#'and that if they dissolve into nothing because you Didn't Pay Them Enough Attention and you try to recreate them it won't be the same one'

[the-moogle-of-your-nightmares]

one thing i really deeply wish is that i'd had access as a kid to the plural community and information that are more easily available today, instead of my first experience with plural community which both took it seriously and was nonjudgmental having been 10's era tul/pa.info lmao

[syoddeye]

cooking with gaz. inspired by this ask. abrupt ending.

From the first day, you know he's going to be a problem.

When you ask the group to introduce themselves and explain why they've enrolled, Kyle answers with a wide grin, tying a needlessly elaborate knot with the ribbons of his apron.

"Gotta fuel this body right," he winks, "and I heard women like men who cook."

Half the class dissolves into nervous giggles, and you know he's already won them over. Too charming for his own good.

So, a small, mean part of you takes satisfaction in watching someone that handsome struggle at something as basic as cooking.

Except for the part where it's literally your job to help him. Easier said than done.

He turns pasta into sludge, lets a soufflé erupt in the oven, and scorches a chopping board by setting it too close to an open flame. His risotto comes out as an overly salty, crunchy rice soup. Bakes cookies so bitter and dense they could double as hockey pucks, claiming afterward he didn't know you could add too much baking soda. By the end of each class, his station looks like a war zone.

It's infuriating—his inability to follow instructions, his overconfidence. The mix of dread and something far less professional you feel whenever he walks into the room. You try to pay equal attention to your other students, but you can't stray far from his station.

You're stuck hovering, correcting him, guiding him, putting out metaphorical—and sometimes literal—fires. Your consolation is that the rest of the class at least finds him amusing. You would too, if you weren't the one scraping another charred disaster into the bin.

One evening, as the rest of the class packs up, he apologizes. Says he knows you must be frustrated by him.

"Guess I need to practice more at home," he rubs the back of his neck, a sheepish smile on his stupid, pretty face. "Think I could send you some photos for feedback?"

You hesitate, because it's absolutely crossing a line, but the image of him with an open flame alone in his flat is enough to make you fold. You have a responsibility to some degree.

"Fine." You reluctantly scribble your number on a napkin. "Don't hurt yourself."

"Yes, chef." Ugh.

The next evening, your phone buzzes as you're fixing your own dinner. A picture. Chicken parm. It's plated messily, with a little too much sauce, but it's…edible-looking. No visible inferno, either. Except your eyes don't linger on the food. They snag on his arm, front and center, forearm muscles tensed as he holds the tray.

Before you can recover, a second photo arrives. This time, a selfie. Kyle grinning ear to ear with a forkful, the very picture of someone far too pleased with himself. You want so badly to find it insufferable. Instead, it's cute. Mouth-watering in a completely different way.

>> What do you think, chef? Want a bite?

Yeah, you think, gaze lingering on the curve of his bicep. Yeah, I really do.

You hold it together long enough to respond.

> Looks good.

You leave it at that, returning to your meal with a different kind of hunger pang.

The next class, Kyle smirks across the kitchen the entire time you discuss the week's dishes. You expect some kind of sneaky comment, another disaster, but to your surprise, nothing major happens. His dishes come out fine. Not spectacular, but decent. A noticeable improvement, even if he's still a little too generous with his measurements.

You watch him, waiting for something to go wrong, but it never does. It's almost unsettling.

The texts continue between classes. To his credit, he sticks to pictures of his meals—slightly overcooked chicken, messy pasta, a cheesy-looking omelet—but there's a shift. The photos become less about the food and more about him. You nearly drop your phone in a stockpot when he sends a selfie in a tank top, holding a plate of something you don't even register because you're too busy staring.

You respond with another Looks good, silence your phone, and reconsider your life choices.

Then pozole night happens.

Kyle's actually done really well this time. You're a little shocked, looking at the pot of simmering soup that smells, against all odds, delicious.

"Want a taste?"

Before you can answer, he dips the spoon and holds it out, one hand cupped beneath to catch any drips. You lean in automatically, not even thinking about it until you feel his fingertips graze the underside of your chin. You freeze, meeting his gaze as the spoon reaches your mouth. He doesn't look away, and when you part your lips, your cheeks warm for reasons that have nothing to do with soup.

When you swallow, his eyes dart from your throat to your mouth. His lips curl into a small, knowing smile. Your knees feel embarrassingly weak. What the hell is wrong with you.

Kyle's voice dips low, fingers hovering near your chin. "You like that?"

Your breath catches. "Great job." you manage stiffly, then swiftly move on to the next student.

You feel him staring for the rest of class. You avoid looking his way, but every time you do, he's already watching you, that same maddening expression on his face.

It's not surprising when Kyle lingers after dismissal, taking too long to pack up. As the last student leaves, he corners you by the sink while you wash up.

"So," he starts, stepping closer, "are we done with the back and forth now? Or should I send a shirtless one next?"

You blink, caught between disbelief and irritation, feeling the knot of your apron loosen. Swiveling, you grab a towel off the counter and glare up at him. "What are you talking about?"

He tilts his head. Then, without breaking eye contact, he plants his hands on the counter, boxing you in. Your stomach flips. 

"C'mon, chef," Kyle says quieter, but no less confident. "I'm saying, if you want, you don't have to settle for just photos anymore. What do you say? Grab dinner with me."

It's galling, him standing there all smug like he already knows the answer. The audacity. It's absurd. Bold. But the worst part is, you don't know if you're annoyed or intrigued. You've spent weeks trying to convince yourself he's nothing more than an unfortunately hot, underwhelming cook with nice arms and a better smile. 

But at this moment, there's no point pretending anymore. You are, against your better judgment, interested.

You sigh, loud enough to make a show of it, like you really don't want to go on a date with him, and furiously dry your hands.

"Fine. But you're not cooking—we're eating out."

His grin deepens, hands finding the back of your apron's neck strap to gently tug it over your head.

"Yeah, babe," he teases. "I plan to."

[scarletsaphire]

Danny's parents are wrong. There is no such thing as ghosts, and the "portal" in their basement is nothing more than a hole in the wall. A hole in the wall that holds a nefarious illness that causes Danny to start rotting from the inside out. When other citizens of Amity Park begin to exhibit the same horrible symptoms, will they be able to stop it, or will the city fall to this mysterious virus? -- A little late, but here's my second entry for @ecto-implosion 2024! This one is with @justaphantomhuman whose art you can find here: https://www.tumblr.com/justaphantomhuman/768612892548513792/ectoimplosion-2024?source=share I hope you all enjoy!

The first other person who got infected, or at least that Danny noticed got infected, was the lunch lady. She'd been working at Casper High for as long as anyone could remember, with a picture of her next to the brand new lunch menu hanging in the back of the cafeteria, dated 1967 to prove it. 

She’d always been nice. Not overly so, not in an overbearingly, tooth rottingly sweet kind of way, but in the “always adds a little extra on mashed potato day” kind of way. The exact level of nice a lunch lady should be. 

Maybe Danny should’ve noticed something, when she started adding way more than a little extra mashed potatoes, both to his tray and everybody else’s. Maybe he should’ve noticed when she no longer seemed to reply to the students, working on autopilot and regurgitating a script of “Eat, eat, growing boys and girls need to eat!” He definitely noticed when the force of scooping pees cut into her wrist, and the now loose flab of skin fell into the less than stellar minestrone.

The horror sinking into his gut was almost enough to cover the piercing hunger.

He grabbed Sam and Tucker’s arms, dragging them away from the lunch line to the closest table they could talk freely at. 

“Whu- hey!” Tucker protested, but he didn’t try and break Danny’s grip. “What’s your deal?”

“Did you see that?” He hissed through clench teeth. He ignored their loose rattle.

“See you sacrificing my spot in line? You bet I did.”

Sam elbowed Tucker in the side, which did nothing to stop his protests. She was just better at drowning them out. “Saw what?”

“Her- her wrist. It just fell off. Into the soup.”

Sam paled, and Tucker cut himself off.

“Like…” Tucker asked, eyes darting to Danny’s neck where his skin was still red and loose. 

Danny nodded. “Exactly like that.”

Sam leaned forward, lowering her voice to a whisper. “We can’t let people eat that.”

“Agreed.” Danny's eyes darted to the lunch line; students trailed back to the cafeteria doors and out into the hall. “But how?”

“Easy. Sam, scream that you saw a rat.”

Sam turned sharply to Tucker. “Why do I have to do it?”

“Because you’re a girl, and you can scream louder!”

“We both know that's not true! And besides, I would not scream at a rat.”

“Hey! I have a very manly scream!”

Danny would’ve bit his lip, if he hadn’t spent the last month training that reflex out of him. They didn’t have time for their bickering. They had to act fast.

He jumped up on the table, pointing towards the food line, and screamed as loud as he could. “Is that a rat?!”

To Tucker’s credit, the plan worked wonderfully. The students in line immediately dissolved into chaos, screaming and dropping their trays and running from the line. In some cases, they ran from the cafeteria altogether. 

Danny did not pay attention to the commotion. His eyes remained drained on the lunch lady, as she continued to spoon more and more soup into an abandoned, overflowing tray. Her grip on the spoon didn't waver, even as she began to wear through the bone, more and more splatters of blood mixing in with the soup below.

—

Maybe it was a good thing that the first zombie was revealed in such a public way. When Principal Ishiyama came to try and figure out what was happening, she immediately called the police. And of course, Danny’s parents, with their radio tuned in on police channels at all times, arrived first.

He wished he could've watched them work, but he couldn't; they’d evacuated the cafeteria the moment they arrived. 

“This is why you should bring your hazmat suit to school, sweetie!” Maddie had said, her voice muffled through the full face mask that she wore. Then she was gone through the double doors of the cafeteria to clean up the mess the lunch lady had made, both of the lunch line and of herself. By the time they were done, Danny had left the school grounds.

“Any ideas on how this could happen?” he asked, consciously fighting the effort to kick a rock down the sidewalk. He’d already splintered his toe nail in two once; he didn’t need to do it again. 

Sam worried at her bottom lip before shaking her head. “Not that I can think of. Unless you decided that you were sick and tired of beef paste for lunch?”

Danny threw his weight into her side, knocking her off the sidewalk for just a second. She laughed, then adjusted her course. 

“Maybe we’re looking at it wrong.” Tucker did not look up from his PDA as he spoke, fingers flying over the buttons. “Maybe it isn’t like the movies.” 

“Well, we don’t exactly have a lot else to go off of.”

“Yeah, my parents expected to find ghosts, not freaky zombie virus.” 

Tucker snapped his fingers and pointed at Danny. “But we have that!”

Sam and Danny shared a look. “What, ghosts?”

“Cause we definitely can’t handle ghosts and zombies at the same time.”

“No, of course not.” Tucker held up his PDA, letting Danny see some kind of study displayed on screen. “Viruses!”

Danny took a moment to digest the words before the substance became clear to him - it was on how viruses spread.

 “Its a place to start at least,” Sam said with a shrug

“I do think that's still like the movies,” Danny teased. “It’s not like zombie viruses are real.” He corrected himself after a moment. “Were real.” 

“I mean they kind of are though, present company excluded. There’s some kind of brain disease that takes over deer. And mind controlling funguses that kill ants.”

“Why do you know that?” Danny asked.

“It’s Sam, of course she knows about zombie diseases.”

“Fair point.”

“Anyway, viruses are normally transmitted through either touch and bodily fluid and stuff, or through the air. We’ve already established you weren’t swapping spit with  the lunch lady through any means-” Tucker ignored Danny’s pronounced gagging noise. “-so she must have gotten sick through the air.”

“That’s great!” Sam’s voice was full with as much fake cheer as she could ever muster. It all dropped with her next sentence. “Except that doesn’t make any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense! What else could have infected her?”

“Ok then, riddle me this. If it's transmitted by air, why haven’t either of us started peeling yet?”

“Well, obviously-” Tucker snapped before stopping both his sentence and his walk, leaving Danny to run straight into his back. 

Danny backed up quickly, hand flying to his nose. It came up covered with congealed blackish blood. “Aw, crap.” 

“I am so sorry dude, I didn’t think-”

“It’s fine,” Danny waved him off with his clean hand. “Just- tissues?”

Tucker nodded and handed him the small pack from his bag.

“It doesn’t look too bad at least,” Sam said, craning her neck to try and see the damage through the gore. “A little smushed more smushed, but not any more noticeable than the last three times.”

“That’s good.” Danny tore off two bits of the tissue and plugged them into his nose, then began wiping off the rest of it with the remainder. “Sam does have a point though. Anything that could infect her should’ve infected you guys by now.”

Tucker bit his lower lip. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Maybe it's just random?” 

“Maybe it is,” Danny said, looking at the soaked through tissue in his hand. He ignored the way his skin hung loose in some places, and the thin red marks that covered it. “Let’s hope that it randomly decides to fuck off soon.”

—

The lunch lady was in Danny’s basement now, with a pot of water colored brown and a lunch tray that drained back into the pot. It was almost impressive how quickly Danny’s parents figured out how to keep her contained. As long as she had lunches to serve, she was perfectly happy to sit there forever. Which meant that Danny would have a zombie in his basement for who knows how long. 

It’s not like he could judge much. There was a zombie in every room he was in anymore.

He removed the hazmat suit his mother had insisted he wear after he got upstairs. His dad was right where he’d been when Danny got home, crouched on the floor surrounded by tweezers, a magnifying glass, and a minefield of vials. “What are you doing?”

Jack threw Danny a beaming smile that was just barely visible through the hazmat hood screen. “Picking up all of the samples she left in the floorboards. Don’t want to let anything go to waste!”

“Oh. Well, good luck.” 

“Thanks kiddo! Oh, and your mother wanted me to tell you that there’s twenty dollars on the fridge. You and Jazzy pants are gonna need to get yourselves dinner.” He turned back to the floor picking off more tiny scraps with the tweezers. “Your mother and I are gonna have our work cut out for us. You know how it is, science waits for no man!”

“Thanks, but I’m not very hungry.” Danny’s stomach growled, betraying his lie.

Jack laughed. “You’re probably just turned off from everything at lunch. Why don’t you go place the order. Number for pizza’s on the counter!”

Danny nodded his head, then made his way to the phone in the kitchen. He was hungry. He was always hungry lately, and he knew damn well pizza wasn’t going to do anything to help. Still, Jazz would be getting home soon, and it would be nice for her to have something to eat. 

He ordered the veggie lovers pizza with extra mushrooms, just like Jazz always wanted but he’d always fought against. Danny had always held the opinion that if you were going to put that many green things on a pizza you’d be better off with a salad, but he wasn’t going to be eating it anyway. 

Danny had made himself comfortable on the couch while he waited for the pizza. His dad had finished prying skin cells from the floor and had returned to the basement, probably to begin analyzing the samples. Danny had been absentmindedly flipping through tv channels when the bell rang.

On  the other side of the door was a short fat man holding far too many pizza boxes for one order. “Box collector!” 

Danny blinked slowly. “Um… I think you have the wrong house.” He slowly began to push the door closed. “No!” the man bellowed, sticking his foot into the gap of the door. “You called to steal my boxes, I heard you, I heard you say it!” 

“Listen dude, I don’t know whats wrong with you, but I’m not trying to take anything from you!” Danny pushed harder, but the man didn’t budge. 

“Attempted thief! I have come to ensure that you have not taken any other boxes from the box collector!” He was getting louder and louder with each word, trying to push his way into the house.

“I said leave!” Danny grunted, pushing on the door as hard as he could. There was the sickening sound of bones cracking, and for a brief moment Danny stared at his hands still pressed against the door trying to figure out which of them had snapped. But his hands were fine, his fingers were fine, and neither of his arms weren’t bent weird or limp.

His eyes trailed down to the foot still in the door, blood spewing from the gouge the force had left. The bones were crushed together, some poking through the skin, revealing their splintered ends. 

The man on the other side of the door did not stop trying to force his way inside. He didn’t even pause in the box themed ramblings, stacks of pizza boxes still visible through the crack in the door.

“Mom! Dad!” Danny yelled towards the basement door. “We have an emergency!” There was a beat, then two where he didn’t hear anything, and he could almost feel his heart drop into his stomach. Then the pounding of footsteps on metal seemed to shake the house, and his parents threw open the basement door open with a crash.

“Danny! What’s going on?” Maddie said, Anti-Creep Stick gripped tight in her hands. 

“There’s-” The door was shoved hard against Danny, and he stumbled before regaining his footing. “Another one!”

“Another-” her eyes went to the bloody mess on the door frame before she nodded her head. “Jack-”

Jack didn’t need to wait for whatever Maddie was going to say, already running to the door to take the burden off of Danny. “I got it! Go help your mother.”

He ran to his mothers side. “I need you to think really hard. What was he doing here? Was there something he was focused on, something he won’t stop doing besides getting into the house? Anything you can think of.”

