#DAMN YOU ROCK EATER(Venture)

[teacakeezz]

Apologies for lack of art recently, been fighting art block hjhgkhfkjg..... But have a ref for my overwatch sona/self insert before I succumb to it again

[hankwritten]

Keep in a Cool Dry Place

Demoman/Soldier, 3k

A couple of old, past their prime mercs live out their days, but at least they’re slowly breaking down together.

Oftentimes, Jane would go out onto the deck to find Tavish fixed in place, chin tilted skywards, soaking up the stars for all they were worth. He could be like that, sometimes for hours, eye glossy against the Milky Way as he stood so still he could make a statue proud.

“You’re up awful late,” he said to Jane, unmoving. Probably had realized Jane had been watching for a while now.

“Could say the same to you,” Jane said, pulling himself into a deck chair with a great cascade of air from his smoker’s lungs, the grunt of an old man he always thought was an exaggerated affectation until it started happening to him.

“I don’t get up at five in the morning,” Tavish reminded him.

“You could. Good for the health, Tavish.”

“I don’t think anything’s good for the health these days. Just bad, and slightly worse.” He drummed his fingers on the deck’s railing. “C’mere, look at this.”

“I can see the damn stars just fine from here,” Jane sniffed.

Tavish broke from his surveying to shoot a grin Jane’s way, features cut sharp in the porch light. “Come on you old fart, get over here.”

Jane grumbled, pushing out of the chair with more effort than he would have liked to admit. He made his way to Tavish, joining him at the railing, their shoulders brushing just briefly until Tavish swung an arm around Jane’s waist.

His voice took on a fading quality all of the sudden, as though far away winds were dragging him skyward. “Nice night, isn’t it?”

Jane watched him. In the past few years his good eye had grown white in the center, a fuzzy film growing out from the pupil that would one day take the whole cornea. It was irreversible, Tavish had explained, years of buildup from stromnium or strotenium or something like that, Jane could never remember. Tavish wasn’t surprised, had told Jane that he was shocked he’d still had the thing this long, but that didn’t mean there was no mourning within the man. It was just different than how most people would have gone about it.

“Sure is,” Jane said. “Real beautiful.”

“Aye. And you ‘n me, we’re not seeing the half of it. Those telescopes, the ones the size of whole buildings, all they have is a bunch of different magnifying glasses and yet when they put ‘em all together you can see whole galaxies that weren’t there before. Same sky, just some folks can see it, some folks can’t.”

“You can still see it,” Jane reminded him, a gentle bump to the shoulder.

“For now,” Tavish agreed. He turned, smiling with just the corner of his mouth, a testament that was gone before Jane could fully appreciate how much he loved the small, sad ways he chose to be happy. A hand came up to brush the side of Jane’s cheek. “I just keep thinking about how one of these days will be the last day I see you.”

Their foreheads came together. Jane’s hand rose to cover the one across his cheek, thumb rubbing the small band of gold on Tavish’s finger. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe this; despite the decades, despite the promises made on cold desert nights, despite watching the grey hairs spring in Tavish’s beard and knowing the same was happening to him, it was still hard to fathom that someone had chosen to spend the rest of their life with him. Even though the years with Tavish came close to outnumbering the years without, that time in Jane’s life of infinite loneliness, of stubborn self sufficiency, made him question how he was ever lucky enough that someone had hung on their sense and decided he was worth it.

Jane pulled Tavish closer. “Yeah. Well. If you’re going to keep a last image of me in your head, I really wish it was back when I was still handsome.”

Tavish laughed, swaying them both slightly in the unusually still air. Normally winds rattled the badlands, stirring up loose sand and seething through plants too hardy to notice. It felt like, for once, the world had chosen to be kind this night, just for them.

“You get handsomer every day Jane,” Tavish said, and hidden behind the words were each day I love you more. “I just…miss.”

“Miss how things used to be?”

“More than that. I’ve got the ‘ole yearning, I suppose, the eater of men.” Tavish chewed his words, looking up at the sky again. “I miss places. I miss how everything used to feel, even if it wasn’t terribly good.”

“Not talking about going back to your home planet, are you?” Jane joked, jerking his thumb at the now witnessed stars.

“No,” Tavish snorted. “Not exactly. But I…” He trailed off.

Now it was Jane’s turn to bring his hands to the sides of Tavish’s face, his own ring warm from where he’d been cradling it inside his fist. “What is it, Tav? You can tell me.”

Tavish looked not at the stars nor the horizon, but the ground, kicking the wooden deck neither of them had ever gotten around to re-staining. “I feel…I feel the hills always calling out to me. Like there’s something in my bones that just wants to rest, to go back where it’s green, to where it isn’t so bloody dry. Every time we visit I think ‘is this the last time I’ll ever see it? The very last time? Am I going to be too old or too tired the next time around, and never feel like I’m home again?’”

Jane watched the worry lines in Tavish’s forehead. “You want to go back to Scotland.”

“I dunno. Just the more my eye goes the more I…I dunno.”

They hung in silence for a while longer, just breathing. Jane hadn’t felt the need to wear his helmet for a long time, not at home, not at this mansion that was their private oasis from the rest of the world. Were money made their problems—if not vanish—then kept far back beyond the fence where they never had to think about them unless they ventured beyond. Where, even with BLU’s protection no longer keeping the various chapters of local and federal law enforcement trying to wrangle some comeuppance out of the soldier for sins past, he still had a place of refuge.

“Let’s go,” Jane said.

Tavish looked away. “I don’t mean for a visit Jane, I mean…”

“I know,” Jane insisted. Tavish’s milky eye fixed him with disbelief. “You want to go home. I get it. We should go.”

Tavish stared at him, still uncomprehending. “Jane you know that would mean…”

“I know,” Jane repeated.

A warm, subtle smile filled Tavish’s face, and neither of them had to say any more. Tavish drew Jane in closer, and the two of them rocked in the wind that had just picked up again.

***

“Jane,” Tavish frowned as he examined the box Jane had dropped thunderously at the bottom of the stairs, “do you really need to bring all of these?”

“Hey, I’m not trying to make you get rid of your treasured possessions,” Jane pointed out, depositing a second box filled entirely with Guns & Haircuts net to the first.

“We’re not going to have space for these,” Tavish retorted. “It’s going to be a tiny little thing, remember? They don’t build mansions in Ullapool.”

Moving had left the New Mexico mansion barren and faded where pictures had hung on the wall since Tavish had first moved in. Now they were all gone, sold off as their attempts to downsize left only what was necessary and a few DeGroot family heirlooms.

It twisted something in Jane to see their home of three decades slowly dismantled into carpet scuffs and cardboard boxes. This had been his dwelling longer than any other, a turning point from when the Gravel Wars had folded in on themselves and left Jane with an odd freedom he had no idea if he was allowed to act on. Even before that, when Tavish’s mother had still been alive and the halls were filled with her vigor, this place was safe haven for Jane, where he’d come to meet with his forbidden friend and get wasted in his living room.

Now it was mostly empty. Ready for the last goodbyes.

“These are important,” Jane declared of the boxes.

“You haven’t read them in ages,” Tavish pointed out.

“So? They are valuable. Scout sold his whole Bonk! Boy collection for a fortune, and I’ve got twice as many as that little squirt does!” Jane cleared his throat suddenly. “Did.”

It was hard to remember sometimes. He thought his old teammates would want nothing to do with him after the end, but to his surprise they actually kept in contact better than when they’d actually worked together. Maybe owing to the fact he now had an actual address they could send letters to.

Neither Spy nor Sniper had ever actually retired, and over time the tepid, passably courteous correspondences with Sniper had stopped a few years after Spy disappeared entirely. Jane assumed something similar had happened to them both. Occupational hazard.

Engie had complications with his diabetes. The remaining team had shown up for the funeral, except for Pyro, who everyone politely wouldn’t mention, even when Jane asked.

The one person Jane hadn’t expected to outlive was Scout. Scout didn’t write, but he could talk anyone’s ear off, and when coming home from the second funeral in as many years it hit Jane hard that he’d never hear the kitchen phone ringing off its holder again, practically trembling as the other line was just dying to tell him about whatever exactly Scout was so wound up about today.

Tavish noticed Jane’s slipup, and kindly ignored it. Nearly ten years, and Jane still found himself forgetting. “That’s because they were comics,” Tavish explained. “They were collectors items. The only person collecting Guns & Haircuts is you.”

“And don’t I know it!”

Tavish sighed. “Are you even planning on selling them, or are you just going to do the same thing you’ve done with them here and leave them in a big box to gather dust?”

“Of course I’m going to leave them in a big box!” Jane huffed proudly. “What other purpose is there in life other than to gather material objects and then have them accumulate in piles in your living room? You do not see me complaining about the giant, wall mounted family crest, do you?”

Tavish rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighed as an old argument became even older. “Ach, fine. I suppose we’ll fine the space.” When he opened his eye, he saw the third giant box Jane was hauling out for the movers. “Jane! We don’t need to be taking that.”

“Yes we do, sonny!” Jane said, slapping a hand on the trumpet of the old record player he hadn’t been able to properly fit in the box. “I do not trust those cassette tapes! The snakes that live in them always try to come out and strangle me!”

“We’ve got some CDs now-” Tavish tried.

“Even worse!” Jane declared. “Australian mind control devices!”

Tavish could see he wasn’t winning, which was just fine by Jane. The magazines were one thing, but the record player he wasn’t leaving without.

“Well,” Tavish said, looking around their house, stripped bare. “I suppose that’s everything.”

Jane couldn’t find a reason to object. He glanced around, looking for one last missing detail, one more reason to stall, but found none. Gently, he took Tavish’s hand and squeezed. “Everything we need.”

***

Scotland was even wetter than the last time they’d visited.

Mud, the most distantly remembered and ancient of substances, clung to Jane’s pant leg all the way up to the knee as they made their way down hundred-year old paths someone really should’ve figured out how to weather-proof by now. But, where Jane was grumbling, Tavish looked about as happy as a clam in water. (Or, Jane supposed was more fitting, a pig in mud.)

“Aha! Look, there it is,” Tavish said, tugging on Jane’s arm and pointing at the glimpse of water creeping around the bend. “Still there.”

“I don’t think they would have up and moved a whole lake while you were gone,” Jane mumbled, but Tavish didn’t seem to hear as he moved with surprising speed down the hill. It was times like this Jane actually envied the cane.

When he finally caught up, Tavish was breathing in the thick air, his chest rising and then collapsing with a satisfied sigh. “Used to play down here as lad. Sometimes there’s a beach, far as the eye can see.”

“Thought you were done with sand,” Jane said, stomping up next to him on damp boots.

Tavish just breamed broadly at him, drinking in the sweep of the land and the crash of the lake. Jane could remember the stories, ones from Tavish’s childhood much better than his own, told and retold so many times that he could flip open the memories like a scrapbook and find exactly where every place in Ullapool fit. An old pub, a crumbling church. The house where the DeGroots used to live, the field where Merasmus’s castle had once briefly towered. So vivid were they, they superimposed themselves over Jane’s (admittedly more insubstantial) memories until he felt he had lived here himself.

“…Gettin’ dark, Tav,” Jane pointed out.

Tavish frowned, and squinted at the horizon. “Aye, I suppose it is.”

“Think the movers are done?” Jane didn’t approve of hiring other people to life heavy things when lifting heavy things had once been one of Jane’s favorite pastimes, but Tavish convinced him that if he threw out his back again, it’d be a lot harder to get him to a doctor.

“Probably,” Tavish nodded. “Let’s go see.”

“Do you think they dropped my magazines?”

“I’m sure they’re fine, love.”

They made the long, much more slippery journey back to their new home. It overlooked Ullapool and the coast, but was nevertheless removed enough that Jane could revel in the privacy he had grown used to. Privacy was not on Tavish’s mind when they’d walked through town that first time, however, as he’d greeted nearly everyone who came their way. It had shocked Jane how many people knew him, or at least recognized the DeGroot name, and greeted Tavish as familiarly as they would have had he been gone for only a few weeks rather than years.

It was good, to see Tavish like this. Even now, as they climbed slowly back up the hill, Jane watched him out the corner of his eye, smiling at the look of serenity that hadn’t been on his husband’s face so naturally in years.

“Isn’t this cozy,” Tavish said lovingly as they crossed the threshold of their new home.

That it was. Jane had worried he had grown soft living in luxury, that his years of being rich and retied would make him forgot that he’d once loved his little apartment, had cherished the security its simplicity had given him. But now that he was back inside four walls, surrounded by the items that had come to mean things beyond their purpose, a swell of pleasant familiarity welled up in him. The curtains blocked out the last of the fading light through soft yellow. There was a fireplace (modern and gas powered) but one ready to fill the house with a warm glow.

Tavish made the motions to begin unpacking, but Jane’s pretense of rooting though the boxes had a different goal in mind. Preoccupied, Tavish didn’t turn around until Jane finally slipped the record into place.

Perking, Tavish looked over his shoulder to see Jane offering his hand as the music bubbled slowly to life. “Been a long time since we danced,” Jane said.

Tavish’s smile fit well in this homey, quiet room. He took Jane’s hand, and let Jane pull him up off his knees until they were chest to chest, resting his chin on Jane’s shoulder.

“Too long,” he agreed.

They began sway rhythmlessly to music in the middle of the tiny living room, caring little where they put their feet as long as it wasn’t one top of one another. Jane loved the record player, needed it more these days, as it was one of the only things that made the horrid, incessant ringing in his ears quiet for just a short while. Leaving the fan on at night might help him get to sleep, but the was no denying the scratching notes out of the player were a world more enjoyable.

It was piano piece, one he’d heard Tavish play now and again. There was no space for a grand piano here in this little cottage on the hill, but maybe they could get a smaller one, and Tavish could try teaching him again. Like he’d promised so long ago.

So many promises that’d slipped through the cracks, both to each other and themselves. Things they simply couldn’t do anymore. Ever since the scare with Jane’s lung cancer, they had tried to do better, had realized what they had built meant something and they couldn’t go piddling away with their complacent recklessness. Jane had quit smoking, Tavish had quit drinking as part of the deal.

But still, there were other things, other mistakes that had compounded over the years. Jane always kept thinking he should have been over it by now, that for how many gentle touches Tavish had placed against him, he should forget the violence those same hands had once brought him. The times they’d shoved a sword into Jane’s gut. The bombs from nowhere. The individual atrocities. It was duller now, the years had been good enough to do that, but if Tavish’s memories were anything like Jane’s, he understood why the ex-demoman sometimes woke screaming in the middle of the night, needing to be reminded—soothed, assured, sometimes begged—that the Jane beside him wasn’t the monster from his dreams.

