#and then we have flesh and stone and we see the angels move and it just...ugh it takes you out of it. Like. There are so many ways they

[freckleslikestars]

Don't blink. Blink and you're dead. Don't turn your back. Don't look away. And don't blink. Good luck.

DOCTOR WHO 3.10 | Blink

[manhandlememando]

i’ll beg whatever gods i need to. | cregan stark

cregan stark x f!wife!reader

format: one-shot

tw: MDNI warning (oh boy here we go) in depth descriptions of gore and bodily injury, blood, ANGST, cregan crying and in pain, mentions of religion and praying, hurt/comfort, more angst, angry cregan, insecure!cregan, unprotected piv, oral (both receiving), face riding, cowgirl, breeding kink (duh he’s a stark), uncut cregan. (written in 3rd person POV) (she/ her pronouns)

word count: 5,539

excerpt: Whatever angelic being had blessed this world with his form, she begged of it to leave him with her. However broken or scarred, she didn’t care, she just needed him. With tears streaking her face she looked up to the heavens in anguish, begging anyone who could hear her to please, let him come back to me.

- or -

cregan gets mauled by a direwolf.

song inspirations: youth by Daughter, human by Daughter, i gave you all by Mumford & Sons, heavy in your arms by Florence and The Machine, i found by Amber Run, roslyn by Bon Iver and St. Vincent, work song by Hozier, family tree by Ethel Cain, in the woods somewhere by Hozier, glory by Dermot Kennedy

The hour of the owl came passing over Castle Black, and still Cregan had not returned from his patrol of the Wall. Her worry had grown tenfold, the knot in her stomach was now a heavy stone. She knew something was amiss. Moving from their shared chambers to the corridors of the small castle, she decided a short walk may alleviate some of her anxiety, allowing her to clear her head.

However after only several minutes of beginning to wander, she heard commotion coming from the direction of the courtyard. Yelling and shrieking, men could be heard barking orders at each other, calls for the maester were loud, but the one thing that rose above it all was the most blood curdling roar she’d ever heard. Not wasting any time, she ran through the narrow hallways towards the source of the noise, only to come to a dead stop, the beating of her heart doing the same.

There he lay on a gurney in the middle of the courtyard, thrashing against the hands trying to hold him still. Crying out in agony as the maester tried his best to assess the situation at hand.

“Oh gods…” she gasped when the source of his pain became clear to her. His armor was covered in deep crimson streaks of blood, the leather ripped to shreds revealing the metal beneath. His face, contorted in pain, bore two long gashes from above his right eyebrow and trailing down his temple into his hairline. It seemed as if a deep crimson curtain had been pulled over half of his face as the blood seeped from the deep, jagged cuts. However the worst of his injuries were to his left shoulder, which seemed to be attached only by the grace of the gods. It was so gruesome she began to feel ill. The bone of his upper bicep was exposed, the flesh hanging from it. Blood seeping profusely from the wounds, teeth marks littered his forearm and hands. The fabric of his pants torn and she could see more crescent shaped puncture wounds littered across his legs, and his right ankle was bent at a sickening angle. They were large, belonging to something much bigger than anything she had seen in the North. A direwolf.

A young knight was holding the Stark ancestral sword, Ice, which was now covered tip to hilt in blood. Another man standing next to the knight who bore her husbands sword, stepped towards her.

“My Lady you mustn’t be here, you should not witness this,” he said, trying to block her view of her husband.

“No! No, I must be with him,” she rushed forward, only to be stopped by the strong arms of the guard holding her back.

“Please! He’s my husband, I have to -,” she began to plead with the man keeping her in her place before Cregan’s loud yell stopped her sentence short. The maester and his assistant were beginning to pack his wounds with whatever clean cloth the other men could find, Cregan seemed as if he was trying to pull away. Arching at the contact to his arm and shoulder, neck straining and face red as another scream erupting from deep within him. Tears were streaming down his face as it crumpled into an expression she never thought she’d see from him; fear.

It took two full grown men to hold him still, even in his weakened state, as they began to move him from the damp ground. Although, consequently the motion caused his body to shift and in turn sent him into another fit of agony.

At the sounds of his screams getting even more broken and strangled, her knees fell weak, slumping into the man’s hold as the air left her lungs.

He could die, the thought crossed her mind when she caught a glimpse of the expanse of blood leftover on the muddy ground.

————————————————————————

They had placed him in their bedchamber and the maester had since given Cregan milk of the poppy to calm him. He had been cleaned up and mended as best as the maester and his assistant could manage. They had also taken measures to prevent infection, although they informed her that it wasn’t fail safe and to be prepared for any outcome.

“He will have an incredibly long recovery period… if he survives,” the maester said to her as he wiped his hands of her husbands blood, his voice lowering as he spoke of his Lord’s possible death. She only nodded, eyes wide, feeling as if she was submerged in water. All the words being said to her were muffled and distorted. Some of the men from the Watch had tried to pull her from the bedchambers when they had first begun to work on him, whispering false reassurances and pleading with her to not witness this.

She couldn’t look away from his limp form laying on their shared bed, smothered in white bandages that were slowly blossoming red. However, his torso was somewhat unmarked by the direwolf’s teeth and claws (save for several deep purple bruises beginning to show their full form) due to the steel armored chest piece he had adorned upon her request, just before leaving for his patrol.

This might be his deathbed, she thought to herself. Tears beginning to pool on her lashes.

“I shall leave you. I will return in several hours to replenish the milk of the poppy… if he wakes again,” the maester looked down at the floor in despair. Exiting the room, the maester bid his condolences.

Nearing the bed, she knelt down and lightly took his hand in hers, brushing her lips over his bandaged knuckles and letting out a shaky breath.

“Please, my love you must wake up. Heal well and return to me, do not leave me in this world without you,” she pleaded with the unmoving form in front of her. The tears beginning to fall as she placed her head upon the bed next to their interlocked hands.

She did not pray, she never had found an interest in paying much attention to the new gods or the old. But in this moment she found herself reaching out for guidance as she called upon the gods to help him. Whatever angelic being had blessed this world with his form, she begged of it to leave him with her. However broken or scarred, she didn’t care, she just needed him. With tears streaking her face she looked up to the heavens in anguish, begging any god that could hear her to please, let him come back to me.

————————————————————————

The night dragged on, as if time had been weighed down by the gravity of the situation, and on its continued trek forward it somehow had slowed.

The maester had come and gone twice before, but Cregan had not woken yet. She refused to move from his side the entire time, having wept for hours she now felt empty and void of anything at all.

“My Lady you must eat,” a guard had come in, trying his best to persuade his Lady of the North to eat something or else she would fall ill.

“I am not hungry,” she flatly responded to the young man, whose face fell as he nodded and exited the room.

It was several more hours before Cregan awoke, he was still deep within the fog of the poppy’s milk but he was whispering something. His mouth barely moving, the sound coming out more like a silent prayer than a word.

He spoke her name, breathed it more like. But still, through all the hell he had been through in the last several hours, his mind only fell upon her.

“My love,” she said softly, lifting his hand to her lips once more. “My love, can you hear me?” She asked, but was met with nothing. Cregan drifting back into sleep, leaving her in the silence once again.

He woke like this periodically over the next several days, the maesters visiting every couple of hours to assess his wounds and change his bandages. Still all the while providing him with an ample amount of milk of the poppy to ward off his pain. They were somehow successful in warding off any major infections to the wounds, which was nothing short of a miracle. They had spent hours on different herbal remedies to help the Lord of the North heal without a fever.

As the days passed, she still refused to leave his side. Six days had passed by the time Cregan finally gained enough consciousness to express his pain level.

She had been napping in a chair next to the bed where he lay. Waking suddenly to the sound of a loud, pained groan.

“Cregan!” She gasped, his eyes opened just slightly, and she saw they were bloodshot but open nonetheless. He hissed in pain as she touched his hand.

“What’s happened?” He asks weakly, looking down at the bandages still covering most of his body.

“There was an incident beyond the Wall when you went to patrol the perimeter several days ago. They say you and the men were attacked by a direwolf.” She explains softly. His face drops, his eyes going wide at the memory. With some effort he tried to look down at his left shoulder, and when met with the sight of layers and layers of white bandages, he grimaced.

“I remember,” he whispers. His eyes closing as he inhales deeply, wincing again at the movement. When he opens his eyes again she can see the tears gathered within them.

“I - I cannot feel my hand,” he said, his voice breaking as he looked down at his left hand once again, his dominant hand.

“I will fetch the maester, it must just be a symptom of the damage caused. They will mend it though, as they have everything else,” she reassured him and stood to leave and get the maester, but they both know her reassurance was empty of any fact.

Worry gripped at her stomach again as the maesters words rang within her ears; “he will have an incredibly long recovery period”.

But what if there was no recovering fully from this? What if he would never be able to wield a sword again? Or walk properly? The thoughts swam in her mind, each drowning out the other.

She returned shortly with the maester, who breathed a sign of relief at the sight of Cregan fully awake.

He tried to offer Cregan more milk of the poppy before he began assessing the healing progression of his injuries, but Cregan refused.

“My Lord, I do not wish to see you in pain. But I must remove the bandages -,” the older man tried to explain, but Cregan cut him off curtly.

“Then do it,” he said, his face stern.

“Cregan, please listen to the maester, this is going to be more painful than you think,” she tried to reason with him, but his jaw was set and so was his mind.

“As you wish, my Lord,” the old healer nodded solemnly, moving to remove the first bandage. Upon contact with his arm Cregan did not grimace or contort in pain, his brows furrowed as if confused.

“I cannot feel it,” he said, his voice sounding far away, as if was in shock at the realization finally setting in.

“What, my love?” She inquired, looking at his arm as the maester began to unwrap more of the white fabric. The stitches were surrounded by bruised skin, what couldn’t be stitched back together was healing under a protective salve the maester had prepared. It will scar badly, but it didn’t matter, they were able to save his arm when she was more than certain he would lose it. As the maester lifted his arm Cregan had no reaction, just staring blankly into space. She was sure he must be in pain but he wasn’t reacting to what the maester was doing whatsoever.

“My darling, are you alright?” She asked him quietly, placing a hand under his chin to turn him to face her.

“I cannot feel anything,” he said, still his voice was hollow.

“What do you mean?” She questioned, not fully understanding what he meant by that.

“In my arm, it does not hurt because I cannot feel it,” he explained finally meeting her eyes. That was where she saw the flicker of fear again come across his face, worry painting his features.

“This is my dominant hand, I must be able to use it whenever necessary. It is the hand with which I wield Ice. But now I am not even able to move it. I am no longer a sufficient warrior… or man,” he said, his voice shaking as tears came to his eyes. The maester gave Cregan a pitiful look that just upset the Lord more.

“No, no that is not true my love,” she rushed to comfort him, cradling his face, making sure to avoid the stitches on his brow and temple.

“Do not do this to yourself, my darling. Do you understand what you have survived? You were attacked by a direwolf, Cregan… and you survived. That is next to impossible, but here you are,” she said, her voice soft and dripping in empathy. Brushing a tear from just under his eye as it began to fall. He shifted his gaze away from her, his eyes hardening again.

“But what good is survival if I am no longer able to live how I am meant to?” He said, still not meeting her eyes.

“It will take some adjustment, but we will get through this. You will get through this,” she assured him.

“Cregan… look at me,” she says quietly, trying to get him to connect with her again and not sink deeper into his darkening thoughts.

“Look at me, now,” she commanded in a more firm tone, which caused him to finally look at her once more, a sheepish expression in his eyes.

“Stop this at once,” she said, still holding her firm tone. He nodded and sighed, knowing he would not win this one. But as he cast his eyes downwards and frowned slightly, she knew he couldn’t be swayed in this moment from the doubt that was consuming him.

This will be a long recovery indeed, she thought to herself.

————————————————————————

About thirteen moons after Cregan had been nearly killed by the direworf, the head of which now hung in the council room, he had recovered quite well by what the maesters had told her.

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell had since moved back from their residence at Castle Black when Cregan was finally well enough to travel. Although his body was healing well with time, his mind only sunk deeper into the belief he was now not worthy of his station as Warden of The North and the Lord of Winterfell. He had become easily irritated and many days she wished to not spend time with him, however she understood this too shall pass. She had sworn to him in her marriage vows to be by his side through sickness and in health, and she had no intention of breaking those vows in her lifetime.

As the Winter continued on, and as Cregan's strength grew back and the feeling began to make its way back into his limb, he was insistent on beginning his sword work training. She understood his urgency, finally having hope after such a long time of uncertainty was an addicting sort of feeling. It was hard for Cregan to accept that he would have to relearn how to use a sword with this new complication, and not train as he once did, as if nothing had happened.

Once the maester overseeing the Lord's care had cleared him to begin his lessons, she asked him if she would be able to accompany him. He agreed instantaneously, he was going to ask her anyways, feeling much better in her presence than anyone elses.

She busied herself with a book, perching upon several barrels of wine that sat on the edge of the courtyard, waiting to be taken to the cellars. Cregan had begun his lessons, and within minutes was already frustrated at the difficulty he had with even just handling the sword, let alone swinging it. She watched from the distance with a frown painting her face as he continued to struggle and bark at the knight he was sparring when he would try to offer his help. After much protest, Cregan finally gave into the offers to get him a wooden sword to wield instead. It was easier for him to handle, however his skill had rusted over with time and lack of use. His frustration became paramount when the young man bested him again, Cregan threw down his sword and stepped forward, grabbing his opponent by the collar.

"Do you wish to humiliate your Liege Lord?! Get out of my sight at once!" he roared in the mans face, causing him to stumble back and retreat from Cregan as quickly as possible.

She sat watching the scene as her own anger began to surface, standing and coming towards Cregan once he'd let the other man go, still breathing heavily and fuming.

"Come with me, now," she growled as she wrapped a firm hand around his good wrist, pulling him along behind her like a toddler being scolded and hauled off for punishment. She thought it best to bring him to their bedchambers as the conversation they needed to have was private.

Once they had entered their shared chambers Cregan immediately started in on his defense, to which she put up a silent palm in his direction, causing his sentence to halt before it finished.

"I can not do this anymore," she said softly, trying to keep her voice level, but to no avail. Placing a hand over her mouth as she began to silently weep, still refusing to look at him.

He softened immediately at the sight of her tears, hating desperately to make her upset. He took a step forward and brought his hand to her cheek, getting her to turn to him. She did not lift her gaze from the floor, sniffling lightly and trying to keep her tears from cascading and overflowing.

"You cannot do what anymore, love?" Cregan asked gently, moving his right hand to place at the back of her neck, and the other moving under her chin. His fingers intertwined into her hair at the back of her head as he tipped her head back slightly using the finger beneath her chin to raise her face to his. Taking another step closer to her he engulfed her in his size, pressed against her body, in complete control. Cradling her head completely in his hands, he moves the hand below her chin to place on her cheek once more.

"What was it, hmm?" he hummed to her, bringing his lips to brush against hers. She had become putty to mold as he wished, letting out a small sigh as he continued to tease the possibility of a kiss.

But in that moment she remembered her anger and could not let the lust for her husband overpower something that was becoming a serious issue between him and the rest of the world. She pushes away suddenly, putting space between them again. Cregan lets out an exasperated sigh as his hands fall to his sides.

"I can not possibly understand the stress you are under, and the constant unease you must feel within yourself. But I can understand how that affects me, and how that has affected our staff and those on your court. You were not slain, Cregan! You still have so much to live for, even if it means you cannot see battle again. That is what your army is for. Your value lies more in your character and not your physical form. Allowing that of which keeps you on solid ground to be the demise of what lies within your head, when you are so intelligent, and kind, and humorous. That is a sin, and the more treacherous of fates to befall a Warden of the North, even more so than a direwolf." She said, silence filled the room as Cregan realized he had no rebuttal. She was right after all, he could have been killed, and the fact he is allowing his mind to destroy what a direwolf couldn't, well it just seemed downright mad.

"I am so sorry, I never saw it that way," he responded softly, his heart feeling some what heavy in his chest as he felt the onslaught of emotion begin to creep up his throat. He had repressed so much in wanting to keep a certain image, and with his own wife being able to see through his facade so clearly, he realized how much pain he was really holding in. With that thought the dam broke as he let out a choked sob, leaning on the back of a chair closest to him he began to fall weak to his emotions.

At the sound of his whimper she turned around again, seeing him holding the bridge of his nose as he wept uncontrollably. Barely keeping himself upright with the back of the chair next to him.

"Oh, my darling," she went to him, quickly gathering him into her arms and bringing him down to kneel on the ground as she sat in the chair he was using for support. With his head tucked to her breast and his arms tightly wound around her body, hands finding purchase in her hair, he finally began to rack with sobs. She just let him collapse into her, stroking the hair from his face, tracing the scar on his temple and kissing his hairline. All the while cooing sweet reassurances into his ear.

"I have you my love, I have you," she whispered into his hair as he began to regain his breath. Not letting her go in the slightest, but relaxing nonetheless, Cregan began to breathe normally again, silent tears still coming from his eyes every now and then.

But he knew he was safe, and above all, he knew he was loved unconditionally.

————————————————————————

“Cregan, we cannot you aren’t healed properly yet,” she breathed out in a sigh as his lips traced the column of her throat.

“Your shoulder… and your ankle, it is too risky,” she tried to protest but the affect he had over her was undeniable.

