#(fuck you priest i was doing the Shoulder Math for way to long to imagine that short of a scene)

[romanceyourdemons]

something that pisses me off as a writer is that there’s so many different regions of the shoulder and all of them have different connotations, and there’s no easy way to verbally distinguish between them. “A reached out their hand and touched B’s shoulder” okay are they holding the outer corner of the shoulder reassuringly? is their hand on the inside curve of the shoulder with their thumb touching B’s neck?? is it a touch on the bicep, or is it a fatherly pat in the middle of their shoulder, or hell, is A’s hand by B’s collarbone or shoulderblade? and sure you can give a longer description, or you could let the readers make their best guess based on context, but that’s not good enough for me. it’s the 21st century. we can do better

[ciggylungz]

Pray to me

word count. 4,077

Warnings-like probably the most risky smut i’ve ever written, church sex, wild stuff (sorry)

Pray to me:

(A random little smutty one shot relating to my bad boy harry series, it’s not going to affect the story line so just imagine this is another au for my au that’s an au. I just gave myself a stroke writing that.)

__

Detention.

A ‘punishment’ Harry Styles was used to getting by now, he was in his third year of Catholic high school and to say he has gotten his fair share of detention slips is a gross understatement. You’d think being surrounded by crosses would help subdue his cursing yet Harry didn’t seem to inherit the same fear his classmates did by the ‘word of god’ that was crammed down his throat every day. So, it wasn’t exactly tolerated when the boy strung a slew of curses together to describe the head Priest, or when he got caught smoking spliffs in the boys bathroom when he was supposed to be in math and well, those choices led him to where he is now. Slouched in a pew whilst the head nun was giving him a proper tongue lashing and explaining to him that he was to clean the chapel from top to bottom, smooth any creased pages in the 300 bibles that were stacked in the rows of pews, get any gum off the under side of them as well and wipe down the stain glass windows. The school had called his mum to tell her he would be home very late that day knowing the job would take a solid 4 or 5 hours to complete and that’s if he rushed it. To say he was pissed was putting it lightly, yet the biggest shock was yet to come when he heard the heavy wooden doors open and slam again as another person shuffled inside.

“Miss Yln, you’re here. Mister Styles here can tell you the duties you both must complete, here are the keys lock the doors when you both are finished. We’ll expect to meet with you before mass tomorrow to get a proper apology once the work if finished. Right-o, chop chop kids.”

The grouchy wrinkle faced nun thrust the keys into an anxious Y/n’s hands while she shuffled her way towards the exit, giving a careless slam of the 20 pound doors causing both Harry and Y/n to flinch. Harry was genuinely surprised to see Y/n there with him, he’s used to seeing her at mass or in line at confessional but detention? That was a new one for her. He took his time standing from his seat, cracking his back and neck whilst he settled onto his feet, casting a curious glance at the girl who stuck out like a sore thumb in the somber hostile environment. He knew Y/n well, he considers her a friend which is rare since he’s not the friendliest of people around town. Yet he liked Y/n, she was cute as button and what teenage boy doesn’t find an innocent girl wearing a catholic school uniform appealing?

“well well well miss sunshine, what did you do to get yourself this torment?” Harry gave her the quick once over, using his typical teasing nickname for the girl just to get her cheeks to blush a bit and help lighten the mood. Y/n blew out a breath out through her plump glossed lips, subconsciously stomping her foot a bit in annoyance which Harry thought was funny, and also cute. “I accidentally said a bad word in class! James tricked me into saying it and Sister Amy heard and gave me detention.” Her pout grew further when the boy chuckled at her attitude. “How did he trick yeh into saying somethin’?” Y/n grunted a bit, very peeved and mentally hexing James for what his actions caused her, “He said hold your tongue while you say apple…” Harry at this point was letting out a belly laugh, just imagining Y/n’s face when she realized she’d said asshole and finding humor in how ditzy she could be sometimes. “You fell for that? Did you not have a childhood? I thought everyone knew that trick, hon” Y/n simply smacked his arm and tossed the keys onto the nearest surface. “Shush Harry” her little finger pointed at him, trying to be serious but he found it comical. His hands moved out to poke her sides, knowing exactly how ticklish she was feeling content as Y/n squirmed and squealed. Adorable giggles falling from her lips and making the chapel seem a bit less creepy, her tiny hands trying to push his biceps back to free herself from his tickling fingers. “Ah! Harry!-“ she was trying to speak between her laughs, the boy one year her senior smiled, dimples sinking into the flesh of his cheeks, “Dunno what you expected, love. You thought you could tell me to shush?! no one tells me to do princess.” “Okay! Okay I’m sorry! I take it back!” after what seemed like an eternity to Y/n, but was only a few ticks over a minute Harry finally let go, smiling down at her while he ruffled her hair chuckling to himself while she tried to straighten her uniform back out. “That was not a fair fight Harry, you had an unfair weight AND height advantage!” y/n stuck her tongue out at him. “Hey, you started it bossy pants. You’re lucky I didn’t throw yeh over m’ shoulder and tossed yeh around. You got off easy this time missy.”

Harry wasn’t typically so playful and relaxed, he couldn’t bring himself to be so cold around Y/n. How could he? She’s sunshine personified, the real version of the rhyme ‘sugar, spice and everything nice’.  The girl was the only thing that kept him from dropping out. Y/n makes day to day bullshit tolerable for him…and well she also has given her inspiration more than once when he couldn’t sleep at night and resorted to a quick wank while mumbling of dirty phrases topped off with her name to send him off to dreamland.

 _______________________________

After some more shenanigans, the pair got to work on their scheduled tasks.  Y/n had started in the bibles in the first 6 pews on the right side of the chapel while Harry dug through a supply closet to get a ladder out to wipe the windows. He was contemplating if he should pretend to fall and collect an insurance claim instead of actually cleaning the 12-foot art pieces but he decided against it by the time he found what he was looking for. After setting the ladder up and grabbing the giant duster Harry decided to take his first break, he knew he was just procrastinating but who cares? He decided during his break he’d get Y/n to take one with him. “Hey love, wanna take a fiver?” Y/n looked up from the 12th bible she had fixed giving him a frantic nod, her mind numb from the task she was busy doing.

“what do yeh wanna do?” she left the choice up to the older boy, watching as he bit his lip lightly in thought, shrugging and scooting in next to her. “truth or dare?” he wiggled his eyebrows tempting her and being the compliant and very bored girl, she was, Y/n agreed.

“Okay you first Harry, truth or dare?” the boy pondered for a moment before shrugging, “Truth” he didn’t miss the way she was fidgeting with her skirt all excited for the game. “Ok, have you ever uhmmmm got drunk?” her innocence laced her tone, genuine curiosity. Her voice slightly lowered as if what she was asking was naughty which of course got Harry to chuckle, “Yes, pretty much every weekend. You’ve never drank? Not even once, love?” his left eyebrow raised and she timidly shrugged “Nope, I only had wine at communion but then it’s only a sip. Never been drunk before…Okay your turn!” he hummed slightly, “Truth or dare y/n?” “uhhh dare!” at this point she was squirming in her seat from her giddiness, and Harry took full opportunity over the chance he had. “I dare you to kiss me.”

Y/n wasn’t exactly expecting that one. She thought maybe he’d dare her to say another bad word or smoke one of his cigarettes, but he wanted her to kiss him…and she was confused on why she wanted to. She didn’t want to say no, she had the urge to follow through with it. The girl noticed the butterflies in her stomach she was used to getting when around her older friend, and a blush crawled up her neck to her cheeks. Harry sat with an amused smirk, darting his tongue out to lick over his lips whilst tipping his head to the side slightly, “cat got your tongue, love? What are yeh waiting for?” a pointer finger was placed under her chin to get her to look at him, and y/n decided it was better to bite the bullet and pushed her thoughts out of the way while quickly leaning in to give him a peck.

Harry was surprised she actually did it, feeling her lips on his for a split second before she pulled away with a shy giggle yet he was having none of that. “uh uh, a real kiss” his natural dominance reared it’s head when he grabbed the girl and plopped her on his lap, holding her jaw and planting his lips on her’s yet again coaxing her to move with him. When she didn’t respond how he wanted he tugged her hair a bit, biting her bottom lip and dragging it down so her mouth was pried open, “Being a tease y/n, keep your mouth open wanna taste ya’”

y/n’s head was swimming, she’d never done anything like this but her body went weak under Harry’s rough hold and demanding voice and so she complied opening her mouth so his tongue could infiltrate. She wasn’t really skilled in the kissing department; she’d only kissed one person before and it was nothing like this. Harry didn’t mind her clumsy, clueless movements he found it even hotter that she didn’t know what she was doing and he was the one cracking away at her purity. His heart was pumping, his fingers tangled in her hair as he tugged her by it to get her to move where he wanted her, it was hot. So fucking hot.

When he finally pulled away from the kiss he observed her. Plump lips now a flushed red, swollen and slick with her lingering lip gloss and their mixed spit. She was breathing heavily, eyes staring into his darkening ones. She looked amazing. “God…pet you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to fuckin’ do that” his tongue darted out to lick over his own lips frowning when he got a heavy taste of sticky lip-gloss , “gotta get this off yeh, it’s too sticky” his sleeve was pulled down to cover his palm whilst he rubbed the remaining product off her delicious lips before shuffling it back up to bunch at his elbows. “There, look a little dazed petal. Yeh alright?” Y/n nodded quickly at the question, smiling a little bit before kissing his nose and each of his cheeks then going back to his lips mimicking how he’d kissed her prior. The boy could hardly contain himself, taking over the kiss and pulling her hands off his face holding both her wrists in one of his hands yanking them above her head so she was completely bound. “No no no, little love. I make the rules hon, you don’t. I didn’t say to kiss me again did i? I didn’t say you could touch me, hmm? Being a bit naughty aren’t yeh baby?”

To say she was overwhelmed and a tad confused was accurate, she had really no experience in any sort of sexual situations all she knew is she was going to listen to Harry. His gaze was enough to melt her into submission. “Words Y/n, did I tell you to do those things?” his grip on her wrist tightened a bit, “No….no you didn’t tell me to…” his eyes were staring into hers a subtle hum exiting his throat. “Good girl, now tell me your sorry.” “I’m sorry, Harry” an adorable pout decorated her lips, Harry was loving this.

He let go of her hands, both of them falling into her lap where she folded them, making sure to follow the new rule of not touching without permission, waiting for what was going to happen next. Only a moment later did Y/n feel Harry’s right thumb pressing into her bottom lip, eyes jumping to meet his, “open” she complied, letting him slip his thumb past her lips to rest on her tongue, “Close, now suck.”

Her confused gaze met his stern one while she started suckling on his digit. She didn’t really understand why he wanted her to suck his thumb, regardless she did it.

It was taking everything in Harry to not bend the girl over and shove himself inside her, god he fucking wanted to but he had something else in mind. Something more sinful than two teenagers having premarital sex in a chapel, no he wanted to give the biggest ‘fuck you’ he could to the school, and the ‘god’ he was forced to submit to. He knew if all the preaching’s were true, this idea was his first-class ticket straight to the devil’s doorstep.

“Listen princess, you’re going to do what I say, okay?” Y/n gave a quick nod of her head, Harry scooting her off his lap and removing his thumb from her mouth as he guided her up the steps to of the pulpit where the priest usually gave his sermons, a holy pedestal of sorts but today it would get a new use.

“on your knees.” It wasn’t a request, it was an order. Harry stood in the center of the pulpit, the religious art work surrounding them did little to stop his ‘sinful’ desires. Desires of the flesh were the only thing on his mind.

Y/n was on her knees before him, looking up at her friend who had a smug sultry look on his beautiful face. His hands fumbled with his belt whilst he looked down at her.

“you’re going to pray to me now, angel.”

Y/n couldn’t believe she was really in this situation, kneeling under the podium in the pulpit where she hears sermons 5 days a week for 3 hours with Harry pulling his cock out. when he finally managed to get himself free a loud groan echoed in the sanctuary, one that made Y/n feel a tingle between her legs and salivate slightly. A strange new sensation she couldn’t describe, but she knew she liked it.