That was the real tragedy of the War. Officially, all they had been paid to do was kill each other—the horrors they chose to inflict on one another had been their own doing, their own wills brought to fruition. RED had never asked Tavish to shove Jane’s shovel down its owner's throat, laughing vengefully all the while. Jane was sure he’d done equally as cruel things to Tavish during those hell times, but had trouble recalling exactly what. It’s much easier to remember the sins committed against you, than those you have unleashed yourself.

Those hands, those bloodstained, gentle, perfect hands, rubbed circles and Jane’s back, and he sighed. He’d listened to this record enough to know it was getting to the end of this side, but he found he didn’t want to move. He wanted to keep standing here, swaying with the man he loved in their home in the mountains, remembering that they had earned this.

“I cherish these moments we spend together,” he said resolutely into Tavish’s chest.

“Every one of them,” Tavish agreed.

Eventually they would lay down, rest their old bones in their new bed, but for now they held each other in the slowly encroaching night, the sound of rain playing its first patter on the roof.

[endthisfool]

Dirge Eater

Summary: Getting his claws on one of Brainstorm’s untested inventions leads to Whirl being flung into an universe that isn’t quite ready for someone like him. Back in Jasper, Nevada Team Prime is faced with the task of reeling in the wayward whirlybird, but it won’t be pleasant ride for anyone.

Chapter 2: Coward’s Damnation

Request: Status update. No response. Requesting Report: Mining quadrant C location 6. Distress Signal: Acknowledged. Five klicks pass. No response. This would have to be dealt with.

Dark slender digits remove themselves from their terminal, smoothly coming to rest at the sides of a pair of digitigrade legs. The slim mech turns to face the rest of the bridge, awaiting his leader’s attention. It’s currently preoccupied, vapidly so if Starscream’s...screaming meant anything. It seems Megatron was quite publicly dealing out punishment for another one of his second in command’s foolish assassination attempts. A large chunk of Starscream’s arm, including its mounted weapon, clatters against the TIC’s terminal. He stares at it reproachfully, then nudges it out of his work space with his pede. The scrape of it against the flooring is enough to garner his master’s focus. Frustration bleeds from the hulking con’s frame, and his mood shifts in an instant. He steps toward his TIC calmly, as if he hadn’t just been performing a brutal act of violence on one of his underlings mere moments ago.

“Soundwave, what do you have to report of the energon mines statuses?” Megatron comes to rest a few feet away, respectful of the silent mech’s space. In turn the spymaster flickers on his visor, concisely displaying the current issue of the quadrant C mine. A frown graces his leader’s faceplate, then something cunning flashes in his burning optics. Soundwave had no need to to dip into his processor to sense the plan he was concocting, though for whatever reason something in his tanks gave a sharp twist. “A distress signal, hm?” The silver mech looks over his shoulder, down at the sulking form of his SIC. He smirks ever so slightly, in a way that would normally bring about a content thrum of the spy’s core. “Looks like we’ll have to send someone to investigate, won’t we?”

This was wholly beneath a mech of his caliber. Completely. Disgustingly so. He could still see Megatron’s stupidly smug grin as he gave him the preposterous order to take a squad of vehicons and inspect the mine failing to respond. Like he was needed for something as mundane as that! Idiot drones probably just broke their comm equipment. Starscream huffs, kicking a rock into the area below. It clatters against metal, loud against the odd silence. A mine of all places shouldn’t be silent, but if this mine was doing what it was suppose to then he wouldn’t have been ordered here. At least being here meant he wasn’t having to tolerate that tyrant, and his mute lapdog. The vehicons mill about behind him, awaiting orders. He draws out the wait, inspecting his claws primly, and resolutely refusing to acknowledge the ruined plating of his arms. The dumb warlord didn’t even let him replace his weapons before he was sent off. “What are you waiting for?” Starscream hisses at the drones, shooing them toward the edge of the clearing, where the mine lay below. “Go on, inspect.” They peer down the crevasse, but make no move to go any further. The seeker kicks a cloud of dirt at them impatiently. One vehicon swivels around to face him a bit frantically. “Uh, sir? The guards they’re...” It trails off nervously. Starscream groans at their incompetence, marching forth and pushing them aside. The reason for the mine’s silence becoming quite clear. There’s no-one there. Not a single guard nor miner working below. It’s feverishly still. Drag marks paint the earth in splattered blue trails, each leading straight into the mine’s gaping maw. His instincts screech at him to flee, just to fly back to the Nemesis and face whatever punishment Megatron had in store for him. But he doesn’t. Haughty pride taking precedence over that lingering fear, he would not be cowed by a task for drones. With a dismissive flick of his wings he drops into the crevasse, the vehicons obediently following his lead. He nears the mine’s entrance, unease trickling down his spinal strut. Planting himself in front of it he waves the drones ahead. “Go on.” The squad shares uncertain looks amongst themselves, but nevertheless obey. They drag their pedes as if in line for a firing squad, all tense frames and shaking plating. Then they’re gone, consumed by the depths of the mine, far into that simmering darkness of endless tunnels. Starscream is left alone at the entrance, silence baring its teeth in sharp droves. Time takes its pleasure in passing impossibly slowly. By all means the vehicons should have returned long before now. So with little choice to the contrary, Starscream enters the mine. Inside the air is stagnant with the overpowering reek of energon. It fluffs his plating in an unconscious effort to appear larger. At first he sees bits of wires, and plating littered about like garbage. However the volume of gore increases as he ventures further into the mine, becoming severed limbs, and pools of congealing energon. Nervously slipping past the drone parts, the seeker spots one of his squad idling halfway around the next corner. Starscream masks his relief with ire.“What’s taking you imbeciles so long!?” He stomps toward the vehicon into a much larger cavern of the mine. Unfortunately the vehicon can’t respond, seeing as it’s just a corpse skewered to the wall by one its own arm. The remnants of the rest of his squad are scattered about the room. A few aren’t entirely dead yet, greying frames twitching periodically. One reaches out for help, grasping feebly at his pedes. The pathetic gurgle of its fluid filled vents splashes energon around the remains of its dismembered frame. Purely on habit he kicks the dying drone away from himself, the racket of metal on metal blaring throughout the space. The drone’s heaving attempts at venting end, and the entire cavern is blanketed in an eerie hush. Something from the depths of the mine scrapes out its discontent across the rocks. He should leave now, clearly this operation had failed, there was nothing but spare parts here now. The scraping sound continues. His whole frame feels like it’s been dipped in ice, he can’t seem to get his pedes working. One of the entrances to the cavern bleeds another loud scrape, sending a shudder through the seeker’s plating. Whatever killed the vehicons hadn’t left. Dread curdles in his tanks like an infectious disease. He waits frozen in place as if being still would stave off his fate. A shambling blue monster rounds the corner, dragging the mutilated corpse of a miner with a crushed helm. Macabre golden light is cast in his direction, and the creature halts. It drops the body from its huge pincers with a muted thunk that echos ominously throughout the tunnels. Claws twitch haphazardly in an aborted motion, as if trying to grasp something from the air. A gaping hole in its abdomen drains pink down its gangly legs. It chuckles. Spark beating wildly in his chassis Starscream tries to retreat backward, reaching blindly behind himself for an exit. His servos skitter uselessly against the damning cold metal of a drill. His frantic movements provokes the creature into motion, and it’s on him in an instant. Its mechanoid body slams into him like a dead-weight, toppling him over onto the ground whilst it manages to catch itself on the wall. It staggers from its excessive momentum, ripping a shard of metal from its body and lunging forward. Desperately scrabbling away, Starscream manages to get out of the way when the creature stabs the shard deep into the flooring where he had been. It rears back to its pedes, leaving its makeshift weapon in the earth, and stalks toward him. Something stark red on its chassis stands out in the dim light of its optic valiantly. On most days Starscream would groan at the sight of it, but now floods him with relief. Because this monster was an autobot, and unlike decepticons autobots can be appealed to via their foolish moral codes. Megatron’s second in command holds his servos up in surrender. “Wait wait, I’m unarmed!” Starscream displays the ragged holes where his mounted weapons once were on his arms. “I’m helpless, I surrender.” “Cool.” The sound of those twin guns warming up might as well be deafening. Starscream gapes at the unexpected reaction, his silver-tongue faltering. “B-but you’re an autobot, you’re not suppose to shoot unarmed mechs!” “Yeah but, who’s here to enforce that dumb rule?” Starscream sputters. “Optimus Prime!? Your leader!” The name drop earns a blank stare and a cocked helm. “Is he here? On Earth? This is Earth right? Looks sorta like Swerve’s fantasy of it. Much less exciting. I miss the laugh track.” He pauses, as if expecting something, then gives his leaking frame a disappointed shake. The blue mech continues speaking as if he had never stopped. “Anyway, I was kinda hoping Prime died sacrificing himself to save some scraplets, or something equally heroically idiotic.” It’s safe to say Starscream is dumbfounded by the other mech’s causal death wish on the Prime.

“Are...you sure you’re an autobot?” He’s given an intimate view down the barrels of those twin guns, and hastily tries a different tactic. “No wait! Spare me, I can give you anything you want! Anything!” “Anything...?”

At that the bot tilts his helm in the other direction, sizing up the decepticon with his off putting gaze. Uncharacteristically the seeker finds himself without words, just waiting. The two fliers linger in a tense lull. It crawls past in an agonizing drawl of seconds, unblinking. Unbidden the blue mech’s frame sags as if releasing a deep sigh, his gaze flickering to himself for a moment. He no longer appears as threatening-despite the dried energon all over his frame-just tired. It’s enough of a reaction to brew confidence back into the silver mech’s lines. So he pulls himself back up to his pedes carefully, mentally preparing a speech about the benefits of a partnership. Further assurance comes in the form of a dirty claw dropping onto his shoulder lightly, giving it a companionable squeeze. Starscream fights the urge to slap it away. ‘With this dangerous of a monster on my side I’ll be unstoppable.’ He puts on a winning grin, preening internally over his ability to turn a bad situation in his favor. That friendly touch on his shoulder tightens near imperceptibly, and he thinks the mech is trying to smile back. “...No you can’t. So, I’m kinda just going to kill you a little.” Shock works like a catalyst, sending his emotions skipping straight over fear into anger. Who was this buffoon, to deny his capabilities and threaten him in the same breath? The seeker’s wings hike high up on his back, and he doesn’t quite resist the urge to stomp his pede. “Do you know who I am!?” He sneers at the other’s faceless helm, drawing himself up tall and prideful. “I am the great Starscream, and I will not be put down like an unruly turbo-fox!” If the strange mech is affected by the outburst he doesn’t show it. “Uh, no?” The words come bluntly, but feel like they’re being spat into his faceplate. “Pretty sure that slagger is livin’ it up on Cybertron. I know a lotta people think I’m dumb, but pal, you don’t even look like him.” “What!? How dare you! I am the one and only Starsc- uRK !” Wrenched forward painfully, the claws on his shoulder are joined by a twin pair around his throat. They squeeze tightly, biting into cabling and lifting him into the air. “Get a load of this guy,” The autobot jeers, addressing the nearby corpse as one would a partner in crime. Close proximity has the curling smoke from his rotors clogging into Starscream’s intakes. Likely on purpose. “Thinks he can pretend to be Ol’ Screamer just by having a really annoying voice.” The cavern becomes a tumbling blurr, and it takes a moment for it to register that he had been thrown. Metal protests in vehement screeches as he lands slam into the control panel of a parked drill. It surges to life. Lurching on its treads it races forward uncontrollably. Starscream squawks, bouncing off the drill’s platform when it collides with something far too fast. The cavern trembles. Several large rocks break loose from the ceiling, shattering against the ground. The blue mech releases a startled yelp, falling over onto his skid plate as the ground shifts beneath them. “Was that thing important?” From the floor the jet looks up, following the outstretched claw to see the chamber’s main support beam come crashing down. He blanches and the blue mech takes it as confirmation, spilling into a clumsy transformation. He shifts into a rotorcraft, and takes to the air, narrowly avoiding being crushed beneath a falling boulder. He moves with an unprecedented agility for a mech that had appeared previously injured, and clearly has no qualms about abandoning his quarry in the failing mine. The jet screeches, taking flight as well to avoid being entombed in the chamber. Alone now, the grey corpses remain as they were, blissfully unaware of the chaos around them.

Maybe the blue energon wasn’t agreeing with his tanks, or maybe it was the boulders that had nicked him several times over. Either way this tree was holding up his weight rather well. Having crashed into it several klicks ago after his harrowing escape from the mine, Whirl reasoned he could simply climb down in his root mode. However transforming had left him tangled in the branches, too sluggish from his injuries to tear himself out. His HUD blinks a torrent of red throughout his vision, refusing its dismissal. Urgent: primary energon line severed. Energon levels approaching critical. Oh, he had forgotten to deal with that. Stabilizing gyros functioning at 43%. Spinal strut severely fractured. GPS System Offline. Core temperature overheating. Abdominal plating ruptured, foreign object located. Left leg severely damaged- He ignores the rest of the report constructing a tide of errors across his HUD. A smoldering branch makes a nice pillow for his helm, another finds a cozy home through his stomach. Pink energon seeps down the tree’s bark in fanciful rivers. Whirl wonders how fast it’ll all go up if he inched a bit closer with his sparking wires.

