#at the very least he should have a weird little cult or something remaining

[sunlight-shunlight]

pondering that falon'din is associated with an owl, and those are also messengers of andruil. and he's referred to as "winged death" which is also mentioned to be something that elgar'nan deploys against enemies. and both falon'din and andruil are referred to as venturing into dark places, where no one else can survive/wanted to go.

and ghilan'nain was not initially an evanuris, but was antagonistic towards them and making a bunch of weird creatures. she was given the offer to join them in return for getting rid of the creatures, and accepted. but with "pride stopping her hand" from destroying a few. and when asked about trusting people to share power, solas says "I know that mistake well enough to carve the angles of her face from memory."

solas also has nothing good at all to say about falon'din, mostly calling him a bloodthirsty tyrant who went so far in encroaching onto other evanuris territory that mythal had to besiege his temple and beat him up to stop him.

but he says nothing about dirthamen at all.

dirthamen is described as having gone missing unexpectedly, scaring all his followers, because they were now unprotected. and caught between their own high priest wanting to lock them into the temple forever like a cask of amontillado, and other forces outside that wanted to take their secrets by force. there is one note that a dirthamen follower defied the evanuris and took on a forbidden (probably a dragon) type of form, and was judged by elgar'nan harshly. he apparently also invented the varterral to protect his town from a high dragon? wack, but also could indicate that he had worked with ghilan'nain on making it, since she's the only one who's otherwise mentioned to be bioengineering stuff.

dirthamen has very very few surviving statues or depictions, and is more associated with falon'din than as his own independent figure in the dalish myths. even his own temple includes mosaics of falon'din. there's a few statues that are probably dirthamen, but the most striking is in mythal's section of the fade behind the eluvian, which is a statue of a hooded figure, doubled over with a giant sword sticking out of his back.

[xticklemeemox]

The Love You Want: III, Part Five

Keep in mind for one part of this, Vessel using 'it' in reference to one of three's murderers is in no way intended to insult anyone who uses those pronouns!

murder vessel <3 not particularly gory, though i did intend to go that direction. my brain simply failed me when i got to the murder V part, even though i was so excited to get to it

also III's murderers use slurs against the lgbtq+ community as well as vulgar language in reference to the vessels. bear that in mind.

longest chapter to date methinks

Word count: 16,687

AO3

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III cannot breathe. The arm around their throat only grows tighter with every futile attempt to escape. Harsh, ragged breathing is hot against his ear beneath his mask, and III is filled with all consuming panic.

Their assailant is bigger than them, wider and more muscled and III can't wiggle away, despite their thinner frame. The man must weigh at least fifty pounds more than III, all hard lines behind him.

What is the point in being a God's Vessel if he cannot even get away from a human man, regardless of their weight difference?

III kicks their feet out, trying to drop all their weight so that man has a harder time continuing to drag them deeper into the forest.

"This should be far enough. Not that anyone would come looking for you anyway." The man mutters, kicking the back of III's knee in and dropping to the ground at the same time.

III hits the dirt covered forest floor, twigs digging into their face through the mask before that man turns him around, a knee placed into his lower sternum, holding them down. A hand is used to hold III's wrists together to his side, pulling on one shoulder painfully.

There's a flashlight in his eyes, blinding their vision with white. It burns, like III was staring directly at the sun. They cover their eyes to escape the brightness, vision going white.

"Stop fucking struggling." The man spits, voice familiar in a way III can't place as they contemplate their ability to lean up and slam their head into the other mans.

III only struggles harder, more desperate to escape from the man and his dark tone promising violence.

"Let me get a look at you before I knock your lights out, freak. I've been waiting for the chance to get one of you alone. It might have been easier to get the little one."

The flashlight is still in their eyes, he can't see. It hurts, it hurts. There is such anger in them, too, at the thought of this man getting ahold of II instead. It wouldn't have gone as well, III is sure. II is far stronger than III and Vessel combined. He could probably overpower this asshole easily.

"Don't." III begs, trying to push them away from him as the man continues straddling them.

Wrongness was building up inside him with every inch of those fucking fingers closing in on their mask, the flashlight held in that very hand, too. Despite the situation, III can't help but think the man has some amazing dexterity.

His face belonged to no one but the other vessels and their God. No one else is supposed to see him. No one. No one.

"Shut up!" He hisses, leaning in close so III can smell the foul odor of his breath, "Your weird little friends just showed up one day and became the talk of the town with those stupid fucking masks, then you join them. Y'all in a cult or something? Can't show your face cause of some false God?" III kicks his feet at the insult to those they love, his God, aiming for a groin, a knee, anything.

"Fuck off!" III snarls, earning a knee in the ribs for their snark.

III lets out a grunt at the contact, at the ache it brought. The knee remains, like before but worse, holding him down and making their breaths come in short pants at the pressure placed right below their sternum. The man on top of him was burly, with a cruel smirk that twisted his facial features into something hideous. He could've been attractive if his personality wasn't so fucking atrocious. Watching him above them, like a beast over their prey, III is reminded very suddenly of their death.

Tears gather in III's eyes as they realize exactly who is on top of them, at the sharp pain slicing through their head.

III knows him, remembers what he did. Remembers the kicks to his ribs and stomach. There is a face to the memories now, that III didn't have before. He feels sick, like something has shifted inside them that should never have been touched. They weren't supposed to remember faces.

Just as Sleep took the faces of the people who knew the Vessels Before, He took some of the sway they held over the vessels. Memories can be so much worse when there are faces to those who hurt you. They are more tangible that way, something real and not just a distant dream that could be moved past. III could pretend, before, that they would never truly be hurt by them again. They were wrong.

III's head aches, like someone was repeatedly hitting them upside the head with a sledgehammer. The pain traveled from his temples, to the back of his head, along their jaw, down into his neck and spine. It hurt, it hurt-

Sleep's presence is creeping up on him, a low chorus of voices getting louder with every passing moment.

You should not remember.

You should notremember.

You should not remember.

There is crimson in his line of sight, and III wonders if it is blood, but no, the man's shirt is just red. They're the passerby from earlier. They must not have been close enough for who they were to click but III is a mess at the realization.

III looks around frantically, begging Sleep for anything that could get them out of this. His bonds were a mess of confusion and desperation, fear that was not his own. II and Vessel must be worried and III hates that he's causing those emotions. He should never have left. Should've known something was going to happen. Should've stayed with them instead of letting their newfound fear of bloody red get the best of them.

YOU SHOULD NOT REMEMBER.

The man manages to grip the bottom of III's mask, inching it up as he laughs at the revulsion in III's gaze. "I just want a peek. You must be pretty, must enjoy letting those weirdo's of yours fuck you, huh? Everyone has seen the way you fags act around each other. Disgusting. God didn't create man to fuck other men, but I bet the little one would be a good lay. He's small, pretty eyes and everything. If I keep the mask on, it won't matter if he's ugly underneath. I might even be able to pretend he's a woman."

The mask is up to his chin now, baring a small question mark freckle by his mouth, III radiating fury as the wrongness inside of him screams to get the man off. Get him off. Shut him up. He disrespected everything III cares for. Something itches at his side, distracting him for a mere millisecond before their anger overtakes him again.

The thought of this man touching II with even a finger, of even getting within touching distance at all, makes them sick.

III is still struggling, wiggling in the hold pinning them down to the forest floor. For a moment, the hold on one of his arms is gone, and just when III thinks they've found an opening, a fist is slamming against their cheek, forcing it to the side with the power behind the punch.

It aches all around one section of their face, now, as another blow in the same spot causes stars to explode across their vision.

"Stop fucking fighting!"

Rage is heating his blood to a boiling point, III is bursting at the seams with it, his lifeblood is going to boil out of his veins, overflow his insides with lava, its going to burn them alive- Shut the fuck up. Shut up, shut up, shut up- don't touch him- let them go-

Sleep's presence roars in his ears, righteous anger burning them up from the inside out, his skin itches fiercely, something within them clawing it's way to the surface.

YOU ARE MINE. YOU BELONG TO ME. YOU SHOULD NOT REMEMBER.

His arm shoots out, but its not the two held down. Its different, spindly like a spider with fingers long and thin with clawed tips. It knocks the man off them, and III sits up, pulling his mask back down from where it rests on his chin hurriedly.

Sleep is pleased, still upset, still raging in the back of his mind along with their migraine, but when that man was knocked off of them, the God calmed some, possessively lingering in III's bones.

The phantom limb fizzles away in a waft of pitch black smoke, and III wonders if they've finally lost their marbles completely.

In the next second, a blur passes by him too quickly for his eyes to catch, warm hands reaching out and pulling them up and to an equally warm body.

MINE. YOU ARE MY THIRD. MINE. YOU SHOULD NOT REMEMBER.

Sleep whispers in their ear, a cacophony of possessive voices determined to make sure III remembers who holds their soul in hand.

III looks up through blurry vision, relief filling them immediately at the soft touch. "Two. You're here."

"We came as soon as we felt something was wrong. I'm sorry we didn't get here sooner, he dragged you pretty far and we don't know the area that well." II explains, an arm wrapping around III's back to pull them closer, a hand cradling their head so gently against II's chest.

His heartbeat under III's ear is soothing, a slightly fast pace, strong, clearly telling of II's distress, of his relief in the bond, of them running here to help III.

"You came for me. No one ever- No one..." III cuts themself off.

III lets himself cry, salty tears glimmering with golden specks soaking into their mask, knowing that II would never hurt them. He came for him, II came for him. No one came for III when he died. No one helped him.

"Of course we came for you sweetheart." II soothes, visibly checking III over for any injuries but ultimately unable to tell due to their clothes.

"Vessel?" They asks, questioning where the other man is.

Did he stay at the car? Is he here somewhere-?

There is a resounding thud, a groan, and III moves their head from II's neck to try and look, but II shakes his head. A grunt of pain sounds from where II urged III not to look. III looks up at him with wide, confused eyes still leaking tears, and there is a hardness in II's gaze that III has never seen before, a fire heating up the blue, darkening it with II's anger.

II is watching Vessel, tracking every movement, taking no action to stop the other from whatever it is he is doing, is going to do. He felt the pain in III's bond, the strange sense of realization and the terror that followed, just as Vessel had. Anything Vessel does to this man will be well deserved.

Vessel stands over the man that had attacked III, all six-foot-something pulled up to his full height, usually hunched over to appear smaller. The lines of his mask seem harsher with his fury as the man attempts to push himself up from where Vessel had knocked him back into the tree, regaining his bearings after III had knocked him away just seconds earlier.

"You motherfucker!" The man yells, holding his head where a slit has opened up, dripping blood into his brown-colored eye.

"Silence." Vessel commands with a hiss, the tip of his split tongue peeking out from his mouth, fangs on either side, and the mans mouth falls shut with a click, staring up at Vessel with wide eyes, pupils mere pinpricks.

II and III have never heard that tone from him before.

"Do not touch them with your tainted fingers, ever again." Vessel growls, low and menacing, leaning in with a snarl so that his and the mans face are mere inches apart.

The man begins to get up, mouth curling back in disgust, a hand against the tree to balance himself. Another shove from an invisible force knocks his head into the tree with a loud thunk, a dazed expression falling over the mans features as he slumps over, body slipping to the side to the forest floor.

Vessel holds him down without any problem, vines growing out from the forest floor to wrap around the mans wrists and ankles, pinning him much the same way he pinned III earlier.

"Please, Vessel, can we go home? I want to go home." III begs desperately, clutching II to himself tightly, sick satisfaction twisting in their gut at his assailants pained groans.

II tightens the arm wrapped around III's back, pulling then impossibly closer.

Vessel reigns in his ardent rage, forcing a calm sea into his thoughts and across the bond. His anger still simmers, low but scalding where his heart should sit. It surges through his blood, the red and the black lit like a fire, his nerves aflame. Every atom of his being longs to just kill the man.

The thought should scare him. Vessel doesn't think he was ever inclined to hurt anyone, let alone kill someone, Before. He supposes now that he finally has people who show him care, he'll do anything to protect them.

Vessel reaches down to the mans temple, ignoring his angry cussing and slurs, and with little thought, puts him to sleep with the barest touch of his claw. Vessel fights back his nausea, not willing to let himself puke.

Vessel turns, leaving the man pinned to the foliage covered floor without a second glance, crouching before III and II. All six of Vessel's eyes soften, his eyebrows furrowing beneath the mask in fondness as he cups III's cheek.

III hisses in pain and Vessel retracts his hand hastily, an apology falling from his lips hurriedly. Guilt makes his insides squeeze, biting his lower lip harshly with a sharp fang that cuts skin, blood welling up.

"Not you, promise. He got a couple hits in before you both arrived." III explains, reaching out desperately for Vessel's hand as the man's gaze turns murderous.

He moves to stand, to turn right back around and stomp that fuckers face in, but III has taken Vessel's hand in their own again, pulling it up to rest Vessel's palm on their uninjured cheek.

III is shaking, small trembles every few seconds.

"I want to go home." III repeats, and Vessel shares a brief look with II before nodding shortly.