Danny nodded. “That’s easy. He’s been talking about boxes this whole time, and has like. A dozen pizza boxes. He’s been accusing me of trying to steal them from him.”

Maddie looked away from Danny, surveying the room. “Go to the storage closet upstairs and get as many boxes as you can. Dump whatever's in them on the floor, we can clean it up later. Bring them to the basement.”

Danny didn’t ask what the plan was, just taking off to do as she said. The storage closet had plenty of boxes of all sizes in it, all filled with dusty old junk that was soon sitting in sagging piles on the floor. He threw the boxes over the banister before following them down the stairs.

Getting them all into the basement was a tricky endeavor, but he managed, and soon Danny was standing in the basement surrounded by empty cardboard boxes and a slowly decaying lunch lady. His mother was nowhere to be seen.

“Mom?” he called out. 

“No mother here, just some delicious soup! Come on sweetie, have a bite!” the lunch lady said. Danny ignored her.

“Over here!” Maddie’s voice was muffled and came from underneath one of the workbenches. Danny made his way over, trying to push the boxes along with him. “Did you get the boxes?”

“As many as I could. What are you gonna do with them?”

“I’m going to trap him.” 

“...with boxes and a desk?”

“There’s a hole in the wall that leads to some kind of crawlspace,” Maddie said. “Pass me that?” She gestured to a sheet of metal, and Danny obliged. “If he does have this obsession with boxes, he should go straight in. And when he does-” Maddie let the sheet of metal fall, blocking the gap underneath the workbench. 

“Is that going to hold him?” 

“We’ll weld it on if we have to, but if our hypothesis is correct, then he shouldn’t even try to get out.” She lifted the metal plate back up and left it on the workbench. “Start tossing boxes into the space back there. I’ll try and lure him in.” She turned to the stairs to leave.

“Wait, no, you’re not going to act as bait!”

“We don’t have much of a choice!” she snapped.

“Let me do it instead.” Maddie stopped dead in her tracks, so Danny continued. “If its some kind of illness then I’ve already been exposed at the door, right? You’re better with welding too, and for all we know, he’s only mad at me.”

Danny could almost hear her inhale through the hazmat suit. “Fine. But be safe, and don’t get hurt.”

“I’ll try.” That’s all Danny could do.

—

Danny remembered Dorathea as a happy girl, bubbly and excited and always wearing old fashioned clothing. Something about her family being renaissance faire actors who had more costumes then clothing. She never seemed to mind, even when Paulina picked on her for it. Dora always said it made her feel pretty, and she’d spin in her full length dress and knock the pencil right off Paulina’s desk. No one ever knew if it was on purpose or not, but it got the bullies off of Dora’s case.

 The Dora Danny remembered was very, very different from the one in the hospital bed.

He knew she’d gotten sick. Really, really sick, the kind of sick that meant she hadn’t ever set foot in Casper High, hadn’t even set foot out of the hospital in months, but knowing that was very different than seeing it. She was pale, her lips almost blue, her cheeks sunken and wires and tubes glued to her scalp and stuck in her skin, leading to IVs and breathing machines and monitors that Danny couldn't even guess at their purpose.

What made it all worse was the work down skin from where she was cuffed to the bed. She was still straining against them, pushing her IV needle further into her skin, causing it to bulge and twitch with every movement. She was trying to say something, but the oxygen mask over her mouth made the words completely unintelligible. 

“It's lucky she was here,” Maddie said to Dora’s older brother, who was scowling at the Fenton’s from the other side of the hospital bed. “The data from her onset may help us save the entire town.”

“I don’t care about the town,” Aragon sneered. “I want you to fix her.”

“Well, given what we’ve seen of previous specimen, it’s likely that-”

“We’ll try our best.” Jack interrupted her with a hand on her shoulder. “Won’t we, Mads?”

The two of them locked eyes, before Maddie nodded. “We’ll do everything we can.”

It took a good hour for the Drs. Fenton to review Dora’s scans and records, and another twenty minutes for them to set the hospital room up the way they wanted. The whole time Danny sat in one of the uncomfortable visitor chairs, bored and confused. His parents had packed him into the car once they’d gotten the call without telling him what was going on, and the explanation they’d given him on the ride was lackluster, to say the least. Only that they’d need his help.

That left Danny to spend nearly an hour and a half sitting there watching Dora. It was clear that she was infected and not just in the way the heels of her feet were worn through from dragging them against the bedsheets. He could see it in her eyes. 

She wasn’t blinking, keeping her eyes wide and frantic and shining with a fevered, desperate need for… something. Danny didn’t know what. If he could understand her frantic mumbling through the mask she’d probably tell him, but that probably wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

“You ready Danny boy?”

Danny tore his eyes away from Dora’s towards his father, smiling at him expectantly. “I would be if you’d tell me what we’re doing.”

“We’re studying the onset, of course! One of our good friends here at the hospital noticed her deterioration and thought it looked like something your mother and I are interested in, so they called us for a consultation!” Jack rubbed his chin. “Well, she said it looked like that weird mumbo jumbo we called science back in college, but close enough!”

“Yeah, I got that. Why am I here?”

“To help, of course!”

“I think what your father is trying to say-” Maddie cut in, “-is that we want you to help run some tests on Dora here, so we can measure her reactions, psychologically and physiologically.”

“Exactly that!” Jack nodded enthusiastically. “Seeing as you already know her, and your…” he trailed off, glancing down at the compression socks Danny wore around his lower legs. His parents had bought them for him, after they’d figured out, well, everything. “...unique condition, we thought you’d be the perfect fit!”

“Oh. Yeah, I can do that.” Danny stood up from the chair, trying to shake the chill that settled into his bones. 

“Wonderful! We’re going to sit over here and monitor everything. When we give you the signal, go ahead and remove the mask. Then just… talk! If we need something else, we’ll ask, okay?” His mom ruffled his hair before moving to the fair side of the room. She used to kiss his forehead, back before they realized he was a contagion risk, but she didn’t now. He missed it.

“Whenever you’re ready, Danno!”

It was almost surprising that Dora didn’t snap at Danny’s fingers when he removed the mask, especially with how she kept staring at him. The same fevered look in her eyes, desperate and needy and begging him for something, it made Danny almost feel like prey. It made the first words out of Dora’s mouth even more surprising. 

“Will you go to homecoming with me?”

 Danny blinked out of surprise more than necessity. “Um. What?”

“Homecoming!” Dora smiled wide, so wide that the corners of her lips seemed to stretch and crack. “It's soon, isn’t it? I’ve had the principal sending me every flyer and poster for weeks! So, will you go with me?”

Danny glanced back at his parents, but they didn’t seem to notice. His mother was engrossed in the display for the machines Dora was hooked up to, and his dad was scribbling notes onto a clipboard with such speed Danny was afraid he was going to break the pen.

Danny began to answer. “Uh… sorry, but I wasn’t really planning on…” He cut himself short as he saw Dora’s eyes narrow, her hands clenched into fists so tight he could see blood trickling from her palms. He quickly changed course. “But if its with you, I’d love to go!”

Her reaction to his yes was maybe even more disturbing, as she fought against her restraints in what Danny thought was celebration. The noises she were making were certainly celebratory, though definitely not intelligible. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke again. “Wonderful! We’re going to dance, and drink punch, and spend the whole night together! I need to practice so I don’t step on your feet!” She giggled, and began turning her body side to side. She didn’t even seem to notice the restraints as she kept twisting to her left, further and further before the sickening snap of what Danny could only imagine was a part of her spine breaking echoed around the room.

Dora’s smile never fell of her face, and her soft humming never fell from her lips.

Danny glanced to his parents yet again as he backed away from Dora, this time met with their looks of horror. Not at Dora and the scene in front of them, but the display. They weren’t writing anything down anymore. Instead, they shared a look, this one holding so much more weight than the one they’d shared when Aragon.

“We’re done here, Danny.” Maddie stood from her chair and started her way out of the room. “Your father will take you home. I need to make a call.”

–

Amity Park had emergency broadcast speakers. That was new information to everyone, including the speakers, if the surprised crackling noises that emanated from it were anything to go off of. When it finally managed to clear into an audible voice, it was a woman’s, cold and calculated. 

“This is an emergency broadcast from the United States Government. If you are hearing this, you are currently under quarantine. Any attempts to leave the bounds of Amity Park will be met with martial force. If you have any questions regarding the authenticity of this announcement, please contact your local government officials. If you have any questions regarding the conditions of your containment, please report to the city hall for a briefing performed by Dr. Madeline and Jack Fenton. Thank you.”

Danny assumed that the announcement was met with chaos. He could picture people yelling into the phone at the mayor’s secretary, people driving to the town outskirts to find the agents, dressed in full, pure white hazmat suits blocking off the road. He imagined people looking at themselves in the mirror, scouring themselves for signs of an illness they hadn’t realized they’d contracted. And then Danny pushed that from his mind, because his parents were wrong.

“We know why you’re all here.” His mother’s voice, amplified by the microphone on the podium, echoed through the walls. “And we want you all to know that we know how you think of us. How you think of our work and our research.”

Danny should’ve been out there with them. Jazz was, and she’d only been informed of the whole situation while Maddie ran through government phone numbers. She hadn’t taken the news well. She’d called their dad a liar, a kook, a fake scientist who was living in delusions. 

Jack had shown her Dora’s scans. The lunch lady, still in the basement with her lower legs swollen to the point of bursting because her heart had given up pumping, who still greeted the family with a smile and scooped them an ever draining bowl of soup. She’d stopped protesting, when the facts were in front of her.

That was why Danny hadn’t given up yet. He had more facts. He knew that they were wrong, that they were making a mistake. He was proof of that. They just didn’t believe him.

“We want to assure you that we are not overreacting. We are not working on fake numbers, and we are not wasting your time. We would be happy to explain our data to anyone interested, just like we explained it all to the CDC, and then the agents of the GIW who recorded the announcement that brought you all here today.”

They were making a mistake, getting everyone so panicked. It was all going to be just fine, like Danny was. Different, sure. It was going to be very different, but Danny had adjusted to the different just fine. The rest of the town would too. 

“We won’t try to put it lightly. We are all dead.”

It would take some time, and people would probably end up hurt. It would suck really, really bad. But it wasn’t death . It wasn’t the end of Amity Park, or the end of the world like they’d been discussing with the agents. It was just… a change.

“A few months ago, an airborne illness was released into the city, infecting everyone who lived here. It progresses slowly, eating away at the infected person's brain until they can no longer feel pain, until their body can no longer sustain themselves. They become solely interested in one thing, one activity or purpose that they dedicate themselves to while the virus continues to eat away at their bodies and the chemicals their damaged brain can still produce.”

Danny wasn’t a mindless shambling creature, he was still him . They’d done scans and tests to try and figure out how it happened, how Danny became an exception. They couldn’t figure it out. Not for certain, but they had a hypothesis.

“You may have heard of some incidents these past few weeks, of common Amity Park citizens suddenly going crazy. We believe the reason they were so susceptible to this disease is because of preexisting brain damage. The disease had less to do, and was therefore able to progress to its final stages quicker then in a healthy specimen. We don’t know how long the majority of us have yet. It could be weeks, or months, or hours. It is just a matter of time.”

The electrical shock from the initial incident had stimulated the virus in Danny’s body into its final stage too early. It didn’t have the time to cause the type of damage it needed to revert Danny to the mindless actions the other infected displayed. It would be impossible to replicate, they said. Danny didn’t believe them. They were wrong, their hypothesis was stupid, and they should never have tried to lock things down. People were going to panic over nothing. 

“We won’t hold you here any longer. Our advice to you all is to get your affairs in order. Call your loved ones who live out of town, hug your family, and find something you love to do. You’ll have the rest of your afterlife left to do it. If you have any questions, we will be in the town hall for the remainder of the day.”

This wasn’t the end of Amity Park. Danny knew it. They would all live to see tomorrow, and every day after it. He wouldn’t accept anything else. He couldn’t.

–

The sun was big and beautiful, painting the sky in brilliant shades of orange and red and yellow. Its blinding light was blocked by the leaves of the tree hanging over Danny headed, shielding his eyes from the worst of it. The day had been warm, inching just slightly towards uncomfortably so, but now that the sun was setting it was perfect. He took a deep breath that he did not need, letting the fresh air move through his lungs and into his body. 

“It’s funny, looking back on it.” Sam sat on his left, and Tucker on his right. It had become sort of a routine of theirs, to sit and watch the sunset together. There wasn’t much else to do in town anymore, since the power grid got shut down. “Everyone was so worried that it would be the end of the world, but we’re still here.”

Neither of his friends replied, but that wasn’t unusual. They didn’t talk much anymore. He didn’t really blame them. Jazz had talked about how trauma can cause selective mutism, and this whole thing had been traumatic, even if it had all turned out just fine.

“I’m glad I was right.” The grass was cool under his fingers, the ones on his left slick with moisture. It might’ve been warm, if things were different, but it wasn’t. He didn’t mind that. Cool meant water. Dew drops. Fresh rain. Warm was… not those. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I wasn’t.”

A soft buzzing sound came from his right. Danny didn’t turn to look; he didn’t need to. He knew what it was already. Bees. Only bees, buzzing by his ear, Nothing else. “I don’t need to. Everythings ok, and I still have you guys.”

It was instinct that his hand moved, following the cool liquid to its source, tracing the blades of grass and twisting roots to where they pushed into Sam’s wrist. The tips of his fingers were slick with her blood, but he didn’t think about it, and she didn’t care. Couldn’t care.

He closed his eyes as he turned and smiled at Tucker. He didn’t want to see the bulge of a radio speaker in Tucker’s mouth, bloody tears stretching along his cheeks. He didn’t want to see the dial he’d shoved into his eye, tuned to a station that no longer exists, spitting out nothing but the soft buzzing static.

“And we’ll always have each other.”

[rollercoasterwords]

14. when you have nothing to say, set something on fire.

r/s for this one pls because i can just imagine the angst already!

simmy!! anything 4 u my love <3 one order of r/s angst, as requested

this prompt list

when you have nothing to say, set something on fire

it is 1976 and there is a boy in the broom cupboard. a boy. tie undone. shirt unbuttoned. bruises already blooming on his neck.

there is also sirius. in the broom cupboard. with the boy.

"oh," remus says. something has just punched him in the gut. he can't catch his breath.

the boy is fumbling, frantic, shoving sirius away and scrambling to button his shirt. he plays quidditch, remus thinks. hufflepuff. maybe their seeker. remus wouldn't know. he never pays any attention to the other teams. 

"sorry, i just--sorry."

he shuts the door, slams it, and starts floating down the corridor. somehow, in the past twenty-three seconds, he's become a ghost. also, the stone is all crumbling beneath his feet. also, the portraits are melting off the walls into puddles of toxic goo.

a boy. in the broom cupboard. a boy. 

"moony--wait!" 

sirius is panting, hard, the same way he was panting, hard, in the broom cupboard. with the boy. he grabs remus's arm, and it makes his blood fizz like champagne, the way it always does when sirius touches him. remus turns, and they're looking at each other the way they always look at each other. like two people on a tightrope. opposite ends. whole world holding its breath. 

"you..." sirius gasps, pupils wide and dark like an open mouth, like he's looking at remus and swallowing him at the same time. "i..." 

what, remus thinks, whatwhatwhatwhatwhat. a boy. a boy! in each fingertip clutching his bicep, there is six years' worth of knees knocking together under tables and hands brushing shoulders in passing and tiny, private smiles and eyes darting away in the mornings when they're changing and that look sirius gave him, that one time, when he came out of the shower with nothing but a towel slung around his hips complaining that he couldn't find his good trousers. when remus didn't look away quick enough. that look that haunted him for weeks, that he was sure meant the end of everything, that look like sirius could see right through his skin and bones, all the way to the want that sits in every single organ of his body. but sirius never said anything. and remus thought maybe he had just made all of it, every single tiny piece of it, up in his head. 

but then sirius moves his hand. 

"you can't tell anyone," he says. 

that's all he says. 

and then he goes back to the broom cupboard. 

"thought you hated smoking," lily comments, off-handed, when remus turns into a knocked-over pile of children's blocks in front of her and then asks for a cigarette. she perches on the windowsill, exhaling like a pro. remus coughs and keeps coughing forever. his body dissolves and he turns into one long cough, ongoing, eternal. his lungs are burning. 

"just wanted to try it," he says. 

it is 1978 and sirius thinks he is being quiet. thinks he's capable of being quiet, as if remus's ears don't turn into telescopes the moment he opens the door, seeking out every star in the sky. every breath, every whisper, every muffled creak of the floorboards. as if remus's body exists for anything other than sirius, sirius, sirius. he can hear the boy's heartbeat. he can hear his cells dying. 

muffled laughter. shh, shh. creaky floorboards. stolen kisses. the familiar sound of sirius guiding his newest victim down the hallway of their flat, to the bedroom where he will turn into a spider and string webs from the ceiling and crawl down and sink his teeth into the neck of whatever man he's brought home, liquefy his insides and eat him alive. at least, that's what it feels like, in remus's head.

soft breaths. shaky moans. murmured words. one single wall between them. a tightrope. opposite sides. sirius must know that remus can hear. he must. 

remus crawls out of bed and drags himself to the window. opens it. fucking freezing december air. fuck. wand, flame, cigarette. inhale, exhale. tomorrow, sirius will smell the ash on his t-shirt and make fun of remus for his chain-smoking. what, war not killing you fast enough for your liking, moony? 

mean. he is always so mean. 