The autobots had pinned down an unfamiliar energy signature coming from this area, and were fairly confident it was the reported mystery mech. However, actually locating the mech was proving difficult in the dense woods. Bulkhead skirts between the thick trunks of two trees, Bee beeping a negative for the area he was searching in his comm. They hadn’t been out here for too long, though if the mech wanted to avoid them he’d likely have heard Bulkhead’s lumbering and booked it awhile ago. Part of him thinks it would be better that way, he’d rather be back at base, he and Miko had plans later. A particularly bendy branch snaps back into his faceplate, and he groans in frustration. “ Hey !” A young voice breaks his train of thought, and for a moment he thinks Miko had hijacked the comms. “Big, green, and bulbous, over here!” He looks down, and deeper within the woods stands a human. It’s a little girl, younger than Miko maybe Raf’s age, with a pair of blue pigtails. He notes the eyepatch crossing her face briefly, confusion overriding the fact that he had just been seen by an unknown human. The girl’s face splits in an too wide grin, then she brings her hands up to the sides of her head and blows a raspberry at him. Whirling around the child races off with a high pitched laugh. With the knowledge that human younglings don’t belong in the wilderness, Bulkhead follows the girl, albeit at a slower pace. She leads him to a large tree that’s been partially uprooted and stands at its base, grinning as he makes his way into the clearing carefully. The girl doesn’t say anything and neither does the autobot, already pinging Bumblebee to get in contact with Fowler about any missing children. Suddenly she points upward, and he follows her gesture up the trunk of the massive tree to the sight of a twisted mass of blue metal staring down at him. He’s several different shades of blue, one of which he realizes isn’t paint. One of his legs is twisted strangely, the thin plating bent much too far. The mech is impaled through his abdomen, though the hole was likely created by something else then further exasperated by the branch fitted through it. Exposed wires spit sparks haphazardly from his frame. Pink liquid dribbles down the bark of the tree, a strange contrast against all the blue. It’s a sickening sight. Bulkhead rips his gaze back downward to tell the girl to move, it wasn’t safe under that tree, but she’s already gone. Regretfully he doesn’t have time for another chase through the woods, so he hopes she’ll be okay for awhile longer. Bulkhead reports his finding back to base, and a groundbridge swirls to life in the clearing a few moments later as he’s breaking branches to pull the mech from the tree. Ratchet as well as Optimus exit the bridge, and set to work untangling the blue mech. “He’s in stasis lock,” The medic reports grimly once the rotormech is laid out on the ground. He hovers his servos over the mech uncertainly, faceplate pulled into a frown. “I’m not familiar with this frame-type...” “Is he going to...?” Bulkhead wisely doesn’t finish his question, earning a scathing glare from the red and white mech. “I can fix him!” Ratchet says, tone clipped, but then his expression grows worried, and he looks to Optimus. “He’s critically injured though, and couple that with the fact that I don’t recognize his frame-type, I can’t do this without my medbay.” Taking an unknown mech back to their home base was beyond risky, they all knew that. But they also knew there was no way Optimus would stand by and let someone die. The bright red autobot emblem on the blue mech’s cockpit had nothing to do with it. Optimus nods solemnly, gathering the injured blue mech into his arms, and carrying him with gentle steps into the groundbridge. Back at the base, despite their protests the humans are sent to their homes immediately. Autobot or not, an unknown mech wasn’t safe for them to be around. At Fowler’s behest a human search party is sent to the area where Bulkhead saw the little girl, and they find nothing. Not a trace, like she didn’t even exist.

Maybe he feels a little responsible for the weird mech he found, or perhaps Miko’s suspicion is rubbing off on him, but something in the back of his processor remains apprehensive about the bot being left alone and unrestrained. A little guilt rises up when he thinks back to those various dents and scratches on the fragile looking bot. Nevertheless, Bulkhead can’t help but feel the need to check-in on the mech they rescued yesterday. He enters the medbay as quietly as someone of his size can. The area is silent, save for the eerie monotone drone of flatlining spark monitor. There’s a little pool of pink liquid smeared over the berth which is considerably empty of injured blue mechs. Unease builds in a crescendo. Hydraulics hiss softly. He turns in search of the noise, calling out into the thick hush. “Uh, hello?” A weight suddenly crashes down on Bulkhead’s back and his vision is obscured, he staggers blindly into a nearby table its contents clattering onto the floor. Pain blooms around his faceplate and he realizes whatever is latched onto his back has claws. Claws that are currently scrabbling at his optics. “Just mixing things up, been going for the throat a lot lately,” A cheery voice explains helpfully, right into his audial. “Don’t want anyone thinking they can get off callin’ me predictable.” Pointed prongs hold his helm in place, preventing him from getting a glimpse of their owner. He grunts, a lance of hot pain striking him as the glass of one of his optics is cracked. Sharp claws jostle against his faceplate, messily trying for an entrance into his optic’s socket. Reaching around himself proves fruitless, his arms too short, and his adversary easily avoiding his grasp. He flails, but despite the mech’s light weight he can’t shake him off, ending up with those claws digging into his faceplate painfully. It doesn’t leave him with many options. Bulkhead stumbles backward and slams his back into a wall. There’s a sickening crunch. A strange keen peters off into a laugh, then something fierce rakes itself down his backstrut. Reacting to the pain Bulkhead smashes his attacker into the wall again, and again. The grip on his helm loosens on the fourth clash. With a grunt he manages to grab ahold of the pincers on his faceplate and pull. The mech follows, tumbling over his shoulder and onto the floor with a loud thud. Undaunted he shifts as if preparing to launch himself at the green mech again, but then swivels his faceless helm toward the entrance and falls limp against the ground. “Bulkhead! What are you doing!? I just finished repairing him!” Ratchet enters the medbay in response to the commotion, none to pleased with what he sees. The white and red medic fumes, optics flashing over the mess. “And my tools!? I needed those!” “Yeah Bulky,” Croons the rabid blue mech, looking far too comfortable from where he was still sprawled out on the floor. “What’s your problem?” “He attacked me!” Bulkhead protests, motioning helplessly to the leaking blue mech. Ratchet is unimpressed. “He’s been in stasis lock since we brought him here, I strongly doubt he’s capable of inflicting any real damage to you in his current state.” Ratchet makes his way over to the prone mech, casting a scan over his frame to inspect him for any new injuries. The blue mech seems to take that as permission to rear up and throw one of his arms around the medic’s shoulders, causing Ratchet to stumble halfway to his knees. Alarmed Bulkhead steps forward to pry the ‘copter off, but a glare from the medic stops him. Ratchet doesn’t try to escape the grasp, clearly assuming the mech simply needed help getting up on his pedes. However, when he attempts to pull his patient upward the mech resists, yanking downward instead in an impressive show of strength that leaves the medic kneeling beside him. Ratchet scowls, iconic temper flaring at the blue mech’s antics. “Quit that, I’m trying to assist you.” “Assist me? How about you start by tellin’ me where I know you from,” He’s leaning into Ratchet now, seemingly oblivious to the medic’s grimace. A single claw gives the old mech’s red chevron a flick. “You’re awfully familiar, and it isn’t just your shining personality.” Ratchet scowls further, and swats the prodding claw away from his chevron. “I’ve never met you before, I think I’d remember something that unpleasant.” In response the mech gasps theatrically, the sound in contrast with the joyful squint of his optic. Whatever nonsense he’s about to say next is thankfully stopped by the presence of another bot entering the room. Optimus Prime gives the occupants a look over, raising an eyebrow ridge at the two mechs on the floor. Embarrassed the medic stands up quickly, allowing his patient to spill back onto the floor with an undignified yelp. “Greetings,” Prime offers the mech a servo which is rudely ignored by the mech who rolls over onto his side instead, his back facing Optimus. He returns his servo to his side, sending his autobots a questioning glance and getting a pair of shrugs in return. “Welcome to Earth, I am Optimus Prime, the leader of the autobots. We found you in critical condition and brought you to our base for treatment. I understand you may be confus-“ “You here to arrest me again?” “Arrest you? No...I dont-“ He’s cut off again, now by the blue mech clambering up to his pedes. It looks painful, but he shows no signs of discomfort as he steps toward Optimus, plating creaking. “You’ve gotten shorter,” He comments, sounding almost awed. To his surprise and somewhat childish chagrin, Prime finds himself at equal optic-level with a mech that wasn’t in the process of shooting a fusion cannon at him. The rotormech appears to find some mirth in this, standing at the tips of his pedes to gain some more height on the autobot. “I like you better this way.” For diplomacy’s sake Optimus decides to ignore the claw that hovers over their helms, comparing their heights. He also ignores the fact that the other mech is several inches taller when he’s standing straight. Optimus clears his throat, a habit most of his team has picked up from the humans. “It would help us if you could provide us with your designation,” Perhaps they could find something about this strange mech in their database. Doubtful considering they didn’t have the same resources here as they did on Cybertron, nevertheless it was still important to figure out this mech’s identity. “As well as where you hail from.” The blue mech’s response is a bit unexpected, though it seemed unexpected was his forte. “You don’t remember me?” His singular gold optic is blown wide, and his blue plating ruffles about his protoform in a wave. “At all? Zero? Zip? Zilch? Nada?” Something unpleasant churns in his tanks at the reaction. “My apologies, I don’t believe we’ve met before no.” Optimus attempts a placating tilt of his helm. There was little doubt that one could easily forget this mech. That wouldn’t stop the other from perceiving his lack of recognition as an insult. Thankfully he isn’t offended, though the gleeful shine to his yellow optic is disconcerting. “In that case my name is Cyclonus of Whereeverthefrag .” He leans in and clicks the tips of his pincers together mischievously. “I enjoy brooding and threatening hugs.” “You’re from where?” Ratchet cuts in, crossing his arms over his chassis. The faceless mech contorts himself awkwardly to address him, instead of simply turning around. “ Wherewhatsitslag .” “Uh-huh. For some reason I don’t believe you.” “Rude. Wherewhothescrap may not be as fancy as Iacon, but it’s still home.” “No, that place doesn’t exist and you’re not Cyclonus.” The blue mech narrows his yellow optic with a huff. “Always the buzzkill huh, Doc-bot?” Not-Cyclonus uncontorts himself to face Optimus and strikes a pose. “The names Whirl. Don’t wear it out, or better yet don’t use it at all, you can call me ShootyMcFragU.” Optimus blinks. “...Whirl, if you’re feeling well enough, I’d like to discuss your options now that you’re here on Earth.” Further questioning would have to wait, he needed to establish some sort of framework before he accidentally set him off. Sadly, empurata victims were known for being unstable. “As of now we have been unable to confirm your status as an autobot. We’ll require you to answer some questions pertaining to that-“ Whirl’s rotors begin to spin. “ -later . If you do not wish to partake in that you’ll be reclassified as a neutral. For now though, I insist you stay on base.” Whirl’s single gold optic flickers wide, and he cocks his helm slowly, looking all too similar to the Earth creature known as an owl. In turn Optimus tenses slightly, watching the other carefully. “Wow. Why even say options when it all boils down to being grounded like a sparkling?” “I know this situation is unfavorable, however we have a duty to this planet and its inhabitants. I cannot allow you to roam unrestricted, until you are both understanding and willing to carry out that duty.” “I’ll have you know I don’t understand many things, and I do duties all the time.” Whirl retorts, claws on his narrow hips. Ratchet drags a servo down his faceplate with a long suffering sigh. “Optimus, we can’t just let him stay here, what if he’s a Decepticon spy?” Whirl’s plating flares, but instead of lashing out at the medic as Prime feared he just stares. “Yeah, he tried to rip out my optics!” Bulkhead chimes in, pointing an accusing digit at the rotormech. Indeed his faceplate did look as if a turbo-fox had been scratching at his optics. “ Still mad about that?” “It happened like five nanosecs ago!” “If you didn’t want to be twins you could have just said so,” Whirl looms over the other mech, forcing Bulkhead to bend back uncomfortably. “You probably couldn’t pull off the one optic look nearly as well as me though.” Prime steps in between the two, separating them without actually touching the blue mech. His knowledge of empurata victims now felt like it was woefully lacking, but he knew better than to grab at Whirl’s claws. “Enough. Where Whirl’s loyalties lie is a discussion for later .” Optimus stresses the last word, giving his autobots a pointed look. If they really wanted to do a full blown interrogation right now, it wouldn’t end well for any of them. They knew better than that. He returns his focus to Whirl who seems to be enjoying the autobots’s scolding. “I must ask you to refrain from attacking anyone.” Whirl’s entire frame recoils with disgust, then he falls into a  deceptively lazy slouch. His burning optic regards Optimus with an odd glint, and Optimus dearly hopes he isn’t planning something. It’d been a long time since he had to deal with anyone completely unknown and unpredictable like this. Earth had certainly brought about it’s fair share of surprises, but this was something else entirely. While he was sure they had the advantage here he wasn’t keen on finding out what kind of damage Whirl could inflict when he was cornered. If the dried energon he had previously been covered in meant anything, it was probably a lot. “ Anyone is a bit of a broad term, can you pick something else? Like: don’t punch anyone yay high-“ Whirl gestures to about seven feet off the ground. “-or like shooting yes, stabbing no. I dunno, limiting my violence gives me the icks.” “...I see.” Part of him wonders if he should have expected this from a mech whose first words to him was to ask if he was getting arrested again.

[imonlyquietontheoutside]

Lost and Lonely Souls - A Sirius Black Imagine

Lost and Lonely Souls

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Description: What do you get if you cross an angry, arrogant boy with a sad, shy girl? Madness. That’s how it was between Sirius and Y/N ever since they met in sixth year. Their story was a roller-coaster of confessions and secrets and whispered dreams through cigarette smoke and tears. Cold nights curled up underneath the stars in the astronomy tower, countless cups of tea and last minute essays clutched in shaking fingers. Two bodies, two hearts and two raging, disquieted minds tumbled together to forge a single entity; together they were two halves of one entirely lost and lonely soul.

This is part one of a series :)

---

Part 1

Y/N padded across the common room, inching around a gaggle of babbling first years who were scattered across the carpet near the fire. Some of them were broken off into pairs, screeching over boards of wizard’s chess. The other baby-faced students, though empty-handed, were making just as much of a ruckus. Despite the obscene noise that the youngest students always managed to emit wherever they were, the older students could only watch on in amusement. For the students like Y/N, the strutting eleven year olds with beaming grins and mischief pouring out of their sleeves brought hope in light of the devastation beyond the grounds of Hogwarts.

As she passed by a petite boy drowning in in his robe and crimson and gold tie, she bent down to whisper, “Queen to H4”, into his ear.

The boy’s ruddy little face swivelled to observe her with widened eyes. She winked at him, her lips flicking up into a smirk and he beamed at her for only a second before he swung around and triumphantly bellowed his instruction to move his queen to h4. As the piece glided across the board, Y/N continued on her way, twisting through sprawled out bodies and swinging legs to the chorus of the boy’s opponent moaning about his ultimate defeat.

Having navigated the sea of first years, Y/N slipped behind the crowd of armchairs that held a bunch of fourth year girls, all gushing about Merlin knows what. Their excitement didn’t bring the same amusement as the first years’ had to Y/N, the fourteen year olds were only two years her junior and were consumed with thoughts of crushes and quidditch and dates to Hogsmeade, or so she could assume. Their problems paled in comparison to those plastered across the front page of the Daily Prophet which was tucked beneath Y/N’s right arm – Death Eaters Terrorise Muggle London wedged right next to Muggleborn Slaughter Continues. Y/N couldn’t stretch her imagination far enough to see that the subject of boys occupied the same importance as cold blooded murder of Muggleborns.

