#This is made maybe worse by virtue of the monster in question being one of the ritual monsters for a ritual bracelet girl? I'm not sure

[omarwolaeth]

Mid-way through designing a fan monster for AU reasons, and I end up realising that the yuboys die due to Zarc-related complications in the exact order needed for the process to create a philosopher's stone (assuming you see Yuuri and Yuuya dying to one another simultaneously)

Literally Zarc's posthumous magnum opus that revives him in the end. what the hell

[thewritetofreespeech]

Words: 5000+

Rating: M

Pairing: Benimaru (TSSK) x Reader

Summary: You were husband & wife in name only.

AO3

The moon was bright & crisp in the sky over Rimuru. Even without your candle light, you would probably be able to see clearly into your mirror as you brushed out your hair, preparing for bed. It had been a challenging day.

Keeping Shion and Shuna from destroying their Lord with their love was a full-time job sometimes. Being the buffer between them was sometimes more than your poor human body could take; a fact Rimuru-sama was often concerned about. You usually brushed it off with a ‘better me than you’ remark as his peril would be far more of a detriment to others than you, but appreciated his concern. Besides, neither ogre-ess would intentionally hurt you. Worst you’d ever come away with before was a good goose egg from Shion swinging around Hercules’s willy-nilly and caught you in the back of the head. It was an accident, and she could have easily crushed your head like a melon, but Shion still cried for almost 3 days after every time she saw you in apology.

You chuckle a little at the memory. How wonderfully problematic your life had become in this past year. You wouldn’t call it ‘blissful’. It had it’s challenges like most. But your life taken an interest, wonderful turn that had led you to this life you wouldn’t trade anything for. You were safe. You were loved. You were a respected person when just some months ago you were nobody and nothing. How quickly the world turns.

A knock at your door halted the comb in your tresses and you look up surprised by the sound. “Who is it?” You ask. Curious who would be at your door so late at night.

“It’s me.” Your eyes blink in surprise as you hear the familiar deep timber of Benimaru behind the frame. “May I come in?”

You stammer out a reply of ‘one moment’ as you adjust yourself to make your appearance more presentable and told him to come in. It was embarrassing to have him see you in your night clothes. But if he was coming here so late at night, it must be important. Your husband never came to your chambers this late at night.

The title of ‘husband’ was in name only. You and Benimaru were not romantically involved, nor had you chosen each other completely of your own free will. He had saved you, along with Rimuru-sama and the rest of the Kijin, when they defeated the great bandit army that had been sweeping the east. Once just thugs of human and monsters alike, they had grown into a real threat in the land taking anything they please. Money. Goods. Women. When they came to your small village, they had burned it down and had taken you with them when they left. You were their prisoner and slave for nearly two months before Rimuru-sama and his band had come along.

You still remember seeing them for the first time. Bright and regal. A peasant before being a slave, you had never seen such fine strange clothes before. Nor the impending presence of the man in front of you when he’d come upon you.

“I claim this woman as my own.” They were the first words he’d ever said to you. Then he picked you up over his shoulder and carried you away with his band while the smoldering embers of the great bandit army died out in the distance.

 At first, you thought it was all going to be the same. One capture was no different than the last; though you were a little concerned about an ogre being your master than a human. But how much worse could it be? The last human captor you had had been a true monster. Being owned by a real one could not be that different. Or at least that was what you thought at first.

The ogres and Rimuru-sama had been impossibly kind. They tended to your wounds from your long capture. Gave you a place to sleep. Clothes. Fed you, although there was some debate on which ogre-ess’s cooking would ‘best suit you’, and treated you as an equal. You were incredibly moved by their generosity. They were even willing to take you home. And when you told them “I have no home” they seemed genuinely hurt by that.

You of course explained to them what happened, and realized now that you really had no place to go. You thought you would die in the bandit camp. So the thought had never crossed your mind where you would go should your imprisonment be over. You were lost and alone in the world. No money. No home. No family. Even if you left, who was to say you wouldn’t be taken up by another group who found your helplessness easy pickings? Or worse, going to that life on your own because you had no other choices…..

“You’re staying here.” Benimaru had announced, much to the surprise of everyone. “You’re my woman now, remember? I defeated those fools and claimed you as my prize. This is your home now. You’re staying here.”

There was a loud commotion from the group as they all thought he had been joking but, apparently, he wasn’t. While the energetic group argued, you looked at Benimaru critically and realized what he was doing. He knew that if you didn’t belong to someone, you could easily be taken by another. If not the remanences of the great bandit army, but someone else; as you feared. Being his woman, letting him lay claim, offered you protection you couldn’t afford on your own. “Ok,” you’d told him. Your soft voice somehow ringing out over the crowd.

Rimuru-sama had of course forbade his general from ‘keeping’ a woman. He said if he wanted to do this, he would have to do the honorable thing and marry you. It had been surprising how quickly he agreed. Then asked if you would be alright with it and you’d said yes. You had been married the next day, and were then husband & wife, and that was the end of it.

Your married life was that of about the same as anyone else in the close group. You weren’t intimate. You didn’t share secrets or stories. You didn’t even sleep in the same quarters of the estate. Aside from a few group outings, communal meals, and when he popped in on Shuna when you were around, you honestly rarely saw your ‘husband’.

Which was why it was so surprising he was here now, at this late hour.

“What is it Benimaru-sama? Is something wrong?” You ask, looking up at him from where you’d been sitting on the floor before he sat down too. His expression was placid, so it was hard to tell if something was going on.

“The envoy from Blumund is leaving tomorrow.” His eyes fixed on the hardwood under your knees.

“Yes, I know. He told me. He’s a little hard to miss.” You reply with a soft chuckle.

The envoy in question was a nice man. Tall, lean. A little bit older than you, but still a jovial person. Rimuru-sama had set you with the important task of keeping him company and being his escort during his stay. His immediate council in the Kijin were nice, but they sometimes lack the social grace or understanding of human culture. He didn’t want to offend the man and trusted you could keep him company during his stay.

“He’s rather taken with you.” Benimaru then stated. Taking you a bit by surprise. “He wants to take you back to Blumund with him.”

Your bit of surprise turned into full blown shock. “W…What are you talking about??”

“He wants to take you back to Blumund with him.” He repeated. As if somehow that made you understand completely. “He said he thinks you’re very beautiful, and charming, and that it would be a better fit for you to live among humans, rather than here in Rimuru with none of them. He talked to Rimuru-sama about this.”

“And Rimuru-sama told you about this?”

“I was there.” Benimaru stated after he shook his head. “He asked for us to severe our bond so you could go with him. So you could marry him.”

Your eyes probably bug out of your head now. Were you being proposed to by proxy by your own husband?!?

“How could he ask such a thing?!”

“Like I said, he’s taken with you.”

“That’s not the point! How am I supposed to marry someone else when I’m already married?!”

“He knows our marriage isn’t consummated.” His eyes finally look up to catch yours.

You feel your whole body turn red. Now you have to look away to stare at the floor. It was true. Your marriage wasn’t consummated. It had been something done to offer you protection and stability. It had never been about love. So you have never laid with your husband as he wished to respect your virtue. “How crude.” You mutter. Embarrassed, more than anything, as you were sure people knew about your unclaimed marriage, but no one would dare bring it up until now.

“Do you want to go with him?”

You look up again and offer a soft noise of surprise at the question. “Do you want to go with him?” He repeated. “As you said, he’s a good man. He has fortune, and power. You’d be a respected woman among your people. You’d be among your people.” Maybe you imagined it, but you thought you saw Benimaru wince at that. “You don’t have to stay here anymore. You don’t have to stay with me. You’re established enough now to make your own choices. You can be free.”

Free? The word played over in your head for a moment. The sheer concept completely foreign to you at the moment.

You’d never been free. First you belonged to your family. Then the bandits. Then Benimaru. Though you had freedom on occasion, you had never been truly free. And now that you had it, you found the idea ironically suffocating. You could choose to leave. Leave Rimuru City and start a new life as a woman of prominence in Blumund. But what if you didn’t want to leave?

“D…Do you want me to leave?” The kijin looked up at you again with a confused expression at your soft words. “If you want me to leave I will. But…I don’t want to leave all of you. I love being here, and being with Shion, and Shura, Rimuru-sama and….you. My ‘people’ have never been kind to me, so I really don’t want to go back to them. I want to stay here. We don’t have to be married anymore, if that’s the problem. We can still break our bond, if that’s what you want. But I’d like to – “That’s not what I want!”

Your eyes flicker up. Startled by the red Kijin’s roar and the burning fire resting in his eyes. “I don’t want to break our bond! I don’t want you to go with him! Do you have any idea how hard it was not to tear that man’s head off at the table when he said that?! I wanted to gouge his eyes out for saying you were beautiful! I wanted to rip out his heart out for ever letting you rest in it! You’re my woman, and my wife, and he thinks he can just say those things to me and live! He should kiss Rimuru-sama’s feet before he leaves because he’s the only reason that wretch is still breathing!”

Silence passed between you for a moment as you were completely stunted into speechlessness by Benimaru’s words. You had never expected such a passionate response out of the man. Until now, you were sure his only feelings toward you were ambivalence and mild friendship. The way he just ‘my wife’ to you, however, let you know that he had thought of this more than just a marriage of convenience. Your body flushed hot again as your heart beat hammered in your chest. “Benimaru….sama?”

“Don’t go with him.” The kijin repeated. Calmer this time as his expression seemed to morph into sadness at the thought of you leaving. “I can’t stand the idea of you leaving with him. When we first met, and I took you as my woman & wife, I will admit that I did it out of pity for you. You lost everything, and had nothing. I know what that’s like and wished to spare you. I thought that, after a few months, you would have a good enough reputation as the former wife of the Ogre Prince, Commander of the Jura forces, that we could break our bond honorably and you could make your own path in the world without fear. But, as time went on, I became more and more attached to you. Your kindness in spite of everything you endured. Your determination. Your desire to work hard to make things better for everyone here. I grew to fall in love with you and I couldn’t let you go. I know it was selfish, and that I’m being selfish now, but please don’t go.”

Your heart was still hammering so hard in your chest that you were scared you might faint. You felt like you could swoon at any moment. “Why didn’t you ever tell me this before?”

He looked down and started to fidget. “I was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same.” His confession less confident this time. “You weren’t really given much of a choice in our marriage. I was afraid that you thought of me as just another man who had taken you. If you didn’t feel the same I could live with it, but knowing was – “That’s not true!”

It was Benimaru’s turn for his eyes to flicker up and be stunned by your confession. Apparently you had more in common than you thought. “I’ve never thought of you that way! If anything, I’ve only ever seen you as my rescuer. You saved me from a horrible existence as a slave. You gave this life that is so wonderful. With friends, and people I can’t live without anymore. I can’t begin to repay you.  Or tell you how I feel….”

All these feelings and emotions were rushing to the surface now the more you spoke. You had always been fond of Benimaru. Your strong, brave protector. You just assumed that he wanted nothing to do with you. The distance he put between you making it very clear. So you had pushed your feelings toward the back of your heart. Forgetting them until now, where they crashed to the front like a dam had burst.

“[Y/N]….” You look up into the red head’s eyes when he said your name. Whispered it, really, like it was some secret plea. His hand then reached out slowly to cup your cheek. Those battle calloused hands incredibly gentle against your skin. You really might swoon at the juxtaposition.

Those burning red orbs look at you in earnest before they flicker down to your lips. A silent request. One you eagerly receive.

The only time you had kissed your husband before this was at your wedding. To seal your bond. That, however, had been just a simple peck on the lips to meet the contract. This was a real kiss. Your lips pressing together in committed passion. Intense, but both of you still too shy it seemed to go past pressing your lips soundly together.

“[Y/N],” Benimaru said again as you press your foreheads together after your kiss. You don’t ever think you’ve heard your name sound so sweet. “Become my woman and my wife. Truly. You didn’t get a choice when we first met, but I ask you this now to make your own decision. Will you be mine?”

Your heart swelled unbearably tight in your chest before you nodded against his forehead. “Yes. Yes, I want to be your woman and your wife. Truly.”

You can feel the smile on his lips when he kissed you again. More deeply this time. His tongue snaked into your mouth against yours. The way he was kissing you making your legs feel weak to the point that you were happy you were sitting down. However, if they had buckled, your strong husband could easily pick you up in his arms. A shiver racing down your spine at the lewd thought that had just passed through you.

“Aah…I knew it. This is why I stayed away from you.” Benimaru said, finally letting you go. Your lips were kiss swollen now, and you were having a hard time understanding what he was talk about. “Every time I was near you, I wanted to claim you.” He explained. His expression looking deliriously happy as he examined his handiwork on your lips. “It was so hard to even be in the same room as you with your scent always hounding me every moment I was near. I had to stay away so I wouldn’t do anything horrible to you. But then that was its own torture as well. Near, apart. Both were an agony I couldn’t face somedays. Now that I have you though, I’ll never let you away from my side. You’ve summoned the beast in me. I hope you’re prepared.”

A loud squeak left your lips as the sneaky ogre flipped you. Instantly going from sitting on your ankles to flat on your back. Your world righted again and was filled with Benimaru as he leaned on top of you. His expression soft but heated, making you blush, before he kissed you again. His weight on top of you now making you moan wanton into the kiss this time.

Your world was filled with passionate kisses. They steal your breath away and make you squirm under your husband. You then feel his hands on your side. Touching you. Caressing your curves. You feel them fumbling around for your kimono tie, unwilling to let your lips go for even a moment to get to it properly, and place your hand on his chest.

“Benimaru, wait.”

The kijin stopped instantly and sat back off you. His eyes questing into your own to see what was wrong.

“I just….I thought I should…I mean we never…I’m not…” You stumble over the words to say to him. To explain that you weren’t the maiden he might have hoped for. The words cling in your throat as images of your former life flash across your mind. You feel unworthy. Dirty. Then his hand reached out to you brush your cheek again. Causing one of the tears that were welling up in your eyes to fall against it.

“That doesn’t matter to me.” He said with assurity and a softness that could only be described as love. “It doesn’t change how I feel about you. I love you as you are now. Not who you could be. My only regret is that I couldn’t kill those bastards 100 times more over for ever having hurt you.”

You scoff out a chuckle at the violent decree said so sweetly. You hand came up to clasp his own. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You could never disappointment.” He replied, almost instantly. Then kissed your hand as he brought it to his lips once he removed it from your cheek. “Do you wish to stop? We don’t have to do this now. I can be satisfied with you declaring you want to be my woman and my wife. Well….contented.”

You chuckle again, more light hearted this time, and leaned in to initiate your kiss this time. “I meant what I said. I want to be your woman and your wife truly. I don’t want to stop.”

A sigh of relief left Benimaru. The prince willing to stop if you wanted but clearly so glad you didn’t. You giggle and let him take you in his arms.

The momentary pause in your kissing afforded Benimaru the chance to undo your kimono tie. Loosening it and letting it fall, but not pushing the thin material of your actual robe off your body yet. You reach out for him as well to undo the clasp of his overcoat. The heavy material immediately falling of his shoulders, in contrast, once the hold was released. He seemed fascinated with your work as your hands untie his under coat as well.

“Your touch is like fire.”

“Is that a joke?” You ask when Benimaru growled those words at you. Your apex quivering at the sound, but still curious if he was making a joke.

He chuckled. Another shiver at your core. “No. But I guess I can see how it would be. I mean it though. Everywhere you touch me sets a fire in me.” His hand came up to take yours and slip it under his loose top now. Guiding it over the hard planes of his chest over to his heart. “I can’t get enough of it.”

You kiss again and continue stripping. There wasn’t much to let go of for you, as just before now you were preparing for bed, so you were quickly naked in front of him. He talked about your touch being fire, but his was burning you up inside. His hands were hot. They left a lingering heat in your body everywhere he touched, to the point that you wonder if he had activated his magic. You were helpless against his soft touches. Your body aching already before he even properly touched.

Then, when he did, your body became a livewire.

Your limbs immediately went taunt when his fingers touched your core. “Please try to relax.” He whispered to you in your hair. His own long, hard body nestled beside you. Holding you close.

You try to do as he said and relax. It wasn’t difficult after the initial shock as the pleasure made it easy to succumb to him. Those hands so skilled at fighting working your body with similar expertise. “Mmmm…Benimaru….”

“Ah…say that again.” His deep voice was in your ear again. This time sounding elated, before his tongue reached out to lick the shell of it. “Say my name again. Please.”

“Benimaru…” You repeat his name over and over again. His precious name he held so dear. The name Rimuru-sama had given to him. It fell from your lips like a prayer chant as his fingers brought you closer and closer to climax. When you did, it fell from your lips again in a shout. “Benimaru!”

He continued to touch you until your walls stopped clamping around his digits. Finally setting them free. Your spent body laid against him, and you open your eyes tiredly just in time to see him cleaning your juices from his fingers. “Ah…my love tastes so sweet. I could get addicted to your flavor.”

If you body wasn’t already flushed from orgasm, you would have blushed completely. Benimaru seemed pretty proud of himself, however, before he leaned in to kiss you. You don’t think you taste sweet at all. But the taste of yourself on his lips was something you could get addicted to too. When had you become so perverted?

He let you go for a moment and shuffled around to pull out of his pants. You watched him, in the soft light. His handsome body bare to you. Not a mark on him thanks to his skill and healing. Your eyes travel down and find the proof of his love for you staring back proudly at your face. You gulp at his size. That was going to be inside you.

“Don’t worry. I know it’s a bit bigger than a human’s, but I’ll try not to hurt you.”

“I-It’s alright.” You reply back at his concern. He had mistaken your gulp for a concern about his size. How shameful he would probably find you if he found out that it wasn’t from concern, but excitement, that had caused you to gulp. Again, when had you become so perverted? “I trust you. And I want to be with you.”

“[Y/N]….” He spoke your name softly again before he leaned in to kiss you. Guiding you back down on your back. You feel his weight press on top of you. Your legs spread wide around his pelvis to let him mount you. You can feel the tip of his erection pressing against your entrance and shiver a little at the lower kiss. “Please tell me if I’m hurting you.” Benimaru urged as he started to press into you.

You let out a wordless cry at the initial invasion into your most private place. You can feel your entrance stretch to accommodate him. The sensation a duality of pleasure and pain. And it was only the first few inches. Finally, agonizingly slowly, he was fully inside you. The kijin raining kisses down over your face and neck and everywhere else his lips could get to as you held on to him. His back tight under your fingers as he was very clearly straining to wait for you. “I’m alright, Benimaru. Please. Continue.”

You felt him nod against your shoulder before his hips pull back away from yours, then forward back into you. You both moan at the initial slow thrust. The feeling indescribable and compounding with each shallow thrust. “[Y/N]….”

“Mmmm…Benimaru….” You moan back when he said your name. “You can…go faster….” Not that you weren’t enjoying this slow entanglement, one could only describe as love making, you could tell that he was holding back and it was hard for him. “I..I want you. Please….Make me your woman.”

“I did warn you.” His voice sounded hard now, in comparison to the soft words he’d whispered to you earlier, and you think you hear the sound of nails scratching against the floor mat by your head.

His hips pull back again, this time practically pulling out of you, before they slam back in. You let out a loud cry. One readily identified as one not of pain. Then all you can do is hold on. Your arms wrap tight around Benimaru’s neck as he pounded into you. Before, where you had tried to roll your hips up to meet his thrusts when they had been soft & gentle, all you can do now is lay under him and take it. And become a babbling mess it seemed.

“Ah~! B-Benimaruuu! S-So good! Don’t stop!”

“I have no intention of stopping.” His words were stern. The cool seriousness of his intention to keep claiming you made your walls quake around him. “You’re my woman now. This body is mine. I’ll remind you of it every day if I have to. You’ve possessed me to the point of madness with this love. I can never let you go.” His tongue laved at the sweat collecting on the skin of your neck. Following it up to the back of your ear before his teeth bit into the soft flesh there. You let out a yelp, and call his name again, before you were cumming. Your nails biting him back into his shoulder.

“Ah! [Y/N]! Too tight. It’s too tight. I’m gonna-!” His hard thrusts come to a staggering halt as he spilled his seed inside you. Holding there before his hips roll softly against you as his cock continued to twitch its release.

He collapsed on top of you once it was finished. Your bliss worn body not seeming to care about the extra weight as you held him against your bosom and both tried to catch your breath. Rested, but not to say recovered, the ogre lifted himself up off your body and pulled out. You wince as he did. Those hard thrusts catching up to you, and suddenly feeling at a loss without him inside you. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You look over to Benimaru, who had apparently seen you flinch, and was looking concerned. “No. Just a little sore.” He looked a little ashamed at that and muttered an apology to you. “Don’t,” you tell him. Reaching on to touch his chest. “It’s not as if I was really complaining.”

You both blush, despite everything you’d just done, still apparently shy about intimacy, before he slid over to you. “Are you sure you’re alright? About everything?”

You nod. Both of you laying on your side to face each other. His fingers caressing your cheek before moving down to the love mark he’d nipped into your skin. “Yes. I meant what I said. I don’t regret it.” You weren’t foolish enough to think that you were going to be instantly happy as husband and wife now. You were basically starting fresh. Starting anew. Though you knew a lot about each other, you had to relearn things and uncover new things as only a spouse would know. It would take time. But you were happy enough for now to at least try to start this new chapter with Benimaru. “You’re not going to kill the envoy before he leaves tomorrow, are you?”

The man let out a boisterous laugh and wrapped his arms tight around you in a hug. “No. I would never disrespect Rimuru-sama like that. As long as he leaves, I’m satisfied. But if he touches you between now and then, I make no promise on the guarantee he will leave with all his limbs.”

“Benimaru….”

The envoy, it seemed, was clever enough to take the hint in not touching you. The murderous aura & killing intent of the red kijin seemingly always just behind you making that clear. You decline his invitation to join him in Blumund. Telling him that the only time you would come to the city to visit him was with your husband. He again took the hint and left without comment. Rimuru-sama gave Benimaru a stern talking to about scaring their allies and ambassadors to their country, but you could also see that he wasn’t very serious about it. He seemed pleased enough that things had worked out, that you were staying, and his beloved friends were happy.

Ever the wonderfully problematic life in Rimuru City.

[theliterateape]

Why Keep Giving Facebook My Business?

By David Himmel

It was the day after Christmas, 1996. I was a senior in high school on winter break. My friends and I piled into Brad Feely’s red Jeep Cherokee—me in the trunk because there weren’t enough seats for all of us and I was the smallest and cramming into a car too small for the passenger load is what high school kids do. We were headed to the mall to return ill-fitting gifts and fuck around because fucking around at the mall is—was—what high school kids do.