"please--" the hushed plea, on the other side of the wall, "fuck--don't stop--" 

remus is a house on fire, lungs burning, burning, burning. 

it is 1980 and they're at a club. too much death to give a fuck about anything now, that's what sirius says. but he still only ever brings remus. still says you can't tell anyone, like they both don't know the reason that remus would never tell anyone to begin with. 

it's the sort of club where the lights are low, and flashing. the sort of club where men cling to each other's hips, twine together like nobody's watching. the sort of club where fear runs like an electric undercurrent, someone's eyes always darting towards the door, the risk of police bursting in.

everybody loves sirius, here. everyone wants him. he is the brightest star in the sky, holding court with his rockstar hair and his leather trousers, bowie's starman, the one that lady stardust sings about. taking his pick of the sweaty bodies, the eager smiles and grasping hands. remus stands at the bar nursing vodka and coke, thinking that one day he'll kiss one of these men and let sirius have a turn watching, let sirius have a turn feeling all of his organs rot, summer fruit left out in the sun for nine years. as if remus's lips wouldn't burst into flames if they ever touched anyone else's skin. as if sirius would even rot, watching him. as if sirius would even bother to look in the first place. 

remus finishes his drink, and goes outside to smoke a cigarette.

[tsukishumai]

pairing: Bokuto Kotaro x gn!reader

summary: whoever said being adult was fun obviously never had bills to pay. so when Akaashi offers up a way to earn cash fast, you jump at the opportunity. except, you never thought you’d find yourself modeling in your underwear... least of all with Bokuto Kotaro

wc; 3k+

tags; fluff, humor, college au, mentions of very slight nudity

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

If anyone else other than Akaashi offered you this position, you would probably punch them right in the face.

Maybe he considers this payback for all the times he’s had to listen to you whine about your problems during your shared shifts at the cafe, or maybe this truly was his own sadistic way of attempting to provide support.

“Okay, so I know a way you can make easy money,” he started, and already those words should have sent alarm bells ringing in your head, but this was Akaashi. You’ve only really known him for a short time, but already you knew he wouldn’t lead you astray.

But really, the electronic shop five blocks from campus told you it would cost 55000 yen to repair your laptop monitor, so you weren’t exactly in a position to be picky. 

You had also been complaining to him for the past forty minutes -- about the broken laptop, the leaking faucet in your apartment, the textbook that cost you more than your groceries for the past month, the two hours of sleep you got last night, and your paychecks that were all but depleted once the bills were paid. He remained tightlipped throughout your whole tirade, so you suppose the least you could do was hear him out. 

“You’re not trying to sell my kidneys, right…” You mumble sarcastically, but you tilt your head to him anyway to show you were listening.

“No, sadly, it’s not quite the season for kidneys yet,” Akaashi delivers in a flat tone, “So you’re just going to have to deal with modeling.”

“Modeling?” Your reaction was harsh and loud, and you flinched away from the piercing glares of cafe regulars trying to study in peace. 

Akaashi smirks as he wipes down the steamer before replying, “Don’t worry, it’s not the kind of modeling you’re thinking.”

Your mouth dropped, and you raised an eyebrow as you crossed your arms, scoffing at Akaashi incredulously. 

“Are you trying to send me to a nudie shoot?!” you whisper in almost-mock offense, but now a part of you was a little worried that your favorite coworker was a secret pervert.

To your utter relief, Akaashi just laughs. “God, no. Well, I guess, kind of?”

At this point, your head was beginning to spin. “What do you mean kind of? Just spit it out already, Akaashi.”

Akaashi finally finishes cleaning off the coffee machine just as you finished replenishing the pastry displays, and in an unusual lull in customers, he’s able to lean against the bar and give you his undivided attention.

“My art professor pays the models for her figure drawing class a pretty decent amount of money, I think,” Akaashi tells you, and your eyes begin to sparkle. “She mentioned a couple of slots being open.”

“Really?” your interest was immediately piqued, “How much money?”

Akaashi shrugs. “Enough to strike at least one problem off your list, probably.”

That was all you needed to hear. Akaashi had given you his professor’s contact information, and you sent her an email the second you had clocked out of your shift. 

Professor Nobuta was a kind woman who emailed you back with such haste, you could feel her desperation matching yours. She was candid during the entirety of your exchange, saying that her usual model had dropped out last minute and there was a spot in her class tomorrow that she needed to fill as soon as possible. Lucky for both of you, you were actually available, and details were exchanged swiftly. 

As you read over the requirements, your eyes roved over two words in a section of the email that made your eyes bulge out of your head. 

Semi Nude. 

You blinked once. Then twice. 

You had already formulated a kind rejection in your mind, ready to type your response when another section caught your eye. You inwardly groaned, dropping your head into your hands. 

She was offering you almost as much as two shifts at the cafe. 

That, alone, was enough to convince you, but the look of relief on Professor Nobuta’s face when you walked through the doors of her classroom was confirmation you made the right decision.

The seats around the classroom were nearly all filled, some students preparing their materials across their desks, and others sitting back and scrolling through their phones. The whirring of the A/C had filled the room with white noise, and you take notice of the two empty stools in the middle of the room.

“Thank you so much for signing up, L/N-san,” Professor Nobuta bowed profusely, and she gestured to a table for you to leave your things. “We’re still waiting on the other model, so take your time, and have a seat on the stool when you’re ready.”

You nodded in acknowledgement, and Professor Nobuta makes her way back to her desk. You briefly wonder if she was going to point you in the direction of a changing room, but realized the redundancy when everyone in the room was meant to stare at your half naked body anyway. 

You begrudgingly peeled off your clothes, folding them neatly before placing them in a pile on the table. Your footsteps made hardly any noise as you walked across the room, desperately trying hard to act nonchalant. 

Just as you took a seat in one of the empty stools, you heard someone pull the door open and loudly clamber inside.

“Ahh, welcome back, Bokuto-san!”

Your eyes widened at the name the professer had just yelled across the room. You brace yourself as you quickly whip your head around, and standing by the door sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck was Bokuto Kotaro. 

Student Athlete, Volleyball Star, Most Wanted Bachelor Bokuto Kotaro smiled brightly as he skipped to the table your items were placed, apologizing profusely for being late. All eyes followed him like moths, and Bokuto was the bright flame. Everyone knew him, and you often saw him walking across the quad, always greeting at least twenty people on the way. 

You could hardly hear what Professor Nobuta was saying to him, and you were now unabashedly staring as Bokuto began to strip out of his clothes. 

Bokuto was built like a marble statue -- hard lines that traveled across his chest and traced his abs must have been painstakingly carved with the utmost care by a masterful artist, and every movement he made created new shapes along his muscled body. You found yourself instantly wishing you had even an ounce of artistic talent, because it was no doubt that Bokuto was every figure artists’ dream. 

All at once, your vision was filled with gold and a sweet smile, and too late did you realize you had just been caught staring. Bokuto’s eyes don’t leave yours as he stands up straight, and struts over to you in nothing but a pair of nude briefs. 

“Alright, everyone, your timed session is about to begin,” Professor Nobuta’s voice had startled you nearly out of your seat, and you turn your head back to face the class, cringing inwardly when you noticed some were smirking at you, “Feel free to request poses from the models, as this will be a graded assignment. We only have an hour and a half, so make the most out of your time.”

You feel your body stiffen as Bokuto takes the empty seat next to you, staying silent when you feel his eyes staring at you. You might have been able to ignore this in another setting, but at the moment, about fifty students were watching him watching you -- eyes flitting up the stage down to their sketchbook as they try to decide where to begin. 

Envy coursed through you as the room began to fill with the sounds of graphite scratching against paper, wishing you could switch positions with literally anybody else in the room. You tried to relax your body against the stool, awkwardly attempting to find a natural position for your arms when you were interrupted by a throat clearing. 

Your head turns to the side, heat rushing to your face when you see Bokuto smiling at you.

“Hi,” he greets, his voice a direct contrast against the silent concentration filling the room, “I’m Bokuto!”

His knees were bent as he settled his feet on the first ring of the stool. He rests an elbow on his thigh so he can place his chin on the palm of his hand, giving you an expectant look as he waits for your response. You try to avoid the way his chest seemed to bulge even more in this position, but the furious sound of sketching says you weren’t the only one to notice.

“Bokuto Kotaro,” you say his name back, and he pulls his lips back into an even wider smile, “I know.”

You bite your lip when a student from the back requested for you to cross your legs, resting your hand against your thighs. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to be talking, but Professor Nobuta didn't seem to be paying either of you any mind. 

He hadn’t said anything to you after that, but the grin remained on his lips as requests begin coming in from students across the class.

They were all fairly simple -- please position your hand like so, could you extend your leg this way, or turn your head that way. The first twenty minutes had been spent doing individual tasks and repositioning, and soon you felt yourself relaxing into your role. Your previous jitters had all but dissolved, and you figured if the rest of the session were to go on like this, then you’d be golden. 

Your eyes shift over to Bokuto, who was leaning back with such easy grace, balancing himself with his foot against the footrest. The way his body created such naturally eloquent lines made it seem as if he was born to be a sculpture, to be admired and gazed at, to invoke inspiration and creation. You weren’t sure anyone in this room was even looking at you anymore, with Bokuto acting as if he was the lighthouse in a storm, beckoning all of you to come home. 

He turns his head a second too quickly, winking when his eyes meet yours, and for the second time in less than an hour, you realize you’ve just been caught checking him out. 

Your dignity was slipping through your fingers like sand, and you clear your throat before turning your attention to a poster on the wall.

From the corner of your eye, you see Professor Nobuta stand from her desk and making her way to a student in the corner. The two whisper among each other, and you watched as the professor consults with other students before nodding her head and turning to the both of you. 

“I received a sort of direction from a few students,” she began, beckoning for the both of you to stand, “They were hoping you could do some more intimate poses.” 

You balked, nearly choking on the air in our lungs. “I-intimate?”

Professor Nobuto nodded her head enthusiastically, and you exchanged a look with Bokuto. 

“Whatever you’re comfortable with — an embrace, hand holding, hands on each other’s face — get creative with it!” 

And with that, the professor sits back down on her desk and begins flipping through her phone, and the two of you are left to brace the expectant looks of the art students staring up at you. 

“This your first time?” Bokuto asks you gently, a sort of sympathetic look on his face as his eyes study your stiff posture. 

“Yeah,” you admit, and he coaxes you towards him with an outstretched hand. You hesitantly place your fingers in his palm, and for a moment, he just stood there. It took a minute for the sounds of rapid sketching to register in your brain, and you realize he’s allowing the class to take note of this pose. 

He’s standing directly across from you now, and you can feel his gaze burning trails across your body as he regards you from head to toe. You feel like an ant burning under the beam of a microscope, and you nearly burst into flames when he chuckles. 

“Nice peach,” Bokuto comments, and you nearly recoil back in surprise. The last thing you had expected from Bokuto was a comment like that, but then you notice his eyes flick back down to your underwear. 

The professor’s email hadn’t included too many rules or requirements. She only included the most important details, such as time, place, pay, dress code, and such. Stated in the dress code, you were allowed to wear undergarments of any neutral color. Today, you had chosen a simple pair of black underwear and figured it was the safest choice.

You hadn’t, however, noticed the large cartoon peach that had gracefully adorned the back of it, complete with a cartoon face that winked sparkles. Now that you were forced to stand, and the entire class got a good view for themselves. 

“Thanks,” you deadpan through gritted teeth, “It’s pretty juicy if you asked me.” 

Bokuto fails miserably to hide a smirk, but his eyes sparkled with amusement as he looked down at you. 

A few minutes (or eternity) later, his hand closes around yours, pulling it up to place against his cheek. He pulls you in by the other wrist, wrapping your arm around his waist as he cups the side of your neck. His other arm wraps almost completely around your middle, and he pulls you flush against his chest. 

His body was hard against yours, and you had no doubts he could feel your heart’s hundreds of beats per second. He tilts his head to the side ever so slightly, and you hope he doesn’t notice the sheen of sweat beginning to collect on your upper lip. 

A fire was bound to be started with how quickly everyone around began to move their pencils, and you heart races when Bokuto absentmindedly draws circles on your skin with his thumb. 

He holds you in this embrace for much longer than you anticipated, and the butterflies in your stomach were making you nauseous. His eyes are trained on your face now, the intensity of his stare making you want to shrink back, but you hold your place and return his gaze. 

His eyes narrow and squint, eyebrows wiggling as his face scrunches up in thought. 

“Do I know you?” Bokuto asks, and it was in this moment where you felt your stomach flip flop into the abyss. It was the one question you had hoped he wouldn’t think to ask you. 

Because you did know Bokuto Kotaro, but not in the way everyone else on campus knew him. 

You remember clearly the slow, dreary Wednesday morning when Akaashi Keiji asks you the same thing. 

“Uh, yeah? Of course, you know me, we’re coworkers,” you replied sarcastically, and Akaashi insists it was more than that. 

“You’re hiding something from me,” he simply states, and you inwardly thanked the customer that had walked and interrupted that moment.

But you should have known that Akaashi was not one to let things go, and after being berated the entire shift about how secrets don’t keep friends, you finally confessed.

You were a student at Fukurodani. 

Akaashi didn’t believe you. There was no way, how was that possible? He would have recognized you. But you were the year above him, and had actively avoided school sports. Because as much as you would have liked to watch your school’s Nationally Ranked Volleyball Club play and compete with super hot athletes from across the country, there was one glaring reason why you couldn’t. 

You had confessed to Bokuto Kotaro in your first year. 

And you were soundly, and absolutely rejected. 

He had every right to, of course. You were just his classmate, you didn’t even know each other that well, and he needed to focus all his attention on volleyball. It made sense.You know that now.

But to your young heart, it was world ending, soul crushing even, and it took you two years to get over your ridiculous one-sided crush. 

Now here you were, standing in front of a group of people in nothing but your underwear, with Bokuto staring at you like a fly caught in a trap.

“No, I don’t think so,” you respond, and Bokuto scoffs. 

“You’re a bad liar,” he whispers, and you find yourself grinning. 

“How would you know?” You whisper back, “You just met me.” 

“No, I definitely know you —“ 

“Alright, everyone,” Professor Nobuto announces with a smack on her desk, “That about does it for today’s session. Give some thanks to your models!”

You jump back from Bokuto as the class offers a light round of applause. The two of you bow back, and you rush over to the table as the professor approaches Bokuto. 

You leave the two of them to chat as you hurriedly put your clothes back on, hoisting your bag up on your shoulder, and nearly falling over putting your shoes on.

“Thank you for today,” Professor Nobuto sneaks up from behind, a smile on her face as she hands you a blank white envelope, “I hope I see your name on the sign up sheet again.”

You offer her a grin as you accept the envelope. “Thank you for the opportunity!”

And with that, you rush out of the stuffy room and make a bee line towards the door. 

“Hey, Peaches!” Bokuto’s voice makes you freeze from across the room, and you turn around to see him adorned only his pants. “You never told me your name?” 

With a smirk, you put your hand on the handle, walking out the door as you yelled over your shoulder. 

“I thought you said you knew me!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“That was a trap, wasn’t it,” you accuse Akaashi as soon as you see him again, walking into your shift at the café just as he was about to clock out. 

His smile was almost evil, punching out as he gathers his jacket. 

“Whatever could you possibly mean, dear coworker,” he replies, and you smack him on the shoulder. 

“You had to have known Bokuto was doing that,” you seethe, glaring at Akaashi, “And you knew about… about… you’re dangerous, Akaashi Keiji.” 

He laughs, waving you off, “You said you needed help, so I offered help.”

“Oh, you conniving little —“ 

“Akaashi, you ready?” A familiar voice cuts you, making your head twist towards the door. 

A set of white and black streaked hair, a devilish grin, bright twinkling eyes — your nightmare in human form walking in. 

His eyes widen as they meet yours from across the room, and he waves a hand in the air as if you could have possibly missed the six foot three volleyball player barely fitting through the door frame.

“Hey, Peaches!” He greets cheerfully, walking and leaning against the counter, “Fancy running into you here.”

“Peaches?” Akaashi asks, and your eyes shoot him a nasty glare. 

“I work here,” you reply, and Bokuto’s eyes widen. 

“Akaashi, why wouldn’t you tell me you have such a cutie for a coworker?!” He demands of his best friend, who simply rolls his eyes and heads out the door. 

“Let’s go, Bokuto-san!”

