#and the darkness is like a blanket to cover some of the sadness that creeps in

[glitterghost]

A small late night iced coffee? Sitting in my car? Listening to Rain? Oh you fucking bet.

[daryldove]

The Sinful, The Guilty

incubus!daryl x fem!reader

monster fucking, size difference, stomach bulge, happy halloween!

summary: you get more than you bargained for when stumbling across a spooky basement in a seemingly abandoned cabin. 2.3k

It's an unnecessarily humid day, and although you had planned on covering lots of ground, you can't muster the willpower to bother. Now you're deep in the woods, trying to improve your mediocre hunting skills. You can't even remember the last time you ate fresh meat. But you're also already exhausted. It's too hot, the bugs are relentless, and it seems like a storm is brewing, so you decide to only walk as much as you can handle while searching for shelter.

Cabins this far out were few and far between, but as one appears through the trees after hours of walking, you decide maybe things aren't so bad after all. The interior is dusty and musty, but it's a better shelter than you've had ages. And you can't exactly afford to be picky. A small cot sits in one corner across from a cold fireplace. Lucky, after all.

You spend the next few minutes getting settled, spreading your belongings around, already taking advantage of having such a secluded, safe feeling place to call home for a bit. That's when you suddenly trip over something protruding from under the frayed rug. Which fucking hurts. You start rolling over the worn material, ready to give whatever inanimate object a piece of your damn mind, only to stare wide eyes once you expose a boarded up trapdoor. Immediately, it has you feeling somewhat queasy.

It takes an hour, your knife, and more energy than you'd like to admit to finally pry all the boards off. You hesitate, for the first time despite all the work it took, as an eerie feeling washes over you. This is creepily suspicious; maybe you should mind your own business. In fact, being inside the cabin at all suddenly feels… off. You sit back on your heels, biting your lip anxiously as you stare down at the latch. Just as the idea of leaving grows appealing, light rain starts echoing against the wood roof. Fuck. Okay, well… Guess you're stuck here, and you're absolutely not sleeping without knowing what's hiding underneath. With growing hesitation, you unclip the latch and open the trapdoor.

After dropping from the ladder, you shine your torch over the dark room. It's damp and stagnant inside, and mostly empty except for what appears to be a shrine on the opposite wall. Your gaze sweeps over various items, herbs, bottles, and books before noticing the faded pentacle drawn in chalk. Unintelligible symbols are written around the outside. Some freaky religious shrine wasn't exactly what you expected, although you suppose it's better than a rotting corpse.

You reach over to pick up a weathered book resting over the star, a small, broken cross resting underneath clinks at the movement. The text in the book is in another language you don't understand, seemingly different from the markings on the floor. Despite the initial creepiness, there's something oddly sad about it all. You can't help but wonder what occurred here—was this done after the world fell? An attempt at seeking answers or protection? You place the book down with a heavy sigh and a heavy heart.

The storm has picked up by the time you ascend the ladder. Dark clouds blanket the woods around you. You gaze around the cabin, something in the stale air feels like it's changed, like time has stopped. It's probably just paranoia, but you can't shake the feeling. The rain pours down harder, as if it's trying to soothe you, and you close the trapdoor with a thud.

No, something is definitely wrong. Your eyes flick around the dark cabin, a shiver creeping up your spine. You force it back down, but the feeling of someone watching you remains. The deep shadows of the room have you patting around for your flashlight, but it's not where you left it.

You practically jump out of your skin as lightning cracks overhead, briefly illuminating the tall, winged figure standing in the corner.

What the fuck.

You freeze momentarily before scrambling for your dagger, a habit the apocalypse built into you, only to remember you left it in your damn bag. The glowing outline of whoever—whatever—stains your vision, only disorienting you more.

You lunge for where you think you tossed your bag earlier, desperate for the comforting weight of your blade, but creature must realise what you're doing. A strong grip yanks you back by the ankle, dragging you along the rough floor until it has you pinned underneath its broad body. Pure terror rakes your body, your eyes wide and frantic. It's too dark to see any features on the dark mass above.

“I ain't gonna hurt ya.” The deep voice comes as another surprise, but you're not exacly reassured by it. You aren't sure how long you lay there, panting, until its hold on you eventually loosens. The moment it does, you crawl back until you hit the wall. Your flashlight bumps against your foot, and you snatch it up, quickly shining it towards the creature.

He's… surprisingly human-looking, aside from the horns poking through his hair, black wings stretching behind him, and the long, thin tail. He flinches at the bright light, still slouched on the floor. Then you notice something else, the fact he's completely naked. Breathing suddenly feels difficult again as you have to force your eyes to stay above his waistline because Jesus Christ...

“What are you?” There's a noticeable shake in your voice as you ask. The winged man just looks a little irritated, and if you're purposely bothering him with stupid questions.

“Stop pointing that thing at me,” he ignores your inquiry as he squints.

“Not until you tell me.” You can't help feeling proud about not letting your voice shake this time. Although he hasn't hurt you yet, you still feel on edge.

He just scoffs like you're an idiot. “An incubus, darlin’. You brought me here, remember?” A what? You what?

Your eyes scan over him again, inspecting his inhuman aspects as if trying to confirm. Did you hit your head? Wait, obviously this has something to do with that creepy shrine. There was likely a reason it was boarded up; seems like you found it. Your eyes fall lower, not even really processing where you're looking until you notice him smirking in your peripheral. A blush crawls onto your cheeks; that was not your intention, regardless of whatever this demon guy thinks. “Stop.”

“I ain't done anythin’.” He looks so smug at your unease, your gut coils at the sight—with anxiety, but maybe something else, too.

“You're looking at me like you wanna eat me,” his smirk widening makes you regret ever opening your mouth, “what do you even want?”

“What do I want? You summoned me here.”

“I don't know anything about that, okay?” It's getting increasingly more difficult to keep your eye level appropriate. With the initial fear simmering, you can actually take in how attractive he is—which maybe is a given considering he's a literal sex demon.

“Well that's obvious, haven't had a human pass through in a while. I'm pretty hungry.” You can see the truth to his claim, something sinister swirling within his irises. He chuckles as you get lost in them for a second.

“I don't... I'm not…” You don't even know what to do or say next, torn between the urge to flee and being frozen in place. For now you focus on getting to your feet. “Okay. Shit, fuck, okay… Do you have a name?”

The incubus raises an eyebrow but nods, “Daryl.” Less biblical than you were expecting, but you return his nod. You attempt to reassure yourself; this situation didn't have to be weird or dangerous. But once you close your eyes to take a deep breath, Daryl is nowhere to be seen once you reopen them. Your heart drops into your stomach again as you stumble forward a few steps. Were you actually hallucinating? Maybe you really fell down the ladder and received a nasty head wound. Right as you place the flashlight hesitantly on the table, an arm snakes around your waist, pulling you back into a broad, muscular chest. Your breath hitches, and you tense as one of Daryl's hands firmly grips your chin.

You don't even realise you're whimpering quietly in fear until he shushes you. One of his fingers slides between your lips to rest against your tongue. “Fuck… I'm so hungry,” his voice is a raspy whisper against your ear. “Can ya be a good little girl for me?” Despite your unease, you feel yourself throb at the words. Not that you're to blame. He is an incubus, after all. Nothing wrong with giving in, you tell yourself.

The feeling of his cock pressing against your back makes you bite down slightly on his finger. This was kinda fucked up, if you thought about it for too long. But you were already tempted to throw caution to the wind. Maybe it's curiosity, frustration after being pent up for so long, or maybe he's got some crazy demon powers. Did you even care? His finger presses more firmly against your tongue as his free hand trails upwards, tugging and tearing at your top until he exposes your chest. His tail curls around your thigh, trapping you close. The way his thumb rubs and pinches at your nipples makes you squirm instinctively as his hips grind against yours. He continues until you're aching, desperate for any amount of friction, your knuckles turning white with how hard you're clutching the table in front of you.

Eventually, he removes his finger from your mouth, stepping back only long enough to yank your pants down. He drags the moistened finger over your clit, chuckling gruffly as you buck up against his hand. A strangled gasp escapes your mouth. “Yeah, baby girl, ya like that?” He presses himself against your back again, this time sliding his dick between your squeezed, wet thighs. His length presses hotly against your cunt, and you can practically feel him throbbing against you.

You feel any remaining hesitance crumble, giving way to complete desperation as Daryl fucks your thighs. He's massive, bigger than any human you'd seen. Right as you feel your orgasm building, he pulls away again to drag you towards the small cot in the corner. You nearly trip trying to kick off your pants completely on the way. The incubus practically throws you onto the bed, immediately climbing over you to capture your lips in a messy, heated kiss.

His taste is enchanting, distracting you until you feel the head of his dick push into your entrance. You reluctantly pull away with a whine at the stretch. “W-Wai..t,” but he doesn't stop, only pushing in further as he holds your chin. “I got ya, baby girl.” Your head falls back as he thrusts deeper, pulling drawn out moans from your lips. He grabs your wrist, guiding your hand to your stomach. Your confusion dissipates to disbelief as you feel the outline of his length press against your palm with each thrust. You're surprised you don't come right then and there. “H-Holy shit,” you barely manage to pant out.

“Takin’ it so well, it's like ya made for me,” the incubus grunts out. He buries his head into your neck, his fangs dragging shyly across your sensitive skin, as if he's holding back from hurting you. His grip on your hips is firm, dragging you down in time with his thrusts as they grow rougher. Your own hands slide up his body, exploring his strong chest and large biceps. His horns intrigue you, curiously wrapping your hands around them like they're handles. Daryl grunts in pleasure, pushing against you even more. He holds you down, fucking you hard until you're squeezing around him and coming with a yell. A deep, satisfied sigh leaves your lips as he pulls away. Your body already feels weak from the effort.

Before you can relax fully, a hot wetness slides up your folds. “Daryl!” Your voice quivers with sensitivity. You struggle to sit up on your elbows to look where his head is buried between your thighs. His tongue is precise, lapping up your juices and circling around your clit with practised perfection. It seems he's larger than a human in every aspect. He presses kisses up your stomach to your chest, long tongue sliding over your nipple before reaching your mouth. “Ya taste so good,” he whispers against your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, fingers roaming over his wide shoulders as he kisses you.

His strong arms flip you over without warning, pressing your face into the pillow as he shoves back inside you with a grunt. The cot shakes with force as he ruts against you, his chest pressing against your back. You feel caged, completely at this monster's mercy, and it's the hottest thing you've ever experienced. His wings fall around you like some kind of dark waterfall, and his tail snakes up to press against your clit. And fuck, if it isn't the most intense pleasure you've felt in your life—it's overwhelming. Daryl angles deeper, harder, and your mind completely blanks. His fingers slide into your mouth again, holding your jaw open as he fucks with animalistic thrusts. You come so hard the room spins.

Then you jolt awake, not even remembering falling asleep. The cabin is empty, void of any sign of the incubus. Your eyes scan the room as you struggle to sit up. Every inch of your body aches. An acute tiredness spreading through your limbs. As you glance down at your nakedness, at least you can be sure what happened wasn't your imagination.

[hoonieyun]

collecting tears - jongseong

jar of tears that were shed for jongseong

park jongseong x reader "y/n"

genre: angst, breakup, the one that got away

warnings: profanity, mental illness/depression, overall 18+

summary: no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get jongseong out of your head. two years after your tear filled and emotional breakup, he's still on your mind but it seems he hasn't thought about you since that night.

I hope you're happy But not like how you were with me I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better I hope you're happy, but don't be happier olivia rodrigo - happier word count: 2007

text in italics are flashbacks

You saw him in everything. 

You saw him in the way your glasses reflected the light as it sat on your vanity.

You saw him in the way your guitar collected dust in the corner of your bedroom. 

And you saw him in your reflection as you stared at your tear stained face and dark circles under your eyes. 

The memory of Jongseong that you held onto hurt more than the idea of being without him, because being without him only led to the memories of when you were with him, something that no longer exists in your life. 

Jongseong. 

The events of your tear filled and emotional breakup replays in your mind often, Jongseong’s tired face and the broken picture frame scattered into thousands of pieces in your bedroom. You could hear the argument in your head like it was playing through a speaker that followed you wherever you went. The last words you ever spoke to him ringing in your ears as a constant reminder that your inability to process your emotions and failure to stabilize your mind was the reason you were so lonely, even two whole years after your breakup. 

It’s a gloomy afternoon in the middle of September. The weather foreshadows the inevitable dreary, dull, and dark outcome of what your life would be for years to come. You had been in bed all day, crippled by your anxiety and depression, making it difficult for you to make any rational decisions or clear judgement of what you should be doing. 

Your phone fills with unanswered calls and texts that would remain unanswered until you convinced yourself enough that you weren’t a burden to others. Something that you wouldn’t be able to shake off for almost half a year from today. A feeling that still lingers and creeps up onto you every now and then. 

“Honey?” a voice asks from beyond the darkness of your bedroom. You quickly wiped away your tears and did your best to make it seem like you weren’t crying the whole day. Pulling yourself up and dragging the blanket further up your body to cover yourself as if your boyfriend, Jongseong, was anyone you should be hiding away from. His tenderness and soft demeanor was the first thing that attracted you towards him, his good looks was just a plus. 

“Honey, are you still sleeping?” Jongseong asks as he slowly pushes the door of your bedroom open, a slight creak sounding from the hinges as light emerges from the other side of the door, Jongseong’s silhouette outlined by the light. “Hi… No, i’ve just been in bed. Doing some thinking…” you say, trying to avoid the fact that you were just crying and hoping that he doesn’t notice as he makes his way closer. 

Your bed dips as Jongseong takes a seat next to your figure, still hiding under the blanket. It goes without being said but Jongseong knew you all too well.

He knew when you were really happy over fake happy because true joy spreads across your face when your eyes widen and you blink a thousan times, like you were trying your best to contain your joy but ultimately failing. 

He knew when you were upset because you would sniffle your nose as a way to avoid awkward silence or having to voice out your feelings. 

And he knew when you were sad because you’d rather surround yourself in the comfort of the darkness instead of reaching out to the hand that could pull you away from the dark. Much like how you were right now. 

Jongseong would’ve never abandoned you. He vowed that he would always be by your side no matter what, had you let him. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” he asks, already knowing the answer but he’s made it a habit to encourage you to vocalize your feelings so that it would be easier for you to process them. You only hummed in response but you knew that you should’ve told him how you felt in that moment because it only manifested into something worse. 

He sighs at your response, he would be lying if he said that sometimes he wished it was easier, but what was love if it didn’t have some ups and downs. Jongseong just hoped that it was up more than it was down. You scoff at him. Your anxiety was already talking you closer to a ledge and you didn’t need this from him right now. You were convinced that he only came here to make you more upset and the voices validated that outrageous claim over the evidence that Jongseong only had love for you. 

“You don’t need to be here. You can leave.” your harsh words piercing into Jongseong’s heart, a feeling of guilt over hurt as he had hoped his presence alone would be enough to make you feel better but it only made you feel worse and he didn’t know why. 

“Why would I leave? I want to be here, let me take care of you.” Jongseong says, inching closer to you but you quickly recoil away from, widening the distance like your mattress was meters long. “What’s wrong? Y/N, talk to me…” Jongseong urges but his pleas of wanting to be let in only read as judgement. Like he was judging you for the way you were instead of trying to understand you. Your mind forces a lie for you to believe over the truth, that Jongseong loved you and he wished you knew how much he did. 

He loved you more than anxiety loved to cling onto the smallest piece of doubt in your mind. 

He loved you more than you loved the darkness. 

And he loved you more than words could say but no amount of words could ever tell you that. 

“Just leave, I don’t need you here to think I’m someone to take care of and be seen as a burden!” you say, voice now a bit louder as frustration begins to build inside of you. “Honey, you’re not a burden and I’d never treat you like that.” Jongseong says as he settles his hand over your thigh, rubbing it softly over the blanket. 

“Why do you do that? Huh?!” you ask, scattering away from his touch and dragging yourself out of bed to stand in front of him. 

“You think you can just come in here and act like I’m some poor and unfortunate thing that needs to be fixed or that needs to be looked after. I know you see me as a burden Jongseong, you just don’t want to say it because you’d rather convince yourself that you love me instead of facing the truth. 

What did you even come here for? To make sure that I wasn’t doing well? So you could come and swoop in to save the day? You see me as nothing more than just a sick puppy to take care of. You’ve only stayed as long as you have because you pity me more than you love me.” the words just continue to spill out of you. the voices inside of your head had fully convinced you that everything you were saying was the truth and you were only just helping Jongseong face it. 

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He loved you more than anything and he couldn’t process the fact that you only saw him as someone that pitied you over someone that truly loves you. Because he did. He loved you… or was he starting to believe that what you were saying was in fact the truth. 

“How could you say that?” Jongseong says, voice low and discouraged. Great, now you had upset him and intead of focusing on yourself you now had to worry about your boyfriend’s feelings. 

“I- You know what. We’re done. Get out.” your voice was dull but it stabbed Jongseong’s heart like it was nothing. “What?” he says in disbelief and you don’t even give him time to process as you're grabbing his wrists and doing your best to drag him out of your apartment. His body was heavy as he tried to stop you but there was something, aside from you, pulling Jongseong out of your apartment and away from you. 

Was it wrong to say that maybe there was a small chance he had been waiting for you to push him away? That he had been secretly hoping you would finally get tired of him so that he no longer had to deal with you? Was that so wrong for him to want to be happy in the chance that it meant not being happy with you?

As he pondered these questions, the slam of your front door knocked him out of his thoughts, eyes glued onto the brown paint of the front door. Jongseong contimplated to knock on the door, beg for him to be let in, but he chooses not. Dropping his hand to his side with a sigh as he turns on his heel and walks away from your apartment. 

And ultimately walking away from you, forever. 

You, on the other hand, waited on the other side of the door, tears welling in your eyes the longer you waited for Jongseong to try and make his way back in. Hoping that you would hear his voice that you loved so much, ask for you to open the door so he could take care of you. 

Because maybe, even if you thought you didn’t need it, you did need to be taken care of. And Jongseong was the person who had done that for as long as you could remember. 

But the longer you waited the more sadness and regret filtered out the insecurity and doubt. Leaving you to stand in your home, alone, and never to see Jongseong again. 

You drag yourself back into your bedroom, flickering the light on and the first thing your eyes fall to is the framed photo of you and Jongseong. The photo was of the day he asked you to be his girlfriend. A photo of you sitting in the middle of a field for a picnic that he had planned. Flowers and your favorite food and snacks sitting next to the both of you on the picnic blanket. 

The anger you felt from the photo surged throughout your body and without even thinking you swipe the photo off your vanity, tears flowing from your eyes as it crashes to the floor into thousands of pieces. 

You would have hoped that two years after your breakup that you would’ve gotten better and gotten over him, but you fell back into the cycle of shrouding in darkness when a photo of Jongseong appears on your SNS. 

He’s smiling, hair done in the way you liked, in a suit that made him look like a prince, and an arm around the waist of a girl you didn’t know. Your eyes trailed over from his arms, to her waist, to her arm, and then to the ring on her finger. 

It felt like your heart shattered in that moment. Like you were offended and hurt that Jongseong would ever choose another girl over you as if you gave him a choice like you hadn’t made that choice for him. 

More tears well in your eyes as you glance over to Jongseong again. His smile was so beautiful and that was when you realized you had never seen him smile like that when he was with you. He seemed so happy and it hurt even more knowing that he was happy without you. 

But there was no one to blame but you. 

You forced him away and what a waste of a life for Jongseong to never choose happiness. 

You only ever wished that he would be happy. 

Just as long as he’s not happier without you. 

Maybe in another life. When you weren’t so convinced that everyone hated you and that you were deserving of Jongseong’s love. 

Maybe in another life. 

copyright 2024 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved

all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned.

the credit for the lyrics used in this piece of writing go to their rightful owners

[dandylovesturtles]

everything's so sad rn I just wanted to write something soft

post-movie

...