He stands, and II and III follow. Vessel squeezes III between them as they walk away, an arm around their shoulder, hand brushing II's shoulder as they walk. The gas station comes into view in minutes, and Vessel is pissed the man had managed to drag III this far in and had been able to hurt them before he and II got there.

III asks II to pick up the restroom key they'd dropped and return it, and II does so, leaving and coming back quickly to find III wrapped around Vessel like a koala, pressed against his back with their head on his shoulder. II smiles, a sad little thing tinged with surprise that Vessel is letting III that close without his usual layers.

III stays like that till they arrive at the car. Vessel hops in the drivers seat, putting the seat all the way back so he'll fit as II and III pile in to the back seat in a mess of limbs.

Vessel takes his cloak off of the back of the passenger seat, tossing it back onto III who still trembles, turning around to pull out of the parking spot when II starts spreading it over them as best he can.

Despite II's questioning gaze, Vessel pulls into a parking space outside of a phone shop. Without a word, he goes in and buys the best ones on the market with little thought to the price. The workers, a little intimidated, do not ask many questions as Vessel's tone, and the aura of danger surrounding him leads them to get him in and out of their shop as soon as possible. As Vessel signs his name on the needed documents, the words blur to his vision. His hand writes out letters in what he knows must be his usual cursive, but his eyes do not register the letters. Sleep graciously wipes much of the workers memories and fuzzes the security cameras, muddling them so they can't quite recall the name of the person who had just bought three expensive phones, instilling in them an unwillingness to investigate. Vessel is grateful for the intervention, sending that gratitude down the bond as Sleep's presence looms at his shoulder. The God is upset, lingering in the car with them after Vessel hands over the boxes containing the phones to a confused but accepting II and III. The papers containing their phone numbers is handed over as well.

'He isn't supposed to remember.' Sleep murmurs in Vessel's ear as he drives, and his knuckles turn white against the wheel.

'The Third is in pain. You were not meant to remember.' Sleep says softly, a gentle breath against the shell of Vessel's ear.

'How do you know, my God? Did they tell you?'

'No, he is unintentionally screaming of his hurts downthe bond we share.'

'Is there anything we can do?' Vessel asks, gritting his teeth and trying to focus on the road, not on the gentle murmur of voices in the backseat.

'You asked me once if I would tell you the names and faces of the humans who murdered the Third.'

The implication is there, and Vessel comes to the correct conclusion easily.

'Do I need to kill them?' Vessel glances at II and III behind him in the rearview mirror.

Their new phone boxes lay unopened in their laps, II nuzzling his nose into III's hair after they took their masks off. III is crying softly, still, head buried in II's shoulder, face barely visible past the loose strands of blonde curls that have fallen free of their bun. They are staring at II's hands, the way II's fingers caress III's knuckles with such gentle care.

Vessel does not allow his envy to overpower his rage. II and III matter far more to him than his own feelings regarding the two. Someone hurt III, put their grubby paws on him. If III wants to take comfort in II, when Vessel knows they've been growing increasingly closer, then he will not let his envy consume him.

'You were going to ask me to assist in ending their lives, were you not, my First?' Sleep asks, and when Vessel does not answer, only nodding imperceptibly, He continues, 'Their deaths are not necessary, no. I'm sure it would bring you great satisfaction to give justice to the Third. I can take their faces from the Third once more, and there is no chance of anything like this happening ever again, if you take their lives. The pain should dissipate regardless. I recognizeyour��interminable need to temper their ailments. Decide soon, My First. The Third continues to be in pain.'

Vessel is quiet the entire ride home, contemplating if he really has the conviction to do something so drastic. II helps III begin setting up their phone sometime during the drive, and then when that is done, does his own phone. Vessel wordlessly hands his own phone box back, and II sets up Vessel's. Its quick work putting all of their phone numbers into their respective phones, and III is glad for the distraction of downloading apps or fiddling with games he may potentially like, head leant on II's shoulder. The pain doesn't abate, not in the slightest, but III feels its slightly easier to manage when they are so clearly cared for and safe in II's arms.

Vessel is quiet when they enter the manor, a wraith at their heel. Elvira tries to paw at his feet as he follows II and III up the stairs, so he picks her up, cuddling into her soft fur. She hangs limply, tail flicking back and forth as she lets Vessel do whatever he wishes.

Vessel lingers at the door, arms hugging himself, unsure how to help. Unsure what to do. Items in the room start to slowly, slowly lift from where they were placed, hovering gently.

When Vessel notices, they plop back down with quiet thunks. He stares at them, head tilting minutely to the side. With a little concentration, a stray pencil on III's desk beside the door begins to levitate, turning in a slow circle before plopping down quietly. Vessel thinks it must be his gift from eating the apple of Eden. For eating his own heart that has become divine after offering it up to his God. He wonders if he, too, has a weapon like II's battle axes.

II turns III's lamp on when he urges them to sit on their bed, crouching to pull out a medkit from under III's bed, and Vessel gets his first proper look at the purple blooming across one side of III's face. Anger surges through all three of their bonds, a raging hurricane that Vessel tries to reign in. His automatic reaction is to shut it down. So he does.

III lets out a pained whine as II snaps, not with anger, simply frazzled, struggling to keep his volume level, "Vessel, you promised!"

"Give me a second. I- I... just, please. Give me a second, I'm sorry." Vessel grits out, forcing words out of his mouth despite the tightening of thorns around his throat, crossing the room quickly and taking III's hand as he kneels in front of the bed beside them.

III and II were his. Vessel didn't care if they loved him or not. He loved them. As long as that love still lived in his soul, they would be his and he would protect them. III had been hurt. It was one thing for III to tell them that he had been hit. His anger had already consumed him at that time, what was a little more? Calmer now, to see what the asshole did to III... Vessel would take his hands for daring to touch what was Vessel's.

It's time to make a request of his God, one he knows will be granted.

"Shouldn't have let you go alone despite your insistence. I'm sorry, Three. I'm sorry." Vessel blurts, leaning his masked cheek on III's thigh, tears falling onto its inside surface and over the edges of the eye holes as he turns the bond back on.

Elvira starts up a purr, enjoying being pressed into Vessel's chest. Such an odd little cat. III tries to reassure Vessel despite the aching in their jaw, a hand coming to rest on his head and stroking gently over his hair and mask straps, but it is II speaking up that gets Vessel to calm some, "We won't go into town alone anymore. Groups of two, no one wanders off alone. It's clear now that it isn't safe. Our status as vessels is simply too dangerous a moniker, even if regular people don't know exactly what we are."

"He killed me. That man. I know it. He was one of the ones that killed me. I'm not supposed to remember his face but I do. He- Fuck. Fucking shit. It hurts." III whines, using their available hand to cover one side of their face, one side of their ribs beginning to itch.

There is murder in Vessel's six eyes at the admission, tears still leaking from his eyes. It merely confirmed what his God has already claimed, but Vessel is livid at the words falling from III's own lips. The way they had broken off in a pained moan, the way Vessel has truly taken a moment to focus on the pain down III's bond. Vessel has thought it was from where III had said that piece of shit hit them. That pain is there in the bond, but something darker lingers behind it, deeper in their veins.

"I agree with you, but this time it wasn't entirely just a random civilian. He had killed me." III finally responds to II's earlier statement, utterly miserable, the itch beginning to become unbearable as II leans into III's space, setting the first aid kit down nearby and wrapping them in a hug.

"Fuck. I wanted to be accepted." They sob, wiping furiously at the tears spilling angrily, despairingly, down their cheeks, "I wanted to be accepted and Sleep has doomed me to turn into a monster-"

II pulls them closer, letting III wrap an arm around him. A hand is carding through their hair so tenderly, the other arm wrapped around his lower back to keep them close.

"You're not a monster, honey. Don't talk about yourself that way." II soothes as III continues sobbing, Vessel wrapping his arms around III's leg.

They hiccup, blubbering, "You didn't see me! You didn't see what I did, what came out of me. It looked like the arm of a spider, it was disgusting. I'm disgusting."

II tries to keep from stiffening at the thought, his fear of spiders seeping into the bond even as he tries so desperately to keep it away. III feels it nonetheless, physically and mentally, and lets out a low keen of distress as they try to pull away, a hand clinging to II's shirt. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." They repeat, and Vessel is reminded very suddenly of himself.

He doesn't want III to feel that way, ever.

An arm emerges from III's side, startling all three of them. III shrieks, trying to move away but the arm simply moves with him, wisps of dark smoke trailing after the limb, clawing at their sheets and leaving deep slices in the material. Vessel watches, in some strange fascination and confusion, while II stumbles back, eyes wide as fear floods the bond.

Elvira scrambles out of Vessel's arms with a yowl, hopping out of the room quickly. Vessel doesn't even feel the new scratches on his hand, his bandages saving his arms from too much damage.

"Two, step out of the room for a second to calm down, please. It's still Three, not a spider. It's still Three." Vessel manages through the tightness in his throat as he notices II's breathing beginning to become labored and quickened.

II nods, unable to speak past his fear as he flees, sending strong feelings of regret and apologies through the bond so thoroughly it nearly drowns out his still present fear. Vessel can tell he doesn't go far, the door being left cracked open, and the slow sound of II sliding down the wall to sit just outside the room easily heard. II brings his knees to his chest, angry at himself for allowing such a stupid fear to upset not only himself, but also III. They don't need this right now. Tears slip down his cheeks as he tries in vain to lessen the tremble that has set into his bones.

Vessel moves to sit on the bed beside III, pulling them close and carefully avoiding the new limb more for III's sake than his own. "Two has a fear of spiders, this isn't your fault." Vessel tries, but III is quick to cut him off.

"No, no, Two is going to hate me. He won't want to be around me anymore because of this." III sobs quietly, also aware II is still near, clutching Vessel's shirt in hand with a tight grip.

Vessel shakes his head, "Two would never be so quick to leave you, Three. Have some faith in him, he cares for you. It will just take time for him to work past his fear. I've always been the one to remove any of the spiders in the house. He scared me half to death the first time he found one here."

"I have given you a gift, my Third." Sleep says, voices bouncing off the walls as their presence emerges from the darkness, no longer lingering at Vessel's shoulder.

Their upset is clear in their voices, hurt and offended. "You ate the apple of Eden. This power is what was given in return for accepting me. In time, the Second will learn to get over his fear. He must, for I will not take my gift back. Learn to use your power, it is not all it seems."

"Okay, okay," III takes a deep breath that hitches once in the aftermath of his cries quieting, steeling their resolve, trusting in Vessel, trusting in their God, "I'm sorry, Sleep. I- I just don't know what to think right now. I'm... Scared. I'm scared, but- Fuck, I believe you, Ves. Is this what you deal with all the time? This insecurity that the people you care for are going to leave you?" III asks suddenly, peeking up at Vessel through their eyelashes. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked that."

The question throws Vessel off, unsettling him as Sleep's presence fades to the background as He leaves at Vessel's silent, reassuring urging in the bond. He didn't realize that III knew what his anxiety whenever they left the house without him was about. Didn't realize they knew one of the reasons why Vessel was so hesitant to let himself be open with the both of them.

Vessel reaches out across the tether connecting their souls and really lets III's emotions wash over him. The self-loathing and the uncertainty, the biting anxiety that seems to eat away at his body until there is nothing left but a broken shell. Vessel hates that III knows what that feels like.

"Yes, it's a lot like this." Vessel finally admits after a moment of silence, hoping III will drop the topic to save himself the pain of admitting something so deeply ingrained in his very soul.

"How do I get this thing to go away?" III asks after taking a few more deep, steadying breaths, the phantom arm moving slowly with III's direction, seemingly not needing to use his other arm to spur movement.

Its hand tightens into a fist, curling and uncurling before each finger moves individually to touch what seems to be the palm. Vessel takes a deep breath in hopes to loosen the fist around his lungs, squeezing and making it increasingly difficult to speak. He hopes he can stave off his impending silence a little longer. He has things he needs to do. People he needs to hear him.

"When I first used Sleep's sleeping ability, it took some concentration and imagining what I wanted to happen. Try to picture the limb disappearing the same way it appeared, beloved." Vessel cannot stop himself from saying the endearment, hates how easily it slipped out.

III doesn't seem to notice, doesn't say anything nor pull away from Vessel, only closes their eyes to focus. Vessel knows he will be punishing himself for the slip-up later, cursing his lack of self-control. III attempts to do what Vessel advised, and on the second try, the phantom limb seems to be sucked back into III's body in a swirl of thick black smoke. III sobs with relief, curling into Vessel's side closer than before.

"You did so well, Three! I'm so proud of you." Vessel praises, calling II in once he's sure the spider-like arm won't come back.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart." II blurts desperately as soon as he enters the room, hovering by the door hesitantly. "I brought an ice pack, for your bruising. I didn't think any of our stuff in the medkit would work. It's mainly for cuts."

Vessel does not miss the apologetic glance II sends him, nodding in acceptance. Its not like II is wrong. III looks up from where his face is hidden behind Vessel's shoulder, forehead resting against the bone, and makes grabby hands at II. II sighs in relief, the feeling echoed through the bond, crossing the room quickly and shoving himself into III's space for a tight hug.