“open your mouth, sweetheart.”

Y/n had never seen Harry’s eye’s look so dark, his tone so demanding and his breathing so heavy. His cock loomed over her face, bobbing slightly with every beat of his heart whilst something clear and sticky was leaking from the tiny slit in the top of it webbing onto the underside of his tip. She was nervous, but she did as she was told opening her sweet little mouth so the older boy could guide the crown of his cock into the warm cavern of her virgin mouth. The sensation was the closest thing to heavenly Harry had ever felt in this room, her mouth was warm and wet. Tongue slightly textured and slick with the nice, thick spit that comes from the back corners of your mouth. It’s better than any lube you can buy truly. He instructed her to suck his flesh, hollowing her cheeks and massaging his prick with the flesh of her mouth for the very first time in her life.

“Holy fucking shit, doll…you sure this is yeh first time? Good little cock sucker aren’t yeh? On your pretty knees, praying to me now huh?” Harry could see his cock pushing into the side of her cheek as she nodded, her mouth stuffed full of his leaking member, and because Harry was Harry and liked to really make a statement he decided if he was going to hell for this, he might as well make it worth it.

His fingers plucked one of the small wooden crosses off of the staircase on the pulpit, it was a decoration dedicated to Christ yet he had other plans for it.

The boy took a step back from Y/n, moaning slightly at the sight of her following after his cock when it started slipping from her lips. She wanted it, she liked it and god he fucking did too but he couldn’t wait any longer to execute the idea that just tumbled into his mind. Harry snapped his fingers in front of the drooly lipped girl, getting her attention on his eyes instead of the cock she wanted so desperately back in her mouth. “Up, don’t be greedy yeh can finish me off when I’m done with yeh..” Harry lifted the girl by her underarms up onto the flat part of the pedestal, where a bible was sat opened to a scripture that was suddenly smothered by the doe eyed girls round plump ass. Harry wishes he could dig his teeth into it but that’s for another time.

Y/n didn’t resist at all when he tipped her back a bit, hiking her skirt up and spreading her legs. The only reaction she gave at first was a quick gasp when he ripped her school tights right at the crotch her white cotton panties now in his view. “cute” was mumbled under his breath as he toyed with the tiny pink bow stitched into the waistband of her panties, but soon they were gone as well pushed fully to the side to expose her cunt, a small smattering of light curls at the apex of her thighs. They looked soft, light and quite cute. He could tell they’d never been shaven off before by how soft they were, wasn’t a very course or thick section of hair. That was likely to come later in her life, but for now her cunt was the only thing he was willing to worship in the holy home of Christ.

“Fuckin’ beautiful…got a real nice little pussy, angel.” Y/n was past the point of being shy now, she was spread eagle perched on top of a open bible with her cunt on full display in front of her half naked friend. Modesty flew out the door a while ago. And so, she responded in a little whine and shimmy of her hips, feeling the cold air lapping at her hot center and cooling the slick that had collected between her folds that she didn’t even notice till now.

The boy thought he might have been in the midst of one of his wet dreams, the stereotypical catholic school girl splayed out in a chapel with his hungry eyes staring at her virgin cunt. He was trying his hardest to take a mental picture so he can relive this the next time he has a wank, but in this moment his plan was coming to fruition.

Harry held up the small wooden cross, holding it between his thumb and pointer finger. The piece of religious art was about as wide around as a taper candle and maybe a good 4 inches from the base to where it met the divider of the cross. Much smaller than his cock, but a good size to fuck his classmate with.

“Open.” His voice doomed after the stretch of silence, Y/n letting her lips fall open again gurgling a bit as the wooden cross was thrust into her mouth. Harry was purposefully being rough, pushing her gag reflex intentionally, “Gag on it, get it nice and wet. Do as I say y/n, m’ getting’ yeh throat to slick it up. Could shove it in yeh dry be glad I’m lubing it up pet.” With a few more jabs at her uvula the boy was content with the amount of thick spit that dripped down the object.

Y/n couldn’t help but squirm and mewl, feeling Harry split her labia. An audible clicking sound fell on their ears from the wetness adhering the folds of skin together, the sound gave a boost to his already prominent smirk. Once her engorged clit came into view Harry made a point to give it a few strong strokes with his thumb before pressing the end of the cross into the girl’s virgin opening. The sight was nothing short of filthy, completely sinful. He wouldn’t be surprised if the floor caved in and they fell straight to hell as he finally managed to press through her thin hymen gaining entry to the untouched inners of the girl.

The stinging caused Y/n to hiss slightly, her legs quivering as he finally made it inside her. A small streak of her purity stood out against the white wood. Harry couldn’t help but snicker to himself, he thought of Virgin Mary in this moment. Ironic right? The first thought into his mind when seeing Y/n’s virginal blood striping a cross was how this was a strange twist on the story of the savior’s mother.

His movements sped up considerably after the flimsy membrane of resistance was punctured. The cross now being plunged in and out of the girl’s sacred spot in quick succession while she gripped the railing behind her in an effort not to tumble off the stand.

“Would yeh look at that, might be the first girl in this school to get fucked with a cross, baby. Always knew you were special huh?” Harry migrated his hand down to thumb at her clit, the foreign sensation of something inside of her and a massaging of her pleasure organ had the girl pigeon toed and panting. Harry swears he’s never seen anything hotter than what he was doing in this moment. His arm was getting tired but he didn’t dare fucking stop. No, he decided he was going to violate the artwork until Y/n had her first orgasm clamping onto the now not so holy figurine.

Y/n could barely form a thought, pleasure wracking through her body and a strange sensation building inside of her. Harry mumbling filth to her was the icing on the cake, her body tipping over the edge. Her body went stiff before breaking out into shakes, vocal cords strained from the moans and yelps escaping her throat. Her first ever orgasm was the most intense feeling she had ever felt, and Harry almost came just watching her suddenly remembering his abandoned cock.

Y/n was scrambling to regain control over her body, pushing Harry’s wrists away with a slick popping noise following as the cross was removed from her body. Harry leaned down to kiss the panting girl, dribbling spit into her open mouth while she gasped for air. “good girl, you’re such a good girl.” His ring clad fingers pet her cheek lightly, the other hand sitting her up and tugging her forward giving her a shove to get her back onto her knees.

“Now, time to finish your prayer, love” His hand pushed his cock back into the cavern of her mouth, she suckled hard on him. Tongue lapping at the underside of his cock, suction hard on the crown of him. The way she gave harsh spongy movements of her tongue and cheeks had his knees weak having to hold himself up on the podium. “Shit, Christ pet I’m gonna cum”.

Harry felt his climax rapidly approaching, taking both of his hands and putting them on the back of her head forcing the entirety of his cock down the girls sore throat. The muscles already tired from all the noise she made with it, but she only dug her fingers into his thighs as he spilled down her tight throat.

Harsh breathing along with Harry’s pleasured chuckle were the only noises filling the room as the pair removed themselves from each other. Harry getting his control back, putting his cock away before pulling Y/n to her feet giving her a few smacking kisses as he helped straighten her out tossing her ruined tights into the trashcan.

“Think we took more than a fiver babe, guess we gotta finish now huh?”

His smirk was wide while he put the cross right back in it’s place, cum still dripping off of it.

[the-breath-in-air]

Nicolò Patrol (Chapter 2: A Brief Interlude) [short fanfic]

[CW: Larry talks about overcoming homophobia. Joe makes a sexual joke using explicit language.]

--

After the details of the rescue plan had been hashed out, there was nothing to do but wait. Joe couldn’t bring himself to meet back up with Andy or Nile. He was still processing the fact that Booker had come back. Joe wasn’t one to hold a grudge, but this was something he couldn’t let go.

As Danny teleported elsewhere and everyone else made their way back into the manor, Joe noticed that Larry, the man with the bandages, also stayed back. He was happy to stand in silence, giving them both the opportunity to mull over their own thoughts. However, it quickly became clear that Larry was approaching him to start a conversation.

Larry walked up to Joe and awkwardly stood next to him, shifting his weight from foot to foot. 

“Larry, right?” Joe was pretty sure he remembered most of the group’s names, but the question provided a way to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Yeah.” A bit of tension eased from Larry’s shoulders. “And you’re Joe.”

“Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad ibn al-Kaysani, actually. But Joe’s fine.”

“Right,” Larry replied.

There were a few more awkward moments of silence. “I want to thank you for what you’re doing for Nicky. You’re taking a big risk.”

“I...from what Niles had said, it sounds like you two are...close. Plus, I can’t let the Bureau ruin anyone else’s life.” Larry paused and then switched the subject. “I was curious about that language you were speaking with Danny earlier?”

Joe was surprised by the changed conversation. “Polari. You’ve heard it before?” 

“Sort of. I thought it was English slang?”

“It is and it isn’t. Queer men in England used it to remain safe and hidden in the 20th century. We all picked it up during the war.” Joe let the explanation hang in the air. It’d been awhile since he had been asked to engage in this sort of subtle decoding and double-meaning, but he recognized what it probably meant.

Larry unsuccessfully started to reply a few times before finally settling on, “So, you’re...gay?”

Joe smiled. Maybe this wasn’t as big a change in subject as he had thought. “Nicky would say what we call ourselves is almost irrelevant. He and I were destined to be together, simple as that. We’re kindred souls who bring each other overwhelming joy and love and passion.”

“And what would you say?”

“I’d agree. After a thousand years of constantly changing cultural mores, I highly doubt whether anyone is actually straight. Given enough time, everyone would eventually realize their soulmate, or soulmates, might be of any gender.”

Even through the bandages, Larry appeared shocked, though not at Joe’s theory. “You’ve been alive for a thousand years? You’ve had to deal with...for a thousand years of…”

Joe shook his head as he realized what Larry had assumed. “Not really. Not like you’d think. When Nicky and I first fell for each other, the fact that he had invaded my country was a bigger barrier than the fact that we are both men. In the Maghreb, we actually revered intimacy between men, even physical intimacy - although certain configurations for anal sex were controversial.” 

Larry sputtered at the casual way that Joe brought up sex. Joe ignored it and continued on. “Really. Men could walk down the street arm-in-arm and display their affection in public. They formed close bonds with each other and wrote each other love letters. Poets immortalized the eroticism of their relationships. At least, that was true for my community. The Catholic invaders were far more preoccupied with chastity, particularly for priests like Nicolò.”

Larry was having trouble comprehending everything that Joe was saying. He’d had no idea the struggle he’d faced for being gay had been different in the past. There was one thing he could think to ask. “Nicky’s a priest?!”

Joe winked. “He was a priest.” The joke didn’t elicit the laugh Joe had been going for, but it broke some of the tension Larry was clearly experiencing. Joe considered elaborating, but he doubted Larry wanted to hear about Pope Gregory VII and the formalization of the celibacy rule.

Joe wished Nicky were there. He could imagine Nicky knowing exactly what to say - something that invited Larry to open up about whatever was bothering him.

There was a long pause and when Larry didn’t say anything, Joe decided he’d just have to have the conversation his way and be candid. “Larry, something tells me you didn’t come to me for a history lesson.”

Larry fidgeted with his hands. “I suppose I wanted to commiserate. And ask you how you dealt with all the bullshit without becoming selfish pricks. Unless, of course, you are selfish pricks.”

Joe thought about it for a minute. “Well, we certainly experienced the bullshit. We had to adapt. And I can’t speak for myself, but Nicky is one of the kindest, most generous people I know. So I think we avoided becoming too prickish. We were lucky that we found each other before the serious crackdown against people like us started. We’ve always had each other.” Saying it out loud brought tears to Joe’s eyes. They always had each other, except for right now. Joe felt Nicky’s absence deeply, but he also knew he couldn’t get too wrapped up in his emotions the night before the mission to save him. He decided to change the subject. “How about you?”

“I am gay. And it took me a long time to really accept that. Before all this,” he said, indicating his bandages, I got married and had kids. And I started fucking up their lives even before my accident.”

