#HE WOULD HAVE BEEN UNABLE TO REMAIN ALIVE WITHOUT CRUMBLING
Text
Chapter 10 - I Would Wait For Him
Summary
You're seperated by a horde of infected, finding shelter in an unexpected place.
CW // Fear, Anxiety, violence, Fluff. (let me know if i miss any)
WC // 11, 892
Now
Four Days Later
"How long would you wait for someone?" You ask, your eyes straying towards the wall that stands crumbling before you. The bottom half of the wall seems to have been destroyed years prior and it's remained abandoned upon the concrete floor ever since. The only remnant of its former self being the upper part of the wall that stands covered with tally marks with "I waited" painted upon the middle. The question hangs in the air, your words heavy with the implications of a previous attachment and experience that holds significant meaning and importance to you.
A gentle breeze washes over you from the holes in the wall, creating a chill and sending shivers up your spine that you cannot differentiate between whether it's from the wind or the ominous scene that sprawls out in front of you.
"I wouldn't wait," Joel gruffly states behind you as he sets up camp in the small shelter you’ve found here. His hands lay on his hips as he decides on a suitable spot to lay out the bedrolls, his body language indicative of a man well-versed in survival and accustomed to the harsh realities of life. The dust settling upon the floor is stirred up from his foot and a cough escapes his mouth, his body reacting negatively to the poor conditions that this place has unfortunately fallen to.
You turn at the sound of his cough, your body instinctively rushing to his side before you are halted by his dismissive wave of his hand that he uses to signal you that he is alright. You watch him carefully and turn back towards the wall once he has recovered, your thoughts consumed with concern and worry for his condition yet again. "You wouldn't wait?" You ask as you turn to face him once again, your frown reflecting the confusion and disapproval for his answer.
"I'd go find them myself." He answers with a rough voice, his words carrying a sense of impatience and a subtle edge as he strains from the coughing spell that the dust created. He lifts his bandana from his neck and ties it tightly around his face as he continues to move the rubble to clear a spot to sleep.
"Yeah, but what if they told you to wait for them?" You ask as you watch him work. He is able to efficiently clear up the space without showing any signs of exhaustion or exertion despite the heavy lifting he has to do. You cross your arms over your chest and continue to gaze over him, and you repeat the question with a curious undertone. "How long would you wait?"
Joel stops midway through picking up a piece of rubble and faces you as he crouches, his body language and actions carrying an air of impatience as he stops his work. He drops the rubble piece back to the ground and straightens up on his legs once again, dusting the dust from his hands and sighing in exasperation. He looks up to you and asks, "I'm guessing this is more than just a question?"
You shrug and look down at the ground as you give a gentle kick to the small rock, pushing it into the pile of rubble that Joel has created. He glances over at you and softly says your name in a gentle tone, taking a small step towards you in an attempt to get your attention.
"I waited a week for Dean. He said he would be back in two days but I waited a week before I looked for him. Maybe I should have left sooner? Maybe he'd still be alive." Your words trail off as you speak, your gaze remaining fixed on the ground and unable to meet his eyes directly as you talk about it. The thoughts of lost opportunity and missed chances weigh heavily in your mind, and you find yourself dwelling on it as you speak of it.
You haven’t thought about the day Dean left in years, pushing it to the back of your mind. However the tally marks and the painted sign are bringing back old memories you wish to forget, just as you’ve forgotten his face.
Joel nods and crouches back down, picking up the rubble and tossing it onto the pile he had already established. “Did you like your brother?” He gazes over at you with curiosity as he asks, the question catches you off-guard and the surprise of it is evident on your face as your mouth drops. The thought of whether you actually liked your brother also surprises you deeply, as you hadn't allowed yourself to truly consider it until now. You hesitate and struggle to find an appropriate answer, unable to formulate your thoughts properly due to the new realisation.
You feel a sense of realisation as the thoughts and memories flood back to you. You did love him, he was family and you had to trust he knew what was best. Even as things got worse between you two, the arguments and disagreements that tore at your relationship, you still loved him. Even when he left you for days on end to look after Annabel by yourself despite you being a child yourself. You loved him. Right?
“I loved him.” You finally answer.
"But did you like him?" He asks again, a subtle hint of uncertainty in his tone as he seeks to probe you further for an answer. You find yourself at a loss for words as you cannot fathom where Joel is going with this line of questioning, and you are unable to determine whether you truly liked your brother or not. You have always loved him, but you had not given much thought to truly liking him until this moment.
He stands from the pile of rubble and moves towards the bags as you remain frozen in thought, your body language stiff and rigid as you grapple with the thoughts that he has provoked. He begins to set up the bedrolls on the dust-covered floor in preparation for sleeping, before placing a few sticks of wood on the floor for a fire to heat up a meal. You cannot decide whether to watch him work or to continue to ruminate on your internal thoughts.
"I only ask because I met him the once and I fuckin' hated him." He mumbles as he tries to light the fire, the words immediately pulling your attention from your thoughts as his admission catches you by surprise. You look over to meet his eyes with a small look of shock and surprise.
“You did?”
He curses under his breath as the fire refuses to catch, the wind pushing the flames out before it has a chance to start. He hums in a frustrated manner as he retrieves a large piece of plywood and wedges it between two rocks for protection against the wind. Your eyes glance towards the plywood and the makeshift barrier that he has created, noticing that his attention is not on you or the conversation that is taking place between the two of you.
"Why is that?" You push the conversation along and move closer to him, kneeling down beside him and helping him to place rocks to keep the wood stable and protect the fire until it catches, your words carrying a subtle edge as you ask this question. There is a pause as he considers your question, his eyes narrowing slightly as he decides whether he actually wants to tell you or not.
"I was about to kill him before he told Tommy and I he had children hidden a few miles down the coastline. I was still going to kill him before Tommy made me go looking for you," he finally responds as he starts the fire, the flames now flickering and spreading. He leans back and sighs, pulling down his bandana to rest at his neck as he removes a cooking pot from his bag, his eyes and body showing signs of weariness after a long and tiring day of travelling and struggling to find shelter. He takes a deep breath and looks over at you.
"And then I heard the men in that bookstore and saw you with a toddler strapped to you, and I couldn't believe he left you behind like that. You were a kid, and he left you vulnerable and defenceless," he continues as he spills the contents of a can of beans into the pot and rests his arms on his knees, your full attention drawn to him as he speaks. Your thoughts drift towards the events at the bookstore and having Annabel strapped against your chest as you ran in the snow, completely vulnerable and on your own. "I hadn't seen a kid since the outbreak. You let me hold her — It took everything in me not to kill him and take the two of you with us. I thought for sure that you’d be better off with us than to be left alone. But we couldn't look after kids, we were as bad as him back then," he continues to ramble as he stares at the wall in tally marks, his words carrying an air of sorrow and regret.
You watch carefully as he seems lost in thought, his voice carrying a sense of grief and sadness within it as he reflects on the past and what could have been. He seems to have been torn between the desire to protect and care for you and Annabel and the need to survive.
"You were the one that shot him, weren’t you?" You question him in a calm and collected tone, your voice still showing no sign of anger or rage. He nods once he realises that you are not angry with him for hurting your brother.
A few years ago when Dean was alive, you know that you would have screamed and raged at Joel for causing harm to your brother. The bond between you and him was fierce and unbreakable, and no one could have told you otherwise during the moment. But after all that has happened, everything that he put you through and caused, you can no longer find the energy within you to care or even feel a hint of anger towards Joel.
Hell, you’re kind of grateful that Joel shot him as you managed to stay in the same spot for a few days instead of the constant movement.
The laugh that escapes your lips is only soft and gentle, breaking into light chuckles that gradually turn into full and uncontrollable laughter. Joel's eyebrow raises in response, the look on his face curious due to your unanticipated reaction. As your laugh turns to full-blown laughter, he starts to crack a smile as the situation plays out and he notices that you seem to find the whole ordeal quite humorous.
"I'm not sure if you laughin’ is a good or bad sign?" He asks curiously through a slight smile as you lay down laughing and struggling to gain control of yourself. Your laughter is contagious and it spreads to him as you hear his soft and amused chuckle. The two of you continue laughing together as you try to gain control of your breath, your sides starting to ache from the uncontrollable laughter you are experiencing.
"I.. I just find.. It funny.." Your breaths come in short and sharp gasps as you try to regain control of your breathing and composure, your laughter slowly dying down and turning into snorts and chuckles of amusement. “That you shot him and I don’t care.” Your head slowly turns on the ground to face him and his smile sends a shiver up your spine despite the warmth of the fire beside you. You quickly look away and up at a hole in the ceiling, unable to meet his eyes directly.
After the laughter had died down, and the quiet and comfortable silence fell between you both as you ate your meal, Joel offers to take the first watch. It’s been a few days since you left Jackson and each night Joel offered to take the first watch, purely to wake you up later than agreed so you get more sleep. He knows that you need rest and have been pushing yourself for a while already, and wants to make sure you get enough rest each night despite the fact that it is taking a toll on him. The bags forming under his eyes indicate that the strain of missing some sleep and watching over you so that you could rest is beginning to catch up with him.
You shake your head and stand up from the fire, your response quick and decisive as you show no allowance for argument. "Nope, I'm taking first watch tonight. You need to sleep, we'll be reaching the next town soon and I need you at your best," you order. When he starts to open his mouth in response, you point a finger at him and he frowns slightly but says no more.
He lets out a grumble as he settles into his bedroll, shifting until his back is turned towards you as he settles. You are thankful that his back is turned away so that he is unable to notice your smile, as you shift towards a wall that isn't broken to lean against and enjoy the chance to quietly observe him. You gaze at him curiously and observe him as he lays on his bedroll.
He's been on edge ever since you left the safety of Jackson, showing a more reserved and cautious side to him as he leaves the comfort and shelter of town behind. He’s different out here than his typical behaviour while on patrol with you. Even though your route is outside the boundaries of the safety of the town, it is still close enough that if anything were to go wrong you could quickly return to the town for assistance. Everything out here is unpredictable and uncertain, and any wrong moves or moments of carelessness could result in major consequences for both of you. Every sound has him flinching, his hands on at least one weapon at all times.
He sits back up and looks over at you, a deep frown settling on his face. “Your brother, he was lucky enough that his kids survived and he just fucking left you two alone. I wanted to kill him for it. I could have been some sick fuck and he just let me go get you like he didn’t care. If Sarah-” He closes his eyes and grits his teeth as he roughly scrubs his face. “If I had Sarah with me, she would have never left my sight. I wouldn’t have just left her alone like that to look after a baby on her own.” He rants, anger at your brother's actions laced in his tone.
You nod from your spot against the wall, a soft smile forming at your lips. “I didn’t know any better. I was always left alone even before the outbreak. It was only the two of us for years and he worked long hours since he was a park ranger. I spent a lot of time in the parks with him but I was always left to play alone while he worked or left at home. It wasn’t until I was thirteen that he finally started dating and he accidentally got his girlfriend pregnant. I wasn’t alone then. I had Annabel.”
“But who was looking out for you?”
“I was.”
He nods as he lays back down, turning his back to you once more.
So you watch him as he slowly begins to drift off to sleep, this being the only time that he allows himself to truly let down his guards and relax properly out here. He lifts up onto his elbows at the sound of an animal rushing by, his instincts kicking in and causing him to alert immediately. However, soon these reactions slow as the minutes pass. He slowly but surely falls asleep, the only sound is the slow and steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes in his slumber.
It's another day before you begin to see a resemblance of what past life used to be, the broken houses and buildings that are shattered and destroyed from the bombs dropped to try and quell the outbreak but failed to succeed. It appears that they attempted to blow this town to the ground, the devastation of destruction all around you. You notice no movement or signs of life as you move deeper into town, the sight of death all around you still sending shivers down your spine and a feeling of unease settling deep inside you.
Joel is silent beside you, not uttering a word as the only sound you hear is the gentle hoof beats of the horses with each step they take. There are no signs of animals around and you can feel an uneasy atmosphere settle around you like a blanket as you ride forth through the town. Your gaze shifts over towards a row of flattened houses to your left. "I don't like this Joel," you murmur to him quietly, your words carrying a hint of trepidation in your tone.
He grunts in agreement as his eyes quickly and efficiently scan the surrounding area for any dangers or threats. Your heart skips a beat as he suddenly stops his horse and raises a hand to signal you to stop. You frown at him and move to question him, only to be met with a raised finger over his lips as he silences you. You are left unsure of why he has come to a standstill and why he has instructed you to keep quiet.
Then, you hear it. Your ears quickly pick up the sound of a car in the distance. The ground beneath you begins to shake, and you look down at the rocks on the ground as your horse reacts to the rumbling with a nervous whicker.
A horde.
Your fear and worry grow as you sense a growing danger in the air, your mind processing the situation quickly and beginning to consider potential outcomes and potential threats. You turn your head sidewards and look at Joel with a worried expression, ready if he should give you any instruction to move or act.
"Joel," you begin to say, but before you can finish, your attention is swiftly thrown by the sound of a row of trucks screeching around the corner at the end of the long street. You tilt your head at the sound of the laughter coming from the trucks, and catch sight of men standing on the backs of the vehicles.
"Yeehaw motherfuckers!" A man on the back of the truck yells loudly, as they quickly open fire with their guns at the clickers that begin sprinting around the corner. The sound of the shots fill the air, echoing loudly around the quiet and seemingly vacant town that has remained untouched for so long.
"Move!" Joel shouts suddenly as he quickly turns his horse, setting off into a gallop and you follow right on his heels. You feel a slight jolt as you begin to pick up speed and gallop after him through the town, trying your best to keep close by and avoid losing him in the chaos.
You snap a quick look back as you settle onto a straight road, only to spot a group of clickers sprinting after you. "Fuck," you swear under your breath as you quickly draw the handgun from its holster on your thigh. You open fire behind you, the bullets straying from your aim due to the movement caused by your horse but still finding a target within the group chasing after you both.
"We gotta shake ‘em!" Joel yells from up front, turning a sharp corner with ease but leaving you with no choice but to continue straight as you are unable to make a sharp turn without the risk of your horse stumbling or tumbling. You swear again under your breath as you realise the possibility of you and Joel being split up, aware and nervous at the thought of facing the horde of clickers alone without his support and backing you up.
You take a few more shots before running out of ammo in the magazine, swearing sharply as the clip empties. You put the gun back into its holster and quickly turn into the side street, hoping to thin out the group by breaking away and taking a different route. However, as you move into this other street, you groan as you notice a different truck at the end of the road.
"Come to daddy!" Another man on the back of the truck laughs as he continues to rain down bullets on the hordes of clickers, the sound of his gun filling the air once more and sending chills up and down your spine. You turn to continue down the street, only to be stopped suddenly by the sight of a new group of clickers in front of you. Your horse screeches as they grab onto the horse and bite into its flesh, causing you to pull on the reins to try to move away but the creatures will not let go of their grip and teeth rip into your horse's flesh.
"No!" you yell, your tone of voice filled with a combination of panic and desperation as you watch your horse begin to fall. You quickly and frantically jump off the horse, landing against the blunt and hard concrete with a grunt. As you take only a moment to regain your composure, you see the infected distracted by your horse that they are devouring, and you sprint across the street without wasting any time. As you move, you see the initial group of infected spill out from the side street you just came from, causing you to continue moving quickly and urgently.
You tighten the straps of your bag as you run and climb across the ruins and rubble of old houses, your goal and focus set solely on escaping and your own survival. Your mind is blank apart from maintaining this pace, desperate to outrun the infected that tail behind you. You feel a burning sensation in your muscles from the continuous running and your lungs feel as though they are tight and restricting from how much air you are sucking in with each breath.
You pause for just a moment as you reach another street, your body already reaching its limit and growing exhausted from the strain of constantly running and breathing heavily. You place a hand on your heart and are worried it might beat through your skin at the rate it’s beating. Your head snaps around suddenly as you hear another truck turn the corner, but this time the man who is riding on the back of the truck is holding out his hand towards you. "Gimme your hand darl'!” he yells out and the world seems to slow down around you. You move to run, but you’re exhausted and know you can’t unrun the infected forever.
You look behind you and watch as the infected begin to spill out and stumble around the rubble behind you. "Oh, fuck me." you curse in frustration and despair as you realise the inevitable situation, the infected getting closer and closer behind you. You reach your hand out in response to the man in the truck and he grabs your hand firmly. Your body is hauled into the bed of the truck with a jolt, the momentum causing you to stumble a bit but manage to grab onto the side.
You roll over onto your side and manage to get yourself into a crouching position, one hand firmly on the metal railing to keep yourself stable as the truck drives over the various cracks and potholes on the road. You stare at the man with a look of intense anger and irritation on your face, the rage growing with each passing moment.
"We going to have a problem?" you ask through gritted and tightened teeth, your expression hardening into a deep frown the longer you look at him. The man who looks to be in his mid twenties laughs as he stands up on the back of the truck, beginning to open fire once more with his weapon at the horde of infected in pursuit of you both.
"Grab a gun, sweet thang!" the man yells out with a distinct and noticeable drawl, his voice breaking through the sound of the gunfire.
Fucking hillbillies.
You stare at him for a moment, unsure if you should follow his instruction or not but realising the necessity of at least having the means to defend yourself in this situation so you quickly grab a gun lying on the truck bed and grip it tightly in your hands.
You take aim and take out a few of the infected that are chasing after the truck with each shot, your aim becoming more accurate and steady with each moment as you get used to the truck's movement and the opportunity to hone in and focus on the target. The man beside you laughs heartily and shouts out to the infected that follow behind you both, seemingly taking a great deal of pleasure in the chase and the game of cat and mouse that he is playing with them. You on the other hand grow irritated and frustrated with the man's behaviour, taking your aim with more intention with each second that passes.
"Ought you were a goner back der!" the man chuckles as he finishes off the small group of infected that were still trailing closely behind the truck. The vehicle continues to rumble and grind over down the dirt road they turned down, the bumpy and rough ride only serving to make the situation that much more uncomfortable as you feel both the gun in your hand and the ground beneath your feet shifting with the movement of the truck.
"You can drop me off now." you order him firmly, glaring at him as your grip on the gun tightens. Despite the man saving your life, you don't trust him one bit. The man driving doesn't seem to want to engage in any sort of conversation or dialogue with either of you, which sets off a multitude of warning signs in your mind and heightens the feeling of tension and unease in your stomach.
The man leans back onto his arse as he leans against the railing, a smile etched across his face towards you. "Name's Billy," he sighs, disregarding your request to be dropped off and choosing to talk about himself instead. You stare at him, your eyes narrowing as you remain tense and on guard.
You raise your gun with a determined expression on your face and a steady, sure grip on the weapon. The sudden screeching of the brakes catches you off guard, and as the truck comes to a sudden stop you are thrown off of your feet and slam your head against the side bed. The man takes the weapon from your hands with an ease, and before you get a chance to even register the situation the truck starts moving again.
"Name's Billy," he mentions again before pointing to the man driving and adding, "That there's Ales. Well not really his name, but I can't say his real one so I just call him Ales." He seems to have a bit of a strange and awkward sense of humour, but you slowly find yourself slowly nodding at the explanation he provided.
He leans closer and gestures for you to do the same, which you hesitate to do but eventually you sigh and sit up to lean in closer to him with a slightly disgusted look on your face. He pauses mid-way across the bed of the truck and stares at you with an expectant expression. You raise an eyebrow at the sudden pause, but you remain quiet.
“He can’t speak no english. Well no, he can,” He frowns and tilts his head in thought before continuing. “He know a few words that I teached him but that it.” He smiles proudly and you offer the awkward reply of a smile back, not really knowing what else to do in this situation. His lack of proper English definitely indicates that he might not have taught the other man anything, and that makes you wonder just how much they both actually know and understand each other.
What the fuck have you stumbled across.
The truck comes to another sudden stop in front of an old and dilapidated two story farmstead, and Billy's expression immediately lights up with excitement and enthusiasm as he leaps over the side railing and grabs the gun from the bed as he lands on the ground. He turns back to you and beckons you to follow him.
"Come on, sweet thang!" he orders, pulling the tailgate down and reaching out his hands to help you down. You grit your teeth and narrow your eyes, the anger building and growing within you as he continues to grin in a stupid manner. He doesn't take your anger or obvious frustration seriously, just looking at you with that same stupid expression that is only causing you more irritation. “The kids’ll love ya!” He adds in a sing-song voice as he wiggles his fingers and you raise your eyebrows at him in question.
What the fuck.
You sigh, rolling your eyes as you scoot towards him, letting him help you down from the truck. “I’m sure one of ma brothers will ‘ave picked up ya mate too.” He says as he pushes the tailgate back up. He moves to walk in front of you but quickly turns, the dust on the ground forming into a cloud around his feet. “‘M sorry bout your horse by da way.” He offers with a frown before turning and walking towards the house.
Surely he’s harmless, right?
You’re not going to get murdered here, right?
You stop momentarily as you stare up at the farmstead, taking in the sights and the details that make up this place of dwelling. The old weathered red rusted timber coats the house, as do the overgrown vines and plants that coat the walls and the exterior of the building. The front garden is fenced in with an off white picket fence and filled with various children's toys littering and scattered around the yard.
To the right is a barn, just as weathered and worn as the main house itself and featuring a gaping hole in the roof that has been poorly patched yet is just enough to keep the rain from pouring in.
To the left you see the garden beds of fruits and vegetables, ready for picking and tending as several women work within the garden. They kneel amongst the crops and tend to their main source of food, quietly carrying out their duties and work without any sign of discomfort or dissatisfaction. You notice the quiet and tranquil vibes emanating from them, as they seem to be at ease and comfortable within this environment of the farmstead.
This would almost remind you of home if it were for the animals.
As you look towards the old and weathered red rusted timber house, you are instantly taken back to a place of comfort and safety when you were a child. You picture yourself as a child working on your swing in the yard of your grandparents farm that they left to your brother in their will once they passed. You can see your brother Dean throwing you baseballs to practise hitting with your baseball bat, and the exciting and joyful expression on his face as you smash the ball so far he has to run to catch it. You also remember his girlfriend Grace lying in a hammock as she sleeps, heavily pregnant with Annabel.
You hadn't wanted to be on the baseball team, and instead desired to join the ice skating team with the other girls. Dean, however, thought that baseball would have been better for your anger issues and explosive outbursts. He was right about that, but you still feel a deep sense of regret whenever you see a frozen-over lake, recalling the beautiful sights of the other kids skating across the ice with graceful and elegant steps and movements.
You were happy back then. Dean was happy back then.
Before you even have a chance to make your way towards the house, a horde of children of all different ages come rushing out of the front door, all at once screaming Billy's name in joy. They swarm around him and are instantly attached to him as they continue to shout and scream his name, jumping all over and around him as he chuckles and greets each and every one of them with excitement.
As you take a step back, the children's attention shifts suddenly from Billy to you, all of their eyes focused on you as they turn in tandem to face you. It's as though something from out of a horror movie, all of the children staring at you with an intense focus and an eerie silence and stillness in the air.
"A Ninja!" one of them yells out suddenly, and the rest of them begin running towards you as they all begin to laugh and giggle with amusement. You stare at them as they approach you, a hint of fear and dread creeping up on you as they get closer and closer by the second.
Where the fuck is Joel.
Their bodies collide upon you and knock you backwards, forcing you to the ground as they push against and scramble on top of you laughing and wiggling around. You let out a puff of air as you are struck on the ground, but suddenly find yourself laughing involuntarily as the children start tickling you fiercely and relentlessly. Their fingers are quick and agile as they tickle your sides and stomach area, making you squirm helplessly as you are unable to get away from the relentless attacks.
"Let the poor girl go." the young woman laughs out as she steps in between you and the children, and in an instant the children back up and away from you. You are left gasping for breath and panting heavily, an unexpected smile on your face. You lean up on your elbows in the dirt and are met with a young woman offering you her hand and help off of the ground.
Her hair is long and braided into two plaits that drape over her shoulders, with bows tied lovingly at the ends. She smiles down at you with a sweet and gentle expression, her kindness and tenderness filling your body with a sense of calm and tranquillity. As you take her hand, she gently pulls you back up to your feet with a tender touch.
"My name is Ashley,and I hope my husband introduced himself?" she says with a warm and friendly smile, looking back toward her husband as the children continue to swarm around him. You are taken aback a little bit by her sudden introduction and friendly and compassionate demeanour, and you look over at Billy to see him laughing and playing along with the children as they all pile on him and crawl over him with their wild energy and playful antics.
“He, uh.. Yeah he did.” You nod, frowning as you take in the house.
"Oh! Sorry!" she suddenly apologises with a slightly frantic look on her face, though her concerned and considerate expression quickly returns as she sees your confused and perplexed expression. "Are you injured? Hungry?" she asks.
You smile and gently shake your head, holding her hand in yours and squeezing it lightly in reassurance that you are uninjured and unharmed. "My horse didn't make it though," you explain, "she had a lot of my things on her."
Her facial expression immediately falters as she hears about the loss of your horse, and immediately you see a look of genuine and heartfelt sympathy on her face. She gently squeezes your hand as an act of comradery and understanding, and then offers a solution with a sympathetic grin. "I'll get someone out to see if they can recover any of the belongings you lost."
You quickly extend your gratitude towards her with a thankful expression, and she gently lets go of your hand before waving you off with a dismissive and humble demeanour. "It's nothing," she says with a gentle wave, "we do what we can to help those who pass through." She appears to be a truly compassionate and generous person, offering assistance and support to anyone and everyone who may need it without any expectations or expectations in return.
Ashley leads you inside the house, and the sound of children laughing, yelling, and playing a game of tag fills the air as they run through the rooms and halls of the old house. She moves quickly and nimbly as she quickly ushers the children away from you as soon as one of them nearly runs into you and knocks you to the ground. The child apologises with an apologetic look on their face and then runs outside with the other kids in the group to continue playing, leaving only you and Ashley alone in the kitchen.
She pulls a stool out from the kitchen counter and offers for you to sit down on it. You gladly accept as you climb up onto the stool, and watch as she pulls a bucket of fresh fruit from the counter. The smell of the freshly picked fruits fills the air, and you wonder what type of fruits she has gathered from the garden beds that you had seen out in the yard.
As you are about to ask her about the children who have been running amok around the house, she explains that only one of the children belongs to her and Billy, with the rest of the house being home to Billy's three brothers, his sister, two of his cousins along with all their partners, children and Ales who they found wandering in the woods a few years back. The house is filled with life and family, as is apparently the norm for this old, weathered, red-rusted homestead.
“Do you have children?” She asks innocently as she cuts the strawberries in half and places them into a bowl.
You stare blankly down at the sharp knife in her hand, every sound and noise hitting the chopping board as she cuts and slices into the berries. But instead of a chopping board, you hear Annabel’s skin being torn into with a knife.
You stare down from your position on the stool as the juice from the strawberries stains the chopping board and makes it glow with a vivid red, the red liquid dripping down and covering the various slices and pieces of strawberry that she is cutting and preparing. However, in place of the strawberries is Annabel's blood oozing and seeping closer to you, the warm and hot crimson liquid trickling down and slowly making its way towards you as you are left frozen and unable to move.
