is it really toxic yuri if she doesn’t demand you cut off your fingers for her happiness???

”You have given me gifts over 10,000 times. Congratulations!” haha happy wife happy life…. (my fingers are stumps)

as some of you may or may not have realized i am powerless to the siren call of the ultimate devilish blond Harvest Moon Scum Man, and given that the Japanese version of DS Cute gives you TWO saveslots and TWO hands and the ability to to be in a literal toxic lesbian best friendrriage with ultimate devilish mischievous blonde Harvest Moon Scum Woman i have no choice but to meet all of the Witch Princess’s super reasonable honey do list!!

so one of those fun little non negotiable requests from majo-sama is that you need to give her presents 10,000 times before she’ll even consider marrying you, even if you meet all the marriage requirements!

i don’t mean 10,000 items total— even if you give her a stack of 99 items, it only counts as +1 towards the “items given to witch” counter. you have to give her 10,000 items individually…

in normal gameplay (giving her 1 gift a day, accounting for the holidays when her house is closed) you’ll eventually reach 10,000 gifts!…in your 95th year!

you COULD give her 100 gifts a day every day and knock it out in less than a year, and this was my strategy at first! i quickly realized adding another tedious daily chore to a pile of tedious daily chores slowed the game loop to a crawl and splitting items out was really fucking annoying actually

on the other hand, in 5 IRL hours, you can just get it all done in one visit to her house and never worry about it ever again.

“wow, that sounds like a really great use of my limited time on god’s green earth! how can i too win my future wife’s heart through button mashing my fingers into a pulp?” you ask?

˚✧₊⁎optimized pro gamer technique for breaking your fingers yuri style!!٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶⁎⁺˳✧༚

you will need

dog (each time you show your pet, this adds +1 to the gift counter the same way a gift would)

the bottom screen should be the map screen (reduces loading time between conversations compared to having your rucksack open)

cast endurance on fingers (wait this is redundant, you saw yuri in the title…)

ideal but not required

sometimes when you enter her house, she’s facing the side and her walk cycle never starts. it’s great if you get this glitch because then you can just stand in place for the entire duration without having to look at the screen, and even like watch a movie or whatever while you do all this, instead of accidentally dropping your dog every time she walks to the other bookshelf

if you’re wondering “wait, doesn’t Witch Princess hate dogs and love cats? why are you showing her your dog?” you are absolutely correct! she yells at you to get that stupid beast away from her every time you show your dog to her! her FP goes down by 3 each time! however, since her response to the dog is shorter than her response to the cat, you end up saving like .6 seconds per conversation, saving over 1.5 hours total, so the dog is what she gets

anyway, in true Karen HM64 tradition, after being repeatedly harassed by having a dog she isn’t fond of shoved in her face ten thousand times in a row for like five hours straight, naturally this makes her want to marry you! who said good old fashioned courtly love is dead?!

* as a small note, if you care enough to keep track and give her an actual gift at the 10th, 100th, 1000th, and 10000th mark, you’ll get 4 of the limited Witch Photos early on, which each give you +1 sweet sweet farm degree points every day… honestly that’s not much, but the pain of being told “your hands are full soooo no reward for you lmaoooo sucks to be you” was too much to bear, so i kept track and used a normal present for the 10th, 100th, 1000th, and 10000th…

Supernatural Crack🩹tober

Day 13 - Season 35

           Dean sits on the motel bed, hunched over, waiting for his aches to stop. Back twinging even though he followed the doctor’s instructions. Did the exercises with the rubber band that left him winded before the day began. However Dean knew that, because of this cheap mattress he slept on, it’d be a bad day for his back.

           He hears the bathroom door open, not turning. If he so much as glanced behind him, the pain would shoot up from his lower back and totally wipe him out. Dean waits until Sam’s feet shuffle into view. “You were in there long.” He inches further upright, steady and careful, gaze trailing up his brother’s body.

           Clad in only a towel, Sam’s gut overhung slightly. Seeing it never failed at brightening his day. He always droned on about how a healthy diet and exercise would keep him looking fit through his golden years. Dean never bothered with any of that nonsense. Now they both had roughly the same physique, albeit Dean was a little slimmer. A fact he mentions whenever he can. Moving past that, however, he continues and meets Sam’s sunken gaze, hazel dimmed and sullen. He asks what’s wrong.

           Sam touches his graying hair, locks barely past his ears. “I found more in the drain today,” he admits, frowning, “I spent… a lot of time looking at the – the spot.”

           “The spot.” Sam’s special name for the bald circle on the back of his head. “It get larger?”

           “Unfortunately.”

           Dean hums a pitiable note, and then smirks. Flicks a wrinkled hand at the hair over his shoulder, “Sucks you got the crappy hair genes I guess.” His hair changed over the years, too. He let it grow long, deciding that at least one of them should have the luscious locks. Sam relinquishing that title on his fortieth birthday, when the spot was a tenth of the size it is today. Scowling, Sam purses his lips in response; Dean laughing louder because of it.

           He can’t enjoy much these days. His favorite foods could kill him. Dean’s body breaks far easier than it had. There’s nothing on television because it’s all on the computers, and even then the options suck. And worst of all, he doesn’t cruise anymore. Not after his last time when he overheard two brats laughing at his come-ons. Sex wasn’t worth mockery. The only thing left he can do is annoy Sam.

           “Whatever,” Sam says, searching through his duffel, “I’ve covered most of it with what’s left. Are you gonna get ready today or am I going to interview these witnesses on my own?”

           “Yeah, yeah. I’m coming… I’m coming…” Dean rises, stumbling somewhat. Gripping the bedpost as his knees wobble and protest. Luckily, he stays upright, and Dean feels confident enough he stands without aid. Reaches for a nearby hair tie on the nightstand and makes a low pony. Then Dean grabs for the plastic, 7-day pillbox and slowly walks over to the sink.

           One for his cholesterol. One for his back pain. One for the arthritis mangling his pinkie fingers and another that he cannot remember and so on and so on. It’s become routine, filling the glass, downing the handful of pills like candy and washing it down with water. He doesn’t question their purpose. As long as they keep working. And keep him working.

           He hears a flutter of wings near the door, and Dean turns. Castiel sits on the chair closest to it, rumpled trench coat and all. Looking far younger than the Winchesters thanks to divine interference. After Jack banished Chuck from their universe, he took his place up top and killed the handicaps placed on angel’s powers decades ago by Metatron. Castiel went with Jack, becoming his most trusted advisor. But he still deigned visits with them when he could. Filling the brothers in on angel business or helping on a case. It hurt, sometimes, when they asked if he were their nurse. Dean thinks Castiel looked more their age with the number of wrinkles across his face. But angel grace trumps pills in the fight against age.

           “Dean, Sam,” he rumbles glancing between the two. In the time between Dean grabbing his pills and swallowing them, Sam threw on jeans and a plaid shirt. “Are you two in the middle of something important?”

           “No,” Sam tells him, “just a ghost hunt. Why? What’s the matter?”

           Castiel frowns, sneaking a quick peek at Dean. Dean appreciates the gesture, fondness swelling in his heart and easing his angina. How he loves that angel. But, clear from the other’s choices, Dean’s feelings were unreciprocated.  He is quite content, though, with not voicing his desires and the time Castiel spends with them. Even if sixty percent of it was usually about business. Like this conversation looked to be.

           “It appears that there was a flare up in the universal warding keeping God out,” Castiel explains, “and, according to my sources, someone is trying to help him break through.”

           “Is it Amara?”

           “Or Amara’s kid?”

           “What about that coven of witches from Russia – the ones with all that chaos magic?”

           “Dean, they were all wiped out remember? The power burned them from the inside out?”

           “Oh, yeah… they were pretty hot.”

           Castiel clears his throat, drawing them from bickering. “It appears,” Castiel says, “that it is Jack’s sister.”

           Dean’s knees falter again, and he holds onto the sink for dear life. “Jack has a sister?” he asks, spluttering, “How is it we’ve gone all this time and we are only finding out just now that Jack has a sister!”

           Shrugging, Castiel continues. “Apparently, as Jack was being born, Chuck stole her thinking she was Jack. But when he realized what happened, he locked her on another plane. That seal was destroyed in your last battle with Billie, when she granted you those extra years –“

           “It’s like we’ll never end!”

           “And she must have found out about Jack’s life,” he says, “grew jealous of what he got.”

           Dean recovers, advancing on the angel. “So… what is it you’d have us do?”

           Castiel reaches for a scroll inside his coat, handing it over. “There’s an artifact of great power buried in the deserts of New Mexico –“

           “Pretty convenient,” Sam says, stuffing his foot into an orthopedic shoe, “wasn’t the last one in New Mexico, too?”

           “No, it was in Texas,” Dean corrects him. “But, yeah… we’re lucky everything’s just a drive away.”

           “In the deserts of New Mexico,” Castiel speaks louder now, “you’ll find the Quill of Ramidiel.”

           “A quill? What’s so important about a quill?”

           “It has the power to rewrite fate.”

           “You’ve been sitting on this fucking thing for how long?” Dean yells, vision blackening from his anger. “We could’ve use that for so many fights! Like the Alpha Hellhound or the – or when vamps started trending on Twitter and the secret nearly got out! Hell, we could’ve rewritten God to be kinder and leave us alone!”

           Castiel remains stoic, voice a cool growl. “The stakes have never been more important than they are now. You must hurry, before she finds the quill and changes everything.” He disappears, chair empty once more.

           Dean strangles the scroll, fondness poisoned by Cas’s retreat. Emotions always like the tides in regards to the angel. Overwhelmed by them, he misses Sam’s approach. Flinches when his brother takes the scroll. “So,” he opens it, reading, “what do you want to do?”

           The answer’s the same, isn’t it? Always. Never breaking for a single moment. Fighting bads that get bigger and badder each time. “What we gotta do Sammy,” he sighs, tiredly, “we get to work.”

(Day 12 - Moondorsonas)

i’m scared that you’ll finally see that i’m not very strong

Summary: Michael is broken and it’s too big a task for one person.

ao3

“But basically I don’t know what to do.”

Alex sighed slowly as he looked between Maria and Michael. Isobel had called Alex in a panic to tell him that Max was dead and she knew that he had some fancy alien information that he needed to look through to fix it. Once that call ended, Alex had immediately gone to call Michael to see how he was doing, mainly because that would explain why he never came home, but Maria had called him before he could finish dialed the number that he annoyingly knew by heart. She had insisted Michael needed him, so obviously he went.

Instead of finding Michael in distress, he found him curled up in a cocoon of blankets in Maria DeLuca’s bed. She had explained that they’d kissed and he’d fled, then when he came back he was virtually catatonic. He was unresponsive and blank, like he was lost and had just showed up at the Pony not too unlike her mother had more than a few times. Alex understood why it freaked her out, but he didn’t understand why she called him.

“He came to you. Take care of him,” Alex said in the most monotone voice that he could manage. It hurt him on more levels than one to know that Michael had gone to her instead of him twice in one day. It was glaringly obvious that whatever was between them was truly over.

“I don’t think he meant to come to me, Alex,” Maria explained. She looked almost frantic as she stared at him, begging him to just fix this situation with her eyes. “I-I think he just came here because he comes here all the time and his brain is on autopilot and he saw something he recognized. Like my mom does. Sh-she sees the sign and she comes because it’s something she recognizes, I think he did the same thing. I don’t think he wants me, I think he just wants something familiar.”

“Okay,” Alex said dumbly. She wasn’t helping. She was pouring salt in the wound, even if it was accidental. It felt the same as if she was saying ‘haha I’m his safe place, not you’ and it wasn’t fun.

“You’re familiar, Alex,” she said, eyes wide like she’d cracked the code. He stared at her for a moment before he realized that she really just wanted him to take over completely. His eyebrows came together and he took a step backward, towards the door.

“No, I’m not even going to touch him. He came here to you, he got in your bed, and he is in your blankets. He clearly wants you around him,” he shot back. Tears brimmed her eyes and she shook her head, desperate not to have this on her. He couldn’t imagine how it must’ve felt to have two people you care about just show up at your door as shells of themselves and needing you to take care of them, but he also couldn’t do much in the way of helping. If Michael was indeed shutting down mentally, the last thing he was going to do was be the one to make it worse. He’d rather die than have that happen.

“No, Alex, please. You’re his person. I-I can feel it.”

“If that were true, he would’ve come to me, not you.”

“No! It was just… just… Alex, please, I’m sorry,” Maria cried, fat tears pouring over her cheeks. She was suddenly just that little girl when they were 9 and had found a dead baby bird. He remembered how upset she was and, though he and Liz both tried to explain that it wasn’t her fault, it didn’t seem to make her feel any better. She couldn’t seem to understand how she was the one to find it and it wasn’t directly her fault that it died.

Right now, Alex was more than sure that she felt it was directly her fault that Michael was broken.

And the last place she saw him “fixed” was when Alex was around.

“Maria, it isn’t my place to tell you what has happened to him in the last two days,” Alex said softly, reaching out to put a hand on her arm. Even if she’d kissed Michael and completely ignored Alex’s feelings in the process, he found it hard to watch her be this upset. He always had. “But what I can tell you is he’s been through a lot and he clearly came to you to… I don’t know, distract him. Make him feel better.”

“Alex,” she said desperately, “I swear, I don’t think he wants me. Not really. He’s just seen that sign every day for the last 7 years and‒”

“Maria,” Alex said sternly, “He’s in your bed right now. You can’t tell me that he doesn’t want you.”

She bowed her head as she cried a little harder and he instinctively brought her into his chest for a hug. His eyes drifted to Michael who seemed frozen in time, his eyes open and glassy and empty as they gazed off in Alex’s direction. He wasn’t looked at him, just through him and that was another added layer of fucking painful.

“I don’t understand. He was fine and-and then I touched him and I broke him and I’m sorry, he wasn’t mine to break. He wasn’t mine to break, Alex, I know it. I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” she cried, “I-I just ignored all the signs, all the everything. It doesn’t take a fucking psychic to know you two are-are linked, but I ignored it because he was good and he was safe and he… he’s yours. I broke him and he was your good thing.” Alex sighed heavily, looking towards the ceiling. He needed a fucking nap. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I can’t tell you what to do, Maria,” he said, slowly letting her pull out of the hug, “But you didn’t break him. Seriously, if anyone did, it was me.”

“No‒”

“But I didn’t either,” Alex said so surely that he almost believed it himself. His eyes drifted back to Michael who had sealed his eyes shut now, looking not one bit peaceful despite the effort Maria had gone through to burrito him up in the softest things she could find.

“I don’t know what to do, Alex,” she said again for the millionth time that night. He took a deep breath.

“He likes to be held,” Alex explained softly and it hurt more than he wanted to admit, “H-He sweats in his sleep, mostly in his hair, so it helps if… if you run your hand through it every once in a while to air it out. He likes hot chamomile with honey, but he won’t tell anyone that, so you just have to give it to him. It calms him down.”

“Alex, why can’t you just‒”

“He doesn’t want me.” His voice cracked and he wanted to bury himself in a hole. Her empathy was written on her face, plain as day. He took another step to the door. “Just… He likes to be the little spoon, so…”

“Okay, Alex. Okay.” Maria nodded. She took a deep breath of her own and did her best to steady herself before she walked to the other side of the bed. He watched her lay behind him and do her best to wrap her arms around the lump of blankets, softly shushing him like one would a baby.

He didn’t know why he kept standing there and staring. It was like he torturing himself even more. The man he loved more than anything in the universe had chosen his best friend. He should be angry, he should be storming off, but mostly he just felt helpless. Michael was shutting down, Maria was panicking, and all he could do was stand away and watch as two people he loved tried to find some level of peace. It was irritating at best.

Before Alex had grown the motivation to leave, Michael’s eyes opened again. This time he looked at him. It was quite possibly the most vulnerable he’d ever seen the man with the exception of those moments in Caulfield. Even when he was covered in his own blood, he hadn’t looked so scared and exposed. Even when he was holding his mangled hand to his chest moments after Jesse Manes had left them, he had been assuring Alex that he was okay and asking if Alex was hurt. This was different. This was Michael truly needing something and being too fucked to hide it.

It was a phenomenon. Alex stumbled closer.

He quickly put himself in check though because Michael was experiencing serious trauma. He didn’t need to be touched by anyone that he hadn’t explicitly made clear that that was okay. As much as Alex wanted to be that person, he wasn’t, and so he stared into Michael’s beautifully haunting eyes and waited. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for until it happened.

Michael gave the smallest nod ever and suddenly Alex was taking off his shoes.

Maria mouthed a thank you to him as he crawled onto the other side of Michael. He kept space between them, but their eye contact never ceased. After awhile, his hand slid it’s way out of the blankets and just enough for Alex to notice. Alex gulped at the healed skin and felt a lot of things deep in his stomach as he stared at it. But he knew what was being asked of him and grabbed it with both of his, letting Michael go limp as he softly massaged the muscles in his hand.

It was something that they never did when light could hit them, a secret little moment that was saved for the dark so that they could pretend they hadn’t done it in the morning. So many things between them were saved for those moments in the dark so that they had no obligation to discuss it when the masks came back on in the morning. That’s how he was able to tell Michael how he lost his leg and let him touch the scars for the first time. That’s how Michael was able to go into detail on the things that had plagued him as a child. That’s how Alex was able to do the same.

Michael's eyes closed as he relaxed and Alex let himself do the same, hoping Maria would join that party as well. It was easily the weirdest situation he’d been in, but he couldn’t find himself to be confused. Michael was hurting and he needed people to just hold him without question. Romantic and platonic didn’t mean shit when your world felt like it had ended all in one fell swoop. Alex couldn’t find it in him to be hurt anymore. If he was Michael, he’d probably want all of his friends to smother him in a mass group cuddle too. Honestly, he could use one now if they got to ignore it once morning hit. It made sense. They could talk about details later. Right now, they all just needed a nap and some semblance of safety.

Alex fell asleep to Michael’s pulse and Maria’s whispered shushing.