“Akaashi! Hey, wait,” Bokuto runs one step to the door but stops and turns back, “If I come back tomorrow, you gonna tell me your name then?” 

You laugh. “I don’t work tomorrow.” 

“I’ll ask Akaashi for your schedule then!” He screams as he runs out the door. 

The smile on your face stayed on for the rest of your shift. 

[hugespace]

Therapy helps rhett realize that all of those "I'm dead" UFC moves were actually just a way to fulfill his need for physical intimacy at a time in his life where he didn't feel it was acceptable to ask for it, especially from another man. Now that they're both adults and completely different people than they were in college, rhett decides it's time to explain it all to link and let him know that he actually misses that physical contact with him.

It took me a really long while, but I finally finished this one! I really loved that prompt, so thank you so much for giving it to me, lovely Anon. I was initially going to write it as a platonic/romantic friendship kinda story, but it seems I'm determined to write a hundred different first kiss + feelings realisation scenarios, I simply enjoy those way too much.

*** 2,5K ***

Let me hold you

He’s done it again.

Not so long ago, Rhett promised himself not to bring it up in front of cameras or a microphone unless he talks it out with Link, privately.

Especially not as a joke.

And he’s failed already, he scolds himself short after the Ear Biscuits episode is recorded and they’re both out of the room, heading back towards their office.

He thinks he could have just omitted it, shouldn’t have mentioned anything. It simply wasn’t necessary to mull over it again, even with the topic of the episode revolving around their college experience. It wasn’t a big deal, he said it himself, countless times. Every time they talked about it on the show.

So, every time.

There’s never been a conversation in private about that incident or anything that preluded it, never in the absence of people to entertain, never not around at least one recording device. Because why would there be? It wasn’t a big deal. A funny story, s’all.

He’s also never been able to just let things go, though, and thanks to that inability, the lore of wrestling and the “I’m dead” move had to live on. It was an innocent story, a funny albeit embarrassing one – their unofficial brand after all, an easy misunderstanding and a fun little anecdote, not his carefully curated version of what happened, nor a watered-down one, not just a part of the entire story devoid of any feelings associated with it, not a big deal-! And most of all, not… true. Not true.

Rhett isn’t sure if Link has been consciously going along with that wordlessly agreed upon version of what their UFC phase looked like, repressing the truth behind it, or… simply never realised what it meant for Rhett and genuinely thought of it as a humorous yet insignificant part of their friendship in the past.

Most likely the third option, he has to assume. After all, why would Link attach any meaning to it? It’s not like anything actually ever happened, not outside of Rhett’s mind at least. Frankly, he himself went decades without understanding his own motivations, more than once confused by why the memories of wrestling with his friend and laying on top of him felt both shameful and deeply comforting. Why even long after they grew up, stopped being kids, and as a result retired all their UFC moves, the only way he could describe what he felt thinking about that time was longing.

Until therapy happened.

Just like with many different things in his life:

There was something in the darkness, and then therapy shone a light on it.

It was like there were countless situations he navigated solely on instinct, without paying much thought to the reasons behind why he acted a certain way, and once therapy equipped him with the ability to do so, he unearthed an entire deep layer of feelings and emotions that were always there. Just hidden, even from himself.

The wrestling being one of those things.

So, he thinks Link doesn’t know.

And he’s finally determined to change that.

Why now, when he’s had so many chances to talk to Link over the years ever since he started being more in touch with himself? He doesn’t really have an answer; it’s just that after talking about it with such levity again, after repeatedly making a joke out of it, it feels like he might explode if he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t confess to Link what it was really like. And most of all, it feels like the yearning has become stronger lately, and the conversation yet again playing it all off as them being young and silly only ignited it, made the flame inside of Rhett burn brighter, threatening to make his heart combust.

“I need to talk to you about something that’s been on my mind.” Rhett says easily once they’re in the office. It’s not an unsure statement or a nervous plea with words tumbling out of his mouth before he can lose his cool and change his mind. It would have been all that and more a couple of years ago, sure.

But he’s a different man now. He’s not afraid to tell the person who’s been with him for almost the entirety of his life what he feels.

Link, however. He does look unsure, a bit alarmed even, when he looks at Rhett and responds.

“Sure-? What is it? Do you wanna talk now?”

It’s just like him to worry. Run a hundred different scenarios in his head, most of them negative, trying to prepare himself for every possible outcome of a serious conversation before it even began. It’s an anxious survival instinct that makes Link resilient to even the worst that life has to offer and able to face it all head on. But right now, it’s nothing scary. Rhett doesn’t want his friend to be worried, so he quickly says as much.

“Don’t worry, s’not bad. Just something we talked about on the podcast today.” The blonde sits down on the couch and pats the cushion next to him, hoping he appears to be as calm as he truly feels inside and that it might dissolve some of Link’s concern, still written all over his face.

The other man takes his place on the sofa and looks at him expectingly.

“Right. So-“ Rhett’s calmness doesn’t completely evaporate once Link gives him his full attention, but it’s suddenly laced with some nerves. “About the wrestling. You know, in college. And before that. And- Especially about my ‘I’m dead’ move. I’ve been thinking about it, and-“

“Rhett, I swear, if you made me sit down for a talk only to tell me you’d like to make it a part of our conflict resolution again, then ha-ha. Very funny. I’d like to go get myself some coffee now.” Link cuts him off with an unamused look in his eyes and almost makes a move to stand up.

Rhett is quicker though and grabs the brunette’s arm before he can really move, effectively making him stay in place.

“What? No. That’s not what I’m saying. Like, at all. I-“ He realises he’s still holding onto Link’s arm and instinctively wants to retract his hand, but that same feeling that led him to initiating this conversation in the first place makes him reconsider. “I’ve been thinking about what it all meant and why I did that, especially when we fought or you were angry with me, and-“

“Because we were young.” Link quickly answers what wasn’t even a question. “We had too much energy and neither of us really wanted to hurt the other by punching him or- or fighting in earnest. What else would it mean.”

“Link can you let me talk? I’m trying to say something important.” Rhett squeezes Link’s forearm. “So, as I was saying. I mostly did it when you were angry or I was feeling unsure, and I didn’t realise it back then, but- But I know now, that I just… needed reassurance. You know, physical contact.” He explains, looking straight into Link’s eyes and trying to interpret his reaction before it comes.

When nothing happens, and the brunette just stares back at him with a furrowed brow, he feels compelled to continue and elaborate.

“Like when people… hug after an argument-?” His brain almost challenges him to make a different comparison, presenting a parallel between laying half-naked on top of your best friend and another activity people often partake in to make up after a fight. But that’s not- It’s not what he’s trying to say. It’s not like that.

The face in front of him frowns in confusion, blue eyes squinting and mouth opening and closing again, only letting out a puff of air and no sound at first.

When Link finally responds, his voice is unsure, like he suspects that he’s not understanding something right. “Are you trying to tell me you wanted to hug me when we bickered, so you pushed me to the floor and laid on me till I was even angrier, instead…?”

That’s not fully what Rhett meant, but it’s close enough, so he nods.

“What the crap, Rhett-? You're not making any sense.”

“Okay, listen…” He decides to go for a different approach. “We still don’t hug after arguments. We never hug hello. I think I could count on my fingers how many times we’ve actually hugged each other as adults, outside of the show!”

“Yeah! That’s just not what we do! We’ve never done those things, it’s just not a part of our relationship- I still don’t know what you wanna tell me here Rhett.” Link throws his hands in the air in a gesture of resignation.

“I want it to be a thing we do, okay?! I always did, but I was afraid to ask for it so I just took what you could give me without talking about it. Can’t have actual intimacy? Make up a UFC thing so I can be close to you! Can’t hold you when I’ve made you mad? Better lay on top of you till you give up and have no choice but stop!” Rhett pauses to finally take a breath.

“That time that guy saw us- I’m sure you remember I stormed off right after-? I panicked, it was like him seeing us and thinking there was something else happening almost made feel like it was something else, and since I started it, it also felt like I wanted it to be something else. I got so angry at myself for even trying and I never did it again. I’m sure you remember that, too!” Words flow out of Rhett in a hurried and increasingly loud cascade, while Link’s eyes grow bigger and comprehension dawns on his face.

“I know how stupid it sounds. But you know how I was. We were well into our thirties when I still refused to get close to you. And it’s not that I didn’t want to, it was the opposite – I wanted it a lot, man.”

„But I thought...?” Link seems to be turning a thought over in his head. “I thought you just never liked it. That the wrestling thing was about you… asserting dominance. That’s what it felt like at least. Like you trying to act like an older brother or somethin’.”

“No- It was me wanting to be close to you and not knowing how to ask for it. My very convoluted way of expressing love, you could call it. And I’m sorry it took me-“

“What changed-? I mean, what made you wanna talk about it?” There’s urgency in Link’s voice when he cuts Rhett off.

“I… I realised I miss it. I told you, we still don’t really hug or get intimate, however that sounds, and I’m not gonna just topple you and pin you to the ground again. We’re too old for that. For once, I don’t think either my back or your shoulders would survive if we started wrestling every time I wanted to be affectionate. But also- We’re over forty, Link. What does it say about me if I can’t just ask a person I love and have loved for almost four decades to hold me when I need it and would resort to, well, aggression-? That’s not how it should work.”

Link ponders Rhett’s words for a few beats before opening his mouth again, only to let three breathy words escape. “You love me-?”

It seems like the wrong thing to focus on, Rhett just opened up to say he not only craves physical intimacy now, but also struggled with that same need when they were younger so badly, he had to invent an entire intricate system allowing him to be closer, and Link questions the one thing he knows already. Because of course he knows, Rhett’s said as much dozens of times, of course he loves him. But it appears he has to say it anyway, judging from the weird look in Link’s eyes.

“I do, of course I lo-“ The blonde begins, yet he doesn’t get a chance to finish and ask whether Link heard the other part of his confession at all, because at once, his mouth isn’t free to keep talking and there’s no air left in his lungs as the man who was just sitting right next to him plunges forward and collides with him, lips first.

Oh. Rhett manages to form one more coherent thought despite being startled and entirely taken aback. Link misunderstood. That’s why he got hung up on the love confession. That’s not what Rhett meant, that’s not what he was trying to say, it’s not like that-

He feels like he should clear things up as quickly as possible. Logically, he should be panicking, racking his brain for a way to straighten things up, to explain to Link that it wasn’t what he was trying to say without making things worse, without ruining everything and making his best friend feel miserable and embarrassed, until…

Until Rhett realises his body went rogue and started responding without his conscious decision, his lips are moving against the other man’s, one of his hands is cupping Link’s face, while the other strayed away and is caressing his back. And it feels like his heart is trying to break out of the ribcage with how hard it’s pounding in his chest, along with his stomach doing wild summersaults. And he’s not panicking, not at all. And it’s not a misunderstanding, how could it, when he loves Link with his entire soul, with his whole being- And exactly like that, it hits him. Starting this conversation, he thought he already understood everything, but he didn’t– there was still that last puzzle piece missing.

They come up for air, panting from the intensity of that first kiss, foreheads flush with each other. Rhett finishes the sentence he began before Link’s move changed everything. “Of course I love you.” He means it now, he means it exactly like Link took it and can’t comprehend how he didn’t think of it before, but it’s perfectly obvious now.

So he hugs Link. He encircles the man’s body with his long arms, squeezes, and holds him, feels his friend snuggle into him, nuzzle his face into the crook of his neck and breathe deeply, holding Rhett's larger body in return.

All he needed was ask for the closeness.

He asked, and he got it.

He got all he wanted and so much more.

So, so much.

[beelsnack]

Lost and Found - How My Mc Kieran Found Their Cat Jiji

I realized earlier that I have a few pieces written about my MC Kieran that I haven't shared (because I didn't think people would be too interested lol) So, have some mc content.

A bit of Kieran lore: They're an empath, which I write as a mix of synthesia and sensitivity to people's emotions. It wasn't that big of a deal in the Human Realm, but the raw magic of the Devildom dials their sensitivity up to 11, and can result in migraines. The longer they spend in the Devildom, the more they adjust to it, but their first few days in the exchange program are spent holed up in their room feeling like their skull was going to explode.

-----

All they had wanted to do was go for a walk.

Nothing could be simple, however. Seeing as the Devildom was populated mainly by demons, and they were a mere, fleshy human, Kieran was usually accompanied by one of the brothers if they even stepped over the garden wall. They understood, of course - even if they were Diavolo’s precious little socio-economic experiment, there were some demons who wouldn’t hesitate to take a chunk out of them if the opportunity arose. And for the most part, they appreciated having someone there to keep them company. 

But holy shit, they were loud.

Not just on a physical level, although they had that going for them, too. The screaming matches at the House of Lamentation were legendary. But each of the brothers’ emotions had a distinct vibe to them that all mixed together and molded into a battering ram that was constantly smacking against Kieran’s empath abilities.

Mammon’s greed tasted like metal. Asmo’s lust smelled like strawberry lip gloss. Satan’s wrath felt like standing too close to a bonfire. They were getting better at it, but if Kieran didn’t make a conscious effort not to be too keyed into the other residents’ mental states, it could result in a serious migraine.

Some days weren’t so bad. The stars would align perfectly and none of the brothers would be too worked up over something. But, more often than not, someone was pissed off, someone made a mountain out of a molehill, or Lucifer didn’t have time to drink his morning coffee and everything dissolved into chaos.

This would normally be the time that Kieran would seek out whichever demon was the least emotionally explosive and ask them to go on a walk with them. Usually it was either Beel or Mammon, with Levi coming in at a close second if they could coax him out of his inner sanctum. But, for whatever reason, every one of them was either busy or annoyed, which was just honestly making everything worse. 

Plan B was going over to Purgatory Hall. Simeon and Luke were typically easier on their brain - something something celestial energy something, Simeon had explained it but Kieran hadn’t really been paying a whole lot of attention - and Solomon was working on a potion that would dull their Empath senses. If no one was there to let them in, then they would be perfectly content to sit in their garden until someone came home. 

At least, they had been. That was before the sky opened up.

Storms in the Devildom were no joke. The farther one got away from the Demon Lord’s Castle, the more intense the weather got. There were some regions where the rain was corrosive enough that buildings had to be made out of special material that could withstand acid, and there was a city farther south where the lightning purposefully always struck the same spot twice. Because fuck you, apparently.

In the heart of the Devildom, it was a bit milder, but that still meant that the rain was almost horizontal and the wind could knock Kieran over. Turns out, it was hard to tell when it was about to start storming when you were stuck in eternal darkness.

Their black hoodie had done absolutely nothing against the downpour, and the rainwater pooling in the dips of the cobblestone street they were walking down had already seeped through their purple knock-off Converse and into their socks. Which may or may not be their own fault for actively jumping in puddles. 

Whatever, carpe diem or some shit.

They knew traipsing about in the rain probably wasn’t their best idea, but something about it was refreshing. Hopping onto the sidewalk with a squelch from their soaked shoes, Kieran closed their eyes, tipped their head back, and just listened. The steady beating of the rain against stone, the rumble of thunder, wind blowing through the trees…

…Meowing?

They shook themself out of their dramatic reverie. That was definitely a meow they heard. Close by, too. 

If Kieran hadn’t stopped by that exact alleyway, they wouldn’t have heard it at all. Poor thing was crying, it sounded terrified. Kieran didn’t think twice about turning around and heading down the alleyway. They barely thought once, actually.

It wasn’t a very long alley. The only thing in there was a dumpster shoved against the right wall and a couple of stomped-out cigarettes in a pile next to the door that led into the restaurant on the left. Considering that there wasn’t a kitten rolling around in the pile of smokes, Kieran took an educated guess and headed for the dumpster.

The mewling stopped for a moment as Kieran got close. They could hear some scrambling around, but it wasn’t metallic, so that meant that the poor thing was probably hiding under the dumpster in an attempt to take shelter from the rain.

What the hell, they were already soaked. Flipping their hood back so that they could see better, Kieran dropped to their hands and knees, peering under the dumpster.

The cat had remained quiet, and Kieran couldn’t see anything. They were beginning to wonder if it was just a mischievous ghost playing a prank on them and began to push themself up. However, their change in position caused the orange glow from the streetlight to hit at just the right angle, and Kieran saw the flash of the cat's eyes, tucked against the wall.

“There you are,” Kieran grinned. “You picked a hell of a place to camp out, friend.”

They reached into the pouch on their hoodie, pulling out their phone and turning the flashlight on. The cat jumped at the sudden light, mewling weakly.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Kiera dropped their voice to a little bit above a whisper. “I just wanna see you a bit better. I know you’re scared, it’s okay.”

The cat - kitten, there was no way a thing that tiny was more than a few months old - pressed itself as flat against the wall as it could, hissing. It was all black, head to toe. Kieran couldn’t even tell what color its eyes were, since the pupils were blown wide out of sheer terror.

