#OR UH. the one with the fuckin hole in the ground. that creatures come out of

[borom1r]

finally knocked The Monster Project off my watchlist and that was… disappointing?

[detectivewoof-a]

One good pull managed to free the pack from his hole in the ground, and he gave a pleased hum—except the inquiry drew him out of it immediately. It made Manny look at Beth proper, his head tilted fully. He was... really stupid sometimes, it seemed. Really, really stupid. 

“No? Mean—we get it conditioned out of us pretty young t’ not freak the fuck out about it but could have something I guess. Dunno what, lot of our history died when th’ first ones did, and weren’t like we ever knew others save for th’ rest of the cursed. We kept isolated like that.” And even though he had to appreciate the gesture, it was clear he had quite a bit of explaining. 

Wasn’t her fault, really. Honestly, he probably would’ve assumed much of the same if he met another of his own—minus the part where the ones he had seen around town were generally just assholes. 

“See, it’s--he’s here. All the time.” He set the backpack against the tree and gave the side of his head a tap. “Pure bestial nature, mind ‘n all, he’s always experiencing. And sometimes it’s just a lot. Anger, frustration, fear, needs... it builds ‘til the creature wants out. And then it claws out, like—literally it rips itself out of the body. We're like uh... incubators, I guess? Fuckin' hate the city 'cause of this.” 

Manny couldn’t help the reflexive way he cringed hearing himself say that. It was... true in a sick and twisted way. They were only here to spread a long forgotten God’s sick amusement until it got bored, like a plague waiting to happen. “That’s not even including the dangers of how easy it is t’ slip control and let yourself be consumed by the beast... and never come out of it...” There’s a quiet moment of silence, save for the wind. He blinked through the darkness, stopping over a small padding of purple flowers and plucked one. 

“Peruvian lily... think that’s th’ second time I've seen one of these up here.” There’s a distinct fondness in his voice, a drip of rarity for Manny. “First time I saw these was th’ first time we lived in th’ Atacama desert.” 

Second by second the residual joy fades away. The troubled breath that becomes a painful bark of a cough hurts her because she knows that she's part of the reason he's feeling that way, and because she knows if she offered to fix that for him he'd wave her away and say he's fine. Not even machismo. Instead it's the instinctive distrust of medical professionals and witches. Something that is somehow the same word for some people. "Do…do your kine not…have da Veil? Amongst my cousins dere's somet'ing called da Delirium. A sort of species-wide PTSD. See…racial memories run so deep dat it takes a rare an' super-strong willed person to see someone who is part of da changing breeds an' not freak out about it. Even veteran hunters have dat problem. I hear dat mos' normal humans tend to loosen deir bowels an' run screaming. Eventually dey find a way to explain what dey see dat is more rational dan all dat primordial terror suggest. Us dat are kin to dem sort of get a pass. Its sometimes uncomfortable to watch da Change happen, but since we share same blood, it doesn't scare us so much." It's not really a question or an explanation. It is a little of both. She's curious after all, as she only knows a few real shifters. Manny's further questions take the last little glimmer from her eyes. She follows along beside him and when they stop again, her head is hung and she digs at the soil with a bare toe. Signs of the shame gnawing at the bottom of her belly. Her voice becomes soft. Apologetic in the way she shapes her words, ever so carefully and precisely in Mainland English. "I thought maybe you'd like t' see a little of my magick afterwards, and I…I would have taken an Uber or something to bring me back to pick up my car." Shame turns to pure mortification a few seconds later and she turns her head away so that neither one of them can look the other in the eye. "I may…have misconstrued certain things in the bar. I thought maybe you felt…" Her voice breaks at the words. The fires of humiliation are a burning beacon in her face. She waves a hand and lets the rest remain unspoken, let him make of what she said as he would. She'd thought he felt attracted to her. She felt, too, that the beast within felt restless and she's the perfect person to have in a situation like that. "As for blood…well. I'm a nurse and…a little extra on the side and blood is maybe the easiest for me to ensure no one will ever find. I'm…I'm sorry. Maybe we should go. Again, I'm so sorry for...following instinct instead of just asking."

[leroyzboots]

you and i are trying, together.

part one

Benrey's been looking for the opportunity to apologize for...quite some time now, in fact.

Just looking at Gordon and his dripping stump he now has instead of a hand causes his stomach to churn with intense discomfort.

It doesn't help with the nightmares, either.

As if the abuse of the soldiers and the military of Black Mesa constantly swimming in and out of his dreams wasn't bad enough, now they're coupled together with the deep black room where the horror occurred.

They're standing in the mixology lab, Darnold is explaining something to Gordon, when the flashbacks are triggered heavily by a loud bang and mechanical shock from one of the many computers.

Sharp, angry metal poles stick deep into Benrey's neck and fill him with electricity, drawing a long, piercing shriek from his throat that melts into Gordon's rapid wailing.

And then Benrey is crouching on the ground, and the soldier's boot is slamming into his side, crushing and breaking his ribs, and Benrey tastes blood.

He's kneeling in it, the blood pours out from his lips and covers the floor, a massive pool of Gordon's life fluid.

The world is spinning, and Benrey faces Gordon again, and watches as the scientist raises his bloody stump, now transformed into a gun, makes a fist and shoots.

The bullets strike a numbing pain into Benrey's brain, and as Gordon shoves past him, not even sparing him a glance, he expects the daytime nightmare to end.

It doesn't.

Benrey presses his hand to his forehead, the only place the shots entered, and it comes away shaky and covered in wet, sticky red liquid.

Guess that part of it was real.

It doesn't take more than a few seconds out of the lab before the bullets clatter onto the ground and the wound heals.

--

They're barely a few hours out from the Lambda lab when opportunity strikes.

The ground shakes beneath their feet, and Dr. Coomer lets out a little yelp and latches onto Bubby's arm, who grabs onto Tommy's collar as the floor begins to break apart.

Bubby realizes with a horrible jolt that they only have two hands.

The tiles shatter and crumble beneath Gordon's boots, and he grabs at the closest person next to him, which is unfortunately Benrey.

As the hole expands, Benrey catches ahold of the edge of it, and stops himself from falling through, but as Gordon wraps himself around Benrey's pants leg, the combined weight of the man and his HEV suit is too much for one-handed hanging.

They fall.

It's deep, and Benrey tenses as his torso hits the concrete below with a breathtaking amount of force.

Definitely half a dozen broken ribs, a fractured shoulderblade and his spinal cord snaps.

Whatever.

He'll recover.

But Gordon lands feet first, with a sickening crack that causes him to scream and tumble over onto his side.

Benrey heals as quickly as he can, feeling his nerves re-attatch as he forces himself to stand, eyes peering up at the hole they came from.

Tommy's color-splotched face peeks over the edge, so far away that Benrey just barely can make out his features.

"Are you tw-two okay, Mr. Freeman!?" Tommy has to shout the question down at them.

It had to have been a 40, maybe 50 foot drop.

"We're...we'll be fine!" Gordon shouts back upward, his leg clutched between his hands.

"I'll circle around until we find a way back up. Keep...just keep heading to the lab and I'll c-catch up."

"Alrighty, M-Mr. Freeman!"

Tommy's head disappears, and distantly Benrey hears their retreating footsteps.

Gordon winces as he stands and tests his leg, which sticks out at a slightly bent angle near the middle of his shin.

"Dude, it's definitely broken," Benrey notes, and Gordon tenses before making a face of annoyance.

"Right," he groans, "I forgot you're with me."

And Gordon stomps off, far harder than he really should on his leg, and leaves Benrey standing beneath the light shining through the hole.

Sighing, Benrey makes a decision.

He follows, jogging to catch up to Gordon's pace before trailing slightly behind.

--

Gordon is very clearly not doing so hot.

He's limping, and sweating like a stuck pig to the point it's dripping off his nose onto the ground.

Benrey's been watching him carefully, and Gordon....hasn't said a word to him since the beginning.

He's leaned up against Benrey a few times on accident, but not a single sound has been in his general direction.

It's when Gordon stumbles over a fallen chair and whimpers from the pain that Benrey breaks the silence.

"Dammit, man. Alright. Sit down, dude, please?"

Gordon turns, scowling, but the exhaustion on his face is showing.

"Why do you care?"

Benrey pauses.

He could lie, of course, make something up or tell a joke to get Gordon to sit.

But he wants to apologize, and starting it out with a lie isn't..something Benrey wants to do.

So he tells the truth, even if it is hard for him to say it.

"Because I care about you, and we're friends, man. Sit down?"

Gordon scoffs, turning around all the way, and slipping slightly with his broken shin.

"We are not friends, not after you so-sold me out to the fuckin. Boot boys, the soldiers!"

He's not thinking straight, the pain alone is causing Gordon to reach incoherence.

"Yeah, well you led the soldiers to us!"

Gordon opens his mouth to retort, but Benrey cuts him off, barreling onward.

"I wasn't fucking. Angry, like Bubby was, but the dude doesn't know his damn limits, 'aight? So. Had to jump in, you know? Thought it'd be uhhh, funny little prank. Like all, surprise!"

Benrey waves his hands in place, stopping only to take a breath before continuing.

"Well, it didn't work how either of us wanted. They. They uhh."

Blood, his blood is on Benrey's hands and knees.

"They cut your damn hand off. It just..just...they cut it off like butter! Ha, ha haha, butter...and it-it was so much blood and..."

Benrey gulps, and he almost chokes as he loudly mutters the next few words.

"I thought. Thought I'd killed you, you know? Gordo, I th-thought you were dead."

He struggles, and a high pitch of navy blue sweet voice hangs in the air for a second before Benrey goes on, after another deep breath.

"Gordon, I'm really sorry. I know that. That I'm not always your gamer buddy, but I'm sorry. So if you could just fucking sit down, so I can stop watching you die, that'd be fantastic."

Gordon stares, his mouth open just a little, before he sits down, a small groan escaping him as the pressure comes off his leg.

Benrey lets out a sigh of relief, before heading back a little ways to grab the bandages from the medkit on the wall.

Crouching around the chair Gordon stumbled over, he snaps off the middle support piece and tests the sturdiness.

Gordon glances up as Benrey steps over to him, the sweat wiped away and his eyes a more gentle gaze than before.

Benrey kneels, and gingerly works off the protective plate of Gordon's boot before he looks up again, the chair beam in his left hand and the bandages in the other.

"I'm gonna uh. Set the bone. Homemade splint, you know? Tommy. Tommy, he taught me how to do this a long time ago."

Benrey pushes the beam gently against the other's shin, wrapping it down with the bandage near the bottom.

"It's. Gonna hurt, but uhh. S'gonna feel better and you'll be able to put p-pressure on it again."

Gordon takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes as Benrey pushes down hard.

The bone snaps back into place, and Gordon cries out through gritted teeth, but it's over quick and the pain is lessened by a great amount as the security guard before him wraps the entirety of his leg up to his knee.

"There. You should still uh. Rest a bit. Imma lay down."

Benrey gets to his feet, and starts to walk away, but Gordon reaches out and grabs ahold of his pants, stopping him for a second.

".....Thank you."

Gordon lets go, and leans back against the wall and closes his eyes.

Benrey stays in place, watching him carefully until he falls asleep, before sidling down a little ways off to keep watch.

--

Things are definitely better between the two of them after that.

When Gordon wakes up, he's much friendlier to Benrey, without any real hostility.

Honestly? Gordon's glad.

His relationship with Benrey had always been a bit complicated.

Sure, before, Benrey was annoying as hell, but he always made Gordon laugh.

He was nice, someone Gordon's own age for once, and if not someone who he could confide in, a friend.

But then, the soldiers have him, and the pain in his arm is excruciating, and everything Benrey did or does suddenly isn't so comforting.

Convinced Benrey's jokes were meant to demean him, his casual touches and close contact deception, Gordon turned and just kinda.

Let Benrey have the short end of the stick.

But earlier...Benrey tells him he cares, that Gordon's life was always in his best interests, and that they were and still are, friends.

So, it feels good to no longer make Benrey the target of his affliction.

Gordon's about to suggest looking for a vending machine, for some food, when creatures round the corner and attack.

Gordon whips out his gun hand and fires, and vaguely to his right, pistol shots ring off the walls.

The peeper puppies, as Dr. Coomer had called them, bound away from the bullets and circle the pair, releasing their sonic barks and baring their open mouths filled with jagged teeth.

Gordon steps backward, holding his gun hand close to his face to blow cool air on the barrel, the metal radiating pure heat.

Benrey bumps against Gordon's back, hastily re-loading his gun, his face screwed up in careful precision.

But then he turns, and gives Gordon a strained little smile.

A little puddle of happiness forms in Gordon's stomach before the soldiers kick open the underground doors and shoot before they aim.

Gordon finishes off the peeper puppy, then stumbles and shifts his line of fire towards the soldiers.

It's a messy fight, with Gordon constantly limping on his wounded leg, and both sides being attacked by alien creatures.

Gordon's never really seen Benrey fight before, so watching him is definitely an experience.

The way he acts is familiar.

Gordon glances between the reloading gunman ahead of him and Benrey behind him.

The way their hands move over the bullet cartridges, the way both of them hit the side of it with their palm when they're about to reload.

Benrey was trained by the same soldiers shooting at him now.

But the way that they handle guns is the only similarity, because while the military of Black Mesa are ruthless and cruel, Benrey is his own, merciful person.

Gordon fires the last few rounds of his hand before it has to cool down, and thankfully the last soldier drops to the floor.

Benrey is breathing heavily, wiping sweat from underneath his helmet visor, when he pales.

Gordon glances down as something rolls from the soldiers hand to his feet.

A grenade.

Gordon doesn't even have time to react before Benrey lunges, scooping the explosive into his hands and clutching it close to his chest, practically rolling across the ground until he's a good twenty or so feet from Gordon.

He looks back, catching Gordon's eye, and explodes.

Shrapnel bursts from the walls and cracks the paint, debris scatters all around the site and lands in the scientists' hair, who is kneeled over coughing from the dust, his eyes searching the room.

Gordon doesn't want to be alone again, he hates being alone, he hates it.

He turns, ready to head back, and then Gordon wants to vomit.

Benrey staggers, halfway through the revival-respawning process, clearly not wanting to leave Gordon too long.

But dear god.

Half of his body is still skeletal, his entire left side is just an open orifice of bones and muscle.

The bones in Benrey's legs snap together, muscle forming overtop them, before flesh and clothing crawl down to form a whole.

His leg hits solid ground, and it has to be partially startling because Benrey lurches forward, and brain matter slops out of the empty eye socket onto the floor before it vanishes.

His neck cracks, and his head moves jerkily as skin reforms over his jaw and teeth, Benrey's one green eye spinning wildly in place before the tired lid creeps back to hold it still.

A few more disgusting crunches and Benrey is back to normal, passing Gordon now, casually placing his gun back into its holster and moving on.

Gordon blinks a few times, holding back his revulsion for a moment, before chasing after him, through the doorframe into a poorly lit hallway.

"Woah, woah woah man, slow down."

Benrey stops, turning and raising an eyebrow.

Gordon points through the doorframe they came through, gesturing helplessly.

"What. What the actual hell, was that?? You...just, what??"

Benrey blinks, as though he is completely clueless.

He just might be.

"You...you died for me," Gordon finishes, a little quieter than he meant to.

"Uhhh, yeah? Isn't that what friends do?"

Benrey grins as if it's a joke, and Gordon feels the surge of irritation, but also something else he can't quite put his finger on.

"No, it is not something friends do. We do not die randomly for people."

"Yeah. Uh, you do if one of em' can't die. Then it doesn't count, idiot," Benrey says all this casually, in his own, joking around style, but Gordon pauses.

He leans forward, and adopts his casually pleasant expression, but delivers his next question with the tone one would use for a ceremony or a funeral.

"So what happens when I decide to die for you, huh?"

Benrey turns, the smirk still on his face, and opens his mouth to respond with another joke when he stops, eyes wide.

Gordon's....entirely serious.

It surprised him too, but. After the leg wrapping and the grenade stunt, Gordon is. Plenty shocked but pleasantly surprised at how willing he'd be to die for Benrey.

He expects some kind of rebuke, but instead Benrey.

Blushes?

A deep flush goes across his cheeks and his eyes dart away from Gordon's, mumbling under his breath all the while.

Gordon wonders for a second if maybe Benrey's previously irritating teasing had been something else, before he sets off after the guard, a warming smile on his face.

--

Tommy had lied- of course he lied, he had to lie- when he told Mr. Freeman that he couldn't handle a gun.

How else was he supposed to explain without melting the poor man's brain that he was actually an incredibly talented shot, not because of military training, but because he could control the metal?

How was he supposed to explain that through sheer mental prowess, he could morph and create the bullets to go in any direction he wished, never running out of ammo because he could simply will the ammunition into existence?

He didn't want to scare Mr. Freeman away.

Tommy hurries after the Coomers, his long legs easily making distance across the lit hallways of Black Mesa.

Having just emerged from a scuffle with aliens, they were all on edge, wary.

The three hadn't been traveling long, only a couple hours, but worry had already crept down their throats.

Surprisingly, Bubby voices his concern first.

"Do you think they'll get along all right?" They quip, mostly to Harold and himself but to Tommy as well.

"Oh, I'm certain Gordon will make it out just fine," Dr. Coomer replies, cracking his knuckles absentmindedly as a stim.

"And Benrey certainly has always survived whatever Death's thrown his way!"

Bubby nods, but the ends of their mouth turn down with a crease, and he turns to Tommy, who understands their message perfectly.

"Y-yes, Mr. Coomer but! Gordon and Ben-Benrey don't get along together very well."

Anxious, Tommy absentmindedly pulls a spare Beyblade from his pocket and fiddles with the wheels, the soft whir of the toy is calming.

"I'm worried, um, I'm worried! A-about whether they'll m-manage to...to cooperate long enough to survive together."

Dr. Coomer chortles, but the nervous look behind his eyes betrays him.

Bubby shrugs, airing out his still heated hands before speaking.

"Who knows? Maybe they'll work it out and that dumbass will finally tell Gordon how he feels."

Tommy pauses, his mouth puckered.

"Y-you know about Benrey and-and Mr. Freeman?"

"Of course I know, everyone with a damn brain knows," Bubby snorts, then falls short noticing the look on Tommy's face.

"Then you know the kind of trouble th-they're going to walk into."

"Yes," Dr. Coomer sighs, taking Bubby's hand tenderly; "we unfortunately do."

--

Benrey's gotta get those feelings under some goddamn control, because if he doesn't, then.

Game over, you know?

Gordon doesn't seem to understand what he does to Benrey, but it's driving him crazy.

That little thing he pulled back there?

It doesn't help, idiot. Only makes him fall for him more.

But they're both in a good mood, making some distance between them and the last time they saw the soldiers.

It's around midnight by now, and Benrey is ready to go back to sleep.

"Hey, come check this thing out!"

Gordon's excited yell shakes Benrey out of his sleepy stupor, and he hurries over to where Gordon is poking around inside of a barely-lit room, the door frame busted off its hinges in order to access the inside.

Benrey pokes his head in, and his heart slides all the way into his stomach with a horrendous lurch.

This is the room.

He hasn't been here in maybe six, seven or so years, but everything is the same as he left it.

The tube shattered, still connected to the ceiling and floor, the plaque bearing his subject number stubbornly.

The tables, bolted to the floor.

The papers, scattered and ripped, the shelves tipped over and splintered beyond saving.

"What do you think happened here?" Gordon asks, kneeling by the tube in examination of something long discarded on the floor.

Running his hands over the metal table, fingers brushing the shackles, the memories return to Benrey.

Shock collars. Sweet voice tests, hours or days or weeks locked in his tube, sick of breathing the containment fluid.

"I...I know what happened here."

"Er, what? I'm sorry?"

Gordon looks heavily confused, and reluctantly, as if this place will never let him go, Benrey lets go of the chains and shuffles over to the tube.

Taking off his badge, he holds it up to the tube plaque, both bearing the same text.

B3_NY

#7037

Gordon stares, his eyes wide, before turning to the guard.

"I thought that was like, your serial number. They...they made you here?"

Benrey swallows his anger, tossing the badge to the ground and going through the next door.

"They did more than just make me."

It's all still there.

The room is lit only from above, with a dim lightbulb buzzing meekly in its socket.

The long metal bed sits in the center, almost beckoning to Benrey with omnicity.

One of the only scars Benrey has, the precise incision made jagged by struggle, prickles on his back at the sight of it.

He just stands, biting back tears as Gordon goes around the room, looking through boxes, his scientific curiosity never satisfied, until he finds something.

He's not looking, Benrey is not looking at whatever Gordon has clutched in his fist.

In his hurry to get out of this awful room, he slams into the metal table, pushing it into the wall with a reverberating crash.

Benrey drops to the ground outside, shaking and clutching his helmet, with shuddery sobs echoing around him.

He's trying to shut out the memories, but the knives are in his back and Gordon's blood is on his hands and the lightning is in his skull and it's all so terrifyingly loud.

It's a few minutes before Gordon comes back out into the hall.

Benrey goes rigid as Gordon sits down beside him, but he makes no effort to push the subject.

Benrey relaxes, just a little, lowering his hands and leaning against the wall.

A heavy warmth wraps around his hand, and as the guard looks down, he realizes Gordon's hand is on top of his right.

Gordon is purposefully not looking at him.

Heart in his throat, Benrey slowly turns his hand palm upward, and Gordon laces their fingers together.

They're holding hands.

They're holding hands and Gordon looks a little sheepish, but he's smiling fondly and his cheeks are flushed.

Benrey stares, and then cautiously leans into Gordon's shoulder, his helmet clunking quietly against the plate of the HEV suit.

Gordon doesn't let go, and Benrey falls asleep tucked close to his warmth and their hands clasped together.

[thiswasinevitableid]

since i am obsessed <33333 with the sternclay fill you did for this prompt, can you do 57 with indruck nsfw?

Here it is! Note: this mentions mating talk.

57: we’re fighting over the last box of half-off valentine’s day chocolate and end up in a “who has it worse” battle

This is it. Duck’s new low. Standing under the high ceilings of Wal-Mart at two in the morning, trying to decide if his dignity can take the hit of someone seeing him scale the shelves to grab the lone leftover bag of valentine’s candy.

Fuck it, those are Ghiradeli caramel squares, he deserves them after today.

Just as he’s choosing his foothold, a large, feathery shape rounds the corner. It figures that the one other customer in the store would need to be in the exact same place as him. He’ll just wait the mothman out.

Duck’s mostly used to seeing random monsters around town; back in the fifties, an interstellar gate opened up in Kepler, making it the home of a small population of cryptids know as Sylphs. When he was younger, he hated the fact he grew up in such a weird-ass place, but these days his brain barely differentiates them from the other Keplerites. They come to the national forest where he works, order their dinners in line ahead of him and, apparently, come to big box stores in the dead of night.

“Ah, excellent.” The mothman chirps, grabbing the bag of caramel squares from the top shelf.

“Hey!”

The antenna-topped head swivels, owl-like, and red eyes regard him with surprise, “Yes? Oh, apologies” he tucks his wings in “I didn’t mean to block your way.

“That ain’t it. I was gonna buy that.” He points at the bag.

The creature cocks his head, “But it was still on the shelf.”

“Yeah, because we ain’t all seven feet tall. I was about to grab it.”

“It’s not my fault you’re short.”

Duck bites back an unkind retort, sighs, “will you just give me the damn bag?”

“Absolutely not. I’ve had a very bad day and this is my conciliation prize.”

“You’ve had a bad day? I went out to a singles night for the first time after gettin dumped a month ago. Figured I’d finds someone to take home, but not a single fuckin person OR Sylph was interested. If anyone needs that candy, it’s me.”

A haughty flick of antenna, “I see your disappointing evening and raise you a reminder that it’s been five years to the day that anyone’s wanted to touch you.”

“Please, this town is crawlin with monsterfuckers, you can’t find someone to mess up those pretty feathers, that sounds like a problem with your personality.”

The mothman chirrs, annoyed, “There’s no need for such remarks. Wait, what was that about my feathers?”

Okay, so maybe Duck has jerked off to mothman porn once or twice. Or a few dozen times. He’s not about to admit that here.

“Uh, I, uh, fuck, I don’t not know, fuck-” he grabs for the bag, hoping to distract the Sylph. It works, but the mothman simply raises it above his head. Duck growls, too committed to his bad idea to back down now, and jumps for it.

A toothy grin, “Since we’re speculating, maybe everyone you encountered tonight was simply in search of a taller partner.”

“Fuck you, I’m five six.”

“What was that? It’s rather hard to hear you down there.”

“That’s it fluffball” He jumps again, fingers grazing the bag before it’s passed to the mothman’s upper set of hands. Mid-leap, he can tell he’s going to fall on his fucking knees, and a broken bone is the last thing he needs. His body acts on panic and wraps his arms and legs around the only stable thing.

“What in the world are you doing?” The mothman trills, lower hands catching Duck’s legs so he doesn’t slide straight to the floor.

“Tryin to get what’s mine.”

“This is ridiculous.” He keeps the candy out of reach as Duck tries to climb him.

“I know, but I ain’t about to let you win.”

“Gentlemen.”

They stop grappling and stare at the beleaguered employee at the end of the aisle.

“Please just get out. Don’t even worry about paying for that, it’s like two bucks and that is not worth dealing with you for.”

They both mumble an apology. Then he lunges up, snatching the bag while his opponent is distracted and bolts for the door. He’s without his car, so he’s half a block from the store when a shadow glides overhead and drops down in front of him.

“That was rude.”

“So was insultin me.”

“You started it.” The cryptid looms over him, “and you only have minor ego bruising to blame for your short temper and poor judgement. I spent the entirety of my day arguing on the phone with government officials until one of them finally listened to me about a dam bursting north of here. I, I deserve something nice.” The last part is said more softly, as if he’s not sure he believes it. That slaps Duck back to his usual sensible state.

Duck sighs, reaches for the cryptid’s arm, “Look man, how about we-”

When his hand makes contact the mothman purrs, then flattens his antenna. Duck runs his hand up the smooth chitin, making the purr double in strength.

“I, I apologize. I didn’t even know this could happen with a human so I did not check the futures for it.”

“For what?”

“I, my kind use playfighting and chase as a mating ritual. Which, combined with those gentle touches just now, means my body thinks you’re a potential partner.”

A thrill creeps up his spine, and he pets the Sylph once more just to hear him purr, “So, uh, what should I do?”

“I suggest you take the candy and�� he shudders, “walk home, and we both pretend this never happened.”

“What happens if I run?” Duck sets his hand on the down of the cryptids chest, shivering as it sinks into the fluff.

The mothman looks at him, confusion warring with desire on his face, “I chase you. And since I foresee you asking, if I catch you I will take you then and there unless you tell me not to.”

“Got it.” Duck steps back, smiles when the cryptid tries to follow his touch and then catches himself. He could just walk home and wolf down his hard-won candy. But they’re right by his shortcut through the forest to his house and no one has wanted to chase him for months…

He takes off into the trees.

For the first few yards there’s no sound but crunching leaves and his breathing. Then soft, determined wing-beats glide through the treetops. The canopy is thick here and no one but him knows this path, so he likes his odds of making it home. He even knows where the most troublesome roots are so he won’t trip and lose ground.

Duck’s nearly home when nature betrays him; a deer springs across his path, startling him and sending him to the ground. He scrambles up, listening for signs of the Sylph’s location, but the wingbeats are gone. Did he give up? Is he lying in wait up ahead? Did Duck actually lose him?

The questions spin through his mind as he scans the treetops. There’s nothing, only shadows and bark.

“You know” a voice lilts, coiling around him, “I’d think someone who worked in the woods would know many moths excel at camouflage.”

Red eyes appear in the branches to his right. He gets out a single “fuck” before the mothman swoops down and knocks him into the leaf litter. The candy hits the dirt a few feet away as he’s roughly rolled onto his stomach.