Brad had some things to return or exchange at Abercrombie & Fitch. He was at the checkout counter with the young woman making the exchanges. The rest of us wandered around the store. I started throwing on shirts, coats, hats, scarves, and such and acted out a runway fashion show. My friends giggled. I went bigger with my one-man flash mob fashion show. Other customers stared, some laughed, some ignored me. I went bigger. My friends laughed harder. Other customers laughed harder and tried to ignore me. I had achieved my goal. I’d fucked around in a store and made people laugh.

I took off the clothes, placed them back on the racks and shelves and walked up to Brad still at the counter. The employee had stepped into the back to retrieve something.

“Almost done?” I asked him.

He whispered to me, “You won’t believe what this girl just said about you.”

“What.”

“She called you a ‘dirty faggot.’”

“What!?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure.”

“One hundred percent. She said it under her breath, but, yeah. I heard her say it.”

I waited there for the young woman to return. A few moments later, she did. She finished up Brad’s exchanges, handed him his bag of stuff and said, “Have a nice day.”

“Excuse me,” I said to her, leaning in so as not to make a scene. Because this scene wasn’t going to be funny. But I was sure not to be too quiet about it since I did want the store to know what was going on. “Did you see my fashion show?”

“Um. Yeah?”

“Did you like it?”

She smirked uncomfortably. “Sure.”

“So why would you call me a ‘dirty faggot’?” Her face went white. Blank. Her eyes wide. Mouth agape. She’d been caught. “Yeah. My friend here heard you say it. So my question to you is this: What was dirty about what I was doing? And what about what I was doing made me a ‘faggot’? And if you thought I was being gay, what’s wrong with that? And why would you refer to a gay person as a ‘faggot’? Seems a little hateful.”

“I… I…” she stuttered, still pale faced and surprised.

“Doesn’t seem like the best customer service, does it? Insulting your customers—or their friends—with homophobic slurs.”

“I… I…”

“Yeah. Mind your mouth. Don’t be such a hateful, homophobic asshole. Especially in a store filled with photos of what have to be the gayest modeling shoots in retail history.”

People were watching and I took the cue to go louder. “That’s right, everyone. This woman, this Abercrombie & Fitch employee called me a ‘dirty faggot’. Just know the kind of person you’re buying your clothes from.”

I saw one guy drop whatever was in his arms and walk out. My friends and I followed suit.

✶

I never stepped foot in an Abercrombie & Fitch store after that. And I’m proud to say I never owned or wore a single item of theirs after my impromptu fashion show. Yeah, sure. She was a bad apple, but still. It had turned me off to the whole brand. Fuck ‘em.

Did my not buying their mostly ugly clothes—country club grunge?—hurt their bottom line? Did it send a message? No. Certainly not. Did it change the mind and behavior of that employee? I have no idea. Maybe. Maybe she’s a super-duper social justice warrior today. Maybe she doubled down and tried to Stop the Steal. Doesn’t matter. What matters is that I experienced an insult to the customer and a group of people, and chose not to give that company my money.

I don’t shop at Hobby Lobby because of their treatment of workers—denying them birth control through their benefits program. I don’t eat Chick-fil-A because they oppose marriage equality and used to fund activities to suppress it. I wring my hands every time I order something on Amazon because I’m worried the worker filling my order might piss or shit themselves trying to meet their quota with my order. Or worse, get hurt doing so. Because we all know that Amazon treats its warehouse workers like demented mules instead of actual human beings with physiological limitations and full bladders.

It’s principle. I try to spend where my money will do the least harm because I know, in most instances, my spending won’t help much other than to keep someone employed at a shit job and make the owner that much richer.

So why haven’t I quit Facebook yet? Same reason I haven’t quit Amazon: It’s too convenient.

Also like Amazon, but far worse, Facebook is a monster. It was from the start. I joined under duress in 2008 because it was part of my job. When that job laid me off in the wake of the Great Recession, I killed the account. But Facebook gained more and more traction, and it seemed that I was missing out. Plus, it was a great way to promote the shows I was writing and producing. And I reconnected with old friends from lives past. Fun!

It became a reflexive way to procrastinate. Instead of standing up and stretching or reading a news story or going for a walk, I’d scroll mindlessly. Still, it was fun. It became a habit I wasn’t even aware of.

And it’s still fun, sometimes. I enjoy being easily—reflexively lazy—connected to those old pals I don’t see every day and probably wouldn’t communicate with if not for the ease of Facebook. But Facebook is bad. And when I say Facebook, I’m including Instagram, which I rarely use. (I have no issue with WhatsApp but I also only use that maybe once every two years.) They both suck. So it’s bad for our brains, bad for our body images, bad for democracy, bad for discourse, and so on. None of this is news. And this week’s whistleblowing of how actively evil Facebook leadership is reinforces the fact of how bad it apparently wants to be. And that’s insulting to all of its users and even non-users.

Because Facebook could still make millions of dollars a week and take active measures to be a better corporate citizen, a better steward of human decency. Like, has Facebook even added a pink ribbon to its logo for Breast Cancer Awareness Month? I don’t think so. Evil.*

I don’t need Facebook. The community groups are nice. And I really do like seeing those old friends I wouldn’t otherwise communicate with. And I take joy in the possibility that ex-girlfriends might occasionally poke through my profile and see how awesome my hair is. But I don’t need it. If I want to promote something, I can place an ad anywhere else. My god, what did we do before Facebook? And there are so many other digital ways to share our bullshit.

If I leave, will Facebook feel it? Nope. Just like Abercrombie. My aversion is less than a pebble drop in the ocean. But I’ll feel better. Right? I’ll miss my friends I wouldn’t otherwise talk to, but if they mattered that much to me, I could make the effort to text or call. But I won’t. Because the apparent truth is that having them as friends on Facebook is more about the voyeurism. So wait, are we even friends then? Jesus. Facebook has even warped our sense of friendship. 

I don’t know if I’ll leave it. But it’s been on my mind for a while now. Maybe I won’t go cold turkey, maybe I’ll start by deleting the app from my phone. Or maybe it’s best to pack up all my shit and walk right out. That’s the advice I’d give to someone else in an abusive relationship.

 *Just so we’re clear, this whole going pink in October thing that companies, local police departments, sports organizations love to do is dumb. It’s the bare minimum at best and limp virtue signaling at worst. If you really care about breast cancer, do a better job of caring about women. So, you know, pay better wages, offer childcare, don’t shoot them in their homes. Take your pink ribbon and shove it. Do better.

[spidermilkshake]

Welcome to My Elective Vampire TED Talk #2

TW: Mention and discussion of blood, hematophagy, etc., food and overeating mention.

This one's much less a characterization problem I have, and a lot more a problem with sheer physics goofs in vampire-y media. Science and numbers abound. Behold:

Vampire Physics: “Chuggin’ Four Liters of Buttermilk”

Lovely title. It should certainly evoke some idea of exactly what aspect of the typical vampire mythos I’m about to have a big issue with. Heavy whipping cream, buttermilk, light corn syrup… anything along the lines of red blood in terms of viscosity—whatever you prefer.

It’s the reason vampires are vampires; it’s the primary identifying trait across all the various little representations throughout folklore and fiction. It’s the primary “fear factor” behind the potential presence of a vampire in these fictional settings: They trail after you, perfectly stealthy in the night, perhaps they look and act just like you, could be hidden until darkness or even blending in among you right now—innocuous, human-sized beings but especially equipped to outrun, overpower, or avoid your notice. They very well are among your communities—since you have something they need. The Blood!

Cue the royalty-free thunder sound effects.

But that’s just the issue here with making the vampire fears so very grounded and founded. This isn’t a pack of wolves being sure to stay close to the elk herd to survive the winter on whole bones and carcass. They want something of the humans that the humans can live without, at least to some degree. “But Spider,” I hear a particularly ardent hypothetical vamp-fan interject, “blood loss does kill people! These vampires must be lethal because they need all the blood—it’s not like they waste it!”

Ah, well, the point is well-made: If you have decided the vampires of your setting require this and operate this way, who am I to stop you? The only questionable idea is that a vampire leaving a person alive and unharmed is a “waste” apparently. But do consider your worldbuilding choices should be done with intention—do not introduce a rule that you are not prepared to account for in logistics and adherence to verisimilitude, and especially physics. When establishing a “drains-dry rule”, establish also a physicality of such vampires that suits it because the typical capabilities of a vampire in most modern fiction would need to change for such a lifestyle.

Let’s start with size:

Presuming a vampire is within the size range possible to humans (what better way to blend in, eh?) and is uniquely adapted to subsist on an at least partial blood diet, deriving some or all needed energy and nutrients from the substances of blood, of an amount they can comfortably fit inside them on a nightly basis. Assuming you want your vampires to be even roughly passable as human pre-feeding as well as post-feeding (and not have them expand to several times their normal girth like a tick and spark a new wave of, er, inflation enthusiasts), then the blood-drinker’s maximum stomach volume should be at roughly one liter. And that’s maximum—as in “OH GOD WHY DID I EAT THAT MUCH? I FEEL LIKE I’MA DIE” levels of over-doing it, not a normal “full” volume where most would stop. That more moderate volume would be roughly half down to roughly a third of that one liter. Basically, if in any sense your setting’s vampires are actually physically putting the blood inside them, and they don’t bloat like a damn balloon, they don’t require any more than a quart of blood at one time.

This does mean, by sheer physiological limitation, your non-expandable human-sized corporeal-blood-needing vampires should never be lethal for their prey just by virtue of draining that blood. Here’s why: The average human body contains anywhere between 4 liters and 6 liters of blood, depending on size again. Even a particularly careless and gluttonous vampire (who also happens to be dumb and/or skeevy enough to not just go “ah. I get more blood by noshing on more people, not just the one”) biting a particularly petite victim will leave them still alive but very much depleted and unconscious. Only intentional carelessness or an accident (such as the “whoops! That one was super-anemic already!”) or both would turn out worse. And “draining dry” should be physically impossible for such a vampire—even an especially ridiculous and greedy one.

Most of the less-hungry vamps shouldn’t even affect the “prey’s” health any more than a typical (notably not-deadly) blood donation, as the ideal “one-third to one-half of max capacity” for a vampire’s DV of blood calculates out to… between 350 mL and 500 mL of blood from one human. Surprise! A donated unit of blood is measured at exactly 450 mL—the perfect amount for a vampire and the human can somehow survive the attack of the dread creature-of-the-night, so long as…

…you find a place to sit down for a few minutes and some orange juice is nearby. Wow, how harrowing. Truly a miracle that you made it.

“But,” I hear a naysayer nay-saying, “the vampires I’m making are after blood for life-energy! So they can take more because they need the life!”

If blood is being physically consumed whether it’s the blood itself or not, the volume constraints still hold. Also, if blood does “contain life energy” in your setting, who says your vamps need all the life energy from a person? Why isn’t 450 mL of life-energy enough? And why can’t the vampires just drain that much “life-energy blood” from multiple people, until it totals up to a “full life’s worth”? They do realize that if they end the life in a body, it stops making life/blood, right? Those vamps just sound like wasteful clowns to me. Or desperately looking for an excuse to kill someone. See Vampire TED Talk #1.

“But they siphon blood straight into their own veins—so they can drain more!”

… Pay better attention in biology, kids. That is not how eating things eat. Unless you are implying your setting’s vampires are literally undead sponges with no working innards at all, just rubbery, desiccated blood-tubes that need a fillin’ for the demon pneumatics to be puppetted around properly, that is not how eating works. Feel free to use these in horror settings or especially as villainous monsters or demons—but I better hope you ain’t planning on making them otherwise act or think like live, conscious, sapient people! If they’re meant to be good characters especially—y’all are transparent as an empty blood-draw bag with excuses to make vampires universally killers.

If you think this makes vampires “boring”, well… Maybe you’re not in it for vampires. Maybe explore what’s in that dark corner of yourself? Question your “default thoughts”. Let's see more fantasy writ with intention--and conscious of its tropes' tendency to be very, er, questionable when thought about for more than a passing second. I know I'm not the first to notice the blood-logistics problem: Special thanks to Martha Bechtel's ol' blog, which I ended up discovering while researching just how off most vampire media is.

See here for their "Worldbuilding: Vampires and Portion Control" post: https://martha.net/2008/08/vampires-and-portion-control/

[taliesinlestrange]

                     or   glimpses  of  before  and  after  christmas  of  1947 .

AFTER :   taliesin  lestrange  is  home,  if  not  for  good,  then  for  a  while,  and  he  plans  to  take  action,  to  make  his  family  proud.

BEFORE :   there  is  a  boy  who  sits,  for  the  most  part  alone,  hurting,  in  a  room  somewhere  in  the  swiss  alps.  sometimes  he’s  allowed  to  come  home  for  parties.

BIG ,  WANNA  BE .        i  wanna  be  big,  bigger  than  life,  i’m  gonna  be  huge  or  i  just  won’t  feel  right.      there’s  snow  on  the  ground  outside,  but  it’s  the  first  time  in  a  decade  when  christmas  doesn’t  feel  like  a  taunting  reprieve.  you  used  to  know  that  the  weights  they  lifted  off  your  shoulders  for  the  holidays  were  still  hanging  above  you,  ready  to  be  replaced  come  the  new  year.  this  time  is  different  though,  you’ve  found  the  plans  to  secure  them,  to  better  distribute  the  weight.  this  time  it  will  work,  this  time  the  pain  won’t  be  yours,  this  time  your  father  will  smile  when  he  sees  your  work  and  accept  you  as  his  son.  you  just  have  to  act  boldly.      you  can’t  ask  me  to  stop,  i  push  it  on  my  own,  i’ve  been  through  way  too  much  shit  to  ever  let  this  go.

SICK  JOKE .      sometimes  i  wonder  if  life  is  some  sick  joke,  will  i  wake  up  and  it’s  over  ?      every  day  hurt  when  you  were  there.  the  easier  days  were  exhausting,  the  worse  days  painful  or  frightening.  sometimes  you  wished  for  it  all  to  go  away,  sometimes  you  wished  for  home,  sometimes  you  wished  you  could  just  sleep  a  little  bit  longer.  mostly,  you  wished  someone  would  tell  you  that  things  were  going  to  be  okay.      would  you  tell  me  that  i’m  okay  ?  that  i’m  still  here  and  i’m  not  dead.

DISLOYAL  ORDER  OF  WATER  BUFFALOES .      i’m  coming  apart  at  the  seams,  pitching  myself  for  leads  in  other  people’s  dreams.       new  starts  aren’t  clean,  cut  and  dry  things,  like  they  were  in  the  stories  you  loved  as  a  child.  you  gave  up  on  the  idea  that  magic  would  spring  from  your  unsteady  hands  if  you  just  found  the  right  circumstance  years  ago   (   the  phrase   the  right  circumstance   was  a  weapon  in  their  hands,  wasn’t  it  ?   ),  but  you  kept  it  to  yourself  after  the  one  time  you  didn’t.  that  was  a  mistake.  the  thought  seems  clearer,  more  focused,  now  that  you  have  a  bit  more  time  before  you  have  to  get  on  that  train  again.  when  they  tell  your  family’s  story  though,  this  will  be  the  moment  they  say  you  made  the  choice  to  forge  your  own  way,  even  if  its  been  beneath  the  surface  for  far  longer.      and  i’d  promise  you  anything  for  another  shot  at  life,  imperfect  boys  with  their  perfect  ploys,  nobody  wants  to  hear  you  sing  about  tragedy.

PLEA  FROM  A  CAT  NAMED  VIRTUE .      and  listen,  about  those  bitter  songs  you  sing  ?  they’re  not  helping  anything.      when  some  of  your  wishes  finally  came  true,  you  arrived  home  with  exhausted  limbs  and  psyche.  still,  you  straightened  your  spine  and  attended  the  parties  your  parents  directed  you  to.  yet,  when  you  didn’t  have  to  paint  on  a  smile,  you  buried  yourself  in  comfort  and  sound.  large  sweaters  at  the  piano  at  first,  then  under  blankets  with  the  phonograph  on  once  the  bench  no  longer  offered  the  feeling  of  consolement,  but  rather  only  reminded  you  of  where  you  had  gone  wrong.      we’ll  pass  around  the  easy  lie  of  absolutely  no  regrets.

MORE  ABOUT  ALCOHOLISM .      but  i  don’t  want  to  burn  out,  so  won’t  you  please  set  me  on  fire  again?  i  woke  up  afraid  of  losing  everything,  thank  god  that  i  already  have.      besides  your  image,  you  have  nothing  to  lose.  outcast  already,  or  perhaps  more  accurately,   held  at  a  distance  just  comfortable  enough  for  your  parents   ;  careful,  this  toy  is  marked  for  display  only,  the  image  of  you  is  his  creation.  combine  that  with  the  acceptance  you’ve  reached,  and  it  creates  something  dangerous.  there’s  a  dark  fire  inside  of  you,  and  all  it  wants  is  acceptance,  but  here  you  are,  pushing  people  away  and  looking  for  what  you  need  in  all  the  wrong  places.     but  since  the  day  i  was  born,  it’s  been  too  late  for  me  to  be  anything  but  what  i  am  tonight.

LIAR  [  IT  TAKES  ONE  TO  KNOW  ONE  ] .      we’ve  got  twenty  six  days  to  work  with,  we’ll  see  what  all  gets  done.     the  short  sprints  they  brought  you  home  for  only  offered  so  much  rest,  certainly  not  enough  to  make  up  for  a  whole   semester  at  beauxbatons.   still,  you  did  your  best,  not  wanting  to  disappoint.  lies  became  the  seventh  language  in  your  repertoire,  the  first  six  having  failed  to  impress  your  father  the  way  you  hoped  they  would.      it’s  still  a  question  of  “  how  long  will  this  hold  ?  ”

THE  WOLF .      you’ll  keep  telling  me  i’m  bad  for  me  and  worse  for  the  world,  you  keep  telling  me  i’m  bad.      now  that  you’re  home,  home  for  longer  than  you’ve  been  in  quite  some  time,  your  father  takes  it  upon  himself  to  remind  you  more  frequently  how  you  could  ruin  everything.  you  exist  in  a  paradoxical  state  of  being  the  cherished  son  and  the  worst  thing  that  ever  happened  to  him.  it  drives  you  to  keep  pushing,  find  your  own  ways  to  claw  to  success.  this  was  never  about  becoming  a  monster,  something  cruel,  but  here  you  are.      my  teeth  are  sharpest  when  i  tear  out  the  truth,  am  i  the  boy  who  cried  or  am  i  the  wolf  ?

PANIC  ATTACK .      i  wanna  be  normal,  i  wanna  be  sane,  i  wanna  look  at  you  and  feel  something  other  than  pain.     this  isn’t  working,  this  isn’t  working.   you  want  to  scream,  but  the  last  time  you  had  even  raised  your  concerns  you  could  barely  speak  above  a  whisper.  the  last  time  it  didn’t  end  well.  one  day  you’ll  grow  out  of  this,  you  make  that  the  second  promise  you’ll  one  day  live  up  to.  for  now,  you’ll  just  try  to  remember  how  to  breathe.      i  wanna  sleep  till  i  can’t  feel  anything,  i  want  a  fix,  i  want  a  friend,  i  wanna  cut  these  nerves  from  under  my  skin.

BAD  GUY .       i  guess  if  i  gotta  play  the  villain,  i’ma  sign  a  deal  and  make  a  killing.      what  would  you  do  to  make  this  happen   ?   what  would  you  do  to  make  this  work  out   ?   anything,  anything.  you  would  do  whatever  you  had  to.  you  don’t  think  about  what  the  group  you  joined  is  really  doing,  not  because  if  you  did  you  would  come  to  some  deeper  revelation   (   they  are  just  expanding  on  the  beliefs  you’ve  been  taught  since  you  were  young,  the  same  ideas  you  used  to  make  yourself  feel  better  about  what  you  were  when  things  seemed  the  darkest   ),   but  because  you  don’t  care.  if  this  is  the  way  the  world  is  going,  you  need  to  be  there.  the  ends  will  justify  the  means.      gotta  make  ends  and  make  amends,  pay  cash  when  i’m  paying  for  my  sins. .

POINT  /  COUNTERPOINT .      i’ve  got  a  gun  in  my  hand  but  the  gun  won’t  cock,  my  finger’s  on  the  trigger  but  that  trigger  seems  locked.     the  magic  is  supposed  to  be  inside  of  you,  and  they’ve  tried  nearly  everything  to  draw  it  out.  it  isn’t  working.  the  days  begin  to  blend  together  and  you  make  very  little  progress.  their  methods  get  more  extreme,  which  makes  the  days  feel  longer  and  harder  to  tell  apart.      and  the  days,  and  the  days  they  seem  like  forever,  but  forever  isn’t  ever  enough.

WTF  IS  SLEEP .      finding  comfort  in  feeling  like  hell  and  it’s  only  the  things  you  do  and  say  that  you  regret.      that  feeling  doesn’t  go  away.  the  one  you  promised  yourself  was  because  of  where  you  were,  the  one  you  told  yourself  you  would  out  grow.  it  follows  you,  and  you  start  to  wonder  if  it’s  something  more  inherent ;  another  piece  of  difference  or  maybe  some  curse  that’s  slipped  in  and  replaced  the  gifts  you  were  supposed  to  posses.      set  no  alarm  cause  i  am  totally  guaranteed  to  wake  to  my  chest  beating  for  miles  ahead  of  me.

PERFECT .      and  now  i  try  hard  to  make  it,  i  just  want  to  make  your  proud.     you  tried  so  hard,  didn’t  you  ?  you  tried  so  hard,  i  know.  you  wonder  if  they’ve  given  up  hope  too,  if  that’s  why  they  agreed  to  this  extended  break.  you  back  your  bags,  not  for  the  last  time,  but  at  least  for  the  last  time  in  a  while.  this  place,  for  all  its  pain,  reminded  you  that  they  cared.  as  the  days  till  your  return  slip  away,  you  become  less  and  less  sure  about  what’s  happening,  about  going  home  for  longer  than  a  summer  break.  this  is  all  you’ve  ever  known,  but  you  also  know  there’s  nothing  else  they  can  do  for  you.      you  can’t  pretend  that  i’m  alright,  and  you  can’t  change  me.

I  JUST  WANT  TO  SELL  OUT  MY  FUNERAL .      i  just  want to  be  enough  for  everyone,  i  just  want  to  sell  out  my  funeral,  know  that  i  fought  until  the  lights  were  gone.      while  things  are  different  now,  your  motivations  are  much  the  same.  the  frightened  eleven  year  old  boy  who  stepped  off  the  train  station  with  hope  that  he  could  unlock  was  inside  of  him  is  only  inches  different  from  the  adult  who  collects  information  like  it  is  currency  and  with  little  care  for  who  he  harms  when  he  makes  purchases.  there  was  a  promise  made  of  who  you  would  be  when  you  were  born,  and  by  the  time  you  die  you  want  to  fulfill  it.  you  still  think  it’s  your  fault  that  you  haven’t  yet,  and  no  one  has  told  you  anything  different.     i'll  stay  thankful  for  mild  winters,  for  every  shot  i  got  at  anything,  i’ll  blame  the  flaws  that  i  was  born  with  or  the  mistakes  that  i’ve  made.

