeping their magic to themselves — and the people of Idris stayed in town and imported anything they needed from the neighboring cities.

It wasn’t an ideal situation but it was the one that they’d come up with quickly, and no one had ever seen fit to try and fix it.

The poem followed the story of two sisters who had heard the goblins crying in the middle of the night as they were trying to sell their fruits. One of the sisters tried what they were offering and fell ill when they returned home. She became listless and began to fade away. Her sister tried to save her and returned to the goblin market to obtain another fruit which she brought home and fed to her sister. The sister was cured and both girls lived happily ever after.

Alec frowned. That was similar to what the town was experiencing now… but the poem mentioned nothing about the sister turning to stone. After all the warnings about venturing into the woods that were drilled into them when they were little, surely none of the men who had fallen sick had been stupid enough to go to the goblins to try and trade.

He sighed and glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room to find that three hours had passed since he’d been in here and it was now well after 2 in the morning. He should retire to his room to get a few hours of sleep before he had to wake up but...perhaps he had time for one more book.

Instead of putting the nursery rhyme book back on the shelf, he pushed it off to the corner of the table. Worst case he’d put it back later. There was no harm in leaving it out for now.

He walked back to the shelf and skipped over the book on horse training. The very next one was titled Herbal Remedies of Our Ancestors.

Finally. That was more like it.

----------

When his sister pushed open the door to the library the next morning, Alec jumped. He glanced at the clock and found that nearly five hours had passed since he’d pulled the book of herbal remedies off the shelf and began reading.

A few pages in, he’d pulled a sheet of paper out from the desk and had begun taking notes. One sheet had turned into two, which had quickly turned into far more than that.

There were so many plants that had been used to treat common illnesses when people weren’t so reliant on modern medicine or the magic from the sorcerers found in the cities.

Catnip for recovery from colds. St. John’s Wort for inflammation. Marigold for skin diseases.

It was a start.

Isabelle came up behind him and glanced over his shoulder with a frown. “That’s a lot of plants you’ve written down. I’m sure the hedge witch tried at least some of them. It’s not like we have a stock of these. Where do you expect to find Elderberry without a day’s ride out of Idris and a day’s ride back? We don’t really have that sort of time.”

He hadn’t considered that.

But perhaps there was a solution.

He glanced out of the window and a plan began to form in the back of his mind.

“I’ll have to visit the woods,” he said after a moment, grabbing the two books and his stack of papers and heading back to his room. He needed to prepare if he was venturing into the unknown.

“Alec! You can’t go into the woods. You know that we’ve all been banned from there. It isn’t safe!”

“I know, Izzy. Trust me, I know, but right now this is the only idea we’ve got to try to save our father and the rest of the people who have fallen sick; unless you’ve got a better idea that you’d like to share?” She remained silent and Alec shook his head. “I’ve got to get ready. Tell Jace to find me if he hasn’t left already and can you saddle Flame?”

She looked like she wanted to say more but eventually relented with a shake of her head. Alec watched her go with a sigh. He knew she was right — heading into the woods was a stupid and reckless idea at best...but it was one he had to try.

He quickly got dressed and grabbed a satchel from his closet. He’d leave the books here, just in case, but he needed a way to carry the list of plants he wanted to collect...as well as any plants he may actually find.

What else did he need to take?

He dashed down the stairs and into his father’s office, thanking the small miracle of his mother heading into town early this morning. Map...he probably needed a map. He rifled through the desk and found one tucked away at the back of a drawer. It was old but it would have to do. After all, no one had been in the woods in years. This was probably the most recent map they had.

Alec looked around, trying to figure out if there was anything else in here he’d need as Jace knocked on the door. His brother frowned at Alec’s frantic state. “Isabelle says you're going into the woods to pick some flowers? Come on, Alec, that’s a stupid idea. We can’t risk losing you too.”

“I know, Jace. I’ll be safe and I’ll be back by nightfall. I won’t push myself unnecessarily today but you know that everything that has been tried hasn’t worked. I came back to try and help with finding a cure, and I’m willing to give this a shot.”

Jace sighed, “What can I help with? Izzy said you needed to see me.”

“I need you to stay here… and I need some weapons. Have you seen my bow recently?” He hadn’t taken it with him when he’d moved to Alicante — he only hoped that his siblings had hidden it and that his parents hadn’t done the unthinkable.

“You’re sure about this?” Jace asked as Alec nodded. “Alright...then I’ll get it and meet you outside.”

Isabelle was waiting with Flame’s reins in her hand. The chestnut thoroughbred stamped his feet impatiently, unhappy to be standing still as long as he had been. Jace joined them with Alec’s bow and a small collection of knives a few moments later.

“I still don’t think this is a good idea,” the blond muttered, handing Alec’s weapons to him one by one before holding the horse steady so that Alec could mount. “Reckless is my style, not yours.”

“I’ll stay close to home. I’ll be on my guard. You’ve crossed through the woods a time or two and lived to tell the tail. I may have moved to the city, Jace, but I’m not inept. Remember who taught you.”

“Oh, trust me, you never let me forget it. Just be careful, alright? There are supposed to be some things in those woods that would frighten even me.” Alec tilted his head in response and spurred his horse on towards the woods. He’d stick to the trail as long as he could, but instead of veering left and heading into town, he’d take the worn deer trail through the trees.

He reminded himself that he would take any chance at saving his people and his family — even if it meant venturing into the deep woods and confronting the dangerous creatures that were said to live inside.

When he said he’d try anything — he meant it in every sense of the word. He still didn’t entirely believe the myths and legends of the goblin men that were said to inhabit Edom Forest but the town’s elders seemed to believe they did truly exist and Alec was certain no one had thought to go to the monsters for a solution.

He’d told Jace and Isabelle of his intentions, but instead told his mother that he was heading into town. It wasn’t entirely a lie. He’d had to cross the bridge that would lead him to Idris before he’d reach the path that would take him off the road and into the forest. When the cobblestones ended, he was faced with an overgrown dirt path that seemingly led to nowhere. He pulled Flame to a brief halt and quickly glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being followed before clicking him on and making his way into the woods.

His first impression of Edom Forest was that it wasn’t anything spectacular. He rode for two hours and noticed that the trees were like any other trees, the birds like any other birds, and there were certainly no trace of goblins in sight. He was beginning to think he’d been tricked by children’s tales when a scrap of color flapping in the wind caught his attention. He brought his horse to a halt.

It was a scrap of purple cloth with texture that Alec had never seen before. He’d never seen anyone in the town wearing anything this color either, as purple dyes tended to be expensive. If they were in the city, sure, but not here in Edom Forest. He left it fluttering where it was tied on the branch as he noticed another piece a little further down the path. If he strained his eyes, he could see a third splash of purple past that.

He had no way of knowing who had left these markers here or for what reason, but right now this was his best lead to finding the goblins in the woods. And like he kept telling himself, he was willing to try anything.

He could be met with swords,traps or wild animals. The goblins themselves might make an appearance. His people had no knowledge of what existed this deep into the woods outside of old wives’ tales and cautionary tales for children. Who knew what he would come across?

He took a deep breath and nudged his horse forward. The gelding hesitated for a moment — feeding off Alec’s own growing unease — before taking a few slow steps in the direction he’d been pointed towards, his head high and eyes wide the entire time.

Alec had certainly been expecting to find something after following the trail of purple scraps. What he hadn’t been expecting to find was a stray horse who was calmly grazing under a tall, oddly shaped Ash tree without a human in sight.

The stallion was solid black and soaking wet, like he’d been ridden hard despite the lack of tack or rider around him. Alec gently jumped from his horse’s back and took a few slow steps forward hoping that he didn’t spook the animal. “Whoa, boy. It’s alright.” He held his hand out gently and let the horse take a cautious sniff. “Surely, you aren’t out here alone.”

The horse’s nose touched the back of Alec’s hand gently. Alec took a moment to look him over. He was small...around 14 hands if he had to guess, and not much bigger than Max’s pony. There wasn’t a lick of white on him, and while his mane and tail were wet and slightly tangled, the rest of him was in good condition. The pony didn’t look like he’d been living rough — so he’d either just escaped or had dumped his rider and somehow escaped his tack. “Where’s your person? I can’t leave you out here like this.”

The horse huffed and nosed at Alec’s pockets. “Hey now, that’s enough. I didn’t exactly come out here prepared to take in a stray. I was looking for something else. I don’t suppose you’ve seen any goblins have you?”

“He likes you.” The voice that came from above startled Alec, and he took a step back from the mysterious horse to glance upwards. There was a man sitting on a thick branch about halfway up. With the sun behind him, Alec couldn’t see little more than that. The voice sounded amused though, and Alec had to wonder what the mystery man was doing this deep into the woods.

“How can you tell?” It was a stupid question, he knew that, but he couldn’t stop himself before the words had passed his lips. He should be asking for a name or providing his, not asking why the horse liked him. Not the smartest thing, he thought to himself.

“He hasn’t eaten you yet,” The man jumped gracefully to a lower branch before performing an elaborate flip for a dismount and landing steadily on his feet. “Kelpies have unusually sharp teeth, a taste for flesh and blood, and an attitude that would give even the haughtiest of lords a run for their money.”

Alec instinctively took a step back, which didn’t seem to phase the horse — kelpie, apparently — who continued to search Alec’s pockets for some sort of snack. “He doesn’t look like a kelpie.” As far as he was aware, kelpies weren’t real. Even if they were, the books said they were supposed to have seaweed in their manes and tales, backward hooves, and razor sharp teeth. This looked like a small, lightly built riding pony.

“And how many kelpies have you actually seen? They wouldn’t be very effective hunters if you could see what they are before they strike.” The other man replied, patting the horse on the shoulder affectionately. “I’m Magnus Bane. And who are you, handsome stranger?”

“Alec.” Now that the sun wasn’t casting a silhouette behind him, Alec could get a better look at the man. He was shorter than Alec, though his heeled boots gave him some height. His skin was the color of honey, his hair was dark with a streak of blue through it, and his eyes…

Alec lost himself in Magnus’ eyes. They were golden with slit pupils...quite like the cats that hung around the barn. And they were enough to tell Alec that the man wasn’t human — no human would have eyes like that.

“You’re a goblin,” Alec stuttered. The books hadn’t really said what the goblins looked like. He vaguely recalled something about a cat’s face and a rat’s tail...or was it furry and like a snail? Humans didn’t have cat’s eyes, though. Even if Magnus weren’t a goblin, he was certainly something different; and that was maybe, just maybe, another avenue that Alec could try for a possible cure.

It was only after he had these thoughts that he wondered if he should worry about his own safety. His hand went to the knife on his belt before he’d realized it.

Magnus hummed, watching the realization cross Alec’s face before he laughed. “Not quite. I’m only half. My father is but my mother was a mere human. Nothing goblin about her. In fact, if I had to guess she was from your town. Idris, am I right? Though, this was quite some time ago, well before you were ever around, pup.”

“How did that happen? And my name is Alec, not pup.” As far as Alec was aware, the goblins stayed deep inside the forest and the people of Idris were told to avoid them. They hadn’t actually been seen in years. Many of the younger people thought they were nothing more than a myth. Alec certainly hadn’t believed in them. Until now, that was. It was hard not to believe when reality was staring you in the face with cat’s eyes, a wisp of blue hair, and a sharp look.

“How do you think?” Magnus replied, fishing around in his bag for an apple. “‘We must not look at goblin men, we must not buy their fruits, who knows upon what soil they fed, their hungry thirsty roots.’ That’s how it went...I think. It’s been a while since I’ve read it. Books aren’t exactly easy to come by out here.” He took a bite and held the rest out towards the kelpie.

“I’m sorry, that was a stupid question.” Alec knew which poem Magnus was referencing. He had run across the poem during his research but he’d passed it over as nothing more than a cautionary tale for children. Maybe he should have paid more attention.

“It’s fine, I’m used to it...and you didn’t know any better. How many dashing half-goblins have you ever met in your life?” Magnus winked and Alec felt a blush rise across his face.

“You’d be the first.”

“And what are you doing out in the middle of the woods looking for goblins, my lord? Aren’t you humans warned of the dangers you could find? I’m pretty sure that poem specifically mentioned all the terrible things that could happen to a fair maiden.”

Alec snorted, and continued to rub his hand down the kelpie’s nose. “Well, for one I’m not a fair maiden, nor am I a lord actually, and to answer your question: I was hoping to hunt down a lead on the illness that’s currently plaguing the village.”

“And you think the goblins are to blame?” Magnus’ voice had been playful before, but now his words took a cutting tone.

“No, of course not,” Alec replied hastily, holding up his hands in surrender. “We’ve co-existed, sort of, for a while now. As far as I know, nothing has changed in that regard. I’m just…” he sighed and glanced back towards the direction he knew his parents’ house to be. “I’m hoping for answers, I’m willing to try anything at this point. They’ve called physicians from the city, a psychic or two, a hedge witch...the people who have fallen ill are good people. They don’t deserve what’s befallen them. I found a book in our collection last night. It’s got some herbs in it...so I made a list. I’m no expert but it can’t hurt to try.”

He chose to leave out that some of those people were only mostly good — his father certainly wasn’t the best man, but there was no reason Magnus needed to know that. Not yet.

“I haven’t heard of a disease in the village, but I wouldn’t go looking towards the goblins for a cure. They aren’t the most helpful of people — they’re more liable to cause you harm than anything close to help.” Magnus tapped his finger against his chin in thought. “An illness you say? You humans are susceptible to so many things. There was a plague about a hundred years ago if I recall. What makes you think it isn’t something like that?”

“Well, for one thing no one has actually died,” Alec replied as Magnus circled him slowly, feeling every bit like a deer cornered by a leopard. “It starts with a fever. Eventually, confusion. Finally, they fall into a deep sleep. And…” His voice trailed off. That did make it seem like a normal illness but Alec knew there was more.

“And?” Magnus had stopped circling him to lean against the tree with his arms crossed.

“Their skin gets hard. It feels almost like stone? I know that probably sounds stupid. I just don’t know how else to explain it.”

“It’s not stupid at all,” the half-goblin replied. “Magical illnesses can have all sorts of weird side effects. A friend of mine once turned prickly.” There was a pause as he looked Alec over once more.“You said you had a list?” Magnus asked finally, pulling on a purple tailcoat that had been discarded haphazardly behind the tree. “Can I see?”

Alec pulled it out of his bag and handed it over to him. “You’d help me find these? You think this might be caused by magic?”

“Magic, a curse, anything is possible but if you’ve tried as many cures as you say you have then it’s probably safe to assume that it’s something your people haven’t seen before. Ergo, magic.” Magnus read over the piece of parchment with a frown. “Some of them are out of season and others aren’t in this part of the woods but I can show you where to find the majority.” He glanced around before a smile crossed his face that had Alec’s heart flipping. The half-goblin bent down and plucked a small purple and yellow flower from the ground in front of Alec. “Heartsease. Kiss-Me-Quick. Banewort...also known as a wild pansy. It’s good for skin conditions and colds. I believe that’s on your list.”

Alec felt a blush rise in his cheeks as he took the flower. Why on earth was being handed a single flower by a strange (but beautiful) man he just met affecting him this way? “Thanks,” he managed to stammer after a moment. He gently wrapped the flower in a cloth and placed it in his bag.

Magnus’ eyes twinkled as he grabbed a lock of the kelpie’s mane and hoisted himself on it’s back. “I saw some Meadowsweet earlier this morning. It isn’t far and I wouldn’t mind collecting some myself. It’s good for pain.” He glanced back at Alec with a raised eyebrow. “Are you coming?”

Alec had never mounted a horse faster in his life.