“Holy fuck.” He pants as clawed hands undo his pants and push his shirt up his back, “holy fuUUUuuck, oh christ that’s good.” He rests his head on his forearms as the mothman drags his tongue up his back again.

“Mmmmm, what a lovely little mate I’ve caught.” One set of hands pulls his pants and boxers to his knees while the other caresses his ass, “all dressed up too. I cannot imagine why others passed you up tonight but I am glad they did. Hmmm” claws prick his inner thighs as they’re pushed as wide as they’ll go, “you’re a bit aroused already-”

“Wonder why.” He teases.

“-but I ought to make sure you’re ready to take my cock.” A long, flexible tongue traces circles on his folds. He groans, pushes his hips back in hopes of getting more. The Sylph grants his wish with a purr, thrusting his tongue in hungrily. Duck moans, then snickers into his arms.

“‘At’s ‘o ‘unny?”

“F-feathers, ticklish.” Is what he manages to get out before the tongue curls and finds his G-spot, making it impossible to focus on anything but the being behind him. But the Sylph only gives him a minute of delicious sensation before pulling back.

“There, now you’re ready. I, ah, I suggest you hold on.”

“To whatAHFUCK, fuck, jesusfuckingchrist” his fingers dig into the earth and dead twigs scrape his knees as the Sylph grips his hips and shoves in all at once. The upper set of hands drops to either side of his head as the cryptid hunches over him, snapping his hips while sharp trills and chirps fill the air.

“That’s it sweet one, goodness, years without a partner and the first warm hole I can catch is a tight one, I, I do so love fucking humans for that reason alone, but you, you feel exquisite, ohyes, yesyesyes” he chirrs triumphantly and Duck moans; he’s never been able to feel a partner cum like this. When he glances down his torso, he’s surprised to see the droplets shimmering in the moonlight as they drip down his thighs.

“That was fuckin incredibleAH!” He’s flipped onto his back, the mothmans body blocking out the sky.

“Did you think we were done?” He’s grinning again, the expression as charming as the starlight on his feathers.

“Kinda? Not, uh, not that I mind if you wanna go again.”

“I do.” The cryptid lifts his legs, removing his shoes and clothes as he adds, “again, and again, and again. After all, look how much it likes you” He adjusts so Duck can see his dick. It’s not the size that startles him; it’s the series of ridges on it and the fact that it’s fucking pulsing like it’s got a mind of it’s own.

Duck spreads his legs, “Only it likes me?”

“I’m beginning to share it’s opinion” The tip presses in and the purring intensifies, “though I must say you’ll need to be far more polite and submissive a mate to make up for your--ohgoodness--earlier behavior.”

“Yeah?” Duck smirks, dragging his hands up the soft feathers of his chest, then glides them out to stroke his inner wing “how’s that for a start?”

The Sylph’s chirrs change, growing needier the more Duck pets him, “So very good. No, no one has touched my wings in years.”

Duck studies their sheen, the little speckles of grey and white, and digs his fingers deeper, “Damn shame.”

A soft trill accompanied by three demanding thrusts and then cum spills into him once more.

“Heh, you like when I compliment your feathers? Ohfuckyes” He moans as the Sylph starts thrusting, slower than before but made far more obscene by the sound of his cum being fucked back into Duck’s body.

“I, I do.” He drops his forehead to rest above the top of Duck’s head, “it’s been so long. As you said, this town is full of people who would gladly take a werewolf to bed but have...reservations about one such as me.”

“Their loss” Duck nuzzles the ruff of feathers around the Sylphs neck, runs his hands greedily along his wings, “these alone are so fuckin gorgeous there oughta be a line of folks beggin for the chance to mess ‘em up while they ride you.”

The mothman whimpers, chirps when Duck leans sideways to trail kisses along his right wing. His hips are moving lazily in time with the roll of Duck’s own and he sighs with every thrust, as if Duck is his favorite place to be.

“Got some broken feathers.” He murmurs.

“A peril of fast flights and living alone. It’s better if someone else pulls them free and grooms them for you.”

“I could do that.”

A hungry moan as the mothman noses his hair, “You’re making me wish I hadn’t caught you so soon; had we played longer, my ovipositor would have joined the fun, and you’re so wonderful a mate I ought to lay in you.”

“Jesusfuck” Duck fists his hands into his chest feathers, bucking his hips.

“Oh, do you like that? The thought of being a handsome little hole for me to stuff my eggs in?”

“Yes, holy fuck yes.”

The thrusts turn demanding, “Just one more way in which you’re perfect. You’re strong, you’ve a lovely shape” one hand runs possessively across Duck’s belly and chest, “and it only takes a little bit of vigorous fucking to make you well-behaved and willing to be properly mated.”

“Fuck, fuckin christ that’s goodOH, ohfuckrightthere” one of the ridges is catching his dick, pushing him towards orgasm, “please don’t stop, don’t you dare fuckin stop-”

“Never” it comes out in a growl, “I want to see you be a good little human and cum on my cock while I fill you up. Oh yes, yes” he smiles down at him, “it seems you’re about to oblige meAHhnnnn, goodness you tighten so nicely when you finish” he speeds up, jostling Duck as his climax renders him limp, “yes, yes sweet one hold out just a moment, nnnf, oh, ohyes” He spills into him, Duck’s body unable to contain it all and sending it running down the cryptid’s shaft and the humans thighs. Then the mothman eases out with a low chirp and sits back on his heels.

Duck flops his arms about until he finds plastic, pulling the bag of candy to him as he sits up. He yanks it open, undoes the foil, and freezes. The cryptid isn’t looking at him, isn’t making any noise. He’s just hunched forward, antenna flattening.

“You okay?” Duck finishes freeing the chocolate square.

“Yes” there’s a sniff, “yes I’ll be fine.”

“That ain’t quite what I asked.” He holds the candy out. Antenna twitch, but the mothman keeps his head down.

“I apologize, I, I meant to wait until you left but I, I got overwhelmed. You were so sweet, you let me do all that and I, I don’t even know your name.”

“That’s an easy fix. I’m Duck. It’s a nickname.”

The cryptid finally looks up, takes the offered treat between his claws, “I’m Indrid.” He pops the candy in his mouth and chews miserably.

Duck pulls his boxers on to avoid getting any more pine needle pokes on his ass, then scoots closer, “So, uh, Indrid. Is there somethin special we need for groomin your wings? My place makes the most sense as a next stop, but if there’s a special tool might be better to go to yours.”

Indrid blinks, cocks his head, “You...you want to groom them? I, I thought that was just dirty talk.”

“Can be. But I was serious; now that I got a taste of those wings, I wanna touch ‘em whenever you’ll let me.”

“This is the least likely timeline.” Indrid whispers to himself

“What’d I do in the other ones?”

“Thanked me for a good time and left.”

“See, I thought about that” Duck tentatively moves forward, smiles when Indrid allows him into his lap to stroke his face, “but then I thought, ‘this fella’s fuckin mind blowin in bed, but I wanna get to know what he’s like the rest of the time. Can’t do that if I up and leave.” He offers another chocolate. Indrid eats it out of his hand, then wraps his wings around him.

“I, ah, there’s a special oil for my feathers.”

“Should we go get it?”

“We could. Or” he smiles, hopeful, “we could go to my place tomorrow morning. After we rest at your home and you let me buy you breakfast.”

Duck kisses his fuzzy cheek, “Yeah, let’s do that.”

[therewasatale]

dad

On Ao3. 

Summary:  Pip meets Alcuard in a different occasion.

Based on prompt. 

They said, he just has to accompany the vampire girl, secure the area while she is sniffing around, looking for some clues in the woods near the city and then take her home. That what they said.

No one, not a fuckin person said that as soon as the day turns into night, vampires would begin to swarm out from the depths of the woods. A whole ass family was ready to play hide and seek with them. And somehow it was always he and Seras who had to hide.

It was his first goddamn mission here! They just got into the service of Hellsing! Sir Hellsing mentioned something about her other vampire having something to do, but in due time he will join the two of them.

Pip ordered his thoughts and turned his attention to the present.

He glanced over his shoulder.

He hasn't heard any noises from behind them for a long time, but he wouldn't have been able to tell how long they'd been hiding and running for their lives. At least they were able to send the signal for help, now they just had to hold out until someone arrived. Although, heavens knew how long that would be.

He stopped next to an oak tree and pulled Sera into cover. As he listened, he hugged her closer to make sure she was out of sight.

"Pip-"

"Sh."

The forest became quiet.

She winced and her face turned slightly red, not only from the hug, but from the smell of blood from the mans injured arm. His scent filled everything around her, she could feel it in her nose and mout,h as something seemed to begin to take control in her head. Her hunger awakened without warning, just as her master had warned her many times. If she does not take blood properly, not only she will be weakened, but over time her hunger will flare ups will be more forceful. She didn't even notice that she slowly licked her lips and leaned closer to the wound.

"Seras?" Pip stared at her. "What the hell are you doing?"

The vampire girl looked up at him. Hunger glinted in her red eyes.

"Seras…?"

The seconds slowly dragged themselves forward. Pip felt his heartbeat becoming faster and stronger, in his chest as he had to find a solution to the rapidly approaching problem. Could he stop the girl?

Fortunately, he didn't need to think about this for too long.

Seras forced her tongue back into place and shut her mouth swallowing. She calmed down, for now.

"I'm fine…" she couldn't lose herself right now. "I'm fine…"

Pip looked at her for a few moments then slowly nodded. They were fine. For now. They both got quite a few injuries. There was a burning pain in his side, and his arm where he was clawed. And Seras, well, she got a serious hit to the stomach, but amongst the two of them, the girl was able to regenerate herself.

"Why the fuck are those vampires here? And why there's so many of them? I thought it was just one, maybe. Not a whole damn family." Pip muttered nervously as he tried to figure out where their opponents might be.

"The master will be here soon," Seras' quiet whisper seemed almost like shouting in the silence.

"Much good will that do for us if we will be dead by then," Pip hissed in response.

"We won't-"

Wind rose among the trees and leaves fell not far away. The small rustle in the undergrowth was only perceivable to Seras. Her body tensed up between the soldier's arms.

"Down!" She dragged the man after her, just a moment before an arm pierced through the trunk, which they had been using as cover until now.

"Son of a-" Pip rolled on the ground and pushed himself up on his knees as fast as he could. He knew it very well that he was nearing the end of his ammunition, he only brought three grenades with him and he had already used two.

A laugh full of dark excitement shook the branches.

Pip turned the barrel of his gun towards the noise, but before he could pull the trigger, a young, childish voice spoke up right next to his ear.

"Got you."

He still had enough self-control to glance towards the voice.

She didn't look more than eight years old. Her long blonde hair slowly curled in the air, a mixture of blood and mud stained the edge of her floral dress.

"PIP!" Seras wanted to lunge towards him, but a blade pressed against her throat.

"Don’t be so hasty," the young man was far taller than her and appeared from almost nothing behind her. He hugged her with his long arm at his chest and squeezed it closer to himself. More leaves fell around them.

"Let me-" Seras tried to move, but her attacker held her too tight. She winced as she felt the blade slowly begin to make its way down her throat.

The kid grinned widely into Pip's face. Her teeth lined up like needle-sharp blades, and her two canines visibly lengthened. The mercenary's hand instinctively reached for the last grenade on his belt.

"Don't think I'm not taking you with me, you monster!"

Seras's eyes flashed red as she tried to break free. Fingers dug into her arms and she felt the bloodthirst from the figure behind her, but she couldn't take his eyes off the mercenary.

"Pip...don't... MASTER!"

Chill descended on the forest around them, even the wind quieted down. The vampire kid stopped and with her almost everything froze into stillness the woods. Even the mercenary felt that something had changed.

Something has arrived.

The shadows deepened around them, flow together, becoming a black river. An arm rose out of the darkness, holding an obsidian-colored gun.

Pip swore he saw a face in the depths of that shadow, and countless eyes. They were bright red and caught his own gaze. For a few moments he felt blood froze in his veins, and he knew for sure, he had no chance against a creature like that, no matter how many grenades he would have. After seconds which seemed like hours, the crimson eyes turned away from him.

And something growled in the shadows.

"You shouldn't have done that."

The gun fired and the bullet blew a hole in the vampire kid's head. Then another shot and another hit.

The mercenary looked at the body collapsing beside him. The warm blood splashed on his face. Not far from him, the void began to take shape. Rising, towering above him were now the stranger, whose body was covered by a red coat and his long black hair which slithered as if it had a mind of its own, casting a shadow on his face. Still, he could clearly make out the two pairs of eyes, glowing with rage.

"You two, leave."

A scream filled with anger and loss echoed amongst the trees, it was followed by the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps.

"Pip!"

Seras' voice shook him up from his dazed, and she pulled him into standing. His legs were still a little weak and almost buckled, but he knew full well, that he needed to shake off the shock.

"Come on!" She began to pull him forward, and he followed.

He heard the sound of gunshots behind them, then the bone shattering roar shook even his body. He didn't want to look back; he knew it was better not to look back. He didn't know how long they had run, but Seras might have sensed the distance they were safe.

"I think we're safe here." The vampire girl only let go of her arm when the thirst for blood finally abated, then she finally took a few deep breaths, even though she didn't really need it. She glanced back through the trees with her eyes glowing red.

Pip followed her gaze, but his human eyes saw only the thick forest.

Another scream. Maybe another vampire died.

“I don’t know who that is, but I’m glad he seems to be on our side, he’s fucking terrifying.” Pip lit a cigarette, he tried to get a grip of his trembling hands.

Seras glanced at the man. She dug around in her pockets and found a handkerchief extending it towards Pip with a clumsy, perhaps apologetic smile.

"Yeah, dad can be a little overprotective....”

Pip looked at the shadows, then he remembered the eyes that belonged to some demon rather than any ordinary human, or even vampire, and finally he glanced back to the girl in front of him.

“......That’s your DAD?!"

Seras blushed as she realized what she just said.

"Don't tell him, I called him that!"

Pips mind was still concentrated on the previous answer. He didn't have to look back again. There were enough painful screams mixed with a dark but contented laugh to know what's happening.

"Please, Pip ..."

"Wha '? Hm? Oh yeah, yeah, my mouth is closed. Uh, thank you." He took the handkerchief a little awkwardly and pressed it to his bleeding arm. The wound would have to be stitched up, but he was grateful even for that gesture. "Are you okay? You didn’t get hit too hard, are you?"

"No," the vampire girl shook her head. "The bigger wounds have already healed. And I think we'll be safe here for now." She turned her gaze towards the dark between the trees. "Master will finish them soon, and then we can go home."

Pip watched the girl quietly and slowly took a deep smoke from his cigarette. Now somehow, he saw Sera in a whole different light. He glanced down at the blood-soaked handkerchief.

Vampires.

Even now, he could hardly believe the fact that kid back there was really some supernatural being. And yet, if the help arrived even a minute later, he might no longer be alive. Although he had to realize that when they were hired, the first thing they were told that they will encounter extraordinary things.

He finally followed her gaze, but he could only imagine what horrors could be happening in the forest deep. Either way, he was sure he wasn't going to move an inch further from the girl.

He smiled slightly under his breath as he took a deep breath through his cigarette.

Good god, Pip Bernadotte. What have you got yourself into again?

[finn-ray-nal-beads]

I hope I can send this in. It’s an idea of something you could write one day .. like a blurb or something. idek. Bleh.

BUT I DIGRESS -

Flip and you are at a cabin in the woods. Y’all have traveled a great length and your cabin is lakeside. You two have plenty of pent up ‘energy’ so you put on your swimsuits and head out to the water. Eventually y’all are a tangled mess of limbs and you can’t tell who’s who, by the sounds you’re making, a nun would blush.

🖤

A/N: @preshprinceofstarkiller I really hope you enjoy this one! I poured as much smut as I could with a shit load of fluff wrapped around it because I love a sappy Flip/Reader dynamic!

Warnings: Married banter, lots of cuddles and kisses, FLUFF out the asshole, public sex, outdoor sex, public nudity, hair pulling, dirty talk, creampies, just all kinds of SMUT 

The sweet smell of a morning cup of brew, pine trees, and the crisp September air filled your senses as you sat on the wooden lawn chair on the deck of your lakefront cabin. Wrapped up in a wool blanket, in your favorite sweater, admiring the sounds of the lake crashing up on the beachfront, and the nature rustling about in the morning sun. It was perfect. The best idea you and Flip had decided to make in several months. 

He, being so burnt out on work, as usual with his large caseloads, wanted to get away for a few days. The two packs of smokes a day indicating he had just had it up to his forehead with Ron, Trapp, and Bridges reaching down his throat for answers. Flip had always been a naturally grouchy person, it was just something you’d gotten used to. But when he would get to point of being angry with you over idiotic matters, like for instance, the dishes not being rinsed out properly, then you knew it was just about time to head out of town. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” his sleep ridden voice ground out as he approached with his cup of coffee in a sweatshirt, and sweatpants that left nothing to the imagination. 

“Good morning to you too honey,” you craned your neck as he lowered his warm face to your lips, pecking it with the slightest effort. 

“Did you sleep, okay mountain man?” you asked as he cozied up to you, wrapping his body around yours in the straining chair. 

“Honestly, I slept better last night than I have in months,” he chuckled out into the air as you stroked the bedhead he’d given himself. 

“I know. I heard you snoring all night,” you giggled lowering to kiss his crown, “sounded like there was a bear in our bed all night.” 

“Psh,” he smirked burying himself more into your clothed body, “it wasn’t as loud as you howling my fuckin’ name last night I bet.” 

“Excuse me?” you tried to pry his large head up to get him to say that phrase again to your face, ultimately failing in the process as he gripped your waist even tighter at the sensation of your straining. 

“I didn’t say shit, sweetheart,” he murmured back into the mess of sweatshirts and blankets, “only that I love you, so much!” 

“Uh-huh… That’s what I fuckin’ thought,” you returned to grab your cup, taking a sip as you chuckled over his comments. 

“I love you too sweetie. I’m so glad we’re up here,” moving his curls to expose his ear, playing with the soft lobe. 

“Same here. I fuckin’ needed this,” nuzzling his face into you more and more, “I need something else though.” 

“And what is that my poor baby?” you asked in a pandering way to mimic his childlike form in front of you. 

He muttered something incoherent into the blankets, “honey, I can’t hear you,” leaning down to wrap your soft lips on his ear. 

“I said, I want to go skinny dipping… with you,” he looked up hair in all sorts of places, his sleepy face blinking the light back into his adjusting pupils. 

You giggled at the sight of him all discombobulated, “oh babe… I would hope you’d only want to do something like that with just me!” 

Grabbing his rosied cheeks, bringing him into another series of kisses, starting from pecking to a little more romantic, “of course it would be you, honey, who the fuck else would do it?” 

He smirked into your lips, “I don’t know, maybe a mistress of yours or somethin’,” egging on his sarcasm, “your mom did tell me at our wedding mind you, that you were hard to pin down.” 

He lifted himself off of you, “no she fuckin’ didn’t,” he looked shocked at the admission you made. 

“She honestly did,” you sipped back at your coffee, “but she countered it with the notion that she had never seen you as happy as you were with me,” so you can’t be mad at her. 

“Well I kinda am now,” he huffed, “I can’t believe she’d say that on our wedding day… holy shit mom. I’m gonna give her a good talkin’ to when we get home.” 

“No, you aren’t, grouch,” you asserted, “she didn’t mean anything by it. Now let’s go skinny dipping before I die of old age,” you punched his arm, “plus I wanna see that ass in the sunlight.” 

He smirked at your comment, getting up with a groan and helping you from your seat. As you started to walk in front of him he slapped your ass with all the force he had built up in him, “Jesus fuck Phil!” 

You turned around, “now I’m gonna have a handprint there!” you rubbed the sore cheek, wincing as your hand rubbed the area. 

“That’s the point babe,” I wanted to look at my ass with my handprint on it while I fuck ya on the beachside.” 

You blushed at the notion, hurrying in the house to remove any piece of clothing the both of you had been wearing. After your nakedness was revealed, you grasped your tits in your arm, “race ya down there, detective,” bolting in the direction of the back door, revealing your natural form to the sun and all of nature’s creatures as you bounded down the hill towards the beach.  

Little did you know, Flip was gaining on you in bounds, coming up behind your bouncing ass and scooping you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. 

“Oh my god honey!” you screamed, holding onto his back for dear life, “you’re gonna break something!” 

“Shut the fuck up!” he yelled back, “you know you’re lighter than air to me honey!” 

You groaned as he lowered you onto the warm beachfront, the sound of waves brushing the pebbles like a song. You both took an inventory of the sight around you, breathing in the mountain air, admiring every sound emanating from the scenery. 

Flip came up behind you, wrapping his large arms around you as you both rocked side to side with the ebbing and flowing of the waves. He kissed the top of your head, trailing down to your ear, whispering sweet nothings as his lips gnawed at the sensitive skin. Moving his hands to grasp onto your open tits, massaging the pillows with his large paws, eliciting a moan from your lips. 

“God I love you, Y/N,” he whispered moving down your neck, sucking little marks along the way as you found a hand in his thick hair, gripping it slightly at the pressure he applied to your neck. 

“I-I love you too, Phil,” you gasped out, feeling his hardening erection on your ass. Your hand snaked around to grip his dick, pumping it so you felt every angry vein bulging from it. Gathering the precum building up around his weeping head, rubbing it into the warm skin.  

Just then, he replaced your hand with his as he lined up with your wetness that had built up. Sliding his pulsing cock into your weeping entrance, “F-fuck honey,” he groaned out, “open up for me.” 

You bent forward, allowing his cock to penetrate you deeper and deeper. Your walls vibrating around him as he came closer to your cervix, “you are so fuckin’ tight, babe,” he thrust in hard, balls slapping, “no matter how many times I fuck this little cunt.” 

He moved a hand on your hip and wrapped another in your hair, pulling until your back was arched in the most magical way, “Ohm-my god honey,” you wailed, “t-that feels…” 

“Uhmm… feels good huh,” he thrust in a little faster, tightening the hold on your hip and hair. 

“God you look so fuckin’ beautiful right now,” his gyrations in full force as the sounds of slaps penetrated the mountainside. 

“So. Fuckin’. Perfect,” he pronounced as he reveled in your screams and cries for release. The more he pulled your gorgeous locks, the more your walls fluttered around him. 

“Phil,” you bawled out, “c-can I p-please c-cum.” 

“You wanna cum honey?” he growled out, keeping his pace steady and unwavering as he rearranged your guts in the best way he possibly could.

“Y-yes, please baby!” you relented writhing under his powerful strokes. He moved his hand from your hip to your aching clit, rubbing small, but fast circles, bringing you to the edge of an ear-shattering orgasm. 

“Mother f-fucker,” you groaned out, releasing your pent up frustrations into the wind, your cunt milking his cock the hardest it possibly could. 

“That’s it, honey, cum all over it,” he kept his thrusting up, becoming more erratic the more your walls clenched down on him. 

“Fuck honey,” he stammered out through his clenched teeth, pumping his cock a few more times into your vibrating hole, then releasing his hot sticky spend onto your walls, coating them in a donut glaze. 

“Jesus fuckin’,” he gasped out, pulsing the last of his spend as he pulled his softening erection from your pussy, watching the mixture pour out of your gaping hole. 

He ran his hands down the expanse of your back, rubbing your ass cheeks in a massage of sorts, watching and listening to the wetness seeping from your cunt, admiring the sight more than the nature surrounding the both of you. 

“Fuck you take my cum so well, honey,” he scooped the remainder dripping out to stuff it back in your overstimulated wetness. 

“Only for you baby,” you panted, lifting your back upright once again, and turning to your sweat sheened husband, to place your hands on his chest and look up at him in total bliss. 

“I love you, Phil,” you stroked him, leaning into a kiss. 

“I love you most,” he whispered out, “but can we please go swimming now? I’m so fuckin’ hot,” he laughed as you nodded up towards him. Taking your hand he led you into the cold embrace of the lake before you. 

The remainder of those few hours were spent swimming and fooling around like the both of you were in high school. Scaring each other in the water, him putting you on his shoulders, racing around the bay, and floating to admire the skyline that Tahoe provided for you. 

It was definitely a vacation much needed and well deserved. 

 _____________

GOD I LOVED READING THIS OVER AND OVER AGAIN... I THINK I COULD DO ANOTHER PART FOR SURE... MAYBE 👀

🖤,

ray-nal-beads

[docholligay]

Requiem for the Grand Consummation

Angstober prompt was: Michiru, breakdown 1900 words, and I hope you....uh, enjoy it? In as much as anyone enjoys Angstober? 

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. It matters little what you feel.The flame might tear and burn, the steam might hiss, but you are a creature of the coldest sea, and to all appearances, you will only ever be calm and shimmering. She had been trained in all of this since she was a young child, the subtle art of composure. 

To compose oneself. She thought of it often, this turn of phrase, this way of putting a smooth coat on the roughness of mortal feelings. One composed a symphony as well, and she could not note that it was too terribly different. The art of taking inelegant bursts of air and furious strokes of string on string, and turning them into something beautiful. Something calming, and erudite, inviting commentary on the art. Perhaps not all people made symphonies of their own emotions, but Michiru Kaioh would note that she was an artist in all things, and perhaps her earliest lesson was in this. 

So Michiru Kaioh dressed in her neat couture, and sat straight as she sipped at champagne in the tea lounges of the upper class, and accepted condolences with that same cool, impersonal affect with which it was given. She composed, and the orchestra played on, and no one could have possibly noted that the young widow was anything other than a perfect example of the stiffly pressed perfection and breeding of the upper classes. 

A sheet of ice covered the sea, and it shimmered and sparkled and did not waver or buckle as the waves churned beneath it. 

But ice can only ever be cold, and be taken as such, whatever may lie beneath, and one can hardly blame those unfamiliar with the sea for seeing little else. 

“Oh, like Michiru even fuckin’ cares.” Mina swigged back a beer, despite being in the middle of what was, ostensibly, a senshi meeting, “since when has she ever kept anything from last season, you know?” 

Mako shrugged and nodded along with Mina, the two guards, one of them telling the truth, and one lying, and both blocking Michiru from a calm exit of the conversation. 

“We need a new Sailor Uranus.” Mako added, though not unkindly. 

The gentleness was meant less for Michiru and more for Usagi, who wailed in protest. 

“We can’t! We can’t let someone else wear her tiara, because, because--” she let out a sniffle and a small sob, “--they won’t be her!!” 

“Indeed,” Michiru added, almost a whisper to herself, “who could be?” 

Rei drew her arms around Usagi. “She wouldn’t be, Usagi.” She kissed Usagi’s temple, “But she’ll be a different Sailor Uranus. But she won’t replace Haruka.” 

Ami touched Usagi’s arm. “Whoever it is already has been given the power. She’s probably scared, Usagi. We can help her. We can teach her.” 

Michiru folded her hands in her lap, and composed herself. Twist the brass into submission. Quell the drums. The strings do not shriek, but sing, in your hands. She softened her eyes and relaxed her face, and her shoulders fell straight and sleek under her silk blouse. 

“So we don’t have a choice anyway.” Mina poured the beer down her throat and crunched the can, “We get to her or the enemy does. Sailor Uranus is dead,” a violin string snapped, “long live Sailor Uranus.” 

Usagi nodded, sobbing into Rei’s shoulder, and Mako rubbed her on the back as the silence settled in, rain falling in the background as the cool wet air sneaked in the cracks old and new, whispering in small holes in sweaters, aching through slender gaps of clothing. 

Michiru rose to her feet, and smoothed her linen skirt. 

“Well, then, it seems decided,” She took her purse from the table, “Pluto, I assume you will have little trouble locating this person, given your affinity with the power of the moon. You certainly located us easily enough.” She nodded to Mina. “If there’s no further business, madame chairman.” 

“Go on,” she shrugged, “be my fucking guest.” 