FORTUNATE  SON .      some  folks  are  born  silver  spoon  in  hand,  lord,  don’t  they  help  themselves.     sometimes  you  wonder  what  it  would  be  like  to  be  like  morys.  you  know,  sitting  on  the  train  back  to  wales,  that’s  who  your  parents  wish  you  were.  or  someone  like  him.  they  threw  exorbitant  amounts  of  money  at  your   particular  issue   but  they  couldn’t  make  you  anything  like  him.  that’s  not  who  you  are  ...   you’ll  have  to  find  your  own  way.  that  doesn’t  mean  you  don’t  feel  a  little  guilty.      it  ain’t  me,  it  ain’t  me,  i  ain’t  no  fortunate  one.

[wrathofthewind]

ii. Mercy

The first he’d ever laid eyes on Marius, it was during a mission near the Jungles of Tar. Everyone knew not to enter beyond the bounds of the black palms and acid rain. The poisons alone made it impossible to traverse. But occasionally, a poor soul would wander in the dead of night, usually an ignorant one or worse, a desperate one. There had been many stories of sordid bandits and criminals attempting to flee for their life or evade capture by risking entry into the Jungle. If they managed to emerge, they would usually beg to be captured or end their life.

Some of the curses were putrified skin from the sap of plans that dripped on them, or becoming instantly blinded as they attempted to wash their face by a creek. If they dared eat, in the madness of starvation, their lips would be burned or teeth melted, never mind swallowing. Sometimes they found edible meats or fruits… and there were even prized medicines to be obtained, with the right equipment.

Anything that survived the Jungles of Tar was built from a material far beyond what was normal, it could endure and flourish? It was clearly the strongest of its kind. Arnalt never expected to find one such creature to be a child. This also happened often, parents without the means to raise a child would abandon them in one of the hollowed trees or on a pile of random leaves. The child would be like an offering to the gods at that point, or straight up fertilizer. But on a rare occasion, some children survived and were eventually found.

Perhaps a happy occasion for some, but to survive in the jungle, it was more likely the child was cursed by the Kur. The very source of the jungle’s terrifying symptoms… an ominous land that was buried underneath the jungle. The roots had clung to that land’s evil and to this day the Azurians would occasionally come to deliver cleansing spells and help the jungle heal. One patch per generation, perhaps.

Marius had been near the very edge of the forest. Arnalt and his guardians hadn’t even fully entered, on a mission to locate the rare Vegnas Spyralia. An extremely important herb for Arnalt’s crowning ceremony. He’d been 17 at the time, dressed head to toe in protective gear. Enchanted cloths tied all the way up to his mouth, with thick black robes concealing a lithe body underneath. His hair tied up and wrapped in the magical cloths as well, and his eyes shielded by a thin blue veil.

The boy, if it hadn’t been exposed to others before, would’ve thought him and his whole party a pack of monsters. Maybe assassins from the Fallaix—shadow dwellers. But the boy just started crying and plopped on the ground, squeezing a fruit until its juices stained his arm. He looked dust-covered and windswept. His clothes weren’t ragged, but his knees were scrapped and his knuckles were bruised. He might’ve accidentally wandered on his own and gotten lost, ended up in the borderlands. Hungry and scared, maybe climbed a few trees to locate someone.

The child now looked pitiful.

“Sire… should we…?” One of his guardians pointed at an arrow and his bow.

Arnalt lifted a hand. “It’s alright Pallax, he looks healthy enough, he might even survive.”

“But he’ll be cursed even if he does… who knows what poisons are now in his system.”

“I will not have a child killed by my men, under my watch. We save him. Quite frankly fuck the curse.”

“But… but it’s a Kur now!”

Tyssen also attempted to stop him but Arnalt wouldn’t have it and side-stepped him, immediately finding his way to the boy’s side and lifting his veil, revealing pale icy grey eyes and light lashes. “Child, do you know where you are?”

The boy looked up and his eyes were uncharacteristically bright and honeyed. Arnalt pat the dust from his head away and revealed a disheveled mass of mahogany curls. A good wash and that hair would gleam. He was clearly in great health, just dirty, scrapped up and scared. He sniffed softly and stared at Arnalt with a pout.

“Where are your parents?

The child shook his head.

“They’re deeper in the jungle?”

Another shake. His eyes watered and he gripped Arnalt’s sleeve.

Pallax gave an audible gasp behind them. The energy was restless even among these hardened men.

“Are they alive?”

It was a blunt but necessary question.

The boy shook his head and Arnalt sighed. A thousand different stories popped in his head, this childs robes had accessories, he was possibly from a wealthy merchant family, overtaken on the road by bandits or some such, or perhaps one of the monsters that occasionally emerge from the Craigh. He was obviously all alone now and worse, had ended up a Kur.

“Alright, come with me.” He unceremoniously picked him up and arranged him piggyback style. The child was 5 or 6, not exactly small but not too big and either way he’d slow them down if he walked.

“Highness! We beg you to reconsider!” Pallax was practically foaming at the mouth now.

“It’s not recommendable to take this child. You should leave him where you found him. It’ll be better for the world, and for… him.” Tyssen urged.

“Says who? Some crap folktale? When was the last time anyone was affected by the curse of the Kur, at most from the few accounts I know the children don’t even live past a few days, if he’s going to perish then the least we can do is offer him a warm bed and some food for his remaining days.”

“Sire! What’s in his hand!” All the guardians went for the hilt of their swords or drew their bow and arrow. The young boy had simply opened his palm near Arnalt’s face.

Arnalt glanced. It was a curled, purplish-red vine with tiny bell-like flowers sprouting around it. Arnalt snorted. “Well, well. How can this child be so lucky if it’s as cursed as you say? Look, Vegnas Spyralia.”

The guardians were indeed shocked by this, but still weary.

“This child might’ve just been my trial. Let this be a lesson for all of us, that compassion is still a noble trait of Azurian, and when I’m made formal prince, this shall be one of my virtues. Have it engraved on my sword’s hilt.” Now Arnalt was in great spirits. This indeed felt like a lucky day! They’d barely braved the dangerous jungle and instead rescued a child with the boon in hand. The child’s hand went limp, but the Vegnas Spyralia was still tightly gripped in his fingers. A grip like that meant this child had learned to hold on to something and desperately strive to never let it go.

A mother’s robe perhaps? He heard the soft snoring behind him and thought it amusing.

A Kurian. When he regained consciousness Arnalt made a note to ask what village he was originally from. Maybe after a bowl of hot soup the child would even tell them how he ended up in such a predicament.

Now, as he entered Marius’s humble quarters near the kitchens, he was still a little mystified that the fragile young child had grown much more past the date of his imminent “death”. If anything, he was like the very medicine they extracted from the jungle, the sturdiest of its kind. Even now, at still such a young age, his potential was palpable. His spiritual force even slightly frightening.

Arnalt observed him silently as Marius ran a few solo drills, unaware his Master had entered.

He unconsciously gripped the hilt of his sword, still engraved with the word “Merced”—Mercy—and cleared his throat.

Marius immediately stopped mid-kick in the air and fell gracelessly on the floor. He clambered up to a formal salute position, but it looked rather amusing with his clothes half off.

“My… My… My Lord if I had known you would grace me with—“ he stammered some more unsure of how to finish and quickly kneeled down again. As if awaiting command.

Arnalt felt his lips quirk slightly. He really could be too amusing. “At ease Marius. I just came to check your vitals.”

“You— you don’t have to…” the boy stood up again but looked down shyly. “A medic can surely—“

“They will send you no medics Marius and you know why.”

“It was an accident.” His voice had gotten smaller and smaller.

“Let me see.” Arnalt extended his hand, expecting Marius to hold out his wrist and allow him to examine.

For the most part his spiritual current seemed fine, but there was a light tremor somewhere near his thumb. Arnalt brought out a small knife from his belt and pricked the pad of that thumb. Immediately, a small stream of tar-like black blood spilled, viscously sliding out until it was replaced by the sight of normal fresh blood again.

“T-thank you, I’m sorry.”

“I thought we went through this, you are to never use Aerial magic, or any magic unless you’ve verified your blood is fully cleansed and your spiritual current is purified.”

“It was fine this morning.”

Arnalt sighed. It had been accumulating like this more frequently. He wondered if this was the real curse of being a Kurian, that they would eventually need to be exsanguinate to keep up with the rate of blood pollution. A very poor way to go indeed.

“We’ll need to drain you more often then. Here.” He passed Marius a strip of jerky. “You’ll need meat to keep up with all this bloodletting. You really should reconsider this martial knight business.”

“This is nothing!” Marius declared.

When he looked so determined Arnalt felt like once again patting his head, ruffling that thick head of hair. Arnalt’s face usually looked stoic and cold, a picture as calm as water without a single ripple. Befitting of the Azurian name. But even though his face remained unchanged, he must’ve let something slip in his expression because the young boy in front of him suddenly stared at him with eyes that practically glittered.

Arnalt frowned. “How dare you!”

Again Marius kneeled. “Forgive me my Lord, I momentarily forgot my place.”

Arnalt felt heavy all of a sudden. “They’re going to bring this case to the council. I don’t know if I can help you.”

“My Lord has already done too much for me. I will gladly accept whatever punishment befits me.”

What would it be this time Arnalt wondered… the water dungeon was grueling but at least it was nearby. Lashes were barbaric, but Marius was so sturdy he healed immediately. Either way Arnalt hated those old methods. He was known to never use them himself. The word on the hilt of his sword wasn’t just for display.

“I’ll try to speak for you, it really seems to just be this blood issue, but I make no guarantees.”

“My Lord is merciful.”

Arnalt thought the words sounded rather odd and… fond. He cleared his throat once more.

“Stand. Go eat. I’ll have them send over rice.”

“I should starve in penance.”

“Knowing the council. You just might.”

Just then a young girl entered, wearing a grey simple tunic. She bowed lightly. “My Lord Arnalt, your presence is requested in the council room.”

“Thank you Pagytha. Be sure to have rice sent here while I’m gone.”

“I... I can’t do that My Lord.”

Arnalt froze mid-step. He turned towards her, his eyes bloodless and cold. But this gaze wasn’t really directed towards her, but to the dark thought that overcame him.

“That was a direct order from your Prince. What is the meaning of this?”

“The King has ordered his... the creature’s exile. By royal decree it cannot be undone. Forgive me my Lord, I am only authorized to speak until this point.”

Arnalt’s shock was the first ripple on his face, quickly replaced by anger. ‘Can you at least tell me to where the hell exactly he’s been exiled?’ He instantly felt bad for his tone, gripping the hilt of his sword once more to calm down and when he was sufficiently less altered, he at last spoke up.

“How long?”

“A year, sire.”

“Where?”

“The Winterlands.” 

It was just as he’d feared. 

[cela-astral-projection]

Aric/Aedan Vernersson Character Survey

Basic Character Questions

First name? Aric. Psuedoname is Aedan 

Surname? Vernersson 

Middle names? Axel 

Nicknames? Brother 

Date of birth? September 23rd 

Age? Early to mid-twenties (died around his 25th birthday), but he's quite responsible for a young man. 

 Physical / Appearance

Height? 6'3

Weight? 240

Build? Buff but still soft. 

Hair color? Pale yellow/white. 

Hairstyle? Long, thick and wavy hair that is usually pulled back 

Eye color? Silver 

Glasses or contact lenses?: He wears glasses when he has to do a lot of writing or reading for eyestrain, but other than that, he has excellent vision. 

Distinguishing facial features? He's not big on shaving, so he generally has some form of facial hair. 

Which facial feature is most prominent? His jawline. 

Which bodily feature is most prominent? His arms or his monster hands. 

Other distinguishing features? Bright silver eyes. 

Skin? Tawny brown, like his mother's. 

Hands? Ginormous meat hooks. 

Makeup? Not his thing. Lucio made him put on his eyeliner once. It melted in the sun, and he swore it off because it burned his eyes. 

Scars? His hands are a little rough, and he's got a few cuts up his arms, but nothing too pronounced. 

Birthmarks? Some darker brown pigmentation on the back of his arms. Pretty faint. 

Tattoos? He has some sun paintings (one on each pec) reminiscent of the rock art from his village on his chest in a dark sienna color.

Physical handicaps? Bone spurs on his heels, but that's just an annoyance. 

Type of clothes?: It depends on what he's doing. In the palace, he wears grey and charcoal with red and gold accents. When he's just going about his day, he wears lightweight linens in a rainbow of colors. 

What are their feet like? (type of shoes, state of shoes, socks, feet, pristine, dirty, worn, etc.) Like I said, the boy has bone spurs on his heels, so they were already giant monster feet, but that just adds to their length. He takes good care of his feet. He likes high-quality boots and shoes. (Unlike his sister who would go barefoot everywhere.)

Race / Ethnicity?: His father is from Lucio and Morga's tribe, and his mother is one of the southern tribes on the frozen sea. (A/N: for all intents and purposes, I write them as Swedes/Post-Spanish Mission  Chumash Indians because...that's what Kristen (Celeste) and Erik (Aric) are.) 

Are they in good health? Aric was always in generally good health. Until he wasn't... 

Do they have any disabilities? None to speak of. 

(image of Chumash Rock art for tattoo reference) 

Personality

What words or phrases do they overuse? "Yeah, Bud!" 

Are they more optimistic or pessimistic? Optimistic 

Are they introverted or extroverted? Extroverted

Do they ever put on airs? Nope. You won't find a more chill, friendly guy. 

What bad habits do they have? Nail-biting and hair pulling (trichotillomania, but he has to be very, very anxious) 

What makes them laugh out loud?: So many things. And at inappropriate times. 

How do they display affection? Gifts, acts of service. 

How do they want to be seen by others? Reliable, approachable, trustworthy.

Strongest character trait? Seeing the best in others. 

Weakest character trait? Blind loyalty. 

How competitive are they? Very. 

How do they react to praise? He loves hearing praise and being told he's doing a good job. It gives him warm fuzzies. 

How do they react to criticism? He is very open to criticism as long as it's constructive. 

What is their greatest fear? Not being able to save his loved ones. 

What are their biggest secrets? He's an open book. Except for that whole...fake name-Lucio is my cousin thing. (Which he is not terribly good at hiding) 

What is their philosophy of life? How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.

What haunts them? His mother's face when he left home. 

What will they stand up for? Anyone, anytime. 

Are they indoorsy or outdoorsy? Outdoorsy. 

What is their sinful little habit? He wouldn't consider it immoral, but he does indulge in some of the magician's...herbal remedies. 

What sense do they most rely on? Sight. 

How do they treat people better than them? As equals

How do they treat people worse than them? As equals

What do they consider an overrated virtue? Temperance.

If they could change one thing about themselves, what would it be?   Probably would do better to realize that some people just can't be reached, but damned if he doesn't try. 

What is their obsession? Fishing and his dog. 

What are their pet peeves? People that touch his food without permission. Aedan doesn't share food! He will buy your food! NO TOUCH. (Though Celeste will note that he has no compunction about stealing her food.) 

Friends and Family

Is their family big or small? Who does it consist of?: Small. Mama, Papa, Sister, and Him. There is, of course, the extended family and his tribe, but the core group was relatively small. 

What is their perception of a family? Family is the most important thing. 

Do they have siblings? Older or younger?: One sister. Same age. 

Describe their best friend. Bit of a ditz. Funny (though it's unclear if he means to be). Dog lover. Drinking buddy. 

Ideal best friend? Someone not afraid to throw their stuff in a satchel and get lost for a day. Bonfire under the stars. Loves dogs. Not scared of touching fish. 

Do they have any pets? Ebba! Borzoi like M & M but with big brown patches and knows how to mind. 

 Past and Future

What was your character like as a baby? As a child?: He was a happy, inquisitive baby. He was rough and tumble, always on the go. Occasionally he’d scare himself (falling) but he only needed to be told that he was okay and he’d keep on going. 

Did they grow up rich or poor? They had no real need for money unless they were traveling, and then they mostly traded for what they needed.

Did they grow up nurtured or neglected? Nurtured. 

What is the worst thing they did to someone they loved? Left them. Wasn't his idea, though. Still feels terrible.

What are their ambitions? Getting to be free and live his own life. 

What smells remind them of their childhood? Woodfire. Briny seawater. Spice. 

What was their childhood ambition? Be the head of the rowers that went out to the islands. 

What is their best childhood memory? Traveling with dad to the surrounding tribes and making friends with other kids. 

Did they have an imaginary childhood friend? No. He had so many friends he didn't have time for imaginary ones. 

 Love

Do they believe in love at first sight? Maybe? His parents had an arranged marriage, and he thinks that's pretty fine.  He likes getting to know people to make sure that what he's feeling is real. 

How do they behave in a relationship? He's all about making his partner feel cherished and comfortable. He likes to move slow...ish. 

What sort of sex do they have? He's not exactly wild. But, he's open-minded. 

Has your character ever been in love? Sure. 

Have they ever had their heart broken? Nah. If he parts with people, it's amicable. 

 Conflict

How do they respond to a threat? Try to reason. If not, try to subdue with as little injury as possible. 

Are they most likely to fight with their fists or their tongue? Fists, honestly. If it comes to that. Even then, he'd probably just try to wrestle and pin them. 

What is your character's kryptonite? The concept of someone he cares about being hurt. 

If your character could only save one thing from their burning house, what would it be? His dog. Not an object, but things aren't that important. 

How do they perceive strangers? Never met one. 

What are their phobias? Ophidiophobia, so it's probably good that he never really got to know Asra because Faust would have scared him to death. 

What is their choice of weapon? If he had to really fight, he'd use a one-handed battle-ax. 

What living person do they most despise? Valdemar, but living and person are both kinda uncertain terms. 

Have they ever been bullied or teased? No. Even if he was, it wouldn't bother him. 

Where do they go when they're angry? For a walk. 

 Work, Education, and Hobbies

What is their current job? Head guard of the palace. 

What do they think about their current job? Get to hang out with his bud most of the time, so that's pretty neat. Could do with less having to enforce his stupid decrees (which he finds ways around if he can.) 

What are some of their past jobs? Fisherman and hunter. 

What are their hobbies? Fishing, hunting, falconry, reading. 

Educational background? No formal education. Dad taught him how to read and write, but he didn't have much use for either of those skills until he came to Vesuvia. 

Intelligence level? Himbo-lite. 

Do they have any specialist training? Jack of all trades, master of none. 

Do they play a sport? Are they any good? Rowing and wrestling. 

What is their socioeconomic status? Upper class? Lucio pays well. 

 Favorites

What is their favorite animal? Ebba. 

Which animal to they dislike the most? Snakes. 

What place would they most like to visit? He'd like to travel like his dad did before his parents got married, but he's not picky. 

What is the most beautiful thing they've ever seen? Poppy fields! 

What is their favorite song? No Hurry - Zac Brown Band

Music, art, reading preferred? Reading but music is a close second. 

What is their favorite color? Green or blue. 

Favorite food: Grilled stuffed portobello mushrooms with bleu cheese. 

 Possessions

What is in their fridge: Beer, red wine (that hefty stuff that leaves long tendrils when you swirl it. he likes to chew his wine). Meat, cheese, mushrooms, bread, a lot of veggies. 

What is on their bedside table? Reading glasses and a book. 

What is in their pockets? Money. 

What is their most treasured possession? His dog. But calling her a possession feels terrible. 

 Spirituality

Do they believe in the afterlife? Sure. 

What are their religious views? He believes in spiritual guides, and he believes in magic. Though he is sadly more like his father than his mother in that he really can't cast.

Are they superstitious? He's a little 'stitious. 

What would they like to be reincarnated as? A peregrine falcon. 

How would they like to die? Not the way he did, that's for sure. That sucked. 

What is your character's spirit guide? Duckhawk! 

What is their zodiac sign? Libra. 

 Daily life

What are their eating habits? An army marches on their stomach. He always makes sure to have a decent breakfast, lunch, and dinner. 

Do they have any allergies? Just pollen. 

Describe their home. The palace. His room is pretty spartan. Bed, dresser, desk, couple side tables, mirror. 

Are they minimalist or a clutter hoarder? Minimalist. 

What do they do first thing on a weekday morning? Try to get to the bath before everyone else does. 

What do they do on a Sunday afternoon? Nap or go for a hike out in the woods. 

What do they do on a Friday night? Drink with Lou. 

What is the soft drink of choice? If such a thing existed, it would be original Coke. 

What is their alcoholic drink of choice? He's an appreciator of fine whiskey and wine. But, he won't turn his nose up at a good ale or cider. 

 Miscellaneous

What is their character archetype? The hunter. 

Who is their hero? His dad. 

What or who would your character dress up as for Halloween? Thor. 

Are they comfortable with technology? Ehhhh. Not really. He can use it but would rather not. 

If they could save one person, who would it be? He couldn't pick. 

If they could call one person for help, who would it be? Linnea. 

What is their favorite proverb? Friendship is love with understanding. 

What is their greatest extravagance? Gifts. He buys gifts like the world will end tomorrow. 

Do they believe in happy endings? Sure. 

What would they ask a fortune-teller? Am I doing the right thing?

@vesuviasfastestcourier​ Will this help until I can write more Aedan fic? :)

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny ― Chapter 16: The Throne

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny ⥽

Nadya Al Jamil (MC) has been struggling from the day she moved to Manhattan, but her new job as assistant to the mysterious CEO of Raines Corp was supposed to turn her luck around. Until she finds herself caught in the middle of a war involving the Council of Vampires who secretly run the city. An evil from the birth of Vampire-kind stirs beneath, feeding on the conflict, and finds Nadya bound to a destiny she never asked for.

Bound by Destiny and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Kamilah and Nadya don’t deal with the day after. Together the girls journey to the Council Chamber for Adrian’s trial. Nadya is shaken when she comes upon a throne she shouldn’t know.

[READ IT ON AO3]

"You would do well to hold your tongue.”

“Forgive me, my King. You know I don’t mean to speak out of turn —”

“And yet you persist in doing so. I would have thought your disposable nature would be cemented in your mind after your ascension to the role at my side.”

“Yes, I—I understand. But what you’re suggesting is…”

“What our King suggests is not our place to question, Adrian.”

“Of course, Kamilah. I understand. My apologies, my King.”

“As always you are forgiven. How could I not forgive you in your youthful ignorance? One day you will have lived as long as I do now. You will have seen empires of mortals rise and fall and know that we are that which remains.

One day you will understand. For now… begone. Both of you.”

“Yes, my King.”

“Yes, my love.”

Nadya doesn’t know which is more terrifying to think about; that she’s getting used to these nightmares or that she’s come to expect them.

But sitting on a gilded throne in a cavern… being both herself and someone else — and an awful someone else at that — at least it’s getting easier and easier to wake from the dreams. She just wants them to go away.