Sparity on top

Nautiscarader’s Smutember 12 - On top

() (Ao3) (Next>>)

Sparity, MLP FiM, E

=========================

In the darkness of the vast chamber, Spike could only see the ominous, glowing blue eyes of the powerful mare straddling him, though as his eyes got used to the ambiance, he realised his position more and more. The magical chains around his ankles and wrists prevented his spread body from moving, and even his tail, usually so versatile, couldn’t help him much, especially with magic engulfing the whole bed he was tied to.

The once-alabaster mare smiled, as she leaned her muzzle towards Spike, breathing in the smoke coming from his nostrils.  Her golden armour, though decorated with gemstones, looked airy and light; her hair, already stunning and vast looked as if they were floating in the mist that surrounded them, making her look like she was floating… and Spike wouldn’t be surprised if it was true.

- Ah, you’re finally awake…

Nightmare Rarity laughed and straddled him, pressing her flanks against his members. At first, Spike thought she did it nonchalantly, but as her bottom moved back and forth, he understood his capturer had more intricate plans for him.

- Rarity! - Spike cried - Snap out of it! Please… - Don’t worry, Spike. Rarity is doing exactly what she wants…

The monstrous unicorn got comfortable in Spike’s laps, her magic lifting the scales that hid his massive, dragon cocks. Spike watched her face, and the moment her eyes lay upon his double phallus, they glowed with carnal, unearthly glimmer. A moment later Spike felt the familiar tingling as magic engulfed his cocks and she began stroking them, in turn. She let out a deep, half-menacing giggle, when Spike let out a moan, and she responded with one of her own when she felt underneath her hoof his drakehood becoming more and more sturdy. Her soaking wet folds pressed against his double phallus, and she began moving back and forth, while continuing her speech.

- You see, dear little Rarity was having nightmares again… Of you abandoning her, in favour of another… - Wha-what? - Spike stuttered, unable to think straight - I-I’d never…! - Oh, but there were so many scenarios she was imagining… You were so close with Princess Ember, and that little dragoness from the school… - Ember and Smo-Smolder are just my friends!

Spike protested, straining his muscles, while his body writhed and quaked under Rarity’s caresses. The pleasure became mind-numbing; Rarity slid herself on his cocks, covered in the natural lubricant, her voice vibrating as she encountered ridges and veins along her long road that stimulated her, though her voice was still as commanding as before.

- And of course there are so many mares you could have chosen… that was the most painful… - I only love her! - Well, you know that… - Nightmare Rarity replied, standing up suddenly - But Rarity wants to make sure of it…

Spike realised what she has done so too late. In one, sudden move, Rarity, or rather the collective monster controlling her, slammed her flanks on his cocks, engulfing him completely with her pussy. Spike roared, letting bright green flame from his jaw, as the warmth, wetness, and familiar, yet alien tightness surrounded him. Rarity only allowed one of his monstrous cock inside her pussy, while his other would stimulate her clit, or slide between her buttcheeks, resulting in a messy finish… On certain occasions, when she was feeling dirtier, she allowed Spike to penetrate both of her holes… And never before has she impaled herself on both of them, already stretching her delicate walls beyond belief.

As Spike roared her name, he remembered their first night as lovers, when she was afraid Spike might not even be able to fit one of his drakehoods inside her, let alone two. And he remembered her tears, not of pain, but happiness, when she found out he could slip inside her perfectly, joining their bodies for the first of many, many times.

- And I know you have been having those nightmares as well… How many stallions, or mares could she have chosen… Maybe she would one day leave you…? But there is one sure way to prevent that….

He wondered if this was what Rarity wanted, or was it something the monster controlling her done to her. And slowly, his mind was becoming blank, overwhelmed with pleasure, as Rarity moved up and down, letting loud, eerie, carnal cries each time her lower lips touched his scales.

- Come on, yes, Spike! You shall become my liege… My slave… My… Sire…!

Spike’s eyes widened, and a moment later, he was met with her sparkling, blue gaze, as Rarity pressed her golden, spiky ornamental hoofshoes against scales on his chest, and she assumed even more direct position. Her hips moved up and down, coating his joined cocks with steadily increasing amount of juices. He was about to say something, and protest, but only low, lecherous moans escaped his jaws, much to Nightmare Rarity’s pleasure. She briefly considered releasing one of his cocks to tease him further, but her mission was far, far more important.

- Join me, Spike! We shall rule together! Me, you… and… the children of the night!

Rarity threw her head back, her demonic laughter combined with the orgasm that shook through her body, making her front- and hindlegs weak. If her tightness before has amazed Spike, then her walls gripping on his cock drove him to the point of madness. He wasn’t sure if it was his love for her or the animalistic desire that seeped into his mind, but Spike roared her name again, and unable to control his body, gave into the madness, jerking his hips on his own for the first time this night.

Two hefty streams of his seed shot up, flooding Rarity’s already crowded pussy in an instant with his virile cum that soon had to leak outside under pressure, but not before setting Rarity’s orgasm anew. On his rock hard, double cocks, Rarity was flailing like a hoof-puppet, babbling something that sounded like a combination of cries, mangled bits of Spike’s name and magical spells, and it certainly looked like she was under one, writhing and moaning. Rarity rocked her hips for what seemed like hours, her orgasm leading to his in a vicious cycle, milking him for his seed, but their carnal, otherworldly journey found its end with an unlikely sound.

- A-Auch! - Spikey? - Nightmare Rarity squealed in an unnaturally high voice.

Rarity stopped and opened her eyes, as she heard her drakefriend’s distressed voice.

- No, it’s… it’s alright. - Spike wheezed, still catching breath from his climax that tore through his body. - It’s that… that scale on my arm…

In a blink of an eye, Rarity lit the lights, transforming the halls of Nightmare Moon into their regular bedroom, and with another spell, undid the chains around Spike’s wrist, seeing the problem at once. With the metal that trapped his loose scale gone, Spike let out a sigh of relief, though he was met with Rarity’s concerned face.

- I told you you should go and have a hooficure, Spikey! - she spoke, her voice slowly becoming the one of her own - They do claws now too, ever since Smolder told them how…

She leaned closer and placed a kiss at the place where crooked scale was, and then on his jaw, inviting his draconic tongue deep into her mouth. His free hands closed around her torso, covered in glamorous, golden nightgown, as the two basked in the afterglow for a few, long minutes.

- Good thing it didn’t happen when we were in the heat of the action.

Rarity giggled in response, her eyes slowly turning into her usual colour with every blink.

- Also… wow. - Spike was still breathing heavily, gathering thoughts that rushed through his head - I… I didn’t expect you would… - Take both of your boys? - Rarity leaned on his chest, letting another deep moan - Well, I thought I need to make this evening special for my dear Spikey-Wikey.

She cupped his snout again, and kissed him, her cheeks reddening, which became even more pronounced on her usual, white coat.

- And you were magnificent as well… - she sighed. - I didn’t do that much, Rarity… - Oh, yes, you ha-have….

She cried out, when she moved in place, feeling his cocks, though limp, still filling her to the brim. This, combined with his copious orgasm seeping from her well-used opening, resulted in a series of purrs that reverberated in Spike’s chest and his belly, as Rarity got comfortable on it.

- Where did you get all those spells from? - Spike asked, stroking her mane. - Oh, you know… - Don’t tell me you asked Twilight. - Spike let out a groan. - Magical make-up, spell to turn ribbons into chains, the lights, the fog… she’s so gonna know it was for kinky stuff… - I told her it’s for Nightmare Night… - Rarity spoke softly. - Which is in like half a year!

Spike groaned and hid his face in his hands.

- Now I won’t be able to look at her for weeks… - Hey!

Spike opened his eyes and found Rarity’s muzzle once again pressed against his.

- If I want to give my Spikey a night he won’t forget, then it’s my business.

She gently stomped her hoof against his chest, which resulted in him showing her his mouth and lead into another kiss.

- And did you enjoy my show? - Rarity leaned and fluttered her eyelids. - Oh, definitely. - he stroked her mane - So, does that mean Nightmare Rarity has won? - Well…

Rarity moved her hoof in circles against his chest, keeping him in the dark. The two liked role-playing, and ever since the two enjoyed their session as Power-Ponies, Rarity dreamt of a bit more sinistr scenario, and of course the episode of her life seemed perfect to use as a base for that scenario.

- Maybe. I mean, you have certainly… infused her with your essence… - she enunciated those words, looking at his giddy smile - But maybe there is a way to snap Rarity from the curse? - Last time I saved you with the power of my love… So maybe this time…

Rarity cried when she was suddenly pressed to the bed by his massive body that now towered over her. Spike withdrew his cocks, much to her delight, as her delicate lips were stimulated again. Spike’s cocks were now inches from her face, dripping thick globs of cum onto her otherwise pristine coat, and Rarity found it very hard to keep her mouth shut and not salivate at the prospect of Spike dominating her and fucking the monsters out of her.  

Futures Known But Unspoken

CHAPTER 31 Traversing Mirkwood The company finally lead their steeds over to the dense woods, Gandalf dismounting first. As the wizard approached the forest everyone followed his lead, Lane sliding off of their horse before helping Belle off and onto solid ground. “It’s so… creepy looking…” Belle claimed, a shiver running down her spine. “Spiders,” Lane whispered right next to her ear. Belle let out a loud scream and swung around to swat her friend on the shoulder, Lane letting out a round of laughter despite the slight pain. “Here lies our path through Mirkwood!” Gandalf called out from the trees.“No sign of the orcs, we have luck on our side,” Dwalin hummed, as he too dismounted his pony. Belle and Lane, having finished their swatting war, exchanged knowing looks before casting their eyes over to the nearby rock hill, a great black bear reaching the top and swiveling its head around as if searching for something. “Set the ponies loose, let them return to their master,” Gandalf called out.“This forest feels… sick, as if a disease lies upon it,” Bilbo spoke, walking up so that he stood between Belle and Lane. “Is there no way around?” “Not unless we go two hundred miles north. Or twice that distance south,” the wizard sighed, finally walking through the elven gate. Bilbo gave a small sigh, Belle reaching down to pat him on the shoulder in comfort, the hobbit giving her a thankful smile and nod.The dwarves and Bilbo moved to begin taking their things off of the ponies, Lane and Belle standing by the gate to watch as Gandalf slowly walked deeper and deeper into the wood. “You think that if we just untether his horse then he can’t ditch us?” Lane hummed. “We can’t do that, he has to go to the crypt and see for himself that the Ringwraiths aren’t there,” Belle hissed, keeping her voice down so that none of the others could hear them. “We could always just tell him. ‘Yo, Gandalf. Just an FYI to tell your elf lady friend, Sauron is back and Azog’s in league with him. You may want to look into that’,” Lane suggested, looking down at her friend out of the corner of her eye. Belle gave Lane a scolding look causing the taller to roll her eyes. “You’re such a fucking killjoy, what good is being an Oracle if we can’t give people a heads up?” “Not my horse! I need it!” Gandalf suddenly called out, quickly making his way back over to them. “You’re not leaving us…” Bilbo said, disbelief in his voice. “Blame Izz,” Lane grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. The smaller woman glared up at her friend and elbowed her in the ribs, Lane letting out a small yelp and rubbing her side with a pout. “I’ll be waiting for you at the overlook, before the slopes of Erebor. Keep the map and key safe,” Gandalf called out. “Do not enter that mountain without me.” “Wow deja vu. Frodo? Prancing Pony? No show? Is any of this ringing any bells?” Lane scoffed under her breath. “Lane!” Belle hissed. “What? It’s true!” “This is not the Greenwood of old! The very air of the forest is heavy with illusion, it will seek to enter your mind, lead you astray,” Gandalf claimed. “Lead us astray? What does that mean?” Bilbo asked, looking over at the two women. “You must stay on the path, do not leave it. If you do, you will never find it again,” Gandalf continued. He casted his gaze over to the two women. “I trust their fate in your hands young Oracles, help them to stay on track.” Lane and Belle nodded as Gandalf turned his steed in the opposite direction and rode off. “C’mon! We must reach the mountain before the sun sets on Durin’s day,” Thorin began, walking towards the front of the group. “This is our one chance to find the hidden door!” The dwarf lord paused as he came to stand beside Lane and Belle, sighing and looking up at them. “Lead the way, our fates are in your hands,” he said. Lane and Belle both gave him a slightly baffled look before turning to each other. Deciding not to make a big fuss about Thorin finally choosing to trust them, Lane and Belle lead the charge into the mangled forest, the others right behind them, Lane drawing her sword as she walked a few feet ahead of Belle. Using her blade much like a blindman’s stick, Lane continuously tapped the tip on the ground in front of her, keeping her ears zeroed in on the noise that the path made and listening for any differences telling her that they were beginning to stray. “Is the tapping really necessary?” Dori groaned from near the middle of the group. “It’s hurting my head.” “If you doubt my leading capabilities then by all means, you first Dori,” Lane scoffed, turning around slightly to glare back at him. “All of you quiet!” Thorin growled, glaring at the grumbling dwarves as well. “Lead on.” Lane couldn’t help but feel touched that Thorin had actually defended her, a small smile spreading across her lips as she turned back to the road and continued to lead and tap away on the brick. With Lane tapping away at the front of the group, the company managed to stay on track, Belle occasionally casting a look back at the others to make sure that none of them had wandered off. Though both women knew that in the movie at some point the dwarves lost the path, they didn’t have any idea about a time frame in which it happened. Belle gave a small sigh and rubbed her arms as the hairs began to stand on end; the forest was creeping her out now more than before and it was making her antsy. When she felt a small tingle on her arm, she brushed her hand over it only to feel the same sensation once again. With a small huff, she turned her head and lifted her arm, only to come face to face with a small grey spider about the size of her thumbnail Letting out a loud scream, Belle waved her arm around frantically and brushed her hand across it in an attempt to throw her hitchhiker off. “Oi! Come here you drama queen!” Lane barked, quickly grabbing Belle by the collar of her tunic and pulling her back towards the group. Before Belle could utter a single word, Lane reached around her and swatted the spider off of her friend’s arm. Belle’s knees continued to knock against each other for a few moments while Lane patted her shoulder. “Boris is gone Izz, you can stop convulsing now,” the taller woman chuckled. “To let out a shriek over something so small as a common spider,” Nori snickered. “If you hadn’t been at the front of the group we’d have thought you were being attacked by orcs,” Kíli agreed. The other dwarves all let out a round of laughter as Lane rolled her eyes and began to lead the way through the woods again, Belle quickly grumbling and catching up to her. “Mock me for my fear of spiders. Oh don’t worry; you’ll get yours,” the smaller woman growled, crossing her arms over her chest as she pouted. Lane let out a chuckle from beside her and loosely wrapped her arm across Belle’s shoulders, continuing to tap on the ground with her sword. -=- “We should make camp before it gets any darker,” Lane claimed, stopping and looking up into the trees. The others nodded and began to make camp right on the path, not wanting to risk losing it in the darkness of the night. “Dori-” “I’ll take first watch,” Belle suddenly offered. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep much here anyways so I might as well do something productive…” “You stand watch? Is the air getting to you already?” Lane snickered. Belle huffed and walked over to the edge of their camp and sat on a nearby log as Gloin and Bombur began the task of creating the fire. “But no, seriously, are you sick?” Lane asked, walking over and giving her friend a weird look. “I’d rather them battle ready...” Belle stated planting her butt on a log to see in all directions, “Then have them half asleep and become chow for the creatures of Mirkwood.” Lane tried to hold back a laugh, “What could you do if we were attacked?” “I know how to scream,” Belle stated glaring at Lane, “I will and can give good warning...So...sleep, please.” Lane sighed and shook her head, taking her pack off of her back and making her bedroll right at Belle’s side before hunkering down into it. “And we have fire~!” Bombur hummed. The moment the blaze was bright enough for the dwarves liking however, a loud screeching came from the woods. Before any of them could blink, a hoard of black wings flew out from the trees, everyone letting out either rounds of yells or screams. “What are these things!?” Bilbo gasped as he covered his head in fear. “Moths!” Belle squeaked, managing to catch a glimpse of their “attackers” through her arms. “They’re attracted to the light! Put out the damned fire!” Lane hollered from inside her bedroll. Dwalin quickly dashed through the hoard of black wings and stomped the blaze out, the moths almost instantly fluttering away as the company was thrust into the absolute dark of the night. “Well… so much for keeping watch; I can’t even see my hand in front of my face,” Belle sighed, waving the appendage around in the dark. “You may not be able to see, but keep your ears open lass,” Balin’s voice sighed. “Everyone get some rest, we head out again at sunrise,” Thorin’s voice called out. “Provided we can see the sun rising…” Ori whimpered. Belle shifted around on her log for a bit until she found a somewhat comfortable spot, the camp soon being engulfed in soft snores. Just as she had predicted, she could feel the fatigue slowly creeping up on her as the hours passed on, but she couldn’t bring herself to sleep like her friends. Belle yawned and she heard one of the dwarves stirring in their spot. “Has no one switched with you, My Lady?” Kíli’s voice suddenly whispered. Belle shook her head before remembering that he couldn’t see her doing so. “I didn’t want to bother anyone…” “How long have you been watching?” Kíli asked, a few more rustles sounding from his direction. “A while,” Belle hummed, unsure of how long it had really been exactly. “Everyone looked so tired…” There was some more shuffling before Belle could hear him slowly making his way over to her and carefully sitting next to her on the log. “You should sleep then, Lady Isabella.” “I want to,” Belle sighed. “But I feel uneasy, which makes it hard to sleep…” “Uneasy about what?” Kíli asked. “About a lot of stuff I suppose,” Belle stated, rubbing at her face. “Middle Earth is full of dangerous things; you never know what’s waiting around the next corner.” “You do…” Kíli hummed. “The both of you.” “I suppose I do for most things…” Belle sighed. “But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t frighten me...Knowing or not knowing doesn’t really matter to me because at the end of everything I worry about those around me.” “Have you always worried about others?” Belle smiled softly and nodded. “Yeah, I do. I worry a bit too much at times. It can be rather annoying for most people, I don’t mean for it to… but it happens. It drives Lane absolutely nuts most days.” “Our Champion? Annoyed with you? Never,” Kíli snickered in the dark. “Has she actually told you this though? In her own words?” “She has maybe once or twice, but I think that’s how she shows she loves me,” Belle hummed, fiddling with the edge of her tunic. “We’ve been through a lot… I think she understands how much I care about her and that I will do what I can to protect her…” “How will you protect her?” “By staying by her side and looking out for her in the ways I can,” Belle stated. “I don’t have any real combat training aside from what you’ve taught me… but I know how to listen or at least hold someone’s hand if they need it.” “You harbor a large heart full of love,” Kíli hummed. “Do you show this type of dedication to any others, or is she just special?” “I show love and kindness to my friends yes…” Belle paused to look up above her, despite not able to see anything but black. “Where I’m from… I was the mother of my group of friends… I scolded them jokingly, lent an ear when they needed it, a hug or two or shoulder to cry on… It was a joke, but I liked it; it felt like one big happy family even if those around me were younger and older.  Lane… She’s older than me, so I’m surprised she puts up with me as much as she does…” “She’s like an older sister,” Kíli pointed out. “Looks after you, picks on you, gets you in and out of trouble…” Belle smiled, turning to where she believed Kíli was sitting beside her. “Yes, exactly.” “Trust me, My Lady, I understand that feeling all too well,” Kíli chuckled. “I guess in a sense we’re both the babies of the family then, huh?” Belle laughed quietly, careful not to wake the others. “Well if that’s the case, then we babes need to watch over each other,” Kíli chuckled. The two entered a comfortable silence and at some point Belle fell asleep. When she opened her eyes several hours later, she found herself lying beside Lane on her own bedroll, her arms clamped around her friend’s left. Just as she was about to release the taller woman’s arm, Lane shifted in her sleep and turned her head to look over at her. “Aww, what a way to ruin a morning, having to look at your ugly mug first thing,” Lane groaned, a playful smirk stretching across her lips. Belle gave the woman a glare and reached up to swat her shoulder, Lane letting out a sleepy chuckle before pushing herself into a sitting position. “Good morning Champion, quite the hair you’ve got there,” Kíli greeted from beside them, smoking his pipe with a smirk. “You’re just jealous that my hair’s better than yours Kíli, get over yourself,” Lane teased, looking up at him with a corny grin. “Your hair? Better than mine? That’s preposterous!” Kíli scoffed, playing along. “Everyone knows that I have the nicest hair!” A smarmy grin quickly spread across the brunette prince’s features as the taller woman rubbed at her eyes in a further attempt to wake herself up. “Then again, I’m sure you prefer locks of gold~” Lane lifted a hand from her face to give Kíli a confused look coupled with raised eyebrow. “Ooooo, you’ve been found~♪” Belle sang quietly with a laugh. “I think the air is getting to you two...” Lane yawned, as she ran a hand through her messy hair. Belle and Kíli exchanged knowing looks and simply snickered, Lane grumbling under her breath about being surrounded by ‘fucking loons’. The other dwarves slowly stirred and rose from their sleep. After having a minuscule meal in order to ration what food they had left, everyone packed up and began the trek through the forest, Lane and Belle leading the way once again. Lane felt like someone was staring at her, turning her head to see Belle grinning up at her. “What are you grinning about?” Lane asked, suspicion in her tone. “Oh nothing,” Belle giggled, grin still stretched across her lips. “And everything… You know I love you right?” “Is the air seriously not getting to you?”  Lane asked sounding a bit weirded out. “Because if it is you need to tell me so that I can tie your wrist around mine or something so you don’t wander off.” “Nope,” Belle shook her head and quickened her pace to a merry skip. “Is she ill?” Thorin asked in a whisper. “She’s always been a bit uneven in the head, but I think she’s just up to something,” Lane hummed, continuing to tap her blade along the ground. “Izz! Don’t go too far! I’m not coming after you if you get lost!” Belle hummed and continued to skip ahead of them by about twenty feet. “See. This is why you guys need to stay on the path and listen to us while you’re in here; the air will make you turn loops like that,” Lane grinned, turning and pointing up ahead at her friend. “Oi! I’m not turning loops! Is it a crime to be in a good mood!” Belle barked, spinning on her spot and glaring back at her friend, fists on her hips. “In this place, it’s all but a sin,” Lane snickered as they caught up to her. Belle crossed her arms over her chest with a pout and allowed Lane to pass her before quickly walking in step with the taller woman. “How long will it take us to get through the forest?” Thorin asked, his hand never straying from the hilt of Orcrist. “It… depends really,” Lane stumbled, not expecting such a question. “It could take… up to a week or only a few more days…” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Gloin asked, sounding confused. “It means that we have to stay on our toes and listen to our Champion,” Fíli called out from behind his uncle. Lane chuckled under her breath as Belle turned and gave her friend a teasing grin. The taller noticed her friend’s grin and rolled her eyes, turning back to the front and continuing to lead on.