Michiru did not allow herself to crescendo to Mina’s anger, simply walked to the door where her umbrella sat waiting, the fine leather of her Italian made shoes spattered so lightly with the rain’s cruelties that you would be forgiven for not noticing them. Fine leather blends well. 

She opened the door, only for a small, insistent hand to close it in her face. She did not turn her head, for there was no need, only that same discordant note wishing to throw off all symphonies as she herself had been. 

“I confess the vagaries of being your guest do somewhat bewilder me.” She shook off her umbrella. “May I help you?” 

Mina took her hand away from the door, her eyes never leaving Michiru’s face. 

“You’re so hollow inside, I wonder if her scream’s still echoing there, or if you just...absorbed it.” MIna shook her head, and their eyes met, “Did you ever love her?” 

“You are a cruel person, at heart, Minako Aino. But I suspect you know that.” She opened the door and her umbrella both, in one fluid motion, “Haruka’s taste was always a bit self-flagellating, wasn’t it? Choosing us.” She stepped out into the rain. “Not all of us are so prone to drunken dramatics.” 

“Fucking leave, Michiru.” 

“Oh, are we precisely certain I have your leave?” 

MIna slapped the door in her face, but Michiru did not justify the cymbal crash with so much as the raise of an eyebrow. 

It took her longer than she might have expected to return to that yawning condo in a sparkling building, the rain settling on the windows in a single sheet, beginning to freeze until it weighed to heavy before dramatically cracking and falling to the ground. 

Her apartment was the same as it ever had been, neatly appointed, and her girl had left a bottle of champagne and a plate of olives and cheese in the fridge, as requested. They said good help was hard to find, but Michiru did not agree with this assessment. Good help was very easy to find, so long as one’s wallet was sufficiently open. 

She popped the bottle with its percussive note, the bubbles rising to the surface of the glass in their high accenting chirps. When had she changed into her robe and gown? She couldn’t remember, but it hardly mattered. It was perfectly acceptable for a woman alone in her apartment to lounge a bit in the evening. 

The glasses went down fast, tonight. Mina had not been wrong to say that she was hollow, for no matter how much she drank, Michiru could not fill that deep, dry well inside of her. Or maybe it had always been full, but full only of the sea, bitter and cold, withering everything that drank it. 

MIna had been right about another thing. She was cruel and a liar, but she hadn’t lied then. That well inside her heard the screams, and it echoed high above the elegiac symphony of her own heart and soul, far beyond taming. It dulled the song and it slipped under the ice, and it screamed and screamed and screamed. 

She staggered to her feet. She was conducting, but the players were beginning to falter, playing their own tunes, Mozart against Tchaikovsky, Salieri coming through the back, a note of Monteverdi, the piano player hammering out Chopin’s softness with an indelicate rage. It was too loud for the small apartment, the clashes and bangs of instruments no longer obeying that leader. What a fool she ever was to believe that she could have brought them to heel with a small stick! 

No one had asked the conductor how she tired, how rebellious the woodwinds, how obstinate the percussion, and how difficult it could possibly be to coordinate it all on a bucking sheet of ice. And who could blame them? They had not seen the difficulty, for Michiru never allowed this to be difficult. It was her own perfection that led to this grand revolution, every carefully chosen note deciding its own fate in this moment, in an apartment which once held something killed by cold, a daisy in December. 

Michiru flung wide the doorway to that elegant balcony, the lines of song which had been straight and true twisting themselves into the wrought iron, mocking her composition. Her composure. She stared at them, glass still in her hand, and they rocked and moved and then they were the waves of the sea, clashing against that ice as the rain fell around her. It built and built and it broke, for how could it not break when there was so much underneath it. The wind rose and whipped under that sheet of ice, and Michiru felt a great crack inside of her, a crack like an explosion. Oh, that great sea ice broke indeed, and it broke with the great thunder of bass and timpani, and the waves became a song again, and twisted, and the sea again, breaking, and then they were her face, her face twisted most of all in those final moments, and Michiru looked up to the sky and she cried out in the one and only vocal solo of her life, accompanied by the horrible orchestra of her own great creation. 

She stopped. Everything stopped. The strings grew still, and the sea ice drifted away, and it all simply stopped. 

Haruka called herself the senshi of the wind. It was silly, and it was a lie, but it was a lovely one, and in the years after she had fallen in love, she continued on with it in her teasing way, telling Michiru how the wind whispered she looked beautiful in that dress, or howled over the discontinuation of a candy bar. 

But she wasn’t lying, and she wasn’t joking, for Michiru could feel her, caressing her face, kissing her lips, brushing tenderly against her collarbone. Haruka had quieted it. She had always quieted it, for the wind was not the great enemy of the sea, but its partner, was it not? It is only the wind that allows the ocean to guide and to bring the world across it. The wind caresses the sea in love, and those are not waves of horror, but of delight. The screams all sound the same. 

Michiru took her glass, and drank deep of it, smiling brightly as she flung it over the side of the balcony, a high, bright note of an angel’s bell below. 

She rested a hand on that iron, and felt it lay still and freeze beneath her hand. The ice, returning. So heavy. Impossible to hold on a building like this one. But there was no need, the wind said to her, to hold it at all. Let the sea rage, and let the song die, and I will carry you in the great unwritten song of the wind. 

Her robe fluttered like a petal as she slipped a leg over that useless, ugly, arrogant iron. She held her hand out to the wind, the wind that came from the sea and still carried the water inside of it, and with a close of her eyes and the whisper of Haruka’s name, she released that flower into the wind. 

When they found her on the car in the misting rain, she was calm and shimmering. 

Just as she’d been taught. 

[365days365movies]

March 1, 2021: The Hobbit (1977) (Part 1)

In a hole in the ground, there lived a Hobbit.

When I was 9, my school let us read a very special book, originally meant for kids, but beloved by everyone. My folks and I went to Borders Books (FUCK ME, I miss Borders), and we got an illustrated copy of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit. I can’t find that book, but if I ever find it again, Imma buy it IMMEDIATELY, I tell you what. And...oh shit, it’s on Amazon for $12? 

Well. I just made that purchase, I guess. But yeah, I loved that book when I was a kid, and this was during the same year that Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings trilogy began, with Fellowship, of course. And I wouldn’t end up watching those until a few years later, but I loved those too when I saw them. And I’ve NEVER seen the abridged version, by the way, I’ve only ever seen the extended editions.

Although, I can’t call myself a hardcore fan. I’ve never read the Silmarillion, for example. Although, weirdly, I wanted it as a kid at some point, so I was almost there. But no, I ended up getting into comic books hardcore instead, so I can’t tell you the history of Tom Bombadil, but I can tell you about at least one of the fuckin’ 87 tieles that the Legion of Super-Heroes has been involved in. I’m not gonna like it though.

...Yes, I will, who am I kidding, I love the Legion. Anyway, I’ve still always been a fan of the franchise, and I was extremely excited when Jackson announced that he’d be doing an adaptation of The Hobbit! Seriously, I WAS FUCKING PUMPED, you have no idea. I re-read the book, I was super-excited...and then Harry Potter changed EVERYTHING. Kind of.

See, Harry Potter’s development as a two films made from one book seemed to kick off a trend. Breaking Dawn and Mockingjay are the two that immediately come to mind, as does this film. However, to be fair...that’s probably a coincidence. Yeah, this film was originally developed as two parts, WAY before Deathly Hallows got that treatment. And even then, Jackson and Del Toro had difficulty breaking it up into two parts, and three ended up being easier. Still...the change from two-to-three does feel a little connected to that trend.

Anyway, in celebration of that decision, I’m gonna break this review into three parts! Yes. Really. I want to see if it works. And so, let’s talk about the other most famous adaptation of this book by talking about its creators.

Yup. Rankin-Bass did 2D-animated cartoons, too! And this was one of their most famous ones, dating back to 1977. But wait! There’s more! This was followed by Ralph Bakshi’s version of Lord of the Rings by a different studio. You know, this one?

Yeah, that one. It was only based on the first two books, Fellowship and Towers. But it was technically unconnected to the Rankin-Bass version. Which is why it was REALLY weird when Rankin-Bass came out with an adaptation of the third book, Return of the King, right afterwards!

BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE. Because both of Rankin-Bass’ specials were animated by a Japanese studio called Topcraft, who’d actually worked with Rankin-Bass for years. But then, they went bankrupt a few years later, and was bought by Isao Takahata, Toshio Suzuki, and...Hayao Miyazaki. And it was renamed as...

So, this is a Hobbit adaptation produced by the Rudolph people and animated by the people who would eventually become Studio Ghibli. Well, uh...holy fucking shit. Let’s DO THIS BABY. SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/3)

As we’re wont to do in this story, we head to Hobbiton in the Shire, where we meet Bilbo Baggins (Orson Bean). A simple Hobbit in a simple home, with a happy and simple life. But one day, he’s approached by Gandalf (John Huston), who seeks a burglar to help with the mission of a group of dwarves, led by Thorin Oakenshield (Hans Conried).

We also immediately start off with two songs from the original book, and I have to say that I like them a but better in the Jackson movies, but they’re still well performed here. Anyway, after dinner, the true goal of their quest is given. Beneath Lonely Mountain, the ancestral home of the Dwarves, there was a kingdom ruled by the King Under the Mountain, Thorin’s grandfather.

Through reading the lyrics of the song “Far over the Misty Mountains,” Thorin tells the tale of the takeover of the Dwarves’ great golden hoard by the dragon Smaug. Bilbo is tasked to help the Dwarves steal back the treasure stolen from them. And, while he’s extremely reluctant to be a part of all this, Gandalf basically forces him to, the pushy bastard. And Bilbo’s Greatest Adventure now lies ahead!

Speaking of, here’s the song “The Greatest Adventure”, sung by Glenn Yarborough, who is the living personification of vibrato. Fuckin’ seriously, this guy’s voice is ridiculous, but I love it so much. As the night passes underneath Glenn Yarborough’s hypnotically shaky voice, and uncertain, Bilbo stares out at the moon. Once it’s over, we’re on our way to the Misty Mountains.

Bilbo’s having a tough time with the long journey and rough weather, and it doesn’t get much better when they encounter a trio of trolls. They send out Bilbo to try and steal some mutton from them, but he’s IMMEDIATELY a failure, and also manages to tell the trolls that the dwarves are present. Nice one, Bilbo. The trolls catch all of the dwarves, although Bilbo manages to escape. 

The trolls argue about how to cook the dwarves, but before they get to do anything, Gandalf shows up and summons the dawn, turning the trolls into stone and saving the dwarves. While they’re initially quite frustrated by Bilbo’s failure, he makes it up by discovering a horde of goods and weapons stolen by the trolls. This is also where Bilbo gets his classic weapon, Sting.

Gandalf, cheeky bastard that he is, suddenly reveals a map that he’s kept secret from Thorin, its rightful owner. Bilbo, a classic cartomaniac, is able to interpret the map. But there are also runes that they can’t quite read. And so, Gandalf brings them to his friend, Elrond (), who’s wearing a sick-ass glittery tiara that’s hovering off his head. How come Hugo Weaving didn’t have that?

Anyway, Elrond identifies the swords that Thorin and Gandalf grabbed as Orcrist, the Goblin-Cleaver and Glamdring, the Foe-Hammer, because FUCK YEAH, BABY, those are some fuckin’ NAMES! WHOOOOOO!

Anyway, he also points them in the direction of the mountain, and shows them hidden features to the map. They head through the mountains after this, and rest in a cave. Unfortunately, this cave is on Goblin territory, and the group (sans Gandalf, who’s disappeared to make out with Cate Blanchett or whatever) is quickly ambushed by a group of now-horned Goblins, who chant their song as they go “Down, Down, to Goblin-Town”. Which is a song that I love, unironically. It compels me to sing along.

The Goblins nearly kill them when they discover Orcrist in Thorin’s possession, but they’re saved by the sudden appearance of Gandalf with the glowing sword Glamdring. He kills the Great Goblin, and the group run out with the Goblins in hot pursuit. Well, except for Bilbo.

Yeah, Bilbo falls into a cavern below the mountain, and the dwarves think him gone for good. However, he’s miraculously safe on the ground, having landed in an underground aquifer, in which lives THE GREATEST CHARACTER IN THE MIDDLE-EARTH FRANCHISE FUCKIN’ AT ME I DARE YOU

And just so we’re clear, I’m not talking about the film version only, I’m talking about Gollum/Smeagol in general. Granted, I don’t want a film starring him or anything (coughCruellacoughcoughMaleficentcoughcoughClaricecoughcough), but I love this dissociative little dude so much. He’s one of my favorite fantasy characters in general, and is also maybe the best example of a sympathetic villain, in film at least.

OK, to be fair, I love Andy Serkis’ version of the character a LOT, like a LOT a lot, and it’s a great version of the character. OK, so what do I think of this version? He’s...interesting, actually. If I’m honest, I kinda like him. This is similar to how I always pictured Gollum when I was a kid.

I mean, listen to this description from the book, yeah?

Deep down here by the dark water lived old Gollum, a small slimy creature. I don't know where he came from, nor who or what he was. He was Gollum - as dark as darkness, except for two big round pale eyes in his thin face...He was looking out of his pale lamp-like eyes for blind fish, which he grabbed with his long fingers as quick as thinking.

I dunno, that does sound more like this version of Gollum to me, just saying. Anyway, while Gollum is off fishing in the water, Bilbo gets up on the shore, where he finds a little golden ring Not important, just a ring, definitely means nothing at all, NOTHING AT ALL, NOTHING TO SEE HERE.

The hungry Gollum (Brother Theodore) happens upon Bilbo, precious, wonders if Bilbo would taste good, and is basically about to kill him for his sweet hobbit meat, before Bilbo takes out Sting. Now afraid, Gollum offers a game of riddles. The two make a deal: if Bilbo wins at a game of riddles, Gollum will show him the  way out. But if Gollum wins, precious will eat him raaaaaaaw and wrrrrrrrrrriggling!

The riddles commence, in a super-fuckin’-classic moment, and also ends with maybe the most bullshit moment in all of fantasy lore. After clever riddles with answers involving eggs, wind, and time, Bilbo’s last riddle is “What’s in my pocket?” The fuck, Bilbo, that’s absolute BULLSHIT!

Not that it matters. Bilbo wins, but Gollum goes to find his ring to show it to Bilbo before he takes him away. Thing is, though, that’s what was in Bilbo’s pocket, which Gollum quickly figures out, my precious. He’s about to kill Bilbo to get back his birthday present, precious, but Bilbo discovers the secret trick of the ring: it turns the wearer invisible, AND THAT WILL NEVER BE A BAD THING EVER.

Gollum thinks that Bilbo’s escaped and runs after him toward the exit. This, of course, leads Bilbo towards the exit inadvertently, and he follows Gollum, then jumps over him to get back. To which Gollum screams the following:

Thief! Thief! Baggins! We hates it! Hates it! Forever!

I hear you, buddy. I hear you. Well, once Bilbo escapes, he reconvenes with the rest, and shares his adventure in the cave, but leaves out the ring. And Gandalf seems to know, based on his dialogue. And I checked, and he figured it out in the book and Jackson movie, too. And I gotta say...WHAT THE FUCK GANDALF

I mean...DUDE. CHECK UP on that shit. Do you wizard job, man! If you’d been like, “Dude...you didn’t find a magic ring that turns you invisible, ight, because we’re FUCKED if you did”, NONE OF THE LORD OF THE RINGS WOULD’VE HAPPENED, AND BOROMIR WOULD STILL BE ALIVE

Everybody talks about the fuckin’ eagles, but WHY DO I NEVER HEAR ANYONE MENTION THIS SHIT? Gandalf the Grey: Middle-Earth’s most irresponsible asshole, I swear...

This seems like a good place to pause, actually. See you in the next part!

[waywardaardvark79]

Supernatural Rewrite: Season 1, Episode 8: Bugs

Summary: Y/N Singer joins Sam and Dean on the road. A rewrite starring you. 

Pairing: eventual Dean X Reader, Sam x Reader (platonic)

Warnings: language, show level violence

Word Count: 8,512

A/N: I’ll try to do at least one episode a week. No set schedule. Tags open. 

“Come on, we better go. I think Sam has had enough.” you said, shoving a wad of cash into your pocket.

“He’ll get over it.” Dean said, thumbing through a wad of cash. “We did good, Singer.”

“Yeah, they didn’t know what hit them until it was too late.” you said, both you and Dean laughing as the two of you walked out of the bar, Dean waving his wad of cash in the air. 

“You know, we could get day jobs once in a while.” Sam said, shaking his head at the two of you.

“Hunting’s our day job, and the pay is crap.” Dean said.

“He’s right, and what would we do anyways? I mean, could you really see me being a waitress or some shit. I’d be fired five minutes into the job for cussing out some dumbass.” you said.

“Yeah, but hustling pool? Credit card scams? It’s not the most honest thing in the world, guys.” Sam said.

“Well, let’s see honest.” Dean said, holding out one of his hands, “Fun and easy.” he added, holding out the other hand, gesturing so that fun and easy outweighed honest. “It’s no contest.”

“At least we’re good at it, and it always works.” you said, adjusting the glove on your left hand.

“Besides, it’s what we were raised to do.” Dean said.

“I know, I was learnin’ to play Poker when most other kids were learnin’ how to ride a bike.” you said.

“Yeah, well, how we were raised was jacked.” Sam said.

“Hey, I did normal kid shit, too. Dad always made sure of that.” you said, feeling the need to defend your father.

“We didn’t.” Sam said.

“Yeah, says you. We got a new gig or what?” Dean asked, never comfortable discussing the way they were raised.

“Maybe. Oasis Plains, Oklahoma, not far from here. A gas company employee, Dustin Burwash, supposedly died from Creutzfeldt-Jakob.” Sam said.

“Huh?” Dean asked.

“Human mad cow disease.” Sam said.

“Sucks to be him.” you said.

“Mad Cow. Wasn’t that on Oprah?” Dean asked.

“You watch Oprah?” Sam asked, a smile on his face.

“Pfft…no.” Dean said, embarrassed, “Y/N was watching it.”

“Hey, don’t put that shit on me. That’s all you.” you said.

“So, this guys eats a bad burger. Why is it our kind of thing?” Dean asked, changing the subject.

“Cause it takes a long time for mad cow disease to do anything, and I’m guessing this guy didn’t show any signs.” you said.

“You a mad cow expert now?” Dean asked.

“I just so happened to be in the room when YOU were watching Oprah. I picked up a few things.” you fired back.

Sam cleared his throat, “She’s right. Mad cow disease causes massive brain degeneration. It takes months, even years, for the damage to appear. But this guy, Dustin? Sounds like his brain disintegrated in about an hour. Maybe less.” Sam said.

“Okay, that’s weird.” Dean admitted, you nodding your head in agreement.

“Yeah. Now, it could be a disease, or it could be somethin’ much nastier.” Sam said.

“Yeah, I’m gonna go with somethin’ much nastier.” you said.

“All right. Oklahoma.” Dean said, the three of you getting into the car, “Man, work, work, work. No time to spend my money.” Dean added as he started the engine.

“Your money?” you asked, leaning up from the backseat, “Half of that’s mine.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Fine, no time to spend our money.” he said, chuckling as he drove off. 

Dean pulled up to the Oklahoma Gas and Power Company, the three of you getting out of the car, and approaching the man outside.

“Travis Weaver?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Travis said.

“Are you the Travis who worked with Uncle Dusty?” Dean asked.

Travis eyed the three of you, “Dustin never mentioned nephews or a niece.” Travis said.

“Really? Well, he sure mentioned you.” Dean said.

“He sure did. He was always talking about you, said you were the greatest.” you added.

“Yeah. ” Sam said, following after you and Dean.

Travis smiled, “Oh, he did? Huh.” he said.

“Listen, we wanted to ask you…what exactly happened out there?” Dean asked.

“I’m not sure.” Travis said, shaking his head. “He fell in a sink hole. I went to the truck to get some rope, and, uh…by the time I got back…” Travis trailed off.

“What did you see?” Dean asked.

“Nothin’. Just Dustin.” Travis replied.

“No wounds or anything?” Sam asked.

Travis hesitated for a moment before glancing at you, “Listen, fellas, I ain’t so comfortable talkin’ about this kind of stuff in front of a lady. She…uh, she’s delicate and shouldn’t be hearin’ this kind of talk.” Travis said.

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest, tempted to tell the guy that you were the farthest thing from delicate, but you decided to go with a different approach, “Listen, sir.” you sweetly said, “We just want to know what happened to our uncle. We need to know. Don’t worry about me, I can handle it.”

Travis nodded his head, “Well, he was bleeding…from his eyes, and his ears, his nose, but that’s it.” Travis said, refusing to look at you, afraid that he may have offended your delicate sensibilities.

“So, do you think it could be this whole mad cow thing?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know. That’s what the doctors are sayin’.” Travis said.

“But, if it was, he would’ve acted strange beforehand, like dementia, loss of motor control.” you said, Sam nodding his head.

“You ever notice anything like that?” Sam asked.

“No. No why, but then again, if it wasn’t some disease, what the hell was it?” Travis asked.

“That’s a good question.” Dean said.

“You know, can you tell us where this happened?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.” Travis answered. 

A little while later the three of you arrived at the scene of Dustin’s death, the sinkhole still surrounded by police tape.

“Huh. What do you guys think?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know, but if that guy, Travis, was right, it happened pretty damn fast.” Sam said.

“Which proves that it definitely wasn’t mad cow.” You said, as the three of you ducked under the police tape, each of you looking down into the hole with a flashlight.

“So, what? Some sort of creature chewed on his brain?” Dean asked.

“No.” you said, shaking your head.

“There’d be an entry wound, sounds like this thing worked from the inside.” Sam added.

“Huh. Looks like there’s only room for one. You guys wanna flip a coin?” Dean asked.

“There’s three of us.” you said, “One of us just needs to do it.”

“Guys, we have no idea what’s down there.” Sam said.

“All right, I’ll go if you guys are scared. You two scared?” Dean asked, picking up a coil of rope.

“Flip the damn coin.” Sam said.

Dean chuckled and pulled a coin from his pocket, “Loser goes against Y/N, and whoever loses that toss goes in. All right, call it in the air…chicken.” Dean said.

“Jesus fucking Christ, I’ll go.” you said, grabbing the rope.

“Wait. Let one of us go.” Dean said.

You shook your head as you tied the rope around your waist, “I’m going. Maybe I’ll be able to see or feel something.” you said, pulling off your gloves and tossing them to the ground, “Just don’t fuckin’ drop me.”

The two of them lowered you down into the hole, “Fuck, why did I decide to do this?” you asked, once you realized just how enclosed the space was.

“Just get down there, do your magic fingers thing, and we’ll pull you back up.” Dean said.

“Magic fingers? That’s what we’re callin’ it now?” you asked, as you looked around the hole, “A little lower.” you called out, Sam and Dean giving the rope too much slack causing you to land hard at the bottom of the hole. “What happened to not fucking dropping me?” you yelled.

“Sorry.” Sam sheepishly said, shining his flashlight down on you.

“You better be.” you mumbled to yourself as you looked around, not really seeing anything out of the ordinary.

“Hey, Singer!” Dean called out, looking down at you.

“Yeah?” you asked.

“It puts the lotion on it’s skin, or else it gets the hose again.” Dean said, laughing.

You chuckled, “Real fuckin’ funny, De.” you said, noticing some beetles by your feet.

“Really, Dean?” Sam asked.

“What? How could I not say that? I mean, it’s a perfect situation, and she laughed.” Dean said.

You picked up a couple of the beetles, closing your hand around them, trying to concentrate. You still weren’t sure how all of this worked, and were about to give up when a feeling washed over you.

There was so much anger, so much pure rage, and you quickly became overwhelmed, the feeling too much for you to take, causing you to toss the beetles to the ground.

“Y/N, what’s goin’ on down there?” Dean asked, concern in his voice.

“Toss me my gloves.” you said, not daring to touch the beetles with your bare hand again.

Dean tossed down your gloves and you slipped them on before grabbing a beetle, “Pull me up!” you yelled. 

You were back above ground a few moments later. “Here.” you said, holding out your hand to Sam. “Take it.”

Sam held open his hand, and you dropped the beetle into it before untying the rope around your waist, the feeling you had when you touched it still sticking with you.

“A beetle?” Sam asked, looking down at his hand.

“Yeah, a beetle.” you said before turning to head back to the car. 

Sam was examining the beetle you found while Dean drove.

“So, you found some beetles, in a hole, in the ground. That’s shocking, Y/N.” Dean said.

“Something isn’t right with that fuckin’ thing.” you said, leaning up to the front seat.

“It’s just a beetle.” Dean said.

You sighed, “I know that, but the feeling I got when I touched it…it was…rage.” you said, looking at the beetle in Sam’s hand.

Dean scoffed, “So, you’re tellin’ me that a bunch of beetles hulked out and killed our guy? Come on, Y/N. Beetles don’t get pissed off. They’re just bugs.” Dean said.

“Were there any tunnels, or tracks? Any evidence of any other creature down there?” Sam asked.

“No.” you said.

“Well, some beetles do eat meat. Now, it’s usually dead meat, but-” Sam started to say before Dean interrupted.

“How many did you find down there?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know. Ten, maybe.” you answered.

“It’d take a whole lot more than that to eat out some dude’s brain.” Dean said.

“Well, maybe there were more.” you said.

“I don’t know it sounds like a stretch to me.” Dean said.

“You can think whatever you want, but I know what I felt.” you said, leaning back into the backseat.

“Yeah, I got it, pissed off beetles.” Dean said.

“Look, we need more information on the area, the neighborhood. Whether something like this has ever happened before.” Sam said, trying to keep the peace. 

Dean drove by a sign for an open house, decorated with red balloons, “I know a good place to start.” Dean said, another sign reading, Model Open. New Buyer’s BBQ Today!. “I’m kinda hungry for a little barbeque, how ‘bout you guys?” Dean asked.

You chuckled, “I could eat.” you said, Dean smiling at you in the rearview mirror.

Sam looked over at him, giving him a knowing look, “What, we can’t talk to the locals?” Dean asked.

“And the free food’s got nothin’ to do with it?” Sam asked.

“Of course not. We’re professionals.” Dean said, defending the two of you.

“Right.” Sam said. 

Dean pulled the car over, and the three of you got out and started walking down the street to the open house.

“Growin’ up in a place like this would freak me out.” Dean said.

“Yeah, me too.” you said, looking around the neighborhood.

“What? Why?” Sam asked.

“Well, manicured lawns, "How was your day, honey?”. I’d blow my brains out.“ Dean said.

"Yeah, it’s all just so fuckin’ cookie cutter.” you added.

“There’s nothing wrong with normal.” Sam said.

“I beg to differ.” you said.

“Yeah, I’d take our family over normal any day.” Dean said. 

The three of you approached the house, and Dean knocked on the door, a man answering a few moments later.

“Welcome.” the man said, looking at the three of you.

“This the barbeque?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, not the best weather, but…I’m Larry Pike, the developer here, and you are…?” Larry trailed off, waiting for the three of you to introduce yourselves.

“Dean. This is Sam, and that’s Y/N.” Dean said, introducing the three of you.

“Sam, Dean, Y/N, good to meet you. So, you three are interested in Oasis Plains?” Larry asked.

“Yes, sir.” Dean said.

“Let me just say, we accept homeowners of any race, religion, color, sexual orientation, or…non-traditional pairings.” Larry said.

“You hear that, guys?” you asked, taking both of their hands, “We can live happily ever after in our non-traditional pairing.” you said.

Dean shook his head, realizing what Larry was implying, “We’re brothers. My girlfriend here thinks she’s a comedian.” Dean said, Larry looking slightly embarrassed.

“Our father is getting on in years, and we’re just lookin’ for a place for him.” Sam said.

“Great, great. Well, seniors are welcome, too. Come on in.” Larry said. 

Larry led the three of you to the backyard, you sandwiched in-between Sam and Dean, all of you taking notice of all of the people walking around, chatting, and eating.