“I am fine, my love. I am in need of my wife. It has been many moons and I cannot refrain any longer, injuries be damned,” he said, scoffing at the last part of his statement. Her skin was set alight with his touch as she leaned into him more. Laying in their bed, beneath a mountain of furs, he began to move atop of her, but she stopped him.

“If we are to do this, you will not lift a finger, is that clear?” She said firmly, and Cregan’s eyebrows rose in surprise at his wife’s sudden dominance, his cock twitching within his small clothes. He nodded quickly as he moved to lay back against the many pillows, eyes darkening as she rose from the bed to lean back on her heals. Very slowly she removed her shift, revealing the whole of her body to him.

“It is as if you are a goddess yourself, there is no need for religion when you are the alter I pray at, and the deity I pray to,” he whispered as he took in the sight. His mind putting to memory every curve, every inch of skin he laid his eyes on. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her naked before, but after such restraint it is like they are newlyweds once again. With her help he removed his tunic and small clothes, breath shaky as he looked down upon her naked form crawling up his body.

She was gentle with her touch, ghosting it over the small scars that now cover each of his legs. He shivers at the contact but does not pull away, allowing the sensitivity to wash over him and settle within his groin. He reaches with his good arm to touch her face, but she retracts to his disappointment.

“No touching,” she said with a small smirk forming at the corner of her lips. The mischievous look in her eyes was enough for him to understand it would be better to not protest. Leaning down she places soft kisses across his thighs, moving closer to his stiff member, his hips buck involuntarily as she finally takes his tip into her mouth. Swirling her tongue around the top just before pulling down his foreskin to lick at his sensitive slit.

A groan erupted from deep within his chest, wavering at the end as he gasped and sputtered. She had taken him fully into her mouth at this point, beginning to move up and down his length in a rhythmic motion.

His chest flexed as he threw his head back, his right hand hovering just next to her jaw. Knowing she would stop if he disobeyed her direct instructions, he held himself back from caressing her face. Broken gasps and whimpers were falling unabashedly from the Warden of the North’s lips, his strong, muscled body molding into putty in her hands.

Suddenly she rose and removed her mouth from him, to his disappointment. Breathing hard he kept his eyes on hers as she began to move even further up his body. His brows knitting into one another as he wondered what exactly she was doing, until it clicked, and the biggest smile graced his handsome features. He understood and shifted himself to be fully lying down, moving down the bed slightly to give her room as she moved to take her rightful place on his face. He hummed happily at the sweet taste of her on his tongue once again, having not indulged in his most favorite delicacy in far too long. She let out a sharp gasp as his lips wrapped themselves around her sensitive pearl, sucking lightly before exploring her deeper. She looked down to see his eyes closed and the most blissfully content look upon his face as he continued to ravage her with just tongue. Switching between broad strokes of his tongue along her cunt to small kitten licks upon her clit that had her panting and grinding her hips down onto him. The scruff on his unshaven face added to the sensational feeling against her as he sank his tongue within her finally. Moaning uncontrollably and quite loudly, she found herself leaning against the headboard for support as her body began to give into the pleasure he was bringing her.

“That’s it, my darling. Fall apart for me, I have you,” he coaxed, breath hitting her clit, causing her to groan, which shortly turned into the most obscenely moan. He hooked his left arm around her waist and continued to guide her to completion. With his tongue in her cunt and his nose teasing her clit, she came apart with nothing short of a scream of his name. Throwing her head back as she felt her muscles go limp from the intensity of her orgasm.

“So perfect for me,” he whispers to her, kissing the inside of her thighs softly.

She smiled and breathed out a sigh of relief as she had been just as pent up as he’s been, and finally getting some form of release was euphoric to say the least.

As she moved from his face she could see the way his lips shown with the remnants of her. She looked down to see his cock almost impossibly bigger than when she had first taken him into her mouth. She couldn’t wait any longer, and neither could he. Grabbing ahold of her hips he quickly shifts her down his body back to his waist. The tip catching at her entrance ever so slightly and they both moaned loudly in unison.

With his right hand having an iron grip on her hip, he helped her position her on top of him. As she began to sink down on his length it was as if all the air in the room had suddenly been removed. The sensation punching the air out of her lungs.

Cregan thought he was seeing the gods, his vision almost going completely white as he feels her tight, hot cunt envelope him. Arching his spine while his eyes roll to the back of his head as soon as she is fully seated on him. Staying still for a second to give them both a minute to catch their breath, she regains her strength and begins to shift her hips.

“Touch me,” she commanded softly, he didn’t need to be told twice. He moved to sit up, his forehead resting on her sternum, placing open mouthed kisses between the valley of her breasts before taking one into his mouth. His left arm secures her hips in his hold while the other hand snakes its way into her hair. Grabbing at the roots he tugs her head back to expose more of her neck to him. Laying hot, wet kisses upon any expanse of skin he could reach. As his grip around her waist tightened slightly, he kept guiding her to ride his cock slowly, thrusting up every so often causing her to choke on a moan.

“Cregan…,” she moaned his name, groans continuing to slip from her mouth as he moved to suck on her other breast. Gently lapping at the nipple as she whimpered.

“So gorgeous, my love. So good for me. Taking me so - nnnggh - well,” he grunted out, groaning when she squeezed him as his words sent a shock wave to her core. She threaded her fingers into his chocolate strands, pulling slightly earning another pleased noise from her husband.

“I’ve missed this, I’ve missed us,” she pants, looking down at his face. As he looks up, her breath catches at the sight of her fucked-out husband and his pink cheeks and kiss swollen lips.

“I know, me too,” he responds breathlessly, she cups his face and brings her lips to his. It’s messy, he crushes his mouth to hers and suddenly begins thrusting upwards, hitting that one spot deep within her.

Her gasp causes him to pull away from the kiss, but not from her. Their mouths still close, breathing in each others air as he continues to thrust into her. Tipping his head back as his face scrunches in pleasure and groaning loudly, he then ducks his head into the curve of her neck as his thrusts get more and more sloppy. His right arm still snaked up her back and his hand tangled in her hair to keep her close. She was reaching the precipice of heaven for the second time that evening, and he could tell. The way she began to squeeze him, how she fluttered around him, he knew.

“I know, my love. Give yourself to me,” he begged, whispering the pleas in her ear before kissing the shell of it. With several more thrusts she was coming undone around him, moaning and gasping as she collapses into him. With only several more thrust he too was coming undone in the most beautiful way. Flushed and groaning, he is the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Only moments afterwards, still basking in their post-coital glow, he lays back against the pillows once more. Placing a hand directly over her womb, he mutters something about “seeing her round with child in several moons” and she felt his cock jump within her as he continues to cradle his hands around her lower stomach.

“I can’t wait for you to bare my children, my love,” he states, looking into her eyes with such adoration. Resting her hands atop his she nods.

“I can’t wait to be the mother of your children, I’m sure I will be soon,” she responds, equal adoration radiating off her.

————————————————————————

She missed her moon’s blood the following month, and he was the happiest he had been in a very long time.

Although the feeling never fully returned in his left arm and hand, he had re-learned how to wield Ice with just as much skill as he did before the incident. His ankle and legs did recover after more than a year of rehabilitation, but eventually he no longer walked with a limp.

The gratitude which he felt was immeasurable. Thinking about how many ways his life could have been different if he didn’t have her to keep him sane through the most difficult thing he had ever faced; losing his physical strength and health. Most days feeling as if he couldn’t go on, but then she would be at his side to aid him in whatever he needed. Never wavering in her love or loyalty to him.

He woke every day from then on thanking the old gods and the new for sparing one of their angels to be his wife.

[luetta]

capturing angels is easy. snipe them from the skies, break their halos, and watch the divine light fade from their eyes as you turn them into fleshlights.

capturing a seraph is harder.

they live in the upper atmosphere, far beyond reach. luckily nothing grabs their attention better than desecrating nature. you’ll have one hovering above you the moment you start pouring oil into the river.

but they’re invisible, they don’t actually do anything. they just watch with seething rage. but you can tell where they are, if you look carefully at the ripples in the sky. and they can be speargunned like any other piece of meat, they’re not intangible.

but they’re fast. once they get hit they’ll try to fly away, faster than you can blink. but it’s against their code to break something holy. that’s why i soaked the speargun rope in the blood of that drunk priest. it simply can’t snap the rope.

it’ll try attack you now, lifting it’s veil of invisibility and showing you it’s form. it’s beautiful, it’s blinding. that’s why we wear these industrial goggles to block most of its rays.

after the initial blast of light, you can see it’s true form. a 3m tall body of white porcelain, with undulating red spirals flowing from her talons. 3 halos, 2 pairs of wings, 6 uncaring eyes. it tries to attack us, shred us to pieces. but with a few more unbreakable spears, she’s essentially pinned in place.

it lets out a screech, attracting other seraphs. they come, but they just watch from afar. the leaves of all the trees nearby shrivel up. putting 2 pikes into her main wings, she can’t move. turning her head to look at us like an owl, she starts to speak.

“SURRENDIPITY. AMALGAMATION. DESECRATION. VOLITION. QUINTESSENCE.”

it’s best to just ignore them during this part. and instead just focus on the halos. that’s the target.

striking it with tools - sparks flying off - it’s amazing how much these floating discs feel like they’re anchored in place. they simply don’t react. but that’s a boon in our favour, not theirs. it means, eventually, they’ll shatter. if they warped it’d be exponentially harder to destroy.

eventually, the first one breaks with the help of a winch attached to the truck.

the seraph starts to struggle against her binds now, strange new feelings of danger making it panic.

“LIGHT FLOW BEAUTY RESIST ERODE TRANQUILITY. WATER AIR SPLIT GROW RECEDE. MAPLE LIMESTONE WIND TIDE BLOOD.”

the second halo breaks.

“SMOKE FIRE WAR WAR WAR. SHARK DARKNESS DEATH. MISERY. BLOODSHED. FEAR. TERROR. ACID BLINDNESS DECAY.”

the last halo cracks, it’s about to give out. the seraph is straining against the spears, shaking, desperate emotion in her eyes.

“LOVE WISDOM HAPPINESS. JOY PROSPERITY ENDLESS. RAINDROPS. YOURS. OWNERSHIP SUBJUGATION FREEDOM. LOVE EMPATHY ENVY PLEASURE RESPITE. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE. HOSPITALITY. INTIMACY. MERCY.”

the halo shatters to a million pieces. the area is no longer illuminated by some unseen source. the ripples in the sky disappear, the watchers retreat, uninterested now. the scared creature is speechless, her eyes wide and unbelieving. dirt now sticks to her body, instead of just sliding off. flesh instead of ceramic. we take the spears out, but bind her with ropes much harsher now. she’s still has strength, but it’s no longer unfathomable like it was.

now she’s just another fallen angel, about to learn the one thing divinity lacks, and humanity excels in. physicality. we have a lot of breaking in to do before she’s ready to join the other angels downtown. or perhaps i’ll find a private, permanent buyer. something like this would probably fetch enough to let us get out of this shithole finally.

as we throw her into its new room, a cold, stone room, with hooks in the walls to attach chains to, she speaks again.

“hurt. sadness. freedom fear anxiety. lost indecision hubris. mercy pain silence. separation beauty uncountability. exploration … limitations. unknown darkness fear. ”

“don’t worry darling. we’ll have you singing again in no time.”

[thescarletnargacuga]

The digital circus group are sitting around a campfire and telling spooky Halloween stories! Jax being the a** he is traumatizes them with his story. Meanwhile Caine’s like “wow that is quite the imagination I’m so happy everyone’s participating!” like a goofball he is.

Can be Adventure AU if you want.

A/N: Adventure AU! Ah, I have missed them!