She’s alone in her bed. She’s in her bed at Kamilah’s penthouse. Her hair is still damp but the sheets underneath her body have long-since dried. When she moves something tugs at her arm — she looks to see the remains of a shirt sleeve still clinging to life on her shoulder.

That, too, Nadya might accidentally convince herself was a dream if not for all the worldly evidence that said otherwise. Screamed it, even.

Her legs feel like jelly but Nadya forces herself up and into a shower. Relishes the fact that it’s not the awkward carved-out space in Lily’s place — however homey it was and however generous she was to share it — but an actual, tile-and-tub shower with more than five minutes of hot water to help her wash sweat, rain, and her nightmares off her body.

Maybe Kamilah didn’t stay until the morning (afternoon? she can’t tell anymore) because she wants to forget it happened.

Regardless of Kamilah’s thoughts on the matter, though, judging by the wide every-tooth-accounted-for grin Lily gives her best friend when the smell of fresh coffee coaxes her into the kitchen she wants to know everything.

“It’s too early for this,” Nadya protests; rubs her temples with her eyes closed and when she opens them there’s magically a mug of coffee within reach. Maybe the Gerard-fairy could get her that pony she wanted when she was ten…

“It’s never too early to get into the juicy details,” Lily props her chin on both hands, “you’re glowing, babe.”

“Am not.”

“Are so.”

“I am not!”

Lily throws her hands up with exasperation. “Ignorance must be so fucking blissful! I’d give my left nut to be able to bone my girlfriend right now!”

There’s a clatter by the sink and they both look to see Gerard fumble with a piece of cutlery and his favorite scrubbing sponge. He tries to play it off cool but Nadya knows better. “Let’s try and calm it down with the skanky talk, Lil’.”

“Not skanky if it’s how I feel.”

Gerard chuckles. “Oh don’t mind me, ladies. At my age a shock to the system keeps me on my toes.”

He wipes off his hands and gets about preparing for Kamilah’s arrival the usual way; a folded newspaper and espresso cup with saucer set immediately to Nadya’s left. And before she can ask — Kamilah herself walks in with the same purpose and intent she does everything else.

Including desperate rain-soaked sex.

Did she expect to be swept up in Kamilah’s strong arms and bent over the table in a passionate kiss; no. Did she hope for a little acknowledgment at the very least; well, certainly more than the big bucketful of nothing her way as Kamilah takes her usual seat, sips her usual coffee, and opens her usual evening edition.

Lily makes a face at her that is hidden by the Stocks. Nadya silently tries to admonish her but, well, Lily does what Lily wants whether she’s a vampire or a human.

Silence. Silence. Nadya tries to break it as best she can.

“So Kamilah, this is —”

“I’m well aware of who she is.” Kamilah flicks the paper in half and appraises Lily with cold nonchalance. “And what she is, is a liability.”

Lily huffs. “Just because I’m not in your Clans doesn’t mean —”

All Kamilah has to do is hold up a finger. There’s a part of Nadya that’s trying to find even the smallest thing to keep her optimistic and apparently that part is a horny little monster; since it makes her look at the finger and go pink in the cheeks.

Kamilah either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. Her only concern is Lily.

“You are a prime example of the prosecution’s case against Adrian; by virtue of his blood you were Turned. Rather than go through the proper channels to instill you a premature spot in his Clan he was content to let you disappear and sweep the matter under the rug.”

“That’s not — that’s not what happened, not entirely! It isn’t the whole story.” Nadya raises her voice to try and get Kamilah to look at her.

It works; a brief flicker of dark hues that has her heart racing and no doubt the vampires in the room both catch it. But it’s not something she can control. It might not even be for Kamilah — she’s definitely angry enough.

“Kamilah, you know that’s not what happened.”

“Yes, I do,” she sips her coffee, “yet what should we say otherwise? Either we let that be the case made against him on this act alone or we reveal to the Council any knowledge we might have regarding the Clanless, their operations, and where they might be hiding. Which is worse?”

It’s a question she doesn’t know the answer to. Judging by the look Kamilah gives her — she doesn’t have any answers either.

“I can’t risk them, Nadi’.” mutters Lily.

She looks across the table; reaches out and takes Lily’s hand in hers. “I know — we’re not doing that. I’m not gonna sell out the Clanless.”

“Even if it leads to Adrian’s execution?” Kamilah says it only because it’s something they need to take into account; she knows that. But it’s the way she’s talking that keeps adding fuel to the fire inside her belly.

“And I won’t let that happen, either.”

“My point remains the same; having this girl there would only jeopardize Adrian’s already thin defense.”

Already thin defense. God, it makes her head spin around backwards.

“What is he being charged with anyway? Last I saw you guys everyone was on the same side.”

As Gerard comes around to pour more coffee she catches his expression; his normal ease replaced with stiffness and more lines than usual etched into his furrowed brow. It makes Nadya’s stomach upset.

She tries to backtrack. “Never mind, we can talk about it later, or…”

“No, you have a right to ask. And I would rather you know what you will be walking into” Kamilah sets her paper aside to give them her full attention. “You don’t know the whole story — everything that’s led up to this point. From small deals and micro-aggressions to spats both behind closed doors and within Council Chambers. I’m afraid this has been a long time coming, Nadya. And the events of the Ball were all that was needed for… shall we say certain parties to enact plans that have merely been lying in wait.

“It’s no secret that Adrian hasn’t always seen eye-to-eye with the rest of the Council. You’ve met them. I think you can draw your own conclusions. The more Adrian has pushed for progress and integration into human society the more resistance he’s been met with — even from those we thought saw our way of things at the very least for their own gains.”

Nadya brings one leg up to her chest. “Why do I feel like you’re trying not to say Lester’s name?”

“Castellanos and Adrian have always had a tense partnership — only as strong as what they both got out of it. But that isn’t uncommon for our kind; especially for those who have lived as long as we.”

“So Lester stabbed him in the back.”

“Yes, and no,” Kamilah’s jaw sets; her teeth grinding together like slabs of stone, “They all did; the entire Council — save myself.”

“And we’re sure about that?”

Both Nadya and Kamilah look at Lily like she’s grown another head. Nadya quickly dissolves into panic; reaches out and grabs Kamilah’s upper arm even though she knows it’s about as effective as a blade of grass trying to stop a hurricane.

There’s no mistaking Kamilah’s tone — she is and always will be the calm before and the storm itself.

“I suggest you refrain from speaking again should you value the lower part of your skull, newborn.”

And Nadya wants to actually smack Lily upside the head for having the gall to snap back; “Well you keep saying the Council are the bad guys. Except you’re on it, too. You’re the one we should be rooting for? The Kingsley Shacklebolt of the Ministry working on the inside?”

“You dare…”

“Lily, stop!”

Nadya’s voice hurts her own ears; even the thought of raising it at Lily especially after their confrontation in the Shadow Den… she’s been walking on eggshells made of tissue paper around her best friend. And, really, she’s doing it to keep Lily safe in the end.

The muscles under Nadya’s grasp shift, though. She has a chance to keep this from getting very bloody very fast.

“Please, Lil’,” she continues, “I get why you’re thinking like that — I would too if I didn’t know better — but Kamilah and Adrian are more than just ‘on the Council’ together. They’ve been through everything and stayed at each other’s sides. Kamilah was there when Adrian was Turned — and—and they stayed together even when it meant betraying their Maker. She wouldn’t turn on him — ever. Just like you wouldn’t tun on me.”

It’s enough to satisfy Lily — or her version of satisfied in which she goes to dig in the cupboards for something to munch on and help her think.

But her victory is short-lived when she looks at Kamilah with relief and is met with a clouded anger. Disbelief.

“W-What’s wrong?”

The vampire regards her carefully. How one would behave next to a wild tiger. Only out of the pair of them it’s not Nadya who is the dangerous one.

“I was not aware Adrian had told you so much of our shared history. Particularly that which involved…” she swallows the words on her tongue like bile, “our Maker.”

He didn’t, she’s ready to say — an automatic response. But it made sense given Adrian’s reaction to the man’s portrait at the castle. Gaius Turned Kamilah and Adrian…?

But how did she know that?

She doesn’t know how; she simply does.

Yet something tells her Kamilah would, after being equally unsatisfied with such an answer, not be as content as Nadya to let it go. Not at all.

So she shrugs, mutters “Late nights at the office… he said not to tell you I knew,” and hopes even if her lie isn’t convincing enough that there’s more on Kamilah’s plate than pushing the issue.

Kamilah turns away curtly.

With luck like this she’s really gotta go buy a lottery ticket soon.

“During the Council and tribunal held against him I must remain impartial. As the eldest member I have the immediate authority regarding his case but, as with all things, it will come down to a vote no matter my ruling.”

“So no chance you could go all Judge Judy on them, then, huh?” Lily asks around a mouthful of saltines. Kamilah’s look is answer enough.

“Kamilah,” Nadya touches her again, wary this time. Glad she doesn’t pull away or look ready to strike. “If you’re gonna be in charge of everything I’m going in there alone. And as much as I trust you… and Adrian, for that matter, I just…”

“No, you’re right to be cautious.” The woman’s lips quirk in the barest of smiles — but Nadya is too focused on the sudden warmth in her gaze. It feels like a spotlight under the moon. It feels like last night. “And Adrian will be in no position to help you, I’m afraid.”

“Then let Lily come. She risked enough coming up here anyway — it’s not fair to leave her hanging.”

“I dunno mami,” Lily’s imitation Mari accent is somehow made better by a mouthful of snack, “I’m kinda digging this place —” she rolls her eyes at Kamilah’s glower, “—I’m kidding, jeez. Like I’d leave my girl hanging in a den full of Dracula wannabes.”

“I’ll forgive that insult only because of how little you know.”

“Insul—wait. No freak-fuckin’ way. Is he real? Is Dracula real?!”

While Lily copes with the realization of Dracula in her own unique way Nadya takes the moment of distraction to slide her hand down Kamilah’s sleeve — to ghost her fingertips over the back of her hand.

Kamilah looks back as if to question it but the look in Nadya’s eyes is enough.

She lowers her voice to a whisper. “How long did you, uh… I mean how…”

“How long did I stay with you last night?” Kamilah finishes for her and despite her flush Nadya manages a nod. “Long enough for you to go into a deep slumber. Then I returned to my room.”

“You could’ve stayed. It’s technically your room, too.”

Kamilah purses her lips. “No doubt you wish to discuss it; what happened.”

“Well, yeah,” she shrugs, “kinda.”

But the energy radiating off of her says it’s not a desire they share. It’s in the loose hold of the vampire’s fingers and the way she looks at Nadya without seeing her. It hurts.

Makes Nadya pull her hand away, stuff it in her lap. “But I get it. Not a big deal.”

“I’d ask you to at least give me the courtesy of honesty.” Nadya exhales a shiver as she feels cool fingertips brush her hair back; tuck it behind her ear and keep her from hiding her face to Kamilah’s eyes. “As I… might like to give you the courtesy of a discussion — when all is right and Adrian is safe. Something we both should see as a priority, yes?”

Oh. She nods. “Y-Yeah.”

Then Kamilah’s standing and bringing Nadya up with her by the elbow. Enough to draw Lily’s attention away from the different types of tea Gerard’s hoarded over the years.

He went over them all with her once. She tries to pretend it doesn’t exist since there’s no rhyme or reason to his organizing.

“Too much time has been wasted already. The tribunal will begin at midnight — with or without our presence. I rather think we’d prefer to be there.”

This time when Nadya shivers it’s like someone’s just walked over her grave. Makes her wrap her arms around her middle.

“Do you really think my testimony will change anything? The Baron hates me, Vega’s threatened me, Lester… is Lester. And Priya doesn’t seem to like anything at all.”

Kamilah’s hand shifts, touches becoming a caress on her arm. “Better to try than to do nothing.”

“Right.”

Someone walks over her grave again. Nadya hopes it’s somewhere pretty.

“Does it help if I do this?”

“Lil’ I love and appreciate you but you’re as cold as the outside air right now. I think that’s actually making it worse.”

Lily backs off of her hug but takes Nadya’s hand instead. She really doesn’t deserve a friend like her but here she is, risking her afterlife — and so far the only way she’s thought up to repay her is buying the next five games Lily loves on pre-order the moment they’re available.

Ahead of them Kamilah calls back, “We’re almost there,” and hastens her pace.

Frankly three women walking around the dark and hidden paths of Central Park at night should be the beginning of the end but the only thing that makes her laugh right now is how much she pities the moron who messes with Lily and Kamilah thinking they’ll win.

They finally come to a halt in front of a statue; Nadya peers at the inscription at the base like it’s supposed to clear everything up but it does the exact opposite.

“Uh… Why are we paying Chris Columbus a visit?” Lily asks for her.

Kamilah trails her leather-gloved fingers around a dip in the base with a scornful huff. “I’ve been petitioning to have this atrocity removed since it was commissioned. Nearly had it five years ago — the young people of the world did good work in spreading the truth behind the pretty lies of historians and other members of the victorious parties. But this country has a hard-on for it’s white founders no matter how many corpses their legacy was built upon.”

“Amen, sister. Preach!” Lily pounds her fist into the air unabashedly.

“Still,” Kamilah continues, “if they refuse to tear him down then I shall use him to my advantage.”

There’s a click and the statue begins to slide aside of its own accord. Nadya and Lily look around wildly to make sure no one else sees but Kamilah remains unperturbed.

When the statue has gone as far askew as it can go there exists in its place a descending stone staircase — narrow near the surface but judging by the torches flicking soft orange light further down it empties out somewhere large.

“This is the single best Tomb Raider shit I’ve seen in my whole life!” Lily squeals in delight — doesn’t wait for Kamilah’s invitation to hop and skip her way down the steps. Her voice echoes on the stone; “This is so cool!”

Well, at least someone is having a good time.

“Uh… secret tunnel, huh.” Meanwhile Nadya processes it in her own wild way. Tries not to jump when she feels Kamilah’s hand on her lower back nudge her forward.

“Did you think we met in some city hall chamber?”

Since she has a feeling this might be the last time she sees anything resembling mirth from Kamilah for some time Nadya, spurred by adrenaline and fear and other bad things warring with the optimism she’s practically forcing on herself, stands forward on her toes and kisses her.

At first she’d likely get the same effect from kissing Chris Columbus behind her. Then Kamilah yields — out of pity or passion she can’t tell, doesn’t want to know — and rests her hands on Nadya’s hips to kiss her back and guide her away.

Kamilah doesn’t say anything — doesn’t need to. The question is there in her eyes.

“Because,” Nadya answers in her softest voice, “I was running out of good things to keep me believing we can win this.”

Before her Kamilah pulls off her glove; cards her fingers through Nadya’s hair just like back at the penthouse. Only this time she allows herself to savor the touch with closed eyes intent on snapping a still of this moment for all the awful things to come.

“Should you find a way to share your optimism… I would not turn it away.”

Kamilah’s breath is warm but her lips are cool against Nadya’s forehead. She curls her fingers in the fur lining of her coat lapels and uses up all that good luck she’s had in the little things to wish with all her might that everything was okay; that Adrian was safe and sound and they were in the park because it was a nice date spot — rather than where they might descend into their literal deaths.

Apparently she’s not saved up that much good luck just yet. Since everything is the same when she opens her eyes to watch Kamilah stroke her cheek with the back of her hand.

“Come. ‘Once more unto the breach,’ as they say.”

Kamilah doesn’t stop her from taking hold of her arm so she clings without care. Ducks when Kamilah tells her to watch her head and turns to see the base of Columbus slide back into place and plunge them into stifled darkness.

They catch up with Lily at the bottom of the steps. At first Nadya’s ready to make a joke about picking her jaw up off the dirt floor but that’s dashed from her mind the moment she catches a look herself.

Crumbled ruins in columns, archways, effigies with worn faces and broken limbs. Like a civilization once flourished underneath the streets filled with careless conversation and pigeons by the dozens.

Large fire pits — some made of twisted metal and others mere stone bowls — dot across the ground where footsteps have tamped down the earth with time. Nothing grows here from below but trickles down from the sun and sky above in long tendrils of ivy. If the moss is waging a war on those who once called this place home — the moss has definitely won.

“Final boss encounter…” Lily whispers in awe. Smacks Nadya’s arm gently and points forward. “And there’s even a bitchin’ throne!”

It was like she was doing everything she could not to see it. But once Lily draws it to her attention she can’t look at anything else.

The throne sits at the farthest end of the hall; small from this distance but imposing up close, on a dais of a stone slab with runes and glyphs carved along the ridges. It’s the only thing in the cavernous chamber that doesn’t appear to have suffered the wrath of time.

On either side sit the largest of the fire pits; flickering heat that Nadya can feel even from far back. Her eyes sweep over every golden, gleaming inch of the chair and foreboding settles deep inside her — branches out not unlike the ivy hanging from on high — from her gut to her limbs and so powerful she’s choking on it.

When she doesn’t get the reaction she wants Lily turns to face her. Grows rigid with concern when Nadya’s tears catch the firelight as they fall and drip down her chin.

“Nadi’? Nadya? Shit Nadya what’s wrong?”

Only when Lily grabs her by the shoulders and turns her bodily does the spell break. Eyes tear away from the throne and her knees buckle — without Lily there to catch her she’d fall.

Kamilah, already striding towards the end of the hall, turns back sharply.

“What’s the matter?” She’s back at their side in a beat. Looking Nadya over with concern bordering on anger. “What’s happened?”

“Nadya — hon — talk to us.” Lily cradles her head on her shoulder and Nadya wants to thank her for the gesture but she just can’t find the words.

Then Kamilah comes into blurry, teary view. Cups a hand along her jaw.

“Please. What is it?”

“The… th-throne,” she manages to gasp; both vampires spare it a glance like it doesn’t want to crush their very souls and she’s jealous of their ignorance. “I—I—it…”

She takes in a sharp breath and the words tumble from her unbidden.

“It’s mine. That throne is mine.”

[falseroar]

Silver and Peppermint (Part 7)

((Part 7 of a fantasy AU, where Monster Hunter Abe and his reluctant partner, the DA, are trying to track down a murderous werewolf. Except Abe’s partner has left, determined to find what they missed while he is sure they have the monster trapped behind bars. Or at least, he was sure.

Links to Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Epilogue))

At the station, they took Luke to a prepared room where wards had been written into the doors and the two-way mirror separating it from the observation room, all in silver paint that glowed in the fluorescent lighting overhead as Abe took a seat across the table from him. Garroway was forced to watch from the observation room, but he swore he could still hear her incessant harping even through the glass as the detective seated next to him started the questions.

“Name?”

“…Luke Red.” His voice was sullen, his eyes downcast and refusing to meet theirs.

“Occupation?”

“Personal assistant. To Lydelle Garroway.”

“Where were you on the night of the 7th?”

Abe sat there, restless as Luke answered each of the questions in turn, always seeming to have an alibi for each night of the murders, one that put him in the same place as a couple if not dozens of people, always doing some task or another for Garroway at the theater. Before long the detective had a widening list of names to double check with, and Abe could practically feel the smugness penetrating through the glass.

“Where were you this morning, 6am?” he asked.

“Getting dressed and ready for the day,” Luke answered, and for the first time his eyes darted up, meeting Abe’s as a flicker of a smile passed his face. “Took a shower, cooked some eggs, maybe made a cup of coffee or two.”

Abe felt the heat rising to his face again, but he kept his composure as he asked, “Can anyone confirm that?”

“Unfortunately, no. I’m afraid I’m not that lucky.”

“You reacted to the silver hand cuffs I placed on you in Garroway’s house,” Abe said. “Why is that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

That was when Abe started to feel it all slip away.

“What? What do you mean?” Abe rose from his chair, leaning against the table as he said, “You started screaming the second I put them on you.”

“I don’t know, they hurt.”

“Show me your wrists, now,” Abe demanded, ignoring the detective’s warning as he reached across the table and dragged Luke’s arm into view.

There wasn’t a single mark on them.

“What is this?” the detective asked, shooting a look toward the mirror.

Luke on the other hand met Abe’s stare dead-on, that flicker of a smile returning. “…Maybe they were too tight.”

He agreed to a test, and flipped the silver coin in the air a couple of times before neatly catching it in the palm of his hand, his smile never wavering.

“I don’t understand,” Abe said later, after all the tests he could think of proved again and again that Luke was not a werewolf. “What does this mean?”

“It means you got the wrong guy,” the Chief of Police said. He sat back behind his desk and shook his head at Abe before continuing, “I can hold him until we get his alibis confirmed, but there’s no reason to keep him after that. Garroway already has her lawyer terrorizing the place, and they’ve all but guaranteed this entire incident will be all over the morning news.”

“But why did he fake it, back at the house?” Abe said. “There was no reason to do that, he knew what we would think—”

“Which is exactly what I’ve told the lawyer, but there’s only so far we can take a charge of reckless behavior due to outright stupidity. Believe me, I’ve tried.” The Chief sighed and continued, “Sorry, bud, but it’s not looking good for you. The Mayor’s going to have to do something to save face tomorrow once this is out, and you’re the easiest one to cut out of the investigation.”

“But there really is a werewolf out there killing people,” Abe protested, even though he knew deep down the Chief was right. “The city needs a hunter to deal with this thing, before it gets any worse.”

“I know, and I agree,” was the answer that surprised Abe. “I saw the bodies, too. And we’ve taken as much of your advice into practice as possible, but without hard evidence…”

“The DA,” Abe said, but that spark of hope faded when he remembered the look they gave him before they left. “They were going to check out Garroway’s house and go over everything, maybe…”

“It’s about as much a shot as you’ve got,” the Chief agreed. “If anyone can dig up something out of nothing, it’s them. You’ll want to go soon though, curfew’s still in place.”

Despite the warning, Abe found himself straying back toward Luke’s cell. A regular one, since the threat he posed didn’t warrant the wards anymore. There was no one around, but Abe could hear Garroway’s voice coming from one of the rooms down the hall as he stopped to look in.

“Not supposed to talk to you without the lawyer present,” Luke said, but his smile invited Abe to say something, anything.

“Why fake it?” Abe asked. “We were already taking you in, how did you think that could possibly help?”

“Eh, makes you look like an idiot, so that seems like an upside,” Luke answered. He turned and laid down on the bench, arms crossed behind his head as he looked up at the graffiti on the ceiling. “But you seem like the type to waste time all on your own, which is why I guess you’re here.”

“You put something in my coffee this morning, I know it was you,” Abe said, to which the assistant shrugged. “Why?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, but again, you seem like the type to have a lot of people looking to get you out of the way.”

Abe could not deny that, but he could ask, “You didn’t even know me, but you knew where to find me, when to find me. That setup was too perfect, too well-timed. How?”

“People get lucky. Especially if they take a job from someone with a lot of detailed instructions. Too bad for all of us the one detail that turned out to be wrong was you actually drinking the coffee. Not that I would know anything about that.”