“You said you were the developer?” Sam asked.

“Eighteen months ago, I was walking through this valley with my survey team. There was nothing here, but scrub brush and squirrels, and you know what, we built such a nice place to live that I actually bought into it myself. This is our house. We’re the first family in Oasis Plains.” Larry said, walking over to a woman. “This is my wife, Joanie.”

“Hi, there.” Joanie said.

“Hi.” Dean said, shaking her hand.

“Hi, nice to meet you.” Joanie said.

“Sam, Dean, and Y/N.” Larry said.

“Sam.” Sam said, shaking her hand.

“Pleasure.” she said before turning to you.

“Y/N.” you said, hesitantly shaking her hand, noticing that she was staring at your gloves. “I’m a bit of a germaphobe.” you lied.

“Well, nothing wrong with that. Better safe than sorry.” she said.

“Tell them how much you love the place, honey. And lie if you have to because I need to sell some houses.” Larry joked.

“Right.” Joanie said, both her and Larry laughing.

“Will you excuse me?” Larry asked, before walking away.

“Don’t let his salesman routine scare you. This really is a great place to live.” Joanie said.

“Hi, I’m Lynda Bloome, head of sales.” a very energetic woman said, as she approached.

“And Lynda was second to move in. She’s a very noisy neighbor, though.” Joanie teased before leaving.

“She’s kidding of course. I take it you three are interested in becoming homeowners?” she asked.

“Well…” Dean said.

“Y-yeah, well…” Sam added.

“We sure are.” you said.

“Well, let me just say that we accept homeowners of any race, religion, color, sexual orientation, or…” she trailed off.

“Non-traditional pairing? What can I say…I just love 'em both, and I can’t pick. I get to have my cake and eat it, too.” you said.

“Of…of course.” Lynda said.

“All right, Studs. I’m gonna go talk to Larry.” you said, giving both Sam and Dean a firm slap to the ass before walking away. 

Sam, Dean, and Lynda were in the middle of an awkward silence, “She’s a pistol. I, uh, I better go check on her.” Dean said before quickly walking off after you.

“Oh, Honey, you’re just in time for the tour.” you said when Dean walked in.

“Wouldn’t miss it, Honey.” Dean said, stepping to your side. “Both of us, huh?” he whispered to you.

You shrugged your shoulders, “Like I said, I just couldn’t pick.” you said.

“Come on, we both know who you would pick.” Dean said.

You nodded your head, “So, you know it’s Sam, too.” you said, smirking at him, Dean rolling his eyes.

Larry was leading you and Dean down the stairs, the tour now over, “You’ve got three choices, carpet, hardwood, and tile.” Larry said.

Dean noticed a jar full of bugs on a nearby table, nudging you to get your attention, “Whoa. Someone likes bugs.” Dean said.

“My son…he’s into insects. He’s very inquisitive.” Larry said.

“Hmm…Does he happen to like beetles?” you asked.

“I don’t think it really matters to him.” Larry said.

You looked up at Dean, one eyebrow raised, “We better go find my brother.” Dean said, Larry leading the two of you back into the backyard. 

You noticed Sam talking to a younger boy and assumed it was the son Larry mentioned.

“Matthew.” Larry said, Sam and the boy turning to see you, Dean, and Larry walking towards them. “I am so sorry about my son and his…pet.” Larry said.

“It’s no bother.” Sam said.

“Excuse us.” Larry said, pulling Matthew away. 

“Remind you guys of somebody?” Sam asked, you and Dean looking over to see Larry yelling at Matt. “Dad?”

“Dad never treated us like that.” Dean said.

“Come on, guys. Not now.” you said, knowing the argument that talking about their dad would start.

“Well, Dad never treated you like that. Y/N either. He thought you two were perfect. He was all over my case. You guys don’t remember?” Sam asked.

“I…I wasn’t really around enough.” you said, not wanting to get in the middle of it.

“Well, maybe he had to raise his voice, but sometimes, you were out of line.” Dean said.

Sam scoffed, “Right. Right, like when I said I’d rather play soccer than learn bowhunting.” Sam said.

“Bowhunting’s an important skill.” Dean argued.

“Guys. Let’s do this later.” you said.

Sam rolled his eyes, “Whatever. How was the tour?” he asked.

“Oh, it was excellent. We’re ready to buy.” Dean said, Sam laughing.

“Look, I think we might be onto something here. Looks like Dustin Burwash wasn’t the first strange death around here.” you said.

“What happened?” Sam asked.

“About a year ago, before they broke ground, one of Larry’s surveyors dropped dead while on the job. Get this…severe allergic reaction to bee stings.” Dean said.

“More bugs.” Sam said.

“More fuckin’ bugs.” you said. 

Sam was driving while Dean flipped through the pages of John’s journal.

“You know, I’ve heard of killer bees, but killer beetles? What is it that could make different bugs attack?” Dean asked.

“Well, hauntings sometimes include bug infestations.” Sam said.

“Yeah, but I didn’t see any evidence of ghost activity.” Dean said.

“Yeah, me neither.” Sam said.

“You got anything? Any ideas?” Dean asked, turning in his seat to face you.

“You really aren’t ever gonna let me drive again, are you?” you asked.

“That’s what you’re thinkin’ about right now?” Dean asked.

You shrugged your shoulders, “I just don’t think it’s fair.” you said.

“Yeah, well, life ain’t fair, Sweetheart.” Dean said.

You scoffed, “Tell me about it.” you said.

“Guys, can we get back on track?” Sam asked.

“Maybe they’re being controlled somehow.” you said.

“Controlled? You mean by something or someone?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” you said.

“You mean, like Willard?” Sam asked, you laughing as you nodded your head.

“Yeah, bugs instead of rats.” Dean said.

“I don’t know, guys. I just know how I felt when I touched those beetles. I think someone or something was seriously fuckin’ pissed off, and somehow got those bugs to do their dirty work.” you said.

“There are cases of psychic connections between people and animals…elementals…telepaths.” Sam said, glancing over his shoulder at you.

“What? You think I can talk to bugs now? Control them? I’m not a telepath, or an elemental. I’m just…I don’t fuckin know, but I’m not that.” you said.

“Yeah, that whole Timmy Lassie thing.” Dean said, pulling focus back to the case. “Larry’s kid…he’s got bugs for pets.”

“Matt?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.” Dean replied.

“We saw a jar of bugs when we were on the tour.” you said.

“He did try to scare the realtor with a tarantula.” Sam said.

“You think he’s our Willard?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know. Anything is possible, I guess.” Sam said to Dean before glancing back at you, “Do you think you would be able to tell if you touched him?”

“I don’t know, Sam. It’s not like I have a fuckin’ instruction manual for whatever the fuck is happening to me.” you said.

“Ooh, hey. Pull over here.” Dean said before Sam could say anything to you.

“What are we doing here?” Sam asked, as he pulled into the empty driveway of one of the Oasis Plains homes.

“It’s too late to talk to anybody else.” Dean said, getting out of the car.

“We’re gonna squat in an empty house?” Sam asked.

“Awesome.” you said, getting out of the car, “Come on, Sam. These places are fully furnished, and it’s better than another flea bag motel.”

“Yeah, I wanna try the steam shower. Come on.” Dean said, Sam still not moving. “Come on!” Dean added, Sam reluctantly pulling the car into the empty garage, Dean closing the door after him. 

“Look at this fuckin’ place.” you said, the three of you standing in the kitchen. “Dibs on the first shower.” you called out, hoisting your bag over your shoulder as you took off for the stairs.

“Don’t even think about it, Singer.” Dean said, chasing after you.

The two of you raced up the stairs, shoving each other playfully before you stuck your foot out, tripping him. You looked back over your shoulder at him, “Better luck next time, De.” you said, Dean reaching out to grab your ankle, causing you to land with a thud at the top of the stairs.

“Seriously? You guys are gonna kill each other over a shower?” Sam yelled up the stairs.

You rolled over on your back, Dean crawling so that he was on top of you, “That was a real dick move.” you said.

“You started it. Better luck next time, Sweetheart.” Dean said, as he started to push himself up, ready to sprint to the bathroom.

You locked your legs around his waist, trapping him, “Not so fast, Winchester.” you said.

Dean chuckled, “You know, I could just pick you up.” he said, “Face it, Singer, you’re not gonna win this one. I’m gettin’ in that shower first.” Dean said.

You unhooked your ankles and quickly flipped him over so that you were sitting on top of him now, “Surely, we could work something out.” you said.

“You could always join me.” Dean said, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

You looked down at him, thinking for a second, “Sure, why not?”

“R-really?” Dean asked, shocked.

“Yeah, you can get my hard to reach places.” you said.

Dean blew out a shaky breath, “Ok.” he said.

“Just one little thing first.” you said, leaning down over him, your breath ghosting over his lips.

“W-what?” Dean asked.

“I always win.” you said, quickly pushing yourself off of him and getting to your feet, Dean still laying flat on his back, “Like I said, better luck next time, De.” you said before running off to the bathroom, leaving Dean frustrated. 

You walked downstairs after your shower, Sam and Dean both in the kitchen, “Shower’s free.” you said before grabbing a slice of pizza.

“Bet there’s no hot water left.” Dean grumbled, grabbing another beer.

“I couldn’t help myself. That shower is fucking amazing.” you said, grabbing a beer for yourself. “So, what room are we sleepin’ in?” you asked.

“Doesn’t matter to me. You pick.” Dean said.

Sam looked between the two of you, a smirk on his face, “You guys know that there are enough rooms for each of us to have our own, right? You two don’t have to share.” he said.

“Oh…r-right.” you said. “I, uh, didn’t think about that. A room all to myself…that’s…that’s gonna be nice.” you said.

“Yeah, uh, tell me about it. A night where you don’t hog all the covers.” Dean said, Sam shaking his head at the two of you.

“Well.” you said, before draining the last of your beer. “Guess, I’m gonna head to bed.”

“Night, Y/N.” Sam said.

“Yeah.” Dean said.

“Night, guys.” you said before turning to make your way upstairs. 

You walked into one of the bedrooms, and closed the door behind you. You pulled off your gloves and placed them on the table by the bed before pulling the covers back and crawling into bed, noticing just how strange it felt to be sleeping alone.

You had probably been in bed for about an hour, just laying there wide awake when you heard your door open. You rolled over to see Dean easing the door closed, a smile coming to your face, “Everything okay?” you asked, startling him.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Everything’s fine.” he said, not expecting you to be awake.

“What are you doing, then?” you asked.

Dean started to rub the back of his neck, “That, uh, the bed I picked, something’s wrong with it.” Dean said.

“Really? What is it?” you asked.

“Yeah, it’s, uh, really uncomfortable, and I couldn’t sleep, so I was just gonna crash with you, but, uh, nevermind.” he said, turning to the door.

“No, wait.” you blurted out, sitting up in bed. “You can sleep here. I don’t care. I mean, it’s better than being uncomfortable all night. ” you said, grabbing your gloves from the table and slipping them on.

“You sure? I mean, if I wasn’t in here then you wouldn’t have to sleep in those.” Dean said, nodding his head towards your hands.

“Get in bed, Winchester, before I change my mind.” you said, laying back down.

Dean quickly crossed the room and climbed into bed next to you, as you turned on your side, facing away from him, Dean’s arm soon wrapping around your waist, his legs tangling with yours.

“More comfortable?” you asked.

“Yeah.” Dean said, pausing a moment before speaking again, “Is…is this alright?” he asked, tightening his hold on you so that you would know what he was talking about. “I can give you more room if you want. It’s just, uh, this bed is kinda small, and…” Dean trailed off, the king sized bed being anything but small.

“No, this is fine. I was cold anyway.” you said, both of you unable to say what you really wanted to, deciding to skirt around what you wanted to say and read between the lines instead.

“Yeah, you do feel pretty cold.” Dean said, pulling you closer to him. “Better?” he asked.

“Yeah, night, De.” you said, snuggling back against him.

“Night, Y/N.” Dean said. 

You rolled over in bed to see Dean’s side empty and laid there a moment before getting up and getting dressed for the day.

You walked out of the bedroom to see Sam knocking on the bathroom door, “You ever comin’ out of there?” Sam asked.

“What?” you heard Dean say.

“Hey, What’s going on?” you asked.

“A police call came in on the scanner.” Sam said.

“Hold on!” Dean yelled.

“We got another one?” you asked, Sam nodding his head.

“Someone was found dead three blocks from here.” Sam said to you before turning back to the bathroom door, “Come on!”

The bathroom door cracked open, steam wafting out as Dean stood there with a towel on his head, “This shower is awesome.” he said.

“Told you.” you said.

Sam rolled his eyes, “Come on.” he said, before walking away. 

The three of you pulled up at Lynda Bloome’s house and got out of the car, the three of you approaching Larry, who was talking to someone on the phone, Lynda’s body being carried out in a body bag.

“Hello, you’re, uh, back early.” Larry said.

“Yeah, we just drove in, wanted to take another look at the neighborhood.” Dean said.

“What’s goin’ on?” Sam asked.

“You guys met, uh…Lynda Bloome at the barbeque?” Larry said.

“The realtor.” you said.

“Well, she, uh…passed away last night.” Larry said, the three of you looking at him in shock.

“What happened?” Dean asked.

“I’m still tryin’ to find out. I identified the body for the police. Look, I-I’m sorry, this isn’t a good time now.” Larry said.

“Oh, of course.” you said.

“It’s okay.” Sam assured him.

“Excuse me.” Larry said, before walking away.

“You guys know what we have to do, right?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, get in that house.” Sam said.

“See if we got a bug problem.” Dean said, the three of you climbing over the fence, and up the side of the house before climbing through Lynda’s bedroom window. 

“This looks like the place.” Dean said, looking down at the outline of her body on the carpet.

“Yeah, I’d say so.” you said, Dean walking over and picking up a towel from the floor, dropping it once he saw that it was covered in dead spiders.

“Spiders.” you said.

“From spider boy?” Dean asked.

“Matt…maybe.” Sam said, as you pulled off one of your gloves.

You bent down and picked up on of the spiders, holding it in the palm of your ungloved hand, the same feeling you got when you held the beetles hitting you.

“The spiders pissed too?” Dean asked.

“Pissed is an understatement.” you said, tossing the spider to the floor before putting your glove back on, “I think we need to pay Matt a visit.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right.” Dean said. 

Dean pulled the car over next to the curb, Matt getting off the school bus across the street.

“Isn’t his house that way?” Dean asked, pointing in the opposite direction that Matt was walking.

“Yup.” Sam said.

“So, where’s he goin’?” Dean asked.

“Probably to work his mojo on some more bugs.” you said.

The three of you got out of the car and started to follow after Matt, finding him examining a grasshopper.

“Great, now it’s gonna be killer grasshoppers.” you said, under your breath.

“Hey, Matt. Remember me?” Sam asked.

“What are you doin’ out here?” Matt asked.

“We could ask you the same thing.” you said.

“We wanna talk to you.” Dean said.

“You’re not here to buy a house, are you?” Matt asked, you and Dean shaking your heads. “W-wait. You’re not serial killers?” Matt asked, the three of you laughing.

“No, no. No, I think you’re safe. "Sam said.

"So, Matt…you sure know a lot about insects.” Dean said.

“So?” Matt asked.

“Did you hear what happened to Lynda, the realtor?” Dean asked.

“I heard she died this morning.” Matt said.

“Mm, that’s right. Spider bites.” Dean said.

“Matt…you tried to scare her with a spider.” Sam said.

“Wait. You think I had something to do with that?” Matt asked.

“Well, it looks that way.” you said.

“You tell us.” Dean said.

“That tarantula was a joke. Anyway, that wouldn’t explain the bee attack, or the gas company guy.” Matt said.

“You know about those?” Sam asked, Matt nodding his head.

“Let’s just get to the bottom of this.” you said, pulling off your glove before stepping up to Matt.

“W-what are you doing?” he nervously asked.

“Just be still, kid.” you said before placing your hand on his shoulder.

“Well?” Dean asked.

“The kid has a whole lot of daddy issues, but I don’t think it’s him.” you said, slipping your glove back on.

Matt looked at you strangely for a moment, “There is somethin’ going on here. I don’t know what…but something’s happening with the insects. Let me show you guys something.” Matt said, as he picked up his backpack and started to walk away. 

“So, if you knew about all the bug stuff, why not tell your dad? Maybe he could clear everybody out.” Sam said.

“Believe me, I’ve tried, but, uh, Larry doesn’t listen to me. ” Matt said.

“Why not?” Sam asked.

“Mostly, he’s too disappointed in his freak son.” Matt said.

“And there’s the daddy issues.” you said, nudging Dean.

Sam scoffed, “I hear you.” he said.

“You do?” Dean asked, Sam turning around to give him a look.

“Matt, how old are you?” Sam asked.

“Sixteen.” Matt said.

“Well, don’t sweat it, because in two years, something great’s gonna happen.” Sam said.

“What?” Matt asked.

“College. You’ll be able to get out of that house and away from your dad.” Sam said.

“Fuck. Here we go.” you said.

“What kind of advice is that? Kid should stick with his family.” Dean said, Sam sighing and glaring at him.

“How much further, Matt?” you asked, hoping that it wasn’t going to be much longer, the tension between Sam and Dean was palpable.

“We’re close.” Matt said.

Sam glared at Dean again, “Hey, knock that shit off.” you said, before the three of you started walking again, reaching a large clearing a few moments later.

“I’ve been keeping track of insect populations. It’s, um, part of an AP science class.” Matt said, the sounds of hundreds of different insects echoing among the trees.

“You two are like peas in a pod.” Dean said.

“Dean.” you warned, Sam ignoring him.

“What’s been happening?” Sam asked.

“A lot. I mean, from bees to earthworms, beetles…you name it. It’s like they’re congregating here.” Matt said.

“Why?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know.” Matt said.

“What’s that?” Sam asked, pointing to a dark patch of grass a few feet away.

The four of you walked over and discovered hundreds of worms. Dean stepped on some of them, and they fell into the ground, creating a hole. Dean crouched down and used a stick to poke around in the hole.

“That’s just fuckin’ gross.” you said, watching as he continued to poke around.

“There’s somethin’ down there.” Dean said, before putting the stick down and reaching into the hole with his hand.

“Jesus, De. Be fuckin’ careful. You don’t know what’s down there.” you said.

Dean continued to feel around in the hole, a disgusted expression on his face. He finally brought his hand out, all of you looking horrified at the dirt and worm covered human skull in his hand.

“Well, I sure as fuck wasn’t expecting that.” you said. 

The three of you pulled up outside of the local university and got out of the car, grabbing the box of bones from the backseat before heading towards the building.

“So, a bunch of skeletons in an unmarked grave.” Sam said.

“Yeah, maybe this is a haunting. Pissed off spirits? Some unfinished business?” Dean asked.

“There’s definitely some unfinished business there, but it wasn’t just rage I felt. There…there was fear, misery. ” you said, remembering what you felt when you touched the bones.

“Question is, why bugs? And why now?” Sam asked.

“That’s two questions.” Dean said, Sam ignoring him. “Yeah, so with that kid back there…why’d you tell him to just ditch his family like that?” Dean asked.

“Just, uh…I know what the kid’s goin’ through.” Sam said.

“Are we really fuckin’ doin’ this now?” you asked, both of them ignoring you.

“How 'bout tellin’ him to respect his old man, how’s that for advice?” Dean asked.

“Dean, come on.” Sam said, the three of you no longer walking. “This isn’t about his old man. You think I didn’t respect Dad. That’s what this is about.” Sam said.

“Now is not the time.” you said, looking between them.

“Just forget it, all right? Sorry I brought it up.” Dean said.

“I respected him, but no matter what I did, it was never good enough.” Sam said.

“Is that what you really think, Sam?” you asked, Sam nodding his head.

“So, what are you sayin’? That Dad was disappointed in you?” Dean asked.

“Was? Is. Always has been.” Sam said.

“Oh, Sam.” you sighed.

“Why would you think that?” Dean asked.

“Because I didn’t wanna bowhunt or hustle pool, because I wanted to go to school and live my life, which, to our whacked-out family, made me the freak.” Sam said.

“Yeah, you were kind of like the blonde chick in The Munsters.” Dean said.

“Dean.” you scolded.

“You know what most dad’s are when their kids score a free ride? Proud. Most dads don’t toss their kids out of the house.” Sam said.

“I remember that fight. In fact, I seem to recall a few choice phrases comin’ out of your mouth.” Dean said.

“Guys.” you said.

“You know, truth is, when we finally find Dad…I don’t know if he’s even gonna wanna see me.” Sam said.

“That’s not true, Sam.” you said, Dean nodding his head.

“Sam, Dad was never disappointed in you. Never. He was scared.” Dean said.

“What are you  talkin’ about?” Sam asked.

“He was afraid of what could’ve happened to you if he wasn’t around, but even when you two weren’t talkin’…he used to swing by Stanford whenever he could. Keep an eye on you. Make sure you were safe.” Dean said.

“What?” Sam asked.

“It’s true.”  you said.

“Why didn’t you guys tell me any of that?” Sam asked.

“Well, it is a two way street, dude. You could’ve picked up the phone. Come on, we’re gonna be late for our appointment.” Dean said before walking away.

“Sorry, Sam.” you said before turning to follow after Dean. 

“So, you three are students?” the professor asked.

“Yes, sir.” you said.

“Yeah. Yeah, uh, we’re in your class…Anthro 101.” Sam added.

“Oh, yeah.” the professor said.

“So, what about the bones, Professor?” Dean asked.

“This is quite an interesting find you’ve made. I’d say they’re 170 years old, give or take. The time frame and the geography heavily suggest Native American.” the professor said.

“Native American?” you asked, the professor nodding his head.

“Were there any tribes or reservations on that land?” Sam asked.

“Not according to the historical record, but the, uh, relocation of native people was quite common at that time.” the professor said.

“Right, well, are there any local legends?” Sam asked.

“Oral histories about the area?” you added.

“Well…you know, there’s a Euchee tribe in Sapulpa. It’s about sixty miles from here. Someone out there might know the truth.” the professor said.

“All right.” Dean said. 

The three of you were driving through Sapulpa, stopping to ask a Native American man for directions, thanking him and driving away once he pointed you in the right direction. 

The three of you walked into a diner to see another Native American man playing cards at a table.

“Joe Whitetree?” Sam asked, the man nodding his head. “We’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right.” Sam said.

“We’re students from the university.” Dean said.

“No, you’re not. You’re lying.” Joe said, shocking Dean.

“Well, truth is.” Dean started to say before Joe cut him off.

“You know who starts sentence with "truth is”? Liars.“ Joe said, you and Dean exchanging a look.

"Have you heard of Oasis Plains? It’s a housing development near the Atoka Valley.” Sam said.

“I like him. He’s not a liar.” Joe said to Dean, Dean looking away angry. “I know the area.” Joe said to Sam.

“What can you tell us about the history?” Sam asked.

“Why do you wanna know?” Joe asked.

“Something…something bad is happening in Oasis Plains.” you said.

“We think it might have something to do with some old bones we found down there…Native American bones.” Sam added.

“I’ll tell you what my grandfather told me, what his grandfather told him. Two hundred years ago, a band of my ancestors lived in that valley. One day, the American cavalry came to relocate them. They were resistant, the cavalry impatient. As my grandfather put it, on the night the moon and the sun share the sky as equals, the cavalry first raided our village. They murdered, raped. The next day, the cavalry came again, and the next, and the next. And on the sixth night, the cavalry came on last time. And by the time the sun rose, every man, woman, and child still in the village was dead. They say on the sixth night, as the chief of the village lay dying, he whispered to the heavens that no white man would ever tarnish the land again. Nature would rise up and protect the valley, and if would bring death to the white man as the cavalry had brought upon the people.” Joe said.

“Insects. Sounds like nature to me. Six days.” Dean said.

“And on the night of the sixth day none would survive.” Joe said before turning to you, “You felt it, the rage, the misery, the fear.” he said.

“I…I…” you trailed off, not knowing what to say, nodding your head instead. 

“When did the gas company man die?” Sam asked, as the three of you were walking back to the car.

“Uh, let’s see, we got here Tuesday.” Dean said.

“Friday, the twentieth.” you said.

“March twentieth?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.” you replied.

“That’s the spring equinox.” Sam said.

“Yep.” you said, popping the p.

“The night the sun and the moon share the sky as equals.” Dean said.

“So, every year about this time, anybody in Oasis Plains is in danger. Larry built this neighborhood on cursed land.” Sam said.

“And on the sixth night…that’s tonight.” Dean said.

“If we don’t do something, Larry’s family will be dead by sunrise. So, how do we break the curse?” Sam asked.

“You don’t break a curse.” Dean said.

“You get out of it’s fuckin’ way. We’ve gotta get those people out now.” you said, the three of you getting into the car and driving away. 

Dean was driving while talking on the phone with Larry.

“Yes, Mr. Pike, there’s a mainline gas leak in your neighborhood.” Dean said, pausing a moment as he listened to Larry, “Well, it’s fairly extensive. I don’t want to alarm you, but we need your family out of the vicinity for at least twelve hours or so, just to be safe.” Dean said.

You leaned up from the backseat, resting your arms along the back of the front seat as you listened.

“Travis Weaver. I work for Oklahoma Gas and Power.” Dean said, you assuming that Larry asked who he was speaking to. “Uh…” Dean said, a few moments later, panicked, quickly hanging up the phone.

“Fuck.” you said, knowing it didn’t work .

“Give me the phone.” Sam said, taking the phone from Dean and dialing.

“Matt, it’s Sam.” Sam said, silent as he listened to Matt. “Matt, just listen. You have to get your family out of that house right now, okay?” Sam said.

“Tell him to stop asking questions and just do it.” you said.

“Because something is coming.” Sam said, ignoring you, listening to Matt instead, “Yeah, a lot more.” Sam said, and you knew they were talking about the bugs.

“Sam.” you said, trying to get his attention.

“You’ve got to make him listen, okay?” Sam said.

“Give me the phone, give me the phone.” Dean said, grabbing the phone from Sam, “Matt, under no circumstances are you to tell the truth, they’ll just think you’re nuts.” Dean said.

“Appendicitis.” you said, Dean nodding his head.

“Tell him you have a sharp pain in your right side and you’ve gotta go to the hospital.” Dean said, listening to Matt’s reply before hanging up the phone. “Make him listen? What are you thinkin’?” Dean asked Sam. 

A little while later Dean pulled up outside of Larry’s house, Larry coming outside when he noticed the car, Matt following after him.

“Damn it, they’re still here. Come on.” Dean said, the three of you getting out of the car.

“Get off my property before I call the cops.” Larry said.

“Mr. Pike, listen.” Sam said.

“Dad, they’re just trying to help.” Matt said.

“Get in the house!” Larry yelled.

“Okay, Larry…you need to chill the fuck out.” you said.

“I’m sorry, I told him the truth.” Matt said, to the three of you.

“We had a plan, Matt, what happened to the plan?” Dean asked.

“Look, it’s 12:00 AM. They are coming any minute now. You need to get your family and go, before it’s too late.” Sam said.

“Yeah, you mean before the biblical swarm.” Larry said.

“That’s exactly what we fuckin’ mean, Larry.” you said.

“Larry, what do you think really happened to that realtor, huh? And the gas company guy? You don’t think somethin’ weird’s goin’ on here?” Dean asked.

“Look, I don’t know who you are, but you’re crazy. You come near my boy or my family again, and we’re gonna have a problem.” Larry said.

“Well, I hate to be a downer, but we’ve got a problem right now.” Dean said.

“Why do people always think we’re fuckin’ crazy? I mean, I get it, but we’re just tryin’ to save your ass, Larry.” you said.

“Dad, they’re right, okay? We’re in danger.” Matt said.

“Matt, get inside! Now!” Larry yelled.

“No! Why won’t you listen to me?!” Matt asked.

“Because this is crazy! It doesn’t make any sense!” Larry yelled.