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“Do you even know what you plan on doing with these?” Magnus asked as they wove their way through a dense and varied forest.

“The book had some suggestions,” Alec started, frowning as they passed by a group of trees with large, bell-shaped yellow flowers. “Though I’m by no means an expert. I went to school for architecture, not herbalism.” He pulled his horse to a halt and reached out to touch one of the flowers that was now hanging eye-level with him. “I’m sorry — is this Angel’s trumpet? I thought it only grew in the tropics.”

Magnus laughed. “Or Devil’s trumpet, depending on who you ask, and I wouldn’t mess with it. It’s not exactly safe. Well, it’s not necessarily poisonous to touch but I still wouldn’t mess with it. It's hallucinogenic, among other things...and I don't think a bad trip was really what you had in mind when you came out here today.”

“And how’s it growing in the middle of Edom Forest? If it’s that dangerous I would feel much better if it grew far, far away where the weather is much more suited to it?” He nudged Flame until he was level with the kelpie.

Magnus merely laughed. “That’s the beauty of magic, my dear Alexander. There’s no rhyme nor reason to it. Anything can happen.” He raised his hand as blue sparks danced around his fingertips. “Haven’t you ever noticed that it never snows in the woods? You’ll have three feet out there and yet, not a flake falls here. It’s warm and sunny year round.”

As he said that, Alec realized that he hadn't noticed. He’d never paid much attention to the woods since they were forbidden to go there, but it wouldn’t take a genius to see that the weather was entirely different a few feet away.

“Don’t look too distressed,” Magnus chuckled upon seeing the face that Alec was making. “There’s all sorts of spells and old magic around. Spells that grew into the very trees, wards set by goblins past and re-set by goblins present...other magical creatures whose very existence spells safety to those who live around them. You wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t been purposefully trying to look through the magic. The Look-Not spells surrounding the woods are strong.”

Wait, Alec thought as he kicked his horse into a trot to catch up with Magnus and the kelpie. “What other magical creatures? I thought it was just the goblins that lived in the woods? Well, I guess the goblins and the half-goblins.”

“It may have started with the goblins but it certainly didn’t end with them.” Magnus stopped a moment later, sliding off the back of his horse to kneel in front of a grassy plant with yellow flowers. “Toadflax. This was on your list as well, I believe. It’s good for treating rashes and the like. You make it into a compress using milk. I hope the specifics are in your book. This is more my friend’s area of expertise than mine.” He handed the flower to Alec who wrapped it gently in more white cloth and placed it in his bag.

“What’s your area of expertise then? And you still haven’t answered my question. What other creatures?”

“My area of expertise is magic itself, of course. I’m uniquely qualified to be good at magic,” Magnus replied as butterflies made of blue energy danced around them.

“And what makes you qualified?” Alec asked, crossing his arms. “Are all goblins this cryptic?”

Magnus laughed, “I’m not being cryptic, I’m being coy...and I can’t tell you all my secrets on the first date — no matter how pretty you are.”

Alec huffed as another blush rose on his cheeks. “This isn’t a date...but fine, how about you elaborate on the other magical creatures thing then? I don’t like finding out that everything I’ve ever known about a place is false.”

The goblin studied him for a moment before he nodded. “Very well. Once we put the spells and the wards up to stop the needless death that was happening at the time, humans were driven to stay away. It was the only thing that we could do to keep ourselves safe without being driven out of our home. Because we were now safe from humans, the other creatures that were hunted for merely being creatures of magic began to take refuge here as well.”

Magnus chose not to mount back up so Alec slid from his horse’s back as well. They walked in silence for a moment before the half-goblin turned around. “Actually, it’s quite curious that you got through. You should have wanted to turn tail as soon as you got too close.”

“I was uncomfortable,” Alec said after a moment, recalling the sense of dread that had washed over him before he’d guided his horse off the path. “But I’d do anything to help my family...even if that means taking a risk I’m not necessarily meant to take.”

Magnus had stopped again, this time in front of a fluffy, white, flowering weed. “The promised Meadowsweet. It’s typically made into a tea or an elixir. Pick your poison. Well, not poison but I’m sure you catch my meaning.”

Alec collected a few of the flowers as Magnus did the same. “I’m not sure that tea is going to do much good when the patients are unconscious.”

“You’ll have to try one thing at a time. Maybe treat the symptoms first until you have a better idea of the root cause...perhaps you’ll get lucky and by treating one you’ll learn more about another. Medicine, like magic, is a lot of trial and error.”

“Well, I’m certainly willing to try,” Alec said after a moment. He threw his bag over his horse’s withers and pulled himself into the saddle once more. “I seem to be the only one left willing to try. Everyone else seems to have given up. They’re getting ready to petition the king for some kind of miracle.”

Magnus hummed as he pulled himself onto the back of his own horse. “Well then, I suppose we better find a few more for you to try. It sounds like you don’t have any time to lose.”

Alec followed the half-goblin dutifully all afternoon, trying to remember each and every instruction he was given as he was handed plant after plant. Finally, the sun began to duck behind the treetops and Alec grimaced. “I best be getting back. If I don’t return before dark, my brother will send a search party. Trust me, we don’t want the kind of mess he tends to bring with him.”

“Fair enough,” Magnus replied with a smile. “I figured that would be the case. Your trail awaits, my lord.” He swept his arms towards the dirt path that Alec had taken when he’d first entered the woods this morning. He hadn’t even realized that they had circled back.

“Thank you for all your help today. I’m not certain I could have found any of these without you.” He probably wouldn’t have even managed to find one if Magnus hadn’t helped.

“It was no trouble at all — definitely an interesting way to spend an afternoon. The sight sure didn’t hurt either.” Alec blushed and Magnus plucked a single blue flower with a yellow star center off the ground and held it out to him.

“What’s this one supposed to do?” Alec asked as he took the flower and twirled it gently in his fingers.

“Absolutely nothing. I just think it’s pretty. Good luck playing doctor, Alexander.” With that, he turned his horse and trotted back into the woods, leaving Alec standing in the trail alone.

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My Dearest Cabbage,

I’ll preface this by saying that yes, I do know exactly what you’re going to say after reading my letter so I will save you the hassle of a fire message in response.

Yes, what I did was incredibly stupid and reckless. Trust me, I’m well aware but you know how I do so love a good enigma.

It seems some sort of mysterious and possibly magical illness is plaguing the citizens of Idris. They’ve apparently tried all sorts of methods to heal their sick to no avail.

No, I haven’t been taking a risky trip into the city. Trust me, I’ve learned my lesson there. One of their people somehow managed to get through the protections and spells in the forest and came looking for plants that could potentially be used to treat the disease.

I have my doubts that any will work for him, but I sent him home with some regardless.

Could our wards be fading? No mere human should be able to pass over the border. We should meet sometime soon to check that the spells still hold strong. They are all that are standing between us and the people of Idris.

I’ll keep you advised if I receive any more information.

Delightfully yours,

M.B.

#shmb2021 #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #fanfic #like a lily in a flood

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daisyjohnsonsblog · 4 years

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Episode 9: A Detailed Look and Evaluation

Time to completely deconstruct this episode!! This is gonna be a long one so strap yourself right in and prepare for a DIVE into the mind-blowing goodness that is episode 9.

Plot and Structure (with a Side of Daisy/Coulson)

OKAY I'm just gonna preface this with the fact that I think that Drew Greenberg did a great job with this episode. In terms of how it fits with the overall season arc, I can see that it’s more of a stand-alone episode, but it’s nonetheless really crucial in building all the characters, especially Daisy and Coulson (but more of that later, like a LOT more).

let’s start with the main idea. everything is repeating, but going closer to a possible destruction? 10/10 would recommend. The escalation, the tension, the suspense. I mean like, I basically just said the same thing three times but what I'm trying to tell you is that my butt was glued to the seat and my heart? racing off faster than the Zephyr towards the vortex.

Structure of this episode was Super Interesting. Because only Daisy and Coulson were aware of what was happening, there’s this amazing intensity that is created as the episode goes on and stakes get higher. Only both of them know what happened, and even Daisy is only half-informed. This creates a super unique dynamic which effectively narrows down the attention and action onto Daisy and Coulson. Even when Greenberg uses this focus to draw in different characters in turn (Simmons, Enoch, and Sousa all take turns in this focus), the overall focus is on Daisy and Coulson: they’re the ones moving forward, trying to solve the problem. All the other characters become closer to props as Daisy and Coulson move to save the team, so we really get those quality Daisy/Coulson moments. *contented dad and daughter tropes sigh*

More Plot, but this time on the Time Plot and the Aftereffects

I think Greenberg found a great loophole when he used the time plot to essentially reset Simmons’ access to her Forbidden Memories. This way, the Zephyr gets fixed AND we don’t need to worry about endangering Fitz by her remembering Also, Elizabeth Henstridge did an amazing job in that scene when she Remembers (not to mention the directing. we stan). That emotional intensity is really beautiful and completely believable, but also leaves you wondering What On Earth She Remembers to make her have such a huge emotional and physical reaction.

However, I also wonder how the next episode will deal with the time loop. I mean, I’m guessing only Coulson and Daisy will be able to remember everything that happened? So how will Sousa feel around Daisy if he doesn’t remember that conversation they had, or that kiss? in this way I get the impression that this episode has many hypothetical qualities rather than being strictly believable; in other words, more fiction than science. (I mean, Greenberg kind of concessed to this when Coulson’s guess to why they both remembered was that they “both fell asleep in futuristic sleeping pods”). You can see Daisy and Coulson are asking themselves “What if?”. Daisy’s is What If she allows herself to act on the feelings that exist between herself and Sousa. Coulson’s What If is manifested in his spiel on the time loop essentially being a metaphor for if he chooses to continue life as a Chronicom. I suspect that the writers are building ground for the end when Coulson needs to make a choice on whether or not to continue as a Chronicom.

And I know I said earlier that this episode works more like a stand-alone episode, but it really reminds me of the whole plot of season 5, when the team was also trying to break the time-loop. And this season the writers have been doing frequent callbacks to the previous seasons, so I guess the episode’s place is as an echo to season 5.

Daisy Johnson

In any case, this episode itself creates an amazing space for an in-depth look at Daisy and Coulson. That part where Sousa essentially breaks down Daisy’s character, how she’s gotten used to being alone (she hasn’t really had any love interests since season 4. I mean, you could argue that daisy/deke was gonna be a thing at some point, but I think we’ve moved past that.) despite being surrounded by friends. she’s headstrong. that image of Daisy running at a brick wall? Pretty much the past seven seasons. Sousa picking up on that so quickly and so accurately makes me wonder how closely he’s been watching Daisy, or (not to sound too critical and pessimistic) if he knows Daisy so well because he knew someone else like her - someone of her “type”. If the latter is true, then I would worry that Sousa is attracted to Daisy because she reminds him of someone else - that Daisy. Mostly because that isn’t a great foundation for a lasting relationship. Also he’s only known her for like, a week. I feel that part of it is pretty rushed, but I get that with only 13 episodes we don’t have time for a slow burn. Still, I hope that they get that dynamic right. If Daisy’s arc is gonna include a relationship, it better be a VERY VERY good one.

Coulson

For me, this episode was crucial in filling in Coulson’s character. I felt like his whole revival had kind of been swept under the carpet. Sure, there were moments when he had been overwhelmed, but they were super brief. I think that these conversations are LONG overdue. There’s been a lot of stored grief of both sides of the coin: I don't think Daisy ever got to truly leave Coulson behind, emotionally or mentally, and I don’t think Coulson ever really got the chance to share his experience(s) with dying and coming back to life.

Adding on to this already complicated situation is the fact that Coulson is essentially an LMD. The whole team, Coulson included, have very recent memories of LMDs taking over and threatening their very existence. This episode, and especially Coulson’s denial of the possibility that he has a soul was very very necessary. It’s only natural that Coulson - or Coulson’s memories/stimulated personality - have these doubts. Just that bit showed us how much Coulson is struggling to align what he knows with who he is now. The Phillinda heart in me was half-hoping that he would have the convo with May, but I think I like this approach more. May has had somewhat more of an emotional development than Daisy so far in this episode. Still, the whole conversation kind of reminded me of the convo he had with May back in season 1 when he showed her his scar. *teary look* those were good times.

Final Thoughts

I’m honestly very satisfied with what we’ve seen of Daisy and Phil so far. I just hope that that will continue and they’ll both get closure. There’s this sense of finality, especially when Enoch said that “families grow apart”. It’s somewhat ominous and melancholy but it also feels right. Daisy has had some pretty amazing adventures and missions, but there’s also the fact that I think she does want a normal life; even if not boring normal, then a stable life. We first saw Daisy as a “hacktivist”, and she’s never had proper stability: orphaned from birth, and then homeless, and then through the literal physical and emotional chaos. Through seasons 1 to 2, Daisy has been searching for parental figures (cue her very telling dream of Phil and Melinda being her parents), and then from then, she’s been more of...soul searching I guess. So if Sousa can give her that, then I’m all for Sousy. x

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themurphyzone · 4 years

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PatB Oneshot: Eurydice

Summary: An alternate scenario for the Halloween episode, loosely based on the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice. Mr. Itch strikes a different deal with Brain. If Brain can make it to the surface world without looking at Pinky, the contract will be voided and Pinky’s soul will be returned. And failure is not an option.

Beginning AN: I posted this idea on Discord a month ago and I’ve wanted to write this scenario ever since. I love the Halloween ep so much…so how about some whump? I am not kind to our favorite mice at all, just a heads up. Also there is a serious lack of fics over the Halloween ep. It's prime material for angst.

Big shout out to @plutonis who listened to me cry over torturing these poor mice over DM.

FFN Link

Contract

I, the Brain, hereby agree to a challenge against Mr. Itch, Proprietor of Wayward Souls and Master of Hell, in which the winner shall receive Pinky’s soul. Should Brain win this challenge against all impossible odds, Pinky’s previous contract in which he agreed to submit himself to hell’s eternal torments in exchange for Brain’s dominion over the surface world shall be voided and destroyed, and he may return to the surface world with Brain. Additionally, Brain agrees to forfeit his royal claim on the world and is prohibited from future attempts at global conquest for the remainder of his days.

Challenger Signature: The Brain

Drafter Signature: Mr. Itch

*Mr. Itch reserves the right to set the terms of the challenge at his leisure.

o-o-o-o-o

He’d been too hasty in signing the contract. The combination of brimstone and heat had to be affecting his decision-making process.

It’s not about Pin– the food pellets, he told himself. Absolutely not.

But it was too late. His signature was burned into the page. Five blood-red letters would determine Pinky’s fate.

And even if…no, he couldn’t afford an if…when he succeeded in rescuing Pinky, he’d have to give up the world. He wouldn’t even be able to try and earn his crown, scepter, and throne through his own merits.

Without the nightly ambitions, Pinky might…wish to find a different associate.

Brain’s entire purpose would be gone. Forever.

He didn’t listen to the convoluted, nonsensical legalese that Mr. Itch’s lawyers provided. There was no need to provide metaphors or explain the situation further.

Brain understood the gist.

No matter the outcome, he would fail. And this time, the consequences were permanent.

“Think of it, Brain,” Mr. Itch sneered, and Brain hated that cocky, self-assured expression that put even the best car salesman in the world to shame. Mr. Itch waved his hand, and a sick, twisted parody of a game show appeared behind him. “You can walk away now and rule the world…or you can risk it all and try to get Pinky back.”

Brain’s vision blurred as he was forcibly thrust onto a tall podium. A spotlight illuminated him, and the demons clamored for his choice.