You jump as you are suddenly jolted back to reality by her hand touching you, your body twitching and you frantically wiping away the unnoticed tears that had been flowing down your cheeks involuntarily. You are left speechless as you are overcome with the feelings and the memory that you had been consumed by and lost within. The vision is so vivid and powerful, the scene of blood oozing and trickling towards you being forever ingrained into your memory as you are left trembling in fear and shock.
She pauses and her voice suddenly trails off as you notice the sympathetic look in her eyes, her hand finding a firm grip on your own. She swallows and takes a deep breath, her voice becoming suddenly soft and kind as she squeezes your hand back and starts to speak. "I'm so sorry," she says with empathy and compassion, "I shouldn't have asked such a stupid question." She lets out a small sigh as she stares up at you, smiling softly as she gazes at you in reassurance. "I used to have two children but Frankie got sick in the winter."
You nod in comprehension and understanding of her loss, your thoughts and feelings of sympathy only growing as a young girl runs into the kitchen and tugs on your shirt. You look down at the child with an expression of surprise and amusement as she holds her arms up and offers you a poorly-made flower frown. At the same time, she asks "You help us?" with a cute pouty expression on her face, her voice sounding like a charming plea to assist her in whatever she requires.
Ashley softly laughs and lets go of your hand once more in a gentle and reassuring manner with a gentle and loving kindness as she rises from the counter. She gestures with a wave of her hand towards the various doors and entrances out of the house, "You're more than welcome to play with the children if you like. All I ask is that you put all your weapons inside the cupboard in the barn".
At the sight of your frown, she smiles and reassures you. “The cupboard will not be locked and you can take them out whenever you please. The children are not allowed in the barn. I trust you, I would just rather the kids not be near weapons. They try to kill each other enough as it is.” She explains with a laugh and you reluctantly nod your head in agreement, slightly uncomfortable with the idea of being separated from your weapons, especially now that you are in a completely new and unfamiliar place.
Billy walks in through the front door, his entire face and body covered in a thick layer of dirt from the day's work and activities. The child who had tugged on your shirt smiles and laughs excitedly as she shows her broken flower crown to Billy, who immediately shows his approval and adoration. He praises the child and picks her up softly before spinning her around quickly, allowing her to let out more laughter and happiness in response to his playful and loving behaviour towards her.
"That's our daughter Milly," Ashley explains with a hint of parental love and affection in her tone, causing your heart to ache a little bit in remembering the love and bond you shared with Annabel at the same age. “Oh and there’s a spare bed in the barn. You’re more than welcome to stay as long as you need to.” She offers.
Ashley politely asks her husband, Billy, to show you to the barn where you'll be able to securely stow your weapons, and he agrees with a quick nod and wave of the hand asking that you follow him. You nod back at Ashley in acknowledgment and turn away to walk beside Billy as he heads outside. He places Milly down in the grass and she immediately runs and tackles a boy to the ground, laughing as they roll onto the grass.
“Your ‘usband oughta be given’ my brothers a fight, with how long they be gone.” He laughs heartily as he finishes sliding the barn doors open with a deep and strong grunt of effort.
"Oh, Joel isn't my husband," you clarify with a slight and playful smile, enjoying how the situation became somewhat awkward for him when he was under the mistaken assumption that you were together. Billy nods his head with a chuckle while he follows you into the barn. He leads you to a small and cosy little room with a double-bed in the corner and the floor covered in old hay. The wall has a broken ladder which leads to a loft and you guess it hasn't been used in quite some time.
"Don't mean no harm," he apologises, offering a light and friendly tone with an apologetic and slightly embarrassed look on his face after you correct him. He opens the cupboard and gestures for you to store your weapons in it, as you feel somewhat uncomfortable leaving them out of your sight and in someone else's vicinity.
He sighs as you pause, staring at the cupboard. “None of us carry weapons in da house or round da kids.” You sense the friendly and empathetic tone of Billy as he attempts to comfort you and reassure you, his gentle and disarming demeanour easing your anxiety slightly. You give in to him and proceed to dispel yourself of the various weapons you've been carrying around your body, placing them carefully inside the cupboard. You feel slightly uneasy in leaving this man alone with all of your weapons, but you also understand the reasoning and need to keep them locked away in a safe and secure space.
What does comfort you in the situation is that you are aware that you are fully capable of defending yourself, and you know that you could easily kill any one of them with the various items you could improvise as weapons within the house if it came down to it. They may outnumber you, but you have the upper hand overall in terms of mental agility and your ability to adapt quickly to situations as they arise in order to ensure your survival.
You spend your afternoon outside, sitting in the thick and healthy grass as children surround you and crowd around you, attempting to learn how to properly make flower crowns. Their bright and imaginative little minds seem to absorb the information like sponges as you teach them the correct way to make flower crowns, just like how Annabel taught you years back when she was studying from her books on the different types of flowers and their usage in various fields and activities.
The sun's warmth starts to fade as it slowly sets, and you remain in the small garden with the children by the edge of the dirt road waiting for Joel to either show up by himself or for Billy's brothers to bring him back to you.
A child rests their head on your lap and you look down and smile at Milly as she closes her eyes. You push the hair from her face before looking back up at the road, hoping – praying to whatever entity is left that Joel Miller walks down that road.
Your mind begins to wander and you entertain the horrifying notion that he might not have made it, and your heart twists with worry at the thought, even despite trying your best to avoid such thoughts and quell all concern from your heart. However, in spite of all of these worries and fears and anxieties, you still have faith that he indeed did make it, that he is Joel, and you cling to this hope and optimism as you await for him to find you.
You would wait for him. You would write tally marks on walls to remind yourself of what you’re waiting for. Who you’re waiting for. You would wait for him, you would search the town for him as you waited.
You start to feel your anxiety levels rising in the back of your mind during the afternoon as you are immersed in a playful and educational session of flower crown-making with the children. You start to slightly worry about Joel before you hear the sound of tires rolling over the dirt road in the distant distance behind you. Your heartbeat quickens and you sense your body getting ready to act or react in case of danger.
The trucks park behind you, and your body tenses and stands up from the grass as Joel is dragged out and thrown onto the ground, his hands tied behind his back. You can feel the tension in the air, the cold and sharp rage radiating from Joel, his voice dark. Furious. Demanding . "If you don't take me to her right now!" he threatens in a seething rage, his words being soaked with darkness and bitterness.
"Relax my dude, we're just trying to help." The man who looks similar to Billy, and is most likely his brother, attempts to speak in a calming and soothing tone while attempting to move in to restrain Joel from his aggressive and violent behavior. However, Joel seems to have a hair-trigger temper, as he immediately gets back up and violently headbuts the man to the ground, refusing to listen to anyone or anything.
"Joel!" you immediately yell at him with an impassioned and urgent tone, as your feet begin to rapidly sprint forward in his direction, the flowers the children had carefully constructed for you tumbling from your hair and onto the ground around you as you run to him. The tension is palpable in the air from the explosive anger being shown by Joel, and you don't know whether to stop him if you even could, but the desire to calm things down and prevent further conflict is burning within you.
You notice the shift in Joel's posture as soon as he hears you yelling his name, his face softening and the rage and anger instantly dropping out of his expression as he's focused solely on you now and he turns to face you with concern and worry. You see another man grabbing Joel's arms and holding him back from further confrontation, while the man he had just injured is slowly rising back up onto his feet.
Your hands hastily grab onto his jacket and pull him close to you, frantically searching for any immediate signs of injuries or harm that he might have sustained. "You split, I thought you were fucking dead Joel." Your voice is harsh and your fists continue to tighten their grip on his jacket as you glare up at him.
"Thought you were behind me." Joel's voice is filled with annoyance and resentment, the anger and rage simmering just below the surface as he turns his head and stares down at you with a frown. He then turns his focus towards the group of men who are beginning to surround the two of you. You follow his gaze as you see the women beginning to shepherd the children back inside to get them away from any potential danger. “Did they hurt you?” He asks you as he shrugs the man's hands from his arms behind him, his voice dark yet oddly comforting as his eyes trail over you, assessing you for any visible injury just as you had done to him.
You give a quick shake of your head as you smooth down the wrinkled jacket that you had been gripping onto him for dear life. One can only imagine how tight your grip must have been as your entire body was running on pure adrenaline when you thought you had lost him. "They're just people, just a family. They're okay." You try to speak with a reassuring tone to keep the peace, but your words fall on deaf ears as Joel remains stern and unmoved by your words as he surveys the men and their hands hovering near their weapons.
He looks back down at you and tilts his head in confusion at your hair. You follow his questioning gaze with your hand. It lands on a flower still stuck in your hair and you smile as you stick it back in firmly so it doesn’t fall. “I was teaching the kids how to make flower crowns while I waited for you.” You explain and he slowly nods his head, the frown slowly softening.
“Right…” He grunts.
"Listen, we don't have to stay the night but they offered us a place in the barn." You explain, trying to come to a compromise and not anger or further aggravate him even more than he already is. However, you can still see that his facial expression is beginning to gradually harden again as he considers your words and his options, and you also get the feeling that if there is even the faintest hint of trouble he'll immediately want to leave and not stay a moment longer than necessary.
"I don't like this." He says in a voice just within the threshold of your hearing, the words so carefully chosen and spoken in such a quiet volume that only you are able to hear the statement. His eyes continue to dart rapidly from one man to the next, the intense energy of his gaze scanning the nearby bodies with a level of distrust and uneasiness that is almost palpable in the surrounding air.
A man lets out a whiny and irritating sound that draws your attention, causing your head to rapidly snap towards the source of the noise which ends up being Billy. He looks up at the sky and utters, “Can we jus go drinkin now?” One of his brothers then nudges him on the side, causing him to slightly stumble and lose his balance, and you feel a brief chuckle escape your lips at his humorous reaction to the unexpected action.
You quickly look back and see Joel with a look of judgmental and harsh disgust at the interaction between Billy and his brothers as they begin to wrestle on the dirt, apparently not finding it amusing in the slightest. Your brief and light nudge on Joel's arm catches his attention immediately, and he lets out a soft and quiet "Fine" in agreement. He grumbles under his breath, "But I kill any fucker that touches you."
“Deal.”
The brothers had already disarmed Joel when he pulled a gun on them after telling Joel that you were back at their house. Joel had shaken off the infected successfully and had begun tracking back to find you. He had found your horse when the truck pulled up and apparently all hell broke loose.
One of the cousins finally arrives back at the farm on the back of Joel’s horse, and ties the reins of the animal firmly to a nearby pole outside, just in the vicinity of the entrance. You look on as the children spill back outside as one of the men lifts the kids one-by-one in order to let them carefully pat the animal as another feeds it an apple.
Joel's gaze remains stuck in a fixed and almost trance-like state as he gazes into the dancing flames of the bonfire, his attention fully focused and intent on observing the entire scene playing out before him. It is evident that his discomfort has only grown exponentially with each passing moment, the overwhelming and ever-growing sounds of celebration and joy surrounding him and drowning out whatever thoughts he might be trying to process.
He had wanted to immediately take you and run as soon as he had been untied and freed from the grasp of these strangers. But he saw the slight hint of contentment and joy in your voice as you talked about the children and how you were helping them earlier with the flower crowns. This slight glimpse of your contentment was enough to halt his decision to immediately flee and escape.
As he stares into the flames of the bonfire, he begins to feel more frustrated and angry with each passing second.
He thought you were behind him. He was certain about it. So when he looked back after he yelled out to you and you weren’t there, everything in his body tensed with fear. His lungs tightened, he couldn't breathe. He felt like he was having a heart attack. His hands gripped the reins so hard he thought he would break them.
You weren’t there.
What frightened him more, was the infected weren’t behind him either. He had screamed your name, not caring if it brought him unwanted attention. He couldn’t see you. Couldn’t hear you.
You weren’t there.
He retraced his steps, killing any stray infected he came across in case they were the one that kills you. Killed you.
When he finds your horse dead and ripped apart, his blood goes cold. He vomits over the side of his horse, emptying his stomach over the blood that seeps into the ground.
He hoped it wasn’t your blood.
So when the trucks pulled up, he was ready to kill everyone.
Joel sees you dancing happily with the group of kids in a circle, twirling them around as they giggle and laugh in a show of innocent joy and excitement. He can't help but marvel at this sight, seeing you this full of life and enjoying yourself so much, something which he has rarely, if ever, seen you do before this. He realises that he's always enjoyed seeing you happy, that's the whole reason he has stayed by your side, even after a full patrol as you lay by the lake together, because he wants you to be happy.
And right now, you’re happy with these children.
“You look like ya gonna kill someone.” Joel slowly turns his head and glares at the man as he attempts conversion with him. He sits down beside Joel on the wooden bench, and Joel looks down at the beer he offers him and then back up to his face where the man is now smiling at him. Joel's expression doesn't seem to change one bit, nor his hard and intimidating stare as it remains fixed right onto the man's face in full display of an almost primal sense of warning and potential violence.
Joel replies with a simple, almost menacing and threatening, blunt statement of “I might.” The man laughs and slaps his knee as if what Joel had just said was one of the most amusing things he's ever heard, completely unbothered by the potentially looming threat or danger of violence that was subtly and thinly veiled behind Joel's tone and words. Joel's face remains firmly fixed to the man, and he offers no sign of letting up or softening that hard gaze.
"That very funny." Billy points at Joel and chuckles slightly. He then offers his hand to shake, attempting to establish a bit of familiarity between them and hopefully diffuse the tension that was built up by Joel's earlier threat of violence. “Name’s Billy”
Joel however remains unamused by this gesture, and he turns his head away from Billy and his extended hand, remaining cold and uninviting in his interaction with the man.
"Listen." Billy sighs as he once again tries to reach out for any sense of understanding and cooperation. Joel grunts in answer at the attempt, his glare now shifted towards you as you lift a small child up onto your shoulders with a look of pure delight, happiness, and joy on both of your faces. Joel's eyes are once again focused and transfixed on you, leaving Billy out of the equation entirely. “I just-”
“No.” Joel snaps, not bothering to look at Billy.
"You ask him yet?" A second man sits down next to Billy, who scoots over a little bit to make room but also forcefully bumps into Joel which nudges him over by the edge of the seat. Joel's attention is suddenly ripped away from you and your interaction with the children, and he turns his intense gaze towards the two men trying to get his attention, his glare becoming increasingly more ominous and threatening with each second that passes and neither of the men take the hint to back off and leave Joel alone. He recognises the other man to be the one he headbutted earlier.
“I was tryna,” Billy sighs and shrugs his shoulders.
The other man rolls his eyes before leaning over Billy. “We need some help.” The other man attempts to explain, trying his best to make the situation seem urgent and important enough that Joel will be willing to lend his assistance. Joel however remains unfazed and unmoved by the man's pleas, instead he shakes his head dismissively while turning his attention back into the direction of you. Your laughter and the laughter of the other children can still be heard loudly and loudly coming from your side, and Joel takes in the sights and sounds as you lay near the fire with the children climbing and crawling over you.
"No." Joel delivers this one word answer with a tinge of frustration and annoyance, the severity and sternness of his tone only intensifying the word with even more authority and finality. He leans his elbows on his knees and keeps a close eye on you to ensure that you remain safe, and with your body currently occupied by the children crawling all over you, he decides to shift his gaze momentarily to watch from afar and keep a look out for any threats or potential dangers that might come your way.
“Oh come on, please.”
“No.”
“You haven’t even-”
“No.”
“There's a cult.” Billy interrupts in a sing-song voice, breaking Joel from his gaze towards you and redirecting it towards the two men. His head snapping in the direction of the men as their faces light up with excitement at the reaction they drew out of him with Billy's words. Joel realises that he fell for the trap that they had set for him, and he lets out an annoyed and exasperated sigh as Billy continues to shake the other man excitedly to emphasise the breakthrough he had just made.
“What about a cult?” Joel tiredly asks, his head tilted to the ground between the two men.
The other man pushes Billy out of the way and takes his spot next to Joel. “There’s this psycho cult giving us grief, trying to recruit us and bullshit-”
“Bullshit!” Billy adds and Joel looks up at him with a raised eyebrow.
“They sacrifice people!” The other man whispers in shock and Joel nods in understanding.
"And you want our help? For what?" Joel asks gruffly, cutting straight to the point of this conversation without wasting more time and words which he feels are unnecessary and unneeded.
“They threatened to take the kids if we don’t join them.” He explains and Joel glares at him, wanting him to get to the point. “Right– Right! Sorry.” He waves his hands before continuing. “This is our home and they’re threatening the peace.” He explains and Joel continues to glare at him, still not getting to the point.
“We wanna kill ‘em” Billy adds and Joel sighs, finally getting the information he wants
Joel chews on the inside of his cheek as he leans on his knees, his hands clasped together between his legs. He softly tilts his head back and forth as he considers the information. They could definitely use the help, but would they even be helpful? Sure they had disarmed Joel before but they seemed so… disorganised.
He gets halfway through explaining that he will have to talk to you first before Billy jumps from the bench in excitement, running over to a group of men drinking by the fire. The men shout in excitement and beer sloshes to the ground as they congratulate Billy for convincing Joel to help.
The other man pats Joel's back in thanks before standing from the bench. “I’m Ben by the way.” Ben nods in greeting and Joel nods back, muttering his own name.
As you replace the spot beside Joel which Ben had filled up previously, he turns his head to look in the direction you had previously been and sees that the area has become void of the children and women who were previously there and enjoying themselves by the fire. Joel frowns at first, unsure of where they had gone so suddenly and so quickly without a word. You sit beside him comfortably and peacefully, both of you now watching the group of men and their celebrations from afar.
You curl up and bring your knees to your chest, your body's movement bringing your body closer to Joel and your eyes softly closing as you allow yourself to feel comfortable and cosy in his presence. Joel wraps his arm around your body and pulls you into his side, keeping you safe and secure with his protective embrace and you lean into his side muttering "They all went to bed."
Joel chuckles softly as he hears you speak, finding an adorable tenderness in your words and the slight tiredness which seemed to currently be overtaking your body.
Joel leans down and gently plants his forehead on the top of your head, a gentle and caring gesture which you welcome. "You wanna head to sleep?" You let out a deep yawn in response, your eyes starting to become heavy and tired from the long day. "Come on then," Joel says as he stands from the bench, reaching to take your hand to help you up and lead you towards the barn.
Once inside the barn, Joel quickly gets to work securing the doors by blocking them with a broken heavy table that would make noise if anyone attempted to enter. He then moves on to where his weapons are kept, opening the cupboard with relief and thankfulness as the weapons aren't locked behind secure doors or something else which would prevent him from getting them immediately, allowing him to arm himself properly just in case any trouble or danger should arise during the night.
Your pulling on his arm catches Joel's attention, as he looks down at you with a curious look in response to your tug. He quickly shuts the cupboard as you lead him in the direction of the bed, his expression quickly shifting toward a frown of confusion as you sit on the bed and look up at him. "I gotta keep watch, we can't both sleep," he states with confusion in his voice. You should know this.
Joel stares down at you as you let go of his arm and begin to loosen the knots on the shoelaces of your boots. As you look up at him, you simply state, "I don't care if you don't sleep, you can keep watch from right here." His look of confusion only grows more intense and prominent as you look up at him and seemingly hint at him to join you on the bed, and he makes no move to do so.
You shuffle into the bed and smoothly slide underneath the covers on the side pushed up against the wall, making yourself comfortable with the warmth and comfort that the blanket and pillow provide.
“I don’t-”
Joel gives in to your request, his stoic and cold attitude that he’s held onto tightly tonight softening when confronted with your plea and the genuine and heartfelt tone with which you had asked so beautifully for him to sit with you. He slowly turns away from you, his eyes fixed briefly on the barn door before he makes his decision.
“Yeah, alright darl’” He agrees and he sits on the bed, taking his boots off and placing them besides yours, discarded on the floor. He moves until he’s beside you under the covers with his back on the headboard, his fingers laced on his lap.
You continue to move and reposition yourself until you've managed to get pressed right up to his side, your body and his practically one right together. Joel freezes for a bit as this sudden movement occurs, his eyes shooting up to the wall in front of him as if searching for something to distract himself with. You then surprise him by tugging him forcefully down, causing him to let out a yelp of surprise as his back hits the bed. Your leg now rests on top of his and your arm wraps around his middle, your head coming to rest peacefully and comfortably on his chest.
“This okay?” You mumble as you wiggle into his side trying to get comfortable.
He grunts in agreement, not trusting his voice to break. Because this was very much okay. This is better than okay.
Your body is pressing closely up against his as your chest moves and expands and contracts with each breath you take. Your weight and overall presence is grounding for him and acts like a calming force which helps him feel relaxed and at ease in this unfamiliar environment. With you pressed up so close to him, Joel can feel your breathing and your heartbeat against his thin shirt, which is an additional source of grounding and comfort as he finally begins to feel like this weight that has been lingering on his shoulders has finally started to lessen and become more bearable.
He had wanted this back when he laid you in his bed. When you had asked him to sleep beside you after your bad night. He didn’t want a pillow separating you, he wanted you wrapped around him – or better he wanted to wrap himself around you as you slept. Comforting you as you comforted him.
And then he woke up to you wrapped around that pillow and he wanted to burn it.
Joel Miller was jealous of a fucking pillow .
Right now however, there’s no pillow separating you from him.
You hum as you pull him closer and it takes everything not to wrap his arms around you. If he was back in Jackson, he would. But he can’t, not here. Right now he’s protecting you. If he lets himself get distracted in your embrace he could miss something that ends up getting you killed and he would lose you too.
He can’t lose you too.
Instead of his hands coming up to touch and trace and explore your body like his mind is screaming for him to do as he is pressed up right against yours, his hands remain firmly and tightly away from you as he keeps them pressed firmly flat against the bed. His eyes remain fixed on the barn doors, staring at them in anticipation and preparedness to act.
He listens to your light and even breath as you begin to fall asleep on him. He continues to stare, watch, listen, and remain alert while your body falls asleep against his, your head resting in peace and your heart's beat becoming more and more steady and peaceful with every passing moment that you lay there and rest in his presence.
He doesn’t know what this is, but he wants more.
Even if that makes him a greedy man.
Chapter 11
Notes
listen - Billy must be protected at all costs. We love Billy and his family. I had so much fun writing this chapter. YEEHAW MOTHERFUCKERS!
There is also a bit of a language barrier as I'm Australian and we call trucks, utes. And the truck bed, tbh i just call that "Back of the ute" So let me know if i used any wrong phrases when talking about the trucks/vehicles/cars idk.
I really hope y'all are enjoying this fic as much as I am enjoying writing it. I've now finally written ten chapters & around 90k words and I'm nowhere near even the middle of the fic. y'all in for a treat.
This fic has also been lowkey therapy for me in a weird way. I started writing this fic after the death of my dog and just wanted to thank you for reading and following this story as I write it. I have so many ideas and I get so excited when I put them to paper.
Thank you
Divider by the beautiful saradika
#joel miller#pedro pascal#the last of us#tlou joel#tlou#tommy miller#joel x fem!reader#joel tlou#joel x reader#joel fanfic#tlou fanfiction#fanfiction
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Vow of Blood
Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.
This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.
Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….
Daenera Velaryon returns to King’s Landing with the intention of bolstering her mother’s position and reminding both the Greens and nobility that Rhaenyra is the rightful heir to the throne. She has a specific goal in mind: to be a constant source of annoyance to the Greens and is willing to play the political game without hesitation.
However, what catches her off guard is the way Aemond gazes at her and seems to relish in her suffering. He openly expresses his desire to bring about her downfall, her ruination.
This situation leads to a tense game of cat and mouse, with each move escalating the already high stakes. Will their precarious situation crumble as the dragons soar above, or will fate intervene?
After all, love often demands the sacrifice of duty, just as duty can sometimes lead to the demise of love.
Characters: Aemond Targaryen X OC, HOTD characters.
Chapter 4: The Arrival
AO3 - Masterlist
King’s Landing had become unfamiliar in the years she had been away.
The city itself hadn’t changed all that much. Life, it would seem, to the small folk remained the same. Or perhaps she just didn’t recognize the changes they’d all face, sitting on her high horse in her fine jewels and silks. But the hustle and bustle of the city was the same. Merchants trying to sell their wares, workers moving to and fro, children playing in the streets. And there, deeper and lower, were the beggars and orphans. All fighting to stay alive.
“Are you sure of this, my Lady?” Ser Fenrick questioned once more. He had asked at every turn, from the port on Dragonstone and all the way over the seas to King’s Landing. Her sworn sword sat heavy in his armor, eyes flickering through the crowd for enemies and dangers.
“I am,” Daenera answered once more. The answer to the question remained the same.
“Your mother could have sent for more Maesters.”
“And it would not change a thing. The Maesters can do little to make things grow on Dragonstone. The environment is too harsh and changing. If I am to continue my studies I’d need to actually get my hands dirty.” Maesters could only do so much with books and drawings. If she were to really learn it, she’d have to go where things could grow. Besides, it wasn’t the only reason for her return.
“Your mother wished for you to stay,” Ser Fenrick pointed out, as if it’d change the answer.
“My mother understands my decision.”
In truth, Princess Rhaenyra hadn’t been happy when Daenera broached the subject of returning to King’s Landing. In fact, she was very opposed to it. ‘A den of Vipers’ was what she had called it, ‘Few and far between those who could be trusted’. She hadn’t liked the idea of her daughter returning to the capital with no one to protect her. It had been Daemon that had convinced her in the end.
Her and Daemon had agreed that it would be her that went back. Jacaerys was the next in line to the throne after their mother and Luke was too young to go on his own.
So it was Daenera who went back with the mission of strengthening her mothers claim.
“I should think King Viserys will be happy to see me,” Daenera said. “I am his favorite after all.”
Fenrick didn’t accept the change of subject. “Your return will draw much attention.”
“I’m aware.”
They rode through the city in silence, watching a mere glimpse of the small folks’ lives. Daenera often wondered whether their lives were easier, but then she’d think of all the poor people toiling at work, trying to make ends meet. The struggles may be different, but they struggled all the same.
Still, she quite liked the chaos of the city, even if the smell was absolutely terrible.
They rode through the gates of the Red Keep, riding into one of the smaller courtyards. The walls of the Keep remained red, hence the name. And its towers still stood tall and true. Why she should think it was any different, she didn’t know. The courtyard felt smaller though.
She felt eyes prickle over her skin and she straightened her spine and held her head high. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of white, like moonlight given life. He moved with agility and speed, avoiding the blade with ease, stepping aside to thrust his own blade back at his opponent. Steel met steel, the sound ricocheting through the courtyard, bouncing off the walls.
Her uncle beat his opponent's sword out of his hands, pressing the tip of the blade to his throat, the man yelding with his hands up and breath quick on his lips. It was then that Aemond’s eye met hers. She felt it slide along her skin like a blade, threatening to sink into her flesh and draw blood.
Daenera turned her attention back on the doors to the Keep and the young queen that had graciously awaited her arrival.
Fenrick was the first one down from horseback, the sworn sword coming up to the reins of Daenera’s horse and taking them as Daenera stepped down from it, her deep purple dress falling heavy around her feet, slightly wrinkled from the time spent on horseback. It was one of her finer dresses, though modest. Her return would cause enough stir and it would have been quite the talk had she arrived in trousers.