Slowly, Kieran scanned their light up and down the kitten’s body. It was a few feet away, and hard to see because of its black fur, but they still wanted to check and see if there were any glaring injuries. Turns out they picked up something from Branna after all.

Nothing looked broken, and there didn’t seem to be any blood. It seemed to be completely okay until Kieran’s light caught a little bald spot as it shifted.

“Oh, no, don’t tell me…”

Yup, there was a pentagram carved into the kitten’s tiny chest, right over the heart.

Kieran wanted to throw up. Satan had told them before that a lot of stupid humans sacrificed cats in his name, especially around Halloween. He said he always wanted to get his hands on them and beat the reason why out of them, because all it did was send the poor cats to the Devildom to live on the streets. If they were lucky, they got found and taken to a shelter, but if they weren’t…

Satan hadn’t actually been able to tell them the next part, because it made him so angry that Kieran felt like their arm was burning.

“Poor thing, they hurt you,” Kieran murmured. “No wonder you’re terrified.”

Taking a deep breath - and trying to ignore the scent of wet garbage - they reached their hand beneath the dumpster, palm flat against the ground and fingers splayed out. It wouldn’t be the first time that Kieran used their magic to get an animal to like them.

They closed their eyes, imagining a spiderweb of light emerging from their fingertips. Not approaching the kitten, they kept it within a foot or so, but enough to allow the kitten to investigate.

It took a moment. Kieran watched, wiggling their fingers to make their imaginary spiderweb dance enticingly. Slowly, unsure, the kitten leaned its nose forward and took a few careful sniffs. When nothing attacked, it gingerly put one paw out, keeping low to the ground.

It stalked forward like it was afraid something was going to hurt it, and it made Kieran want to lunge forward and scoop it up. But they waited. They were already laying face down in the mud in front of a dumpster, they didn’t want all of their effort to go to waste because a cute kitty made them lose their shit.

They lost track of how much time it took for the kitten to finally make its way to the edge of the dumpster to sniff at Kieran’s hand. It must have been a friendly thing in the Human Realm, because after a few curious sniffs, it nuzzled its little face against the back of Kieran’s knuckles.

“There you are, friend,” they spoke softly. “Thanks for coming out. I’m going to pick you up now, okay?”

Slowly, Kieran brought themself into a crouch and slipped their hand beneath the kitten’s belly. It was still so young that they only needed one hand to scoop it up. They could feel it’s tiny little shade-heart beating erratically against their palm as they brought it up against their torso.

“I know I’m probably not much better than the ground,” Kieran laughed, shaking their rain-soaked auburn hair out of their face. “But we’ll get you all warm and safe, promise.”

They were just about to start walking when their phone started ringing. If it hadn’t, they likely would have just forgotten it on the ground where they had left it. Internally wincing at their forgetfulness, they bent down to pick it up. 

“Satan, you have great timing.”

—--

Satan met them at the garden gate. As soon as Kieran had mentioned cat and disobeying Lucifer, he had been game for whatever shenanigans they were about to engage in. 

The brothers had all begun to get panicky when they realized that Kieran had slipped out without an escort. Which was sweet, they supposed, but also very annoying. Fortunately, Kieran was an expert of taking advantage of chaos, and they had all of the secret tunnels and hidey-holes of the House of Lamentation memorized.

They couldn’t remember to do their homework, but causing mischief? Perfect recollection.

There were a couple of loose bricks around the side of the House that, if you knocked on them counterclockwise five times from the six o’clock position, would dissolve away to reveal a path that led straight to the observatory. 

The kitten had settled down into Kieran’s arms, but was still looking around at everything and flinching whenever something moved. Although it seemed very entertained by the torches that lined the corridor.

Satan pushed the door open, holding it for Kieran while he extinguished the torches with a wave of his hand. “There. Perfect execution.”

“Are you doing shenanigans without me?”

Satan and Kieran both jumped, causing the kitten to let out a distressed “mrreow!” and dig its claws into the sleeve of Kieran’s hoodie.

“Damn it, Belphie, don’t do that,” Satan spat, shutting the door.

“You’re the ones who waltzed in here. You scared me half to death,” Belphegor drawled, lying stretched out on one of the couches and looking very much not scared half to death. “What do you have there?”

“I rescued a kitty,” Kieran said, moving the kitten a bit further out to Belphie could see it. “Some numbnuts sacrificed her to Satan and I found her hiding under a dumpster when I was out for a walk.”

Belphie blinked owlishly at them before beginning to count on his fingers. “Bringing an animal into the House. Leaving without a guardian. Using the secret passageways for non-emergency reasons. Tracking in dirt. That’s four of Lucifer’s rules you broke in one go,” he grinned. “Nice going.”

“I do what I can.”

“Have you decided on a name yet?” Satan asked, leaning over Kieran’s shoulder to watch the kitten. She had calmed down from her little fright and was instead sniffing the air curiously.

“Jiji.” Kieran said decisively.

“Jiji?” Belphie tilted his head. “Like from the movie?”

“You watch Ghibli movies?”

“Levi went through a phase and took me with him.”

Satan scowled. “Do I want to know?”

“Actually, you would probably like the movie I got the name from,” Kieran shrugged, adjusting their arms until they could hold Jiji up to their face. “What do you think, friend? Do you like the name Jiji?”

Jiji stared at Kieran, pupils finally narrowed enough for them to see that her eyes were green. Everyone was quiet, watching the human and kitten stare at each other. 

After a long moment, Jiji reached out a paw and booped Kieran’s nose.

“She likes it!”

[julemmaes]

Honey - part one

Elide Lochan x Lorcan Salvaterre roommates au

A/N: today I found a list of prompts that I just l o v e d and I decided to write an Elorcan short story cause I really really love them and I just don’t write them enough, so please enjoy this fluff turned mild angst and then again fluff I guess.

masterlist

Word count: 3,073

Elide would have loved to sleep. To be able to put on the soft plaid pyjamas that Lysandra had given her for her birthday only a few days before and slip under the warm covers - the General Psychology paper sitting in front of her as that black dash at the end of the sentence flashed was her only enemy at that moment.

She huffed, closing her eyes for a moment, enjoying the soft music coming out of the computer. She didn't know the song, because the playlist she was listening to had been sent to her by Lorcan and she hadn't had time to scroll through the song titles to memorize the ones she liked best. She couldn't even hear the words, just the soothing melody, but she could guess that it was a love song.

After all, every playlist Lorcan made for her to study with consisted mainly of sappy, romantic songs. Quite the opposite from what Lorcan himself represented, with his trademark grumpy, pissed-off attitude.

She giggled wearily, sliding even lower into the pillows as she thought about what their friends would say if they found out that her roommate looked for chill, love songs in his spare time just to help her out.

Elide never had too much time on her hands, always busy between university and the two jobs she worked to support herself, and when she could actually relax she never thought about finding new music, it was far too much work and tiring. But Lorcan wasn't studying and the shifts at the toy shop or the animal shelter were very often lonely and quiet, so he had time to listen to music for hours on end without anyone interrupting him. Only later, when he would have free time and nothing to do but play video games with Aelin and Rowan, would he get on the computer and create yet another playlist with the songs he thought she would like the most.

She was about to fall asleep when she heard Lorcan's scream and several alarms going off all over the neighborhood.

"No, fuck!"

She snapped her eyes open as she sat up and was surprised to find the room shrouded in darkness, the only source of light coming from her computer. She frowned, reaching for the switch and trying to turn the light on and off. Nothing.

She closed her eyes again, banging her head against the headboard.

This was the third blackout in a week. She couldn't take any more. And she could only hope that the alarms would all be turned off within the hour, because the last time, the building next door had taken over three hours to turn off the last one, causing everyone to lose hours of sleep in the middle of the night. She was just waiting for the dogs' barking to start as well.

Her plan to go to sleep early dissolved like candyfloss in water.

"Lorcan? Everything okay?" she said loud enough for the boy to hear. When no answer came she shook her head, huffing.

Elide looked for the phone among the blankets so she could turn on the torch, but she couldn't find it anywhere. She placed the computer on the floor, getting out of bed and paying attention to where she put her feet, "Where the fuck did I leave it?" she muttered to herself, moving the stuff she had on her desk over to the chair. It wasn't even there. She looked down at the bed again and then touched the pockets of the jeans she'd promised herself she wouldn't take off until she was done studying - nada.

She was about to leave the room when the door jerked open, "Ellie?" the computer screen was pointing too low for it to give enough light for Lorcan to see her, "Are you asleep?"

"Nop," she said from across the room, "I can't find my phone."

Lorcan sighed, "Mine's dead."

"Shit." she cursed, she wasn't a fan of the dark, "Do you remember where we put the candles last time?" she asked walking tentatively towards the doorway.

Suddenly, the music stopped and the computer made the worst sound it could have made at that moment, shutting down for good. She didn't worry about the paper that she had to finish, she knew it would be there once she turned it back on.

"I can't believe it," Lorcan muttered. They were plunged into darkness. "Can you make it over here without killing yourself?"

Elide was trying not to panic. She knew there was nothing in the dark, but that stupid childish fear had never really left her and her heart was beating wildly in her chest. It wasn't anything crippling, but it certainly wasn't a pleasant feeling.

She nodded, realizing then that Lorcan couldn't see her, "Yeah, wait."

"Take my hand."

Elide walked with her arms outstretched forward, moving them to avoid hitting the wardrobe or dresser she kept near the door, but her strategy didn't seem to work as she slammed her side into the latter and knocked half the stuff on it to the floor.

She grunted in pain, bringing both hands to the sore spot, "For fuck's sake."

She heard Lorcan chuckle, "What did you hit?"

"I think the dresser," she whined, then raised her head, as if she could see him, "Where are you?"

He snorted, "I'll try to get there. Stay right where you are."

"Where do you want me to go." Elide frowned, speaking so softly that even she struggled to hear herself over all those alarms. Another chuckle was soon broken by a growl of pain, followed by a series of very colourful swear words that made the girl burst out laughing.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," continued Lorcan, who, by the sound of the various thumps, was probably hopping on one foot, "I think I stepped on one of your stupid earrings."

"Oh, god," Elide wheezed, more out of exasperation than anything else, "pray you didn't break it because I might kill you."

"It's already taken care of that. We'd only be even if I broke it," he said, cursing as he put his foot back on the ground, "Just stand there and I'll try to pick everything up."

Elide couldn't keep the smile off her lips, "I'll help you."

They hadn't realised how close they actually were, because the second she lowered herself to kneel on the ground, her head slammed into something very hard. She grunted in pain again, bringing her hands to her forehead, but burst out laughing soon after. The situation was getting ridiculous.

"Christ, Elide, are you alright? Please tell me that wasn't your head." asked Lorcan immediately, stretching his hands forward.

Elide didn't know what he had wanted to do, probably make sure her head was still in one piece, but what his hands touched certainly wasn't her head. The laughter died in her throat with a broken sound and before Lorcan realised he was palming her, several moments passed. When he too seemed to come to realisation, he let out a squeak and immediately moved his hands away.

Lorcan squeaked.

"Did you just touch my tits?" asked Elide in a whisper. At the sound Lorcan made, Elide's entire body was covered in shivers.

He cleared his throat, "Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's okay." she grinned. Elide managed to sympathize with the darkness in that moment, almost thanking it for hiding what was sure to be the reddest face Lorcan would ever see.

"Are you okay?" he asked her again, "Sorry I didn't mean to knee you in the forehead."

"I think I might have a concussion," she said, deciding to fuck with him.

"Ha ha," he huffed, "very funny."

Elide imagined him frowning more and more, then sighed, "Okay come on, let's go find these damn candles." she pulled herself upright, one hand on her head and the other on her hip, then muttered, "And tomorrow we're going to go buy a supply of electric torches."

She heard him chuckle, "Can you follow me or do I have to hold your hand?"

Without a second thought, she reached out a hand towards where she thought his would be. Only her fingers didn't meet bare skin, but the fabric of Lorcan's sweatpants, who with a surprised yelp took a few steps backwards, "What's that? Are you trying to even the score?" he said amused.

"Please tell me it was anything but your-" the words died in her mouth. She would have rather died and groaned, bringing her hands to her face when he burst out laughing.

"If you wanted to touch all you had to do was ask, babe," he teased.

"Fuck, knock it off," she said throwing a hand forward, at a safe height, and hitting him in the chest with her fist.

He grunted, but grabbed her wrist, finally intertwining his fingers with hers, "Was that so hard?"

She said nothing, but dug her nails into his flesh and that was enough.

She dragged her feet on the floor so she wouldn't risk sticking earrings or anything else in the soles of her feet and when they were finally in the hallway, she didn't worry about where to walk because she was simply following Lorcan. The warmth of his hand clasped in hers was reassuring her greatly.

"How long do you think this will last?" she asked once they reached the kitchen.

"I honestly have no idea," he said. Elide heard the light switch being turned on and then a faint, "Ah, yeah." coming from him.

She giggled, then brought her hand to her mouth as she yawned, "I just wish I could sleep."

"Rough day?" asked Lorcan, opening the hand that was gripping hers. It took her a while to realize that he was silently asking her to let him go. She felt herself flush again for not realizing it right away, and with deep chagrin she pulled her fingers away one by one, immediately missing him.

She nodded, flinching when one of the alarms changed pace, becoming louder and more insistent. She sighed, knowing they were doomed to at least another hour like that, "Classes this morning were boring as hell, but they were important so I spent six hours on books and there was no one at the café this afternoon, which means not getting too tired and not running after every order, but it also means-"

"-no tips. Yes, I know," Lorcan finished for her. She could feel him opening drawers and rummaging through items looking for anything candle-shaped.

"Your day?" she asked, yawning once more.

She heard Lorcan halt, "God, you're exhausted." she didn't answer, so he continued, "Nothing much. They came to adopt one of the newcomers this afternoon though, and I'm pretty positive that family is perfect for that pup."

Elide could hear the smile in his voice.

Lorcan might have seemed like a mean person on the surface, callous. And indeed he was a bit of a jerk if you weren't one of the people he 'put up with', as he always said, but anyone who really knew him could confirm that he was one of the most loyal and trustworthy people ever.

The fact that he worked at an animal shelter and cared about the families to whom the puppies were entrusted or at a toy shop where Elide had often seen him help multiple parents choose the perfect gift were just two of the examples that could be given to prove such a point.

"Good," she murmured.

"Ro's going to kill me," he complained, "We were playing against a bunch of kids online and now they're going to think I quit because we suck."

Elide grinned, "But you guys do suck."

The shuffling sound stopped again, "Say that again. I dare you."

She chuckled, moving a chair and sitting down. She yawned for the third time and furrowed her brow. She didn't like yawning.

"Ellie, what the fuck," Lorcan huffed in disbelief, "help me instead of just sitting there."

She groaned, "You kneed me and I'm dead tired, I have every right to do nothing," she justified herself, "Besides, the light will be back on in a few minutes. Chill out."

"Chill out." he mimicked her voice. Then he cheered, making her gasp, "Found it!"

"Good luck finding the lighter." she whispered, crossing her arms over the table and resting her head on them.

He whistled, "How nice we are tonight," then he closed the drawers slamming them shut one by one and Elide wanted to punch him again for all the noise, "But it doesn't touch me, because it's in my pocket." and then a flame lit up the room just enough for Elide to see his face.

She scowled, "Why do you have a lighter in your pocket?"

The victorious, sly expression Lorcan had had fell away so quickly that for a second Elide thought something had happened or he'd been burned.

She was almost afraid to ask, "Have you started smoking again?"

"No." he answered too quickly.

Elide stood up, throwing her arms in the air, "Lorcan!" she opened her eyes wide, "You quit over three months ago."

He grimaced, "Not really." he spoke so softly she almost didn't hear him.

Her frown deepened, "What do you mean, 'not really'? You're such a dick," she mumbled, shaking her head.

In the meantime he had lit more candles and was arranging them on the kitchen counter, but when he spoke he looked at Elide and she saw that he was holding back from insulting her in turn. "I'm not a dick, I simply didn't tell you that I had resumed..." he trailed off, then huffed, "two weeks after I quit."

Elide opened her mouth wide, "Two we-" then exploded, "Lorcan, it's bad for you.  B-a-d." she spelled, drawing the letters in the air with her finger, "Do you understand that if you keep smoking your lungs will turn so black they'll look like ash?"

Lorcan clenched his jaw, "I know, thanks for reminding me."

Elide crossed her arms over her chest, speaking in a strained tone, "Why did you start again? Why didn't you tell me?"

He turned his back to her at that, with the excuse of arranging the candles around the kitchen better, but Elide knew it was because he didn't want to look at her face. He didn't answer.

"Where are they?"

"What?"

"The cigarettes. The packet? Where is it?" she demanded to know, walking up to him.

Lorcan turned, taking a step back when he realised she was less than a metre away from him. He frowned, "I'm not telling you."

Elide's eyes went wide, "Why?"

"Because you'd snap them all," he said in an obvious tone.