It's cold in his room.

Even under his blanket, with his mattress, with his pajamas, with the heaters Donnie has installed in each of their train cars, he's cold. A layer of frost has settled over his limbs, holding him heavy and sapping his energy, and he wants to sleep but the chill keeps him awake.

It's cold and it's dark and when it's like that, he has a hard time remembering that he's back.

He doesn't want to bother anyone. Doesn't want to wake any of his brothers and make his problem their problem. They're all asleep already, he's sure. Even Donnie had retreated to his actual room at bedtime, yawning and shedding his mask as he went. He can hear the distant sound of snoring from Raph's train car, imagines if he sat up he'd see the gentle glow of Mikey's nightlight through the windows. Only he's awake now, though he doesn't want to be.

He's just so...

darn...

cold.

Icy shadows press in around him, and Leo knows he can't stay here.

He slides out of bed, his feet landing on the chilly floor. He pulls his blanket with him as he rises, wrapping it tight around his shoulders. It drags on the floor as he shuffles out, onto the landing.

As he expected, all is quiet and still outside, not a creature stirring, not even a...

A warm light spills across the upper landing, from the direction of Splinter's TV room. When Leo listens, he can just hear the faint sounds of game show chatter.

He pads across the cold concrete floor and makes his way up the old escalator steps, his blanket clutched tight in his hands.

The TV gets louder as he approaches, almost drowning out the sound of snoring. He rounds the chair and finds Splinter asleep, remote dangling in his loose grip, his robe disheveled and his mouth hanging open.

Leo considers leaving, but in the end, he creeps closer, then slides himself into the empty space to his dad's side, movements as slow as he can make them. He doesn't want to jostle Splinter. He just... needs to be close to someone, right now.

Despite his efforts, Splinter snorts, then jerks awake. Leo freezes in place, waiting silently as his dad's eyes scan the room before coming to rest on him.

"...Blue?"

"Hey, Dad," he whispers, unable to stop the guilt that bubbles up. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you up."

Splinter doesn't say anything to that - he just shifts in the chair, making more room, before wrapping one arm around Leo's shoulders, pulling him closer.

Leo lets himself be maneuvered, sinking into the fabric of the chair and laying his head on a furry shoulder. He's still while Splinter busies himself with adjusting Leo's blanket, fussing with it until it covers both of them and then tucking it in around Leo's shell.

"There we are," he says with satisfaction once the task is done. "Are you warm enough, Blue?"

Leo nods, snaking one arm around Splinter's middle - an action his dad allows without complaint. "Yeah. I'm good."

Splinter nods, then lifts the remote and changes the channel. He finds some old black and white movie, then lowers the volume until it's just an indistinct but pleasant hum in the background.

The chill finally gone, Leo drifts to sleep.

[sheeple]

Miracles don't exist | 39: Till Death do us part

Genre(s): Riddle!reader / Slytherin!reader / kinda slowburn / little happy moments Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Theodore Nott x Reader / Harry Potter x Riddle!reader Summary: Being the Dark Lord's daughter and raised under the strict supervision of the Malfoy's is no easy life. Especially if you start crushing on your father's arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. And that while being engaged to one of his follower’s sons. Warning(s): An abortion mention / it's maybe a bit fast-paced at some parts [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist] [Playlist]

You sit next to Theo on a bench, your head leaning against his shoulder as the two of you share a hot chocolate. Your eyes are trained on Sirius, who's sitting with Tonks and Lupin, the both of them huddled together.

A heavy feeling sits in your chest. Because they've escaped death by an inch of their life. Like you and Theodore. You could easily have ended up dead, laying on stretchers covered by a white cloth. Next to each other but still never together again.

Harry has stormed off somewhere after seeing Lupin and it broke you to see Sirius that hurt.

You watch how the Weasley family mourn over the death of their son. You watch how Madam Pomfrey flutters around and heals wounds and breaks. You also watch Hermione and Ron seek comfort in each other's arms and walk out of the Great Hall.

"Do you want a refill?" Theo puts a strand of hair behind your ear.

With a shake of your head, you push the blanket off your shoulders that covers both of you. "No. I have to speak with Hermione and Ron. Give me a minute."

But as you stand up, Theo follows after you. "I'm not letting you leave my sight. From this moment out, we're going together. Okay?"

You nod and grab his hand, pulling him with you. Outside of the Great Hall, you see them and Harry discuss something that's just outside of earshot.

Creeping up the stairs, you hide behind walls and pillars.

"Are you mad? No!", you hear Ron say and you pull Theo behind a wall, finger to your lips. "You can't give yourself up to him."

Hermione and Ron follow after Harry as he slowly walks down the stairs. "What is it, Harry? What is it that you know?", she asks, a sad look on her face.

"There is a reason I can hear them, the Horcruxes. Why the both of us can hear them. I think I've known for a while. And I think you have too."

Hermione lets out a whimper as tears fill her eyes. "I'll go with you."

"No. Kill the snake. Then it's just him. And her. Promise me you make it quick. Don't make her suffer."

You stumble back, not believing your ears. Theo manages to catch you in time before you give away your presence. "What does he mean? What's going on?"

In some deep, dark part of your brain, you've always known you were a Horcrux. That was the special mission he had for you. That's why he never sent you out. Because you have a part of his soul.

And now you have to die.

You look at Theo with tears in your eyes. How are you going to tell him? Would he do it for you? You would much rather have your husband do it than Hermione or Ron or a random Death Eater.

You take his hand and pull him away from the main staircase. You make your way towards a classroom that has a still intact door. Leaning against the door, you let out a deep sigh.

"My love, you have to tell me what's wrong. What were they talking about?" Theo takes your face in his hands and wipes away the tears from your cheeks.

You swallow thickly. "Have you ever heard about Horcurxes?", you begin. After he shakes his head, you continue. "Horcruxes are objects that house a part of a wizard's soul. With a Horcrux, a wizard becomes immortal."

You wait a moment for it to click for Theodore. "So… Voldemort has a Horcrux?"

"Multiple", you nod, "which most are already destroyed. Three are left. Nigini is one. Harry Potter is also one-" Your voice breaks at the end.

He shakes his head, picking up what you're implying. "What is the last one? (Y/n) tell me, what is the last one?" He grabs your shoulders and slightly shakes you.

Your silence makes him drop his head, resting on your shoulder. He shakes while holding you close. Closing your eyes, you clutch the back of his shirt, you let your tears soak the fabric.

Suddenly, Theo pushes himself away and starts moving around with a determined look on his face. "I have an idea. It's crazy, but it's something."

Your shoulders slump. "Teddy… Nothing can be done about it. How much I wish there was a way…" You trail off, not wanting to think too much about it.

"What if, and let me finish before you protest, we trick Death. There is this potion I saw people frequently use to fake their death when Death Eaters came roaming around town. Draught of Living Death. It produces a sleep so powerful it looks like the drinker has died.

"What if we use the potion and get you into a deathlike slumber? That way you've technically died, without dying."

You run a hand through your hair, not knowing what to do with the suggestion. You remember the potion from last year's classes. How it was pretty tricky to make. Even Hermione couldn't do it.

"Do you think the Potions supply cupboard is still intact?", you question with a small smile as you hold out your hand. Theo gives you a smile back as he takes your hand and pulls you out of the classroom.

The two of you hurry towards the basement. You stumble a couple of times over debris but in the end, you manage to get to the Potion's classroom in one piece.

"You grab the supplies, I grab the ingredients", says Theodore after managing to find a potions book.

The two of you scatter around the classroom setting up the station. You've lit the fire and made sure the cauldron is secured in place by the time Theo's collected all the ingredients.

"This is the last bit of sloth brain so this batch has to be it", says Theo in earnest.

You work together in silence. Cutting and crushing the ingredients while the other manages the temperature. The temperature in the classroom rises significantly and you shrug off your jacket.

Theo seems distracted for a moment before you snap him out of it. He gives you a sneaky smile while you roll your eyes.

After a while, the potion goes from pale lilac to clear to black as a signal it's done. Theo bottles it with a shaking hand and holds the vial up to the light. The potion is so black that no light is able to penetrate.

"Do you… do you have the antidote?", you ask while holding the vial. A green bottle gets pulled from Theo's inner pocket and he shakes it. "Wiggenweld Potion? It's that easy?"

Theo shrugs his shoulders. "Sometimes it is."

You conjure a small mattress and pillow on the floor and go sit on it. Playing with the vial, the severity of the situation dawns on you.

"Half an hour. After thirty minutes I'm pouring the Wiggenweld down your throat." Theo helps bring the black potion to your lips, but you stop him just before giving him one last kiss. It could well be your last one.

The potion tastes vile and you gag while Theo helps you lay down. As drowsyness settles over you, you reach out and grab his hand. "I love you", you whisper before the lights go out.

When you open your eyes again, it's blindingly white. Squinting, you go to sit up and a hand appears. Following the hand, you gasp as Tom Riddle stands before you. You scramble up and make space between you and him.

"What are you doing here?" Your voice echoes around. Where even are you.

Your eyes travel around and it looks like it's the beach. Looking down, you're barefoot and in a white sundress. It's weird how white everything is. Even the ocean.

"Why are we here?"

Tom Riddle comes to stand next to you. He puts his hands in his trousers as he watches over the water. "I don't know. You called me here."

That makes you frown. Why would you call the younger version of your father towards some weird hallucination of the beach at the beach house?

"I must say, it's smart how you tricked me. Draught of Living Death." He lets out a laugh while shaking his head.

Blinking, you stare at him. How you tricked him? Does he mean… Voldemort? Or..?

"You're Death", you sound breathless, eyes wide and face pale.

Tom Riddle — Death — looks at you with a charming smile as he reaches out to grab your hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Riddle." He brings your hand to his lips and places a soft kiss on your knuckles.

It's so weird. This is weird.

"You must ask yourself why this version of him, right?", Death muses, a half smile on his face. He has his hands clasped behind his back again. "You never had a connection with him or an affinity with his younger years. So why this?"

You must admit that he's right. But then again, Death is almost always right.

"It's because I associate him with death. And at least now you're pleasant to look at. That's the first thing that comes to mind, at least." You give Death an awkward smile and he belly laughs.

He full-on throws his head back and laughs out loud. A wide smile on his face, which is remarkably contagious. By the end of it, both you and Death stand next to each other, toes in the sand and laughing loudly.

You lick your lips. "I never expected death to be this joyful."

Death cocks his head to the side. "Oh but Miss Riddle, this is not death. Yes, you are dead. The potion you and your husband brew was a little bit too strong." The joyous way he says it sends a chill down your spine.

"So- so what is this then?" You look around you, but nothing is there.

He straightens his back and points over your shoulder. Far in the distance, you see something lying. It's small and crumpled up. You at Death and he gives you a motivating nod.

Slowly, the two of you walk towards the thing. The closer you get the more you see it's something of a bloody foetus. Some abortion abomination.

Looking back at Death, you raise a single eyebrow. "What's this?"

He crouches down and looks at it. "It seems like it is the part of Voldemort's soul that has managed to latch itself onto your own. Pathetic isn't it?"

You scrunch your nose. "More disgusting seems like. Do I need to destroy it in order to get rid of it?"

Death stands up again and faces you. "No. It's already dying. Your part here is done. I'll send you back now."

"You're letting me go?", you ask surprised.

"Miss Riddle, many may say I'm evil, but I'm not cruel. I recognise it's not your time yet. Not for many, many years."

A small smile grows on your face. "Thank you. I would hate to leave Teddy behind."

The world around you starts to become brighter and brighter and Death slowly fades. You close your eyes and when you open them again, you're face to face with a teary-eyed Theodore.

A relieved sob escapes him once he sees your eyes and he cradles you tightly to his body. "Yo- you died. Your heart stopped. I-I lost you. I lost you", he sobs, rubbing his chin over your head. You let him run his course, happy to be back on earth again.

"He said our potion was too strong. We've made it too well."

Theo abruptly releases you and looks at you with big eyes. "Who? Who said that?"

Licking your lips, you hold his hand. "Death. He said I was dead but that it wasn't my time."

Theo looks at you like you've gone crazy so you pull him closer to you to kiss him. "You know what I said to him?", you ask between kisses. "That I would hate to leave you. So you're stuck with me for many, many years."

A sad laugh escapes him. "God I hope so."

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[untaemedqueen]

At Your Service

Escort!Jeongguk x CEO!Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Chapter 19.

Series Warnings (Will Be Updated): Angst, Fluff, Cold Heartedness, Emotional Trauma, Healing, Smut, Dark Humor

There's a silence that creeps over the mansion as the morning sun begins to bleed its large rays through the tall windows. It feels somewhat dreadful in some ways. The sun is not bright nor is it hot, it's hazy and hidden behind thin wispy clouds that seem to threaten rain at any given moment.

As Guk sips his coffee, he leans against the large glass doorway watching mist and fog creep over the perfectly kept garden without so much as a loud sigh.

You've been up for hours before him. You tossed and turned all night keeping him away for hours on end. But he can't blame you, he can't be mad at you. He can only imagine the stress of just even thinking about seeing the two people again.

When you told him the story, laid up in bed cuddling to his side, he felt viciously angry at the thought of someone even hurting you in this way. No wonder you were so damaged and lost, they scarred you.

He's known sadness before with Chloe, he's known betrayal and losing one self because of their significant other but it just seems so much worse because it's you.

Putting a hand up to his tie, he knows now just how grateful he should be that he's shaped you into a different person.

Without you, his life would still be stagnant and maybe just the tiniest bit worthless.

Since he knows you're a nervous wreck today, he's giving you some space until you're ready to go.

It's out of respect for you in all honesty.

You haven't made a peep either, slowly going through the motions of taking today's events and registering them into your brain.

When you descend the marble stairs, your heels clicking loudly to let your boyfriend know where you are, he turns to you.

A wide smile creeps onto his face at the sight of you, your black gown is regal and graceful. The see through lace that covers your back, practically hides your tense muscles and within a mere moment Guk is walking over to you.

His arms circle around your waist and he waits patiently until you look up at him. He gives you a pleasant smile, coursing a thumb over your cheek.

"Ready, sweetheart?" Guk asks softly.

You can only shrug, nervously fixing the long black satin gloves that reach up to your elbows.

"You look beautiful," he breathes, laying his other hand on your slowly growing womb.

"I do?" you inquire, your voice riddled with childishness.

"Absolutely you do. I'm the luckiest man in the universe," he whispers, kissing your forehead.

"At least it's a gloomy day for them, maybe it'll rain," you hiss, letting the vengeance curdle through your veins like venom.

The father of your child simply smirks then, knowing just how gorgeously vicious and strong his child will be when it's born.

"Let's go make them rue the day," he whispers conspiratorially.

You start to smile then, knowing that your comfort blanket wouldn't be leaving your side for even a moment.

The nervousness and childishness you feel only triples as Guk pulls up to the Arctic Club Hotel.

You weren't invited to the ceremony but that's perfectly fine with you, you wouldn't want to sit there for hours staring at them as they smile and laugh with each other.

There's something deep inside of you letting you know that the events that happened all those years ago, the betrayal and heart attack that you experienced don't matter anymore.

You're way happier now than you ever were with Jasper. You now know what happiness is and in a way you're grateful for everything because it means that you've overcome a huge gash within you.

Pulling up in front of the nice hotel, Guk fixes his hair through the mirror. His hand runs flat along the side of his head as he slicks back his hair and he fixes the one small piece that falls from his forehead.

In all of your swirling thoughts this morning, you missed out on seeing just how well he put himself together for today.

Now as you look him over, he looks dastardly handsome. The tip of his tongue slowly licks over his lip ring and he tilts his head to you when he feels your eyes boring a hole into his temple.

"What?" he murmurs happily, leaning over the console to give you a gentle kiss to your lips.

You shake your head sweetly, kissing him back.

"C'mon let's get this over with so I can get you home for cuddles," he sighs, opening his door.

When he rounds the car and opens up your door, he casually tosses the keys to your Bugatti to a valet.

You can already feel eyes on you as you take his hand and emerge from the passenger side. You know as well as Guk that no one that is arriving has as much money as you and it's apparent as they stare.

"Watch the paint!" Guk calls to the valet, tucking your arm beneath his.

You steel yourself, sighing softly at the prospect of it all. But at least your boyfriend is with you, he gives you a level of comfort you've never known before.

Stepping into the ballroom, you and the father of your child look around at all of the tables that have been gaudily made up in bright yellows and whites.

It screams mundane taste and you simply notch an eyebrow at the center pieces of fake diamonds and iris flowers. It's a lot to look at and you can't help but peer over at Guk who also seems lost in the choices made by the bride and groom.

When you find your name card, you're surprised to see that you and your plus one are to be sat at the wedding table.

"Gifts?" one of the attendants inquires as you show the card to Guk.

You didn't get a gift, you didn't care to but now that you're being put on the spot you simply dig into your designer clutch and pull out a fresh hundred dollar bill with a shrug.

The man blinks at you, taking the bill with the tilt of his head.

"How… unconventional," he breathes, turning back around to the table of presents.

"Should be grateful they're getting money and not spit," your boyfriend murmurs, putting his hand on your lower back.

You simply snort at his words, letting your eyes glaze over the crowded ballroom before they find their targets.

Simply nodding in their direction, Guk follows the line you draw to them.

In all honesty, he's disappointed. Jasper is not quite attractive enough to lose sleep over and Adi is not nearly as gorgeous as you are.

He hums in confusion, tilting his head at the sight before him.

Adi's wedding dress is so revealing that you have to try and imagine what she'd look like with clothes on.

"Wow, very impressive," Jeongguk breathes, walking you over to the table and pulling out a chair for you.

You give a simple smile to Jasper's mother, who you remember as being very kind all those years ago. Adi's mother too was very kind, since you were always together in your earlier years.

"Y/N?!" you hear as Guk sits down beside you fixing his cufflinks.

Demurely turning your head, you give Adi a polite smile. Your hair finds its way beneath your chin and Guk can only do what he wants as he curls an arm around your shoulders.

She's rushing over to you now and something in the back of your mind prays that she trips but that's just the devil in you.

She's tugging Jasper along, which he seems to hate because if he's not in charge then he's not alright with it from what you can remember.

The father of your child picks up a toothpick, slowly sliding it between his lips and teeth and it makes Adi simply stop before you.

Should have waited seven or so years to try and steal this boyfriend. It would have been an upgrade.

When she's done eye fucking your man, she smiles brightly at you.

"I'm so happy you made it!" she squeals, rounding the table to hug you.

Is she serious?

You give her another smile, allowing her to wrap her arms around you. But when she's not greeted with a warm welcome, she seems to shrink before you.

"Hello, Addison," you breathe, looking down at your nails.

You feel the vengeful spirit within you once more, swirling and gnashing at your heart and soul.

When the parents get up to mingle with others, leaving only you and your boyfriend with the married couple, you simply tilt your head.

Guk told you over and over again in the car on your way here how much more powerful you are than these people. You're smarter and more well off, you're happy and healthy, you're pregnant and glowing, you're a million times better then them and you better think it.

"Who's this?" Adi beams, sitting down beside you.

"Jeongguk Jeon, Y/N's fiance," Guk announces, coursing a thumb over your shoulder.

To hear him even say the word, fills your lungs with fresh air.

Jasper simply takes a seat on the opposite side of Guk, grabbing a bottle of beer from the chilled tub atop the table.

"You look different," he comments, pulling out his keys to open up the bottle.

"Healthy," Adi adds, looking you up and down.

You find yourself slowly losing your will at this moment. Now they're going to be attacking relentlessly. They're going to pry and say nasty things with the sweetest tone. You don't know how to build up your wall again, you don't know how to steel yourself--

"Healthy is right. She should look so healthy when she's pregnant," Guk breathes, coursing a hand over your stomach.

Adi's smile simply begins to falter. Guk will not be letting you get backed into a corner, not today.

"I heard you were making money these days," Jasper announces, slamming down his now empty beer bottle.