“Instructions from who? Garroway?”

“It’s ‘whom’, and of course not. Who do you think she is? She’s practically a paragon of virtue, can’t you hear her standing up for her poor, falsely accused underling right now? Let me tell you, she’d drop me like a hot rock if she had any reason to believe otherwise.”

Personal assistant, Abe thought. How much of Garroway’s business did he handle? That address they found at the victim’s house, maybe it was pointing to the wrong person.

But it didn’t change the fact that Luke wasn’t the werewolf. As deep in this as Abe suspected him to be, he wasn’t the killer. So, who was?

Luke laughed again when he saw the hunter’s expression out of the corner of his eye and said, “Like I said, wasting your precious, precious time.”

Abe borrowed a phone to call the District Attorney’s office, if only because he didn’t want a door slammed in his face, but when no one answered he gave up and tried the Mayor’s office instead.

“Y/N? Last I heard they were on their way to the hospital.” Damien sounded distracted, and Abe heard him ask for a minute before his voice was back on the line. “Abe, what the hell is going on? First, I hear Franklin is in the hospital after you give him a literal heart attack, now word’s gotten out that there are werewolves in the city—”

Abe barely heard anything after the Mayor’s answer.

Wasting time, Luke had said. Faking lycanthropy, that had to have been to throw off the investigation, but Luke must have known he couldn’t keep up the charade for long. There had to be a reason for that, right? He wanted to stall it, to keep Abe and the DA preoccupied, but not for long. Why? The closest they came to finding the killer’s identity was—

Franklin.

“Why did they go to the hospital?” Abe interrupted the Mayor.

“It would seem you failed to kill off an innocent civilian despite your best efforts,” the Mayor answered, sarcasm dripping heavy enough that even Abe noticed it. “The doctors believe he may wake up soon.”

All the more reason to put him in the grave as soon as possible, before he could share what he knew.

Abe swore into the phone.

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” the Mayor answered. “I should have listened to Y/N, you never belonged on this case. See me in the morning, Hunter, I—”

“Right, yeah, sure, glad to hear it,” Abe answered before hanging up on the sputtering man and bolting for the door. An officer tried to grab the sleeve of his jacket and warn him that curfew was coming on soon, but he pushed past him and shot out the door, running as fast as he could.

There were police at the hospital, thanks to the District Attorney, and Abe didn’t doubt for a second that they had already warned the cops to be on the lookout as soon as they put it together. The Mayor wasn’t the only one who should have listened to them. They had known there was something off about Luke, had insisted on finding all the answers. Maybe they already had an idea of who would be coming for Franklin tonight.

Abe imagined the murderer walking into the hospital just like any other visitor, there to visit a friend who had suddenly fallen ill. Walking up to Franklin’s room, or maybe changing right there in the middle of the visitor’s area, tearing through anyone and everything in its way to Franklin.

Including his partner.

Abe sped up on the empty streets, aware of the streetlights flickering into life overhead as the sun began its steady descent, as the wind picked up, as time ran out. Just a couple of blocks away from the hospital he stopped to catch his breath, wheezing and wishing he had learned for once in his life how to pace himself when it really counted.

And he felt the stare of someone watching him.

Abe slowly straightened up, continuing his exaggerated wheezing and trying to hide his quick look around. The street was empty, unnaturally so even for this time of the day thanks to the curfew, but the sensation of being watched only grew until the hairs on the back of his neck prickled and he turned to face the figure standing behind him.

“Abe!” John said with a friendly smile. “What a surprise. I didn’t expect to run into anyone out here at this hour.”

“What are you doing out here?” Abe asked, wishing the words weren’t accompanied by the harsh gasp for air. “There’s a curfew, you know that.”

“I was on my way to the hospital,” John said. “It looks like you were headed in the same direction. Nothing has happened to Y/N, has it?”

“No, they’re fine,” Abe said. He was already suspicious before, but now every alarm bell was ringing as the man stepped closer. Abe put a hand to his side as though holding a stitch and felt the comforting shape of his revolver under his coat. “Might have burned their hand this morning, I’m on my way to escort them back to the office. Can’t be too careful these days.”

“Too true,” John said, still smiling as his eyes flickered to follow the movement of Abe’s hand. “Perhaps we could walk there together?”

“Yeah, I’d like to keep my eye on you,” Abe said, adding as an afterthought, “For your protection, of course.”

“…Of course.”

John fell into step beside Abe, his posture loose, relaxed compared to the hunter, who felt like a spring held tight and ready to lash out at the slightest reason.

“Something wrong with you?” Abe asked.

“Pardon?”

“You’re going to the hospital, right?”

“No, I am merely wishing to visit an acquaintance of mine.”

“And I guess it just couldn’t wait until morning,” Abe muttered.

“There is no guarantee he will make it through the night,” John said, his tone unchanging. “I thought I should go and see him myself.”

Abe knew he might be walking next to not just a werewolf, but a confirmed killer on his way to meet another victim. It was a less than pleasant feeling, especially with no one else around and no guarantee that anyone in the neighboring houses would open the door to him if he called for help. Even if they did it might just sign their own ticket to meet the Grim Reaper. There was also the chance that he was completely wrong again, which just half an hour ago he wouldn’t have thought would be the better option.

He had to be sure before he did anything he couldn’t take back, and without becoming literally dead sure the hard way. Even now, it was hard not to smile when he could practically hear the District Attorney’s voice again:

Tell me, how are you at bluffing?

“Funny thing, one of our witnesses had to be taken to the hospital earlier today. Well, not ‘haha’ funny, but you get my drift. I get the feeling maybe you know him. Name Franklin ring a bell? Hippie banker type.”

“I’m not sure that’s a real type, but yes, I know of Franklin. What happened to him?”

“Seems like he got a little upset at the thought of a monster roaming around the city,” Abe said.

“You mean the werewolf,” John said.

“You knew I was looking for a werewolf,” Abe said.

“Well, the rumors were going around, but I think we can say the cat’s out of the bag—or maybe the wolf’s out of the cage? News travels so fast in this city.”

Except it wasn’t common knowledge when John made that comment to Abe this morning, just before he left the loan broker’s shop.

“So fast Franklin knew what was coming for him,” Abe said. But not who. He had called the werewolf an ‘it,’ not ‘him’ or ‘her.’ “He had tried to protect himself, seemed to know why it was coming for him.”

“A shame he didn’t get the chance to tell you anything,” John said.

“Except he did,” Abe said, realizing it was true. Sure, the banker had panicked, but part of that was claiming he didn’t want to be a part of ‘it’, whatever ‘it’ was. Abe had assumed he had tried to back out of whatever business the other victims were a part of, but now the victim’s letter crossed his mind, the unsent invitations. Someone wanted out and they were looking for others to join them—only for their group to be knocked down one by one. A coward like Franklin would never have willingly stood up to someone they were so terrified of. Not without a backup plan.

He had the Haywood papers, stolen from Marcus’s apartment after the werewolf ransacked it. What if the papers were just another security measure, like the silver wards on the door or the wolfsbane hidden around the house? But how would he have gotten his hands on them, without risking running into the werewolf?

Well, he could have gotten the help of someone who was used to running errands for other people, someone who turned right around and tipped the werewolf off before trying to distract the people in charge of the case long enough for their one witness to be taken care of.

It was a guess, a total shot in the dark, but Abe had acted on less before.

“I almost forgot. Luke wants you to know he tried to keep quiet, he really did.”

He saw it, the second John’s face gave him away before he could stop it. John opened his mouth as though to pretend otherwise, to act like he didn’t know what he was talking about, but then after a pause a harsh, humorless laugh escaped instead.

“You are a treat, aren’t you?” John let the laugh die away into silence, but he was still smiling even if it didn’t reach his eyes as he studied Abe. “I’ve never met someone as ridiculous and hardheaded as you, hunter. I’d almost think you were perceptive, if not for the fact you can’t seem to see what’s right in front of your eyes.”

“Oh, I know a murderer when I see one,” Abe snarled, reaching for his gun. “And I’m going to take care of you, right here, right now.”

“The worst part is, I was supposed to meet Y/N out here, not you,” John snarled back, and it was a real snarl, a feral sound that shouldn’t have come out of a human throat. “That’s two times she steered us wrong. But you know what they say: Never trust a seer.”

Abe aimed to shoot, but with a strength that even his build would not suggest, John picked him up by the collar and threw him into the alley with about as much effort as someone tossing out the trash, a pile of which Abe landed in with a groan.

“Oh, well. At least your corpse should be enough to distract the cops while I take care of the rat and that delicious little DA,” John said, each word becoming more distorted and difficult to make out as the shape of his mouth changed, from a sneer into a muzzle full of glistening white fangs, behind which his body contorted and broke into the shape of a massive wolf nearly as big as a horse, its fur practically glowing in the darkness like the eyes that stared hungrily at Abe.

The hunter pulled out his gun and managed to fire off one shot, but it went astray and he had no chance to fire a second before the wolf was on him, one paw crushing his wrist beneath its weight as the foaming jaws went for his throat. Abe could feel its breath on his skin just before the weight suddenly lifted.

His eyes shot open to see the massive wolf stumble away and turning to meet its attacker: a second wolf, visibly smaller and darker but standing its ground, hackles raised as it gave a menacing growl that sounded nothing like the whimper Abe heard from it the night before.

It wasn’t even half the size of John, but he kept his distance for a moment, ears back as he studied the newcomer that stood between him and the hunter. When he stepped forward the second wolf’s growl reached a new pitch, shoulders twisting up to increase its size as it failed to back down. With John’s attention diverted, Abe slowly reached for his gun but froze when the wolf’s eyes latched on to him again, the muzzle beneath parting into a wicked grin of a snarl.

Only for those eyes to flicker back toward the other wolf, and then downward. Abe followed the gaze in time to see that the other wolf’s stance was off. While all four paws were touching the ground, it was clearly not putting its full weight on one of its front legs, the same one he saw it limping on the night before.

The pause in between the first attack and that realization had to have been merely seconds, and then John went for his next attack. The other wolf leapt, just barely dodging the jaws that snapped at its injured leg and was on top of the larger wolf, snarling and tearing at anything in reach while John tried to shake it off before ramming into the nearest wall with a sickening sound from the smaller wolf. It slid to the ground, momentarily dazed before the larger wolf was on top of it, fangs lunging toward its exposed underbelly.

A crack split the air and the white wolf jerked to a stop before it could lay teeth to the other, golden eyes turning toward Abe just as he fired off a second round, and then a third.

One would have been enough, but it took restraint not to fire everything he had into the lumbering beast that took one, two steps toward him before crashing to the ground. Its body shook and shivered as it started to change back into human form, only to give out halfway, leaving John both recognizable and yet not.

The second wolf stood, or tried to. It took more than one attempt to get back onto its shaking limbs, and when it did it just stared at Abe, who looked back from the other side of his gun’s barrel.

He couldn’t miss this time. And he had two rounds left.

More than enough.

A second passed, and then another, but Abe’s finger was still on the trigger when he heard the sirens of the police coming closer, no doubt coming in response to the gunshots fired. The wolf’s ears flicked in their direction, but its eyes didn’t leave Abe’s face as he sighed and lowered his gun. He looked toward the flashing lights pulling up at the end of the alley.

But John wouldn’t be hurting anyone else, and at least one of his accomplices was either behind bars or on his way back to them.

More than enough, for now.

Abe sank against the wall behind him and looked back. As he expected, the other wolf was gone, but the new lights did help him to see something he hadn’t noticed before: a square, wrinkled piece of fabric with a familiar design.

Abe stared at it as one thought trickled through his mind:

I am such an idiot.

((Thank you for reading!

Here’s a link to the epilogue to wrap this story up.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight ​ @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat  @catgirlwarrior  @neverisadork  @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy  @purpstraw @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl  @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead  @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette  @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate ))

[mittensmorgul]

Faith on the tnt loop (which, full disclosure, I slept through oopsie, so I pulled out the blu ray because this is NOT one I can skip).

Post 14.20, this episode is... extra-amazing, honestly. I’ve always felt that this episode was unwittingly (possibly, at the time it was written) a window into what this story could potentially do. When I first binged this series, this was the first episode I finished where I had to stop and completely reevaluate what I was actually witnessing. This was the episode that took me from casually consuming a fun lil monster show to 100% invested in this grand narrative. Even without any knowledge of what the ensuing 6 1/2 season (that existed at the time), I felt like I had my first glimpse of a much bigger picture in store for me. This was the first episode that, after a break to absorb what I’d just witnessed, I went back and immediately watched it again. Turns out I wasn’t reading too much into it... in fact, I wasn’t reading nearly enough into it...

The episode begins with Sam and Dean hunting a monster that we’ve only ever seen once more in the entirety of canon-- a rawhead, which earned a mention in 14.01 after an off-screen hunt for one went wrong enough to have left a tooth behind in one of the AU hunters. As if the monster in this case has been rendered doubly irrelevant, by virtue of the fact it practically dies offscreen in 1.12 while Dean's defeat of it and his own actions and choices in defeating it are the actual inciting incident of all the relevant action to follow. And in 14.01, all that remains of the rawahead was a tooth that's extracted from a wound and likely a wild hunter's tale.

Dean explains the use of the tasers they're using to take down the rawhead (specifically that the electricity is deadly to it and each weapon is one use only, "so make it count"). Dean takes his shot, and misses, but they find the children the rawhead had been holding captive. Dean tells Sam to take them outside to safety, and Sam hands over his taser to Dean, leaving Dean alone to face the monster (who we learn in 14.01 moves a lot faster than expected, and fast enough that we never even really see it in 1.12). Dean is literally backed into a corner, on the ground in a puddle of water, with the monster looming over him when he chooses to take his shot. It's not like he had much choice, right? So he shoots, and thanks to the water he's lying in, he electrocutes himself as well, damaging his own heart to the point where the doctor gives him a month to live.

He could've made a different choice, could've rolled out of the water, could've tried to fight off the rawhead (probably ineffectively) but perhaps enough that it would've given up and escaped to hunt children another day, but Dean took his shot, in a circumstance where he felt it was the right thing to end this monster and prevent it from hurting anyone ever again, even when it hurt him in the process. Not that he knew it would necessarily kill him to do it, but he was fully aware of the power of the weapon in his hand and what it was capable of, and accepted that it would hurt him right along with the monster he'd aimed it at since they were “connected” through the puddle of water.

Can anyone else say Hammurabi? Equalizer?

All of this has happened before.

But that's just the beginning. Because Dean survived, even if mortally wounded. This was the first time, though, that they were motivated to defy death, and that brings us to the true Monster of the Week-- Sue Ann LeGrange. Yes, I know it's technically "a reaper," but operating under Sue Ann's control and on her orders. She was the one who chose who lived and who died, based on who SHE thought was worthy, or unworthy in the case of her chosen victims. She was "playing god," deceiving her husband after saving HIS life with this dark magic (which required at least TWO sacrifices on her part-- one to make the altar and talisman to bind the reaper in the first place, and one person to die to save Roy, unbeknownst to him), and letting him think that he was miraculously granted the gift of healing by God.

And Sam decides to look for a similar sort of miraculous cure for Dean, even when Dean had accepted his own apparent fate:

DEAN: Look, Sammy, what can I say, man, it's a dangerous gig. I drew the short straw. That's it, end of story. SAM: Don't talk like that, alright? We still have options. DEAN: What options? Yeah, burial or cremation. And I know it's not easy. But I'm gonna die. And you can't stop it. SAM: Watch me.

Sam isn't about to go committing human sacrifice like Sue Ann, but after a tearful phone call plea to John for help, which goes unreplied to, Sam takes matters into his own hands, just as Dean checks himself out of the hospital having accepted his fate:

SAM: You know, this whole I-laugh-in-the-face-of-death thing? It's crap. I can see right through it. DEAN: Yeah, whatever, dude. Have you even slept? You look worse than me. SAM: (Helping DEAN to a chair) I've been scouring the Internet for the last three days. Calling every contact in Dad's journal. DEAN: For what? SAM: For a way to help you. One of Dad's friends, Joshua, he called me back. Told me about a guy in Nebraska. A specialist. DEAN: You're not gonna let me die in peace, are you? SAM: I'm not gonna let you die, period. We're going.

(aside to lol at John’s friend being named “Joshua,” namesake of the one angel God continued to talk to after supposedly abandoning Heaven and Earth, the angel who told Sam and dean in 5.16 that God refused to step in to help stop the apocalypse, and the angel killed in 12.19 by Dagon before fetus!Jack hijacked Cas to kill Dagon in turn... and even after his death it was Joshua’s amulet in 14.17 that enabled him to summon Chuck back into the story... funny that this hunter we never hear about again was the one to point Sam in the direction of this healer...)

And I'm sorry to just keep pasting in chunks of transcript, but this all goes to Sam and Dean's respective outlooks on pretty much everything, and the Grand Manipulation of Chuck in the entire narrative as we now understand it post 14.20:

DEAN: I mean, come on, Sam, a faith healer? SAM: Maybe it's time to have a little faith, Dean. DEAN: You know what I've got faith in? Reality. Knowing what's really going on. SAM: How can you be a skeptic? With the things we see everyday? DEAN: Exactly. We see them, we know there real. SAM: But if you know evil's out there, how can you not believe good's out there, too? DEAN: Because I've seen what evil does to good people.

Sam has faith, Dean's a skeptic. Throughout s14 we saw what it would take to break Dean to the point where he would accept the word of God without question. It literally took the entire season, more than half of it revolving around his possession and complete loss of free will and self, building him up when Michael left him again and giving him a false sense of security to begin to feel comfortable building emotional bridges to his entire family (including Jack), only to tear it all down and lose himself to Michael again on a whim, losing Mary again, losing Jack to soullessness because of his own failed choices (in his estimation, at least). This process of showing Dean how little power and control he has over his own existence was furthered by Billie presenting him with the supposed singular solution to save the world, which Dean interpreted to mean the most horrifying iteration of self-sacrifice the show has ever presented to us-- an eternity spent at the bottom of the ocean, locked with Michael in the Ma'lak box. Ironically, just as he was beginning to think of himself as something more than just a weapon, the parallel can't help but be drawn to the First Blade, which Cain had thrown to the bottom of the ocean in a similar fashion. Which should only serve to remind us that even that's not a permanent solution to any problem. And I think THAT was the lesson Billie truly wished Dean to understand. Jack is the one who ends up making the true sacrifice (his own human soul) to kill Michael once and for all, and Dean is left with the guilt of that.

But several other important incidents in s14 tie directly back to this, too. 14.08, playing with life and death, learning about what truly matters in someone's destiny after death, and what the Winchesters are willing to do to save a loved one. Ironically, in the process, Cas is backed into a corner, making a deal with the Empty Entity for his own happiness in exchange for Jack's soul.

Nothing ever comes for free. The Winchesters have been juggling these horrific choices and sacrifices their entire lives, and nothing is ever just as simple as an uncomplicated win.

Which is a key element of 1.12. Dean's skepticism, his feeling of "wrongness" after being healed by Roy, uncovers the larger truth. Sam desperately wants Dean to just let it go, accept it as a miracle, and move on:

SAM: Look, Dean, do we really have to look this one in the mouth? Why can't we just be thankful that the guy saved your life and move on? DEAN: Because I can't shake this feeling, that's why.

A miracle isn't enough for Dean, and the truth is darker and more horrifying than Sam can accept. As he uncovers more and more of the facts of just how Roy is supposedly healing people, he tearfully apologizes to Dean, and they work together to find a way to stop it from happening again. Someone is controlling a reaper, literally trading one life for another. Chuck must've LOVED this episode of his favorite show. It nails all his favorite themes:

DEAN: You never should've brought me here. SAM: Dean, I was just trying to save your life. DEAN: But, Sam, some guy is dead now because of me. SAM: I didn't know.

Ignorance of the truth didn't stop them from becoming entangled in this mess, though. Just like it hasn't stopped them from becoming entangled in every other cosmic mess they've stumbled across over the succeeding 14 seasons. Sam believed it was a miracle, and his faith had blinded him to the truth-- or at least made him want to believe, motivated by the results at Dean's miraculous healing. It's the same faith that led him in early s11 to want to believe his visions were coming from God, that maybe his visions that had plagued him in early seasons were being used for good now-- and with the intervention of Billie in 11.02 when those visions began, it's interesting how the solution that actually saved his life in that circumstance technically came from what she said to him about being "unclean in the biblical sense."

Reapers and their powers and limitations (clean hands!), and their knowledge of the Bigger Picture that Billie herself won't be able to see until she dies and is resurrected with the mantle of Death, have their beginnings in the mythology right here, enslaved to the will of a mortal woman who believed she could make choices about who deserved to live and who deserved to die based on her own corrupted sense of morality.

Even when the concept of Death is introduced in 5.10, he's presented as "lesser" than what he truly is by virtue of Lucifer having bound him to his will for the purposes of the apocalypse, and as merely one of the Four Horsemen equal to War, Famine, and Pestilence. In 5.21, we learn what he's "supposed to be." Practically an equal to God, with the power over all life and death. It's not really until 13.05 that we learn the truth about just how powerful Billie has become, and yet what her limitations still are. We begin to see one side of this massive cosmic chess match, all leading up to the biggest revelation of them all in 14.20.

Back to 1.12 again... (sorry it's impossible not to be continually distracted by the theme spiral here). Dean also is uncomfortable for the first time over the potential for The Lord to be eyeballing him specifically, which is a feeling he's gonna truly grow into throughout s4 "I don't like being singled out at birthday parties, let alone by God," right up through the showdown at the end of 14.20.

DEAN: Why? Why me? Out of all the sick people, why save me? ROY: Well, like I said before, the Lord guides me. I looked into your heart, and you just stood out from all the rest. DEAN: What did you see in my heart? ROY: A young man with an important purpose. A job to do. And it isn't finished.

Throughout the episode, they believe it's Roy controlling the reaper and making the choices about who lives and dies, but he was literally blind to the fact it was Sue Ann. He was as much a victim in all of this as the people he believed he was healing, that he believed he had been touched by God to impart new life to. But knowing the full truth, Dean has to stop someone from being healed that even HE believes deserves to be saved, to be spared the suffering of a life cut short by an inoperable brain tumor, after learning an innocent man would die in her place. No matter how much he might feel that Layla didn't deserve that fate, he also doesn't believe the man who'd been protesting Roy's healing ministry deserves to die just for that fact, either.

SUE ANN: I just don't understand. After everything we've done for you. After Roy healed you. I'm just very very disappointed Dean DEAN stares at her, saying nothing. SUE ANN: You can let him go. I'm not gonna press charges. The Lord will deal with him as he sees fit. SUE ANN leaves. The cops turn to DEAN. COP 1: We catch you round here again son, we'll put the fear of God in you, understand?