Daenera felt the queen's eyes follow her as she approached.
“Princess Daenera, welcome back. I do hope the journey wasn’t too rough on you,” Alicent greeted. “One should think there were many oceans between us and Dragonstone.”
The snide comment didn’t go unnoticed, but it would go unmet. “The journey has been long, your grace, but I found comfort in the thought of returning home.”
Daenera remembered the day they had fled the queens ire and the rumors nipping at their heels. Alicent remained as beautiful as she was then. A shame, Daenera had hoped that the blatant resentment in the queen's heart had poisoned her appearance.
Beauty was always a great weapon.
One she did not wield herself.
“You will find much has changed since you were here last.” The smile on Alicent’s lips didn’t reach her eyes. They were distrustful, uncertain of the princesses intention.
“That tends to happen with the passage of time, your grace.”
“I assume your mother is in good health? And your brothers?” Alicent questioned. The two of them walked into the Keep.
“Yes, my queen,” Daenera answered though her attention was drawn to the changes made in the keep. Most of the Targaryen house symbols and sigils were gone, replaced with religious memorabilia of the Seven Pointed Star. She schooled her expression and swallowed the distaste, feeling the eyes of the Red Keep on her. “She is with child again.”
“What a blessing,” Alicent crooned, though Daenera didn’t believe it. If it stood to the queen, all of Rhaenyra’s heirs would be dead. It would lessen her claim to the throne. Those thoughts would never be spoken though, like so much else.
“May I ask what brings you back from Dragonstone?”
“My studies, your grace. As you can imagine, Dragonstone is a hostile environment. King’s Landing is more agreeable when it comes to plants,” Daenera said, using the prescribed answer she had come up with. It wouldn’t be in her best interest to outright say that she was here to keep an eye on her and the king. “And if I’m being honest, I missed the Keep and my grandsire. He has begged by return for years.”
The queen’s smile got tight. “Yes, the King has always had a soft spot for you, princess.”
“I thought the King may have taken time to welcome me back himself,” Daenera ventured. “I suppose he’s too busy.”
They had stopped on the stairs, the queen a few steps above her, looking down on her. She was the pillar of proprietary, hands clasped in front of her, a righteous look in her eyes and the green modest dress on her form, ordained by a golden, seven pointed star.
“Do not take offense to his absence, princess. The King has not been of good health as of late and he is resting.” The excuse was weak but true enough. Viserys had been ill for some time now, some days were better than others. Daenera kept her expression schooled. “You must be tired from the long journey.”
Now, it was Daenera who got a tightlipped smile. “Yes, a bath and some rest would do me good.”
“Talya,” the queen voiced, bringing forth a rather pretty lady-in-waiting with red hair and sharp features. She bowed respectfully. “Please show the princess to her chambers and make sure she’s well taken care of.”
“Yes, my queen.”
Daenera followed Lady Talya towards what would become Daenera’s private quarters. Behind her were Joyce, Jelissa and Ser Fenrick. The Seven Pointed Star of The Faith was everywhere they turned, edged into stone, replacing the three headed dragon of House Targaryen. Most of the wall hangings had also been replaced, the once sexual tapestries now a bland mirage of forestry. Daenera found it distasteful if not outright disrespectful. It was as if the Hightowers had tried to erase the Targaryen claim to the throne. She severely doubted it was Viserys doing.
Hightower cunts.
Eyes seemed to follow her through the halls as the nobility realized who she was. Daenera took it in strides, a mask of indifference and politeness upon her face as she nodded to them, pretending not to know what they were thinking.
The Hightowers had been surrounding themselves with their people it would seem, and had let their tales spread like an infection through the halls.
By the time she reached her quarters the whole castle was bustling with her arrival. Hushed whispers spoken in shadows, ripping up old rumors to blow dust from them and speak to them anew.
It was those rumors that had made them flee King’s Landing in the first place.
They entered her new quarters. Daenera looked it over with a skeptical eye. The apartment was made of a large sitting area, with the bedroom connected to the right side. The rooms were big and finely decorated, sufficient.
“I will have the maids bring water for the tub, my Lady,” Talya spoke politely.
Daenera smiled. “Thank you.”
“I will also assign some maids to you.”
“That won't be necessary. I’ve brought my own maids Joyce and Jelissa.”
“As you wish.” Talya left the princesses chambers with new information to sell, the door clicking shut behind her.
Daenera breathed a sigh of relief, rolling her neck and rubbing her fingers against her temples, letting go of the mask of politeness and respectfulness.
Fenrick stood by the door, hand resting on the hilt of his sword, looking at the princess with slight concern. “If you’re already exhausted from pretending then perhaps returning was the wrong decision.”
“I’m exhausted from the travels and the ugly seven pointed star everywhere,” Daenera complained, glaring at the small round window that held the star within it. She felt as if she were in the sept and the gods were staring down at her in judgment. They could stare all they wanted.
“The queen honored you with her welcome,” Jelissa said, beginning to unpack one of the huge trunks that had been brought to her chambers, plucking one dress after another from its depths.
“The queen wanted to size the princess up,” Joyce told her younger pupil, the older maid coming up to Daenera to brush her hair away from her shoulders as she began to unlace her dress. “Did you notice what they did to the Keep? It’s nothing but disrespectful.”
“They’re honoring the Faith,” Jelissa countered.
“The Hightowers are erasing everything Targaryen as if their children are Hightowers only,” Joyce raged, pulling the strings loose.
“Be careful,” Fenrick warned. “There are spiders everywhere in the Keep.”
As if to underline his warning the doors opened to let a string of maids in, each one carrying a bucket of hot water, pouring it into the tub standing in front of the fire, seam rising into the air. Daeneras' company fell silent while the maids poured the water.
When they left again it was Daenera who spoke up. “We must be careful of our words. We never know who might listen and as we are now, we are surrounded by vipers waiting to strike.”
“Yes, my Lady,” her company agreed.
Daenera wiggled out of the dress, standing only in her bodice and underdress. Fenrick averted his eyes, staring straight into the room while Joyce helped remove the rest of Daeneras' clothing. Red lines were drawn across her pale skin, marking out where her bodice had pressed in on her. She went to the tub, fingers skimming the hot water, her thoughts turning in her head. “When you move around in the Keep I want you to gather as much information as you can without drawing attention to yourselves. Make friends and connections. And if something happens with the King I wish to know.”
They all agreed.
“You may leave,” Daenera dismissed.
Her room fell silent as her company left. Fenrick stood guard outside the door.
Daenera had often thought how utterly boring the job must be. Most of the time they just stood and stared. How they managed not to go insane she didn’t know. She herself would lose her mind out of boredom.
With a sigh Daenera stepped into the warm waters, letting the heat prickle at her skin reddening it. She sank beneath the surface all the way to her chin, inhaling the lavender and rosemary scent, finding it far better than the smell of horse that clung to her skin. The journey hadn’t been that long. Dragonstone wasn't far from King’s Landing, but Daenera didn’t care much for traveling the sea. It wasn’t because she became greensick like her brother Luke did the moment he stepped onto a boat, the future fleet commander utterly cursed in that regard, it was the boredom of being stuck that bothered her. And perhaps Luke could command the fleet from dragonback instead.
Daenera scrubbed her skin clean and washed her hair twice to get the smell of horse out of it before oiling it. Her lithe fingers ran through her dark curls, the very thing that started the whole fuss about her parentage. She was aware, of course, of why she looked nothing like her Father Laenor Velaryon.
Daenera frowned at the memories her return brought up. Memories she thought best buried. But nothing ever stayed buried, unfortunately, and she’d have to contend with the fact that time may have changed but the rumors would persist.
The princess got up from the water and wrapped herself in a robe, hair dripping down her back as she headed towards the balcony, opening the doors to let in some fresh air. She looked down over the courtyard, watched Prince Aemond move as he continued his sword lessons with none other than Ser Criston Cole. Daenera made a face. How he still managed to have a position in the Kingsguard was beyond her understanding.
No, not beyond it, she understood very much why he still had his position, she just didn’t understand why Vierserys allowed it. The queen's favor should only reach so far. And with a man who murdered someone at a royal wedding's welcome feast should have been punished. And again when he continued to disrespect the children of the crown princess.
Her eyes turned to Aemond again. Daenera hadn’t seen him since that night when he stole Vhagar and lost an eye.
As if sensing her eyes on him, Aemond turned his face towards her, their eyes catching once more. Daenera didn’t school the distaste on her face and was of half a mind to roll her eyes. Aemond smirked at her.
He was going to be a thorn in her side, she just knew it.
Daenera turned and headed towards the bed.
The heavy skirt of her cornflower blue dress swished as she walked up the steps of the Red Keep, heading towards the Kings Chambers. She had specifically chosen the dress for its complement to her eyes and the memory of Viserys telling her that blue suited her.
This was her armor for the day.
Her heels clicked over the stone as she made her way through the Keep and towards the King's chambers, her spine straight and head held high. Behind her followed Fenrick, his armor clanking as he walked.
The last few days the queen had dismissed her before she was able to seek an audience with the King. She would not allow it any longer. The King had sent for her after all. He’d want to see her.
So, she had sent out Jelissa to keep an eye on the King’s Chambers and the queens movement. Word had come not half through the morning that the queen had left his chambers and the king within. Daenera took her chance then. If she had to scheme and sneak around to see the king then she would do just that.
“Lord Commander, I wish to see the King,” Daenera said, armed with a kind smile on her face.
“The queen has just left the King's side, princess,” Ser Harrold Westerling told her.
“Does the queen need to be present when I visit the King, Ser Harrold?”
Behind his battle worn exterior the lord commander smiled. “No, princess.”
Ser Harrold knocked on the wooden door before opening it for the princess, who smiled appreciatively at him as she passed, walking into the King's chamber to find the King sitting in a chair propped up on pillows, a thick blanket wrapped around his lower half. Daenera felt her heart sink at the sight of her grandsire, finding that age had come at him hard and unforgiving. He had lost much of his hair, having only a few brittle strings of it left. At his side sat a young stone mason, carving details into a stone figure as the King told him about the building being made, voice low and rumbling with age. Viserys one good eye lifted from his stone map of old Valyria to his grandchild, lightning up at the sight.
“Daenera,” he greeted as loudly as he could.
Daenera hid her pity and concern beneath a smile. She would not show him anything else than what he deserved. “Grandsire!”
Her feet hurried over the floor, dress swissing around her feet, dark curls tumbling over her shoulders as she leaned down to press a kiss on the King's cheek. He smelled of old age and the illness that was slowly killing him. He had lost his left arm years ago, even before the incident that made them flee to Dragonstone, the sleeve empty.
And from the look of it, an infection had taken the sight of one of his eyes, the skin beneath it hollowed out and irritated. Daenera wondered how she’d tell her mother about how bad it had gotten.
“It is so good to see you, my sweetling,” the King said, waving away the stone mason. Viserys tried to stand, his knees buckling and his breath alluding him as he forced himself to his feet. Daenera was quick to wrap an arm around him, supporting him as they made their way towards more comfortable seats in front of the fire. “Have you brought your mother and siblings with you?”
“No, unfortunately not, my king,” Daenera answered softly, trying to lessen the blow. “I hope I do not disappoint you, your grace.”
“You could never disappoint me, Daenera,” Viseryes told her, pinching the apple of her cheek as she wrapped the blanket around his legs once more. “I just wish we could all be together.”
“Perhaps soon we will,” Daenera said.
“How are my daughter and brothers?” Viserys asked. Daenera sat down in the chair opposite him, finding the seat uncomfortably hard. Her hand reached for her grandsires, holding his thin and bony hand, cold with age despite the warmth of the room.
“They are good, your grace. My mother is pregnant with her and Daemon’s second child. I’m sad to miss the birth of my sibling but I suppose that is the price to pay if I wish to further my education,” Daenera said. In truth her education came second as to why she was here. Her concern for the King and what was happening in King's Landing was the main reason for her presence.
“You’re still buried in books and plants?” Viserys smiled.
“Yes. Dragonstone is a fine place but there’s not a lot of… green.” In the regard for nature it was bad, but it was a blessed place to avoid the Hightowers. “And of course I missed my grandsire.”
“You’re too kind. I fear I’m not much these days,” the king said sadly.
Daenera squeezed his hand as much as she dared. “And yet it is enough. You’re still the King and you are blood. I could not wish for a greater grandsire than you.”
“Flatter will get you far,” Viserys chuckled. “And how’s my other grandchildren?”
“Jacaerys is as hot-tempered as ever, I hope age will teach him to control it. He is a fine swordsman and dragonrider. You’ll find that he’s very educated in most subjects but he’s having trouble with Valyrian. And Lucerys follows his big brother around like a puppy. I’ve never seen anyone with as great of a love for their brother as him… well, perhaps between you and Daemon.”
“Is Luceryes as big of a pain in the ass for his big brother as Daemon has been in mine?”
Daenera tried and failed to hold back a laugh. “No, not yet. He’s still in the obey every word age, mayhaps when he’s older.”
“I hope not.”
“Joffrey is still very young. Growing every day,” Daenera finished.
They sat in content silence for a while before Daenera decided to break it with an inquiry about the changes to the Keep and by extension who was making the decisions. She had a feeling she already knew but the answer was still as cutting as it would have been had she not expected it.
“Ah, Alicent and Otto are the ones taking care of such matters. I’m not particularly fond of the changes, but it honors the Faith and keeps the peace.”
“You can honor the Faith and still keep some of the house symbols, your grace,” Daenera said. She knew Viseryes would avoid conflict at most cost, but she would never understand why he let the Hightowers run rampant and desecrate everything Targaryen as if he wasn’t still king. It was disrespectful. Daenera was about to press further when the door opened and the Queen swept in, her brown locks waving down her back, crown jutting from the curls, eyes finding the princess immediately and narrowing a little. Daenera got up and bowed as customary. If it wouldn’t have consequences she’d have remained seated, but alas her mother had raised her well.
“How nice to see you again, Princess Daenera,” the queen greeted, coming up to the side of her lord husband, placing a hand on his shoulder. Her green dress gleamed in the light from the fire. Daenera wished for the flames to lick a little closer to the dress.
“You as well, your grace.”
“I think we should hold a feast for the princesses return to King's Landing, don’t you think, Alicent?” The King asked, his frail hand reaching to pat Alicent’s hand on his shoulder. She withdrew it immediately, clasping her hands together in front of her.
“A feast is a big affair, my king. It would take time to prepare and it would cost-,”
“I think it’s worth it for my granddaughter's return. We would have held one upon your arrival, had we known you’d have come sooner,” the king cut her off.
Daenera pressed her lips together. They had known of her return for a fortnight. It was plenty of time to not only prepare her a proper welcome with lords and ladies present but also with the king, it would also have been enough time to prepare a feast. The queen's lips had turned into a line having been cornered. Would she refuse it would be perceived as an insult.
“Of course, your grace.” Alicent looked anything but happy, which pleased Daenera immensely. Alicent schooled her expression and stepped forward, reaching out to take Daeneras’ hand in hers. “Forgive us for our unpreparedness. We will hold a feast in your honor.”
“I understand, running the kingdom is a grand task that requires great attention.”
“Thank you for your understanding, princess, and I hope you will understand that I need to speak with the king about private matters.”
“Of course,” Daenera smiled sharply. It was a pretty way of throwing her out of the King's chambers. Daenera passed the queen and knelt down in front of the King, taking his frail hand in hers, trying to pass some of her warmth onto him. Their eyes met and Viseryes gave her an apologetic look that Daenera dismissed with a quirk of her lips and an understanding nod. She kissed the king on his cheek before rising. “I will come visit you soon, my king.”
“I will look forward to it, Daenera.”
Daenera gave one final bow before exiting the chambers. Fenrick fell into step behind her, though she didn’t not hear the clanking of his armor, her mind elsewhere. How was she going to tell her mother how bad it had gotten? She doubted her letters would leave unread by others. And how do you tell the daughter that her father was ailing and in pain, overrun by Hightowers and powerseekers. She feared for the king and his health. Most of all she feared the time when Viserys would pass.
“Joyce has confirmed that Lord Caswell will take lunch in one of the groves of the garden at noon.”
A small smile formed on Daenera’s lips. “Perfect.”
Daenera decided to head to the library in the meantime.
The smell of dust and old books were familiar to her, having spent a lot of her childhood buried in books, soaking up all that she could while her brothers trained with their dragons. Of course, she had also had dragon training. But there wasn’t much improvement nor need if one did not have a dragon. So instead, Daenera found fulfillment elsewhere.
The book she plucked from the shelves were of dark binding, with golden but crackled writing on the front. It was one of the old tales about a prince and a princess at odds, a tale of treachery and betrayal, of love and honor. Contented with her pick she headed towards the small sitting area by the fire, sinking into one of the chairs, fingers flipping to the first page.
“Why have you come back?” Aemond’s smoothe voice interrupted Daenera’s concentration, though her eyes never moved from the page. She hadn’t expected him to approach her. Out of the corner of her eye, above the focus on the pages, she saw him move in front of her, back to the fireplace, a pillar of cold shadows.
“Nice to see you too, uncle,” Daenera acknowledged, voice light and unbothered.
“Why have you come back?”
Daenera sighed, finally laying eyes upon him, noting the intense glare in his eye, lips sharp and set in a cold smirk, that left little to interpretation. He didn’t want her here. “Would you believe me if I said I missed King’s Landing?”
“No.”
Her head tilted to the side, a bothered and thoughtful expression upon her face. “I came back to further my studies in herbal medicine and such.”
His eye darted across her features, like a knife seeking purchase. It slid along her skin, threatening to draw blood. Daenera let him glare.
“Liar,” he hummed.
“Oh, I’m a liar now, am I?” Daenera responded to the accurate accusation. “Tell me then, why else would I be back? To bother you specifically? Or are you implying some other nefarious reason?”
“You should go back to Dragonstone. You’re not welcome nor wanted here,” Aemond disclosed shortly.
Daenera rolled her eyes, lifting the book back into position in front of her, to continue reading from where she left off. “Hmm… It seems that the King quite enjoys my presence, and he is the only one that matters is he not?”
Aemond stepped closer to her, snapping the book right out of her hands, her eyes widening in surprise at the sudden incursion. He held the book out of her reach, one hand on the tall back of the chair, back curved as he half leaned over her. His hair of pure moonlight fell smoothly over his shoulders, a stark contrast to her own dark, common locks. “Why are you really here?”
Daenera glared up at him, eyes as sharp as his own. He didn’t believe her lie about her education, which wasn’t as surprising as it was annoying. Alicent might not have believed it either, but she at least knew how impolite and disrespectful it was to flat out question her like this.
“What would you like my answer to be, since all of the option’s I’ve provided do not seem to hit the mark? Would you like me to admit I’m here to find a husband? That my mother doesn’t hold court on Dragonstone and has therefore made it impossible for me to do so? That King’s Landing provides a much better place in my search? Is that honest enough for you?”
It wasn’t a lie. Not only had she come in search of allies and to keep an eye on the Hightowers, she came to find a husband. They had gotten many a letter the day she came of age, asking for her hand in marriage, but her mother had kept the hounds at bay. Coming back to King’s Landing in search of a husband created the perfect cover and with the addition of her wishing to further her studies, no one could really question her reasoning. No one, but Aemond apparently.
“Hm…” Aemond hummed, releasing the back of her chair to stretch to his full hight again. He gave her a once over, then turned and walked away, heading to the doors.
“My book,” Daenera chided.
Aemond didn’t look back at her, he simply held the book up, waving it in the air before releasing his grip, letting it fall to the floor with a loud thud and then he was gone. It was such a childish and petty move that Daenera couldn’t help but stare a burning hole into the space he had preoccupied mere moments before.
It was Fenrick who picked up the book, a thick brow raised in question. Daenera just shook her head, waving his question off.
#aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#aemond x reader#aemond fanfiction#hotd aemond#prince aemond#hotd#house of the dragon#hotd fanfic#A Vow of Blood
43 notes
·
View notes
Text
youtube
Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc
The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!
#ACLA24#ACLA24HighSchoolStudents#youtube#youtube video#climate leaders#climate solutions#climate action#climate and environment#climate#climate change#climate and health#climate blog#climate justice#climate news#weather and climate#environmental news#environment#environmental awareness#environment and health#environmental#environmental issues#environmental education#environmental justice#environmental protection#environmental health#high school students#high school#youth#youth of america#school
16K notes
·
View notes
Text
A woman in her 80s has been pulled from the rubble of her collapsed house in Japan, 72 hours after the New Year's Day earthquake.
Public broadcaster NHK showed video of the woman being lifted out of her home in the town of Wajima.
Rescuers are racing against time in their search for survivors, as a critical three-day window has now shut.
At least 82 people were killed when a 7.6 magnitude earthquake hit the remote Noto peninsula on Monday.
Many people are thought to be trapped under their collapsed homes - mostly in the towns of Suzu and Wajima.
The woman in her 80s had reportedly been trapped on the ground floor of her house since the earthquake hit.
After 72 hours, the chances of finding people alive drops substantially. That window has now closed as the earthquake hit at 16:10 local time (07:10 GMT) on Monday.
Tens of thousands of residents are still without power and water, while hundreds remain isolated from help due to landslides and blocked roads.
Japan's Prime Minister Fumio Kishida said earlier on Thursday that 150 people had been rescued so far, and that rescuers would continue with their full-scale efforts to save as many as possible.
"This is a very difficult situation. But from the viewpoint of protecting lives, I ask that you make every effort to save and rescue as many lives as possible by this evening, when the critical 72 hours of the disaster will have passed," he said.
The tremor on Monday, which was followed by a series of aftershocks, injured at least 330 people, according to AFP news agency.
More than 30,000 people in the quake-affected areas are still in shelters, with some towns lacking water, electricity and internet connection.
Meanwhile stories of dramatic rescues have been going viral online. A video posted by Peace Winds Japan, a local NGO that helped with the rescue, show several rescuers ploughing through layers of collapsed furniture to rescue a woman trapped under her home. They then wrapped a thick blanket around her.
The BBC saw extensive destruction on a visit to Wajima on Wednesday, where some homes and vehicles were crushed under crumbling concrete. . Many of the town's old, traditional wooden homes had collapsed.
Japan introduced new regulations to protect buildings from earthquakes in 1981, but many of the wooden homes were built before these were introduced.
Some of the Wajima's residents, many of them elderly, had not carried out the work to upgrade their homes. Data from 2018 showed that more than half the buildings in the town were not in line with the new standards.
With a population of about 23,000, Wajima now resembles a ghost town as most heeded the early warnings to evacuate, when tsunamis were forecast.
But it has still recorded the largest death toll, with 48 confirmed deaths - more than half of the total number of casualties. That number is expected to rise, as some areas surrounding the town are still cut off by ruptured roads and landslides, with help unable to reach people.
Shigeru Sakaguchi, mayor of Wajima, said food and other aid supplies had reached only 2,000 out of 10,000 evacuees from the town so far.
According to the mayor of Suzu, a town with a population of about 13,000, almost none of its houses are standing. Around 90% are completely or almost completely collapsed, Masuhiro Izumiya said.
A small tsunami struck the town one minute after the major quake.
Japan is one of the most seismically active countries in the world, and activity has been increasing around Noto since the end of 2020. There have been more than 500 small and medium earthquakes here over the past three years.
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
I Cannot Stop Thinking About You
Remus’ flat was desolate, void of any emotion, the air was stiff and lifeless as Remus sat huddled next to the phone staring blankly into the wall.
There was no possible way that this could be happening, not his Sirius, not him, he could not have done it, he was loyal to them, he could never betray James and Lily, he could never have betrayed Harry, the order, Sirius could never betray him.
Those words kept running through Remus’ head “Sirius is the Traitor, he betrayed the Potter, he is the reason they are dead.” It was an inconceivable concept to him, how could Sirius throw everything the Potters did for him in their face, take everything and kill them all, leave Harry an orphan, kill Peter, and break his heart again. He wonders if he were next, if Sirius had made it through the aurors, would he have killed him, would he have killed the person he was supposed to love… Did he even love him? Was this all fake to him, did he pretend all this time to love him, from the start, was he more like his parents than they all thought, was it obvious to everyone but him?
Emotions finally started to flood Remus; anger, anguish, heartbreak all started to well his eyes and fall down his face, he did not know what to think, or even if he should think, what should he think of this, the love of his life is a mass murdered and a blood supremist. It does not make sense. How could he do this.
The flat remained still, all that could be heard was Remus’ shaky sobs and the buzz of the fallen phone that was hanging off the wall, he could not move, paralysed by dread, he felt as if he were decaying, as if his whole world had just crumbled in front of him, slipping through his finger, as if he is unable to catch the pieces.
Nothing mattered anymore, the anxiety of the upcoming had gone, replaced by the dread of being alone forever, everyone is dead, the war is over, but at what cost, forever alone.
And all he can feel is guilt, instead mourning his best friends, the death of everyone he knows, the loss of love for a poor child... Remus mourns he love life, the fact that someone so close to him could rip his heart out again and then instead of throwing it in his face, he throws it in everyone else's; if Remus had not forgiven Sirius in Year 5, would he of still done this, or would of consuming the pain of the betrayal when they were younger been better overall. And why does he still mourn Sirius, he had finally showed he true colours and everyone else is saved, why does he mourn the living.
What if he pretended he was dead, he could live his life without the knowledge that he had loved the man who who is the reason for all of his friends demise, one at his own hand. But, oh he wishes to hold him again, to hug him to love him.
All the fight has left Remus, and no one is here to hold him, to love him, to heal his scars whilst he silently sobs, he has to grow up and deal with it all on his own. No hands to hold.
Why does he feel the most sorrow for the loss of someone who still lives, he is alive, sat in a cell, breathing. Maybe because he is arms reach he misses him, something deep inside him wants this to be some sick joke, that Sirius will walk through the door to their flat and hug him, kiss him, and let him know that he is safe. But that will never happen, Sirius was on a mission to destroy everyone, killing everyone who had loved him, he would have definitely been next.
Remus finds the strength within him to pick himself off of the ground, to take himself to the kitchen and stare, there are the pots from this morning, still scattered around, showing signs of two lives living in the flat, when there was now only one. It takes all of his might not to collapse on to the floor in agony, of a heartbreak he did not want to have, of a love he should not feel no more. But he did, he felt so much love for a man who had stole everything from him, but he still loves him and wishes for the life they had built once again.
(if anyone wants anymore, let me know and i might post a full version on tumblr or AO3)
#I Cannot Stop Thinking About You#remus lupin#sirius black#peter pettigrew#marauders#james potter#remus x sirius#wolfstar#sirius x remus#marauders era#marauders angst#wolfstar microfic#wolfstar angst#remus is sad#heartbreak#this is vry sad remus and i want to write more of this#post war#everyone is dead#sirius in azkaban#i really like sad remus#remus john lupin
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
@wexarethewalkingxdead asked: Andrea hadn't thought much about the passing of time or the fact that she knew it had to be pushing late September and remembered Shane mentioning that his birthday was later on in that month. She wasn't the sentimental type. Well, not anymore. Not since getting Amy the mermaid necklace back in Atlanta, but something deep down inside her wanted her to keep some traditions alive. Birthdays were simple, right?