CAMPFIRE STORIES

AN ADVENTURE AU ONESHOT

AU credit @waffle-gal

WARNING: none

~~~

Deep in the Wandering Woods, the gang sat around a crackling fire. The dancing flame cast their long shadows into the trees. The ambiance of night insects and birds surrounded them as the moon shown bright overhead. It was a beautiful night, not too cold or a cloud in sight. One could see the stars through the breaks in the trees.

"They only had two shots. They had to make them count." Jax held his arms out animatedly as he spun his tale. "The creature's body emerged from the sewer, shrouded in darkness. They could only tell how close it was by the wet slaps of its flesh against the cold basement floor."

Gangle curled up tighter against Zooble in fear. "B-b-but it doesn't have a head." She tried to rationalize. "How could it move?"

Jax sighed, his arms falling. "Are you telling this story or am I? This monster was beyond our comprehension." He rolled his eyes and continued. "Anyway. Its head followed the explorer down the dumbwaiter shaft. He was cornered! The monster closed in from both sides!"

"Eep!" Gangle shrunk into her oversized sweater and balled up against Zooble, who put a protective arm around her.

"The explorer leveled the shotgun quickly at the creature's body as it stumbled towards him. BANG! Down when the body! BANG! He blasted the second shot right between the eyes of the creature's floating head. For a moment, there was silence. He had defeated it. Then the tape player on the floor turned on by itself, revealing the creature to be...an angel."

The group gasped. Caine was absolutely enthralled, on the edge of his seat. "What happened next?"

Jax grinned. "It started to move. Fleshy wings sprouted from the creature's back, eyes opening all over its body. The tape said that anyone who dared to harm it was damned and would be dragged to hell to join the maker of the tapes."

"It was a trap??" Caine's hat flipped off his head in shock. Pomni fought a smile. Caine was way too into this ridiculous story and it was adorable.

Kinger was gently holding a moth, keeping it from flying into the fire. "Wait, if the maker of the tapes was already in hell....how did he record the-"

"Skeletal arms burst from the ground!" Jax interrupted. "Grabbing the explorer and pulling him down! He fought for his life, but it was ultimately in vain! His cries for mercy went unheard. His final breath was cut short by the earth swallowing him whole." Jax crossed his arms, satisfied that he finally got to finish his story.

"Wow, Jax, that was...pretty intense." Ragatha said nervously. The surrounding woods felt too close, like the trees were moving in to choke out the fire.

Caine clapped, "Very well done, Jax! That was a properly scary story for our campfire. Does anyone have anything else to share?"

"I do. And it's actually true." Zooble gave Jax a strong side eye, holding Gangle close.

Jax sneered in return. "Nobody said it had to be true."

"That is correct!" Caine said. "But true stories always hit harder. What do you have to share, Zooble?"

"After the virus scattered us from the circus, Kinger and I ended up inside this stone temple. What we now know as Paradise Outlook. At our 'starting point' there was a jeep full of supplies. We had no way of knowing where we were, let alone anyone else so we thought we were in some sort of glitched adventure. Kinger volunteered to drive and I reluctantly went along with it. I hated the fact that I was forced into an adventure, but I had no choice."

Caine cringed a little. He always knew Zooble despised going on adventures, but this wasn't his fault. The virus that stole his powers activated the game's unfinished beta expansion and tossed them to the seven winds. He was grateful they all managed to find each other, but it hurt his heart that the others had to go through so much trouble and there was nothing he could've done about it.

"So, it turns out, Kinger's isn't a great driver. He was going way too fast through a temple way too small. Not to mention, the paths through the temple were bumpy as [@#$&]! I nearly got thrown out multiple times."

"I told you to wear your seatbelt." Kinger said potently, gently petting the fluffy moth in his hand.

"It wouldn't have helped!" Zooble snapped back. "You drive like a maniac! You heard a voice that said 'follow me' AND YOU ACTUALLY DID IT! You drove right through a glitching wall!"

"Woah, Kinger's got guts. Who knew?" Jax chuckled.

"What was on the other side of the wall?" Asked Ragatha.

"Turns out, that whole temple up there is dedicated to some kind of snake god. There were statues and sigils and carvings all over the place of a cobra. The place was riddled with traps, too. Darts were fired left and right, putting holes in our jeep and Kinger's new hat. The floor collapsed on us, we nearly fell into a pit of lava, we were attacked by giant snakes, and chased by a rolling boulder! It was like no matter where we went, there was always something worse to find." Zooble would titrate longer, but Gangle hugging them made them feel a bit calmer.

"But it was pretty fun." Kinger added, letting his little moth friend go. It fluttered off into the woods. "And we did find the exit eventually."

"I'm glad you found your way out. What happened to the jeep?" Ragatha wondered.

"Kinger failed to mention that we made our own exit." Zooble deadpanned. "We crashed through an outside wall running away from the boulder. Thankfully, the hole wasn't large enough to let the boulder out, but turns out there isn't a lot of land surrounding the temple. We drove right into the lake. We lost the jeep and a good portion of the supplies, but we made it to shore with some of the essentials, at least." Zooble pointed to their bag, it was riddled with water stains.

"Wow, sounds like you two started your adventure with a bang. The start of ours was pretty crazy too." Ragatha gestured to herself, Jax and Gangle.

Jax snorted. "Yeah, it was. I don't think Ragatha stopped screaming the entire time."

"I was not- shush! This is my story to tell!" She jammed her finger against Jax's mouth to silence him. He kissed it and winked. Ragatha went beet red and swatted at him. "Stop that!"

Jax smiled to himself but didn't say another word as Ragatha composed herself to tell the story. "We were all pretty disoriented from being randomly teleported from the circus. It was just the three of us and the last we saw of Caine was him being attacked. We were pretty panicked."

"I wasn't." Jax shrugged.

"Don't interrupt." Pomni scolded "Go on, Ragatha. That must have been pretty scary."

"Yeah... We didn't know what to do. We were inside some sort of cave with barely any light, and...there were noises." Ragatha held herself, recalling the events. Gangle stayed inside her sweater, now shaking.

Pomni's eyes went wide. "Noises..? There were...things in the cave with you?"

"The Badland Abyss earned its name. Weird skittering and screeching calls of monsters came up the tunnel and we just started running. Not even Jax questioned it at that point."

Jax's ears flatten out of embarrassment, but he doesn't contradict Ragatha's story. It was pretty intense at the time.

"We ran until we found a mine cart, and we figured we could get away faster in it so we jumped in and started rolling. It was a lot faster than we bargained for, like a rollercoaster."

"I threw up." Gangle whined.

"I almost did too, but I was too worried about the monsters following us." Ragatha said.

"Did you see them?" Asked Pomni.

"Kind of. They were a mess and glitching all over the place. They had limbs and eyes in unnatural places. They climbed on the walls and were incredibly fast. They almost caught up to us multiple times."

"If it wasn't for me, they would have." Jax added.

"You intentionally switched what direction we were going towards any track that was marked dangerous. You could have gotten us all killed." Ragatha threw her hands out in exasperation.

"But I didn't. In fact, taking the dangerous route is what saved us from the monsters. We ended up jumping this huge chasm because the track there collapsed, and the monsters couldn't jump to the other side. The cart rolled outside and dumped us when we hit the end of the line. Turns out there was a big bag of stuff in that cart too, we gave that to Gangle to hold on to." Jax stretched, tired of story telling. "So... How did you two get started?" He looked at Caine and Pomni. The rest of the group looked too.

Pomni opened her mouth to speak, but Caine beat her to it. "We started here, in the Wandering Woods. We, uh, didn't get thrown far from the circus after... after everything happened. Like all of you, we found a backpack of supplies, but no vehicle. I had to learn to walk. Pomni was kind enough to help me until I could at least walk with a stick on my own." Caine looked at her with adoration. "Without her, I never would have made it this far."

Caine gently placed his hand over Pomni's, and she smiled back at him. Neither one of them saw the gaping stares from the others. Caine leaned in just a little towards Pomni. "She's been better to me than I ever thought I deserved. Even if I never get my powers back, I have found something that means more to me than the circus itself."

Pomni leaned towards Caine, her eyes teasing. "Turns out adventure means a lot more when you're with someone you care about."

Caine's eyes glanced at Pomni's lips, but stayed with her eyes so much longer. "Yeah...it is."

"The bugs are so friendly." Kinger randomly stated, hardly paying attention to the moment across from him. The veil around his hat was covered in moths.

[boytumms]

Part 1: A young man is sworn into a secretive holy order. "Now that you are bound to this oath, it is time for you to learn what we protect." He is led to a vault, deep beneath the monastery. The door is guarded and shut, but the elder slides open a slot so the initiate can peer inside - but he hears it before he sees it. Moaning. Crying. Emanating from... another young man? Except he's chained to a slanting stone, wrists and ankles shackled, clearly rubbed raw from constant thrashing. He might have been handsome, if not for the fact that his hair was disheveled and his face was twisted in a rictus of pain and misery. He was thin, scarily thin, in all places except one - his belly. This wasn't a gut swollen from hunger, but a tremendous sack of pained red flesh that hung all the way down to the floor, covered in ugly spider-web veins and furious stretch marks. And it was wrapped in chains, not iron like his shackles, but hallowed silver, gleaming in the torchlight. And something was moving inside that belly, something huge and strong, pushing this way and that, straining against the confines which bound it, both the chains and the boy's paper thin skin. And it was making a terrible noise, like a gurgling or a growling, a hateful sound emanating from within. Then, the slot shut and the elder demanded the neophyte's attention. "You must bury whatever sympathy you have for that poor boy. He has the unenviable fate of bearing armageddon: A monster that, had we allowed it to be born, would have ended the world. It is contained, but we must remain vigilant. So long as he carries that monster inside him, he will never age - and he must remain alive, or else that thing will find another host. It may seem cruel to keep him like this, for him to remain forever more a prison to that thing. But remember your vows. You have a duty to your brothers and sisters, and the world beyond these walls. If you love any of those things, then you must close your heart to his suffering. He will cry, he will howl, he will beg for just the slightest of accommodation. You must ignore those better angels. Because what you saw in there, inside his womb? Is the worst kind of devil you can imagine."

This is the original ask from the collab, I thought I'd just post it now that the full version is out :)

[sauron18]

Weeping Angels Are Conceptual Entities

In their first appearance (Series 3’s Blink), the Weeping Angels are a race of monsters who can only move and live when no other creature is looking at them. As soon as they are perceived, they become quantum locked and turn into stone statues. They feed by shifting their victims back in time and absorbing the potential energy of the life they would’ve lived in their original era.

Yet even in that story they’re called “creatures of the abstract.” This description would make more sense in their next appearance (S5’s Time of Angels and Flesh and Stone), where we see a long-dormant angel crash-land a human ship above a labyrinth that held a multitude of other dormant angels.

In this story the angels display the ability to act on the world around them in non-physical ways. The first angel causes the ship it’s in to crash without leaving its prison cell. Then it inspects the area around the ship by using a projection of its image in a camera recording to manifest outside the crash site. While it does this, it is also able to deadlock the temporary shelter where its image manifests.

Then, after killing two soldiers from a military force that arrived on the planet to re-capture it, the angel strips their cerebral cortex and uses their consciousness to communicate via radio with the Doctor, his companions, and the other soldiers. All the while the radiation from the crashed ship slowly revives the dormant angels in the labyrinth, and they all proceed to hunt the humans as they try (and fail) to harness the energy from a time rift in the hopes of becoming a formidable force in the universe again.

Besides seeing an expansion of their abilities in this episode, we also get some interesting lore from a book written about the angels. The book explains how the projection of an angel is an extension of it, “That which holds the image of an angel becomes itself an angel.” It speculates on their abstract origin, “What if we had ideas that could think for themselves? What if, one day, our dreams no longer needed us?” And it even explains how they can infect and possess a living being who looks into their eyes, “The eyes are not the windows of the soul, they are the doors. Beware what may enter them.” And as the other angels in the story begin to regenerate from shapeless humanoid statues to their angelic forms, the Doctor states “Their image is their power.”

All of this means that the angels in this story have become, essentially, conceptual entities. They are perceived physically as stone statues, but they operate primarily as non-corporeal beings.

“As conceptual entities only seem to affect the minds of their victims, it’s often said that the entities are ‘made out of pure thought’, but this is clearly inaccurate as thought itself isn’t a substance. Although many people are determined to think of the entities as telepathic presences, or neurological parasites, or in some cases even ‘spirits’, in fact it’s much more accurate to think of them as nothing more than hostile ideas. They exist by bypassing matter altogether, and instead giving themselves structure inside the meanings of things.” — The Book of the War

At this point, the angels are no longer simply monsters who move when they aren’t seen. They are living ideas who exist on the periphery of perception. They affect the world primarily through non-physical means. As conceptual entities, the angels infect the physical world, reshaping its meaning to suit their needs and to give them power and form.

This post is already long enough, so instead of going into more detail about other stories. I’d like to conclude by mentioning how in their most recent TV stories, in Flux, we see a group of angels working as operatives for Division. They are killers-for-hire for this ancient temporal power that exists outside of normal time and space, a notion that goes back to their original description in Blink as “the lonely assassins.” In other words, they are conceptual entities who are living weapons at the service of a Time Lord interference group that has abandoned the physical universe.

This may all be coincidence, but regardless, I love thinking about how the angels have gone from being a creative monster of the week to becoming another televised incarnation of ideas from the Faction Paradox and Doctor Who literary universes.

[cookies-and-mirrors]

Prison of Stone and Flesh

Chapter Nineteen

This is a collaborative fic between @cookiesupplier and @faceless-mirror.

Dividers by @samspenandsword @cafekitsune @saradika-graphics

Authors Note: Trigger Warning for assault and past abuse. Please tread carefully.

Pairings: Multi-Pairings, Everybody x Everybody.

Triggerlist: transphobia, homophobia, abuse, SA, dubcon, religious trauma, past suicide attempts, mental health issues, grief, death, violence, (To be added to)

Christopher, Justin, and Ryan are members of the Gargoyle Order, soldiers fighting in the angels war against the demonic supernatural evils of the world to protect human kind. Through the years they lost comrades and now just the three of them remain in their little town.

Now, Ricky and Vinny are moving into their church, stirring up old and new feelings, along with the past, posing the challenge of navigating this new chapter in their lives.

Can they all navigate this path successfully and break free of the prisons that is their lives of both stone and flesh, or will they all be trapped forever in a world that could prove to be a constant misery?

MASTERLIST HERE

Taglist: @miamore0570 @21-century-tae @dragon-chica @shilohrosechicken @phxntxsmicgoricxl

@missduffsblog @witchyweeb34 @spicywhenspeaking @lacktoesandtoddlerants @blackveilomens

@bngurngheart @dominuslunae @collapsedglasshouses @emmmm127 @sunsshinesunny

@latenightmusiclover @dontdiganothergravetoday

(please comment/like/reblog/message to be added to taglist)

Chapter Nineteen

Ryan, Justin, and Christopher climbed the stairs towards the rectory, only this time, they had Ricky, and Vinny coming alongside them. They’d all been up the long hours of the night for the party, and they stay’d up, to help them clean afterwards, not to mention, they were so used to staying awake, it was easier for them to do. Now, though, it was almost dawn, and Justin had gotten excited, pointing out this would be the very first time they knew. They knew they were gargoyles now. Did they want to see them actually fully turn to stone?

So, that was what they were doing now! Ryan had admittedly rolled his eyes and said they weren’t a circus sideshow, but, whatever, let's go.

Ricky and Vinny had changed out of their costumes, wearing jammies and comfy clothes sighing softly with exhaustion, cleaning the rest would have to wait til the next day… or at least later in the day. “We might… need to nap in here before going upstairs to sleep…” Ricky admitted with a content smile and leaned up kissing Justin’s cheek, offering a soft smile to Ryan too. “We’ll have coffee for you guys tonight still.” he offered softly, stepping back as Vinny made out with Chris a moment longer. 

“I’ll see you tonight-” Vinny said softly, petting Chris face softly, looking up at him so tenderly and caring.

The gargoyles had all changed out of their costumes to help clean up the start of the mess from the party, though the rest would have to be left until later. Ryan hoped Ricky and Vinny waited until they woke up. Especially the worst of the disaster Justin had created with the chocolate fountain. After everyone had left, he had thought it was smart to want to stick his head into the thing instead of the fruit. He pointedly didn’t watch them all say good night, but the smile, he swallowed, nodding back to him, almost, almost even smiling himself faintly before it disappeared. His night had had slightly peaceful moments, which had felt, interesting, he wasn’t sure where they had come from, but the rest, had been confusing, and he wasn’t sure what to make of the stranger. Thankfully, they had left without a fuss. Thinking about it, he touched his hammer by his side thoughtfully, it was contracted to a shorter length currently, just a basic war hammer right now. He could extract the hammer handle to its full six feet when needed, it wasn’t tonight, thankfully. For once, aside from that one little hellhound issue earlier on Chris’ walk with Vinny, Halloween had been quiet, that had been a surprise. 

Ryan climbed onto his platform, glancing away from Vinny and Christopher, watching the other pair step up onto theirs, and waited for the stone prison to take them. Usually, they took their beast forms for effect for this, but tonight, now that Vinny and Ricky knew, they didn’t need to if they didn’t want to, it was a choice… He heard the sound of the change taking Christopher, Justin beside him… And felt the tingle of the dawn as always, but then… nothing…

His eyes danced around the room… his hand unreasonably warm as he glanced at Ricky and Vinny, confused. Why wasn’t he stone?

Vinny stared. “What the fuck-”

The door opened and in stepped Gwynn, pulling off their mask that faded off, turning into runes on Justin and Christopher.  They smiled at Ryan awkwardly. “Hey, Baby… sorry I was gone, I can explain- I'm not even technically cleared now even-” they rambled leaning on their cane, wobbling slightly, long silver hair falling, it was too long, far too long.

Gwynn, the stranger, they, they were here… that… that face… Ryan’s breath caught when he saw their whole face as they took off their mask, it just disappeared into thin air. The ability to apply runes like that, he’d only seen it once before, Jerahmiel never did that, he always, always had to apply them by touch… Ryan’s head tilted slightly, staring at this, this, Gwynn as they stepped in… sorry they were gone… thinking over what they’d said earlier. Choking in his throat… they… they… No. No. No!