III falls onto the bed with a soft oof, letting II hold them however he pleases. A hand blindly reaches for Vessel, holding tightly to his shirt again, and Vessel lets a soft smile pull at one corner of his mouth. II holds the ice pack to III's cheek as he continues to wrap around them like a koala.

"'S cold." III mutters into II's hair, eyes closing as appreciation flows down the bond, "Feels nice though. Helping my headache a little too."

Vessel's gaze seems to sharpen at III's admission, reminded of the events of the day. "Try to get some rest, both of you." Vessel urges, moving to stand.

"You're not staying?" II asks, as III follows it up with, "I was hoping you'd sleep here again. Well, not sleep, but... cuddle? As much as you're comfortable with?"

Vessel couldn't refuse, not with the way II turns to look up at him with such shining hope in his pretty blues, and III turns his own blue eyes on him, widening them a little for effect. And effective it is, because Vessel caves in immediately. They welcome him with open arms and soft smiles when he returns with his usual heavy layers and a thick blanket, and Vessel returns that smile. Its small, but genuine, and Vessel is happy.

He adores them.

When night next falls, Vessel has some bastards to send to his God. Tonight, he will relish in the touch of the two people he loves most in this world, will plot revenge on behalf of one of them.

Later, cuddled up under the blankets and fast asleep, holding onto II tightly with their head tucked into his chest, III stirs. Vessel, becoming used to this, sits up, his own blanket slipping off his chest as he places his book down, eyes alert and watching III for any signs of distress. Sure enough, there is a pained crease between their brow and Vessel pulls the nightmare III is experiencing from their temple. Like every other time, it slips down his throat with ease. Unlike every other time, Vessel is a little breathless at the ecstasy the taste brings. He craves the nightmares more and more, and knows he should not keep eating them.

The night of his assault, III dreams of their death. Dreams of desperately watching people pass by the alley they had been dragged into. When they see who is being hurt, who is begging for help with their eyes behind the hand covering their mouth, they glance away. Some look as though they regret their decision as they walk away, others sneer with a twisted sense of righteousness. III is left in the hands of those who will kill him. They dream of all their attacker had said that day, and then it isn't just III being held down. Its II, writhing in agony under the grip of the only man whose face III can see clearly.

Vessel waits long enough after the nightmare ends to make sure neither III nor II awaken, then flees to his room to puke up his guts. Nausea roils in his stomach, a relentless churning of disgust. Hopeless and powerless in the face of III's suffering and the concern they feel for II. He knows who he's killing first.

Vessel paces his room for nearly an hour, clawing at his arms in his anxiety before moving to his thighs as the punishment he knows he deserves.

A thought strikes him and he continues pacing, wondering if he should even ask.

"My God? Are you near?" Vessel whispers in question.

He knows he could just tug on the bond in his chest to ask, but doesn't see the harm in voicing his questions aloud when he is trying desperately to keep his voice until he has done what is needed.

"I am here, dear First. Is it time?" Sleep murmurs, voices a low croon in his ear.

"Not yet. I- I am waiting until tomorrow-" Vessel stalks to his window, pulling the curtain aside briefly to see the barest glimmers of orange peeking over the treeline, "Ah, tonight. I have a different question. II has his battle axes, III their spider arms. Do I have a weapon, and is this strange ability to levitate objects mine or something I have accidentally borrowed from you?"

"Hm, levitation is not one of my abilities, no. It is entirely your own. I'd imagine it is not something so weak as levitation, but perhaps a telekinesis of some sort. Your abilities are a little harder for me to navigate. As for a weapon, you do have one. The Third will as well, with the appearance of their shapeshifting. Yours has been with you since your awakening as a proper vessel, you need only learn to conjure it." Sleep informs him, and Vessel is glad his God seemed to be so willing to share.

If Vessel asks, then his God will answer.

As Sleep speaks, Vessel grabs his own medkit that II insisted he keep in his room, wrapping his arms and thighs with fresh bandages after disinfecting the new wounds.

"I see. Thank you. I will get to practicing right away. If I cannot manage it by the time night next comes, I will kill Three's murderers with my bare hands." Vessel resolves in a quiet hiss promising violence.

Vessel leaves his hoodie on his bed, changing into clothes more suited for movement. A pair of his looser jeans, and a tank top under a t-shirt. A hairtie pulls his hair back into a sort ponytail to keep it out of his eyes, and Vessel clips his mask to a belt loop at his side. As he leaves the house, bending to pet Elvira on the way out the door, Vessel realizes he should let the others know where he is going.

Vessel finds II's contact in his phone easily, sending a message to him, and then repeating the process with III.

Vessel: Out in the forest, practicing something. I'll be back in a little while. :::)

After a moment, Vessel decides to change their contact names. He sets II's to lowercase letters, two i's to represent two drumsticks. For III's, he puts two question marks, with a third one upside down in the middle.

A familiar fog lingers on the forest floor as Vessel walks, a destination already in mind. When he wasn't in the house, reading or writing lyrics or spending as much time with II and III as they would allow, much of his time was spent out here in the woods. Branches reach down to brush his shoulders as he goes, catching his hair and letting the strands go before they can pull too harshly. Vessel's hand trails over harsh bark and through low hanging branches, feeling the energy of the surrounding nature. The forest seems to breathe, to sing its own tune, with the whistle of wind and bird song through the canopies. He passes mushrooms of all types, and knows when night falls, the forest will be alight, and perhaps more beautiful.

The clearing he heads for comes into view within the hour, deeper into the forest than he usually ventures. Over time, he has come to know this place like the back of his hand, as every lifeform seems to react to his presence, leading him wherever he wants to go. Even though its a more unfamiliar section, Vessel isn't uneasy. This is Sleep's domain, and Vessel snd his beloveds are safe here.

Its a far cry from when he first arrived, stumbling and in pain, knees and palms meeting the foliage and its hard twigs and pebbles so many times before he eventually found the manor. The forest no longer leads him astray, as he is one with Sleep, and this place is the God's earthly domain just as much as dreams and nightmares.

Vessel loiters at the edge of the clearing for a few minutes, unsure what to do with himself, before he steels his resolve and takes that first step. He has some vague idea of how to go about this, he just has to put it into action.

Taking a deep breath, Vessel closes his eyes as he stands in the middle of the clearing. Another deep breath, and he imagines a weapon appearing, any weapon. He doesn't think it matters what he uses. He just needs something. Nothing happens for a long time.

He leaves the bond open, and as the day wears on, lets them feel his mounting exhaustion and anxiety and determination.

Sleep must take pity on him as noon rolls around and he has made no progress. Sitting on the ground with his head in his hands, Vessel leans imperceptibly into the small breeze that blows his hair around.

"My sigil on your neck is a symbol of your powers awakening."

"I have had this since the beginning." Vessel says, reaching a hand down to brush against the red sigil in the hollow of his throat.

It tingles faintly at the careful touch, "Do Two and Three have one as well? I didn't see one anywhere visible."

"They each have their own, yes. Your weapons will manifest with the help of something dear to you."

"Two's battle axes were his drumsticks." Vessel tries to think of what his may be.

"I don't have my piano." Vessel mutters, and Sleep's laugh reverberates in his skull, echoing around him and through the trees.

"A good guess, my First, but it is not your piano. Take another guess, what other instrument is dear to you?"

"My voice?" Vessel offers, head tilting to the side as he lifts his head from his hands.

"Your body, my First. Your voice, yes, but it is your body."

"I... My body is not dear to me, my God. I actively destroy it myself, frequently."

"Do you wish death upon me, my Vessel?"

"What? No, of course not. What does that have to do with-"

"Your body is your instrument of worship." Sleep says, knowing His vessel will understand from that alone.

Realization strikes.

"Oh."

Vessel offered his God his heart. Vessel offers His God his blood. He offers his past and his pain and the memories all held close in his soul to His God. He is going to use his body to protect the other vessels, is going to use it to avenge the Third. Even if he cuts into it, even if he kills himself, the damage is superficial.

If Vessel really didn't care for this body, for His God whose life is connected to his own, or so they say (Vessel questions the validity of that statement), then he would have taken a knife to the altar room wall where the sigil holding his heart rests.

But Vessel does not truly wish to leave His God, nor the other vessels. He loves them, and as long as they'll have him, he'll stay.

"Thank you, my God. I understand now."

Sleep's voices are fond as they fade, another breeze ruffling Vessel's hair, and he knows it's his God, touching Vessel in the only way he can. "Of course, my dearest Vessel. You have the knowledge you need, now you just have to utilize it."

Utilize it, he will. II had summoned his completely on accident, completely concentrated on himself and his instrument. Vessel decides to focus on concentrating on his body, as Sleep said it is what will help manifest a weapon.

Closing his eyes, Vessel relaxes his posture, and places his palms down on his knees. Then, he really tries to become aware of his own body. Vessel feels the dull ache in his knees, the sting of his fresh cuts, every inhale and exhale becomes deliberate. The dryness in his throat, the movement of his eyes behind his eyelids.

An ache starts in Vessel's spine, spreading around to his ribcage.

A deep breath in, a long exhale.

The ache disappears.

There is a weight in his lap, something hard under his palms. Opening his eyes, Vessel stands, his weapon held in one hand loosely.

The scythe is bone white, curved only slightly like the spine it is made of. Where spine meets the sharpened rib turned blade, a ribcage has been etched into the bone. In the ribcage sits a blackened, realistic heart, with spots of gold and red for detail. Vessel is reminded of daggers, and how some pommels are intricately carved. Its missing some vertebrae in a section towards the middle where Vessel's hand would grip the handle, black leather laced with a couple straps of white leather. The vertebrae are smaller after the handle, going down in size until they end where the sacrum begins, before going down into a sharp point of the coccyx, almost like a spearhead.

With an ease he didn't think possible, he swings it around so that it nearly aligns with his body vertically. Its almost as tall as himself, save half a foot.

Vessel grins, overcome with delight, and with barely a thought, the scythe disappears in a small shower of golden sparks. With a little concentration, it appears again in the same way.

II and III send down feelings of question, and Vessel responds by simply tugging gently on the bond, a faint thrum of excitement traveling down it. Vessel makes his scythe disappear as a text comes in a second later, from a group chat Vessel didn't start.

(Eepies)

ii: Are you coming back home now Ves? I made lunch. Did you want some?

Vessel: No, thank you. Go ahead and eat.

ii: Okay =)

III has changed the group name to Eepies (was Sleep's Vessels)

ii: III, honey, what does eepies even mean

?¿?: sleep's sleepies. y'know, sleeps vessels. eepies. and you're always sleepy

ii: Sure honey, that makes total sense

?¿?: is that sarcasm I feel like that's sarcasm >=/

Vessel: I'll be heading back soon.

ii: Did you finish whatever you were working on?

Vessel: Yes :::)

?¿?: stop being cute >=/

Vessel: Whatever do you mean?

?¿?: im not explaining, ii gets it

ii: The six eyed smiley face is adorable. Thats what III means

?¿?: aww =( =( =( you told him =( =( =(

ii: Ves would overhink it otherwise

?¿?: overhink

ii: Learn what a capital letter is sweetie before you mention my typos

?¿?: doll you dont seem to use punctuation consistently

II sends a photo of a pouting cat with a human middle finger plastered over its paw and III sends back some strange laughing face. Vessel frowns, looking up at the sky after glancing down at the time on his phone. Just past noon. He didn't think it was that cute, but those two confuse him so often anyway, he's not even going to question it. Not even going to question the teasing that hasn't turned into an argument, like Vessel thought it would.

Vessel: Heading back to the house now.

ii: Okay, be safe!

III sends a thumbs up emoji, and a few caret symbols, showing their agreement with what II had said. Shaking his head with a small smile, Vessel begins the trek back to the house. His phone dings numerous times for new messages, and when he stops to check, his anxiety making him think its something important, he sees that III has spammed the group chat with a bunch of photos with overlaid text. II calls them memes, and the word is familiar to Vessel, though he doesn't remember really ever having any sent to himself, nor sending any out.

Its cute, despite Vessel not really understanding any of them. He enjoys the smell of nature around him, the sun peeking through the overhead canopies warming spots on his face. The brightness stings his eyes a bit but Vessel has become more used to it as time goes on.

Passing by a mushroom cluster, Vessel decides to take a photo. He first has to figure out how. It takes a second, but he manages to get one and sends it to the group chat with a bit of difficulty.

The image is of a cluster of tall milky white mushrooms, with a wide, white head that goes into a dark, murky green in the middle. Vessel's fingers have accidentally gotten in the bottom of the frame, and the rest of the photo is a little blurry.

?¿?: oh thats a mycena chlorophos!!!!!! It glows a neon green at night!!!!! ^_^

ii: Nice photo Ves! Hold the camera still a little bit longer next time <3

Vessel grins, turning the phone around to take a photo of himself. He sends it to the group chat after a little deliberation, forcing himself to not think about it too much. Its blurry, moreso than the other one, only catching the top half of Vessel's face and a little of his proud smile, a thumbs up deliberately in frame.

?¿?: =O

?¿?: =D

?¿?: ^_^ youre so cute

ii: You're so cute.