"Yeah, I run a wine business," you state, pulling off your gloves.

Guk simply takes them, draping them over his lap kindly. "Don't be so modest, sweetheart. She runs a multimillion dollar company."

Adi begins to rap her nails against the table, waiting patiently for Jasper to have a good comeback but he simply stares at you.

You're not the girl you once were, in most aspects you found yourself to be ruined but now you would say differently. You certainly hardened yourself from the elements, you certainly closed yourself off but the right person made you change.

"So like… you're doing really well for yourself," Adi breathes, brushing her hair off her shoulders to show off her very exposed cleavage.

Guk gets the feeling that they only invited you to make fun of you and it makes his blood boil. His hand clamps down harder onto your shoulder and the toothpick between his teeth snaps as his jaw flexes angrily.

"She's doing amazingly well. You guys should see the mansion, we just redecorated it," the father of your child hisses, combing some hair back behind your ear.

You simply mold yourself into his embrace, needing the warmth and strength he exudes as the onslaught begins.

"That's so interesting, I assumed you would be alright but not this well off, you never really had that sort of… gumption to go out and be a go getter," Jasper says, looking down at his newly acquired wedding band.

You look over at him, suddenly intent on baring your teeth like a wild animal. You don't know what the fuck you even saw in him all those years ago. He's trash and a waste of space.

"Y'know sometimes all it takes is seeing one's boyfriend fuck your best friend to realize that nothing matters and only making money matters," you deadpan, looking down at your nails, "I'm actually really grateful that you did. Imagine if you never fucked Adi and ruined everything, then I might still be stuck with your dumbass and have to hear every boring little tantrum Adi breathes every five fucking seconds. I probably wouldn't have made my business which nets me over ten million dollars a year and I'd never have met Jeongguk who gave me the amazing gift of his child. So I'm really grateful to you both. For being two incredibly despicable human beings, you've given me a second wind. And while I'm sure you're both still living in Jasper's one bedroom apartment, at least I have a mansion I can call home thanks to you guys."

Guk snorts softly, lowering his head to purse his lips.

"Money made you a fucking bitch, huh?" Jasper seethes through his teeth.

Your boyfriend is lifting his head in a matter of seconds, eyes going wide with a fury. "Watch your fucking mouth when you talk to the mother of my child."

You sigh, looking over at Adi whose eyes are red rimmed like she wants to cry. She was always like this, it's a childish trait of hers and it makes you want to sigh happily.

You're so better off without these two fucks.

"Well, I feel as if we've worn out our welcome Gukkie. Don't you?" you inquire to your man, crossing your legs demurely.

He still hasn't taken his eyes off of Jasper. He's in the mood to beat him down now.

"Whatever you say, baby," Gukkie replies.

You give them both a smile, standing up with grace. Digging into your clutch, you pull out another crisp hundred dollar bill. "Congratulations."

Guk stands up behind you, letting his muscles bulge through his suit jacket.

"Pussy bitch," he seethes through his teeth to your ex-boyfriend.

You simply let the bill fly towards the table, sighing softly when it hits the ground. "Whoops."

As you walk away, Jeongguk joins you. His arm curls around your waist and he presses a kiss to your temple sweetly.

"That wasn't so bad," you breathe, going up to the gift table and taking back your hundred dollar bill.

"Speak for yourself, sweetheart. I almost beat the shit out of him," the father of your child hisses, turning his head back to the married couple.

"We'll just have a better wedding and invite them," you suggest, starting towards the ballroom doors.

"Mhm," he mumbles, pushing open the door for you.

<- Last Chapter Next Chapter ->

[cheerycherrycandy-resurrected]

What You've Done, You Cannot Undo (Medieval AU)

Chapter 9

The journey north begins. They might be out of danger for now, but will things run smoothly?

I finished this chapter on the aeroplane on the way on holiday, and I was itching the whole time to post it once I was back!!

Rating: M Content: Dew has more issues with self-hatred, none of the ghouls know how to communicate effectively Words: 5143

Links to full fic: Tumblr | AO3

Hi tag gang! As always, lmk if you want in or out! @everybodyshusband @rainsbasspick @revengeghoulette

Read below, or on AO3!

Dew awoke to find a water ghoul plastered along his side. Rain was still cold, but his normal cold rather than the dangerously icy temperature he had been the night before. Dew extricated himself from the bear grip Rain had him pinned in, shaking his long limbs off and crawling out from under the blanket. The sun was beginning to creep above the horizon, bathing the land in a pale grey light. He found Swiss sat watching the sunrise, his eyes scanning the horizon periodically. They frequently lingered on the village in the distance, his gaze sad and wistful.

“Morning.” Dew whispered, sitting down next to him and leaning his head on his shoulder in an uncharacteristic show of affection. Swiss had been more withdrawn than usual the previous night, and Dew was worried about him. The naturally more tactile multi ghoul rested his own head on Dew’s and let out tired sigh.

“I was gonna wake you soon for the next watch,” he muttered quietly, “but you looked so comfy over there, I’m glad I didn’t have to.”

Dew growled lightly at the comment, but there was no venom behind it.

“Let Aeth sleep.” He agreed instead. The quintessence ghoul still looked dead to the world, drooling slightly in his sleep but otherwise unmoving.

“How’s Rain doing?” asked Swiss.

“He’s less cold now,” Dew replied, “but I don’t think any amount of sleep will be enough for him for a while.”

He twisted he head to look up at Swiss. There was a haunted look in his eyes, one that Dew recognised all too well.

“You saw him, down in the cells.” Dew stated. Swiss nodded, his stricken face giving away just how much it had affected him. “How are you feeling now?”

Swiss shrugged.

“Not great. Seeing him down there, especially after the guards attacked him…” he trailed off, pulling Dew closer to him and burying his nose in his tangle of platinum hair. “I was so scared.” He whispered into Dew’s hair, as though letting the words be spoken into the air could make them hurt more.

Dew hummed in understanding; the thought of Rain, quiet and sweet young ghoul he was, stuck all alone in the dark cell had haunted him all the time he’d been gone. Dew had endured hardship before, he was no stranger to suffering, but Rain had always seemed less aware of the evils in the world. He must have known pain at some point, Dew reasoned, or he would still be with his birth clan. Much like Dew himself though, Rain had always stayed relatively quiet about what brought him to run away.

“I couldn’t see anything, Dew. It was like someone had covered my eyes, everything after noon yesterday was just black.”

Dew let himself be pulled closer to Swiss, manhandled like a teddy bear – it wouldn’t be the first time that morning he reasoned, and Swiss clearly needed the comfort.

“I went to see him every day,” he shuddered, “I hated it. Even when he seemed to be getting stronger, just seeing him there but not being able to help…”

Swiss trailed off, his breathing shaky. Dew guessed he hadn’t told the others about these feelings – Swiss was never one to burden others, always putting on a brave face, but they wouldn’t have let him shoulder this alone if they had known. Dew was the only one who could begin to understand what he had seen, who could know the feeling of abject hopelessness at seeing Rain trapped by stone walls and iron bars first-hand.

“It’s alright, we’re all alright now.” Dew said, trying to be as soothing as possible and mask his discomfort. He attempted to make a joke, to deflect from their shared emotional vulnerability.

“At least you didn’t take one look at him and run for the hills, eh?”

Swiss chuckled weakly, the sound was wet and choked, and rang hollow in Dew’s ears.

“When they attacked him, it felt like was like I was the one being struck instead. After days of feeling nothing, it hurt so much.” A shiver of pain lanced through his body, making him twitch violently and squeeze Dew almost uncomfortable tight. “I was so worried we’d lost him.”

Neither of them liked to add that they were worried they still had: despite Rain being slightly more responsive by the time they went to bed and showing signs that he recognised them, he still had yet to speak a word.

“He’s a tough kid,” Dew admitted, “Satan knows I gave him enough trouble before all of this.”

“Marriage turned you soft already?” Swiss joked, mask slipping effortlessly back in place.

“Something like that.”

The pair sat in comfortable silence a little longer. Swiss might have been free with his affections, reflected Dew as he remained encircled in his strong arms, but he was more like him with his vulnerabilities.

“I can see why you left like you did.” Swiss said finally. “If I’d had any idea how to get Rain out, I’d have flown there as soon as possible too, explanations be damned.”

“It was never guaranteed,” Dew pointed out, “just in the moment it seemed like asking for help was the only idea, and there was no time to explain.”

“We’d never have let you go.” Swiss told him bluntly. “We’d have insisted we could get Rain out ourselves, and neither of us need my foresight to know how that would have turned out.”

Dew nodded grimly.

Around them, the birds began to wake up and sing their dawn chorus. On cue, Swiss yawned widely, his jaw audibly popping.

“You should get a bit more sleep,” suggested Dew with a sigh of his own, “we’ve got a long trip coming up. I promise I won’t leave again, you can trust me despite what Mountain seems to think.”

“I know.” Swiss said simply as he stood up and stretched out his legs. “Don’t take his words to heart, okay? He’s just a bit frustrated that he couldn’t take care of Rain alone.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, you know how he is, always thinking he’s the pack leader as the oldest and strongest.” Swiss’s tone implied that he did not fully agree but would happily humour his ego, if asked. “Mount knows what you did was best for the pack, just give him some time to sort out his bruised pride.”

Dew shrugged, but dropped the subject.

Soon after Swiss had wriggled back under his blanket, Dew could hear his light snores drifting towards him. He sat for a few hours more, loath to wake his exhausted pack. With the early sunrise of long summer days, they could rest a while longer before they would risk bumping into anyone from the village on the road.

As the sky grew lighter, he sat and contemplated how his life had changed over the last few days. He was married now for starters. Even though he didn’t believe in any of the humans’ customs, let alone in their God, he still believed in the sanctity of a promise made in front of his pack. He’d sworn in front of all of them that he would protect Rain, so protect Rain he must. For now, that meant taking him to the Abbey and it host of experienced quintessence ghouls, but damn, that journey was going to be frustrating. Dragging his pack of exhausted ghouls who were all prone to bickering northward was going to fray some nerves.

Part of him was anxious about their destination, too. Not only for their reaction to the Abbey and its inhabitants, he realised, but for the ghoulettes’ reaction to his pack. He wanted them to think he had made a good choice with his life, to be proud of him. Dew supposed this was what it felt like bringing home a potential mate to meet your family: the potential of acceptance, of joyfully blending families, but mixed with the fear of disapproval and rejection. He wouldn’t know anything of that relationship dynamic; his mother had made it quite clear to him how hated his father had been by everyone except for her. Instead of bringing home a mate however, Dew was bringing a brand new husband and three additional ghouls who were varying degrees of excited for the meeting themselves. He hoped they would make a good impression.

His thoughts drifted to Rain; to the catalyst of this whole situation. Rain had been the baby of the pack ever since he arrived, even though he was only slightly younger than Dew himself. The difference between them lay in how Dew prided himself in acting more world-wise than he really was, whereas Rain always seemed to be stuck in the past. Maybe neither one of them had the right attitude, reflected Dew. His insistence on self-reliance had led him to bully Rain into taking on tasks he wasn’t capable of, whereas Rain’s dependence on others had made him desperate to prove himself. Providing they got out of this, they’d both have learned a hard lesson.

Who was he kidding, thought Dew. He could try and blame Rain all he wanted, but he felt sure that he should shoulder most of the blame. If only he’d been more supportive when he had the opportunity, they wouldn’t be in this mess!

He felt himself descending into the all-too-familiar spiral of self-loathing. If he weren’t so hateful, he wouldn’t have felt the need to pick on Rain, and if he had been nicer to Rain they wouldn’t be in this situation now. Everything was his fault. He detested the ghoul who walked around in his imperfect skin.

Dew shook his head to dislodge the thoughts and turned to look at his pack: the time for should’ves had long passed, he had a new task ahead of him. Similarly, he couldn’t find it in himself to shift the blame for their situation onto Rain. Even if his inexperience was what pulled the trigger, Dew had loaded the gun. Looking at him now, sleeping peacefully, compared to seeing him in those dingy cells, Dew felt only a rush of protectiveness. Damn those pack instincts were strong.

They were his real purpose now; nothing that came before mattered apart from his pack. He couldn’t undo his actions any more than Rain could have pulled the raindrops back into their clouds, but he could make amends. That meant starting with an apology, and Dew was never very good at those. Staring back towards the village on the horizon, Dew contemplated what to say.

Eventually, the ghouls began to rise. By the time they had rubbed bleary eyes and blinked sleep away there was some activity in the distance, people scurrying around as tiny as ants. They would have to be careful to give the village a wide berth when they left.

“Wha- why didn’t you wake me for a watch?” yawned Aether, the last to wake.

Dew, Swiss and Mountain all levelled him with identical glares.

“What?”

“Aeth, you were exhausted,” Swiss sighed, “you used all your energy on Rain yesterday, you needed the sleep the most.”

Aether didn’t dare argue further.

After a slow start, all five ghouls and one horse had finally eaten and were all packed up ready to leave. They loaded Rain onto the mare, and some of their belongings into her saddlebags and set off. Cautiously, they skirted around the village, keeping several miles between them. Even with the distance, Swiss and Mountain kept a vigilant lookout as they hurried along the small back roads. They would need to stop to hunt and forage at some point, but that could wait until they were on neutral ground. They cautiously navigated their way forwards, taking a large detour to avoid all the small farms and dwellings that surrounded the town. They were especially careful to avoid the stables near the main road north: the townsfolk may not have recognised the horse from a distance, but up close her owners were sure to.

Only once the sun had reached its peak and begun its slow descent back towards the horizon, did they feel safe enough to pause for breath. The atmosphere as they walked had been somber, cut through in brief moments by flashes of tension during their escape. Rain still hadn’t spoken a word, although he seemed more lucid after his warm night's sleep. Ahead of them they could hear the gentle rushing of the river, the sound guiding them back towards the main path north. They kept walking until they reached its shores, the temptation of a cold drink pulling them onwards.

From here, the road forward was clear. Leading off the path was a small slope down towards the water, which partially shielded a small grassy patch from the view of any passing traveller. They picked their way down the gentle incline, collapsing to the soft undergrowth at the bottom.

“Well, that’s the hard part done.” Said Aether, as he helped Rain down from the saddle. He guided the water ghoul to sit on a rock next to the water, and scooped up some water in a small wooden bowl for him.

“Small sips, remember?”

Rain drained the bowl in one gulp and held it out for more.

“Be careful,” murmured Aether, “you’ll hurt your stomach.”

Rain ignored him in favour of unglamouring his tail and gently swishing it through the water beside him.

Aether watched, nodding in approval. The further they got from the village, the more alert Rain seemed. He’d been relieved so see Rain looking relatively human yesterday, no horns or tail in sight, the slight blue pallor to his skin easily explainable by his underground imprisonment. The first thing any young ghoul born topside learned about their magic was how to hide it. Rain had always struggled with that, reflected Aether, but then he had struggled with all aspects of his magic. Maybe some combination of the strengthening tinctures and herbs Swiss had brought to him, and whatever mysteriously unlocked his water connection so violently had helped him finally get it under control.

“We should forage a bit, whilst we're stopped here.” Mountain's low voice shook Aether from his thoughts, as he appeared beside him to collect water from his cupped hands, drinking it and splashing his face. His thick auburn hair was tied back with twine, but beneath it he was still sweating in the heat. “I think I saw some of the herbs you need for Rain's poultice back by the road.” Aether dipped his head in agreement and quickly drunk from the river himself.

“Are you good with Swiss and Dew for a bit, Rain?” he asked, passing another, smaller, bowl of water up to him. Rain nodded, content to continue basking in his element for as long as he could.

Swiss looked up from where he and Dew were sprawled on their backs on the warm grass, heads resting on their packs.

“We’ve got him Aeth, don’t worry.”

Looking like he would continue worrying regardless, Aether sorted through his knapsack taking out all but what he needed. Once Mountain had done the same, the pair headed back up the slope to the path and the wooded area beyond.

Their feet recovered temporarily, Dew and Swiss also migrated to Rain’s spot by the river to get a drink. He sat there, tail stirring the water as he watched the fish swim past. The longing to join them in his eyes was unmissable.

“You wanna paddle?” Dew asked him, thinking the cold water looked pretty refreshing himself. Rain nodded enthusiastically, so Dew helped him roll his borrowed trousers up before doing the same with his own. Carefully, he and Swiss balanced Rain as they waded out into the river. As they got deeper in, the water lapping at their knees, Rain seemed to gain in strength.

“Don’t get your clothes wet,” warned Swiss, “you’ll catch a chill, even in this weather.”

Rain acted like he hadn’t heard him, suddenly dropping into a crouch in the moving water and pulling the other two ghouls down with him. He grinned wickedly at their shouts and shrieks from the chilly shock of the water, before pausing and lunging towards a trout as it swam past his ankles. All three of them were completely soaked.

“I thought you were meant to be at death’s door!” spluttered Dew, pushing sodden blond hair out of his face and plucking at the uncomfortably wet clothes now clinging to his body. Rain snickered at them, and despite their protests, both Dew and Swiss were relieved to see him getting some life back. The water ghoul held the fish out towards Dew with a polite and slightly apologetic head-tilt, and Dew found himself unable to supress a smile.

“F-for you?” Rain spoke with a halting stutter, the first any of them had heard from him in over a week.

"Oh, you have it." Dew laughed, delighted at his progress out of his silent and withdrawn state. Rain licked his lips gleefully, before sinking his fangs deep into the still-wriggling fish. Dew sighed internally at the huge mess he was making; this was going to be his fault, somehow, wasn't it?

Once Rain had polished off the unlucky trout, making a tremendous mess of himself and his clothes in the process, Dew and Swiss tried their best to clean him off in the river still rushing around them.

“Right, let’s dry you off,” announced Swiss, “Mount and Aeth will decide we’re dinner if they see we let you get all wet!”

Ignoring his whine of protest, Swiss scooped up the squirming water ghoul and carried him back to dry land. In his weakened state there was no chance for him to fight back, but that didn’t stop him pouting petulantly the whole time. Dew plopped down between the two and heated his skin up like a space heater, the steam soon rising from his wet clothes and skin and beginning to dry the others.

“Thank you, Dew.” Whispered Rain, so quiet Dew almost missed it, but with a conviction that made the words reverberate around his skull like prayers in a cathedral.

The sun beat down on them from above and, led on the soft grass in the peaceful sunshine, the three ghouls could almost forget the problems they faced.

A while later, Mountain and Aether returned with a few bundles of herbs and some berries they found on their way back.

“Why are you all wet?” exclaimed Aether.

“You should be more careful, he'll get sick,” Mountain reprimanded them, “what were you thinking?”

Swiss rolled his eyes, ignoring the dig at them.

“Relax, he'll be fine. It was Rain's idea anyway!”

Dew however, took the criticism to heart: he'd failed his packmate again. Sure, it might have been Rain's idea, but he should have stepped in and stopped him; he should have been more responsible.

It soured his mood for the rest of the day. Mountain caught them a few more fish using a line and earthworms as bait, and after gutting and cleaning them, they packed up their haul to continue moving while it was still light. Several hours later, the sun was kissing its final farewell to the horizon, the sky fading through a kaleidoscope of colours. Rain hadn't spoken another word since earlier, and Dew began to think he had imagined it. They went to bed in silence, not even making eye contact as they settled on opposite sides of the bedroll.

Dew lay awake in the darkness, thinking to himself. He needed to apologise to Rain, that was clear. He'd missed his chance earlier, too caught up in the light-hearted mood to ruin it with a serious talk. The rest of his pack clearly thought he was to blame; Rain must do too.

Eventually, Dew must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew he was being shaken awake by Aether for his turn at a watch. Rain had again migrated to the centre of the bedroll, his gangly limbs taking up the limited space and claiming Dew's warmth for themselves. He sat sullenly at the edge of their camp, stewing in his thoughts until morning.