So she spent days searching for the right gift for him. And she finally found it when they lucked up on a department store that hadn't been ransacked as badly as the others they had already checked. She managed to slip it into her pack without him noticing and then managed to find some orange tissue paper to wrap it in. There was a tube of wrapping paper as well, but that wasn't as easy to conceal as the tissue paper. And it wasn't as practical either.
She went off to herself that night to wrap it carefully. She managed to find a small box to slip it into so that he wouldn't know what it was from simply the shape of it. She smirked as she looked at the finished product before picking it up and approaching him slowly.
"Not sure if it's still September or even if it is September at all, but Happy Birthday." She pulled the small box from behind her back and offered it to him. "It's not much…"
Happy Birthday, Shane!
Two lone outlaws with nothing but the sun on their backs for company. A packet of peanuts for dinner, if ever Shane and Andrea were so lucky, a quarter of water left still in the plastic bottles that they carried for drink. Dangerous was the life they shared together, but better was it spent than remaining as black sheep among their former group. Wherever that little family went, further into the woods or past the crumbled cities, Shane knew that they would be alright. Just as he had left them - with promise and good fortune prayed for - Andrea beside him and the long road before them both. It wasn't so terrible a journey. Days bled into each other, unable to be distinguished but not so bad as would've been imagined, companionship in Andrea was more of a comfort than Shane dared to admit. A warmth that kept him safe when the nights grew cold. A bliss that didn't end; somehow made the Walkers easier to bear. Foul flesh that was more of an annoyance than true threat, an enemy that could be defeated just through conviction alone, birthdays memorable despite the lack of party streamers and confetti.
Box opened with mindful hands, gentle around the corners but dedicated with the tissue paper, torn without resistance, Shane admired the coffee mug as if it were pure silver rather than ivory porcelain. Dusty around the rim, a few chips nearest the handle, the mug wasn't perfect, but Shane didn't wish for it to be. Preferred it just as it was, smiled as he inspected the cup in his hands, bold black print read: Life Is About More Than Coffee.
"Thank you." Shane said, smile still upon his lips, a glint to brown eyes that spoke of wanting his birthday cake and eating it, too. "To tell you the truth, I almost forgot about the day myself. Bein' out here, time goes by different. Don't count the same as it used to. But let me be clear, I will be usin' this from here on out. Better to be drinkin' my water out of a good mug than from a days old piece of garbage plastic. You better start doin' the same, too. Ain't no reason for you to be gettin' crud backwash when there's a decent cup for us to split. That's just what we're gonna have to start doin' a lot of now, you know. Sharin' and everything."
Shane stepped closer to her, gaze fallen from her blues to her lips. "I don't mind sharin' things with you, Andrea. Hey, what do you say to doin' a bit more birthday celebratin'? Just you and me. I don't think I'm ready for this party to end yet."
#wexarethewalkingxdead#Muse || Andrea Harrison#Judge and Executioner || Post Apocalypse Era#Verse || Alternative Universe#// This made me more emotional than I should've gotten but I just love them so much!
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Chapbook: Run, Arlan
This chapbook was originally written for a con promotional event approx. 2014. I'll post a scene on this thread every day until it's done.
I primarily write urban fantasy/sci fi, with action and dystopian themes. My books are also queer friendly, though not the focus of the stories. But because the stories are quite violent, I should put a:
Content warning: violence and inferred gore
Run, Arlan
* 1 *
Agent Arlan Edaan ran sideways and collected his Team Leader, pulling the older man to the ground as he fell. Arlan landed on his side as a car flew over them. It was so close, had he wanted to, he could have reached out and touched it. Mouth open wide, he stared at it as it rolled over them in slow motion.
The girl was a kinetic, obviously, he thought.
Time sped up again and the flying car hit concrete, shredding metal and glass over the road and plowing into the oncoming traffic with a terrible smash.
“They’re getting away,” his Team Leader yelled as he scrambled to his feet.
Arlan gathered his thoughts from their muddled shock and stood up as well.
“Quit blinking at me!” The Team Leader barked at the other two TFOs, who stood on the side-walk their eyes wide like animals caught in car headlights. “Get after them!”
He didn’t even say thank you, thought Arlan.
The man glanced sideways at him. “No need to thank a person for doing their job, son. Now come on!”
Their targets ran on up the narrow residential street. Two parents and the little girl. They wore layers of gray drab rags, and the adults had no shoes.
Arlan couldn’t understand why they refused to surrender. As he ran with his Team, he frowned at the family. If they surrendered to Agency custody the girl would live. She wouldn’t have much choice in her life but she’d be alive. Why would her parents not surrender to save her?
The family skittered up the side-walk and into a tall but crumbling apartment block. His Team went into the building after them and he followed.
“Weapons ready!” called the Team Leader.
Arlan shrugged the auto assault rifle off its clip and, bracing it against his shoulder, lifted the barrel to aim.
They burst through into an apartment and his three teammates started firing without warning. Arlan paused, unable yet to see his target and unwilling to shoot randomly into a room, but the gunfire stopped before he zeroed in.
The others shifted sideways out of his line of sight. There was a mess of bodies in front of him and he gasped, turning away from it.
With his back to the horror, he stared at a rotting wall. Stuck to wallpaper at his eye level was a yellow sticky note. He blinked at it.
“Arlan, run,” it said.
A shot of fear blew through him and he ripped it off the wall, stuffing the sticky note into the front pocket of his bullet-proof vest. He hoped none of the others had seen it.
Turning around again, he tried not to see what they’d done. Bodies lay in front of him in a line of gore and horror. The walls were splattered with blood and, not a meter from his boots, were the remains of the little girl. A child, who in her attempt to escape the Agency pursuit had been able to throw a car at them with her mind. She would have been a very high-rated kinetic, if she’d lived.
Poor kid. Arlan swallowed.
His Team Leader, and the only telepath in the group, moved out of the room into another area of the apartment and Arlan’s thoughts flickered back to the note in his pocket.
Hawk left yellow stickies for people when he wanted them to escape the Agency. Maybe today was the day he should run. But then his new Task Force team would hunt him down just as they had the girl and her parents.
Everyone knew the laws. If you were Psi or Talent, you had to work for the Agency. If you refused, you were a Traitor and Aranan law stated Traitors were to be immediately executed.
But I don’t want to do this. He swallowed again, trying to suppress his grief and fear. I don’t want to kill people.
His stomach tightened and he turned around, striding out of the room and back down to the street entrance. The nausea rose up into his throat and he only just made it outside before the grief and disgust resurrected his breakfast.
When his body finally gave up its spasms, he was leaning over his knees and breathing in pained gulps of acrid air.
Someone patted him on the back. “You alright, kid?” said his Team Leader.
Arlan shook his head but couldn’t otherwise reply.
“It’s always bad the first time. You stay here, we’ll clear the building. Clean yourself up.”
The man talked like it was ordinary. Like killing a child and her family was just fine.
Arlan waited until he could hear the sounds of his Leader trumping back upstairs, and pulled the yellow sticky out of his pocket.
“Arlan, run.”
Surely this was meant for him? How many people called Arlan would find themselves in that abandoned apartment before the paper glue lost its stickiness? Not many. They said that Hawk’s stickies were always put in the most impossible places with the best timing. If this really was a sticky from Hawk, it could mean Arlan might actually escape the Agency and not be killed.
The Team Leader’s voice barked orders from inside.
If Arlan chose to run, now was the best time. He had two choices. Stay in the Agency and kill more innocent people because they chose not to be conscripted, or run and have a chance at freedom, even if it was short-lived.
He stuffed the sticky in his pocket, dropped the auto assault rifle from his vest-clip, and started running.
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
youtube
Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared
The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!
#ACLA24#ACLA24Leaders#youtube#youtube video#climate leaders#climate solutions#climate action#climate and environment#climate#climate change#climate and health#climate blog#climate justice#climate news#weather and climate#environmental news#environment#environmental awareness#environment and health#environmental#environmental issues#environmental justice#environment protection#environmental health#Youtube
16K notes
·
View notes
Text
Febuwhump Day 12 (“Can you hear me?”): Shades of the Calamity
ao3 link here
When the old man— King Rhoam Bosphoramus Hyrule, as he was apparently called, a name he was already forgetting— revealed himself to Link, he was more surprised by the fact that he was a King than the fact he was a spirit. He wasn’t the only one he’d met on the Great Plateau after all.
The wilderness he’d first stepped out into had been empty, but as he got closer to the ruins downhill, he started to see them. Ghostly figures, spirits clinging to the world, even a century after their deaths. The Temple of Time had the most, still hiding away from the decaying guardians surrounding the ruined building. Some of them cowered, repeating their last moments, burning away into bone and ash before his eyes before flickering back into their previous state. The others seemed to carry on as if they were still alive, walking through the ruins, passing through him without ever seeming to notice.
When he left the Plateau, he expected to keep seeing them, but he couldn’t have predicted the sheer number of spirits he saw as he made his way to the Duelling Peaks. Soldiers wearing shining plate armour patrolled the road. Merchants, carrying heavy bags of various materials took the same route as him and spectral horses passed through him, the sound of their hooves clacking against paved stone streets that no longer existed. Occasionally he saw the spirits of children, curiously staring at him as he made his way east.
Kakariko was blessedly empty. Out of the corner of his eyes he would occasionally spot shadowy figures watching him from the roofs, but nothing else. Impa explained the events of a century ago to him, and gave him directions to Hateno, which he gladly accepted. He didn’t mention seeing spirits. It felt like it would hurt more than it would help, telling anyone that people they might have known still lingered in the physical world, unable to move on for whatever reason.
The horse he had tamed and registered at the stable was dependable and steady, and they made it down the hillside in good time. He’d asked around at Kakariko, and it reportedly took around five hours to reach Hateno Village with a horse going at a steady speed. Glancing up at the sky, where the sun was visibly setting, he made the quick decision to make it to the fort he’d heard about from the stable and stop to spend the night there, before continuing on to Hateno.
The swampy ground he’d seen before quickly gave way to an open plain riddled with rusting weapons and moss-coated Guardian remains as he followed the road ahead of him. The sounds of the wildlife fell away as well, the distant sounds of horses and the rustling of the grass as small creatures moved through it fading into a solemn silence, more like a graveyard than anything else. It made Link tense up, as if he was about to be attacked. He began eying the Guardians around him, part of him worried that they would suddenly burst to life and attack him, even knowing the route he took must be a well-travelled one. His horse must have sensed his discomfort, speeding up slightly, before suddenly breaking into a frantic gallop, only stopping when they made it through the gate of the crumbling fort that stood between two high cliffs.
He could see why a fort was built here, he thought as he calmed the horse and started to set up his camp just past the walls. The location was easily defensible and any enemy would have to attack across the open plain, making them easy targets. It was clear to see that even during the Great Calamity the fort had managed to stay strong, the graveyard of guardians not reaching past the thick stone walls. Starting a campfire and searching through his bag for some good ingredients for dinner, Link settled down for the night.
It was around midnight, the pale moon shining down from a sky littered with stars, when he was woken. First came the whispers, quiet and curious, slowly surrounding him where he lay. Then came the lights, slowly glimmering into existence, taking the forms of figures as his bleary eyes opened. He saw transparent soldiers around him, some whole with their shining armour and gleaming weapons, some injured, their armour damaged and dented, some missing limbs or with wounds that cut across their bodies. One, oddly without a helmet or the plate armour of the others, was keeling by his feet, his head bowed.
“I always wondered what had happened to you….”
Link jolted back at that, the recognition from the spirit shocking him. All the ones he’d seen before other than the old King had never directly acknowledged him, at most watching quietly as he passed them. Then the spirit looked up, and Link suddenly found himself looking into his own face, transparent and pale against the shadows of the night.
“You can hear me?”
@febuwhump
#legend of zelda#loz#the legend of zelda#botw#breath of the wild#botw fanfic#botw fanfiction#loz fanfic#my writing#febuwhump#febuwhump 2023
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
HEY!!!! I read your kakashi x reader in which kakshi takes care of tired reader and it was *chef’s kiss* so i was thinking if you could a kakashi x reader in which the reader gets poisoned during a mission. They get a small scratch so it does not work quickly. So when they get home, they start to feel a bit dizzy and then start coughing up blood LOTS of blood ( if you don’t mind). So kakashi gets worried and takes them to the hospital. When they get there tsunade tells them it is a rare type of poison so they will need a day or two to make the antidote. So the reader is in pain and coughing up blood. Kakashi tries their best to comfort them. Sorry it is long. Feel free to ignore it. Sorry for bad english. THANK YOU ✨
[Kakashi Hatake X Reader] Unbearable
Pairing: Kakashi Hatake x gn!Reader
Note: Firstly, I'm glad that you like that piece, anon:D and your idea is fantastic!!! Okay, this one is a bit longer than what I usually write for, probably around 2,000 words. It's a mix of angst and fluff, the ending is fluffy though. And I didn't know what to name this one either:D Without further ado, please enjoy!
You pushed the door open, exclaiming happily when you finally got to sniff the familiar scent of his signature dishes, “I’m home, Kakashi!”
“How was your mission, love?” Wiping his palms on a handkerchief, he lifted his eyes from the pan to quickly examine if you had any injuries.
“Absolutely successful! We captured and brought the rebels back for investigation. My captain will be reporting it to the Hokage so I’m off for now!” You made your way next to him in the kitchen, pulling off your gloves in the process, “What are you making?”
Kakashi went off talking about the dishes he was preparing for your dinner but your mind turned fuzzy in the middle of his sentence. You lost your balance and tumbled backward as your sight blurred, not able to see anything clearly. With his quick reflex, the Copy Ninja caught you by your forearm and guided you to the floor, constantly asking if you were okay. Kakashi’s visible eye widened, brows furrowing as his hands roamed to search for any injuries that his eyes did not catch. You had no fatal wounds except for several scratches here and there, and he could sense your depleted chakra level. Lifting your body up in his arms, he whispered as he carried you to your shared bedroom, “You probably overused your chakra again. You should be back to normal tomorrow after a good rest.”
You sprawled tiredly in your bed, having no appetite for a meal and Kakashi respected it, he knew when it came to reviving a Ninja’s chakra, nothing would be able to beat some decent sleep. He let you stay by yourself for a few hours and went to finish his reports, returning to check on you once in a while. When he was finally done with work, Kakashi quietly slipped under the blanket on his side of the bed, carefully scooted closer to your warmth, hugged you close, and peacefully closed his eyes. In the middle of the night, you were woken up by the burning sensation that coursed through your entire body and a terrible headache, having just enough time to flip onto your side in case you would vomit right then and there. And you suddenly coughed, your throat was torn when the crimson liquid spattered onto the white tiles, bled your shirt, and dripped down from your chin. Being a light sleeper, the silver-haired immediately shot up from his pillow, switched the lights on, and scrambled down to the ground. You were trembling for the time being, and within a split second, Kakashi scooped your motionless body in his arms, rushing for the hospital.
He knew for sure that you were poisoned given the symptoms that were starting to surface. The hospital workers were greatly intimidated by the threatening aura that he sent, still hugging you tight as he brought you to the operation room himself. You continued to cough in his arms, and he did not mind his turtleneck being covered entirely by your blood. Tsunade arrived with a hurried disposition, and Sakura followed close behind her lead. Kakashi immediately reported your condition to the Fifth Hokage, grimacing when he saw blood pooling on the hospital bed as the Medic’s chakra slowly entered your body. He fought to retain himself—to not sprint to your side and cradle you tight, to not bring his hand up and wipe the blood staining the corner of your lips. It was all too much to him to see you panting in agony—
“Sakura,” the blonde Medic commanded, “set up for poison extraction. Get three more people.”
The pink-haired left the room after her teacher’s assignment, fleeting on her feet when she saw your tightly shut eyes and Kakashi’s scary expression as though he was going to burn the place down. Tsunade turned to the Copy Ninja, who was leaning against the wall with a visible eye that settled a tone darker, and called, “Kakashi, I need you to hold Y/N down when I extract the poison.”
He shuddered, unsure if he would still be able to maintain the last bit of composure left. The silver-haired found it impossible to remain himself when came to your safety, but he padded to your side, shaking hands reaching out to the pale face of yours. The Godaime assured him that everything would be okay and the man took a deep breath, moving his palms to rest on both of your shoulders as the rest of the team arrived, getting to work the second they passed the door. Kakashi held onto your upper body and arms, pinning you down onto the bed when the blonde started to focus chakra on her hands. “It’ll hurt, make sure Y/N stays still,” she said before the glowing green entered your body.
Kakashi could feel his sweats running cold against his temple, his uncovered eye fixed on Tsunade's hands, periodically glancing back at your face to make sure that you were fine. His grip on your wrists was tight but not bruising, fearing that it would add to the pain that you were already enduring from the poison. The Copy Ninja had his other forearm across your shoulder blades, pressing your torso in place as the Medic worked diligently. It hurt and you yelped, shrieking from the pure pain every time her chakra seeped inside. Kakashi was restless, biting on his own lips to halt himself from releasing his grasp and hug you tight. Your eyes turned dull when Tsunade finally got the last bit of poison out of your system, heavily placing your head back onto the damp pillow as the silver-haired wiped the sweats on your forehead. When all of you thought it was over, things took a different turn—for worse.
Pain suddenly shot through your body, and you started to cough more vigorously than earlier, blood covered the white sheets of the hospital bed. The whole room turned their attention back on your figure, your eyelashes fluttered, wincing when you felt the tiniest bits of your muscles being squeezed and ripped apart. Kakashi stepped back when he looked at his hands smeared by your blood, and grimaced, “… Didn’t you get the poison out already?”
The Medic furrowed her brows, examining the extract she got in a test tube, “It’s my first time seeing this type.”
Kakashi went feral, “How long?”
The sounds of your coughs filled the quiet atmosphere of the operation room. Every ticking of the clock seemed too audibly loud each passing second the blonde observed the Copy Ninja’s face. She eventually sighed and turned to the exit, “I’m not sure. It will take a while for us to create the antidote.”
“You can’t leave Y/N suffering like this, Lady Tsunade,” he breathed out laboriously, “I can’t.”
Kakashi’s words left his lips like a desperate plea as he stared at the ground. Tsunade shut her eyes to summon enough vigor to walk out of the room. Sakura hesitantly left shortly after, silently closing the door after sending her former sensei a sympathetic look. With shaking legs that were almost unable to hold him up, the silver-haired made his way to a chair beside your bed, tracing his thumb across your lips to wipe the bloodstain away. As a Shinobi, he was too accustomed to seeing open wounds and deep gashes—too familiar with his body covered in blood after a mission, especially when he got injured. But seeing you in this state made him crumble in dejection and turmoil.
“Kakashi,” your inaudible whisper pulled him out of his deep thoughts, “what if I…”
Before you were able to finish your sentence, Kakashi hushed you with a sign as he pulled the blanket up to your chest, “Don’t say anything, love. I’m not going to let you…” And he trailed off, finding it hardly possible to continue what he was saying. You were still in pain, forehead scrunched up to restrain the groans from eliciting, tight fists hidden under the cover because you did not want him to be more distressed than he already was. Kakashi slouched his back, head dropping into his palms, cursing under his breath, “I should’ve come with you, should’ve been more careful, should’ve gotten you to the hospital sooner. I-I’m sorry, Y/N… Please, please just be okay.”
His words fell apart, slipping past his lips muffled and croaked. It had been a long while since he last felt the wet droplets tittering on the edge of his lash line—range and misery boiled in his veins as he swore to himself this would be the last time he would see you like this for as long as he was alive. He did not dare to look at you, not when he had to helplessly witness his dearest person suffering. Your breathing decelerated, the sweats beading your hairline and neck had long evaporated, and you fell asleep between his soft whispers, exhausted and drained.
Every hour passed with dread for everyone. Each time Tsunade came back to check on you set up a thin wall of hope but it all shattered shortly when she shook her head and withdrew out of the room. You were coughing less, but that did not ease the Copy Ninja because you were shriveling impossibly lifeless. You could not swallow whatever food they supplied, only able to intake water and intravenous fluid. It was after lunch when Tsunade knocked on the door—two days since you were brought to the hospital, one day since you went unconscious—and Kakashi went to slide it open for her. No longer displayed a hopeful expression, he could not bear the disappointment and emptiness from the Medic’s shake of her head. But this time, Tsunade came with good news.
“We found the antidote.”
A single sentence from the blonde levitated the somber atmosphere that was clouding Kakashi’s mind. A contented smile found its way across his lips—though covered by the mask, Tsunade could clearly see his pupil dilating and the furrow between his brows starting to slowly vanish. With a quick move, she injected the solution into your arm with Kakashi watching closely, not letting any details went unnoticed.
“The fever should be gone after lunch, I’m not quite sure when Y/N will wake up though. That depends on an individual’s ability to recover.” She stated, “You two take care.”
The silver-haired thanked the Godaime and shut the door after she had left for several seconds. Then, he went back for a quick shower—the last thing he wanted was you worrying for his enervated appearance after two days without rest—not forgetting to plant a kiss on your forehead before leaving. When he returned, Kakashi brought a basket of fresh fruits with him, carefully peeling oranges and placing them on a plate for you in advance. He even went as far as bringing your pillow because you would be staying for another few days, and he wanted to make you feel comfortable. After checking over everything, he leaned his head back and closed his eye, stealing a quick nap with your hand in his—so he would know when you wake up.
The moment your eyes fluttered open, you quickly scanned the room, and your gaze settled on the very Hatake sleeping peacefully, then to his fingers intertwining yours. You let out a soft breath, “Thank you, Kakashi.”
------------------
Taglist: @dai-tsukki-desu @thenightfallingstar @iam-gaaras-loveintrest @animepickle7
#kakashi x you#kakashi x y/n#kakashi imagines#kakashi hatake x you#kakashi hatake x reader#kakashi fluff#kakashi x reader#kakashi hatake#kakashi angst
489 notes
·
View notes
Text
Time heals (sometimes) - 1
Summary: 6 years ago, (Y/N) thought that she was finally taking her life into her hands, leaving behind a toxic and abusive relationship with a man who taught her she’d never be worthy of love. However, it became hard to ignore his words when she met her seven soulmates who rejected her without even giving her a chance to prove herself. It took (Y/N) 3 years to realize that it wouldn’t be her end. She would live on to prove them all wrong; she would become what they all thought she wasn’t: someone worthy of love. And as she stands proudly on the stage, under the burning spotlights and the applause and the cries of the delirious crowd, she feels alive. Alive, just like the bond she believed to be broken.
Pairings: Y/N x OT7
GENRE: Soulmate AU!, Idol Y/NAU!, semi social-media AU!, ANGST (mainly), fluff, romance, maybe smut in the series.
Ask or comment to be tagged!
1.5k
Warnings: The series is going to be heavy with a lot of personal experiences mixed into the fiction, so this is going to be kind of therapeutic for me. Please, consider not reading the series if you are not comfortable with: abandonment issues, anxiety, panic attacks, depression, self-harm (not descriptive and only part of MC’s past), suicide thoughts (in the past), toxic behavior, toxic and abusive relationship (in the past), depreciating self-talk and low self-esteem, a lot of curse, physical and mental pain, near death experience situation (in the past), and maybe smut scenes (happy ending though, but it will probably be quite the ride).
NOTE: So hello everyone, welcome to Time Heals (sometimes). Thank you so, so much for the warm welcoming, it has been my first time getting so many asks, I was honestly overjoyed. I still don’t really know what to call this part; is it a teaser? A note? A full chapter? I believe we’ll get some snapshot of memories like this one throughout the series because there is going to be a lot to unpack on both sides. I think it will be a chapter nevertheless because I have to establish some kind of order as to which parts should be read first, and I think this one is extremely important.
Thank you for reading,
-Dolly
Profiles #2 - here - part 2
Her scream pierced through the air while cries broke in the frenzied arena while a single blond-haired man froze, emptily staring at the stage. It felt like his senses heightened; his skin was shuddering, his eyes were frantically searching for one specific figure while his voice was lost in his throat. The screams resonating in the stadium would have been too loud for his voice to be heard anyway.
Jimin knew he shouldn’t be there.
Namjoon had told them more than once that none of them should try to go to one of (Y/N)’s events. It could be dangerous and they could be overwhelmed; anything could happen to them and they would still remain a nobody who fainted in the howling crowd. Would they want to take this risk? No.
So, Jimin would have had to admit that going to her very first concert in Seoul since the pandemic sounded like a very, very, very bad idea. And to be honest, it still didn’t seem to be a bright idea now that he was actually there.
But he still went because he needed to see her for himself; to see how she was. He had so many things he dreamed about asking her. Are you okay? Are you sleeping well? Did you eat before coming to the arena? Are you nervous? Do you... remember me?
Maybe he was torturing himself. He kept on watching her lives, following her on all social media, always made sure to leave a sweet comment, and never miss any of her new updates... Maybe he even had a folder of pictures of her on his phone but he’d never admit it to any of his mates. Taehyung would probably take his phone away from him and delete everything and Jimin couldn’t let that happen.
He felt like it was cheating. Don’t take him wrong though. When he thought that, he was not really thinking about the boys. They did collectively agree not to follow her activities as an artist but it was getting harder and harder with how popular she got anyway. Moon was everywhere. In commercials, on the radio, her songs were on the TV… Even if she was known for refusing most of the promotional contracts that were offered to her, her image was still constantly in the media despite her avoidance of it. Ironic, but the media were trying their best to find anything about her, be it positive or negative. One day she was seen on her bike, the next, she was in a coffee shop, and it kept on going on, overstepping on her privacy as if it was just a meaningless word.
The lockdown had admittedly played a major part in Jimin’s obsession. Being in their apartment meant quickly running out of activities, and his job as a dance teacher was not really filling his free time (a lot of his classes were also canceled). It was also during that time that (Y/N) truly blew up as an independent artist. Advertisement on YouTube started being around her channel and her music, the recommendations he kept on seeing were about also her… Jimin’s resolve honestly broke easily. It was hard not to be curious about his lost soulmate even though he didn’t feel like he had the right to be hurting.
Anyway, to come back to his main point, if Jimin felt like he was cheating; it was mostly for her. After all, (Y/N) had no means of letting the curiosity get the best of her, to know what they were doing; to simply see or contact them. He had, at first, not really thought about that. Watching her content seemed a very innocent thing to do in his opinion; billions of people were watching her content, why should he prevent himself from doing so? Yet, Jimin could still remember one of her live she did soon after that interview she had given on this damned radio show where she had revealed who her title track ‘TIME’ was about… She had gone live the next day-Jimin had jumped on his phone because of the notification-and one fan had asked her what would she do if she knew that her ‘ex-soulmates’ (and those words left a very sour taste in Jimin’s mind) were watching her. The question had silenced a previously restless Jimin, replacing his initial excitation with dread while a lump formed itself in his throat. He had not even noticed it; he was so focused on her live and her upcoming answer that Jimin had completely missed the sound of a glass breaking in the apartment. Jimin had been home alone, so even if had indeed heard it, he probably wouldn’t have bothered to check what had happened, thinking that the wind knocked it over or something. Jimin had been so absorbed by what he had been watching that he even got surprised a few hours later when Seokjin came home and yelled at him for breaking something when he had been clearly innocent, engrossed in (Y/N)’s live (not that he could tell his soulmates about that part, but yeah). (Y/N)’s live would always be more important than some random glass breaking again in their apartment. Every object was doomed with Namjoon living here anyway.