The portrait hole was close in sight by now, Y/N having successfully navigated the entire length of the common room reached the exit and wasted no time slipping out into the corridor, gently swinging the Fat Lady’s portrait back in place without disturbing her slumber.

It had become a habit of Y/N’s to roam the castle during the fragile hours of the night following a tragic occurrence in the wizarding war. If ever she was caught out of bed, she had decided that she would laugh in the face of the teacher who did the discovering of her rule-breaking practice. Her defence would be that walking around the safe corridors of the grand castle was such a miniscule crime, if it could be called as such, compared to the devastation going on outside Hogwarts. The Prophet had landed on the table at breakfast that morning and one glimpse at the screaming titles on the front had filled her head with raging thoughts that didn’t quiet throughout her day of brewing potions and translating ancient runes. Any hope of restful sleep had been knocked out of her as soon as her eyes met those of the silent, screaming woman in the moving photograph. She was writhing beneath a caption that claimed twelve more lives were claimed by the Death Eaters only last night. Thus, Y/N found herself venturing through the dim corridors hoping to solace her unease.

Y/N was wandering through the castle with the purpose of reaching the kitchen, the first stop in her midnight roam. She had discovered the kitchen on a night such as this, caught up in her raging mind following a brutal Death Eater attack; she had bumped into one of the house elves. The fumbling little creature, who introduced herself as Poppet, led Y/N to the fruit bowl portrait and into the bustling kitchen. Now, any time she can’t sleep, Y/N finds herself tickling the pear, seeking comfort from a tea cup.

“Miss Y/N, such a delightful honour to see you again,” squeaked Poppet, who bounded around the corner of the nearest counter. The house elf rocketed towards the corner of the kitchen where a herd of chairs were packed tightly together. Tugging at the leg of the nearest chair, Poppet dragged the object until it was perched by the crackling fire.

“It’s lovely to see you too, Poppet.” Y/N chided as Poppet beamingly gestured towards the chair before bouncing off out of sight. Y/N crossed the room to the fireplace and sat down as instructed by Poppet, tucking her copy of the Daily Prophet behind her back as she did so.

The house elf hadn’t been gone more than two minutes before she reappeared with a tray brimming with sweets and cakes and a piping cup of tea.

“For you, Miss Y/N,” Poppet cooed, “to help you be cheerful.” Her bug eyes blinked up at Y/N as she thrust the tray out. The tray was exchanged between the two and laid against Y/N’s knees.

“Thank you, Poppet.” The words hardly expressed the volume of her gratitude; however, it warranted an embarrassed response from Poppet who coiled up her little body, rocking around with her hands clasped at her back.

“Miss Y/N doesn’t have to thank Poppet,” she squeaked, “Poppet is only helping Miss Y/N feel happy again.” Y/N lifted the tray from her lap and placed in on the ground beside the chair, she slid down to crouch in front of Poppet and press a gentle kiss on the elf’s head.

“You are so kind to me, Poppet,” Y/N said, “Truly. Thank you for the tea and the sweets.” She stood up as the elf muttered incoherently, blushing profusely. Y/N picked up the tray and offered her little friend a smile and a wave as she backed across the room towards the door. She felt as though her presence in the kitchen would disturb the house elves as they worked, preparing for the morning breakfast and so she took her tray elsewhere to devour in solitude.

A glimpse of the cloudless night sky through a frosted window guided Y/N towards the astronomy tower. The conditions outside were perfect for star gazing, a recent hobby that settled Y/N’s restless mind. Counting constellations and tracing patterns in the twinkling lights calmed Y/N profoundly, even the thought of the activity perked up her spirits. She traipsed up the stairs leading to the tower, the whistling wind outside accompanied by the rattle of her tea cup against the saucer and her thudding footsteps created a harmonious symphony. Each sound familiar and comforting.

Y/N felt her shoulders relax as she reached the landing at the top of the staircase; she was met with the round, open foyer of the astronomy tower. This space had become a sacred spot for Y/N; it was a safe place to get away and just breathe, to forget all her worries. At least it usually was, when she was the only one there.

Sitting beneath one of the archways with his legs hanging over the edge was none other than Sirius Black. Y/N paused at the top of the staircase, paralysed at the sight of her fellow classmate, the infamous Sirius Black. She began contemplating how to remove herself from the room without alerting the Gryffindor boy of her presence, she had somehow managed to clamber up the staircase in silence; however the descent would prove to be much trickier considering the large tray hiding her view of both her feet and the stairs themselves.

Y/N took a deep breath and prepared to initiate her departure, she swivelled on the balls of her feet gracefully, though unfortunately not without the clattering of various plates and saucers. Her eyes bunched shut and her teeth clashed together for a second.

“Where are you going with all that?” Sirius Black was now facing her with his trademark smirk plastered across his face. Y/N could feel her cheeks burning as she slowing turned her head to face him.

“I, uh, didn’t want to intrude,” she trailed off, grimacing at her own unsureness. Her left hand itched with the need to nervously scratch the back of her neck, a habit she unconsciously performs whenever subjected to embarrassment.

“I was just wishing on that star over there,” Sirius flicked his right hand in the vague direction of one of many blinking stars in the sky, “and do you know what I wished for?” He grinned when Y/N’s only response was a slight tilt of her head.

“I wished that a pretty girl would come and bring me tea and biscuits.” The blush on Y/N’s cheeks deepened and she pursed her lips to contain a smile. Sirius patted the ground beside him with boyish giddiness; Y/N slunk across the room towards him and handed over the tray. Sirius lowered it to the ground and plunged his hand straight towards the plate piled up with cakes and scones and biscuits. Y/N stood where she was, chewing on her bottom lip and shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She wasn’t sure whether to sit and join Sirius or if she should leave as she had planned.

“Mhmhm mmhhh,” Sirius said with a wild wave of his hand, his mouth teeming with crumbs. Y/N laughed, her hand scratching a phantom itch on her neck.

“Sit, my wish specifically mentioned a pretty girl so you must sit and keep me company,” the smirk was back. Coming from anyone else’s mouth, his comment would have sounded incredibly obnoxious but the damn boy was too pretty for his own good. His grey eyes fluttering up at Y/N and the blood red smudge of jam spilling out across the corner of his mouth made him look boyish and sweet in that moment. Y/N lowered herself down onto the ground and leaned her back against a concrete pillar. She brought her knees up to her chest, refusing to meet Sirius’s eyes and instead found great intrigue in inspecting the dirt beneath her nails. While Y/N was flicking at the debris under her nails, Sirius continued chomping away at the sweets swinging his legs back and forth over the ledge. He was sat with one arm resting on the thin steel railing that ran shoulder-height in front of his body, his back was slumped forward carelessly and his head tilted backwards.

“So, what brings you up here on this starry night?” Sirius waved his half-eaten biscuit towards the heavens. He was staring intently at Y/N, taking a huge, tearing bite out of the biscuit as he waited for her response.

“It’s peaceful up here, it makes everything else, just, go away,” her fingers separated, as if demonstrating a miniscule explosion. She looked up through her eyelashes at him, his lips had drawn together into a straight line and his head nodded three times before he sighed dramatically, turning his head out towards the expanse of black sky. His chin dropped onto his bent elbow that rested on the railing in front of him and he was quiet for a moment.

“For everything to go away, that’s what I should have wished for,” he turned his head toward Y/N with a cheeky grin, “not that I mind your company but if I had thought of it, I might have ended the whole bloody war,” Sirius spread his arms out for dramatic effect and Y/N smiled back at him.

The two of them spent the rest of that first night side by side, Sirius polished off the whole tray and drank the entire pot of tea while Y/N listened to and laughed at all of his jokes. Both students had sought out that spot in the astronomy tower to wallow in despairing and lonely thoughts but together they found a companionship that could only blossom from there on.

[amorremanet]

for the shipping meme: keith/shiro!

“who does which thing” shipping meme because why the hey not!

*takes this as a free excuse to babble about the Tall, Smart, Good-Looking Fic because…… uh, I wanted to?*

falls asleep on the couch: Shiro. Technically, they both do, but Shiro is more likely to fall asleep on the couch while Keith can and will nod off just about everywhere, as long as he gets to sleep. (That said: in ch. 10, Keith is literally sleeping on a couch where he knows campus security probably won’t get on his case about how he doesn’t live in this dormitory, and his rationale is, “What? At least I’m not taking a nap in a stranger’s car”)

makes friends with the neighbors: …Yes, but for very different reasons. Shiro, like, genuinely tries to make friends with the neighbors, so he can totally tell you about how Mrs. Johnson, the old widow down the hall from Matt and Pidge, is doing and will totally help her with her groceries because he enjoys helping people, and he can tell you how the cute lesbian triad across the hall from him, Lance, and Hunk are super-sweet and Emma makes these really intricate sculptures out of bottle caps, and so on because Shiro likes people and getting to know them.

Keith, otoh, bonded with Rolo and Nyma because the building that they live in sucks and all three of them have been through Some Bad Shit and they have a mutual enemy in Morvok: The Worst And Most Useless Landlord Literally Ever. Keith is also not aware that Rolo and Nyma consider him a friend, but Keith doesn’t think that most people consider him a friend, so.

is the adventurous eater: Keith. It can be hard to notice, because Shiro does have a pretty expansive and inclusive palate while Keith has a list of things that he Knows He Likes and prefers to stick to it (and it is also a decently-sized list, but fact is, Keith does have things that he thinks of as His Orders because he almost always gets them)…… but Keith is also more willing to say, “Fuck it, I’m hungry” and eat whatever’s there to eat at any given moment (because…… well, fuck it, he’s hungry).

Shiro, meanwhile, tends to have more finicky tastes, things that he likes some days but doesn’t feel up to eating other days, and while his list of Things That He Generally Feels Okay With does have a bit more “adventurous” options on it (depending on how you define the term, “adventurous”), there are days when he just…… doesn’t want to venture outside the comfort zone. Because on those days, it’s a choice between going outside his comfort zone and actually eating, and he’d rather eat right and not risk setting his recovery back.

hogs the covers at night: lmao Shiro. Okay, bless his heart, he tries not to…… but he still does it. He likes feeling secure in his blanket burrito (or with somebody snuggled up to his chest, which is about the only way to make him share).

forgets to do the dishes: also Shiro. Keith doesn’t really have that many dishes, so he doesn’t have the choice to forget to do them unless he wants to eat with his hands or drink milk straight out of the bottle (which he sometimes does, but he tries to limit that behavior to finals week).

As for Shiro, though? Like, okay cool, honey, you can say all you want about the weird shit that happens when Lance spaces out and forgets to take his Adderall…… but you don’t even have ADHD and you forget to do the dishes (almost) all the time.

One time, he tried to claim, “But I’m on kitchen probation again! :D” to get out of it. In response, Hunk paused making his own lunch to come put slices of bread on both sides of Shiro’s face and make him do the, “What are you?” “An idiot sandwich…” bit. (And then Hunk felt bad, hugged Shiro, and clarified that he’s not an idiot but, “kitchen probation” doesn’t include doing your damn dishes, okay.)

tries to surprise their partner more often: Shiro. Historically, it has not always worked out so well. It is, however, going to work out VERY well in about three or four chapters but ssh, I didn’t say anything. Also, possibly in about a chapter-and-a-half (between, “dinner with Allura and Shay for Keith and Allura’s birthday” and, “Shiro is stuck babysitting Slav for Ryou, and Keith has to come bring him lunch so he won’t burn down his poor brother’s kitchen”), but I’m still on the fence about that idea.

leaves dirty laundry on the floor: Both of them do it, but Shiro is guiltier of it. But that’s partly on the fact that he has more space to leave his dirty laundry than Keith does.

Seriously, his biggest reason not to leave his laundry on the floor is that he and Lance have more than once gotten their clothes mixed up and Shiro didn’t notice until he put on a shirt that he couldn’t immediately assign to one of them (like, a random Green Day tank top, as opposed to Lance’s SuperBat and “Free Kesha” crop-tops, or Shiro’s collection of Vonnegut t-shirts and “The Church of St. George [Michael]” shirt), and didn’t really think about the relative sizes because some of his shirts run small while some of Lance’s run bigger, and this was Other Than A Good.

stays up til 2 AM reading: Keith. Shiro used to do it, too, but part of that whole, “trying to work on his problems, going to therapy regularly, trying to get to a better place re: mental and emotional health” thing has been working on making himself stick to a bedtime (with a bit of wiggle room on nights when the band has a show, or when they forget to keep track of time and practice until four in the freaking morning).

Granted, this is a Work In Progress even without the part where he and the band are too punk rock for linear conceptions of time. Occasionally, Shiro needs either Lance to make a sad puppy-eyes guilt-trip face or Hunk to come glare at him in quiet disappointment until he feels bad about rereading Good Omens for the umpteenth time at 2:30 AM when he knows he has work and a session with Ulaz tomorrow.

sings in the shower: Shiro more often than Keith, but Keith has gotten busted singing in the shower before (by Allura, Rolo, Nyma, Shiro, their old roomie Mark, Coran, and multiple foster siblings).

takes the selfies: Well, Shiro is the one who takes the selfies with both of them because he has longer arms, but they’re both happy to trade solo selfies

plans date night: ………ahahaha, that’s a really funny joke. These two. Planning. Seriously, the closest you get is that both of them do that thing where they come up with a bunch of scenarios that might happen and all the ways that everything could possibly go wrong, and they get overly prepared for things that never come to pass, then have to improvise when things go other than how they expected

[helloweenhorror]

My Halloween Playlist

Another blog did a post with their Halloween music playlist. I commented and they replied, asking me to share mine. It took a bit to get the list from iTunes, but here is what I am at, currently. (I am always looking for more!)