Joe quickly did the math in his head. “This was in the 1950’s?”

“Yeah,” Larry said. “But even after the world changed, I didn’t. It was always 1961 in my head. I couldn't escape.”

“And now?”

Larry touched his chest. “The negative spirit and I are working on not being a prick.” 

“You are not alone.” Joe wrapped his arm around Larry’s shoulder as they stood in silence.

This time, it was Larry who broke it. “It’s getting dark. I should go inside.”

Joe nodded. “I’ll join you.”

With that, the two men returned to the manor to wait until morning, when they would enact their plan to rescue Nicky.

[Chapter 2 of “Nicolò Patrol”; Part 3 of “If Found” series]

[profiler-in-courage]

I am humbled 16 people have read my Claes Bang detective bullshit lol. Here is Ch. 2 & 3. Long af as always.

(I have yet to think of a title. Someone send me suggestions plz)

Chapter 2. 

The 7th Precinct was a media frenzy when Emerson pulled up. By 8 am, all the local news outlets had received some tip about the latest murders and it looked like all of them had sent a reporter. 

Emerson scanned the outside of the building, trying to find an entrance that wasn’t guarded by media. He stuffed case files he had taken home into his messenger bag and slung it over his shoulder, ready to walk-sprint. 

He lowered his gaze to the ground. Eye contact was what got you. 

As he reached the sanctuary of a door, he mentally congratulated himself on  avoiding the bombardment of questions he quite frankly, wasn’t prepared to answer. 

He sat his bag on his desk and headed over to Burnham. His sarcastic best friend of seven years always made the morning after a murder less dark.

“Hey Emerson,” Burnham sipped through a mug of milk. 

An unusual quirk about him was that Jacob Burnham simply drank plain milk. Never coffee. 

Whole, 2 percent, 1 percent, nonfat, whatever was in the back office fridge was good enough for him. 

Forty or seven-years-old? Nobody knew Burnham’s true age.

“Forensics came in,” he waved a file at Emerson. “No prints or DNA of any kind, same as always. Christ.”

Burnham shook his dirty blonde head and handed the papers over.

“Fuck Em, we are never going to catch this guy unless he leaves us something.”

Emerson flipped through the forensics report. Like Burnham had described there was nothing of significance. 

“He will eventually slip up, they always do,” he said, trying to be the positive one.

“Did the families have anything to offer?” 

His friend shook his head, “Just the usual. Victims never got into any trouble, well behaved, no enemies. Nothing out of the ordinary. Can’t imagine why anyone would want two 15-year-old girls dead.” 

Emerson’s mind flashed to Abigail. He was afraid for her. She was smart, but he was sure Halley Reece and Melanie Myers had been smart too. Hell, they may have even known his niece. Same high school. 

The image of Abigail lying in a ditch somewhere creeped across his mind. He shut his eyes.

The feeling of dread was slowly worming its way back into his stomach. 

He went back to his desk, dropping the very thin report onto it. 

It barely made a sound. 

He pulled his phone out of his bag. It was the first time he was checking it this morning. 

He was bad at that. 

One text from his sister and one message from Gwyn. 

He opened his sister’s first.

Emerson, the girls they found last night went to Abigail’s school….this just became a little too close for comfort. I almost made her stay home today.

He sighed, not knowing what to say to Eve. Obviously she couldn’t lock Abigail up in the house, the girl had to go to school and have a life. 

You can’t stop living just because of horrors, he thought.

He sympathized with his sister though, he was just as worried for his niece as she was. 

He scratched his eyebrow and opened up Gwyn’s message next. 

G: 203-637-1366

Was that her phone number? He scrolled to see if she had said anything either before or after, but she had not. It was just her phone number. Or so he assumed. 

Quite bold, he thought. But he oddly liked the cut to the chase showing.

“Any luck in that department?” 

Burnham was standing over his shoulder looking down at the open Tinder app.

Emerson slipped the phone into his front pocket, “Not really.”

“I told you to go on that date with Kate’s sister. Who knows, you could be getting laid every night.” Burnham shrugged. 

Emerson scoffed, “Your wife’s sister is 59 remember?”

A stupid smile flashed across Burnham’s face, “Hey but she’s single! And how do you know you don’t like older women?” 

Emerson blinked, at a loss for words. 

“All I’m saying is we could be brother in laws. Take one for the team Em!”

Emerson swiveled to his computer screen.

“I see you enough already,” he grumbled.

Burnham slapped him on the back, laughing softly. 

Emerson poured over the photos on his desk. One of a woman with the soles of her feet skinned to the point where you could see the bone, another with such horrendous strangulation marks around the neck the purple coloration was almost black. Both were women who had been killed by the Creekmore Serial Killer. 

He was deep in thought, trying to see some connection between all the victims, something he did routinely with no success for this case. 

It was like looking at a math problem he didn’t have the formula for. 

The pocket of his dark blue wool button-up buzzed. It was a text from Gwyn. 

G: So what are you looking to get out of a dating app?

Emerson paused before answering, trying to find sufficient words to make “looking to date” sound less horrendous. 

E: Looking to date. What about you?

He figured he may as well just tell the truth. 

G: I’m looking to get absolutely wild in the bedroom. Nothing more, nothing less.

Emerson’s eyebrows sprung up. Maybe he had misjudged Gwyn. He wasn’t looking for just sex. 

Burnham always joked that Emerson should be a priest.

He figured he would wait to respond if he responded at all. The excitement about his new match had been all but snuffed out after her proclamation. 

He pushed his glasses up so they rested on the top of his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He felt the pang of loneliness he sometimes felt when thinking about his love life. 

He missed his wife. He missed having someone to come home to, talk to, feel beside him as he slept. He missed how he was before. 

Ever since Lyla had passed he had been different. Not as cheerful, not as funny, he actually used to be somewhat of a practical joker. 

He had thought his old self would return after the grieving process was done, yet here he was years later and no relief. 

Lack of female interaction certainly wasn’t helping either. 

Emerson sighed. Maybe he should try the one-night-stand thing. Though the thought of it had always felt awkward. 

Why have sex with someone you hardly know? 

His phone vibrated, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

G: Did I scare you off? I was joking btw. 

He let out a small sigh of relief. Ashamed that he was so bad at the whole dating thing that this one match seemed to be the end all be all. 

E: Sorry, was working. He fibbed. But I am glad to see you won’t objectify me for my body.

G: Well, that’s only because I haven’t seen your body. 

Emerson chuckled. He liked her witty remarks. 

How soon was too soon to ask someone on a date? Were there Tinder rules? Did he care? 

Not really. 

E: How would you like to see it? Fully clothed of course. 

He felt his heart rate pick up. He hadn’t felt excited like this in a long time. 

Of course, that’s when Burnham decided to interrupt.

“Those photos telling you anything yet?” he asked. 

Emerson shook his head, “No unfortunately.” 

His friend sat on the edge of the desk, “This fucking bastard leaves no trace. No DNA. Nothing.”

With the lack of info they had that was all Burnham really ever said about it.

Hard to do, thought Emerson. 

He saw his phone vibrate on the desk.

Burnham’s eyes followed his friend’s. 

“So…you sure Tinder isn’t working out for you?”

Emerson rolled his eyes, “Oh Christ.”

After enduring more teasing from Burnham than he would’ve liked, his fellow detective finally left to go bother someone else. 

Despite the torture that had felt like he was being waterboarded, Emerson had not let anything slip about his potential date. 

Not all things were meant to be shared among friends, not yet anyway. Besides, he had only started talking to her last night. Everyone needed to relax, him included. 

He opened her message. 

G: I would love to. Name a time and place and I’m there.

Chapter 3. 

Coffee. That wasn’t too casual and not too formal right? Or so Emerson hoped. 

So here he sat at some local place downtown. Waiting and a bit nervous. 

He heard the door open and he saw her. His eyes followed hers as she looked around for her date. 

He lifted his finger slightly. 

“Well isn’t this a pleasant surprise,” she said as she sat down across from him. 

Emerson tilted his head in confusion, “What do you mean?” 

She smirked, “That you look exactly like your photos.” 

“Oh,” he chuckled. “Have you been on many dates where that wasn’t the case?” 

She ran a hand through her long hickory colored hair, “More than I’d like.” 

Gwyn looked exactly as she had in her photos too. Emerson hadn’t even considered the possibility that she wouldn’t. 

Which he probably should have considering he met her online. 

He studied her. She was staring at him, looking him up and down. He smiled, amused. 

“Would you like a drink?” he asked. 

“I would,” she said. 

Emerson waited for her to say what she wanted. A few seconds went by. 

This is awkward, he thought as his eyes darted from side to side. 

He cleared his throat. 

“What would you like?...” he asked.

Gwyn smiled mischievously, “You're a detective. Read me. What do you think my order is?”

Interesting, he thought. 

He tilted his head slightly, finally drinking in everything about the woman who was across from him. 

She was wearing a tight black turtleneck, dark blue jeans, and a silver chain-linked bracelet. 

Her makeup was simple, she didn’t need much of it. She was naturally beautiful. Her hair had a shine to it and it curled into a slight wave. 

She had with her a plain black satchel. Big enough to fit only a wallet and a phone and possibly a few other womanly essentials. 

She was simple. But, sophisticated. At least that is what her appearance told him. 

Emerson remembered that her bio had said she was an artist. Which must mean she was somewhat serious about coffee. Not the frappuccino type. 

But, there was a softness to her. She didn’t appear to take herself too seriously, judging from her text messages. 

So probably not black coffee. 

Gwyn waited patiently for him to finish his assessment. A hint of a smile on her lips. 

“I think I got it,” Emerson said as he turned to walk towards the counter. 

“Hi, can I get one iced hazelnut latte and one hot Americano with cream please,” he told the barista. 

Emerson turned to look back at Gwyn. She was far enough away so she wouldn't have heard the order. 

He wanted to see her shock when she found out he was right. He was certain he was. 

He smiled to himself. 

He walked back to their table with the drinks. Gwyn was sitting looking bemused. Her legs crossed, her eyes following his every move.

“So, what did you decide for me?” she asked. 

Her voice was soft. He liked it. It reminded him of the way a stream sounds in a quiet forest.

Emerson said nothing. Just simply handed her the drink. 

Her eyes sparkled as she took it from his hand. Her gaze holding his. 

For a moment, he thought he might have gotten her wrong. 

Gwyn took a sip of the Americano and raised her eyebrows. 

He could tell she was trying to hide her amazement. She didn’t want to give him complete satisfaction and he liked that. She was fun.  

“Well Detective Woods, I suppose you are very good at your job then,” she smiled. 

Emerson beamed.

“Only a little,” he said as he took a sip of his latte. 

Gwyn let out a small laugh, shaking her head, “Is it too soon to say I already want to see you again and this date has been what, 10 minutes?” 

He looked at her over his straw. He felt the same. 

He felt something. For the first time since his wife.

“Now let me do you,” she said. 

Emerson paused, “What…”

“Let me read you,” said Gwyn, sipping her coffee. 

He sat back, trying to hide a smile, “Alright.”

Gwyn rubbed the bottom of her chin with her thumb as she studied the man across from her. 

He was handsome, that much was obvious. Rugged around the edges but not sharp, which was good. It made him look kind. 

He was wearing a grey quarter-zip pullover sweater, the beginnings of a burgundy collared shirt peeking out. His tortoise shell glasses made him look like he could be walking the halls of Oxford and be at home. 

Faded dark green pants with...were those cowboy boots? Interesting. 

So he wasn’t from Connecticut. 

The eyes behind the glasses were dark yet welcoming. A few days old stubble coated his face. 

His hair, thank god he had a full head of it, was dark. Perfectly styled in the ever popular comb over. 

It was too long for him to be ex-military but short enough that she could tell he liked things neat. Gwyn couldn’t quite tell if it was black or just a very dark shade of brown. 

Luckily they were seated by a window and he moved ever so slightly so that a ray of sunshine hit him. 