Throughout their second day on the road, the weather broke. The glorious sunshine vanished, giving way to never-ending clouds and cold, drizzling rain. This seemed to be helping a certain water ghoul, tipping his head back to catch droplets of his namesake on his tongue. Rain's strength was coming back in leaps and bounds, he'd finally attempted to speak again, holding a quiet and stuttered conversation with Swiss and Aether from his perch on the mare's back. The pair seemed to be trying their hardest to keep him entertained, Swiss leading a continuous stream of small talk to distract Rain from thinking about his recent ordeal.

Dew, however, was not doing so well. He was cold, his feet were wet, and he had exhausted himself early on trying to keep them dry with magic. He trudged behind the others, dragging his feet forward and moping to himself. After their conversation the previous morning, he had hoped that Swiss would see how much he needed support too, and maybe turn to Dew for support of his own. That didn't seem to be the case at all however: Swiss had his cheerful mask fixed firmly back in place and was laying one hundred percent of his attention on Rain.

Dew had wanted to have a word with Rain today, now he was able to speak again. The guilt that had wracked his mind last night had only intensified while he slept, and he knew there was only one realistic way to settle things. Getting Rain alone had proved almost impossible however: aside from the fact that his two companions never left his side, Rain himself seemed distant. Dew could understand – he would be distant with him too, were their roles reversed.

Mountain was clearly still upset as well, not speaking to Dew unless he couldn't avoid it. He was less bothered by the rain than Dew and was ploughing of ahead of the pack. Dew remembered what Swiss had said, and knew he was likely just stressed, trying to cope with the situation in his own way. He was worrying about where and when to make camp, where to find food, and trying to be the best provider for his pack as possible having felt like he failed to protect Rain before. As Dew trailed along behind his packmates, he thought bitterly that if Mountain paused for a second and thought, he could realise that Dew had made this journey twice over the last week, and remembered most of the locations he had camped in. Rather than offer his advice though, Dew stayed quiet: his input wouldn't be appreciated, so why bother? The rain became heavier as they exited from under a canopy of trees, and Dew resigned himself to several more hours of misery.

From atop the horse, Rain was enjoying the gentle drizzle. They'd been slowly moving forward all day, the monotony of the journey only broken up by Swiss leaping between conversation topics. Rain was grateful for the distraction. His mind still felt fuzzy, like it was lagging several metres behind him and walking alongside Dewdrop. Huh, though Rain to himself. He had seen a new side to Dew yesterday when he helped him wade around in the river: a more caring ghoul who didn't snap at him for wanting to indulge in childish things like paddling on a hot day. Everything had felt like it might be okay in that moment – the cool water and gentle support of his packmates had cleared the cobwebs that shrouded his brain away, and he'd finally managed to form words. This Dewdrop was an entirely different ghoul from the one who found any excuse to gripe at him: this Dew could be expected to pull off a risky stunt to save him from the hangman's noose; would let him cuddle up close at night for warmth.

Now though, that Dew had disappeared. He was back to his familiar and grouchy self, dragging his feet as he brought up the rear. Rain wasn't sure what he'd done wrong, if anything. As he dried off yesterday, the clouds had descended around him again and he had not been able to pay attention to his packmate's interactions, even if he had wanted to. They were only starting to lift now with the tiny sharp shocks of individual raindrops striking his exposed skin, making him alert enough to hear Swiss recounting the time he'd met a dog he thought was half ghoul, but wasn't. Rain appreciated him trying but really, he could have done with some silence in this precious moment of mental clarity. Still, he sensed Swiss was chattering about similarly banal topics more for his own benefit than anyone else's, so he helped him keep the conversation going, replying when he could and enjoying the encouraging smiles it would pull from the multi ghoul.

Rain wondered if he should try to speak to Dew. They would need to have a conversation about what had unfolded in the square at some point, that was clear. However, Dew didn’t seem in the mood for an emotionally vulnerable talk – if anything he seemed to want to be left alone, staying far away from the others. Whenever Rain sensed a chance to catch Dew by himself, the stony frown on his face made him anxious that it would make things between them worse, and all ability to form coherent thoughts vanished as swiftly as he had recovered it.

That night, Dew griped and grumbled all the while as they prepared for bed. Rain had thought he would be pleased: Mountain had declared that they were far enough away from people who would do them harm as to not need a watch anymore. His and Aether’s old senses from their travelling days had come right back to them, and they were convinced they would wake at anything suspicious. Combined with Dew’s fire, Mountain’s protective wards, and their location off the path, they had decided it was safe enough for them all to all get a full night’s sleep.

Now that they had stopped moving, Rain was beginning to get cold in the damp evening air. His affinity with his element only went so far, especially given that he already ran cold and was still severely malnourished. He shivered as he tried to settle on his side of the bedroll, keeping his distance from a frosty Dewdrop. He desperately wanted to shuffle closer to him, to hold the smaller ghoul tightly and absorb every scrap of warmth he radiated. However, stronger than the heat was the anger emanating from him, so Rain kept a cautious distance.

He curled into himself, his back to Dew who was mirroring his position and almost off the edge of the heavy canvas. Rain tried to suppress his frozen trembling long past the time the others had fallen asleep. Dew was still awake however; Rain could hear his breathing. With the clearest head he had had since his actions of the week prior, the enormity of his situation suddenly hit him and his shivering turning into the shaking of silent sobs.

Rain had been trying to put on a brave face since his rescue, not wanting to seem ungrateful in any way when he knew he owed his pack – especially Dew – his life. However, he had barely started processing what had happened, how close he had come to dying, how his actions had killed people. How Dew, the one ghoul who had never warmed to him, had saved his life. How they were married now? It all seemed like a crazy dream, like the ones he had experienced as a kit after eating a pretty, red-spotted frog he had found in the marsh.

Now though, the same ghoul who had apparently cared for him enough to agree to marry him hadn’t spoken to him since the river yesterday. Rain took a shuddering breath, trying to get his tears under control. What was his life coming to? Now, to top it all off, he and his pack were moving across the country to a place he had never heard of before, with none of his own belongings, and wearing a spare set of Swiss’s clothes. All because he couldn’t control his emotions, like he was failing at doing now, and let himself be goaded into attempting something he wasn’t ready for.

He hadn’t attempted any water magic since they left. He certainly hadn’t tried tapping into that alien electrical buzz either; he didn’t even know if he would still be able to now that he was out of direct danger. So much for practicing his skills. Maybe Dew was right, he really was a failure. He would have been better off sticking to his own slow pace, even if that meant being called the pack burden by Dew. His crying intensified, knowing what his mistake had done to his pack and their stable, happy life.

Dew rolled over to face him, a thunderous expression on his face.

“Can you shut up?” He snapped. “Go to sleep. It’s your fault we’re in this situation in the first place!”

Hearing his own worst thoughts out loud only made Rain sob harder. He tried to muffle his cries in the blanket: the last thing he needed now was for Dew to call him weak again or, Hell forbid, disrupt the others’ sleep to make them comfort him.

Rain drew in a shaky breath, and hissed back at Dew,

“No one asked you to rescue me. I don’t know why you bothered, since you clearly hate me so much!”

Dew seemed stunned into silence by Rain’s sudden acquisition of a backbone. He flopped back onto his side to glare into the darkness away from Rain, and pulled the blanket up to his chin.

“If you hadn’t stupidly tried to prove yourself with something you knew you couldn’t handle, we would be in this mess.” He growled.

“Well if you didn’t spend every waking minute making me feel like I needed to prove myself, we wouldn’t be here either!” Rain shot back.

The air crackled with tension and the echoes of both of their deepest insecurities spoken aloud. The pair lay there, stewing in anger. Dew’s thoughts of apologising went out the window – Rain clearly wasn’t in a forgiving mood, what good would it do now?

They eventually fell asleep when their exhaustion won out, as separated as the narrow bedroll would allow them to be. When they woke, they were still on their opposite sides, the space between them cold for the first time since their journey began.

[youngstarfishphilosopher]

If it's alright could you do the child readers first contact with Alistair maybe when the kid gets super scared during midnight plus there's a bad thunderstorm going on outside the mansion.

Author's note: Of course!

Also, sorry for not posting or answering requests as much as I used to. A lot of stuff has been going on, and my haunted mansion hyperfixation had been gone for a good while.

But it's back now. So, I just wanted to let you all know that I haven't been ignoring anyone. I'm really sorry if it felt like that to anybody 😅.

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

Alistair Crump × Child reader : First Contact

It was a dark and stormy knight ( as corny as that sounds). The rain was pouring rather outside as you walked down the eerie halls of the mansion. Every so often, being able to hear the cracking of thunder along with flashes of light from the windows.

This had to have been the worst Halloween ever.

Of course, you just had to take that dumb bet from your friends. And now you were stuck in some creepy house with a raiging storm outside; just freaking great.

You tried to walk down the hallway as quickly as possible. There was a sense of dread and uneasiness filling your gut as your gut, as if something bad was about to happen. Though you didn't know exactly what that thing was.

" Just keep walking." You told yourself. "I just need to keep walking."

Then you heard it. The large grandfather clock in the hall began to chime. A long echoing chim that made your blood run cold.

Immediately, you stopped in your tracks. You could sense the atmosphere around you shift as the clock finished playing its tune.

Then, you ran.

Sprinting to the living room full of paintings. The only place you actually felt safe due to the lights in there being the only ones in the manor that really worked. At least then you wouldn't have to be both scared as well as plunged into darkness.

When you made it into the room, you immediately sat on the couch: Taking a blanket you found and covering yourself with it.

And, little did you know there was someone watching you. Looking from afar at your frightened state: A bit of sadness creeping into his cold, bitter heart.

You looked so much like them. . . Like his child which was now long gone.

He felt somewhat bad for you right now. You were clearly frightened by the storm. And the home full of grim ghosts certainly was not helping.

Maybe he should help them instead.

" Yes." He thought to himself, "Just this once."

With a small snap of his fingers, your fearful state turned into one of confusion as you watched the windows in the room mold and change. The thunder and lighting gone from your view; distant. As if it were miles away and not right outside the house.

Getting over your shoked state, you began to feel calm: More relaxed.

Maybe now you would be able to get some sleep. Then tomorrow you could finally get out of this place.

[onlygenxhere]

Hide away from the world with me

Luke knocked at Julie’s door like she’d asked all of them to do so many times at this point he’d probably knock on door if it was open.

No answer.

She had to be in there though, where else could she be?

He really wanted to show her the song they had been working on at practice earlier. He thought he’d gotten the next verse fixed but needed her brilliant mind to confirm it really was as good as he thought.

He took a deep breath and he took his afterlife in his hands and walked though her bedroom door.

He stopped looking around at the seemingly empty room except for the large lump in the middle of the bed. Julie seemed to be buried completely under the covers.

At first he thought maybe she was asleep. He’d just seen her a couple hours ago at band practice just after dinner, but it wasn’t that late yet.

Julie tended to be a bit of a night owl like he was, even on a school night. So he was as little worried if she’d actually already gone to sleep.  

The comforter shifted, and then settled again, as he stood at the foot of her bed like a creep.

“Julie?”

Still no response.

He should really leave, but what if she was sick?

He wasn’t sure how to check without scaring her. She obviously couldn’t hear him for some reason.

Pull the blanket back?

Stick his head through the blanket?

He chewed on his lip and swayed on his heels trying to make a decision.

He knew what he wanted to do…

Fuck it.

He kicked off his shoes and poofed under the bedspread beside her.

“Shit!” Julie jumped and dropped the phone she was holding and pulled out her ear buds. “Luke! You scared me to death, what the hell!?”

“Sorry, sorry!” I did all the things! I knocked and I called your name several times.” He bit his lip. “I was just worried when you didn’t respond and I didn’t know what else to do.”

She sighed and nodded taking deep breaths trying to slow her breathing back down. “Ok, ok, your second death has been postponed. What did you want?”

He finally gave her a good look and noticed the tear tracks on her cheeks. She wasn’t crying now but she definitely had been.

“Why are you under here Jules?”

She looked at him a long time. It was weird being under the comforter like this, like they were the only two people in the world.

“Sometimes I can get all in my head and I just need to go away, shut off the rest of the world and I need the illusion that the rest of the world has gone away from me… if that makes any sense?”

He nodded encouraging her to keep talking.

“So I’ll bury myself under the blankets, pull up a movie or some youtube, put in my ear buds and just… check out.”

Oh, that he understood. He generally didn’t need the blankets and the headphones to “checkout” but he could understand how they’d be helpful.

He reached up and swiped his thumb across her cheek. “But why were you crying?”

She turned away from him and tilted her head up blinking rapidly and sniffed.

“Oh shit Jules, I don’t mean to make you cry again.” He awkwardly patted her arm.

She giggled and glanced at him, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. “I know and it’s really stupid anyway.”

He was caught in that onyx gaze, her eyes almost black in the darkness under the comforter. “I’m sure it’s not.”

A tear escaped down her cheek and he couldn’t stop himself from wiping it away with his thumb.

She sighed and closed her eyes as another tear ran down her cheek. “Tonight was a really good practice.”

“It was.” He nodded even though her eyes were still closed.

“Sometimes it just hits me…” she started to get choked up and the tears ran more freely. “It hits me that my mom will never hear us play.” Julie opened her eyes and the pain and sadness shining through her tears was like a knife in his chest. “She would have loved the band.” She sobbed as she reached up to touch his face. “She would have loved you.”

Luke didn’t even think as he pulled her to his chest and held her tight as she started to sob.

Tears filled his own eyes as she cried and held him just as tight as he was holding her, like she might fall if either of them let go. “I got you Jules. I’ve got you I swear.” He whispered into her curls.  

He wished he could have met Rose too, if only to thank her for sending him to Julie like they suspected she had.

He ran his hand up and down her bare arm and whispered that everything would be ok even though he had no idea if everything would be ok or not.

Most days he tried not to think about it but he had no idea if they’d ever make a name for themselves as a band, what that might mean for him and his own family, or even how long they’d get to play music together… how long he’d get to stay… with her.

But as he whispered those words of assurance to her he tried to believe it himself too.

He hoped and he held her as his own tears slid down his cheeks.

He hoped that even after he was gone he’d still get to remember how she felt in his arms, what her skin felt like under his palm, what her hair smelled like tickling his nose, what her voice sounded like singing their words.

Eventually her tears subsided and Julie lifted her head off his chest and looked at him with red rimmed eyes. She reached up and wiped at his cheeks as he sniffed and turned away.

“No, no,” she pulled his eyes back to hers. “Don’t you dare hide from me after I just cried my eyes out all over your favorite shirt.”

He chuckled and glanced down at his Rush tee and couldn’t argue. “It’s just,” he sighed, “I was supposed to be comforting you, not the other way around.”

“Luke…” Julie breathed out and he shivered as her breath ghosted across his face. “We can comfort each other.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course,” she pushed his hair back off his face. “Remember,” she grinned at him. “We make each other better.”

“Yeah we do.” He smiled back at her, reaching up to tuck a curl behind her ear. His heart ached as he looked at the beautiful girl in his arms, so close and yet still so far way. She was alive in every way to everyone and he was only alive to her, for her.

“So,” she patted his chest. “Why did you come looking for me in the first place?”

He opened his mouth to tell her about the song and then closed it again. He didn’t want to break this spell they were under. He didn’t want to pull back the blanket yet and rejoin the rest of the world where she was a fifteen year old high school student and he was a seventeen year old ghost who had been dead for twenty five years.

“Could we maybe just stay under here a little while longer?” He bit his lip and nodded at her dropped phone. “Maybe watch something together?”

She looked at him for a long moment searching his eyes before simply nodding and picking up her phone and handing him one of her ear buds.

He placed it in his ear as she laid her head on his shoulder and propped her phone up on his chest. “I’ll start it over. I was only about twenty minutes in anyway and it’s not like I haven’t watched this a dozen times.”

As some old guy started talking about looking at stars and stars looking back at them Luke whispered against Julie’s temple. “What’s this movie about?”

She tilted her head up at him and grinned. “It’s a fairytale and its got action, humor, magic, true love, a great villain and a happy ending.” Julie snuggled back into his side with a contented sigh. “You’re going to love it.”

And he did.

He loved it.

Almost as much at the girl in his arms and this magical time together.

It reminded him of a movie he’d seen as a kid with his mom. It was everything she said and more and when Yvaine was the one to save Tristan in the end he couldn’t help thinking about how Julie had saved him and the guys with her own magical glowing hug just a few weeks before.

Julie threw the comforter off their heads as the credits started to roll and turned to look at him.

“So…”

“Time to get back to reality?” he pouted.

She looked down and traced lazy circles on his sternum. “We can’t hide forever.”

He tilted her chin up to look at him. “But maybe…” he chewed on his lip. “We could do this again another day?”

The smile that broke out on her face was blinding.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” He smiled back at her, “Maybe we could watch The Princess Bride next time?”

“Ok,” She giggled and pushed herself up to sit beside him. “So are you ready to tell me why you came in here in the first place?”

He gaped at her. Only Julie Molina could make him forget about writing a song. “I think I’ve got the second verse of the new song.”

She bounced on the bed. “Oh, show me.”

And he did.

[redux-iterum]

Burning Hearts: Chapter Thirteen

(AO3 counterpart here.)

If ThunderClan was already mournful the night before, the report from the search patrol threw them into pain like the losses of Redtail and Smallstorm combined. Having no body, Fireheart heard repeatedly through the night, made it so much worse. There was no chance to have a proper send-off. No one got to say goodbye.

Fireheart was surprised at how desperately he wished he could have returned home with a corpse.

But, eventually, the night passed, and the Clan had to move on. Work continued: hunting, border-marking, and taking care of each other. Conversation shifted from Lionface back to mundane, aimless chatter about the territory and the weather. Even Goldenflower managed to resume her maternal optimism, and Fireheart eventually restrained himself from visiting her and inquiring about her mental health. She was fine, so she said; what worried her was Frostfur, who had been mute several nights in a row and simply stared at her kittens. Those kits were growing fast, and they would get along in the Clan without their father just fine. So many warriors did, after all.

“Will they understand what happened?” Fireheart asked, eyeing the darkness of the nursery’s entrance. “If they ask about him, can we explain?”

Goldenflower sighed through her nose and looked down at her son with sad kindness. “We’ll have to, at some point. But they’ll be strong, honeymouse, even if they’re sad. They’ve got everyone in this Clan to support them. Not just Frostfur.”

Fireheart nodded, a hard, cold boulder lifting off his back to be replaced with a warmer sensation, like a blanket covering him. It was a weight he liked: a pressure of responsibility that he could get behind.

So Frostfur was still grieving. That was understandable and obvious. What was more difficult to parse was how Greystripe fared. He was almost never in camp, hardly speaking unless spoken to, eating a mouse in silence before stalking out to hunt alone. Fireheart and Ravenwing couldn’t get anything out of him, even as the hollowness gradually left his eyes.

“You don’t have to go back into the Houses,” he said one night as Fireheart stood from his meal to do just that. “I can handle it from here.”

Fireheart blinked and looked at him with a tilted head. “Did RiverClan say they don’t need more than one hunter or something?”

“No.” Greystripe stared down at his prey. “You can just leave it now. I’ve got it.”

Fireheart looked curiously at Ravenwing. The black tom was squinting at Greystripe, ears swiveling.

“I mean…” Fireheart lowered his voice. “I’d like to be able to see my friend and sister for a legitimate reason.”

“You can visit on your own time,” Greystripe said, suddenly cross. His tail twitched.

Confused but cautious, Fireheart said, “Did I do something wrong? I thought I was helping with—”

Greystripe's tail lashed once. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Just stay in the forest, alright?”

His friends glanced at each other, both seeking answers that they didn’t have.

“I’ll tell Bluestar that I’m done for now, then?” Fireheart tried.

Greystripe looked up sharply, still irritable, but with an unmistakable nervousness creeping around his face. “No, no, she doesn’t have to know. She’d– she’d probably just tell you to get back to it. I’ll tell her, if we have to.”