Saving You - Part I

*Hi everyone! First, I need to shoutout @hellosupernaturaldoctor​  for giving me advice and the confidence to even attempt this. This is my very first time writing any fan-fiction and the first time I’ve decided to post any of my writing some place other than a word doc. I’ve had this idea for this story since mid-season of the Mayans, and after the finale I put all my thoughts into a story. It starts off slow, but I promise what I have in store next will be worth it! PS, Any feedback is appreciated! - This story takes place a few months after the season one finale. Ez is now a newly patched in member, Alvarez is still working for Galindo; things have been quiet as of late, well for the most part.*

It’s a Friday afternoon, I’m just getting off of work. It’s hot as fuck outside – guess that’s the price you pay when you live in the desert. I lazily gather my purse from the backroom, before I step foot outside, I redo my hair. What was once a cute pony tail this morning has turned into a mangled mess. As my luck would have it, my hair tie snaps as soon as I go to wrap it around a third time. “Fuck.” I mumble to myself. I always wear an extra hair tie on my wrist, but I cannot have a naked wrist. “Fine, a mangled mane I will have. It’s fine, it’s fine.” I whisper to myself. If I don’t leave here now, I will lose all sanity I have left. Man, what a shit show day today has been, this heat must be getting to the kids. Two broken wrists, a broken arm, a no helmet incident and a random summer cold. I didn’t get puked or shit on, and no kid attempted to kick or hit, so I call today’s shit show a success. Just as I’m about to leave, one of my co-workers stops me, “Leah, good work today. You kept that broken arm kid really calm. Keep it up.” Elena tells me with a smile. “Thanks, Elena. I’m just doing my job, but I always welcome feedback, so thanks again.” I say to her as I head out the back door. It’s 4:30pm, I’ve been on the clock since 6am, one would think I deserve to simply go home and use my complex’s pool – oh one can dream. But nope, I’m still on the clock but I guess you could call this gig more of an always “on-call” service.

I pull up in my old school blacked out Jeep Grand Cherokee about twenty minutes after I leave the clinic to the Romeo Brothers Scrapyard, also known as the headquarters for the Mayans MC.  

Chucky greets me, per usual. “Greetings Nurse Aleeah.” He says to me with a big smile and a salute. I let out a giggle as I always do whenever someone says my full name…I rarely ever go by it, but around here, I hear it more than I have in years. But Chucky, oh Chucky– how does one describe a chronic masturbator who has a good heart and is part of the biker world without truly being a biker? I guess I just did, didn’t I? “Hey Chucky, how are you?” I ask as I park and exit my Jeep. “I am well, swell actually. I have no complaints today.” Chucky answers with a big smile. “Good, I’m glad to hear that.” I say as I give his arm a friendly squeeze. “The boys need your assistance, I don’t know details but clearly someone got messed up hence why you are here.” Chucky explains in typical Chucky fashion.I roll my eyes as I stand in front of the clubhouse. “It’s always something with these boys, huh?” I rhetorically ask. Chucky nods his head and heads back to the office. I walk up the steps and take a deep breath before I enter the clubhouse. This club is like a box of chocolates, you never know what the fuck you’re going to get so it’s best you just grin and bear it. Is it just a cut from a broken beer bottle? Did a fight break out and there is blood everywhere? A bullet wound? A stabbing wound? A rat bite? Like I said, you just never know. I open the doors and pray today is nothing major. “Have no fear, your favorite RN is here.” I announce as I enter the clubhouse and strike a pose in the doorway.  “Umm, isn’t it RN BSN?” Riz corrects as he stands and greets me. “Have I told you that you’re my favorite?” I reply with a playful wink and smile, it does make me truly happy that these guys acknowledge and are proud of my accomplishments. “Hola Aleeah.” Riz says to me while we greet with a warm hug, per usual. “Hey, I spy my favorite nurse!” Gilly shouts from across the room. Creeper, Hank and Taza also wave from the card table. “Greetings gentlemen, you all seem to be in one piece.” I say as I mosey around the few tables between me and the guys. “Although that pleases me, who is the one who called up 1-800-Rescue Nurse?” I sarcastically spit, which receives some laughs from the guys. “They’re in church.” Hank points towards the door. “They? Plural?” I ask looking at Riz, and he nods to confirm. “Jesus Christ.” I say palming my face. “Lee Baby!” Coco shouts from exiting church and walking over to me with open arms. “Ah, Coco Loco.” I reply with a smile and we hug. “How are you doing, Coco?” I ask after we break our embrace. “A lot better than your next two victims.” He replies, him not making much eye contact and that just gives it away – I know automatically who my victims are. “You gotta be kidding me? They got into it again?!” All Coco does is nod and look down at the floor. “How bad?” I ask. “What do you mean? How bad do they look? Or how bad is it between them?” Coco asks me. I shake my head with disgrace. I angrily take my steps towards church and I aggressively open the door. “Damn, she is pissed.” I hear Creeper’s echo as I close the door, as soon I enter the room. Looking at the table, I see them. One is at one end, the other one on the opposite end. I drop my nurse’s bag on the table and cross my arms. “You two have some damn nerve - getting into it again. Jesus. You’re fucking brothers, you are blood – blood don’t do this shit.” I yell with anger and confusion. Silence fills the air as the guys look at each other and up at me. Bishop then looks over to me and quirks an eyebrow and half smile. “Excuse my poor manners, Bish. Your boys tend to make me lose all sanity I have left at the end of a work week.” I tell him as I walk over and give him a warm embrace. “Oh Leah, you’re fine. I know this shit has been out of control recently.” Bishop pauses and looks over to the guys. He takes a deep breath. “I’ll let you handle them now. I’ll be outside if you need a referee.” Bishop exits and I just stand there, crossed arms again. Both boys refuse to look me in the eye, but instead stare each other down. “Are you just going to stand there?” Angel seethes. I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Give me one good reason as to why I should fix the both of you up? Huh? Because as I see it, this is the fourth time this month…THIS MONTH!  Angel, please, humor me and explain to me why the fuck I should tend to your wounds yet again? Maybe if I let you both be, you’ll learn these fights aren’t worth it.” I take a deep breath myself, and I run my hand through my tangled hair, which I then end up putting up in a pony tail right after, I’ll just have to remember to find another hair tie to wear on my wrist later.   “Alright, I’m sorry I went off. You two, you two just frustrate me.” I say holding my hands up mimicking a surrender. I take another breath and look between the boys. My gaze is drawn to EZ, probably because he’s the easier one out of the two. “Okay, EZ, I see that nasty cut on your cheek, oh and your hand – good going big brother.” I say as I look over to Angel. He looks away the moment I look his way. “Shocker, EZ gets to be first yet again.” Angel chirps. “Seriously?” I snap. “I’m over here fucking bleeding, I could be dying but all you and anyone ever cares about is Ezekiel.”   “Shut it Angel, just shut it, please.” I beg. I start to tend to EZ’s war wounds; some cuts, a nasty one on his cheek – I’m guessing Angel’s rings got the best of him this time around. EZ, he doesn’t say much this time I’m here. I know that he feels the same way as me – he’s tired of this back and forth shit with his brother. “EZ, no more. It’s one thing when you all call me to take a bullet out, or to give a rabies shot, but this shit – playground fights, I’m done.” I explain as I place the last bandage strip to his cheek. EZ doesn’t make eye contact, and his jaw is clenched. His knees shaking. “I know, Lee. I’m sorry you’re doing this again.” EZ tells me as he finally meets my eyes for the first time. EZ, he’s easy to read. He wears his emotions in his eyes, his eyes right now are filled with pain and sadness. This whole feud with Angel, it’s taken a toll on everyone in this club. It’s been almost eight months of this fuckery. “Remove the bandage Sunday night, it needs about 48 hours to heal. If you feel the need to remove it beforehand, clean it thoroughly. Have some of your favorite tequila tonight, and you will be good.” I tell EZ as I throw away the things I used to care for him. “Thanks, Lee.” He says as he kisses me on the cheek and walks somberly out of church. My heart aches for EZ, because the pain – physical and emotional is all over his face and body. Angel hasn’t taken his eyes off of the wall nor has he spoken. I slide my bag down the table as I slowly make my way towards him. Rubber gloves are on, and I grab his face. “Let’s see your damage.” I say, like a dog would when a human goes to check their mouth for something, Angel gives me a little tension as I touch his face. Again, no eye contact. A look of annoyance screams from his expression. I see a nasty cut on the side of his head, by his eye – a sensitive area which bleeds more than most. A black eye is also forming. “Jesus Christ, Angel.” I say examining the cut a little further. “This has to stop. I’m begging. I cannot deal with looking at you two like this, because my fear is that one day, I’m going to be too late to help any of you.” “What if it is?” He spews. I scoff, “No more.” Is all I manage to say. I take out an alcohol swab to clean out his cut. “This is going to sting, on the count of three – one, two, three.” I say as I then put the swab against the cut. A loud hiss comes from Angel and an instant reaction of mine is to grab his face and blow lightly at the cut, helping the sting not be so painful. Angel’s eyes then lock with mine, a look of shock and confusion fill his brown eyes. Angel and I, we’ve had a very interesting relationship since I first came to Santo Padre. He gave me an attitude and I gave it right back – he seemed more pissed off when I talked back than just walking away, and the more I talked back, the more tension built up between us. We started out on the wrong foot, and that’s how we have remained. He lets me care for him, depending on the time of day. Sometimes he lets his girlfriend, well I think she’s his girlfriend, Adelita, clean him up. Today, for whatever reason, he stuck around the clubhouse. I continue to blow on his wound, and I wince back in pain for him because I know it had to sting like a bitch. “Uhh, sorry. It’s a habit of mine, when I treat the kids, I have to do this; they hate it too, so that technique helps them...” I ramble and look away because I sense a bit of embarrassment, as I’ve never been “nice” to Angel. I look and reach back at the table to grab what I need next, just as I turn to face Angel again, I notice a very small smile on his face. “What?” I question, because seeing him smile legit concerns me. “It’s nothing, Leah.” He says monotone and lets me continue working on him. A few more minutes go by, and I determine that he doesn’t need any stitches, just a little butterfly work on one of his eyebrows. “Okay, that’s all. No stitches today, that cut on the side of your face, it’s a sensitive area that bleeds more than most. Your eyebrow cut, it’s an awkward cut – it’s ugly but not ugly enough for stitches. My only request is when you clean it out, could you please use both water and soap?” I emphasize. I know how these guys operate. They either use a dirty rag or tap water to clean themselves up. I turn to clean up my stuff and Angel lets out a minor laugh, which catches me off guard. I look at him and quirk an inquisitive look. Angel stands up, he turns behind his chair and lightly pounds his fist to the back of it. “You sounded just like my ma.” He tells me, in the softest voice I have ever heard Angel speak in. I offer him a small smile as I already know what that history is. Angel leaves church, and per usual no other words are spoken, no thank you’s, nothing. I stay behind a few more moments and collect my thoughts and belongings. I hear the door open, at first I’m startled but relieved it’s just Bishop. “How we doin’, sweetheart?” He asks. I let out a very deep sigh and my facial expression tells my feelings of this whole ordeal. Bishop can’t help but laugh, “I know, Lee. I know.” He tells me as he pulls me in for a hug. “I just need to go home and lay in bed and watch a trashy romcom.” I exclaim as I grab my bag. “I think you’ve deserved that, but before you go – you have a visitor.” He tells me. A look of a deer in the head-lights flashes across my face, who the hell could be visiting me? “Just come with me.” Bishop motions for me to take his hand and follow him. Nerves take over, with the Club, you never know what can happen. As I exit the room, I see the guys scattered all over the clubhouse yet all eyes are on me. “Your visitor is the biggest pain in my ass, so make it quick.” Bishop says, but I catch his playfulness I his voice and I look to the bar and I see who Bishop is talking about – Marcus Alvarez.

I make my way back to the others after nearly destroying this lady's home for the sake of rat justice,  noticing a merchant cart roll into town with some much needed supplies after news of this ghoul problem spread around.  Meanwhile Torik approaches a random child on the street to pass off a toy bow he doesn't want because why just clean out our inventories when we could give back to the people?  This kid is understandably a little nervous by the strange preacher man coming over and giving him things,  but luckily Torik's a cool dude and puts this kid's mind at ease and they get a new toy out of it.  With that taken care of,  we all meet back up at the Pridemaker's Hearth to ready ourselves and head out on a dangerously simple plan.

We need a signal in case things go wrong,  so Beldroth hands Torik a signal whistle that he surprisingly had on him.  Because it lets off an eagle's call,  we all have to figure out if eagles are even native to this area on the off-chance the ever elusive night eagle throws a wrench in our plans.  The jury's still out on that one,  so we say a little prayer for protection (and to keep eagles at bay) and set off.  Torik lights up a candle to make himself even more appealing on his totally lonesome journey to the woods,  Sam flies overhead to keep an eye on things,  Beldroth sneaks behind through the bushes,  and I clumsily follow after while being about as stealthy as a tired old man raiding the fridge at 1 in the morning.  Despite the grim circumstances surrounding this trip,  it's a pretty nice night...

Well,  up until Torik delves deeper and the forest grows a little too quiet.  He heads in the direction of the silence while Beldroth points out possible ghoul tracks to me and right as he does,  there's a flurry of something moving past the two of us,  ready to sink its creepy claws into Torik.  But luckily,  he turns around in time and throws up his shield,  preventing him from being a part of Windermare's current statistic,  and blows the signal whistle.  We all move in to beat the shit out of this lonely ghoul,  but of course,  we should've known better as two more jump into the fray.  They're surprisingly no match for us and with two dead,  we tie up the other and take it back to town to interrogate,  startling the only guard who begs us to keep it away from the townsfolk.