She nodded vehemently, "Yes, exactly!"

Then he sighed, "Can we just let it go?"

"Sure, if you want to let it go that you're going to die of cancer and that you've been lying to me the whole time, we can let it go," she said, biting her bottom lip and shaking her head. Then she huffed out a laugh, "You're unbelievable."

"Ellie, listen, I'm not smoking as much as I used to, we're talking about one to two cigarettes a day at most," he tried to reassure her, running a hand through his hair. She could hear it in his tone of voice that he felt guilty and embarrassed, whether it was because he had lied to her or because she had found out she couldn't tell.

With a little more light brightening up the room, Elide realised only then that he was shirtless.

Fuck, she thought. Lorcan with his shirt off was a feast for the eyes.

She quickly shifted her gaze to the floor as the light returned in a flash and she was forced to close her over-sensitive eyes. They heard the tv turn on again and the melody of the video game fill the silence.

"Thank fuck." Lorcan muttered as almost all the alarms went off. Now only the few that had to be turned off manually and the dogs continued their assault on their ears.

When Elide opened her eyes again, she cursed. There was blood on the tiles. She leaned forward, looking down at the crotch of her jeans to make sure it wasn't hers, even though she knew she wasn't on her period. "Lorcan?" she asked hesitantly, then turned her head towards him, not moving her gaze from the floor, "I think you're bleeding."

"What? Oh fuck." he chuckled. Elide looked up at him at that point and saw him leaning on the table with one hand and placing the ankle of his right foot on his left knee. He looked up at her, "Your earring stabbed me."

A laugh bubbled out of her, "I'm sorry."

Lorcan looked into her eyes and his shone, "Don't worry, I'll clean it up."

"I'll help if you want." she offered, then yawned and cursed in the middle of it.

He snorted, one corner of his mouth curled up, "Nah, go to bed. I'll take care of it."

Then she let go a whine, "Oh my god my room is going to look like a crime scene if you managed to get blood in here too."

Lorcan smiled tightly, "I'll take care of that too."

Elide nodded, admiring her friend's bare torso and arms one last time.

If Lorcan noticed, he didn't show it, and Elide was grateful for that moment of discretion, they'd had enough of awkward moments for that evening.

Warning him that she was going to bed, she went into the bathroom, undressing very slowly and slipping into her soft pyjamas. When she returned to her room, she noticed a wet spot on the floor and smiled, realising that he had started cleaning from her bedroom. She shouted a simple "goodnight" to him and without waiting for an answer slipped under the covers, ready for a deep and well-deserved night's sleep.

Just a second before she could fall asleep, the door opened slightly and she heard what could only be Lorcan place something on her bedside table. She couldn't open her eyes or bring herself to talk in that moment to ask him what the hell he was doing, but when she woke up the next morning, two packets of cigarettes and the lighter he'd used the night before sat there.

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[medicallyinevitable]

Medically Inevitable

Chapter 15:- Hopeful Happenings

Characters:- Arielle Valentine, Ethan Ramsey, Ines Delarosa, Kyra Santana

Pairing:- Ethan Ramsey x Arielle Valentine

Warnings:- Slight mentions of cancer

Word Count:- 1700+ words :)

General PoV:-

As the sun shines bright in the late morning, Arielle parks her car and heads straight towards Edenbrook’s locker room, a to-go cup in hand from Starbucks instead of Derry Roasters not wanting any chance to bump into Dr. Ramsey, despite knowing that he’s her boss. Making her way to the nurses’ station, she picks up her charts and textbooks and heads toward the cafeteria.

Arielle’s PoV:-

You keep at your textbooks, scouring the pages for anything that could explain Nigel's symptoms, and the tidal wave of self-doubt doesn’t help either. You let out a sigh, "Maybe Dr. Ramsey's right. Maybe I really don't belong here..."

"Mind if I join you?" A cheery voice snaps you back to reality.

You turn around to find Kyra. Dread fills in you as you see her. "Kyra, what are you doing here? Is your cancer back? Is something wrong?", you start asking.

"Woah! Dial down the doom and gloom there, Dr. Sob Emoji. I'm in remission." Kyra beams.

"What?! Oh my god congratulations! I’m so happy for you!" You envelope her in a warm hug which almost melts all your tension away.

"Just had another check-up. Will be coming a lot for those," she catches you up with her remission plan as you two sit. "No offense but I definitely look in better shape than you!"

"Ugh I know. I'm exhausted.” And just like that, all the tension fills your mind as you give her the details. " My shift ended like five hours ago, but instead of going home I am sitting here and reading till my eyes bleed."

"You should probably get that looked at." Kyra's face morphs into something serious but genuine as she continues.

"Look, I don't want to be that cancer survivor… but it did make me realize that life is too short." You give her a sad smile knowing how painful it must have been for her.

"We only get so many chances you know? But maybe you need that lesson more than I do," she continues after pausing for a moment.

"Is it that obvious?" You raise your brows.

"Let's chalk it up to my incredible intuition." Kyra smiles," Anyways there's an amazing ice cream shop nearby. They make an triple chocolate gelato that's literally to die for," she jokes, " You can take my word for that." "Why don't we visit that place? It'll give you a distraction and a much needed break."

You look at her and then your textbooks, not understanding what to do. All you can see is blurry lines. the words and concepts swim around in your very exhausted brain. You close the textbook with a slam after your answer is crystal clear.

"How can I say no to chocolate gelato!", you say dramatically.

"That's more like it!", Kyra beams. The two of you collect your belongings and make your way out as you tell Kyra everything about the dilemma with your latest patient.

"This place is pretty cute.", you say as you look around.

"Try nauseatingly adorable. I want to make it tiny and keep it in my bookshelf," Kyra replies. You laugh.

"You collect tiny shops?" You ask as the two of you made your way to the counter.

"I collect many sickeningly adorable things," she laughs before turning her attention to the boy behind the counter. "I’ll have the large Death by Chocolate please. And my absurdly attractive friend here will have…”, she nods for you to continue.

You roll your eyes at her before placing your order. You take a look at their menu before deciding to have the same one as Kyra as it's the most chocolatey one.

“I'll have the same.", you smile at the server.

The server scoops your gelato into two big cups and slides them across the counter while Kyra rummages through her bag for her wallet.

"I'll pay.“, you say getting your card out.

"No way!", she stops you by swiftly taking your card from you. You whine but to your dismay she doesn’t budge.

"This was my idea. Besides I didn't get out much during recovery. I've got months of dining-out budget to blow."

The next minute she's handing the cash to the server and then guiding you to a booth. As you two take your seats, Kyra hands you your card.

She takes a spoon full of her Death by Chocolate and sighs blissfully.

“Mmmmmm…”

You smile at her antics. "That good?" You ask before taking a bite.

"Orgasmic. I never used to eat junk food before my diagnosis."

She takes another bite and you take your first. You can't help but let out a moan as the chocolatey silkiness melts on your tongue. Kyra smirks and gives you a smug look.

She then continues, "I was super into exercising and calorie counting. I never did anything I wasn't supposed to." She smiles sadly. "And I still got lung cancer. At my twenties!"

"You must have been so strong!", you reply.

"Everyone keeps saying that but-", she pauses, "I don't know. I just went to the doctor to see why I was breathing weird."

She sighs. "Then suddenly I was going for all these tests, and then I had cancer."

She laughs humorlessly. "Life went from jogging and juice every morning to chemo and puking."

You can almost feel the pain as she speaks about her experiences even when you’re aware you’ll never truly understand.

"But I didn't do anything," she says, " Those things had to happen , and I had good insurance, so I did them. And it's not like I had any alternative."

"I think you should give yourself more credit.”, you reach for her hand and squeeze it in a comforting manner.

"You faced death with a smile on your face. I'll always remember you cracking jokes on the way to surgery-", you stop for a second before adding,"You are the strongest person I know Kyra."

Kyra blushes, a little embarrassed. "Well you can laugh or you can cry and I chose to laugh.”, she shrugs with a smile on her face.

"And like I said, I don't want to be that cancer survivor but it does put certain things into perspective."

"That kind of clarity must be nice.", you reply.

"Well yeah, you have to get some kind of consolation price for nearly dying, right?" She then shakes her head.

”But enough about that. If we keep talking about this you'll always see me as a girl who beat cancer."

"I'll never, Kyra." you say truthfully. "That's not how I see you."

"Oh yeah? And how do you exactly see me?" She asks playfully.

"I think you are inspiring."

A blush creeps on her face as she’s caught off guard, but quickly retaliates with a sassy reply. “If you keep giving me compliments then I’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

“We’ll see about that.” You both dissolve into fits of laughter as Kyra fills you up on the hospital gossip...

“What wait?! Seriously?! I can’t believe it!”

“Me either, but you know how gossip is!”, she replies with a shrug.

Just then your phone chimes. You pull it out to see it’s a reminder for your shift.

“Crap, I have 10 minutes till my shift.”

“Oof, you better hurry!”, she replies.

“We should do this again, this was really nice.”, you say as you gather your things.

“We should! Besides there would have to be 12 different things wrong with someone to turn down Gelato!”, she jokes.

“..12 different things wrong….. oh my god, Kyra, you’re a genius!”

You scramble to your feet and quickly throw away your cup.

“I like to think I am but what did I do?”, she asks.

“I’ll explain later!”, you yell.

“Ookay…” You rush back to the hospital, typing out a message on your pager as Kyra sits there in utter confusion.

“Well I guess I could get another scoop of gelato…”

————————————————————

An hour later, you take a deep breath before entering Nigel's room to find Ethan and Ines already inside.

“Well what are you waiting for?”, Dr. Ramsey says. Pushing back all of your invading memories of him, you continue with your explanation.

"I spent the last two days trying to figure out the one thing causing all of Mr.Platt's symptoms.”, you say as you stand beside Nigel's bedside.

"And?", he asks. For a split second, you can see a slight look of hope in his eyes, but it passes as quickly as it came, leaving you to believe it was a mere delusion of yours.

"That's when I realized nothing was causing all of them-" But before you can continue, you’re interrupted by Nigel.

"Are you calling-", he burps, “me a liar?", he asks, rude as always.

You control the urge to roll your eyes. He could've at least let you finish your sentence.

Ignoring him, you continue what you were saying," Mr.Platt has been experiencing tingling and hair loss but also cold sensitivity and some hearing problems." You pause for a second before continuing,"All of which point to hypothyroidism caused by Hashimoto's disease easily treated with levothyroxine."

"Go on." Ethan orders in his usual cold bossy tone.

"I couldn't fit in the constant burping and the chest pain… because it was completely separate." You explain. "I ordered a barium swallow X-ray and detected a hiatal hernia in the esophageal hole through the diaphragm."

"The treatment?", he asks, motioning you to continue.

"I have already booked a laparoscopic surgery to repair it.”, you answer with a touch of pride.

"Good work Dr.Valentine." Ines smiles at you.” You return it with a nod and a tentative smile.

"So ... I'll be cured?" Nigel asks.

"Yes-“, you calm yourself down before you rip him apart and then continue.

"You'll be good as new." you say instead with a forced smile.

"Good... because I don't want to spend a -" he burps, " second more in your hopeless company."

Your blood boils at this point as you bite your lip to control yourself. “The audacity! Ugh, he's a patient, Arielle. You have to be nice to him.”

"Mr. Platt, might suggest viewing this as a new lease on life. Perhaps a life where you don't make everyone around you miserable.”, Ethan's stern voice retorts, shocking you and Ines.

“No way...he did not!”

"Dr. Ramsey!" Ines exclaims with a shocked expression on her face, which you’re quite sure your face resembles.

"I'll report you! I want to talk to your manager," he says more angrily than before.

"Go ahead," Ethan says with a sarcastic smile." Maybe she can't talk to you like this but I sure as hell can."

You look at Nigel who looks like he's about to say something but just then Bryce struts in. He winks at you playfully as he passes you.

"Someone called for a laparoscopic surgery?"

"Oh great, first Barbie and now the damn Ken doll!” You don’t even attempt to hide the disgust on your face as you roll your eyes.

By the time you’ve finished your consultation with Bryce, Ines and Ethan have already left the room. Pleased with yourself, you take a left in the hallway without noticing Ethan standing leaning against the wall.

"Rookie..." His velvety baritone voice calls out, pulling you out of a haze.

Wincing, you stop dead in your tracks as the memories of the previous day replay in your mind. Still embarrassed with your encounter, you turn around but never meet his eyes. You’re sure you look like a kid, standing before him with your feet crossed, one hand fiddling with your hair as you bite your lip.

"So, you figured it out in the end. And you kept things professional.”, he nods, barely visible.

"I guess I just needed a… push.”, you reply in a timid voice laced with embarrassment.

"Maybe you aren’t so hopeless then.", he says.

Unlike yesterday, his voice isn’t filled with disappointment and malice.

So mustering up some courage, you look up to meet his eyes. Relief washes over you as you don’t detect a hint of disappointment in his eyes. He isn’t smiling but something in you tells you he isn’t angry. You don’t realise you’ve been staring into his oh-so blue eyes until his pager beeps, shaking you out of your reverie.

“..Uh- I’ll see you around, Dr. Ramsey.” You can almost swear that you see longing etched into his chiseled features as you lose yourself in his eyes once more.

“Likewise, Valentine.” With that, he turns around and stalks away.

You sigh and lean against the wall, the events since you started your residency swirl around like a hurricane filled with memories.

“What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

******************************************

And this concludes Season 1 of Medically Inevitable!

Authors’ Note:- Hey everyone, hope y’all enjoyed this chapter! As you’ve probably seen before, this is the last chapter of Season 1! Season 2 will be out soon, as soon as we work out the kinks and pump out a few chapters with different moodboards and title themes! Season 2 will be much more eventful, more drama, angst and shocking cliffhangers mixed in with the string of festivities that Thanksgiving and Christmas bring! Stay tuned and check our blogs and Instagram’s (same handle) for more updates! And lastly thank y’all so much for all the support, we are extremely grateful.

Love,

@drariellevalentine & @mysticaurathings

Medically Inevitable Taglist:- @whimsicallywayward15 | @iemcpbchoices | @sizzlingcashherohumanoid | @archveexz | @deepikakkannan | @nishas-paradise | @maurine07 | @archxxronrookie | @adrex04 | @everythingchoices | @rivenni | @annekebbphotography | @mrsethanfreakingramsey | @jamespotterthefirst | @natureblooms24 | @katkart122 | @udishaman | @hopelessromantics4life | @custaroonie | @mvalentine | @queencarb | @lisha1valecha | @ezekielbhandarivalleros | @ejrownsme @the-pale-goddess | @justanotherrookie | @miss-smrxtiee | @missmiimiie | @choicesfics | @romewritingshop | @taniasethi | @keithandlevi-ontheroof | @choicesfan10 | @open-heart-ramseyyy | @crookedkittyperson | @sistatribe | @tsrookie | @starrystarrytrouble | @caseyvalentineramsey | @alina-yol-ramsey | @openheartthot | @gryffindordaughterofathena | @binny1985 | @groovypalacehorselover | @akshara16 | @epiclazershark | @aarisa-frost | @shanzay44 | @jooous | @angela8754 | @red-rookie |

[joumiwrites]

Three early horsemen

The three horsemen appeared in front of the house with a sound of slashed reality. A dog stopped barking, then started again at full force.

“Strange beasts,” the dark one said. “Maybe we should call back the horses.”

The fiery one stepped forward, already taking a human form, height, shape and colors changing fast.

“They'll be fine.”

“We won't need them here,” the white one said.

They looked around, searching for the ashen one. They could feel an essence like their own somewhere nearby, but there were only humans walking along the street, their bodies dark silhouettes without light.

Death was already looking at them through one of the front windows. She knew who they were, even if she had never met them. She checked the calendar on the wall, looking at the rows of numbers that divided that day from the one circled in red.

She straightened her back and went to open the door.

“Ashen one,” they greeted her, every trace of uncertainty gone from their faces.

Their human forms were hidden by the light that emanated from each one: red, black, white.

“It's too early,” she said. “It's supposed to start in a month.”

“We know,” the fiery one answered, almost cutting her off.

“We wanted to meet you,” the dark one added.

“We want to see what you can do,” the white one concluded.

Death nodded, not knowing what to say. They had witnessed the first war of the angels and the eternity after that, while she only knew what was contained in the universe she'd been born with.

“I'm the essence of chaos,” the fiery one said.

“You must find Earth pretty boring, then,” Death observed.

“No. I know it will get better in a few days.”

Death couldn't smile back at that, so she looked at the dark one.

“My essence is lack and emptiness.”

“Mine is hatred and desperation,” the white one declared with superiority. “And yours, ashen one?”

“I'm Death,” she said, “I bring endings.”

They waited in silence for an explanation. She stepped back.

“Please, come in.”

“Death?” the fiery one repeated as they entered.

She closed the door.

“This is how humans call me. Thousands of versions of this name.”