1 Witch Doctor - Alvin and the Chipmunks 2 Drac's Back - Andy Forray 3 The Rockin' Ghost -Archie Bleyer 4 Zombies - The Astro 5 Devil In My Car - The B-52's 6 The Monster Hop - Bert Convy 7 The Night Before Halloween - Bill Buchanan 8 Wombie Zombie - Billy Taylor 9 Release The Bats - The Birthday Party 10 Born on a Day the Sun Didn't Rise - Black Moth Super Rainbow 11 Oliver Haddo - Blood Ceremony 12 Monster Mash - Bobby "Boris" Pickett & The Crypt-Kickers 13 The Monster Swim - Bobby (Boris) Pickett And The Crypt Kickers 14 Vampira - Halloween Howls Bobby Bare 15 They're Here - Boots Walker 16 Monster Mash - Monster Hits Vol. 1 Boris Pickett & The Crypt Keepers 17 Screaming - The Brains 18 The Ghost Of Smokey Joe - Cab Calloway 19 Violet Hellfire - Calabrese 20 cthlu thlu - Caravan 21 The Skeleton Dance - Cark Stalling 22 Don't Meet Mr. Frankenstein - Carlos Casal, Jr. 23 Dracula - Christine Pilzer 24 Devil Woman - Cliff Richard 25 The Twilight Zone - Monster Hits Vol. 1 Constant, Marius 26 Blood Will Have Blood - Corpusse 27 Treat You Like A Lady - Count Floyd (Joe Flaherty) 28 I Was A Teenage Werewolf - The Cramps 29 Rockin' Bones - The Cramps 30 Crushed - The Crypt Club 31 Frankenstein Twist - The Crystals 32 Grimly Fiendish - The Damned 33 Frankenstein Conquers The World - Daniel Johnston And Jad Fair 34 Shhh... - The Darkest of the Hillside Thickets 35 Mad Witch - Dave Gardner 36 Trick Or Treat - David, Hoffman And Livington 37 It's Monster Surfing Time - The Deadly Ones 38 The Voodoo Man - The Del-Vikings 39 Horror Movies - Dickie Goodman 40 Zombie Stomp - Elvira, Mistress of the Dark 41 Mad Monster Party - Ethel Ennis 42 Halloween Remix - Exorcist Theme - The Exorcist Motion Picture Soundtrack 43 Tubular Bells - The Exorcist Theme 44 Graveyard Music - F. Xavier Atencio And Buddy Baker 45 Grim Grinning Ghosts - F. Xavier Atencio And Buddy Baker 46 I'm A Mummy - The Fall 47 Me And The Ghost Upstairs - Fred Astaire 48 The Cave (Part One) - Gary "Spider" Webb 49 Werewolf - Gary Warren 50 The Surf Monster - Gene Moss 51 Carry Me Back To Transylvania - Gene Moss 52 Ghastly Stomp - The Ghastly Ones 53 Goblin Dance - Ghostly Sounds (Gershon Kingsley & Pete… 54 The Graveyard Shift - The Ghouls 55 Night Gallery - Gil Melle And Edward Sauter 56 Spook City U.S.A. - Glenn Danzig 57 The Twilight Zone '85 Main Title - The Grateful Dead And Merl Saunders 58 Zombies, March! - GWAR 59 Omar The Vampire - The Hamburger Brothers 60 The Vampire Lovers - Harry Robinson 61 Blood Of Dracula - I was A Teenage Frankenstein 62 Midnight Monsters Hop - Jack And Jim 63 The Monsters Go Disco - Monster Cereals Jeff Elmassian 64 Unpleasantville - Jeremy Tyler 65 Vampire Daddy - Jerry Bryan 66 Ave Satani - Jerry Goldsmith 67 The Altar - Jerry Goldsmith 68 Carol Ann's Theme (End Title) - Jerry Goldsmith 69 Toccata And Fugue In D-Minor - Monster Hits Vol. 1 Johann Sebastian Bach 70 Halloween Theme - Main Title - John Carpenter 71 The Fog (main Theme) - John Carpenter 72 Opening Titles - John Carpenter 73 Wake Up - John Carpenter 74 Happy Halloween - John Zacherle 75 Halloween - Kay Lande & Wade Denning 76 The Headless Horseman - Kay Starr 77 Wicked Annabella - The Kinks 78 She's My Witch - Kip Tyler 79 You Can't Give Me Anything - Kreeps 80 Halloween Spooks - Lambert, Hendricks And Ross 81 The Mummy's Bracelet - Lee Ross 82 Graveyard - Leroy Bowman 83 Story Time   84 Shaking Things Up 85 Welcome To Unpleasantville 86 Man Meets Monster 87 Pumpkin Brain Pie 88 All Out Of Homes 89 The O'lantern's 90 Smashing Pumpkins 91 Spider Baby Theme - Spider Baby Soundtrack Lon Chaney Jr 92 The Boogeyman is Coming - Halloween Lonnie Elam 93 Wolf Call - lord dent and his invaders 94 Jinetes En El Cielo - Los Babys 95 Amytiville - Lovebug Starski 96 Out Of Limits - The Marketts 97 Zombie - Mecht Mensch 98 13 O'Clock Rock - The Memphis Morticians 99 Return Of The Fly - Misfits 100 Ghoul's Night Out - The Misfits 101 The Spider And The Fly - The Monocles 102 Night Of The Vampire - The Moontrekkers 103 The Haunted Strangler - Movie Advert 104 Horror Of Dracula - Movie Advert 105 I Was A Teenage Werewolf - Movie Advert 106 The Mummy - Movie Advert 107 At The Munsters - The Munsters 108 The Haunted House - New Mayfair Dance Orchestra 109 Can't Stop the Monster Kids - The Other 110 Clinkerated Chimes - Pat Bone 111 Phantasm Theme - Phantasm Motion Picture Soundtrack 112 The House on Shady Lane - The House on Shady Lane Plain White T’s 113 A Questionable Obsession with the Recen… RAMMER 114 The Witch Queen Of New Orleans - Redbone 115 The House On Sorority Row - Main Title - Richard Band 116 Prologue / Main Title - Richard Band 117 Re-Animator Theme Reprise - Richard Band 118 Dark Shadows - The Robert Cobert Orchestra 119 The Night Of The Vampire - Roky Erickson 120 I Walked With A Zombie - Roky Erickson And The Aliens 121 Halloween Remix - Miscellaneous Ronald Jenkees 122 Goo Goo Muck - Ronnie Cook And The Gaylads 123 Kill Murder Killers 124 Zombies of the Dead 125 Day of the Rocks 126 Murder on the Gondola 127 Ghoulash - Satan's Pilgrims 128 She's Fallen In Love With A Monster Man - Screaming Lord Sutch 129 Jack the Ripper - Screaming Lord Sutch 130 Jack The Ripper - Screaming Lord Sutch 131 It's Halloween - The Shaggs 132 It Counquered The World - The She Creature 133 The Purple People Eater - Monster Hits Vol. 1 Sheb Wooley 134 Birthday - So Sick Social Club feat. Madchild 135 Suck Me - Spooklight feat. Ryan Lindsey 136 The Spook Walks - Spooks 137 Tongue Sandwich (Water Creature Remix) - Squid Lid 138 Jump Rope - Steve Jablonsky 139 Main Title - Steve Jablonsky 140 Ghost Rider - Suicide 141 Graveyard Rock - Tarantula Ghoul And Her Gravediggers 142 Get Up and Kill - The Creeping Cruds 143 Monster - The Mission Creeps 144 Phantom Chop - The von Drats 145 Wrong Turn - The Young Werewolves 146 Danny's Inferno - The Three Suns 147 The Ghost And Mr. Chicken - The Tiki Tones 148 Bad Ritual - Timber Timbre 149 I'm A Ghost - Unknown Artist 150 Snickers Halloween Grocery Store - Halloween Various Artists 151 Nightmare on My Street - Various Artists 152 At the House of Frankenstein - Various Artists 153 Creature Feature - Various Artists 154 The Day The Earth Stood Still - Various Artists 155 Halloween Spooks - Various Artists 156 The Headless Horseman - Various Artists 157 Monster Holiday - Various Artists 158 Trick Or Treat - Various Artists 159 The Fourth Dimension - The Ventures 160 Haunted House of Rock (extended version) - whodini 161 Opening Titles Friday the 13th: The Series - Fred Mollin 162 Love Potion No. 9 - The Clovers 163 Mr. Sandman - The Chordettes 164 Alfred Hitchcock Presents Theme 165 - Hellraiser - Christopher Young 166 - Tales from the Crypt - Danny Elfman 167 - Beetlejuice - Danny Elfman 168 - Edward Scissorhands - Danny Elfman 169 - The Outer Limits - Dominic Frontiere 170 - Tales From the Darkside - Donald Rubenstein 171 - Forever Knight - Fred Mollin 172 - Friday the 13th: The Series - Fred Mollin 173 - Beyond Reality - Fred Mollin 174 - The Odyssey - Fred Mollin 175 - Opening Titles - Friday the 13th: The Series - Fred Mollin 176 - 'The Inheritance': Thunderstorm In The City/'Tails I Live, Heads You Die': The Graveyard... 177 - Suite From 'The Barons Bride': I. Micki's Trance/II. The Vampire's Lair/III. Ryan Says Goodbye... 178 - Suite From 'Badge Of Honor': I. The Deal/II. Micki And Tim/III. Sharko Alone/The Badge Revealed... 179 - 'Tails I Live, Heads You Die': The Death Of Micki 180 - 'Symphony In B Sharp': I. Ryan Chases The Phantom/II. The Death Of Leslie/III. The Fight To... 181 - Suite From 'Brain Drain': I. Jack And Vi/II. Real Love/III. Jack Mourns Vi 182 -  'Eye Of Death': I. The Letter/The Troops Retreat/II. More Retreat 183 -  Suite From 'What A Mother Wouldn't Do': I. The Cradle Revealed/Mom And Louis/II. Mom And The Baby... 184 - 'The Electrocutioner': I. In The Basement 185 -  Suite From 'The Playhouse': I. The Children's Theme/II. The Playhouse Transports The Children... 186 - Suite From 'Wedding In Black' And 'Bottle Of Dreams': I. The Castle/II. Calvin And Micki/... 187 - 'Bottle Of Dreams': I. The End Of A Year 188 - Friday The 13th-The Series: Closing Credits 189 -Friday the 13th - Main Theme 190 - Friday the 13th - Theme 191 - Kolchak: The Night Stalker - Gil Melle 192 - Night Gallery -  Gilbert Melle 193 - Suspiria - Goblin 194 - Theme from Friday the 13th - The Horror Theme 195 - Friday the 13th (the Legacy) - The Horror Theme 196 - The Fly - Howard Shore 197 - Videodrome - Howard Shore 198 - The Outer Limits (1995) - J. Van Tongeren 199 - The Omen - Jerry Goldsmith 200 - Poltergeist - Jerry Goldsmith 201 - Halloween - John Carpenter 202 - Theme Music (Original) - John Carpenter 203 - Theme (From Halloween) - John Carpenter 204 - Theme to Jaws - John Williams 205 - Dead, Dead, Dead - Juan Schwartz and 206 - The Twilight Zone - Marius Constant 207 - Nowhere Man - Mark Snow 208 - The X-Files - Mark Snow 209 - Scooby Doo, Where Are You? - Matthew Sweet 210 - Dark Shadows Theme - R. Corbet 211 - Ghostbusters - Ray Parker Jr. 212 - Dracula: The Series - Robert Cobert 213 - The Addams Family - various 214 - Bewitched - various 215 - The Twilight Zone - various 216 - Main Theme from The Addams Family - Vic Mizzy 217 - Werewolves of London - Warren Zevon 218 - In Search Of... - various 219 - Tales from the Darkside Intro

[sylveon-official]

back at it again with the mpreg trash

title: Stay Gold rating: T pairings: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki warnings: abo, mpreg, childbirth

btw y’all have no idea who i am but thanks @tomakehimfree and @n-s-f-w-sportsbaes for high key inspiring me to start writing this shit again but now just for the yoi fandom lol

read on archiveofourown or under the cut.

At age 18, Yuri Plisetsky certainly expected to be back at his fourth consecutive Grand Prix Final since making his senior debut. As the current defending three-time gold medalist, he has a title to uphold after all. So needless to say, Yuri certainly belonged on the side of the rink watching the free-skate unfold beside the rest of the GPF finalists – the problem was, he wasn’t actually one of them. Yuri’s pretty the ISU would have disqualified him as early as the five month mark when he started showing – now that he’s a healthy eight months and some change into his pregnancy, he’s quite sure his globe of a belly would get in the way of some of the more technical requirements involved in his free-skate routine. 

Not that he hadn’t seriously thought about how he could start adjusting the elements to accommodate his growing belly when he found out about his pregnancy a good couple of months into fine-tuning what would have been his new routines for the current season.

But alas, Yuri’s baby-daddy extraordinaire and favorite for GPF gold in Yuri’s absence, one Otabek Altin, had shut down any and all innocent fantasies Yuri had of even so much as stepping foot on the ice for the rest of the season. By principle, Yuri understood, of course – the ice isn’t exactly a forgiving surface when you’re baking a vulnerable human child inside of you. The last eight months hadn’t exactly been a breeze when, on top of the moodiness and the weight-gain and the nausea, Yuri wasn’t even allowed to use the ice as a means of stress-relief.

So yes, after Yuri’s second gold medal-win at Worlds eight months ago, he had all but planned to return and defend what should have been his fourth senior division GPF win in a row. But after a wild night of celebration with a certain Worlds silver-medalist, which may or may not have been so spectacular it triggered Yuri’s heat a solid month early… Yuri guesses maybe he should have foreseen his current position on the sideline of the rink rather than in it.

Yuri supposes he should at least be grateful that he’s here now, that the skating Gods decided to take pity on him by conveniently hosting this year’s GPF conveniently in Saint Petersburg. Arms folded on the edge of the barrier, Yuri eyes his mate as he reaches down to remove his skate guards. Otabek was at a comfortable 3rd place, 2 points ahead of the pork cutlet bowl after the short program yesterday. Yuri is confident he can at least snag the silver, depending on Katsudon’s performance today – to be fair, he’s supposedly retiring this year, so he’s been more motivated than ever to grab the gold in order to fulfill Victor’s stupid wedding pact. Yuri knows they’ll get married regardless of the results, but he guesses it’d be kind of romantic if the piggy could actually pull it off.

Yuri wrinkles his nose once he realizes he’s just had a thought that’s included “Victor”, “the piggy”, and “romantic” all in the same sentence, but just as easily discards it under the pretense of pregnancy brain. Yuri Plisetsky hasn’t been getting soft in his journey to accidental parenthood, not at all – his brain is just getting all messed up because of the hormones, he thinks, even has he returns the friendly peace sign Katsuki throws at him from the other side of the rink.

Otabek must have noticed, because a second later he’s shooting a small, wry smirk at Yuri that his him rolling his eyes.

“What, Beka?”

Otabek merely catches his hand in his from where he’s kneeling on the ground getting in a quick calf-stretch before his turn on the ice.