So we set it up in the local cemetery,  Beldroth tying its arms up above it and on the branch,  setting a trap that'll kill it if it manages to break free.  Torik questions it aggressively,  even going as far to threaten it with holy water,  but after Beldroth makes fun of his interrogation skills,  Torik storms off and leaves the rest of us to handle it.  Same manages to coax some answers from the creature,  though these answers are cryptic and vague.  Knowing it has a leader though,  we take it down from the tree,  fastening a harness for it and "kindly" urging it to take us to its lair and upon arriving;  Torik finishes this one off by pouring his holy water all over it.  We head inside and very quickly learn that this dungeon isn't a fungeon as ghouls are the least of our problem and some of the stalagmites turn out to be more than they are.

They can sprout tentacles and have a particular affinity for latching themselves to everybody's faces and trying to choke the life out of us.  Even when we think we've taken care of that problem,  all of us head deeper into these tunnels with a healthy sense of paranoia and we have every right to be as these dark mantles attack us on several occasions.  Further on,  we think we can sneak and get the jump on a group of ghouls chewing on a mangled,  unrecognizable body;  but we thought wrong as they turned around and start tearing into us immediately.  It's like trying to approach a group of rabid,  wild dogs and hoping you can sneakily throw a leash around their neck and be okay only for you to walk away with a tooth stuck in your leg and a need for a rabies shot.

Once the ghouls are cut down,  Torik continues to burn their bodies because to be honest,  it's what they deserve.  The mangled body turns out to be the body of the teenage boy who originally spotted the creatures,  so we cremate him on the spot cuz Torik's apparently just a traveling crematorium;  and retrieve his necklace to return to his family.  Onward we press until we reach another room full of ghouls and a big one that we can only assume is the leader.  Big Stinky and Co are kind of assholes and kick all of our asses pretty hard,  even knocking Torik unconscious and nearly killing me.  But luckily,  the tides turn in our favor and the ghouls are all annihilated and their bodies burned to a pile of crispy,  stinky ashes.  The room has piles of bones and belongings,  so Torik and Sam spend time gathering up the belongings of the deceased to return to the people of Windermare.

With that,  Beldroth leads us back to the town and come morning,  we visit the mayor to tell him of our success.  We turn over the belongings,  acquire our reward,  and Sam manages to cure me of my lycanthropy (which I still don't believe in),  and with nothing else left to take care of in Windermare;  we head back to Fragifell to speak with Ellie.  Ellie's got an elven visitor that looks like somebody of importance and especially looks like someone I know,  but my dumbass can't figure out who he is.  He's the lord of our region,  Nikolos Crows,  so the fact that I can't remember him is very bad.  We tell both my boss and the lord of our success in stomping out the ghoul problem,  and they're both very pleased.  In a few short minutes though,  what looks like a competent team falls apart as we all manage to make asses out of ourselves in front of the lord.  Torik pulls out his ancestor worship spiel,  getting cut off as Beldroth and the lord get into a lengthy discussion about elven things,  such as the artifact that Beldroth's seeking out.

Which leads Torik to talking about the artifact he's looking for and Crows asks what it is Sam's looking for.  Sam's just looking for some good ol' knowledge...something about dark or forbidden knowledge that isn't easy to acquire and cookbooks?  Obviously such forbidden knowledge is hidden within the rambling stories of a wealthy gnomish woman who's about to tell you every decision she's made in her life up until the point she learned to make a pretty bitchin' lasagna.  So Crows calls me by name and asks me what I'm looking for too,  and I'm absolutely honored that this man I have no recollection of knows my name a n d wants to know about me.  I decide to be honest as right now,  I'm only looking for a pair of manacles.  He looks amused,  but my boss looks exasperated,  but Crows urges her to fetch said manacles for me;  so damn,  this guy's cool.

He says so long as we continue to work with him,  he'll help us all on our quests.  He has a job for us all.  Simply deliver and letter and a birthday present to the lord of a neighboring region,  Kalcuer.  He resides in the capital city and in order to get into his palace,  we'll all need to wear crests to prove we can be trusted.  So lord Crows gets us situated in a fancy inn tonight as he has to prepare those for us.  We'll be given some horses to rent for the trip,  but Torik has decided he'd like to buy himself a pony instead.  With all that taken care of,  the lord warns us not to abuse our power with those crests and we part ways for the night.

Hey can you do when ellie and dina first meet?

First encounters don’t always go as planned

//

Things in the safe haven had been rather boring and meticulous the past few months, no new arrivals to interview and either subsequently allow in, or banish due to some rule violation or another. Now, Ellie knew the seriousness of allowing an infected in, however, she remained skeptical to the fact that there could be another immune out there somewhere. She can’t possibly be the only one in existence, the probability of that in and of itself already hurt her brain. Shaking her head, she focused herself on her mission in the birds nest - keep an eye out for clickers or runners, and any and all survivors they came across.

Having been alone in the birds nest for three hours - only half of her shift - she had had a lot of time to think. Should they come across anyone who has been bitten, but them in mandatory quarantine until either one of two possibilities happens. The most likely one - they die and become a horrible flesh eating monster, or the other, much rarer option - they survive and are now the second known immune. Either way, it was fucked up and she didn’t like it. If she could let everyone in, she would. She had seen too many a people get turned away - watched the color drain from their faces as she delivered the news. The excuses always the same - not enough room in the dormitories, not enough rations, it’s always that something is not enough.

Over the past couple years, Ellie had pressed Joel to build more, expand the fence so that we could add more buildings and gardens. She had even begun the plans for a barn. Joel, at first, had been apprehensive, but overtime had begun to agree with Ellie’s desires as more and more people began to rally behind her. Thus, construction began four years ago. It started with expanding the fence, the haven had originally encompassed three square miles of land, holding an upwards of two thousand people, but had since been increased to five square miles. It didn’t happen fast, the expansion was slow and meticulous, but had finally been completed two years after it had begun. The last two years had been dedicated to building gardens and dormitories. Thanks to the great effort of the able bodied people in the haven, they had erected three new two-story dormitories that could fit 500 people. Supply runs during that time honestly sucked, but it was worth it being able to help more people.

Ellie shivered herself out of her thoughts, the brisk morning air chilling her to the bone. The sniper rifle in her hands didn’t help, the metal freezing her fingers to the point where the tips were blue. Bringing the scope to her eye, the bite of the metal against her face made her wince, and she absentmindedly pulled her jacket tighter around herself. Looking through the scope, she surveyed the forest around the northern edge of the haven. All seemed well for the most part, the occasional clicker or runner moved past. Each one stealthily dealt with, thanks to Howie perched in the other birds nest, their aim impeccable as always. The silencers muffled the sound of the gunshot, which Ellie was thankful for. The last thing the safe haven needed was a crescendo of gunshots to draw in every fucking clicker in a ten mile radius.

Adjusting her grip on the rifle, she moved the scope to a further patch of the forest, maybe two or three hundred feet from the sealed door of the haven, she almost missed the slight flash of purple between the branches. Focusing her attention there, she saw eight shapes slinking through the bushes, three moving far too human like to be clickers, though she couldn’t say the same for the five shapes slinking behind them. Ellie could swear she heard the ungodly sounds from here, and for a moment she was back in that mall, dancing on a display. Shaking away the memory, she trained her sights on the five shapes behind the triad of people. They were approaching the clearing in front of the gate fast, and as soon as they cleared it she could make out two girls and a guy, followed by five clickers.

Ellie and howie released a barrage of shots, dispatching the clickers well before the small group reached the gates. Frantically they began to pound on the door, and Ellie hissed. “Stop that! You’re only gonna alert more of those bastards to come!” She snapped, and immediately they stopped and took a defensive position with their backs to the door. Pulling her radio to her face, Ellie began giving orders, “I’m going to go down and Hurd them in, howie, you watch the deeper forest. Jesse, you get out on foot and defend them.” After her tirade of orders, she was met with two voices saying “got it.”

Ellie descended from the birds nest as fast as she could, hands burning from shooting down the ladder. Her feet hit the ground with a resounding thud, and she discarded her rifle for a pair of hand guns, both loaded and reassuring weights in her hands. She could hear the dull roar of the blood in her ears as she sprinted towards the door of the haven, hitting it and opening it enough to slip herself through. She slammed it behind her, knowing three times before a resounding click could be heard - the lock sliding into place. Throwing herself in front of the three startled people, she gave Jesse one look before returning her stone cold gaze to the forest before her.

She held her hand up, gun pointed skyward. All fell silent, the sounds of the forest became deafening, and they waited. Waited for five minutes, ten, twenty, and finally when Ellie was sure they weren’t in danger any longer, she turned to the three people. “You’re going to be quiet and file in orde—“ she was cut off by the girl in the front, a pretty brunette who looked to be around 17-18, her hair pulled back into a disheveled bun that had begun to fall into a loose pony tail - presumably from the run through the woods. She let loose a scream as a clicker burst through the woods to Ellie’s right, catching them all off guard. ‘Shit shit shit shit shit’ Ellie through to herself, pulling the guns up and aiming at the clicker.

The gunshot that rang wasn’t hers, and she turned to see Jesse breathing heavily, gun held in a shaking hand. Ellie nodded to him before more rustling could be heard, five more clickers burst from the woods, a faint foom foom sound was heard as howie downed two, but the final three pulled just out of range. Ellie grit her teeth and braced for the impact of a mangled body against hers. She pushed back, keeping the clicker from scratching at her. Twisting her wrist, she just got the right angle of the barrel beneath the things deformed chin and BOOM the gunshot disorients her, but the clicker falls to the ground in what she can only imagine is a sickening thud. She turns to see Jesse struggling with one of the clickers, but let’s him handle it. She would never hear the end of it if she stole his kill.

Twisting herself fully to the trio of people behind her, she started at the sight of her last clicker on top of the girl who had screamed, her eyes filled with terror as she held it away from her neck. The other two were hugging, holding the other so tight that the whites of their knuckles showed. Neither made an effort to help their friend. Ellie snarled and launched herself at the thing, wrapping her arm around the clickers neck and pulling back, peeling it off the girl. It didn’t come reluctantly, but Ellie strained herself to rip the thing to its feet and violently twisted, adrenaline allowing her to snap the things neck quickly, and it slumped to the ground silently. Quickly Ellie grabbed the pistol off the ground and fired a round into the zombies head, making damn well sure that it wouldn’t come back

Breathing heavily, Ellie turned back to the girl and held out her hand, a little dazed. The girl, however, stared at it, her face white and filled with an expression she could only identify as horror. “Your - your hand. .” She said slowly, and Ellie looked down, her eyes meeting the gnarled flesh of her right hand where the clicker must have sunk its teeth in. She hadn’t felt a thing thanks to adrenaline, but now that she actually saw it, the pain hit her. She blanked, squeezed her fingers shut, opened, closed, opened. Shaking her head to clear the daze, she reached her other hand out to the girl once more. Hesitantly, she took it, and Ellie pulled her off the ground. For a moment the girl swayed, placing a hand on Ellie’s shoulder to help stand still.

“You saved my life, but now yours is over,” A choked sob ripped itself from her throat, “I’m so sorry.” The girl said quietly, pulling Ellie in a hug. Ellie froze for a moment, blinked twice, didn’t return the hug. When the girl pulled back, a tear fell down her cheek slowly, and Ellie found herself mesmerized by it. “Are, are you ok?” The girl asks, concern in her eyes, but then she freezes, takes a step back. “Oh, fuck, she’s turning, you,” she points to Jesse, panting, the dead body of a clicker at his feet, “she’s been bitten, you have to kill her.” The words seem to snap Ellie out of her daze. She puts her hands up, her face white but blazing with emotions. “Woah, woah, woah there, he doesn’t have to kill me. Slow your roll there.”

“What do you mean he doesn’t have to kill you? You’re infected, it’s my fault you’re infected!” She countered, her voice desperate and expression confused. She was overwhelmed. They all were. “I’m immune.” Ellie stated bluntly, but slowly lifted the right sleeve of her coat, careful to avoid the open wound on her hand, exposing the fern tattoo beneath that partially concealed the raised pockmarked scars from the first bite. “You see? I can’t be turned, I’m ok. It’s ok, we’re all ok.” Ellie said slowly, trying to alleviate some of the panic from the girls face, shooting worried glances at the two behind her. The girl was speechless, but nodded, trying to control her breathing. Ellie motioned to Jesse to open the door and file them inside.

Ellie moved aside to allow the three of them to go in before her. The two that had been white knuckled gripping each other before filed in first, happy to be out of the forest and in some semblance of safety. The girl hung behind, following them and staying in front of Ellie but not walking as a unified group with the others she had arrived with. The girl looked at Ellie for a moment, Ellie returned the gaze. They looked away, letting the sound of their steps be the only conversation that filled the air before them. Ellie focused on her breathing, on ignoring the pain and not letting it show on her face. She held her hand behind her back, out of the girls view, and covered it with her other sleeve to try to stench the blood flow. She looked back to realize she was leaving a trail of blood behind her, small red droplets bright against the early morning snow.

A sharp release of breath made her turn her attention back to the girl, now dry eyed, but her eyes were darker with an emotion Ellie couldn’t pinpoint. “I’m so sorry,” she started, her voice quiet, but Ellie cut her off, “don’t apologize, ‘s my job to keep folks like you safe from those bastards.” The girl seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, her eyes trailing between Ellie’s face, the ground before her, and the small trail of blood behind them. She wrang her hands and nodded slightly. “Thank you. The names Dina.” She said ever so slightly, holding out her left hand so Ellie could shake it. Briefly releasing the hold on her bad hand, she took Dina’s in her own and squeezed it ever so slightly, a small smile forming on her face. “‘S my pleasure, Dina. Names Ellie.” She replied softly, and let out a breath of relief as Dina grinned back.

They let go slowly, fingertips trailing together for just a brief second before Ellie dropped her left hand to cradle her right. Dina grimaced, looking it over, “that looks bad, if you want, I could help patch it up. I’ve been learning to be a healer, and since I sort of owe you one I wouldn’t mind.” She said quickly, her face taking on the appearance of a child talking enthusiastically about something they were passionate about. For a moment, Ellie was dumbfounded, but slowly nodded and smiled. “While I would love you to, we have a healer here. You’ve got to go through assignments and lectures and all that from Joel. You’ll be busy for the next few days as you are assorted into life here, and I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble for helping me out.” Ellie explained quickly, and she could physically see Dina’s face fall slightly. However, she nodded, giving her a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Alright, Ellie, but once you get patched up and I’m free from interrogation, you’re taking me for a ‘night on the town’” she said, her eyes brightening when she genuinely smiled, and Ellie let out a small laugh. “Sounds perfect. See you around, Dina.” Ellie replied, eyes crinkling slightly as she smiled down at the shorter girl. Dina smirked in reply, “see you ‘round, Ellie.” She said before turning around and running to catch up with Jesse and the others. Ellie couldn’t help but watch as she ran off, and smiled despite of the pain. This place could use someone like her, she realized, she’ll fit right in. Ellie smiled a secret little smile to herself, and then turned and began the long trek to the healer.

Kind Strangers

♬ Jeremy Soule - In the Forests of Tamriel

Morning dawns too early. The hard wooden floor aches against her festering burns, but she pushes herself up, breathing heavily from the effort, and blinks bleary, crusty eyes into the darkened room. The fire has gone out, completely extinguished, and the light from the windows adds little shape and form at this hour. Silence sits heavy in the cottage, weighing down the boughs of herbs hung from the ceiling, a basket heaped with clothing by the back door, her fallen apple from the night before where it sits beneath the table, forgotten, browning.

She listens for the sound of breathing. Instead, the rustle of grass answers her question.

Lurching to her feet, the shadowy room spins around her, and she nearly falls against the door as she rushes towards it, throwing it open and racing after her captives. Under normal circumstances, she could easily catch up—Maegan moves swiftly despite her hefty skirts, perhaps twenty paces away, but Tomas slows her down. She pulls him along by the hand, until she hears the bang of the front door, and then she picks the boy up and runs, feet crunching in the frosty grass.

Marea slips and slides in the dampness, pain blinding her, vision peppered with shifting splotches of black as she fights to keep up. Agonizing minutes seem to pass by, but in fact, it is only a few seconds—she flings herself at Maegan, latching onto the back of her shirt, and they both collapse to the ground, Tomas flung aside as the women grapple for dominance, briefly rolling about before Marea's prosthetics take control, forcing Maegan down by the shoulders with her steely grip.

“Thought I said I didn't wanna kill you,” Marea pants, smiling thinly, eyes wide and wild.

“You think I'm a fool? You always planned on killing us. I could see it in your face. You're a madwoman,” Maegan hisses, snarling even as she stares death in the eye. “You're a monster.”

“No news to me.” Marea shrugs slightly, shifting her right hand to Maegan's throat, and lifting her left in the air, flexing the fingers stiffly before settling them into a tight fist. “But if what you say is true, this is a whole new world, a fresh start, and I can be whatever I want to be. So thanks for nothing.”

With one swing of her left arm, Maegan's face is splattered in the dewy dawn grass.

Marea's heart leaps into her throat as a single crack of thunder rings out in the clearing. A bullet whizzes past her, flying uselessly into the distance, and she slowly raises her hands in the air, turning to face Tomas as she gets to her feet. The little boy stands ten feet away, trembling, tears glistening on his cheeks, Marea's pistol held aloft in his hands.

“Oh, c'mon. Put it down,” Marea says softly, trying to sound comforting, though her voice wavers from exhaustion. “You won't wanna live with yourself after you do that. I killed somebody when I was your age. Hard to cope with.”

The boy begins to bawl, sobbing without restraint, face screwed up in a terrible expression of desolation. Marea takes a few steps towards him, hands tentatively outstretched for the gun, when a shot rings out yet again. It dents and dings off her left arm, and she throws caution to the wind, charging forward as Tomas fires off one last bullet, which connects—it embeds itself in her thigh, and she yelps and collapses in pain, right on top of him, wrenching the gun from his hands with ease and shoving it down his throat. She pulls the trigger, and it clicks. Empty.