Vessel blushes, turning his screen off to try and get rid of some of his embarrassment. The entire time spent walking back to the house is filled with Vessel overthinking what the fuck he just did. Why did he send a photo of himself? He shouldn't have done that, even if they said he's cute. He's not cute, and he definitely shouldn't have sent that photo of himself.

Upon returning to the house, Vessel finds that II and III have unloaded the car and gotten the TV and PlayStation set up in the downstairs living room. Miraculous internet and electricity access aside, Vessel is a little disappointed he didn't get to help. It would've been interesting to watch the set up process.

III hops up from the couch when Vessel enters the living room, taking his hand gently and pulling him excitedly over to where the TV is turned on, a game idling on the loading screen.

"You're back! We were waiting for you so we could start NieR: Automata."

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to make you wait." Vessel apologizes, guilty, unable stop staring at the purple swelling on III's face.

The sight makes him so, so angry.

"No, no, Sugar. I didn't tell you we wanted to play anything, you couldn't have known. Besides, no harm done. I do have some patience in me!" III reassures before calling out to II.

II comes down the stairs, a couple blankets already in hand. He smiles when he sees Vessel, offering a greeting that he returns, and they all settle on the couch, blankets laid over their laps.

"Who all wants to play?" III asks, and Vessel watches as II shakes his head.

"I'm alright. I'm content to watch."

Seeing II decline leads Vessel to thinking its okay for him to do the same, "I'll just watch you play, for now. Later, perhaps."

"Aww, okay. That's fine. Well, don't laugh when I inevitably die. Repeatedly."

As the game starts, and the opening sequence begins, a woman begins speaking.

"Everything that lives is designed to end. We are perpetually trapped in a never-ending spiral of life and death. Is this a curse? Or some kind of punishment? I often think about the god who blessed us with this cryptic puzzle... and wonder if we'll ever get the chance to kill him."

Vessel is enraptured immediately, leaning into III and laying his head on their shoulder. III plays as a stoic android woman, 2B, one of many androids tasked with wiping out machine lifeforms so humans can return to Earth. She is joined by witty, emotional 9S, a surveillance type Android, and their pods, little rectangular machines with small arms designed to help with assault and data collection.

Despite III's words, they don't die that often. They spend a few hours just watching III play, and Vessel is intrigued by the story and the world instantly. The music is beautiful, and Vessel loves it immediately, would love to listen to it outside of the game even, to hear it better past all of the sound effects of the game itself. The boss fight against a machine who tries to make herself beautiful using the bodies of androids, all for the attention of another arrogant, narcissistic machine who never even knew she existed is terribly sad, and the first fight to kill III.

Elvira hops up in II's lap at some point, asking for affection insistently.

"Hi, baby, come to hang out with us?" II asks, petting Elvira's head as she leans into it with a short trill.

She leaves II quickly to curl up in Vessel's lap, kicking up a low purr as her tail brushes his arm. Vessel smiles, looking down for a second to pet her properly, keeping one hand running through her fur when his attention moves back to the game.

II pouts at the fact his cat just left him. Its a cute sight though, so he doesn't mind that much. II slowly takes out his phone, snapping a photo and setting it to his phone wallpaper, even if the angle is a little too far to the side. It shows III focused intently on his game, a little furrow in his brow, Vessel's head on his shoulder and Elvira sitting in his lap, nearly lost in the black blanket spread over both of their laps. Its so fucking adorable, II wants to explode.

They take a break when dinner rolls around, and Vessel escapes to his own room for a little while.

The others can tell he is distracted the rest of the day, zoning out frequently at the dinner table. There is satisfaction in the bond even then, telling of Vessel's success earlier that day with something he doesn't share with the others. They don't mind, happy to see him happy about something, whatever it is.

There is anger still fizzling under his skin at the pain III does not hide entirely, but clearly makes some attempt at lessening its flow over the bond. They had taken some medicine for it earlier, and while it seemed to help, it wasn't anything substantial.

II and III go to worship together, leaving the door open in case Vessel wants to join. He doesn't, leaving them to their worship. The smell of the floral incense III had gotten recently spreads to the rest of the house, a subtle scent that doesn't overpower any of their noses. The ink is still seeping back into their forearms when they leave the altar room, hand in hand.

Everytime they go in, Vessel fears they will hear his heart.

II and III are disappointed when Vessel doesn't come to bed with them like he had been. He instead urges them to go on without him, stating he wishes to worship for a little while. II frowns as Vessel avoids their question when III asks if he's going to come lay with them later.

There is guilt in the bond. It is not II or III's.

"Goodnight Ves!" III calls with a yawn, waving from outside II's door with his other hand pressing an ice pack to his cheek.

Though still a deep purple, the swelling has gone down at least. Vessel waves back with a smile, still a little curious as to why the other vessels sleep as humans do. His God had said so many hours would not be required, and yet, the others seem to feel exhaustion and tiredness as they used to, Before. A question for another time, perhaps. He turns one pair of eyes to II next, who clearly looks as though he wants to say something. There's a war going on in his eyes, indecision stark within them as they watch Vessel with something akin to curiosity. Vessel wonders if II knows what Vessel is going to do.

"Goodnight, Vessel. I- I..." II pauses, unsure, and ultimately does not finish what they were going to say.

Fuck, II loves Vessel so much. He just wants to be able to say it, to tell the other man. He wants to be able to tell III, too, but they both fear that Vessel will think they are leaving him behind if they confess properly to each other first. He wants Vessel to be able to tell him things, wants to share the weight dragging him down. Vessel has opened up so much since the beginning of II's time at the manor, is so proud of him for it. Fuck, II just wants to smother him and III in love without holding anything back.

He turns, tired eyes sad as he shuts his door behind him, leaving it open a crack in invitation.

Vessel stares after him, longing deep in his bones.

II and III cuddle close, II allowing himself to be the little spoon. "Did he seem alright to you?"

"Does Vessel ever really seem alright?" III mutters back sadly, burying their face in the back of II's neck, breath fanning against his nape and sending light shivers down his spine.

"Well, no, but I think he's hiding something." II says, stroking gently fingers along the length of III's arm that's laid over his side, pulling him close to the other.

"He could still be upset. I think what happened with that asshole yesterday ago shook him up more than me." III attempts to joke at the end, but it falls short.

"Don't undermine your pain, I had to wake you from a nightmare just this morning. I'll admit Vessel was the most angry I've ever seen him. He didn't seem to want us to see him that way either. His bond has been radiating guilt since dinner. He was so distracted after we stopped playing NieR. Do you think he hurt himself again?"

"It's definitely a possibility, but he's been getting better at coming to us or cleaning them himself. We can either ask or let him come to us."

"We'll ask in the morning. He's been getting better at telling us things, too. Though, he did leave his mask off today. He's hides so much from us with that thing on, even with the bond."

"Mm, his face is such an open book, its no wonder he hides it. Its clearly also a comfort thing too, he never sings without it." III says into II's hair, feeling the others bond beginning to fuzz up.

"I wonder what expressions he makes when he sings. I bet they're cute."

"Its Vessel, of course they're cute." III takes II's hand that has gone limp in their hold, bringing it to their lips to place a tender kiss against his knuckles.

II hums an agreement, drifting off in the following silence. III tries to pull him closer, but its impossible since their bodies are already flush together. He wishes Vessel was here with them.

Vessel waits in his room for a little while for his chance to worship. When he feels II's bond go fuzzy with sleep, feels III's follow a few minutes later, he heads to the altar room.

He kneels in front of Sleep's altar after lighting a match, all the candles then lit with a flame, except the red one which burns a shining gold. His God is already here, awaiting his word.

Taking a knife, one of many he keeps in his room, Vessel slices into his forearm, purposefully reopening a newer wound so that II and III are less likely to notice it. Human and divine blood drips steadily into the offering plate, and once he is sure there is a sufficient amount, he places a large, shiny moss-covered white stone in the center. He lets his bond close, not all the way, open enough for the others to tell he is still alive if they awaken unexpectedly.

Taking a deep breath, steeling his resolve, Vessel begins to speak, mask settled securely over his face.

"My God, I am formally requesting the names and faces of every person involved in Three's murder."

"As you wish, my First. Take a bite."

A glowing orb, iridescent in color, with wisps of light smoke floating off of it sits in the offering place, replacing the stone and his blood. It is almost like the nightmares he eats.

Without any hesitation, he picks it up. It slides down his throat smoothly, sweet and airy, like a dream. Perhaps that is what it is.

Vessel is in town, the light of the sun stinging his eyes as it creeps towards the horizon. Before him, walks III, maskless as Vessel finds himself, completely human, and like a beacon, radiating such life and energy, bouncing a little with every step. The sight makes Vessel smile. He's entering a music shop, and Vessel scrambles to follow. He doesn't call out, hates the attention it would bring, only follows closely behind them. Looking around the busy shop as III browses, Vessel tries not to think about all the people around him. At one point, III stops, and Vessel doesn't notice, colliding directly into them.

Only, there isn't actually any contact made. Vessel's whole body tingles, like every bit of himself had gone to sleep all of a sudden, and he phases right through III. It's disorienting and Vessel is left blinking rapidly in confusion. III doesn't seem to notice anything weird had happened, continuing on with picking up a CD and glancing over its back cover. They put it down, and Vessel continues following them for a few minutes. They leave the store without buying anything, muttering about nothing new being stocked yet. As they're leaving, Vessel recognizes one of the people entering.

III compliments one of the men in their group, and all three of them gain this strange, hateful expression. Vessel feels his stomach sink.

One swings an arm around III's shoulder, pulling him along with them as they crowd him in on one side, and the back. He couldn't escape, their placement intentional. III keeps eyeing the men around him nervously, shuffling along as they lead him down the street to a dingy alley, with closed down shops on either side. There are fewer people here, Vessel notices, as he follows at their heel.

He tries to grab III, to pull them away from these people, because he knows what comes next. III had told them, without such exact detail as witnessing it himself. Already Vessel feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, desperately trying to touch III, to get them away, to shove the men away from him.

His hands phase right through, tingling so badly he can barely move his fingers.

Vessel cannot stop the cry of rage, of despair as they corner III in a circle, as he is shoved against a wall and the first blow lands. Every one after is like a knife to Vessel's chest. When III slides to the ground, slumping over in a daze, and another kick sends them sprawling, Vessel falls to his knees at his side. Desperately, he looks around the alley, begging for someone to help III in his stead. A man passes by, glancing at them and then looking away as though nothing was happening. A woman and her boyfriend pass by next, and while she wants to help, the boyfriend pulls her along. All these people pass by as the sun sinks below the horizon, as a shifty streetlight blinks haphazardly at the entrance to the alley, and no one stops to help III. Its sickening.

As his tears fall, Vessel does not look away. He will not be like them. He will not hide from III's pain. He will not look away. It would be a disservice to the agony they went through. Vessel needs to witness every moment so he can return the pain tenfold to their murderers. So he sits, hands hovering over III's form as it jerks with the force of the blows raining down upon him. And watches. Continuously wipes away golden tears that blur his vision. He memorizes every crease, every freckle, the exact shade of their eyes and hair. Each pair of eyes is dedicated to flitting about and catching every minute detail. He listens intently to III's ragged breathing, their pained groans and whimpers, desperately wishing he could touch him, hold them close, save them from this pain. Listens to the words they exchange, the calling of names to let someone get a certain hit in. Listens to the timber of their laughs and the sounds of their gaits as they walk away.

Daniel Wright, Kade Schaefer, Denzel McBride. He will not let the three of them get away with this.

Vessel sits, ignoring the tingle where his limbs touch III as he bends over their limp body. An ear is pressed as close as possible to hear the ever fading sound of IIII's gurgling breaths beginning to slow. They cough, choking on their own blood as Vessel sobs over them, unable to help, blank eyes staring up past where Vessel tries to hold them in their last moments, but cannot. This has already come to pass. Vessel is merely here to be a witness.

A shuddering breath is like a cannon going off, a shrieking wail following when no more breaths come to pass. Vessel keeps trying to scoop III up in his arms, to hold him even though he knows he can't. Its agony, one of the worst things Vessel has ever experience in this life or Before. No, it IS the worst thing he's ever experienced. He hopes nothing ever compares to this ever again. If anything happens to II and III, Vessel can only hope to join them when he inevitably ends himself, completely and utterly. His only regret would be not being able to trade his life for theirs, for not being able to spare his God what would likely be a significant loss as His First Vessel.

Choking on a sob, Vessel comes back to himself, bleeding sluggishly onto the altar table, mask pressed into the empty offering plate.

Those motherfuckers will not be given the privilege of having their names uttered in Vessel's head. From here on out, they will be dubbed Dipshit, Fuckface, and It, in order of highest on his shitlist. Dipshit will be his first kill, Vessel has been wanting to get ahold of him since he'd dragged III off.

Vessel takes a moment to wrap his arm back in his room, deciding not to clean it and wanting to feel the pain. Vessel was simply going to leave in what he was already wearing, but his God's voice stops him.

'Adorn yourself in the cloak you arrived in.'

Vessel's confusion is clear in the bond, 'Yes, my God, I will do so. Might I ask why?'