Once again, in text, Sue Ann is unwittingly labeled "God." It's not God's wrath Dean fears, but Sue Ann's, knowing his defiance has likely turned him from worthy of healing to unworthy of living. Now this has moved beyond idealistically wanting to stop someone from playing god with people's lives right back to the immediate need to stop them before someone else becomes the next victim. And all of their choices-- Dean not being able to walk away, not being able to look the other way, discovering the full horrific truth of how he himself had been brought back from the brink of death, led them to this juncture where it truly felt like they had no other choice but to stop the monster. It literally became a life and death matter for Dean.

I still find it fascinating that as a result of their actions and choices in this episode, the reaper who'd been enslaved to Sue Ann's will was freed when Sam crushed the talisman that kept him bound. I find that highly amusing in retrospect, that while Dean was literally touched by an incarnation of Death several times in this episode, Sam effectively committed services rendered to the Cosmic Order.

We've learned so much about all of this over the years, as well-- the need for balance, order in the universe, and so many of those lessons have come from Death directly. Dean learns some of this firsthand in 6.11, for example, when he takes on Death's job for a day (or at least the life-and-death side of his job, now that we know so much more about his knowledge and understanding of creation as a whole). We learn even more through Billie, and her constant reminders that what's dead should stay dead, and through Billie's reapers once she becomes Death. 13.19 reminds us, through a story about the consequences of killing reapers, just how tenuous the course of cosmic events can be, and what the universe does to self-correct when the balance tilts too far in one direction. It's a lesson Tessa began to teach way back in 4.15, in an episode where Dean once again saves the life of a reaper (not only unwittingly protecting the cosmic balance, but literally stopping the breaking of a seal and staving off the apocalypse for at least another day, and that entire episode, that entire case, only happened through the unwitting guidance of them to the case by Cas-- still operating under Heaven’s orders and pretending to be Bobby sending them to that town to investigate...).

It has always felt to me that the show has subtly revealed more about the truth of the cosmos through death and Death than anything else. And that's on full display now in 1.12. Sue Ann's lies of omission about Roy's "powers," her manipulation of circumstance and her ensnarement of a reaper to do her will, choosing who lives and dies and literally "playing God," is it really any wonder to find out that Chuck has attempted to do the same on the highest cosmic scale from the start? He is a writer, after all, writing the entire story of the universe even as the universe fights to tell its own story. It's only by looking to the center and seeing the truth of the entire picture that they can free themselves from that fate, break the spell that's held them captive to Chuck's narrative and this endless cycle of sacrifice.

Heck I still love this episode. So much that I’ve let the next three episodes play out in the background... This is the entire spiral of the story played out in miniature, wrapped into a single episode.

[indebetou-ghost]

I don’t know how I feel about this, but it’s my first attempt at anything involving actual TMA characters, so we all have to start somewhere. (That Lonely Eyes is coming soon)

          86 – Jonmartin – I’ll Walk You Home

       The Institute was quiet, save for the soft squishing noises that accompanied Jon’s every step. It sounded like his shoes were full of water, like he was stepping in mud, but no; that wet noise came from the hundreds of dead worms littering the floor of the institute- the rooms and the halls alike- that Jon was trying very hard to avoid stepping in, but one simply can’t accommodate for the worm-to-floor ratio when moving. It would involve copious amounts of tiptoeing, and though the Institute was mostly empty, he didn’t quite want to lower himself to that.

       It was definitely past closing hours, and Jon told Elias that he would go home just to get the man off his back, but in reality he didn’t really want to leave. The Institute felt like it was in safety limbo, as it were. It shouldn’t have felt safe, given that at any moment, any worm could slither back to life and deign to embed itself into Jon’s flesh like the rest of its kin seemed to enjoy doing. The Institute was full of worm corpses. It shouldn’t be safe, and yet-

       Yet it felt like the only safe place in the world, purely on virtue of surviving the whole ordeal. If the Institute could fortify itself against an eldritch horror of worm-like proportions than surely it could hold its own against any threat. Jon felt like his home just didn’t have that same quality. Sure, it was worm-free, always had been, but… it didn’t have the same warding atmosphere the Institute had. The Institute felt ominous on the best of days, but it also felt enveloping, beckoning. Nowhere else in the world felt like that right now.

       Still. Elias would have his head if he stayed in the Archives, so Jon made to leave.

       And on a stairwell that was remarkably free from worms, he saw Martin Blackwood.

       He looked about as tired as Jon felt, and the effect of exhaustion seemed to make the man physically droop. Shoulders slouched, slightly curled in on himself, even his hair, which was generally comprised of bouncy golden curls, was almost wilting. The day had taken a toll on everyone, after all. Jon was sure he looked a lot worse.

       “Hi, Jon,” Martin said, a few steps up. Jon had to crane his neck to look him in the face. “You heading home too?”

       “I… suppose I am, yes.” He replied. He climbed a few steps, and when he was level with Martin, the two of them wordlessly began walking together. It was more a solidarity thing than anything else, Jon reasoned. The loyalty of co-workers, monster-based trauma notwithstanding. Corridors passed, and the worms gradually started becoming more and more scarce. The silence became the air, and the air became silent, until Martin Blackwood seized the opportunity to break it.

       “This’ll be the first time I’ll be in my flat again since the whole Prentiss thing started.” He mused, voice rising above the silence. Jon probably should have spent less time thinking about the fact that words had been said, and more time thinking about the words, because by the time he responded, it was a beat too late for it to feel natural.

       “Oh, I suppose that’ll be… nice.” Oh, very eloquent. It was the exhaustion, and the will to be polite. He didn’t think either of them had the energy to be anything but civil right now, anyway, but Martin continued talking as if Jon had said something worth responding to.

       “I guess. It’s been more than a month. It’ll probably be dusty. God know what state my houseplants’ll be in.”

       “Better dusty than wormy.” Jon said, mostly without thinking. Martin actually huffed out a chuckle at that.

       “I’m pretty sure I’d prefer anything to the worms right now. I’d take spiders any day of the week.”

       “I think I’d settle for the worms out of those two options, actually.”

       “Spiders aren’t everyone’s cup of tea,” Martin smiled. The smile was quickly followed by a sigh, and the Institute door was in view. “Sometimes I think I see worms out of the corner of my eyes, you know? Even when it’s just light moving, or a cigarette butt on the footpath, or… just a bit of dust on the wind. At least now we know they’re all gone. Well, most of them are gone. Some could still be wriggling around, heaven forbid.”

       Jon hummed in affirmation, a quiet yes, and they were out into the night air. A far different chill to the bone-deep cold of the institute. At the end of their walk side by side, Martin turned to face Jon.

       “Right, well, safe home, Jon. Have a good night.”

       “Wait, Martin,” Jon found himself saying, and Martin took an aborted step forward before turning back to Jon.

       “What is it?”

       God, this was stupid.

       “Would you- that is, if you don’t mind, ah- can I walk you home?”

       Jon could feel the surprise radiating off Martin, and quickly backpedalled. “I-if you don’t want me to that’s fine, but, see, the thing is, after the worms I don’t think I-” Jon sighed and restarted mentally, went back, rewrote the sentence in his head. “I’d prefer not to walk alone, for a while. Just until I’m… far enough away from the institute. Is that alright?”

       Jon really didn’t expect Martin’s look of surprise to change into something more pleased, but he smiled something far too warm and happy to have come from today, and he nodded. “That’s- It’d be more than alright. I’d be glad for the company.”

       They walked.

       It was mostly companionable silence for the first few minutes, while Jon was trying to get his bearings on how, exactly, to actually start a conversation with Martin. They walked between lampposts, the sections of dark between the radius of light the zones of slight tension, the place where the hairs on the back of Jon’s neck stood up, but then Martin would smile at him, and the sudden surge of fear would dissipate.

       “So,” Martin eventually said, “How’re, the, uh, worm wounds? I mean, I assume they’re bad but… are you alright, is what I’m trying to say.”

       Jon could snap back at him, tell him that of course he wasn’t alright, that it was an idiotic question to ask, but… he doesn’t. He bites back a cruel comment, because Martin means well. He’s trying. It’s just conversation.

       “They hurt. But I’ll be fine. I’ll survive.” His answer is succinct and maybe a little sharp (he’ll blame that on the exhaustion) but Martin seems satisfied with it. After a beat, he adds to it. “I’m glad you’re mostly unscathed.”

       “So am I,” Martin says, and then his step falters for a second before he falls back into the same rhythm as Jon.” “Sorry, thought I saw something… moving. Probably nothing.”

       “Probably just a stray piece of string.” Jon says. “Or some particularly mobile dirt.”

       Martin chuckles at that. “Is it a worm, or is it some volatile debris? Place your bets!”

       Jon huffs amusedly in place of laughter, and shoots back, “That piece of plastic looks very like a worm, I think we’d better investigate to be sure.”

       “Be careful, that empty can could be full of them, lurking, waiting.”

       They laugh as they go on, and Jon finds it completely surreal. The sheer amount of stress he’s been through today seems to have come full circle, as now it feels just completely foreign. Hours ago, he decided that he couldn’t trust a soul in the Institute, but here he is now, not twenty four hours after being ravaged by flesh-eating worms, laughing with his equally traumatised co-worker about said worms. He thinks, if you don’t laugh you’ll cry, and that’s exactly the philosophy his tired mind latches onto, because every second spent with Martin is a second he doesn’t need to think about how he could have died today, or about the murder of Gertrude Robinson, or about the hold, the pressure he can feel exerted upon him by the Institute at large. He knows there’s something larger at play, some greater web he’s in the centre of, but at this very moment there is only him, Martin, and the ever-living traffic of London. It’s almost enough to forget about the holes in his skin and the gaps in his knowledge.

       Almost.

       “Watch out, that one looks very worm-like,” Martin starts, jovial, until he squints at the creature and stops. “Actually, I think that is a worm.”

       Jon stops too, and Martin’s right: it is a worm. A normal, pink worm, twisting and writhing on the footpath. “It is most definitely a worm.”

       They exchange glances, and look at the worm, and at each other.

       They cross the road just in case.

       The conversation fades after that, but the night is so filled with the sounds of London that Jon doesn’t really mind. There’s never a silent note to coax unpleasant thoughts from his head and that’s all he could ask for. Walking with Martin is… nice. It’s nice.

       They’re at Martin’s flat too soon, and suddenly there’s distance between them, and Martin’s walking up the stairs and Jon has to crane his neck to see his face again. He’s smiling, and looking so fondly that Jon can’t help but wonder if it’s actually directed at him.

       “Well, this is me. Thanks for walking with me, Jon. I think it did a lot of good.”

       “I… think so too. Thank you, Martin.”

       Before he finished his ascent to his building, Martin stopped and looked pensive for a second before descending the stairs again, and standing level with Jon once more. Quickly, and a little hesitantly, unsure, Martin pulled Jon into a hug, and Jon barely got to register the sensation before it was gone again. Martin was warm. He smelled faintly of lavender, and a little bit like tea bags.

       “Stay safe, Jon. Be careful on your way home.”

       “I will. Thank you.”

       Martin Blackwood disappeared into the darkness of the apartment building, and Jon made his way home. His mind was more at ease, and as he walked alone, the ghost of warmth around his body, he found that he wasn’t plagued by the worries of the past and the future. They were kept at bay for one blessed evening, and Jon thought that was enough.

It was more than enough.

[hotheadhero]

Jouska: A hypothetical conversation that you compulsively play out in your head.

@thefetchingfletcher asked this also!

It’s been a long time since I reblogged the source ask (misread it from the very beginning too) and I’ve been thinking about Azure Moon recently, so I’m going to be lazy(?) and answer this as if I’m writing a drabble for just Caspar. Spoilers for Azure Moon Chapter 14, major (albeit offscreen) character death, and sheer length. Hints of monachopsis, rubatosis, nodus tollens, and lachesism scattered throughout (arguably also mauerbauertraurigkeit, albeit indirectly). There are also hints of suicide here and there if you know where to look (disclaimer: I have encountered very little of it myself and am making it up as I go).

Whatif I had stopped him?

Whatif I had intervened then and there?

Theywere weeks out from the event, yet Caspar couldn’t stop replaying his uncleRandolph’s final moments in his head. How he’d begged for mercy, tried in vainto appeal to Dimitri’s sense of reason and his heart. How Dimitri merely shuthim down, dug the nail in deeper, until Randolph’s very voice bled with tormentand he cried out for the mad king to stop. No doubt his uncle had imagined all of the men he’d fought with, dyingbefore his eyes even as he lay helpless to stop them. Imagined Fleche there onthe guillotine with them, eyes wide and panicked and accusing in their finalmoments. Why didn’t you save me, brother? those cyan eyes demanded. Whydidn’t you try harder to save your people?

Perhapshe was merely imagining those things, for Fleche was not here now; and byvirtue of not being here, she could not be dead. Perhaps he was merelyprojecting his own thoughts onto another, in some… futile attempt to come togrips of exactly what it was that he was enabling.

Itwas no secret to any of them that Caspar hailed from the Empire. He was the only one of them hereif one excluded the runaways who’d fled Emperor Edelgard’s iron grip on the southern Adrestian lands. Everyday he expected one of the Lions of Faerghus to come for his head, to lop it off as theyhad Fleche’s in his vivid nightmares, laughing scornfully, maniacally, justas Dimitri had done before Byleth intervened and killed Randolph with one blow. Byleth was no better, either—the Ashen Demon come back to life, murdering Caspar’s blood relative as coldly and emotionlessly as Caspar might take out the trash. Itdidn’t matter what they’d said to Dimitri after that. How they missed theDimitri they once knew. It was all a ploy. A feigned attempt at emotionality, at humanity.At least Dimitri had been obvious about how he’d felt, and confirmed outright thesuspicions Caspar had had of him since coming back to the monastery and theLions last year.

Andyet… Had anything Dimitri said truly been wrong?

Justbecause the one who’d delivered the message was clearly unsettled did not meanCaspar could dismiss it out of hand. The mad king had a point. Even if this waswar, with every life they took, all of their hands turned redder and redder,the poll of blood widening at their fingertips, soaking into their skin, so that noteven the most vigorous of scrubbings could clear the taint away. And Caspar hadbeen so eager to prove his worth on the battlefield, so ready to kill anybodywho stood in his way, allegiance be damned. Was it truly justice if he had tokill and murder friend and foe in order to achieve it? He’d deserted his house to be here; hisfamily, his country, the princess. He’d slain countless citizens of theEmpire as Dimitri’s and Byleth’s willing pawn, even enjoyed it—did that makehim any better than his friends in Faerghus, who at least had the ties of (separate) country binding them? What must they think of a deserter who readily killed those hailing from a country he once called home?

Werethey too waiting for him to snap? To take his revenge upon Dimitri, as nephew tothe slain?

Hecouldn’t deny the hatred he felt burning in his bones, threatening to overwhelm him in afever pitch if he just closed his eyes and gave in. And yet Caspar couldnot so easily shake his memories of the Faerghus prince from five years ago,the first of his house to extend a welcoming hand to the new transfer, one with whom he’d laughedand cried and joked and sparred countless times in the past. The memories feltso far away now; but they were as much a part of him as his very name. Could hereally leave all that behind, even for the sake of justifiable revenge? It washis duty as a Bergliez to avenge the death of his uncle; yet impossible hope against hopestayed his hand. He had to believe the Dimitri of old would come back one day,or else everything he had fought for up to this point would be for naught. Hewould be nothing but a traitor, a fool who mindlessly killed for his homeland’s enemy, a monster smiling but not the less grotesque, carrying out the dyingwishes of a mad king, a walking corpse.

Hecouldn’t bear the idea of facing Linhardt now, even as he wished his old friend could be here right now to comfort him and tell him that he was doing something right.

(Yethe knew Warp magic did not work that way; they’d tried plenty hard five years before—)

Therewas so much he wanted to ask Dimitri. What happened, what insult had the Empiredealt him so long ago that he would chase after them so single-mindedly now, whatif anything he could do to make it better. But Caspar had no doubt in his mindthat if he were to approach Dimitri now, he would simply order his head cut off,or maybe simply his tongue so that Caspar could neither protest nor questionhis orders. If he persisted, Dimitri would do worse—just as he would have doneRandolph, had Byleth not intervened.

(Worse yet, he did not know that even his death would cheer the prince of Faerghus up. He’d heard in Dimitri’s voice that some part of him was still horrified by all the death he invited and caused, even if the greater part of him thrilled in it and wanted more. In other words, if he confronted Dimitri now, his life too would be in vain, just as his uncle Randolph’s had been before him.)

AndByleth was no better either—willingly letting Dimitri use them “evenshould the flesh fall from their bones” even though their blood ties were nomore tightly-hewn than his. Caspar had almost forgotten just how it was that Bylethhad earned the nickname they’d held before leading the Blue Lions. Now hewould never forget.

Norcould he confide in any of the other Lions who followed Dimitri; not Mercedes or Annette, not even Sylvain or Felix. Caspar had no way of knowing how many of themapproved of Dimitri’s mad tirade, how many of them had their ears peeled foreven the slightest hint that he was cracking under the pressure of being alone. And so Caspar had no choice butto bear it alone, even as it wounded him, bent his back and shoulders and tore athis guts until he was little more than a throbbing mass of pain andconfusion and regret. What must Linhardt think of me now? Caspar thoughtmiserably. He knew before anyone else that I wanted to switch houses. Doeshe still think of me when he hears news from the battlefront? Or does myface morph into Dimitri’s now, laughing maniacally while mowing hundreds of enemy soldiers down?

Goddess,he was even starting to think of the Empire as his enemy now. Were the ties ofblood and old friendships really so tenuous?

Caspardidn’t remember sitting down or dropping his head into his hands; but helifted his head now with a shuddering, despairing laugh. Maybe he shouldgo confront Dimitri, he thought to himself; put an end to this stupid farce once andfor all. It was as clear as day that he did not belong here. A lone Adrestian amongFaerghans, a red wolf lost amid the blue. At least death would be better thanthis uncertainty; and even if Dimitri made his end neither swift nor merciful,there would be no more of this unbearable tension. Just one clean stroke, andhis life would be over, especially if Byleth intervened again to spare him thetorture.

Itwasn’t as if he’d made much use of his life anyways.

Aturncoat hiding amongst the wolves. His pulse quickened in his chest; Casparimagined it was trying to burst clear out from the bones that caged it in. Anaccurate analogy for one such as he, chained by the corpses piled at his feetto a false ideal, far from everything he had once held dear. He didn’t have tosee the bodies to be certain that his older brother and his family lay deadnow, as did his father, the indomitable Minister of Military Affairs. They wouldhave gone after him first; Count Bergliez was too dangerous a target to letwander free. Perhaps some part of him yet wanted him to stay alive for the sakeof the fallen, to procure revenge if at all possible and flee with his life ifhe could not. And yet, when had Caspar ever behaved like a proper heir? Howfitting it would be if he died as he lived, a rebel to the very end, spittingon the face of his lost inheritance as surely as he’d spit upon his country andhis family. For even if he hadn’t killed Uncle Randolph himself, his inactionhad killed him as surely as if he and not Byleth had wielded the blade. Casparwould never forget the look on his face as he died, as surely as he wouldn’tforget the smile on Dimitri’s face as he spoke so callously of gouging Randolph’s eyesout and dragging him down to his level—

Casparhadn’t even realized he’d started laughing again in earnest. Quiet though thesound was, it was inhuman, not even his own. The cackling of a monster. Howcould he ever have thought he’d make it through this war whilst keeping his idealspure, wings white, hands clean?

Perhapshe would go seek Dimitri out after all. Caspar never had been one forinaction; none of the Bergliezes were. No doubt his aunt Fleche would do thesame in his shoes, if she learned of the fate with which Uncle Randolph had met.

Hecouldn’t let her throw her life away like that; for if she lived, she was theonly living relative he had left. He couldn’t lose another relative when somany of them had already fallen. All of the tragedy that had befallen theirfamily was his fault—and it was his responsibility to end it.

The laughter continued, brokenand despairing. If it would silence these coward voices, then by the Goddess,he would act.

[jeromevalseka]

Female! Jonathan and Female! Bruce Being soft, enjoying each's company whilst getting revenge on Jervis.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!! i don’t know how soft they turned out in this but i’m officially in love with fem!scarebat, like. they are so powerful. okay i’ll shut up now, i hope you enjoy! 

(also on AO3)

nine.

Johanna Crane had soft skin and chapped lips and tasted like maple and brown sugar. Briana Wayne shouldn't have known any of those things, but she did, and she refused to regret her choices because kissing Jo felt ridiculously, unexplainably, right. Her hair was long and tangled, and Briana only tangled it further, pushing her fingers through it, tugging, gently at first and then harshly, relishing in the way she gasped under her ministrations.

It's nice, she thought, half-dazed, her tongue still in Jo's mouth, to have such an effect on someone.

(it's nice, she thought, less loudly, her tongue still in Jo's mouth — where else would it be? — to love someone.)

Briana should not be where she was. She should not let Johanna Crane push her calloused hands up against her thighs. She should not let her scrunch her dress up, high above her belly, the silky material tickling along her skin making her twitch almost as much as Jo's blunt-tipped nails running along her skin did — first tracing over her hip bone, then trailing around her navel, moving even higher, dragging to the edges of her bralette, teasing. She should not drop her mouth from Jo's lips to her jaw — her neck, pulse racing — the juncture of her shoulder. She should not bite down. She should not suck a bruise into her soft skin.

She should not do a number of things—

But she does.

ten.

There were many benefits to being rich, Briana mused as she stood, waiting alone in a back alley of the Narrows. She probably looked out of place. Actually, she knew that she looked out of place. Her curled hair and her lips red; a wool trench coat worth more than any of petty drug dealers around her made in half a year, kitten heels worth double the coat. She had a meeting with her board of directors later and then, if all went well, dinner with Alfred and Jim. She had a part to play.

Besides, if anyone thought to try anything she had a few tricks up her sleeve — literally. Once more, she found herself fiddling with the bracelet-slash-fear-gas-dispenser Jo had given her, warmed, even after so many weeks, by the thoughtfulness of the gift. It wasn't as if she couldn't hold herself in a fight — something that Jo was well aware of — but if it came down to it, Briana Wayne, socialite and CEO, taking down an armed assailant with her bare hands would raise several questions that she'd rather not have to answer.

At long last, as her patience finally began to dwindle, the man she'd been waiting for appeared.

Victor Zsasz did not have, as she'd been expecting, a frightening presence, but an off-putting one. He looked very much like a kid in a candy store, his dark eyes lighting up when he caught sight of her. At his back was only one of his Zsaszettes, a remarkably pretty girl with high cheekbones and a purple mohawk. Briana wondered if she should have been offended that he came with so little backup.

"My, my," he said, once he stopped in front of her, his hands spread wide, consolatory, "What is a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

"Business," she said, briskly. "I hear you're the best at what you do."