A quick, clear snap echoes in the clearing, like a sapling tree felled in the cold of winter. She gets to her feet, and she limps back to the cottage, windows dark and gaping. With the iron sky above her, stars faded but sun not yet risen, she feels a strange, sudden closeness around her. Similar to her connection with magic in Tyria—but certainly not the same. Only one word comes to mind, but she knows that it is just longing, for familiarity, for certainty, a longing which she has never felt before, and she knows she will soon forget.

“Grenth,” she says into the cool, lifeless air. “If you can hear me—don't let my journey be like this.”

And she opens the door to the cottage, slipping behind stone walls.

The time before sunrise is a checklist. She ventures upstairs, where the sleeping quarters are. The Ferny's had fine furniture, for peasants, and she goes through an ornate wooden wardrobe, searching for clothes that will fit her. Maegan's stockings and a long blouse with flouncy sleeves will do, then she takes a thin summer skirt and rips a slit straight up the side, making it mobile. She slips on the woman's spare boots, old and worn, a bit too big, and then she whimpers in pain as she climbs on the bed to reach the sword that hangs above it. She yanks the weapon from its fastenings on the wall, inspecting it briefly. Blade dull but highly ornamented, with swirling vines adorned by grapes, and a hefty hilt with an elegant guard. An heirloom, most likely, that could be easily sharpened into fighting shape again.

In a large chest at the foot of the bed, she finds books. She flips through the pages, covered in foreign lettering, beautiful to behold but still utter nonsense, much like the accents of the people who wrote them. She takes the smallest downstairs with her, some entertainment for the road.

She picks up her apple from beneath the table and chomps away at the mushy flesh. Out behind the cottage, she goes to the small stables and throws the gates open, setting loose goats and pigs and a couple cows, along with one strange animal that almost fills her with joy, only to steal it away so cruelly. It hobbles out last, slightly too fat and making a ridiculous honking sound. At a glance, it appears to be a small horse—a pony, she recalls, is the word—but its legs are much too stout, and its face too round and homely. It brays at her loudly, trying to rub its snout against her own, and she clumsily pivots and strides away with a groan, rolling her eyes.

“You're a fucking liar, y'know that? You're a lying—thing. Heehaw. Lying Heehaw.”

As the sunrise fills the sky with verdant amber light, turning wisps of clouds blue and making the dewy grass glitter, Marea drags two bodies back to the cottage, depositing them in the kitchen with little thought for staging their deaths. Maegan would have had to bang her face against the wall with the force of an airship to mangle it the way Marea's hand did.

And as the beginnings of blue glow upon the horizon, Marea limps through the forest, and emerges in the quiet, green clearing where she arrived. She rummages through the debris thoroughly. She digs a small hole with a piece of scrap metal, and into it goes most of what remains, which she cannot carry—a few books, charred but intact. Her kitty pistol, partially melted. A bag of jerky, just in case. Then she lodges the piece of sheet metal over them, like a protective cover, Horiz staring up at her in the dirt. And she brushes leaves over the grave.

She returns to the homestead as sun floods the fields, a fine mist rising from them and soothing her aching, tormented flesh. The Heehaw honks at her, and now she obligingly goes to it, just barely heaving herself onto its back. The bullet in her thigh pulses with pain, and as she settles into place, the weight finally off her legs, she sighs in relief.

She isn't sure how to steer the Heehaw, but it seems to know where she wants to go. It immediately starts north, and after less than an hour, it clomps onto a middling dirt road, smooth and well-traveled, though on this day, it's as empty as the stone cottage she leaves behind. A sense of peace overcomes her. The sun warm on her neck. In her backpack, a book, Gippa's notes, a handful of jerky, her eye piece, her M pistol and the bullets she rescued from her kitty gun, all sit heavily upon her burned shoulders. The Ferny family sword bumps against her hip, hung from Frank Ferny's ill-fitting belt.

And the Heehaw clops onward, into uncertain lands. She watches the trees for a while, their long arms lacing overhead. Until, after a time, she closes her eyes, and she slumps forward onto the head of her mount, arms swaying in time with its steps.

Physician Telford saw little excitement in his little town of Archet. Most of his days were spent idle in the doorway to his practice, chatting with Hosta, a fine and charming housewife who sold baked sweets in the next building over. She would lean out her window, waving her hand and asking if he wanted a slice of fresh apple pie. And of course he did, for what else was he to do? Treat the occasional spider bite? Admittedly, the spiders in the area were monstrously huge, but at least they did not rend and maim as creatures in faraway lands did.

So, Hosta would bring him a slice of pie, and they would pick over it together on his porch. She would sit upon the water barrel to be at eye level with him, and they'd have a good chat, about husbands and wives, humans and hobbits, the state of the town and the surrounding estates. And then they would part, and Telford would watch from his shopfront as the sun sank lower in the sky, and yet another day of contentment passed by him.

But today, as he goes outside and waits for Hosta to wave from her window, he turns the other way in surprise, wide-eyed, as he watches the little lady and a handful of men leading a donkey down the street, with the petite shape of a person slumped upon it.

“What is this? An injured traveler?” he exclaims, jogging down the lane to meet them.

“Yes Mr. Telford, so it seems. She's a woman, wee small thing, and in terrible shape.” Hosta reaches up and pats the woman's leg, recoiling as her hand comes away damp with blood that has soaked through the stranger's stockings. “Bill here says she's been badly burned, and her skin is all clammy. Reckon she needs your immediate attention.”

“Of course, right away!” Telford stays a step ahead of the men as they lift the woman off her donkey, and carry her through the low doorway into the physician's shop. He darts around frenetically, wringing his hands, eager to help and overwhelmed that his help is truly needed.

He watches attentively as the woman is laid on the patient bed, and then he shoos the others away with a waving of his hands. “Out, out, this requires my full attention. Hosta, however, can stay. As my assistant.”

“I certainly can,” the woman says proudly, not at all ashamed with her own morbid fascination for the unconscious body in the room. She shuffles up to the bedside, resting her elbows on the mattress as she stares at the strange woman's face.

“Looks like she's been through a lot in the past, even before this. Poor little thing, women should not be made into fighters, I always say. There's enough men to do it themselves.”

“Yes, well, some women simply want to fight,” Telford replies absently, fishing supplies from a series of cupboards along the wall, and then sweeping over to his patient, carefully shifting the fabric of her skirt, and then her stockings, until her harrowed flesh is exposed to the air. Hosta gags a bit, but doesn't look away.

“What do you think happened to her?” the halfling gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. “Did she fall into a bonfire?”

“That, and more. She seems to have some sort of puncture wound as well, and that's only the legs. No doubt there will be more to come—perhaps I should not have asked you to stay.”

“No, I can handle it. I'll keep my mouth shut, if need be.”

“Thank you,” Telford replies with a gentle smile, reaching up to the woman's neck and examining an utterly destroyed piece of black cloth that hangs there, more of a frayed, singed rag than a bandana. “Later, when this is taken care of, we can eat a whole pie. And we'll share it with the girl, too.”

Later comes after many hours. Marea opens her eyes, blurry at first. A low, wooden-beamed ceiling comes into focus, and she glances to her left, across the room, where a window, made hazy by bubbled glass, lets the festive warmth of a sunset stretch upon the floor and flow over her pillow. She distinguishes two chattering shapes sitting on stools by that window. They speak in hushed voices, one quite a familiar form, a man of average build, perhaps a tad short. He towers over the silhouette across from him, with the long curly hair of a woman, and a much stouter stature. The height of an asura, maybe, with feet like a platypus's, and a covered bundle on her lap.

Marea abruptly sits up, gritting her teeth and ignoring the flaring of pain in her shoulders and back.

“Oh no, no no no! Not so fast, my dear!” exclaims the asura-sized shape, quickly hopping down from her stool and rushing over to Marea. “Be gentle with yourself, you have been gravely injured in most unusual ways.”

Marea stares at the little woman for a long moment, incessant dotage rising and falling in the background without ever being heard. Finally, as the man comes up beside the bed and rests his hand against her forehead, Marea speaks.

“You're a dwarf.”

The woman immediately goes silent, for quite a long moment, before bursting into laughter, throwing her head back and slapping the man's knee.

“Oh, did you catch that, Telford? No brain damage there, still got her sense of humor!”

“My sense of—what?”

“Just ignore her,” Telford interjects, nudging his companion aside as he stoops down beside Marea's bed. He reaches for her wrist, before catching himself, and placing his fingers to a pulse point on her neck instead. “Hosta is a dear friend of mine. But perhaps not the best bedside manner.”

Marea blinks at him, at the warm touch of his hands on her patch of unburned skin. She looks down at herself, wrapped to the waist in clean white sheets, and the rest of her torso wrapped in bandages. Her prosthetics are out in the open, and the doctor seems not to care.

“You—understand me?” Even as she asks, she feels the round, elegant slant of the words on her tongue. Rajya always said she was a fast learner, a gift for language, when she applied herself.

Telford raises his brows, tilting his head this way and that. “More or less. You certainly sound like nothing I've ever heard before. Are you some adventurer, then? And tell me, when I knock on this side of your head, how does it feel?”

“It kinda hurts—”

“—The south! I bet you come from the south, on those fabled shores,” interjects Hosta, curls bobbing as she yammers on, “We never see anyone from that far away, all the way up here. But you look like sea-faring stock.”

“...Yeah. I'm from the south,” Marea says flatly, flinching as Telford proceeds to knock on the other side of her head. “If that's, that's what you said.”

“Perhaps you could talk a bit slower for our patient, Hosta,” Telford chides, beckoning her back to the bedside. “We must sound as odd to her as she does to us.”

“Very well, very well. Pie time?” The stout woman quickly unwraps the bundle she carries, revealing a blueberry pie, already sliced and still faintly warm from the oven. Acting without thinking, Marea immediately reaches over and grabs a handful right out of the middle, and shoves it in her mouth, smearing dark juice all around her lips. Hosta cackles with delight, though she produces a fork from the pocket of her apron and eats in a more tidy manner, while Telford gazes at the motion of Marea's prosthetics, captivated.

“Well,” the doctor starts, tearing his gaze away and sweeping up a little bite of pie with his finger, “I suppose you would like to know your condition. You arrived around noon on the back of a donkey, unconscious, and--”

“--A donkey?” Marea blurts out. “A suitably stupid name.”

“It was a donkey, yes. Anyway, we took you in and treated you for several hours, throughout the afternoon. You have severe burns all over your legs, and on your back and the back of your neck, as you most likely realized. It will take weeks, if not months, for them to fully heal, but you will be scarred for life.” He pauses, as if waiting for the waterworks, but Marea just shrugs, grabbing another handful of pie.

“Shoulda seen my old scars. Won't be that different,” she says dismissively.

“Mm, you have high spirits. A good sign. You also have a deep gash upon your forehead, which seems to have missed vital areas, but we will need to keep you awake for twenty-four hours to be sure that you remain amongst the living. I also treated several minor cuts across your person. Your final ailment, though—I've never seen anything quite like it.”

Marea stares at him, munching away noisily, waiting for the inevitable questions she must dodge.

“The puncture wound on your thigh—it was made by this small metal projectile.” He pulls the bullet from the pocket of his tunic, and holds it out for her to see. “My first thought was that it came from a slingshot, but truly, there is no way it could have buried itself so deep if that were the case. So I must ask, do you know what it is?”

Marea widens her eyes and shakes her head, a picture of perfect innocence. “Not a clue. I had something in my leg? I had no idea, I thought I was just crispy and tender.”

Hosta chuckles and shakes her head, popping a bite of pie in her small mouth. “Crispy and tender, oh good grief. You sound funny and you make funny, too.”

Telford sighs, placing the bullet in his pocket and patting it for safekeeping. “As I feared. You know, Hosta, the bard did bring tales of strange things along the North-South Road. What do you think? Do you recall any metal projectiles?”

Hosta shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “No, only strange hooded things, screeching in the night, the stuff that spooks children. That old man is always full of nonsense. It's not fair that all we get is a washed-up harpist, while my cousins in Hobbiton get regular visits from the wizard with the fireworks.”

“Wizard?” Marea cuts in, her face lighting up as she licks the last bit of crumbly pie from her fingers. “Like, a guy who does magic?”

“Of course, what else would a wizard be? He has a very long beard, I've heard, so you know he's legitimate.”

Telford shakes his head, tut-tutting under his breath. “I say he can keep his fireworks. We live in a modern age, an age of science, Hosta. Better to keep such whimsy and superstition at arms length. Leave it to the elves, who we rarely have to see.”

Marea mouths the word silently, elves.

“Anyway,” Telford begins again, rising to his feet. “I imagine you must be tired, Miss—forgive me, all this time, I did not think to ask your name.”

“Marea,” she says, opening her mouth to add Sleekfur, but she holds it back. Uncertain how it might be perceived.

“Marea. Quite a lovely name. You must be tired, but since you cannot sleep yet, I will send Hosta on her way, and keep you awake myself.”

“Ohhh, Telford!” the little woman whines dramatically, though she smiles broadly, already shuffling to the door. “I will be by in the morning to check on you, little one,” she chimes to Marea, waving as she slips out into the street.

“Little one,” Marea murmurs, shoulders slumping.

“She likes to call humans that,” Telford explains, pulling his stool over to the bedside, and perching upon it. “Now, what would you like to discuss, to keep you awake?”

Marea taps her chin slowly, licking her chapped lips, the remnants of blueberry flavor making her mouth water. “I'd rather just listen, actually. I have a book. Can you read it to me? Good practice, for the accent, thing,” she adds, pulling on her earlobes.

“It would be my pleasure,” the doctor replies, a warm, genuine smile crinkling his face. A face that could belong to any man, anywhere, yet somehow, in this one, she senses true kindness.

Fëanorian week: Maedhros

A Silmarillion fanfic @feanorianweek

Summary: On a warm summer's day, young Maedhros and Fingon leave Tirion behind but find themselves discussing their family anyway.

Length: ~2,000 words; Rating: General audiences

Some keywords: family relationships, friendship, Years of the Trees, some mild angst and some fluff

A/N: I've been thinking a lot about my own grandmother who has been unwell for a while now and how much she means to me, and grandmothers in general, which prompted me to write this little fic about young Maedhros/Maitimo and Fingon/Findekáno discussing their grandmothers.

Maitimo is (in human terms) in his mid-teens here and Findekáno in his late tweens and precocious. There are very gentle hints of pre-slash here if you are inclined to see them, but they shouldn't be too oppressive if you're not.

Read on AO3

*

Grandmothers

It is one of the rare days that both of them have managed to persuade their fathers that firstly, they do not have any important lessons or other duties to attend to, and secondly, they are old enough and responsible enough to ride out of the city on their own. So Maitimo and Findekáno do ride out though the morning is hot enough to be uncomfortable. They wear light clothes and joyful expressions and head for one of their favourite spots, a little river-valley close enough to the sea that if the wind is right, they can smell the salt in the air.

Today the wind is right, and as soon as they can smell the sea, Findekáno jokingly suggests that they ride all the way there. 'For it is guaranteed to be cooler there', he reasons.

'I think that would be a rebellion too far', Maitimo says wryly and leads his horse to the stream to drink. Findekáno follows, guiding his own horse proudly, basking in the responsibility.

For years, Fëanáro used the excuse that Findekáno was too young to be included in whatever activity Maitimo was planning. Maitimo wonders what new excuse his father will soon come up with now that Nerdanel has vetoed the old one. Maitimo doesn't doubt it will be better one, and he doesn't doubt that he himself will fight it politely but tenaciously, like he did the old excuse.

Setting his horse free to graze in the sparse grass, Maitimo banishes the thoughts of his father and how badly he gets along with his half-brother, turning his attention back to Finno. Finno who is so easy for Maitimo to get along with, never mind their difference in age and their quarrelling fathers, and at the moment taking out an enormous amount of various sweets and sweet pastries from his pack.

Maitimo raises his brows and asks, 'How long do you think we can stay here eating?'

'Until they are all eaten. We can't hurt grandmother Indis' feelings by bringing back any.' Findekáno grins.

Maitimo snorts. 'You always have an excuse for eating, don't you?'

'I don't know what you're talking about', says Findekáno, indistinctly for his mouth is already full of pastry.

An hour or two later he lounges on the riverbank next to Maitimo, looking faintly ill.

'I told you to stop eating the sweets earlier', Maitimo scolds. Their age difference means that Maitimo has accrued some wisdom that Findekáno hasn't, such as knowing when to stop indulging himself.

(What he hasn't learned yet is not being smug about it.)

'I told you, it would be insulting to grandmama Indis if I came back with any of them left', Findekáno says, holding his stomach.

Maitimo plucks up crumbs from his lap and flicks them at his cousin. 'You need to work on your argumentation skills, Finno.'

'She would be insulted.' Findekáno's repeated argument is hardly spoken seriously, and his face is relaxed and content as he stares up into the cloudless sky.

'It would be easy enough to hide any leftovers.' Maitimo enjoys the inconsequential, often nonsensical arguments he and Findekáno have.

Findekáno clearly agrees on the unimportance of their debate, for he concedes easily. 'It would be', he admits. 'But grandmama really would be disappointed if she found out somehow. Nothing pleases her more than feeding her grandchildren.'

Maitimo mumbles his agreement, then sits up straight and enunciates more clearly as his father taught him. 'My grandmother is the same, in principle at least. She specialises in ridiculously large portions for 'growing boys', as she says, rather than sweets.'

Maitimo is very fond of his only grandmother. Tyelpefindien keeps an iron grip on the many apprentices of her husband's that live in their house and on all affairs of the household, but her stern, angular face softens whenever she talks to her grandchildren. They are always welcome to stay.

'I think I prefer the sweets', says Finno. His ever brighter smile reminds Maitimo of Indis.

Maitimo's returning smile is a little wistful and aimed at the river that seems to flow slower than usual on this still, bright summer's day, as if even the water itself is caught up in the too-hot day's laziness.

There is a long silence as Findekáno dozes after his heavy meal and Maitimo thinks of grandmothers. Usually their silences are as light and comfortable as their little debates, but this time Maitimo's heart is a little heavy.

Findekáno notices it eventually and asks, direct as ever. 'What it is that is weighing on you?'