It got worse.

They hadn’t- They… just been healing. Ryan had forgotten. How? How had he… And he felt it, the disgusting sick churn in his stomach, the same disgust and ugly feeling every time that he- He would do things to him- That was how. Ryan’s eyes prickled with tears as he looked at Gwynn, by the angel, it, it was Gwynn. They, they were home. They were finally home. He finally had them back. For a bare moment, Ryan felt pure joy clenching his heart, a feeling he had not felt for almost as long as he could remember, thanks to another angel stripping away at his mind, tainting his memories. He moved without thinking, a massive hand reaching up and cupping that delicate beautiful face that he loved so much, Justice, Gwynn, and brought his lips to theirs. The kiss was sweet, soft, more than he’d been for anyone, willingly, in over a thousand years.

Gwynn gave in, kissing back immediately, eyes watering as they melted for Ryan, fully relaxing as they looked up at him. Pressing closer, they didn't stop kissing til Ryan did.

As the kiss broke, something in Ryan broke too. It all came crashing down for him. Reality. A thousand years. A thousand years Gwynn had left him here to rot, they apologized that they hadn’t come back sooner, that they were still healing, but what good did that do him? He had been abused by a monster for centuries, thinking they were fucking dead. No one told him that his mate was even alive. There were angels all over the world, there was even him, not that Ryan would expect he would have told him. Anyone could have gotten a message to him, somehow. It wasn’t like he was hidden away in the far vestiges of the world. It must not have been worth it, he must not have been worth telling. Why would he be, he was just a gargoyle. Gargoyles were never worth more than how useful they could be to angels, and considering he knew he’d be obstinate for the past thousand years, doing everything he could to oppose his abuser. He’d pushed himself the pure opposite way on purpose. He’d want more feminine, Ryan pushed to be masculine. He picked him a gargoyle to breed with, Ryan refused to consent. They went around and around in circles for centuries. It got uglier and uglier as time wore on. 

Thinking about everything he endured, every ugly, bitter, horrifying dark painful thing he suffered at the hands of that monster while Gwynn was off hiding, not even out there to give Ryan just a shred of hope… As Gwynn looked up at him with nothing but pure love and adoration, Ryan snapped, and with a dark look, he lost himself and went and slapped Gwynn sharply across the face to the floor. 

The sound of the angel hitting the ground was horrific and cold, the heavy thump of flesh meeting the wall to the dull thump of them hitting the carpet, breathing hard.

A lazy glance over his shoulder to the gargoyles behind him, Christopher and Justin had woken from their stone forms by now, both looking on, dazed, confused, and a bit horrified to see Ryan attack the disabled angel unprovoked… “I believe you have business with our new handler, Christopher, I’m done with them.”

Damn straight, Chris was in shock, as he and Justin stepped off their platforms, witnessing Ryan kissing the angel… Dammit, their new handler, he was dreading this day arriving, but he was not going to let them hurt Ricky, or touch Vinny… and by the angel, “Ryan!” Chris exclaimed as the younger struck them, only for him to so calmly turn and look at him, and Chris moved towards the angel on the floor. For all his annoyances at the higher beings, and all the fact that they could destroy him with a word… They were barely able to walk, and Ryan had just slapped them down!

The angel grunted in pain, holding up a hand, “No… no… I de- deserved that. Go be with your mate, Christopher. I'm fine.”  they urged, not looking up, fighting the sting of pain from not being allowed to love their mate. The fact their mate struck them. It was as if a switch had been flipped.

Feeling sick, they sat up, ignoring the gold blood from biting their tongue, recoiling from Chris’ touch almost fearfully as they pulled away fully, shaking some. The angel swallowed and didn’t look up at Ryan or Christopher, almost as if they were expecting more strikes to hit at them. Expecting it from all sides. For all of them to start. 

Ricky and Vinny were frozen. Though Ricky seemed more terrified than anything. Ryan hit an angel… an angel was in the Rectory. He was a nephilim… he was scared. “Let's get you an ice pack.” He got out despite his trembling, nearly choking on his words that could hardly be forced out.

Christopher, Chris, didn’t even hesitate to kneel and help the angel up though, even with their words, and his breath caught with the realization, a flood of memories coming back to him. It was like dust had been blown away in one swoop as he helped them to their feet.

“Justice… Gwynn… shit.”

The one angel that Chris didn’t have to obey. The one angel that was kind enough to command him to never be forced to obey them from the moment that they’d realized the flaw in the original gargoyle design. Glancing at Ryan, wondering what was going through his head that he’d assault his mate like that, had he gone insa- oh… That… Chris didn’t want to consider that.

“Maybe we should all head downstairs, get you that ice pack, and have a seat to talk, well, Vinny, Rick, maybe you should go rest. It’s been a long night.” he didn’t want them to have to worry about this, and one look at Ricky, the nephilim, well, perhaps it was better if he got some rest and stayed calm. Chris was giving him an out.

Ricky looked at Chris thankfully, already slipping towards the door, unprepared to confront this right now. Though, Vinny was the one to speak up. “Wait. Hold up. Gwynn- you died-”

“I almost died. It doesn’t matter- It doesn’t- It doesn’t matter,” They whispered, leaning on their cane and heading downstairs after Ricky had disappeared downstairs stealthily.

The angel sat down in the café in a pew and hid themselves in the corner, looking away, a heavy white shirt wrapped around their thin frame.

Once they were all downstairs, Chris went to get Gwynn an ice pack from the bar kitchen, wrapping it gently in a cloth so it wouldn’t be so hard on their skin. He brought it over to them as they set themselves in one of the booths that had been fashioned from the start, using with the pews of the old Church. Chris sat across from them, even as they tried to hide.

“Almost died? We never found out how, Jerahmiel came to tell us the news, and in the years after that, he, well, he made it difficult to trust him. Despite it being required of us, and then about a century ago, he just disappeared.” Which, if Chris was honest, he was more than thankful for.

Ryan did not go sit with the others, Justin joining Christopher in the booth, instead he went right for the bar to find a bottle of whiskey and pour himself a healthy… unhealthy glass really. Oh, he wanted to skull the entire bottle, he’d pay Ricky back later.

“Thank you, Christopher,” they said taking the pack to adjust it, with a heart and heavy mind, ignoring the violent emotions and feelings in their chest.

Gwynn sighed, looking away, feeling sick, “Of course he wouldn’t tell you- I had to rush. I should still be in heaven, in lock up-” they froze, changing direction. “But I wasn't going to let you guys have another… angel-” they grumbled softly, “I have to keep my head down, I have to-” they grit their teeth. They sighed, holding the ice pack to their face but averted their gaze. “I should have pushed harder to come back sooner- to escape-” their voice was soft, full of regret.

Frowning, so Jerahmiel knew what had happened to Gwynn all along, of course he had. It made Chris wonder what had happened, and made him want to find and get his hands on Jerahmiel for answers. Asking Gwynn felt like in poor alternative right now, given their condition. Sadly, from how long they’d been gone, considering that Gwynn had been gone for a thousand years and sounded like they should be gone even longer, he had no doubt Jerahmiel was in on all of it. Even if Gwynn had eventually come back… how much longer would it have taken? Especially considering gargoyles went insane without their mates, did they really just assume Ryan would be fine? Chris didn’t want to admit, after the display upstairs, he was starting to wonder if he wasn’t finally starting to slip… If, maybe, Gwynn came back too late and Ryan was on his way to half feral, the fact that he’d lasted this long was astounding enough, it had never happened before… Never… 

“Chris.” He corrected quietly. “You can call me Chris, if you like, everyone can… If they'd like.”

He sighed, but that, that wasn’t the issue now, “Wait, wait… escape?” Gwynn had said escape, if that was true, and they were never meant to come back, that changed everything.

“I… I don’t… want to talk about it.” The way they spoke was in of itself a quiet no. The only denial that the angel had ever uttered to them. “Where’s Honesty? He should be up here by now- He could come out of the catacombs.”

Hearing the way Gwynn said it, had Ryan just staring across the bar at them, his face devoid of emotion. What the fuck was that even? Ryan hadn’t even gotten to properly mourn their supposed death… Thanks to the… The… The fucking angel command from Jerahmiel. He took in a breath. A thousand years without Gwynn, years without his mate, he hadn’t even been worthy of an explanation of why. Then again, what did he expect, he’d forgotten his own mate, he deserved nothing. Blinking, he looked away from them. 

“Honesty is dead, gone for centuries now, or did Jerahmiel not report that to your superiors like he was supposed to? Sure as hell told us after he fell.” Pouring out some more whiskey for himself, the glass of the bottle clinking to the cup.

“Atsuko is alive. He's in the catacombs, Jerahmiel was keeping him there to try to corrupt him- Archangel Jophiel got in touch with him-” Gwynn said in a panic now, jumping up to their feet, cane clattering to the floor.

“I need to get to the catacombs and bring him out!”

Ryan snorted derisively at the bar, sure, corrupt Honesty, yeah, that would have gone down real well. Ryan himself felt violently ill every time he lied just because he knew how much others tended to feel included to trust him implicitly with his virtue, it came with his nature. Honesty? He was just something else entirely. Chris glanced over at Ryan, he was trying really hard to put up this wall right now, it was painfully obvious, and the elder gargoyle didn’t know what to do about it. 

“No offence Gwynn, I know it might seem like some of the angels have been helpful to you, helping you heal, but for us, they just left us here-”

Chris started gently, not sure quite the extent of Gwynn’s terms of escape because they wouldn’t explain and didn’t want to assume, but then Ryan’s glass at the bar glass slammed down, hard. The loud noise rocking through the bar. “Fuck no, all the damn offence. Justice. You assholes left us down here to rot. Alone. There are three of us. Three. That's all that's left, the rest of us have been maimed, tortured, and picked off one by one. Sure, the last couple of months we’ve had Vinny and Ricky, but that's fucking it. So what’s next, huh? The riot act because we haven’t exactly been following the fancy angel edicts about how we should behave like proper mutts? Hmmm?” That was after all what Jerahmiel would refer to them under his breath when he thought Ryan wasn’t listening while he was assaulting him. As it were, he knew Chris didn’t want to lose Vinny because of the fucking edicts.

Gwynn leaned on the table, hands shaking as they listened to the seething words their mate uttered, breaking his heart so harshly, so violently. Hearing him call himself a mutt almost making Gwynn’s knees nearly buckle under the implication, “W…what- No! I wouldn’t- I’m not- I'm actually happy for you-” they rambled before hesitantly explaining, “I’m not a full angel anymore- I’m… I’m fallen.” they said awkwardly looking away, partially afraid, almost ready to fly away if attacked even if their wings wouldn’t support them long enough. 

“Chris… Your troupe is Archangel Jophiel’s pride and joy. She… she made sure I would get here as soon as possible.” They rushed out, the words spoken before more could be said or done. 

Chris watched Gwynn rush out in shock, staring after them for a moment, trying to comprehend what they were saying. Shaking his head, Chris, glanced at Justin, Vinny, even Ryan had looked as shocked as he felt at this news, too surprised to be an ass for the moment. Chris got to his feet, “Justin, go check on Ricky while I help Gwynn in the catacombs find Atsuko. It’s been awhile, and who knows where he is down there.” Chris had been down there a few times, considering he used to hide Chenza’s ashes down there. Moving after them now, he went to follow Gwynn down into the catacombs.

Gwynn had moved out of their way, so far, out of their way, to avoid getting close to Ryan. They would never admit it openly, but they were scared of their mate. Of their gargoyles. Every movement made them jump, their grip on their cane tighter than it should have been, as long silver hair blew back with the pace they moved.

Chris had noted Justin leave the booth to head upstairs, unsure what Vinny was going to do. However, after how Gwynn literally avoided going near Ryan, he sighed at how the other gargoyle sullenly stared at his glass of whiskey sitting on a barstool. That, could not end well now, and it hurt his heart, those two had been part of the reason he had even wanted a mate one day. Approaching Gwynn, Chris noting how wary they were, it was impossible to miss. “I can help, Gwynn, you don’t have to go alone. I was probably the last down there… aside from Atsuko himself, that is.” Walking just behind them towards the catacombs, not wanting to pressure them if they said no, however. The gargoyle was careful of each step, his pace even, so he didn’t out pace them.

The angel trembled some hearing Chris behind him, fear gripping the angel before nodding slowly, “Of course- of… of course you can come with, Chris.” they said softly, hands shaking a bit as they reached the door still keeping some distance.

Standing before the door he pressed forward unlocking the door leading down to the catacombs and pushed it open, easing in, stepping into the dank stale air. How Atsuko lived down here, they were almost certain they would never understand. He had always been an odd duck. A very odd duck. But an appreciated one.

They grunted, pulling out an electric lantern and held it up, casting wide shadows over the walls from broken caskets and pottery. They sighed and ran their fingers through their hair, glancing towards Chris, ignoring how sore their face was. “We need to get to the deepest part.”

Keeping up with Gwynn easily, his legs carrying his massive frame after the angel, the deepest part of the catacombs, perfect. He’d never been in that deep, the catacombs were forbidden for a reason they were scared in their culture, going in there for the ashes had been practically sacrilegious, however, for Chenza he’d do anything. So, to find out that Jerahmiel has trapped Atsuko down there, it was horrific.

“Gwynn, wait…” As he walked with them, his eyes adjusting to the light in the dark, he’d have preferred the pitch black of darkness, it would have meant he could see better, but he knew their eyes weren’t equipped that way. “Please, don’t hold Ryan’s attitude against him. I think… Jerahmiel, he targeted him. Ryan never wanted to talk about to what extent, but we know he did.” Chris also didn’t like talking about the way the angel took advantage of him being unable to defy him when he figured that trick out… The others, the others, just thought he was ever the loyal and obedient one. Fulfilling his responsibilities to their handler.

Gwynn sighed, “Chris… I’m not upset with Ryan.” they sighed and looked up, “I knew I wouldn't be received well. I knew that… but it’s more complicated than that… He’s not the only one who went through things… I never thought… I didn’t think he would strike me. He was the only reason I pulled through. I will always do anything for him. But… I can’t say I’m not scared. I love him… but I am scared.” 

They walked steadily towards the dark depths. “I love him. I always will. I would do anything he asks of me.”

Oh, Chris knew that feeling, he’d do literally anything Vincenza asked of him, she had gotten him to dress as a prince, another time as a damn knight… a literal knight in shining armour. The suit was still here, in the catacombs, actually, Chris had brought it down when the reservations had started in an effort to keep them from throwing it away. He hadn’t dared risk it. Chris swallowed, thinking about how Ryan had struck Gwynn though, the thought of ever doing that to Vinny. Worse, he knew Ryan knew, he knew who they were, Gwynn wasn’t reincarnated like Vinny had been. “Let me, point out, this in no way condones what he did… I don’t… Ryan hasn’t trusted angels in a long time, Gwynn, while we have all struggled with it… but for him, with his virtue… it’s…” Trust was everything for Ryan, and seeing any angel, was going to be difficult for Ryan. Ricky, Ricky, was a different breed. They’d known him since he was a kid, and he was half human. In a sense, they trusted the human part of him, more than the angel part of hum.

“I wish I could tell you it’s going to be easy for us to have an angel around again, but it’s not, it’s been a long time since we’ve had to walk on those eggshells on what we do, and what we say.”

Gwynn was stiff as they walked, aching, careful not to stumble along despite the uneven floor and stonework. “… I’m sorry I’ve disappointed everyone.”

Chris reached for Gwynn gently, to steady them, just a soft touch of their shoulder, despite the fact Gwynn flinched away immediately on instinct, Chris sighed, feeling immediate regret that Gwynn feared him so. “Gwynn, I- for years all we knew was that you were attacked, you were gone, the one light we had from the angels. Since then, nothing has been…” Chris swallowed looking ahead, while he couldn’t say everything was monstrous, there had been good things in his life. He had moments of joy in his life, moments that he has fought so hard to try to grasp on to, but it had been a battle, and they always seemed to be destroyed in the end. His eldest son needlessly slaughtered at the hands of rouge demons… his mate and unborn children slaughtered in the very Church they lived by humans, hounds, sent by demons.

“Nothing was the same for us after you left us, Gwynn, and for Ryan. Every so often, I wonder, if the stories about a gargoyle going mad aren’t valid. I’ve felt nothing but truly mad without Chenza.” 

“Chris…. I… I know. I know what the angels were doing… ri… right now, I don’t think it’s a good time to discuss me and Ryan… I just escaped… I haven’t even slept yet. I need to do what I need to for the Arch Angel… I need…” They stopped, hesitant to say more, just walking faster despite stumbling.

Chris fell silent, accepting the end of the conversation, as painful as it was that right now for Gwynn, what the angel needed came first. What the angels required always came first, it was their purpose. It was why the gargoyles had been created in the first place. He would never hold that against them. Besides, he had a feeling Arch Angel Jophiel was involved in some way with Gwynn’s escape, so he just continued on, careful to make sure Gwynn didn’t fall as they limped along.

They kept walking in the dank stillness that made one feel as if mildew would grow in the lungs and choke out life… but pressed on. Gwynn was weaker down here, limping along, until finally the stillness was broken after an hour.

“Finally.” A gravelly familiar voice spoke, and slowly a form walked out from the dark, eyes reflecting the light. “Took you long enough…”

While he continued to watch out for them, Chris had to resist reaching for Gwynn, Justice, again, as they finished walking through the uneven terrain of the catacombs, with the way they had flinched away from him before. He didn't desire to make them uncomfortable any more than necessary. He had accompanied them to assist them, not hinder, so he had followed along dutifully. 

Hearing that voice, Chris sighed. “Long enough, dammit Honesty, of all the times I came down here, not a peep, not even after that bastard left?” He didn’t hesitate to move towards the other gargoyle, engulfing him in his arms and wrapping him in a massive hug, squeezing the life out of him. It was like having two, no, three back from the dead, in less than two days.

Honesty was stiff and growled lowly, hugging back but snapping lightly at Chris’s shoulder, grumbling like a wild animal for a moment before huffing. “Kinda hard to get out of a command…” he huffed, “I was re-commanded to stay quiet until a new angel handler arrived. I'm happy it's Justice.”

Gwynn smiled and sighed out. “It's good to see, you, Atsuko…”

Was Chris surprised by his reaction after centuries down here, among the dead, alone? No, no, he was not. Sometimes he wondered about going a little feral himself, and he still had Ryan and Justin to keep him semi-sane. Poor Atsuko, was on his own, commanded, and the only ones he knew to get out of commands on their own, were ones created, not born, like him admittedly, he hadn’t seen another since long before Jerahmiel had left. Wait. Pulling back, he looked over to Gwynn, Justice, the smile was not returned. “He was re-commanded, by who?” and when? Gwynn had said Honesty was the reason they had gotten the information that something was wrong… if the angels' response was to continue to imprison him down here, for at the very least another century. That was how long it had been since Jerahmiel had run… Christopher was going to have words with someone. Maybe not Justice, but someone.