Fireheart stared at Greystripe, baffled. He almost asked if something was going on, but the stress slowly flaring up his friend’s fur made him decide against it. He gave a squinting Ravenwing a flick of the tail—just leave it be—and nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “Well, let me know when you want me to help again.”

Greystripe relaxed a bit. He gulped down the last of his mouse and stood up too. “Thanks. I, uh, I should go handle that. See you two later tonight.”

Without a chance for the others to respond, he trotted away and out through the camp entrance. Fireheart watched him go with a nonplussed frown.

“Something’s up,” Ravenwing said.

“I can tell that, at least.” Fireheart looked at him. “Any ideas on what?”

Ravenwing squinted further. “Not a set one. I’ll get back to you on that.”

Nights passed with no words from Greystripe or Ravenwing. Fireheart was antsy to see his sister again, or at least chat with Smudge, but he stuck to Greystripe's request and stayed within the confines of ThunderClan territory. He didn’t bother Ravenwing about the whole thing, either, in the worries that he’d interrupt the thinking process. He was left dealing with Greystripe's distracted answers to conversation and Ravenwing’s mute but suspicious looks. Mealtime became very awkward.

After another couple of nights of this, Fireheart was actually relieved to be put on border patrol with Sandstorm and Dustpelt. Ravenwing went along as well, looking about as enthusiastic as the others did.

“I know it’s not with all of your friends,” Tigerclaw said to him as the others were waiting to leave camp. “But I trust you can make it pleasant.”

Fireheart curled his tail, enthused by the challenge. “I’ll do my best.” With a nod to Tigerclaw, he turned and caught up to the patrol, and they left the camp without a word.

He had to give credit to Sandstorm for not complaining about the soppy mud all of them were swiftly collecting on their paws and legs. Torrential downpours for the past few nights had kept everyone thoroughly soaked and more than a little grumpy about it. Even Cinderpaw had been less chipper.

“Well,” Fireheart said when the tense silence had gone on long enough, “I’ll bet RiverClan loves this.”

Dustpelt, at the head of the patrol, turned his head and stared at Fireheart. “What?”

“The rain, I mean.”

“Why the rain?”

Fireheart swept his tail at the river they were just now turning to walk alongside. “They haven’t been able to swim, with the stuff in their water. They probably miss getting wet, and now here’s an opportunity. I mean, you can’t swim in rain, but—”

Sandstorm scoffed. “In this rain, you could.”

“Thick enough to blind,” Dustpelt agreed, but he didn’t sound quite as hostile. He turned back and continued on his way, ears back a bit.

Fireheart glanced at Ravenwing. His friend’s jaw was tight and his eyes were nervous. One look Fireheart’s way was enough for Fireheart to reassuringly tap Ravenwing’s side with his tail.

He opened his mouth to speak again, but Dustpelt beat him to it. “WindClan must be miserable.”

Fireheart jumped at the opportunity. “Why’s that? Don’t they have dens?”

“I don’t know, maybe?” Dustpelt cocked his head, tone now wandering a little ways into contemplative. “I’ve heard they sleep in the open. No one’s ever corrected any cat that said so at a Gathering.”

Fireheart blinked and shook his head when rainwater dripped into his eyes. “They must have something for the queens, at least, right? Don’t cats get sick when they're wet and cold too much?”

“Obviously,” Sandstorm said, paused, and then added with a little less acidity, “They’re not stupid enough to risk their health for no reason.”

Ravenwing mumbled something so quietly that Fireheart barely caught it. “They’re not stupid at all.”

“What’d you say?” Dustpelt asked.

Ravenwing flinched. “Nothing.”

Fireheart came to the rescue before they could press Ravenwing. “They seem like sensible cats! I bet they’ve got dens, and use them for weather like this, even if they do sleep out in the open most of the time.”

He could feel Sandstorm’s eyeroll with her head turned away from him, but, to his surprise, Dustpelt looked back again and continued engaging.

“There’s not much in the way of cover, is the only thing,” he said. “You’ve been on that moor. There’s tall heath and some shrubs, not nearly as thick as the ones here.”

Fireheart thought for a moment. “Well, we have a den under the ground for the nursery. Maybe they did the same thing—dug dens, I mean.”

“Cats don’t have the right claws for digging,” Sandstorm said.

“Don’t they have friends in other animals?” Fireheart asked. “If they were struggling, they could get a badger or something to help."

Dustpelt shook his head. "That’s a long leap. I doubt even they would get a badger into their territory like that.”

“Well…” Ravenwing cleared his throat, still speaking quietly. “Well, rabbits dig dens. They, um, could have just taken up residence in an already made den.”

“Oh!” Fireheart shook his head in calculated amusement. “Why didn’t we think of that? That’s the obvious answer.”

His bright and cheery words had the effect he wanted; Sandstorm didn’t snap out anything, and Dustpelt just sighed in recognition and nodded, saying, “Fair idea. I guess they would work smarter instead of harder.”

He picked up his pace to join Sandstorm, back at the head of the patrol, and said something quietly to her, which she acknowledged with an ear-flick. The air was more relaxed than before, with even Ravenwing walking a little easier. Fireheart didn’t say anything either, but his tail was high with some small pride at how well the conversation had gone.

The rain wasn’t much better along the edges of the forest, but at least no RiverClan cats were around to quarrel with. The water of the river had risen up enough to touch some of the slabs of stone at the lower parts of Sunningrocks, thick white stripes curving around even the smallest ripples. Fireheart had to adjust his ears to its roar as they went from tree to tree and marked.

“Hold on,” Sandstorm said suddenly, stopping. The toms paused as well, watching her sniff the air, then trot forward to a little patch of wet grass, nose down.

“Something up?” Dustpelt asked.

Sandstorm didn’t answer him. She looked back at Fireheart. “Come here and tell me if this smells familiar.”

A little nervous for reasons he couldn’t name, Fireheart obeyed and caught up to her. She gestured for him to sniff the grass, which he did. The wet earth did not mask the scent here, and Fireheart blinked.

“Who’s that?” Sandstorm said, in a lead.

Fireheart raised his head. “That’s Greystripe.”

“Why is he right on the border like that?” Sandstorm’s voice turned testy.

“Oh—” Ravenwing took a step forward, managing not to cringe when Sandstorm turned her frown his way. “He’s been the one bringing prey to RiverClan lately. He– he must have stayed here for a while to make sure they got it.”

Dustpelt huffed irritably. “That would be why he’s been out so much, then, I suppose. I thought Fireheart was supposed to be helping.”

“He just didn’t need me, I guess,” Fireheart said, a little claw tapping at the back of his mind. “It’s just been him.”

“There’s more of him up here,” Sandstorm called, further ahead. “He really likes to linger by this border.”

“We do have friends in RiverClan.” Fireheart trotted to catch up to her. “And, well, they are a little chatty.”

“No kidding,” Sandstorm muttered.

“He’s making this whole place smell like him.” Dustpelt marked on a tree next to the first Greystripe-spot. “Tell him to quit lingering for conversation and get back to work.”

Sandstorm grunted approvingly. “And I can smell your ‘friends’ all over here, too. Just as much of a stink as their whole Clan.”

“They aren’t bad,” Fireheart protested before he could think. “It’s always a fun conversation with them. And they really are grateful for our help.”

“They better be,” Sandstorm growled. “Taking up enough of our resources as it is.”

Fireheart started to raise his voice, then stopped himself, took a breath, and said calmly, “Only prey from the Houses comes here. We’ve never dropped off ThunderClan catches.”

Sandstorm gave him the stink-eye, but didn’t respond.

“Whatever prey comes here,” Dustpelt said, “he should be hunting for us just as much as for these fish-faces. I hope you are, at least, if you’re not hunting there.”

Fireheart blinked at him. “Of course. That’s really all I’ve been doing since he called me off. I haven’t been on any patrols in a long time.”

Dustpelt’s eyes rolled for just a moment, but there wasn’t as much of a bite to his words as Fireheart usually expected. “You’re too friendly for them, is why.”

“I’d rather be friendly than chase anyone off,” Fireheart said with a firm nod.

Sandstorm grumbled. “Yeah. We know.”

“It’s worked out for us so far!”

“Name one thing that ‘worked out for us’.”

“Yellowfang.”

Sandstorm didn’t respond to that. Fireheart reprimanded himself for his little spark of glee at having silenced her.

Instead of goading her, he went ahead of her and sniffed. No further signs of Greystripe, though there was plenty of RiverClan. Trying to pick out a specific cat was impossible; they all smelled like fish.

Why should I be sniffing for a specific cat? he asked himself, frowning.

Right as he had that thought, Ravenwing caught up to him, saying quickly, “Here, come help me up ahead with these trees.” The look in his eye was a cue, and Fireheart took it, following him until they were a good distance away and Ravenwing could speak to him without being overheard, which he did quickly.

“I think I know what Greystripe’s been doing,” he whispered.

Fireheart’s eyes widened as he leaned in a little. “Yeah?”

“I just have one question, first.” Ravenwing pointed his nose at the ground. “Can you pick out any of your friends in RiverClan by scent?”

“I was actually just trying to do that,” Fireheart said. “I have no idea why, it just came to me.”

“I can think of why.” Ravenwing’s eyes narrowed—and, to Fireheart’s slight alarm, anger rose in them. “We’re following Greystripe tomorrow.”

Fireheart’s stomach twisted a bit. “What are you thinking?”

“Let’s get this patrol done and hunt on our own,” Ravenwing whispered. “I’ll tell you later. But I’ll say now that if I’m right, we’re in for a lot of trouble.”

[the-cult-of-russo]

Poetic Tragedy (Part 2)

Pairing: Reader X Billy Russo

Warnings: Cursing, angst, sadness, substance abuse, mental health issues. This one’s a little dark and not really in a violent way (okay some of it is lmao). Just more the themes explored, I guess? 

A/N: Let me know what guys are thinking of this so far. I’m currently up to chapter four with writing it. There’s gonna be a lot more Billy in the next chapters.

—------------------------

It had been five days since your shameful experience with Josh and you had two days left before you’d have to see him again. Luckily though, this time you’d managed to get enough money to pay him. It had taken some time for you to grow a pair and start stealing again, worried the vigilante assholes would turn up again and steal it right off you. They hadn't, and as the days wore on, you got back into your old routine. You weren't quite sure of the happenings in the city, had no idea what events were happening. It wasn't like you were in the loop. But the nightlife recently had been pretty big, and while it made stealing a little riskier, drunk people generally didn't really notice until it was too late and you’d managed to make a decent amount. Enough to cover what you needed with a little extra since you didn't trust the slimy asshole not to pull a fast one on you again. You hadn't needed to buy food since the church had held a soup kitchen thing. It had only been for this week though. They didn't have enough to do it full time and they always hoped donations would come rolling in so they could do it more often. The donations never came though. People didn't give a shit about feeding homeless people. There used to be a soup kitchen here a few years back but it had been burnt down and they didn't have the money to reopen it. You missed those days. The days where you didn't have to worry about food, where your money could all go on your fix and you wouldn't be faced with the dilemma of a choice that you knew the answer to every time. And so, with a warm meal in your belly every day and no need to worry about your next fix for a few days, you’d gone back to what you normally did, which was a whole heap of nothing. It was boring but it wasn't like you knew much different. It had been a while since you had a normal life and even then it wasn't exactly normal. On the street, you didn't have the luxury of hobbies to keep you entertained or having the internet to watch stupid videos or friends. It wasn't like you had those either before though if you were honest with yourself. You’d run away from home at 14 years old. Even then you’d known the streets wouldn't be kind to you, especially at your age, but it was way better than the hell that waited for you back home. You’d luckily evaded the cops until you were no longer a minor. When you did run in with them, you hadn't been listed as a missing person, not that you were surprised your parents wouldn't report you missing. You were nothing but a burden to them, the day you left was probably the best of their lives. 

You’d been laying on your makeshift bed, huddled in your thin blanket to try and fight off the chilly bite to the air as you dozed off when you heard shouting. You sat up with bleary eyes, looking around but seeing no one. It sounded like it was coming from the back of the alley, where another alley connected to yours. The voices were raised and angry and it sounded like someone else was crying. You felt an uncomfortable dread settle over you as you stood, creeping to the corner of the other alley. At first, you couldn't make out their words but the men shouting had very distinct Irish accents. But as you got to the corner and peeped around, you saw a man on his knees as another was holding a gun to his head, some other guys behind him. You felt your heart hammering away in your chest but couldn't tear your eyes away.

“Please, please, it wasn’t me, I swear it!” the man on the floor pleaded through harsh tears. 

“Stop lyin’ to me! We know it was you! Ye should know better than t’ cross the Irish mob!” the big guy with the gun yelled angrily. Oh shit… The gun fired and you jumped with a gasp as the man fell into a lifeless heap on the floor. Then suddenly, all eyes were on you.

“Go and get her!” the guy with the gun ordered harshly as he pointed to a stocky man behind him. Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. You took off running like a bat out of hell back down your alley as you realized you’d just witnessed a murder. A murder by the Irish mob. You were fucked. Out of all possible scenarios, this was not the way you figured you’d end up dead. Your chest burned before you even got to the end of the alley. In your malnourished state, you were weak and the drugs surely hadn't helped that or the state of your heart. Your breaths were coming in sharp as you turned to see if the guy was following you. He was and he was rapidly catching up. Your eyes darted to a piece of wood near the dumpster and you grabbed it, swinging it just as the guy caught up to you. It hit his head with a sickening crack and he fell to the floor.

“Oh my god. Oh my god,” you muttered, your whole body trembling as you looked at him. He was unmoving and your eyes were suddenly drawn to a very large pool of blood that was rapidly coming from his head. You could still hear the other men shouting and you took off once more, tossing the bloody piece of wood to the side. Your chest was heaving and you felt sick but your body was screaming at you to run. If you knew you’d wind up in this situation at some point, you might never have taken drugs to begin with. 

You kept running until you were a block away and spied a payphone, making a beeline for it. You hadn't thought much about Frank's little piece of paper, other than using it to snort your shit. But you hardly expected the Irish mob to want you dead. Your hands were shaking like crazy as you fished the paper out, along with the 50 cents he’d given you. You shoved it in the phone, rapidly pushing numbers and hoping to a god you didn't believe in that you’d pressed the right ones with how badly your hands trembled. 

“Hello?” he answered roughly. Relief shot through you but it didn't last long with the tight grip of fear seizing you.

“Frank, it's Y/N,” you muttered shakily.

“Y/N who?” he asked, sounding confused and defensive. You shook your head realizing you’d never told him your name.

“The homeless bitch. Look, I’m in trouble. Like deep deep shit,” you hissed, clenching the phone tighter as you quickly looked behind you. 

“Hey, calm down. What happened?” he asked warily down the phone. You almost snapped at him about his comment to calm down but you were far too worried.

“I just… fuck… I just saw a murder. It was the fucking Irish mob. And they- they fucking saw me. They sent a guy after me and I think I might have killed him,” you rambled frantically, shifting on your feet, unable to keep still. There was a tense silence on the other line for a moment before he spoke again.

“And you're sure it was the Irish mob?” he asked slowly. You growled down the phone, gripping the receiver so tightly that you heard the plastic groan.

“Yes, I’m fucking sure! He was going on about not crossing the Irish mob before the guy got a bullet between his eyes,” you muttered tensely. 

“Shit… Uh… Alright, where are you now?” he asked, it sounded like he was moving about. Your eyes darted around quickly, scanning the area.

“I’m a block away from my alley. Outside that weird fancy French store that sells ball gowns,” you murmured, still looking around nervously.

“Fancy French ball gowns?” he questioned. You heard another voice in the background, not able to hear the words but the tone sounded a lot like Jigsaw.

“Alright, we know where it is. Stay put, we’ll come get you,” Frank muttered and you heard a vehicle door slam.

“What if they turn up here? They’re gonna find that guy and know I killed him. They're gonna kill me, oh god, I’m gonna throw up,” your legs suddenly felt like jello as you tried to breathe.

“You’re gonna be fine. If they turn up then just get outta there. Do whatever you have to, alright?” he soothed down the phone. It didn't soothe you at all though.

“Okay,” you nodded, trying to take deep breaths. Your chest still burned. With that, he hung up and you hoped to fuck they wouldn't be too long. 

The gravity of the situation seemed to hit you like a mack truck, even heavier than before. You might have been just some homeless girl to most people, but the mob didn't leave any witnesses. You’d seen what happened, seen their faces. The only option was for them to kill you. Why didn't you just stay on your shitty little bed? You paced around for a long while, eyes darting everywhere any time you heard a sound. But after waiting, your fear seemed to get higher with each passing moment. You quickly turned back to the payphone, deciding on calling Frank back and asking where the fuck he was. You rummaged in your pocket for more change. You’d spent what he’d given you but you had a little change from stealing. But as you brought out the money, someone gripped your arm in a vice-like grip and whirled you around. You came face to face with the guy who had the gun before, his men a little aways behind him.

“Well what do we have here?” he sneered down at you. You blinked at him with wide eyes feeling like the air in your lungs had vanished completely. 

“Please let me go, I didn't see anything, I swear!” you pleaded, feeling panic grip you tight. You might not have the best life but you weren't ready to die. Definitely not like this. 

“Do ye know the punishment for people that kill our members?” he asked with a dark smirk. You trembled, a whimper leaving your lips as his hand tightened around your arm. Maybe they wouldn't be so merciful now you’d killed one of their own. The sound of screeching tires had you both looking to the road as a black van barreled towards you. It drifted, the tires screaming and then a loud bang happened. You felt warm blood splatter on your face before the man fell into a heap on the floor at your feet. You couldn't breathe, standing there completely still as your chest heaved. Your eyes were glued to the man whose head was lay on your feet, his blood all over your boots. You barely registered the sound of a gunfight, the sound of shouting. Someone grabbed your arms and you yelped, looking quickly to your right. It was a man you didn't recognise with a darker complexion and a kind smile.

“Come on,” he murmured. Your brain wouldn't work, too in shock by everything and your body allowed you to be pulled by him. Then you were put into the back of the black van. You sat in the back shakily hugging your knees. Your mind was replaying the man being shot right in front of you on a loop, the sound of the gunshot painful to your ears. 

The driver's door opened and Frank hopped in quickly at the same time the back doors opened. Jigsaw got in, hurriedly slamming the door. 

“I fuckin’ love that shit,” he laughed as he sat down opposite you, seeming almost giddy from the situation. Frank wasted no time in tearing out of there, the van squealing down the road as he took off. 

“You okay?” he asked, glancing back over his seat to where you were huddled in the back. You didn't answer him, your eyes glued to a splatter of blood on your jeans. They’d never felt so gross to you before.

“Think we mighta broke her, Frankie,” Jigsaw murmured wryly. You paid them no mind, unable to in your current shocked state. Your mind was a whirl with everything you just went through and it couldn't seem to process so much information. Suddenly, someone was clicking their fingers right by your face and you jumped, snapping out of your trance. Your slightly unfocused eyes snapped to Jigsaw then, only he wasn’t wearing his mask anymore. It was pulled on top of his head as his dark eyes bore into you. You didn't have the brain power to think about the many scars all over his face.

“You alright?” he asked in a calm voice. You blinked dumbly at him for a long moment as he just watched you.

“Is he dead?” you asked quietly, your voice holding no emotion.

“Who?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. 

“The-The man I uh… I hit with the… with the wood,” you muttered, feeling your stomach churning as you remembered. Jigsaw laughed then, sounding like he was amused.

“Damn right he is. You did a real number on him with that two-by-four. I gotta say, surprised you had it in you,” he smirked. You looked away from him quickly with a frown. Wasn’t it just five days ago you told Frank you weren’t a murderer? That you weren’t a hardened criminal? Now you’d gone and killed someone. It made you feel ill. Jigsaw swiped a bag from next to him, looking through it for a moment and drawing your eyes to it. It looked like some medical supplies. He grabbed out a bunch of gauze and then a bottle of water, unscrewing the cap.