'It is not a heavy thing, exactly', Maitimo says, because he isn't always as direct. 'I was – since we were talking of grandmothers… Sometimes I wonder what kind of a grandmother my father's mother would have been. If she would have stuffed me with sweets like yours does, or with too much soup, or if she would have been reasonable with food. Is that even possible for a grandmother?'

'It must be, for only one of my grandmothers does this', points out Findekáno and holds his protesting stomach. 'Grandmother Aistallë would have rapped me on the fingers with her fan rather than let me eat that eleventh torte.'

Maitimo doesn't know much of Findekáno's mother's mother, only what she looks like, and that Findekáno inherited his stubborn chin from her. From what Findekáno has told him, Aistallë sounds like formidable lady.

'She taught you to ride, didn't she?'

'Yes, she did. And she bought me my first pony, that grey-dappled rascal that liked to bite me when I didn't give him treats. I'm glad Turukáno has him now.' Findekáno sits up, still holding this stomach, and twists around enough to check that their own horses are still grazing under the copse of trees a short distance away. Findekáno's steed these days is a handsome black stallion, very different from his first, mischievous pony, but exactly as beloved.

'I've been keeping an eye on them', Maitimo points out as Findekáno lies back down. 'No need to worry.'

'I should have known.' Findekáno smiles up at Maitimo in a small way, the smile more in his eyes than on his lips. His eyes are blue like Finwë's, bluer than Maitimo's own, and fringed by long, long black lashes. 'That I don't need to worry about anything when I'm with you.'

Maitimo occupies his hands with tugging out blades of dry grass. 'I'm so used to looking after my brothers that I suppose I do it with you too.'

'Mm', Findekáno agrees. 'Only you are gentler with me. Less impatient.'

'You are not as irritating.'

'It's only because I don't live in the same house with you.' Findekáno chuckles. 'Let us agree to never live in the same house, so we'll stay good friends.'

'Neighbouring houses, perhaps?' Maitimo suggests lightly.

'That's a good idea!' Then Findekáno grows more solemn. 'Nelyo, we have deviated from our original after-lunch discussion of grandmothers. Would you like to speak of them more? You said that you sometimes wonder what Míriel would have been like as a grandmother.'

Maitimo shrugs again, trusting that Findekáno will know not to interpret it as real indifference.

After a moment, he finds words. 'It feels odd to think about her. I have heard many things about her but they are about her looks and her accomplishments. I can't use those things to build a picture of what she would have been like with me and my brothers in everyday moments. With little things like mealtimes or sending off for a ride with advice.'

Findekáno's eyes are on Maitimo but he is quiet and intently listening. Maitimo appreciates it, that Findekáno strives to understand and empathise, even though as Maitimo's half-cousin, he wouldn't exist as he is if Maitimo's father's mother was alive. It isn't necessarily easy for Findekáno, Maitimo can tell, but he does it anyway.

'I think she would have taught us some of her craft', Maitimo continues after a moment. 'Since all of our other grandparents have taught us at least a little bit of their craft or occupation. But I don't know if she would have enjoyed teaching children who might not have any special skill or interest in her beloved craft that she was unsurpassed in. I heard once that she often grew impatient with her less talented apprentices.'

'Grandchildren are special to their grandparents', Findekáno says sagely. 'I'm certain that she would have loved even your most mangled attempts.'

Maitimo considers for a moment defending his short-lived studying of needlecraft that he'd stopped pursuing out of lack of passion rather than any particular ineptitude, but gives up on it because he believes Findekáno was only trying to make him cheer up rather than insult him. He is too loyal for that, so ardently loyal that sometimes it is a little disquieting and at others seems childish, but mostly Maitimo appreciates it.

'I think she was a different sort of queen at least', he says at length.

Findekáno nods in agreement. 'From what I have heard, she was a craftswoman to her core and had little interest in being a politician.' He picks at his clothes. 'Grandmother Indis was a princess from a young age. She grew into ordering people around so it comes as naturally to her as running and singing.'

'And she has been teaching you all three.'

'And I can't decide which one I like best.'

That does make Maitimo smile, and the new silence they slip into is comfortable and warm like the riverbank they're sitting on. Findekáno shakes out the tangled mess his braid descended into during their ride here, combs through it with his fingers, and begins to braid it anew into several plaits. Maitimo stares at the river still, at the moving water and the mother bird there teaching her numerous young to dive for food.

Findekáno breaks the quiet eventually by offering, 'I could ask grandmama Indis. She knew Míriel and I think she would tell you about her.' What he leaves unsaid because they both know it is I would do this since our grandfather never speaks of his first spouse, or, because your father never speaks of her but fiercely, and as you say, from those things is difficult to form an idea of how grandmother would be with a beloved grandson.

Maitimo considers it. He knows that Findekáno would ask, wouldn't think of it twice, and wouldn't mind it being potentially awkward or embarrassing.

'And, you know, I don't think grandmama Indis dislikes you or your brothers.' Findekáno's restless fingers unravel the messy braids he'd just finished. 'So you could come with me some time when I visit her. I wouldn't mind sharing her with you.'

'My father would mind', Maitimo replies, wondering if Findekáno doesn't yet realise the realities of their complex family or if he only chooses to disregard them. At Findekáno's little frown he adds, 'Don't worry about it, Finno.' And because generosity should have its reward, Maitimo takes the ribbons from Findekáno's hand and offers, 'I can do the braiding for you.'

Findekáno shuffles closer at once, shaking his hair out again. Maitimo runs his fingers through it and sets to work braiding it neatly.

'I don't think you should wear more than one braid until you can manage it neatly yourself', he teases gently. 'I didn't.'

'That's unfair, Maitimo! Your hair is more biddable than mine. And pretty no matter what you do with it. Anyway', he turns his head and grins, until Maitimo tugs at a strand of hair to make him look forward again and stay still, 'what is the point of being the king's grandson if one can't rely on servants to help with one's hair?'

Maitimo isn't in the mood for disagreeing so he says lightly, 'What indeed', and ties another braid, and another, thankful that they have enough in common to be able to talk of the things they don't.

*

A/N: Thanks for reading! :)

I headcanon that Nerdanel's mother, Maitimo's only living grandmother, has silver hair because I have a feeling that for several of the sons of Fëanor to have other than dark hair, they needed to inherit a light-haired gene from several grandparents. Thus the name Tyelpefindien, silver-haired. To Findekáno's maternal grandmother I chose the name Aistallë, one who blesses, without any particular deep thought. Perhaps she has something to do with service of the Valar.

The Angels Take Manhattan - Doctor Who blog (The Statue Of Liberty is a WHAT?!?!)

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

Remember when the Weeping Angels used to be scary? Good times, right?

Blink was one of the few Moffat stories that I genuinely liked. It was a simple story with a simple gimmick. Statues that could only move when you weren’t looking at them. It was ostensibly a most lethal version of Grandmother’s Footsteps, and it was bloody terrifying. There was however one problem with the Angels. A problem that soon became apparent the more the Weeping Angels reappeared in the show. They’re really just one trick ponies. Once you’ve seen Blink, you’ve literally seen everything they have to offer. From that moment on, the Angels suffered from the law of diminishing returns. They just weren't scary anymore, and I believe even Moffat was semi-aware of this, hence why his timey wimey crap became more ridiculous and why he kept changing the established rules of the Angels in an effort to keep them fresh. Of course it didn’t work. All it did was mangle the Angels beyond repair and now they’re a shadow of their once scarier selves.

Which brings us to The Angels Take Manhattan. The complete polar opposite of Blink. Whereas Blink was simple, clever and scary, The Angels Take Manhattan is convoluted, stupid and about as scary as a basket full of kittens. As far as I’m concerned, The Angels Take Manhattan serves as a very harsh lesson on learning when enough is enough. Some monsters just don’t work as recurring villains, and the Weeping Angels are most definitely one of them. If Moffat had learnt to keep his massive ego under control, he wouldn’t have turned his greatest creations into the limp, nonsensical and utterly pathetic non-threats they are now.

Let’s stick with the Angels for a bit. Aside from their lack of scariness due to us knowing their MO off by heart now, Moffat also can’t help but change the rules again. Remember in Blink it was established they would turn to stone if anyone looked at them, including each other? Well we’re supposed to forget about that clearly as there are loads of moments where Angels are clearly looking at each other, but can still move. There’s also a really odd moment where a Cherub manages to blow Rory’s match out, but... the Cherub is frozen as a statue. How the fuck was it able to do that? Odder still, Amy and Rory get zapped by the Angels at the end, but on those occasions people were still looking at the Angel, so how did it manage to do it?

And then there’s by far the weirdest part:

The Statue Of Liberty is a Weeping Angel?!

This raises so many puzzling questions. Isn’t the Statue Of Liberty made of copper, not stone? How the fuck did it get from Liberty Island to Winter Quay without anyone noticing? And what is even the fucking point of that?! It’s not as if it actually does anything. It doesn’t even look like an angel. Nor do the statues of the woman and the boy who come chasing the guy who had the Angel chained up (and what was the deal with the guy who had the Angel chained up? We never find out what that was all about).

And we’ve only just scratched the surface here. There are loads of things that don’t make sense here. Take this ‘farm’ the Angels have made. So they send people back to a hotel in 1938 and send them back in time repeatedly to feed off of the time energy. But... why hang onto their victims afterward. Once they’re done feeding, they keep the victim locked in a room until they die of old age. What for? What’s the point? Why not just feed on them and let them go like they usually do?

Rory ends up becoming the latest victim and vows to escape, creating a paradox that will kill the Angels. But for some reason the Doctor doesn’t want to do that and I honestly don’t understand why. He says Rory’s death has been predetermined now, but that’s never stopped the Doctor before. It certainly didn't stop him in the previous series when he himself was destined to die. So why is saving Rory suddenly impossible? And I definitely don’t buy all that bullshit about how once you’ve read something, it’s destined to happen no matter what. That’s just bollocks and the show has contradicted that loads of times in the past. Moffat is once again just making shit up as he goes along and it’s not even consistent. Just look at the whole wrist breaking scene. The Doctor says River needs to break her wrist in order to escape (I don’t even understand that. The Angel has its hand wrapped around her wrist. The only way she could possibly escape is if she were to crush her entire hand down to a circumference smaller than her wrist) because the book says so. Except the book doesn’t say so at all. It just says the Doctor breaks something. Her wrist is never even mentioned and the Doctor doesn’t even break it in the end. (Also why would River lie about her wrist later on? I understand the metaphorical significance of hiding the damage, but it’s just plain daft).

Since I’ve brought up River Song, let’s talk about her. She reappears in this episode wearing a really stupid hat that’s pulled down over her eyes presumably in an attempt to make her look cool and mysterious, but in reality just makes her look like a tit. You’d think considering this is post Wedding Of River Song and we now know everything about her, she might behave a little bit more like an actual human being, but nope. She’s still just as smug and unlikeable as she was before. Actually The Angels Take Manhattan really highlights all the problems with her character, especially her relationship, or lack thereof, with the other characters. They keep insisting she, Amy and Rory are really close now, but I can’t see any evidence for that. It still feels just as strained and awkward as ever to me. As does her relationship with the Doctor. I just don’t buy the supposed ‘romance’ between the two whatsoever as their dialogue only seems to consist of bad sexual innuendo. There’s no genuine emotion or chemistry whatsoever.

Early on it soon becomes apparent how Moffat actually sees her:

Amy: “She’s got ice in her heart and a kiss on her lips and a vulnerable side she keeps well hidden.”

Yeah, turns out Moffat views her as being a noir dame. That’s something that never occurred to me, and that’s because ever since her first appearance in 2008, she had absolutely nothing in common with a noir dame. I mean come on! Ice in her heart? Since when? The Silence In The Library two parter alone contradicts that completely. It’s about as accurate a description as calling her a psychopath, which Moffat does again here by the way. He also describes her in the Melody Malone book as ‘packing cleavage that could fell an ox at 20 feet’. Okay, two things Moffat. One, no woman would EVER write something like that, and two, stop perving over Alex Kingston’s boobs, you colossal fucking creep.

But of course the big thing about The Angels Take Manhattan is that it’s Amy and Rory’s last ever episode. Is it a good farewell?

Credit where it’s due though, the scene on the roof was extremely good. It’s both tragic and emotional in equal measure, and both Karen Gillan and Arthur Darvill really go for it, giving truly incredible performances. It’s hard not to be moved by Amy’s decision to jump off the building with Rory and if Moffat and everyone had just left it at that, it would have been an extremely powerful ending. Instead they seem to go out of their way to ruin it. For one thing, rather than just have Amy and Rory jump off the building and have the performances of the actors be what drives the shock and tragedy of it all, they decide to over-egg the pudding by having Amy and Rory fall in slow motion whilst Murray Gold’s stupid choir performs a slushy melody, which just made the whole thing feel mawkish.

Also it’s hard to be emotionally invested in their sacrifice when it makes no sodding sense. I can understand the paradox killing the Angels, but un-making the hotel? How does that work? What’s Rory got to do with the construction of the hotel? How would his death affect it? And if the hotel never existed, it would mean Rory could never jump off the roof of it to create the paradox in the first place, so wouldn’t we just end up right back to where we started?

Then it just gets worse when we’re suddenly pinged back to the present day and a lone Angel zaps Amy and Rory. Hold on a fucking minute! I thought the paradox killed the Angels! Where the fuck did this one come from?!

The biggest problem with this is that it doesn’t have nearly the same impact the roof scene had because we’ve already done all this a few minutes ago. So why are we doing it again? As far as I’m concerned, it would have worked so much better if Amy and Rory had just plunged to their deaths and that was the end. This just doesn’t make sense. The Doctor says he can’t visit 1938 New York again or it’ll destroy the planet or some such bollocks, but then River says she has to visit Amy in order to write and publish the Melody Malone book. Why not just use her Vortex Manipulator to get them out? Or get them to drive to New Jersey or somewhere and the Doctor can pick them up. It doesn’t make any sense.

And then, as the final turd in the water pipe, we see on the gravestone that Amy has changed her last name to Williams, showing that at last she’s fully committed to her marriage in a way no woman who kept her own name could ever be.

The Angels Take Manhattan is fucking awful. The story makes no sense, the Weeping Angels have been completely and utterly defanged by this point and what could have been a really emotional farewell for Amy and Rory is utterly botched thanks to Moffat putting more emphasis on outsmarting the audience rather than writing a satisfying goodbye.

So let’s end with my final thoughts on Amy and Rory. I’m not going to lie. i wasn’t very impressed. Rory faired slightly better I feel. While his character arc is pretty much the same as Mickey Smith’s from the RTD era, at least Rory actually got to grow and evolve during his time in the TARDIS and Arthur Darvill did a good job overall. Amy on the other hand is definitely one of the weakest companions I’ve ever seen, not just in New Who, but in general. I’ve made it no secret over the course of these reviews how much I dislike her. She’s selfish and obnoxious, and she exhibits a lot of the problems present in all of Moffat’s female characters, namely her lack of agency and proper characterisation. Over two and a half series, she hasn’t actually grown or evolved in any meaningful way and we’ve learnt basically nothing about her outside of her relationship with the Doctor. This was most apparent in Series 6 where she gives birth to and loses her child and at no point does Moffat ever address how she feels about that, and the reason for that is because he doesn’t view her as a character. He views her as a plot device in a mini-skirt whose sole contribution to the story is her legs, her sass and her womb. That’s not to say I don’t like Karen Gillan. I think she’s a great actor and episodes like Amy’s Choice and The Girl Who Waited have demonstrated that when you actually give her some good material to work with, she can give a truly amazing performance. It’s just such a shame that Moffat never fully utilised her.

So goodbye Amy and Rory. You could have been so much more, but at the end of the day... you just weren’t.

Happy Birthday, Maison!

Summary: It’s Sam and Dean’s first opportunity to throw a birthday party for their little sister!

Warnings: injuries, blood, slight cursing

Words: 3.7k (oops)

After breaking through most every database in the country, they had finally found it: Maison Greene’s birthdate. 

“Hey, hey,” Dean sang, “Looky what I found!”

Sam laughed in disbelief, “No way.”

“Oh yes way, Sammy boy.”

“Well, when is it?”

“Uh…” Dean scanned the document and rubbed his neck nervously, “Next week?”

“‘Next week?’ Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Dean spun the laptop around for Sam to see. “Wednesday.”

“What are we going to do for her? Bake her a cake?” Sam said sarcastically and looked at Dean who had a reckless grin on his face.

“Why not?”

Back from the store with the basics for a chocolate cake, the brothers dropped the materials onto the counter in the bunker’s kitchen.

“So,” Sam looks like he is about to have to diffuse a bomb blindfolded, “how do we do this?”

Dean rolled up his sleeves and began pulling bowls out of the cabinets. “The first rule of baking, Sammy, is to pretend like you know what you’re doing. Well, that’s your rule. I actually know what’s going on here.” Dean winked, “Not my first cake rodeo.” The marathons of The Great British Baking Show and Cake Boss were about to pay off. 

Sam shook his head and smiled at his big tough brother putting on an apron and making a cake for their little sister. Technically half-sister, but you know about family and blood. 

Several hours, a dozen eggs, and several test batches later, the flour-smeared Dean is finally pleased with his creation. He grins through the flour and slides the pan into the oven. He turns to see the pony-tailed Sam mixing together the icing, flour streaking his hair.

“No, no, no,” Dean took a bag from his brother, “step away from the sugar.”

“But the recipe says–”

“Ah.” Dean held up a finger, stuck it in the icing, and licked it.

Sam frowned.

“No more sugar,” Dean concluded. “We want it this consistency, not not like cottage cheese.”

When Dean turned his back, Sam put one more pinch of sugar into the mixture and quickly stirred it in. “So, uh…” Sam slid the bowl away from him to reduce suspicion, “now we just wait for the cake to finish and cool so we can ice it?”

“Nope, one more finishing touch.” Dean reached up into a high cabinet for a bag of chocolate chips. His fingers grazed the bag. He was on his tiptoes, but he still couldn’t quite get it. Then Sam reached it down, grinning.

“Here ya go, shorty.”

Dean snatched the bag mumbling something about being average height and being able to reach without help, to which Sam laughed. Dean sprinkled chocolate chips into the icing, then opened the oven and sprinkled some into the batter. “Now,” he brushed his hands on his pants, “we wait.”