Gwynn looked at Chris, “I was told that he was only told to keep his head down-” they said, looking just as confused as it registered. “The angels who went to him were Jophiel and some lower angels she trusted-”

“One of the lower angels commanded me before leaving with Jophiel. Jophiel wasn’t there…” Atsuko grumbled, and swallowed, “There’s more fallen angels in heaven than you think.” he said softly, frowning as he stepped back, wearing his old uniform that was in disrepair. “I can go up… if I am pulled up. At the door, I can be commanded- Get me out of here.”

While Chris didn’t like the idea of having to command him again, anything to get him out of the catacombs right now. It also seemed the angels had a far bigger problem than just their unit. Fallen angels in heaven. They always acted like they were so much better than them, treated them like they were so superior over the years, and this, this was going to be a difficult issue, he was sure. “Alright, let's start back. Are you alright, Atsuko?” Chris had no idea of the state he’d been left in down here.

Atsuko sighed, “I’ve been better. It’ll be nice to feel the wind… and everything… I don’t even know what time it is… I haven’t shifted in hundreds of years.” he confessed, running his fingers through his hair with a growl, holding onto Chris. 

Upstairs, Vinny sighed and walked over to Ryan, gently placing a hand on his arm, “Hey….” she whispered, “Wanna talk? Or would you like some coffee?” she asked, “A walk maybe?”  Anything to get his mind off of… this. Gwynn… Justice. Jerahmiel… All of it. Her dishevelled curls and bags under her eyes were a reminder of how tired she was, but she couldn’t just leave. No… she needed to stay. For the fact she was a former gargoyle… she deserved answers as well. She couldn’t quite remember the details of her death… but this was important.

Ryan was actually surprisingly feeling a bit tired himself, he was used to sleeping all night, but by now he would have well been encased in stone, imprisoned for the daylight hours. What he really wanted was blood, Jerahmiel’s blood. He wanted all of it. Finally. He wasn’t going to get it though, he knew that much. For everything he had done to him, commanded him, to all of them. From the sounds of it, it was just the start of it with what Gwynn said, the angel had seemed to play by the rules here, toeing the line. Treating them horribly, but carefully. He’d played by the rules, Angel Rules.

“I don’t… I just…” He swallowed, staring at his glass before looking at Vinny, seeing her, remembering all the times he would make bets with Justice, Gwynn, about Chenza and Chris, whether they’d figure themselves out already… “Okay, Justice left, yea… but that bastard made me forget my own mate, and now all I want to know, is when I’m going to finally be allowed to hunt him down. Because that bastard is finally time to pay his due, for all of us.”

Vinny sighed and moved to drape over him, “Ryan… I know it was killing you… And I think you’re fair for being upset. But Gwynn would absolutely let you have him if they could. You know that. Gwynn is good at hiding their emotions when it comes to business, but… you know Gwynn has always been violently protective and sure of themself when it comes to you.” Vinny moved and sat in his lap, hugging him gently, kissing his cheek. “Ryan… You’re strong. You always have been. And I’m proud of you, but it’s okay to be upset, especially after being forced to forget your mate’s name.”

Ryan didn't stop Vinny when she moved to him, shifting to adjust herself over him. The way he sighed, you'd think he was annoyed, he wasn't, not really. He was looking over to his glass, his fingers idly running around the rim as she spoke. Honestly, he was trying not to think about what she was saying, but he knew he needed to. His mind was reeling, just reeling from so many memories that were stolen from him, and it honestly hurt to have them just running through his head. It was chaos right now, and he didn’t know what was up or down. 

His other arm wrapped around her back, as she leaned against him, sighing. Swallowing, forgetting his mate’s name… Forgetting his mate’s name… 

“Their face. He made me forget their face.” Not just their name, but their face. All he could ever see was Jerahmiel.

Her eyes widened in horror. “G…Gwynn’s face? He… he took… Ryan…” she gasped, wrapping around him tighter, holding him firmly chest to chest. “... Ryan… I’m so sorry.” she whispered, eyes watering. “Ryan… oh angels… fuck…” her eyes watered, holding his head to her shoulder, offering him the solace of her shirt to cry into to hide from the fact he was breaking down, if he took it.

His eyes closed as Vinny stumbled with her words, clinging to him, just taking in a slow, deep breath as he considered what he’d admitted to. A sacrilege, a violation, to forget his mate's name, let alone their face, it was horrifying. Even if he found it in him to forgive Gwynn for disappearing, would they ever be able to forgive him? Could he forgive himself? He knew the answer to the last. No.

Angels, angels, sure, angels, fuck the angels though, they didn’t give a shit really, angels had done this to them, time and time again. If they’d really cared, they’ve sent someone else in the last century, at least, to tell him his mate was still alive. Let Honesty out. Do something to help them, while they waited for Gwynn to come back to them. But, of course, the angels. Still, he held Vinny, holding her close, welcoming the comfort, knowing that she understood, that she wasn’t blaming him for feeling… feeling the way he did right now. “Thank you, Vinny.”

Justin made it up the stairs, and while he had a phone now and could call him to let him know he was coming, but he didn’t think, he was just too anxious and needed to see him, immediately. Not to mention he was right there, and the ability to pick every lock known to mortal kind if he wasn’t going to let him in. Did he really want to do that to Daddy, though? Pausing as he glanced back the way he came, before turning to look back to the front door of the apartment that was Ricky and Vinny’s home before, knocking. Knock first, then see if he’d answer.

Ricky jolted at the knock. He had been staring at the door, trying to calm down, since he came back upstairs. He was exhausted, but fear was a powerful emotion. He hadn’t felt this way in years… not since his father… His father. The angel. He gagged, covering his mouth. “Hello…? Who…?” he called, swallowing before approaching the door shaking.

Justin sighed, he sighed, Ricky should be sleeping though, if he was honest, Justin was surprised he wasn’t. Justin himself was wired, tired as well, but wired. “It’s me, Rick, just me, Loyalty.” Not Justin, Loyalty, that was more important, especially right now. Loyalty was who he needed, Loyalty was who he had known for so long. “It’s okay right now, I promise. Can I come in?”

Loyalty…. He opened the door and pulled him in, hiding into his chest, shoulders shaking as he sniffed some, holding onto him for dear life. Then he collapsed into him, uneasy on his feet. Odd… so very odd… But he held on to Justin, closing his eyes as he melted.

Justin swallowed, his arms wrapped around him, holding him tightly, “I got you, I’m here, we’re okay.” Next thing, he was picking him up and carrying him into the apartment the way he felt Ricky almost just collapse, not liking how he seemed to almost sink against him. Taking him over to the couch so they could sit. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Pressing a kiss to his temple.

Ricky rested against him, “I’m so tired…” he murmured softly, holding onto his arm gently. “I couldn’t relax… I was scared…” he never admitted he was scared. He knew it did no good, but he had to say it. “I was so scared you didn’t want… Didn’t…. That they were going to… I…” he babbled, slurring his words softly, tears dripping down his cheeks.

Nodding slightly, “It’s okay to be scared, Christopher told me that, a long time ago, our old handler always used to come down on me about it. I struggled, a lot, and he would slap me down something horrible.” Jerahmiel would punish him for it, being scared, every single time he thought he was even slightly fearful growing up, and all through his teen years, it had been an absolute disaster, worse later. Justin reached up to brush Ricky’s tears away, hating to see him cry, “I have something I wanted to talk to you about, but I, it’s… it’s… intense.”

He looked up at him resting on his shoulder, “O… okay. Afterwards… can I nap on you? You can do whatever you need but- I would very much like to stay close…” he whispered to him, blinking slowly at him, “I feel safe with you around… so much…” he whispered.

Smiling softly, Justin really liked hearing that, he’d wanted to talk to Ricky about this since last night, since the party… “Which is a part of what I wanted to talk to you about. This feeling between us, it’s stronger than I have ever felt before, and, there is, is a bond between gargoyles and… And while we are not technically monogamous.” He wasn’t explaining it right, he didn’t know how to explain it right, but Ryan had mentioned it, and Chris had mentioned it. Just last night, it was said outright about spending time with their mates, Vinny herself had said it. Justin had flushed so bad because they hadn’t even talked, let alone made that step for Ricky to understand.

Ricky swallowed and looked up into his eyes, “Mates.” he said, his cheeks turning pink, “Do… You think…?” he asked softly, “You think I’m… good enough?” he asked confused almost by the thought… Odd… very different from the confidence he normally radiated. “You’d want me as your mate…?”

Just hearing Ricky saying it, had Justin get this silly, goofy grin, while Ricky might not be feeling confident, Justin, oh Justin just hearing Ricky say mates had him feeling so purely excited about the thought. “Yes.” There was not an ounce of hesitation in his voice when he replied, even as Ricky asked. Justin not once wondered if he was good enough, despite all the rules about nephilim, and how dangerous they were. “I love you, and I want to be bonded to you, if you’ll have me? All of me.”

His eyes were wide as he looked into his, and reached up petting his hair before pulling him into a deep loving kiss, fingers tangled in his hair as he shivered. “Yes.” he answered, eyes watering as he leaned up just enough to kiss him again, eyes watering. “Yes…a thousand times… and more… yes.”

Letting him have the moment to consider it, to think as he pet his hair, though as he pulled him in, it would seem he didn’t need so much time and Justin was okay with that. Sighing against his lips, the way Ricky shiver, groaning softly as he nipped so lightly at his nip gently the way he saw his lips watering, fuck… Daddy… If he didn’t know, the others were probably waiting, and who knows how long it would take to get Honesty. 

Even so, “I need to hear you say it too, that you want to be with me.” It was a good laugh to figure out Chris and Vinny were already bonded again, and that they had agreed without even realizing. Justin had a feeling it was because they had once before, their souls were made to be already.

“I want to be your mate.” He murmured softly with wide eyes looking up at him dreamily.

It was so simple to hear, so simple to say, but so massive a feeling to wash over him right then, and Justin could not get enough of it, hearing that word come out of Ricky’s mouth. He wondered if this was what mortals described with the marriage thing. No, no, it couldn’t be with the way he’d seen some of them treating the union. Some of them treating it like it was nothing but a signature on a piece of paper, it was sacrilege. This was something so much more. Justin cupped Ricky’s cheeks and kissed him again, smiling against his lips with a sigh, happily.

“I know you want to sleep, but, downstairs, you can snuggle up in a booth with me, I promise. Gwynn is in the catacombs with Chris, finding a lost member of the troupe that our former handler trapped down there… Honesty, he’s always been a bit, different, probably a little bit more so now.” Justin rubbed Ricky’s back, he really wanted to go back downstairs, but if Ricky didn’t want to go, he would stay with him, he’d promised, and his mate came first right now. They’d just become mates, he was sure the others would understand.

Ricky sighed softly, “anywhere with you… I want to be with you. I'm just so tired.” He admitted leaning more into him and hid his face against his neck, moaning. His eyes watered as he looked up at him. “Take me anywhere… as long as I'm with you… I'll be okay.” He breathed out softly, arms holding him as he sank against him.

“Okay.” Pressing a kiss on top of Ricky’s head as he leaned against him, his arms wrapped around him, not questioning anything as he picked him up. “Let’s head down.” Carrying Justin downstairs, he didn’t mind how long he had to wait for Chris in the catacombs, and seeing Vinny with Ryan, he settled with Ricky in the booth, and waited.

[experimentkc]

Happy (belated) anniversary to Lilo & Stitch: The Series and Stitch!

Yes, I know that the twentieth anniversary of the premiere of Lilo & Stitch: The Series (on ABC Kids) was on September 20th. I was sick back then, though. So, I'm celebrating it today on the anniversary of its Disney Channel premiere instead.

Lilo & Stitch: The Series continued our beloved titular human-alien duo's adventures on their home island of Kaua'i after the first film and the show's pilot film Stitch! The Movie. Throughout the course of 65 episodes over two seasons that aired within almost three years (September 2003 to June/July 2006), they went around the island (and occasionally elsewhere) to find, capture, and rehabilitate Jumba's other genetic experiments by giving them a place where they truly belonged. They also dealt with the ex-Captain Gantu, now working for Jumba's ex-partner Dr. Jacques von Hämsterviel, as they hunted down the experiments.

While Lilo & Stitch creator Chris Sanders, who reprised his voice role as Stitch in the show (as did almost all of the original film's voice cast reprising their roles), never really intended for his film to go anywhere beyond the one film he made, Lilo & Stitch: The Series has left a lasting impact with Lilo & Stitch fans everywhere that can still be seen to this day. Dr. Hämsterviel and his Python-esque Frenchman-sounding voice became recognizable while giving the franchise a proper villain. Gantu was fleshed out more as a character instead of just being a brute enforcer for someone else, especially through his interactions with the memorably lazy, wisecracking, sandwich-loving, reluctant sidekick Experiment 625, who we know today as Reuben. The second season did crossovers with other Disney properties before it was cool, with the casts of Kim Possible, American Dragon: Jake Long, The Proud Family, and Recess each joining our duo's 'ohana for an episode. Then there are the genetic experiments themselves, with their fun designs and wide and sometimes wacky abilities making a lasting impression on those who enjoyed seeing Stitch and his mischief while expanding on the (admittedly crazy and inconsistent) lore of Lilo & Stitch's universe. One of them, X-619/Splodyhead, even made a cameo in a Walt Disney Animation Studios film in Big Hero 6, while another, X-221/Sparky, who debuted in Stitch! The Movie, became a boss in Kingdom Hearts: Birth by Sleep. And we can't talk about experiments without mentioning X-624/Angel, Stitch's love interest and mate who became so popular in her own right that she now gets a regular influx of merchandise and has made several video game appearances, including most recently in Disney Speedstorm.

Not to be forgotten, the Stitch! anime series also recently celebrated its fifteenth anniversary of its premiere back on October 8th. The first spin-off made after the original Western continuity, Stitch! had the little blue alien crash-land on a small fictional island in the Ryukyu Islands called Izayoi, where he meets and befriends the tomboyish Yuna. During the first two seasons, which were animated by Madhouse, Yuna and Stitch go on their own adventures around the island, befriending yokai who live in the island's Chitama Forest, and dealing with Hämsterviel, Gantu, and Reuben again. Some of the experiments even return in this show, especially Angel, who became an intergalactic pop star in the (in-universe) years since we first met her on Kaua'i. The main plot of these two seasons is about Stitch getting enough good deeds to have the magical Chitama Spiritual Stone grant him a wish, which was apparently to become "ruler of the universe". However, by the end, he decides that living with Yuna is better. After Madhouse's 56 episodes (which includes two post-season specials), Shin-Ei Animation took over for the third season, retooling it by having Yuna and Stitch move to a fictional Okinawan city called New Town, going on wackier adventures there with her new classmates, while Hämsterviel now goes after Stitch on behalf of a big-eared humanoid alien woman named Delia to gain a power cell within him, using several experiments that he "transmutated" to do his dirty work. The 30-episode (again, including another post-season special) season also had Stitch reuniting with Lilo, now all grown up with a daughter of her own, for one episode. The main series of three seasons ran from 2008 to 2011; they were followed by two more specials, Stitch and the Planet of Sand in 2012 and Stitch! Perfect Memory (or Stitch! A Perfect Memory) in 2015.

Infamously, the English dub of the anime established itself as a post-Lilo continuation from the get-go with probably the worst-chosen opening lines to any sequel show ever, when Jumba claimed (later proven false by Lilo's aforementioned third-season appearance) that Stitch left her because Lilo became more interested in a boyfriend over him; such lines, which weren't in the Japanese original, caused many fans to swear off the anime series as "not 'ohana". However, as the years passed since Stitch! ended, the anime faded to relative obscurity, which in turn caused much of the hate it received to die down. In more recent years, it's now garnered some appreciation in its own right after years of ridicule and vitriol, with those such as Saberspark enjoying the show for what it is and making videos about their more positive thoughts on it.

My friend @angoraram made the drawing at the top of this post for this special occasion featuring Stitch, Reuben, Angel, and several other experiments well-known and obscure from throughout Lilo & Stitch: The Series (plus Dorkifier from Stitch!). She already shared this picture on her DeviantArt galley last month, but she also allowed me to share some special 5K desktop wallpaper edits I made of her drawing available in 16:9 and 16:10 aspect ratio versions. You can download these over here.

[jacksprostate]

When God himself informs you your contract has been passed on to a third party, you might wonder where you're headed.

My regiment of angels waved me off. A man with a split lip and holy glow, he said, this was out of our hands, sir. We'll try to follow you. Sir.

The first few weeks I was at the asylum, I got taken off all my pills. Mount Massive was not Heaven. Divine figures shrunk back into shrinks. They paid special care to the rough chop of scar tissue spread across my face. I was a corpse laid fresh on an anthill.

The thing is, when you come off a cocktail of benzos and antipsychotics and mood stabilizers and SSRIs meant to keep you from blowing up the World Trade Center, you have withdrawals. The thing is, it was very apparent that is what the doctors ordered.

The Engine.

I was out of my gourd, when they primed me for it. The therapy, you'd think they'd never seen a car crash before. I could hear all the other men screaming. The sensation, it was insomnia before support groups all over again.

I know what you want. On the way back to my cell, I talked.

"Do you?"

You want him back.

"Do we, or do you?" My false father figure in all his hazmat glory liked to lead his questions.

Of course I want him back. I'd watch their Z-list snuff films twenty four seven if it meant he'd come back.

Why does Murkoff want Tyler?

My shrink, he said, "Have you considered, what is amazing about Tyler is not him, but the fact that you could make him?"

So I learned, this was a Jesus sort of thing. Or maybe God. I told my shrink, you can't teach God anything.

The Engine.

That was a bit more like lye. My keepers, they wanted Tyler. They wanted me pissing on the Blarney Stone. They wanted my palace of many doors. My inner cave. They wanted what my mind could do, they wanted me to craft them their very own God.

The Engine showed me blond hair. Red leather. Chipped teeth.

Oh, my compliance was a scientist's wet dream.

It's only natural that when Tyler returned, everything collapsed like the soggy wood of the mansion under monkey feet.

Like a schoolgirl sold on love at first sight, I want to believe I felt it when he crawled back inside my head and out the door of my subconscious. In truth, I spent the first night of the riot hidden away, under my bed. Awake. The howls I heard. I knew it'd been too long since I'd been to fight club. I'd die like a fool.

Tyler, though.

When I wake up, I'm in an office. In a closet, really. The desk arranged just like the one I woke up at with gasoline on my hands.

Rejoice.