“Look, I’m all for you guys workin’ out your issues, but now is not the time.” you said.

“Look, this land is cursed! People have died here. Now, are you gonna really take that risk with your family?” Sam asked.

“Wait.” Dean said, all of you going silent. “You hear it?” he asked, a loud buzzing sounding off.

“What the hell?” Larry asked.

“That’s what we were tryin’ to tell you about.” you said.

“All right, It’s time to go. Larry get your wife.” Dean said.

“Guys.” Matt said, all of you turning to look up to the sky, millions of bugs flying towards the house, blanketing the sky.

“Oh my God.” Larry said.

“We’ll never make it.” Sam said.

“Everybody in the house. Everybody in the house, go!” Dean yelled, all of you rushing inside. 

“Okay, is there anybody else in the neighborhood?” Sam asked.

“No, it’s just us.” Larry said, as his wife walked into the room.

“Honey, what’s happening? What’s that noise?” Joanie asked.

“Call 911.” Larry said, Joanie not moving. “Joanie!”

“Okay.” she said.

“Yeah, 911 isn’t gonna be able to help you, Larry.” you said.

“I need towels.” Dean said.

“Uh, in the closet.” Larry said.

“Okay, we’ve gotta lock this place up. Come on…doors, windows, fireplace, everything, okay?” Sam said, him and Matt going upstairs.

“Phones are dead.” Joanie said.

“Of course.” you said as you helped Dean line the base of the front door with towels.

“They must have chewed through the phone lines.” Dean said, the power going out, “And the power lines.”

“I need my cell.” Larry said, picking up his cell phone. “No signal.”

“You won’t get one.” Dean said.

“They’re blanketing the house.” you added.

“So, what do we do now?” Larry asked.

“We try to out last it. Hopefully, the curse will end at sunrise.” Sam said.

“Hopefully?” Larry asked.

“Not so crazy now, are we?” you asked, as Dean walked into the kitchen ,searching the cabinets until he found a can of bug spray.

“Bug spray?” Joanie asked when Dean returned to the living room.

“Trust me.” Dean said, a creaking noise coming from somewhere around the fireplace.

“What is that?” Matt asked.

“The flue.” Sam answered.

“All right, I think everybody needs to get upstairs.” Dean said, hundreds of thousands of bugs suddenly swarming into the room.

“Fuck!” you yelled, swatting at them.

Dean pulled a lighter from his pocket, and sprayed the bug spray into the flame, fire shooting out towards the bugs, “All right, everybody upstairs! Now! Go, go, go!” Dean yelled. 

All of you rushed to the attic, Sam closing the door once everyone was inside. The buzzing of the bees started to grow louder as saw dust started to fall from the ceiling.

“Oh God, what’s that?” Joanie asked.

“Something’s eating through the wood.” Dean said.

“Termites.” Matt said.

“All right, everybody get back. Get back, get back, get back!” Dean yelled.

The three Pikes moved as far as they could into a corner of the attic, a second later, bugs chewed a hole through the wood and started to swarm around the room.

“We gotta find something to cover it!” you yelled, the three of you frantically searching for something to cover the hole.

The patch only worked for a minute, the bugs chewing two more holes in the roof, Dean tried to ward them off with the bug spray, but nothing was working.

“Dean!” you yelled, dragging him over into the corner the Pikes were in, the six of you desperately trying to swat the bugs away.

“Come here.” Dean said, pulling you into his jacket, trying to protect you.

Suddenly, the sun started to rise, the bugs miraculously starting to leave through the holes in the roof. You, Sam, and Dean walked over to see what happened. Through the hole, you could see the bugs flying away in one enormous colony, the three of you letting of a sigh of relief. 

The three of you came back to the Pike residence the next morning, all of you approaching Larry, who was placing boxes in a moving van.

“What, no goodbye?” Dean asked.

“I gotta say, Larry, my feelings are a little hurt.” you teased.

“Good timing. Another hour and we’d have been gone.” Larry said, shaking hands with each of you.

“For good?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. The development’s been put on hold while the government investigates those bones you found, but I’m gonna make damn sure no one lives here again.” Larry said.

“Well, that’s good to know.” you said.

“You don’t seem to upset about it.” Sam said.

“Well, this has been the biggest financial disaster of my career, but…” Larry said, looking over at Matt, “somehow, I really don’t care." 

Sam joined you and Dean by the car after he finished talking with Matt, the three of you watching Matt and Larry actually get along.

"I wanna find Dad.” Sam said.

“Yeah, me too.” Dean said.

“And we will.” you assured them.

“Yeah, but I just…I want to apologize to him.” Sam said, you reaching down to squeeze his hand.

“For what?” Dean asked.

“All the things I said to him. He was just doin’ the best he could.” Sam said.

“Well, don’t worry, like Y/N said, we’ll find him, and then you’ll apologize. And then within five minutes, you guys will be at each other’s throats.” Dean said.

Sam laughed, “Yeah, probably.” he said, the three of you sitting in silence for a few seconds.

“Well, let’s hit the road, boys.” you said.

“Let’s.” Dean said, the three of you getting into the car, giving Larry and Matt one last wave before driving off.

Tags: @miraclesoflove​​ @22sarah08​ @deans-baby-momma​ @spnae​ @karikatz12481​ @spngirl05 @winchester-fantasies​ @freddiemermaytaydeac​

@rainbowkisses31​ @in-deans-arms​ @scentedhoundshepherdmoney​ @teamfreewillisbae​ @it-could-go-off

[theskyeandsea]

To Make a Home || Nicodemus & Skylar

Tagging: @bountybossier​

Location: Outside of Coffee Plus

Notes: Just two prospective roommates having a nice and happy chat.

“Thanks, have a good one.” Skylar said with a bright smile to the barista, taking the two coffee cups from the countertop and walked out to one of the tables outside. She wasn’t really sure what Coffee Plus’ policy on animals indoors was, but she didn’t want to push it, just in case. Plus… if she needed to make a quick break for it, being outside would probably be for the best. Not that she would have much of a chance of outrunning Nic, but at least she could try. Taking a sip from her cup, she took a deep breath. It was going to be okay. Nic was a Hunter, but he wasn’t a bad one. He hadn’t tried to hurt her. He’d been nothing but nice to her. So, why was she so nervous? Skylar tapped her fingers against her thigh and glanced up the street before spotting Nic making his way through downtown. Smiling, she gestured to the cup of coffee she’d bought for him. “Hey! I wasn’t sure what kind of coffee you liked, so I figured black would be safest. Thanks for coming.” She said with a nod, though her eyes were trained on the little dog that had accompanied him. Even though it was small, she still wasn’t sure how this meeting would go.

Damn that tiny dog and its small fucking legs. Nicodemus didn’t know when it had slipped out and followed him. But he couldn’t avoid the tippy-tapping of tiny dog feet behind him or the slight huffing for long. He would step, it would tap. He would stop, it would stop. It continued like that for a handful of streets until he finally stopped fully. The hunter glanced back at the dog. The dog looked up at him with its large, bulging eyes. Nicodemus grimaced and with a long string of colorful French swears, picked the dog up like the nothing it weighed and held it under his arm like a tucked in football. “You’re the fuckin’ worst.” He grumbled to himself as he walked toward Coffee Plus. The dog huffed and just looked at him, tongue out and ears perked. He didn’t make eye contact as he finally rounded the corner that Coffee Plus made home. The sight of Skylar made him breathe a little easier and he offered a weak wave with the hand not currently occupied by a dog. The sound of Skylar’s voice had the dog looking forward and giving a small yap. He supposed it was a greeting. “Black works just fine,” he said a little stiffly as he sat down at the open chair. Unsure of what to do with the dog, he set it on the ground. Only for it to start pawing at his jeans. “Told you I would, Skylar. Meant it.” He looked down at the dog. “So. This...is the, uh, dog. Anyhow, you doin’ alright?”

Flinching a little bit when the dog yapped at her, Skylar shrank back in her chair for a moment. But… it didn’t seem like the dog was going to do anything more than that as it settled around at Nic’s feet. When he sat down, she watched as the dog pawed at his pant leg. It almost didn’t seem like a dog, just from how small it was. A bit fascinated, she looked as it kind of shivered, pacing in once spot for a second before pawing at Nic again. Focusing her attention back at Nic, she nodded, though she kept the little dog in her peripheral sight all the same. It didn’t seem as scary as Alain’s dogs but it also wasn’t as calm looking as Moose. But, it looked okay? “Thank you.” She said appreciatively. Taking a calming breath, Skylar nodded. “I’m doing pretty good.” As she spoke, she could feel the slime building up on the palms of her hands. Swallowing, she rubbed them against her jeans. “How, um, how are you?” She asked, hoping that the question would ease some of her nervous energy.

“Ease up there, huh?” Nicodemus said, voice directed at the dog. The hunter took a long sip of hit bitter black coffee. Willfully tried to ignore the press of the dog’s paws against him as he leaned back. “It’s more like a rat than a dog, right? Ain’t just me?” Only recently was he made aware that it was a chihuahua with a long coat, one that he hadn’t initially seen under the fucking outfit it had been stuffed into. His nerves reached a limit. The chair scraped the concrete as he scooted back slightly to make room. The dog seemed to settle, if only by a hair. He frowned. Of all the fucking animals he would be stuck with, why wouldn’t it be the smallest dog in the world. He missed Bit each passing day. But the dog wasn’t the main point of the day. It was what Skylar had to say and he was keen on listening. Whatever it was was more important than the shit he would have to deal with sooner rather than later. “That’s good. Glad all the night shit didn’t bother you too much,” he said plainly as he rotated the coffee cup on the table. Glad someone managed to not get their lives entirely upended by it, he thought grimly. His movements stilled some at her question, his gaze slightly shifting over to the hand he had been keeping wrapped since that night. “I’m, uh, tired. Real goddamn tired.” Tired barely skimmed the surface of what he felt but it wrapped it all up neatly enough. “Just been a few...tryin’ weeks, I wanna say. Tryin’ to keep on an’ all. Much as someone can in this fuckin’ town, you, uh, you know?”

Skylar couldn’t help but stare at the dog as it kept whining and pawing at him, until the large man relented and the dog seemed to relax a bit. In a strange way… it was cute. “I don’t know about rat. Maybe like… a rabbit or something small and nervous?” Seeing the way the little dog was interacting with him, it reassured her that maybe this dog would be okay. It wouldn’t bark in a deep baritone that would startle her, or lunge at her face. For one thing… it would have a hard time getting to her face at all. For another, it seemed like it couldn’t hurt a fly. 

Listening as the man talked about his experiences, Skylar slowly became aware of the weary slump in his shoulders, the tension coiled in his neck, the dark bags under his eyes. She’d seen Nic that night when he’d saved her from the vampire and he looked like a different man now. A bit more downtrodden, more beaten down. What had he been through? Lifiting her coffee mug to her lips, she took a sip from her cup, trying to figure out how she could broach the subject of herself, while also wondering: was Nic okay? “I’m sorry that it’s been such a rough time. I, erm, I know that I had asked if we could meet up so I could talk to you about some… personal stuff. But, are you okay? Besides, just being tired..?” She asked cautiously. “You don’t need to answer that, though. Sorry. That’s probably invasive.” Skylar backtracked.

It was hard to ignore Skylar’s clear discomfort toward the dog. Not that Nicodemus would even consider the idea of doing just that. It would take a hot minute for him to refer to the dog as anything other than creature. He would not say that he was warming up to the dog. Right then was not the time to go on and get attached to anything, or anyone, else. At the word rabbit, he blanched. “Rats make better animals than rabbits,” he said, tone rock solid and heavy. “Mouse could work. Ain’t big on rabbits so you might be shit out of luck if you wanted to go about gettin’ one.” Placing the memory of where his dislike of rabbits started was looking for a needle in a haystack, but it was very real and very alive. He felt her eyes on him and occupied himself by looking into the black hole that was his coffee. It wasn’t hard to sense worry or concern in other people. Especially those with better hearts than his own and Skylar was a prime example. Probably the best one when he really got down to thinking about it. Real fucking strange how that worked itself out. Her good heart, his bad one. Sharing a fucking living space at that. He shook his head. “Ain’t your fault. Shit just happens and you gotta bear its weight.” He said, brow slightly furrowed as he glanced at her before he quickly returned to the coffee. Could stare down the barrel of a gun but was having a hell of a time looking her in the eye when it came to her questions. His jaw worked. Weeks ago, it would have been easy to say he was and move on. It was just like he told Kaden. Roots. A bitter but malice-free laugh came out of him. Bless Skylar. Her question wasn’t the most invasive thing that had happened to him in the last week or so. “Nah, but I’m dealin’ with it and I’ll figure it out. Just have to piece it out an’ all.” Minding the dog, he sat slightly forward and idly patted at its back. Ignored the comfort that brought him. “I’m ready to talk about it whenever you want, Skylar. The personal stuff. Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Startled by Nic’s sudden shift in tone at the mention of rabbits, Skylar shrunk in on herself. Crap. She’d messed up. She wasn’t really sure why rabbits were what causes that reaction, but she made a mental note to avoid that. “Sorry, sorry. I don’t really like rabbits, not any more than I like any kind of pet. I never grew up with them. Pets, I mean.” She rambled, hoping to explain that the example had just been a random pick out of nowhere. But, when he reassured her that it wasn’t her fault, she relaxed a little bit.

“Mmmmm, okay.” She hummed, taking in his words. She trusted him to know his limits and, if he said he would figure it out, then that was that. Nic just seemed like a guy who knew himself well. She wished she could say the same about herself. Watching as he patted the dog, a small smile flitted at the corner of her lips. Maybe he liked the dog more than he let on. But, when he mentioned the personal stuff, the smile faded. Staring at the dark liquid in her cup for a moment, Skylar did her best to steel her nerve, to strengthen her resolve. “Mhm. Personal stuff. Okay.” She said, supplying filler words to help her stubborn mouth say what needed to be put out there. “So… you’re a Hunter, right? Like… big H hunter. And… if I’m going to live with you, I need to know that I’ll be safe. Not, not just from the vampires and the werewolves and the things that run around the woods of White Crest. But, that you-- that you won’t try to hurt me.” She took a deep breath, hands curling tightly into balled fists in her lap. “Because I’m not human? I’m a selkie.” Her heart was pounding wildly in her chest as she chanced a look at Nic, preparing for the worst.

Nicodemus began to tap his heel quietly. A nervous tic. Another effort to keep himself because somewhere in his bones, he was afraid of what happened if he settled. He shook his head, expression weary. “Ain’t exactly...known that I don’t like rabbits,” he said with an attempt at an encouraging nod. Or much else about him other than gators and cereal water, it seemed. Fine enough with him. “Bein’ the town gator guy will do that, I ‘spose.” As Skylar seemed ready to start talking, he tried to settle himself. Even the dog seemed to shake a little less as if it were waiting too. Maintaining eye contact was hard for him. Meeting someone’s eyes was opening a door he didn’t always like to open. Preferred to keep it barred and shut. But watching Skylar, the way she seemingly both tried to arm and make herself vulnerable with whatever it was she was about to say, it wouldn’t do to keep it closed. Even he could understand that. 

As soon as the word hunter slipped out, he went rigid. The sounds of the town ceased to exist around where they sat as he looked at her. “You think I might hurt you.” He repeated, low and quiet. She was scared of him. What he was. A mirror was being turned inside him and he was forced to look at it. He didn’t know what that meant right then. Didn’t know how to define that collapsing, concaving feeling that tested the integrity of his ribs. She was afraid of him. Afraid of the hunter. And she wasn’t human. His senses, busted as they were, flexed and pulsated around the space between skull and skin. He blinked. Breathed in. Breathed out. Looked at her. “You will. You, uh, you would,” he finally said, picking the words slowly and carefully out of the gravel in his throat. “I know what I am and what that means. Be a dumbass not to.” He tried to laugh but it came out like a puff of smoke. “I don’t...I don’t want you to be scared ‘round me, Skylar. But I get it. What you feel, that’s, uh--It makes sense is what I’m tryin’ to say. Ain’t gonna fault you for it.” He wasn’t a man that inspired comfort. He knew that. As he spoke, his thumb rubbed a slow circle into the dog’s chest. He glanced between his own coffee and Skylar. “I wouldn’t. Hurt you, I mean. That’s not--I’d like for you to feel safe. In whatever, uh, water you chose. I know it’s just words and words ain’t a whole lot but...You’d be safe. I want you to know that.”

Seeing the way he reacted to the conversation about rabbits, Skylar winced. She shouldn’t have pried. Nodding, she apologized, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” Mmm. The gator guy. But, just because he was one thing, that didn’t mean he couldn’t be other things. Which… The back of her neck burned red as she realized that there were more meanings to that than she’d initially intended. Just because he was a Hunter didn’t mean he wasn’t more than that. Just because he killed things, killed… creatures-- not people, she didn’t want to think about him killing people-- didn’t mean that was all he was. Looking down at the little dog that was settled next to him, the way it leaned into him for comfort, she smiled a little.

But, the small smile faded when she heard his tone, the pounding of her heart seeming to come to a halt as she waited for his response. Her breath caught in the back of her throat at the way he didn’t meet her gaze, until he realized exactly what she meant and stared up at her with tired eyes. Weary eyes. Eyes that had probably seen more than she could ever even imagine. Instantly, she felt a wash of guilt rush over her. She knew him, she knew him better than to think that he would hurt him. She’d let fear overwhelm her, fear egged on by people who didn’t know Nic, into thinking that he would do something to her. “No-- No, I’m sorry. I should-- I just…” She wrung her hands in her lap, wishing she could just sign, that she could just convey the thoughts in her head with her hands. But, he wouldn’t understand. “I didn’t think you would. I really didn’t. But, I know… I know people who warned me, to be careful around Hunters. Just in case. I’m sorry.” She said, shaking her head. She shouldn’t have asked. “I appreciate that a lot, Nic. Really. I just needed to know that… if anything ever happened, I’d be okay.”

“Skylar,” Nicodemus said, not as quiet as before. A little more assured, even in the way he raised his head and made eye contact. “There--There ain’t nothin’ to apologize for, alright? I mean it. You’re good.” He wasn’t good at this. At this opening of the self that led to conversations and confessions, to understanding and acceptance. A life without it, up until he crossed over the sign that said White Crest, had left him ill-prepared for such things. But he was in it, up to his neck, and there wasn’t going back. Only forward. 

“They weren’t wrong to warn you,” he muttered as he sat up straighter. She was struggling just as much as he was and a faded, worn out smile made an appearance. “Hunters got their jobs and they do it, y’know? Out of whatever principle or obligation they grew up with. They hurt because it’s what they do and sometimes what they got to.” He reminded himself that he was one of them, one of those that hurt. It was a part of him regardless of what he was. It was who he was. “I, uh, hurt. Like you saw before. But I--I choose, you know? What I do. I used to not.” His brow slightly furrowed, his entire being wound tight with a blunt tension as he chose to pry open those mausoleums of thoughts unshared. Thoughts that even he wasn’t privy too until he sat down and the crowbar wedged its way between the stone he had set. Skylar had helped him, even if that help felt a little like pain. Felt a little too raw but it was there and it was open, exposed to the sun and the sky. “I chose to make sure you were okay then and I want--” His voice trailed off to something quiet but not something cold. “You’d be okay. Is what I’m tryin’ to say.”

When he said her voice, Skylar lifted her gaze to meet his. And as he spoke those reassuring words, she felt the tension in her shoulders ease. Just a little. Not enough for her to feel totally comfortable, not enough for her to be relaxed. But it was enough to know that she was okay for now.

As Nic spoke, about principles and obligations that had existed since they’d been born, she couldn’t help but think back to what Rio had said. About how his family were Hunters, how he was born that way hunter, but chose differently. How he wanted to protect and help people like her. Creatures like her. And Nic, for all his rough exterior and his gruff demeanor… He wasn’t all that different from Rio. A fresh wave of guilt washed over her at how she’d misjudged the two of them. “I don’t… I won’t say I understand, because I don’t totally understand how any of this works. But, I’m glad that you chose. That you don’t just,” She swallowed, fingers fidgetting, “Kill because someone’s different. I didn’t, I didn’t think you did. But I didn’t know. I don’t know how any of this works and I-- I’m sorry for doubting you.” Skylar said, nodding and hoping that her voice sounded more steady than it felt. “I know you did. And I’m really, really grateful for everything you’ve done for me.” She let out a slightly weak laugh, “If you don’t want me to move in after I’ve just… insulted you, I completely understand.”

At least she was looking at him. That had to be good, right? For all his deeply embedded hopelessness and shadowed view of the world, Nicodemus made another choice to find something good in that. Slim as it was. Seemed he was making plenty of those to last a lifetime, however short that was for him. He wouldn’t go and do something foolish like consider it might be long. “That’s okay,” he said with a slight nod. “Ain’t askin’ you too because that’s a whole fuckin’ can of bullshit but the--The you bein’ okay part is the one. The…” He trailed off and looked down at the dog that had started to lick at his fingers absently. How the creature had managed to stay still and quiet the entire time was beyond him. But it had, listening intently. The hunter snorted and shook his head. “The important one.” 

He quieted. She was sorry for doubting him. He had had people doubt him before. Doubt his potential to finish the job but never doubt his inability to start one. He had proved them wrong.  The comparison felt wholly wrong and immediately, guilt roiled the black coffee that sat in his empty stomach. This wasn’t a job that they were talking about. She wasn’t one either, he had never seen her as one, but in his malformed bit of heart tissue, it was the only comparison he knew to make. Confusion settled in after the guilt and made itself known in his face as he looked at Skylar. “No, it’s--” Words started to fail him, like they usually did, and he breathed in to try and kickstart them again. “I don’t--Shit. You didn’t…” He paused again and swore in French under his breath. “...I’d like it. If you did. If you still wanted to. But if you don’t trust me or are--” He didn’t say it but it cut against him with a name like insecurity. Was it fear? A nervous laugh like an engine that couldn’t quite start came out of him. “Christ alive. I ain’t gonna ask you to give me a chance but...” He shook his head and lowered his head. Maybe that’s exactly what he was doing. He shut his eyes for a brief moment. Cowardice was new but bravery seared it in two before it could keep him from talking. “Ain’t never had much of a...a home before but I can try to make it one, y’know? Somewhere safe.” For the both of them.

Skylar watched the way the little dog licked at his fingers, at the way Nic let him. It was gentle, a soft gesture that she wouldn’t have expected from a man who looked the way he did. But, she was quickly becoming aware that he was more than he appeared, he was more than his actions. His words meant something to her and she trusted him. She should have just trusted him from the start. Staring at the cup of coffee that sat in front of her, long untouched, her lips twitched into a slight smile. “Thank you. Thank you for that.” She nodded.

As the man swore quietly to himself, some of them English, some in a quick soft language that she could only assume was French, Skylar felt as though her body was going to curl in on herself from the anxiety. If he didn’t want her to move in with her, she’d be back to square one. Back to worrying, endlessly worrying, and hoping she wouldn’t have to go back to crashing on the couches of people who barely knew her. But, when he spoke… the words startled her. Her eyes widened and she looked up at him, though his gaze was averted, eyes closed. A home? More than an apartment, more than a house, more than the family who had abandoned her, more than the family of friends she’d found since moving. A home? As she stared at him, Skylar felt tears start to well up in the corner of her eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was from relief, happiness, or sadness. The sadness of knowing that-- “I, um, I thought I had a home. Back in Seattle. That my family was my home. But it wasn’t and they… they weren’t. So,” She paused, voice soft and watery with barely restrained tears, “I’d like that. I’d really like the chance to have a place to call home.”

The hunter hummed low and nodded. A tiredness clouded over him, made his head and his heart feel heavy. Was it from talking so much or the act of flaying? It was a sickness, the way Nicodemus could liken things only to pain lately. Or he had always been that way. In a way, talking about what they were talking about, was a way of healing. Of doing away with old scar tissue. When that particular kind of bleeding started, it was an act of cleansing. When she smiled, he returned it. As much as he could.

What he had before couldn’t be called home. It was an empty, forgotten charade of one. A hollow place that tried to make itself into hallowed ground. It was mud and stone and rotted wood. A cemetery of misdeeds and ill thoughts amongst the weeping willows. Maybe a home or something like it could be a selkie, a hunter, a dog that inexplicably shook, and the walls around them. Even if they didn’t seem to quite fit right into the skins they were given. They might be able to fit somewhere else. The foreign hope in the thought pierced him. When her wide eyes looked at him, he tried to not flinch. Tried to hold onto that instinct of showing no weakness lest you be eaten alive. But it wavered the way her voice did and for a moment, he cast it aside. “Thought I did too,” he echoed solemnly, voice a cut above raw. He swallowed. Nodded again to right himself. “Yeah. I...We could both use it. That chance.”

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Dead of Night|| Morgan & Matty

There it was: a whole, oof, a whole fuckin’ human leg, oozing, sluggishly, where he slapped it down on what was left of its owner’s chest. “Drumstick, order up. Your server’s been Matty.” With that, he ducked down, trying not to be too eager about cupping a filthy hand to the ruin of this poor bastard’s femoral artery. That was a good one, after all. “You wanna stick with Hungry Girl, or… ?”

Morgan seldom left the house with a clear destination in mind, but often she found herself wading through the overgrown grass and mossy angels of the town cemeteries. She liked Eluria best of all, tracing the footpath she’d walked with Deirdre and weaving around the ghosts that ambled through the shadows. They did not speak to her, nor she to them. Morgan imagined they remembered her visit mere weeks ago and understood there was nothing to say. She walked past all the places they had wandered together, off the gravel path, where the weeds were less tended and the stillness was marked with tiny sounds of life crawling on. Sometimes Morgan would continue walking, tireless, but other times she would release her hold on her balance and let the ground catch her as she collapsed. She was getting better at falling just so that the moment of impact burst through the haze around her and made her want to gasp, to breathe. As she hit the ground, Morgan stared up at the sightless stone eyes around her. She lost herself staring into the granite, picking out the quartz from the feldspar from the micah in its makeup, searching for a place inside her for this knowledge to still belong to. Maybe her own decay, maybe her own stillness. She stayed there as the light started to fade and time slipped away from her mind, slurped up in the quiet of death. Even when a strange new sound rippled through the cemetery, Morgan lay in place, dead eyes open. 

It had been a long fuckin’ week. A long, hungry week. One of many. And they only ever ended in the same place, these days: some creepy, crawly cemetery, ideally the sort where the bodies didn’t always get, you know, a proper burial. Places people were put to disappear. White Crest had, frankly, more than its likely share of that sort of shit, thankfully. Cold at the edges, sallow with aching, awful thirst, Matty had drifted through the graveyard for a while, like another bit of old newspaper caught in the breeze. He could smell it. Somewhere. Fresh, too. Maybe even still warm. His stomach snarled at the thought. 

Or, had snarled. Time got slippery, when he was this starved, when he was feeding, when he was full of blood. Rocking back on his heels, Matty licked his lips, slow, woozy, fingers curling back from the throat he’d chewed open, hidden away in one of the older, lonelier corners of Eluria. They were almost warm. Dead an hour, maybe. His lucky day. Plenty of dinner left in this poor bastard. With a push forward, Matty’s knees hit the dirt, and his hands worked into the gaping hole he’d made. The collarbone snapped forward, horribly - and he had to stop, the sound too damn much to handle. God, he hated this part. In general. All of it. Had to get into the chest, though… with a hard swallow, he kept going, that awful strength rolling back, now that he’d had something to eat. The thinking, too. That came back. Clarity.

Enough to realize that he wasn’t alone. Two ribs in, Matty caught something besides blood on the air. Finally. His head snapped up, and there - there she was. Lady with grass-stained, goosebump-less legs, standing there, staring down into the shallow, abandoned grave he’d found. At the mess he’d made. “Uh -” his throat bobbed, working hard through the aging blood he’d been lapping out. Uh, what? He blinked, squinted. Quiet. Real quiet. Too quiet. No - no heartbeat. Dead lady. He skittered backward, eyes wide. “All yours, man,” Matty cringed, not about to fight another vampire over shit. Not on your unlife, fuck. 