He presses a soft kiss to Yuri’s fingertips before teasing, “Conspiring with my competition?”

Yuri huffs and snatches his hand away, flicking Otabek softly on the side of his cheek.

“The old man’s finally retiring this year. I’m just cutting him some slack. 

“And I’m sure it has nothing to do with the help he’s been to you the last eight months?”

Yuri pulls a face that has Otabek chuckling to himself. Sure, the Katsudon has probably frequented Yuri and Otabek’s Saint Petersburg apartment more than his and Victor’s own in Yuri’s third trimester, but wasn’t like Yuri was begging for the other omega’s constant doting on. Even if he didn’t mind the weekly pork cutlet bowl meals he’d been spoiled with, it wasn’t necessary – except for when he’d called the pork cutlet bowl himself over to the apartment at 5 in the morning on a Sunday to satisfy his craving for one, but that was only one time. Okay, maybe two. Three tops.

Otabek pulls himself up just as China’s Guang Hong is wrapping up his final step sequence.

“Well. Don’t fuck it up.” Yuri allows a small smile to tug at his lips as he drops a hand to his mate’s hip.

“Hey. Language.” Otabek chides, patting the side of Yuri’s belly.

“Ugh, let me live while she’s still in there feeding on my organs.” Yuri heaves a dramatic sigh and runs a hand across the back of Otabek’s undercut before bringing their foreheads together.

“Stop making her sound like a zombie. Feasting on organs… very un-ladylike.” Otabek frowns faintly then presses a chaste kiss to Yuri’s lips.

“Hey, I know your family’s traditional, Otabek, but if our princess wants to be a flesh-eating zombie, she’ll be the best damn brain-eater in all of Russia, fuck your gender roles.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Otabek shakes his head, but he’s smiling that half-smile he does when he’s trying to contain an even bigger one, one of those rare, toothy grins he only does when he’s about to say something really sappy.

Before he can quite get to that point, Guang Hong is taking his bows and the announcers are getting ready to call Otabek out to the ice. 

Yuri presses one last kiss to Otabek’s lips and pulls a simple thumbs-up.

“Davai, Beka. 

Otabek nods his head once and returns the gesture, a determined glint in his eye. He fondly rubs his hand over the side of Yuri’s belly, a habit he’s taken to lately before heading onto the ice that leaves Yuri feeling vaguely like one of those big-bellied Buddha statues people rub for good luck at temples in Japan. He’s almost affronted enough to say as much, but the next moment the announcer is calling Otabek’s name and he’s skating out into the middle of the rink to start his program.

Yuri sighs into his palm as he watches his mate glide across the ice and into his starting pose. Impending fatherhood has inspired him more than ever to skate a solid program – “It’s because I’m skating for the two now”, he’d said after his Rostelecom Cup win before embarrassingly kissing Yuri’s forehead, then leaning down to kiss his belly – the resulting video had stayed viral for weeks. Yuri had smacked him upside the head and told him to stop taking flirting advice from Victor. Training under the skating legend this past year had done wonders for Otabek’s actual skating, but been questionable for his personality, and Yuri made sure to tell his mate as much 

Otabek is coming out of a perfectly rotated quad toe-loop combination when he fumbles and just nearly gets by without touching the ice as he transitions into an arabesque. Yuri finds himself tensing up along with his mate.

“Beka, davai!” His cheers probably get drowned out by the noisy stadium, but it’s basically tradition by this point that he root for his mate from the sidelines. “Come on— ugh.”

Yuri’s screeching comes to a sudden halt as a familiar stab of pain shoots through his lower back and creeps down into his lower belly.

“Not now…”

Yuri grits his teeth together and rests his palm on his lower back in an attempt to massage out some of the tension. At eight months, he’s no stranger to false labor pains and the intensity has only been building the closer he gets to the real thing. Yuri places his arms back onto the barrier and bends at a ninety-degree angle to stretch out his throbbing back, belly hanging heavily between his thighs. He slides his feet outward so that his legs are resting in a half split – he may be about forty pounds heavier, but he’s still managed to maintain his flexibility for the most part. This was a fact that he was sure to rub into the Katsudon’s face during the off-season this year when he’d gotten a little bit soft and a little less flexible.

Usually his flexibility does wonders to soothe away the tightness, but this time Yuri jerks when it’s back just as suddenly as it had gone. The shock of it makes him bury his face in the arm folded on the barrier, his other arm shooting down to cradle the underside of his bump.

“Ah, what the fuck, baby…” Yuri whines into the crook of his elbow and rocks backward on the balls of his feet to stretch out the cramp.

He’s on his toes, pushing his backside out when he feels more than hears the distinct squelching of liquid in his favorite tiger-print maternity pants. Panicked, Yuri looks out into the rink where Otabek is executing a perfect camel spin, then to the audience behind him who are too busy cheering to notice his embarrassing predicament, before he catches Yuuri’s concerned gaze from across the rink.

Victor is working on tightening Yuuri’s laces, prepping him for his turn on the ice after Otabek. Yuri must be making a rather troubling face though, because the next moment, other Yuuri is waving off a confused Victor and jogging over to the other side of the rink as fast as his skate guards will allow 

Yuri is busy groaning through what he now clearly realizes is a real contraction when Katsuki makes it to his side.

“Yuri?” he ventures, placing a hand to his back and rubbing soothing circles onto it. “Are you—oh.”

Yuri figures he must have spotted the fluid leaking steadily down his pants and onto the floor.

“Yeah, oh. What the fuck am I— what do I—haah, fuck…” Yuri hates how pathetic he sounds even to his own ears, but he’s kind of at a loss here. He’d had a C-section scheduled for two weeks from now and he is sorely unprepared to face a genuine labor, especially when he’s in an ice skating arena with thousands of screaming fans and the world’s top figure skaters to witness it.

“I-I don’t really…” he hears Yuuri suck in a deep breath, steeling himself, before placing a firm hand on Yuri’s lower back and grabbing the crook of his elbow with the other one. 

“Here, let’s sit down first.” As he’s guided into an upright position, Yuri breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that Otabek is still fully concentrated on his routine, prepping for his mid-routine jump combination. 

Yuri practically melts into the other skater’s side the moment he sits them down on the bench behind them. Yuuri brushes on hand through the side of Yuri’s hair that isn’t pulled back into French braids, working out a few tangles that have already managed to gather there.

Yuri moans, long and low, as another contraction rips through his lower belly and back. He muffles the end of it into Yuuri’s neck, drawing in a deep breath and finding his nerves somewhat calmed by the scent of another omega.

“That’s it. I’ve got you, Yuri, you’re okay.” Yuuri whispers into his hair, hand cupped firmly to the base of his skull. 

“I’m not, though!” Yuri wails, sliding down into Yuuri’s chest. The increasing pain is becoming too much for him to process coherently, and he fists a hand in Yuuri’s jacket to take off some of the edge as the other skater shushes him softly, gently rocking them back and forth.

“Yurachka?” Yuri briefly recognizes the sound of Victor’s low, concerned voice as he places a comforting hand to his trembling shoulder before directing the rest of the conversation to other Yuuri.

“Yuuri, you’re up any minute now. Why don’t you let me take care him—,” but Yuuri cuts him off before he’s able to finish the suggestion.

“Get medical.”

There’s a short, but weighted pause.

“Is he in…-?”

“Yes. Get medical.” Yuuri repeats more firmly and then the sound Victor’s feet pounding on the concrete resonates vaguely in Yuri’s mind, hazy from his pain-addled state. 

When the latest contraction has passed, Yuri looks up at the rink just in time to lock eyes with a very conflicted-looking Otabek, poised in a lazy spread-eagle that Yuri knows by the swell in the music he’s holding out for a few beats too long. Otabek’s about one minute out from finishing his program and Yuri swears he won’t let him hold their newborn for a month if he gives up the podium when he’s this far in.

“Otabek Altin, don’t you fucking dare get your ass off that ice!” Yuri screeches loudly and suddenly enough to make other Yuuri flinch in surprise and for Otabek to tear away from his gaze and into a triple flip Yuri knows he’s just made the snap decision of adding in for technical points to make up for the short step sequence he’d just omitted.

Post-outburst, Yuri collapses against the other omega once more, but this time it’s accompanied by a puzzling sensation in his pelvis.

“Ooh…” Yuri breathes out shakily, thighs trembling along with it as they try to accommodate the growing pressure in his hips.

“Yuri?”

 “Ah… It feels… It feels like…” Yuri’s head lolls against Yuuri’s shoulder as he tries to piece together the sensation, but a second later, and the pressure is culminating into a stinging pain that instantly has him in fat, wet tears.

“God, she’s-she’s coming now—,” Yuri starts, chest heaving with the weight of his sobs.

“I know, I know, help is on the way, I can see them heading over—” Yuuri assures, hurriedly, but he doesn’t understand.

“No you stupid Katsudon! I can feel her— coming out— ahh, fuck! Fuck!”

Yuri sees brown eyes widen in panicked understanding before he’s being hauled up without warning. 

“Okay, up we go!”

“What are you doing—ow!”

Yuri cries loud, wet sobs as the other man guides them into an alcove that leads to the stadium lobby. His weight starts to give out from under him when they’re about halfway down the hallway. Yuuri allows it, helping him to the floor with control. 

“Sorry. I thought you might like some privacy for this.” Yuuri explains before yanking off Yuri’s shoes and hooking his fingers into the elastic band of his pants.

Yuri doesn’t ask questions, just helps him by shimmying his hips until the pants are discarded. Yuuri quickly replaces them with his own Team Japan jacket draped over his knees. Yuri at least has enough energy in him to bitterly note that he’d much rather his baby be born underneath his own Team Russia jacket – isn’t this some form of skating treason?

He doesn’t have much time to think about it before the pressure intensifies more still with the assistance of yet another powerful contraction that’s telling his body to push now. He’s screaming so loud he doesn’t even register when the hallway begins to fill up with paramedics and camera flashes.

“Give the boy some privacy, da? Have some respect!” Yuri peaks through sweaty bangs to see Victor quite literally shoving at the press that have invited themselves to witness the birth of Yuri’s child, which has apparently turned into a public event right alongside the Grand Prix Final itself.

The medics and some guards step in to form a barrier against the flashing of cameras and clashing of microphones as Victor makes his way to Yuuri’s side.

“I talked to the ISU reps. They’re taking a break in the set. Can’t be good press to continue the competition when the reigning champion is giving birth next to the rink…” Yuri hears him whisper to his mate as paramedics start to make themselves present on Yuri’s other side and between his legs.

“Little Yurio here just couldn’t bear to give up his Grand Prix Final glory even when he’s unable to compete, hm?” Victor teases which earns him an audible smack in the chest from the Katsudon and mouthful of Russian expletives from Yuri.

“Mr. Plisetsky, I’m going to ask you to push on the next contraction. The baby’s crowning, so this shouldn’t take long, okay?” the medic between his thighs explains calmly, lifting up the jacket over his knees just slightly. 

Yuri braces himself by clasping hands with the omega beside him and biting his lip, eyes flitting briefly to the opening of the hallway, crowded with medics and guards and ISU officials. Otabek is obviously done with his program by now so why isn’t he—

Yuri catches the flash of Otabek’s red sequin-patterned shoulder pads pushing his way through the crowd just as he’s hit with the next contraction.

“Beka!” Yuri screams at the top of his lungs as he pushes, blindly reaching out his other hand and narrowly avoiding smacking a medic in the face as he makes a grabbing motion intended for Otabek’s arrival. His hand is occupied on the second push, accompanied by a familiar hand pushing sweat-slicked hair out of his eyes.

“Oh, Yura…” Otabek presses a kiss to Yuri’s forehead and the sensation is relieving enough to make Yuri heave out a sob completely unrelated to the immense pain he’s currently experiencing.

“Thank God…” Yuri sobs on the next push as Otabek whispers sentiments of what must be encouragement in Kazakh close to his ear.

“I have no fucking idea what you’re saying, Beka… but…” Yuri gasps between more words of encouragement from the medics, Victor, and Yuuri that just one more push is all it’ll take.

“… but you fucking better have won gold for me and our princess.”

Yuri’s fiery emerald gaze pierces Otabek’s own slightly taken aback hazel.

One more push is indeed all it takes for the Altin-Plisetsky heir to come kicking and screaming into the world, perfectly in tandem with Yuri’s own flailing and screeching.

 * 

“What took you so fucking long back there, anyway?” Yuri asks hours later at some ungodly time in the morning when he’s nestled in a hospital bed with his newborn sleeping soundly against his bare chest.

“Language.” Otabek sighs, tenderly stroking his daughter’s cheek from his seat at the side of Yuri’s bed.

“Oh… right.” Yuri blinks down at his child and absently brushes back her impressive brunette curls with his thumb. He did say he’d stop once she wasn’t leeching off of his innards.

What took you so… freaking long?” Yuri rasps out, voice scraped raw from the excitement and anxiety that comes with birthing your child in the middle of a major national ice skating championship competition.

Otabek gives him a long look before sighing and digging out his phone from his pocket.

“I’m assuming you haven’t seen the news.”

“No, sorry, was too busy sleeping off the exhaustion of pushing of a fu-freaking miniature human from out of my body with zero preparation or pain medication in the middle of an ice skating arena.” Yuri deadpans and Otabek responds with a fond smile and a full kiss on the lips.

“I know. I’m very proud of you.”

Yuri feels his entire face and neck heat up and he wonders how the hell Otabek still manages to make him feel like he’s being courted all over again, even now when the evidence of their bond is softly sighing into the skin of his chest.

Otabek must know exactly what he’s thinking because he’s got that smirk on his face that Yuri would love to smack off if it didn’t mean jostling his sleeping infant.

The next moment, Otabek is tapping something into his phone before wordlessly holding it up under Yuri’s nose. Yuri grabs it with the hand that’s not supporting his baby’s back to scroll through the article. The first image on the page is an overhead shot of a massive hoard of people surrounding what looks to be the alcove he’d given birth in. Oh. He guesses that’s a sufficient excuse.

There are a few obscured shots of his red, sweaty, screaming face, body contorted on the ground in painful-looking angles that make him grumble in annoyance, but what grinds his gears the most is the title.

Gold and Silver for Yuri Plisetsky and Otabek Altin at Most Drama-filled Grand Prix Final in Figure-Skating History 

“Yuri Plisetsky’s surprising pregnancy might have rendered him unable to compete at this year’s Grand Prix Final, but that didn’t stop him from stealing the spotlight yet again and bringing home the gold in the form of a precious new baby girl.