'You are to offer me their bodies, yes? Your chest must be bare.' Sleep explains no further, and while Vessel remains confused, he does not question any further.

The house is silent, the others' bonds still asleep. Vessel slowly pushes II's door open, glad it doesn't creak. Emboldened by what he is setting out to do, Vessel creeps forward and places a gentle kiss each in II and III's hair. They do not stir, wrapped up in each other under a mound of blankets. Its cute, and it makes Vessel sad. He cannot allow himself that sort of closeness, even with all of his layers, and they respect that need for space. Vessel loves them, even if they don't love him in return. When they inevitably get together, Vessel will be happy for them. He can only hope they'll still want him around.

Placing his phone on the nightstand, he also puts a pre-written note that says he'll be back soon over the device, so it won't be missed. Vessel closes the door behind him with a soft click, Elvira following after him. She's at his heels all the way to the front door.

"You can't follow me, Ellie. I'll be back." Vessel promises, leaning down to pet her head.

She meows indignantly as he closes the front door behind him, and he chuckles a little at the pretty cats antics. He grabs his cloak from the car, stripping out of his shirts. Its a little awkward at first, Vessel unused to baring himself in such a way, but with every moment spent with only the robe on his back, he finds he enjoys the comfort of the material more and more.

His mask transforms, the mouth hole covered and the point elongating, twisting into something akin to a mouthless grimace of anguish to make the whole thing truly unsettling.

"Should I take the car?" Vessel mutters, "The old thing might wake the others up when I start it though. Its loud as shit."

'I will transport you to town. Find them, follow my pull in their general direction, enact the Third's revenge. You know their names, their faces. Lure them from civilization into the forest. End this.'

Sleep gives Vessel no warning before the ground beneath him opens up, dark tendrils wrapping around his legs and arms, pulling him down and swallowing him whole.

Sleep's power spits him out from the dark shadows of a building, gasping and trembling like a man drowned. The tendrils recede from his skin with a gentle caress, and Vessel sends his thankfulness down their bond as the dizziness recedes. Once he feels stable enough to stand, he does so as he looks around him.

'For what you will be giving me, this is nothing I will not easily gain back.' Sleep says, voices weak and shaky, and Vessel nods in understanding.

He must return this power to his God soon, if only to help them not sound so frail. Vessel does not like it. Vessel will force himself to sing in front of a crowd, if he must, if it will gain his God more worshippers.

Vessel pulls his hood over his head as he starts forward, a pull in his chest leading him east. He sticks to the shadows, confident the darkness will hide him from the view of the street cameras. His own phone could capture his face, he's not sure if other devices will.

'If you wishto be seen, you will. It will be inevitable when you eventually worship around non-vessels.' Sleep murmurs, still tugging him along.

People pass by him on the sidewalk, not sparing him a glance. Vessel eyes them with his usual anxiety, but does not stop moving. He comes to a stop outside of a crowded bar, the pull in his chest like a tether, pulled tight and threatening to break. One of III's murderers is in there.

Vessel walks in, no one sparing him a second glance. Scanning the crowd, Vessel spots Daniel Wright easily. Dipshit is laughing at the bar with his friends, tossing back drinks. Beside him, head leant back in a loud, obnoxious laugh that Vessel swears he can hear from the other side of the building, is Kade Schaefer, Fuckface.

Oh, he is in luck. Two of the three are here. Vessel navigates through the crowd, weaving in and out of the throngs of people as he makes his way to the bar. He stops perhaps halfway there, as Dipshit turns his head, feeling the gaze of Vessel burning a hole through his head.

Dipshit catches a glance of Vessel's mask in the crowd, freezing up in the middle of taking a sip of his beer. He chokes, coughing as Fuckface slaps his back in attempts to help.

"Did you see that?" Dipshit asks frantically, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Fuckface turns to look, confused, but Vessel is already lost in the crowd. "Maybe you've had enough to drink, man. You were already spewing bullshit yesterday."

"I'm fucking telling you the truth! One of those little assholes did something with the ground, with plants! It was fucking insane!"

"Sure, man, sure, and I'm a wizard."

"I'm fucking serious-!"

A hand reaches out and grips Daniel's shoulder. Daniel startles, turning to look at who is touching him and wondering why the color has suddenly drained from Kade's thin face.

Vessel smiles, though neither can see it, keeping his tone friendly. "I wish to speak with the both of you outside, if you could spare a moment of your time."

"Why the fuck should we do that, freak? Thought you'd had enough when you and your little fuckbuddies ran off with your tails between your legs." Daniel spits, trying to shrug Vessel's hand off as Kade watches Vessel warily.

Its hilarious that Dipshit doesn't realize the only reason he survived another day was III stopping Vessel. Its amusing that he doesn't realize Vessel's anger only grows with every insult towards his beloved's.

"What seems to be the issue? If anything were to happen, you could easily beat me. You held my friend down rather easily. You're bigger than I am. Besides, there are two of you, and only one of me." Vessel urges, head tilting just so to the side.

Kade eyes Vessel as though he is going to eat him alive. Perhaps Vessel, or rather his God, will.

"Hey, Daniel, maybe we shouldn't-" Kade tries, but Daniel cuts him off.

"Shut the fuck up Kade, what's the worst that could happen? Little cult freak is right. We outnumber him. Besides," Dipshit grins, eyeing Vessel up and down like he is already picturing what blows will cause Vessel the most pain, like he did to III, "He only wants to talk."

"Yes, just talk." Vessel confirms, turning his mask to watch Kade.

Kade doesn't seem convinced, but follows Vessel and Dipshit out of the bar anyway, after putting their drinks on a tab.

Vessel's grin grows wider, stepping out under the unnaturally bright moon. Vessel easily remains visible to the eyes pinned on his back, Sleep's presence prominent, though weak from the use of their magic.

He takes the lead, confident in his ability to fight back if the other two try anything. Kade and Daniel whisper conspiratorially, keeping their distance. They think this'll be quick, that no one will look for Vessel except the other freaks in their little cult. This will prove otherwise.

Vessel leads them around the back of the building, towards the forest that surrounds the town on all sides. More of the seedier areas, which to be fair is most of the town despite the peoples misplaced pride, are all on the outer edges.

It only makes Vessel's goal easier to reach.

When Vessel is sure they've not been followed, when he is sure they're deep into the forest, he turns. Dipshit and Fuckface stare at him, Kade eyeing him nervously as Daniel begins to walk towards Vessel.

"Well, you wanted to talk, freak. Let's talk." Daniel throws his arms wide, and Vessel lifts a hand quickly.

Kade flies back with a shout, hitting a tree as vines wrap around him to hold his body to the rough bark. Daniel is shoved into the ground with a flick of Vessel's other hand, vines wrapping around him too and dragging him towards the ground so tightly his body digs into the dirt. He flails, but his limbs do not gain any traction.

Once Vessel is sure neither will escape, he stalks forward with a pleased smile under his mask, robe trailing behind him.

Vessel straddles Dipshit, pressing his full weight onto him just in case and takes a good, long look at what he had achieved the day before. Vessel grins, lips bared in a snarl, like a feral animal as he revels in the sight of the bruising, the swelling, on the mans face from where Vessel had managed a good hit or two before III had called him back.

Vessel brushes a reverent claw over it, and Dipshit sneers under him, trying to buck him off and failing miserably. Vessel's digs that claw in as he drags it down Dipshit's face, watching blood bead up as he cuts a line down and off his jaw.

Daniel hisses in pain. "I knew you three were fucking faggots. Get your filthy hands off of me!" He spits, but Vessel only tilts his head a little to the side in amusement.

"Is that all you have to say? I expected worse, something more vulgar perhaps, after what you said about the shortest of us." Vessel keeps his tone light despite the anger hidden beneath.

Vessel's hands are around his throat, nails digging into the soft flesh sporadically. One long, sharp claw traces the mans jugular, slowly putting pressure until the man hisses in pain, then releasing, only to repeat. The entire time, Dipshit's breathing grows more labored, air supply slowly getting cut off with the pressure Vessel's hands are putting around his throat.

He is toying with him, like a cat with a mouse.

"Are you jealous, freak? What I said wasn't so bad." Daniel laughs despite the situation he is in, and Vessel wonders if he has any preservation instincts at all.

As though Vessel could speak of self-preservation instincts.

"You three should know all about sharing. Probably take turns passing him around like some useless little fucktoy."

Vessel snarls, leaning in closer, eyes glowing behind his mask. Daniel only continues, not realizing he is dooming himself to a quicker death, "or maybe you pass the taller one around? No, he got too upset when I said I'd fuck your little friend. He seems the possessive sort-"

Vessel has heard enough and in one movement, lifts a hand to dig a claw into Dipshit's temple, focusing so hard his vision seems to blur around the edges in single-mindedness. Vessel's gives Daniel a nightmare, he will suffer through every agony they wreathed upon III. He does not put him to sleep. He did make a promise, after all, and he truly intends to try and keep it. Vessel knew pain, it was easy to replicate the feeling on another through a dream.

Dipshit screams and screams, a symphony to counter the horrible sound of III's echoing agonies in Vessel's ears, muffled as Vessel wills vines to grow over his mouth.

Fuckface is struggling against the tree he is bound to, vines wrapped around him tightly as he yells helplessly beneath the vines over his mouth. He tries cutting through the vines faster, hand struggling to hold the knife in his sweaty grip.

Vessel isn't concerned. If he escapes, Vessel will simply chase him down. He'd likely enjoy it.

Daniel is panting when he is through the nightmare, and Vessel puts him under again. He continues screaming but Vessel isn't satisfied, still hearing III's own screaming alongside Dipshit's. He fears the sound will never leave him.

One pair of eyes glances down to Dipshit's hands, and Vessel thinks he has some idea of what might make this whole thing a little more pleasing.

When Dipshit comes to from the second nightmare, gasping in agony at the pain that was so real just a second ago, Vessel stands up, summoning his scythe.

Moving entirely off of him, Vessel poises his scythe's sharp, spear-like end over one wrist.

"These were forfeit the moment you decided to lay a finger on what belongs to me."

Wasting not even a single moment longer, Vessel brings his scythe down to sever the hand from Daniel's body. He screams in agony, trying in vain to move his head to see what has become of his limb. Vessel doesn't allow him time to process the loss, doing the same to his other wrist in one swift movement.

Sobbing now, the realization that Vessel is truly something other sets in. Vessel hopes Daniel realizes he isn't making it out of this alive. He couldn't imagine being so arrogant as to think yourself invincible to the wrath of something that clearly wasn't entirely of this plain of existence.

The masks alone should have been reason enough to leave them alone. Vessel hopes Dipshit regrets every cruel action taken against innocents.

"You get what you give. You reap what you sow." Vessel states, hand raising.

"No, no, please! Plea-"

The snap echoes through the tiny clearing Vessel lead them to, and Daniel's eyes go dull. His neck looks strange, turned at an unnatural angle and purple beginning to bloom under the skin.

Vessel turns to stare at Kade, who is still yelling behind the vines. Vessel wills them to recede, curious as to what he is saying, entirely unconcerned about him potentially escaping.

"Please, please let me go! I promise, I won't tell anyone what happened! Please, please! Spare me!" Fuckface begs, unable to tear his horrified eyes away from Dipshit.

His hand moves faster, finally cutting himself free. As soon as he is free to move, Kade books it back in the direction of town. A shame. If he had not ran, Vessel would have given him a nightmare, too. They all deserve to feel what they've done to III.

Vessel laughs, a low, hollow thing as adrenaline courses through him. He gives chase, reveling in the rush. Vessel didn't expect to enjoy his revenge quite so much. He'll punish himself thoroughly for such sick enjoyment later. For now, there are still two to kill.

"Death should not affect you so. You've killed before." Vessel calls, moving like a wraith over the forest floor, long legs carrying him with utmost speed towards his prey.

"How do you know about that?!" Kade sobs, stumbling over roots as they seem to appear in his way.

"You killed my friend. This is the punishment." Vessel is nearly caught up now.

Just a little further and his scythe will be within reach.

"Please, fuck, just let me go! Whichever one was your friend, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I'll never hurt anyone ever again! Please, God, I don't wanna die!"

There were more besides III...? Oh, perhaps Vessel doesn't regret this nearly as much as he thought he would. He is doing the world a favor.

"The God's avert their gaze from you, as they averted their gaze from my wrecked, wretched form. Fall at my hands, meet my God, the only one who will look upon your filth, though not with kindness as they did mine."

With a decisive swing, Vessel's scythe meets flesh, tearing through spine and viscera as though paper. Blood sprays, paralysis hitting instantly, and Kade drops, like a puppet whose strings have been cut. His death is quick, bleeding out from the large slash across his back. Vessel's scythe disappears in an easy twirl of golden sparks, and Vessel crouches to lift the mess of a body in his arms to drag back to the other. Blood trails thickly after him, the body nearly in half from the force of Vessel's blow, from the sharpness of the blade.

Blood that is not his own drips down Vessel's front, and he cringes a bit in disgust. If it were his own blood, he would not care.