Midnight brown, was that a color? It was now. Silver bits were beginning to show their glint throughout Emerson’s hair.

If she was being honest he didn’t look like a police detective. They usually were only this good looking in movies. He could have been a writer or a professor that female students day dreamed about. 

The cowboy boots were throwing her off. 

Was he Texan? 

She didn’t remember hearing an accent, but then again they had only said a few sentences to each other. 

And yet, she knew she wanted a second date. She needed to impress him. She didn’t know she already had.

“Judging from your boots you aren’t from here, I’ll be generic and guess Texas?”

He nodded, waiting for Gwyn to continue. 

“You’re smart, otherwise you wouldn’t be a detective and you most certainly would not have gotten my order right. You're patient, you would have to be to be willing to sit here right now and listen to me.” 

Emerson chuckled, taking another sip of his latte. 

Gwyn continued, “Your eyes are hard but your face is gentle. You have seen and been through monstrous things but you don’t let it affect your character. You’re quiet, which leads me to believe you’re polite. Which is good because I can’t stand loud boisterous men.” 

Emerson leaned forward. He hadn’t expected her to be this good. 

“Between the way you look and my expectation that you are a good man, you must be single for a reason. So, I am guessing your ex either was unfaithful or died.” 

Gwyn was blunt. Emerson didn’t know how he felt about that. 

He scratched his cheek, “She passed away.”

Gwyn looked down at the table, confidence leaving her for only a moment. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. 

Emerson shrugged, “But you were right.” 

Gwyn smiled softly. 

He could tell she enjoyed being right. Though not with a haughty arrogance. He respected that. 

“And how did you learn to read people so well? Are you an ex detective?” he asked, amused. 

Gwyn twirled a strand of hair in her fingers, “It’s not hard to see what people project.” 

Emerson smirked, nodding. 

Oh she’s very smart, he thought. 

They talked for hours after conducting their own way of breaking the ice. Gwyn could now hear the hint of an accent. 

They discussed movies, music, food, books, especially books. 

She liked nonfiction. He preferred fiction. 

Emerson was entranced with the way Gwyn spoke. Her words were light but intelligent. And she held eye contact. 

She had already assessed why he was single. So why was she?

He continued to study her. 

Her posture was welcoming, her sentences were flirtatious, but her expressions were guarded. 

Guarded meant she had been hurt before. Most likely multiple times. 

Though with an open posture, not physically. 

He couldn’t detect anything to signify she was nervous. She hadn’t been the entire date. She was confident. She could have anyone she wanted. 

So why didn’t she? 

“Figured me out yet?” she asked, pulling Emerson out of his thoughts. 

He looked down, embarrassed. 

“Not quite,” he smiled.

“Good. I need you at least intrigued enough for a second date,” she said. 

“Possibly more,” said Emerson, playfully reaching.

“Possibly,” Gywn responded, her eyes dancing.

She leaned forward on the small circular table. 

“Emerson Woods you are something.”

He winked. It made her laugh. 

“As much as I would love to talk with you all day, I should be going,” she said. 

Emerson nodded. He probably should too. They had spent nearly three hours in this coffee shop. 

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he said, wanting every second he could with her. 

She turned to him, placing her hand lightly on his shoulder. 

“Oh there is no need. I took an Uber, car’s in the shop after a very nasty old woman felt the need to rear end me.” 

Emerson laughed. He could offer her a ride. Should he?

“Would you like me to track her down for you? I could probably find something to pin on her,” he said, glancing down at where her hand had just been. 

She giggled, rolling her eyes, “Could you please? She’s costing me 400 dollars.”

They walked outside. It was overcast and there was a slight breeze. Emerson watched her hair lift in the wind. 

Before she could take out her phone to call an Uber, Emerson walked over to the passenger side of his car that was parked along the curb. He opened it. 

“I promise you’ll have a more enjoyable experience with me rather than someone you don’t know. If you’ll allow me.”

Gwyn bit her bottom lip, raising her eyebrows, “But I don’t know you. Not really.” 

Emerson paused. She was right. Three hours of conversation didn’t exactly mean they knew each other. And with the Creekmore Serial Killer making headlines for months, she was probably wise to refuse him. 

“I suppose that’s true,” he said. “Though I am a policeman,” he kept his hand on the door handle. 

She bopped her head from side to side, feigning weighing her options. 

“Can I rate you if you're a bad driver?” she joked, stepping over to the car.

Emerson chuckled, “I promise to be extra careful with you.”

[ilianquisition]

    It wasn’t so unusual for people to react… poorly to an inquisitor’s presence; Curran was plenty used to it. And an entire town of cultists? They’d be crazy to not give him some distance. Not that Curran himself was going to take any action–the whole experience seemed to have scared them out of whatever questionable practices they’d been up to. Getting turned into living books for a few weeks was probably punishment enough; he’d just have to collect enough information to report back to the Church.

    Which meant returning to Hethiwood once again. The Prince and his pals all return to the Halidom, after a bit of persuasion--Curran insists that they’ve done enough, that he really just needs to handle the red tape part of the job now. Heinwald is still… well, Ilia only knows what he’s doing in that damn library. 

    And then there’s Lathna.

    He’d felt sorry for the kid when he thought she’d been too traumatized by the whole ordeal to so much as speak. The truth, it turned out, was much more alarming. Once everyone had filtered back into town, Lathna had very politely asked “Mister Curran” to walk her home, and--hey, those puppy eyes were too damn cute for him to say no to. Besides, maybe he could get a few answers to sate his own curiosity along the way: why Nyarlathotep had picked Lathna to impersonate--as opposed to any of the other children in town, at least. 

    His first assumption was convenience--it became evident fairly quickly that Lathna was an orphan, with no one in town coming to reunite with her once the spell had been broken the way many of the other families had. (Ouch. Talk about hitting home.) It probably would have been easier for Nyarlathotep to assume the guise of someone without many belongings or much of a family for Heinwald and Curran to properly investigate. 

    It didn’t take long for a wrench to be thrown into that conclusion.

    He only vaguely recognized Lathna’s home from when he and Hein had first scoured the town for clues: she opens the door, giving him a clear view of a simple little cottage, only one room, with the kitchen partitioned off from the bedroom by a folding screen. He found it hard to believe a child lived here, much less all on her own. It wasn’t until his second glance around the room that he noticed the bookshelf--and the glaring empty spot between densely packed novels.

    Ah, fuck. He remembers this place now. They’d been wandering around town for any clues they could find once they’d realized (the false) Lathna wasn’t going to be saying much, and had come up disappointingly short. A few odds and ends in the Church the priest that had been sent here established, but little of consequence... then they’d stumbled on this cottage. It seemed like yet another normal old house, if more modest than some, until Heinwald perused the bookshelf. This had been where they’d picked up that copy of the Liber Grimortis.

    Talk about a red flag. If only they’d known the house’s occupant sooner--it would have saved them a lot of trouble, wouldn’t it? But neither of them had suspected a child lived here; there was a pretty stark absence of toys, or anything else suited for a child Lathna’s age, for that matter. They hadn’t bothered to peruse the closet--the Grimortis was plenty for Heinwald at the time--but, fuck, that raised even more questions now--

    “...Mister Curran?” Lathna’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. “Did you hear me?”

    “Er--no, I didn’t. Sorry, kiddo, I’m kind of tired.” Does he sound hoarse, or is that just his imagination? 

    “It’s okay. I said thank you for bringing me home, and good night.” She punctuates the goodbye with a little curtsy, which, frankly, tugs on Curran’s heartstrings even despite the world-shaking realization he just came to.

    “Oh. Y-Yeah, of course. But, if it’s okay if I ask, are you gonna be alright staying on your own? What about food?” Leaving her doesn’t quite sit right with him. There’s no way she’s old enough to cook for herself, right?

    “Oh! Don’t worry, everyone in the village takes care of me!” She assures him with that little dreamy smile. “I’m not very hungry right now anyway, but someone will come with breakfast in the morning.”

    Funny, that did the exact opposite of reassure him, but what the hell is he supposed to say? “Ah... Alright. Well, you get some rest. You’ve had a pretty rough day. I’ll be around town for a few more days, so if you need anything, you can always come find me.” 

    Needless to say, he doesn’t sleep particularly well that night. Hethiwood’s one and only inn isn’t exactly top-of-its-class to begin with. Paired with the general horror of everything that had occurred that day, the stress, and the new questions bouncing around in his head, it didn’t make for a restful evening. But, hey, if he was going to take the high road, at least it meant he was able to get up bright and early to start wrapping up the investigation.

    So around town he goes, collecting whatever information he may need. Picks up the priest’s diary, takes a few accounts from the townsfolk whenever he can catch them before they conveniently have “something else” to do--that sort of thing. He keeps finding himself drifting back towards Lathna’s home throughout the day, checking to see if anyone has paid her a visit. Nobody. Not one, all day--he tries to dissuade his worries about the kid by telling himself he’s probably just checking at all the wrong times, that surely someone dropped in to make sure she didn’t starve--but he can’t even buy his own story. It’s not until sunset that he finally gives in and goes to check in on her, abandoning any pretense of believing anybody had paid her a visit all day.

    He has to restrain himself from practically pounding down the door. “Lathna? Hey, kiddo, are you still in there?”

    The response comes a few moments later when the door opens not to, say, an adult, but the same pale little girl he’d walked home a day ago. Except this time her face was a blotchy red and cheeks still damp with tears. It’s clear she tries to toughen up when she sees Curran, quickly wiping her face clean with her arm and tilting her chin upward in some attempt at feigning courage.

    “Lathna!” He quickly drops to a kneel to meet the girl at eye level. “Are you alright? What happened?”

    “N-Nothing.” She says quickly, sniffling away the remainder of the tears. “It--Nobody has--n-never mind, it’s nothing.”

    “...Are you sure? You can tell me the truth, you know.” Even if he’d already figured it out for himself.

    She avoids his gaze, staring instead at her own two feet as she shuffles back and forth. “I’m really hungry. Nobody has come to check on me all day.” 

    Yeah, he’d thought so. Now for the question he was dreading the answer to: “...Couldn’t you have gone to get somebody?”

    She shakes her head. “I’m not allowed to go out on my own.”

    The proverbial alarms were blaring in his mind. Just what the fuck kind of life was this kid leading?! He’s not sure how he’s maintaining a straight face right now, but it’s about all he can do to nod knowingly.

    “Well, we can’t have you going hungry, can we? How about I take you to get supper, then? That way you won’t be going out alone, right?”

    Lathna looks up at him, equal parts surprised and... alarmed? He can practically see her doing the mental math on whether or not that was acceptable, before--

    “Okay.”

*

    In a town of barely 200, the options for meals were fairly slim. Sure, it probably wasn’t the best, but some bread and cheese would do better for Lathna than nothing. The inn he’d been staying at had food, right? The walk there, however, only raises more red flags in Curran’s head.

    Again, Curran wasn’t a stranger to a few cold stares and closed doors--the reputation came hand in hand with being an Inquisitor, and he’d come to accept that over the years. A “close your shudders, lock your doors, and hide” sort of reaction, however? That was new. Anyone passing seemed to flinch away. Mothers clutched their children and scurried to the other side of the street. A couple of them, honest-to-Ilia, turned and ran. They were reacting to Lathna, and Curran could see she was noticing. She looked... distressed. Confused. Like she genuinely didn’t know why people seemed so afraid of her--but she still knew it was her that was making them afraid.

    He tries not to let it bother either of them. Food first, mysteries later. 

    Nothing in his life was ever really that simple, was it? The barmaid has the same reaction when they arrive to the inn. She disappears for a moment and fetches the owner while Curran and Lathna, ignoring the frigid welcome, pick out their seat. Both the barmaid and the owner seem to be trying to slink into the back. Curran tries to tolerate it for about ten minutes before he’s had enough.

    “Lathna, can you stay here for a minute?"