An icing-gone-wrong, a sink of dirty bowls, and two long showers later, they started the 14 hour drive to their sister’s place. They would make it in 10 the way they drove. A thought hit the both of them as they were buckling the cake box into the back seat: A present.

“Crap. What are we supposed to get her?” Dean is running his fingers through his hair. “She already has everything she needs, and she doesn’t want anything.” His knuckles start turning white as he grips the steering wheel, thinking.

“That may not be entirely true.”

“Explain, brainiac.” Dean snapped.

"Well," Sam shifted on his feet and started making motions with his hands, "we know she has everything." Cue Dean's eye roll. "But she doesn't have one thing." 

"Just spit it out, Sam. Oh," Dean caught on. Dean smiled that wide smile he only smiled when Maison was involved somehow. "We spend the week with her. You know, help out around the property, cook for her, clean, you know. That's something she can't buy." 

Sam nodded his head thinking about it, "That could work, if...if she doesn't run us off first." Dean whacked Sam in the arm a little too hard, making him yelp and rub his elbow in pain. 

Upon reaching the clearing, they pulled up to the house and killed the engine. They knew a surprise wouldn't work because Maison could hear the Impala from a mile away, but they decided to try anyway. The two grown men crept up to the house, the shorter one holding a little cake box like it had a porcelain baby in it. They threw open the door, yelling surprise! But were greeted by silence.

The living room was a mess: the couch turned over, the coffee table broken, the counter stools thrown across the room, and several weapons from the wall bloodied and strewn about.

“Maison?!” Dean yelled, releasing the cake and drawing his weapon before the box had the chance to hit the ground. He began sweeping the small home and trying to reconstruct the scene: the guest loft was clear, as were the main room and kitchen. He hesitated at Maison’s bedroom door. They had never been in there. Was this invading her privacy? Dean shook his head, clearing away those thoughts: she could be injured. He was going in. He burst into the room, taking in the well-lit room with large bay window above in a loft. The bathroom was clear and smelled of citrus. As he made his way up the ladder to the loft, he noticed how warm it got, the huge window allowing the sun to warm the cozy space. No one was up there except more pictures and a bazillion books surrounding a beanbag facing the window.

Dean met Sam back in the living room. “Well?”

Sam gestured at the back door, “Forced entry. Intruder moved in towards the couch, probably where Maison was,” he pointed out a small scattering of empty brass, “where she pumped him full of salt/iron rounds.” Sam held a casing up to Dean who recognized the markings as their sister’s preferred hybrid round.

“Yeah, she hit him alright. Look at this blood trail.”

“Right, but get this: it didn’t stop him.”

“Obviously,” Dean is pacing, following the blood trail from the door to the couch and eventually into the kitchen. “Whoa...there’s a lot--and I mean a LOT--of blood in here.”

Sam peered over the counter and gulped. That was enough blood for one of them to be dry, or both of them to be critical. “We need to find her. Now.”

���Hey, where’s Rufus?” They looked around the destroyed home and finally found a smeared bloody paw print leaving out of the backdoor.

“The garage,” they said simultaneously and took off through the pines, wondering what they would find.

A quick run later, they entered the garage through the back, ready for a fight or...Sam squeezed his eyes shut, removing the image of their sister, dead and mangled, from his mind. In front of him, Dean was rigid with anger... and fear. He couldn’t lose her. She didn’t deserve to die. He would kill anyone remotely involved in her injury or death.

Rounding her old Nissan pick-up, Sam’s foot slipped, and he almost fell. Crouching to look under the small truck, he found Rufus, unconscious--he hoped--and in a small pool of blood. He grabbed Rufus by the skin behind his neck and dragged him out where Dean could see him too.

“What the...,” A faint blue glow was tracing around the edges of a large gash along the dog-angel’s side. The blue moved so slowly and glowed so faintly that he likely would not awaken for several hours.

“Well,” Sam started, smoothing the fur around the German Shepherd’s face, “at least when Rufus wakes up, he can tell us what happened. He doesn’t go anywhere without Maison.”

Dean said nothing. He just began looking around for another pool of blood. “I got more blood.” The slight panic in Dean’s voice made Sam cover the distance between them in a manner of seconds. When he saw it, Sam understood the panic: the blood was flowing from behind a large barrel. Carefully, they circled around, with memories of Joe and Helen, Bobby, Kevin, and countless others in the forefront of their minds. Had Mais gone peacefully? Was it quick? How long had she suffered?

“Vampire?” Sam asked from behind Dean.

“Vampire,” Dean confirmed, showing the teeth. “Mais must’ve filled him up with dead man’s blood.”

“Speaking of,” Sam pushed the hair out of his face, “where is she? She isn’t in the garage and there are no tracks leaving the building.”

“Knowing her, she’s probably got some loft in here somewhere. Or,” Dean shone his light up into the rafters, “you know she’s a climber. Maybe she’s up there.”

“I dunno, Dean, it’s gotta be pretty hard to--there! Right there, Dean!” Sam pointed up into the rafters where they could see the wood turning red and a freckled hand dangling lifelessly. 

“What the hell, Maison,” Dean grabbed a ladder and started to climb to the rafters 30 feet above the floor. When he reached her, all he could see in the dim lighting above the flourescents was her body, red and shuddering with each breath, lips blue from the cold and blood loss.

“Dean,” Sam called up into the ceiling, “what’s happening? Is Maison okay?”

“Uh,” Dean was so overwhelmed with the joy of finding her alive, the pain of seeing her so injured, and anger at the vampire and himself for this happening, that his voice shook as he managed, “she’s alive, hurt pretty bad, lotta blood, but she’s breathing, so uh, there’s that, I guess.”

Sam sighed in relief, “Okay, just bring her down, and we can get her fixed up.”

Dean slid his arms under her legs and behind her back. She was so small compared to most anybody he worked with. As he went to lift her, she didn’t budge. Dean felt around, looking for the source of the catch, and found a rope tied around her thighs and herchest, holding her up in the rafters. Dean cut the ropes, and her body started falling away from him. He grabbed her legs and flannel shirt, eyes wide with the knowledge of what could have happened. Taking a deep breath, he thought through the best way to get both of them down to the ground intact. He carried Maison down in a fireman’s carry so that he could hold on to the ladder. Carefully putting one foot below the other, he managed to climb down the ladder while holding Mais on his shoulders. Almost at the bottom, he could feel the blood from Maison’s wound seeping into his shirt and dampening his shoulders. 

“Oh, God,” Sam said, helping Dean lay Maison down on a blanket Sam had found. “Uh...Dean?” Sam was hesitating to inspect the wound on her torso. She was their sister. He wasn’t just gonna look under her hood.

“Come on, Sam,” Dean had gone into autopilot: focus on what he can fix, and that was his sister. “We aren’t being pervs, we’re being her big brothers trying to stop the bleeding. Besides,” Dean lifted the shirt exposing her stomach area but still covering the rest of her chest, “she isn’t bleeding up there and she’s still breathing. We’ve got this.”

Sam gulped, and they set to patching her up. Several scrapes covered her arms, neck, and stomach, but the worst of them stretched about six inches long and went deep. Too deep. It would need stitches. The dark blood still oozed out of the wound, probably because she had been moved from the rafters.

“How many stitches do you think she’ll need?” Sam was holding the surgical wire from one of Maison’s nearby toolboxes and a curved needle. 

Dean took one look at Sam and took the supplies. “You start cleaning up the smaller scrapes, I’ll tackle the nasty one.” He carefully poured some cleaning alcohol onto the cut, Maison’s body clenching at the sting, and a small moan escaped her lips. “Sorry, sorry, Mais, I’m so sorry, but I gotta get this thing cleaned up.” He muttered to her under his breath, Sam dutifully wiping the smaller cuts on her freckled arms. “Okay, now this is gonna hurt like hell, but I got some meds for you. Just don’t ask where I got ‘em from,” he half-laughed, threading the needle. 

Sam and Dean usually used 4 or 5 stitches per inch, roughly, on a wound, but Dean used as many as he could cram into that wound. He didn’t want it to open up or scar too bad. 

“Now we take her to the house, right?” Sam asked, wiping the blood off of his hands.

“Yeah.” Dean stood there, staring at the blood on his hands and on his sister’s torso. He remembered the Mark... Hell... the nightmares...All of the awful things he had done,. That he would probably do to Masion in time...

Sam snapped him out of it by grabbing the blanket by Maison’s head. Dean followed suit and held the corners near her feet. Carrying her was a lot harder than they expected. If they got too close together, she would start to drag the ground, and the stitches would pull. Their hands kept slipping, threatening to dump her to the ground.

A long walk later, they laid her on the couch and removed the bloody blanket. Sam had the foresight to lay down a plastic tablecloth under her so as to avoid bloodying the couch. Sam opened her eye, shining a light to test for reflexes, and saw the flecks of blue illuminating her brown eyes. 

“Dean! Get over here!” 

Dean was in the kitchen, but was beside the couch in a flash, “What? Did the stitches break? Is she breathing?”

“Chill, dude, there’s just grace in her eyes. Rufus must be keeping her under until he can get to her. Speaking of, shouldn’t we go get--”

And Rufus burst in through the front door, teeth bared and growling, but obviously still weak. Oh, it’s just you. And he flopped down on the rug facing his human.

“Good to see you too, Rufus. How you holding up?” Sam addressed the angel, picking a leaf out of his fur.

I’ve been better. The limited grace I do have left, I am using to keep Maison unconscious until she is healed. I trust you have stitched and cleaned her wounds?

“Yeah, she’s beat up pretty good. We’ll hang out here and take care of her until she’s better.” Dean picked up the cake off the ground and set it in the refrigerator, “Guess we’ll eat this later.”

One week later and the small scrapes are only pink patches nearly healed, and the stitches are being removed. After the last one is out, Rufus allows Maison to awaken. The return of her free will was obvious: her finger twitched, and she curled her toes, and she wrinkled her nose. She sleepily opened her eyes, instinctively putting her hand out for Rufus. He was there.

“Hm, I had a weird dream, Rufus,” she opened her eyes to see a tired Rufus and her worried brothers. “Wha-,” and it came back: the vamp, Rufus’ injury, her injury....”Oh my God, how long have I been out?” She fell back on the pillow in pain as she tried to sit up.

Sam smiled sadly, “Seven days. We missed you, sis,” he put a hand on her shoulder, smiling.

“Yeah, you got a nice badge now,” Dean teased. “So, to catch up: we got the demon out of Wyoming, I found the rattling under the hood, and...Happy birthday!!” Dean pulled the cake out of the refrigerator with a flourish and carefully set it on her lap.

“Aw, guys, it’s beautiful!” The ‘death by chocolate’ cake was lopsided, icing falling off one side, and a third of the cake breaking off one the side. She scooped up a bite and forked it in her mouth, “Mm, I don’t know who sold you this ugly cake,” she swallowed, “but this is definitely the best cake I’ve ever had.” 

Dean beamed, confirming Maison’s suspicions, and Sam shook his head in disbelief, “There’s no way it’s that good. We made it ourselves!”

“Of course it’s that good, we made it ourselves!” Dean gently hugged Mais around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head.

Maison looked around at her two thoughtful brothers and worried guardian, tears coming to her eyes. She had people that cared for her, would go out of their way for her, and would sit by her side nonstop for a week, even making her a cake --and she was on some kind of painkiller. The first tear slipped out of her eye, meandered down her cheek, and disappeared.

“Oh, God, Maison? Maison! Where does it hurt?” Dean jumped back, and stared at his sister in horror, as if he had just broken her. “Sam! Grab the morphine! No--the whiskey, then the morphine--Mais? Mais, stay with me, we’re gonna take care of it. Rufus?! Put her under!” 

“No, no, Dean,” she sniffled, careful not to flex her core muscles at all, “y’all are just so sweet. It’s just been me all these years and...” she held Dean’s hand up to her cheek, reaching for Sam’s as well, “you saved my life. Thank you. I owe you, big time.”

Sam said, “No, you don’t owe us anything. You have helped us more than you’ll ever understand, and really,” he laughed, trying to find the words, not believing he was baring his heart to her, “You saved us.” He squeezed her hand and smiled, dismissing himself to finish some chores around the property.

Maison looked up at Dean next and saw his eyes were misty. “Thank you, Dean, for patching me up. Sam has a rough hand and would’ve left the scarring bad, and,” she could see his emotions running, rushing, mixing, and ebbing behind his eyes, “thank you. Thank you for--”

“No.”

“What?”

“You don’t ever have to say that to me.”

“Well--”

“No, Maison,” Dean sounded mad, but he was really just worried. He took a breath, “You’re family. More than blood. You’ve saved our asses more times than I can count, and we’re staying here with you until you’re 100%. After that, we’re calling you every day and visiting when we can. No if’s and’s or but’s about it.” He ruffled her hair and kissed her hand, strong but gentle and loving.

Maison wanted to move around. Afterall, she had been asleep for a week. As she started moving her legs, Rufus read the thought, and sent it to Dean who promptly held her in place. “Going somewhere, princess?”

“Yeah, I’ve been on the couch all week. I need some air.”

“No, Katniss,” he said referring to her tying herself in the rafters when she was hurt, “No outside. Just couch.”

Maison pouted. “Will you please take me outside?”

“No, you can’t walk, your stitches will tear.”

“Then,” she made her puppy dog eyes, “Will you carry me outside?”

Dean acted annoyed, but he was glad to be able to help her feel better. “Fine, but only a little bit.”

She smiled through the pain that shot throughout her body when he lifted her up. She had lost probably 5 pounds over the week, but even with those 5 pounds, she was still small. He saw her wince, and almost dropped her back on the couch, except she held onto his neck.

“Dean Winchester, don’t you dare drop me.”

He faltered, “Well...I’m not taking you anywhere outside the house. You’re still healing. Want to go up to your reading loft?”

She eyed him suspiciously, figuring he must have gone in her room at some point. He probably had a good reason to. He had a good soul. “...sure. But only if you sit and read with me for a while.”

He smiled. “Of course.”

This time, Dean had Maison in a princess carry when he climbed the ladder, as opposed to the bloody firemen’s carry a week ago. He set her down in her bean bag, fussing over her and offering pillows. Maison was in a bit of pain, but she knew she had had a rough bout with pain meds in the past, so she stuck with aspirin or ibuprofen. 

“Will you get me some tea, Dean?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he was glad to have a job that couldn’t possibly hurt Mais. “Green, sweet, or hibiscus?”

She was pleasanly surprised that he remembered. “Actually, will you look in the flower box by the window for some chamomile? Same deal as the hibiscus for prep, and same sugar as the green.”

“Got it. I’ll be right back. If you need anything, just holler.” Dean was picking up on her southern mannerisms and vernacular as he did when he stayed for any period of time.

“Thank you again. I’ll pick you a book,” She called down the ladder.

Dean set a pot on the stove to heat some water and went to pick some chamomile. He grabbed a handful, “I guess that’s enough,” and put it in a bag to boil. While he waited, he took the tablecloth and blankets off of the couch and into the washing machine with plenty of detergent. The tea was done, and he joined Maison up in her loft.

“Ooh, that smells good,” Maison held the warm mug in both hands, still thinking about the crooked red line on her midsection. While Dean was gone, she had inspected it--her first moment alone since waking up--and saw the care he had taken: she had about as many stitches as would possibly fit in that area. It would scar, but nothing like her other ones. She noticed she was wearing the same clothes, the guys opting for privacy over absolute hospital standards. They were so sweet. She felt the warmth of the mug seep into her joints and core. Hopefully, the chamomile would help her to relax.

“So,” Dean rubbed his hands together, “What book do you have for me today?”

“I have,” she reached for the shelf and winced, quickly returning to the beanbag, “ouch. Uh, Last of the Breed. Don’t judge the book by the author. It’s sooo good.”

“Hmm,” Dean got the worn book off the shelf, scanned the cover, and started reading. Maison took up the sun coming in through her window and finished her tea. When she fell asleep, Dean put the book down, marked his page, and carried her down to her bed.

Pulling the covers up to her chin, he tucked her hair behind her ear. Her face was still pale and drawn, her eyes pinkish when they were open, and breathing relatively shallow, but she was a Winchester. Her knife still in her waistband and her gun cleaned, loaded, and placed back under her pillow, she could rest easy. He kissed her forehead for a long time, regretting her being hurt, thankful she was okay, and angry at whoever orchestrated it.

He straightened and retrieved his book from the loft, finding a note inside:

Dean, I want you to take The Count of Monte Cristo with you. I think you’ll appreciate it as much as I do. Thank you for everything. With love, your little sister, Maison.

He grabbed the novel and went out to help Sam with the chores, Rufus tagging along, thankful that they had saved her this time, instead of putting her in more danger.

Burn - chapter five

link to previous chapters:http://i-did-your-mom.tumblr.com/ 

I'm seriously neglecting my studies because this story is taking over my life. Early update because I will not be writing anything this weekend. I have assignments and essays to prepare and finish, so I won't be around. I will definitely update sometime next week.

More Bucky in this chapter as promised.

Chapter five: Esoteric

Training with Nat proved to be wrecking in all the senses of the word. She pushed Addie until the latter was completely and utterly demolished. Every morning, Addison woke up with a new onset of the day. She tried to think positively of all the sore and bruised parts of her body; it meant she was getting stronger. Six weeks of constant and brusque training would surely have toughened her up. She ate a balanced breakfast and decided caffeine should be replaced by water. A balanced and healthy diet was as good as a robust training program, according to Nat. After her breakfast, she spent two hours with Clint and Steve on the computers, researching and discussing ever variable that they knew about HYDRA. She was incredibly immersed in all aspects of HYDRA; just how long it had been around, who it had targeted, the weird situations it had dabbled in, and so much more horrible circumstances they had taken part in. With Clint and Steve, she deciphered, learned, and planned what they must have been thinking or trying to do now. The return of Loki with a HYDRA insignia on his sleeve had raised many questions.

"If he wanted me, wouldn't he have found us here?" she asked one morning, her head bent over a package of papers. Her eyes were tired from a restless sleep plagued by nightmares of a certain Soldier strangling her.