“Shouldn't feel bad over a piece of shit like that. You have any idea what they woulda done to you if they caught you?” he asked darkly, moving his almost black eyes to your face. You looked at him for a moment, swallowing thickly before you averted your eyes. You couldn't take the weight of his gaze. You had some ideas what they would have done, none of them kind or merciful. But it still didn't ease the uncomfortable feeling in your chest at knowing you’d killed someone. 

He scooted close to you once more and you tensed but didn't move away. His face was far too close for comfort and you didn't want to just look at him this close. So instead, you looked at your blood-stained jeans as you wondered what the hell he was doing. But then he brought the gauze to your face and started wiping the blood spatter off it. The gauze was wet so you figured he’d used the water on it. You weren't quite sure what to say. You hadn't had any real physical contact in years other than the times with Josh but that just made you sick. And despite the asshole routine, he knew the rules. He wasn't allowed to kiss or touch you. His dick was the only thing allowed and even that was enough to make you want to heave. But he did as he was told because he knew you wouldn't let him otherwise. And now Jigsaw was wiping blood off your face with such a gentle touch for someone so capable of harm and it made your heart beat funny. It was oddly intimate. You stayed still until he was done. He shot you a strange look before he scooted back to the other side of the van, tossing the bloody gauze on the floor.

“Thanks,” you bit out, unsure of how to deal with the situation. You looked at him as he gave you a nod. You couldn't gauge his mood now. It wasn't the amused and easy one he’d had earlier. You wondered how he did it. How he seemed so at ease with all the violence. He seemed like he enjoyed it. It wasn't too long after that the van screeched to a halt, making your body jerk. 

“We’re here,” Frank piped up before getting out of the van with the other man in the front. Jigsaw got up, crouching as he opened the door and hopped out. You heaved a sigh before you followed him. Jigsaw hovered a little as you jumped down, body wobbling a little as your head spun. You knew the adrenaline was wearing off now and you were about to crash pretty hard. All you could think about was the bag burning a hole through your pocket. You followed the guys, your eyes looking up to the large building. It was indeed where the warehouse was, except it looked a lot different to the last time you saw it. And when you followed behind them as they walked inside, it was nothing like the dilapidated place you once knew. 

It looked like it had been totally refurbished. You could have easily mistaken it for a hotel of some kind. There was a large area to the left where some guys were sparring with each other and on the right it looked like some kind of cafeteria area, some people sitting at the tables as they chatted. There were far more people here than you’d anticipated. 

“Oh my god, Frank!” someone called out. A blonde rushed over, wrapping her arms around the man and he smiled down at her.

“I’m alright,” he murmured softly, kissing her lips briefly. The blonde turned to you then, surprise coloring her face.

“Is this her?” she asked quietly, looking quickly at Frank as he nodded. So he’d been talking about you. You wondered what he’d been saying. 

“I’m Karen,” she said with a kind smile as she looked at you. You gave her a weak one in return, wrapping your arms around yourself. You were shaking a little and your energy was starting to seep out of you. Karen whispered something to Frank again before moving closer to you.

“Come on, I’ll show you your room,” she gestured with her head and you followed her. You wouldn't mind staying here for a night, getting off the streets. It wasn't like you could go back to your alley right now anyway. Karen was quiet as she led you up the stairs at the back of the large lower floor area and you followed her up the stairs. She bypassed the door on the second floor and went up to the third, opening the door. Again, it looked just like a hallway in a hotel, doors on either side. 

“What's on the second floor?” you asked, trying to distract yourself from everything you were feeling. Karen shot you a smile as she stopped and you stood next to her.

“That's where the recruits stay. The rooms are smaller so there’s more of them and they have a couple of shared bathrooms. Up here, the rooms are bigger because there's less of us. Those that started this thing. It's me, Frank, Billy and Curtis up here. Micro used to live here too but he went back to live with his family now it's safe. He still comes here but he doesn't stay over. That's why we have the spare room,” she gestured to the door next to you and you glanced at it. You had no idea who all the names were she just spouted off but you were too tired to care.

“The rooms up here all have their own bathroom with a bath and shower. Feel free to use it. I have some clothes that should fit you. Might be a little… big. But it's better than nothing, right?” she asked wryly.

“I appreciate it, thanks,” you smiled tiredly. You meant it though. The idea of a shower and bath made your chest ache. You couldn't remember the last time you’d had those luxuries. Maybe it was obvious which is why she was telling you that you could use them. 

“No problem. Just go on in, I’ll be back in a second,” she smiled brightly before rushing off. 

You opened the door and looked around curiously. It was a fairly simple room, cream walls and a black carpet. There was a decently sized double bed against the wall and the sight of a duvet made a spark of excitement hit you. You knew it was stupid. You weren't exactly staying long. But one night with a duvet would be more than you thought you’d ever get again. There was a bedside table, wardrobe and dresser with a mirror over it, a small desk and a chair in the corner. You opened the other door in the room to see a nicely sized bathroom. The bathtub wasn't huge but it was bigger than the one you remembered having as a child. The toilet was on the other side along with the sink. Some white fluffy towels were hung on a railing near the bath, but other than that, there wasn't anything else in there. You heard the room door open and walked back out to the bedroom, seeing Karen carrying some things. She dumped them on the bed.

“I got you a few outfits, I didn't know what you like so…” she murmured sheepishly and you looked at the pile of clothes on the bed. They were all so nice and clean. It was weird.

“I also got you this. The new recruits always get a welcome pack like this and I figured giving you one wouldn't hurt. Besides, we have barely any female recruits,” she snorted, passing you a big clear bag. You glanced through it and saw shampoo, conditioner, body wash, razors, a hairbrush and scissors. There was also a new toothbrush and toothpaste. You also saw a box of tampons but you knew you wouldn't be needing them. You hadn't had a period since you were 18. Malnourishment really fucks with your body. 

“Wow… This is… Thank you,” you murmured, feeling a weird ache hit your chest. All these things most people took for granted, yet you hadn't owned in forever. Momentarily, the need to use was quelled by the idea of finally being clean. 

“It's fine, honestly. I’ll leave you to it and come check on you later, okay?” she smiled. You nodded with a smile of your own, feeling grateful to be here. Once she left, you didn't hesitate to strip out of your dirty and blood-stained clothes. You were unsure what to do with them so you stuffed them into the trashcan in the bathroom, knowing there was no saving them. You rifled through the clothes Karen had brought you, trying to figure out which would be your new outfit. She obviously expected you to keep it but you wouldn't be rude and take them all when you left. You didn't like lugging a big bag around anyway. So after careful consideration, you picked some dark gray skinny jeans, although you knew they wouldn't be too skinny fitting on your small frame, a black long sleeve tee and a nice plush dark gray cardigan to match. It was actually thick and cozy feeling and it was long enough that it would fall almost to your knees. It would be a good outfit for the winter. There were also pajamas and some new panties so you took them, placing them on the bed for after your shower. You put the rest of the outfits in the drawers and put the one you’d picked in the wardrobe before grabbing the clear bag and taking it to the bathroom. First up was a shower. The water was brown and red as it swirled down the drain as you scrubbed your skin until it hurt. You felt glorious after you’d washed and shaved everywhere. You’d never been able to do that and the hair annoyed you, made you feel dirtier. You felt so fresh, it was a strange sensation. Then you worked on your hair. Your hair had grown out quite a bit without a hairdresser to tame it. You’d cut it once a few years back, right up to your chin as it annoyed you. But the scissors you’d found in the dumpster had been blunt and it was slightly choppy so you hadn't bothered again. You hated the way it would always fall into your face so you’d let it grow out. You’d managed to acquire a hair tie after stealing a purse once so your hair had been living in a messy bun. It hadn't been touched or brushed in so long, you knew this would be a task. 

You tried to get the hair tie out but it was like hair had grown over it and you ended up having to use the scissors to cut it out. Your hair still stayed up in the bun though and you sighed. You tried to untangle the worst of the matts, pulling them apart with your fingers. Then you washed your hair multiple times, seeing all the dirt coming off it with water. You did it until the water ran clean before you smothered your head with conditioner. With the conditioner still on, you tried to brush your hair some more. Some of the worse knots wouldn't budge and you got frustrated. You washed out the conditioner, deciding to get out and dressed before you continued trying to fix your hair. It would take quite a while. You dried yourself with the fluffy towel, smiling to yourself for a moment as you did. You felt like a new person. You knew it wouldn't last forever but for now, it was all that mattered. You’d switch your mind off from the horrors you'd been through that night and try to focus on the good right now. That's how you always lived. Day by day. You never got to think about the future when you didn't know if you’d have one. 

Once dressed in the pajamas and your teeth now brushed, you sat on the bed with the hairbrush and scissors. You didn't trust yourself to cut your hair again but you knew you would if you had to. After what felt like an hour, you were getting frustrated and tears pricked your eyes. The adrenaline had fully worn off and the wonders of being clean did little to ease your shot nerves. You wouldn't normally get tearful over something stupid like your hair but you figured your brain was using it as an excuse to let some of your trauma out. You sniffled, tossing the brush on the bed with a groan. You felt so weak and you hated it. You’d never felt more fragile in your life. All you could think about was your drugs you’d put under your pillow but Karen had said she’d be coming back so you didn't use them. There was a knock at the door and you wiped your eyes angrily before it opened and Karen popped her head inside.

“It's just me… What's wrong?” she asked with a frown when she saw your face. She moved into the room, closing the door behind her.

“I’m having a fight with my hair and losing,” you huffed, feeling your cheeks burn. You felt stupid. She gave you a sympathetic smile as she moved over to the bed, sitting behind you. 

“I can see if I can help,” she murmured, grabbing the brush. She was far more delicate with your locks than you had been and you sighed.

“Maybe we should just cut some of it off,” you relented. You didn't want it short enough that you couldn't put it back like last time but maybe Karen was a lot better with scissors than you were.

“I could take just a little off. The ends are pretty bad, I think if we cut a few inches off I could get the rest out,” she agreed. You handed her the scissors and she set to work. It was just past your shoulders when she was done and then she started with the brush again. Before long, the brush was going through your hair with no snags.

“There we go!” she grinned, setting the brush down. You moved to sit so you could see her, feeling a lot better now it was done. You were still exhausted though.

“Thanks. I think you're some kind of hair witch or something,” you muttered wryly, making her snort. 

“Maybe I should have gone into hairdressing. I always get roped in to fix people's hair here,” she grinned. You stifled a yawn with your hand and she stood up, giving you a smile.

“You should get some rest. Frank will wanna speak to you tomorrow and you’ve had a… rough night,” she said softly. You nodded, knowing your body needed sleep. But it needed something else first.

“If you need anything, me and Frank are just down the hall. Billy’s just next door too,” she added.

“Who’s Billy?” you asked curiously as you set the scissors and brush on the bedside table, scooping up the hair.

“Oh! Right… You know him as Jigsaw,” she smiled ruefully. Billy. Seemed such a simple name for a complicated looking guy.

“Thank you again,” you said sincerely. She nodded, flashing you one more smile before she slipped out of the door. 

You waited for a moment before letting out a shaky breath. You felt drained. You reached under your pillow where the bag and paper were before you repeated your nightly ritual. Once you were done, you stuffed them back under your pillow before you lay down. It felt like the bed swallowed you whole, like laying on a cloud. You felt like you were floating. As the high kicked in, you allowed yourself to forget the bullshit you’d been through as you lost yourself in the feeling of being warm and comfortable. You knew it wasn't going to last long so you wanted to enjoy it while you had it.

[greetingfromthedead]

C57: Subject 0325

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Series Rating: 18+ / Explicit

Chapter: 57/84

Words: 2k

Warning: This chapter handles some dark themes including nonconsensual human and Plant experimentation!

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The early morning turns into noon as you've intertwined with Vash, your bodies pressed together tightly even for the narrow bed. You lay partially over him, your head resting on his chest near his shoulder. His prosthetic holds you close, and his other hand is playing with your hair. Your fingers are laced into his locks. His calm breathing brings you absolute peace. So comfortable is the silence, both in the room and in your head. Your skin is still tingling from all the kisses he has placed on it, and all the marks he left have long since healed.

You hear footsteps in the corridor even over his heartbeats, but assume they will pass by as usual, so choose not to say anything, enjoying the warmth in your soul. But it turns out you were wrong, and the door to Vash's room slides open.

"Oh! Sorry! Lock the door next time or something!" You hear Brad's voice by the door, and you look over. He has covered his eyes with his hand, even though there's not much to see—just your bare upper back and Vash's chest; the rest is covered by the blanket.

"Brad? What's wrong?" Vash pulls the blanket more up to cover you as he sits up a bit. You see his ears take on a dark crimson color, and his voice is forced calm.

"Apparently nothing. Don't mind me. I didn't know where Iris was, and I thought she might need your support, but I guess you support her enough. Don't mind me; I'll be off!" Brad seems even more awkward than usual as he looks for the door frame with his other hand and backs out.

Vash isn't sure what to say or how to react to Brad barging in like this and then out again. He realizes what this is about, and if it's his old friend reacting in such a manner towards the whole ordeal, then it must be serious. His gaze moves back to you, and he sees your eyes staring in the direction of the tablet. You've stiffened up against him. He wraps both his arms around you tighter to give you a reassuring hug.

"Whatever you decide or whatever you do, I will support you. It's your decision to make; you can lean on me; you can be angry or sad; everything is valid. And if you want to wait till a later day, I'll keep it safe for you." His nose nuzzles closer to your ear. "I love you."

"I love you too..." Your voice is quiet, and you can almost feel the device under the bed. The truth it holds is calling out to you. "There is no point in pushing the inevitable..."

Your body feels heavy in his embrace, your joints frozen over. You know this won't give you peace—at least not until you uncover the buzzing and voices in your head. With stiff and robotic movements, you sit up, you untangle your legs from Vash's, and throw them over the bed.

Coldness creeps under the blanket and up Vash's body as you get up. He can't place the exact emotions in your face and movements as you pick up the clothes from the floor. You place his on the bed while you clutch your own. The last thing you reach for is the tablet, and your eyes linger on it for a moment before you put that too on the bed. As you get dressed, Vash looks at your perfectly smooth skin, no scars or marks anywhere to be seen. You haven't always been like this, and the answers as to how you became like this might be within reach.

He too jumps out of bed and quickly gets dressed, pulling on his daily clothes and fixing his messy locks that have been pointing in every direction. He watches you smooth your own hair absentmindedly, eyes still nailed onto the tablet, and you gulp. Vash wonders how the voices in your head are—how loud have they become again?

"What do you want me to do? How can I best support you?" Vash asks as he sits next to you on the bed, leaning forward, his forearms on his knees, "Do you want to face this alone? Would you rather have me not see it?"

"I don't want you to pity me. Whatever this is, it's not good. I don't need pity or condolences; they won't change the past. I don't want you agonizing over what was done." You pick up the stick and hold it on your lap, fingers tracing over the profile. "You can look if you want."

It feels like your blood has been replaced by icy, cold river water storming through your veins. Your fingertips are freezing from the anticipation and fear. Vash straightens up and moves closer, his thigh against yours, before he puts his arm around you, his forehead leaning against your shoulder.

"It takes courage to face this; you are the strongest person I know." His voice is quiet, and he feels your muscles move as you pull open the tablet, revealing the folder you found and under that a link to a profile and another folder called Logs.

Your fingers linger over the first folder before touching it. This time it opens without asking for authorization, and you are met with a long list of individual files, one after another, with small icons of pictures in between, too tiny to make out what they depict. You stare at it for a moment, unsure where to begin, but then choose the first one on the list that has simply the name Subject 0325.

It opens up your regular crewmate profile, but there are added rows of information. You see your DNA sequence scheme, and parts of it are marked in color and medical terminology you don't understand. As you keep scrolling, you see more rows with rankings behind them. You read "Chemical Aptitude", "PG Tolerance", "Blood Compatibility", "Cell Replacement Rate", "PPRG", "AGTT", "PRT". The list goes on and on as you quickly scroll through it, unsure of what most of it means. You go back, hoping to find something that will make more sense to you. You open the next file and find text.

August 14th, 2445

Let this be the first day of project HUMAN. Let today go down as the day the human race evolves into something more. After years of research, I cracked it. Tesla was just a sign from God, a beacon to lead me to the true human nature. Those fools of Ship Five threw away their opportunity, but at the very least they kept extensive logs for me to crack open and feed upon the knowledge. If Plants can birth human-like creatures, then it must in some way mean that the opposite is true too, but since their power comes from the Higher Plane through gateways that humans don't have, then I must create one. I can't allow humans to be replaced by a byproduct of Plants, Independents are still nothing more than human creation, but they will never be human.

I have found my patient zero; her outlook is fantastic, and her DNA and Chemical Aptitude are most compatible with what I have in mind. My extensive research will exit the theoretical realm today. I will wake her, and I shall create Eve out of her flesh and bones. She shall be Subject 0325.

August 16th, 2445

The preparations have finished, and her conditioning is done. She took very well to the medication, her brain waves have slowed to an acceptable level where she won't be able to disturb the procedures, but she's in a state where monitoring the progress is optimal. I have listed the medications and their dosages in the attachment for future reference.

I shall start the operation on the Plant today; if everything goes smoothly, the connection process can begin tomorrow. I'm too excited to even sleep, but I can't allow sleep depravity to misguide my blade. The incision map is added as an attachment.

It is done; the operation was a success. With only minor tissue damage, I have managed to extend the Plant's bloodstream to the outside of its body. The current pace is set by the external motor bypassing the heart completely. A day should be enough to generate the extra blood cells needed; until then, I've made a chemical substitution. Images attached.

As you flick forward, you first see a long table listing all kinds of chemicals you don't know about. The next one is a scheme of Plant anatomy; cuts are marked with bright red and cool blue lines running over the chest and wrists of the Plant. You hesitate for a moment, but then pull up the next picture. A photograph taken of a Plant, tubes extruding from her chest and arms. The tubes run up and out of the tank, the Plant herself has an expression of pain on her face as she bends back like a bow. Her feet are restrained to the bottom of the tank, and her wings also seem to be tied in some way, but it's not clear from the picture. The tubes run from her tank into a large pump, and the content seems to be slightly purplish blue blood. You feel Vash stiffening beside you, but he has not made a single noise. You flick to the next text.

August 17th, 2445

Bypassing Subject 0325's heart to connect her bloodstream to the pump has proven to be slightly more difficult than anticipated. I did not find success today; the subject nearly bled to death on the table, but I managed to stop the hemorrhage. Gave her some blood substitution; hopefully she will be recovered enough in two days; otherwise, the foreign blood might overwhelm her system.

Recording of failure attached.

You swipe and are met with a video taken from a slight vantage point, with the camera most likely attached to a ceiling rig. It shows a figure on the table, six robotic arms rising from the floor up and looming over what you assume is your body. You see the tools they are holding—forceps nearing the wide open wound in your chest—and through the pooling blood, you see your frantically beating heart. The image makes you want to puke, and you swipe away.

August 19th, 2445

Today has been a success; the bypass was performed perfectly, and now both subjects are connected via the pump. The current mixing rate is 0.5%. I hope to increase it to 1% tonight. Depending on Subject 0325's PG Tolerance, I should theoretically be able to remove the restrictions completely by the end of next week.

August 24th, 2445

Astoundingly, in just 5 days, the blood circulation restriction has been removed. Subject 0325 is incredibly susceptible to Plant blood; they are a perfect match. The two bloodstreams act as one, with the pump beating as the artificial heart. The human cells should be replaced with Plant ones completely in due time; the gradual increase of them should be enough to make Subject 0325's body adapt. The previous estimation of 5 years has been reevaluated and calculated to be as low as 2 years. The data keeps changing, the subject's compatibility is higher than anticipated.

Setup attached.