It was the sound of flesh tearing that had drawn Morgan up to her feet. She lingered, wondering if she should run back home and hide, but the sound was--what was it? The novelty of being able to identify the sound from her own death, from her first feeding. Maybe it reminded her of how the meat had fit inside her like nothing else. Maybe she just felt better next to death. So Morgan walked, following the sound and stopped, curious, when she saw where it was coming from. “Uh…hi.” The flesh was new and red and dripping. Morgan’s mouth watered to see the gash where the clavicles had been burst free, the skin dangling down the wound. “Nnnhhh…” She groaned for it. And the vampire--Morgan had only seen Miriam and spawn before, but there was no denying the size of his teeth, stained and peeking over the end of his lips. He skittered back at the sight of her. Morgan tensed her muscles. “You don’t have to,” she stammered, uncertain of the protocol. Was there some species turf war over bodies? She shuffled forwards, unable to look away from the glimpses of muscle, from the thin, tender flesh that went up the skull. Morgan descended on the body and tore a fresh piece away, groaning with relief. It coated her, comforted her in her cotton haze and wet her throat as good as water used to. She drew her head up enough to search for the vampire again. “Hey, you um...you didn’t kill this guy, did you?”

Oh. Oh. Not a vampire. Nope. Going for the meat. Zombie. Matty turned aside, quick, wiping at his blood-slimy cheeks - doing his best not to watch, or listen too closely. Not that she was any worse than he was. Nothing personal. Just - he’d never been great with all the gore of this. This undead shit. That moan, though. Fuck, he knew that. The feeling. Being so starved you didn’t know anything else. He swallowed, forcefully, as the zombie looked his way. Bloody-mouthed, a bit of raw, human meat in her hands. “Hi,” Matty echoed, with a weak, sharp smile. Loosening. Just a bit. More for show than out of anything like real relief. If he didn’t have to fuck off, well. Okay. Okay. Wasn’t a vampire. That - that did help. But zombies would, obviously, totally chow down on anything with flesh attached. So. He kept his distance, not wanting to get between the lady and her meal. Shaking his head, bloody hands up, not looking especially innocent. Even if he sounded it, earnestly so. “Fuck, no. No. Promise. I - I’m just out here trying to, you know, avoid that kinda thing.” Cautious - and still hungry - he came a bit closer, boots sinking in the damp earth. “You too, huh? That’s cool. We’re cool. I, ah… don’t mind sharing, or anything, if you don’t…” 

Morgan felt like she’d been thrown into someone else’s party without knowing the rules. They were both blood splattered and awkward. Did creatures like them share bodies often? Was this a common courtesy thing?  She took another bite, tearing the wound open wider to get a better bite, and gave the vampire another look. “Were, um...were you done or--?” No. She knew that expression. He was afraid of her. She wiped her mouth on her arm to think of something to say. ‘I don’t bite’ was too awful to be funny, not with raw muscle stuck to the corner of her lip. “I’m full, I just...it’s like when there’s three slices of cake on the table. You just gotta…” She shrugged, frowning. Have one. Despite the imagery, she had the ghost feeling of a skin crawl over it. This thing would have made her sick before. This was something to look away from. “I can try to break off a limb if it makes you feel safer. Um...sharing. Or you can break off a drumstick for me. Best part of a chicken, right?” Her hands rummaged in the body as she talked, wrestling more meat away and bringing it up to her mouth. She scooted away, to give the vampire some encouragement but there was only so far her body felt like being away from it. “So...you got a name, or am I gonna keep calling you Hungry Guy in my head?”

Was he finished? “I mean, there’s… dude’s still got some blood in him, right…” Matty winced, hovering nervously. Cake. Sure. Like cake. He sorta laughed, picturing that. “Yeah, yeah. Totally.” Safer. Why did that feel so - weird? Uncomfortable, in a way that wriggled and nibbled. A zombie, asking a vampire what to do so he felt safer. When she looked… well, not scared, no. Not exactly what he was used to, though, when it came to zombies. He’d met a few. Super strong, super badass, generally. (Usually dickheads about it, too.) Or, you know. Super gnarly, super rotten. This woman, she seemed - kinda out of it, just. Dealing. Not enjoying things. 

Relatable. 

He shrugged, and perched a little closer. Pushed that smile a bit closer to something real. “Honestly - who the fuck’s ever safe, around here? This town, man...” Like it was no big deal, like… like he hadn’t meant it. The fear, that is. He got ahold of one of those legs, then, and - guts flopping, in a truly nasty way - snapped, twisted, tugged. Took some work. And a flinch, as the bone cracked. But there it was: a whole, oof, a whole fuckin’ human leg, oozing, sluggishly, where he slapped it down on what was left of its owner’s chest. “Drumstick, order up. Your server’s been Matty.” With that, he ducked down, trying not to be too eager about cupping a filthy hand to the ruin of this poor bastard’s femoral artery. That was a good one, after all. “You wanna stick with Hungry Girl, or… ? Totally confidential, and shit. Cross my heart.” Matty brought his palmful of blood up, and gulped it down. “What happens in the graveyard stays in the graveyard, you know?” 

So his name was matty Matty. Matty was joking with her like they were sharing a pizza or extra rice from a big takeout order in some kind of communal break room. Teasing. Commiserating. Just strangers being friendly. Morgan took the leg and scooted further away, picking back the skin and fat clumsily and gnawing off the muscle tissue. If she kept her eyes up at the stars and less on the mess of flesh before her, she could imagine a giant turkey leg that would’ve made eyes melt at the Ren Faire. But the revulsion was dull and bitter, a feeling over not being able to get anything out of actual takeout. She should feel worse than this, she thought. It was a human body, that thing that supernaturals were measured in proximity to. It’s fine, they don’t eat humans. But there wasn’t any psychosis hiding around the fibula. No sense of humor. No disappointment. He had been a person before, this graveyard guy she was sharing with Marty. But people did things, felt things, wanted things. Death took the person out of you. Morgan understood that too well. “I’m Morgan,” she said. “Is that a real thing? What happens in the graveyard stays in the graveyard? Or are you just like—” ‘Nice vampire’ suddenly seemed offensive, a betrayal, however easy it might be. “A nice kinda guy?” She smirked and gestured at him to get a glob of blood that had fallen into his hair.

The grass around them rustled. Morgan flinched and turned. No one coming, but there was movement. She looked over at Matty, the question penned large over her open face. Did you hear something? Tentatively she went back to the leg, peeling off more skin like a sticky wrapper. She was up to her nose in it when two tiny critter hands leapt out from the shadow and tried to pull it out of her grasp. 

Alright, offering accepted. No fingers lost in the process, so. This could be going worse. Much worse. Morgan. Now everybody had a name, and dinner, and… a mess, between them. Matty winced, catching what she was pointing at. Clot, in his curls. Gnarly. Fussing that out, he flicked it into the dirt with a grimace and tossed his hair, huffing at a few stray ones that tumbled back, wildly, into his face. “Try to be?” Nice. Yeah, he tried. “I don’t know. Seems like a good rule? Do unto others, right? With, uh, some exceptions, obviously, when it comes to...” he waved, vaguely, sheepishly, at the corpse between them. Enough said. Some exceptions when it came to staying fed. With a sniff, and a scrub at his bloody chin, Matty went back to poking around in that ragged thigh. Couldn’t waste a drop, after all. Not that there was much to be had, now that this poor motherfucker had been lying out a while.

Long enough to draw the rest of the scavengers. Rats? They’d twitched together, the zombie and the vampire. Matty’s eyes tracked through the gloom, squinting between the gravestones around them. Hard to smell anything much, besides dinner, and turned earth, and death. There was a breeze, rolling through the morning glory and dandelions; probably nothing. Probably. But he kept watching the dark, lapping a last bit of thick, settled blood from his palm. 

Not nothing. The claws lashed out of the weeds, out of the dark, into the meat Morgan was working on. “Shit -” Matty yelped, mostly, before a couple sharp-boned somethings crashed and tore across his shoulders, pouncing him into the clay and the corpse. 

Morgan had never seen anything like these critters. Their eyes were glazed like misty marbles and their too-wide mouths, large enough to stretch over half their face were stuffed with too many sharp, serrated teeth. Morgan let go of the leg with a scream and scrambled back. “What the hell, what the hell…” She cried. The critter swiped at her leg drawing a deep gash with claws that did not belong on anything so small and strange. “Matty!” She looked to the vampire for help but it was no good. Two had found their way on him, ready to dig in. Morgan reached for one and pulled-- right. No monster strength after feeding. Morgan staggered up and yanked again with both hands. She could feel another one on her leg gnawing (probably more like tearing) at her ankle, but she couldn’t leave Matty in a lurch like this. Not without trying first. The critter came up with a piercing shriek. Morgan dropped it onto the body and tugged on Matty’s shirtsleeve. “Any idea what these things are?” She tried to shake the one off her ankle but beared down harder and to her bewilderment, it was almost hurting. “We should run, right? Running good?”

Sliding in a fuckin’ nasty combination of John Doe’s busted open chest and the blood-soaked earth, Matty tumbled and rolled. About all he could do, with two of those - two alghoul, talons digging, twisting, in the worn-jean of his jacket, and through. Flailing up, he managed, barely, to hold the one off from snatching at his eyes. (One of their favorite fuckin’ snacks, he’d noticed. After way too many run-ins.) The other - was gone, real suddenly. 

Morgan. To the goddamn rescue. 

A wild thrash, vampire-loaded, and that alghoul went from snarling in his face to howling through the air. Matty came up gasping, just in time to jerk away from another wicked-sharp swing. And a few bottle-glass blue, mindlessly hungry stares. And those fangs, Jesus. “Fuck, yeah, yeah - run!” With a frantic kick, Matty punted the little shit who’d got ahold of Morgan’s leg. It ripped loose, warbling awfully. Taking some skin. Tasting bile, and resting blood, he pushed Morgan ahead, out of the half-assed grave they’d been crouching in. “Fuckin’ alghouls, man! Just want the leftovers. Go!”

Morgan didn’t wait for her skin to grow back to start running. She began to sprint, legs wobbling under her lopsided weight as she went. “What-ghouls? What does that even mean?” She turned over her shoulder to see if he was still behind her. The alghouls had descended on the body completely, tearing and spitting with a hunger that made her nauseous with familiarity. She had been like that on the first night, when she barely had enough consciousness to rub together to make a thought, when her hunger wasn’t just in the pit of her dead stomach but in her head, in her muscles. It was the core of her, and the sound, what little of it she could stand to remember, was a lot like that. She kept running until they cleared the cemetery and called over her shoulder again, slowing to a jog. “You run into those things a lot? The--all-ghouls? Are you okay?”

Eluria wasn’t one of Matty’s regular haunts, so to speak. But when it came to terrain to scramble over, a cemetery was a cemetery. Around gravestones and across the paths, they booked it hard, as the undead crow flew. Morgan was shouting; had questions. “Alghouls!” Matty hollered back, skidding down a wet-grassed rise. “I dunno, they just - they eat dead shit, they’re fuckin’ gnarly, that’s it!” Like the both of them, sort of. Finally, the dark iron of the fence loomed ahead. Matty was up and over the spikes like a coked-out squirrel. Brushing at the crusted blood and mud on his hands, his arms, he circled around, pacing. Shook up like a can of soda. And - bleeding. Slowly, darkly, from where those claws had punched through the denim, under his collarbone, and down his ribs, and… his back, somewhere. “Ah, fuck…” At least they’d missed that still-healing mark left by the asanbosam; didn’t feel deep, either. Still hurt. “Yeah, yeah.” Matty tossed his head, getting all that hair out of his face. “They’re like… rats. Big, shitty rats. All over the place, in town. They, uh, they aren’t big on lights, but, you start… flashing shit around, after hours, in a graveyard… chances are, you’re gonna get trouble.” The kind with stakes. And machetes. “Best thing to do’s just fuckin’ haul. You fight them, they’ll all jump in. Then you’re fucked.” He poked at one of the holes in his jacket, huffing at the damage done. Too bad. Glancing at - and away from - that torn up leg, Matty gave Morgan a nod. “How’s the ankle? You heal up pretty good, right?” Most zombies seemed to. And she’d just ate, so. Should be fine, yeah? They should both be fine.  

Morgan didn’t leap so much as topple and fall, rolling in a mess of limbs, over the fence. She hit the ground with a thumb she only half felt. Gnarly. Dead shit. Like them. Well that was a real boost to the self-image. How many degrees of separation were there between her and those things exactly? Did she even want to know? Morgan got to her feet and dusted herself off. “Yeah that light thing sounds like a great way to get hunters up your ass. Ugh, stars, hunters are a real thing now, and not just the odd bitchy one,” she groaned. She checked her ankle. Good as new. “Y-yeah, I’m...I’m fine,” Morgan said. She didn’t feel all that fine, but there was no harm done and she could still make it back home in time. “Are you? Do vampires, like, regrow things too? Or is that just a brain gang thing?” She shifted uncomfortably, looking over her shoulder just in case more were coming. 

Stars? A little, like, outdated, maybe. But, so was he. Matty sighed, with plenty of agreement and a decent amount of aching, really starting to feel those gouges now that things weren’t all helter-skelter. “Yeah, load of fuckin’ psychos. And they’re everywhere, man. You been to the Night Market? They keep eyes on that. Watch out.” Fuck, zombies really did clean up quick. Been a while since he saw that, up close. Kinda grody. Then again, there he was, trying to rub a dead man’s blood off his cheeks. So. “Cool, cool…” Shit, he had to start keeping, like, a bag, or something. A scavenging safety kit. Was too hungry to plan much, when he’d left. His circling swayed, as Morgan got into… that kinda shit. Their kinda shit. 

“Uh - sort of?” Matty pulled a sickly sorta face, at the thought. And another one, as his fangs crunched away. “It’s… messier, more involved, like… real surgery, just. Less blood. Then, a lot of blood. To, you know. Make the magic happen.” Magic, sure. That was a word for it. With a couple jaw-cracks, one, two, Matty shrugged off towards the ragged, distant, dim-lit edges of the Bend. “We should probably fuck off. Not because of them.” He cleared up, catching that glance Morgan threw back the way they’d come. “They’ll stay put, where the food is. But, uh. Never know who else might show up...” Really, he’d only seen the overseer once. An experience Matty would rather never, ever repeat. Dude was terrifying.  

“Oh, yikes. That sounds...not great,” Morgan said apologetically. And neither did Matty’s implication that the hypothetical hunters they had to be careful of might get a lot more literal if they stayed near the graveyard. She nodded and started off in the direction of home. She stopped her slow walk and turned towards Matty again. “Are you gonna be okay?” She asked. “You’ve got like...a home, right? And people?”

“Mm. Mhm. It’s not.” Not great at all. But. She better get used to it, if she was sticking around town. Matty took another wipe at his face, hoping it was more or less unobjectionable. So far as bloodstains went. As for anything else, well. Wasn’t much he’d ever been able to do about that. He’d come to a stop, putting some pressure on the worst of the claw-stabs, when Morgan spoke up through the thickness of another misty after-midnight. A home. People. Right. Even zombies had that, huh? “Totally. Yeah.” Matty threw her a smile, or most of one, anyway. With a sharp, quick clearing of his too-tight throat, he tossed a wave in, too. For good measure. “You, uh. You take care, Morgan. See you around.” 

Morgan stayed to watch him, half swaying on her dead feet in the night air. That didn’t sound very convincing and she had—maybe not a whole feeling but a thought for Matty: the deserved better; that being this way was almost another curse in itself; that they needed more than this to make anything come out fair for them. Then again, maybe they weren’t allowed to have ‘fair’ anymore, maybe the universe was done with all of them, the whole undead mess of them. But what else was there to do? How else were they supposed to cope? Morgan looked at him sorrowfully as he left and worked her way back homeward. She didn’t know what to put in that hole where her balance had been, and she felt all the worse knowing that others like her had felt that ache for longer, but she didn’t know what to do about it. Only that there had to be something.

[seawatersavior]

Lorne was once the price of a wealthy and prosperous nation. He was loved by his people and his ambitions pushed him to seek excellence. However, his peace would not last. When Lorne was to rise to power, a coup was executed. His family he had begun to put together was split apart, and in a failed attempt to kill him, Lorne escaped with near fatal injuries. His body was mangled, torn and disfigured. Most could barely recognize him as a dragon, only as a walking corpse. His rage and despair kept him alive, the desire for revenge pumping his once still heart. The pain in his bones keeping him moving forward. He began to discard parts of himself that did not work, until he was barely able to move along the ground, truly a gruesome sight as this mass of wrathful flesh and bone heaved along in the cover of night.

Tales soon began to spread of a beast that would consume the flesh of anything that crossed its path, taking the bone and turning it into a new part of its body. Lorne had become a monster, and he was ready to destroy.

But there was nothing left.

When he returned as a monster to destroy his stolen palace, he found nothing, just burned and demolished framework. His nation had fallen, and there was no one left to hate. How long had he wandered? How long had he seethed for a nation that existed no more?

With no one to face his wrath, he decided the ruins were the only home a monster could reside in. As the years passed he would scare away strangers, plunderers and historians. He wanted nothing to take these ashes from him. Over time, he grew tired of his miserable appearance, and slowly, became the shape of a "fae". What he was, who he was, was no more. He continued to protect in his new form, revealing his ghastly prowess when people would underestimate him. The bounty on his head was growing. He had become a fabled monster, and many young drakes made challenges of coming to face him, striving to be the hero that would lop off the beasts head.

On a particularly stormy night, Lorne awoke, one of his bone beasts had been taken out. This was unusual, most people would run at the sight of his discarded sentient pieces. Shrinking down to a smaller size, he crept out in the direction of the intruders. From his perch high above he watched as a group of people explored his ruins. A young man with blue hair, sword in hand, lead the group while a young girl with a bow protected the rear. In between the two were a small batch of rough looking individuals, clearly slightly shaken, but still moving forward.

"Fuckin’ shit!" grumbled the biggest one, "What sort of monstrosities live here?! Ya'll two better be as good as you say, I plan to leave here alive."

The blue haired boy up front smiled, "If you don't want to die, then contribute? We agreed to help you, but whether you live or die is up to you, you already paid us." "Ain't that what I paid you to do?!" yelled the big guy, "Y'all fuckers tryna pull something? Tryna take any of the goods here for yourselves?!"

The young girl scowled and spit at his feet, "Just die already if you're so scared."

The snappers face flushed red with anger, "Watch it little lady!" he screamed, "If I don't think I need ya ill kill you right here." He reached out to grab her but found his wrist in the young mans grip, A sharp pain crept up his arm and the hand tightened further and further. With a smile he coyly told him, "You would be dead now if not for us, I suggest you value your life some." The mans face drained of color and he tried to free his wrist to no avail, as he tugged violently he was suddenly released and fell to the ground with a thud.

The boy turned and continued to walk forward and urged the rest of the group along. As the rest of the group moved on the boy faltered for a moment. He looked around as if searching for something, and then moved on. He couldn't have noticed him. . .right?

Lorne continued to follow them, and watched as they continued to take down his creatures, the young ones that is, the other hooligans did little but get in the way. Lorne sighed, he was enjoying the show, but they were getting a little too close to the only buildings that had items of value left behind, he would have to act soon. With a wave of his hand all the beasts left the less important posts and began to gather around the location of the party.

The hoodlums were immediately frightened, the other two were capable, skillfully defending themselves and taking the beasts down one by one. He had heard them say they were hired guards and yet, they weren't protecting the others at all now! The gang was cursing and swearing as they were taking hits from the beasts. "Blanco!" the boy yelled, "Now!" The girl nodded and pulled out a bottle from her waist throwing it into the air and shattering it with an arrow. A clear liquid sprayed out and coated the area around it. Lorne immediately slid to hide behind a wall, he knew that smell. As soon as he ducked and covered his ears he heard the rumbling boom of an explosion. Lucky for him, the walls were sturdy, and minimal rubble fell his way, he was also currently tiny and could seek cover easily. Creeping back over the edge he saw the boy and girl standing to the side of the flames, shielding their eyes while analyzing their work. "Two birds with one stone!" the boy exclaimed happily, "Lets move on." They turned to keep exploring, but in a different direction than the one they had been leading the group.

Lorne was stunned, they had been a party hadn't they? He took the chance to kill not only his enemy but the competition? The two ran off, seemingly in a hurry now. The direction they were heading in was strange, the only notable building that way was the abandoned gardens? Lorne looked at the blazing fire now spreading through his ruins, there wasn't much left here, but he couldn't help but pity the fools who thought there were hidden riches. Lorne knew that nothing remained, just ghosts of the people he once knew. He jumped down and followed his remaining guests.

Sure enough, they had headed to the gardens. From a hole in the roof he watched them pick and poke at the wild greenery. They were clearly looking for something. Eventually with a small "a ha!" the young man began to harvest some colorful grasses. These were plants his mother had planted, and while he hadn't taken care of them, he didn't like watching others take them. Slinking back, he moved around to the door and casually walked over, hiding his presence from the two. Leaning over he whispered, "I always loved the color of these grasses, dark as night yet so shiny." The two immediately stopped cutting and jumped, turning their weapons in his direction. Suddenly the room began to turn dark, looking up the sky could no longer be seen through the glass, there was a complex latticework of bone enveloping the building, trapping them all inside. The sclera of Lorne's vessel turned black as wisps of deep purple clung to his skin and reached out into the air around him. He can't remember when this became a part of him, but it was handy.

Shocked the blue haired lad put his arms up, "Stop wait wait wait! I don't want to fight, hey uh, can we talk real quick?" Lorne was puzzled, the boy had looked so serious but all of a sudden, his guard came falling down?

"Speak."

The boy nodded and held out the grasses he had picked. "This is the answer to my curse, and it can be the answer to yours."

"Curse?" he laughed, "I'm undead, a monster created by my own hatred, I have no curse other than my own memories." He looked at the walls of the garden, decorated by the faded tapestries depicting his mother, "Nothing at all but these nightmares."

The boy shifted on his feet, and made a face of discontent. The young girl nudged him and whispered, "Your mask." He looked uncertain, but he nodded and removed the broken mask that covered the right side of his face. Upon removing it, it revealed long slender black lines falling down his cheeks, from a distance you would think that they were black tears, but they wrapped down his neck as well, this was only evident as the boy removed his scarf. Looking him in the eye the boys voice was steady, "I am shade touched, and while you may not have known it, you are as well."

Looking down at his own hands, black swirls masking his skin he looked up, "I've been like this for so long, I don't fear this power. Tell me, why do you wish to rid yourself of it."

The boy replaced his mask and stood tall, "If I am to be me, to be someone people can turn to, I cannot let my shade consume me. Its power may be vast, but there is no control to it. We shade-touched are seen as monsters to be killed, I cannot be respected as a leader if people see me as a monster," taking a small breath he hesitated, "Even if I am one."

"Monster or not, this is the power I need to live, to have some peace." He spoke while moving forwards, a bone hilted blade emerging from his palm, "I will not have anyone disturb my peace!"

The boy brought up his sword to parry, being as he was containing his shade given might he was slowly pushed back against a wall by the momentum of their clashing blades. The girl with him strangely enough wasn't making any moves, just watching. She had picked up the grasses the boy had dropped, and was wrapping them up carefully.

"Enough!" he yelled, extending a palm towards her. Bones fell from the lattice above, flying in her direction. She adeptly dodged and knocked them back with the side of her bow. Taking the chance the boy swung with all his might, pushing Lorne back a few steps, in his palm he cast a water spell aiming it at his head. Lorne blocked it with magic of his own, jumping back for some distance to play it safe. Turbulent rings of water surrounded the boy, but there was something off about them, they weren't completely water that was for sure.

"I don't want to fight!" the boy exclaimed, "You have the right to stay as you are, I wont deny that. But if you attack us I will not hesitate to kill you."

Manifesting a new blade in his other hand Lorne readied his stance, "I'd like to see you try"

Seeing that Lorne had become more aggressive, the young lady finally made her move. She put the grasses aside and pulled out her bow. Lorne had been outnumbered before, he could handle them, but they certainly had him on his toes. For every swing of a blade he dodged he found himself deflecting arrows, jumping over spells of water or ice. The gardens were taking substantial damage, and it pained Lorne to trample it so. They had to move, the space was cramped and the lack of mobility was inhibiting his ability. With a wave of his hand the entire bone lattice came crashing down, Dust and bone obscured their eye sight and Lorne what little wind magic he was still good at to clear himself a path.

As soon as he jumped out from the rubble he forced back by a barrage of ice arrows. The girl had assumed her dragon form, a monochromatic Skydancer with massive black wings. She used her wings to blow away the dust and rubble from around the boy who was surrounded by a shield of ice. "Thanks for the save Blanco!" The boy hollered, voice barely audible against the wind. She nodded and quickly reverted back to her bipedal state. She was obviously powerful enough in that form, but fighting a small target like Lorne's bipedal form is hard when you're full size.

He huffed, the land around him was covered with ice, they other two had the advantage in that regard, but Lorne was not one to despair and give up. He breathed in deep, the chill in the air harsh on his lungs, but a pain her could handle. As he let out the held in breath, wisps of the "shade" as the boy called it began go reach out, grasping at any magic in the air they would catch. They branched out on his skin, covering and covering until his skin was the color of night. It was time to get serious.

Bounding forward the shadowy essence reached outwards, attempting to catch the quick moving boy. By using all of his might, he was able to effortlessly deflect the icy arrows of the girl named Blanco, No matter how much magic they threw at him, Lorne was able to counter with his own. He was in his own playing field, and the boy refused to remove his mask. The girl was clearly getting frustrated with him, and he could hear them bickering among themselves. That was fine, if the boy didn't use all his powers he could take them down sooner. But the boy gave in. Throwing his mask to the girl he quickly made some distance between themselves. The marks on the boys body excitedly began to spread. The whites of his right eye turned dark and he grimaced upon the sensation. It was time for the true battle to commence.

The blasts of water magic were stronger now, Blanco aided in providing distractions to throw Lorne off balance. However Lorne refused to falter, he would not loose! He could control his shade, but the boy clearly could only harness its raw power, using it in a tasteless manner. It was no wonder the boy held it back, it was trying to consume him! This was perfect! As they clashed spells and swords he could feel the boys heart falter. He wanted to win but Lorne was superior in skill, how could he compare!

Lorne's satisfaction came too soon. He hadn't noticed the absence of ice magic coming at him. A strange sensation began to rise through his body, in the corner of his eye he saw her, a girl with hands glowing a blazing cyan, and then it struck. His entire body went numb as the lightning flowed through him, the numbness was followed by excruciating pain as a sword pierced through his core bringing him back to his senses. The force of the sword as it had come at him pushed him against a wall where he slid down leaving behind a mark of dark shaded blood. He looked down at the sword, it was wrapped in the grasses from his mothers garden, and still dripping a purple fluid similar in color to the grass. He watched as the two girls ran up to the lad and replaced his mask before they took off, not even sparing him a backwards glance.

Lorne lay there in the heat of the sun. For some reason he could not move, he assumed it was due to the sword still in his chest. He was no longer bleeding however, so that was good. But how was he going to defend himself if someone came? Ah the heat was getting to his head. He almost never came out in the day, and the sun was bearing down hard. Worse still the water and ice that was left behind from the spells was causing the area to be uncomfortably muggy as it evaporated.

It had been 2 days since he was left impaled here. He had taken to sleeping in order to try and channel his energy, but the sword in his chest seemed to inhibit his abilities. His head however, still had the smallest bit of movement. He relaxed a bit and looked down the path to his left. The heat made his vision hazy as the waves bounced on the stone pathways. He squinted as he tried to focus his vision, was there someone there? He closed his eyes to freshen them up and opened them up again, sure enough the hazy figure was getting closer. Great, just great, with only 2 days to channel his energy he hadn't gotten the chance to see if he could wait the spell out, and now he was gonna die. The neighboring city must've decided to take the chance to dispatch him when they didn't see any guards.