“They have seen you?” the white one asked.

“No. It's the name they gave to my essence, and I thought it was fitting.”

They stood in the living room. There was a single wooden chair against a wall, while the rest of the space was occupied by marble pedestals, each supporting an object from past eras: a statue of a roman general; a bag of sand from a sea that only dinosaurs had seen; clocks of any shapes from every century of human history, because she had a sense of humor.

The fiery one started to wander from one pedestal to the next, picking up the objects to examine them, only to put them down in a different position. The white one walked straight towards the chair and sat on it, legs crossed and hands folded on top of the knee. The dark one stood at the center of the room, arms abandoned at the sides and eyes fixed on the empty ceiling.

Death propped her back against a wall.

“What do you do in Hell?”

The white one looked at her.

“You don't know?”

“No. An angel comes here once every millennia to give me instructions. The only thing they told me was that you existed and lived in Hell.”

The white one nodded and looked away, as if forgetting her question.

“We are a punishment,” the dark one said slowly, as if every word was dripping from a place miles above the room. “For the angels who were defeated. I make them crave divine light, so that they'll always remember what they lost.”

“I make them hate each other,” the white one said. “So that they'll always be alone, at their core. They can never find comfort in each other's company, and when they do, they live in fear of an inevitable betrayal.”

“And I change the rules of their world.” The fiery one smiled. “So that they'll never be able to organize themselves enough to attack again.”

“And you?” the white one spoke again. “What do you do here?”

Death thought about it. Was she a punishment too?

“My duty is easier than yours. I just need to exist, and everything around me will eventually come to an end.”

“You said that your name is 'Death' because of what you do to humans,” the dark one said. “What is that, exactly?”

“It's just an ending like the others. They cease to exist. They disappear from this world.”

“And then?” the white one asked.

“Then nothing.”

The white one's brow furrowed.

“Now that we are here, will we end too?”

Death focused on the strings, the tendrils of power that connected her to everything in that world that could end forever. The strings were always moving and changing, some were created, some disappeared. But she was sure none of them were connected to the other three horsemen.

“No,” she said. “You're not from this world.”

“I want to see it” the fiery one said, letting one of the vases fall to the ground.

It shattered, and the thin tendril of power that connected it to Death dissolved. The other two didn't pay it any attention, and Death didn't either. She'd felt the object's ending approach as its string became thinner.

“What do you want to see?” she asked.

“What you do to humans. The thing called death.”

“You want to see people die.”

The fiery one looked at her, light moving behind the eyes, and nodded.

“Follow me,” she said, and left her physical form for the instant necessary to travel to the other side of the planet, following a group of strings that were changing faster than the rest.

An explosion showered her with chunks of dirt.

“I saw it,” the fiery one screamed in excitement at her side.

Death looked at the man's corpse. A million more strings had dissolved with him, small things that had lived in the ground.

She stood behind with the other two horsemen while the fiery one walked through the projectiles, straining the human neck to look around. The red essence shined stronger at every explosion, at every soldier screaming or dying, and when a building collapsed it looked like the fiery one was about to explode too.

“This is glorious.”

A tank fired. The fiery one raised a hand, and the projectile deviated. Death felt the strings of the soldiers in the new trajectory become even thinner. She grabbed the tendrils with both hands and pulled them closer.

The men were all badly injured, but they didn't die right there. Some of them would have survived.

Death released the strings. Humans could kill each other, if they chose to. But she wouldn't have let anyone interfere with that, not before the final day. It felt wrong to do otherwise.

The fiery one shined while the explosion hit, looked around for a while longer, then walked back towards the other horsemen.

“I want to see this in Hell. Tell me how you did it, I want to know everything.”

Death hadn't done anything, so she didn't answer.

“Is death always like this?” the white one asked with a hint of disgust.

“It's loud,” the dark one added. “And the suffering doesn't last much.”

“It's just war,” Death said. “There are many other ways to die.”

“I've seen war,” the fiery one said as an explosion hit close. “It was quick and orderly. The angels above won immediately.”

“It's different here,” Death said.

“How do humans call it?”

Death listed the word in all the languages people had spoken across the millennia.

“I like how it sounds,” the fiery one said. “I want to be called War.”

War turned to look at the people screaming and shooting.

“It's a pity I won't be able to see this anymore, after the final day.”

Death raised her head, following a sudden thought.

“What will be you task once Apocalypse ends?”

“We'll keep punishing the devils,” the white one said.

“I'll also get to keep the matter of this world in chaos, once everything is destroyed,” the fiery one added. “Like I did before it was created.”

“Now the earth was formless and empty,” Death said.

They gave her confused looks.

“It's from the Bible. A book humans wrote.”

“A book?” the white one asked.

“They knew a lot about how this world was created, and what comes next. They knew about us.”

She crossed the space back to her own house, and they followed, War an instant slower than the others. Death guided them towards her garden, this time. She cared too much about her clocks.

“What about you?” the dark one asked. “What are you going to do after the last day?”

Death recalled the words of the angel during their last visit.

“I'll be a guardian between Heaven and Hell. No one will be able to get closer to the divine without crossing my path.”

She didn't talk about the tendrils. Of how the power seemed to flow from the people, the creatures, and the objects to her, and not vice versa. How humans had described the world after the Apocalypse as an endless one, and they were always right about these things. She'd been born with that world, she'd have died with it.

“If I knew war was so magnificent here, I'd have visited sooner,” War said. “I don't want this world to end so soon.”

“It's the reason we're here,” the white one said.

“I know.”

Death looked at them as they spoke. She didn't want to disappear. She was scared of her own essence, after all.

“We could wait some time,” she said. “And visit more wars.”

“More wars?” War asked, shining of red.

“No,” the dark one said.

“We'll see what you'll show us until the final day,” the white one added. “Then we'll destroy this world, as we were sent to do.”

Death lowered her eyes and nodded.

They stood in silence for a long instant.

“So, what next?” War asked.

Death focused on the strings. She found two more conflicts that War would have appreciated, but even if they both wanted to delay the Apocalypse, she knew they couldn't prevent the other horsemen from destroying the Earth alone.

She focused on the dark one; the essence of lacking, emptiness. There was a place in the world that was full of that.

“Follow me,” she said, and moved.

They were in the dark, but they didn't need eyes to perceive the walls of the cave and the group of humans scattered inside it.

“Please,” one of them screamed. “Somebody help.”

“Stop wasting your breath,” another answered, while most of the others just shushed him.

War looked around with a bored expression and kicked a rock. The sound startled two of the men, but they didn't have the energy to get up, so they just stared at the dark until they seemed to forget what they were looking for.

“A lot of suffering,” the white one observed, hands clasped behind the back.

Death ignored both of them, focusing on the dark one. The dark essence was flowing outside the contours of the human shape.

“They crave,” the voice was deeper than usual, without a trace of boredom, “so many things.”

The dark one walked in circle along the walls and round corners of the cave.

“Food,” Death said, following the trail of darkness, “Water.”

“Safety,” the dark one continued, “Light. Freedom. Love.”

They completed the circle and stopped between a man who was sleeping and one who cried quietly, clutching the image of a woman as if he could see her despite the dark.

“How did you do this?” the dark one asked.

“Every human needs these things. They can't reach them in this place, and that makes them suffer.”

“The devils only need one thing, divine light. And they're already trapped in a place where they can't reach it.”

“That should make your task easier.”

“It does,” the dark one said, and this time the words oozed boredom like another dark essence escaping its bounds.

“There are many more ways to cause this,” Death whispered, gesturing at the cave. “War is one of them. So are earthquakes, wild fires, floods. Or you could try to take away just one thing, like food, and see how everything else starts to crumble.”

The dark one's eyes moved around the room, as if they could see the things she was talking about.

“I've seen this world from above. There's food growing in the fields, everywhere.”

“And with your power, you could destroy it all. Bring the greatest famine the world has ever seen.”

The words felt wrong, but it was the only thing she could offer.

“Famine?” the dark one repeated. “I like this name.”

“Then it can be yours, like all the rest. There's nobody here to stop you.”

Famine turned to look at the white one before focusing on her again.

“If you want to delay the Apocalypse, I'm with you.”

Death nodded. She thought about it as they jumped back to her house. They were three against one, they could decide what to do. But even if they won, with Famine and War loose on the planet, the Apocalypse wouldn't have been delayed by much. She needed someone who could reason with them on her side.

“The final day is near,” the white one said, sitting on the chair. “What will you show us now?”

Death consulted the strings, looking for hate and desperation. The world was full of it and, she imagined, Hell too. She needed to find a place that was different enough to capture the white one's interest.

“Come,” she said, and moved towards a group of strings full of life that were clashing against each other, next to another one that was slowly disappearing.

The house they were in had a high ceiling and white walls that reflected the light of the sun. There was a group of people inside, clearly divided in two sides even if they were standing in a circle, screaming at each other. Some of them looked angry, some miserable.

“Finally some chaos,” War said.

The white one stepped forward and watched the scene with a bit of interest. Death waited for a reaction, eyes going from the horseman to the people in front of her and back. But the white one didn't move for a long time.

“Do you like it?” Death asked.

“I know what you're trying to do. It won't work with me. There's nothing you can offer better than what I already have.”

Death hesitated.

“Their hate for each other is intense.”

“I can feel it. But intensity isn't as important as vastness. There are fights between devils that have lasted for centuries, and still have consequences to this day. A pyramid of relationships made of hatred for common enemies and distrust of temporary allies. Even if I could do that with humans, they'll eventually die, and all that work would be lost.”

“The angel told me there are ten thousands devils in Hell. Humans are seven billions. You could cover the world with these pyramids, if it's vastness that you want.”

“They would crumble in a century or less. It's pointless.”

“What about desperation? Humans can feel it deeply.”

“You won't convince me. Stop trying.”

“I'm not trying to convince you.”

“Then you're wasting our time. I wanted to see death, but I don't see it here.”

Death lowered her head and stepped in the direction of a big door.

“This way.”

The white one followed her, while War and Famine stood behind, talking in low voices.

The only bed in the room was surrounded by glass walls and a glass door. A faint string passed through them, ending on the forehead of the old man inside the bed.

Death stopped in front of the glass, while the white one crossed the barrier to look at the dying man.

“Desperation, yes.”

Death observed as the interest slowly faded from the white one's face. She didn't say anything. Pushing for a discussion would have been as useless as talking about the weather with an angel.

The white one frowned.

“I can't find the reason for this death. The other ones were more easy to understand.”

“It's an illness. Something that destroys human bodies.”

“Why? What does it do?”

Death looked at the old man.

“I don't know. There are so many illnesses I can't remember them all. They damage different things.”

The white one nodded, then turned as if to leave, and seemed to notice the glass barriers just then.

“Why these walls?”

“I don't know for sure. My guess is that the illness is contagious, so nobody can get near him except to bring him cures.”

“What would happen if they did get close?”

“They would get the same illness.”

The white one turned again to look at the man in the bed.

“Could he get up? Escape?”

“I don't think he's strong enough. And the others would try to put him back in.”

“His enemies?”

“His family and friends.”

The white one's essence trembled.

“How is that possible?”

“They don't want to be infected. And they want him to continue the cure, so that he'll live longer.”

The white one seemed to reflect for a bit.

“Tell me how these illnesses work.”

And Death told him of the plague, leprosy, the Spanish flu. Of how people who got it were isolated and sometimes outright rejected. How entire groups of people were hated because others thought they were the cause of the disease. She talked about the fear of who was healthy, and the desperation of who was ill.

“This word, 'illness'... it feels weak,” the white one said.

“I've heard them using the term 'pestilence'.”

“Then I'll take that name too.”

The white essence flickered like a candle.

“But it doesn't mean you won. I want to see the things you have talked about, and cause a pestilence myself. If it won't satisfy me, I'Il start the Apocalypse alone. And believe me: I'm strong enough to see it through.”

Death nodded. She followed Pestilence back to the other room, then jumped to her home with the other horsemen.

A light rain was washing the garden. Pestilence was talking with War and Famine, in a low voice. Death stepped forward and stared at the roses, thinking about her future. It would have been short, if all of them used their powers on the world at the same time, Apocalypse or not.

“We have decided to stay,” Pestilence announced. “But we won't destroy the world, yet.”

“Where is the biggest war?” War asked. “I want to see it.”

Famine looked at the sky.

“We should ask for permission, first. I don't think we can delay the Apocalypse without the Divine's approval.”

They all looked up.

After an instant of confusion, Death did the same. Humans who glanced over the fence would have seen four people looking straight up at the rain, eyes wide open.

“Luminous one,” Pestilence called. “We ask for your permission to stay here and experience this world. We'll start the Apocalypse when we are ready.”

Death lowered her eyes to glance at the three horsemen: they were looking at the sky with full certainty they'd receive an answer. War's essence was pulsing, at different intervals and intensities; Famine's extended its smoky tendrils in the air; Pestilence's swayed and flickered like a flame.

And her own, Death knew without even looking at it, was gray and calm like a lake in a cloudy morning. The strings flowed into her through every corner of the planet.

They looked at her. War kicked the ground, sending pebbles and fragments of soil flying around.

“Let's go, then. I want to see war. I want to create explosions. You have to teach me how to start them.”

Death stared at War for a moment.

“Teach you?”

“And me,” Famine said. “I know how to use my powers, but I don't know much about this world.”

“I want to know too,” Pestilence added. “So that I can judge properly the worth of what you have offered me. If we're to cause death properly, we should know how it works.”

Death looked at them, and then at the sky, to gain some more time. She could tell them she didn't do or know anything, and lose any kind of power she had over them. Or pretend she could teach them, rein them in, and become the direct cause of all the destruction they would bring to the world.

“It's not easy,” she started. “Death needs to be balanced with all the rest if you want it to work. Just throwing explosions around, destroying food everywhere, cover the world with illnesses will destroy this balance, and then your powers won't have effect anymore.”

Because everyone would be dead, she thought, but didn't say it. They wouldn't have considered it relevant.

“What do you suggest we do, then?” Pestilence asked.

Death pulled a string, the only one who wasn't dissipating at all.

“Call your horses and follow me. I'll show you everything you need to know about this world, and tell you when you can use your powers without destroying the balance.”

The string she'd pulled got shorter and shorter, until the gray horse was at her side. A part of her essence that had taken shape.

“I'll follow you as long as it suits me,” Pestilence said, as a white horse appeared at the end of the garden.

Death nodded, then looked at Famine.

“As long as we keep moving. I don't want to stay in one place.”

“We won't stop for a while.”

A black horse turned the corner of the house.

“I want to see war,” War said, as a red horse jumped over the fence.

“We'll start with that, then,” Death answered, mounting on her steed.

She went north, cities and forests flowing around her every time the horse's hooves left the ground. She could move faster alone, but it didn't feel half as good, and she wanted the other horsemen to look around, experience the reality around them as much as possible, like she had done during her first centuries. They were the younger ones, now.

She looked over her shoulder at the three of them, riding one next to the other. She had to balance their impulses carefully. Distracting the other two while one of them tortured a piece of the planet, let the world rest as long as possible before starting again.

She didn't like the idea of them interfering. But at least the strings would have kept tangling into each other, like they'd been doing since the universe was born, as she guarded over them for the rest of her existence.

[whirlwindwonderland]

5, 13, 29 Lethe. 4, 21, 28 Almond

Lethe 5) List 3 fears; one “surface level” fear, one “repressed” fear, and one “deep dark” fear. Surface Level: Pathophobia! Lethe's actually rather openly scared of the feeling of being sick, and is going to be more so after certain events. It reminds her of the feeling of her body decaying around her through the eyes of Dr. Edman on her first night of being alive, and that's one feeling she never wants to have again. Repressed: Atychiphobia! It's deeply repressed/not even really a fully formed phobia yet but. Lethe has noticed patterns. Lethe has noticed the common thread of when things go worst. She almost lost her dad when she failed to figure out what her countdown was for and failed to properly pay attention. She almost lost Lin when she failed to realize the countdown was marking down to when Lin would be kidnapped. Lethe fails. People get hurt. People nearly die. In the case of some of her clients, if she fails, they will die. Probably best not to fail. Deep Dark: Athazagoraphobia! When you come from nothing, and are made of nothing, with no story to define you, memory is important. And you become acutely aware of it's fragility. Lethe isn't afraid of losing her own memories. Quite frankly she doesn't feel as if she has enough to lose that forgetting would do irreversible damage, and she has faith in her loved ones to bring her back. But she's terrified of the idea of other people, or even the universe in general, forgetting her. Because there's so little of her to remember. So little of her to hold onto. What happens when that last tiny bit slips away? 13) Which of the 7 Deadly Sins best describes them? Surprisingly? Wrath. Not in the sort of traditional sense of being an excessively angry person, but more in the sense that... Lethe has a lot of violence simmering just below the surface of her intentions. Lethe has a lot of potential to do a lot of harm. She doesn't act on that potential because that potential scares her. She's terrified of the kind of damage she could do if she really let loose. She's seen how dangerous she can be against a monster, and how close she can get to unleashing that kind of wrath against a person, so she's aware of it. And she keeps it under careful control. But controlled does not mean nonexistent, that rage, that anger, that wrath is always there just below the surface. 29) Does what they cannot see scare them? Not in any sense that you'd think. The way Lethe sees it, what she can't immediately see is what she still has yet to learn. In the end, if she needs to know it, it will make itself known. What scares Lethe is when she thought she could see something and it wasn't what she thought it was. Not being able to trust her own senses and intuition? That terrifies her. When someone she thought was a friend turns out to be an enemy, when a good situation turns out to be not good, when a safe place isn't safe and she didn't see it coming. That is what scares Lethe. Almond 4) Describe their worst nightmare. You're walking down the street. It's late. You're tired. It's raining and the rain stings your skin. But the day's work is done. You're eager to get back home and so you're walking, But as you're walking, you're stopped. You pass a phone booth and the phone inside is ringing. That's strange. You step into the phone booth and answer the phone. "A-Al, Al I- I need your help, I'm hurt bad, I-"

It's your daughter's voice on the other line. She sounds weak, sounds tired and in pain, and there's something else in the room with her. Something emitting a low and dangerous growl. You open your mouth to try and comfort but no words come out. You try to open the door to the phone booth, to run out and find her, but as you do a flood of rainwater comes back in, and you're forced to shut the door.