You swipe to another video; the lab is lit up, but the large surgical lights right above the bed are off. Wires connect your half naked body to machinery—just a sheet lazily thrown over your lower half where there are no sensors or pipes. Tubes run into your chest, your neck, and your arms; they connect to the large pump between your bed and the Plant casing. The large machine is filled with reddish purple liquid that gets pulled from one set of tubes with every rise and pushes blood into a different set with every fall. Your body is still and strapped to the bed, but you are clearly awake; your eyes are nailed onto the Plant, and she seems to be looking back. Your chest rises and falls calmly, as if nothing is wrong.

The images make your blood run even colder than before, and your fingers tremble slightly as they hover above the screen before they swipe to the next text.

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[logarhythm-bees]

To Unearth and Back Again; ⛅Chapter 2

Chapter One | Table of Contents | Chapter Three

See ronithesnail's absolutely wonderful art for this story!

I will find my way I can go the distance I'll be there someday If I can be strong I know every mile Will be worth my while I would go most anywhere to feel like I belong

-Go The Distance, Hercules

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Bee-

Roman slammed his hand down over the alarm clock, groaning. Squinting his eyes, he tried to make out the time through his bleary vision. 7:30, the clock said in neon white letters. Roman shook the clock in frustration. The clock, being an inanimate object, did not respond. 

Setting it down on the nightstand, and patting it apologetically despite the fact that it was still an inanimate object, Roman tucked the covers back around himself, muttering about “Logan and his stupid schedule, always with the schedules…” and wondering if he could sneak in another couple minutes of sleep without one of the others coming to look for him. He laid his head back on the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut again, when his brain decided to finally wake up and remind Roman what exactly he had planned for the day.

Roman shot up like a particularly extravagant jack-in-the-box, eyes barely on the former edge of literally sparkling. He tumbled out of his bed with the blankets still halfway stuck around him, dashing off to his bathroom and miraculously managing to do so without tripping over his sheets– not to say that he didn’t have a few close calls. 

He opened the little towel warmer he kept on his counter and gently placed- okay, tossed a towel into it, and then proceeded to spend several seconds getting into a fight with the thing as he was trying to close the door, before eventually giving up and taking the towel out to actually fold it neatly and put it in.

Roman hopped into the shower, humming a random medley of Disney love songs as he did so. Letting the soap flow over him, he took extra care washing his hair, because he was dramatic and he had a special day ahead, and he was Roman, so of course he did.

“All at once,” he sang, closing his eyes as he pictured the Tangled scene. “Everything is diff-aUgh,” coughing, he choked on the words, disgusted by the little bit of shampoo that had run into his mouth. He spat indignantly as he tried to get the bitter taste off of his tongue, swishing some of the falling water around in his mouth to clear it out.

Finally feeling only water on his taste buds, Roman shook his head and washed the shampoo out of his hair, careful not to get any in his mouth this time. He ruffled in some of his fanciest conditioner, the type he usually saved for special things, like performances and auditions and parties.

And Virgil, his brain supplied, and Roman felt the smile slip back onto his face.

He wrapped the warm towel around himself, checking his phone. He huffed dramatically as he spotted a text from Logan reminding him to be down for breakfast soon. Logan was insistent, however broken their relationships were now, that they continued to have family breakfast. He claimed it was important for them to promote structure, but Roman knew that it was really because it made Patton sad if they didn’t come and Logan was thoroughly hooked on his partners.

Patton, Roman thought, biting his tongue. The clouds of frustration and hurt began to creep into his mind, dark and dangerous, and Roman took a deep breath and shooed them away. There was only room for one stormcloud in his head today, and it was certainly a much better one than that. 

On the subject of his stormcloud, below Logan’s message was a notification that Virgil had liked the meme Roman had sent him the night before, a picture of a sink on a porch with the caption “let that sink in”. Roman grinned, setting his phone down and beamed at the reminder of Virgil and his plan, ecstatically turning back to the mirror to focus on getting himself together and ready.

Squirting a perhaps overzealous amount of toothpaste onto his brush, he brushed his teeth with a passion, and teeth-brushing is something most people are not particularly passionate about, even when they are the literal embodiment of passion like Roman, but he was feeling the vibes today. And maybe he wanted to make extra sure he made a good impression on Virgil when he confessed, just in case Virgil happened to be looking at his mouth or like Roman’s teeth or happened to kiss him or something, okay, sue him for being a lot-tle bit overprepared. This was important to him! Virgil was important to him. And Virgil deserved his best.

He hopped into his regal prince costume, taking extra care to straighten every detail of his very queer outfit, tugging gently at his sash to get it in just the right place and adjusting the golden details until they caught the light, shining even in the fluorescent bulbs of his bathroom. 

Roman ran a comb through his hair, styling it into his normal princelike regality with his fingers and smiling widely to himself. He looked beautiful, fabulously handsome if he did say so himself- and he did. He met his own eyes reflected in the mirror, and tried to think of what Virgil might think of him when they saw each other. 

He should think of something to say, Roman realized suddenly. He blinked the sudden nervousness out of his wide eyes, inhaling and out, feeling his chest fall and rise again. In for four, he reminded himself, hold for eight, out for seven. Just like Virgil taught him.

Roman met his own eyes in the mirror, going through the calming breathing cycle again. He could do this. Virgil wasn’t even here yet. And Roman would certainly be more prepared for when he was if he practiced at least a little now.

Roman cleared his throat. 

“Hi,” he said, eloquently.

“I-” He started, thinking for a moment. “You–uhm. I- we- we haven’t always gotten along- oh, that’s a bad starter.” He scrunched up his face, thinking. “I’ve invited you to this picnic because I have something important to tell you–no, that’ll make him nervous.” Roman bit his tongue. Maybe it would be better to simply come out and say it?

“Virgil,” he started, gently, keeping his voice steady. “I think I’m in love with you.”

At once, Roman felt a strange sort of discomfort curling in his gut, mixing in with his positive mood like mud into drinking water– that is to say, rather tainting its palatability. He felt nauseous hearing the words out loud, disdainfully wondering why, trying to convince himself it was just nerves. People tend to get nervous about confessing their love, right? That must be why he felt like this.

Maybe he shouldn’t practice this after all. He worked better on the spot, anyways.

He was grateful there were no snakes there to point out his lie. 

Roman set his hand on the door handle and tried to lift his positive mood back into action with thoughts of Virgil, Virgil, Virgil. What could he think about Virgil? Maybe what kind of picnic blanket they could sit on? Would Virgil prefer plaid or solid purple?

Letting the storm be a sort of guiding light, Roman opened his bedroom door just as the alarm to come down for breakfast made a little ding on his phone. He heard music drifting up the stairs and steeled himself, head and shoulders high. 

Just like any performance, he thought to himself. You can do it.

He took his first steps down the stairs, and kept his thoughts set firmly on patchwork picnic blankets.

[nightkitchentarot]

Cab Calloway’s Hepster’s Dictionary

HEPSTER’S DICTIONARY

A

A hummer (n.): exceptionally good. Ex., “Man, that boy is a hummer.”

Ain’t coming on that tab (v.): won’t accept the proposition. Usually abbr. to “I ain’t coming.”

Alligator (n.): jitterbug.

Apple (n.): the big town, the main stem, Harlem.

Armstrongs (n.): musical notes in the upper register, high trumpet notes.

B

Barbecue (n.): the girl friend, a beauty.

Barrelhouse (adj.): free and easy.

Battle (n.): a very homely girl, a crone.

Beat (adj.): (1) tired, exhausted. Ex., “You look beat” or “I feel beat.” (2) lacking anything. Ex, “I am beat for my cash”, “I am beat to my socks” (lacking everything).

Beat it out (v.): play it hot, emphasize the rhythm.

Beat up (adj.): sad, uncomplimentary, tired.

Beat up the chops (or the gums) (v.): to talk, converse, be loquacious.

Beef (v.): to say, to state. Ex., “He beefed to me that, etc.”

Bible (n.): the gospel truth. Ex., “It’s the bible!”

Black (n.): night.

Black and tan (n.): dark and light colored folks. Not colored and white folks as erroneously assumed.

Blew their wigs (adj.): excited with enthusiasm, gone crazy.

Blip (n.): something very good. Ex., “That’s a blip”; “She’s a blip.”

Blow the top (v.): to be overcome with emotion (delight). Ex., “You’ll blow your top when you hear this one.”

Boogie-woogie (n.): harmony with accented bass.

Boot (v.): to give. Ex., “Boot me that glove.”

Break it up (v.): to win applause, to stop the show.

Bree (n.): girl.

Bright (n.): day.

Brightnin’ (n.): daybreak.

Bring down ((1) n. (2) v.): (1) something depressing. Ex., “That’s a bring down.” (2) Ex., “That brings me down.”

Buddy ghee (n.): fellow.

Bust your conk (v.): apply yourself diligently, break your neck.

C

Canary (n.): girl vocalist.

Capped (v.): outdone, surpassed.

Cat (n.): musician in swing band.

Chick (n.): girl.

Chime (n.): hour. Ex., “I got in at six chimes.”

Clambake (n.): ad lib session, every man for himself, a jam session not in the groove.

Chirp (n.): female singer.

Cogs (n.): sun glasses.

Collar (v.): to get, to obtain, to comprehend. Ex., “I gotta collar me some food”; “Do you collar this jive?”

Come again (v.): try it over, do better than you are doing, I don’t understand you.

Comes on like gangbusters (or like test pilot) (v.): plays, sings, or dances in a terrific manner, par excellence in any department. Sometimes abbr. to “That singer really comes on!”

Cop (v.): to get, to obtain (see collar; knock).

Corny (adj.): old-fashioned, stale.

Creeps out like the shadow (v.): “comes on,” but in smooth, suave, sophisticated manner.

Crumb crushers (n.): teeth.

Cubby (n.): room, flat, home.

Cups (n.): sleep. Ex., “I gotta catch some cups.”

Cut out (v.): to leave, to depart. Ex., “It’s time to cut out”; “I cut out from the joint in early bright.”

Cut rate (n.): a low, cheap person. Ex., “Don’t play me cut rate, Jack!”

D

Dicty (adj.): high-class, nifty, smart.

Dig (v.): (1) meet. Ex., “I’ll plant you now and dig you later.” (2) look, see. Ex., “Dig the chick on your left duke.” (3) comprehend, understand. Ex., “Do you dig this jive?”

Dim (n.): evening.

Dime note (n.): ten-dollar bill.

Doghouse (n.): bass fiddle.

Domi (n.): ordinary place to live in. Ex., “I live in a righteous domi.”

Doss (n.): sleep. Ex., “I’m a little beat for my doss.”

Down with it (adj.): through with it.

Drape (n.): suit of clothes, dress, costume.

Dreamers (n.): bed covers, blankets.

Dry-goods (n.): same as drape.

Duke (n.): hand, mitt.

Dutchess (n.): girl.

E

Early black (n.): evening

Early bright (n.): morning.

Evil (adj.): in ill humor, in a nasty temper.

F

Fall out (v.): to be overcome with emotion. Ex., “The cats fell out when he took that solo.”

Fews and two (n.): money or cash in small quantity.

Final (v.): to leave, to go home. Ex., “I finaled to my pad” (went to bed); “We copped a final” (went home).

Fine dinner (n.): a good-looking girl.

Focus (v.): to look, to see.

Foxy (v.): shrewd.

Frame (n.): the body.

Fraughty issue (n.): a very sad message, a deplorable state of affairs.

Freeby (n.): no charge, gratis. Ex., “The meal was a freeby.”

Frisking the whiskers (v.): what the cats do when they are warming up for a swing session.

Frolic pad (n.): place of entertainment, theater, nightclub.

Fromby (adj.): a frompy queen is a battle or faust.

Front (n.): a suit of clothes.

Fruiting (v.): fickle, fooling around with no particular object.

Fry (v.): to go to get hair straightened.

G

Gabriels (n.): trumpet players.

Gammin’ (adj.): showing off, flirtatious.

Gasser (n, adj.): sensational. Ex., “When it comes to dancing, she’s a gasser.”

Gate (n.): a male person (a salutation), abbr. for “gate-mouth.”

Get in there (exclamation.): go to work, get busy, make it hot, give all you’ve got.

Gimme some skin (v.): shake hands.

Glims (n.): the eyes.

Got your boots on: you know what it is all about, you are a hep cat, you are wise.

Got your glasses on: you are ritzy or snooty, you fail to recognize your friends, you are up-stage.

Gravy (n.): profits.

Grease (v.): to eat.

Groovy (adj.): fine. Ex., “I feel groovy.”

Ground grippers (n.): new shoes.

Growl (n.): vibrant notes from a trumpet.

Gut-bucket (adj.): low-down music.

Guzzlin’ foam (v.): drinking beer.

H

Hard (adj.): fine, good. Ex., “That’s a hard tie you’re wearing.”

Hard spiel (n.): interesting line of talk.

Have a ball (v.): to enjoy yourself, stage a celebration. Ex., “I had myself a ball last night.”

Hep cat (n.): a guy who knows all the answers, understands jive.

Hide-beater (n.): a drummer (see skin-beater).

Hincty (adj.): conceited, snooty.

Hip (adj.): wise, sophisticated, anyone with boots on. Ex., “She’s a hip chick.”

Home-cooking (n.): something very dinner (see fine dinner).

Hot (adj.): musically torrid; before swing, tunes were hot or bands were hot.

Hype (n, v.): build up for a loan, wooing a girl, persuasive talk.

I

Icky (n.): one who is not hip, a stupid person, can’t collar the jive.

Igg (v.): to ignore someone. Ex., “Don’t igg me!)

In the groove (adj.): perfect, no deviation, down the alley.

J

Jack (n.): name for all male friends (see gate; pops).

Jam ((1)n, (2)v.): (1) improvised swing music. Ex., “That’s swell jam.” (2) to play such music. Ex., “That cat surely can jam.”

Jeff (n.): a pest, a bore, an icky.

Jelly (n.): anything free, on the house.

Jitterbug (n.): a swing fan.

Jive (n.): Harlemese speech.

Joint is jumping: the place is lively, the club is leaping with fun.

Jumped in port (v.): arrived in town.

K

Kick (n.): a pocket. Ex., “I’ve got five bucks in my kick.”

Kill me (v.): show me a good time, send me.

Killer-diller (n.): a great thrill.

Knock (v.): give. Ex., “Knock me a kiss.”

Kopasetic (adj.): absolutely okay, the tops.

L

Lamp (v.): to see, to look at.

Land o’darkness (n.): Harlem.

Lane (n.): a male, usually a nonprofessional.

Latch on (v.): grab, take hold, get wise to.

Lay some iron (v.): to tap dance. Ex., “Jack, you really laid some iron that last show!”

Lay your racket (v.): to jive, to sell an idea, to promote a proposition.

Lead sheet (n.): a topcoat.

Left raise (n.): left side. Ex., “Dig the chick on your left raise.”

Licking the chops (v.): see frisking the whiskers.

Licks (n.): hot musical phrases.

Lily whites (n.): bed sheets.

Line (n.): cost, price, money. Ex., “What is the line on this drape” (how much does this suit cost)? “Have you got the line in the mouse” (do you have the cash in your pocket)? Also, in replying, all figures are doubled. Ex., “This drape is line forty” (this suit costs twenty dollars).

Lock up: to acquire something exclusively. Ex., “He’s got that chick locked up”; “I’m gonna lock up that deal.”

M

Main kick (n.): the stage.

Main on the hitch (n.): husband.

Main queen (n.): favorite girl friend, sweetheart.

Man in gray (n.): the postman.

Mash me a fin (command.): Give me $5.

Mellow (adj.): all right, fine. Ex., “That’s mellow, Jack.”

Melted out (adj.): broke.

Mess (n.): something good. Ex., “That last drink was a mess.”

Meter (n.): quarter, twenty-five cents.

Mezz (n.): anything supreme, genuine. Ex., “this is really the mezz.”

Mitt pounding (n.): applause.

Moo juice (n.): milk.

Mouse (n.): pocket. Ex., “I’ve got a meter in the mouse.”

Muggin’ (v.): making ’em laugh, putting on the jive. “Muggin’ lightly,” light staccato swing; “muggin’ heavy,” heavy staccato swing.

Murder (n.): something excellent or terrific. Ex., “That’s solid murder, gate!”

N

Neigho, pops: Nothing doing, pal.

Nicklette (n.): automatic phonograph, music box.

Nickel note (n.): five-dollar bill.

Nix out (v.): to eliminate, get rid of. Ex., “I nixed that chick out last week”; “I nixed my garments” (undressed).

Nod (n.): sleep. Ex., “I think I’l cop a nod.”

O

Ofay (n.): white person.

Off the cob (adj.): corny, out of date.

Off-time jive (n.): a sorry excuse, saying the wrong thing.

Orchestration (n.): an overcoat.

Out of the world (adj.): perfect rendition. Ex., “That sax chorus was out of the world.”

Ow!: an exclamation with varied meaning. When a beautiful chick passes by, it’s “Ow!”; and when someone pulls an awful pun, it’s also “Ow!”

P

Pad (n.): bed.

Pecking (n.): a dance introduced at the Cotton Club in 1937.

Peola (n.): a light person, almost white.

Pigeon (n.): a young girl.

Pops (n.): salutation for all males (see gate; Jack).

Pounders (n.): policemen.

Q

Queen (n.): a beautiful girl.

R

Rank (v.): to lower.

Ready (adj.): 100 per cent in every way. Ex., “That fried chicken was ready.”

Ride (v.): to swing, to keep perfect tempo in playing or singing.

Riff (n.): hot lick, musical phrase.

Righteous (adj.): splendid, okay. Ex., “That was a righteous queen I dug you with last black.”

Rock me (v.): send me, kill me, move me with rhythm.

Ruff (n.): quarter, twenty-five cents.

Rug cutter (n.): a very good dancer, an active jitterbug.

S

Sad (adj.): very bad. Ex., “That was the saddest meal I ever collared.”

Sadder than a map (adj.): terrible. Ex., “That man is sadder than a map.”

Salty (adj.): angry, ill-tempered.

Sam got you: you’ve been drafted into the army.

Send (v.): to arouse the emotions. (joyful). Ex., “That sends me!”

Set of seven brights (n.): one week.

Sharp (adj.): neat, smart, tricky. Ex., “That hat is sharp as a tack.”

Signify (v.): to declare yourself, to brag, to boast.

Skins (n.): drums.

Skin-beater (n.): drummer (see hide-beater).

Sky piece (n.): hat.

Slave (v.): to work, whether arduous labor or not.

Slide your jib (v.): to talk freely.

Snatcher (n.): detective.

So help me: it’s the truth, that’s a fact.

Solid (adj.): great, swell, okay.

Sounded off (v.): began a program or conversation.

Spoutin’ (v.): talking too much.

Square (n.): an unhep person (see icky; Jeff).

Stache (v.): to file, to hide away, to secrete.

Stand one up (v.): to play one cheap, to assume one is a cut-rate.

To be stashed (v.): to stand or remain.

Susie-Q (n.): a dance introduced at the Cotton Club in 1936.

T

Take it slow (v.): be careful.

Take off (v.): play a solo.

The man (n.): the law.

Threads (n.): suit, dress or costume (see drape; dry-goods).

Tick (n.): minute, moment. Ex., “I’ll dig you in a few ticks.” Also, ticks are doubled in accounting time, just as money is doubled in giving “line.” Ex., “I finaled to the pad this early bright at tick twenty” (I got to bed this morning at ten o’clock).

Timber (n.): toothpick.

To dribble (v.): to stutter. Ex., “He talked in dribbles.”

Togged to the bricks: dressed to kill, from head to toe.

Too much (adj.): term of highest praise. Ex., “You are too much!”

Trickeration (n.): struttin’ your stuff, muggin’ lightly and politely.

Trilly (v.): to leave, to depart. Ex., “Well, I guess I’ll trilly.”

Truck (v.): to go somewhere. Ex., “I think I’ll truck on down to the ginmill (bar).”

Trucking (n.): a dance introduced at the Cotton Club in 1933.

Twister to the slammer (n.): the key to the door.

Two cents (n.): two dollars.