As the figure got closer Lorne realized just how disoriented he was, he couldn't make out a single detail. Eventually the figure stood next to him, but he still couldn't see their face, only the glare of the sun. He closed his eyes and waiting for it, for pain or a monologue, either is just as bad. However all he felt was a sudden relief from the heat of the sun, and a bottle being held to hips pouring a fluid into his mouth. His eyes snapped open at the sensation, but he couldn't move, only stare at the individual as his vision began to clear. A set of clear blue eyes looked down on him, the young boys eyebrows were furrowed in concern as he continued to pour the solution into Lorne. Above him the lightning girl from before stood with a umbrella over them. She looked tired, like she hadn't slept for days, but a soft smile still rested on her lips when she noticed he was coming to.

"Mister can you hear me?" asked the young boy. He had set his bottle aside and was staring at him worriedly.

"Unfortunately"

The boy looked surprised at this answer, but didn't dwell on it. "What should I call you?"

"Nothing, no one, nobody or as the people call me, The Ruiner."

The boy frowned, "I know you must have a real name. You were a regular dragon once weren't you? Before you became one with the shade?" This made Lorne frown, when did he stop being a dragon? Just because he was now a monster didn't mean he wasn't a. . .oh that doesn't make sense.

He was at this boys mercy, and whatever he made him drink seemed to heal him, but who knows what the boy could do to him? So he obliged. "I was once known as Lorne", a strange feeling welled up in him as he blurted out "but that me is no more."

The boy smiled, "That's a nice name, Lorne." He shifted on his feet and then decided to take a seat by his side. "Lorne, do you want to live?"

"I'm not sure." He had seen so much, lost almost everything, but he didn't want to let go either.

"I have sealed you here Lorne. This blade was coated with a combination of my blood and an elixir Roma made to contain the shade from spreading. If you choose to die, I can order the spell to deliver you death or." He put his hand around the hilt of the blade. "You can come with me."

"Eh? Why would I do that?"

The boy smiled. "Admittedly, i'm not great at using and controlling my shade, however, you have become one with it, and you've become so strong due to it. If it weren't for this blade you may have killed us that night." He picked up Lorne's hand and held it in his own. "Please Lorne, join me and help me learn to use my shade, I don't want to lose to it, I wan't to prove us shaded can be good people!"

"And you want me, a monster who has killed everyone who got in my way, who not over 2 moons ago attempted to kill you and considered eating you, you want me to mentor you?"

"Correct."

"And what do I gain from this? I would be free if you killed me, I could finally let go."

"You don't have to die to let go of the past!" His face was flushed with a anger, "You can move forward! This self pity that you feel, the sorrows of your past, your crimes, they don't define your future! Everyone has killed! But few think of the insect beneath their feet, no one cries for the prey they consume!" His hand between his was squeezed strongly, "And when you are left behind, time does not wait for you to catch up, and we keep moving forward."

The young girl had stooped over and was patting the young mans head. She smiled at Lorne and spoke, her voice soft but confident, "Won't you join us Master Lorne? Isn't it hard being alone here? With all these cruel reminders?" She motioned to their surroundings, "Everything that was beautiful once fades, new growth covers old growth, and the world moves on. Wouldn't you like to be free?" Tears had begun to run down her cheeks, like she was reaffirming herself and not him. How pitiful.

He tilted his head and looked at his surroundings. In the light of day he could really see how destroyed his city was. Debris was everywhere and nature had begun to reclaim the city long ago. In his memories he could still see the once lavish homes, lively streets and happy people. But there was none of that now. Just his bloodied form lying in the dust.

He looked up into those blue eyes staring intently at him. "What are you waiting for? This hurts pull the sword out already kid, you shouldn't keep your teacher waiting."

[arcanesupern0va]

Down With The Rickness; Ch3: Scene Of The Crime

Summary: Vindicators 3: The Return of World Ender? Never heard of him either.

A/N: Thank you for reading this far and thank you so much for your continued support. ♥ So I think the next one is gonna be a Halloween inspired one. I watched a movie last night that I really wanted to just force Rick into so I think that's what's going to happen. Probably won't be anywhere near as oooey gooey as this one was but I can't resist making Rick a goshdang sap because it's my god given right. Hahaha. Be sure to let me know what you think! Unless it's mean and just generally not constructive in which case pls don't because I am soft and my feelings bruise easily.

CW: Thar be Drunk Rick here. And blatant use of an episode.  Pairing: Rick Sanchez/Reader Word Count: 6704

My ao3

Masterlist

~Rick In The Water~

|Ch2: Silhouettes|

Surprisingly, it was a horrid stench that woke me up, along with Morty gently nudging me into consciousness. I groaned, rolling over and bringing the blanket up to cover my nose and save me from the horrendous smell that had permeated the room.

“C-Come on Aunt Nova, we gotta go,” Morty murmured, shaking me again before standing up and moving away from the bed. “Rick, uh- He had one hell of a night last night.”

Whatever I had been imagining didn’t match what I found in the conference room. Rick was splayed out, completely coated with shit and sleeping peacefully despite it. I clasped my hand to my face trying desperately to purge the image from my brain before it made itself at home. I turned to focus on Supernova and Morty, turning my back on Rick completely.

“Good morning. Looks like your boyfriend had a long night,” she remarked. My cheeks burned as I peeked around her despite myself, seeing the full extent Rick’s mess went to. “Crocubot, why don't you escort Mr. Sanchez to a more comfortable spot so that someone can… clean up his diarrhea.”

“Whoa, I'm nervous about my first mission,” Noob Noob declared proudly, entering the conference room toting multiple weapons.

“Actually Noob Noob, you have a new mission,” Supernova told him coldly, flicking her wrist to replace the weapons with a mop.

“Got damn,” he said sadly, resigning himself to his new “mission”.

“Vindicators, prepare for arrival. Worldender dies today, with or without Rick’s help.” She ordered, leading us to the ship we would be descending to Worldender’s hideout planet in.

My head was still reeling as the ship took off from the main ship and soared down to Worldender’s planet. Morty kept me calm, explaining the different Vindicators to me before we were forced to drop down onto the planet from midair. Vance grabbed my waist with a sly grin, pulling me uncomfortably close to him before jumping out of the back and landing safely on the ground below. I pulled away from him quickly, only to be confronted with the pungent smell of burning flesh and rotting corpses as I surveyed my surroundings. Most of the planet seemed to be composed of corpses and bones and it just reinforced my assumption that the vast majority of space was just disgusting. Vance offered me a handkerchief to cover my nose with but I politely declined, not wanting to offer him any more of an ‘in’ than he already thought he had. I used the sleeve of my shirt instead, pressing it against my face hard enough that the skin ached around my nostrils from the pressure.

“A-Aunt Nova, are you okay?” Morty asked, looking up at me with concern plastered all over his face but noticeably unbothered by the smell.

“Y-Yeah,” I coughed, unsurprised the air tasted as bad as it smelled, “how are you so relaxed right now? This place fucking reeks.”

“Oh, Rick implanted me with a scent filter for my nose. There was a planet that smelled like burnt tires and rotten eggs and he got tired of hearing me complain about it,” Morty explained, “Sure, it’s based off Rick’s preferences so I haven’t smelled lavender and sweet pea in over a month but whatever you’re going through looks like it sucks.”

“So you can’t smell anything right now?” I asked, astonished.

“Nope,” he shrugged, “right now all I can smell is your shampoo and Vance’s cologne.”

“Must be fuckin’ nice,” I grumbled, staring at the ground ahead of me as we followed behind Supernova.

Drones approached us at an alarming pace but Supernova made quick work of them using the powers of whatever the “Star Mother” was. We advanced, only to come to a total dead end. This time it was Alan Rails’ turn, somehow creating a train to blast through the wall so we could advance further.

“Is it just me, or are their powers a little… stupid?” I whispered under my breath to Morty, only to earn an annoyed sigh.

“You sound just like Rick. These are actual superheroes, Aunt Nova. Most people just get movies but you’re actually in the presence of people that do everything they can for the better good,” Morty chastised.

“Like, I get that but even you have to admit they’re pretty lame. I mean, sure Supernova uses powers from some ‘Star Mother’ but like, the one guy is literally just an amalgamation of ants? And Alan can just call on the power of trains? Ghost trains? In what way could that possibly be helpful other than complete and utter destruction?”

“You don’t get it-”

“Aah! Gun Turret,” Million Ants interrupted us.

“Are you alright?” Supernova asked, concern flooding her voice.

“Yes. I only lost 400 ants. My queen is laying more,” he assured her as the holes in his chest mended in front of us, “I am back to one million ants,” he announced proudly as a look of relief flashed over Supernova’s features.

“Someone wake up Sanchez,” she demanded, glaring as she watched Crocubot toss Rick gracelessly onto the ground as Vance bent over him.

“H-Hey, wait- What are you doing?” I started nervously, as Vance pointed a finger at his face. Supernova shook her head briskly at me, holding up a hand as the tip of Vance’s finger opened and a blue gas emerged from it.

“Ugh,” Rick groaned, his bloodshot eyes taking in his surroundings as he familiarized himself with his location. “Oh, christ.”

“Oh, good. You’re up,” Supernova remarked sarcastically.

“Barely,” Rick growled, pulling himself to his feet.

“Rick, we're taking fire from an automated turret. Can you bring it offline?”

Rick grunted in response, pulling out a thermos as we watched him mix chemicals to produce a small creature. He held the plump creature over his eyes, squeezing it and relishing in the relief the liquid it produced offered.

“Ahh, that’s better,” he sighed, blinking away the bloodshot in his eye and looking around the room. His eyes fell on me and for a moment, a look of fear passed through them. “You��re not supposed to be here.”

“Rick!” Supernova shouted, irritated by the delay.

“I can’t help if I can’t see,” Rick shot back, shaking away his concerns for a moment and pulling out a small roving device that scurried over the floor into the line of fire. The top opened to allow a transparent disc to absorb the bullets before it spit out three compact discs that morphed into small robots. They climbed on top of each other, propelling themselves up onto the turret and fixating themselves over the barrel. Rick winked at me before jumping in front of the turrets in a ‘ta-da’ pose and I felt my heart drop as the turrets began shooting. I’ve moved to go after him, to pull him out of what I assumed to be certain doom but he turned to face me, grinning like a madman as the turrets fired until they exploded.

“And that’s how you do it, baby.”

“I could've just used a ghost train,” Alan grumbled, shoving past Rick and continuing through the door.

“Really? You don't say. You would have used a ghost train?” Rick gloated, rolling his eyes as he looked around the room. “H-Hey, everybody, the ghost train guy would have used a ghost train!” The rest of the Vindicator and Morty pushed passed him, mumbling under their breath and shooting looks of disgust and irritation at Rick as they passed.

“Is there coffee?” Rick asked, stopping Morty as he pressed on past his grandfather, the disgust and irritation even more prevalent on his face than the rest of them, “H-Hey, Morty, can you be a pal? Grandpa left his coffee maker on the ship. Y-You know, the French press thing?”

“Get it yourself,” Morty shot back, going around his grandfather to follow the rest of the team. As I passed him, that same look of fear covered his face as he looked me over, making sure I was okay. Once he seemed satisfied, he turned away to follow the group silently. We navigated the halls to Worldender’s lair in silence, Rick focusing in on Morty to avoid having to face me.

“You’re sni-uuuuurp-ppy this morning,” Rick remarked, following closely behind Morty while also keeping a watchful eye on my progress behind him.

“Just focus on the mission, alright,” Morty snapped, not interested in anything his grandfather had to say at this point.

“Oh, oh, oh, I'm sorry. Oh, you're right. Ooh, real serious. Gotta take it real serious, huh?” Rick said mockingly, glaring at the back of the Vindicator’s heads.

“Rick…” I called out gently, trying to relieve Morty of the punishment of dealing with his hungover grandfather. Rick turned to face me finally, a bit too eagerly for his liking it seemed as he groaned and stopped in his tracks to wait for me to catch up.

“H-Hey, Nova,” he grumbled as I caught up, “You shouldn’t have come.”

“And what, miss out on all the fun?” I chuckled. “Seems like you’ve had one hell of a night.” I watched him carefully, trying to ignore the part of me that was simply relieved that he was awake.

“Yeah, I got, uh, upset,” he shrugged, sidestepping a corpse as we entered a large room.

“I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine,” he said, cutting me off. “What are you even doing here? You know this is supposed to be incredibly dangerous right?”

“I figured you’d be here,” I shrugged, holding my arm against me and rubbing it.

“Jesus,” Rick muttered, shaking his head.

“Son of a steam engine! They're all dead!” Alan interrupted before Rick could say anything else. I took the room in only to find it littered with corpses, posed in various sex positions.

“Why would Worldender do this to his own men... and several women?” Crocubot asked, confusion leaking into his robotic tone.

“Well, he is the Worldender. The guy ends worlds. Kind of his thing,” Vance said, rolling his eyes. Rick kept moving forward, not interested in the massacre only to step on a hidden panel on the floor. A large hook bearing a corpse swung down from the ceiling in front of us, leaving Vance to cry out in horror, “What the fuck?!”

“It’s Worldender!” Supernova exclaimed, “What happened to him?” Worldender let out a weak moan, alerting us that he was still alive. I stared in horror as the monster on the hook gurgled in agony at us, unable to form any true speech.

“I sense his life force is fading,” Million Ants remarked, moving closer to take a better look.

“Million Ants, ladies and gentlemen! The ant colony with the power of two human eyes!” Rick snarled, unable to help himself. Worldender sputtered some more before an organ flew out of his mouth. “All right. Short mission, good mission. Remember when Alan wanted to use a ghost train? See you guys in Vindicators 4. Morty, Nova?”

“Rick, whoever did this is an even bigger threat than Worldender! We can't leave now!” Morty exclaimed nervously, looking to me for assistance.

“He's right. This is far from over,” Supernova insisted, hovering over to Rick.

“Well, have fun with that. But we have a comet girl, a monorail man, two assholes, and a full alligator to meet in, like, an hour,” Rick dismissed her, ready to head back through the door to the lair. As he turned to leave, however, a large shutter descended in front of him. It missed him by a hair as all of the exits sealed up immediately and left only one remaining door. The Vindicators and Morty prepared themselves for a fight but Rick grabbed my arm and dug into his lab coat for his portal gun, only to come up empty.

“Shit,” I murmured, the real terror of the situation descending on me quickly, realizing whatever had locked us in here truly had us stuck and Rick didn’t have a way out.

“I sense the presence of a greater evil,” Million Ants remarked looking around the room as if whatever it was would pop out at us immediately at his revelations. A large monitor descended from the ceiling, much to my surprise and it immediately cut to a video of a very drunk Rick.

“Check, check, One, two. Okay, is it recording? Good. Hello, Vindicators. Welcome to your reckoning, babyyyyy,” Drunk Rick held the last word out as we all turned to look at him.

“Well, it's official. I had too much to drink last night,” Rick remarked sheepishly, not quite meeting my eye.

“Rick, what did you do?” I asked nervously, my eyes darting around every corner.

“To be honest with you, I don’t really remember,” Rick admitted quietly, his eyes still trained on the monitor.

“ If you guys are watching this, you're, you know, the Vindicators,” Drunk Rick slurred, adjusting the camera to assure he was in the frame.

“R-Rick… buddy…” Vance started, training one of his wrist-mounted pistols on Rick as he looked him up and down cautiously, “What’s, uh, what’s going on?”

“Obviously, I came here last night during a blackout,” Rick told him flatly, gesturing up at the screen.

“Obviously?” Supernova demanded, exasperated, “You came here and defeated our arch-nemesis while so drunk, you don't remember doing it? That's something ‘obvious’ to you?”

“Look, I'm a lit-little more complex than you guys and, no offense, but I've always suspected that a lot of what you do in a year could be knocked out in a couple of hours,” Rick replied nonchalantly. Supernova opened her mouth to speak again but instead trained her attention on the screen.

“...So I thought, why not just do your job for you so we can have a little fun game,” Drunk Rick mumbled, pointing to the left where a spotlight flashed on and illuminated a large board with each of the Vindicators on it along with a defining trait for each of them.

“Rick, what did you do?” I demanded again, eyeing him nervously myself now.

“Is this a ‘Saw’ thing?” Morty asked angrily, moving closer to the board to investigate closer, “Are you ‘Saw’-ing the Vindicators?”

“I’m a drunk Morty, not a hack,” Rick snapped, looking around the room nervously.

“I certainly hope you idiots didn’t bring Nova with you because if you break the rules, lose the game or try to leave, you will die. Like in *uuuuurp* ‘Saw’,” Drunk Rick finished clumsily. Rick’s eyes met mine nervously and my mouth went dry.

“Well, I-I-I think we've seen enough. I'll just figure out how to unplug this,” Rick hurried off quickly looking for a plug while the rest of us stared up at the screen as Drunk Rick continued his tirade.

“Okay, here we go, room number one. The Vindicators are known throughout the galaxy, but do they know yourselves? Do you know yourselves? Match your... your shit, your... your gimmicks with your faces and y-you get it, it's a matching thing. And do it in three minutes, or you'll *uuurp* all die.”

“Screw this, I’m not playing his game,” Vance declared. “I'm gonna find us a way out of here.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on, Vance. He said we'd die if you tried to leave,” Rick reasoned, stepping in front of Vance, “I really don’t give a fuck about you but I can’t let Nova die, why in the hell did you assholes let her come again?”

“I informed her of the risks yesterday, she seemed assured that you would keep her safe,” Supernova told him coolly, much to his irritation.

“Th-this guy probably knew she’d be too stubborn to listen to any of you assholes so here’s hoping he didn’t go too crazy with the booby traps.” Rick was trying to convince himself as well as the rest of us as paced back and forth.

“Why are you acting like that's not you?!” Vance demanded hysterically.

“What part of ‘blackout’ don't you understand? I thought you drank?” Rick snarled, looking up from the floor.

“Like cool drinking! Like sexy drinking, not this psycho trailer-park shit!” he bellowed, looking around the room for some kind of reassurance that he was in fact not the crazy one.

“Vance, stay calm…” Morty said cautiously, bringing Vance’s wrath down on him instead.

“Oh, so you're the leader now because we gave you a jacket?! You're the learning-disabled kid we do photo-ops with!” Vance reamed Morty, his breathing quickening with every syllable. I moved to step in, to defend my godson against the sudden onslaught from his heroes when he shook his head at me quickly and swallowed his hurt.

“Okay, ouch, but-”

Vance began hyperventilating fully again, fanning his face against the red that was inching its way up from his collar. “Okay, this... this is triggering me. I need space. I-I need SPACE! FROM THIS!”

Before anyone could stop him, Vance engaged his rocket propellers after eyeing a conveniently placed vent in the ceiling. He shot his way up to it, ripping away the grate and flying into it. Sounds of saws and gunshots echoed as we could do nothing but watch as Vance’s legs contorted in agony before plummeting back down and landing in front of us. We stared in abject horror as one of the rocket boots kicked back to life and started flying around the room leaving a trail of blood in its wake.

“I really wish I could say I was sorry about that one,” I murmured numbly, staring at the rocketing foot until Crobubot finally took aim and shot it out of the air. “What the fuck is going on right now?”

“H-Hey, Nova,” Rick started, moving closer in an attempt to comfort me but I winced away from his touch, “it’s gonna be okay, I’m not going to let-”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn't crush your windpipe!” Alan interrupted, grabbing Rick by the throat and holding him against the wall.

“Wait, no!” I grabbed Alan’s arm, trying my hardest to pull him away from Rick. I may not be able to reconcile all of this away right now, but I still couldn’t bear to watch him hurt. Alan looked over his shoulder for a moment, pushing me down to the ground with a malicious glint in his eye that was all too familiar before returning his attention to Rick.

“Because my epidermis is laced with a nanofiber defense mesh,” Rick answered coldly, strange electricity covering his body before Alan was launched back away from him. “And because, like I said, I don't remember last night.”

“I told you not to invite this mummified motherfucker back!” Alan bellowed from the ground, shooting a dirty look over his shoulder at Supernova.

“Alan, I'm not proud of what's happening here, but if you keep coming at me or if you touch another hair on Nova’s head, there's gonna be another passenger on that ghost train,” Rick snarled, taking a step toward him and leaning down to really drive his point home.

“Guys!” Morty called over to us, “I figured it out.” While Rick and Alan had been fighting, Morty had taken to solve the puzzle Rick had set up for the Vindicators. “I figured I didn’t want to die so I better actually figure this shit out before this asshole gets us killed.”

“Congrats! You did i-uuuurp-it!” Drunk Rick slurred proudly when the monitor flashed back on. The door opened, revealing our path forward.

“It was a bit. All of the descriptors apply to all of you,” I murmured, reading the descriptors and matching them up to what little Morty had told me about the Vindicators, “Drunk Rick's point is that none of you are very special or different.”

“That's always his point,” Morty affirmed, despondent.

“Let's just get through this as quickly as possible. Then, we'll deal with the three of you,” Supernova said contemptuously, hovering past Rick and me.

“Th-Three of us?” Morty exclaimed, looking heartbroken before he turned his ire to Rick, “I hope you're proud of yourself!”

“Uh, I kind of am. I saved the goddamn universe.”

“That's not the issue, Rick!”

“Ahh, it would've been if I hadn't.”

*+*

We made our way through the next room, losing Crobubot in the process. Drunk Rick appeared on another monitor again, this time sporting a deerstalker cap and presenting a large map for the puzzle of the room. Crobubot’s confidence had chosen to reveal even more questionable backstory about the Vindicators from when Rick hadn’t been with them. This time it was concerning an entire planet they had to destroy because they couldn’t locate their target at the time, something called Doomnomitron. I was stuck watching in real-time as glimmers of hope and respect Morty held for the team started to rapidly deteriorate. Rick pointed out that he could’ve just created a device to seek out Doomnomitron but apparently it had been Alan’s call not to call Rick back.

Morty solved the puzzle yet again and the in-fighting only worsened as we made our way into the next room. This time Drunk Rick was wearing one of my old Hawaiian t-shirts, holding up a coconut filled with more booze.

“Aloha... means hello and goodbye in Hawaii. But, uh, aloha means... has nothing to do with this room,” Drunk Rick sputtered as his head rolled around loosely on his shoulders. “I'm so fucking drunk. Nova’s going to be so mad at me in the morning. Jesus Christ, she better not be in here with you.” Rick’s eyes met mine, unspoken apologies and frustration boiling over. “Ugh, okay, here's the deal. I-I want to rest my eyes for a little bit. I'm--I'm not going to sleep. I just... just need to rest my eyes, so let's make this one simple. Just try to hit some three-pointers.” Lights came on to light up a basketball hoop and a small bomb rigged to blow. “Let's say... you have to hit... five three-pointers in... five minutes or, I don't know, the whole place--the whole planet will get blown up with a n-neutrino bomb. And try to make it a-a lesson about yourselves like, like how... selfish you a-are, or something. Also, Hawaii,” he rambled, his head resting on the desk for a moment. This time, however, the video didn’t cut out and just continued playing as Drunk Rick struggled to keep the contents of his stomach within.

“Jesus Christ,” Rick murmured, staring at himself on the screen before Morty grabbed his arm and dragged him over the neutrino bomb.

“M-Maybe I should take N-Nova to Hawaii,” Drunk Rick mused, stifling down the urge to vomit as he rolled his head back and forth on his workbench, “She thinks I hate her… The fuck is she thinking? I can’t even get up in the morning without thinking about her.”

“O-Oh,” I blurted out, my eyes glued to the screen as Million Ants and Supernova made quick work of the Three Pointer Challenge and Alan Rails started accusing them of some alleged infidelity. Rick’s eyes were still trained on me, however, much to Morty’s chagrin as he continued disarming the bomb without Rick’s help.

“I mean, s-she’s not the brightest when it comes to my work but sh-she’s just brings me so much peace. Like a stupid amount of peace that I don’t deserve,” Drunk Rick continued almost incoherently, “She doesn’t expect me to be the s-smartest guy in the room and sh-she’s never wanted me to solve all of her p-problems even though I’ve tried like hell and p-p-put more effort into her problems - oh, fuck I’m gonna puke - th-than I’ve put into anything else in my life. I-I-I don’t know, sh-she’s just so-so-so special to me. And sh-she keeps asking me what’s wrong and I-I-I don’t know how to explain it to her. I-I-I can’t get drunk and tell her, I mean look what do when I’m just mildly irritated with Morty,” he rambled. I couldn’t stop the watery giggle from falling out of my mouth as my eyes flicked to Rick again. He and Morty were struggling with the drunkenly improvised bomb but my small outburst didn’t go unnoticed by Supernova behind us.

“Something funny to you, girl?” she hissed, her voice wavering. I tore my eyes away from the screen to find Alan, well, everywhere. While I had been enraptured in the drunken ramblings of the emotionally closed-off man I’d fallen in love with, Supernova’s affair with Million Ants had come out into the open. The fight had turned deadly when Supernova had confirmed Million Ants’ superiority in the bedroom, leaving the sentient ant colony to defend the woman he loved. The fight ended when Million Ants possessed the Ghost Train Conductor or whatever the hell he was and exploded him from within, surprisingly killing the “undead” man.

“I-I-I wasn’t- I-I-I didn’t,” I stammered as she descended towards me at an alarming pace.

“You think you can just wander through here while all of my friends are killed at the hands of your… boyfriend,” she spat the word out as though it left a disgusting film in her mouth. “Who’s to say you deserve to live when my team has reduced to shambles.”

“You touch her and what happened to your friends will seem like a day in the park after I’m done with you,” Rick threatened lazily, barely looking up from the bomb as Supernova drew closer.

“Rick!” I squeaked, trembling as the cosmic grew closer, the energy from her righteous anger pulsing around her.

“She’s not going to do shit,” Rick said dismissively, focusing in on the bomb as Morty’s attention was drawn away. “There we go. Disarmed.”

“Y-You’re supposed to be heroes!” Morty bellowed, standing up to face the cosmic atom bomb in front of me. “She hasn’t done anything to you! Leave her alone!”

“Morty- Don’t,” I urged him, as he moved closer to the ticking time bomb in front of me. His words seemed to have an effect, however, and the pulsing around Supernova shrunk as she stood down.

“You will all pay for Rick’s crimes,” she declared coldly. With a flick of her wrist, cuffs appeared around our wrists. “I don’t want you three disappearing once this is over, all of these deaths are on your hands.”

“Oh, come on, maybe a couple of them, but definitely not the train guy,” Rick scoffed, quickly searching the black bands around his wrists for a way out but coming up empty.

“All of them,” Supernova hissed, launching one of the planets hovering around her into Rick’s groin. I moved to rush to his side, only to be launched away from him with another of her planets. “Not so fast. Rick won’t leave you behind, judging by his drunken ramblings, so you’re what I like to call… insurance.” Million Ants made the final three-pointer, allowing the door to open to one final room. It was a simple room, only a small pedestal sitting in the middle of it.

“All right, by now, I've been pretty clear that I think the Vindicators are full of shit,” Drunk Rick slurred on the monitor, taking a bite out of his piece of pizza, “But... you do have one thing I'll never have and probably another that I probably won’t have much longer. The first is the only part of the Vindicators that has any value to me and the second the most amazing thing in the room, besides me. So if you know what they are, place them on the platform. Guess wrong and the pla-planet will explode. And probably the solar system, 'cause I kind of fucking eyeballed the neutrino bombs on this one.”

“So what's the trick? Morty, you're the Drunk Rick expert,” Supernova asked callously, looking between Morty and me.

“I think for the first one... no matter what we put on there, we die. He said it's the part of the Vindicators he values. That means nothing. He wants our last moment alive to be spent knowing how few fucks he gave.”