Vessel lets Fuckface's body drop next to Dipshit's, lining them up in a neat little row. Satisfaction swirls in his chest, and Vessel, for a moment, is proud of himself. He did good, didn't he? He killed these two for III's sake. They won't be in pain anymore.

Will... will they appreciate what he's done?

Looking over the bodies and what he has done to them in his rage... Vessel doesn't think III will think much of him at all, after this.

They will both surely throw him away. It will have been worth it, to rid the world of two people who had enjoyed hurting others. To rid the world of those who had killed III.

Vessel drops to his knees as tears leak down his face under the mask, already grieving the bonds he will lose for his actions today. He hopes II and III will at least look at him when they leave him, even just for a moment, even if their pretty blues are filled with loathing. They always saw Vessel, never ignored him, never made him feel as though he didn't exist.

Sometimes, Before, he craved that in his relationships. Anything to get away from the pain of being seen. With II and III, Vessel wants to be seen. He wants to be heard. He wants someone to want him near.

Vessel's first boyfriend wouldn't even look at him when he left. Didn't care that Vessel was choking on his own sobs and snot, unable to breathe through the panic attack that had paralyzed him, left him stuck clinging uselessly to the doorframe of their shared apartment. Didn't care that all Vessel wanted was to be loved.

Shaking his head, Vessel tugs gently on the bond he shares with his God, who has lingered somewhere close the entire time Vessel has been away from the manor. He raises his arms to his sides, palms facing the moon.

"Sleep, my deity, this is a giving, an offering in your favour, a sacrifice in your name. I offer you the body and blood of those who have wronged me and those I care for. Devour them."

The sky goes dark as night truly falls, the moon hidden behind thick cloud cover.

Darkness overtakes Vessel's skin, turning him into a living shadow. His form blurs around the edges, like he is worshipping at his God's altar. Vessel cries out, claws digging into the dirt as his body goes weak. He crumbles to the forest floor, writhing in agony as a line splits over his chest, skin and muscle parting to make way for his ribs to be seen as red-black blood spills over the wound. Ribs splinter as they crack outwards, exposing the gaping hole where his heart should sit. From the darkness, teeth made from the splintered edges of his ribs open wide like a maw. Vessel pants through the all-consuming agony overtaking every one of his senses.

It was like ripping his heart out all over again, only the pain increased a hundred fold. An indescribable agony that Vessel will never forget.

Tendrils of inky darkness slither from his chest cavity as Vessel moans in pain on his back. He understands, now, why his God wished for Vessel to wear the robe he was reborn in.

'Sit up, my First.'

Groaning at the motion, Vessel half rolls over, shoving himself up with one shaking arm. Taking a deep breath, he shoves again, righting himself on his knees. Through sheer force of will, he keeps himself from collapsing forward.

Some of the tendrils have teeth, wrapping around the bodies and digging in. Soon, Vessel can barely see either of the corpses, covered in shadows and tendrils. They seem to sink in on themselves until nothing is left underneath, receding back into Vessel's body.

He shudders, pointing weakly at something his God had missed. "His hands. Do not forget his hands."

Another tendril reaches out, and Vessel swears he can almost feel the thing move from inside him, but knows that couldn't be right. The tendril picks up the hands, and they both disappear inside of the gaping maw in Vessel's chest.

The sight makes Vessel sick, gut churning with nausea.

'This is the first time you have manifested any of my form. Despite our bond, our linked souls, your human body is still incapable of properly taking on my essence in such a way. I will make note of this. It is not your own failing, my First. That you managed to do this at all is impressive. It is not an easy thing to manifest even a sliver of my being. I am proud of you, and yourbodyfornotgivingoutundertheweightofmy divinity.'

Vessel is not given a moment to relish in his God's pride in him, as a phone rings from somewhere nearby. It is not his own. Vessel lets it go, intending to let the phone die for all he cares, but a thought strikes him.

Two of III's murderers were together tonight. What are the chances the third was going to meet up with them?

Picking up the phone after lettings its ringing end, Vessel finds it easy to open. Vessel opens up the contact that has called, Denzel being displayed in big, blocky letters.

Vessel is utterly pleased. They've made this so easy.

Sending off a text saying that Kade and Daniel had wandered a bit into the woods, asking for Denzel to join them for some drinks, Vessel waits to see if he managed to replicate Kade's texting style. A couple missed punctuations, a purposeful spelling error there, and Vessel thinks he mostly got it right. A confirmation text comes through and Vessel smiles a little. He only has to wait a few minutes for another text to come through asking where Kade is. Vessel texts back that he'll meet him a little further into the forest, receiving an okay in return.

Heading in the direction of town, Sleep leads the way, a gentle pull under his skin guiding him towards Denzel's demise.

'He is near. You have the means to drag him here quickly. End this, my dear First.'

Vessel keeps to the shadows of the trees, the moon's light dim unlike earlier in the night. It helps to hide him from view, the only thing truly visible is the white of his mask. He sneers as Denzel comes into sight, phone pressed to his ear as he smokes a cigarette. The phone in Vessel's hand starts ringing, and he is quick to drop it, moving away silently.

Denzel looks to the sound, putting his phone down and taking his cigarette from his mouth long enough to call out, "Kade! Daniel! Where are you motherfuckers?"

"I can't believe I came out here into the middle of the damn woods for those fools." He mutters, taking another hit of his cigarette.

He walks in the direction of the phone, leaning around a large tree expecting to see his friends. Instead, Kade's phone lays abandoned, screen still lit up with the missed call he had just made.

"What the fu-"

A mass of vines crawl up his legs to the knee, pulling him deeper into the forest as he yells out in shock and pain as his back slams into the hard ground. There is quiet laughter echoing around him as he is dragged deeper and deeper. Yelling for help, Denzel struggles, cursing profusely, unable to reach his legs and free himself, flailing uselessly.

A white dot appears from the shadows, growing nearer until Denzel can see its a mask.

"You're one of those cult fucks!" He exclaims in anger.

Vessel only watches as the vines bring him closer, more coming to wrap around  his arms and pull them out to the sides in something akin to a t-pose. Lifting Denzel up, Vessel's telekinesis power brings him face to mask with Vessel, holding him in the air.

"What the fuck do you want from me?!" Denzel shouts as Vessel watches him silently.

Vessel lets him struggle futilely as Denzel's fear only grows with every passing moment of nothing but endless silence and a creepy, masked man simply staring at him.

"Fucking say something!" Denzel shouts, tugging so hard on the vines that his shoulder burn with the intensity, muscles bulging in attempts to escape.

"Your kind doesn't deserve to exist." Vessel says, and his eyes go wide.

No, It doesn't deserve the right to be called anything of importance. Not after what it did to Vessel's beloved III. He'll never forget the terror, the confusion, on their face as this fucker made that first hit that shattered III's cheekbone, laughing all the while.

Vessel hopes it remembers that it said those exact words to III as they were killing him. As he spit on them, giving a final kick to a body already broken beyond repair.

Vessel places a claw at It's temple, like he did to Dipshit, and the nightmare Vessel gives it is exquisite, leaving it trembling even as its eyes go listless, unseeing, caught in its own mind.

Its eyes clear, tears threatening to fall from thick eyelashes, but Vessel only puts it under again. And again. And again and again until it is simply a limp, sobbing mess that can barely speak past the hyperventilation.

When it comes to a final time, it chokes out, "Who the fuck are you?"

Vessel summons his scythe for the fear tactic alone, bone white gleaming under the bright moon above, Sleep's presence an encouraging croon in his ear, telling him to end it. End it, offer its body to his God. Vessel puts the scythe's sharp, rib turned blade to Denzel's neck. It nicks the skin, drawing red blood that drips slowly down the tan skin.

It pisses in terror, green eyes wide in horror. It shouldn't be afraid of the blade, no, it should be afraid of Vessel himself. It was this thing that had landed the killing blow on III, this thing that had deemed III as something unworthy of his precious life, this thing that had started the assault in the first place. Over a compliment.

The scythe disappears in a shower of gold, and Vessel raises a hand to trace the nick in its skin.

He moves his claw lower, digs it in enough to sting without injury, purposefully not breaking skin as Vessel drags it down over its Adam's apple, over the length of its throat and past the collarbones. Down further, until Vessel can feel a beating heart under his hand, all five fingers splaying over Denzel's chest. It struggles,  whimpering in terror as Vessel scratches at its skin so gently, like a lovers caress.

There's a wide grin on his face, sharp teeth bared so fully its nearly a snarl, all six eyes glowing a blood red through the holes of his mask. Golden tears of fury drip down and fall from his jaw, staining his teeth and lips. Behind him, a writhing mass of shadows looms overhead. The moon is brighter still, the bottom cast into darkness as Sleep awaits His next meal. When Vessel speaks, it is with many voices, his most prominent.

"I am the teeth of God, and you hurt what is mine."

He digs his nails in, shoving past skin and muscle, through the cracks in its ribs until at least one claw pierces a lung. A wet gurgle follows, a vine having grown over its mouth to muffle any unsavory sounds. Blood dribbles past the vines, leaves beginning to stain red as a cough splatters blood all over them.

Vessel pulls his hand out, shaking off as much blood as possible and takes a step back. Then, he waits.

Desperate pleas fall onto deaf ears as Vessel watches Denzel slowly suffocate almost the same as III did. This is far more satisfying. Denzel deserves this, Vessel knows he does.

There had been others.

When Denzel takes his final breath, Vessel does not do anything more than breath of sigh of relief.

It is done.

Vessel doesn't regret a single death at his hands, he only regrets what he will lose when he returns to the manor. He knows he would have regretted this, Before. He is not quite who he was Before. When his God intertwined their souls, He must have given Vessel some of His penchant for violence spurred on by possessiveness and protectiveness. The Wrath of a God at his fingertips.

Without warning, Vessel's skin splits, ribs splintering apart as his God's mouth manifests on his chest again. It is once more an awful agony, and Vessel cries, harsh breaths and pained whimpers falling from his pinched lips.

For a time, after his God has had His meal, Vessel simply kneels on the ground, panting with one hand clutching his chest. His side of the bond is a mess of emotions and he fears he will wake the others with it. He had taken great care to keep the bond as calm as possible this entire excursion, but he fears that now that it is done, his control will slip.

II and III remain asleep, safe at the manor and well away from Vessel. He isn't sure he wants to go back to the manor just yet. He is still so vulnerable, crumbling under the weight of what he has just done.

'Come, rest in my realm, my First. You've done well.'

'Should I not go back to the manor first?' Vessel asks, bone deep exhaustion laced in his tone.

'I wish to see you, I wish for you to see me. You have give me a beautiful offering today, I am much stronger than I have been in eons. I may yet be able to manifest some attempt at a visible form. Do not fret, you will find yourself at the manor when you next open your eyes. My realm will have been moved to somewhere else in this country, and the existences of the Third's murderers will beerased from all but the vessels minds.'

Vessel hums an agreement, eager to be with his God. To see his God. He looks up at the moon above him, and swears he sees many eyes, too many, blinking fondly at his still form.

Vessel closes his eyes, and when he opens them, he first sees a sea of red. Sitting up, there is an expanse of red trees as far as his six eyes can see. This place is familiar, and Vessel has often found himself here when his God has called upon him for lyrics or melodies.

Something approaches from behind a particularly large tree, shimmering gold and translucent.

Eyes, so many crimson eyes of varying sizes blink tenderly down at him, surrounded by pitch black sclera. They dot his cheekbones, his forehead, his temples. Thick, dark tendrils are pulled back into a long braid, many tendrils tied together to form the three main sections, exposing a long ear far more pointed than Vessel's own. His God's skin, though translucent and untouchable, wafts smoke like a shadow, darker than night, darker than anything Vessel has ever seen. Across that void of skin is little sprinkles of white, blinking and flowing over His bare shoulders like a moving galaxy of stars, ever changing. Few eyes of varying sizes, like His God's face, litter the skin of His arms, with an eye each on the back of His hands.

His teeth are bone white, rows of sharp points, mouth opened into something akin to a smile. Etched into the skin of his God's face, Sleep's symbol sits in the exact placement of Vessel's masks symbol.

Vessel averts his gaze quickly, remembering what His God had told him when they had first met.

A laugh sounds, and it is so familiar Vessel can feel his shoulders relaxing from their tense position.

The form glitches, magic wavering as Sleep moves closer. 'You can look upon me, my Vessel. You will only be able to see me in this form here, only when I can manage it. I am still so weak. It will be a long time before I can do more than this, but you have given this to me nonetheless.'

His God's many voices do not come from the smiling mouth, still heard, but from no clear place.

Vessel looks up, trusting his God. 'Come, my First. I would like to see your weapon up close. Then, I would like to hear some of your songs. It has been some time since I have brought you to my realm. Now that the Third is settled, I think it is time I resume your visits.'

Vessel follows dutifully, eagerly, even, as His God leads him further into the bloody forest.

[shakingparadigm]

SECOND ASK HELLO!!!!