U

Unhep (adj.): not wise to the jive, said of an icky, a Jeff, a square.

V

Vine (n.): a suit of clothes.

V-8 (n.): a chick who spurns company, is independent, is not amenable.

W

What’s your story?: What do you want? What have you got to say for yourself? How are tricks? What excuse can you offer? Ex., “I don’t know what his story is.”

Whipped up (adj.): worn out, exhausted, beat for your everything.

Wren (n.): a chick, a queen.

Wrong riff: the wrong thing said or done. Ex., “You’re coming up on the wrong riff.”

Y

Yarddog (n.): uncouth, badly attired, unattractive male or female.

Yeah, man: an exclamation of assent.

Z

Zoot (adj.): exaggerated

Zoot suit (n.): the ultimate in clothes. The only totally and truly American civilian suit.

[umbra-by-jacqui-natla]

Chapter Twelve

"Are you sure you're okay?" Eddie asked her, walking along the streets.

"I'm fine," Carrie replied sternly. "Like I told you a thousand times now."

The sky was a dark canvas with thin white dots glistening. Since Carrie was discarded from the hospital, Eddie had been keeping a close eye on her.

"I know, I know," he sighed, his hands in his pockets. "Just checking, that's all."

Eddie looked at Carrie, seeing her still walking and her face looking forward. Her hair was light blonde and it waved over her shoulders and back. She was still in her gym clothes with her grey hoodie. She had glossy pale skin with dimmed green eyes and dark shadows under them. Carrie's green eyes flickered as she dived into his mind yet still looking ahead.

(she doesn't seem okay. she looks tired. what's been happening to)

"Can you stop?" Carrie spoke up, her voice tinted with annoyance.

"Stop what?" Eddie asked, confused.

"Like..." she shrugged her shoulders. "Like pretending to be concerned about me?"

Eddie gawked at her in disbelief and started blinking, slowly taking it in. His lips pinched together in a hard line and his jaw went slack.

"I- I'm not pretending," he stuttered out his answer, his hands in his pockets. "I care about you being alright."

"Why would you care if I'm alright?" Carrie questioned, folding her arms. "I mean, hardly anyone cares and you're only probably talking to me cuz none of your friends are around."

"Hey, the only friend I got is a dried-out sunflower on my window sill," he replied. "And Maria. And Mrs. Chen. And even I consider you a friend."

"For someone who's a famous reporter, it sounds like you don't have that many friends," Carrie sounded seemingly surprised.

"Hang on, I do have friends," Eddie exclaimed. "There was Richard, he works as a receptionist at the MNBN building. And then, there was Anne."

There was silence between them. Eddie curled his lips and his shoulders hunched. Carrie looked at him, seeing his lowered head. Her mind dove into his head. The mixture of images and emotions was staggering and indescribable. Love. Passion. Confidence. Betrayal. Sadness. It was in a long series of events: they flashed by in a dizzying shuffle. His mind had become her library, desperately running through with her fingers trailing lightly over bookshelves. Some were lifting out, scanning them, putting them back, letting someone fall, leaving the pages to flutter wildly

(have a nice life. you're fired, eddie. i can't trust you. have a nice life. you are pathologically self-absorbed. your ego requires constant attention, and you're stubborn as hell. but i was willing to roll with it, eddie because i loved you. what you did got me fired. you used me.)

In the wind of memory and still on and on. Then, she finally reached a shelf marked ANNE, subheaded FIANCÉ. Books were thrown open, flashes of experience, marginal notations in all the hieroglyphs of emotions, more complex than the Rosetta Stone.

Looking. Finding more about Eddie than he knew himself — love for Anne and his career, cockyness, desire for giving justice to the weak, hatred for the Life Foundation, disgust for Drake, concern for Carrie herself.

What a loser.

Eddie felt something was pulling him back, weak and exhausted.

(what's going on in my head? like something is invading me.)

Carrie blinked, leaving his mind. There were many things that Eddie didn't tell her. As they walked, they spotted Maria sitting by the entrance of a store. She had a blanket covering her legs and her dark hair was still in a mess. There was a square outline underneath the front of the blanket. Carrie grinned at her and Maria smiled back at her.

"Hey, Maria," Eddie greeted her.

"Hi, Eddie," Maria said, looking at him and then looking up back at her. "Hi, Carrie."

"How's it going?" Carrie asked, placing her hands in her pockets and towering over Maria. "Any creeps coming at you?"

"None whatsoever," Maria shook her head.

"That's great to hear," Eddie said as he opened the vending machine and disappointment rushed to his face. "Oh! Yeah, we're empty." He spoke with fake enthusiasm.

Then, Maria lifted the blanket and revealed newspapers. "Cost you five dollars."

"Five dollars for a paper that's free?" Eddie looked completely bewildered.

"How did you even get hold of them?" Carrie questioned her.

"I walked all the way over to the vending machine," Maria explained, her hands gesturing from the vending machine close to the road and to the newspapers. "Got the papers out and brought 'em back over here, so you can have 'em personally delivered to you."

"You did that for me?" Eddie asked, smiling and leaning over to the wall opposite the women.

"Yes, I did," Maria replied, picked up a newspaper, and aimed it at them. "Five bucks."

"That seems pretty steep," Carrie replied, taking a sharp breath in.

"Yeah, I'm with her," said Eddie in agreement; Carrie blushed furiously.

"Tell you what, one of you give me a dollar for a song, I'll throw in the paper," Maria suggested.

"I'll tell you what," Eddie took out his wallet and opened it. "I will give you twenty bucks, but not to sing, all right?"

"That seems fair," Carrie added.

Maria pondered over the offer and, without hesitation, she agreed to take it. Eddie gave her twenty dollars and she gave him the newspaper.

"Thank you," Eddie said as he headed to the entrance door of a local shop.

"You're welcome," Maria told him.

"No. You're welcome." Eddie pointed his recently bought newspaper to her and they laughed; he walked into the shop.

"If anyone bothers you—," Carrie spoke up.

"I knew who to call," Maria replied and they laughed.

The bell tinkled as Carrie followed him into the shop. The shop was small and — until Eddie and Carrie walked in — was empty. The light shone from the ceiling, giving off the pale blue illusion. She spotted a middle-aged Mandarin woman at the counter wearing a dark blue apron and a sleeved white blouse. She had short black hair and her dark eyes were behind a pair of glasses. Her skin was a light beige shade with hardly any wrinkles. She was sorting out her counter when Carrie entered.

"Hey, Mrs. Chen," she heard Eddie greeting the woman.

"How you doing, Eddie?" the woman, Mrs. Chen, welcomed him.

"Ah, aches and pains, you know, aches and pains," Eddie let out a sigh.

"You look like shit."

Carrie cringed when she cursed. Even when she heard things like this, it was still a shock to her. She saw Eddie freeze on the spot for a few seconds before rotating his body to see Mrs. Chen.

She ain't even wrong.

"Excuse me?" Eddie asked her.

"You look like shit." Mrs. Chen repeated herself.

"And you look as beautiful as ever." Eddie groaned, rubbing his right eye, and began walking away from the counter as Carrie watched on.

"Mind is body, Eddie. Have you been meditating like I showed you?"

Carrie ambled through the store, looking at the products.

"No, I have not. And it does not work."

"It doesn't work, because you don't give it a chance." Mrs. Chen rose her voice.

"No, it doesn't work, because I bought a DVD off your cousin, and it was in Mandarin," Eddie explained.

"Tóunǎo jiùshì shēntǐ," she spoke in her native language.

"Yeah, I don't understand that, either." Eddie shook his head, his hands rolling his newspaper.

"Hǎo ba, yěxǔ rúguǒ nǐ xuéxí tā, nǐ jiù huì míngbái." Mrs. Chen's voice grew louder and pointed at her head and Eddie.

Eddie spun round and pointed the newspaper at her. "See, that right there, I don't understand what you just said. That is the problem."

"Húndàn."

Eddie stopped by the medicine range and grabbed a small bottle of Ibuprofen. Carrie walked over to him, her arms wrapped around herself. "Maybe you should consider practicing Mandarin," Carrie whispered to him.

Eddie shot his blue eyes down at her. "Oh, so do you know what she's saying?" He whispered back to her in a sarcastic tone yet his voice was husky.

His voice made Carrie's heart skip a beat. Her cheeks warmed up and her eyelids flickered as she looked at him. Her arms pressed tightly to her chest.

"To be honest, I don't know what she's saying," she softly replied, leaning over to him. "But it's never too late to learn something."

Eddie smirked.

Poseur.

"Bottle of whiskey, and don't forget my change."

They heard a male harsh voice after the bell dinged. Eddie looked over her shoulders and Carrie turned her head, following his gaze. She saw a bearded man with a beanie hat on his head, covering his dark mullet. He had a grey hoodie underneath his check-patterned jacket, denim jeans, and black boots. Mrs. Chen stared at the man with her face in despise.

"Please," Mrs. Chen begged.

The man smacked the counter, pulling a gun out from his pocket, and Carrie flinched. Eddie hid behind the shelves and gently grabbed Carrie's arm. He pulled her back to the shelves he was hiding behind. Carrie looked up at him, feeling fear in the hair on the back of her neck. It was like invisible fingers running along her spine. Eddie placed his index finger on his lips.

(don't do anything. you'll get hurt)

Of course he didn't want you to get hurt. He seems to like you.

And Carrie understood. She watched the man, aiming his gun at Mrs. Chen, and felt the anger slowly - but surely - rising inside her.

"Let's go," he barked at her as Mrs. Chen opened the register drawer. "Before the price goes up for my protection."

Carrie eyed the man, the rage creeping up in her. She heard the cash rustling from the register. A delicate growl escaped her mouth. Eddie heard it and looked down at her. He felt his hand (that was holding onto Carrie's arm) getting cold. He didn't know if it was his hand or her arm that was getting cold. As he glanced down at her, Eddie could've sworn that Carrie's pupils dilated for a second.

(burn it. burn it. burn it. burn it. burn it)

"The full payment is due," the man threatened. "Now. Make sure you have my money ready, Chen. I don't like to wait."

(burn it. burn it. burn it. burn it. burn it)

Smash his skull!

As Mrs. Chen collected the money from her register, Carrie glared at the man's gun: a nine-millimeter dark pistol. Her eyes focused on the weapon like a lion looking at its prey.

(burn it. burn it. burn it)

Rip his rib cage out! Watch him bleed!

Then, the man felt his right hand heating as he held the gun in that hand. He smelt the smoke from his gun and hissed, dropping his gun onto the floor. Mrs. Chen let out a small gasp, hoping he didn't hear it. He spotted the cash on the counter and snatched it, putting it in his pockets. He crouched down and grabbed his gun; it burnt his hand, making him hiss. He took his hat off and — covering his hand with his hat — picked his gun off the ground. The man snarled at Mrs. Chen and stormed out of the store, slamming the door behind him as he left.

Eddie removed his hand from Carrie's arm and leaned away from the shelves.

"Are you okay?" Eddie asked in a quiet tone.

Carrie nodded. She stared at the front door and a dread of fear washed over her. That man might hurt Maria.

"I need some air," Carrie replied coldly and walked out of the store.

Eddie watched her leave the store. He grabbed a sandwich and headed to the counter. He placed the sandwich and the Ibuprofen on the counter and looked up at Mrs. Chen.

"Life hurts, Eddie," Mrs. Chen commented. "It just does."

Eddie paid for the sandwich and Ibuprofen. Mrs. Chen gave him a receipt and he left the store. When he left, he saw Carrie speaking to Maria. Carrie looked over at him.

"She was checking on me," Maria said. "Heard there was a bank robbery in there."

"Yeah, that's good," Eddie said and looked at Carrie. "Can I ask you something?"

"Okay?" Carrie replied, sounding uncertain, and said goodbye to Maria; she then walked beside him.

"How is this happening when you're around?" Eddie questioned her.

Carrie's breath became uneasy. She wrapped her arms around herself and sighed. Her heart pounded as if she could feel it beating in her head. Her fingers tingled as she gripped her arms tightly.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," Carrie replied nervously.

"Well, for starters, you frightened the thugs that attacked Maria. You had a seizure but you came out of the hospital just fine. And now, that robber burnt his hand from his gun."

Don't.

Carrie swallowed and hummed. "It's just a coincidence, Eddie. Or maybe I have bad luck, I don't know." She shrugged her shoulders and hummed again. Then, she glared back at him. "What do you want from me?"

"I want to know the truth," Eddie said. "I want to know how all of this is possible."

"What do you think happened?" she snapped.

"Like I said, frightening thugs, had a seizure and surprisingly covered, burning guns. And, if I recalled, you encountered a black goo that spoke perfect English to you and had a conversation with it."

Carrie was so mad she could feel the tears coming; she tried to force them back by grinding her teeth together.

"You think I'm crazy?" she asked sternly.

"I didn't say you are," Eddie replied, his words slowly coming out of his mouth. "I just want to know what's happening."

"No one will believe that, right?" Her voice held an edge of derision.

"I'm not going to tell anyone."

"Can't you just count your lucky stars and get over it?"

They arrived at the Hotel Schuller and went inside, walking up the stairs.

"You're not going to let it go, are you?" she said.

"Nope," Eddie replied.

"Well... I hope you enjoy disappointment."

Carrie opened the door and went in. She slammed the door and locked it. She threw her back against the door and sat on the floor. She pressed her knees to her chest and placed her forehead on it. Her scream was muffled and a few lights flickered.

You did well, Carrie. You did well.

Link to Chapter Thirteen

[ofourmaker]

This particular chest was locked up with a vengeance - a very personal vengeance. The curses that bound it left wide scorch marks all over the wood. One lock spat a savage claw, which nearly minced his arm then burst like gunpowder. As well as he could for sneezing the smoke back out of his lungs, he did a complex summoning of a Manuet puppet, which he used from across the room, in case of any more booby traps. It was tedious: as dexterous as the wooden imp was (it had every finger joint), it was like using numb hands and a periscope. He was glad of his choice though, when a curse bound and hidden by another curse was released, clothing his puppet in arcing bolts of malicious force, snapping almost every joint apart. He had to summon another puppet.

Before he completely unbound the chest, he used a creeping whisper to worm inside and test the echoes, to be sure the chest wasn’t a disguised trapdoor with a waiting ambush - he’d been told a sad story about such an encounter. According to what he could hear, the chest was packed full of something soft; so not treasure, but there could be any number of useful implements. He also took a special knife of his, with intricate mystical patterns on the blade, leaving one patch clear, in which were always reflected the shining green eyes of a cat. He slid it across the floor to the puppet, which slipped the blade into the chest through the crack between the lid and the rim, and drew it along to scan the inside. All Owl could see through the cat’s eyes was a cloth cover, and a darkish mass at one end which must have been a large oath ball. Perhaps it was a chest of secrets, but such could be as much or more valuable, and if not they usually had a good story behind them.

Clenching his teeth, he directed the puppet to loose the last binding, and open the chest. The lid creaked on its hinges, and Owl jumped when the corner of it struck the wall behind. He approached. As he had seen, a thin undyed sheet was stretched over something smooth which filled the chest, and at one end was the ball of hair, which he now saw was in fact tied into two messy… pigtails. Oh.

He wasn’t sure how she even fit in the chest, if she was old enough to be out here at all. He doubted she was a Manlurer, as those… well, tried things. She was just lying there, if it could be called lying to be packed like blanket in a bread pan. He knew she wasn’t dead - he had gotten to be able to recognise death from ten paces. With a wry face he set a small Limbourg spell to smell for any curses on her. Then with one finger he tentatively tapped her shoulder. She didn’t move; unless he had seen a tiny shiver go through her skin. Was she… scared?

He cleared his throat.

“I won’t hurt you. That is to say, it isn’t my current plan, as I don’t know who you are; so if you turn out to be dangerous, then I’ll probably try to hurt you… anyways, why don’t you come out?”

She made very muffled sound like either a whimper or a snarl.

“What?”

This time he could just make out some words.

“Why don’t you get me out?”

Get her out? He put out his hands, as if to pull a puppy out of mud, but hovered indecisively over her, wondering what would be an appropriate way to… he gave up.

“No, I don’t think so. Or are you stuck? Can’t you just sit up?”

She said something he couldn’t understand - unless she was just sobbing a bit.

He pinched one of her pigtails, where it was bound with a tiny dark silk bow, and carefully pulled. Thankfully she let him sit her up in this way. She glanced at him with a look mixed of curiosity and suspicion, then looked away, probably to hide her black eye.

“Here, take my hand,” Owl said, offering to help her stand, forgetting that he himself was still on his knees. Not taking his hand, the girl crawled out of the chest past him, and sat in a sort of heap on the floor. She was the smallest woman he’d ever seen, but very obviously a woman. He grimaced to think of how he had unknowingly scanned her, and hastily put the cat’s eye knife back in his pack. She had no pack, or belt, or even shoes. Most enemies would only take food and treasures.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

“There was a rogue venturer - I killed a Grumevisage I didn’t know he was fighting, and he felt I had made him look stupid in front of his friends.”

“He took your book?”

“Yes,” she said in a faint voice. Owl knew the pain; he had actually lost two books, and nearly lost one again the last time he had almost died. Losing your book was like having years cut out of your life.

“How much did you have in it?”

“A lot,” she said, her eyes beginning to look quite wet. As if partly to distract herself, she was shyly stretching out her cramped legs.

“How long were you trapped in the chest?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I already didn’t know the days anymore, I’ve been stuck in the tunnels so long. I think I was locked in more than a day.” Then her voice got quieter. “Thank you for getting me out; I could have died of thirst.” Owl knew the type of rogue: too self-conscious to kill someone face-to-face, but willing enough to let them die slowly and torturously; or to leave a curse behind that would shoot anybody on sight.

All at once it struck him like a hammer: she’d been locked in a chest for more than a day and it only then occurred to him to offer her water. He gave her his canteen, apologising that he had no cup: she clearly did not care about this. He tried not to laugh at the look of blissful relief in her eyes as she drank; it was amazing that she hadn’t asked him for water.

Her left ring-finger was missing: a bad sign. It could be an incidental injury - there were enough of those to go around, and plenty on her person specifically - but if some enemy had a piece of her she could be tracked, or worse; and there were serious evils that could be done with someone’s finger in particular.

She paused to breathe a few times, but finally her thirst was satisfied, and she dabbed her mouth dry with her knuckles.

“Thank you… what’s your name?”

“Owl, son of the Fort. And you?”

“My name’s Peri, daughter of Brand.”

A two-syllable name: curious; he could think of multiple spells this would make more difficult, and wondered if it was an advantage in other spells perhaps. She also didn’t seem to know what “son of the Fort” meant, but then many more people were born than were summoned. Speaking of summoning, he summoned a quail for her to eat. Her shoulders twitched when he killed it. He considered not casting the fuller’s veil, so she could smell the meat cooking, but they were in a dangerous area.

“Haven’t you eaten fresh before?”

She swallowed.

“I only ate dried meat.”

“Fresh is the only way, you’ll see. Even when there isn’t time to flavour it.”

He had to keep from laughing again, watching her try to eat daintily with his rough knife and plate, and while she was so hungry. From her face it was plain that the experience of freshly cooked meat was not lost on her. When she was finished, Owl realised there was nothing for her to wipe her mouth or fingers; he used cleaning spells on himself or his clothes when necessary, but that was painful. It seemed quite silly that there wasn’t a stitch of loose cloth between them. He offered to summon a rabbit for her to wipe her mouth and fingers on, but she was afraid it would get killed in the tunnels. He thought of suggesting they kill it themselves, and dry the meat, but decided that would be a mean-spirited jest. In the end, she used her sleeve, though it was short; then he pulled the cloth away from her arm as he used a Feinles purge on it, taking care that she got no indication of how it stung his fingers. It was amazing how something small could become so important.

Now that the more pressing matters were dealt with, the most important matter was next to settle.

“Alright, then,” he said, “let us find you a book.”

2023/03/07 #DailyWrittenOOM #OwlOfTheMaze