On her side of the screen though, (Y/N) had seemed taken aback as she had read the question and had gritted her teeth gently. She had seemed to be pondering about her answer even though a lot of people in her chat were telling her to forget about the question if it made her uncomfortable (a lot were even scolding the person who asked). Yet, sighing softly, she had looked up at the screen:
“I’d appreciate it if you could refrain from asking questions on this topic. It’s not taboo but I’d rather not remember everything that comes with it. However, to answer this-hopefully-last question about it, I’d ask them to turn off my stream and to stop watching any of my content. It would only be fair after all. I’ve been denied access to their lives six years ago, why would they get a free pass into mine now?” She had not smiled nor had she seemed hurt by her own comment, yet Jimin’s heart had shattered in pieces, unable to press the cancel button.
Her voice had slowly faded into background noise while her words had been stuck in his head.
I’d ask them to turn off my stream and to stop watching any of my content.
How could Jimin ever do that? He realized that he truly should. Namjoon would even agree with you, as ironic as it sounded for Jimin. Namjoon had been one of the most adamant ones about rejecting your bond, after all. Jimin was shaking with bitterness while ‘Moon’ continued her stream peacefully with music. Jimin could only try to gulp his anger down as he remembered her crumbling features on that fateful day.
“You’re not our soulmates. This name on our arms means nothing to us. You are nothing to us if not a hindrance. Leave us alone.”
If Jimin could go back in time, he’d prevent Taehyung from spatting those words at her. Yet, he couldn’t do anything. Playing the scene over and over in his mind wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t change that she probably hated them. It wouldn’t change the song she made about them.
And worst of all, it wouldn’t change the fact that Jimin had let himself believe that their choice had been for the best, trying to console and reassure himself, even if he had already known that it was wrong. Tears were pooling up in his eyes even if none escaped as he finally caught a glimpse of her on the stage. Suddenly brought back to reality after his subconscious memory trip, Jimin finally connected back to the world, looking around while he was still frozen on his spot. People were still screaming around him and he wondered if he looked like an intruder. Because, after all, wasn’t that what he exactly was? She said it herself that she didn’t wish for them to watch her; so what was he doing here?
Jimin couldn’t help but stare; she looked ethereal, dressed like a queen in the middle of a sold-out arena. People were screaming her name as she yelled her infamous ‘hi people’. It was an opening sentence that Jimin heard way too many times in her vlogs and suddenly hearing it in real life seemed surreal.
Jimin could only watch in awe, entranced with her everything.
Screw the boys and what they would think once he’d be back from her concert.
He had been the one to find her six years ago anyway. He had been the one to bring her to their home six years ago, hoping for the boys to change their mind once they’d meet her.
Comments or Ask to be tagged!
Uploaded : 09/04/2021
Taglist: @sweetmoonlight9, @mickmoon, @dreamer95, @loveyoongles, @spicetouched , @jikooksgirl19, @summerevelyn , @springjade , @clevercoley, @prooteus, @sehun096rainbow, @ainsle-e, @ifyouareme, @sunshinee0-0, @fangirl125reader, @sea-nevermind-enthusiast, @atlantis-atlas, @thequeen-kat, @naajix, @skyys-universe , @sichajeon , @yukiehyukie, @amxranthinesworld , @bunzom, @potate-oh, @mawwnsterr, @ celaenaelentiyavox, @dvoz-writes , @honeybaby-94 ,
#bts#bts fanfiction#bts fluff#bts angst#bts smut#magicshopnet#author: dolly#verse: idol#verse: soulmate#soulmate au#bts soulmate au#yn idol#lot of angst#kim namjoon#kim seokjin#min yoongi#jung hoseok#park jimin#kim taehyung#jeon jungkook#namjoon x reader#seokjin x reader#yoongi x reader#hoseok x reader#jimin x reader#taehyung x reader#jungkook x reader#jimin centred#jimin pov#Angst with a happy ending
636 notes
·
View notes
Text
i. morax
Years later, the young Morax stood atop the mighty stone spears he had thrown into the sea, the taste of victory still fresh in his mouth. All the world was quiet and still, for the sun had yet to rise.
Sharp were his teeth, horns and claws, honed to a dangerous edge by the catastrophes of war. He was taller now, with fine broad shoulders and amber eyes that shone with intelligence– yet those shoulders were saddled with an unbearable heaviness, and the heart within his chest ached for a time of peace.
Morax’s thoughts wandered to the words of the archon who had raised him like a mother— she was long gone, having faded away into oblivion before the war had ever begun.
"You were right about waiting lifetimes, it seems." He murmured, face tilted upward to the cloudy sky.
War had swept over the land, robbing many of their homes, their joy and even their very lives. Archons raged against each other in a reckless struggle for power, caring not how many lives were sacrificed for their selfish goals. The peaceful land of Teyvat had become a bloodthirsty playground for these so-called gods, and no man, woman or child did not know the pain of losing something they treasured.
And sadly, Morax was no exception to this.
The living treasure he thought he had found bloomed like a glaze lily in the plains of Guili, thriving on sunshine and songs of joy. But just as true glaze lilies do when faced with strife, his treasure withered away and crumbled to dust before his very eyes, unable to withstand the ugly wounds and pain that war brought to this land. His friends laughed with him no longer, for they either perished in the conflict or became his sworn enemies.
His mouth filled with the bitter taste of regret; the war had been won, but at what cost?
“My liege!”
The sound of dragging footsteps came from behind him, and he turned to see you staggering towards him. The fearsome weapon that you used to slay countless warriors on the battlefield now served you as a crutch, and was probably the only thing keeping you from toppling off the edge of the peak.
An ugly, sick feeling wrenched in his gut when Morax realised that out of all the adepti he had appointed to fight alongside you, you were the only one left.
You were all alone, just like he was— and it was his fault.
But your face showed no expression of bitterness or anger upon seeing his face— instead, you gave a weakly smile and raised your hand into a shaky salute. “Greetings, my liege...“
Your ankle twisted from underneath you, nearly sending you sprawling headfirst into the ocean.
Morax barely managed to catch you in time before you fell. “Steady now, friend.”
Panic and worry slithered into his thoughts— was he going to have to watch all over again as someone else he cared about slipped away? “The fighting’s over now. We don’t have to worry anymore.”
Your eyelids fluttered drowsily. “Oh, I know that; I was there on the frontlines.”
“Friend.” He shook your shoulder urgently. “Please, don’t close your eyes— please.”
“I’m not dying, my liege! Just—“ You grimaced and smacked his arm lightly, wincing as you did so. “I‘m so tired. So, so..... so very tired. And sore. I want to take a warm bath and go to sleep for at least a century or two.”
“Are you sure you’re not injured?”
“I already—“ You began to answer back in an exasperated manner, but halted when you saw the expression on his face. “Alright, you can check for yourself.”
Slightly disentangling your arms from his, you held them out to the sides for him to observe. “See? Not a single scratch.”
Morax breathed a sigh of relief he didn’t realize he was holding, and instinctively his arms curled protectively around your form, pulling you into a tight embrace. “.....Thank you, friend. For being alive and unharmed.”
He had already lost so much to this pointless, useless war, and if he lost you, too.....
“....It’s nothing you need to be thanking me for.” You tucked your chin into the crook of his shoulder. “I probably look worse than I feel right now, but I’m just exhausted, that’s all— I promise.”
Morax closed his eyes and breathed deeply, his heart swelling with relief; today would not be another day of mourning and sorrow, after all. “Judging from the way you were fighting on the battlefield, I’d be surprised if you weren’t. I saw you from here.”
A slight hint of dry laughter crept into your voice. “I saw you from down there, too.”
“Is that so?”
“If I’m being quite honest, my liege, you looked quite comedic; what with your majestic horns and hair poking through those tiny holes in your hood.”
He snorted slightly and slung your arm over his shoulder, slowly hobbling with you to sit on the edge of the stone peak. “It seems you have recovered already, friend.”
“Perhaps I have.” You replied, slumped against his shoulder. “Or perhaps I’m trying to ignore the nightmares that I know will haunt me when I sleep tonight. The faces of those who have fallen, the innocent people who I’ve.....” Your voice trailed off, your fingers tentatively nudging their way into his clawed hand.
“....I know.” Morax didn’t need to ask to know exactly what you were feeling— the shame and the horror churning in your head, the tears threatening to spill over at any moment. “I know.”
“Was it worth it, my liege?”
Morax looked down, to where the people— no, your people stood.
Weary soldiers embraced each other, crying tears of joy and relief that this long battle was finally over. Some raised their eyes skyward, giving thanks for the opportunity to come home to their loved ones, while others knelt silently over the bodies of their fallen comrades to honour them as they deserved.
“....I’m not sure.” He said softly. “There was a high price to pay, but I think— I hope— that it will be worth the sacrifice. For our people to have a future where they can live without fear.”
“Then... I’ll stay by your side and aid you, so that you can reach the future that you dream of.”
Morax smiled ruefully at your words and said, “That sounds dangerously like a contract, friend. Be careful of the words you let fall from your mouth, especially around me.”
“So what if it’s a contract? Contract, promise, oath—“ You murmured, not opening your eyes. “It’s what I want to do. You aren’t forcing me or anything.”
“....Thank you, friend.”
He waited for your reply, but you remained silent, your grasp on his hand tightening ever so slightly.
“....my liege?”
“You need not call me that any longer. Just Morax is fine.”
“It feels a bit disrespectful if I don’t... Well, no promises, but I will try to remember that.” You hesitated before saying, “I- well, I actually have a somewhat odd request.”
Morax tilted his head slightly, pondering your question. “What is it that you desire, then?”
“Do you mind if... if I just rest here for a while?”
“....You may rest here for as long as you need.” Gently, he brushed some stray strands of hair away from your face. “You have done well, friend.”
A sigh of relief escaped from your mouth, and the tension in your body dissolved. “Thank you, my l....”
But before you could even finish, you were already fast asleep.
A slight smile spread across his face, and he shook his head in disbelief— it seemed that it would take some more time for you to call him by his actual name.
That day, the sun dawned on a new era for the nation of Liyue and its protectors. The people rejoiced that the war was finally over, and there was much singing and dancing to be heard all over the land.
But oddly enough, in that moment as he sat with you atop the peaks of what would become the Guyun Stone Forest— Morax did not think of the future that lay before the two of you and the responsibilities that were to come with it, nor did he reflect on the memories of the past that would haunt him for centuries to come.
He could only think of how warm you felt, resting against his shoulder, and how snugly his fingers intertwined with yours.
#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact fluff#genshin impact angst#genshin impact imagines#genshin impact headcanons#genshin impact zhongli#zhongli x reader#zhongli angst#zhongli fluff#zhongli imagines#zhongli headcanons#friends to lovers#best friends to lovers#pining#mutual pining#ok this time around I didn’t hold back on the angst#so I actually don’t know how sad this is#we’ll just have to see :D#mackerel-san if you’re reading this hi I’m very nice in your inbox but I am not nice when it comes to writing angst HAHA#tellerluna.tales#tellerluna.tales: living treasure
430 notes
·
View notes
Text
Content warnings: Death, gore, fire mentions, scars, murder, violence.
Totems of Undying are strange things. They’re warm, and will pulse in time to the heartbeat of whatever is holding them, emerald eyes glimmering even in the pure dark of the void’s absence of light. While Totems are made of gold, there is no malleability, they are as solid as bedrock. The emeralds and gold and magic have solidified into one unchangeable object until its use, and then it is gone.
They leave their mark on whatever uses them. For some this could be a prize, another thing to be proud of, because they survived the unsurvivable only through their own wits and forethought. To others it is a mark of shame, for ever having been in such a position to lose their life, even if it is only one of three.
On a specific server, there are those who have need for Totems in their long pasts, who have used them right before our eyes, and those who will surely use them in the future.
Technoblade was one such person to use one before our eyes. We saw him dragged from his home to a farce of a trial, facing justice on rigged scales for grievous cries nonetheless as he was pushed into a cage. The fall of the anvil, the crushing, crunching of a body that never seemed fragile until now when everyone witnessed its end. Then the sparkling cloud of green and yellow, bones clicking back in jigsaw puzzle pieces, the knitting of muscle and tendon and skin, and there is only a moment of paralyzing death before his heart skips a beat and he lives again. This is the prestige of his trick, no turn to raise suspense, and a pledge everyone who knew his name already was aware of, a promise and threat all in one that he always delivered on. Technoblade never dies, and he lives right now to kill again. Later he will be in his quaint cottage in the merciless tundra, and his own reflection will glitter strangely back at him, forcing him to examine himself instead of resting and trying to forget the lingering aches. He will stare as the night sky leaves the window more a mirror, lantern lights low, but the flashes catch his eyes anyway. His tusks, once white and bone, now seem to be fully made of gold. He taps one with his hoof, and feels the pressure reverberating subtly down into his jaws, as real as before. With a shrug, he moves his hoof away, only to watch as pink fur and skin split against the now razor sharp point of his tusks. Those tusks will remain as gilded as any enchanted apple, and as sharp as any netherite sword, until one day he will fail his audience, his pledge a battle cry he brings to one or more of his graves.
Quackity would covet a Totem in all of his paranoia, his fear of death and pain and losing even more than he already has. If he died, be it by pickaxe or nuke or strangling, desperate hands, the Totem would bring him back all the same. And all of his scars would ache in their newfound golden hue, shining and standing out even more as a testament to his inability to protect himself or what he loves. The scars would hurt, old and new, in warning of dangers to come. It only partly calms his paranoia, the fear ever present and simmering in the background of his mind, waiting to boil over and burn him.
When Tubbo or Tommy use their Totems of Undying they will appear unharmed. It is not until they bruise that it becomes obvious. A small bump against the corner of furniture, a tumble while out exploring the wild, a sharp elbow to the face, the blunt side of a weapon, they bruise the skin, blossoming into purples and dark indigos. They fade far too quickly, as if someone splashed healing potions on them. Yet then they stay at that disquieting green and yellow stage, where the next day it could appear as if they were never there, but they stay, shimmering slightly in the wrong lighting, still hurting as much as if they were fresh even weeks later. Only fading when forgotten about, and they have wonder if the bruise was ever there. If only they had Totems when they died before. Tubbo’s face would be a mess of bruised gold that would seep into the skin until only pink scar tissue remained, a starburst remnant of a festival’s fireworks, but he would still be alive, gasping for air and hunched over in that box, on that stage, but alive. Tommy would have handprint bruises around his neck, across the break in his nose, the imprint of a fist against his cheek that had whipped his head back too far, his neck slamming at the worst angle against the harsh obsidian walls. But he would have been alive, clawing his way back into life, latching his own hands around his killer’s throat, finishing the job, doing what should have been done instead of daring to imprison a dream.
George passes out if he uses a Totem. Instead of the rush of adrenaline, of life that floods the system of whatever uses one, it overwhelms to the point of just unconsciousness as his body repairs itself, fueled only by magic until his heart begins pumping and his lungs begin breathing again. Later when he wakes, maybe with cracked sunglasses, anyone who’s looking properly will see the dark bags under his eyes, a sheen of gold overlaying the dark purple of sleeplessness. When he sleeps it will be deeper, without dreams. Alarms and shaking won’t wake him. Nights will be sleepless as he examines the bags under his eyes, fretting over the burnt orange of the gold deepening, digging into his skin, around his eyes. He will continue to sleep, but days will pass, and when he wakes he wonders if next time he will simply be unlucky and sleep forever.
If Dream uses a Totem of Undying it will shatter him. He will feel every bone shake themselves into dust and back again, a glimpse of what everyone eventually returns to. His spine will burn with pain, arcing upwards to the base of his skull, spreading outwards like a deep set rot that always goes unnoticed until it is far too late and the structure crumbles. His mask shatters, likely from the final strike that killed him, but maybe just from his fall to the ground, a person one moment and a corpse the next, until the Totem brings him back. Gold lines every crack in the porcelain of his mask, across the monochrome of the glaze burned into it, bisecting an eye, a smile, a face. The green of him becomes so much more vibrant, deadly, similar to prey animals that evolve into their bright colors to indicate they are poisonous, saying if you kill me, I take you down with me.
If Niki ever uses a Totem, it would burn. She would feel it burning, more than the all encompassing pain of whatever killed her. Bright, sparking pain would race down her body, through every nerve, every blood vessel, until it was all she knew for that brief suspended moment on the precipice between life and death. She would grit her teeth through the pain, eyes narrowed as she reeled back from the magical force, only to march onward in doing whatever was necessary to achieve her goal. Later she would be looking at her hands, washing off blood real or metaphorical, and see that instead of chipping nail polish in whatever color of her choice, instead her nails would be intact, a brilliant gold. Nails that would make her appear vain, still absorbed with one final thing, or simply clinging to it. Nails that would sharpen into what some might call claws, digging into the fine wooden handles of her weapons, scoring lines that would never go away, even if the nails would upon her death.
If Hannah ever uses a Totem of Undying it will react strangely to her innate magic. Plants die off, withering away, leaving just the roots, the basis of their whole survival, to lie in wait underground until the rain falls again and the sun shines again. Any of her wounds will bloom with roses, the flowers ragged, shaped like bloodstains, but every leaf and petal will be edged with gold. The greenery of her roses’ vines will brighten and soak up sunshine more than ever, revitalizing her until her heart aches with it, until she finally lets fate claim the life stolen from it.
If Puffy ever uses a Totem of Undying, she wouldn’t notice side effects at first, aside from the usual anguish and pain from having died. The likely conflicts she had thrown herself into out of duty would capture her attention anyway, away from examining herself for any lingering problems. It wouldn’t be a problem anyway, not until she looked in the mirror and saw that all of her greying hairs from stress became gold, her mass of curls even heavier, no lock of hair without its reminder, its own thread of gold to weave into thick hair. Later, in a moment of true rest, when someone runs their hands through her hair, braiding it or simply trying to calm her, they would find that every golden thread burns and tries to tie itself around their hands, keeping them there, keeping them at her side where they could be safe.
If Antfrost or Fundy ever use a Totem, it settles on their skin like a weighted blanket, forcing their muscles to accommodate, forcing them to make room in their lives for the extra chance they stole. Later, when they rest, so much more tired with their aching bodies, they will curl up in the sunshine wherever they feel safest. When the sunlight catches just right, beige or burnt orange fur glimmers like a pelt of gold. Any breeze would be unable to rustle fur, their bodies motionless and unmovable as any statue, their breathing far shallower and subtler than ever before. If one wasn’t watching close enough, they’d assume there was a corpse just curled in the sunlight, begging for a final bit of warmth before letting go. They will start awake from nightmares with a hiss, and stretch out in the dying light to go pretend like they don’t feel that extra life weighing on them.
Phil only has one life to lose, and so he holds Totems close to his heart, always just one movement away from being clutched as the lifelines they are. When he’s killed holding one, wings splayed, feathers falling from the force of his death, mouth open and choking on last breaths, his death will hurt. It will always hurt, the moment stretching through his lived centuries and snapping back into the present, so much life to flash before his eyes that they are rendered sightless and glassy, death clouding them greedily. Flashes of gold and emerald green dance on the sheen of inky feathers and glossy eyes as dead as a doll’s. When he lives again, his wings will no longer be the cape of shadows, the midnight extensions of self that they once were. His secondary feathers will be golden now, shining in the sun, always growing back that same shade. Those gilded feathers will just be another thing his murder of crows hoards, another shiny object, but to Phil it will be a permanent reminder of how he has always only had one life, and how fleeting it is.
If Wilbur got his hands on a Totem, he would never let it go. To die again and again and again, to suffer through the agony of an eternal listless limbo, to suffer again as he is replaced by a mockery of himself… he could not stand for it. So he never lets go of the Totem in hand, his thumb worrying over the facets of its emerald eyes when he thinks, nails breaking against the rigid golden effigy. There are many reasons he would die, several from his own actions, as it was before. If he did die, he would wake choking on blood and tears, hacking and wheezing and lacking all the grace and charm he once had. It wouldn’t be until he coughed once again into his hands that he would see his blood, no longer a dull red, now glimmering and golden. And he laughs, as he now resembles a god in all but the immortality, his blood turned to ichor in its molten sunlight, its deep dark shades of beauty and riches, and he keeps choking on his blood as the Totem works still to restore a body dead for the fourth time.
When Ranboo uses a Totem of Undying the magic will seep into his skin, counteracting strangely with his biology, trying to strengthen him, trying to mark him however it can. So the short black velvet of fur he received from enderman genetics will spread, the skin and fur stronger, in hopes of protecting him. It seeps like ink, a slow spread that burns as if trails of water settled on his skin. It hurts, and he hides for days, coming out with his green eye just a bit brighter, black crawling up the white side of his jaw like an outstretched hand. His own hand will reach out, and under the white skin on his forearm will be golden veins, burning with life stolen from a Totem. He forgets using Totems every time he does, the experience is so jarring and intense as it changes the fiber of his being, as with every use he appears more enderman than whatever else he is. One day, far in the future when he goes by another name, he will look in the mirror and see two emerald green eyes, his entire body the black void of fur his endermen kin have.
Foolish is a being whose entire being had always been defined by death. Once, it was the carnage, the lives lost in droves, sent into Her embrace prematurely in their violent ends. Then Foolish changed and became a Totem of Undying himself, a god now more mortal than even he knew by resisting his domain. When he died the denial was almost too much to bear, the Egg trying to worm its way into his mind when it realized this weakness, a grief for what he lost. If he dies again, he will likely have a Totem in hand, maybe even one of his children, held close as he fears an end, selfishly cannibalizing the life force of one of his own in order to extend his last two lives. There will be no markings from the Totem. He is already one of them, eyes of gemstone and skin of metal, created and made of that space between life and death, the lull after a last heartbeat when the next is expected, the resting note in the song of life that he has conducted himself, has cut short himself, destroying all in his path without a single goal in mind in his times as a Totem of Death. There is no scar or blood or feathers or bruise to mark him, because he is a Totem. A Totem given sentience and life, given free will and thought, but at the end of the day a living doll, and the now lifeless, apathetically terrified look in Foolish’s emerald eyes is enough to show just what measures he took in order to survive another death.
#dreamsmp#dream smp#dsmp#technoblade#tommyinnit#tubbo#mcyt#wilbur soot#philza#nihachu#antfrost#fundy#dreamwastaken#foolish gamers#dreamsmp headcanons#headcanons#headcanon#hannahxxrose#georgenotfound#quackity#ranboo#ranboolive#foolishgamer#death tw
62 notes
·
View notes
Text
Corruption......part TWO!!!
Part one is here!!
At this rate we’ll just do all the genshin characters because GOD I love this trope and y’all apparently do as well.
Characters: Venti, Lisa, Razor, Hu Tao, Qiqi, Rosaria
He hates Dragonspine. The snowy mountain only brings him sadness and pain. It serves as a reminder of a horrific battle that would end with his dear friend in pain and susceptible to suggestions of the abyss.
Anxiety consumed him when you told him you were off to the mountain, but he smiled and waved you off anyway. He regrets that.
There was a pain in his chest, fingers hovering above the strings of his harp as he stops in the middle of a song.
Without another word he started running, running to the mountain he hated.
It was up at the top of the mountain he found you. Kneeled down in the snow, clutching your head as something dark pulsed through your body. Tears fell. You were hurting.
Without his Gnosis, Venti’s power is limited. But he’ll be damned to leave you in this state. Taking a step forward, you turn at the crunch in the snow. Frantic like a cornered animal.
Kneeling before you, hands raise to gently cup your cheeks. He sees the pain on your expression. You’re frightened, much like Dvalin was when you first arrived in Monstadt.
“With the last of my divine strength, let me share in this curse...”
The tips of his braids started glowing, and the boy’s form changed. Wings grew, and he was now dressed in white. However, all of that soon vanished, crumbling away as the darkness that haunted you moved over to the former archon.
Thoughts started becoming clearer, and recognition returned to your eyes. Venti...what was he doing?
Winds dying down, you stared at the other as he breathed heavily, still holding your face so gently as he panted.
“You, who have traveled the stars, also have your limits...” He forced out. Lifting his head, he smiled, despite the purple crack crawling across his face. “...but perhaps in a smaller dose, this hatred can be healed by your spirit...”
With the cursed blood split between the two of you, Venti helped you down the mountain. Windrise would help cleanse the last bits of corruption from you both.
How curious Lisa was. She wanted to know the truth of this world, but once she saw the madness that quest for knowledge cursed those around her, she gave up.
If the price of knowledge is the well being of others, it is best to remain ignorant.
Now, she’d use all her knowledge and power to save you. The witch was quite knowledgeable of legends of Monstadt, and the curse of Durin was no different.
That hatred radiating off of you was familiar. When you brought that corrupted tear drop crystal, that felt the same as you do now.
“Looks like I’ll have to play rough...”
Spell circles appeared at both her and your feet. The snowy clouds turned dark and pitch black. Lightning flashed, crashing down where you stood.
Identifying the woman as the source, you charged towards her.
But you couldn’t even get close. Thunder roared, and the air itself seemed to be filled with electro.
This type of powers was almost unimaginable. Lisa may have forsaken the title of “grand mage”, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t still qualified for it.
With all of her magic, a bolt of lightning finally struck it’s might upon your form.
The scream you let out pained the woman’s heart, but the fight was over. Rushing to your side, she kneeled down, lifting your head to rest on her lap. Gently, her hand stroked your hair.
Lisa hated work, but she’ll work as hard as she needs to in order to heal you.
He doesn’t understand what’s happening.
Razor followed you to the mountain, met a mysterious blond boy, and you got some weird sword. The more you battled, the more you changed.
He was scared, but couldn’t find the words to express his concern. You assured him you were alright, but he never believed it.
One night, a blizzard raged across the mountain. The two of you rushed into a cave for shelter. Strangely, the cave seemed to radiate warmth. Razor looked at the white hail outside, calling your name. When you didn’t answer, he turned around.
You started at a large red...thing, in the back of the cave. Razor didn’t like it. If it wasn’t for the blizzard he would suggest leaving. But then something else happened.
You lunged at the wolf boy, slashing the cursed sword towards him. He gasped, quickly dodging.
“Please, calm!” He shouts. “Why attack?!”
You weren’t listening, charging once again.
This was so bad. Survival came first, that’s what his head told him. But you were his lupical, and you were in pain... He could see it in your eyes, and the unnatural cracks in your skin.
Razor wanted to protect his lupical. So he had to think. This started when you entered the cave. No...before that. When you got the sword.
Static pricked on his skin, his sword clashing against your own. With a growl, electro burst forth from his blade.
You were slammed into the wall of the cave. Razor was fast, roaring as he drove his weapon into Festering Desire. The piercing gaze of the gem cracked, and you let out a gasp.