Zsasz nearly smiled. "And I hear you have dinner with good old Captain Gordon twice a week. I'd say that leaves business between us a little... difficult. Wouldn't you?"

She tilted her head up higher, glaring. "No, I wouldn't. What Jim doesn't know won't hurt him."

He clicked his tongue against his teeth. "No need to be so catty," he said, sharing a long look with the woman beside him. "Alright then. I'll bite. Who do you want me to kill?"

"Jervis Tetch," Briana answered, his name poisonous on her tongue.

She wasn't sure if she'd ever hated anyone as much as she had grown to hate Tetch. No one — not Matches Malone or Hugo Strange or Ra's al Ghul or Theo Galavan or any of the other horrible, monstrous men she'd been forced to endure — filled her with the same amount of visceral, all-encompassing hatred as Tetch did, an impressive feat considering they'd never even been acquainted before.

(Jo knew him though. Jo was scared of him, still, despite everything, and Jo wasn't scared of much anymore — after all, what did a personification of fear have to be afraid of? perhaps a weaselly man in an ugly tophat who could take away a person's control of themselves with one swing of a watch.)

Zsasz blinked at her, his eyes more calculating than she was comfortable with. "Tetch, huh? He is kinda a creep, isn't he? Did he make you do something? Something bad?"

Not me, she thought.

Briana wondered, briefly, if she could get away with stabbing him without his henchwoman retaliating.

"No. Does it matter?"

"Of course not," he said, drolly. "I was just curious is all. It's not every day I get business with the Briana Wayne. Makes a guy think."

She really wanted to stab him. "Will you do it or not?"

"Patience is a virtue, you know. Tetch is worth five tallies on his own, don't you think Loretta?" Zsasz asked, turning towards the woman at his side who was, evidently, Loretta. She shrugged in disinterest. "We'll talk about it later, then." Addressing, Briana again, he said, "Yes, I will do it—  that is if you're willing to pay the right price."

She let herself smile. "Kill Tetch and I'll give you 10 million. Two up front, before you do it, and the rest upon completion. How does that sound?"

"It sounds like I should do business with billionaires more often, your highness. Any special requests?"

"As long as he ends up dead, I could care less how it happens." Briana paused then, remembering something Jo told her, voice shaking, about Tetch's obsession with tea parties, about his relationship with his sister, about how he started to call Jo, Alice. "Actually, could you shove a teacup down his throat? After he's dead. Or before if that works."

Zsasz laughed. "It's been a real pleasure, Briana Wayne. Keep your eye on the news this week. I have a feeling something's gonna make headlines."

"I'm looking forward to it." She said, completely honest, holding back a smile that she knew would end up stupidly wide.

one.

"You're a mean, little thing, aren't you?" Jo asked her, appraising. There was a bruise blossoming over her jaw that Briana refused to feel guilty for. Johanna Crane was a criminal and a murderer and did not deserve any of her sympathies. Unfortunately, she was also charming and clever and smiled at her like she was something special and—

Briana was fucked, essentially.

"Sometimes," she shrugged. "It depends on the situation. I tend not to play nice with my kidnappers. I'd hate to boost their egos."

Jo laughed then, tapping a gloved finger to her chin. The needles she kept in the tips of the gloves glinted menacingly. She had to remember who she was dealing with. Johanna wasn't a run-of-the-mill Arkham escapee. She was a different monster entirely, armed with both her scythe and, worse, her fear toxin. Briana had to tread carefully.

"Oh, sweetheart, this isn't a kidnapping," she tilted her head to the side, infuriatingly coy. "Unless you'd like it to be?"

"What do you want, then?" Briana asked, unwilling to play whatever game Jo had lined out. If only she could reach her phone, still sitting on her desk, then she could send an S.O.S to Alfred and—

She smiled. "I just wanted to drop in and meet the girl who survived Jerome Valeska for a third time. He told me you were boring. Just another boring, blue-blooded brat, but you're more than that, right? There's something that's just eating at you. I wonder what it is."

Briana thought back to her horrifically miscalculated visit to Zack Trumble's diner. She thought about Jerome, on his knees, choking, and then she thought about Jerome with his gun —  Jerome her savior, Briana his, an awful inversion of roles — and then she thought about Selina, her second savior — and on and on and on, because nothing in Gotham was ever easy or clean.

"You're wrong," she said, "I am boring. And a blue-blood. I don't know if I'd call myself a brat, though. Most people prefer to call me a bitch."

If anything, Jo's smile widened. "You are just darling. We're gonna have a blast together, sweetheart. I can already tell."

Briana didn't know it yet but that — Jo's smile and southern drawl — was the beginning of the end for her.

Or, maybe, it was the end and the beginning, circular.

Or, maybe, it was neither. Just transitionary.

[crashdevlin]

Bottle-7: Nightmares

Bottle Masterlist

Author’s Note: Originally posted to ao3 (This is an edited and improved version), I work in info from the comics (Like Hawkeye was married to Mockingbird and Red Skull had a disappointing daughter) and I took a few liberties with what the scepter could do (but not really because the Mind Stone was used to create the Twins so what I did is not that far-fetched). This is a lot more angst than I realized when I wrote it, but it’s compelling angst.

Summary: Cassandra Campbell is a Stark Industries lab tech with dubious genetics and a history with the new Director of SHIELD. She’s been working in New York since right before the Chitauri invasion. What does she have to do with Loki, and what will happen when he returns? Starts post TDW and continues to the end of AoU.

Pairing(s): Phil Coulson x OFC (Past), Loki x OFC (Non-con), Clint Barton x OFC, Steve Rogers x OFC

Word Count: 4004

Story Warnings: So many, worst (to me) are bolded. Younger woman/older man relationship,non-con, mutilation, torture, mind control, PTSD, depression, alcoholism, forced abortions, bad things (non-con) in a church, insomnia, memory manipulation, eventual consensual oral sex (female and male receiving),

Chapter Warnings: insomnia, nightmares, depression, alcoholism, general identity issues, bad German from Google Translate, mentions of suicidal thoughts

Cassie's dreams hadn't been what would be called 'pleasant' in a couple years, but her nightmares had steadily become more distressing. When she woke, she took a deep breath to steady her heart rate and it fell immediately. She rubbed at her eyes with the blanket and folded it, throwing it next to her jump seat.

"You okay?" Clint asked, from the pilot's seat. Natasha had traded for the seat beside him.

"I'm fine," Cassie said, her voice monotone as she stood to walk up between the two agents.

"Well, maybe this’ll cheer you up. Welcome home," Clint said, reaching over to flip several switches on the jet's console.

Cassie looked out at the New York skyline. Twinkling lights and skyscrapers greeted her as she looked out the front of the jet. Right in the middle of the picturesque landscape stood Stark Tower, the visual confirmation of Tony Stark's ego. She might have found it beautiful if it weren’t the building where Loki Laufeyson had turned her into a monster... twice. 'Home' was not the word she would use.

As they walked into the top of the Tower, Steve walked out of a door to their immediate left. "Romanoff, Barton, mission debrief."

The agents split off from her without a word. Cassie looked around, seeming a bit lost as she set her bag against the closest wall. "Lab tech!" She heard from her right. "Come talk to me."

Cassie nodded and headed over to Tony. He shut the door behind her and headed to a wet bar behind to his desk. He poured two glasses of scotch and set one on the opposite edge of his desk, right in front of her. He sat down and took a sip, eyeing her. "How was Austria?" he asked as she picked up the tumbler.

She looked down at the glass. "It was good. Nice." She took a sip. It was smooth and strong. Much better than the home-made vodka she'd been downing every night to help her sleep. "All I had to worry about was bratwurst and God."

"Well, that sounds... so boring. Boring like listening to Cap extol on the virtues of the 'good ol' days'."

"Well, it might not be saving the world, but I wasn't putting it in danger, either. And it was quiet. I thought it might help me to... deal." She whispered the last word.

"Yeah. Everybody has their coping methods. Me, I drink a lot," Tony said, lifting his glass. "Or, I make metal suits. Hawk shoots stuff, Romanoff kills things. You and Banner seem to be fans of the 'disappear into the middle of nowhere and get a taste of the simple life' method. Whatever. Diff'rint strokes. But what's important is you come back when you're needed. And here you are."

"I hope it doesn't diminish anything that I tried to run when... Barton showed up." She didn't feel quite up to 'first-naming' Hawkeye, yet.

"Not at all. Figured you would. Look, you're here and in not a whole lot worse condition than when you left. I had Pepper put you on a leave of absence when Loki grabbed you, so you have a job downstairs, if you want it. And you're still what Fury calls 'enhanced', so you have a job up here."

"I don't know. I mean... I haven't even considered coming back to the lab."

"You've got time to think about it, but I'd really like you on the team when we go searching for the sceptre. It's like an epic quest. It'll be fun," he encouraged.

"Maybe."

"Well, either way, why don't you head over to the lab, let Banner scan you? I'd like to make sure Austria didn't fuck you up."

Cassie nodded, finishing off her scotch and standing.

**********

She opened the sliding door to the lab and smiled, timidly. Banner wasn't a man she'd spoken with much before, but he seemed to be the only one who didn't have judgement in his eyes when he looked at her. "Oh, hello. Welcome back. Why don't you get a seat?" Bruce said, adjusting his glasses and tapping away at a tablet.

She jumped up on the exam table and looked around at all the equipment, most of it familiar, but some of it obviously specialized. "So, 'Red Queen', huh?"

"Well, it's just something I was tossing around. Everyone's got a superhero name, you know. The big guy's The Hulk, Tony is Iron Man. Hawkeye, Black Widow, Captain America. I thought you, you know, you ought to have one, too."

"Well, I like it. It's better than 'Red Skulletta'," she said, with a small smile. Bruce just continued looking down at his tablet. "That was a joke." She leaned forward. "Maybe I should try it in German. They got a kick out of me back in Hohenhems."

Bruce looked up from his tablet and gave a little smile as he took off his glasses. "Sorry. I get lost in the science sometimes. How was Hohenhems?"

Cassie smiled. "It was quiet. The people were really nice, worked with me, helped me learn German, well, relearn it. It was simple. I was... almost happy there. Working on happy, anyway. Until Loki found me, again. That always puts an end to 'happy'."

Bruce scanned her from head to toe. "Well, at least you're here now," he said, absentmindedly.

"Yeah." Everyone seemed to think that was a good thing. Who was she to argue?

"Let me just get some blood and you can head down to your apartment." Anxiety flooded her at the mention of her apartment and Banner’s tablet beeped. "Or, judging by that spike in your blood pressure, you might want to find one of Tony's couches to crash on."

She smiled, embarrassed. "Speaking of crashing, you got anything that would help me sleep?"

"Yeah. I have a couple sedatives around. Insomnia?" he asked, straightening her arm and wrapping a rubber band around her bicep.

"No... uh, nightmares," she whispered, as he gently pushed a needle into her vein.

Bruce nodded. He pulled out the vial of blood and labelled it, before walking over to a cabinet and grabbing a bottle. "This is Lorazapam. Take one about half an hour before you try to sleep. It'll relax you and your mind won't be so anxious. It should work on the nightmares better than Tony's scotch would."

She felt her cheeks heat up at that. How'd he know she was planning to steal her boss' amazing scotch? She jumped down and grabbed the bottle from his hand. She smiled and thanked him. She had her hand on the door when Banner turned his back to her. "Scrutiny sucks," he said, suddenly. The words sounded awkward from the quiet scientist.

Cassie turned back, pushing the pill bottle into her pocket. Bruce took off his glasses, setting them on the table next to him. "I mean... it's no one else's business what happened between you and Coulson. No one's business why you left that base in the Alps. But they will be watching, judging, because that's... human nature."

She sighed, sadly. "I left because I wanted to try to outrun the scrutiny. Guess that was wishful thinking."

"Well... I... I'm not the judging type. The other guy has done some horrible things, so I don't judge. If you need an ear... I'm in this lab, most of the time."

Cassie smiled a little, stepping forward, then jumping back onto the exam table, leaning back on it. "Can I hang in here with you, for a little while, then? I don't want to deal with Steve's cold looks, or the weirdness with Barton. Eventually, we're going to get a call from Phil, and I'll have those questions to answer. I'll take a judgement-free zone where I can get it."

"Why don't you have one of those Lorazapams, take a nap?"

She took the pills out of her pocket and placed five on her tongue. She took a deep breath and rolled over on her side, curling her arm under her head and closing her eyes.

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

Cassie had read somewhere that dreams of running for your life, being hunted by something that you can instinctively tell is faster than you, were normal. She'd never been able to find anything about being the one on the hunter side. Her dream-self cornered its prey and pulled them to her. "Hail Hydra," she whispered in her prey's ear as she brought a knife to their neck. "Sie werden nie dein schicksal besiegen, [You will never defeat your fate.]" she whispered, before violently pulling the knife across her victim's throat. As the body fell to the concrete beneath her dream self, Cassie could see her own face on the victim.

Her eyes flew open, her whole body tense. "Sie werden nie dein schicksal besiegen," she whispered, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. She looked around and saw Tony and Bruce, standing outside the lab doors, looking at a tablet. She looked at her watch. She'd gotten six hours. She hadn't gotten that much sleep in one go since she left the Playground. "Thank you, Ativan," she said, grabbing the bottle from the table next to the exam table and jumping down. She opened the lab door and smiled at the scientists.

"How'd you sleep?" Bruce asked.

"Better than I have in months, actually. Made it past hour four, so..." Cassie cleared her throat. "Um, Tony... sir. I'm in a good... well, a rested mindset, so I wanted to tell you that I'm going to respectfully decline going back to work in the lab."

Tony shrugged. "No biggie. I'm sure we can-"

"I'd like to focus on Ops training. I'm excited to make sure Loki never lays hands on that scepter again. I'd like to go on that quest. But being strong and fast won't do me any good if I can't fight. And if I can't fight, then I'm useless here."

The men exchanged a look. "Okay. I'll tell Romanoff you need some ass-kicking lessons," Tony responded.

"Don't bother. I'll talk to Barton. That conversation's gotta happen sometime. Better now, when I've had an almost full round of sleep," she said, before walking away.

She found him, with the help of Jarvis, several levels below the penthouse in a large open room with dozens of targets. "Stark made a shooting range? How thoughtful," Cassie said, walking in behind him.

"There's also some foam mats in a closet somewhere, in case Tash gets the urge to kick my ass," he said, throwing the knife that sat balanced on his fingers into a target behind him.

"Got a minute?"

He nodded and grabbed two folding chairs from the wall next to the door. She sat in one, turning it so that her chest was leaning on the back rest. "I was deluded, back at der... the Playground. To think I could carry a Jotun baby... it would have killed me. You saved me from myself. And I hated you for it."

She rested her chin on her hands, on the backrest of the chair. "I understand now. I can't win against destiny. Can't run or hide. I was created to be a super-soldier. I wasn't created to be a scientist or-or a mother. So, I may as well fulfill that."

"I thought you weren't Ops material?"

"Well, I must be. Joanna was pretty good at all that stuff. Sliding down elevator cables, jumping from fire escapes to windows... I did that stuff. Somewhere in me is the fortitude for Ops training. So, I'm coming to you, the one person who has known me longer than anyone except Phil and Fury. Teach me Ops."

Clint looked down. "Who told you?"

"I must've known. Realized I'd seen you trailing me. Joanna knew. Fury confirmed it for her...me... and then you admitted to watching me with a high power scope. Pretty easy there.” She sighed, heavily, a thickness filling her chest. “I don't mind, well, I do, but... I'm Red Skull's daughter. Phil was a level 8 agent. Fury had to keep his eye out."

Clint sighed, disappointed in himself. "I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you. I just... didn't know how."

"It's fine, Clint. It's good to have someone around who knows me... because I don't think I know myself right now." Her eyes stung as she said the words.

Clint stood, before dropping to his knees next to her. "Cassie, you don't know who you are? I do. You are a scientist. You matched wits with some of the brightest minds in Stark Industries. You are a wonderful, intelligent, selfless woman who has faced so much in the last two years. To come out alive... I'm amazed by you. I've been amazed by you from the moment Fury put me on you." He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to look at him.

"I thought it'd be boring. I thought I'd just have to wait a week or so to get evidence of you meeting with Hydra operatives or using Coulson somehow. What I saw was beauty. I saw confidence. I saw a woman deeply in love with a man who was never really around to return that love.” Clint smiled, slightly. “I remember Phil going on a mission once, and you sat around sewing the holes in his suits, while studying tissue histology in a microscope. You never made friends, because Phil was all you cared about. You based your entire life around a man who was gone for weeks at a time. You got your school work done in between making sure everything was perfect every day, just in case Coulson came home. And the day he came home, and wouldn't shut his fucking face about that cellist he saved... I remember the look on your face when you decided to leave everything you had behind and embark on a life by yourself with his kid, so that he could be happy. You didn't even cry, because you were happy letting him be happy. That is you. Selfless, loyal, never thinking about yourself."

She couldn't deny the tears rolling down her cheek this time. "I don't feel like that woman anymore. I lost... everything. I lost Phil. I lost Faye. I lost my humanity, my optimism. I lost my second chance at being happy. Loki killed me. So, who am I now, Clint?"

Clint’s heart ached at the sight of her tears, the way her voice broke as she talked of her loss. "You are the same woman. You're just a little beaten down, right now," Clint said, taking her hands.

Cassie laughed, sarcastically. She pulled her hands out of his grasp and wiped at her tears. "Beaten down was miles back. I'm broken down. I don't sleep. I can't think. I couldn't even tell that Loki had replaced Father Nathan back at the church. That's why Hohenhems was so good to me, nothing required effort. Warm up some sausage, put it on a plate, go back to church and pray for the will to end it all, cry myself to sleep, wake up in cold sweats and do it all over again."

She stood, suddenly, pushing the chair and the archer away, stepping away from him. "I thought I could do this. I thought I could come back and answer all the questions and it could go back to how it was before. But I can't. I'm not... I can't do this," she said, rushing out the door.

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

Cassie sat in the dive bar Clint had taken her to all those months ago, her glass half-full of a 151 white rum. She'd already downed three and she was happily starting to feel drunk.

"So, what's a beautiful woman like you, doing drinking hard liquor in a dive bar?" a man asked, sitting on the barstool next to her.

"Move on," she said, not looking at him as she downed the rest of her drink and raised her hand for another.

"What's that?"

"I said, 'Move on'." She raised her head and turned slightly to the attractive dark-haired man beside her. "I'm a beautiful woman drinking hard liquor in a dive bar. Don't you think that probably translates into trouble?"

He smirked. "What if I'm a guy who likes trouble?"

She let out an exasperated breath."Mein Gott, werfen sie einen hinweis. [My God, take a hint.] I don't know how to simplify this for you. I want to be left alone. Move on."

"Es tut mir leid. Ich dachte, vielleicht haben sie eine schwester waren. [I’m so sorry. I thought, maybe, you were a sister.] Heil Hydra," he said, before standing.

She put her hand out and grabbed his wrist. "Heil Hydra?" she whispered, before turning to him. "What would make you say that? Looking at me from across the bar, you think I'm one of you?"

"I... thought maybe you were..." The man looked confused. "There was a legacy we lost. You look just like..."

"Your legacy is dead!" she whispered, furiously. "There is no heir. There should be no Hydra." She stood from her stool and wrapped her left hand around his throat. His eyes went wide as she flexed her fingers to dig them into his skin. "All you pretty young American boys pulled so effortlessly into the jaws of Nazism and you don't even recognise it." She tightened her fingers' grip further around his throat. "You, though... you recognise me. You were SHIELD. Must've seen my file."

He nodded, as best as he could. "Fury never put it on the books that you'd been let out of the Fridge,” he croaked. “Whitehall was very interested in getting you back. John Garret and I searched for an hour, in the middle of what was practically a war zone, in order to get you back where you belong."

Cassie smiled and let her hand go from around his neck, stepping toward the door. "Everyone seems to think they know where I should be. I don't belong with Hydra. They might have created me, but they lost ownership years ago. If you want to pick up the shambles of your organization, don't look at me," she said, before walking out the door.

She walked in silence to the subway and sat down in the far back corner of the car. It was quiet. She relished the quiet. Until the doors opened at the next station and several people got on. They all took places around the car, some standing, some sitting. Cassie could see a pattern to their placement. Someone had planned the movements so that she was in the middle and no one was in the others' crossbeams. The person standing closest to her had done a good job of hiding the gun strapped to the inside of her thigh, but a knife was sticking out of the back of her jogging suit.

No one moved as the subway started toward the next station. "I take it you guys wouldn't be inclined to let me off at the next station?" she asked. No one even looked at her. She nodded, then shook her head. Fucking agents, but whose agency?

When the next station came, the doors opened to reveal a tall blonde woman in all black. "Joanna Schmidt?"

Cassie looked up at the Amazonian-looking woman with as much boredom as she could manage. "Wrong chick. I'm Cassandra Campbell. You are?"

The blonde smiled brightly and held out her hand. "Bobbi Morse, Agent of SHIELD. Director Coulson sent us to retrieve you. We weren't sure you were, you know, yourself, hence the manpower."

Cassie took the hand and stood, shaking it. "You're Mockingbird," she said, looking the beautiful woman in the face.

Bobbie chuckled. "I haven't been called that codename in a while. How'd you hear that name?"

"There wasn't much to do in Austria so, I went through some of the SHIELD files Black Widow dumped to the web. I was mostly looking up stuff on the AVENGERS INITIATIVE. I followed a link from Cli- Agent Barton's file to yours..."

"Ah, ex-husband #1. That was a... crazy thing. Come on, let's get you to the director." Cassie followed the woman out of the station, to the SUV waiting on the street above. They sat next to each other in silence for a while before Bobbi cleared her throat. "Clint's a good guy. It just... didn't work."

"Things rarely do, Agent Morse."

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

Cassie followed Bobbi through the new secret SHIELD compound, walking through a maze of hallways that seemed intentionally confusing. As she walked, her eyes caught sight of the agents she recognized from Joanna's attack on the Playground staring at her from their offices and labs. Bobbi opened a large wooden door and led her in. Phil stood behind a large wooden desk.

"We're okay, Bobbi. Thank you," he said, sitting down in a large leather chair. Bobbi nodded and vacated the room. Phil looked up at Cassie, standing in front of his desk. "You left before I could talk to you."

"Yeah, well, you had an agency to... that's a lie." She cut herself off, dropping down into the chair on the other side of the desk. "I ran because I didn't want to deal with it." She sighed, sadly, looking at her lap.

"You were never supposed to know about Faye. You weren't gonna be on her birth certificate, I was never going to ask you for anything. As soon as I made the decision to leave, she stopped being ours. She was mine. Only mine. And then she wasn't." Her eyes moved from her lap to the ground in front of her. "I went a little nuts after. Losing her, becoming this, everything that Loki did… did to me. It took a while to even be okay, but eventually I dealt with it. I was fine. I was sleeping, no one knew what he had done. I was okay."