Otabek Altin, Plisetsky’s mate and father of the newborn, managed to snag silver with his performance as Plisetsky’s unexpected labor occurred just off the ice.”

Yuri hands the phone back to his mate and sighs dramatically.

“You know, ‘gold’s all around for the Altin-Plisetsky family’ would have made a much catchier title…” Yuri smirks and Otabek pulls a face.

“I’d say I did alright all things considering.” Otabek raises a challenging eyebrow that has Yuri laughing quietly.

Once the tension is broken, Otabek cracks and sighs forlornly into his hands. “This is why I hate social media… they’re already making me out to be the monster who chose the competition over supporting my mate through labor… and I still didn’t get a gold medal out of it.”  

Yuri smiles softly, reaching out to run his fingers along Otabek’s back.

“At my next interview I’ll tell them I would have choked you mid-labor if you didn’t finish the program.” Yuri can tell the gentleness of his tone combined with the expected crassness of his words makes Otabek’s body wrack with silent chuckles. 

“Besides, Katsuki was more motivated than ever when I promised him godfather privileges if he didn’t follow us to the hospital and finally got that stupid gold instead.” 

“Victor’s going to be jealous.” Otabek observes, lifting himself back into a seated position.

“Yeah, well, seeing as I basically handed him the reason he and his precious piggy needed to finally tie the knot, his entire head should be up my assho—”

“Oh, Yurio!”

The hospital door is kicked open with gusto as Victor and Yuuri make their presence known with an impressive array of Congratulations balloons, bouquet assortments, and gift boxes.

“Congratulations!” Victor singsongs in a voice entirely too loud while in the presence of an infant. His fiancé frantically shushes him a fraction of a second too late, and Yuri quickly finds himself with a chest full of red-faced, crying newborn child.

After Yuri’s gone red-faced himself with a barrage of Russian expletives that Otabek is familiar enough with to call him out on and twenty more minutes of calming down their screaming child, all thanks to a very understanding nurse, the group has managed to situate themselves comfortably in the room with baby sleeping soundly once again, this time against her new godfather’s chest.

Yuuri suddenly gasps as he watches the baby suckle gently at the golden medal against his chest.

 “I have an idea!” he whispers, carefully returning the bundle of newborn to Yuri’s own arms.

Yuri narrows his eyes, but doesn’t question it as the other omega takes off his gold medal and gently places it around Yuri’s own neck.

The silver medal two men had earlier delivered to Otabek hangs proudly from his neck.

“Oh, how nice!” Victor stage whispers loud enough for the baby to squirm in Yuri’s arms. Yuri shoots a warning look to the other Russian who puts his hands up in defeat.

Yuuri takes out his phone and counts down.

* 

After some much needed rest, Yuri is up later that morning, bottle pressed firmly to his daughter’s lips after a few failed attempts and assistance from yet another nurse.

Otabek is at his side, dutifully checking Yuri’s Instagram for “any important updates”.

Yuri catches his thumb pause in its scrolling and a slow smile spread on his lips from the corner of his eye.

“What?” Yuri prompts, leaning slightly in Otabek’s direction. 

Otabek simply turns the screen to face him. When he sees the image on the screen, Yuri is overcome with the sudden urge to cry, scream, and envelope Yuuri Katsuki in a hug so bone-crushing, he actually cracks a rib. 

It’s the picture he’d taken earlier when he’d put his medal around Yuri’s neck, Otabek with an arm around him as they smile proudly and tiredly into the lense, captioned:

Here’s to the real winners of this year’s Grand Prix Final. Congratulations @yuri-plisetsky and @otabek-altin on Yuri’s 4th and most precious GPF gold – Alina Altin-Plisetsky.

[thepinklocket]

It’s been a long and busy year so far with my jewelry business.  You know what all work and no play is? Boring!  I decided to kick summer off with vacation and I was adamant about it being a bucket list trip.  For the past two years my cousin and I talked about a dream trip to Iceland. So when one of my besties sent a group text about her interest in taking a trip there this year I knew that was a sign. Then when I heard that the Icelandic soccer team would be making their debut in the World Cup while we were there, I knew it was definitely a “meant to be trip.”  

Most people don’t really think about a vacation in Iceland, for me all it took was seeing some beautiful pictures of the lush landscapes and I was sold.  Not only are Icelandic people some of the most pleasant people on the planet, but their country is out of this world (literally), just pure beauty from the street art in Reykjavik to the amazing waterfalls to the best tasting vodka to wondrous things their water does to your hair (curly hair girls Iceland would be your BEST FRIEND). Enough about how wonderful this country is, I’m just going to jump right into it and give you the details and tips about travels to this beautiful land.

Hotel

Since we traveled with a group of five of us, we opted for an apartment suite style hotel right in Reykjavik called Reykjavik4you. The hotel had very nice accommodations and was spacious enough for five people with two bedrooms, one bathroom, kitchen and living room area. We even had 2 balcony views of the city, which was an added plus.  The cost of the hotel was $2,500 for our five-day stay, so we each shelled out $500 a piece. This hotel was the perfect location and walking distance to everything you’ll need during your stay. Definitely book your hotel first and book it early. Iceland is becoming quite a destination spot and hotel accommodations sell out fast. We actually booked our hotel first then booked our flight later.

Getting Around

You can rent a car, but we opted to walk most of the time since our hotel was in a good location. Plus you get a chance to see the beautiful street art on buildings throughout Reykjavik. Taxicabs and buses are also options as well since they’re no Ubers in Iceland.

Food/Dining

Dining out is very expensive in Iceland. We did pack snacks in our luggage to bring on excursions and to snack in between meals. So if you decide not to bring snacks, you can find the nearest Icelandic supermarket and get snacks, the prices aren’t so bad there. On an average expect to spend about $85-$150/day in dining out while you’re there. On average we spent about $100/day per person.    

Here are some of the highlights of our favorite food spots we ventured to:

Noodle Station

My husband and bff went back to this spot twice while we were there. I must say their noodle soup was flavorful and overall just really good. They also have meat and vegetarian options.  The price wasn’t too bad either.

Braud & Co.

Be prepared from fresh and hands down damn good baked goods.  The smell alone is enough to eat more than just one. Honestly even the graffiti art on the building makes it hard to just walk by and NOT stop in!

El Santo Mexican

I know what you’re thinking why go to Iceland and eat Mexican food. Well, the truth is the variety of types of restaurants is plentiful in Reykjavik. This spot was great for our group since we had a mix of meat eaters, pescatarians, vegetarians, and vegans.

Reykjavik Fish & Chips

Okay, we had some really good fish and chips in Reykjavik.  This spot has a really delicious seafood soup. They even have various dipping sauces for your fish, each sauce is an extra charge.

Bryggjan Brugghus

  We actual watched Iceland’s debut in the World Cup at this popular brunch spot.  If you decide to brunch here, definitely make reservations and tasting their variety of beer is a must.

Kaia Kffihus

What drew us to this spot was, of course, the Marley decor of the building. When we walked in we realized that it was a coffee shop below and rum bar on the upper level.  Still, a very chill spot to grab a drink and relax.

Dillon’s Whiskey Bar

This whiskey bar definitely has a variety of whiskey, plus the locals were really cool.  My husband enjoyed the wings here as well. Live music is also available.

Attractions/Tours

Okay now it’s time to get into the good stuff, you know the whole reason we planned the trip and to explore this beautiful country.  Now as first timers we opted to book tours with tour groups, but you can rent a car and see all of these places as well for free (except for The Blue Lagoon).

The Blue Lagoon

The #1 reason people visit Iceland is to see this beautiful and wondrous man-made lagoon (yes it is man-made). As soon as you embark upon it the sight of lava rocks is enough to “woosah” your mind.  Reservations are a must, so be sure to book your tickets before going. There are 3 types of tickets, we opted for the middle one and included our bus transportation. Now the lagoon is not located in Reykjavik it’s actually closer to the airport, so it might be a good idea to visit the lagoon on day one when you arrive in Iceland.  Here are some tips for first timers:

You will need to take a shower prior to entering the lagoon. Don’t worry the showers are private stalls and have dispensers with soap, shampoo, and conditioner.

If you want to dine at the Lava Restaurant there be sure to purchase the premium ticket.

They have 2 types of mask that you can try while you relax that are included with the ticket price. One is a silica mask and the other is an algae mask.  I did have a little bit of a sensitive reaction to the silica mask, so if you have sensitive skin I would do a sensitivity check on your inner arm prior to applying to your skin.

The water is nice and warm and makes your skin very soft which brings me to the number 5….

DO NOT GET YOUR HAIR WET IN THE LAGOON. I’m so serious, while the water is great for the skin it’s terrible for your hair and will dry it out tremendously.  I tied mine up into a sloppy bun and I was good to go.

The products are amazing but pricey.  You can try out the lotion which is GREAT and the conditioner as well.

South Coast Tour

This tour gives you a tour of glaciers, volcanoes, and waterfalls.  Remember you can rent a car and see the spots for free, but we opted to do a guided tour since we didn’t know what to expect.  Also, be sure to bring some kronos, some of these spots have restrooms, but you will need to pay 200-300 kronos (approximately $2-$3) to use the restroom.

Skogafoss

This 197 ft. tall waterfall was purely amazing.  Climbing 400 steps to the top then standing at the top looking down at that waterfall was just beautiful beyond words.

Reynisfjara

The famous black sand beach is not only known for its beauty but also its dangerous waves.  With caves and basalt columns (trolls), the black pebbles and rocks made wonderful “souvenirs” for my little one.

Solheimajokull

This glacier was probably the most memorable site for me.  Use in a few of Game of Thrones episodes (Beyond The Wall), the road leading to this glacier was actually built and paid for by the Game of Thrones crew. Sitting between two volcanoes this glacier is one of the most rapidly melting ones.  For those interested, there are glacier climbing tours available.

Seljalandsfoss

One of the most popular waterfalls, this stop is probably best to do last on your day of exploring.  Walking behind the waterfall was a bit slippery, but well worth it. Experiencing the water rushing down in front of you gives you such peace.

Golden Circle Tour

This tour allows you to see the beautiful treasures of the island from geysirs to waterfalls to country’s national park.

Thingvellir

Iceland’s historical national park, the geology here really rocks!

Gullfoss

This water from this waterfall is pretty much fed by one of the biggest glaciers.  At 105 feet tall I climbed this waterfall until I damn near kissed it!

Geysir

The famous hot springs in southwest Iceland.  This geothermal area shoots boiling water about 65 feet high ever 4-9 minutes. Just stand and wait for it with your camera handy!

Reykjavik

The city of Reykjavik is just a beauty of its own.  Not only is it super clean, but the street art on the buildings showcases the pure talent of local artisans.  Even the local shops sell products from local entrepreneurs and crafters.

The Halligrimskirkja church building has an amazing structure. I think we stood and just snapped different pictures of it for about 10 minutes.

Shopping

Word of advice, you will see very trendy and cool Icelandic winter gear, so be sure to bring extra money to take away some of these hot fashions.  I fell in love with the winter coats from 66 North.  In addition, the hair care and skin care products are the BEST, hands down and you’ll want to walk away with some to take back home.  The vodka here is some of the best in the world since it’s naturally filtered like their water so it’s very smooth. If you plan on taking any vodka back home wait until you get to the airport on departure day and purchase it duty-free there.  

Things We Didn’t Get To Do:

These are just some things and sites we didn’t get to do that sound pretty cool and interesting.

The Abandoned DC Plane

Game of Thrones Tour

Reykjavik Loves…City Card

Northern Lights (only visible during the winter months, we went in the summer)

Secret Lagoon

On Power Geothermal Exhibition

Lava Center

Random Tips & Advice:

The water is the best straight from the faucet, just bring a water bottle and fill up.  There’s no need to purchase bottle water.

The water is good on your skin and hair. So good that I entered Iceland with straight hair and left with my naturally curly hair.  All I had was water and conditioner and this was the result of Day 2 of my natural hair.

My money tips are if you are using your credit/debit card be sure to swipe and choose the option of completing the transaction in ISK.  Banks do charge a fee for every transaction, so if you have a credit card that doesn’t charge like Capital One or Chase Sapphire.

Liquor is quite expensive in lceland.

Convert to the local currency at the airport.

Hopefully, if you choose to visit Iceland one day that these tips help you. Now I’m off to create some jewelry so that I can enjoy my next travel adventure.

Summer Travels: When in Iceland… It's been a long and busy year so far with my jewelry business.  You know what all work and no play is?

[sending-the-message]

I sold my soul for a used dishwasher, and would like it back. [Part Three] by PeteTheSeed

Part Two

It’s been difficult to write this third and final part of my tale. Honestly, no matter how I try to write it, nothing truly conveys what I’ve come to experience. I’ll do my best. We left off with Gary and I finding ourselves in Hell, which in itself is a rather precarious predicament. The search for my soul had been a rather tenuous one, and as we left ventured out from that warehouse and into the unknown, I felt a strange sense that everything was going to be okay.

I lost Gary on the first day. We traversed across the landscape of Hell, which is far less ‘pedestrian-friendly’ than you might think. Mountains scoured the horizon, broken apart by deep ravines that disappear into darkness. The sky was ablaze, and the lightning that rained down from its inferno left fissures large enough to swallow you whole. Winds strong enough to strip flesh from bone came and went, and carried with them the howls of those too unfortunate to get caught in its midst. If I’d came here on vacation, I’d give it two out of five stars.

We crawled and stumbled across the cliff face overlooking a vast expanse of land that stretched farther than the eye could see. Wilted forests and bodies of grey water littered the expanse, with figures and shapes darting around wildly. Predators and prey. Whilst we crawled across the jagged and crumbling rocks, lightning struck between us, which sent Gary tumbling down into the chaos. He cupped his genitals the entire fall as he rolled and collided with stone.

So, that was kind of lame. I managed to reach the end of the cliff face, only to find myself staring outwards at another stretch of horrors and obscenities. I was getting the impression that there wasn’t a great deal of aesthetic variance in Hell. I silently wished Gary the best of luck, and continued onwards.

I didn’t really have a plan in mind; Hell, as far as I knew, could be infinite in size, and the likelihood of just stumbling upon my soul could be less likely than two grains of rice adrift at sea bumping into each other. The only thing that was fuelling my soulless being was a pure sense of annoyance at the entire ordeal; I had faced a great deal of inconvenience thus far and didn’t want to admit that I’d wasted the better part of a week.