Slumping down, you were out cold. Nothing Razor did would wake you up.
Positioning you on his back, he would run down to the city. Through the storm and over the hills, he needed you to be okay.
Dragonspine was a good source of business for Hu Tao. Foolish adventurers who believed they could conquer nature often lead to their own downfall.
Sometimes, she goes out there herself, knowing that there are bound to be bodies and spirits that have been lost for years. The pyro spirit that followed her kept her warm as well as helped to locate the corpses. But this time, it found something else.
Something else caught her attention. A disgusting energy. But it was you.
You rushed to slash at the girl, and Hu Tao dodged. This was unlike you and she knew it.
“Trying to send me off, hm?” She called to no response. Any sense of teasing was lost. This was serious. “I see...” Eyes drifted down to the weapon you held.
Twirling her spear, Hu Tao prepared herself for a fight. “Sorry, y/n. No discounts today.” She would take you back alive.
As the fight went on, the cold was starting to get to her. How long have you both been out on the mountain? This needed to end, and soon.
Summoning her blazing spirit, she swung it around and hit you. It burned, and you stumbled backwards.
Hu Tao was running at you, before vanishing for a moment. In that single moment, the blazing spirit appeared from nowhere, screeching into your face.
Something grabbed your wrist, turning, you saw the girl you were fighting.
“Boo~” She said with a grin, knocking the sword from your hand and holding you down.
Vision began to blur, and all you remember is a calm, forgiving warmth...
Someone who made Qiqi not mind the warmth was now so cold.
The energy created from the sword you were given wasn’t good. She didn’t like it, and yet Qiqi was unable to tell you.
You were hurt, attacking everything in sight. Somehow, that felt familiar, as if sparking a memory.
Qiqi didn’t want you to be sealed. So she would help you now.
With her orders received, she jumped into action.
Even when you were marked with her talisman, the battle was difficult. The strength radiating off of you was almost overwhelming. But Qiqi felt if she didn’t save you now, you would be destroyed.
It was dangerous, but Qiqi unleashed the adeptal powers within her. Snow and ice raged around you two, and the small child rushed forward once again. She slashed at your hand, the evil sword sent flying.
You gasped, turning to retrieve your weapon when someone stopped you.
Small arms wrapped around your legs. They were cold, but shockingly strong.
“Qiqi loves you the most.” The girl spoke quietly. Those were the words used to cancel her orders. Typically spoken by Baizhu with no sincerity. But now? Qiqi means those words with all of her heart.
The adepti power helped to clear your mind, and soon your eyes fell heavy, along with your body. Now passed out, Qiqi would drag you down the mountain.
Qiqi doesn’t ask for much, but she would demand Baizhu help you once returning to Liyue harbor. She would stay by your side until you woke.
Albedo is a dead man. She doesn’t know how, but she knew this was his fault.
It can wait, though. But for now, she focused on you and you alone. If you became a threat to Monstadt, she would end you. That is what she told herself. And yet, looking at you now, she wishes to save you instead.
Rosaria was making more work for herself, it seemed.
With a tired sigh, the sister darted forward. Blades clashed against one another, and Rosaria wasn’t above underhanded tactics.
Kicking up snow into your eyes, Rosaria moved to your back, slashing hard and fast. Blood dripped onto the white snow. You were injured, so that should slow you down.
It should have, but the power possessing you didn’t care what your physical state was. You fought regardless of the blood loss. Swearing under her breath, Rosaria noted how the darkness seemed to originate from your sword.
You ran to pierce her chest, but Rosaria’s spear parried your attack, sending Festering Desire into the air. Before anything else could happen, the woman tackles you to the ground, holding the handle of her spear to your throat.
You couldn’t get up with her sitting on top of you, and the bar above your neck made it hard to breath. Senses returning, your eyes fluttered close.
With a sigh, Rosaria stood, pulling you up and onto her back.
She would head back to the city, hoping Barbra would be able to heal you properly...
#genshin impact#genshin x reader#genshin venti#genshin lisa#genshin razor#genshin qiqi#genshin rosaria#venti#lisa#razor#qiqi#rosaria#mod cake#corruption prompt
213 notes
·
View notes
Text
[2:48 PM] + hero/villain au + "we're quite a pair, aren't we?" + part 7
part 1
part 2
part 3
part 4
part 5
part 6
part 7
part 8
masterlist
a/n: 2.5k, gender neutral as always, I know I said this is the last part but i'm gonna need a couple more or else this will be too long! warnings for cursing, wooyoung being toxic, and an astrology joke because I couldn't help myself lol
-
jung wooyoung's fiery gaze is unwavering, unrelenting, and it has you frozen to your spot. you do not know whether you are terrified or in awe of the sheer power displayed before you. flames curl around him like wings, heat scorching your skin as he moves closer. despite his promises to you, to selfishly keep you alive, you think this is it. either you will stop wooyoung, or you will die trying.
a hand on your elbow pulls you out of your thoughts and back to reality. back to the screams of civilians, to the skeletons clawing themselves out from the cracks in the concrete, all headed your way at a slow, daunting speed. there are so many of them, like moths swarming a flame or those zombie movies you used to watch on movie nights with your team, with wooyoung wedged between you and san and popcorn nestled in your lap. your heart withers in your chest, but the terror the looming army of skeletons dredge up within you does not quell.
hongjoong levels you with a sincere, determined look, his voice low, "you are not going up against him alone," his fingers drop from your elbow to your hand and he squeezes it as he used to when you were both in university, "not again. not anymore."
at any other time, the show of sincerity would bring you to tears after everything, but you don't have time that. not now. instead, you give him a grateful smile before you switch gears.
"it's fine, joong. you need to find seonghwa and jongho and make sure yeo...that he's..." your heart sinks in your chest as you trail off at the thought of yeosang's fate.
"i know." hongjoong sighs, dragging a hand through his hair, before he swivels on san. they have a silent exchange, one you can't decipher, but san nods in response and hongjoong grits his teeth. hongjoong's gaze keeps flickering to wooyoung's approaching figure even as he looks between you and san.
hongjoong says, "protect each other."
you both nod. hongjoong steps back, his eyes lingering on wooyoung, before he disappears into thin air, no doubt stepping into one of the many dimensions he can flit through. he's likely already on the other side of the army to confront seonghwa. the skeleton army spreads into the city streets, like ants, aimless as they descend upon the city. you ignore the guilt surging within you as you block out the screams and cries of civilians, turning your focus entirely on wooyoung.
"you think this is poetic justice or something?"
"what?" you blink sideways at san. he cranes his neck as he stares at wooyoung, and his expression is the calmest you've seen it in a while, as if all the anger has melted under wooyoung's scorching heat. all that is left is a sad sort of resolve.
"two of the three people who love wooyoung most," san gives you a sidelong glance and a knowing half-smile, "teaming up to beat his ass into the next decade. the alliance's pr team could never set something up like this."
your heart twists at his words, but you manage a small smile back. "should you really be romanticizing a beat down, san?"
"i can't help it," san shrugs, "i'm a cancer. we romanticize everything."
you snort, and san smiles, and you know right then that you are not the only one who's resolved to stop wooyoung or die trying.
before you can say another word, flames burst up into the sky all around you, a fire wall that cuts you and san off from the rest of the city. you watch some skeletons burn to crisps before you, blackened bones clattering into the rubble, cement melting.
you hear wooyoung laugh.
then a molten piece of rubble is soaring in your direction at a speed you can barely fathom, let alone dodge.
~.~.~.~.~
you come to all at once, and you feel as if you've been hit by a truck. a burning truck made of solid metal. multiple times.
you don't have time to assess the damage, only that you know your vision is blurred and you have burns and the smell of burning skin and hair is not pleasant at all and that you're - holy shit, you're practically embedded into the side of an office building, half your body hanging in the air, unsupported. you blink away the spots in your vision, shaking the ringing in your ears, and grip a steel pipe protruding from the gaping hole you've caused and look over the side of the building to -
"- fucking asshole!"
"you've said that already."
you recognize san's shout and wooyoung's infuriatingly nonchalant response, drifting from beneath you.
you lean over and recoil at the sight of san swinging at wooyoung with a vengeance you only imagined from him until this point. wooyoung dodges each hit with ease. he knows san's fighting style, even after all these months. wooyoung and san used to train together often, alongside yeosang.
"i knew you were bad at throwing punches, but i didn't know you were this bad. heartbreak made you this soft?"
wooyoung's tone is mocking, mean. you bristle, yanking at the protruding pipe beside you. it groans in protest, but you don't have any other weapons, so a giant corporation can handle a missing plumbing pipe or two.
san lands a punch. "that one's for y/n," then san tackles wooyoung to the ground, straddling him before he lands another punch on wooyoung's face. the sickening crunch seems to echo despite the chaos in the city. san's biting words echo as well, "and that's for yeosang."
wooyoung merely laughs, "is that it? yeosang hit harder than you."
san blinks, and the silence that follows has you pausing in your attempt to wrench out the stupid pipe from the cement building.
"hit?" san's voice echoes up to you, "past tense?"
wooyoung doesn't respond. san grabs him by the collar, yanking him close to say something you can't hear from up here. you finally pull the pipe from the building, water bursting from the severed pipe and spilling over you.
whatever san says to wooyoung flips a switch in him, one that you've seen too often in that underground apartment. in the blink of an eye, wooyoung has san by the throat, fire bursting from his other palm, poised and ready for the finishing blow. you lock eyes with san over wooyoung's shoulder, even as he grips wooyoung's arm. his lips are moving, and whatever he's whispering to wooyoung has anger rolling off him in waves. you jump from the side of the building, landing right behind him as you swing at his head. the road crumbles beneath you at the force of your jump, making you miss wooyoung by an inch. he turns his fire on you and it whizzes past your head, inches from your ear. the smell of burnt hair floods your senses once more.
wooyoung meets your gaze.
your grip remains tight on the pipe in your hands, but your voice wavers when you whisper, "is yeosang...is he dead? did you kill him?"
"those are two very different questions."
"woo -"
wooyoung grabs the pipe and it starts to melt in his hands, molten metal dripping between you both. you yelp at the way it burns your hands, pulling your stinging hands away just as san lunges for wooyoung's feet. without turning, wooyoung swings the pipe straight down into san's lunging hands. the movement is too fast. the instant rotting scent of burning flesh causes you to lurch back, even as san lets out a loud scream. he phases away fast enough to avoid the brunt of it, but from the way san cradles his hand against his chest as he scoots away from wooyoung, you know the pain is bad.
wooyoung rolls his eyes, brandishing the molten pipe in his hands. "this is fucking pathetic," he eyes san in annoyance, "you're fucking pathetic."
if you hadn't known what to look for, you'd have missed the way san's shoulders deflate at the insult.
you push your way between them, blocking san from wooyoung's harsh gaze. you shove wooyoung so hard he stumbles back, his eyes widening slightly as if he'd forgotten your strength. maybe he has, since you spent months unable to use it on him. then, he turns his angry, mocking eyes on you, stepping towards you.
he tilts his head to the side, eyes boring into your face, "did that hit too close to home for you, y/n?"
your fists curl at your side. his gaze flickers to your fists. his smile is vindictive.
"you think after this, they'll let your crimes slide?"
he takes another step closer, flicks his wrist, and all you hear is san shout behind you before he is blocked off by a wall of fire. you're encircled by fire, by wooyoung, and wooyoung merely laughs once more.
you shove him away from you. his back hits the fire behind him, but it only seems to push him back into the circle. wooyoung is unaffected by the strength of your shoves, his gaze unwavering. each time you push him back, he stumbles back only to step forward. sometimes his flames push him back to his feet when you push him to close. he continues to advance on you as if your strength is nothing. as if it isn't enough.
if you wanted to, you could shove him a hundred meters into the ground or toss him into the sky, into one of the office buildings peeking over the wall of fire even. but you don't. despite everything, you can't. yeosang doesn't need to be here to speak the strength out of you. you know it, and so does he. san knows it too, you realize, and that's why he landed punches for you.
"stop it. don't come any closer." you grit out, shoving him once more.
he laughs. there is nothing amusing about it, "do i need to remind you what you've done?"
"i'll kill you, wooyoung," you stand your ground, arms raised, but your voice wavers when wooyoung steps even closer, until his chest brushes against your raised knuckles, "i swear i will."
"come on, y/n. we both know you can't," wooyoung snorts, "you can barely even hurt me. we're quite a pair, aren't we?"
"don't compare me to you. you've hurt me time and time again," you remind him, pushing him back once more, "you just threw a fucking lava rock at me."
he shrugs, "but did it kill you?"
you let out a scream of frustration, lunging at wooyoung, tackling him to the ground. you grip his tattered collar, ignoring the way his heated skin almost burns, and you raise your fist.
he says, with such ease, as if you aren't seconds away from breaking his nose, "killing me won't stop a thing. it won't stop your anger or any of the fighting. this is only the beginning, y/n. kill me now and you'll only create a martyr."
your fist shakes midair, your grip tightening around his collar. he's right. his ideologies have already found a foothold within disenfranchised communities. you could tell that much from the brief bits of news you were able to catch on television between serum injections and blank spaces. wooyoung is always fucking right.
wooyoung's eyes flicker from your raised fist to your face, and his eyes are unreadable.
his voice is the softest murmur, but his words cut right through you, "all i have to do is say the words, you know. then we can have the city by nightfall."
you can't imagine the idea of mindlessly joining wooyoung's side. after reconciling with hongjoong, yunho, mingi, and san. after yeosang risked his life to get you out. you can't fathom why wooyoung insists on making you go through that again.
you drop your fist to his collar, and you yank him up with both hands, the sound of his collar tearing further filling the silence between you both. you search his gaze for a long moment before you whisper, "why are you doing this to me?"
it's a genuine question, and for once, wooyoung appears entirely genuine as he thinks over his response. "there are two sides to every war. those who win, and those who are dead," wooyoung's eyes flicker over your features, "i don't know what i'll do if you die, so i'm picking your side for you."
his tone is quiet, an admission almost, and your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. you need to get away from him. bile rises in your throat at the thought of his words, the meaning behind it, the way a miniscule part of you still stirs at the admission. you always used to wonder how he felt about you, and when he betrayed you all, you used to lament that you were not enough to make him even consider staying. now, you're getting an admission under all the wrong circumstances and for all the wrong reasons. you continue to back away, until the heatwaves emitting from his fire wall burns at your skin, sweat dripping down your back.
wooyoung merely sits up and watches your reaction with unreadable eyes.
"you're doing this because you care about me?" your voice curls around the word care. your heart hurts.
wooyoung drags a hand through his messy hair, his gaze falling to his feet for just a moment. he nods. he appears subdued like this. vulnerable.
"that's fucked up," you whisper, "it's unfair. it's - it's -"
"i know," wooyoung says, sighing as he tugs at his hair, "i know, y/n."
his brown eyes meet yours, and he holds you in his gaze for a moment too long. your fingers curl into fists as you look away first.
"what about," you grit your teeth as you address the wall of fire behind him, "what about san? joong? mingi and yunho? you don't care if they're dead?"
"if the villain alliance needs their powers, we'll have them take the serum."
he doesn't answer your second question, and you can't help but look at him again. you can see the way your question affects him though, the tick of his jaw and the brief flicker of guilt. but his words sit heavy on your shoulders.
one day, he'll take their autonomy from them as well and you'll be forced to help.
"i hate you," you tell him.
wooyoung's voice is soft with pity, "no you don't."
jung wooyoung is always right, and you hate that most of all.
another siren breaks through the city, and you're suddenly aware of just how eerie and silent the world has become. the siren doesn't sound like anything the alliance had trained you on, the low hum of horns grating on your ears. wooyoung seems to know what it means, though, craning his neck as a small grin tugs at his lips. he brushes the dirt from his tattered clothes and flicks his wrist. the flames around you dance further into the sky.
"that's your cue," he says to you.
you shake your head in a last stand of defiance. you hope he'll listen. for once. but, he sighs, as if you are merely a child throwing a tantrum.
then he says the words and your vision spots.
you disappear.
65 notes
·
View notes
Text
Showed Up in Boots
Summary: Years ago you left Jack, unable to handle sharing him with Statesman. Now that he’s retired from fieldwork, he’s coming back to see if he has a chance.
Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Female Presenting Reader (she/her pronouns, wearing a dress. No name or Y/N used.)
Word Count: 3.2k
Rating/Warnings: A little bit of swearing. Touch of angst, bit of fluff. All that good stuff.
A/N: This kind of came to be by picturing Whiskey as the narrator of Friends in Low Places by Garth Brooks, but... well, you’ll see.
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
“I can’t do this anymore.”
“What’y’a mean?”
“This, Jack. The secrets, the days- weeks on end without seeing you, no word if you’re dead or alive. Out seducing god knows who with god knows what diseases-”
“June bug, you know I’m safe, and Statesman-”
“It’s not just that, Jack! It’s… it’s all of it.”
The silence hung heavy in the air, like the tears that clung to your lashes, sticking there before streaming down your cheeks.
“I… I don’t know how to fix this.”
“There’s nothing for you to fix. It’s my problem.”
“So what do we do then?”
His large hand was warm in yours. You could feel the calluses against your skin, further proof of the tools and the weapons he used to make a living, just reminding you of the heartache you were trying to force down. Just keep it in check long enough to make a rational decision, not an emotional one.
You gripped his hand in yours, lifting it to your lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “When… if you ever get out…”
“June bug, no-”
“I don’t see any other way, Jack.”
A deep sigh as your hearts beat brokenly, together despite the growing chasm of hurt between you.
“Will you wait for me?”
“I can’t promise that. You might never leave. You might never make it out alive.”
“You know I will. Especially if you’re waiting.”
“If that was true, I wouldn’t be leaving.”
The air was sucked out of the room. You both knew what was happening, where this conversation was leading, but that was the first time it was said out loud. You were leaving him.
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
Blame it all on my roots
I showed up in boots
And ruined your black tie affair
The last one to know
The last one to show
I was the last one
You thought you'd see there
Jack was nervous, and Jack Daniels was rarely nervous. Something about you had always managed to catch him off guard, throw him off centre until he was stumbling and clinging to anything he could while the world righted itself. Even after all these years, he felt the same.
He’d checked in on you from time to time. Misusing Statesman resources - not that anyone would dare mention it to him - to look you up, make sure you were okay. He watched you through grainy surveillance footage as you walked alone at night, waiting until you were safe indoors. Peered at the carefully edited social media feeds, wondering what was really happening behind the quotes and selfies. He kept his distance, but always made sure you were safe. As safe as you could be, without him.
He knew you still lived in the little bungalow. It had been your dream home once upon a time and he wondered if it still was. It had never gone up for sale or rent, and he may have pulled some strings in the background to keep taxes to a reasonable level. Even so, he double and triple checked the database before navigating his old Bronco down the suburban streets.
The tree in the front yard had grown, but the fairy door you had attached to its trunk remained. You’d redone the walkway, changing the crumbling paving stones to whimsical chalk walkway. It fit the tiny, picturesque home perfectly. He wondered what else had changed. If you had changed.
He knocked on the blue door, noticing the paint peeling a little around the door knob. You always said the spring humidity caused the paint to peel, making you touch it up every year. You must not have gotten around to it yet.
He knocked again, removing his hat and holding it in front of him. He picked nervously at a stray thread of the hat. Better to focus on that than the things you might say to him once you answered the door. He could only rehearse this conversation so many times before he went mad.
He knocked a third time.
“She’s not home, dear.”
He turned, seeing your older neighbor watching him from her porch. Mrs. Margetson. She was thinner than the last time he’d seen her in person, hair more white now than the medium grey it had been. He wondered if she remembered him or he just looked like another gentleman caller. Had there been a long list since… he stopped himself from following that train of thought.
He stepped off your stoop, moving closer to the woman. “Do you know where I might find her?”
“They must be at the church by now,” she offered. “I think the wedding is due to start about 1.”
Jack nearly dropped his hat. He could hear the blood rush through his ears, it all moving god knows where and leaving him in a cold dread.
“They were here maybe 30 minutes ago, getting their pictures in front of the garden. Beautiful.”
“Which church?” Jack asked.
“St. Peter’s, over on the rock.” She pointed in the general direction, but Jack was already gone. He barely had the mind to thank her as he raced back into the truck and threw it in gear.
The dashboard clock told him it was 12:50. That gave him 10 minutes to get there, if the wedding started on time. He’d never been to one that started on time. His own hadn’t, what seemed like a lifetime ago. Would yours?
The thought stole the air from his lungs. You were getting married and he was rushing to the church to… what was he going to do? Stop it? Sit down and watch? He’d gone over this day so many times in his head: what he might find when you answered the door, what he would say and how you might react. None of the options he’d thought up led him to where he was now, going at least double the speed limit and using all of his Statesman driving training to avoid rolling the Bronco or hitting anything.
The spires and bell tower of the church came into view ahead. It was quiet outside, no stragglers coming in late and the door was already closed. Glancing at the clock only for a moment, not wanting to take his eyes off the road at these speeds, he saw it was only a few minutes after 1.
He pulled up to the large, imposing Church - not at all the kind of place he imagined you getting married, but that was a thought for another time when he wasn’t trying to catch you before it was too late. There were no parking spaces, the front of the church taken up by a large black limo with the classic “Just Married” painted in the rear window. It made his stomach churn.
He pulled up onto the curb between the front of the limo and the back of the blue hatchback in front of it, smashing his right hand mirror on the way by. He didn’t care, he could deal with it later.
“Sorry, girl.” He grumbled to the beloved car as he spun her around in the grass. Turf and soil kicked up behind the car as he threw it into park as quickly as he could. He didn’t even bother to turn it off, let alone take the keys out of the ignition, as he jumped up over the door. The second his feet hit the ground, he ran.
Jack could hear the last few notes of an organ processional as he climbed the stairs. With the silence left by the ending music, the creaking of the door echoed loudly in the quiet antechamber. He hurried up the carpet-lined stairs to the second door, hoping it would lead to the cathedral. He pushed them open with all his might, barely stopping moving.
There was a collective inhale from the crowd as they all turned to see who was bursting into the sacred, special event. Jack slowed to a jog, panting as he ignored all the eyes on him to look at the altar. At….
Not you.
“Jack?”
The way your gasp echoed through the hall it took him a second to locate you, standing next to the bride.
The bride, which he recognized now as your sister.
It was your sister’s wedding.
Not yours.
You were the maid of honor.
He would laugh if he wasn’t suddenly overcome with just how awkward it was that he just ran into your sister’s wedding.
“‘Lo everyone.” Jack waved with one hand as he took his hat off with the other. “Sorry I’m late.”
Your sister glared at you and you floundered under her gaze, passing off her bouquet to the next bridesmaid in line. You picked up the skirt of your coral gown and rushed down the aisle to him.
“What are you doing here?” You hissed in a hushed tone, keenly aware that just about everyone you knew was staring at the two of you.
“I came to your house, lookin’ for you-”
“Why?”
“We need to talk.”
“I’m a little busy.” You pointed out impatiently.
“Yeah, uh… Sorry.” He grinned bashfully, nodding at an older couple nearby still eyeing the two of you.
“I can’t do this right now.” You shook your head, feeling tears welling in your eyes. “Today, of all days-”
Your sister called your name, reminding you exactly why you couldn’t talk to him right now.
“Go,” he gestured to the front of the church. “I’ll wait.”
You were torn. You wanted him to leave. He was the last person you were trying to think of today, with all the talk of love and romance and a fairy tale “happy ever after.” Yet, he was all you could think about when you had those fleeting moments to yourself. Now, almost as if your thoughts alone had summoned him, here he was.
You said nothing as Jack slid into the nearest empty pew, setting his hat respectfully on his lap. You turned your back on him, taking a steadying breath as you tried to ignore the eyes on you for the second time today - for all the wrong reasons this time - as you made your way back to your sister’s side.
As you walk back down the aisle behind your sister, the crowd clapping and cheering for her new union, you nod at Jack to meet you in the antechamber once the processional has finished. He nods his understanding, leaving you to finish walking with the rest of the wedding party.
The group of you head outside, sending the newlyweds away in the waiting limo. A few people are looking and pointing at the mess made on the lawn by the glaringly familiar black and white Bronco. You flush in embarrassment all over again, seeing the mess Jack had made.
With the limo gone, the guests start to disperse and make their way to their own vehicles. The reception will begin shortly and they’re all headed to the hall for a night of dancing and celebrations. You head back inside to find Jack.
He’s waiting to the side of the doors to the cathedral, hat still in hand as he seems to pick at it nervously. You use the moment to take him in, noticing the little things about him that have changed over the years. More wrinkles, mostly around his eyes. A new scar on his neck - you wonder how many more are hidden under his clothes. You shake the thought away, not wanting to think about Jack Daniels undressed until you get to the bottom of why he’s here.
“Jack,” you call, his name on your tongue feeling so familiar but so foreign at the same time. He looks up from his signature Stetson, taking a few steps forward to meet you in the middle of the room.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Margetson said wedding and-”
“You were at my house?” You cut him off.
Jack nods. “I was lookin’ for you.”
You sigh heavily, shaking your head as you look away for a moment. “Why?” You ask finally.
“I’m done. Done with the missions.”
Your eyes tear up at his admission. It’s what you had wanted to hear all those years ago, even if you understood why he couldn’t. Your jaw sets as a hot flame of anger licks up your spine.
“So you thought you’d come back, and I’d just be waiting for you? What if I was getting married today, Jack? What if you were too late?” You bit.
He shakes his head, his face falling. “Then… then I’d let you go.” He admitted, swallowing past the emotion in his throat. “But I had to try.”
You turn away from him, wrapping your arms around yourself, almost to protect yourself from the man who still held your heart in his hands. Just because you still loved him didn’t necessarily mean he deserved your love, deserved to hold your heart.
“I’m sorry it took so long,” he continues. “But there’s younger agents comin’ up the ranks now, Statesman is in good hands so I know I can step back. They’ve asked me to stay on with the Distillery, and as a consultant to the new agents, but I’m done with the field work.” He takes a deep breath and you hear him take a step closer to you.
“I’m sorry turnin’ up outta the blue like this.” He apologizes, his warm hand touching your bare arm. It makes you shiver, your skin pebbling with goosebumps “Tell me to fuck off-”
“Language, Jack.” You admonish, keenly aware you’re still in a church.
“Tell me to leave if you don’t want me, June bug, and I’ll go. I’ll do what I’ve been doin’ all these years, but I’ll go.”
You couldn’t help but take the bait, looking at him over your shoulder through misty eyes. “What’ve you been doing all these years?”
“Missing you like crazy.” He chuckles sadly, brushing a hand through his hair. “Keepin’ an eye from afar, makin’ sure you’re safe, you’re healthy, you’re… happy.”
“You’ve been watching me?” You breathe.
He nods once. “Just to make sure you’re okay. I promise, nothing untoward.”
“I should have known you would be.” You huff under your breath, shaking your head with a soft chuckle. “You’re shit at letting go, Jack.”
“Language.” He teases, a small grin making his dimple pop. “But you’re right. I am.”
You bite your lip, turning your eyes upwards - both to stop the tears from falling and ruining your make-up, as well as searching for some divine sign of what to do. There is none: tears or signs.