A tall demoness cheerfully indicated two panels to the studio audience of hell’s denizens. One depicted Brain on top of the world in royal regalia. He could have power to change the world. Admiration from the populace. Endless wealth so they could have the finest things life had to offer.

But the other panel was a portrait of Pinky. Just a misleading, goofy portrait of a smiling Pinky that belied the high stakes of Brain’s contract.

He was chafing under the spotlight. But why? He was king, he was emperor, with everyone at his beck and call! He shouldn’t be afraid of a little spotlight!

Except he wasn’t any of those things here. Just a mouse who’d failed to notice his associate signing his own soul away.

The demons clamored. Brain gripped the podium, vulnerable and ripe for humiliation, for several…seconds? Minutes? Hours?

His voice wasn’t working. He needed his voice, didn’t he? But he could only stammer like a fool. Perspiration built on his fur, and he nearly slipped off the podium, his palms damp and clammy. He didn’t know if it was the heat or the anxiety, but everyone was waiting for his choice.

“Save Pinky!”

“No, the world!”

“Go for cash!”

The demons jeered in a harsh, guttural cacophony. Brain was sure he would’ve been covered in fresh produce and popcorn if they’d had any available. Anything to amplify his current indignity.

He wanted Pinky. He wanted the world. He couldn’t have both.

But in the end, there was hardly a choice at all.

Ruling the world without Pinky by his side wasn’t worth the castle, the riches, the statues. Institutes of higher learning named in his honor, policies with his seal of approval, ethical practices in scientific fields to enforce…but what good were they to him?

His castle would just be a gilded cage. Sparkling and clean and mighty for all his subjects to behold from afar, but its interior would only contain a gloomy king without an associate, a confidant…

And a kindred spirit.

All or nothing. He had to try. Who knows? Pinky might’ve done the same for him.

“I’ll try to save Pinky!” Brain shouted, forcing the words past his throat and into the unforgiving outside world.

He wasn’t prepared for Pinky to spring onto the podium. That mindless simpleton was grinning from ear to ear like he was just being called to the stage in The Price is Right! Didn’t Pinky realize his soul was in peril?

“Oh, Brain! My hero!” Pinky snatched Brain up in an enthusiastic hug. Brain stiffened and tried not to think about the hand currently rubbing his head, and how he would never feel it again if he failed his quest.

They were also surrounded by an unfriendly sort. They would believe this saccharine display was a weakness if Brain allowed Pinky to indulge these childish needs.

He shoved Pinky off, holding him at arm’s length for a moment so Pinky would take the hint.

“…so he can show me where the food pellets are,” Brain added hastily.

That was all Pinky was needed for.

To show him where the necessities laid.

A hellish fanfare played, saving Brain pondering those terrifying thoughts.

An enormous fiery plume burst onto the stage, then dissipated to reveal Mr. Itch. He conjured a microphone and bowed heartily at the thunderous applause.

“Ladies and demons, we have something very special for your entertainment on this fantastic Halloween night. I trust you’re aware of our newest resident and his…well, can I even call him a friend? He didn’t lift a finger to stop me when I claimed Pinky.”

Brain stared down at his hands to avoid the harsh, mocking glares. This was just the opening act. Mr. Itch was hyping up the crowd for Brain’s ultimate failure.

Mr. Itch strolled around the stage, each movement radiating confidence of a self-assured victory. “Yes, he enjoys having that ultimate power. A glorious statue, his rival in the race for world domination now a lowly jester in court, his name praised on every street corner! Isn’t that a dream come true? And yet...he chose to come into my realm and make demands. Like the world wasn’t enough for him.”

Because Pinky wasn’t there to make the world enough.

A hiss of smoke sprung up by Brain’s foot. He bit his tongue, wondering if part of the challenge was running on hot coals or avoiding random ember spurts. At this point, it seemed very likely. His feet probably wouldn’t survive the night.

In the unlikely scenario that the rest of his body survived of course.

And something wet landed on his toe. Wet? There wasn’t anything wet about hell, unless one counted the boiling lakes. But it evaporated into steam before he could fully process the cool reprieve.

Then he heard it.

A whimper.

From Pinky.

A tear trailed down Pinky’s cheek.

“Pinky?” Brain asked quietly, trying to keep his eyes trained on Mr. Itch, who was currently recapping the tale of Brain’s disastrous attempt at Broadway to the raucous audience. Not one of Brain’s finest moments, but he couldn’t dwell on that now. Better for them to laugh over what was past and done, rather than drawing their attention here.

Pinky clutched his tail in a death grip. Steam leaked under his eyes and around his cheeks, his entire face damp with tears.

“He’s saying awful things.”

Even with their proximity, Brain had to strain his ears to hear Pinky’s voice.

“Don’t bawl, Pinky,” Brain whispered, hoping by some off-chance that the verbal comfort would be enough. “Don’t cry. Not here. Not now. Don’t…don’t be foolish.”

He didn’t know if the reassurance was meant for Pinky or himself. With a trembling hand, Brain reached for Pinky’s back, shuffling closer to make the motion less conspicuous.

But Pinky moved away before Brain could touch him.

“They have to know, Brain,” Pinky said. His voice was far too calm. “I can’t let him tell those awful lies about you.”

Pinky tried to balance on the edge of the podium, but Brain grabbed him by the tail and hauled him off. But Pinky was stubborn, and he tried again.

“Let him talk, you idiot!” Brain yelled, grabbing Pinky’s tail to knock him off-balance and buy some much needed time before Pinky foolishly tried again, oddly glad that Mr. Itch was enough of a showman to keep the attention away from them.

But Pinky’s huge pain threshold allowed him to recover far quicker than Brain would’ve liked. “Brain, let go of my tail!” Pinky shouted, trying to sweep his tail into a huge arc to dislodge Brain.

“Not until you do as you’re told, for once in your life!” Brain retorted, grasping the wriggling tail. He wouldn’t relinquish it.

Pinky was slippery though, and in one swift motion, he freed himself from Brain’s grip. Realizing he needed a more secure hold, Brain threw himself at Pinky’s right arm. Suddenly, the arm blurred, and Brain couldn’t stop his forward momentum in time. A sharp pain erupted on the side of his head and knocked him against a corner, his face throbbing painfully.

Through his daze, Brain pressed a hand against his cheek and winced at the tenderness. Hopefully it didn’t swell. Ice packs weren’t exactly a common item in this hostile environment.

Then he saw Pinky.

And Pinky was absolutely distraught. Smoke poured out his eyes at a more alarming rate than before. His blue eyes were tinged red. Pinky clutched his elbow with his other arm, squeezing as hard as he could to admonish it.

But it wasn’t necessary.

A microphone was thrust into Pinky’s face before Brain could tell him so.

“How could I forget our little stars of the show?” Mr. Itch asked, a sadistic grin stretching from ear to ear. “That was quite a scuffle there, Pinky. Can’t say I blame you. Revenge for all the times Brain’s bopped you on the head and insulted you?”

Pinky wiped his eyes in a pitiful attempt to get some semblance of dignity back as the demonic crew trained all their lights and cameras on him.

“N-no...” Pinky said weakly. “I mean, he can say mean things sometimes, but the bops-“

Mr. Itch shook his head in a show of mock sympathy. “Your friend-“ he curled his lip as if the word itself was cyanide “-called you a speckless nougat just before you signed my contract. He’ll take everything and give nothing. He’ll send you away only to ask for your services again because he can’t do the manual labor on his own. You’re a talented little guy, aren’t you? You’ve showed the moxie and the know-how to become a Broadway star or president of the good old USA. And instead of putting those gifts to use, you’ve been rotting inside a cage with a failure who leeches on your success.”

Failure.

One of the cameras trained its unforgiving lens on Brain. He shook away the remaining dizziness and stood up to get some semblance of dignity back. The demons booed and heckled him, but he tried to lift his head in defiance.

He wasn’t a failure. He ruled the world! His word was law, his brilliance unparalleled!

He had it all-

-only because Pinky sacrificed his soul for him. Pinky had taken drastic measures to prove himself when there had been nothing to prove, because Brain made Pinky believe he had to prove his usefulness.

He’d gained the world yet lost Pinky. It was failure.

Which meant he-

“Stop it,” Pinky begged. Brain’s thoughts came to a screeching halt, and he stepped away from Pinky before reminding himself that he was being illogical. Pinky didn’t have telepathy. He couldn’t have heard all that. But Pinky was glaring up at Mr. Itch with a ferocity Brain had never seen before.

In the span of a single night, Brain’s entire world had been shaken to its roots.

Mr. Itch raised an eyebrow. “Stop what?” he asked, placing his free hand on his chest like he’d been genuinely offended.

“Stop it! STOP CALLING BRAIN ALL THOSE NASTY MEAN HORRIBLE THINGS RIGHT NOW!” Pinky’s voice rose into a fevered pitch, his fur bristling along his spine.

This was wrong. This was so very wrong. Pinky wasn’t supposed to be the angry one.

Before Brain could stop him, Pinky leapt off the podium and landed on the microphone to the ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ of the lesser demons, and even Mr. Itch seemed too stunned by the maneuver to shake Pinky off.

“Pinky, cease immediately!” Brain yelled once he managed to find his voice. “You’re being reckless!”

“I HAVE PLENTY OF RECKS, BRAIN!” Pinky screamed, tightly clinging to the microphone even though Mr. Itch was attempting to pry him off. “CAUSE YOU’RE NOT A FAILURE OR A LEECH! YOU’RE A MOUSE!”

A comforting warmth spread through Brain’s chest at the affirmation, but he pushed those feelings aside. Pinky’s words meant nothing if Brain didn’t succeed with this rescue.

The audience was deathly quiet.

“Yes, Pinky,” Mr. Itch growled, trying to slip a finger under Pinky to dislodge him. But Pinky held on. “Let your friend talk. Let the cameras capture his selfishness. After all, his presence here just means he wasn’t grateful for your gift. That he wasn’t happy with your gift. As I said before, all he does is take, take, and take some more. What’s he ever done for you in return?”

But Brain had been grateful. For a short time anyway.

Until he realized his gratitude came from Pinky’s sacrifice. All of Pinky’s sacrifices that involved no benefit to himself.

Pinky mumbled something that had much of the audience leaning in eagerly, trying to hang onto every word.

Mr. Itch shrugged. “Well, if you have nothing else to say, then-“

But Pinky hauled himself on top of the microphone, clinging to it like a lifeline.

“Brain gave me my name! He gave me a chance to see the world! He gave me a chance to do things I never dreamed of doing before! I wouldn’t have met Pharfignewton otherwise! Or Winnie or Mr. Sultana or any of the other lovely people we met while trying to take over the world! Maybe Brain can be big-headed and a grump but he works super hard and he’s going to make the world a better place to live! And most importantly, he’s my best friend and nothing you say will ever change that!”

“Pinky…” Brain’s throat closed uncomfortably. It had to be the oppressive, stagnant air. What could he possibly say to Pinky’s emphatic speech?

Even the demons were moved. Some embraced their neighbors, others made sympathetic noises. There were a few who sat with their heads pressed against their knees in a futile attempt to staunch their tears.

He’d never been more grateful for Pinky’s charisma.

Mr. Itch took notice of his followers’ reactions. A vein seemed to pop in his head, his once casual, lazy posture now stiff and alert.

“Brain only kept you around because you were useful.” A dangerous edge crept into Mr. Itch’s tone. “That’s all there was to your so-called friendship.”

“NARF!” Pinky screeched in defiance.

It sounded all wrong. Fury and fear laced that familiar, irritating monosyllable. Brain didn’t know what narf meant, and he probably never would, but he was certain that narf wasn’t meant to be uttered in such a fashion.

“Narf!” a demon called.

Another demon stood up and pumped his fist. “Poit!”

“Troz! Egad! Narf! Zort!” The demons chanted Pinky’s favorite syllables like the world’s most demented cheering squad.

An inferno burned in Mr. Itch’s eyes.

“SILENCE!”

Mr. Itch’s snarl deepened into a guttural and unearthly roar, the entire netherworld quaking in outrage. The lesser demons hastily vacated their seats and cowered behind each other, large boulders, or whatever makeshift shields they could find.

The microphone and a tiny white body were hurled into the empty audience box, crashing into the metallic structure with enough force to leave an enormous dent.

There was no tic-filled laughter to accompany the harsh clang of his body impacting metal.

“PINKY!” Brain screamed, not caring that he tumbled more than climbed down the podium. He landed right on his throbbing cheek and got a mouthful of hot crimson dust for his trouble, but he couldn’t care less.

The physical tortures were just going to build up until Pinky’s body couldn’t handle it anymore. It didn’t matter that Pinky had a near-immunity to pain. Pinky’s body would break and he would never notice.

Brain spat out the dust and hurried over to Pinky, who feebly stirred next to the microphone.

Mr. Itch loomed above them, an ember casually lit on his finger. “You know what? That’s perfect,” he chuckled, and it was utterly devoid of good humor. “Absolute silence.”

Brain knelt on the hard ground next to Pinky, who only blinked up at him with those too-trusting blue eyes. Pinky raised a shaking hand, cupping it against the cheek he’d accidentally hurt.

“I’ve sustained worse injuries,” Brain said quietly. Despite the heat, he shivered at the touch. He wished Pinky wouldn’t comfort him. He didn’t deserve it. “You know that.”

Pinky opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

“Speak up, Pinky.” Brain tried to sound commanding, but his voice hitched instead. He couldn’t even keep up a thin illusion of normalcy.

Pinky tried again, but Brain still couldn’t hear him. Not even a cough or a wheeze from smoke inhalation. He wasn’t choking or flailing. There couldn’t be something lodged in his throat.

“He can’t speak, Brain,” Mr. Itch said. “He’s been silenced per our little agreement.”

Silenced?

Brain snatched the wrist gently cradling his cheek and felt for a pulse, and he couldn’t disguise his relieved sigh once he found it.

“C’mon, just what do you take me for? It’s not a euphemism. Takes all the fun outta the contract.”

“Just say narf, Pinky,” Brain pleaded as he shook Pinky’s shoulder, as if pleading in hell would accomplish anything useful. “Please say narf. Can’t you do that much?”

Pinky mouthed the syllable to no avail. He became teary all over again, his free hand feeling his throat as if trying to coax the narf out. His foot kicked out, yet it made no thump against the crimson rocks.

The demons murmured among themselves, and though they appeared sympathetic to Pinky’s plight, they were too frightened of their master to come any closer.

It was just as well. Brain didn’t want anyone to touch Pinky.

Brain tried to glare at Mr. Itch, but a mouse could never hope to be intimidating against a sadistic supernatural being.

“Don’t give me that look,” Mr. Itch scoffed. “The fine print of our contract lets me set the condition of the challenge. Pinky’s silence is my first condition. If anything, I’m doing you a favor. Awful noisy thing, isn’t he? No wonder you weren’t inclined to get back him back right away.”

Had this been a different situation entirely, Brain might’ve found it relieving that Pinky would have to be quiet for a while.

Cruel irony at its finest.

Pinky touched his nose against Brain’s own, and Brain tried not to think of how Pinky could comfort as easily with a touch as with words. Surely Pinky was just using tactile stimulation for his own peace of mind rather than Brain’s.

“And now for my second condition,” Mr. Itch smirked. He snapped his fingers, the sharp echo promising cruelty yet to come.

The gentle pressure of Pinky’s nose vanished, the feel of his wrist and shoulder gone. The whites, pinks, and reds of his body were now colorless, lifeless. His bright blue eyes faded into a pale, ghostly void. No pupils, no irises…just empty.