    She nods and Curran rises from his seat, making no attempt to muffle the harsh screech of wood-on-wood as he shoves the chair back. The one nice thing about an Inquisitor’s reputation: people tended not to argue too much when you demanded something. He makes his way past the bar and into the backroom, catching the door as the owner tries to swing it shut. 

    “Hold on a moment.” He puts on a sickly-sweet tone, far too aggressive to be truly polite, and claps a hand on the owner’s shoulder with just a bit too much force as he shoves his way through the door. “I’d like a word outside, sir.”

*

    “I--I---I swear, sir, I didn’t do nothin’...! I was jus’ caught up in what everyone else was doin’ with the whole--r--ritual thing, but I didn’t ever really believe in it none--”

    “Funny, that’s what about two hundred other people have told me. But that’s not what I’m here for.” He jerks his chin in the direction of the inn, not loosening his grip on the man’s shoulder. “The little girl. Tell me about her.”

    “That--That thing ain’t no little girl!”

    Oh, great. Once again, it was the same answer he was dreading. He’d been piecing together in his head the details of it all for a while now--trying to figure out why the villagers were reacting as if they knew Nyarlathotep had been posing as Lathna when logic said they shouldn’t? IT had only assumed her form after the fact... right? But the more he thought about it, the more he began to suspect that no, maybe that wasn’t true. The priest’s journal had implied the “ritual” took place before the whole town had been sucked into the library--meaning its purpose must have been to summon Nyarlathotep in the first place. All he needed was confirmation of his suspicion. 

    “Well, fuck, she sure looks like one! Explain to me what that’s supposed to mean.”

    “Okay! Okay--jus’ don’ hurt me!” (By the Goddess, what a coward. Curran hasn’t so much has made a move towards him.) “She ain’t a kid anymore--s-she’s the Emissary--”

    “How do you know that? What, you see her turn into a goddess-damned dragon?”

    Ah, that’s the winning question, isn’t it? The guy’s face goes pale and he stammers, searching for words that - presumably - won’t implicate him in whatever the hell this town did to the poor kid. “W--We--”

    “We? So now you’re involved?”

    “We--Th-They! They--She was raised for it, a’ight?! The girl was bad luck, nobody knew who her pa was, and she killed her mother--”

    “She what?”

    “When she was born! Her ma’ died when she was born, that’s bad luck! She was born cursed, but w--th’ town decided she’d be a good--” Gulp. “A--A good sacrifice--a--a vessel for the Emissary.”

    Well, congratulations to Hethiwood for taking home the grand prize of “Most Fucked-Up Place Curran Had Ever Visited!” That would explain why they’d found the Liber Grimortis in her home, didn’t it? Why she wasn’t allowed to go out on her own? It explained the lack of toys, the distance everyone kept from her, the dense tomes on her bookshelf--they’d been grooming her to sacrifice to their fucked-up god her whole life.

    “You sacrificed a child,” Curran spits, “for your own ‘salvation’?”

    The innkeep doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that. He’s too busy (quite literally) shaking in his boots. Bastard. What kind of person can even think that’s okay?! Hell, how does a whole town of people convince themselves that it’s okay?! And now that they’ve given up on their bullshit cult, they plan to just let the kid who’s life they’ve already ruined--what? Starve to death?

    Curran releases his grip on the innkeep’s shoulder--finally--and gives him a shove back in the direction of the building. “Go. Just get us our fucking food and get out of my face.”

    He happily obliges, leaving the inquisitor alone outside. Fuck. Now he knows he can’t leave her here. Lathna seems smart--and based on her reactions to how things have been going this evening, he can’t imagine she’d be too against leaving town for good--so trying to explain it to her is... somewhat less daunting. The question of what to do after that, though--an orphanage? Ilia, no, that would probably make things worse for her. He could always take her in, but--

    ...Shit. He was going to adopt her, wasn’t he? He really couldn’t see any way around it. Plus--who was he kidding? He couldn’t help but feel sympathy for poor Lathna--it was hard not to have a soft spot for orphans when you were one--and, well, she seemed like a nice kid, all things considered--Hein would probably have some choice words for him when he found out, but they could cross that bridge when they got there.

*

    Curran returns to the table a few minutes later, and his expression must be enough to draw Lathna’s concern, based on the way she looks back at him. He sighs. It was going to be another long night--he could already tell.

    “Hey, Lathna, when we’re all done eating, do you think we could talk? There are a couple things I wanted to know, if that’s okay with you...”

[gold-from-straw]

Nightmares - DGHDA SpookFest

For prompt 33, nightmares. Dirk Gently/Todd Brotzman. T rating

Some graphic depictions of violence, canon typical gore (including pararibulitis attacks), Priest being an utter arsehole as usual, and insulting someone’s gender orientation... so warnings for Transphobia. Also swearing, I mean, my entire existence should come with a swear rating, my bad...

Quinn ran, their heart pounding in their chest, lungs burning and mind almost overloading with terror. They stumbled around another corner, bumped into someone who fell to the ground instantly, the ground around them writhing with snakes. Quinn whimpered and ran some more. Their own worst nightmare was coming for them, his gun at the ready and a smile on his face.

***

“…and then this person said they were attacked by rubber chickens in the grocery store—“

“Rubber chickens?”

“Yes, they—“

“In the grocery store?”

“Yes, Todd, do keep up. They said, and I quote, that they squawked threateningly and their dead rubber eyes stared deep into their soul.”

Todd gave up and doubled up laughing. “What are these guys on?”

Dirk tried to look prim and aloof but he could see the bastard’s lips twitching. “As far as we know they aren’t on anything. This spate of weird hallucinations is spreading across the city and it’s brilliant, Todd, we needed a new case, I’ve been so bored.”

“So the universe is giving you rubber chickens?”

“Not just rubber chickens. Dinosaurs and quicksand and jack’o’lanterns and—“

“Lions and tigers and bears, oh my?”

He stopped, his eyes going wide. Todd bit his lip to resist the pull of those eyes, before sucked him in to their orbit. “How did you know? Have you been getting visions like Amanda?”

“No, it’s… a movie reference, never mind. So what do we do?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” he said, and nobody should be that happy about their own ignorance, it was obscene. “I think we should walk around Seattle and see where the universe takes us.”

The universe, as it happened, took them to the park, along the avenue of trees scattering damp autumn leaves, and to a little coffee shop where Dirk ordered something utterly disgusting with at least three different syrups. Todd watched him stroll along with his happy smile and stomped on the little voice whispering ‘this is just like a date’.

It was not a date. As they turned a corner, Dirk suddenly gasped and raced off down an alleyway without warning. Todd was not impressed about running on a full stomach. He could feel that coffee sloshing around as he tried to catch up with Dirk’s ridiculously long legs, honestly, someone who fell over his own feet so often should not be able to run that fast.

He was breathing hard before he found him again, shoving his way through a small crowd of skaters.

“Push it with your board, man, don’t touch it.”

“Woah, did you see that? Are you fucking getting this, man? The board went right through it!”

“What the hell?”

“Rezza, don’t touch it, Jesus!”

“Chill, it’s like a hologram or something, look!”

Todd elbowed forwards, ducking his head low and grimly thinking there were at least some advantages to being chest height to everyone else. “Holy shit,” he muttered, as he got to the centre.

There was a young man lying on the road, writhing and crying out, his head twitching from side to side like he was having a bad dream. And all around him, crawling over his chest and legs, were hundreds of snakes.

Dirk bent down right next to the man. The skaters were torn between cheering him on and warning him to be careful. At least three of them were filming. Dirk reached forward to shake the man’s shoulder, and put his hand right through a huge hooded cobra. “Excuse me,” he said, tapping him on the chest. “Hello, will you wake up?” He poked him gingerly. “Hey!” he yelled, and the poor man sat bolt upright, breathing hard and sweating.

“What the hell? What the… the snakes? Where are they, there were… they were everywhere, oh God.” He shuddered and stared at his hands, but the snakes really were gone, vanished like mist the moment he’d woken up.

Dirk patted him with the very tips of his fingers. “There, there. You seem to have been manifesting your dreams. Does this happen often?”

“Man, it was sick! You have to see this,” one of the skaters laughed, and held out his phone.

The dreamer looked at the video and screamed, skittering backwards onto someone’s feet. “What the fuck? That was… there were snakes all… oh my God oh my God, I’m gonna be sick, I’m gonna… the fuck is going on, I just…”

“Hey,” snapped Todd, forcing his way forward and grabbing the guy’s shoulders. “Stop that now, you’re here. You’re awake, the snakes are gone. They weren’t solid, they were… I don’t know, like some…”

“Manifestation of an unintentional astral projection,” Dirk added helpfully.

“—yeah maybe. Whatever. But you’re safe, you hear?”

The man nodded, still trembling. “What’s your name?” Todd asked.

“Wikus.”

Todd nodded firmly and held out his hand to help the guy up. “I’m Todd Brotzman, this is my par… uh, this is Dirk Gently. He does… weird shit.”

“I’m a holistic detective, as my so-called assistant is failing to tell you. Hi.” Dirk held out his hand to shake and started interrogating Wikus, or telling him his life story, or something. Either way, nobody noticed that Todd had very nearly called him his partner which was just… something to be shoved down into a corner of his imagination where it meant something very different and never see the light of day again.

“—and Farah will take your details. Come on, Todd, you’ll be left behind one of these days!”

He snorted. “As if you’d remember your way back to the office without me.”

“The universe would take me there,” he sniffed. Todd just smirked and shook his head, and led the way.

***

Quinn collapsed in a doorway and tried to sit upright, but their body was shaking too much. They slumped against the frame and curled up tight. A wave of despair swept over them. They were never going to be free. He was going to chase them forever, no matter how hard they ran he’d be around the next corner with a gleeful laugh and an army on his side. Quinn was just so tired, but going back there was a fate worse than death.

***

“So, nightmares, huh?” Amanda said, swinging her feet where she sat on Farah’s desk. Todd figured she was the only person in the world Farah would allow to sit on her perfectly ordered desk.

Dirk nodded. “Yes, this is the seventh manifested nightmare we’ve found in the last three days, isn’t it brilliant?”

“Yeah, when he says found, what he means is I found references to six of them on youtube and twitter,” Farah pointed out, waving her pen in his direction.

“Exactly, you found six and Todd and I found one, therefore we found seven. See? I can do maths, Farah, and you said it was atrocious.”

Farah rolled her eyes and turned back to the computer. Amanda grinned and offered her a cookie which she’d stolen from the cupboard anyway, so it was probably Farah’s cookie. “What’s causing it? Any ideas?”

“Aliens.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Todd, it’s never aliens.”

“It’s only a matter of time, I mean, we’ve had alternate dimensions, shapeshifters, actual wizards, at least three cults and one surprisingly boring series of robberies.”

“Really? How did you end up with that case?”

“They only stole worthless trinkets. Dirk thought it might have been a creature that fed off nostalgia or something, but it was a young guy with a form of kleptomania. Kinda sad, really.”

“I thought he was an empath, not a nostalgia-eater” Dirk protested.

“You said, and I quote, ‘he’s some sort of sentiment vampire, I’ll bet you anything, Todd.’ Speaking of which, you still owe me dinner.”

“Do not let him cook,” said Farah without looking up from the computer.

“Did you just do the British accent again?” Dirk said in delight.

“No…”

“You did. Oh, do it again, please.”

“Shut up!” he covered his red face, furious with himself.

“Guys, come look at this,” Farah called, and Todd grabbed at the opportunity with both hands. He scrambled round to stand behind her chair, joined by Dirk and Amanda.

It was a YouTube video. Todd recognised the area they’d been that day, the skaters taking shaky footage of each other trying out a new trick. He immediately tried to see if he could spot Wikus in the background, but they spotted the person running first.

It was over in seconds. There was a figure racing down the street, turning to look the way they’d come, and then stumbling and running on again. They were almost out of shot when they crashed into Wikus. It was barely even a brush of shoulders, but Wikus dropped like a stone. The skater taking the video was too busy focusing on the snakes that were forming out of thin air around the sleeping man to turn the video back on the runner, or on whatever they were running from.