“Me too.” You admit quietly, turning to face him.
Jack hesitates visibly, a far cry from the confident, cocky cowboy you were used to, but he settles a large hand on the side of your neck, his thumb sweeping gently over your jaw. “Am I too late?” He whispers.
You lean into his touch, eyes fluttering closed and the familiarity of it. You can smell his cologne, the same one he’d been using since the last time you’d seen him. You’ve missed it.
“No.” You admit softly, opening your eyes. You cover his hand with your own as you stare at those beautiful brown eyes, watching a glimmer of hope overtake the worry. “But-”
You hate the way that light snuffs out, but you need to protect yourself. “We can’t just pick up where we were.”
“I understand.” He nods with a sigh. He starts to drop his hand, but you hold it firm. He quirks an eyebrow questioningly.
“But we can start again. If you’re up for it.”
The smile spreads across his face faster than wildfire. It makes your heart flutter to see it after so long without him in your life. He pulls you close, resting his forehead on yours. “Whatever it takes, June bug.” He promises, his breath fanning lightly across your face. “I made you wait, and I’ll atone for the rest of my days as long as I get to do it by your side.”
You can’t help but giggle, your own smile matching his. Your nose brushes against his, your breath hitching in your throat as your lungs constrict. “Oh, I’ll be taking advantage of that offer.”
“I wouldn’t expect any less.” He agrees. He’s so close, you can smell the mix of coffee and mint on his breath.
“You can start-”
He cuts you off with his lips on yours, an insistent pressure built from years apart. You gave in, returning the kiss immediately.
You hadn’t been celibate while separated from Jack. You had dated, had a few flings, but nothing stuck. No one made you feel the way he did. You relish the kiss: the way his mustache tickled your nose, how his plush lips enveloped yours even as you both smiled into the kiss. It was everything you had been missing. Your hand naturally finds its way to the back of his neck, playing with the longer strands of hair at his nape.
“You were gonna say “start with a kiss,” right?” He jokes when you separate, leaning his forehead against yours.
You can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up. “No, I was going to say you can start by explaining to my family why you crashed my sister’s wedding.”
Jack groans, letting his head fall back as he remembers his entrance to the church. “Surely I’ll get points for enthusiasm when I explain I thought I was losin’ my girl.”
“Your girl, huh?” You challenge, but the smile you can’t wipe from your face gives you away. “Mighty presumptuous of you.”
“Try tellin’ me you’re not mine when I can’t taste your lip gloss, sweetheart.” He whispers conspiratorially.
You toss your head back, laughter echoing in the hall. Jack joins in your laughter, burying his head in your neck as he wraps you in his arms. You feel him take a deep breath against your skin, settling in like he’d finally made it home after being gone for years. You suppose he was.
You tangle your hand deeper into his hair, pulling him away to see his face. Sure enough, the pale pink glitter on his lips gives him away. You rub your thumb against his bottom lip to remove it, but he grips your hand in his, holding it still as he kisses your knuckles.
“Excuse me,” a voice interrupts the moment between you. You turn to see Clara, the older woman who works in the church office. “Sorry to interrupt, but do you happen to know whose jeep is parked on the church lawn? Is it one of your guests?”
You turn a scrutinizing gaze to Jack, watching as he tries not to argue that his beloved classic is not a Jeep.
He bites down his comeback, hanging his head as he admits that it belongs to him. “Bit of a misunderstandin’ ma’am. I do apologize. I’m happy to pay to get the lawn fixed.”
She hums, crossing her arms in front of her as she sizes Jack up.
Jack hands you his hat. “I’ll go square this away, then we’ll get you to the reception. I’ve got some groveling to do. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I’ll be right here.” You promise softly, sealing it with a kiss.
Tagging: @wickedfrsgrl @din-damn-djarin @seasonschange-butpeopledont @kesskirata @phoenixhalliwell @dihra-vesa @vonschweetz @insideafictionaluniverse @driedgreentomatoes @computeringturtle @spideysimpossiblegirl @thottiewinemom
#Agent Whiskey fanfic#Jack Daniels fanfic#Agent Jack Daniels fanfic#Agent Whiskey x Reader#Agent Jack Daniels x Reader#Kingsman the Golden Circle fanfiction#Agent Jack Daniels#WookieTales
69 notes
·
View notes
Text
A/N: Ok so, I don’t post anything, ever. I’m very much a lurker. But ROTT just ... I couldn’t just sit and do nothing. So I made this blog, and here’s my attempt at a fanfic, with some changes to cannon. The ones important to this piece are that Archie did not stay with Charlemagne, and Krel and Douxie built the new amulet together so they’re a lot closer. This takes place just after the fight between Skrael and Nari, and also contains an idea of mine around a lore change and for a possible either rewrite of ROTT or a continuation, and whichever form it takes would be a much longer fic, which is why this short piece doesn’t have a title. So if people find it interesting and want to see more, please let me know. I’ve never really written fanfic before so I apologize if any of it sounds weird or stilted. If people like this and I do write the larger piece, I’ll probably be posting it on Ao3.
---
Douxie can only watch in horror as the Ice Titan stabs into the torso of Nari’s, ice creeping over and between rock and roots and vines, seeping into the crevices and joints, growing and pulling, straining to rip her titan apart. Her shout of pain and rage echoes across the valley, and she retaliates, one massive leg driving into the Ice Titan’s torso, her vines growing into it, taking purchase where they can, drilling into the glacial limbs and twisting into its heart, determined to take him down with her. The titans rage and the earth shakes as they push and pull, trying to tear each other apart while trying to keep themselves together long enough to kill the other. With a last surge of strength, each is ripped apart with groaning rumbles from the titans and screams from Skrael and Nari. Both titans crumble.
As they fall, Douxie immediately takes off towards the devastation, moving so quickly, Archie is thrown from his shoulder. Though his friends call out for him, his blood is pounding too loudly in his ears for him to hear. Or perhaps, he simply doesn’t care. As he runs, his friends can see the wisps of blue emanating off him, rotating around him, and finally encasing him, his magic aiding him in his desperation to get to his friend, his sister in all but blood.
Breaking into a clearing beneath sky-piercing shards of rock and vaulting broken glaciers, he spots a small green body spotted with melting ice and blackened patches akin to frostbite, limp and still amongst the ruins, the grass beneath her wilting. Every plant in this clearing seems paler, droopier, as if in mourning.
No, not Nari! Not her too!
Douxie immediately runs to her side, his magic dissipating as he skids to his knees, caring not for the blood that now stains the legs of his dirty and ripped jeans. He reaches out, trembling, almost afraid to touch her, to find out that he failed Merlin, failed his friends, failed her.
But he swallows that fear down into a thick knot in his throat, that’s as far as it will go, and carefully he grips her shoulder and turns her to face him. For a second he cannot breathe, her eyes closed and body unresponsive, half of her face blackened and dotted with small spots of frost. He draws her close, cradling her in his lap, unable to comprehend that she might be gone. Gently, he pushes a strand of hair from her serene face with a shaking hand, and it’s then that her eyes crack open, the golden of her good eye dull, the other now completely black.
“Nari?” he breathes, hoping blooming in his chest while despair cramps painfully, not wanting to allow the hope to grow in case he is wrong.
But the small smile that weakly graces her face blows that despair away, and the relief he feels lifts the weight in his chest, overflowing as tears begin to stream down his face. He draws her in for a tight embrace, sobbing hysterically into her shoulder.
“Nari!”
“Douxie,” is all she says, her voice barely louder than a whisper.
He draws back again to look her in the eyes. Her very much alive eyes.
“You’re going to be ok, I’m going to get you back to Camelot, and I’m going to fix you, and you’re going to be ok!”
At that, a sadness creeps into her lidded gaze.
“No, Douxie. My story ends here.” As quickly as his heart soared, it drops, sinking like a rock down into his stomach.
“No! No, you’ll be ok, I can fix this!”
Nari reaches a weak hand up, gently placing it on Douxie’s wet cheek, her thumb wiping away a tear.
“It will all be ok. You will leave here, fight Bellroc. You and trollhunter and friends will save the world.”
“And you’ll be coming with us,” he says, unable to hold back new sobs, deep, soul-wrenching sobs. “Please, Nari.”
“No. I will not. Thank you for protecting me. I have had fun. I am happy I was with you. Now-” her hand slides from cupping his cheek to splaying her fingers on the center of his chest- “You must listen. Bellroc and Skrael and me, we are the holders of the Primordial Arcana. Our magics made this world. They cannot be without masters, not now that the seals are gone. With no masters, they will run wild.”
“W-what?”
“Hisirdoux Casperan, I give to you the Life Arcanum.”
A green light pulses beneath her hand, and Douxie gasps, feeling it pulse beneath his skin. He can feel the energy thrumming through his entire being, from the prickling at the surface of his skin down to the humming at the center of his heart, and intertwining with the magic in his body. It is an ancient, primal feeling, a sense of the sheer age and immensity of this world and for a second it threatens to overwhelm him. There’s a sharp pain and a feeling as if he is being pulled out of his body and in every direction while simultaneously being crushed under the enormity, and then his magic and his soul are pulled into alignment with the heartbeat of life itself. The world lights up around him, every soul alight and burning bright, from the trees around the clearing, to the bugs and the grass they hide in, to his friends coming into the clearing, to the steadily dimming light of Nari. Just as quickly as it started, it stops. Douxie can feel something within him has been forever changed.
“You must find Skrael now. His arcanum will not linger long, you must get it before it escapes. It will help find who is right. Go, my wonderful Douxie, save the world. No more running.”
With that, her eyes fall closed and her body stills, and before Douxie can properly process, her body wafts away in wisps of green, gold, and purple magic, returning to the earth she loved so much. Douxie’s hold drops, collapsing, his arms suddenly empty as yet another of his loved ones is carried away on the wind.
And with that, he throws his head back and screams.
He screams and once again the world vibrates around him, only this time resonating with his soul-wrenching, all-consuming grief, his magic lashing out wildly around him, lighting up the clearing in vibrant blue, the plants twisting and writhing, cracks shooting up the remains of the titans, causing them to ominously creak and groan. Douxie knows he cannot give in to the black hole inside him, that he has to find Skrael’s arcanum and they have to get to Bellroc, he has to do it for Nari, he can’t fail her again, but in this moment he is certain that he will be destroyed, that he will surely drown and be lost.
Despite the magical maelstrom surrounding him, a fluffy head has managed to push through the storm and has found its way into his side and a pair of arms follow shortly, wrapping securely around him.
Blinking bleary eyes open, he can make out through the tears Archie, who he immediately scoops up, and he can see that the pair of arms around him are blue and glowing. Krel.
He folds into himself as his screaming turns to hitched wailing, and so too does his magic, fading, leaving the clearing dim and still once more. He collapses into Krel’s secure embrace, still holding tightly to Archie. Krel wraps his other pair of arms around him, tucking his own head next to Douxie’s, and Douxie curls further into him. He doesn’t say anything, knowing there is nothing he could say to take away Douxie’s pain, so he just silently holds him, running his fingers through Douxie’s hair in an attempt to help ground him. Meanwhile, Archie does his best to maintain a steady purr, keeping himself pressed into Douxie’s chest as he knows Douxie needs when he is distressed, having taken up this position many times over the past 900 years. His wizard now needs it more than ever.
More arms soon appear around them. Jim. Claire. Toby. Blinky. Aaarrrgghh. Together they do their best to hold the broken pieces of their friend together.
After a couple moments, Douxie manages to gather enough strength to choke out, “Need to find Skrael. Get his magic.” He starts to move, wanting to fulfil what Nari asked from him, but Archie presses his weight further into Douxie, and Krel’s arms hold firm.
“No, I need to –”
“Hush, Douxie. Let us handle it,” Archie says. There’s some murmuring between everyone before Claire pulls away, citing that Douxie taught her a containment spell that she can use to hold Skrael’s magic. She quickly departs, taking Aja and Varvatos with her as backup, just in case (at Jim’s insistence).
And so, with that out of the way, Douxie fully gives in and grieves, wading through the ocean within him, anchored by Archie and Krel and the others, keeping him from being swept away.
#tales of arcadia#rise of the titans#hisirdoux casperan#krel tarron#krexie#at least it will be krexie if i do the full piece#fanfic#my fanfic#tales of arcadia rise of the titans#toa#rott#douxie#nari#archie
59 notes
·
View notes
Text
I Won’t Be Long - A rather long one shot
(I have been working on this, what I call “Magda’s Worst Day”, for a while, and I only recently was inspired to finish it. Hence why I’ve been rather quiet in terms of posts. I can only torture my muse so much.
Basically, this story came about because of the “What have you done to my daughter?!” line. Alcina was in her chambers while saying that, therefore unable to see or know that Ethan was outside. So how did she know what happened to Bela, and who told her?
My answer? Magda.
I did my best to follow the game’s timeline, but there might have been some condensing or stretching in order to make things fit. I’ve also included some brief cameos from other OCs Magda has interacted with.
Please note, this is not an “Ethan Hate” story. Magda is simply reacting as one would in their given situation. Is this a sad story? Yes, in parts. Will you hate me for writing this? Maybe. Will you still enjoy reading it? I hope so.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“You must hide. The man is a danger, and I wish for you to be safe. Do your best to keep out of all this. If he approaches you, play the helpless victim. Do not help him, but please do not hinder him either.”
“But I want you to stay safe.”
“You know that I always do, dearest. He is nothing but a man.”
“You literally just said he was a danger.” The press of Bela’s lips against Magda’s was enough the hush the smaller woman and soften her demeanor. “Kissing me in order to maintain the last word is technically cheating, you know.”
“True, but I did learn it from you,” the witch smiled. “I won’t be long.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That conversation happened a little over an hour ago. Since then, Magda had quietly paced the floor of her workroom, occasionally stopping to listen for any sound outside her door. She prayed she’d hear the familiar drone of flies, but nothing came. Everything was unnervingly quiet. Magda did her best to reassure herself. She kept telling herself that the man was outnumbered three to one, that the girls would work together and remove him as a threat, that they couldn’t be killed.
The sudden barrage of nearby gunfire and shattering glass ripped away any comfort she had tried to retain. It wasn’t terribly close, but then again it wasn’t terribly far either. Worse yet, there was no celebratory laughter that accompanied the silence that soon followed. Worry gnawed at Magda’s insides, and she did the one thing that Bela had asked her not to do. She unlocked the door to her workshop, and left her hiding place.
Magda went through the halls in sock feet, wanting to make as little sound as possible. The last thing she needed was to run into the man by accident. Thankfully, the courtyard was deserted. Freezing, especially without shoes or a coat, but it was empty. Even better, the door leading to the dining room was still locked. That meant the intruder had not found a key or harassed one of the few servants who had a skeleton key to the various entryways. Magda was one of those servants. Being a seamstress, and a trusted one at that, gave her a few perks.
As much as she wanted to rush in, Magda knew better. She turned the key slowly, as the locks were heavy and made a distinct and rather loud click when undone. The door she also took time opening, just in case there was an armed madman standing on the other side. Finding none, she closed and relocked the door behind her. Best to keep him confined.
Cassandra’s laughter coming from the Main Hall signaled that she was keeping the intruder well occupied and, rather than risk an interruption, Magda turned to the much plainer door which lead to the kitchen.
Normally the kitchen was a warm place, full of the sounds and smells of cooking food for the human staff, but the rush of cold air that blew in as she entered confirmed a fear she had. Hurrying past the preparation table and ducking under the cuts of drying meat, Magda stopped short in the doorway to the connected storage room. What she saw squeezed her heart like a vice, making it difficult to breath.
Shattered glass and the remains of broken boards framed a large, collapsed pile of frozen flies. The room wavered and suddenly felt hot, despite the open windows. Maybe… maybe this wasn’t Bela, she tried to reason. It wasn’t Cassandra, as she had heard her laughter not moments ago. A small, hateful voice in her head whispered that this was Daniela, that Bela was still alive inside the castle, perhaps happily carving up the man with her sister, and what laid before her was Daniela. Magda hated to even think that, but right now she was mental begging the powers that be for that to be the truth.
Step by hesitant step, she approached the pile, acting as a windbreak when she knelt between it and the broken window. Tears began to cloud her vision as she saw pale yellow flies mixed in amongst the brown and black insects. Again, her heart wrenched inside her chest. Her skin burned and the walls of the room closed in as her anger grew and burst forth in a ragged scream of rage, sorrow, and anguish.
Why?! Why did he do this?! How did he even know?! Did he just get lucky with a stray bullet breaking a pane of glass? Why did he kill her? Why did he go after her? The cold would have been enough to stop her! She would have stopped the chase, and he could have gotten away, but he still decided to kill her! He killed her while she was hurting! He killed her while she was cold, alone, and separated from everyone. He killed Magda’s stea mică… her little star…
He didn’t give a shit about anything or anyone.
Magda’s guttural scream was echoed by a rasping, undead one crawling up from the once boarded up passageway that led to the dungeon. In her emotional state, she hadn’t put two and two together. The boards were smashed going into the storage room rather than out into the passageway. The man had come up from below, meaning he had created a potential access point for the thralls to get upstairs.
“Căcat!” she cursed, scrambling as quickly and as quietly for a container in the other room. It would take the thralls a bit of time to coordinate and stumble their way up the stairs, but they would eventually make it and Magda was not about to let those disgusting things trample all over what was left of Bela.
She would also need to tell the Countess.
Grabbing one of the large basins used to hold drained blood, as well as any discarded towels or cloth she could find, Magda carefully moved every single fly she found into the container, scouring the floor for any the wind may have blown about, but always keeping a careful eye on the dungeon passage. The last thing she needed was to be attacked by those damn thralls as she finished.
The basin was… not as heavy as she thought it would be. That knowledge made her stomach sink and made her feel that much worse. She was carrying her love’s body, and it wasn’t heavy. It needed to be. The woman was seven feet tall! It should have been heavier! These stupid, unimportant thoughts made her tears start to once again fall as she returned to the dining room. “Dammit. I’m sorry, Bela,” she mumbled as a few hot tears fell on the flies.
One twitched in response.
Magda stopped at that. She was seeing things. In her grief, her mind was clearly playing tricks on her. Bela was dead. The cold killed flies. She was dead and the tear hitting the fly only made it look like it moved.
That was when the worst feeling in all of creation latched itself onto her.
Hope.
Leaning in close, she breathed a few times on a small clump of flies, letting her warm breath roll over them. And then she waited… Her heart pounding in her chest as she watched for something. Anything.
…A leg spasmed.
It was small, almost imperceptible, but Magda took it as a sign. A possibility. A tiny one at that, but she grabbed onto it and refused to let it go. Hope was evil like that.
Covering the basin to shield the flies from the cold, she ventured back across the courtyard and towards Alcina’s chambers, locking any and all doors behind her because fuck this man and his doings. Make his shit life harder.
The Countess’ chambers were empty, which sent a chill of dread and terror down Magda’s spine. Had she fallen to the man as well or was she simply hunting him along with her daughters? Should she wait for her to appear? Right now, searching the castle was not the ideal thing to do, as she was unarmed, human, and she had no idea if the intruder would have mercy on her if she encountered him. Thankfully, her questions were answered as familiar heavy footfalls were heard coming up the stairs. Now all she had to do was explain to Alcina what she thought was possible. And hopefully not die in the the telling.
“If I can’t, I’ll do my best to bleed on you as I die, sweetness,” she told the basin of flies, trying to make a joke and do her best to smile. The latter crumbled as soon as the chamber door opened.
“Countess?” Magda’s voice was weak and shaky, full of fear, and she immediately regretted opening her mouth due to the look on Alcina’s face. It was one of surprise mixed with displeasure, which made sense as Magda should still be locked in her sewing room, not running around as she was currently doing.
“Are you not aware of our current situation, Magdalena?” Her tone was cool and reserved, as if she were waiting on Magda’s answer in order to decide the best manner of action to take.
“I am very much aware of the situation, Countess. Which was why I came here as quickly as I could.” she replied, uncovering Bela’s remains. The candelabra the taller woman had been holding streaked towards Magda’s head and the seamstress barely had time to duck.
“What have you done to my daughter?!” she roared, lunging forward and grabbing Magda by her neck. For a moment, fear and terror filled the seamstress’ mind, but she somehow managed to find her voice despite the vice-like grip upon her throat.
“It wasn’t me… the man… did this… the flies… not… not dead…” Darkness had started to creep around the edges of her vision before Alcina finally released her. Landing on the ground hurt, but the deep breath of fresh air she took afterwards was incredibly sweet.
“Explain yourself,” Alcina growled, stretching out those two words in a low and menacing fashion, one not at all suitable for a woman of her standing, but perfect for a mother seeking justice for her child.
“I heard the fight,” Magda rasped, throat still sore. “It was in… the kitchen. I found… Bela. I thought she was dead… but some flies reacted to my tears…. and warm breath. There’s a chance. That cold state they go into. She told me about it. Bela might not be dead. Only hibernating. If she can be warmed, maybe she can be saved.” Magda watched Alcina, eyes never turning away or blinking too rapidly. She didn’t want to give the woman any excuse or reason not to believe her.
The quiet between them lasted for what seemed an eternity, only to be interrupted by a low rumbling and draining of liquid coming from the next room over. They both heard it, though Alcina only gave the most subtle of glances in its direction. The pool in the Hall of Ablution had been emptied. The Countess’ iron grip was suddenly around Magda’s arm, pulling her back to her feet.
“You will take my daughter back to your workshop and you will keep her warm,” she hissed. “You will not leave her side, not even for a moment. Should I find you disobeying my instructions and wandering these halls while that impudent wretch is still in my castle, your life is forfeit. Is that understood?” Magda nodded, fear in her eyes. She picked up the basin, replacing the cover before being roughly escorted out of the chamber.
Once safely back in her workshop, Magda set about gathering her thickest fabrics; the wools, flannels, gabardines, and anything else heavy she had. She removed the blankets and comforter from her bed and did what she could to form a nest or bed for the flies. For a moment, she even considered cutting her forearm and dribbling some blood onto them, but if they weren’t moving then they weren’t feeding, and the last thing she wanted to risk was them somehow drowning in her own blood.
Magda did her best to obey the Countess’ instructions, as she was not about to risk Alcina’s wrath, not with her life on the line. However, if she did end up being wrong about Bela, maybe it would be better to join her in death. What was she thinking? Magda likely would die anyways. But, in terms of when, it would just depend on Alcina’s mood. So, the seamstress sat in silence, waiting and praying to hear the soft buzzing of fly wings as they slowly warmed up.
Instead, she heard someone faintly plinking the keys of the piano in the Opera Hall. Rather badly at that. Naturally, the all too familiar footfalls of an enraged Alcina soon followed. He must not have realized she was hunting him, Magda thought. Because what idiot would actually take the time to play the piano if they were actively trying to stay hidden? The brief retort of gunfire seemed to prove her point. Although she could only hear what was going on, Magda still had a brief chuckle as she imagined the man scrambling for his life away from Alcina.
Not that he had many places to run to. It was either to Magda’s workshop or the library, and as the noise of confrontation began to distance itself from her hiding place, she breathed a sigh of relief. The library it was then.
“How has this man managed to survive this long?” she softly asked Bela’s remains. As if in answer, gunshots rang out once more and the seamstress stood, wondering who he was fighting now. The previously reassuring knowledge that bullets couldn’t harm anyone in this house re-entered Magda’s head… but it was quickly dashed to pieces as she glanced back at Bela. Who had he gone after now? She needed to know.
For five long minutes, Magda stood at her sewing room door, with it cracked open enough to listen. But she heard nothing. No footsteps, no gunfire, no sounds of anyone.
If Alcina caught her, it would be death, a voice in her head reasoned.
So she simply would avoiding getting caught, another replied.
The distance to the library wasn’t far, and she could easily hear the Countess’ footsteps well in advance, allowing her to hide as she approached.
“I’ll be back soon, stea mică. I won’t be long,” she softly told the flies. A few seemed to twitch in response. God, she hoped that she was right in the foolish ‘not dead, only hibernating’ theory. Basin and flannel cloth in hand, Magda made her way to the library, hoping she wouldn’t need what she carried.
Her heart sank upon feeling the chilly air inside. Papers were scattered, vases lay shattered, and, near enough to be in the light cast from the glass skylight which acted as a central decorative point for the room, was another large pile of immobile flies. Magda actually needed a moment to sit and collect herself with this discovery. Little flies, whose bodies glittered in the light, matched Daniela’s hair color.
Alcina will weep, Magda thought as she did her best to keep her own tears from falling once more. Gathering up these remains took longer than Bela’s, but not because they were scattered about. No. For as messy and wild as Daniela was in life, she had collapsed in a neat little pile. It was the weight and knowledge that this was the baby of the family which made this such a long and arduous task.
“You’re not alone, Dani. I’m not letting you be alone. I’m taking you to your sister. You’ll be safe in my sewing room,” She told the flies. Could this have been the first sign of madness? After all, Magda was talking to a container full of potentially dead insects. She recalled the character of Renfield from Dracula. The man went mad in an effort to serve and worship his vampire lord. Perhaps she was becoming something along the same lines. Perhaps she was already dead; killed by the intruder, and this was her own personal hell of gathering up mounds of flies throughout the castle for the rest of eternity, all the while avoiding Alcina. If Bela’s nest was not in the workshop when she returned to it, Magda figured this terrible thought would be reality.
Thankfully, upon opening the door to her workshop, the comforter and blanket that Bela was nestled in was still where the seamstress had left it. So maybe she was not dead and this was not hell. Little miracles were all she could hope for right now.
Magda took her time making Daniela’s nest, listening for anything that would signal they were victorious and this man-thing was dead and gone. She shook her head a little as she used that term. Normally, Magda did not join in on calling men that, but this was a special case. This individual didn’t seem human. The fact that he could best two of the daughters worried her, and a dread feeling that, unless mother and daughter combined forces, Cassandra could fall as well filled Magda’s stomach like a lead weight.
The daughters were monsters, yes. By the classic definition, that’s what they were, and Magda did not deny any of it. Blood stained dresses, screams and laughter coming from the dungeon, or even the rare times when Bela’s kisses had a slight hint of copper or something raw tasting to them. They weren’t normal. Alcina was also a monster; perhaps even more of one. The height, the claws, the gray skin that she hid beneath layers of foundation. All four of them shared that same inhuman appetite for blood and flesh. But, they also had human tendencies. They laughed, they cried, they screamed in fright the odd times they were scared or taken by surprise.
Then again, humans could be monsters as well. History showed how terrible they could be. Magda was certainly no angel, and she had the odd feeling that this man wasn’t entirely a good person either. Maybe she was wrong. Magda didn’t know. All she knew was that she was trying to save the small group of friends and family she had left in this world.
Minutes ticked by and still her wing of the castle remained quiet. The longer it stayed quiet, the more she worried. If the man was dead, Alcina would have come to her workshop to see to her daughter. But if the quiet persisted? Magda didn’t want to think on that.