Brain tried to put a hand over Pinky’s heart, desperately wishing for the steady thrum he was so accustomed to. Yet his hand passed through Pinky’s chest like mist. It was neither cold nor hot, simply that there was nothing to feel.

Pinky reached for Brain’s face, looking at him with that strange, milky gaze. But his hand passed through the cheek he’d accidentally hurt, and Pinky’s chest heaved rapidly. He tried to grab his tail, as he always did when he was truly upset, but couldn’t.

No tears came out. Just several silent sobs.

Pinky was just a silent, sorrowful ghost of his former self. The loudest and happiest mouse Brain had ever known was reduced to this shadow, trapped within his mind, unable to engage with the world around him.

It was a horrible, undeserved fate for such a kindhearted mouse. There would be no release, not even from death, if Brain failed his challenge.

He had no choice but to win.

And even that was practically impossible.

“Pinky, I’m sorry…” The words tumbled out of Brain’s mouth before he could think of anything else to say.

Why wouldn’t his mind just work? I’m sorry? Like he’d done nothing more than eat the last food pellet? Sorry didn’t even begin to cut it!

Pinky floated instead of standing, feet skimming just above the ground. He gave Brain a tiny, reassuring smile. Of course he’d find something to smile about in his non-existent state. It probably should’ve annoyed Brain, but it was rather comforting to know that Pinky would always be Pinky.

Even so, the smile faded just as quickly as it came. Pinky couldn’t properly express his joy with narfs and poits and enormous embraces.

Then a fingersnap above his head reminded him of Mr. Itch’s presence.

“We’ve got business to discuss, Brain,” Mr. Itch said as he straightened his lapels. “You should know what your challenge consists of.”

In other words, Brain’s humiliation had hardly begun. But he’d do it. For Pinky’s sake.

Brain tried to hold his head high and show hell that he wasn’t afraid to defy their evil laws, but he couldn’t even find the strength to bring his ears up.

Another snap, and the microphone soared back to Mr. Itch. He twirled it with a showman’s flair and gestured for the audience to take their seats. The lesser demons obeyed, murmuring among themselves and pointing at the spectral Pinky. They didn’t seem pleased by Pinky’s complete silence.

“Ladies and demons, think of Brain’s challenge as an adaptation of an old Greek story,” Mr. Itch announced. “And I ain’t just talking about a watered-down Heracles here. No, this story isn’t about heroes slaying monsters. Rather, it’s a tragedy. The Greeks were masters of that particular craft, you see. A man goes on a quest, yet his fatal flaw always strikes him down in the end. I trust you’re quite familiar with the concept, Brain?”

Brain said nothing. No need to give them ammunition.

His temper and pride were the source of many failures. But there was nothing he could do except commit the same errors over and over again.

He should’ve known. It was only a matter of time before the ones he…tolerated suffered the consequences.

As if sensing his thoughts, Pinky wrapped his spectral arms around Brain’s shoulders. He couldn’t feel the saccharine display, and that fact pained him more than he cared to admit.

“Ever heard of cooperation?” Mr. Itch sighed. “You have the starring role in the show tonight. Give us something to work with, at least.”

Brain gritted his teeth. He’d had enough of this delay. “I’m through with this prolonged torture! Just get it over with already!” he shouted. “I refuse to be paraded around like a sideshow attraction!”

“Touchy,” Mr. Itch huffed in disdain. He turned back to the audience. “But I digress. Now, this tragedy involves a man who ventured into the depths of the underworld to retrieve his closest companion. He placated everyone with his music, including Hades himself. And because Hades was a total sap, he allowed the man to lead his companion back to the surface world.”

His arm swept out and a large stone staircase appeared. It spiraled and arched far above their heads, and Brain caught a glimpse of a starry sky hidden among the crimson stone.

Pinky belonged in the surface world, where the grass and horses and inanimate objects he had yet to befriend waited. And he was relying on Brain to bring him there.

Perhaps it was silly to reach for arms he couldn’t feel, but Brain placed his hands atop where Pinky’s fur should’ve been. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d voluntarily touched Pinky without hurting him.

Something to rectify if they made it through this trial.

“And that brings me to the final condition.” Before Brain could react, darkness engulfed his vision as he was plucked up into the air, his head squeezed by an unforgiving, burning hand. Brain bit the skin like it was just another day of rough handling by some careless scientist, but a fiery pain flooded his throat and he released the hand immediately. It felt like magma had crammed its way into his esophagus, and there was no lifegiving water to relieve him.

Then he was roughly deposited at the base of the stairs.

Brain tried to turn around, but Mr. Itch forced him to stare at the first brimstone step instead. The steps were several inches taller than him, though he could still reach the next step if he jumped high enough.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Mr. Itch scolded. “I wouldn’t do that if I were a pathetic mortal like you. In this little tale, Hades told the man he couldn’t look at his companion until they were both in the land of the living, lest she be lost to the underworld forever. For your challenge, I’ll be invoking that same clause.”

Brain resisted the urge to bite that supernatural conman’s fingers off. He would only wind up damaging his throat.

“I can hardly expect Pinky to follow me in the presence of distractors!” Brain protested. “He’s liable to find a stalactite interesting, or collect rocks, or do anything else other than-“

Mr. Itch only cackled, pillars of lava erupting alongside his cruelty.

And Brain remembered why the story was known as a tragedy.

The man looked at his companion just as they reached the surface world. Her soul was forever lost among the dead. Though he tried to reclaim her, the underworld wouldn’t release her again. And he spent the rest of his life mourning her loss.

Hell expected a faithful adaptation. They knew Brain would inevitably lose his temper and forget that he couldn’t look. They knew they’d be able to keep Pinky forever.

They knew.

Yet they put on this charade anyway.

Because false hope was the cruelest lie of all.

“Your challenge begins, Brain,” Mr. Itch declared, and the wicked fingers slowly released Brain’s head. “And remember, no looking at Pinky until you’re both in the surface world. But that’s a moot point, ain’t it? You’re bound to forget soon enough. At least try to go for most of the length before your undeniable failure, okay? We wouldn’t want the show to end too soon.”

Mr. Itch vanished in a puff of smoke.

Undeniable failure.

“I am not a failure,” Brain snarled to himself, more out of habit than belief. But his petulance at the phrase enabled him to climb five steps without pausing for breath.

And he didn’t require Pinky to boost him up! He climbed five steps by himself!

But that thought was banished as he climbed the sixth step. Pinky couldn’t physically boost him, nor provide mental fortitude. The adrenaline rush wore off quickly, and Brain’s feet dangled in the air as he tried to find a grip on the rocky outcropping. But he managed, albeit with difficulty. On the count of three, Brain heaved himself over the ledge.

He laid on the hot stone to catch his breath, face tucked under his hands so he wouldn’t see Pinky.

No words of encouragement. No strange tics. Nothing except the roar of lava, mockery, and his darkening thoughts.

Funny how one didn’t appreciate what they had until it disappeared. Pinky always lifted Brain, boosting him to higher places he couldn’t reach alone. It was something he’d always done, and Brain had let it slide out of practicality. Just treat the action like a living, portable stepstool. It was far better than expending more energy than required during plans.

In hindsight, would it have killed him to say thank you? Or at least nod in gratitude?

There was no time limit, but Brain stood up and dusted himself off, though the crimson dust would just attach itself to his fur all over again within seconds. It was impossible to shake off, and Brain wondered if he would ever be able to fully cleanse himself of it.

Taking a deep breath, Brain reached for a handhold above his head and hauled himself up.

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot again. One more repetition. Start all over for the next stairstep.

It was a rhythm. Rhythms weren’t full of what-ifs or what could’ve beens. Concentrate on the rhythm. Nothing else mattered.

He had to keep moving. Keep climbing. It was better than sitting there and doing nothing. He couldn’t rest. He wouldn’t.

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

Brain’s throat burned. His fur was slick with perspiration, though it only served as a method to lose precious water instead of cooling him off. His limbs trembled, and it was difficult to keep hold of the unforgiving stone.

But he’d only completed the first two spirals! There were still several more tiers left, and the starry sky seemed much further away than before.

“Pinky, if…if we make it out of here-”

Brain shuddered as he laid down to rest. His voice was raspy from the fumes and thirst, but he had to keep talking. Had to say something. Maybe Pinky would listen, maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he wasn’t even in earshot.

“-if you want to leave…”

He trailed off, rubbing away teardrops that quickly evaporated into smoke. His chest ached, but he couldn’t say for certain that it caused by physical labor.

Brain couldn’t make an attempt at global conquest even if he succeeded. Pinky’s help would no longer be necessary.

Between the two of them, Pinky knew how to live. He knew how to talk to people, how to have fun, how to narf through his pathetic lot in life with a smile on his face.

Brain only knew survival. Maybe it was his former field mouse instincts that somehow bled into intellect. Maybe his primitive instincts weren’t as gone as he’d like to believe.

He would never be anything else but a lowly test subject. If someone decided to euthanize or feed him to a snake one day…well, it hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things. Another mouse would take his place. And when that mouse died, it would be replaced again. And the progress would continue in the name of scientific progress.

Dying for science.

Yes, that’s how he’d meet his end.

But Pinky’s kindred spirit would touch others. Whether it was through an executive office, the lead role on Broadway, or even just helping a stranger on the street, he could do so many good things for the world around him.

The world would love Pinky back.

And if a solitary mouse in a lonely lab happened to turn on the TV and see his former associate surrounded by an adoring crowd, he would be happy to see the world has changed for the better.

So he had to keep going.

He had to try. Try to bring Pinky back to the surface world…and let him go. He shouldn’t keep anything he didn’t earn.

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

The halfway point now.

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

He miscalculated the distance to the top of the next step and reached too far. He lost his footing and plummeted several inches. Growling under his breath, Brain punched the unfeeling stone, though it only bruised his knuckles instead of making him feel better. Then he tried again.

And again. And again.

He couldn’t grasp these handholds! There was no logical reason why. They were approximately the same size and shape as all the other outcroppings! It shouldn’t be this difficult!

“Pinky, where are you when I need you? Cease your nonsense at once and help me!” Brain screamed, clutching the stone and closing his eyes so he wouldn’t see Pinky. Eight tries. Nine tries and counting. Why couldn’t he do something as simple as this?

But Pinky couldn’t help. It was useless to ask.

What’s the matter? Can’t manage a simple task on your own?

“Of course I can!” Brain snarled, and he gripped an outcropping so tightly that it broke off in his hand. He hurled the useless pebble into the abyss below, then found a different handhold and successfully hauled him to the next step out of sheer spite towards that nagging, insistent voice.

How do you know Pinky’s following you? How do you know he’s not enjoying his newfound flight capabilities?

He didn’t know. Pinky smiled when he discovered he could float as nothing more than a ghost, it was true, but the smile hadn’t reached his eyes. Pinky was incapable of deception. Even without speaking, the intention had been clear. Pinky only wanted to comfort Brain.

That Pinky could learn to live a life of nonexistence. That somehow Pinky would adapt to no touch, no words, no rest in hell.

If only those blank eyes had been more accusatory. It would’ve been far easier to deal with.

Pinky shouldn’t adapt to this. He couldn’t.

But he might-

No. Brain had to try. He had to try and not fail.

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

The ground quaked beneath his feet, and Brain clung to the crimson ledge he rested on. He wouldn’t put it past hell to throw him to the bottom and negate all his efforts.

Still, he pressed on.

The sky was closer now. Several autumn leaves were blown along the wind.

Are you sure Pinky’s behind you?

Three spirals left. Almost there. They were almost there.

Failure would come soon. He was sure of it.

He didn’t know much time had passed in the world beyond. Was it November already? Was it time for the world to replace the witches and skulls with turkeys and wreaths?

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

The navy sky was filled with countless twinkling stars. Lights from a faraway airplane blinked steadily as it flew into the horizon. Ever closer, ever brighter.

“Do you see that, Pinky?” Brain whispered. For once, the stars gave him no existentialist dread. A feeling he dared describe as hope filled his chest and strengthened his limbs. All fears were banished to the recesses of his mind. He climbed with renewed purpose, not pausing for breath. “Just a little farther. We’re almost there. Stay behind me, Pinky. Just stay behind me.”

He’s not behind you.

“Yes, he is,” Brain retorted.

This was important. Pinky always came through in matters of importance.

Always is so absolute. You know those statements are usually false, right?

The ground rumbled, accompanied by a distant outraged roar, but Brain paid no heed to it. He ignored his doubts, he ignored the roars, he ignored everything but the starry expanse above and the rocks beneath his hand.

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

He could do this. One more ledge. One more handhold. One more foothold.

The sky was so inviting, so beautiful…

Brain gripped the last ledge. He was filthy with dust and sweat, but he couldn’t care less. He was almost there.

Pinky was almost home. Pinky would be able to feel again.

And he would leave. But that was alright. Pinky wouldn’t suffer in hell on Brain’s account. That’s all that really mattered.

He hauled himself onto the last ledge…

…but he didn’t see the pitchfork’s hilt in time.

An agonizing pain shot through his body as he lost his grip and plummeted to the previous step. His back slammed against the hot stone. A searing pressure in the center of his forehead kept him pinned. He gasped for air, his dry throat throbbing.

An enormous crimson devil blotted out the night sky, and Brain’s fragile hope ripped away from his heart. The Devil’s eyes burned like lava as he glared hatefully at Brain, digging the pitchfork ever so slightly into his head.

It wouldn’t take much force to crush or melt his skull, whatever the Devil fancied.

“I OFFERED YOU CHANCE AFTER CHANCE TO WALK AWAY WITH THE WORLD. BUT YOU STOLE WHAT RIGHTFULLY BELONGS TO ME. YOUR PUNISHMENT SHALL BE DEATH.”

The silky, snake-oil voice was gone, replaced by the full power of a supernatural entity. What was a mortal, pathetic rodent compared to the Master of Hell himself?

He was going to die. He’d failed to save his friend. His only friend.

If his soul was trapped in hell forever…if he had to suffer for all eternity, he deserved it. For his selfishness. For his callousness. For his failure.

“Please don’t hate me, Pinky…please don’t…” Brain choked out. He didn’t know where Pinky was. But if Pinky was watching, or listening, he could only ask that Pinky wouldn’t hate him.

He lay there, his determination gone, his lonely demise imminent.

“Narf! Zort! Poit! Troz!”

And the pressure vanished.

“Narf! Zort! Poit! Troz!”

A cacophony of Pinky’s favorite syllables sounded again and again and again. Though Pinky’s voice wasn’t among them, Brain still heard that oddly wonderful Cockney accent loud and clear.

“NO! PINKY IS MY PROPERTY!”

The Devil roared as dozens of lesser demons swarmed him, the pitchfork swinging wildly at anyone who dared to oppose his reign. Something screamed at Brain to find cover before he was caught in the power struggle too, but his body refused to obey any rational thoughts.

Several demons ripped the enormous pitchfork away from their master, and the weapon crashed into a wall and spiraled into the depths below. Other demons screeched and clawed at every part of the Devil they could reach. The Devil swatted one pig-snouted demon slashing away at a shoulder, and he flew over Brain and tumbled down the stairs, grunts of pain echoing off the walls.

Immediately, his nearest allies howled in fury and attacked with more vigor than before. They chomped on cloven hooves, they fended off every swipe, and shouted warnings to their comrades before the Devil’s wrath could reach them.

No longer was self-preservation their only concern. They were a united force now, one the Devil himself had underestimated severely.

With one final shove, the Devil toppled over the edge. The ground rumbled at his furious roar, which quickly decreased in volume as he fell into the abyss.

Brain’s heart pounded, but the Devil didn’t resurface. A resounding cheer went up from the demons, then two of them rushed past Brain, presumably to check on their downed ally.