IVAN AND TILL TIME (will get to the other characters separately)

soo!!! for ivan and till i'm still debating whether they should be what most closely mirrors their alnst counterparts (idols/musicians/actors) or something that kinda just has the overall vibe

One of the reasons i'm more inclined to go with ivan being an idol and till being an independent musician is that for till (ivan i can see doing something else), till's character is really tied to his music and i think it would be weird to separate him from that if that makes sense. So i'm going with that for now :D So everyone else will probably be idol/music industry related so they know each other

BEFORE THE TRAIN (basically just a modern au)

Note: Anakt garden here would probably be an idol/acting training program or something

IVAN:

- Was raised from childhood to become an idol, has had very little control of his life

- faces constant pressure to preform well and keep a good brand image

- Every aspect of his life is monitored by someone else from his diet, hobbies, relationships (not that he has any skjdjf), etc

- (he's an almost perfect mirror of his alnst self)

- Due to the heavy restrictions in behavior, ability to peruse passions, and being isolated from a normal childhood, till caught his eye for that reason

- He envies till's freedom in being an independent artist, having split off from contractors/labels to persue his own music (and his ability to make his own decisions, live his life without the huge pressure etc)

- The intense competitive nature of his career is something so ingrained in his life that he finds it hard to imagine a simple domestic lifestyle

- His manager is Unsha of course

- basically, i barely changed him

- BOY'S GOT PROBLEMS

TILL:

- Was initially part of a music group signed to a music label after anakt garden

- Has a background in acting

- Broke away from the group to create his own music

- He has a decent sized cult following online, though his popularity is nowhere near ivan's

- He still faces mistreatment from other higher-ups in the industry and is looked down on for his choices

- Usually, this is from former friends & managers (HI URAK)

- He admires Mizi (pop singer? maybe?) for her carefree and genuine persona

- i may still change some things about him

ALSO mizi sua ivan and till are friends here and stuff. They see each other outside work and things

ALTERNATIVES:

- Ivan: business/finance, faces pressure to inherit a family business

- Till: still acting/music, but not independent and mistreated by urak

- Other ideas?

BOARDING THE TRAIN

IVAN:

- TILL'S ON THE TRAIN UH OH,, NATURALLY IVAN FOLLOWS

- His number is pretty high. either 500 or like 1000 idk what's considered high i forgot

- His number remains pretty consistent

TILL

- I'm thinking mizi disappeared and this upset him enough the train appeared

- "WHY CAN'T I FIND HER" oh sorry till here you go she's right here

- His number is probably similar to ivan, give or take a few numbers only

- His number constantly goes up and down

OKAY I NEED HELP FOR THIS PART WHAT DO THEY DO WHEN THEY'RE ACTUALLY ON THE TRAIN

HELLO!!!!

(long infinity train au post incoming!)

I 100% agree on the first part!! I've had those thoughts when thinking up my College/Modern AU, the question of "if these characters weren't forced into it, would they still choose to pursue music?" and although my answers for certain characters fluctuated, Till was consistent in the way that the answer was always yes for him. He is a goddamn prodigy, after all, and literally makes music of his own volition (which doesn't seem very common in the garden, at least to the extent and frequency that Till does it). Though he was forced into it as well, Till views music as an outlet rather than a responsibility.

Ivan, I think he'd definitely be under a company or management. Though I feel like if he wasn't forced to sing in this universe, another route for him could be his (very successful) modelling career. It seems to be his main "thing" besides singing, after all, and he rose to fame because of it. I also think the finance/business stuff might translate better into the modelling thing since he deals with commercials and brand deals, ambassador stuff (not to say this can't happen with idols, it'd just be emphasized if he was a model I think. The idol idea is still perfectly fine! It'd also make more sense for Ivan and Till to meet/grow close if they were from the same company, though I was also still fond of the childhood friends idea.... I realize it might be hard to pull that off in a modern au if Unsha and Urak are still rivals).

Ivan boarding because Till boarded first is so Min and Ryan 😭 insert that one meme "I'd follow him to hell and back but I just wish he'd stop going there" (it could be argued that Min was just trying to get his keys back, but. come on. we all know it wasn't just about the keys).

Till boarding because Mizi went missing is so unfortunately plausible 😭 it's literally the love conga line all over again. Mizi boards because of Sua, Till boards because of Mizi and Ivan boards because of Till. Insanity.

Though depending on the reason for their boarding, it could go a lot of different ways. Would they have some kind of meteor scene parallel where Ivan tries to take Till away from the train, Till gives him a sorry look before running in, Ivan pulls that sad smile and then runs in right after him? Would the train appear during a fight? Would they board separately? I feel like boarding together was a rare instance for Min and Ryan (at the time) because their issues were largely centered around each other (and their circumstances of course. but the point is they had to figure themselves out together). So for Ivan and Till to board the train together, they must've had a very prominent issue within their relationship that they need to confront (which is already true, very complicated issues in fact so no worries about that part). Though I'd love to hear your thoughts on how their issues and relationship complexities translate to this more modern au!

500-1000 is an insanely high number 😭 I mean at least it's not as bad as Grace and Simon, but I'm fully convinced that Ivan and Till could come close that point at least once 😭 (or just the ALNSTverse versions of them maybe). Maybe they'd be around (and I apologize for always bringing them up) Min and Ryan's 202. It's relatively high to Jesse's 20-something and Tulip's 30-something (I can't remember atm my bad).

Ohhh wait sorry I'm answering this ask in portions and I just realized you said they had different numbers. Does this mean you had them board the train at separate times?

I love the detail of their numbers going down in different ways! I could definitely see Ivan's staying more consistent and harder to budge because (as VIVINOS says) Ivan is incredibly persistent. Or stubborn. This can be seen in his mindset too, where he's firmly convinced he isn't cared for despite their childhood comics proving that he and Till were basically friends. I feel like Ivan is the type who's number doesn't change very often, but when it does it goes down by a large amount.

Till, on the other hand, with all his severe reactions seems like his number would fluctuate quite a lot. Just like how his collar switches between colors fairly quick. It would definitely go up and down a lot 😭 smaller amounts than Ivan's, I think.

Though I can see the situation reversing (Ivan's number constantly fluctuating as a reflection of his muddled and confusing thoughts, Till's number being more constant because he's more firm in his self identity), I still think the ones mentioned above fit just the slightest bit better.

WHAT DO THEY DO... HMMM... It really depends on the reason they're on the train in the first place. And that reason depends on the severity of their issues in this modern au. Do they board for their own personal reasons that aren't as intertwined with each other? Are their attachment methods still as unhealthy as they were in the ALNSTverse? Or are they slightly more mellowed and better adjusted in a more "normal" society? would Ivan still be unhealthily fascinated and devoted to Till? Would Till still feel conflicted about Ivan? Would they be more focused on their own individual issues and less on each other or vice versa? Naturally both can be the case but one usually wins over a certain amount. There's a lot to think about!

A lot of the train cars force the passenger to deal with their issues in somewhat literal ways (like how min and ryan are usually forced to work together, tulip is forced to sing a song she is emotionally attached to, actually hey wait fuck that's a good one?) Would there be a train car where Till has to recognize Ivan's feelings head on (Finally looking at him)? Would there be a car that would take their deepest inner thoughts and manifest them into physical, tangible beings or objects? Many possibilities! I'd love to hear more of your thoughts and ideas!

( + @chiisana-lion !! I'd also love to hear any thoughts you might have on an ALNST infinity train au !! If you have any !! let's share these brainwaves together !! )

[je-suis-problematique]

Some Sengo things

Trans (FtM) and therefore not a favorite among drow. I don't know if he's from Menzoberranzan or a different place where Lolthite drow are in charge but either way he gets harassed often for his gender identity. Bonus points if he's from a relatively powerful house too so now he's also shaming his mother by "choosing to be weak/lesser" or some shit. Attempts on his life are pretty commonplace too I'd say. And sexual harassment/assault. Yep. 90% of our stories have those themes, Sengo's is going to be no different.

Kar'niss' childhood best friend. They were buddies since forever and always had each other's back. Maybe Kar'niss is from a smaller/less powerful house and Sengo's parents (namely mother) kind of helped elevate his status a little.... Until Sengo started arguing about gender that is. Because after that the Auvyrrets' reputation got damaged and shit.

A necromancer. Prefers the company of corpses and ghosts over that of living people (unless it's Kar'niss). Pretty good at casting necromancy spells actually.

Was driven out of wherever it is he came from after Kar'niss failed the Test of Lolth and got turned into a drider. We imagined that part of Kar'niss' test was to kill Sengo but he just couldn't bring himself to do it and therefore failed. Sengo was more than happy to leave everything behind and go with Kar'niss. He helped Kar'niss get used to his new form, helped him hunt, while simultaneously figuring out how to take care of himself now that they were on their own. We like to think that Kar'niss looked after Sengo when it came to scavenging for food and water and also keeping him safe in a general sense. It was hard but the two of them made it work.

Kar'niss falling into the Absolute's clutches seriously concerned Sengo because Sengo remained wary and suspicious of the Absolute cult and also free from its influence. Absolutist!Kar'niss became increasingly more violent and unstable even towards Sengo so Sengo set out to look for help while Kar'niss did Absolute Things™. We like to think that these two are from Mikhail's canon and that Mikhail managed to help break Kar'niss free from the Absolute's influence while also giving Sengo some tips and tricks for how he should treat Kar'niss so such a lapse won't repeat itself in the future.

Kar'niss lives! Maybe the two of them even join Mikhail's camp for a while, just to be safe y'know? Even though nobody trusts them (or more specifically, nobody trusts Kar'niss) Mikhail lets them seek refuge at his camp because it's better than wandering the shadow-cursed lands without protection.

Sengo and Kar'niss were a couple since their teens I'd say. Just two weirdos being weird and off-putting together. Two freaks matching each other's freak.

Sengo is initially very mistrusting of everyone at the camp but he trusts Mikhail and Mikhail helps him open up a little bit over time, especially after Kar'niss stabilizes. I think Sengo would get along with Karlach because he'd be drawn to her friendly and open-minded attitude. Maybe he'd even get along with Wyll, if Wyll won't say anything judgmental about Kar'niss. Gale too, especially if Sengo is the wizard type of necromancer. Astarion and Lae'zel are on his shitlist though and Shadowheart is on thin ice.

I can see Sengo being curious about Gale's cooking and offering to help him cook or at the very least just asking a lot of questions while watching Gale cook from the side. Sengo lived off scavenged rations and barely edible meals for a long time, it's refreshing to finally eat something that's actually good.

Sengo riding Kar'niss' back like a horse whenever he gets too tired from walking.

Sengo might get along with Minthara to a degree just based off the fact that Minthara also rejected both Lolth and the Absolute like Sengo did. Minthara might have a thing or two to say about Kar'niss that Sengo would likely find distasteful but he knows enough about his own kind to expect such comments from Minthara specifically so he isn't TOO offended.

Sengo playing with Scratch and the owlbear cub to experience the feeling of having the pets which he never got to have as a kid.

Sengo reading and singing to Kar'niss to soothe Kar'niss' nerves.👌

Kar'niss will never be allowed into Baldur's Gate for obvious reasons so Sengo parts ways with Mikhail before act 3 but now that the shadow curse has been lifted he feels like it'll be safer for them to hang around the area surrounding Moonrise and maybe even help rebuild/defend some parts. Y'know, as a new beginning.

Speaking of Moonrise, Sengo and Kar'niss fighting Ketheric alongside Mikhail as additional allies like Dame Aylin just does things to my soul okay?

[ladyblueberrymuffin]

You're right, and you should say it!

But also, if I may, I have waited months, maybe years for this opportunity:

LENA DUCHANNES IS TRANS CODED AS FUCK AS WELL

And I can prove it!

“Sometimes I wish I could act like everyone else, but I can’t change who I am. I’ve tried. But I never wear the right clothes or say the right thing, and something always goes wrong. I just wish I could be myself and still have friends who noticed whether I’m in school or not.”

First of all, y'all have no idea how much this helped me when I started transitioning, especially that bit about clothes. Like I don't feel weird if I throw my old jean jacket over my new girl clothes, because that's kinda how Lena dresses.

She shook her head. “I can’t talk about it. And you wouldn’t understand, anyway.” “How do you know if you don’t give me a chance?” “My family is different from other families. Trust me, you can’t handle it.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Face it, Ethan. You say you’re not like the rest of them, but you are. You want me to be different, but just a little. Not really different.”

This is like a knife that pierces my very soul, because this poor girl really thought he might not like her if he knew her secret.

And the fact that she does muster up all this courage to tell him, and Ethan accepts her as she is, even if this is scary and new to him makes me just melt. And not only that, but his inner monologue after that isn't "Wow, I like how Lena is a witch, that's cool, witches witches witches", it's "Wow, this girl is so brave and clever and I want to spend every waking hour with her... oh yeah, also witches are real I guess, but who cares about that, Lena Lena Lena."

“That you and Ethan can never really be together. You can never marry, never have children. You can never have a future, at least not a real future. I can’t believe they never told you. They certainly kept you and Ridley sheltered.”

And this? You wouldn't believe how many times someone levied this fucking argument against me. And the fact that they find a way by the end of the series? Love that, giving us hope of change.

"I feel so different from everyone else, even other Casters."

Speaks for itself.