“Can you pause it and try and get a look at the runner?” Todd said, squinting at the screen.

Farah rolled her eyes. “No, Captain Obvious, because I’ve already downloaded it. We can look at a frame by frame here.” She opened another app and the video appeared as a series of ten second clips.

“Do you ever wonder what your role is in this business?” Amanda asked him sweetly. He glared at her.

“Todd’s my assistant,” said Dirk, and his horrified expression was deeply gratifying. “He’s irreplaceable.”

“If you say so,” Amanda grinned.

Todd tried not to gaze at Dirk like a lovestruck puppy but, damn, it was hard. Now if only he could get up the nerve to tell Dirk he was equally irreplaceable to Todd, just… for a really different reason.

“I can’t get a better view of this guy,” said Farah, squinting at the screen. The person ran, frame by frame, speed blurring all his features. They turned to look behind them, and Dirk gasped and stepped back.

“What, what is it? You recognise this guy?”

“Morpheus,” he whispered.

“Who’s Morpheus?” Farah said. “The… the Greek god of dreams, but… oh… Greek mythology.” She looked from Dirk to the screen and back. “Shit.”

Dirk was backed right up against the wall, his face pale and his eyes that horrible blank mask. Todd had seen that too much back in Bergsberg. He reached out to squeeze his arm. “Blackwing?”

Dirk nodded, a tiny, jerky movement. His big eyes were looking suspiciously wet, and Todd grabbed his other hand, pulling him around to face him. “Hey, you’re OK. You’re safe. We’re here, and we’re never letting you go again, you hear?”

He nodded, and Todd wasn’t sure if his lower lip really trembled like that or if it was just the movement of his whole head, but he wanted to wrap him up tight in his arms and never let him feel this fear again.

Dirk took a deep breath and stepped back towards the screen. “M-Morpheus arrived a few years after I did… around the same time as the Rowdies and… and they used to make them feed on either them or me, or… or—“

“Them?” interjected Farah. “How many were in Project Morpheus?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, singular them. Morpheus is non-binary.”

“And their power was, what, making people hallucinate?”

“Not exactly… they could pull your worst nightmares forwards. I used to… they had to do it to me,” he said, his eyes falling shut and shuddering. “I didn’t recognise it today because… because the nightmares never used to appear to anyone else, like those snakes did. They just touched you, and you fell asleep, into the worst… the worst dreams you’d ever had.”

Todd’s hands itched with the need to touch him, comfort him. When Amanda slipped off the desk and wrapped her arms around his waist, he was torn between grateful that she was giving him the comfort that Todd was too cowardly to provide, and angry with himself that he couldn’t put this stupid crush aside and just give Dirk what he needed. He turned back to the screen, clenching his fist and looking at the picture, memorising the face of yet another person who’d hurt Dirk, another person Todd would hate forever.

But as he looked at the young person on the screen, he found it difficult to keep the same level of anger. They were frozen mid-step, their head twisted to stare behind them, a look of utter panic and despair on their face. It was hard to hate someone who looked so much like Dirk had back in Bergsberg.

“They look like they’re being chased,” said Farah softly.

Dirk nodded. “The fear always made their powers worse.”

“So you’re saying they’ve got stronger since you knew them?” Amanda said.

He sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t even know if they got out of Blackwing back when I escaped, I know not all of us did. If they’d been stuck there, if Riggins…” He swallowed. “If they found something that worked…”

“You think they’ve found some way to increase their powers?”

“To weaponise them,” Farah murmured. “Shit.”

“Look, maybe not,” Amanda said, rubbing Dirk’s back. Todd could see his muscles trembling, just ever so slightly. “Maybe Morpheus figured it out themselves.”

Dirk took a deep breath and pursed his lips. “We’ve got to help them.”

***

Amanda walked back with Todd and Dirk, claiming it was Todd’s turn to let her use his shower. Todd grumbled and pretended that having her back in his life wasn’t the best thing that had ever happened to him. She also made Dirk smile, just another reason he wanted to fall on his knees in gratitude to his little sister.

“Don’t let Morpheus get close to you, Todd,” she said, with a wicked grin.

“Amanda,” he growled, narrowing his eyes at her.

She laughed and tucked her arm into Dirk’s. “Do you wanna guess what Todd’s worst nightmare was? When we were kids?”

Dirk turned great pools of sorrow onto Todd. “Oh no! Was it terrible, Todd?”

Todd blushed and turned away, unable to bear the siren call of that sweet, kind face. “Don’t listen to her, she’s an idiot.”

Amanda snorted. “I’m not the one who was terrified of little white ponies.”

Dirk’s forehead crinkled as he stared down at her, and even under his mortification Todd thought it was adorable. “White ponies?”

“Amanda, oh my god!”

“How many times did you have that dream?” She asked, her voice rich with delight at his humiliation. She looked up at Dirk in glee. “It was about the same time I was playing with My Little Ponies, he must have been at least fourteen. He woke up screaming one night because - and I quote - ‘the ponies are trying to eat me!’” She threw her head back and laughed. “He had that dream night after night, I had to put my ponies in the wardrobe any time I wasn’t playing with them or he’d shudder when he saw them!”

“They had teeth!” he yelled, his face burning. “They were vicious little… dog sized creatures with sharp freaking teeth - and horses do actually eat meat, by the way. They… they chased me up a tree every damn night and circled me and - oh shut up!”

Amanda was nearly doubled over laughing. “Promise me you’ll take a video if Todd gets knocked over by Morpheus, I need blackmail material.”

Todd groaned and rolled his eyes.

“I’m afraid I’ll probably have other things on my mind, but I appreciate the warning about the white ponies,” Dirk said, humour colouring his voice.

Todd shook his head, but it occurred to him that his stupid pony nightmare would be preferable to anything that would manifest if Morpheus got to Dirk.

***

Quinn took a long, shuddering breath and wrapped their hands around a warm styrofoam cup. They were safe, just for now. They’d sent him down a false trail, and if they were lucky it would be hours before he realised… maybe even a day or two. And Quinn had a plan. It meant… it meant doing to themself what they did but… the end justified the means. They needed to get stronger. They needed to stop relying on touch because Priest would never let Quinn get close enough… they needed to stretch the powers. Quinn’s stomach roiled, rebelling against the fear and phantom pains, but this was the only way. They had to save themself, because nobody else was going to.

***

It was midnight. Amanda had stumbled out the front door, yawning, at least an hour earlier, but Dirk was still on Todd’s sofa, chattering, waving his hands, and as bright eyed as he had been at 8 o’clock that morning.

Todd rubbed his gritty eyes and stifled a yawn, blinking at Dirk’s flushed face. “...and there was this absolutely brilliant double rainbow, stretching right over the Atlantic, and did you know, Todd, I could see both ends of it in the sea - do you think if I took a plane over the top of it I’d be able to see a whole circle? Wouldn’t that be amazing, a rainbow ring? A double ring because it was a double rainbow, ooh, that would be the best thing—“

“Dirk,” he huffed. “Aren’t you… I don’t know, aren’t you tired?”

He stopped, his mouth open and half way through a word. “I’m… no. No, I’m perfectly awake, Todd, I really don’t know how you can sleep at a time like this, honestly, it’s all so exciting! Did I tell you about-“

Todd groaned and slumped lower onto the sofa. “Dirk, I’m tired! I want to go to sleep, look… do you want to just watch TV? I’m gonna fall asleep right here if I don’t go to bed!”

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry.”

He sounded small. He sounded like he’d been shut down, like all that brightness and enthusiasm had been wiped away like condensation on a mirror, and all that was left was a sharp, stark… exhaustion.

Todd opened his eyes properly and sat up.

“I’ll head back to my own flat, thank you for dinner, Todd, it was lovely.”

Todd frowned as Dirk stood up, smiling brightly and fussing with his jacket. He focused properly on the curve of his shoulders, the tension in the lines of his face, the shadows under his eyes, and he grabbed the sleeve of his jacket as he slipped his arms in. “Do you… you can stay here, if you like,” he said softly. “If you don’t want to be alone.”

Dirk exhaled shakily, his eyes going distant and staring through the carpet into the past. “I’ll be fine.”

“That’s not good enough,” he said. “Come here.” He pulled him around to the sofa, shoved him down again and twitched a fleecy blanket off the back of the armchair. “Lie down, Dirk, c’mon.”

“You really don’t have to, Todd, you’re absolutely right, it’s time for bed and—“

“Dirk, shut up and lie down. And next time you don’t want to be alone, just tell me, OK?”

Dirk curled up on his side, stiff and wide eyed. Todd nodded firmly, draping the blanket over him. “‘Night. Sleep well.”

“Thank you,” he said, very quietly.

***

They found somewhere to sleep, an old warehouse, red brick crumbling and weeds growing up through the cracks in the tarmac. It was almost painfully cold out in the autumn wind, Halloween just around the corner, but Quinn had a thick sleeping bag and a pack of marshmallows, stolen from a camping store. It was almost pleasant, almost like an adventure. That’s what they told themself, a distraction from what they’d have to do to peel their powers out, stretch them like elastic. Make themself into the weapon they’d been resisting for so long. Make themself into the monster they’d sworn never to become.

They had no choice.

***

He wasn’t sure what woke him. It wasn’t a cry, it wasn’t a dream of his own, but he woke, eyes wide and clear, fixed on the red 3:58 of his digital clock. He lay still for a moment, trying to work out what had pulled him from sleep so perfectly.

For a while there was nothing. He closed his eyes again and tried to settle back to sleep, and there it was. The slightest, shuddering breath, the slightest shifting of tense muscles.

Before he could rationalise it to himself, before he could shake his head and brush it off, he was standing, bare feet cold against the floorboards, and pushing his door open to the sitting room.

Dirk lay still under the covers, a beam of moonlight casting silver accents over his red hair. He wasn’t moving at all, and in the end, that’s what was suspicious. Because he was so still he might not even be breathing, so curled up tight when he’d seen him loose and slack in sleep the last time he’d passed out on the couch after a long case.

He shuffled forward, his body not quite responding right, but his mind sharp and present as he crouched down. Dirk’s forehead was lined, his brows crunched into a deep frown, his plush lips in a worried pout, his fingers clenching and unclenching. As Todd watched he whimpered, just slightly, and pressed himself backwards, curling up into a terrified, solid little ball.

“Dirk,” he said softly, his heart aching. Dirk should never be so small and afraid, hiding behind silence and stillness.

“Please,” Dirk whispered, just a breath barely even a sound. “No, please, I’m trying, I’ll be… I’ll be good.”

“Dirk, wake up!” Todd said, a little louder. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t want to scare him, but how could he leave him so scared? This wasn’t right, how dare anyone scare Dirk like this? How could they?

“Please,” he whimpered, and Todd couldn’t bear it. He sank his fingers into Dirk’s hair, rubbing gently, whispering meaningless reassurances, trying to call him back.

“You’re OK, Dirk,” he said right into his ear, softly and firmly. “I’m here, OK, it’s nobody else, just me. I’m not gonna let them get you, I’m here. You’ll be OK, baby, you hear? I’ll keep you safe, just come back, OK? You’re not back there, you’re safe. He pressed his forehead to Dirk’s temple, wishing he could help, wishing he could protect him from everything in his past.

“Todd,” Dirk whispered, his fingers finding their way around Todd’s wrist. “My Todd.”

“Yeah, I’m yours, it’s OK, sweetheart.” He felt a rush of self-loathing. How dare he? Calling him stupid pet names, touching him like this while he was sleeping, when he couldn’t push him away. He told himself it was just to make Dirk feel better, just to help him through the nightmare, that Amanda and Farah would do exactly the same for him, but that was different, wasn’t it? Because they’d do the same for Dirk while he was awake. They didn’t hold him at arms’ length because all they felt for him was pure, uncomplicated affection, not this… this overblown worship! This complete obsession that if anyone knew about it they’d be horrified, push him away for being too much, too clingy.

But he brushed Dirk’s hair back, and stroked his cheek, and rubbed his hands where they held his wrist, because now he’d started, he couldn’t bear to stop.