The remaining demons watched Brain closely. He flinched under attention he didn’t want. He just wanted to leave this horrible place. Then he realized they weren’t exactly looking at him, but rather somewhere just above his head.

“Narf!” the demons shouted, hands raised to their foreheads in a salute.

There was only one explanation behind the sudden camaraderie.

Pinky.

Pinky had been helping him all this time. Somehow, he’d influenced selfish demons to unite against their cruel master and protect each other from serious injury. Somehow, he’d found a way to say narf despite his voiceless state.

Somehow, Pinky still wanted to save Brain, even after all he’d done.

“Thank you, Pinky,” Brain said softly.

He didn’t need to question Pinky’s presence any longer.

A cool, fresh breeze blew over Brain’s fur as he climbed the last step. The starry sky was clear once again. It was a nice view.

The demons stood aside to allow them safe passage. He kept an eye out for any hostility, but other than their natural weapons, there was none to be found. Whether it was out of respect for the trial he and Pinky had endured, or if they were just an unpredictable force and Pinky’s presence somehow warded them off, he didn’t know.

Brain stepped onto the cool asphalt of the DMV parking lot, and had this been a different circumstance entirely, he might’ve found it rather ironic that one would be glad to set their sights on a DMV. He shivered from the temperature difference, the chilly autumn air contrasting heavily from the sweltering inferno.

Pinky’s contract shimmered into existence , and Brain’s own agreement followed within seconds. Someone had stamped ‘VOID’ in red capital letters across the top page of both contracts, and fire blazed across the crimson ink and engulfed the papers entirely. The ash and smoke left behind were swiftly carried off by the night wind.

Just like that, their contracts were gone.

In his relief, Brain turned to face Pinky to properly share their victory.

IDIOT! If you turn around, Pinky will be claimed by the Devil. Your entire challenge would be for nothing!

And Brain’s foot stopped mid-turn.

The realization struck harshly.

He didn’t truly know if the Devil had a claim over Pinky’s soul. The lesser demons only bought them time to escape hell. Brain doubted they’d be able to hold their master back forever, even as a united front. But if the Devil came back, what then? Two lab mice couldn’t hope for a permanent victory against a powerful, malicious entity.

There was only one solution.

Brain could never look at Pinky again.

He didn’t trust himself to not slip up. Sooner or later, he’d forget that he couldn’t look. And Pinky would be gone again. Brain’s efforts would be in vain.

Hell wouldn’t be so accommodating the second time.

“Narf! Brain, I can say narf again!” a familiar voice exclaimed behind him.

Brain’s ears perked without any conscious input, but it was a minor loss of control in comparison to everything else he’d endured tonight.

He heard the clatter of pebbles and a swish of fallen leaves alongside a gentle tap of dancing feet against the asphalt. Pinky could interact with the environment again. He could dance and speak and produce all the noises he wanted. It was a small consolation, at least. The contract never said anything about never being able to hear Pinky again.

“Brain?” Pinky asked again. “Are you alright?”

Brain forced himself to stare at a white line that marked a parking space instead.

Don’t look, he chanted. You mustn’t look.

A featherlight touch landed on his shoulder, a gentle warmth not quite touching his back, but just close enough for him to feel its presence.

Brain hastily pulled away. He hated this feeling of helplessness, of being unable to function without physical reassurance. But he couldn’t accept Pinky’s touch either. It would just lead to further loss of control over his emotions, and he’d forget that he couldn’t look.

Pinky would have to leave ACME Labs and Brain forever. He would probably find it difficult at first, but he’d adapt. That’s just what he did.

Brain’s entire body ached. He just wanted to wash away the fire and brimstone, tend to his injuries, and sleep. It didn’t matter what he wanted to do after that. Even if he ignored the contract’s terms and tried to conquer the world again, it would never be the same.

He set off for the lab. Pinky followed, as always.

Maybe it was a selfish risk to not send Pinky away at this very moment, but he was grateful that Pinky would accompany him for one last after-failure trek.

o-o-o-o-o

He’d completely forgotten about his very brief stint as emperor. The only reminder from that timeframe was Snowball, who’d exchanged his jester cap and bells for the royal crown as soon as Brain abandoned his post to rescue Pinky.

ACME was no longer a mighty castle, but just another underfunded lab. Nobody chanted his name, called for their problems to be solved, or held signs that proclaimed Brain as their ruler. His statue had long vanished.

He didn’t want to see loyal subjects, enormous wealth, and undisputed power tonight. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever want them again.

Right now, he was just Brain, an exhausted, downtrodden lab mouse who would have to try to live without his only friend.

On the way back, Pinky had chattered about anything and everything, prattling on about cheese flavors, then about an inflatable reindeer someone had put up a month early, and finally to paint swatches so their section of the lab would be, according to him, ‘happy and go-lucky and livelier than a herd of hippopotamuses!’.

Brain said nothing. He just let Pinky talk. This might be the last time he’d ever hear that silly voice again.

“Maybe we could get some feng shui going, just like on HGTV! Zort!” Pinky said, and Brain could just imagine him scratching his head in a vain attempt to get any thoughts going. “Wait, no…we should paint radish roses on the walls! And make them with our radish rose whatchamawhozits! Twice the garnishes for our dinner parties! What color swatch should they be though? Raspberry rose? Rosemary? Oh, we should get one with a funny name! What do you think, Brai-oh, hey Snowball! Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Snowball scowled, stalking over to Brain and casting a contemptuous glare at Pinky. The loss of the hamster’s usurped power was still fresh in his twisted mind.

“My statue is gone thanks to whatever you did!” Snowball jabbed a finger into Brain’s chest. But Brain barely felt it. He didn’t feel anything towards Snowball at the moment. Not betrayal, not hatred, not even bittersweet nostalgia.

Brain only wanted rest.

“You should’ve stayed in hell,” Snowball growled. “He promised he’d keep you there.”

Brain placed his hand over Snowball’s finger, but he didn’t have the strength to push it away. The hamster raised an eyebrow at the lack of resistance.

“And he kept that promise, Snowball,” Brain said quietly. “Perhaps not in the way you expected, but he kept it.”

Snowball scoffed. He wasn’t convinced in the slightest.

The laboratory doors were wide open. It was a small consolation that he wouldn’t have to go through the mail slot.

“But…our contracts went up in smoke, Brain. Literally.” Pinky’s voice quivered. “And we’re on the lab’s doorstep too.”

It was time to break the news. Maybe he shouldn’t prolong the goodbye, but Pinky needed time to clean himself and pack his belongings.

“I wish to speak with Pinky. Leave, Snowball.”

“Fine,” Snowball spat, shoving past Brain. “I’ll talk to that blasted devil myself. Even his lawyers will have a difficult time against an entire corporation’s legal team.”

Once he was gone, Brain gestured for Pinky to follow him inside. The interior no longer held a throne, red carpet, or a golden wheel. Just their cage, several counters, and standard laboratory equipment.

Pinky made a valiant effort to hold his tears back, though he couldn’t completely stop all the whimpers from escaping. “P-poit. Nothing good ever comes out of wanting to talk,” he chuckled weakly.

“No, I suppose not,” Brain said. He gripped the side of a bottom drawer to give his hands something to do. His hands were scraped raw from climbing, though he relished the sting. Stings were only a small pain. He could handle small pain. More importantly, he couldn’t turn around, not even to see Pinky off for a proper goodbye.

You have to leave now. Thank you for everything. Goodbye, Pinky, his mind supplied.

It wasn’t enough. Whether it was one word or a million, they would never properly express everything he never said. What was he supposed to say to Pinky, who gave his soul away for Brain and never asked for anything in return?

“Brain, are you mad cause I didn’t help you?” Pinky asked. “Is that what this is about? Cause…I wanted to. I tried to push you up the steps, but I couldn’t feel you…and I tried shouting and cheering and yelling too! I…I don’t think you heard me. I’m sorry for being useless, Brain. You struggled so hard for me, and I was just useless!”

When Mr. Itch imposed his horrible terms, Pinky tried to cheer up Brain. Even when Brain had doubted, Pinky had been by his side. And he’d somehow inspired the demons to come to their aid.

That wasn’t useless. Not at all.

Even if Pinky hadn’t done all those things, Brain wouldn’t have held it against him. His anger was directed entirely towards the Devil himself.

“You’re not useless, Pinky,” Brain admitted. “I never should’ve implied it before this entire mess started. I’m sorry.”

There was silence for a while, only broken by the tap of Pinky’s feet on the tiles.

“Okay, I forgive you,” Pinky said. There were no strings attached. It always took Brain by surprise, how there were no additional requirements for Pinky’s forgiveness. “How come you won’t face me, Brain? I wanna see you.”

Brain took a deep breath. Best to get it out of the way. Get it done.

He couldn’t say done and over with. There was no over. He would never be the same without Pinky.

“I can’t see you, Pinky. I can’t look at you. Ever again. ” Brain pressed his head to the drawer, fighting the urge to turn around. “Don’t come any closer. You’ll just…it’ll make it harder on both of us.”

But Pinky’s footsteps drew closer. Of course they would.

“Make what harder?” Pinky echoed.

A warm hand fell on Brain’s shoulder, so different from blazing fire and cold wind, and something inside him broke.

“This goodbye, you idiot! He’ll come and he’ll take you again if I look at you! So leave at once for your own safety!” he yelled. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears, parched from thirst and raw from fumes.

“Then what was the point?” Pinky’s hand tightened around Brain’s shoulder. “Why would you rescue me only so you could tell me to leave? Why would you come after me and get hurt so much? At least you’d have the world if I’d just stayed there!”

“I WOULDN’T HAVE THE WORLD IF YOU REMAINED IN HELL, PINKY!” Brain screamed back. “I WOULDN’T HAVE ANYTHING!”

Not the one that truly mattered, anyway.

Pinky’s long tail drooped, ears falling back. Tears spilled out of his blue eyes.

And Brain’s anger melted away, replaced by all-consuming fear. His temper struck again, and he’d forgotten.

He’d turned around.

And he was looking straight at Pinky, right into the sorrowful expression he wore.

“No,” Brain whispered, shaking his head as he put as much distance between himself and Pinky as he could. But his body wouldn’t cooperate. He only managed a few shaky steps backwards. The lab was always so big. Why did it feel so tiny now?

Pinky was close. Far too close.

He’d looked.

The Devil was coming.

Lurking in any shadow, ready to snatch Pinky.

“He’s coming, Pinky!” Brain cried. “You have to get out of here now!”

“Who’s coming?” Pinky asked, reaching for Brain again. “Brain, are you alright? Your ears are floppy.”

He wasn’t even trying to run.

“No, I can’t let him take you. Not again!” Brain quickly glanced around the room. Surely there had to be plenty of places for a mouse to hide!

But the drawers were far too obvious, desk items could be moved easily, and his mind wouldn’t work just like every plan he ever came up with didn’t work and his attempts to protect Pinky would end in failure and he failed even when he wasn’t after the world and he just wanted to do something good for once without failing miserably-

White filled his vision as he was pressed against a warm chest by a gentle arm. A strong heartbeat thumped against his ear. A hand gently slipped under his chin, tilting his head up until he was looking into reassuring, sky blue eyes.

Despite the tears, Pinky’s gaze promised only hope and light and companionship.

Then Pinky carefully touched the area Snowball had jabbed, the center of Brain’s forehead where the pitchfork almost crushed him, until his hand lingered on the cheek he’d elbowed during their fight on the podium.

Gentle. Kind. Worried.

And Brain cried. Pinky held him close, not complaining when Brain’s tears dampened his fur or when the leftover crimson dust smudged against him. Tears splashed against Brain’s head, and he wrapped his own arms around Pinky, just to let him know it was alright if he needed to release his tears too. He didn’t know if he was hugging too tightly or holding too loosely, nor did he know if his arms were in the correct position at all.

Brain stroked the fur along Pinky’s spine, hoping the gesture conveyed that he forgave Pinky for accidentally hurting him. He took Pinky’s tiny hum as a good sign.

Pinky had been deprived of all sensation. This was comfort for him, just the reassurance of touching Brain. Of being close to him.

They stayed that way until nothing was left but exhaustion and damp fur along their cheeks. Brain’s legs buckled, unable to hold him up any longer.

Pinky caught him. “It’s okay, Brain. I’ll carry you,” he said, and his tone left no room for argument.

Never once did Brain feel like he was going to fall during Pinky’s climb up the counter. He only relished the close contact.

But he had to let go all too soon.

Pinky set Brain on the counter, then brought him a thimble of water from their bottle. The cool water flowed down his throat, bringing him much needed relief. He sipped slowly, giving Pinky time to dampen several fluffy towels in the sink.

“Pinky, aren’t you tired?” Brain asked as he exchanged the thimble for three small towels. One was damp, another held strawberry-scented soap, and the last one was dry.

But Pinky shook his head, yawning loudly as he skipped away to clean himself as well. He made lots of noise as he freshened up, just to let Brain know he was there.

And with his mouth wide open too. It was rather uncouth, and despite his exhaustion, Brain rolled his eyes at just how Pinky-like that action was.

Brain made sure to use all three towels the way Pinky intended, scrubbing out the dust with the damp towel, and to his surprise, it came out rather easily, then rubbed the strawberry scented soap and clean water into his fur, and finally dried himself off with the last towel.

As he patted down his fur to try and get it into some order, Pinky came back. The messy tuft on his head stuck out in every possible direction, and so did the rest of his fur.

“You’re a mess,” Brain sighed as Pinky picked him up and carried him back to the cage. Pinky laughed softly as Brain flattened a particularly egregious tuft on Pinky’s shoulder. The acrid fire and brimstone scent was gone, and now they smelled of fresh strawberries.

They settled into their shared bed. Pinky set Brain down on his preferred side, then pulled away. Pinky frowned for the barest second, but it was quickly replaced by a gentle smile.

Yet he knew Pinky still needed physical contact.

And so did he.

“Pinky?” Brain whispered.

Pinky took that as an invitation to pull Brain into a secure hold. “Yes, Brain?”

“Don’t go…” Brain nuzzled into Pinky’s chest, into the odd yet comforting warmth he freely gave. One last stray tear slipped from his eye. “Please don’t go.”

Instead of replying with words, Pinky rested his jaw on top of Brain’s and hummed softly, the vibration soothing to his worried mind. His tail draped over Brain’s waist to anchor him.

“Just say narf, just say narf.

We’re alright, we’re okay, so let’s say narf.

You and I will have tomorrow nights again.

No matter what happens, I’m always your friend…”

The melody was soft, the rhythm reassuring. Brain closed his eyes and believed in Pinky’s familiar song.

They were together. Tomorrow night would come. He was sure of it.

End AN: So...I’ll be real, some parts of these were really hard for me to write cause I feel so bad for torturing them like this. Give them love guys. They need it.

#pinky and the brain #patb fanfiction #warning for torture

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moody-bloosh · 4 years

Text

long pasts | 1

oKAY SO I REALLY WANTED TO GET THIS OUT, i had this idea for an urban fantasy modern au thing in my head for the longest time and i just NKLNALKA neEDED TO GET IT OUT OKAY.

this thing was born from my love of cop procedurals and supernatural shows so behold, supernatural buddy cop au. another passion project of mine ;;;

plEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT THIS, (only if you want to tho uwu)

Characters featured: Dio Brando, Giorno Giovanna, Jonathan Joestar

Summary: Because even monsters learn to care for things. Because even monsters have something they want to protect. Because even monsters have things they regret.