“Should I go out and search?” she asked her charges. Of course, no reply came. Magda thought she saw more movement from Bela’s flies, but she had no idea if they all needed to be restored to a proper temperature, like a hive mind, before they could respond. With the way Magda had layered everything, they would warm up slowly and naturally. No artificial heaters or fires were being used, as she didn’t want to risk damaging them. After watching both mounds for a few minutes, the seamstress nodded, knowing once more what she had to do.
The castle had an unusual quietness, a stillness she had never felt before. There was always at least some sort of background noise; the shuffling of servants, the daughters’ laughter, the general noise of a home being lived in. Where was everyone? Had the man killed them all? Or were Sylvia, Andre, Samuel, Bianca, and the rest hiding in the servant’s quarters, having barricaded themselves in? Vulga likely would have escaped into the walls upon hearing the first gunshot, so she was probably safe.
At least there would be some survivors of Castle Dimitrescu.
Finding Cassandra took a long time. Besides hiding from both the constantly patrolling Alcina and the seemingly trigger happy mad man, Magda had to think like the middle child, who had the tendency to spend time in the oddest of places. While Bela and Daniela could be found in seemingly normal locations in the castle, Cassandra explored. She found hidden areas that were unknown to most of the inhabitants, hard to get to, or simply dilapidated enough and impossible to access unless you could fly. Magda assumed she enjoyed being hard to find.
The seamstress had searched damn near every room, after having briefly hidden for a few heart-pounding minutes in one of the dressing room wardrobes upon hearing Alcina’s approach. Currently, she was sitting in the back hallway, taking a moment to try and mentally collect herself. Magda hated failing, and right now she was absolutely in sync with the idea that she was a failure. Cassandra, as far as she knew, had simply disappeared. Had the man shattered a window and thrown her outside? If that was the case, then the chance of finding the young woman dropped to impossible odds. The castle was surrounded by woods and cliffs with sheer drops. Maybe… if the snow and cold somehow preserved her through the winter, Cassandra would show up in the spring, like crocuses.
At that thought, Magda let slip a sharp little laugh while, at the same time, her eyes began to water. Cassandra would hate being compared to a flower. She would absolutely have hated it. And for as much as Magda wanted to continue to both laugh and cry right now, it would certainly draw unwanted attention from one of two parties currently in the castle. Possibly both.
Wiping her face with her sleeve, she allowed herself a few calming breaths before pushing herself back to her feet and continuing this fruitless search.
The slight draft blowing on Magda’s hand from beneath the door stopped her. Yes, castles were drafty, but not this one. Alcina made certain to insulate everything as best she could so her daughters could survive the winter in relative comfort. But, there was a definite bit of air movement coming from under this door.
Opening it, Magda found the Statue of Pleasure…. with an animal skull in place of the sacrifice’s head. Not even Cassandra or Daniela would be foolish enough to ruin one of their mother’s statues. So, on top of being a murderer, this man enjoyed defacing both art and private property. What the fuck was wrong with him?
The indignity aside, the windows in this room were intact, so where was the draft coming from? The only other option was the fireplace, but if the chimney was that badly cracked, why wasn’t it sealed? Crouching in front of it, the reason quickly became apparent as the entire back of the fireplace has been removed, and the hole led to a set of stairs.
“Cassandra, you little shit.”
Crawling through the passageway, Magda entered what looked to be the remains of a hidden armory, or at least a place to stash and work on things a certain daughter didn’t want her mother to learn about or her sisters to interfere with. It would have been a lovely little room had it not been for the gaping hole in the wall, letting in all the cold air. And there, near enough to the stairway, laid what was left of Alcina’s middle child.
“At least you were smart enough to fight him in a room without windows,” Magda commented as she gathered her up. Cassandra was vicious and violent when she wan’t to be, but she was also calculative and observant. Perhaps that’s why she lasted as long as she did. Had she sacrificed her sisters in order to study this man? If Magda were the girl’s mother, they would definitely be having a talk about that later.
With the last of the Dimitrescu daughters safely bundled up, Magda began to make her way back to the workshop. As it was nearly on the other side of the castle with no direct route, she took great care to move as quietly as possible. She paused repeatedly, and scanned the Main Hall, looking for signs of the the woman in white. For as large as she was, Alcina was a stalking beast. She could be incredibly quiet if she wished to be.
As she crouched in one the small balconies, Magda heard movement coming from below her on the floor of the main hall. However, it didn’t sound… right. It couldn’t have been the intruder, unless he was gravely injured. But If that were the case, Alcina wouldn’t have been far behind, and Magda didn’t hear her at all. Speaking of the Countess, it certainly wasn’t her, as the noise was far too small to be anyone remotely her size.
Chancing a look, Magda peeked over the edge, and a soft gasp of surprise, sounding so devastatingly loud in this silence, escaped her lips as she saw what was beneath her. Luana, the castle’s head servant, the personal watchdog for the Countess, laid collapsed on the marble floor, clothes stained red with blood. Where had they been all this time?! Magda had scoured entire castle… Had they been outside and only just now managed to get in? This just made her life ten times harder. Not only did she have Cassandra to carry back, but now there was the issue of Luana as well.
She could have left them where they were. She could have. After all, Magda was currently disobeying orders and Alcina was already displeased by her previous actions. She should have taken Cassandra back to her workshop and then returned. By then, perhaps Alcina would have discovered Luana herself and… done what? She was hellbent on hunting down the intruder. Would she even have stopped and tended to her servant? Magda couldn’t say. She also had no idea what would have happened if the man found them first. Would he finish the job he clearly started? In all likelihood? Yes.
Tucking Cassandra safely in an out of the way corner by the top of the stairs, Magda made her way down to her fellow servant, glancing into the Hall of the Four as she went.
The doors leading to the Temple of Worship were open.
In all her years there, Magda had rarely seen those exterior doors stand open as they were now. The Countess was strict in her orders about that portion of the castle being forbidden to everyone save herself, and now the seamstress was watching her tall figure ascend the temple stairs. An unknown fear filled Magda with dread at that sight, and she hurried towards Luana.
Rolling the head servant over onto their back, Magda gave them a quick look over. Buckshot, and a few normal bullet holes, peppered Luana’s blood soaked torso. A normal human would have been dead from such injuries and blood loss, but Luana was thankfully not fully human, rather a Lycan-cross. They usually preferred not to speak of their heritage, but Magda hoped they would be happy to have it just this once.
“Luana? Luana, dear, can you hear me?” she asked, opening their eyes to check for any sign of life. She was met with slurred, half-conscious Portuguese. “You know damn well I don’t speak that, but right now any response is a good one, so I’ll take it.” The bleeding had stopped and their breathing seemed normal from what she could tell; no gurgles, bloody froth in the mouth, or sounds of difficulty.
“…Apologies…” they said in Romanian, doing their best to sit up.
“You’re fine. I’m just happy to see someone else, aside from the Countess, alive,” she replied. Their uniform already ruined, Magda removed Luana’s jacket and began tearing off bandage strips. Or at least she started to, as a distant crash and a devastating roar from outside quickly stopped her efforts. Whatever injuries seemed to be afflicting Luana were momentarily forgotten as they did their best to stand, only to collapse almost immediately. As they attempted it a second time, Magda moved to support them. She didn’t even say a word or caution them to take it slow as the two of them made it to the open doorway.
And what they saw? There were no words.
It was huge. A great beast, vast and terrible, with an immense wingspan, lashing tail, and a toothy, gaping maw circled the top of the temple tower; sometimes flying, sometimes crawling along the stonework. It was pale white with streaks of pink flesh, slick and glossy looking as the sun hit it. Muscles bulged as if barely contained by the skin, as tendrils curled and whipped about in an independent fury. It looked both cancerous and incomplete while at the same time horrifically beautiful and awe-inspiring in some inexplicable way. And to top it off, as if in an absurd gilding of the lily, Alcina’s upper torso, looking flayed and monstrous, erupted from between the beast’s shoulder blades. Her voice was distorted, both by rage, vengeance, and sorrow, but also by this transformation. She was lost in this madness, fully given in to it.
Magda’s knees gave way, and she fell to the floor, unintentionally bring Luana down with her. The seamstress was lost. How was this even possible? How had Alcina become this gargantuan beast? Could she change back? A sudden sick feeling rolled over her as all these questions and more filled her head. She was sure Luana was thinking similar things.
All they could do was watch this battle as it unfurled. Stonework and roofing tiles fell freely as the dragon creature did its best to pursue its quarry. Gunfire was heard regularly as Alcina taunted, threatened, and cackled in her torment. The fight moved steadily upwards, with more and more of the building being destroyed until a bloodcurdling shriek was heard and something structural gave way.
Multiple somethings.
Large plumes of dust, broken window, and cracks forming in the side of the building were the indication that the dragon had fallen through all of the interior floors of the temple, landing with a massive crash.
Magda and Luana looked at each other and then back towards the temple. “How about we wait and listen for movement?” the seamstress started to offer, but the head servant was already stumbling towards the building, trying desperately not to once more fall onto their face. They didn’t get very far before collapsing, but Magda was there to lift them back up. “How about a compromise? We get to the temple door and listen before barging in?” At that, Luana nodded a little sheepishly.
If Magda had thought the castle had been quiet, the inside of the temple was a veritable tomb. She just hoped it wasn’t a literal one. At least not for Alcina. Let the man be buried under all that rubble. Unfortunately, her wish was not yet granted, as she saw the limping figure of a man leaving through the lower level door. All she needed was a gun. Why didn’t she or Luana have a pistol? One bullet through the back of his damned head, that’s all that was needed and all this terribleness would be over with.
But instead, Magda just stood there, watching him leave before her gaze turned to Alcina’s body. It was still that dragon creature, but she had just come to accept that this was the Countess. Luana was already making their way down to her, carefully using the broken rubble as a stairway. Magda reluctantly followed suit.
The beast may have remained, but the human torso that was Alcina? That was gone, crumbled to ashes. The body was also still. Seeing that, Magda sat down hard, shocked by it all. Luana at least made it to the corpse, but they soon collapsed as tears began to fall.
Theirs was an ugly crying, one that Magda had never heard from them before. It was a full body shaking, heaving from the gut sort of crying. Luana had been serving House Dimitrescu since they were a teenager, and they saw Alcina as a mother figure, so Magda could only imagine what they were going through.
Letting them grieve for a few minutes, Magda eventually stood and walked over to Luana, placing a hand on their shoulder.
It was then that the beast took a great, shuddering breath.
Instincts quickly took hold and Magda scrambled backwards, not wanting to risk being eaten, while Luana did the opposite and moved closer, overjoyed to see some sign of life coming from the creature. She expected to hear a scream or cry of pain from Luana, imagining the creature lunging forward and devouring the head servant in one or two gulps. But instead, when the seamstress looked back, she saw Luana petting its head, saying soft things to it in Portuguese as it just laid there, barely making any noise.
“You are either very brave, very trusting, or very stupid to be petting that thing,” Magda hissed, keeping her voice down low, as if raising it would trigger the beast to attack them both.
“It knows me… us. It won’t hurt us,” Luana replied calmly.
“How do you know that? How is it even still alive?! Alcina’s torso is gone! The thing should be dead!” In response to Magda’s outburst, the thing growled, slightly turning its head in her direction. “… All right, I’m clearly wrong in my assessment of life and death. But that still doesn’t explain why or how.”
“Separate functioning systems? Maybe it all… pinched shut when the torso disintegrated? Like a limb or a tree branch that’s dying? Save the main body?” Luana offered.
“I would have thought Alcina would have been the main body. Can she regenerate from this?” Magda asked. Luana simply shrugged.
“We take her back to the castle and see what happens over the next few hours or days.”
“Easier said than done,” Magda replied, gesturing to the rock they scaled down and the all too small door was the only other exit.
“If it is a simple creature, then it will respond to simple things like food. She will need to eat anyways. We lure it back with food,” Luana reasoned.
The kitchen was thusly raided and a good bit of the meat that was there removed; both cured and what was still fresh. Amazingly, despite having heard the shrieks of the thralls earlier, the kitchen was now devoid of them. Had they wandered back down into the dungeon after finding no prey? Or were they all dead? Magda could only wonder as she glanced towards that corridor, her eyes wanting to linger on the spot where she found Bela. No, she thought. No, Bela was safe in the sewing room with her sisters. Magda had made a brief detour to deposit Cassandra there, as well as retrieve a pair of shoes for herself, before joining back up with Luana in the kitchen.
Along with the meat, they also brought along two barrels from the tasting room, placed at strategic points along the route back to the castle, in case extra bribery was needed for the beast. By the time they had finished setting everything up, the Alcinadragon… for what else would you call it?… was on its feet, clumsily walking around its temporary enclosure. Naturally, after throwing down the first piece of meat, with it being consumed in a single bite, the beast’s attention snapped to the two of them as it began the effort of climbing its way up towards freedom.
Magda knew better than to run. After all, doing so would likely trigger hunting and chasing instincts. But still, once the massive forelimbs appeared and the beast pulled itself up and over the lip of the hole, she made sure to be a good distance away, keeping Luana between it and her.
While this was something she normally would never state, on pain of death, it was rather easy to lead this version of Alcina around by her stomach. So long as they had a trail of food, she was easy to please and keep relatively docile. In the end, they only needed one barrel as a treat, though it wasn’t quite that. As they passed it on the bridge, the creature must have smelled the contents, or perhaps recognized the shape…. but how that was possible, Magda had no idea, as it had no discernible eyes right now. Either way, the tooth lined maw easily engulfed the barrel and bit down, splintering the wood and draining the contents quickly. Afterwards, the creature seemed more agreeable.
Maybe it had just needed a drink.
By the time they had entered the Hall of The Four, the remaining castle staff had emerged from their hiding places. There were no reprimands or excuses given, only looks and sighs of relief. Bianca, Sylvia, and Mihaela quickly flocked to the form of the Countess who was currently gorging on wine and meat. Samuel latched themself onto Magda with a tight hug; one that she was not exactly ready to receive, but she was also not about to deny them this comfort. Vulga also soon joined in, likely in an effort to make Magda feel even more uncomfortable.
“If you two insist on being this close to me, I will be putting you to work,” Magda told them both before taking them to her workshop and retrieving the three sisters. Sam took Daniela, Vulga carried Cassandra, and Magda held Bela close. The urge to place the daughters next to their mother was great, but caution won out instead. Who knew if or how the Alcinadragon would react to seeing her children as nothing more than collections of flies? Yes, they were becoming more active, but there was no indication they were on their way to reforming back into their human shapes. They just need time, Magda thought. That’s all. They’ve been through trauma, and they just need time to recover.
Even though it was not yet midday, It was decided that everyone would spend the night in the Main Hall. It was the inner most room, central to most of the castle, and it was big enough to house all of them comfortably, even a dragon with a massive wingspan. There would be safety in numbers.
“Do you think he’ll come back?” Magda asked Luana quietly.
“No. As far as he is concerned, everyone here is dead. Whether that is true or not…” They paused, not wanting to say the unthinkable. Understanding, Magda nodded and finished their sentence.
“…It’s best to keep up that appearance.”
“Precisely. We keep everyone centralized for the time being. Close off and safeguard the exit points, stay quiet, and wait. With any luck, things will be different twenty-four from now. Or at least there will be an indication of a difference.” The look the two of them shared was one of tiredness and threadbare hope. There wasn’t much left to run on, but so long as the lady of the house still drew breath, no matter what form she took, they still had their duties to attend to.
“Even if the man isn’t coming back, no one is going down to the outer gatehouse and drawbridge by themselves. One of the lords is currently weakened, you are still recovering from being shot multiple times, and while my mind may be playing into the medieval hierarchy of things, I wouldn’t put it past other things going wrong and our current situation being taken advantage of. We’ll go together. It’ll be faster that way.”
Despite initial outward appearances, the castle was rather impenetrable once locked down. A drawbridge, three heavy doors of varying designs dividing the exterior gatehouse, a massive portcullis at the Carriage Gate, and a smaller, but just as fortified, portcullis on the interior of the entrance hall that kept the front doors closed from the outside. For all intents and purposes, they would be safe and secure.
More of the staff wanted to assist in the closing of the gatehouse, but they were dissuaded by a few other duties; securing the door leading to the temple, keeping an eye on Alcina, and gathering up any supplies they would need for the night. They were also greeted by another unexpected task upon opening the castle doors.
In the middle of the Carriage Gate rested four crates; three of a similar size and one that was noticeably larger. Nothing had been ordered, and the Duke had packed up his caravan, vacating his usual spot some time during the battle with Alcina. Yet the note tacked onto the larger crate was in his elaborate, flowing script:
I’d wager these treasures are of more use to you than I. Think of this as a thank you for your years of patronage, as well as a farewell gift for the time being. Keep them safe.
Bonne chance,
The Duke
The lids came off easily, and inside, nestled amongst packing material were… statues? Odd ones at that. Beautiful, crystalline, and perhaps a bit macabre, they were three busts and one massive torso with what seemed to be very familiar proportions. Either the Duke had a sick sense of humor or this was something else.
“Take these inside,” Magda instructed, still a bit confused as to what they were. “Be careful with them. Don’t damage them.” She then hurried to catch up with Luana who had decidedly not stopped to investigate the crates.
While neither of them ventured out into the village, the lack of the noisy day to day life that would normally filter up from it was obvious and more than a bit unnerving. Yes, there were the occasional barks and growls from whatever lycans were still prowling around the buildings, but there were no sounds of people. That lack of background noise twisted Magda’s stomach and made her raise the drawbridge that much faster.
“Tomorrow… Tomorrow, we will search the village. Look for survivors,” Luana reassured her.
“I don’t think there are any other survivors,” she replied morosely, as her thoughts immediately went to the one person outside the castle that Magda actually cared about. Stay safe, Donna. Please God, keep her safe.
With each barricade put into place, Magda felt both safer and more alone… cut off from everything. But this was what needed to be done. As the final portcullis fell into place in the entrance hall, a burden lifted from her shoulders. There was still that sick feeling in her stomach, but her back felt lighter.
Why? She didn’t know. She didn’t deserve to feel better.
Everything was starting to blur together, and she didn’t care anymore. Magda remembered entering the Main Hall and seeing the Alcinadragon curled protectively around the crystalline torso that shared the measurements of the Countess, growling at anyone who came near it. She didn’t care or wonder why. Someone called out her name as she climbed the stairs, but she ignored it, legs carrying her faster and faster as she went. She didn’t want to talk. Her head, neck, and chest felt hot. She felt smothered and unable to breathe. She needed to get away.
By the time she was in the Hall of Joy, Magda was running. The library was a blur, as was the opera hall. Her eyes were open, but they saw nothing, as if her brain was on automatic. All she cared about was getting away.
She slammed the door to her workroom shut, turning the lock as well in order to keep herself physically, mentally, and emotionally away from everyone. She managed to go a few steps into the room before her knees gave way and she collapsed into a heap. That’s when the floodgates of emotion just opened up. She screamed and wailed, tears falling uncontrollably. All the pain and the burdens accumulated from this day, from these past few hours, came roaring out.
She had no idea how long she cried, nor how many in the castle heard her. She didn’t know if anyone knocked on the door to check on her, nor did she care. She would have ignored it anyway. At one point early on in her anguish, her stomach heaved. Only bile came out, as she had eaten nothing this entire day, but the wretching continued until even that was entirely discarded from her system. She cried until her tears ran dry; until only hiccuping breathes and weary, burning eyes remained.
Throughout all of this, there was one constant in Magda’s mind. She knew that if anyone, and she did mean anyone, interrupted her in this moment, there would be hell to pay. The staff had seen her mad and frustrated before, but they had never seen her rage. If anyone tried to comfort or hold her right now, they would be met with punches, thrown objects, and a slew of filthy, hate-filled words that she would likely regret at a later date. Perhaps even shears to the intruder’s throat, if she could reach them in time.
She didn’t want comfort. She wanted this pain. She wanted to hurt.
But most of all, she wanted her Bela.
Eventually though, the pain did subside. It slowly dulled and dissipated. To say it was completely gone would have been a lie, but it had settled for the time being. Magda’s body ached, as did her head. The floor beside her was a mess, but she made an effort and took the time to clean up the bile. She couldn’t stand having such a thing lingering in her workshop, no matter her mood or the circumstances. The process also helped the seamstress return to a semblance of herself.
After a change of clothes, a quick washing of her face and brushing of her teeth, Magda made her way back to the main hall. Samuel was lingering in the hallway, shuffling around a bit in an effort to entertain themself while probably waiting for Magda to re-emerge.
“Hey, Magda? Are… are you okay? Do you need anything? A hug maybe?” they asked, holding their arms open. Magda just shook her head and continued on. “Ice cream, maybe? We could sit and watch a movie together Not a scary movie or anythin’, but I’ll sit and watch something you’d like if it makes you feel better.” At that, Magda just sighed.
“Sam? Right now, what I want? I can’t have. So, please? Just let me go sit in peace next to what is left of the woman I love. All right?”
“Yeah, um…. about that? Okay, so we brought the statue things in like you said, but as soon as we did, the dragon thing that Lady D turned into? Yeah, she got real defensive and grabbed the big statue and isn’t giving it up. So, we then took the smaller ones and the fly piles got really active. Like super, super active. I mean, they’re not buzzin’ around like normal or human, but-“ Magda didn’t even wait for Sam to finish. Once more, she was off and running.
The daughters were on the opposite side of the fireplace from the Alcinadragon, though pretty much everyone was on the opposite side from her, as she took up an entire length of the hall. Samuel had actually been right, as the flies were more active since the last time she saw them. While not swarming, they were crawling over the statues, or rather, individual statues. Now that she was able to look at them properly, Magda could discern the shapes of the daughters in the torsos. Bela’s she knew well enough, and Daniela was a bit slighter than Cassandra… and all the while the appropriate flies were crawling over the appropriate statues. She still had no idea what they were for, but clearly they held some importance.
Whether it had been intentional or not, someone had set Bela in the alcove under the stairs, allowing a bit of privacy and seclusion if it was needed. Obviously, Samuel or someone else had taken Magda’s breakdown into consideration. Normally, the seamstress did not enjoy having special things done for her, but at the moment, she was not about complain.
Sitting on a blanket with her back against the wall, Magda actually managed to take a breath and relax for the first time that day.
They were alive.
Whether due to the added heat, time to recover, or whatever these odd statues were, the daughters were alive and moving around. They would be all right. The Alcinadragon had a forelimb curled around her own statue, surrounded by her favorite maidens, and was practically asleep, if her breathing was any indication. She would be all right. None of the servants had been gravely injured in the long term. The current state of the castle was an odd miracle, but it was a miracle nonetheless.
Looking at the crystalline statue beside her, Magda gently placed her fingertips upon it, in hopes that it would pulse or feel abnormally warm. That wasn’t the case, but one of the pale yellow flies that had been idly traversing the torso’s clavicle almost immediately changed direction and climbed onto her hand. Smiling, either from happiness or exhaustion, she brought the insect closer as it proceeded to march into the palm of her cupped hand. It happily buzzed and bumped its head against her skin, settling down in the warmth as Magda gently stroked it.
As if energized by her touch, the fly took to the air and landed in the hollow of the seamstress’ neck, where it buzzed and bounced around more; its little wings tickling her just enough to elicit a soft laugh from Magda.
“Hi, stea mică…” she said softly, body instinctively relaxing to that sensation. Magda wasn’t sure if it was her exhaustion or something else, but as her eyes closed and sleep began to take her, she could have sworn she heard Bela’s voice in the drone of the fly.
I won’t be long.
EPILOGUE:
“Magda? Magda, wake up. Somethin’s happening,” Sam’s voice cut through the blackness of sleep. The seamstress groggily rubbed her eyes and looked around, remembering where she was. Instinctively, she looked over at the Bela statue, worried for a moment at that she would find. The concern was unfounded as it was mostly covered by a swarm of flies, more than what she had seen prior to falling asleep.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked, standing up. The Alcinadragon was still asleep, her harem of maidens still tending to her. If it was possible, she too looked healthier.
“There’s something goin’ on in the village. Luana told me to get you. They’re in Lady D’s bedroom.” That made sense. The Countess’ chambers had a view that overlooked the village. It was a smart place to scout from.
Making her way there, Magda discovered that night had fallen, meaning she had slept most of the day away. Why hadn’t they woken her up sooner? She didn’t need to have her sleep schedule even more messed up. However, the not so far off explosions made her decide otherwise, as she quickened her steps up the stairs.
Luana was out on the balcony of Alcina’s chambers, watching a veritable firefight going on in the village. Massive waving tendrils were erupting from the ground, knocking what looked like military helicopters out of the sky as explosions and gunfire rocked what was left of the buildings.
“Have they come towards the castle?” Magda asked after taking it all in.
“No,” Luana replied.
“Then unless they come towards the castle, it’s not our fight. I’m not about to start something with a group that has guns, explosions, and…” An airstrike briefly interrupted the seamstress as she talked. “Whatever the hell that is!”
“I simply thought you would like to be made aware of this. It was wise that we closed up everything when we did.” Magda didn’t know why Luana was making her seem more important than she actually was. They were the head servant. She was just the seamstress.
“…… You’re going to sit out here until it’s over, aren’t you?”
“Of course.” At that, Magda sighed.
“I’m not staying out here all night. It’s too cold. I’d suggest that you come in from the cold as well, but you’re just as stubborn as I am. I’ll be inside on the chaise lounge if you need me. Please don’t freeze out here, Luana. I’m not about to lose you after keeping you alive.” With that said, Magda went back inside and made herself comfortable on the Countess’ furniture, something she’d never do normally, but this wasn’t exactly normal circumstances. Come to think of it, the large hole in the floor was also out of the ordinary. That hadn’t been there earlier today… What had happened here after she left with Bela?
She must have fallen asleep, since the next thing she knew, Magda was woken up by the sudden slamming of a door, followed almost immediately by being rocked off the chaise lounge by an earth shattering explosion. Broken glass rained down on her as the shockwave smashed the windows. For a brief moment, she thought a nuclear device had gone off and she waited for the incineration wave to burn her to a crisp. When none of that happened, and the castle remained standing, she looked around.
Luana was crouched against the door leading to the balcony, covering their head out of instinct. Brushing the glass from her hair, Magda cautiously stood up and looked out the window. Smoke filled the air, but as the wind carried it away, she could see a decently sized crater in what had been the ceremony site. There was nothing left of the tendrils from last night, just like there wasn’t much left of the village.
“What in the hell happened?” she mumbled. “Do you even now think there are survivors?” she asked Luana. In response, they simply pointed to the distant shape of a quickly retreating helicopter. For a moment, anger blossomed in Magda’s chest. If that man was on that thing? How dare he be able to escape so easily after causing all this destruction. But the feeling and hatred vanished along with the helicopter. If he was gone, then so much the better. Better for him to be gone and forgotten than to remain a problem for them all.
“Goodbye and good riddance, stupid man-thing,” Magda said, before turning her back on the sunrise and returning, with Luana, to her family.
#drabble#one-shot#LONG oneshot#bela dimitrescu#Ethan Winters#alcina dimitrescu#cassandra dimitrescu#daniela dimitrescu
68 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
bubbelgumsgumman
Stylish Lamps Delivered
little-walter
Got My Mojo Working
coastprivate-blog
Untitled
michailm-engels
Я и моё
thayleer
This is Thayler