Tyler, I know he keeps coming around, because the hulking, mutated, beaten men I pass by start nodding at me. I know because I wake up with badly done stitches. I know because I'm not seeing him, and he's all the more real since I'm not.

I wonder what the other patients think. Skinny guys fight til they're burger. I wonder if Tyler's siren call works as well in a land already past bottom.

I wake up in different rooms. My cell. That office. A kitchen, with a dead man laid out, head inside a microwave. Tyler left a sticky note on him.

You are what you eat!

The bodies around tell the story. The flesh that speaks.

When the carcass is gone, we stop moving. The burners are clear and the fridge is full of glycerin.

Tyler Durden, creature of habit.

I make no habit of roaming. These men, their eyes are open. They know I'm Tyler. They know I'm his. These things are different. Property, ownership. Things that can be stolen.

I like to fall asleep to the caterwauls of all these lost apes.

The prodigal son returns, finally, when the church burns. You know what they say, Hell is empty, all the devils are here.

Tyler, I say.

He looks at me. It's so easy to be pinned like a worm under a dissecting microscope. I try to imagine him with his brains blown out. With the massacre of a face I have.

Tyler.

"And so Adam was sent from the garden," Tyler says. "And so, the devil ran amuk."

He looks like he's thriving.

The next man I see calls me sir.

[little-bloodied-angel]

TLM WIP

The cave was dark, illuminated solely by the hole open at the top like a natural skylight, ripples of sun carried down through it by the waves, the multicolored liquid swirling and shimmering in the huge stone cauldron that rose from the ocean floor and bloomed like a strange, petrified, wide open flower, and whatever unidentifiable trinkets with their own glow set on the strangely stacked, curved shelves carved in the rock wall he could see from here. He knew it was an enclosed space, if a huge one, but somehow it seemed to stretch infinitely on all sides and even further at the back, and he didn't like the sensation prickling along his spine when he thought of turning around -turning his back- to find the exit in the entrance where he'd come from.

"We mustn't lurk in passageways, little prince. It's awfully rude, don't you know?"

The lilting, musical voice seemed to come from everywhere at once, slither over the walls and on the current and his skin and his very bones. It carried power, that much he'd learned to recognize; soft and yet as strong and clear as the bells he'd heard on the ships, from that one church loud enough to be heard on the kingdom's shore.

"I am not a little anything" he snapped indignantly. "I am-"

"I know who you are" the voice said like a thunderclap, and suddenly there was a pair of eyes right in front of his face, swirling gold and deep red and violet and something like blue fire, pearls and shards of coral clinging to long fanning eyelashes. He reared back and could see more of the witch's face, but not quite his features, distorted by zigzagging bioluminescence pulsing in his veins, a mouth like a slash of blood curving predatorily around sharp white fangs. "Worse, I know what you are, little prince. Edward Teach of the Black Throne, First Prince of the Seven, commander of the Kraken. You'll find that doesn't serve you here. None of it. You came to me. You entered the seat of my power. You're the one who wants something from me. So I will call you whatever I want, and you'll take it with a shut mouth or leave".

That blood and pearl grin got somehow more unnerving, like the jagged sharp edge of broken coral. Now he could see the witch's tail as he swirled slow, powerful, lazy circles around him, appraising him with those glowing eyes like he was a sole caught on a hook; could see the brilliance of gold set into creamy skin with no rhyme or reason for the pattern, gems and pearls following the arches of bone and the edges of scales. He didn't have fins that he could see, not in the way he did, something delicate like membrane or tulle running the dorsal space; and a rainbow of colors blended into one another for the whole length his eyes could catch, black and silver and green and red and purple and angel-white. It didn't move like his own tail either; the sideways curling of the muscle reminded him of a moray eel, instead.

Or a serpent.

"I apologize for my aggressive garden" the witch said mockingly, running an ice-cold, white-glazed finger along the bruising forming on his arms. He shuddered, both from the touch and from the realization that it wasn't flesh touching him. "But you do understand that out here, one takes certain... precautions". He stopped in front of him again, raising himself vertical, trailing a length of translucent white silk with him, cuffed to his wrists with heavy gold manacle-like bracelets with intricate decorations and dangling ornaments. Jiaoren silk, he realized. He'd heard of it, but never seen it this far from Donghai. A necklace, almost a collar really, to match them, bound the silk to his neck, above the line of pearls, mismatched in size and color, that trailed his collarbone. "Here there be monsters, little prince" he whispered, his voice wicked and blending with the unnerving susurrus of the current along the walls, those eyes boring into his, blinking slowly, twinkling with a secret joke. The dozen or so earrings he was wearing clinked against the gold around his neck with the soft movement of the water.

"I've come to buy your magic" he declared, as strongly as he could. He was not prey, and he was not weak, he reminded himself, clenching his fist to feel his rings, the pulsing of his tattoo wrapped around his arm as his bicep flexed with the motion. He was not just the wielder of the Kraken, the Kraken was part of him, and he was sure he could bring him forth anywhere he went, so long as he remembered.

That set the witch off laughing, swimming in a backwards wheel a few times, fast and violent enough to ripple the water in multiple directions and raise bubbles around his body; the sound of it somehow smooth like liquid silver and cracked like shattered glass, putting his teeth on edge. That infinitely long body of his then kept circling him again and again, torso upright and tail lashing like a whip and curling in a wide spiral.

"No, no, little prince. You've come to ask my favor, and I will toss you out on your pretty little black pearl tail if I so wish, or gut you and collect you for ingredients. You came to me. You have no power here. I will do as I please, and so will you".

"Stop circling me!" Edward snapped, turning around several times helplessly to try and face the witch. "What, were you a shark in another life?!"

In a sudden movement, the witch spun around him and spun him, and pressed his cold fleshless finger to Edward's lips, multicolored eyes glowing in amusement, stars clinging to his lashes, his tail wrapped and pressing around Edward's just above his fin.

"You will never know from me who I was in another life" he said softly, the threat of it making the very walls vibrate. "And if you keep talking like that, we will see whether your pretty little tattoo or a witch's knife have more power out here in my domain" he added, and suddenly Edward spied a gleam of ornate metal in his other hand.

"We've been given gifts by the gods, Edward", Sam's gratingly gentle voice echoed in his mind. "But a witch carries them in themselves, part of their very soul, born in their essence. They are the gifts, drops of Calypso's blood and Triton's power dropped in the currents. If you seek a witch out, even a banished one can only be contained so much. Do not forget that".

[ymaohoh]

Howl - Hellcheer Fic - Oneshot

Eddie and Chrissy die. Eddie and Chrissy live. Season 5 Hellcheer ft. time travel Eddie POV Lots of angst, sorry.

Word count: 6,977

Also on Archive

This was inspired by this fic by "WORTHLESS PRAYERS OF A NON-BELIEVER" by @cunninghamschrissy

--

If you could only see the beast you've made of me

And what a fucking way to go.

Eddie knew he was dying. Knew it as soon as the demobats’ teeth first sank into his flesh and consumed him piece by piece. It was a pain like he’d never experienced before, sharp and unforgiving and relentless, and by the time they were done (having finally taken their fill) he was begging anyone - anything - for sweet release. The thunder and lightning in the sky above seemed to absorb his screams. It was all very punk rock and metal. A fitting ending for someone like him really. 

But Henderson was safe and back through the portal, the little fucker. He’d bought them time (like a hero). That was the main thing. 

As Eddie’s soul trickled out of his body in a curious stream of blood-red dust, a lithe figure wrapped in the same crimson strangeness crept towards him. Its steps were soft and deliberate even though the twisted roots and vines of Vecna no longer posed any danger. It turned its head to peer down at him and Eddie recognised with a sudden intensity the graceful line of its body. He knew its gaze. 

(it was the gaze of a siren. Like Medusa she could turn him to stone) 

Eddie found himself trying to speak even though he had no breath left in his lungs. His shredded mouth (once so alive and animated and ready to laugh) lay useless and bloody. Yet he wanted desperately to call out and plead with this angel to stay with him. To offer a last lament he did not deserve. 

An angel with the kindest and saddest eyes he ever saw. 

Did you see that, Chrissy? God damn, that was the best rock show in the history of the world. Better than the Garden. 

You were amazing, Eddie. I’m so proud of you. 

Her lips never once moved yet her sweet voice was a melody. She was kneeling down beside his body and her limbs were smooth and unbroken now, just like she deserved. Something uncurled inside him at the sight of her face, he was so glad to see her now at the end. 

Are we dead?

I think so. Yeah. 

Dazed, he wanted to lift his ruined fingers to her lips. Even in death Chrissy Cunningham had the most beautiful smile, even if it looked like she was weeping. Impossible, surely, if they were no longer alive? 

Yet every tear that ran down her cheek made him die all over again. 

I’m sorry I didn’t save you. I was a real fucking coward. 

It's alright, you saved the others. That’s what matters. 

He could feel himself sinking further and further back into darkness as a little more of his light faded. 

But maybe it was okay because she was here and weeping at the end. It can't be all bad if he was going to the same place as someone like her. 

They weren’t lovers. They weren’t even friends. But she’d wished him luck once at a school talent contest and made him feel on top of the world. 

What was left of his scattered thoughts suddenly imagined him and Chrissy in matching green graduation robes, grinning as they posed for dumb pictures, and then Chrissy laughing as they drove away in his busted van leaving Hawkins far behind. 

It’s not fair. 

It was too soon. This was all too soon. His heart wrenched for all the fucking fantastic possibilities and dreams that now lay wasted. They were still kids and they deserved more than to be the casualties of some fucked up inter-dimensional game of magic and smoke. Like the last embers of a wild bright bonfire, he and Chrissy would fade away when they deserved the chance to grow up, make mistakes, live. Just like kids were supposed to. 

But this sudden bitterness wouldn't change a damn thing and he knew it. He was already dead and so was she…and it was simply too late. So instead he kept his eyes on Chrissy's face and drank her in as his consciousness slowly slipped away. 

And she made him feel safe. This would be his grave and she was keeping watch like a night vigil. 

Chrissy, I want to take you on a date someday, you know? Fireworks, the whole lot. I'll make it real special. Just us. 

Yeah, Eddie. That sounds good. Come on, take my hand. Let’s go…

Eddie wanted to grin and laugh and cry as the figure wrapped her lovely arms around him, her cloak of shimmering red light enveloping and exhausting him completely. 

I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free

**

The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound

And what a fucking way to die. 

But despite logic and reason - and despite what was real - it turned out life wasn’t quite ready for Eddie Munson to tap out just yet. In life he was like a burning torch of fire (burning too brightly for a little town like Hawkins) and he had too much attitude for a trailer trash junkie. But life - the cosmos, fate, whatever - decided that Eddie had an important part to play still and his death was a mistake which had to be set right. So it took hold of his strings like he was a mere puppet and dragged him back to his feet. 

His passing had felt like a gentle reprieve but when he came back to life he did so like a bolt of lightning ready to shake it all up. Eddie was in his element. He wanted to fucking live, damn it. 

Not that he understood any of it and he barely listened to the ‘why’s’ and ‘how’s’. When he awoke (with a breath so deep that made him splutter and his lungs ache) it was Henderson’s hopeful eyes that peered back at him, it was Jim Hopper who helped him to his feet, and Nancy Wheeler who told him about the final push - a fight of epic proportions like the badass battle of Pelennor Fields from Tolkien - which could end the threat of Vecna once and for all. 

They asked him to help so he chose a club with nails and swung it at whatever came his way. His body was still a nasty puzzle of scars and bites and blood, but at least it worked. It could fight. That was enough for now. 

Show him fear now and he would eat it for fucking breakfast. Death had been a cruel savage way to show him exactly what he was capable of. 

Their army - a last alliance of men and elves - was small but it was hurt, it was angry, it was sick of this asshole hurting them and their loved ones. Parents fought for their kids, sisters beside brothers, couples watched each other’s backs. They fought back as one epic team and told Vecna he would never harm or scare them again. 

It was pretty inspirational. If he were a Bard he would dedicate songs to how awesome it all was. Steve Harrington and Hopper were fucking Barbarians, man. 

But Vecna was an asshole. He was cruel. 

So in some desperate attempt to turn the tide, he decided to raise the dead too. He brought back his favourites to be pawns in this fucked up game of chess. It was horrific, terrifying, and he dangled these poor souls before him like a shield, reasoning that Eddie and the others would never harm or attack their friends.

It was a safe bet. When Eddie first beheld Chrissy at Vecna’s side (her beautiful face so stiff and lifeless) he’d wanted to tear Vecna apart with his bare hands. Wanted to rip his throat out with his teeth and nails. That kind sweet Chrissy should be used again by this creep - to hurt, to suffer, to harm them - was like a taunt. No one would move against these souls for fear of harming them, not even when Vecna commanded them to attack.

Mike Wheeler made some hushed comment about the X-Men Apocalypse comics and, yeah, Vecna picked his Four Horseman alright. Chrissy was pestilence - she was draining the life from him. 

He would not hurt her, not even if she started gnawing him into pieces of bone and flesh (again). 

They moved like puppets, twisting and turning where Vecna wanted them. 

But Vecna underestimated Chrissy. He underestimated Barb, Fred, and Patrick. They fought back against his iron will (steel against iron and iron cracked and yielded) and broke free from his control. Their unwillingness to submit was like a Warrior’s rallying call. 

(and now they had their army of the dead - their Dead Men of Dunharrow - so metal) 

Eddie fought like a demon, ripping open demobats and creatures alike, using his club and shield to smash through their ranks. Beside him Chrissy fought like a woman scorned and burned like a shooting star. She moved in a blur, kicking and biting and wielding a handaxe, her long hair stained red with blood. He’d called her an angel before - and she still was - but now she was an avenging angel (a Valkyrie) reigning down fire and carnage. 

She was fighting for her life, yes, but it ran deeper than mere life or death now. She was pissed. She was deranged. He had stolen so much from her and she wanted it back in blood. 

Her screams rang out like a war cry (and she’d been silenced for far too long). 

Eddie found himself summoned by that cry and they fought side by side, two people who had no business being in the same reality, and they fought hard. When Eddie was nearly blindsided by a demobat Chrissy pushed him out of the way, and Eddie smashed in the skull of the demogorgon dog that snapped at her leg. Eddie and Chrissy wanted to live. They wanted all the fucking beautiful possibilities and dreams that death wanted to snatch away from them. They refused to be casualties this time. 

She landed a particularly excellent crack to the back of Vecna’s head before Eleven took over. No sound had ever sounded sweeter. 

And you know what? They fucking won. 

As Eleven landed the killing blow (because really, she was the only one who could and should) and Vecna was at last torn apart, the hush that followed was deafening. 

Eddie could hear it ringing in his ears. 

There came frantic hugs and kissing and claps on the shoulder. People were crying. Henderson hugged Eddie so hard he felt like keeling over. 

Panting, he turned to Chrissy but she was standing very very still and staring down at Vecna’s eviscerated corpse. 

She spat on the ground (her spit was holy water, it seared and burned) and turned her back. 

I hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hallowed ground

**

My fingers claw your skin, try to tear my way in

And what a fucking way to live. 

Life could not possibly resume after such an event, surely, but stubbornly it tried its best. The sun rose the next morning and birds outside his hotel window chirped and sang. The world around them didn’t care about their heartbreak and grief and kept turning like it was any other day - and to the majority of its population who would never know how close they came to ruin, it was. 

(they were being housed by the government - all very hush hush - to be observed, patched up, forced to sign paperwork that demanded their silence)

This is what they had fought for…to wake up and deal with normal human stuff like picking what breakfast cereal to eat and arguing about what radio station to listen to…so why did it feel so shitty and wrong? 

The food tasted like ash. Wayne brought him a box of his old tapes but the lyrics made no sense, the music was off-key. He even brought his beloved guitar but Eddie angrily dashed it against the wall when he realised he no longer remembered even the most basic chords.  

Wheeler read about veterans coming home from war and struggling to cope and said maybe this was sort of similar. They’d been soldiers, right? Child soldiers, but they’d faced more horror than any brain (and heart) could before splintering. And even though they had fucking earned their victory (with blood and sweat and tears), a nasty darkness continued to linger over them like a dark cloud they couldn’t quite shake.

But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines, it'll shine out the clearer.

Eddie read Tolkien when he was a kid and he loved it (his mom had left all her books when she skipped town - along with a lifetime worth of deep-rooted insecurities), but you know what? Tolkien was shit wrong this time. 

The new day came but it was all wrong. 

It wasn’t just lasting trauma (because damn they were going to rack up some serious therapy bills), it ran far deeper than that. 

Will Byers was the one who eventually spoke up and explained that they had simply come back wrong. 

The poor souls who cheated death were fading every day, and nobody knew how to bring them back. It seemed one could not die and just come back without consequences, even if the cosmos changed its mind. It just didn’t work that way and now they were paying the price. The people brought back said it felt like they were wearing another person’s skin. 

(Vecna’s parting gift - the creep)

The government doctors observed them and monitored their vitals, but they were similarly stumped. How could you fix something that was beyond healing? This wasn’t something that could be stitched up like a wound or treated with antibiotics.

Eddie let them poke and prod but he could feel it in his bones that Will was right. It was like a sickness, a virus weighing him down. His mangled body would heal eventually (though he’d carry the scars all his life) but it still didn’t feel like his body. 

It was worse for those who spent longer in Vecna’s messed up world. Barb rarely came out of the bedroom she shared with Nancy (he could see Nancy flinch every time Barb refused dinner). 

And as for Chrissy…

She sat still for too long and when he looked into her eyes she wasn’t ever really there. He and Robin Buckley and Joyce Byers encouraged her to spend time in the garden, hoping (like idiots) that maybe the sunlight would help like she was some wilting pot plant. Chrissy seemed to become more animated when Eddie was around (he could get her to eat, at least), so he read to her, picked flowers, brushed her long hair and twisted it into messy little plaits. 

Chrissy had done him the honour of being with him at his death, so he would try and repay her kindness by helping her in life. 

(the therapists spoke about ‘emotional bonds’ and ‘codependency’ following trauma but it meant nothing to him)

He watched her, always searching for some sign of life, but the truth was she was slipping through his fingers yet again and he didn’t even have the strength to hold on. 