The light is scarce. Your only source a solitary light bulb that casts a wan glow over your dank cell. You pass the time by watching the shadows flicker and dance on the wall of your cell. When you inevitably tire of that you lean back on the ground, and muse about the end of your short life, how unfair it all was, how it all ended so fast. You feel the sting of sorrow, knocking at the door of your unfeeling heart. You would cry, but you couldn’t anymore. Because the pain leaves, like an afterthought.

What is sadness and regret for a vampire? What are feelings? Let me tell you. It is a void. A dull emptiness that consumes you. Whatever flicker of a feeling you might have burns bright for an instant, then it is drained away, and all you’re left with is an all-consuming hollowness that threatens to overtake you. You know can still pretend to feel, you know how to empathize, but it leaves in an instant. To feel is an exercise, one you must study and learn. To feel is a muscle that you must willingly use. You are lucky at least, you know what it’s like. And you know know this because you were human once.

You take a deep breath even though you don’t need to. But it gives you courage; at least, that’s what you assume it felt like. When you stand up, you resolve to leave your regrets in this cage. When you knock on the door of your cell and you try to remember all the times you felt courageous and confident. (To be honest, there wasn’t much to go off of.)

“I’ll do it,” you say even though you have no stake in whatever goes on with the world now. You say you will do it even though there is no point to it, because living in this dark cell would get boring and you’d go insane if you stayed cooped up in this cage. A fate worse than death. So you kill off the last vestiges of your old self, and commit yourself to this purgatory.

The door to your cell opens, and you half expect to recoil from it, hissing and scratching at the warm light. But you don’t. The warmth is there, but only for an instant. The man smiles. He is Jonathan Joestar, the man charged with defending the country, the man who had found you off the side of the road tearfully devouring wild animals. You were to be his secret weapon in taking down the infamous crime syndicate – strange, you couldn’t remember what it was called…

Well, for whatever it was worth. The guy in charge of the syndicate was supposed to be the guy who turned you into this. So, there’s that. But truthfully, the opportunity for revenge didn’t appeal to you anymore. The drawback of losing emotions, you supposed. But maybe, if you could kill him. It would give you something new to feel. Jonathan chuckles as he clasps his hands together, his eyes glimmering with a conspiratorial twinkle.

“Shall we prepare then?”

Lovingly equipped with a choker that has an adorable bomb attached and a tracking device for good measure, if you were to say, wander off from your partner, your head would explode. Though it wouldn’t kill you, it would incapacitate you for about an hour. That was how they caught you, you remember. They blew up your head and then threw you into that cell and when you had reformed that was when they had asked you, no maneuvered you into joining their foolish crusade.

You watch as they hand your metaphorical leash to your newly appointed partner. A stunningly beautiful man with soft looking blonde hair and a smug smirk. Dio Brando, they called him. A prodigy and Jonathan’s adoptive brother. You meet his gaze head on to study him further, the look in his eyes told you something you had already surmised: that he was not a fan of your kind. Jonathan doesn’t seem to notice the hostility as he cheerfully moves to introduce the two of you.

Blatantly ignoring his hostility you stretched out your hand, “my name is _____.”

In lieu of a response, he pushes a button.

Jonathan groans as if it is some slight inconvenience, his brows are furrowed as he glares at Dio, “you certainly do have a knack for horrible first impressions.”

“Not horrible,” Dio says smugly, “memorable.”

You hear a beep and then everything goes dark.

When you wake up again, you’re in a car. That was certainly an explosive self-introduction. You look out the window, it’s a bright sunny day today. People amble around the street, phone in hand as they try to get where they want to go and cars pass by like lumbering elephants. You catch your partner’s reflection through the window and begin to think that he was born with a perpetual frown on his face.

“It was nice meeting you by the way,” you say, hoping to break the ice.

“The pleasure was all mine,” Dio says, “it’s good to see you’ve recovered from our first meeting.”

“It really blew me away,” you chuckled. Prompting a raised eyebrow from Dio, after all, he was used to people blowing up on him. So your disinterest and even amusement was… intriguing.

Well, it wasn’t like you were going to plot his demise just because he blew your head up. You found that you were quickly becoming desensitized to certain aspects that would normally have irked you as a human. Perhaps that was the side effects of vampirism. Looking at it in the grand scheme of things, getting your head blown up wouldn’t be that big of a road bump. So you joke and take it all in stride. Surely, someday this would all be some memory you could recall and… well, you didn’t know if you’d be able to laugh at it.

Dio doesn’t take kindly to your disinterest, so instead he intentionally breaks hard so that you hit your head on the dashboard.

“Do try not to bore me, _____,” he says.

“Likewise, Mr. Brando,” you said, wiping away the dark thing that oozes from the small scratch on your forehead. Something dark flickers in the pit of your stomach, something vaguely human. You can’t help but smile. Because you know it will annoy him even more.

Thus, this was the beginning of your strange partnership. Sure, you had your differences. But there was just something about him. Something that made you feel as if you were still human, even when you had just finished devouring half of an infamous drug ring that threatened to distribute some type of new experimental drug that would threaten the country’s peace.

As much as you dislike it, you can’t help but begin to grow attached to Dio. There was something about the way he would wipe the blood and guts off your lips after he’d set you on some goons. Something about the way he was somehow so protective over his car, how deep down he was just a big dork.

There was something so quintessentially human about him and you coveted that. So you stand by him, fiercely protective and insanely loyal. Because you wanted to protect his fragile human life in the same way you wished you could have protected yours. You want him to live in the way you weren’t able to. So you plow through every mission by his side and rise up the ranks. Because when you were with him, you felt human.

Your next mission leads you straight into the heart of the leader of that infamous crime syndicate. Finally, all those days and nights spent ambling around in dirty motels and cramped cars would pay off. For once, the goal was something in your sight. No more taking down the syndicate from the inside. Now you were going to take down the syndicate itself. The elusive crime boss… whose name still eluded you, would finally be in the spotlight long enough for you to take them down.

The mission was simple, find the crime boss and take them down. Easy as pie. Dio would run recon and it was up to you to take them out, ‘as cleanly as possible’. Jonathan’s request. You maintain your vantage position on the ledge of the church, though something in your senses sing, ‘not right, not right, something isn’t right.’ Something strange colors the air in a way you are deeply unsure about.

You pause, taking a few steps back as you eye the busy suburb. It seemed like an ordinary Sunday afternoon, people in church, people in parks, people spending the day with their loved ones. You could hardly believe that there was a dangerous crime boss in town, but then again you should never judge a book by its cover. Frowning as you absently taking a sip out of your blood bag, you reach for your radio.

“Dio, tell me what the crime boss looks like again.”

Dio huffs on the other side of the line, “really? And I thought you vampires were supposed to be our superiors in every way.”

You snort, “my memory’s still good enough to remember that you threw me into a headlock when we first met.”

He chuckles, “and what fond memories those were. Fine, I’ll tell you, the crime boss – wait, I see movement. Head to the alley by the church.”

“Copy.” You jump down the roof, with everybody preoccupied with their lives, they never even noticed you. Blanketed by the shadows of the alleyway, you whisper into your communicator. “Now what?”

“Get to the church,” Dio instructs, “I do hope you don’t burn up by the way.”

“You’ve seen me walk around in the day and that’s the cliché you’re going for?”

“Clichés are there for a reason, dear ______.”

You shrug as you enter the church as casually as you can. Or at least, as casually as an undead wearing a ratty black shirt and dark fatigues could. The people are immersed in prayer, they wouldn’t notice a thing.

“Update on that crime lord, Dio, I need to know who I’m taking out.”

“Be patient,” he manages to say before he barks out your next orders, “take the seat in the very front. Left side.”

You weave through the congregation silently and finally; you take the seat in front. Half expecting the person beside you to be the crime boss, you are pleasantly surprised to find that it is simply an old woman. Her eyes closed and her hands folded in prayer.

“Dio?”

In lieu of a response, you hear an apology, then laughter. Something seems to click in your head, a switch being shut. You tremble as an uncontrollable thirst swells in your throat.

Burns. Burns. Burns.

You retch, coughing up blood. Your vision blurs. The only thing you can think of, is quenching your insatiable thirst. Everything is drenched in fog, you barely hear the screaming, barely register the crying. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. All you can smell is blood. All you want is blood. You move around. Why is it so noisy? It’s a church isn’t it? Shouldn’t it be quiet?

At the end of it all, when all was said and done. You no longer thirst. No. You don’t want to look at it, you don’t want to see it. You couldn’t have. Your shaky hands find their way to the doors of the church, you push. Was it a set up? What happened? You couldn’t have. You couldn’t have.

Your partner greets you on the front step. The beautiful suburb was burning behind him.

“Dio, are you alright?” You stumble to him, like a broken old man, like a weak little girl. “It was a set up, wasn’t it? Something’s wrong…”

You reach out to hold him, for comfort, for something human.

“No, everything went according to plan,” he tells you, as you cling to him, sticky with blood and guts, his voice soft and soothing, “I managed to take him down.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You played your part perfectly. You did everything right,” he says. “Scapegoat.”

When he pushes you away from him and clicks on the remote, before everything goes black, you catch a glimpse of his face. Twisted in joy, the face of a victor. Everything had gone to plan. You never even noticed the strings attached to you.

“Dio, why?”

Beneath the glow of the stars, away form the acerbic air of the city, two figures huddle by a campfire. One of them shivers, the other is still. He is the lone survivor of a massacre that took place 10 years ago. One orchestrated by the infamous crime boss. The other, is said infamous crime boss, or rather, their hapless partner who took the fall for them so that said crime boss could expand his territory without the authorities breathing down his neck.

“So he betrayed you, all of you played into his hands that easily,” Giorno mused. “Is that why he tried to have us killed?”

“To make it more believable,” you say. “And what a pretty picture it would paint, the man who brought down a criminal empire, lost his family in that whole debacle. No sane person would think he was complicit in any way. And then his treacherous, monster of a partner would be tossed somewhere to rot for all eternity.”

Giorno keeps quiet for a long time. The night is silent, save for the crackling of the fire.

“Then you found me in that coffin and a decade had passed me by,” you finished. “I never really got to thank you for that, did I?”

“No need,” Giorno says plainly, “the only thanks I want from you is your loyal service.”

Ah, yet again, were you to assist in the take down of a criminal organization? Really… You study the man, no, the boy really, in front of you. You didn’t know it at first, but he was the little one in the church. A miracle survivor from your massacre. Sometimes, you half-expect him to turn around and lock you back in your coffin. But he has something bigger he wants to accomplish. Something even bigger than avenging the deaths of everyone who meant anything to him. It was: kill the man who orchestrated the whole thing and then avenging those deaths.

“You look like your father, you know,” you tell him. “You look so much like Dio… when you opened that coffin…”

“Don’t say his name,” Giorno sneers.

He was so unlike his father. Dio, who had the warmest smile. Dio, who had such passionate eyes. It was only now that you truly understood, that his warmth belied ruthlessness. You never really knew who Dio Brando was. You couldn’t trust your memories, because most likely the man you thought you knew was simply a lie concocted in order to get you to fall for his ploy.

When Giorno finds you, he asks you to join him on his mission. You accept because you have nothing to return to. Because his betrayal still stings, especially when all it can do is rot in a godforsaken coffin for 10 years. Because it is an ultimately, human thing to do.

Such is the tale.

A boy who hates his father and a monster who wants to be human.

#dio brando x reader #supernatural buddy cop au #jojo's bizarre adventure #phantom blood #modern au #vampire!reader #play #side b

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cannoli-reader · 4 years

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Dividing Robert Jordan’s “A Memory of Light”

A couple of times in recent months, the topic of Sanderson’s changes to the series has come up, and given me cause to think over his mistakes in how he divided the finale. Jordan clearly intended the story he laid out to be a single story, in one book, so I was dividing it, I’d do it into three volumes, intended to run together, without prologues and conclusions and the wind rising at the beginning of each.

But if f the finale had to be in three separate books, it should have been, in my opinion, as follows (beyond the cut):

Book 12: The Breaking Storm

(because “Gathering” is so trite and not really fitting this late)

Rand’s arc climaxes with the Dominion Bond incident, more use of the warder bonds to leave all three women horrified, Min traumatized by the incident, Aviendha fuming impotently at her separation from them and the Wise Ones’ harassment, Elayne dealing with a negative feedback loop of political fallout, as she tries to deal with Andor & Cairhien together, with a vague awareness of Rand’s deteriorating state shading everything for the worse. Andoran problems should prevent her from giving Cairhien the attention it needs, Cairhienin issues drag her attention away from Andor just in time for more trouble to rear up, while she scrambles to find food for both countries.

Mat should be having issues with managing the larger, reunited Band, maybe with some PTSD as alluded to at the end of KoD, when he says he no longer sees battles as gambling. He should struggle with a lot of setbacks and problems as he and Elayne try to get the cannon project going. His presence with the Band should cause her political difficulties, and his departure at the least convenient time for her. Maybe taking out the gholam at greater personal cost, and he’s freaked out, and can’t go after Moiraine yet.

Perrin should have the Whitecloak conflict and reveal of Morgase, right away, get it over with, and then the Slayer thing comes up, and the Trolloc threat. His position at the end of the book should be impotence with the problem of the Berelain rumors blossoming among his people, remnants of Maseema’s people attacking and blaming him for the Prophet’s death, Perrin having developed an interest in saving the Children of the Light, but they aren’t about to cooperate and everything is going to get picked off by the Shadow, and Elayne is out for blood over his “rebellion” because so many other political problems have boxed her in and she can’t let another thing like this go. There is just enough communication between his camp & Caemlyn to raise the stakes, not enough to be the basis for understanding.

Egwene’s story should see the Tower deteriorate more, with more splits and dissension in both the rebel camp and Tar Valon. Romanda and Lelaine’s conflict should come to a head, driving the older sisters back to the Tower, even while disgust at Elaida sends some loyalists out to the rebels. More people should be listening to Egwene, only to find all their efforts uselessly stirring the pot, and the Seanchan attack destroys what unity is left.

The 13x13 plot should be out there and threatening Logain’s loyalists, with more interplay between Pevara’s group and Myrelle’s. Lan’s gathering of an army should be played less humorously and with more of a sense of ‘too little. too late’ and witnessing problems in the Borderlands, like political infighting, with lords the readers, but not the heroes, know are Darkfriends making their move more widespread than just Ituralde’s OTL problem at Maradon.

Book 13: Towers of Darkness (or Shadow) (or Towers IN\AT Midnight)

The point is, that there should be some sort of sense of disaster and doom with the White Tower, Black Tower and Ghenji. Maybe there could be scenes of Lan arriving at Malkier so the ruins of the Seven can play a part in the horror atmosphere. Groups and alliances discussed using metaphors of crumbling or toppling towers. That kind of thing.

Rand plunges deeper into Dark Rand, climaxing with his confrontation with Tam and beginning his sojourn among the Seanchan.

Egwene should be raised in the aftermath of a Seanchan attack that hits both the Tower and the rebels, maybe the groups coming together as they flee a literally burning White Tower. It should be made abundantly clear that she’s only a compromise candidate, that all the sides are still fighting over who did what in the split. All they can agree on is that Elaida was bad and they have to work together, but blame each other for leaving so Elaida ran wild, or staying & supporting her administration and both sides expect the other to do more compromising, and this is just a shitty thankless job she has to shoulder. The physical reclaiming of the Tower and cleanup efforts should be a recurring background issue, with emphasis on the destruction and now-crummy living conditions, but Egwene is making them stay in the battered shell of the Tower, rather than split up in the city, which would invite dissent. She’s trying to present a strong face to the rest of the world, but running into problems with the nations, both because of the Tower’s long neglect of the rest of the world for their own squabbles and because the Tower’s old habits of supremacy stumble against new bases of loyalty centered on Rand or other institutions. Egwene can make things worse for Elayne and vice versa.