"Loki had one intention in this world, Bird," Clint started, his voice dismissive as he spun around on the rolling chair to face the brunette. "He wanted to conquer. He wanted all the power from the Tesseract and to rule as a dictator. We cast him out with a warning that if he ever return, his head would be on a pike."

"I don't believe we went to those lengths of threatening," Steve said with a paternal tone. "But Barton is right. He wanted to conquer. If he had targeted you, he would have you by now."

A shiver sliced through Addie's spine as she returned slowly to her papers.

Her mornings were always like that. Steve and his patronizing, protective attitude, and Clint with his seriousness and intellect. They mingled well together; a perfect brain team. She loved to sit with them, listen and observe how the professionals did the work. She learned more by watching and listening to their conversations than she did by trying to find information on HYDRA by herself.

Once Nat was up and about, she came to find Addie and brought her to the gym. There, she was broken and mangled and thrown to the ground.

"Come on, Bird, we've done this countless of times," Nat said, looking at the brunette from under thick black lashes. Sweat coated her red hairline, her damp hair sticking to the sides of her pale face. She was wearing black yoga pants that accentuated the curve of her hips and a dark red Under Armor sweatshirt. Nat looked good in whatever she was wearing, doing anything.

"And you've done this since 1984," Addie answered, breathless, her pony tail damp, her face red from the strain.

They had been scuffling since ten in the morning, going through different take downs and self defense techniques. Nat taught the brunette how to use her fingers, her elbows, her knees. She taught her how to counter any attack and how to get out of compromising, lethal positions. One thing that stuck to Addie was how to counter a strangling, especially because her nights had been plagued with epidemic nightmares of a metal hand wrapping around her throat.

The gym was almost full that morning. Wanda and Sam were scuffling on their own, trying out techniques they had seen from a Japanese fight video on YouTube. Scott and Clint were on the treadmill after having spent a considerable amount of time on the weights. And Steve was at the punching bag; his usual destination for rough mornings.

The only missing asset to what Steve wanted to desperately call a team was Bucky. He was rarely around; a distant entity that appeared for food and bedtime, disappeared to the shooting range, and barely exchanged words with anybody besides Steve.

Addie's thoughts were interrupted by Nat swiping her right foot out and knocking out the brunette's ankles. The latter fell harshly on her side with a grunt, her face scrunching up in pain. Her shoulder was throbbing, her ribs aching badly from the day before.

"That sounded like it hurt, Bird!" Wanda shouted from across the gym. When Addie looked to where she was scrimmaging, Wanda was mindlessly hopping around Sam, throwing punches and kicks here and there while the latter tried to catch her in a compromising hold. Addie sighed in desperation. Everyone seemed to mindlessly and effortlessly fight like Gods and Goddesses. They could laugh and joke and talk while performing the craziest stunts.

"Stop letting your head get in the way of what your body wants to do," Nat said quietly as she reached down and helped the girl to her feet. The two women stared at each other, dark blue examining chocolate brown. "You're too much in your head."

"I need to think about-"

"No, we've been through this already," Nat interrupted. She gave the brunette a sharp, almost cruel and annoyed look as she held the girl by the back of the neck. "These need to become automatic, like an instinct." Rapidly, Nat pulled Addie down by the neck. The girl saw the move coming. She saw Nat's knee coming for her nose and her elbows went up in an X formation to block the blow. Nat tried to knee three times, Addie blocking her blows with her forearms like she was taught to do.

Suddenly, Addie was yanked up and had just the time to see Nat slightly turn before she tried to jam an elbow to the brunette's jaw. Addie's left hand came up, grabbed Nat's elbow, turned so her back was facing Nat. She was about to yank the redhead over her shoulder when she felt pain in her back and she tumbled to the ground, Nat's knee having done the job in rendering her useless again. "You need to stop thinking about how you're going to defend yourself," Nat grumbled as she grabbed the other girl by the pony tail. "You need to leave your mind and let your body perform the greatness I have taught you."

Addie twisted until she was facing Nat, kneeling. She jerked forwards, wrapping her arms around the redhead's waist and slamming her quite loudly on the ground. Nat was quick in using her legs and her arms to disentangle herself and smack Addie in the back of the head as both got to their feet. "You're slow again. Better than before, but still slow."

"I'll never get better, Jesus fuck," Addie breathed as she brought her fists to protect her face. She dodged blow after blow, kick after kick like she was taught, even managing to get a punch or two in.

"If you think that way, then you'll never get better."

They continued fighting, learning techniques, trying them out. Addie continued until she physically couldn't stand on her feet anymore, falling on the ground, her clothes soaked. Her legs felt like they weighed tons, her muscles jelly, weak, and bruised under her sticky flesh. Every joint in her body, her ankles and wrists mostly, were burning from the strain she insisted on exerting on them. Her whole body was blazing with an uncomfortable fire, a fire lit from excessive and stubborn strain.

Nat laughed when the girl was visibly destroyed on the floor, lying down like a starfish at the bottom of the ocean. "Hey, Bird," Nat said slowly, her raspy tone resonating in Addie's ears. "I hope you don't get mad at me."

"What did you do?" Addie asked breathless. "Did you put your colored clothes with my white ones in the washing machine again?"

"No," Nat laughed. "I'm leaving for a while."

"What do you mean?" Addie pushed herself onto her elbows, her sweaty face scrunched into a frown.

Nat sighed and gave the girl a side glance, her plump lips pulling into a sorrowful smile. "I have to be somewhere else," she said. "I won't be here anymore. For a while at least."

Addie remained speechless for a second, before remembering that Natasha had a life outside hiding in a compound and teaching fighting lessons. "You're going back to Tony?" she asked, sitting up completely. Nat nodded slowly, her jade-colored eyes looking down, unsure, at the brunette. "I get that," the latter said, nodding as if she was trying to convince herself that everything would be all right.

"You'll have Steve and Clint and even the two goof balls over there to help you," the redhead continued, gesturing to where Scott and Sam were. "Besides, you're not so bad after all." She kicked Addie in the ankle ever so gently. The two shared a laugh.

"You think Tony has other ideas about HYDRA and Loki?" Addie asked in a more serious note.

"I think Tony knows a lot of things that could helps us," Nat answered. "He's got the biggest circle of acquaintances and so I do believe he can add to what we already know."

Addie got to her feet with pain and misery, wincing as she felt all her muscles and joints screaming against the strain. Once she stood facing the small redhead, she stuck her hand out. "Well, it was incredible working with you."

Nat smirked, but nonetheless shook the other woman's hand. "Yes it was."

Addie turned and made her way out of the gym, a hot shower and relaxation in mind. "Hey Bird!" Nat called, making the brunette turn on her heels. "You should go see Bucky. He's very well placed if not the best to teach you."

Addie's mouth twisted in an annoyed growl. That man had treated her like gum under his shoe since the day he met her. He had not given her place for improvement and had cast aside all her attempts to be polite and friendly with him. She had no intentions in her right mind to ask that man for help.

"You think he'd help me?" she asked.

"I think he would, yeah."

The brunette turned her back and walked away, a strange feeling coursing through her veins.

The next morning, Nat's absence made every aspect of Addie's life different. Steve and Clint were grumpy because the redhead had left to return on her "rightful side of the Accords." She left their morning discussions early that morning to visit the gym. She was wearing black yoga pants and a long blue t-shirt, her dark locks tied in a messy knot atop her head. She started on the treadmill, then ended on the punching bag. As the morning rolled on, Wanda and Scott joined the gym. Around noon, Sam was running on the treadmill. When Addie was taking a break from the punching bag, Clint and Steve walked in, ready to work out.

There was not much she could do on her own. She was so used to Nat being there beside her, whispering and encouraging her, showing her the details of a fight. Standing there alone, facing the punching bag, she felt useless. She was not a pro or a fine ex KGB agent. Facing a new problem, all she would do was use her already known techniques.

She sighed in defeat, hitting the punching bag slightly with her gloved hand.

"Someone's grumpy."

Clint leaned against the bag, a smirk on his lips. He was wearing his black combat suit, his arrows and bow the only missing aspects.

"I'm not grumpy," the girl answered halfheartedly. Clint had been close enough with the girl to know when she was experiencing trouble. They had spent so much time together in the passed six weeks that he could detect the slightest change in her mood. Given, he was also a super star in human behavior, thus giving him an advantage over everyone else in deciphering the girl's emotions.

"Nat left, I know it sucks," he started, leaning in so the girl could not avoid his eyes. "But that doesn't mean you're rendered useless."

"I just..." she sighed, shrugging vehemently. "We had this thing going. A routine. She knew how hard I had to be pushed to learn. I know I've learned a lot, but she left too soon. What I am going to do?"

"I'll help," came the voice of a very familiar female. Wanda sauntered by on her way to the machines, her long hair in a high pony tail, a wide smile on her face. She feigned a fighting position and said "we will train together. No one gets left behind here." There was still the slightest hint of her Sokovian accent under her well learnt English.

Addie laughed, but her spirits seemed to be lifting as she watched Wanda skip away with a huge, inviting smile.

The clouds were grey, lightning striking the ground every now and again. Addison's ability was struggling to stay quiet, her veins buzzing and swirling with power every time the sky lit up with electricity. She was hearing the whispers and sighs of her ability; the subtle tugging of her enhancement calling to her, begging to be released. The blood curling in her veins, intertwined with electricity, hummed in her ears and sliced down her spine. Her head was a pool of struggle between staying in control and letting the bolts take over.

"You need to dampen your thoughts until all you see if the tip of that arrow."

The wind swept in her hair, brushing it against her cheeks. A shock passed alongside her jaw, the blue bolts illuminating the side of her face for an instant. She was slowly losing it. Above, the sky was screeching with thunder and lightning. Inside, she was a cacophony of sparks and tension.

"Breathe in, breathe out."

Her breath was mingled with tiny little lightning bolts. She struggled to keep the sky's calling at bay, but the more the lightning came, the more her skin pin prickled with the need to explode. Her fingertips started to itch, the string against them adding to the dull ache.

"Stay focused. Don't let everything else become the center of you."

The bow she was holding was starting to smolder where she was clamping it with her right hand. Her palms were alight with a fire generated by the electricity running under her skin. She stared at the target up ahead, her muscles straining. She tried so desperately to ignore the crackling of the sky and the burning of her fingertips. The bow, although made from the toughest material around, was melting under her palm, the string becoming loser and loser.

"I can't," she sighed suddenly, turning to face Clint standing behind her with arms crossed over his chest. He was wearing a black hoodie, the hood pulled over his head, his light brown hair sticking out from all angles.

"The only reason why you can't is because you burnt your hand print into the bow," he answered, raising a brow.

"You brought me out here at the worst possible time for me!" she almost yelled as the sky was torn by lightning and the screeching of thunder. Clint rolled his eyes as he uncrossed his arms and slowly made his way towards her. He was scowling like an older brother would when he needs to correct his sibling's mistake.

"You think Wanda doesn't have it hard?" he asked, his voice wavering between anger and patronizing. "Every time, every day, she feels everything around her. Not only that but she also feels everyone." He sighed loudly as he leaned in so she couldn't avoid his enigmatic glare. "Tony has to hold his team together even though he knows Steve's best friend killed his parents. Hell, everyone on this Earth has a daily struggle."

She felt her heart battering against her chest bone. Bucky killed Tony's parents?

Her eyes roamed to where the Winter Soldier was shooting an automatic weapon, up on the hill in the shooting range. His back was to her, his hair in the wind. From up a top the small hill, he was a tiny dot against the grey clouds. He was not menacing in any way, yet with her new found knowledge, he was slowly becoming more and more threatening.

"What I'm trying to say," Clint continued, "is that everyone finds a way to surpass their struggles. You can do it too." Her mind was still chaotic with thoughts of Bucky. She knew he was a dangerous man, hell, one of the most dangerous men alive. She knew his kill list was in the hundreds and she knew he'd dabbled in the worst criminal doings. Yet she couldn't imagine him killing Tony's parents. She couldn't imagine him hurting someone on purpose; for the fun of it.

She sighed in defeat. Clint took the bow and arrow away from her as she tugged her hood over her head. The rain was coming soon. The air was humid and she felt the electricity in the air getting stronger. "We should head in anyway," Clint said mindlessly.

They climbed up the hill, the wind at their backs. Addie had a heavy feeling in her heart that she was discovering things about the Avengers that were not as pure as she had thought. They were all broken people with heavy pasts. The media made them out to be selfless, kindhearted goodie two shoes. They were portrayed as almost being God-like, untouchable, until the events in Wakanda reduced them to criminal scum, thus rendering their image to ashes. But they were nonetheless untouchable, standing on pedestals higher than the Empire State.

Clint and Addie passed by Bucky, who was enthralled in his gun, shoulders cupped, eyes lined with his target. She found herself hesitating by him, her eyes finding his metal arm visible under a white tee. Her eyes wondered to the metal fingers, clutched around the length of the weapon. A shiver passed through her body as she finally got to terms that he was once a murderer, a machine of some sort. His hands, metal or human, were covered in blood.

"If you really want to hurt someone," he said carelessly, bringing the girl's attention to him, "you should learn to shoot a gun not a bow."

Addie's lips parted in surprise. He never, never, spoke to her directly since she moved in six weeks ago. He barely let his eyes rest on her for half a second, let alone excuse himself whenever he'd mindlessly bump into her around the compound. She was nothing to him, a ghost that he ignored and cast aside. It seemed, for the longest time, that he was purposely trying to humiliate or disregard her. Yet now he was directly giving her advice.

"What?"

"A bow is just as deadly as a gun when you know how to use it," Clint defended. He stood beside Addie, who was staring wide eyed and flushed at the soldier.

Bucky let the gun tip downward before he turned his burning blue gaze to where the pair was standing a couple feet away. His eyes met Addie's for a split second, a strong allure of annoyance in his pupils. His jaw twitched, a muscle in his neck straining. "I'll let you fight me with your bow against my guns and we'll see who comes out alive."

Addie's hands shook as she recalled, just moments ago, how Clint had mentioned Bucky killing Iron Man's parents.

"While you recharge your ammo I'll stick one up your ass, metal boy," Clint growled. Bucky was not fazed, his eyes glazed as he sighed and brought his gaze back to Addie.

"Listen," he said, "if you really want to broaden your training, pick up a gun." He was staring at her almost expectantly, as if he was waiting for her to drop Clint and agree to everything Bucky said.

"You barely talk to me and now you're advising me?" she asked almost bewilderingly. His face shifted a little, as if he was biting the insides of his cheeks. His fist, the human flesh one, flexed and balled up as he continued to stare deeper into her soul. Electricity crawled along her neck and she was self conscious about it, afraid that he would see it. The lightning slicing the sky was making the power within her come into contact with her skin.

"You should learn how to shoot a gun, that's all I'm saying," he grunted back, his eyes flicking from Clint to Addie. "Everyone here has their own weapon; Steve has his shield, Wanda her telekinesis, Clint his arrows. But they all know how to handle a gun amazingly."

She was about to answer something stupid before Clint interrupted. "Magnet here might have a point," he grumbled. Addie looked suddenly at him with a shocked expression, torn between being disappointed and shook. "You need to learn how to manage a weapon. At least, the basis."

She was in no way getting close to Bucky. He kept her at an arms distance, humiliated her in front of world icons, and treated her as if she didn't belong. Despite everyone else making her feel at home, he managed to keep her up at night, constantly wondering if she did really belong. Whenever he was around, she trembled like a leaf in the wind and her head was a turmoil of racing thoughts. She always felt on edge, as if prepared to run, when she was in the same room as him. There was also a sour, heavy feeling in her chest when she was encouraged to voice her opinion when Bucky stood in the room. He intimidated and scared her to a point that she didn't even understand anymore how she felt. She wanted to ignore his disregard of her, but every time he stormed out of a room or condoned her opinion with a roll of his eyes, she felt belittled.

"I could learn it with you," she said, jutting her chin towards Clint, the tips of her ears turning red because she thought she was finally giving Bucky a little taste of his own medicine.

"No one here is better placed to teach you than a retired HYDRA asset," Clint grunted, his eyes finding Bucky with fire and challenge.

"No I could-"

"Would you rather a bird teaches you weapons than a soldier trained by the Russians?" Bucky spoke harshly over her, taking a step forward, his fingertips twitching.

"That was a low blow," Clint sighed in annoyance.

"Listen, James-"

"Bucky."

"I don't think it's a good idea," she answered, her jaw twitching in anger because he interrupted her. The only form of control she had over him was calling him by his birth name and not the nickname he insisted she call him.

"Are you scared, Bird?" Clint laughed, looking at her in the most innocen, happy face. He was unaware of how intimidated she was.

"No but-"

"Then I don't see the problem," he stepped in, leaning in like a father would while patronizing a child. "You need to learn to shoot a weapon. Most of us are busy, except for Sir Metal over here who seems to never have anything important on his to-do list." He smiled sweetly, the wrinkles alongside his eyes creasing his flesh. He was endearingly growing old.

She sighed.

"Seven tomorrow morning," Bucky grumbled, returning to his previous stance; gun tucked against his shoulder and eyes on the target.

She walked away ahead of Clint, the harsh wind blowing against the hood of her jacket and exposing her dark curls. She was angry at herself mostly, to have given in so easily. She had thought up so many times where she stood up to Bucky, giving him a piece of her mind. She imagined herself being harsh and callous, to give him back all those weeks of rudeness. Yet when she was finally faced with a chance to stick it to him, she flushed and stammered and stuttered, unable to correctly defend herself.

She slammed the door once she was inside, headed for her room, her cheeks red with anger. Stupid, stupid, stupid! she thought. He ate up too much space that she was thrown off balance, rendered to a stuttering mess. You're weak!

Somewhere, she heard, and felt, the tiny explosions of kitchen appliances.

He was going to destroy her. All the work she had done, the past year and the past six weeks, to build herself up strong like bricks, would be crushed by Bucky. He would take all the courage and fight in her and throw it to the wolves. He would mock, embarrass, and push her until she would bend under those scorching blue orbs. He would tests the limits until he could find a crevice to wedge himself in, and then he would break her like a toy.

Clint is a dad so I have no problem imagining him being patronizing and fatherly around the compound.

This is probably the most words Bucky is every going to say in his life.

Thank you for reading. I will try my best to update sometime next week. Have a good weekend!