I eventually found myself a quaint little cavern overlooking what I’m pretty sure was an ocean of faeces, which I decided to use as a temporary retreat from the dreary horrors of Hell. I folded my jacket into a pillow, and sat down to enjoy some quality me time, where I could recoup and gather myself. I’d get some rest until morning, maybe lead a one-man search party for Gary, and plan my next course of action. I was relatively certain that, by the end of the next day, I’d be well on my way home and able to put the entire thing being me.

I was in Hell for over six months.

Less than an hour after settling down in my Hell-scape abode, I found myself being woken with a spear inches from my face. Well, I remember thinking, this is interesting. The man who held the spear was nothing but skin pulled tightly over thin bones, his eyes sunken deep into the skull and his lips well receded, revealing his broken and blackened teeth. Coating his skin was a mixture of bodily mutilations and tribal paint, that I sensed were largely a fashion choice. Behind him stood others, similarly styled and equally deranged. Never having been a ’fight my way out’ kind of lad, I pretty much surrendered on the spot.

Before I could protest the necessity of it all, I found myself bound by my wrists and dragged from my dwelling, poked and prodded with sticks and stones along the way. Outside of the cave stood what I can only describe as a roaming Hellish gypsy brigade; strange, horse-like creatures pulled along obscene carts built from bone and skin. Behind each lay a trail of poor souls bound the same as I, connected in a train and pulled behind each of the carts. My captures had innumerable friends, all of which marched and chanted and yelled crazily, taunting their prisoners as they went. I was attached to the back of one trail, and the gypsy brigade moved onwards with me in tow.

I don’t know how long we marched for; Hell had no day or night cycle, no change in season and certainly no calendars. I marked the passing of time as best as I could. The only real judge I had was the growth of my hair and beard; I’d long since accepted that it would take me at least three months to grow out what could be potentially described as a semi-successful beard, and whilst I was pulled along across Hell I went from clean-shaven to Santa Claus. We would march day in and day out, resting only for a few sparing hours for whatever rest we could get before being dragged along again. We were fed filth coated bowls of a gruel-like substance that I’m pretty sure the horse-creatures excreted; I’ve never been a picky-eater, but it took a few days before I even dared dip into the putrid mixture.

I won’t go into too much detail about my time captured in Hell; truthfully, every day brought a new nightmare, each one grimmer, each one more horrifying than the last. We were led through ceaseless valleys that held grand pits of the damned who writhed in their own misery. We trekked through deep caverns that burrowed into the earth, where spider-like creatures the size of mammoths roamed in numbers unknown. When we reached an ocean, boats were assembled and we sailed through storms across oceans of shit and blood and bile, baring witness to indescribable beasts whose lengths could span cities as they erupted upwards from the waters depths, bringing with them a bellowing cry that could deafen ears. We miserably trudged through swamps of long dead trees with bubbling pools of acid that exploded outwards and coated more than one of us, whom immediately writhed down into a puddle of their own being. If I had a soul, I’d have probably been pretty depressed.

When my ankles could take no more, I crawled. When I could crawl no more, I was pulled until the skin peeled from my back. After a lifetime, we reached our destination.

We were pulled into a grand encampment, a city of skin-forged tents and raging bonfires. Spikes adorned with severed heads were littered like street lights, discarded bones laying like trash. Tribal savages roamed and sung and chanted and danced in every direction. It wasn’t really my kind of scene.

Various other caravans were unloading their own hordes of captives, all lined up and chained like dogs. Forced to my knees, I was made to join them.

We were left there to rot. Occasionally, a savage would approach and inspect one of us; arms lifted and groped, legs tapped and stretched, mouths pulled open and examined. Sometimes they were then ignored, other times they were untied and taken away, not to return. I imagine they went to a happier, cheerier place. Maybe Morocco.

We slept on the floor. We pissed and shit on the floor. Scraps were flung at us, often just out of reach. Dignity was in sparse supply in those moments. As time passed, those who I had been brought in with dwindled one by one; some perished, others were taken. One chewed through his chain, reducing his teeth to broken, shattered stubs. He tried to run, and was ridden down and set alight.

Others came and were chained, but I remained. If they were selling us, my captors would need to offer a pretty substantial discount if they wanted to be rid of my sorry soulless ass, it seemed. I retreated inwards, spending my days staring into space as caravan after caravan rolled into the camp, selling their wares and trading in suffering.

“Psst… Hey! Dude!”

I snapped out of a daze at the words; it was the first language I’d heard since arriving that I understood. I turned my head as best as I could to look behind me, and saw another poor captured man trying to get my attention. He wore tattered, torn overalls and the remains of a black beanie.

“Oh, hey Dave.”

“Hey! It’s you! Remember me? I opened the portal and got us here? Fun times, right? Crazy times. So, how you been?” Dave had seen better days. Ragged, ginger curls hung down from his beanie, matted like a dog. His face was battered and bruised, and he looked as though he hadn’t eaten in a week. Oh, and he had one eye now. Or did he only have one eye already? I couldn’t remember.

“Oh, I’m not bad, myself. Did some sightseeing, worked on my calves, got a bit of a tan. Oh, and I’m pretty sure I’m a slave now, which is something.”

“You got your soul back though, right? Man, look at this place. Craaayzeee stuff, amiright?”

I realised that I didn’t like Dave very much.

“Nope, still soulless. I guess that’s kind of been a blessing, really. Puts things into perspective.”

“Really? The demon I sold it too is, like, right over there.” He pointed off towards a caravan, where a being that was more blob than man sat surrounded by various jars of peculiar glowing liquids. He had small, ill-fitting glasses and four arms, each of which was scratching a different orifice that coated his form. The caravan was coated in ornate, ancient jars, that each radiated a small flicker of light. Each one had a name, and each one seemed to be vibrating furiously, causing a rattle to the cart. “Yeah, that’s the guy. I found him not long after we wound up here, figured he’d help a dude out considering our pre-existing business relationship. The dude sold me for some sheets.”

“Huh. Well, that’s neat. Kind of annoying, what with the whole slave thing that I’ve currently got going for me.” I awkwardly manoeuvred myself into a sitting position, and stared at the caravan. It’s difficult to explain, but now that it had been pointed out to me, I could sort of feel a presence coming from the jars. One jar, in particular; it sat at the bottom of the cart, slightly damaged and it appeared to be leaking, surrounded by a few other equally damaged wares. My soul was in the discount, remainder bin.

That’s when Gary showed up again.

“Where the fuck have you been?!” Was pretty much all I said. I sat there, bound and chained and displayed like a piece of damaged fruit, staring at my spectral companion that I hadn’t seen in what felt like the better part of a year.

My hair was wild, my beard and skin coated in all sorts of filth. My jeans had, at best, a week left of decent use in them. My wrists were cut to the bone from my restraints. But I wasn’t the only one who had a change of appearance; Gary wore a hat now. More of a crown, actually; it looked to be made of bones and twigs. His once perpetually disgruntled expression had softened, seeming sunken with a hint of sorrow. His once proud ghastly erection was now but a humble semi. I dared not think what he had endured those past months, but his appearance said it all. Behind him was a small group of the damned. A baker’s dozen, at most. Each one of them wore strange cloaks that covered their forms, their faces expressionless and gaunt. When Gary stopped in front of me, they fell on their knees, and began to chant and bow clumsily. I guess Gary was their leader now, or their God. I don’t even know. Upon seeing me, Gary turned towards them, made a few gestures and removed his crown, placing it on the ground. A few of his flock began to tremble, a few burst into howling tears. One by one, they all departed. Gary looked at me and shrugged, a single ghost tear running down his ghost cheek. It was all ridiculous, honestly.

“Hey.” I said. Gary nodded.

Gary approached, and began fiddling with my restraints. In a few moments he had freed me, and none of my captors seemed to notice. I stood up, dusted myself off and threw up slightly as blood rushed to my feet. I stretched my back and coughed fiercely.

Gary gestured his head towards the soul-covered caravan. I nodded, acknowledging that I’d seen it.

“Well, let’s just take it and get out of here. Come on, Gary.”

“You can’t steal a soul, buddy!” Dave pipped up from behind. “Oh, and could I get a hand over here, too? Hell is overrated.”

I turned back towards the caravan, and then back to Dave. Then to Gary.

“You know what? I’m done. Let’s just say that we tried, we gave it a solid effort. Fuck this. Fuck Hell. Fuckity-fuck being a Hell-slave. Fuck you, Dave. Fuck the dishwasher. Fuck your god-damned boner, Gary. Fuck you and your boner.”

I collapsed, completely finished. Some may say that I was overreacting, but even a soulless husk has its limits. If only I could just rest.

Gary didn’t react. He looked down upon me, sighed, and disappeared into nothingness as though it was the most casual gesture in the world. I was alone again. I wasn’t counting Dave.

“Fuck this. Fuck whatever that is,” I was walking forward now, my blood boiling. I don’t know if it was down to the proximity to my soul, but I was starting to feel raw, unfiltered emotion seeping in to my skin. “Fuck souls. Fuck Hell so god-damned much.”

“Um, dude? A little hel-“ Daves voice faded into the background.

I reached the soul-trader, stood before him defiantly. He looked a bit confused, and a bit offended.

“Give me my soul.”

He blinked. He itched his slime stained scalp. A strange mucus dripped from one of his many orifices. He didn’t seem to mind. He spoke back in a broken tongue, and then turned away.

“Give me my damned soul, don’t be a douche.” I reached forward and grabbed the jar that was calling to me. It was cold to the touch, and felt far lighter than it should have. The blob guy looked at me, his eyes going wide. He pointed with all four arms and all twenty fingers, yelling. The savages around the encampment had begun to take notice. They muttered and whispered between one another, and began to approach and encircle me. I took steps backwards, gripping the jar close to my chest like a child grasps a pillow.

“Look, things might have gotten a little heated, granted. Now, if you just let me walk away with my soul, we can put all of this behind us-“ A spear flew in my direction, missing my skull my mere inches. “Now, that’s completely uncalled for.”

I ran. I don’t know where I planned and running to, but it felt like the best option at the time. I passed Dave as I went, and shot him the kind of look that said, ’sorry about leaving you in Hell. Oh, and fuck you.’ I left the encampment at full sprint, the savages quickly in pursuit. Nothing but open valley stretched around, the sky still burning and raging and my feet aching and my heart pounding. My brow dripped sweat. My fingers trembled. I was not letting go of my soul.

I fell, hard. I slipped down a small ravine, landing flat on my back. The jar flew off in an unknown direction. I felt warm liquid trickle down my leg. I’ll say it was blood, but it was probably urine.

The Hell savages were on me in no time. They circled like sharks, weapons outstretched. One of them carried a flaming torch. Another carried a barbed whip. I sensed my plan had failed miserably.

I spat out dirt. The jar was a few feet away from me. I began to crawl towards it, as the lash of the whip came cracking down on my back. I screamed, spittle’s of blood dusting the ground. I reached the jar. Another whip; I felt the skin on my back tear open. I raised the jar. Another whip. I felt the barbs crack bone. I brought the jar down to the earth as hard as I could, as I heard the air break as the whip began to bear down again. The jar shattered.

Nothingness.

I was adrift. Somewhere and everywhere. I was nothing and everything and something all at once. I felt no pain or ache, wasn’t tired or hot or cold or stressed or scared. Just complete and pure nothingness. Wherever I was, I felt as though I’d been there before. I could sense nothing, but at the same time everything was heightened and overloading. I have no experience in it, but I imagine it’s what meth felt like.

Then, as though nothing had happened at all, I was back. I felt different, but the same. It was disorientating. I could see nothing but the ground, and slowly the pain that radiated my body returned. I forced myself onto my back, which burned fiercely. I was still in Hell. Great. The savages stood around me now, eyes widened and weapons gripped. A few of them scowled, others looked frightened. I stood up, and waited for the inevitable killing strike. It never came. One by one, they began to turn-tail and run, fleeing back to the encampment. Soon enough, I was stood alone, surrounded by discarded weapons.

Well, that was odd. I guessed it was one of those things you just have to roll with. Exhausted, I scanned the horizon, decided upon a nice-looking hill to walk towards, and set off.

Upon my first step, the ground beneath me crumbled, and I was swallowed by the abyss. I faintly heard Dave’s voice as a whisper in the distance:

”You can’t steal a soul, buddy…”

I could see them beneath me as I fell; thousands of souls, all piled up upon one other, surrounded my nothingness, all reaching upwards towards me. I landed atop the pit, hard. The writhing mess of flesh accepted me, hands outstretching and pulling me inwards. Within moments, I was dragged deep within. I felt the pressure of it all on my chest, the air being forced out of my lungs. I tried to scream, but fingers wrestled into my lips and began to force their way down my throat. With my one free hand, I reached upwards towards the darkness, as I got what I knew would be my last glimpse of anything.

Light exploded overhead. Pillars of brilliantly white fury descended, burning away at the accursed souls who pulled me downwards. A thousand shrieks killed my eardrums, withdrawing. I looked up, blinded, and saw the most beautiful sight that any being has ever bared witness too.

Gary descended slowly, the light radiating from his glorious form. He floated above me, his angelic erection stronger and prouder than ever. He reached out his hand and took mine, and pulled me from perdition.

We rose together, Gary’s hand locked around my wrist as I hung beneath him. We rose and rose until we had left the abyss that I had been called too, until Hell was but a faint glimpse below. We ascended through the infernal sky, and I closed my eyes and embraced every moment of my saviour’s presence.

“Gary… Are you an Angel?” I don’t know whether I actually asked, or whether I merely thought it. Within my mind, a gentle and comforting voice replied. I don’t recall what it said.

The light grew brighter and brighter, until it was everything.

I awoke in my apartment, and that was that.

It turns out I was in Hell for about a day and a half, which is mildly frustrating. I’m pretty sure I have my soul back now, which is cool. I don’t feel as empty any more. I still have the dishwasher, too; I’m not really sure what to do with it. I guess I’ll just sell it for scrap or something. I can dream again, now; I must have slept for the better part of three days after my return. I’m not really sure what to make of my experience; I guess it’ll take some time to piece everything together, and come to terms with what I experienced, if that’s possible. I don’t see the dead anymore, either; the streets are once again only occupied by the living and the homeless. Yeah, that includes Gary, too. That’s okay though, I suppose. I won’t forget what he did, even if I don’t quite understand it. I think he’s still here. Every now and then, I’ll catch a glimpse of something in the corner of my eye, something that looks a hell of a lot like a disembodied penis, and I find comfort in that. He’s my friend.

Kind of a shame about Dave, though.