Rand and Egwene’s encounter should be in this book, when he’s still Dark Rand. His Merrilor notice should be more of an ultimatum, with Egwene’s efforts to gather the rulers and armies to have the sense of a last-ditch effort to confront him when he needs to be stood up to, and to try to salvage something if Rand goes full evil or insane. That way it seems less like a wrong-headed mistrust of her old friend. She also is fighting Mesaana and the Black Ajah, with more of an ongoing guerilla thing, rather than one big battle in one night.

Perrin should be having all the Slayer conflicts in this one has he tries to bring all his people back together to fight the Shadow threats and hold off a war with Andor or the Children of the Light.

Mat should be stalling on the Moiraine thing out of accumulated trauma from the gholam and recent campaigns, belated loss of self-confidence from being Tylin’s Toy. He goes to Tuon, and even that turns bad when he realizes how things are with Rand and that his wife is getting ready to go to war with his best friend and maybe hears plans as well to go after Perrin and the Whitecloak “deserters”, maybe he encounters some damane he recognizes from the White Tower or even Elaida herself. His moment of getting back on track should be deciding to go to Ghenji with Thom & Noal, and the climax should be the adventure there, with him losing his eye, and they get out in a less than awesome state, just sitting there in the Mountains like ‘now what’.

Elayne’s political difficulties escalate, though she manages to get the crown of Cairhien settled, only for the Trolloc attack on Caemlyn, and Talmanes and Aludra barely escaping while the city burns.

The Black Tower breaks into open warfare, Ituralde’s situation in the Borderlands deteriorates, there is a schism among the Aiel, maybe the siswai’aman start getting a little more Maseema-like in their beliefs, turning against the Wise Ones and clan chiefs for lying about Rhuidean all this time. Aviendha plays a role in that, decides she’s a Wise One, goes to Rhuidean, has the bad future visions, where the current Aiel conflict is shown to come to fruition in the successive generation, and the world is a harsher, most nasty place in the wake of Rand’s victory, because he did it wrong. The alliance that won Tarmon Gaidon is falling out and the Aiel are taking sides with or preying on different wetlander factions, before the Seanchan crusade becomes their new unifying element. There should be a sense that the Raven Empire is doing what the original conquerors did in Seanchan, unifying a broken and conflict-ridden land and the Aiel are only exacerbating the conflict.

Everything sucks, but a few people are still determined to keep trying. Lan, Perrin, Egwene, Nynaeve, Elayne, Tuon, Logain. Mat, Moiraine & Thom have a technical win under their belt. That’s as good as it gets.

Book 14: A Memory of Light

Rand’s vision is failing as he spends more time wandering among the Seanchan and Tinkers with more of a “I’m done with all your bullshit” tupe of mindset. He hears about problems going on in the rest of the world, sees collared Aes Sedai and even recognizably Aiel captives, and can’t care less, he’s going here and there weaving preparations for something big that’s going to kill everyone in the area in one dramatic burst of the Power when he triggers it with the Choedan Kal, and he’s doing the same thing in Bandar Eban, around Far Madding and the Borderlanders, in Tarabon and maybe even the Black Tower. But eventually something cracks and we get Dragonmount.

Perrin finally makes some headway in getting people together, winning back trust, and he’s on the verge of rescuing the Whitecloaks, when he forges the new hammer, which is closely tied in with Rand on Dragonmount, even inspired by his witnessing of it.

Mat and Moiraine’s recovery is likewise tied to Rand’s epiphany. Maybe Rand comes looking for them thanks to ta’veren vision, and helps them get over their ‘Finn trauma. A symbolic first act of Healing. He goes with Mat to make amends with Tuon, reunites with Tam, goes to the rescue of the Borderlands & Lan.

Perrin & Galad come to the rescue in Andor, Elayne is dealing with the mess of Caemlyn, and small armies start showing up, the results of her campaigning as seen in CoT, and a massive relief force comes from Cairhien, with commoners and craftsmen saying “You fed us, now we’ll feed you”. Food comes up the rivers in Zaida’s ships. Elayne brings the Borderlanders from Far Madding to help contain the Trollocs. She ends up as the focal point of a large cooperative effort, with the Kin as the One Power muscle for her group. Needless to say, the turning point of this stuff should be tied into Dragonmount. Elayne’s & Perrin’s peace agreement is based more of cooperation, rather than who is entitled to what.

Egwene defeats Mesaana, thanks to Perrin bringing the dreamspike on his way to Dragonmount to back up Rand, and now people are cooperating more afterwards. Likewise with Logain’s victory at the Black Tower, which more of a group effort with Logain as the public face, and not the Androl’s Big Adventure we actually got. Loial should also succeed in persuading the Stump after Dragonmount.

And then, just when things are looking up, the attacks begin. The scheduled meeting at Merrilor is much more of a “quick, let’s get together, there’s no time left” vibe. Moiraine’s return is less dramatic, but she does move Rand & Egwene past a minor sticking point. Rand meets the Borderland rulers for their little test thing. Elayne’s ascension as supreme commander is more of an organic thing, because of the connections she’s forged among so many groups, that she’s the only major leader known to the Borderlanders, the Aiel, and the Sea Folk, is related by marriage to the King of Tear, rules Andor and Cairhien, who are now buddies from fighting together, and the fact that she’s been fighting this whole time. That way the political storylines mean something, rather than Rand just appointing her because his old Aes Sedai friend said so, and the rulers are all standing around wondering what these people are talking about but going along because the protagonists said so.

#a memory of light #towers of midnight #brandon sanderson #the gathering storm

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clansayeed · 4 years

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Bound by Destiny ― Chapter 6: The Rescue

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny ⥽

Nadya Al Jamil (MC) has been struggling from the day she moved to Manhattan, but her new job as assistant to the mysterious CEO of Raines Corp was supposed to turn her luck around. Until she finds herself caught in the middle of a war involving the Council of Vampires who secretly run the city. An evil from the birth of Vampire-kind stirs beneath, feeding on the conflict, and finds Nadya bound to a destiny she never asked for.

Bound by Destiny and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Nadya’s first real job as a vampire’s assistant means venturing into a den of criminals. Lily’s girlfriend is more than she seems.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Maricruz Espinoza was born somewhere around the shifting borders of Texas and Mexico in the year 1901. Her madre moved Mari and her three younger brothers to New York to live with their extended family following the death of their father. Prohibition was ratified and her cousins found her work in the rum-running business.

They worked for a man who only went by a title: The Baron.

Somewhere else in New York City, maybe while Mari was sitting down with her brothers and a home-cooked meal, the Council was being formed of six of the city’s most powerful and influential vampires at the same time. They laid down laws — pacts by which every Council member and those within their Clan were to follow… or else. But every system just starting out has flaws. Like during Prohibition; where the mass disagreement with the law gave way to speakeasies, rum runners, and corruption. In the newly formed vampire community of New York it wasn’t as easy to keep track of those being Turned.

She doesn’t remember how it happened. Probably one of The Baron’s men got her. Maybe a newbie who couldn’t control their impulses. But she remembers passing out — the pain — and waking up feeling like she’d gone forty days and forty nights in the desert.

But with no brand to keep her safe.

It’s a startling story; the kind that makes history buffs drool and gothic groupies stare in awe through their red color-contacts. But Nadya couldn’t care less. There’s only one thing on her mind.

“Does Lily know?”

Mari’s snorted laughter is just barely above a whisper. “I could ask you the same.”

“What, that I like going to costume bars?” She does her best to hide the folder from plain sight but it’s not enough. Mari isn’t impressed.

“I could smell the Council’s claim all over you the moment we met,” her nose crinkles, “with that… stench of self-importance; of power. And you wouldn’t be here without knowing the secret so how about we cut the crap and get to the part where you and I agree to keep this from Lily for as long as possible?”

Maricruz holds out her hand to shake. Something they didn’t do when they first met at the apartment and she gets why when she takes it. The coolness of her touch; same as Adrian’s, same as Kamilah’s. Once you know the trademarks of a vampire they get easier to recognize.

Why do you care so much, she wants to ask — but doesn’t. They may both be walking into a den of wolves but at least Mari is a dog in this metaphor. Making friends won’t be on the agenda.

Mari exits the coat closet first. Gives a quick look on either side before gesturing for Nadya to follow behind her.

“What if the guard told —”

“Don’t assume things you don’t know.” Hisses the vampire in reply.

Nadya frowns. “Isn’t it better to be prepared?”

“Look,” she rounds on Nadya, “this isn’t one of Lily’s Blood Suckers games. Vampires are fucking weird — and this guy’s about as weird as they come. The ones you’ve met have probably kept up with the times. That’s not the case with El Baron here. Just follow my lead.”

While she watches Mari’s rapidly receding back Nadya sticks her tongue out for good measure. Sometimes even the little victories matter.

At the end of the hall is another door with faint music and dim lighting filtering through the bottom gap. Mari reaches out for the knob but it opens unbidden. The sudden light makes Nadya wince — her eyes take a moment to adjust.

There’s no time to ask Mari if The Shrike looks anything like its forefathers. Walls lined in red brick are decorated with the heads of various trophy animals — ranging in rarity from a common stag to what looks like (but can’t possibly be, could it?) a hippopotamus with its mouth frozen open. Ready to take a bite.

The deep cherry lacquer on the wooden floors make every polished step heard — a cacophony trying to overtake the man playing a vintage piano in the back corner. Beside the piano man a bartop begins, the same wood as the rest of the place, with the old-timey feel of an unlived nostalgia Nadya gets when she sees old movies. Only this isn’t a prop — the generous layer of dust on dozens of the bottles lining the reflective back wall prove that well enough.

A few men smoking fat cigars near the entrance pause their conversation to watch Maricruz and Nadya enter. Their eyes are dark; shadowed. Indulgence and arousal bead on their upper lips.

One catches her gaze and winks; pulls back his lips in a smarmy grin to reveal yellowed teeth as tobacco smoke pours from his maw like a burst dam. Nadya hastily rushes to catch up with the hem of Mari’s dress. His amused laugh is charred and guttural.

Mari leans up against the bartop and belongs. They both do on the outside but Mari — she acts like it. Names long-forgotten smuggled gains for them to drink and doesn’t take the bartender’s grimness for a ‘no.’

She hands Nadya a tumbler of honey-colored alcohol with a cube of clear ice in the middle. Nudges her to partake silently while downing her own. The booze carves a long path down her throat and settles uncomfortably. Makes the room suddenly seem a touch warmer — which only makes the chill venting in that much worse on her bare arms.

“You’re shit at this.” Mari mutters.

Nadya accepts an unspoken challenge then. Places her glass back down and gestures for a refill — which burns possibly more the second time around. But the deed is done and Mari looks a combination of impressed and exasperated.

Probably not what Lily had in mind when she suggested her roommate and possible-girlfriend get to know one another better. But life is full of surprises.

Nadya mimics her companion; leans back against the bar with her elbows on the edge. Still keeps the envelope clutched so tight it might puncture. They survey The Shrike’s inhabitants together.

“So, which one?” Nadya whispers. She’s got her eyes on a man with a beard to rival Santa and a monocle. He looks stately enough to be in charge.

“Hm? Oh,” Mari shakes her head, “The Baron isn’t up here. If he was it’d be a sign for us to high-tail it out.”

Before Nadya can question her Mari’s blue curls bounce — she jerks her head towards a set of stairs at the back of one of the brick walls. There the lamps are dimmer still; barely casting a glow on the golden railing descending into the dark.

“Down there?” Nadya asks.

“Yup. El Baron rarely comes up from the Pit. Likes the fighting too much.”

“Of course he does.” Because why would things ever be easy for me is her unspoken complaint. She steels herself and tosses her hair over her shoulder. Ready to enter.

Then Mari grabs her by the arm.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Nadya breaks free after a quick struggle. “My job.”

“You’re a human going into the Pit. You’re gonna get eaten alive down there. Literally.”

“Adrian said —”

Mari barks a laugh that settles in Nadya’s stomach at an awkward angle. “‘Adrian said,’” she mocks, “no matter what he said there’s no way you’re leaving this place alive without sticking by me. He’s probably already looking at new applicants.”

Mari may be right — Nadya knows she wouldn’t have even gotten in the doorway without her help. But she’s still a Clanless vampire in a Clan den and from everything Adrian’s told her there’s nothing good coming out of something like that. And… and she trusts Adrian. He wouldn’t send her to her death. Not when he went through so much to save her life.

He wouldn’t.

“Maricruz,” Nadya keeps her voice low, feels the fuzziness of strong alcohol at the edges of her words, “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. But I came here to do one thing and, I’m sorry, but I can’t back down now. Not with how much is at stake.”

It makes the vampire shake her head in disappointment. “Like you could possibly know…”

“I know the Clans and your kind have their issues,” Nadya continues, “but I’d like to think getting to the bottom of the Feral crisis would benefit everyone.”

Whatever Mari was ready to say dies in her eyes as she takes in Nadya’s words. She silently mouths ‘Feral crisis?’ but nothing more. There’s a sudden consternation in her brow. Whatever it is, Nadya doesn’t know, but she does take her opening to slip out of Mari’s immediate space — heads towards the stairs to the Pit.

“Thank you again,” she’s sincere, too, “maybe we’ll catch up like Lily wanted. When I’ve done my job.”

Despite everything inside her screaming against it, Nadya turns and descends into the Pit.

Oh yeah, that’s definitely The Baron. She didn’t expect him to look precisely like the love child of the Monopoly man and the Godfather but some stereotypes just can’t be overcome.

There’s a brawl out in the middle of the floor. A couple men in a no-holds-barred brawl while onlookers jeer and trade bills with every punch and fumble. Others keep to sofas and stools littered around the walls. Nadya nudges her way through a pair of tall twins to catch sight of the fighters — and she quickly wishes she hadn’t.

One’s eye isn’t just purple, it’s bulging and crying a little blood and looks like it might’ve gotten skewered by one of the little metal shivs inside an audience member’s martini glass. One man’s suspender straps hang limp and broken around his waist near a large gash in his side. The other favors his ribs slightly and it only takes one look to understand why; she’s only ever seen internal bleeding on television but if it’s anything like real life it looks like that.

There’s a crash and a whooping cheer from a flapper on a man’s lap; Nadya and the crowd hastily step aside as a broken bottle neck-end rolls into the fighter’s fray.

They both dive for it at inhuman speeds. Red eyes and fangs may be not unlike show props but these aren’t fakers — these are vampires through and through. The one with both good eyes claims his prize; turns with the brown glass glinting in the light of the overhead chandelier.

She turns away, eyes squeezed shut, and the crowd erupts into applause.

“Can’t say I’m surprised a little treat like you ain’t got the stomach for violence. Begs the question of what you’re doin’ seekin’ it out, though.”

His mobster accent is almost farcical. If she wasn’t so near hurling up her lunch at the smell of blood she’d laugh. But when Nadya raises her head and looks into the bright red eyes of an oily patron laughter is the last thing on her mind.

The watchers have started to disperse; give Mister Oily a wide berth to reach out and slide his arm around Nadya’s waist. She struggles for freedom but this vampire isn’t like Maricruz; there’s no questioning whether he’s friend or foe. His nails threaten to tear the fabric of her dress; dig in hard enough to make her wince.

“O-Ow. Let go of me. Now.”

His grin widens. “Hey now — don’t be like that. We could have fun, you and me.”

“Yeah,” she rolls her eyes, “I doubt it.”