Cassie put her head in her hands, her voice breaking. "I'm not okay, now. I left, chased simplicity, tried to find fine again, but I can't. I can't be okay, not after everything. I ran so that no one would see me fall apart, but I can't help it now. Everyone knows how fucked I am, and I have no way to hide this time."

Phil stood, rounding his desk to kneel in front of her, trying to catch her eyes. "You don't have to be okay. No one is expecting that. And you weren't really okay before. I just couldn't remember well enough to put my finger on what was wrong. You can't find fine and you can't fall into it. You need support, guidance. You need to talk about it."

He took her hand in one of his as she shook her head. "If you don't want to talk to me, that's fine. But you have to talk to someone. Do you remember me telling you about Andrew, May's ex-husband? He's an amazing psychologist and he's well versed in dealing with the Index."

Her eyes widened in realization. "Oh, my god. I'm on the Index, now, aren't I?" she whispered.

He nodded. "I put you on, myself. Listen, the Index isn't bad, Cassie. Remember, the Avengers came from that list."

She nodded. "Yeah. I'm on their list, too."

"You didn't expect Tony Stark to back off, did you?"

"Well, Rogers did. Steve backed off all the way to calling me 'Miss Campbell’ again."

"Yeah... sorry about that. I, uh, know you were looking forward to a second date with my hero," he said, bitterly.

She shrugged. "It wasn't something I wanted, Phil, until it suddenly was. I mean, you know him... he's a great man. But don't worry, he's cold shouldered me enough that I got the hint."

"I'm not worried. I don't have a right to be. I pushed you away, and if there was anyone I'd want you to... get over me with... Not him, come on!" he whined.

Cassie smiled, slightly. "Okay. So, Andrew."

KITCHEN SINK TAGS @heyitscam99 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mrs-meghan-winchester @henrymorganme @lonely-skys

[willelbyers]

Locked

Summary: Will’s life is getting better. He’s graduating, he has plans for the future, and his best friend-slash-longtime crush seems to be taking an interest in him—so, of course, that’s when the Upside Down manifests as something new.

Pairings: Mike/Will

Notes: It’s a future-fic, set around the end of the kids’ senior year of high school and the beginning of the summer following it. It’s about 1,900 words, with the whole Party involved.

You can read this here on my Ao3, or below the cut. For more of my stories, here is my Ao3 profile link. I hope you enjoy this story!

Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. You’re okay. Open your eyes, now. Just breathe.

Mike’s words, his reassurances now so familiar through their repetition during Will’s panic attacks, echo in Will’s head as his feet drag to a stop. He collapses to his knees, leaves and dirt sticking to his clothes, gasping for breath, and wrenches his eyes open.

“Where are you?” he asks, voice echoing unnaturally as he frantically looks around the dim forest. “I know something’s out there!” There’s no answer, and he suddenly feels frozen. “W-what are you?”

A twig cracks behind him, but when he glances back, there’s nothing.

“You seem quiet today,” Lucas observes as they all pick at their lunches.

Will glances up at him and shrugs. “I had a weird dream last night. Just… tired, I guess.”

Obvious lie. Think of a better one next time.

“Not too tired we can’t play D&D tonight, right?” Max asks, and Mike scoffs good naturedly, leaning into Will.

“Like you’re excited for D&D,” he shakes his head. “You just want an excuse to come over to my house and skate around outside with El.”

“Skating makes more sense than your game,” El argues softly, and Dustin groans.

“You’ve done it now,” he sighs, looking pointedly at Mike’s frustrated face.

As he launches into another point about the virtues of Dungeons and Dragons, Will stares at him—just wants to take the image in, how passionate Mike is about the things he loves. Will admires that.

Another lie. You know what you really want.

Will quashes the voice in his head.

“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart,” his mother whispers into his hair, and he knows she’s trying not to cry.

What for?

“Mom,” he squirms, even though he loves her. “Mom, I just graduated, it’s not a big deal. Everyone did it.”

You’re not special for going to school. Do remember that. Other things make you strong.

His mom shakes her head. “No. You, Will, are remarkable. And I am so, so proud of you.”

She’s your mom, she has to say that. And she has no idea what the truth is.

“Hey, Byers.” The words are spat out with malice, falling flat in the quiet air, and it takes Will no time at all to recognize the voice.

Keep it simple. Don’t run.

“Troy,” he greets, trudging on without looking back, because this has-been bully hasn’t left him alone even all these years later, even when Will is just walking through town on a quiet afternoon. “Something you need?”

Stay cool. Stay calm.

“Yeah,” Troy confirms. “I thought a parting gift would be necessary, after graduation. You know, for old time’s sake.”

Stop walking. Find your center of gravity. Get ready.

Will nods once, jaw clenching. “You probably want to try to throw me off a cliff or something, like you did with Mike.”

You’re angry. Good. Use that. But don’t show it. Yet.

“I didn’t throw him,” Troy points out. “Just told him to jump. Besides,” he says, and there’s the unmistakable sound of a weapon being drawn. “You’re gonna end up in a worse way than he would have.”

Now is a good time to let it loose.

Will lets that advice take over, closes his eyes and lets unfamiliar instincts set in, and the metallic shnik shnik of the knife fades into background noise.

“I want to know what you are,” Will demands of the darkness. He turns in a slow circle, surveying the familiar gray landscape. “Is it you that’s been talking to me, whatever you are? Telling me how to do things? Or am I losing it?”

This time, he sees nothing. But he hears a voice, cryptic as ever:

“That, and so much more.”

“Will,” Mike says softly, and Will is filled with the sudden need to bolt. He doesn’t. Mike swallows. “If… if I do something you don’t want me to do, punch me, okay?”

Will’s throat clicks, and it’s hard to get out the words. He’s amazed that the voice in his head hasn’t shown up to discourage him yet. “I really don’t think I’m going to punch you.” Although he could be wrong.

He can see all the shades of brown in Mike’s eyes.

Mike sucks in a breath. ��Okay,” he breathes. “That’s… that’s good. I’m going to kiss you now.” All of a sudden, he takes up Will’s whole world.

And Will’s mind is astonishingly silent.

Maybe he’s tired of running. Maybe these new feelings, this new thing he has with Mike… maybe all that has made him brave—or stupid. Maybe that’s why, when he finds himself in the forest again, the Upside Down, he doesn’t move. Instead, he asks.

“What do you want from me?” he yells, because he’s been back here again and again and there’s no reason he can see for it. “What are you doing?”

There’s a flash of color behind him, something vaguely person-shaped, but when Will spins around it’s already gone.

I’m a part of you. I’m what’s keeping you afloat. I want to help you. Don’t you trust me?

“Not when you keep telling me things I don’t want to hear!” he mutters. “Not when you decide to do things and won’t let me remember them! I don’t like you making me do things!”

A knock on the door startles him out of his thoughts, and he realizes how crazy he must look if there was anyone watching. “And now I feel weird. Thanks.”

He marches over to the door and wrenches it open, coming face-to-face with Erica. “Oh. Um, hi.”

“My brother said to give you these,” she says shortly, dumping a pile of books and papers into his hands. She stalks off to her bike, dropped messily out front, and hops on, pedaling up to the road.

Pest.

His hand twitches without him meaning to do it, and Erica’s bike careens into a ditch. He hears her scream as she falls and immediately tries to run to her, but his feet carry him back inside and his hand shuts the door behind him. A chill takes root in his chest. “What was that?”

Relax. She’s inconsequential.

Trust me.

“Guys,” he manages to choke out one night.

Don’t say anything. If you say a word, I—

“I can’t make it leave.”

El jerks back, their foreheads disconnecting, and she almost topples to the floor.

“Sorry,” Will says.

Don’t apologize. It’s her fault for being invasive.

“It’s so dark,” she marvels. “And it’s everywhere. It almost feels… alive. Like a whole new person. Or, at least, like it wants to be.”

“No wonder you want it out,” Max says, cautiously eyeing Will.

“But you can fix it, right?” Lucas asks.

Dustin nods vigorously. “Yeah, you can get it out of him.”

Will waits for someone to say something. Silence hangs for a moment.

She glances up at each of them, at Mike. Her eyes are dark and solemn. “I can try.”

“Wait,” Mike says, and then he takes Will’s hand, squeezing it. “I’ll call the doctors at the lab if… if anything goes wrong. I’m sure Dr. Owens would take the call. But only if things go wrong.” His palm is sweaty and his whole body is shaking. Will can feel it.

How will he know what’s wrong? He’s… just a human. We’re better than that.

Human. That’s what Will wants. He wants fragility and normalcy and boring days, he wants a simple and idyllic future, he wants carefree and happy friends, he wants passionate and wonderful Mike. He doesn’t want the Upside Down—he wants his life.

Don’t we all.

He looks up into his boyfriend’s eyes, trying to communicate those three words he can’t bring himself to say yet. Then he blinks and looks back down at El. “I want it out of my head. Please.”

She nods once. “Ready.”

Yes, I am.

El takes Will’s face in her hands and pushes their foreheads back together. It’s a weird feeling—like her hands are pulsing on his face. It’s warm and not entirely unpleasant for all of about three seconds before a bolt of white-hot pain slices down his head.

“Ow!” he yelps, trying to pull back, but El won’t—or can’t—let go. He’s frozen.

Thsss onerrrrr, not-t-t-tmm eee.

The voice sputters and dies, words slurring together until it fades away completely. That would be relieving if it didn’t hurt so much. His vision cuts out first, then his hearing, and the rest of his senses shut off until all he can feel is excruciating pain.

Then he passes out.

Will runs, runs, runs, because it’s after him, it’s finally here, finally catching up to him after months—no, years—of him not even knowing he was running away from it.

“What are you?” he shouts, because if it’s in this forest, real or not real, it’s not safe. He stumbles and falls, hitting the ground hard. He’s winded for a moment, lying there. “Maybe El did it,” he finally says out loud. “Maybe it’s gone.”

Then there’s a familiar voice.

“Will Byers,” it says from behind him, and he scrambles to his feet.

He whips around and he sees—

“What are you?” he asks again, because that seems to be the only appropriate question at the moment, the only question he can form.

It smiles—the monster smiles. “Will Byers,” it says again, and Will sees his own face grinning back at him.

Will pushes open the doors and is met with the sight of Mike waiting for him in the lobby, slouching in a chair, foot tapping impatiently.

“Hey!” he greets cheerfully, and something gleeful in him stirs as Mike jumps to his feet.

“Will!” he smiles broadly, and it’s infectious. “How’d the checkup go? You all good?”

No, no.

“You’re looking at a newly confirmed Upside-Down-free boyfriend,” Will confirms, slotting himself under Mike’s arm. “We ready to go?”

No, stop, please.

“Sure are,” Mike nods, picking up his bag from the floor and slinging it over his shoulder. “I was thinking, movie night tonight? Just the two of us, to celebrate?”

“Sounds great.”

Stop, please! I promise, I promise I’ll listen this time!

Mike holds the door of the lab open for Will and he gratefully shoots him a smile as he walks out of that horrible place. He’s about to head for Mike’s familiar car when Mike stops him, hand on his arm, and kisses him. He’s quick but firm, and Will reels from it.

“That’s… new,” he mutters, even if it isn’t technically true. Mike doesn’t hear him, anyway.

Let me out!

“Sorry,” Mike grins sheepishly. “I didn’t want to do that inside, but… you’re my boyfriend, and this whole mess is over, and I’m just…” He shakes his head, small smile lingering on his lips, and walks over to his car, spring in his step.

Don’t touch him! Let me out! I swear to you, I’ll do what you want, anything you want, just let me out!

The words ring out in Will’s head with such force that he flinches slightly. “Shut up,” he mutters, hand flying up to his head.

“Will!” Mike calls, leaning out of the car. “You okay?”

Please! Let me out!

He grins behind his hand, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I want to be alive. I want your life.”

“Will?”

He shakes his head to distort the replying shout in his head. “Yeah, Mike. Just a headache.”

Mike frowns slightly, concerned and paranoid as ever. “There’s nothing else wrong?”

Give me my body back, now!

“Nope,” he replies. “Absolutely not.”

As he steps into Mike’s car, the monster smiles.

Don’t imagine Will locked in his own mind for all eternity as the Upside Down entity lives as him forever, with Mike, with his friends, with his family, and no one notices because the entity has become him. Don’t imagine how the entity takes away Will’s agency and humanity and replaces it with its own inhuman life. Don’t imagine that.

I mean... sorry.

If you’re curious, the part where the voice gets all choppy while El is trying to exorcise it is the Upside Down saying “this is on her, not me.” It’s blaming the subsequent takeover on El, because of course it won’t accept the blame itself.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed (?), everyone! Comments are, as always, appreciated. Find me on Ao3 here.

[emphoenixcat]

I have a writing prompt if that’s okay? I’m asking different writers and would like to see your take on it. It’s that while Logan is Thomas’ Logic, he is also his anger. This has already been debunked in canon, but I still love the idea. So, all it is, is Logan hiding and suppressing his anger, thinking it is hurtful and completely bad. And it turns self destructive, and into the others finding out (the easy or the hard way? Him shouting?) and helping him through it. - 🖤🐲

^^^Interesting. I’d like to see how other people decided to write this kind of story

Warnings: Self-destructive behavior, cutting, self-hate.

Logan was well aware that the Sides were complex beings.

Nobody was just one thing.

Patton was not just happy feelings, he was the core of all feelings.

Roman was not just dreams and creation, he was nightmares and destruction.

Virgil was not just anxiety and fear, he was protection and self-preservation.

But what was Logan? Was he just Logic? Or was there something more to him than that?

Everyone else’s faults and virtues were closely linked to what their purpose was. It was like smaller aspects of personalities fighting to keep balance in Thomas’ mind, even if that balance came at a greater cost.

Logan was Logic, but he had his faults. The same as all the others, he had another side to him. Another presence that haunted his part of the mindscape.

Anger.

But why do I abet anger? Wouldn’t that be Anxiety’s burden? Or even Morality’s?

Perhaps, it was because Logan was the persona that fought the most.

While Creativity fought quite literal monsters, Logic fought for what he felt was right.

Logical arguments fueled by fire. It made him more passionate in arguments, but that also made Logic flawed.

He was faulty.

And that was the main reason why Logan hid that side of himself from the others. Not only was it a difficult thing to control, but it made him feel like a failure.

Every now and then, he would accidentally let out an aggravated shout during an argument. He would have to fight to calm himself during debates, but it was difficult to keep himself from slipping.

It had been increasingly exhausting to hold it back when they had visited Patton’s room.

Feelings, Logan thought with great distaste.

He had had to make a hasty retreat. He would have just made the situation worse if he had stayed in there any longer.

Logan was no fool though, he knew that he needed an outlet for the rage. He did not want it to harm any of the others though.

Not Roman.

Not Virgil.

Not Patton.

Not Thomas.

He thought it was best to direct it at himself.

It was his burden to carry, he couldn’t drag the others into it when they had their own responsibilities to worry about.

Nobody suspected what actually went on in the logical side’s room. They all figured that Logan didn’t like to be bothered because he was working on important projects and experiments.

In reality, Logan would rush to his room after particularly distressing discussions and the room would swirl around him. Books, papers, pencils, beakers, and flasks would fly around Logan like a tornado. Glass smashing violently against the walls.

He had looked in the mirror a few times, his eyes burned red during these scenarios.

Luckily, the Sides’ rooms were soundproof or else Logan’s secret would’ve been uncovered a long time ago.

Calm down! Calm down! Logan would tell himself.

It never worked.

He felt the fury building inside, threatening to consume all reason. Struggling to possess him.

It went on like that for awhile until Logan discovered something that would temporarily silence his rage

Pain.

It would override the other feeling enough for him to take control again.

Logan would grab a razorblade or piece of glass (whichever was nearest) and carefully cut the scars into his stomach.

He couldn’t really explain it, the irrational emotion of relief that would flood over him as he watched the blood slowly ooze out of the cuts.

Fascinating.

It was a day like any other, the Sides were taking turns choosing a fun activity. It was Roman’s turn and he wanted to take the others down to his mindscape to enjoy an afternoon of sunshine.  

“It will be such an adventure! You guys really need to see the lake at this time of the year. Simply gorgeous!” the prince was saying.

Patton smiled, “Maybe we could all go for a swim!”

“What a splendid idea, Pat.”

Virgil grimaced, “I don’t care for swimming.”

“Of course you don’t” Roman rolled his eyes and turned to Logan.

“What do you think?”

Logan didn’t care for the idea at all, but he knew he couldn’t win the argument. It was Roman’s day to choose and the prince would be very pouty if he didn’t get his way.

“I guess we could all go spend time by the lake, but I’m with Virgil on this one. I am not much of a swimmer.”

“Wow, you two are just the life of the party” Roman muttered sarcastically.

In Roman’s room, they were surrounded by sweltering afternoon heat. The forest was abuzz with birds and insects, as the Sides made their way to the lake. Patton was skipping joyously ahead with Roman leading the way, Logan and Virgil bringing up the rear.

Logan glanced at Virgil, who was glumly suffering in his heavy hoodie.

“Um, Virge?”

“Don’t. Don’t tell me, I know I should take the jacket off. I’m not going to. I’m not,” Virgil said firmly.

Logan let out a huff of annoyance. I was only trying to help.

They came upon the lake, it’s surface was cool and inviting. Roman immediately conjured up some swimming gear for everyone in case Logan or Virgil changed their minds.

Patton grabbed Logan’s wrist and pulled him forward, “Why don’t you guys come and swim? It’s like over a hundred degrees here.”

The logical side withdrew from Patton, getting irritated. “No, go on without me. I am perfectly content just sitting here.”

“Please?” Patton pleaded with big, round puppy-looking eyes. “At least dip your feet in. I don’t want to see you suffering from the heat. That means you too, Virge” Patton said sternly.

Virgil sighed and obligingly zapped himself into the swim trunks that Roman had provided. His hooded jacket was still wrapped around him, he looked a bit ridiculous.

But apparently Patton approved of the anxious side’s transition. He glanced back at Logan expectantly.

Logan crossed his arms and mirrored Virgil’s actions. He kept his polo shirt and tie on as he instantly changed into the dark blue swim trunks.

Virgil sniggered at the other’s outfit.

“What are you laughing about? You look just as weird as I do.”

“Oh, but I make this work”

“I expect this out of Virgil, but not out of you. Really, what is the problem?” Patton asked.

“Nothing. I’m simply not comfortable.”

Patton frowned, “But we’re all the same.”

Logan straightened his glasses nervously, “Well, technically….”

He fumbled with his tie and smoothed down his shirt, trying not to look Patton in the eye.

Patton tilted his head, confused.

“Look, it isn’t anything we haven’t seen before, kiddo.”

Logan shook his head.

Patton sighed and they proceeded walking to the lake. Logan and Virgil sat on the edge, their legs dangling in the water while Roman and Patton jumped in.

Virgil smirked as he splashed the prince in the face. Roman retaliated much to Virgil’s dismay.

“Hey, my hoodie!”

“Your own fault” Roman chuckled.

Patton was mischievously sneaking up on Logan, he grabbed the logical side’s ankle and pulled. Logan was fully submerged.

His shirt floated up as he was dragged down, Patton let go. The moral side had a close-mouthed smile on his face as he began to resurface, but paused when he saw something. Something on Logan’s stomach.

As they both broke through the surface of the lake, Patton questioned the logical side.

“Wha–what was that?”

Logan looked exasperated as he combed the wet hair away from his face and cleaned his soaked glasses. “What was what?” he snapped.

“On your stomach.”

Logan froze.

“I’ve got to go. I’ve got to go now.”

And with that the logical side returned to his room.

Patton and the others followed.

The logical side’s room was an utter disaster and getting worse. Objects moved as if a poltergeist inhabited the residence.

Roman screamed as a book nearly struck him in the head. Virgil inched backward. Patton took a tentative step deeper into the mindscape.

“Logan?”

“Get out.”

Patton and the others shuddered at the warped voice. I thought only Virgil’s voice got like that.

“What’s wrong? Let us help you” the moral side tried again, still moving towards Logan.

Logan was rummaging around his desk for something, “You can’t help. Go.”

“But we need to know. We need to know what’s going on.”

Patton gasped in shock as the logical side turned to face him.

Logan’s eyes were completely red, no pupil to be seen. It was like it wasn’t even him. It was as if he were possessed by a demon.

The red-eyed Logan grinned, and Patton saw with dawning horror that he was holding a blade.

“Patton!” Roman yelled. “Watch out!” Virgil added as the anxious side carefully moved forward to get Patton to safety.

Instead of trying to hurt Patton though, the crazed Logan took the blade and etched a new mark on his stomach.

Everything in the room became utterly silent as the objects that had been hurtling wildly around them stopped abruptly as if the place itself was holding its breath.

Logan continued in concentration as if the others weren’t there.

His eyes were transitioning back to the way they normally were. Back to the way they should be.

As he broke out of his daze, all the items simultaneously clattered haphazardly to the floor.

Nobody spoke.

They just took in the destruction that lay around them.

In the midst of it all was Logan, still clutching the razorblade like a lifeline while streams of blood became more visible through his shirt.

“I–I’m sorry” he managed.

Virgil spoke next, “I think you owe us more than an apology. What just happened?”

Logan bowed his head in shame, “I have another side to me. I’m not just Logic.”

He glanced up and saw the confusion.

“Anger….also resides here.”

“You didn’t think that that was important information to share with us!” Roman was understandably upset.

“I thought I could handle it on my own.”

“And how’s that working out for ya?”

Logan glared at the prince, feeling like he might’ve had another flare up if it wasn’t for his fresh wounds.

“I know how to take care of it. You guys weren’t supposed to follow me.”

Patton finally spoke, “I–is that how?” He pointed to Logan’s stomach with a trembling finger.

The logical side nodded.

Roman grimaced, “Why would you do that to yourself?”

“It’s the only way the Anger will go away. I have to direct it at someone or something. I don’t want to direct it at you guys.”

“Wait? So you direct it at yourself?” Virgil asked.

“Y–yeah.”

“There has to be something else you can do….”

“No. If I do anything else, I risk being faulty logic. I have to protect Thomas from that.”

Patton was shaking his head, droplets forming in his eyes. “We’re not letting you hurt yourself again.”

Logan stared at Patton, “But I am imperfect. I have to be perfect. I have to function properly for Thomas…..and for you guys.”

Virgil, Roman, and Patton all glanced at each other.

“Lo….there’s no such thing as perfection. We’re all here just trying our best, we can’t do that if we don’t work together on things.” Patton reassured him.

“You have to trust us on this. Please tell us next time. Let us know when you’re becoming angry. When you need space or when you need comfort.”

Logan slowly nodded his head. Maybe….maybe that would work.

The Sides came together to comfort him and Logan smiled.

Maybe with their help, Logic wouldn’t be so faulty.