You're up to your waist in water that erodes at your skin, dissolves you away as on the other end of the line, your daughter pleads for help as the growling gets louder. It's not just your eldest anymore. Your youngest's voice is there too, pleading for your help, or just for comfort, they're both scared, both in pain, and the water's only rising, the danger's only getting closer to them and to you and- You can't speak. You

Can't.

Do.

Anything. 21) What is something that causes them great anxiety? Everything that happens when he's not looking. He knows, logically, that he can't be everywhere at once. He knows, logically, that he can't protect the people he loves from everything. But he wants to. And it brings him so much anxiety whenever he realizes just how often things go horribly horribly wrong the instant he turns his back. 28) Is there a certain type of person that disgusts them? Anyone who would willingly hurt a child, and anyone who would try to justify their actions in doing so. Anyone who hurts their family and abuses the trust placed on them by their family members. People who intentionally press on others' triggers, people who thrive off causing suffering and fear, people who use their own traumas as an excuse to hurt others, intentionally or otherwise.

[sunken-standard]

'I think I like this holiday.'

Set in the same universe as the ‘raising the dead’ one.  Only one single prompt to go, and I don’t think I’ll be getting to it before November.  Sorry :(

*

“So who are we raising this year?”Sherlock asked, breezing into the morgue.  She wanted him there a bitearly, probably for help with the set-up this time.

“You’ll see,” she said, ahint of mischief dancing in her eyes.  "Just need to do a bit ofprep work and then we’ll grab the bags and be off.“

*

Not much had changed in the year sinceshe’d revealed who she was, though he wasn’t sure why he’d expectedit to, really.  Experiments in the lab had shifted to experiments inher flat or sometimes road trips out into the country, sometimes heasked her for a bit of a shortcut with her scrying mirror for anurgent case, and he’d saved a few hundred pounds on dry cleaning. Turned out she wasn’t as habitually tidy as he once thought; herentire flat was ensorcelled to keep itself clean and she had spellsfor everything.  He understood why they’d tried to endwitchcraft all those centuries ago; the incantation she used tounclog a drain could dissolve a human being into a puddle of goo in amatter of minutes.  If Mycroft got wind of it, she’d probably belocked away in some secret island prison and weaponized as-needed.  

And Toby, who wasn’t just a plain oldhouse cat, but actually her familiar…  Sherlock still didn’ttrust him.  He knew entirely too much and he was too smug about it. At least his silence was easily bought with a tin of sardines or asprig of fresh catnip.  For now.

Sherlock’s virginity had become hisbiggest asset, as far as Molly was concerned.  Blood of a virgin,hair of a virgin, tooth of a virgin (and oh how unpleasant that onehad been, but she had a spell to re-grow it so it wasn’t thatbad, considering), once he even had to hold a raven’s egg in hismouth from sunset to sunrise; he was a rare and valuable commodity. Between that fact and the cat, he was sure never to get a leg over. Not that that was important, exactly, he had Molly all to himselfanyway because he made sure to keep her busy with experiments andbringing her in on more of his cases and the occasional celebratoryouting that was certainly not a date.  Even so, a bit more would benice.

*

“Catherine Eddowes.”

“Nope.”

“Mary Jane Kelly.”

“No, none of the Ripper victims,they’d be too decomposed.  They need soft tissue, remember?”

“Not Robert Pakington, then,”he muttered, racking his brain for who the surprise guest of honourcould be.

“I don’t even know who that is.”

“First murder ever committed inLondon with a handgun.  1536.”

“Ah.  I’ll give you a hint—”

“No hints!  I want to figure itout on my own.”

“More data, then.  We’re notgrave-robbing.”

“Well that’s disappointing,”he huffed.  Not that he was looking forward to the shovelling, but hedid enjoy flouting laws and decency.

“Maybe some other time,” shesaid, sounding like someone’s Mum.

So, soft tissue, but not grave-robbing. Probably not a corpse in another morgue, she’d just have them sentto Bart’s (she could get her hands on anything she wanted and didn’teven need magic to do it).  More decomposed than last year’s cat-ladybecause she was working backwards from fresh after the skeletondebacle, so dead more than four months before being discovered,assuming no extenuating circumstances like exposure to the elementsor submersion…

Either she’d been keeping a corpse onice in a Lok'nStore somewhere or it was a preserved specimen.

“One of Gunther von Hagen’sbodies?”

“No, but that would beinteresting.  I wonder if it would even work on a plasticized body,since they’re mostly inorganic.  We’ll have to remember that for nextyear,” she said.

Her use of ‘we’ in conjunction with‘next year’ made him warm inside.  But back to the matter at hand—

“Jeremy Bentham?”

“No, but warm.  Ish.  Right train,wrong station.”

“A mummy?”

“You’ll see.”

“So it is a mummy.”

She mimed zipping her lips and throwingaway the key.

*

“I knew it was a mummy,” hewhispered as Molly’s friend led them through the bowels of theBritish Museum to one of the conservation rooms.  She squeezed hishand hard enough for the bones to grind together, probably afraidthat he’d blow their cover.  Him,of all people.  Who did she think he was?

Assoon as they were in the room with the mummy, the alarm system wentoff (Molly’s doing).

“Bollocks,”Molly’s friend (whose name he hadn’t caught, but was no threat at allbecause 1. gay, 2. married, 3. under 30) swore.  "Must havetriggered a sensor somehow, it happens sometimes, be back in a tick.“

Thefriend scurried off and Molly dropped Sherlock’s hand with theone-word order of “Candles,” while she set her bag on thenearest table and unpacked the grimoire and Thermos flask ofblood-herb ‘soup.’

“Sheet?”she prompted over her shoulder, pouring the blood mixture into thecap of the flask.

Heleaned over the mummy and pulled back the sheet and stared indisbelief for a moment before finally finding his voice.

“Molly,this is Lindow Man. One of the most significant artefacts in all of British history, notsome ten-a-penny Egyptian mummy!  Whatif something goes wrong?”  He watched in horror as she dippedher fingers in the blood and smeared three lines on the corpse’sforehead.

“Nothing’sgoing to go wrong, I’ve done this before.  You’ve seenme do this before.  Unless there’s something you’re not telling meabout the potential reactivity of one of my reagents—?”

“I’mstill—” he cleared his throat and rolled his wrist in a vaguegesture because he wasn’t going to say avirginout loud “—if that’s what you mean.”

“Thenwe have nothing to worry about.  And I thought we’d have a betterchance communicating with this one, unless you can speak ancientEgyptian?”

“Ihave a working knowledge of ancient Greek, the linguafrancaof the time,” he sniffed, annoyed with her tone.

“AndI have a working knowledge of all the Brittonic and Goideliclanguages, andLatin, thanks to this,” she countered, holding up the grimoire. “Now, if we could get on with it?  On a bit of a schedule.”

He huffed and stepped back; it wasn’tthat he didn’t trust her abilities—he did, more than anyone (notthat he knew any other witches, but that was beside the point)—hewas just very aware of the consequences should something not go toplan.

Molly graced him with a half-smile thatwas the equivalent of a sarcastic thank you and continued anointingthe body, then grabbed her book, realizing too late that she’dforgotten to wipe the blood off her hands.  She scrunched her nose inannoyance and his stomach did that funny, flippy thing it always didwhen she was being utterly adorable.  She read the incantation andthe blood glowed gold for a moment before disappearing into thecorpse’s skin; nothing happened for a moment, and then the toes onthe severed right leg began to wiggle.

The head slowly turned from its bentposition to face forward, crackling like old parchment, its mouthworking to form words.  Sherlock prided himself on his ration andsubsequent immunity to fear; a chill ran down his spine from thesight and he fought the urge to grab Molly and run.  Molly,however, seemed utterly delighted and leaned closer to try to catchwhat Lindow Man (!!!!) might be saying.

He watched as her brow wrinkled and herexpression morphed into consternation.  She stepped back from thebody and looked up at him.

“I’m pretty sure he just called mea cow’s vagina and told me I should be strangled by my own hair,”she said.

“Going to go out on a limb and sayhis ritualistic murder was carried out by your forebears,”Sherlock said dryly, watching the corpse try to prop himself up onwhat was left of his arms.

It was then, of course, that Molly’sfriend re-entered the room, muttering something about needing keys;they hadn’t planned for that contingency.

She looked between the body, Sherlock,and the door in a panic; the friend was supposed to be gone for tenminutes at least, long enough for Molly to cast an amnesia/re-written memory spell.  Sherlock triangulated and worked out anglesin his head and moved two steps to his right, pulling Molly alongwith him as he wrapped his arms around her and dipped her backwardsagainst the table the body was on.  Molly flailed, off-balance andcaught off-guard, then flung her arms around him in a bid to stayupright and just out of reach of the angry, wheezing corpse behindthem.

“Sorry,” he murmured beforeleaning in to kiss her, committing fully to selling it despite thefriend not being able to see their faces from that angle.  

Much to his surprise, she kissed back,and rather ardently at that.

“Whoa, sorry!  I, ah, I didn't—Imean, you said it was your anniversary but I—yeah, I’ll just be outin the hall for a few minutes,” the friend said, footstepsalready retreating.

He lingered for just a second longerbefore breaking the kiss and pulling Molly upright.  "How longuntil the spell wears off?“ he asked quietly.

"I don’t know, it could beminutes, it could be hours!”

“Is there some kind ofcounter-spell or something to break it, like snuffing the candlesor—”

“Blood,” she interrupted. “The blood is connected to you and the purity of your life forceis what’s animating the body.  If your blood is corrupted, the spellbreaks.”

“So you mean…?”  Surely shecouldn’t.

“Do you have a better plan?”she snapped.

He couldn’t fathom there being a moreperfect plan ever conceived of in the history of plans.  "Virginsacrifice it is,“ he said lightly, dipping back down to kiss heragain before she could say anything else.

*

"So much for grave robbing orplasticized bodies next year,” he said, breaking the awkwardsilence in the cab on the way back to—where were they going? Bart’s?  Her flat?  His flat?  He hadn’t been paying attention whenshe’d given the cabby the address.  They hadn’t spoken a word to eachother since they’d broken the spell.

Really, he’d rather forget those threeminutes of mortification, being watched by a two thousand year oldcorpse no less; he wondered if she’d do him a favour and alter hismemories.

“It’s alright, I’ll just go backto the universities again.  Might be able to weasel my way into ananime club or a LARP group.  Or, I mean, there are, ah, other…spells… rituals, really… we could do, if you still want to haveum, the same level of participation with, ah… fluids.”

“Fluids.”  

“Nevermind, forget I said that.”

“I believe we can work somethingout,” he said tentatively.  Then the full impact of what she was(probably) offering hit him.  He couldn’t help but grin.  "Ithink I like this holiday.“

[bipolarchristianwidow]

I made this image you see below for my #bipolar support group... And posted it there knowing they would relate. Then... I seriously debated on sharing this here publically. It is scary for me to be so transparent bold and honest. Partially because it's embarrassing but partially because I don't want to overwhelm you... How is that fair to me, and people like me?

Listen, we know we're overwhelming... We KNOW you hide or ignore us. 🙁 How do you think that makes us (me) feel? The inability for me and people who suffer like me truly leads to suicide due to this type of clinical depression. The stigma keeps us silent, and your lack of knowledge and compassion intensifies it.

Think about Robin Williams for a second... He hid his pain behind laughter and tried to cope in silence. There is nothing worse than dealing with days like this and not one person cares enough to understand it. He had resources I'll never have and he still killed himself.

We don't talk about it enough... Young people suffer from this and the added stigma of also being gay or having an addiction to contend with. It is no wonder they turn to suicide.

I'm simply tired. Physically, emotionally and mentally exhausted... But I'm also tired of the stigma which creates your fear of me. We stand in a room FULL of people and feel alone. This is why often we simply stay home... Which creates more depression.

This is not just something that can be "prayed away" or 'big pharma' and therapy can fix... We are not crazy or strange, just misunderstood. Because our brain does 'this' what you see below. Our handicap is invisible, but like cancer eats our sanity slowly into dementia. Step inside my head with me for just a second and see what this feels like. A very real chemical imbalance that we can't control. It causes real often debilitating issues in our lives and can take years to properly diagnose and treat.

So... I decided the only way you will understand what my mind does is if I DO share it, so you can spend the 30 seconds it takes to read it in my head. Yes, it's embarrassing, Yes I know you'll judge me... But I have to stand up and stop being silent while im judged and misunderstood. I watch people in my support group suffer daily, I watch mothers grieve for their children due to addiction when they don't understand the root cause. It is sad because it can be helped with a little knowledge and understanding. Open minds save lives.

Since I was laid off from my job I've fallen into a pretty deep depression that has morphed into a rapid cycle mixed manic state... This is very dangerous and should require hospitalization. The embarrassing fact for me is now I don't have insurance. Worse yet, that it is of no fault of my own. I was mostly stable for 6 years. Yes, I struggled to maintain but I was ' stable'

Then in October the company who employed me for 6 years dissolved in front of my eyes and I was laid off. Now I can't properly treat it and due to the stigma and my current state of mind, I CAN'T find a job. I pull myself up only to be kicked HARD in the shins and back down again, It is a vicious cycle. And I sit in a dark room... Alone day after day hoping and praying (yes praying) something will change.

I'm screaming that I need help... But no one is listening and I'm not the only one. There are 5.2 million of us who can't get the help they need and they (we) are simply silent due to fear! It causes addiction and homelessness... Scary involuntary hospitalization we can't afford and WE are being ignored.

Bipolar is UGLY and scary but when you're in a deep depression it makes you irrational which makes you look stupid. I'm not stupid, I'm just 'out of my mind' right now (yes, that's a real thing) and not "handling it very well" as Eric (my late husband) would say.

I wish that more people knew what this looks and feels like... It might create more compassion. If I had one request it would be this: Don't just read this... And shake your head in silent judgment or worse, don't just ignore it. As embarrassing as it is, it was a real day in my life, in fact, it was today! This terrible day WAS my day. And that was just the highlights. As I sit here and type this at 4:00 am because I can't sleep, I'm scared. I don't know when I'll sleep properly again, I don't know what tomorrow holds and I don't like what this does to my kids.

I stand up and say these things so that you understand it a little more and maybe bit by bit you can educate yourself to someone who might have it. Possibly, someone, YOU love! Or, maybe, someone, you love who has it but doesn't recognize the signs. If there is someone you love who suffers from this like I do stand up, be an advocate!

As a widow... I have what's called layered clinical, situational and seasonal depression (all three of these are different and carry their own distinct markers) Again, I'm not the only one. A little bit of knowledge goes a LONG way and you might just save them from possible suicide.

Feeling alone and trapped in a mind and body that doesn't function properly is terrifying. Please, I beg you... Share this! Make this go viral! If you can share "cat memes" and Bible verses you can share this!

My long-term goal is to start a nonprofit to help people like me who suffer and lack the proper resources leaving them homeless and unable to thrive. I need support and funding but moreover, I need to raise awareness. I'm not asking for money, I'm asking for a few minutes of your time, prayer and the willingness to learn!

Please like and share this post. Visit my website www.HisDailyMiracle.com and subscribe to my updated blogs so you can share them. And please pay close attention to the ones you love. I have a passion for this and compassion for those who suffer because I live it! I'm tired of having to be silent and pretend I'm okay. I want it to be 'okay NOT to be okay' and not just let that be a meme you share, even if for a minute.

This illness is progressive, incurable and scary... Please just try to put yourself our heads for 30 seconds. It will change your outlook and you'll see something you didn't see before.