But her wriggling attempts at freedom seem to only excite the vampire more. He’s close enough that she can smell the whiskey on his breath. Whiskey and the same smell coming from the fighting ring.

“Seriously. Let go.” She tries again. “You do not wanna piss off the guy I work for.”

“And who would that be?” barks a gruff, angry voice from across the Pit.

Nadya feels sweat bead down her spine in a thick drop. If the callout was good for one thing it was getting the vampire’s slippery hands off her — but at what cost.

She takes a moment; steels herself against the look of sudden fear on the creep’s face before she turns bodily to face The Baron in his large booth.

The Pit is silent. The only breath — hers.

Before she can open her mouth The Baron’s beady glare darts up to the vampire behind her.

“I’m guessing you didn’t bring your own tart tonight, Arnold?”

Arnold? Nadya mouths in disbelief, but Arnold definitely isn’t as funny as his name.

“Nah, boss. Was busy finishin’ that Litchfield job.”

“That’s what I thought.” The Baron’s head turns to look around the Pit. The fact she can’t see his neck makes him look almost animatronic.

“So whose whore is she, then?!”

Whispers and mutterings travel between the vampires in a breeze. One looks ready to say something but his friend holds him back.

Her first instinct is to be extremely offended — but there’s no Kamilah, no Adrian to protect her this time — so she stays silent. Feels the presence of Arnold back off into the shadows to leave her in the proverbial spotlight.

The Baron doesn’t seem pleased he’s met with silence. His scowl deepens and he turns a similar shade of purple to his pinstriped suit. Then he levels on her.

“Well go on, kitten,” said not with seduction, but building ire, “go back to your master.”

Just before panic sets in, she recalls Adrian’s final words before dropping her off at the subway station.

“You’ll want to be brave and stand your ground. But those aren’t mutual, Nadya,” and his knuckles went white from his grip on the steering wheel, “you have to treat a Council member with respect even if they don’t deserve it. We all hate The Baron but that doesn’t mean we can treat him however we want. Bow as you approach him and announce who you are. Lies won’t do anyone any good, least of all you.”

Being brave and standing her ground aren’t mutual; that’s what he’d said. This must be what he meant.

Nadya’s careful not to step in the pools of drying blood on the concrete floor while she approaches. A pair of larger vampires step closer as if to stop her but she doesn’t falter — keeps walking with her head held high.

The Baron holds up a hand littered with golden rings. “Let her come. I wanna see who told this hussy she had a pair of balls over tits.”

In front of his seat Nadya offers the shortest and most curt of bows she can muster. If Adrian hadn’t mentioned it specifically she wouldn’t even have bothered. Not like the pig deserved it. But the display makes The Baron shake with a haughty laugh.

“At least she knows her place!”

A flapper beside him flashes a brief fanged smile. “Think you can get her on her knees? I’d like to see that.”

“Now there’s an idea.” He looks Nadya up and down with hunger and greed. “Hear that, hussy? Why don’t’cha get on your knees? Rouge ‘em up a bit.”

She swallows down whiskey-tinged bile and offers the envelope instead.

“I’m here on behalf of the Council. You’ve been served.” Thank you, Law and Order.

All eyes fall on The Baron. His upper lip curls; he swiftly snatches the envelope from between them. When he catches sight of the wax seal he his anger bloats him further.

“Adrian fucking Raines; how am I not surprised…” The Baron rips the flimsy seal — practically yanks the papers out to give them a good look.

This part she wishes she’d discussed with Adrian. Did she need to bow before leaving? Could she just take off? Was Maricruz still upstairs waiting to see if the shrieks of her untimely demise would pierce through The Shrike?

The Baron gives the contents of the summons several derogatory huffs and snorts; clenches the packet in his fist as though it were as thin as tissue. Whatever superiority he looked upon Nadya with first is now gone — replaced by loathing, spite. A desire to see pain and revel in it the same way they had with the brawlers.

“Too much of a pussy to come here himself, eh?” And because it takes Nadya a moment to realize he’s addressing her, he barks: “Speak! Fucking bloodbag.”

Hot frustration bursts in her gut. “Like you would have let him in? I’m not that stupid, and neither is he. But you’re bound to the summons now, Baron, there’s no getting out of it.”

His chest puffs up. “You come into my territory, speak to me like that… Of all the cockamamie insults Raines could pay me this is by far the worst.”

With nothing but a gesture from The Baron, Nadya doesn’t even have time to blink before she’s held in place by a vampire on each arm.

“Hey!”

“‘Hey!’” parrots the same flapper. The rest of the Pit laughs at the display.

“Pathetic,” The Baron sneers, “Raines couldn’t even send a pretty twat to wet my whistle. Still… now comes the question of what to do with you.”

Nadya struggles in vain. “Dude, if you —”

The Baron jerks to a stand and causes a collective gasp around the room. He jabs the packet in his fist at her with a bellowing roar of rage. “How dare you speak to me with that kind of disrespect! What kinda whore do you think you are?!”

“I’m not a whore!”

The word cracks in Nadya’s throat as The Baron backhands her with his clenched fist. Sends her head snapping aside and a dizzying pain to shoot through her body.

“I’ve had about enough’a your lip!” To his men, “Lock the whore up in the Cellar. Maybe a few decades down there can teach her some manners!”

“A whore’s a whores a whore.” mocks the flapper; though one brazen look from The Baron has her silent as the grave.

The vampires begin to drag Nadya — still struggling — towards a door at the darkest part of the Pit. Heart racing words choked up in her lungs fear stifling her every breath she looks around, almost on the cusp of begging for help, but the only thing she sees are dozens of pairs of bright red eyes and malicious sneering grins.

There is no help.

“You can’t—can’t do this,” she shouts back to The Baron. Tries to dig her heels into the floor and feels one snap off. There’s a blur on her right and she watches with disgust as Arnold sucks on the heel stem lewdly. “Adrian knows I’m here! He won’t let you do this!”

“Is that so, toots?” His rage quelled, The Baron resumes his seat and throws his arms around the back of the sofa. Two flappers curl up against him and flash Nadya twin hisses.

She hates to sound like a cliche but the words tumble from her unbidden. “You’re not gonna get away with this!”

One of the vampires nearly yanks her arm from its socket to get the Cellar door open. The darkness calls to her, cold and villainous. Holy crap.

“Pretty sure I already have. Who’s up for another brawl, ey?!”

The vampires of the Pit cheer. Nadya bursts into tears.

There’s nothing she can give them in trade and begging for her life just seems so… pathetic. Like somehow she’s supposed to be stronger than this just because she’s a part of Adrian’s Clan. Or because she belongs to them, more like.

The Cellar is a long row of rusty cells on both sides. Some are empty. Some have captives — vampire or mortal, she can’t rightly tell — thrusting themselves out through the bars; spurred onward by the thought of freedom. They pass one where a figure with their back turned to the door stays huddled on the ground; motionless — lifeless, thinks Nadya, and she tries to break free of their hold one last time to no avail.

“Lookie here, we gotcha a neighbor.”

Nadya looks up when she realizes they aren’t talking to her. They’ve stopped in front of an occupied cell.

A man — no, not with those eyes, a vampire — stands in the middle of the cramped space. While some of the others they had passed were wearing worn rags or clothes that didn’t quite fit with the time, this man’s rust-red leather jacket and tight jeans could very well get him on the cover of a magazine. His devilish gaze is half obscured by his mop of dark hair.

Despite the dire nature of her situation Nadya can’t help but feel like she’s being imprisoned next to a pop star.

One of her jailers nudges the other; frustrated. “Why’s he sayin’ nothin’?”

“Probably too hungry,” the thug grunts a laugh, “ey, Jaxxie? You too hungry to think right?”

But ‘Jaxxie’ keeps his vow of silence. Nadya’s heart breaks for him.

The thuggish one grunts at his friend. “Maybe cellin’ him next to a human will drive him crazy faster.”

With a rusty squeal the empty cell door to their right gives way. Nadya’s never thought of herself as claustrophobic and isn’t looking forward to revisiting the idea.

She stumbles as she’s shoved inside. Expects to hear the slam of the cell door. But instead one of the vampires looms in the doorway; transfixed.

“Oi, you comin’?” The other vampire sounds distant. Likely eager to get back to watching the fights.

“Yeah yeah,” replies his friend in a dazed tone. The longer he stares the more Nadya wishes she had been locked up with ‘Jaxxie.’ “Just wanna have a taste. Dun’ care what the Boss said — she’s awful pretty.”

“How are you a literal cartoon henchman?” Nadya spits — literally spits — and watches with brief satisfaction as it lands just shy of his eye. The vampire recoils — then snarls with fangs bared.

“Oh that’s it, I’m gonna bleed your whore neck out!”

With a cry — so much for her flash of courage — Nadya squeezes her eyes shut and prepares for the pain. She’s not spent much time considering what having her throat ripped out might feel like — so when there’s nothing but the tingle of her nerves dialed to eleven she’s almost glad death wasn’t as awful as they said.

Then a solid thud shocks her into looking where the vampire lies face-down on the concrete cell floor.

The broken-off end of a billiards cue sticks out of his back.

After she scrambles to the back wall Nadya watches the vampire’s death unfold. His skin withering, sucking in on itself and going dark, veiny gray. Then like snow under the sun he begins to wilt; flecks gathering into the air and dispersing. When she realizes he’s turning to ash Nadya sucks in a breath and holds it; cheeks puffed and nose plugged, to keep any from getting into her lungs.

The cue collapses onto the ground; the perfect (if unlikely) weapon for this particular evil.

A brief echo of footsteps spur her to action; Nadya grasps the cue and holds the jagged end out like she knows what to do with it. In theory, yes — execution however might prove to be a bit more difficult. Doesn’t stop her from trying.

She should feel relief when Maricruz appears in front of the bars with the other half of the cue dangling in one hand and a long tube in the other. But adrenaline and probably the closest she’s ever come to sheer unadulterated terror keep her on edge.

“Ma—Mari…?”

Mari eyes the sharp wood. “I’d like to see you try, chica.”

The vampiress offers her a helping hand to stand. Nadya takes it warily; wavers before practically going limp in her arms. Mari holds her up — displeased.

“Alright, I appreciate the attraction but I’m really more into geeks.”

With a strangled laugh Nadya manages to stabilize herself against the cell bars. Mari nods as if satisfied with her effort. Then, in a blur, she’s five feet away and forcing a ring of old metal keys through the bars of the cell beside Nadya’s.

“Took you long enough, Espinoza.” Grunts a deep voice on the other side of the wall. The keys jingle as they’re sorted.

Mari shrugs. Obviously nonplussed by the frustration of her companion.

“Well you weren’t the one on the ground looking like a snack.”

“You only say that because you’re attracted to her type.”

“What, women? That’s lesbophobic, Jax.”

“Yup, that’s me; your big ol’ lesbophobic boss.”

She watches as the man in leather — Jaxxie, no, Jax — twists the right key and kicks the door open with a deeply rooted sense of satisfaction. Mari offers him what Nadya previously thought was a tube, but the sparse torchlight of the Dungeon catches on the steel blade of a sword as he unsheathes it.

“Holycrap...”

Jax swings the sheath strap over his chest and looks between the women.

“You know her?”

Mari looks for a moment as though she’s debating introductions. Finally she nods. “Yeah. She’s uh… well unfortunately she works for Adrian Raines.”

If he was previously disinterested Jax’s expressive growl of anger says it all. Makes Nadya feel weak in the knees again.

“And you rescued one of the Clan’s cattle… why, Espinoza?” He rounds on Mari who, to her credit, doesn’t flinch, move, or blink.

“She’s dating my roommate.”

Both Jax and Mari look at Nadya in surprise. She swallows down her racing heart and leans on the cue for support. “What, she didn’t tell you that before? She’s dating my very human roommate, Lily.”

“She mentioned an interest… but not that she was human.” Silent words are exchanged between the vampires, but Mari doesn’t intend to let it last.

“Come on. We need to get going, like, five minutes ago. You can give me a real thank you when we’re back at the Shad —”

Maricruz cuts herself off. Both of them exchange glances and focus on Nadya.

It’s frankly frustrating as all get out.

“Listen,” she wearily gestures between them, “I don’t care. Like really — I couldn’t care less right now. Just… please help me get out of here. That’s all I’m focused on.” Then she fixates on Mari with a pleading look. “Just help me get back to Lil’.”

Maricruz definitely doesn’t seem the type to ask for permission but there’s little else the look she gives Jax could mean. And it makes her stomach drop when he seems to actually be considering leaving her behind. But, after taking in the state of her, he looks at the very least pitying.

“Yeah, alright. Lets get her up. Here, help me with her arm.”

It takes no great effort on the part of both vampires but every last drop of energy Nadya has to hold onto them during the escape. Later she plans on asking them exactly how they got out — what hidden sewage ducts they must have wormed their ways through — but that would be much much later.

“Thanks for giving me your boots.”

“Borrow. I let you borrow my boots. Next time don’t break a fucking heel so you don’t end up limping all the way through an escape.”

Nadya wiggles her toes in the roomy leather and nods. Hugs herself tighter against the night chill while Mari watches her with attitude and a cock in her hip.

“You can take them back on your next date with Lil’.”

Mari takes a moment of quiet thought; when she speaks she can’t help but be hesitant. “You’re not gonna…?”

“Tell her?”

Mari nods.

The breeze brushes Nadya’s hair in her eyes. She quickly pushes it back. “If you like her, whatever. If you hurt her, though, or get her involved in business like The Baron’s, or whatever samurai-dude’s up to —”

“Jax. His name is Jax.”

Right, Jax. He’d left them once they reached the inner city — but not without a promise to Maricruz that they weren’t finished talking. Nadya even felt a little bad for her.

Her point stands. “You keep Lily out of this. At least until I find a way to ease her into it.”

“Why you?” Mari challenges, but it’s halfhearted and without much threat behind it. “Whatever. See you around, chica.”

Mari’s not gotten two steps away before Nadya calls out to her, fumbling around her costume dress frantically.

“Hey, think you could, uh…” She gestures awkwardly to the door.

“What,” then, with raised eyebrows, “you want me to break the door lock?”

“Well my keys are at work and Lily isn’t answering the comm.” Yes, she should probably head back to the office, to Adrian, but first — a shower.

A shadow crosses over Mari’s face. The same sort of vampiric darkness that Nadya’s been forced to endure so many times tonight — it makes her cringe. “What? She’s probably asleep.”

“She had an Underwatcher tournament tonight. That’s why we didn’t go out.”

“Maybe it’s over?”

The looks they exchange carry Mari’s worry to Nadya almost telepathically. Her grip tightens on her half of the wooden cue.

It takes everything inside her to force down her building exhaustion — to follow Maricruz through the busted complex door and up the back stairwell two steps at a time. Her vampire speed wins out as she pushes open the door to her and Lily’s floor.

She’s only just made it onto the landing when Maricruz screams.

“LILY!”

Nadya rushes to the open door of the apartment and clings to the threshold — the edges of her vision going fuzzy. Mari’s on her knees over something on the kitchen tile.

Nadya’s senses have become all too familiar with the smell of blood after tonight’s trip to The Shrike. She violently heaves on instinct when the salted iron tinge assaults her nose.

“Lily, baby, come on — come on open your eyes for me — Lily! Lily! Fuckshit LILY OPEN YOUR EYES!”

Numb, Nadya watches; her world contracting into sharp clarity at the sight of Lily’s crumpled body lying in a pool of her own blood.

#bloodbound #playchoices #jax matsuo #kamilah sayeed #kamilah x mc #lily spencer #oc: maricruz espinoza #mc: nadya al jamil #oblv: bound by destiny #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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