“Todd,” he sighed. “Feels nice.” He nuzzled into Todd’s hands as he rubbed the back of his neck, his thumb brushing over his cheekbones. Todd squeezed his eyes shut, guilty and as always, not guilty enough to pull away.

But he’d learned, hadn’t he? He was better than this - he was trying, for Amanda’s sake, for Farah and mostly for Dirk, he was trying to be a better person. Dirk was breathing evenly, he’d come out of the nightmare, and Todd couldn’t justify touching him any more, he was just being creepy and an asshole. He stood up, his hands sliding gently out of Dirk’s hair.

“Don’t go,” Dirk whined, and to Todd’s horror one eye opened, looking right up at him.

“I’m… shit, I’m sorry, Dirk, I didn’t… I just… you were having a bad dream and I…”

“I know,” he said with a sleepy smile. “Thank you.”

Todd felt his face flush. “Well… if you’re… I’m glad. I’ll just be going—“

“Please stay,” he whispered, and Todd felt his heart ache.

“Sure,” he said with a crooked smile. He could handle the dull ache, he could handle being too close if Dirk wanted him there, he could… shit, that really did hurt.

“Pills,” he croaked, as the muscles between his ribs clenched in threat. “I need--”

“Oh, shit,” Dirk said, tumbling off the sofa and grabbing for the yellow jacket discarded on the floor. He was muttering platitudes, reassurances, but Todd didn’t hear, because he pulled up his shirt and saw the flesh tearing away from his bones, blood soaking his pyjamas, something fluttering beneath and someone was screaming, it hurt, it hurt so much and there was a bitter taste, a swallow…

He slumped sideways onto Dirk’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

“I’m so sorry,” Dirk whispered, and Todd realised he had his arms wrapped around him, hands shaking. “I’m so sorry, if I hadn’t woken you up and shocked you and--”

“Hey, no, that’s not how it works, man,” he said. “Or… well, we’re not sure… but anyway, it just is what it is, it’s not your fault.”

“I’m so sorry,” Dirk said anyway.

Todd rolled his eyes. “Come on, you idiot,” he grumbled. It was the safest way for his heart, being grumpy when he wanted to be safe. Some kinds of hurt were worse than others. He wriggled back and lay on his side on the couch, jerking his head at Dirk. “Lie down and go to sleep, otherwise we’ll never wake up tomorrow.”

Dirk hesitated, his mouth opening and closing, his eyes big and sad, and Todd wished he could be a better person, comfort him instead of pushing him around. But he never had been a nice person, not really, and he wasn’t going to pretend again. He grabbed Dirk’s collar and yanked him down, shoving him in place and draping the blanket over both of them.

For just a moment he indulged a wish, a silly fantasy. It was harmless. He imagined that this was their everyday. That he didn’t have to drag Dirk down to lie next to him, that Dirk snuggled into bed with him rather than this spur of the moment thing on the sofa. That Dirk wanted to lie next to him for more than just comfort from nightmares.

He pushed it away, and lay on his hands, keeping them to himself.

***

They weren’t ready. It wasn’t quite THERE yet, they needed more time but he wouldn’t wait. It was like he knew what Quinn was doing, how close they were and they couldn’t… they just couldn’t bear it, they’d die, they’d do anything to be free of that hell. Quinn stood, every muscle shaking, exhausted and terrified and so, so angry, and they ran.

***

Todd closed his eyes and hunched over his black coffee in bliss. Coffee was his one true love. Coffee didn’t judge him, didn’t mind what a grumpy shit he was - in fact, coffee probably appreciated his moods because it made him want coffee more.

“Yes, Todd, we know you love coffee,” Amanda snorted, kicking him in the ankle. “But we don’t need to see you make love to it in the diner.”

Todd held up his middle finger and drank, his eyes still shut. Beside him, just a little too close for Todd’s sanity, Dirk was eating waffles, swimming in disgusting quantities of maple syrup. He was squirming as he talked, and Todd wasn’t sure if it was a sugar high or just Dirk’s natural twitchy self.

He wiped the smile off his face. He was not adorable. Wriggly people were annoying, all of them, they definitely had always annoyed Todd, and Dirk was no exception. Even if he was also unbearably cute - no. Nope. Not the time.

“Come on,” Farah said, nudging Amanda. “We’ve got a lead on the nightmares up near Queen Anne. You said the Rowdies might be able to catch Morpheus’ scent?”

“Yep, let’s do it. You in?” She asked Todd and Dirk, pushing herself to her feet and sliding out of the booth.

“Uh…” said Dirk.

“We’ll pass,” Todd said wryly. Dirk smiled at him gratefully.

“You know the boys won’t feed off you, right?” Amanda said gently.

“I… yes… but…”

“It’s alright,” she said, patting his shoulder. “Later asshole,” she added, middle finger up again. Todd returned it.

“Ready to go feel the pull of the universe, or whatever?” He asked.

He nodded, his cheeks dimpling, and licked the last of the maple syrup off his fork. Todd looked away quickly.

***

He was close. Quinn’s lungs burned, their muscles ached, and if they hadn’t been so exhausted and dehydrated they’d have wept.

Their legs just barely carried them around the corner, into his industrial unit, budleia and willowherb creeping through the tarmac and beckoning him home, broken glass lying outside like it could protect him, like it was on his side.

Perfect for a final stand.

***

Dirk and Todd were meandering in the usual way when it happened. Dirk had been looking at Todd, earnestly explaining why cows were absolutely, definitely from another dimension (“Oh, and platypuses are totally normal?” “Don’t be ridiculous, Todd, they’ve very clearly primordial and have just missed the memo when it comes to evolution”) when he stopped.

“Dirk?” Said Todd, his mouth still stretched into a smile from the ridiculous conversation. “Everything ok?”

He didn’t answer, just turned on his heel and walked in the opposite direction, his face slack and horrified and like he’d rather do anything else. Todd jogged to catch up, panic and adrenaline seeping into his blood.

***

He was here. He was close, and Quinn had one chance, just one chance.

“Here, kitty kitty kitty! Oh, Mo-o-o-rpheus!”

They swallowed hard and fought back the bile and the memories. Focus!

“Here boy! Where are you?” Priest’s high giggle cut the air and made Quinn flinch violently. “Or are you a girl? You sure cry like a little girl. I think we should find out for sure what you are when we get you home.”

Quinn bit back a whimper violently, squeezing their eyes shut and demanding control, forcing their body to stop trembling. This was the only chance.

“But you’re just a freak, ain’t you boy? Just a freak like all the others, not fit for polite company. You’ve been out here too long, haven’t you?”

Quinn clenched their fists and gathered up all their hate, all their desperation, clenching it into a ball in their chest, and stepped out of the shadows.

“Oh, well, look at you,” Priest said, and chuckled. “What do you look like? Time to go home, isn’t it, boy? Hmm?”

He raised his dart gun. Quinn dug deep. “Fuck you, Mr Priest,” they said, and hurled their power through the palm of their hand and OUT, out into the air and it HURT, it burned every cell, but they’d rather die than go back to Blackwing.

***

Dirk was running now, long legs taking him further away from Todd, and that was absolutely not acceptable. He raced after him, brass knuckles already in place. Bloody idiot was always getting hurt! Didn’t he know Todd was meant to go first to keep him safe?

They heard the screaming before they even got into the warehouse, awful, gurgling noises that made Todd’s hair stand on end.

And then they saw who it was, and Dirk crumpled, falling to his ass and scrambling backwards, hands over his mouth in soundless terror at the black clad man with his back to them. Todd threw himself in front of him, but stopped, open mouthed. There was another figure walking towards Priest. She cocked her head and threw a shard of glass at him, her eyes blank and bored as he screamed again.

“Bart? Holy shit, I thought she was still back in Wendimoor.” He winced as she raised a knife and slashed, an arc of blood spraying across the room like a Vegas fountain. “Jesus Christ, is that… has she just killed Priest?”

He took a step forward in his shock, and, too late, saw the other person in the room.

His eyes rolled back and he felt his knees buckle, but he didn’t feel himself hit the floor. He blinked. There was green grass, a park as far as he could see, with warm sunlight and the sound of spring birds in the distance.

“Todd?” said Dirk, and he looked up. He was standing over him with his hand out, smiling sweetly at him. “Up you get,” he said, and pulled him to his feet. He put his other arm around him as he stood, and Todd felt a jolt of light flood through his body at the contact, at the feeling of being held against Dirk.

“What--”

“Ready for your birthday present?” Dirk asked sweetly. He still hadn’t moved his hands from off Todd’s hips and it was desperately distracting.

“My present? But it’s not…”

“I know it’s early,” he said, his plush lips curling into a wide smile. “But it was such a lovely day, perfect for a picnic, and you know what the weather’s like here.”

“Dirk, wait--” He grabbed Dirk’s sleeve as he turned to lead Todd down the grassy slope. Todd frowned around him. He didn’t recognise the park at all.

“Are you OK?” Dirk asked, his forehead furrowed in concern. “Did you hit your head when you fell?”

“I don’t…” He frowned. “Don’t think so.”

Dirk smiled softly, and it took Todd’s breath away. He’d never smiled at him like that, there’d always been something hidden that he’d never noticed until now. Compared to this smile, all the other smiles he’d ever received were veiled, cautious, half smiles.

He slipped his arms around Todd’s waist, cradling him like he was something delicate and infinitely precious, the way Todd dreamed of holding Dirk, and he couldn’t breathe, because Dirk was dipping his head, his eyes fluttering shut, and he was kissing Todd, sweet and everything and there were nuclear blasts going off behind his vision because it was the most perfect, softest, gentlest kiss and he’d never been kissed like this, never been loved before, not like this, and--

Dirk shuddered in his arms, and he was suddenly heavy, his knees collapsing. Todd grabbed him, horrified, because there was blood, so much blood. Dirk clutched at his chest, riddled with bullet holes, from so many shots he hadn’t even heard, oh god, there was… there was a rattling noise from Dirk’s throat. “Jesus, fuck, Dirk, what… what can I do? Oh my god, oh my god!” he pressed his hands against one wound, then another, his fingers slick with the gore, and Dirk was dying, he couldn’t survive this, and then Todd wouldn’t survive it, and… and Dirk was struggling with pills, cramming two into his mouth, his face crumpled with the effort of swallowing.

Todd felt sick. If he had to move he’d crumble, if he had to speak he’d fall to pieces, because the pills worked fast, he’d been there from the inside, feeling them hit his stomach, dissolve, the drugs absorbed directly through carriers in his stomach lining. He knew how the pain disappeared embarrassingly quickly, like it had all been a nightmare, all in his head, all that pain and despair and…

Dirk slumped back, breathing heavily, still twitching from the aftershocks. The blood was gone, the bullet holes were gone, and yet Todd felt like he was grieving because this… this was wrong. This was his thing to bear, and he’d never thought of it like this but he’d have taken it any day over seeing Dirk in that kind of pain.

“Dirk,” he croaked, his voice trembling, raw, no, no!

“It’s OK,” Dirk said, exhausted, breathing hard like he’d run a marathon, and Todd had been there, and never wanted to be there more than he did now, because Dirk should never have to--

“Hey,” he said, sitting up with an obvious effort and cupping Todd’s cheek. “I’m OK, it’s over.” He leaned forwards and kissed Todd’s cheek, the corner of his mouth. “It was a little better today,” he smiled, exhausted. “Maybe it’ll keep getting better; didn’t you say it started out feeling better a little bit at a time when it happened to you?”

Todd’s blood froze, his entire body stilling as he heard those words in two voices, and this couldn’t… he wouldn’t have, he wouldn’t, he’d learned, he wasn’t… he wasn’t that person, he’d changed, no, please.

“Todd? It’s OK, I have faith,” Dirk said, nudging their noses together. “I’ll get better just like you did. You give me hope.”