They weren’t lovers but they were friends now. He knew with unusual certainty that if Chrissy faded away he would follow. 

So they went through the motions of resting, eating, showering. They tried to rebuild and heal. They took vitamins and spoke to therapists. They let the doctors draw blood for tests (though after Chrissy ripped out the needle and screamed not to touch her anymore, he’d snarled at them to leave her the fuck alone). 

Until Eleven offered them a solution. 

There was a chance, she said, that things could go back to the year this all started. 1983 was a fixed point in time before Vecna and if she was right (and she usually was) she could take them all back. 

It sounded crazy - like something from a science fiction movie (seriously, time travel) - but if it worked everything would go back to the way it was in Hawkins and all the people murdered by Vecna over the years (for there were many many more) would get their lives back…but the right way this time. 

There were risks to Eleven and risks that it wouldn’t work. 

But there was also a risk that, by going back, they would forget everything. 

They would forget years of their lives, they would forget each other.

They all glanced at one another - exchanging looks with the people they loved, who they’d fought beside, who had come to be like family - but if it meant saving everyone…? Having another chance?

When it was his turn to vote, Eddie thought about Chrissy and knew it could only be a yes. 

(Steve was going to risk that twinkle he felt for Nancy and the friendships he had with the kids; Nancy and Jonathan were risking all they had in the world; Robin was risking Steve and her new chosen family who accepted her; Will, Mike, Dustin, Lucas…fuck they were risking the best and worst years of their lives and their best friend; he didn’t know exactly what Max’s deal was but the kid looked horrified when it was her turn; then there was Eleven who was risking her life. The only people who looked so fucking sure were the grown ups who said they would risk everything worth a damn for the kids to be safe and… well…kids again) 

Afterwards he knelt by Chrissy’s chair in the garden and gathered her tiny hands in his own. They were pale, shivering, and her grip weak. He could feel the delicate bones click beneath her skin. Nothing like the talons that wielded her axe during battle. 

She was no longer some avenging angel or Valkyrie. This lovely soul before him was a coiling shadow and it made him fucking terrified. 

“I brought you some Jasmine tea,” he murmured (begged, pleaded). “Thought it might help you sleep later. We’ve got Nancy’s copy of Emma to start too…that’ll work if this doesn’t.”

“Nothing can help me anymore, Eddie. You know that.” 

Yeah he did. It made him want to scream, recoil. 

“They’re waiting for you to vote, kid. Has to be unanimous, that’s the deal.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” she asked. She looked at him with her big blue eyes (better than an arrow - they pierced) but the lack of warmth or spark of life was startling. “If…if this doesn’t work we’ll waste away, won’t we? Like ghosts. I feel like a ghost.” 

Her hands were so cold, even though it was a warm evening and she was wearing one of his old patched sweatshirts. He tried rubbing her fingers between his own and blew on them. 

“If El can pull this crazy plan off, then we’ll go back to 1983 and everything will be normal again. You’ll be back to your old self, you’ll be well again. Promise. It’ll be like none of this shit ever happened.”

And she might not know him. He might not know her. They would be practically strangers again. 

She would go back to being the young pretty freshman climbing the rungs of Hawkins’ social ladder (to one day becoming the established cheer captain and Queen Bee). He would be the freak, the school pariah, mean and scary. They’d pace the same hallways and eat in the same cafeteria but they would not share a smile or a look or a friendly wave. 

He felt sick at the thought, but as long as Chrissy was safe and alive somewhere he could deal. It’s not like he would remember anyway. 

“Most important thing is you’re safe and alive, I’ll risk the rest.”

“Why do you care about me?” 

Eddie pressed his scarred lips against her wrist in a chaste kiss. He tried not to look at the tears that suddenly raced down her cheeks and focused instead on her lips (bitten, sore), her nose (perfect, freckled), and her long hair (wavy, lank and lifeless now). He wouldn’t get the chance to look again. 

He wanted to save it all to memory (maybe the more he looked, the harder it would be for those memories to be ripped away? He needed to lock them away with a key). 

“Because twice now, Chrissy Cunningham, you’ve broken this jaded and miserable heart and showed me kindness I never deserved. First time when you wished a scared little boy good luck when you didn’t have to, and then again when you found him dying and terrified. You stayed with me so I wouldn’t go through that alone. You fucking wept for me, Chriss. I can’t…won’t let you die again.” 

Later Chrissy voted yes too but she refused to look any of them in the eye. 

(they voted a unanimous yes like the big stupid heroes they were)

You are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to howl

**

Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers

And what a fucking way to live (repeat)

Eddie’s brain had always been wired differently so it wasn’t too much of a shock that it refused to follow orders now and forget. It was defiant and clung fast to his memories, arguing against the powers that be it would not let them go. So when he woke up in his bedroom, newly turned sixteen-year-old Eddie Munson did remember. There were admittedly some parts that were murkier than others but overall his memory won. 

(he spent a long afternoon reflecting that maybe this wasn’t such a good thing - but a joint or two calmed him down. He fucking loved the rush he got from it, and the way he picked up his guitar like an old friend and seamlessly started playing some Dio). 

Some of the others remembered too but it was difficult to patch it all together. The ones who could remember felt like assholes for bringing certain things up - because if you could forget, wouldn’t you want to? It seemed crappy to remind them. Some people asked questions and wanted to remember, but some simply chose not to. 

(Barb was one of the ones he never spoke to again. Nancy told them she transferred somewhere close to the ocean).  

There were no rules about how to handle time travel but they muddled through somehow. They each had their own patchwork cloak of memories, some squares overlapping, some missing, some fraying at the seams. They were patient. They were kind. 

It would take time. 

And they had all the time in the world to work it out. That was the best thing. It was 1983 again but this time the world seemed more bright and exciting. Eddie had felt left behind for a long time (his dumbass’ fault really) but now? He had a second chance to get his diploma and fucking make something of himself. 

(he still had nightmares and frequently checked himself in the mirror - no - no bite marks). 

The ones who could (and wanted) to remember felt a pull to stay together. They felt like the survivors of some shipwreck but without any evidence of the wreckage. They became like a family to Eddie who was once without (his uncle was a steadying presence and didn’t ask about the night terrors or why Eddie suddenly tried so hard at school). 

So (fucking wild) Eddie spent most of this school time in the company of Steve Harrington, Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, Robin Buckley, and Patrick McKinney - much to the enormous amusement of other students who couldn’t get their heads round the weird mix of jocks, loners, freaks, preps.

To be fair, Eddie was less inclined to cause fuss in the cafeteria these days and only sold weed on the weekends so maybe he wasn’t so much of a freak anymore…? He said as much to Robin who snorted and told him to dream on. They were all freaks which kind of undercut the point, you know? 

“A John Hughes wet dream - though Breakfast Club doesn’t technically come out for another two years…God, the mind boggles,” she added. 

The odd assortment of friends were sitting on the school bleachers eating lunch as it was a rare sunny day for Hawkins. The younger kids would be coming over to join them from the middle school and Eddie was sketching out ideas for a D&D campaign (he wanted to set the club up before the kids got to high school because fuck them feeling like outsiders this time round).  

Steve was busy eyeing up a cute girl from his chem lab, Nancy and Jonathan were making eyes at each other, Patrick was trying again to explain the rules of basketball to Robin who said she didn’t give a crap. 

A bell rang in the distance and he looked up from his sketchbook, his eyes going right over to the doors. Within a few minutes he was rewarded by the sight of Chrissy (flanked as always by her giggly popular friends).

As for Chrissy’s memory? Who could say. 

As soon as they returned to 1983 she was reluctant to talk about any of it. She didn’t ignore them but she didn’t join in either. She let Nancy check in on her once a week and told them yes, i’m fine but she held her cards close to her chest when it came to discussing her memory. She never wanted to share or ask questions and after a couple of days they stopped asking. 

So instead of joining their rag-tag party, she drifted closer to her friends on the cheer team and threw herself into extracurriculars. She seemed to have signed up for everything - cheerleading, photography, student council, art classes, tutoring - and seemed happiest when she was busy and helping. 

(like a shield) 

Eddie would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt (because it felt like a punch to the gut every time she was in his proximity), though he hadn’t exactly done anything to bridge the gap either. 

Chrissy had effortlessly resumed her role as the pretty and popular cheerleader who everyone seemed to adore. Girls wanted to be her friend and boys - well, you’d have to blind not to notice the looks she got from guys just aching to take her out. 

(Eddie had to grit his teeth when he saw this - they didn’t really see her, they hadn’t fought at her side, they hadn’t died in her lovely arms). 

Chrissy rattled him - but then she always had. 

So instead he kept his distance and resigned himself to an insufferable watch. He probably looked like a fucking stalker but as long as she was nearby and safe and happy that was enough. She looked happy. They didn’t share any classes as he was in the right year group this time, but Nancy told him she was doing well on the student council (using her voice to defend, to challenge). Patrick said she was an excellent cheerleader and already impressed the current reigning captain. 

God, she was thriving. 

What had he expected? Of course she was. 

He hated that she slipped so easily back into this role. He hated that she no longer needed him like he apparently desperately needed her. 

He was such a fucking asshole. This was exactly what he’d wanted when he voted yes all those years ahead.  

They’d all taken the same risk by voting yes and some of them lost. 

The reality (he tried drumming into his thick head) was that he and Chrissy Cunningham had only been flung together because fate had a pretty sick sense of humour. They had absolutely no business being friends or…anything…except maybe casual school chums. They’d shared moments of complete bliss and agony together in the Upside Down - but not from their own choosing - but rather some cosmic joke that left them with no one else. She owed him nothing, and he would not accept it anyway. 

That was the truth. 

They’d saved the world and he was a certified hero - so what did it matter if he felt like a royal loser? 

(he finally looked away when Jason Carver materialised and offered to carry Chrissy’s pink backpack) 

Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters

**

My blood is singing with your voice, I want to pour it out

And what a fucking way to end it

Eddie went to class on time and listened and his grades started picking up. He started his D&D club and was surprised when two new faces (seniors - graduating at the end of the year) showed up at the first meeting. He got a legitimate weekend job at a garage so he could help out Wayne with the bills. Corroded Coffin were starting up just in time for the release of Holy Diver (the very definition of perfect timing - honestly). His new friends showed up at their gigs and they played all the better for it. 

When he got a B on his latest English paper, Wayne took him out for pizza and said he was real proud of him. Eddie started to think about the future - that just maybe he could amount to something other than petty criminal or deadbeat dad. Maybe he could even aim for college. Study music or graphic design. 

Maybe get out of Hawkins. Find a girl. See some of the world. 

Sure he had baggage and got angry sometimes (real angry, at seemingly odd moments) but every week he spoke to Ms Kelley about his shitty parents and why his crazy brain struggled to focus. He couldn’t tell her the truth obviously - but still, it helped. 

His second chance at life flew by in a hazy rush. Halloween came along, so did Thanksgiving (he and Wayne were invited to the Byers’ which beat the TV dinners the Munson’s were used to). 

It was nearing Christmas break when Eddie finally realised (with a penny drop) that Chrissy’s patchwork cloak was unravelling despite her desperate attempts to sew it back up. 

And it was Nancy who gave him the first clue when she found Chrissy crying in the school bathroom. “You know Carver asked her out and she turned him down flat, right? It’s the biggest scandal of the semester. We know he’s a huge jerk but everyone else thinks he’s this cool hotshot athlete. They’re scandalised.” 

“Wait - so she’s crying because of that jackass?” Steve asked. 

(Jason was an anomaly they didn’t know how to handle - after all, no harm, no foul, right? - but they knew the crap he was capable of, even if he didn’t)

“Her parents kicked her out,” Jonathan added after a moment. He winced when they all stared at him and tried to shrug it off. “She let slip in photography club. I asked about some photos she took of home and she said her parents could be really mean and controlling sometimes. Especially her mom. Stuff like ‘not being good enough’. I mean, it’s her business so I didn’t want to pry, but yeah…didn’t sound so easy. Sounds like she finally stood up to them though and they threw her out. Think she’s staying with her aunt.” 

Eddie knew what Chrissy looked like on a battlefield, knew she could land one sick dropkick, knew what she looked like when she sobbed her beautiful heart out. 

He didn’t know about an aunt or that her parents were bullying pieces of shit. It felt like a serious gap in his knowledge about someone who occupied so much of his daily thoughts. 

God, he felt so fucking proud of her. 

“What sort of stuff does she photograph?” Eddie asked. It suddenly seemed like an important thing to know. 

“Uh…mostly people, I think. I’ve not seen her work on landscapes or objects. She really likes portraits and light work. She took some seriously good ones of the cheerleaders practising drills. It’s really hard to capture movement, you know, but they turned out great.” 

Chrissy had made the choice to sever links with Jason and her shitty parents. 

And she was photographing life. Hope began to kindle in his chest. 

Maybe she did remember. 

Jonathan looked at him and said, “She’s booked out the studio after school to work on a project. Maybe you should talk to her? She always seemed…better…when you were nearby. Before, I mean.” 

Yeah. Before. When they were fading away like ghosts. 

Maybe it was a selfish idea (he would have to be so so careful with his choice of wording) but Eddie was hungry to see her, to speak to her, to spot any glimmer of before. Watching her from afar was simply not enough to quench this thirst anymore. 

(he’d even attended a pep rally just to drink in her smile, to his shame). 

He wasn’t going to be an asshole and push anything but he could check in. That was harmless, right? 

So after school Eddie found himself making his way to the photography classroom. He’d been here only twice before (photography seemed to require a lot of patience - waiting, developing, timing) but he recognised the sharp stinging smell of chemicals as he opened the doors. 

He felt his chest clench and suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands. Was this how Beren felt when he saw the Luthien dancing in the woods? Only Chrissy wasn’t dancing like an ethereal spirit, she was all alone and leaning over a workbench. No leaves or forest, just the countless pictures pinned to the walls. 

And boy, did he fucking note the way her body tensed up when she saw him. “Hey Chriss.” 

“Eddie…” Chrissy bit her lip (a habit he knew she did when she was nervous). “Can I help you with something? Jonathan’s not here.” 

Yeah, you can be honest and tell me your damage, you beautiful mess of all things wonderful and lovely. 

“I mean, I could lie and say I had a sudden urge to join the club, but I’m really only here for you. Sounds like you’ve had a crap time recently so I wanted to check in. You holding up okay?”

Chrissy huffed out a breath and turned back to her project. The pink knitted jumper she wore was baggy and oversized and he could see the pale skin of her (not broken, not snapped, she was alive) shoulder. 

“That’s kind of you, really, but I don’t need babysitting. I’m okay,” she said quietly. “I…I’m keeping busy. Doing my best. I’m really trying.” 

Eddie reached the table and peered down with interest at the scattering of photographs (one of the cheer team in action, one of a basketball game, one of the cheering crowds). He could see so clearly what she was trying to capture. She wanted their smiles, their joy. Almost like she was trying to collect them. These photos were a testament to her words - that she was trying so incredibly hard to live in this world. 

“These are cool. You’re good at this.”

“They’re okay,” she corrected with a small sigh. “Still got a lot to learn.” 

He watched as she picked up another photo - her brother maybe? - and arranged it onto a black scrapbook page with the others. Had she ever mentioned a brother before? 

He spoke before he could remind himself they weren’t friends. “I don’t know anything about your life, Chriss. Thought I did but…”

“I’m still learning about it too. Oh…”

Her elbow accidentally knocked a tray and in her haste to save the chemicals, a second pile of photographs slipped out from beneath and fell to the floor. Eddie quickly bent to pick them up and (ignoring her protests) instinctively turned them over…

“Please don’t…” 

…only to see a picture of himself. 

Standing, he felt a ripple of shock and looked at her, a question burning his lips. She was staring down at her sneakers and her cheeks were flushed scarlet but she gave a tiny nod. 

There were several photographs of him, all taken at school from a distance. He looked at himself playing guitar on the bleachers, stretching out on the lawn at lunch, leaning against his van smoking a cigarette. He eyed his face closely (eyes brown and laughing, hair a chaotic mess of curls, stubble on his jaw that needed shaving) and was surprised by how different it looked to what he saw in the mirror every morning. It was like seeing something from a brand new angle, he looked so different. 

He looked happy. Confident. A good-looking guy (how did she manage that?) living a decent life. Was this how she saw him? 

There were others of Nancy, of Steve, of Robin, even a few of Max, but they were mostly of him. He paused at one of them all together at lunch laughing at something funny Robin said. They looked so fucking smug and normal. 

And then…right at the bottom…a photograph of Chrissy herself. 

But this Chrissy wasn’t smiling (which seemed to be her default setting at school). She’d obviously taken it as a self-portrait because she was perched on a stool looking right into the camera lens. She looked so real, so fucking raw. Her face was smooth and serious and deathly sad. She wasn’t even wearing makeup. There was a patch of acne on her chin. 

Jonathan said she was into portraits and this was how she saw herself. He wanted to tattoo it on his chest. 

“I’m no stalker, I swear,” but her laugh wasn’t convincing. “It might sound stupid but I just…I don’t want to forget anything. When I take a photograph it’s proof that the subject was real. That my memories are real.”

Eddie’s heart was fucking hammering. The others might kill him, but he just had to…

Screw Fate. Screw ‘emotional and trauma bonding’. He would grab this with his own two hands. 

So he plunged into the deep end and asked the million-dollar question. “Do you…remember, Chriss?”

And she nodded. The most miraculous nod in history. 

“I remember most things, but not everything. Some of the details are hazy which drives me crazy sometimes. I remember Vecna, I remember dying which really sucks, and the fight…I remember the crappy hotel too and the…vote. Some things I’d rather forget honestly but the other stuff? I wish I could capture them, you know? Like taking a snapshot of the inside of my brain. That must sound really weird.” 

“Nah, I get it. I draw them too. For D&D or just sketch them in my notebook. I…don’t want to forget either,” he admitted. “I try and draw every detail…well, as best as these dumb hands will let me. I’m not too shabby.” 