“Jesus! Okay, open to second opinions!” Supernova glared, looking around at each of us.

“I-It could be Morty,” Rick admitted reluctantly.

“What?!”

“Hey, I don't know,” he shrugged. “I mean, look, when I get drunk, I get stupid and emotional and there's no logic to it. We all heard all that shit from the last room. It's, like, possible I got so drunk, I felt like I was losing Morty to the Vindicators, and maybe this is my way of saying ‘Okay, you can have him, but only if you know how important he is, otherwise I'll kill you.’”

“That is a... really specific guess,” Million Ants remarked.

“Look, I... there's nothing in the room but us. I'm just using logic to connect some dots. It's the best guess I've got.”

“But you're betting our lives on it,” Supernova said accusingly.

“I'll cover that bet. I get it,” Morty said smugly, heading for the platform.

“Wait, Morty, I think you're making that smirky face because you're misinterpreting the moment,” Rick said urgently, “I am not being coy about some hidden love for you. I want to be really clear that, if anyone has a better guess, like, if I gave you an amulet last night, or-” A loud ding rang out and everyone let out a sigh of relief before a chair shot up and scooped up Morty.

“Oh, shit,” Rick swore, staring at the now-empty platform.

“Alright. The second one?” Drunk Rick demanded expectantly.

“Well, go ahead, Nova.” Rick nodded at the platform in frustration.

“M-Me?” I stuttered. “I just watched that thing eat Morty. I don’t think I’m in a hurry to hop on up.”

“Look, he said the most amazing thing in the room. It’s definitely none of these assholes. Do you really think I’m going to hurt you, drunk or not?” Rick said flatly. I walked up to the platform hesitantly, glancing at Rick one last time before another seat appeared, dropping me into a cardboard Tunnel of Love.

“Jesus Nova, couldn’t just stay out of the line of fire could you,” Drunk Rick chuckled, twisting his hands over as I floated down the long tunnel. “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been such a dick and I’m really sorry you had to go through all of these hacky shenanigans to prove my point to the Vindicators and Morty. I brought you down here because I just didn’t know how to tell you how much I was struggling with all of this. Watching you hurting- Seeing you walk out into that lake and not come back up. Jesus Nova, you know you’re everything to me, right?” His voice cracked and the tears welled in my eyes instantly. “It’s not like I can’t relate though, believe me. When I came back, it was just to give Beth some closure before I killed myself but when I saw you- when I saw the way you looked at me, something changed in me. For once, I can’t explain it.

“I’m sorry for leaving you with these assholes too, by the way. I thought you were going to come with me like you usually do and when you didn’t I just- I don’t know, I took it personally I guess. I got about twenty minutes away before I shut my damn ego up and flew back.” The cart pulled up to the final monitor and much to my surprise, Drunk Rick was crying. “I can’t do this without you, Nova. Please, despite all of the logic in your brain, please don’t give up on me.” I bit my lip, fighting back tears as I stared at the broken man on the screen in front of me. “So just, you know, think about it okay? Whatever you want, I’ll accept but I don’t want to lose you. I’m sorry I couldn’t just say this to your face. I’m just… so sorry. Alright Nova, I’ll, uh, I’ll see you later.” The cart sped back up the track and soon I was being raised back up through the platform. Morty looked less than amused standing next to his grandfather but I started to rush into his arms, only for one of Supernova’s planets to launch me back to her side.

“Not so fast, girl,” she hissed. The room shuddered and the entire platform began rising from under us.

“I sense this means we’re not dying,” Million Ants said, surveying the room.

“Not all of us,” Supernova said darkly, using her telekinesis to hold Rick, Morty and I up by our throats.

“Sweetheart…” Million Ants started gently, moving toward Supernova.

“Just let Titty-Bean do this, Snuzzles. It's for the greater good,” she replied irritably.

“Titty-Bean?--”

“Greater Good?--” we sputtered under her force-grasp that grew tighter with each movement.

“It's like you said, Morty: there's no right or wrong,” Supernova hissed, hovering closer to Morty.

“Never said that!”

“It's the galaxy's faith in the Vindicators that keeps the galaxy secure!”

“Yeah, I feel safer already,” Rick muttered sarcastically.

“No doubt. Who do we make the check out to?” I replied, meeting his gaze for a moment.

“Titty-Bean, listen to me. When you came to me, I was merely a sentient colony of ants. It was your beliefs, your pursuit of justice, that taught me to be a man,” Million Ants said soothingly, pulling her closer to him. We fell to the ground, sputtering for air as Supernova became distracted with Million Ants. Rick pulled me into his arms, desperately clinging to me for dear life as he patted my hair down.

“When did it get so complicated?” she asked mournfully, nuzzling into his hand.

“Who knows? But we can make it simple again.”

“You were always the romantic,” she remarked sadly before taking a step back from him, her eyes narrowed. “Which is why you can't leave either.” We watched in horror as she dug her hand into his chest and extracted his Queen Ant, crushing it in her palm. “Goodbye, my love.”

“Damn! She double-crossed Snuzzles!” Rick exclaimed, pulling away from me momentarily as she descended upon us.

“Silence! I'm going to enjoy this,” she hissed, raising her hands in front of her. As I buried my face into Rick’s chest, airhorns interrupted her attack as the platform finally reached its destination.

“Let's give a huge thanks to Rick Sanchez for killing Worldender, putting this awesome party together, and for booking one of the hottest talents out there: Logic!” an announcer called out and a spotlight descended upon us. Supernova lowered her hands, realizing the sheer volume of witnesses surrounding her.

“Look at that. Geez, I must've planned a whole party. Invited a bunch of people. Not bad, Drunk Rick, not bad,” Rick said, pulling himself to his feet before extending a hand out to me and pulling me to my feet. As Logic started a song about the Vindicators, Supernova slipped into the crowd, much to Morty’ dismay.

“Rick! Supernova’s getting away!” he shouted, pointing at the section she disappeared into.

“Oh well,” Rick shrugged, dancing along to the song.

“But… she was trying to kill us!” Morty retorted.

“Morty, twenty people try to kill me every week. I end up getting high with half of 'em,” Rick assured him flatly. “J-J-Just enjoy the festival, alright? I’ll worry about her later.”

It looked like just about everyone had gotten an invite as Beth, Summer, and Madi squeezed through the crowd over to us. I hugged Madi tightly before Summer pulled her into the crowd to introduce her to some of the friends she’d made adventuring with Rick.

“So, I’ll just assume nothing is going to happen to her here?” I asked Rick nervously, watching her hair bounced as Summer pulled her behind.

“Look, I invited Beth to this, she should be safe.” I narrowed my eyes at him, unconvinced but he just groaned, grabbing my hand. “Come on, let’s party.”

*+*

When we finally got home, the exhaustion from being in a life or death situation hit me like a truck. The moment I fell into my bed, I was out like a light. When I finally woke back up a day later, I was surprised to find Rick sprawled out next to me, sleeping peacefully with his arm draped over me. I carefully extracted myself from underneath him and made my way to the bathroom, desperate for a shower. As I opened my door, I found Morty headed in the same direction.

“O-O-Oh, hey Aunt Nova,” he mumbled, his eyes trained on the ground in front of him. “W-Were going to take a shower?”

“Y-Yeah, but you go ahead. I waited this long, I can wait a little bit longer,” I assured him, moving to head back into my room.

“I-I-I heard what Rick said, in the Hawaii room,” he said quickly, grabbing my wrist. “I’m not saying I was wrong about him, but I get what you see in him, I guess. A-A-And, I guess how he feels about you too? He’s still a dick and piece of shit a-a-and you deserve better but-”

“It’s okay Morty, I understand,” I assured him quickly. He looked relieved, waving as he headed for the bathroom. I went back into my room to find Rick stirring, sitting up and rubbing his eyes as he looked up at me.

“I was starting to think you were in a fucking coma, you know,” he yawned at me.

“I don’t know, something about almost dying just makes me really tired, not sure what that’s all about,” I shrugged sarcastically. “Speaking of which, we should probably talk about all of that.”

“Yeah, I get a little… dramatic when I drink. Sorry about that,” he groaned, standing up and stretching.

“Well, yeah. That was something else, but I’m talking about what happened when I got up on the platform,” I said cautiously, watching his face for a reaction.

“What about it? I don’t remember anything from that night? I probably just called you like, super pretty for five minutes,” he said defensively. “Did I say something fucked up? Morty was not happy with me after coming out of his.”

“N-No, not quite,” I chuckled. “No, it was more along the lines of you being worried I was going to leave you or whatever. You know that’s never going to happen, right? A lot of bad shit has happened since you’ve been back. I’ve been kidnapped, you killed my husband and maybe even my parents but you haven’t fucked up nearly as bad as you may think you have. I probably wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you.”

“Well, I mean, if that Rick was going to come kidnap you then you would probably just be stuck living on the Citadel and hella fucking confused,” Rick argued awkwardly.

“So not the point,” I groaned, rolling my eyes at him. “Look, all I’m trying to say is you don’t have to worry about that. I’m not going anywhere. Effectively, you’re stuck with me.”

“Are you okay? With everything that happened?” he asked hesitantly. “Being with me, it’s not a normal life and it never will be.”

“Rick, not to sound cliche but my life has literally never been normal. As long as you bring me home now and then so I can see Madi, I could literally care less. Just don’t leave me, okay?”

“Nova, I told you already, I don’t think that’s possible,” he assured me. “Even that twenty minutes I left you with the Vindicators and Morty was hell. I tried to get back as soon as I could but by the time I got back, you guys were gone.”

“Look, I get it. I’m not going to say it was okay because it wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination but I get it,” I reasoned. “I was drunk and being a dick.”

“Welcome to the club, sweetheart,” Rick laughed, holding his flask up in solidarity. “We’re gonna be okay, right?”

“Oh, I hope not. Putting my neck on the line all the time is half the fun of being with you.”

“I love you too, brat.”

+Ch4: Every You, Every Me+

[ramblesanddragons]

Of Monsters and Memories

An idea based on this comic by @artsymeeshee that I just ran with.

It has been years since I’ve written anything. I’m so rusty but I’m trying to get back into it. I have no editor and I am terrible at grammar so please let me know what I missed. I’m writing more fan fiction to get back into figuring out how to write.

EDIT: Now with Ao3 link!

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol, angst. (Also please let me know if I missed one.)

Ford had told Stan about some of the dangers they would run into in the arctic. Krakens, selkies, freezing cold. Some sort of thing that was the unholy offspring of nightmares and a squid wasn’t one of those things. The problem was the thing seemed to made out of smoke and they were having the damnest time pinning it down but it had to have some sort of physical form. It sure as hell was holding on to Stan tight enough.

Stan was wrapped around the mast of the boat as the arctic wind howled or maybe it was the creature, he had no idea.

“Hey anytime with that fancy space gun Sixer!”  

“Aiming is proving to be difficult give me a moment!” Ford yelled back.  

Stan did his best to wiggle out of the tentacles that had him but stopped the struggle when he noticed that Ford had all but been swallowed by a plume of smoke. Only his head was visible in the cloud of darkness. Ford’s eyes were tense with pain and tears were streaming down his cheek.  

“Ford, snap out of it. Whatever you see ain’t real!”

Ford had been looking forward to taking notes of the creature made of smoke that floated above the ice. He had never even seen something like this before. It had to be some sort of life form as it weaved around the boat almost playfully. Things had taken a sharp turn for the worst when Stan tried to take a picture of it for the kids. It screeched and started to climb up the side of the boat with long tendrils extending. Stan grimaced and slide on his old pair of brass knuckles.

“Want to bet I can punch smoke?” Stan yelled leaping at it with full force.  

In a flurry of shouts, punches, and missed shots Ford found himself trying to save his knuckleheaded brother who was wrapped around the mast. Aiming was proving to be a problem as the smoke wouldn’t stay together into a shape. It had spread itself thin onto the deck of the boat only forming parts of itself it to tentacles to hold Stan.

Ford could feel panic rising into him. He cursed himself for thinking that it had been playful earlier when it had clearly been looking for the best time to strike. He had let his enthusiasm get to him again and now Stan was in danger again.  

Chastise yourself later Stan needs help! Ford tried to find a target but froze as the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

A dark malevolence engulfed him in a plume of smoke. The chill it brought to Ford’s body made the cold of the arctic seem like a walk in the park. He physically shook himself to clear it away and focused again on his brother but Stan was gone. He was alone in some sort of inky void. He looked around and realized with horror his clothes had changed. He was wearing Stan’s old suit. In his hand’s was the wretched memory gun.  

Seeing it again made Ford’s stomach clinch tight. The urge to drop it to the ground and smash it was strong but he had to...to do something with it. He looked up again to see he was no longer alone in the void, Stan had appeared, on his knees and unconscious. Just like the last time. Tears started to burn at the corners of Ford’s eyes as his arm moved on some sort of autopilot pointing the gun at Stan’s head.

“Please...I can’t...not again...” Ford’s body shook as whispered to the void. His vision blurred with tears as the world started to become dark.

“Hey Poindexter! Did you know the world was flat?”

“What?”

“Yeah, I’m one of those flat earth people.” It was Stan’s voice coming from somewhere. Not the body before Ford kneeling and awaiting its fate at his hands, but outside of the void.

“Stan...the world isn’t flat?”  

I’ve gone mad, Ford thought completely lost.

“Oh yeah it is. I kept meaning to ask when we were going to hit the edge. Also, you know we didn’t go to the moon in ‘69 right?”

“S-Stan we watched it on the damn TV together!” Ford’s voice echoed and for a moment the sounds of the sea seemed to reach his ears.

“I mean yeah we did but it was faked. Although that was a good day, right? Ma let us stay home to watch it. Remember?” Almost at Stan’s beckoning the void changed around him and the image of two small boys watching a small TV formed in front of Ford. It wasn’t as clear as the one of Stan awaiting his doom and it disappeared as fast as it had appeared. It was one of Ford’s favorite memories besides the two of them finding the original Stan of War.

“Yeah I do.” Ford whispered softly. He could now feel ocean spray on his face. The cold in his soul was being melted by the warmth in his chest growing. The creature shrieked and withdrew from around Ford. He was now fully back to the deck of the ship and before him was Stan still tied to the mast by smoky tendrils.

“Oh yeah and uh did you know that the government is putting chemicals in the water to brain wash us? Or that the government is actually a bunch of lizard people actually hold on you might believe that one let’s see...”

“Stan.” Ford wanted to both hug and smack his brother at the same time.

“What? Oh hey welcome back now can you shoot this fuckin’ thing?”

“Gladly.” Ford growled.  

The thing had gathered back into a smoke ball but it seemed to Ford less intimidating now, slightly smaller, weaker. There was no way to really tell where the thing’s body was so Ford just started to fire on the thickest gathering of grey and black he could see. There was going to be a few holes in the deck of the ship but it was worth it to hear the thing let out one last scream before collapsing into a pile of goo. Stan was freed from the mast as the smoky tendrils disintegrated. Ford ran into the hull of the ship and returned with gloves, a scraper and a container.  

Dinner was sandwiches that night as Stan was too tried to cook. He eyed Ford as he ate and let out a heavy sigh as he realized he had only taken a bite of his dinner. Ford’s forehead was knit together like it did when he was thinking too hard.

“Wanna talk about it?” Stan’s voice seemed to shake Ford out of his thoughts.  

“Well we do need to talk if you believe the world is flat. I have failed as a scientist if my own brother believes that.” Ford let out a weak chuckle.

“Nah I’m not the brightest but I’m not that dumb. Look, I was just thinking of the craziest things I could to snap you out of whatever trance that the smoke thing had you under. Nothing pisses you off more than bad science.”

“Stan, I want to apologize. I feel like I wasn’t paying close enough attention and let my curiosity get in the way of your safety. I will aim to do better.”

“Sixer it’s okay you...”

“No, it’s not okay!” Ford cut Stan off. “My mistakes keep getting you hurt.”

“Look I was getting myself hurt plenty before coming out here with you.” Stan had recently gotten a lovely memory of spraining his ankle while running from some dogs when he was about 25 back a couple of weeks ago which could be good proof of that but he knew that wouldn’t exactly make his brother feel better. Ford pushed his plate away and leaned his head into his hands.

“What exactly did that thing do to ya?”  

“My running theory is that whatever it was prays on a victim's memories. Their worst moments causing them to freeze up. I was about to...I was about to erase you again.” The tears were coming back into Ford’s eyes. Stan slid him over a napkin.

“That’s you’re worst moment?”

“O-of course. I’ve faced plenty of horrible things but that was my mistakes coming back to bite me in the ass. I’m fine with that. But when my arrogance and stupidity hurts other people, people I care about...first there was Fidds and then you were the one who could have lost everything for my carelessness and...”

Stan slammed his fist onto the table and that startled Ford enough to break him out of his rant. “I pushed you into that hell portal I...”

“A hell portal I built!” Ford interjected loudly.  

“You were conned. Manipulated. Ford you’re stubborn and yeah maybe a little arrogant but so am I.” Stan got out of his chair and kneeled by his brother.

“If there was an award for who could hold on to guilt the longest, I could probably win the gold medal. So, listen to me here. Please don’t let this mind erasing thing eat you alive. I know I’m the poster child for healthy coping but please don’t be so hard on yourself. I have enough self-loathing for both of us.”

“Stanley.”

“Look being out here with you watching you get all excited and doing nerd stuff has been the happiest I’ve been in years. I don’t need you to be worrying about what might happen so much that you stop enjoying it ‘cus then I’ll stop enjoying it and so what the hell else do we do huh? Soos is in charge of the Shack and I wouldn’t really want to go back. So, what, do we spend our next few years playing bingo in an old folks' home?”

“Hell no.” Ford responded somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

“Right. So, relax. There is no where I’d rather be.” Stan grinned when a small smile placed itself on Ford’s face.

“What are the qualities of a Pines man? Braveness, boldness, curiosity, creativity, stubbornness, and deep self-loathing.” Ford said counting on his fingers.

“Let’s hope Dipper skips out on that one.” Stan got back up and poured himself and Ford a drink of the good stuff they kept for special occasions. He figured dealing with a smoke monster was occasion enough.

Ford looked at the amber liquid and drained it in one gulp. “Stanley has is ever occurred to you that perhaps we could use a little therapy in our lives?”

“No shrink is so understanding that they would believe half the shit that’s happened to us.”  

“Perhaps we should look. Even if we have to go a more supernatural route to get an adequate one I-I think we should.” Ford began to scribble what Stan guessed to be a list of idea candidates. He smiled as he watched the wheels in his brother’s mind whirl.

“Yeah. Sure, I’ll talk to a fairy about my problems.” Stan spent the rest of his night listening to Ford tell him why it was an awful idea to let the Fae know your problems and enjoyed every minute of it.  

[the-wardens-torch]

@theseventhdawn tagged me with this one.  Thanks again friend! This feels like a good warmup before I retreat into my cozy word-lined hole in the ground for #FFXIVwrite2019.

Getting to know the character: Falerin Arcita

► Name ➔  “Falerin, with Arcita being my go-to surname.” ► Are you single ➔ “…Are you coming onto me?” *winks with great exaggeration* ► Are you happy ➔  “Yeah... I think my life is finally going in the right direction now that I’m settled on the mainland.” ► Are you angry? ➔   “Only in short bursts… There are so many other emotions I’d rather feel that I can never hold onto anger for long.” ► Are your parents still married ➔  “Heh. If marriage were a prerequisite of having children, I wouldn’t be here and neither would a great number of very interesting people.”

NINE FACTS ► Birth Place ➔ “One of the Cieldalaes Islands that’s too small to bother putting on most maps.” ► Hair Color ➔  *pulls the end of his braid over his shoulder and flips it back and forth for a moment* “Just black, though I should probably say raven or ebon or midnight.” ► Eye Color ➔  *chuckles* “Someone trying to pick me up at the Quicksand once said they were ‘Blue as a… really fuckin’ blue thing.’” ► Birthday ➔  “16th sun, 5th astral moon. Dead center of Azeyma’s sacred month, as my mother liked to point out.” ► Mood ➔  *smiles and thinks for a moment* “Content to just be.”   ► Gender ➔  “Male. Nothing special.” ► Summer or winter ➔ “Summer. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to cold weather… If its winter and you show me a painting of a sunny beach, I’ll stare at it like a street orphan gawping at the window of a candy shop.” *raises his hand to his chin*  “I think I get why Ishgardians are… like that.” ► Morning or afternoon ➔  “I have more memories tied to the morning, for better or worse.”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE ► Are you in love ➔  “With about a dozen people, actually.” ► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔  “I think I’ve fallen in love at first sight more times than I can count…” *breathes a barely audible sigh* ► Who ended your last relationship ➔  “A series of bad decisions.” ► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔  “Yes, but I tell myself it was for the better, and it usually was, selfish as that sounds. I never want to play pretend with my feelings or anyone else’s.” ► Are you afraid of commitments ➔  “A bit, but people rarely ask me to commit to anything. I must not seem like the committing type.” ► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ “Of course! The last one was probably Reo. Strong arms on that girl. She could carry me around on her arm like general Aldynn used to carry the sultana if she felt like it.” ► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ “If I knew about it, it wouldn’t be a secret, hm?” ► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔  “Yes.  I sometimes even break it in advance just in case.”

SIX CHOICES ► Love or lust ➔ “One’s easier to get than the other but I enjoy them both.” ► Lemonade or iced tea ➔  “Definitely tea… Sweet things aren’t my… cup of tea, and if I want something with that sour bite, I’ll just go to the bar.” ► Cats or Dogs ➔  “Never had much experience with either of them, to be honest.  But I admire them both in their own ways. I really envy a cat’s ability to get comfortable and sleep just about anywhere, and I envy how dogs are so unabashedly themselves.” ► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ “I’m just happy with friends in general.” ► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ “I’ll usually choose to be out on the town, but there’s something to be said for having a cozy place to stay in and someone to share it with.” ► Day or night ➔  “I think most people would expect a devotee of debauchery like me to say night… but I think its in my blood to love the sun.”  *smiles sincerely, but his gaze seems focused elsewhere*

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS ► Been caught sneaking out ➔  *shakes head* “Friend, that would imply I had a place to sneak out of, and people who felt a need to keep me there, and that just wasn’t how I grew up.” ► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔  “Yes. That was a particularly shameful walk of shame.” *clears throat for effect* ► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔  “Uh-huh... And that’s enough about that.” ► Wanted to disappear ➔  “I think everyone has. Sometimes just existing is hard work.”

FOUR PREFERENCES ► Smile or eyes ➔  “Eyes, definitely.  A smile is all too easy to fake, but eyes always say more than we mean them to.” ► Shorter or Taller ➔  “Around my height if I have a choice.” *looks pensive for a moment* “Although a fulm in either direction can be damned entertaining.” ► Intelligence or Attraction ➔  “I’d like to say intelligence, but I’m afraid my life is ruled by attraction. I’m a sanguine sort of creature.” *sighs*  “But I guess I could say that some of the attractions I experience are based on intellect.” ► Hook-up or Relationship ➔  “When one leads to the other, preferably. But I’ll never turn down a good hookup if there’s clear chemistry.”

[threecrowsinatrenchcoat]

“Come on, Jaimie,” Mikail groaned. “I’m not looking for crystals and crushed herbs. I’m looking for real magic!”

Jamie glanced over at their friend with a dramatic eye roll. 

“None of that stuff is real,” they scoffed, before turning back to the jars of incense. They all had pretty bizzare names taped to the jars, ranging from “Fizzy Pop” to “Angel’s Blood,” but Jamie’s favorite had to be “Daffodils from the North Hills, Cut at Midnight on the Last Full Moon.” Weirdly specific, but it did smell like daffodils. 

Mikail sighed. He’d heard rumors of a real magic shop somewhere on this street, but he really didn’t think the Raven’s Message- as the old wooden sign hung above the shop door proclaimed this place to be- was it. This place was small and cramped, dimly lit, and filled with obviously fake crap: the kind of junk you could buy off Amazon. Bags of pre-rolled sage bundles- “’Perfect for the DIY home exorcism?’ Is that even what you use sage for?”- hung along the slatted wall to one side. Crystal pendants of various colors sat in a display case beside the register, beneath a tacky sign that talked about the different crustal properties- the phrases ‘vitality’, ‘fertility’, and ‘cosmic knowledge’ appeared on that sign a few too many times for Mikail to be convinced. He even managed to find a box of mood rings, three for a dollar. He set down the box and sighed. 

“Maybe we should go back to the Scattered Star,” Mikail grumbled. “At least that place had some seriously legit books.”

“No way, did you not see the giant fuckin’ dog that guy had? The thing was practically a horse,” Jamie called across the store in reply. They were browsting the small collection of books shelved beside the wall of sage. One of the book spines read: “Basic Witches: How to Summon Success, Banish Drama, and Raise Hell With Your Coven.” Mikail sighed again, this one almost involuntary. 

“Kieran is actually quite the good dog if you let him get to know you,” a voice said, startling both teens. Mikail and Jaime turned toward the voice’s owner: a middle-aged man, with dark skin and long dreadlocked hair. He was seated at a small table off to the side, half-hidden by the shop’s poor lighting. Mikail instantly felt a bit sheepish for what he’d just said. 

“Um... sorry, I didn’t... we didn’t, uh. See you there,” he said lamely. But the man only smiled back at him. 

“Oh, that’s quite alright. I didn’t see you there either,” he chuckled. Mikail shared a confused glance with Jamie, not quite understanding the joke. But before either of them could say anything, there was a dramatic shower of glass as something large and on fire came leaping into the shop via the front window.

Whatever that something was snarled, baring rows and rows of sharp, rotting teeth; Jamie screamed, and Mikail was too dumbfounded to scream- and suddenly there was a man striding past them. A tall man, with shaggy Black hair on his head and a glowing red sword in his hand, and now Mikail was seriously wishing they had stayed at the Scattered Star after all. 

“Get behind the counter,” the dark-haired man growled as he strode past, and Mikail was not about to argue with the guy and his glowing sword. He grabbed Jamie and dragged them behind the back counter- and despite the chaos, he was pretty sure he was the other man, still seated at his table, make a subtle hand motion toward the two of them... and then he was only a little sure he was a faint, shimmering light hang across the air between them and the mess of the shop. 

It didn’t last long. Mikail peeked up over the edge of the counter in time to see the firey creature with so many teeth lunch for the man with the glowing sword. The man leaped to the side, and his sword carved a deep gash along the creature’s body. The thing snarled and lunged again- and again, the man darted to the side and carved out another wound. This only seemed to make the creature angry. The fire blazed brighter. Mikail wondered how the shop had not gone up in flames already (though, if he had been paying the other man any heed, Mikail would have seen him doing magic- real magic- to prevent just that.) 

The fire creature coiled its legs under it and leaped. The man with the sword slid beneath it, and with one fluid motion, jammed his blade upward, directly into the creature’s chest. There was a cry of pain, and then a crash as the thing hit the ground, and then silence. Mikail stood up, eyes wide. 

“That took you longer than usual, Niiro,” the man at the table teased, as if a large flaming creature had not just shattered his shop window and then been promptly stabbed to death by a glowing sword. The man called Niiro just scoffed. 

“Give me a break, Lyric. I woke up like five minutes ago. I was expecting a cup of coffee, not a damn fire demon.”

Lyric only laughed, and waved his hand in the general direction of the front window. The glass shards that had been scattered across the floor slowly began to float up into the air and drift toward the gaping hole that had once been a window, until gradually, it was a window again. Then, he turned toward where Mikail and Jamie stood gaping at the whole thing. And, he smiled. 

“Why don’t the two of you step into the back room with me, and I’ll make you some tea. Besides, you said you wanted to see a real magic shop?” 

All in all, Mikail supposed it was not the worst way to spend a Thursday afternoon. 

Written for the prompt: 

“Some kids come into the shop looking to buy stuff and are unexpectedly impressed by demon hunter husbando?“

Thank you @cutecutejames!