Todd staggered back, his ears ringing, the horror flooding over him like ice, like despair, like no please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry and he couldn’t focus, could only hear his name, screamed over and over from a great distance and

***

“Please let me go to him,” Icarus sobbed, his face soaked with tears. The small guy was screaming, his back arching on the floor like he was in terrible pain, but Quinn didn’t understand, there was nothing… what was that nightmare about? What was he afraid of?

They could see the nightmare projected over him, the other Icarus, the other small guy, they’d seen him and Icarus kiss in the field, and then Icarus get hurt, but it wasn’t scary, what kind of worst nightmare was this?

“Todd!” Icarus screamed as he arched and writhed in pain, but Quinn didn’t understand, because the dream shouldn’t be hurting him, it wasn’t like Priest’s nightmare, of Marzana hunting him (the hunter terrified of a bigger hunter, Quinn wanted to laugh, but they thought maybe if they started they might never stop until they fainted) it was nice, most of it. Icarus and the little guy, Todd, they’d been happy, and what the hell kind of nightmare was that?

Quinn was so tired, so tired, they just wanted to sleep, and maybe this time they wouldn’t be hunted in their dreams like they were every day, but they couldn’t be sure… what if this was all one of their own nightmares, wrapping around everyone, bouncing back onto themself, and just… they were so confused…

Icarus yelled Todd’s name again, and he gasped, the weirdly benign nightmare disappearing. But he was still screaming, still squirming, and Quinn held out their hand, not sure whether to aim at Icarus or Todd.

“Please, let me give him his pills, please, he’s going to die like that,” Icarus cried, his arms held up like he was scared of Quinn. But Quinn was the scared one, nobody was scared of Quinn, what was happening, what was going on?

“Please, I beg you, please stop… don’t nightmare me if I go to him, I promise we’ll leave you… we’ll leave you alone, just let me…”

Quinn’s mind was whirling, they couldn’t hold themself up any more, their arm outstretched burning with muscle fatigue, and they slumped forwards. They weren’t sure if they’d decided to do so or not, but it was like drawing breath for the first time after drowning and they staggered forwards onto their hands and knees, gulping air as Icarus threw himself across the warehouse, hands trembling as he tipped pills into Todd’s mouth.

“It’s OK, Todd, you’ll be OK, please swallow them, please… you’ll be OK.” He sniffled and wiped his nose, and held Todd’s head on his lap, rocking back and forth the way they all used to when training got really bad. Quinn rested their head on the ground and closed their eyes.

***

Todd opened his eyes, his throat raw and powdery, bitter from the drugs. Every muscle was lax and overworked, and he felt feverish after the imaginary ice had drained from his body.

He knew it would be normal, but he could never seem to resist holding up his hand, marvelling at the intact skin where he’d just watched it blacken and crumble away in extreme frostbite, flesh shattering and crackling as if he’d been dipped in liquid nitrogen.

And then his nightmare came back, that awful dream where it was Dirk suffering, where he’d lied to someone else he loved, and for the first time after an attack he smiled because that’s all it had been. He was still the one who had pararibulitis, Dirk was safe, or as safe as Dirk ever could be, and he hadn’t lied again.

But Dirk was crying, rocking as he held Todd and that wasn’t good enough. Still blurred with sleep and exhaustion, Todd sat up and wrapped his arms around Dirk’s hunched body, hushing him and pulling him close. “You’re OK, you’re safe.”

“You nearly died,” he wept, clinging on to Todd’s shirt, his fingers tangled in the flannel.

“Nah, I’m fine, see? It was just an attack, and you helped, you were awesome, thank you.”

“I tried to be faster, I’m sorry, Todd, but Morpheus wouldn’t let me go to you… I should have been braver, I should…”

“Hey, no, don’t do that. It’s all fine, I’m-- wait, where’s Morpheus now? Where’s… shit, is Priest dead, or was that an… an illusion or something?”

They staggered to their feet, both shaking from the adrenaline come-down. Todd sidled up to the bloody corpse and scrunched his nose up. “Yeah, I think we can safely say he’s dead.”

“Morpheus is asleep,” Dirk called. But as he leaned over the sleeping figure, Morpheus groaned, blinked, and startled into a crouch, their arm out to blast Dirk into a nightmare and hell no!

Todd threw himself in front of Dirk, covering as much of him as he could with his too-small body and outstretched arms, and snarled at Morpheus. “Leave him the fuck alone, asshole!”

Morpheus blinked and sagged slightly, and Todd felt sympathetic exhaustion in his own knees and shoulders and every inch of his body. “You just—“

“Todd, no,” Dirk gasped, tugging at him, but for a tall guy he was no match for Todd’s better centre of gravity and spiteful stubbornness. “Morpheus, please, don’t—“

“My name’s Quinn,” they said, and dropped their hand. They frowned at Todd. “I saw your nightmare. It didn’t seem so scary.”

“Yeah, well, better me than Dirk, then, huh? Also fuck you.”

“Is that the worst thing?” they asked, and Todd realised they weren’t asking to be an asshole. They genuinely seemed to find it difficult to understand. “Him hurting… is that the worst thing that could happen?”

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth. “So leave him alone.”

“We just want to help,” Dirk said, one hand clenched in Todd’s shirt. “We don’t mean any harm, we were just investigating. The nightmares. That’s… that’s what I do now, I help. I can help. We can, I mean, me and Todd and Farah and… how long have you been free?”

“Six years,” Quinn said softly. “The security never quite got back to what it was after you guys got out. It was worse for a while but… they were… brittle. Like they knew it was only a matter of time before we all…” they shrugged. “Anyway, I got out. Been running ever since.”

Todd relaxed a bit more, still keeping his own body between Quinn and Dirk’s but letting his muscles unclench just a little. “We can look after you,” he said, only a little grudgingly. “We’re getting better at staying away from Blackwing--”

Quinn shook their head. “Blackwing’s gone. I saw Bart a little while ago, she told me. Said the universe got too loud in her head, she had to… to kill them all. Priest was the only one who got away, but even so…” they glanced at Priest’s crumpled body. “Looks like she had a bit of an impact, if she was his worst nightmare.”

“So you don’t choose the nightmares?”

“No.” They frowned at Todd. “I certainly wouldn’t have chosen… anyway. I just… I just want to be free.”

“We can call Amanda,” Dirk nodded, and stepped closer to Quinn, firmly nudging Todd to the side. “She’ll take you anywhere you want to go, she’s good at that, isn’t she?” Todd shrugged, but now Dirk had said it, he saw it was true. Amanda just had a sense of where people needed to be, where they would feel at home. “She hangs around with the Rowdies now - Project Incubus, you know? They’re… better now she’s with them.”

Quinn raised their eyebrows. “Well, they couldn’t be much worse.”

Todd snorted, and Dirk smiled. “They do stay away when we ask them, at least.”

Quinn took a deep breath, and nodded. “OK. It’s not like… I don’t really know what to do with myself, so someone who knows what to do with me… yeah. Makes sense.” They sighed and sat down on the floor like a marionette with broken strings, filthy and surrounded by blood and dust.

“C’mon,” Todd said, holding out a hand, then pulled back. “Uh, you’re not going to give me a nightmare just by touching me, right?”

“No,” Quinn smirked. “I have to mean it. Sometimes it happens when I’m really scared myself, but… I’m getting better at control. I used to have to touch people to set them off, now I can project the power.” They glanced at Priest. “I had to… had to make myself into a distance weapon.”

“Up you get then,” Todd said. It was only a matter of time before it all hit Quinn, what they’d done, killing someone with his own dreams, and it would probably be good if they weren’t near a dead body when the shock hit. “Stinks in here.”

The three of them stumbled out of the old, red-brick warehouse, Quinn with their arm thrown over Todd’s shoulder, and Dirk on the phone to Amanda. Todd could hear her voice, shrill with fear and anger at them for rushing in without calling for backup - again - and just felt tired, down to his bones. He slumped down onto a low, crumbling wall next to Quinn, and the two of them slouched with their elbows on knees, empty.

The autumn sun went some way to banishing the fear and tension, muscles melting like ice into a shaky puddle of exhaustion, rather than a vibrating string, nearing hysteria. By the time the van drew up, earth-shaking music possibly slightly quieter than usual, Todd realised he was slumped against Dirk, and sat up, embarrassed.

“You’re idiots, both of you,” snapped Farah, hands on hips. “What the hell did you not understand about that lecture on teamwork?”

“Which one,” snorted Todd.

“Take your pick.” She crouched down in front of him, turning his face from side to side by his chin. “Are you hurt, any of you?”

He shook his head, but Dirk piped up “Todd had an attack.”

“It’s fine,” he groaned. “I had my pills.”

“That was my fault, I’m afraid,” Quinn said, hand up, eyes wide and worried. “I nightmared him.”

“So you’re Morpheus,” Amanda said, her arms crossed and her face hard. Todd didn’t know why, she wasn’t usually so stand-offish.

“Quinn,” said Dirk, before Quinn could correct her himself. “Morpheus isn’t their name any more.”

Amanda’s glare softened a bit, and she even quirked Quinn a reluctant half-smile.

They told the story as quickly as they could. Todd managed to skip over the awful dream, and although Dirk and Quinn glanced at him, they didn’t add anything. Todd almost sagged with relief, he didn’t want Amanda to have any reminders of what he’d done to her, how little he deserved. Farah made some calls to her nebulous, magical contacts who knew what to do with the bodies of shadowy government agents murdered by their own nightmares, and Amanda took Quinn off to re-introduce them to the Rowdies and Beast.

“Thank you,” said Dirk’s soft voice, and Todd turned in surprise.

“For what?”

“You stood in front of me… you were going to take a nightmare again for me. You didn’t have to… I wouldn’t have wanted you to…”

Todd looked away, awkward. “Yeah, well… your nightmares would have been ten times worse than mine.”

He cocked his head. “You think?”

“Of course, I mean, you have nightmares all the time, from… from Blackwing, and those bastards…” he clenched his fists on his thighs. “I’m glad he’s dead,” he hissed at the cracked tarmac under his feet.

“I don’t dream of Blackwing,” he said, grabbing Todd’s hand. “Or… no, I do, I guess, but not about me being there. I dream…” he took a deep breath. “I see you. There. I see them doing the tests on you, setting off… setting off attacks to study them, I see… I see myself as one of the agents, hurting you, and…”

“Hey, hey, it’s OK. It’s not real, it’s…” Todd turned and held Dirk’s face cupped in both hands. “I’m fine, you see? It’s all over. Blackwing’s gone, Bart killed them all. You’re safe, we both are, OK?”

Dirk nodded hard, his breath still shaky, his eyes still damp. Todd realised he was still cupping his jaw, started to pull away, but Dirk covered his hands, holding them against his face. “In your dream… your nightmare, I was… I kissed you. We were together.”

Todd pulled away and clenched his fists again. “Shit, I’m sorry, Dirk, I didn’t… I never meant for you to know. I swear I never expected anything, I just… can you forget it?”

“You want that? You want me to kiss you?”

“I mean, it’s fine,” he said, shaking his head, trying to crush that weak, pathetic voice that swelled up inside his chest crying yes! “I’ll get over it, it’s just--”

“Please don’t,” he said, his voice breathless, and Todd looked up because wait, this couldn’t be-- but it was. Dirk’s long fingers wrapped around his skull, buried in the hair at the back of his neck, and he kissed him, lips pressed gently, hungrily to his, so brave and so afraid of being pushed back, and fireworks went off behind Todd’s eyes as he wrapped his arms around Dirk’s neck and kissed back.

“Fucking finally!” whooped Amanda, and Todd didn’t even break the kiss, didn’t even hold up his middle finger, because he would happily be embarrassed and blushing every day for the rest of his life if Dirk would just keep kissing him, keep whimpering into his mouth, pressing closer and clinging to him.

When they finally broke apart, Todd buried his face in the junction of Dirk’s neck and shoulder, let himself be small and sheltered, because when it mattered, when he needed it, he’d be strong, he’d stand in front of Dirk again and keep him safe, because together they’d save each other, again and again, in every way.

@bananaslugger20