Her eyes lit up with starlight. Her hands were trembling at her sides. 

It felt almost too natural to take her hand and thread his fingers between her own. Once he’d kissed these fingers, tried to rub some life into them. 

“Chrissy…these photographs are really incredible, and we’re all here if you ever want to talk about this stuff. I’m right here, alright? I fucking see you.”

She began to cry (big messy tears that were aching to be let free) and then she was in his waiting arms. He gathered her close, hungrily, fervently, trying to ignore how perfectly she fit like a missing jigsaw piece and how something primal inside his soul seemed to snap into place. She wept and clung to his flannel shirt and he didn’t give a shit when his own tears followed. He stroked her back, her hair, urging her to let it all out. Her hair felt like spun gold. “I think you always have, Eddie,” she whispered. 

Her frayed edges had finally found his own and he would stitch them himself if she let him.  Eventually Chrissy began to pull away and mumbled something about being so embarrassed and so sorry but Eddie found himself holding on. 

He could not let her slip away again.

“Don’t let me go, Chris, please.” It sounded like a whimper. A plea for her to remain with him. 

She softened back into the embrace and his grip tightened when she pressed her shivering lips (soft, alive) against his chest. 

“Why do you care about me?” she sniffed. “Eddie, I’m a total fucking mess.” 

It was the same question she’d asked years ahead in the garden when they were wasting away, and again he answered her honestly. Because what else could you do to someone you would literally travel through time for? 

“Remember what I said the night of the vote? I meant every damn word, always will. Nothing’s changed for me, Chriss. Nothing.” 

“I remember. Oh - I remember you. They couldn’t rip you away from me.” 

They had no photographs or sketches, but they were witnesses. They remembered, and they could make new memories too. New (gleeful, sad, exciting, embarrassing) memories. Just like kids their age were supposed to. 

So he mumbled into her hair, “Chriss, can I take you on a date? Fireworks, the whole lot. I'll make it real special. Just us. 

He could feel Chrissy smiling - and fuck, wasn’t that the whole point? - as she said yes, she’d really really like that.

And then she threw her lovely arms around him again, cloaking him in hope and light, but this was not to be his end…

It was his beginning. 1983, baby. 

Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters

**

A/N:

Whatever happens in season 5 I just hope these beautiful characters get some kind of closure. A few quick notes:

I love Emma. It’s a great book. Just doesn’t feel like an Eddie book. 

Time travel who? I don’t usually like that kind of ending - feels cheap sometimes - but for this genre it could totally work. 

Enjoy the nerd references. 

I included Barb because I want closure for her too. 

Who knows about a timeline or ages. I’m basing this off the Wiki ages. 

Lyrics by Florence. 

Thank you for reading. I really enjoyed writing this.

[tooningin]

Amphibia season 3 rewrite

New Normal: Mostly the same, just replace the quarantine song with a scene that involve Anne and Sprig reflecting on True Colors

Turning Point (22 min): Don’t hammer it in our faces every 30 seconds that Sasha feels remorse, we can clearly see she does. Also make Wartwood more distrusting

Adventures In Catsitting/Croak of Duty (Im not sorry): Sasha and the Wartwood resistance bond building and trust gaining lets goooo

Fight at the Museum/Temple Frogs: Integrate Dr. Jan telling Anne and the plantars about the vase into the ending of the former episode 

Sprigs Birthday/Below Battle Grounds

Below Battle Grounds: Sasha and Grime discover the Plantars’ basement and try to convince Wartwood to go through with this  change

Fixing Frobo/Anne-Sterminator: Nothing changes in Fixing Frobo. Anne Sterminator, simply have her opening up to her parents about everything (The opening or Mr. X mentioned she did, but I would’ve liked to see it)

Confronting Old Warts/Olivia and Yunnan: 

Confronting Old Warts: Sasha backstory, we cry, and this is when she gets her new look

Toad out of the Bag/If You Give A Frog a Cookie:

Toad out of the Bag: News has spread of Anne’s return to her friends’ parents and they got questions

Froggy Little Christmas: Andrias sends Darcy out for a test drive on Earth, messing up Anne’s Christmas plans for her mom. Towards the end, they send out that Anne, The Plantars, and her parents defeat. They then go home happily, but then see Darcy lounging on a chair in the kitchen. They give a sinister “Hi Aaaaaaaaaannnnneee”, the screen cuts to everyone’s’ horrified faces and the screen goes black 

Escape to Amphibia: Anne and the Plantars prepare to return to Amphibia, qnd in the process Anne and Darcy duke it out (Darcy unfortunately gets away). The rest of the episode is essentially just a more abridged version of ETA

Commander Anne/Sasha’s Angels:

Commander Anne: Anne is conflicted: she’s very happy Sasha’s alive and has been able to manage, but remains very suspicious. They both also express far more concern over Marcy.

Sasha’s Angels: Their argument gets more focus, and throughout the episode, Darcy (With a slightly weakened connection due to the fight. Here there’s no wire BS) lurks, planning their next move. Anne and Sasha have the conversation they had in the actual episode, but then a drone with a large trap swoops in and grabs the 2 girls. Mrs. Croaker, Maddie, Toadie, and Loggle try to save them but to no avail. 

The drone lands at Andrias’s throne room, and Darcy comes out. 

Darcy Strikes Back!: Anne vs Darcy Electric Boogaloo, this time with Sasha.

Marcy is saved, yaaaayyyy-

The Core, with the remains of stone power it got through possessing Marcy, is able to take on a new shadow form.

Olm Town Road/Mother of Olms:

Olm Town Road: Things are AWKWAAAARRD between the girls

The themes of second chances in this episode are primarily used for Sasha and Marcy. The latter is wracked with guilt over what she did, and the former emphasized and wants to help, but has her own feelings of bitterness and lingering resentment. In the end the 2 manage to help each other.

Mission: Cloak!/Down by the Bog

Mission Cloak: Resistance mission involving Cloak Bots. We explore more of S and M’s dynamic without Anne, M&M, plus flesh out the newt wives.

Down by the Bog: Grime is emo and not happi. Sprig’s like “Suck it up man” and we get a backstory of how Grime lost his eye. 

The Core and The King: Expand on what the actual episode showed us.

The Beginning of the End: The girls begin to wonder if their friendship can truly be saved, but Saving the world’s far more important

All In: Mostly the same, Marcy just has much more of a role

Hardest Thing: Mostly the same

[dwollfieldnotes]

Paracelsus' Four Elemental Spirits

Now, you may have heard of Paracelsus or his four elemental spirits, but have you read the book they featured in? If not, here's some notes:

A Book on Nymphs, Sylphs, Pygmies, and Salamanders, and on the Other Spirits by Theophrastus von Hohenheim (Paracelsus) (1566)

Spirits: -In Paracelsus' reckoning, human beings possess nature (in the body), spirit, and an angel [internal holiness? or like a literal guardian angel/personal genius?], present in the soul -Supernatural beings, called spirits or elementals, have neither a soul nor an angel, but only a body, like animals -And yet, he continually compares both their form and mannerisms to true spirits -Later says most people see them as spirits, or mirages, but he claims they are flesh and blood -Unlike true spirits [angels and demons, probably] they cannot move through all matter. They are flesh and blood, and must walk, eat, drink, and reproduce -When they die, they die without a soul, only returning their body to nature -Have no compulsion to serve God -Each type of elemental lives in its own abode, which humans can interact with -None of the elementals intermingle with each other [no inter-breeding] -[Shows a few interesting bits of folklore, but is bogged down by Paracelsus' own weird world-building and semi-science] Undine: -Frequently called nymphs -Spirits of the water. Reside in brooks and rivers -Eat from the mud, where earth and water mix -Look exceedingly similar to human beings [he says both men and women, but read below] -Grasp people that swim near them -Seek to woo and marry men to attain an eternal soul -Venus was a historical undine that ruled in a Venusberg (see below) -She gathered many kingdoms together, but they fell apart during her death, as none of her successors were as well-endowed as her Gnome: -Also called the mountain people -Spirits of the earth. Reside in earth as easily as we reside in air, moving through stone without issue -Because they live in a coarse material, they are made of subtle material to pass through it -Their food grows in water rather than in soil [get nourishment from the materials in aquifers? or underground lakes?] -Very small in appearance, only two spans tall [if we assume an English span, that would be 18 inches] -Never marry with humans, though may serve them -Have supernatural knowledge of the future and past -Guard the treasures of earth (jewels and precious minerals) Sylph: -Also called the forest people -Spirits of the air. Closest to humans, who also live in air and suffocate in water and earth, and burn in fire -Eat wild plants and herbs, nourished by rain from the heavens and the soil of earth -Cruder, coarser, longer, and stronger than human beings -Shy and quiet Salamander: -Spirits of the fire -Fed by the earth and air -Long, narrow, and lean in shape -Can be heard yelling and hammering in volcanic regions -Never marry humans, and rarely serve them -Have supernatural knowledge of the future and past -May appear as fiery lights in far distances or passing through homes -Commonly work with witches -Guardians of precious materials, a job they share with gnomes -Will-o'-the-wisps are the monsters of the fire people, like sirens below Siren: -Relatives of nymphs, or a sub-set of them -Live on the water rather than in it [like on islands?] -Monstrous in appearance -Born from undine parents, but are considered wicked and strange -Do not marry and bear human children -So few male sirens are born that the women form Venusbergs; large collections of nymphs/sirens Giant: -Monsters born from the forest people, like sirens -When giants come together it is like a thunderstorm or earthquake -Not impressed by the constellations of Heaven -Infertile. Because of this, they've died out Dwarf: -Monsters born from the mountain people, like sirens -Greater and stronger than human beings, despite being shorter than them -Infertile. Because of this, they've died out

[ruewrites]

Kinktober 2022 Day 26: Leather and Latex

AO3

Ship: Mammon/Mephistopheles

Word Count: 1021

Warnings: Suggestive/Mild Sexual Content

A/N: I had a teensy bit of trouble starting this one (originally it was completely different characters) but today the ball was really rolling! I hope you enjoy <3

Mephisto could feel the eyes on him before he bothered to turn his head. He shifted uncomfortably, but not because of the stairs. No. The cursed material clung to his skin in less than ideal places, leaving very little to the imagination for any onlooker throwing a glance his way.

He'd wanted only the best for this party, and he'd be giving only the best.

The original plan had been to show Diavolo what he was missing, to make him remember all the parts of Mephistopheles that he would never see again. Now that he was at the party, however, he was starting to feel a bit exposed. Of course, Diavolo didn't seem to be paying him much mind either, he was too busy fawning over every move that fallen angel was making. The more he watched the pair, the more he realized how much better Lucifer was wearing the material than him. His ass was more than well defined, and if his dick twitched as he watched Diavolo take a handful, well, now that was no one's business but his own.

His jaw clenched and he started to turn his attention elsewhere. Diavolo hadn't even noticed him. The rubbing of the tight material against his surprisingly hard member was making walking a bit difficult, and each pleasurable twitch certainly wasn't helping. The thought of the pair together like that seemed to be driving his body further. It wasn't fair. It really wasn't. Why should he be plagued with thoughts of the two of them, especially when he hated Lucifer more than anything? Wasn't existing enough for him? Why did he have to invade Mephisto's thoughts as well?. Did he truly wish to be near him that badly? It was pathetic.

Pushing open the doors to the balcony, he let the chilly Devildom night air bite at his skin. Perhaps it would make him calm down. Instead of feeling stone as his hands met the railing, he was met with flesh. He almost screeched, almost. 

"Hey hey! Chill out dude! Are ya tryin ta get me caught?"

Oh. Oh no.

As if this night wasn't bad enough already.

"Mammon?"

"Shush!" Mammon hissed, "What part of 'I ain't tryin to get caught' don't you understand horse boy?"

"You aren't supposed to be here," Mephisto's voice was flat.

"Yeah. That's the point."

"I'm getting Lord Diavolo."

"No!"

Before Mephisto knew it, his back was pulled flush against Mammon and the railing. He didn't even get the chance to utter a cry of indignance or demand his release before Mammon lost his balance and sent them both tumbling over the edge. 

The pair landed on the ground below with a thump and a groan. Mephisto didn't even give himself a chance to recover or process the bruises his body would be feeling in the morning. He couldn't let himself be seen like this, being ignored by Diavolo was shameful enough as it was.

"Hey, quit that! I gotta move too!" Mammon whined, "Yer turnin me into a demon pretzel!"

"Well if you hadn't grabbed me we wouldn't be in this mess!"

"Well if ya hadn't made yourself grabbable, I wouldn't have done it!"

"You miscreant! You-" Mephisto was cut off by a groan that left his own lips. Perhaps he should be struck down now, the humiliation was too much. Mammon's knee had made contact with his crotch. With the commotion, Mephistopheles had almost forgotten why he had stepped out in the first place. 

Mammon froze above him, and Mephisto was able to take in his attire for the first time. His eyes were immediately drawn to the leather straps across his chest. They were sturdy, and brought out the defined muscles of his chest. Now, he had two choices: push Mammon off and pretend none of this ever happened, or-

He was already here, he had already suffered the humiliation, how much worse could it possibly get for him?

Catching Mammon off guard, Mephisto grabbed him by the straps and yanked him downwards. Shock couldn’t even begin to describe the look on the greed demon’s face as he stared down at Mephistopheles, and perhaps under different circumstances, he would have allowed himself to enjoy Mammon’s face more. He had a mission though, and he needed to fulfill it before anyone else noticed them in the garden below. 

“Listen to me now you villain, you’ve gotten me into a predicament, and you’re going to help me get out of it,” he hissed, the authority in his voice almost shaking him. It wasn’t often he spoke like this, if at all. His predicament must have been impacting him more than he realized, “You are going to keep your knee right where it is, and I am going to ride it until I am  satisfied. Understood?”

Slowly Mammon nodded, eyes fixed on Mephistopheles, and that was all he needed to start. Closing his eyes, he started to move his hips slowly. The friction was heavenly, a much needed reprieve after the frustrating evening he’d been having. When his eyes opened, he noticed Mammon still staring, eyes fixed on his neck. Well, he was already here, might as well make things more pleasurable for himself. “If you would like to touch me, I could possibly find it in my heart to allow it.”

Craning his neck to the side, Mammon gave a glance to Mephisto and back towards his neck before leaning in. The little nibbles against his flesh coaxed a sigh out of him, and his eyes shut once more. As he continued to grind against Mammon’s thigh, his own leg raised. Suddenly Mammon was groaning against his neck. 

Perhaps he wouldn’t be done quite yet after he finished. 

Despite his frustrations from the night thus far, he might still be able to end on a high note after all. Despite the fact that Diavolo had chosen to ignore him this evening, he would continue to relish in the fantasies of Lucifer’s face if he ever found out Mephisto fooled around with one of his brothers. That would be a sight he would like to see.

[dead-set-goat]

I had three strange dreams last night, but one in particular stuck out to me.

I came into consciousness at the top of a giant skyscraper alongside two women, we were sightseeing I supposed. One of them looked like an angel, with neat hair tied in a ponytail, but the other was unremarkable. Her hair was messy and dark, partially covering both her eyes, and her dress was the color of dried blood on cloth.

On top of the skyscraper there was a beautiful, sprawling garden, with hills, peaks and valleys. I wouldn’t have known this was at the top of a building if my first glimpse of this dream was the opening of elevator doors. Anyway.

In this garden there grew flowers of all kinds, but mostly red and white flowers. The trees and bushes were trimmed neatly and were all of the same healthy green, little variance in hue. There were also great fountains the size of swimming pools and also rivers, winding alongside a multitude of red brick paths that cut through mowed grass. Golden ornaments, lamps, guardrails peppered the scenery. There were also a lot of birds flying around and singing, and the air was so fresh, like that of the mountain countryside...

As I got closer to the edge of the roof, I felt a strong sea breeze, and as I looked over the edge I saw before me a thousand more buildings with immense roofs covered in bot only gardens, but forests, and villages, and cities. I could spot highways on some. On the roofs with the small cities, red cars were moving at fast speeds as the length of the streets allowed. Some of these buildings before me were much bigger than the one I was on. I was in awe. The angelic lady leaned over the guardrail and looked at me and said, “Isn’t it beautiful? Remember this.” or something of that sort. I took a photo and I thought, “I ought to show this to my parents”. Then the messy lady said, opposite of the angelic lady, “I want to show you something too”. And I followed her back through the garden, as did the white lady.

We reached the elevator I got off, but instead of taking it, we went through the door next to it, we took the stairs. As we climbed down, it started to get darker and darker and the breeze of the sea and the fresh air got fainter and fainter until they turned to a moldy, sharp smell.

I was trailing behind the two, who seemed to pick up speed the more we descended. Sometimes it felt as if we went up, not down, but then up again, like a perpetual sine. The neat walls of the building became distorted, wet and slippery. The clean metal stairs seemed to rust. The space around us compressed until it looked as if we were in a calcareous cavern or some kind of sunken ship at the bottom of an abyss. We kept descending.

I front of me, the two seemed to move more erratically as time passed by. Sometimes I could catch glimpses of their hands and arms twisting around each other, like tentacles, but then I’d blink at they’d walk alongside each other like any human being. And sometimes one or the other would look behind, to see if I’m still following. Both their faces seemed to be stretched in an uncanny, playful grin.

At some point I started to smell a deep rot, and not soon after, on the next floor, I a bunch of cadavers, the sources, twisted inside the walls and floor, covered in chalk and clouds of mould could be seen… We pressed on. The next floor was the same. And the next. And the next. But gradually more bones and less flesh appeared to fill the rooms.

At some point, I tire and fall, I couldn’t keep up with them, who were jumping up to 4 stairs at once. I lay on my knees on the slippery stone to catch my breath. Right next to me there lay remnants of a skeleton and I feel a sudden urge to pick up it’s ribcage and hold it up. Conveniently, a bright yellow beam of light strikes through the room, revealing billions of spores and specs of dust. As if commanded by me it falls on the ribcage revealing it’s grime. It looked so old and eroded, algae and mold seeping through it’s cracks, might’ve fallen apart in my hands.

As I mean to lay it back down, I see the lady in the dirty-looking dress appear in front of me out of nowhere. The beam of light stroke her right in the eyes, yet they stayed dark. Like the dark spots on a sun.

She was looking straight at me as she slowly spread her arms to embrace the room. After a short pause (long enough to feel the the shiver rolling down my spine, tip-to-tip) she opened her mouth and said with the same uncanny smile she wore through this descent:

“This is what beauty is made of.”

[And I wake up]

[cheese-rat29]

flesh and stone always kinda pisses me off because it ruins the weeping angels. the best thing about them is that you never actually saw them move. it’s a feature that naturally lends itself to suspense building. in flesh and bone, we finally see the angels move and…it ruins it. it may have meant to be a fresh way to frame the angels and their abilities, but in attempting to do so they ruined the factor that made them so creepy in the first place.