You know, don't you? What? Your real name. Now that you're Claimed, you know it, right? She tilted her head to the side, with a half-smile. I grabbed her up into my arms, my face hovering just above hers. What is it? Don't you think I should know? Haven't you figured it out yet, Ethan? My name is Lena. It's the name I had when we met. It's the only name I'll ever have. She knew it, but she wasn't going to tell me. I understood why. Lena was Claiming herself again. Deciding who she was going to be. Binding us back together with the things we had shared. I was relieved, because she would always be Lena to me.

SHE HAS A CHOSEN NAME, GUYS! We love that for her.

Last one isn't that big, I just think it's sweet:

Lena didn’t take her eyes away from the book. “This line is my favorite. ‘I have been bent and broken, but—I hope—into a better shape.’ ”

Now of course, I don't think Lena was written with the intention of being trans, but as a trans girl I find her struggles deeply relatable.

Girl went to war with an entire town of close-minded xenophobes, had her sanity questioned, and through it all she remained brave, clapped back and came out stronger. Then she helped abolish a crooked, bigoted government and played her hand in murdering a genocidal cult leader. Lastly she also broke the fundamental laws of the universe, because nobody can tell Lena Duchannes what she can and can't be.

She's an icon, she's the moment, and she's my transition goals.

anyways lena duchannes is bisexual and that’s that on that

[sundarika]

headcanon in two parts, sorry. Ask does not miss it. 1.1 Oh, you know the insecticons from the tfp? Can I have a headcanon where a S/O person is on friendly terms with insecticons?

[TF PRIME] S/O Is Friends With The Insecticons

———————————————————————

* [S/O] meets them by accident quite a bit before the events of the Energon Eaters. Arachnid is still “leader” of the Insecticons by technicality as the only available ‘Queen’ for the hive-mind, however she never really patrols the area or takes care of the hive as she should, rather choosing to wander as a free mind, disobeying orders from everybody.

* You had stumbled upon the hive while taking a short walk along the side of the Jasper highway, leading out of town and to an old coal mine you liked to inhabit on your days off work. A home-away-from-home of sorts, it brought you peace of mind to have a quiet place.

* At least you thought it was a quiet, desolate area until you broke through a thinning in the rock floor of the entry shaft and ended up crashing an Insecticon tea-party.

*It was a rather awkward fall, and it had injured your hip joint on the way down, leaving you temporarily paralyzed in throbbing pains and nerve damage.

* The giant bug-like robots and their shiny, metal wingspans immediately armed themselves and aimed at the shifting dust and rockfall, growling and chittering in a language of some sort, unknown to you.

* “Is it one of those ugly-faced Decepticons ploys again?”

* “It’s too small and squishy, much sooner to be a predacons’ chew toy than any weapon.”

* You looked super confused, absolutely stupefied, completely duped, utterly incomprehensible, awkwardly awed, amazingly idiotic, a-

* Their manner of speech and vocal patterns was practically lost on you. You could pick up remnants of a language similar to broken [language], but really nothing else. In an attempt to make contact with the metallic giants to gain help, you enabled your parroting capabilities.

* Humans have the stunning ability to mimic sounds and specific noise frequencies, at levels other earthen animals, especially mammals, cannot. Using this ability, you managed to copycat the grinding and chattering noises coming from the vocal mass of bug-bots.

* [S/O]: “¿Krrt-grrut vvurrr chechch?”

* Hardshell: “¿Buzzzz vert-tet-brrrz, Erreech?”

* [S/O]: “¿Erreech?”

* Hardshell: “¡VRREE BUZZZ-EECH CLICKLICKIK!”

* The contact went well, unbeknownst to you, and the successful communication meant that you might actually have a chance at escape, or finding a hospital!

* Congrats! You are now [Tiny Bug Child]! You have no idea what they were speaking about, unaware that they were contemplating how to execute you, but you successfully managed to evade death by being cute and cuddly! People say curiosity killed the cat, but it evidently saves the naive human-who-fell-into-an-insect-cult-meeting!

* Hardshell, the Insecticon you nearly landed on top of, begins to lift you out of the rubble, and place you down upon a makeshift stone table, partially destroyed by the collapse. The others—including Wingflap, Bombshell, Shrapnel, Blockhead, and Kickback—gather closely around you, cooing and chirping in their weird language again.

* This was, evidently, how you became the new Queen of the hive, though you didn’t know it, and managed to befriend your way through the entire enclosed community and worm into the spark of every Insecticon, though they were very few in number.

* You made easy friends with Bombshell, and remained close with him up until his untimely death by Bulkheads hammer fist. He would often lay atop the Jasper cliffside with you, and make out shapes in the clouds, constellations in the stars—regaling to you tales of the Old Cybertron, when his own kind weren’t so despised, and were respected as viable assets and allies amongst those with forms like and unlike their own—until the Autobot Elitists ensured they were seen as ugly and malformed, made to hide away in the shadows and step away from society for ‘the greater good’.

* It’s how you came to hate the Autobots—and Decepticons—for all they had done, to their planet and yours, and to your friends as well.

* Your mimicry slowly turned into actual speech patterns and recognition. Repetitive sound signals were a key portion of Archaic Insecticon speech, which made it easy to recognize simple words or phrases, each indicated by a set of whirs, clicks, or beeps.

* Now that you could actively communicate with most of the hive, it was far easier to make friends with even the hardiest of bots.

* Hardshell, of course, was tough to crack. At your constant insistance, he spoke with you once or twice, and made sure to acknowledge your presence when in the room, as well as save you a seat at the underground pub every other weekend. It wasn’t actually a pub per-say, rather a dugout chamber with smooth walls and some stone slabs insert for seating, where the cons enjoyed engex they could sneak off the Nemesis from time-to-time.

* After awhile, he warms up to you, welcoming you back to the hive every day after work, standing alongside his multiple siblings, and pushing others aside to get to hold you first.

* Meanwhile this all happens, they still don’t know what a human is. Their simple understanding of earth comes only from what they’ve seen on the highway from the cliffside, or from video footage of the Autobot pests on the Nemesis. Due to their bulky size and noisiness, they’re banned from most human-inhabited areas.

* Don’t doubt that some of them have attempted to follow their [S/O] home. They have. And some of them won’t stop trying. It’s been more than one awkward encounter between you and some teens to get them to realize they could get you in trouble.

* You all eat [dessert] together sometimes, made with energon supplements for ‘The Boys™️’, with some good ol’ 25-something-kg of sugar mixed in.

* The boys were worried when you didn’t show up for a week due to hospitalization via severe food poisoning medical coma.

* When Arachnid finally returned to Earth, and her fight against Arcee had proceeded about as well as expected, she located the hive and proceeded to force them to engage in business with Megatron. She believed that by implementing her own soldiers amongst the ranks, she’d be better equipped to backstab Megatron when the time came.

* She was undoubtably surprised when Hardshell and some others adamantly refused to take part in her plans at first, until she enforced their compliance through the hive-mind.

*When she learned of your existence, and the very gauge of your importance to her former hive, she came at you with full force.

*The Insecticons were fully unprepared to deal with a fight between their small [S/O] and an extremely angry ex-Queen. In refute, they returned you to the surface without so much as a goodbye, and begged you to escape before Arachnid scented you out.

* It was soon after these events that you learned of Breakdown’s death, Bulkhead’s coma, and Bombshell’s demise due to the combined effects of a substance called Tox-En and injuries sustained during his battle with Bulkhead. It broke you inside to learn there was nothing you could have done to help, but you refused to disobey their pleas to stay away for awhile.

* At the hive, Arachnid rules supreme. Being able to control the hive-mind was a feat a human was incapable of achieving, only Cybertronians able to easily access the imbedded chain of command.

* Hardshell mourned the loss of a true friend—a small, squishy human—but a friend nonetheless.

* Wingflap and Kickback went through a collection of memories you’d left behind with them. Pictures and small objects gifted over the years, a small treasure trove of important parts of their lives, now without you in them.

* Shrapnel stims a lot more now, and has nervous tics that he believes are the result of the loss of his dear friend. He knows you aren’t dead, least not yet, but he knows that you’ll likely never come back.

* Blockhead, as dumb as everybody thinks he is, is actually very emotionally intelligent. He has a way with words he barely understands, and [S/O] acted as a big support for someone like him. Without them now, he can no longer function like normal, and now has nobody left to talk to.

* Arachnid could care less. She absolutely despises [S/O], and would smite them for all she cares. You matter little to her, and only worry her for the loyalty and capacity of her troops.

* It isn’t until the Energon Eaters appear that everything turns completely south.

* [S/O] finally builds up enough courage to march themselves back down to the mine, and demand to meet Arachnid face-to-faceplate.

* The desert is hot, Nevada is hotter, and the trek down the highway seems endless and tedious. You pass by 5 interstate signs on your way to the hive, and count the steps it takes to reach the entrance, parched by the time you make it there.

* In all your sweaty glory, you, [S/O], make your way down the carved pathway into the mineshaft, dark and cramped—just as you left it.

* But everything is exactly as it was left, not an item out of place. The entire hive was empty, including of those you cared about. Their rooms are full of memories, and their energon cubes still lie in a corner, collecting dust and grime.

* The search seems profitable, yet it leaves you with nothing, and the emptiness of the hive echoes around you, and in all the chambers, through the cavern walls of every room.

* You know they’re gone, that they have left without you, and without so much as a simple passing note.

* Perhaps someday you’d find them, hiding away in another Jasper mine, but you never would.

* In their haze of a hive mind, they barely even remember the face of the human they left behind. A long line across the moon—stretching on for miles—and a vampire on a false throne, draining the lifeblood from their veins, and the image of [S/O] from their minds.

———————————————————————

✨ Hope you enjoyed ✨

[amandaoftherosemire]

And Hell is Just a Sauna -- Part Four

Fandom: Marvel/MCU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Author: @amandaoftherosemire

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5,425

Format: Short Series (Complete)

Warnings: Violence, graphic and disturbing imagery, death, language, implied smut, fluff.

Summary: You meet Bucky Barnes upon your mysterious and deadly escape from a power obsessed cult leader and his followers. Though you carry a secret in addition to the wariness of trauma, you can’t help your attraction to Bucky and his irascible demeanor. As for Bucky, he is drawn to the light he sees in you while he fears the things you’re hiding. Can you trust him with your secrets, and your life? Will you have a choice?

A/N: When I told my husband about some of the things that happen in this chapter, he reacted with impressed horror and disgust. (He’s a great audience.) When I went to edit and proofread this chapter, however, that was in my mind and I realized that some of the things I describe in here are pretty weird and gross and I’m a little perturbed that I wrote them without realizing exactly how weird and gross they were. I wasn’t aware I also had a horror writer in here. Hmm. Anyway, fair warning: graphic horror movie style descriptions.

That said, these two were fun to write, and I might write more with them reuniting after the Blip. TFAWS was a gold mine for inspiration and I’m itching to write more Sam and Bucky interactions now that I have more of them in my head. Feel free to let me know if you want that. 😊

I would have had this up faster, but the God of Mischief has been busy of late and he was occupying my mind and my keyboard for the past several weeks. Every time I sat down to my computer, he took over and it has been too much fun to stop. Soon, I promise. 😉

 Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four

 And Hell is Just a Sauna -- Part Four

 Bucky shook his head and snorted. "We're gonna have to have a talk about your timing, doll."

Bucky dragged his eyes from your retreating form to focus on the threat outside. He'd be damned if he'd let these assholes hurt you. Especially when he needed to hear you tell him you loved him again, when he still needed to tell you he loved you, too.

"JOSEPH!" You shouted as you threw the door open, your hair smoldering as you stepped over the body in the doorway. Your voice was a mockery of the strident tone he'd taken as you'd made him wait while you spoke to Bucky. You walked forward until you were standing at the          top of the stairs onto the front porch. "If you want me to be quick, do not send me meals. Or did you not send Brit as a sacrifice to the creature inside me?”

Joseph took a single step forward, losing his breath in a sigh of awe as your skin began to glow the red-orange of a fire's heart from the inside out, your eyes glowing molten gold as you spoke. "He's pleased that you'd send someone so valuable, but he also hopes you understand," your lips curved in a cruel, hungry smile as those brilliant eyes swept over the robed figures ranged behind him, "it's not going to be nearly enough.”

Bucky could see the shudder of fear run through the small crowd and figured at least half would panic and run should you attack. However, as he'd kept his eyes and the sight of his gun on Joseph, he could also see the desire on the other man's face as he eased closer when you didn't stop that first tentative step.

"That's not going to be a problem," the man said with pure lust in his voice.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw a twinkle of light just before a wall of flame erupted into being between Joseph and his followers, spreading from the left to the right. As he expected, half of them broke and ran immediately, joined by a few more besides. A few diehards ran towards the flames, but the heat screaming off of the fire easily kept them at bay. He figured Kiki was in control of them and focused in on the only threat left.

Joseph seemed mesmerized by the sight of you as you slowly descended the stairs toward him. "Are you a god?" You intoned the words in the same popping, roaring voice Bucky remembered from that first meeting and his eyes swept the scene for confirmation that Kiki was coming in from the left as her wall of fire indicated.

"I will be!" Joseph cried as he lunged towards you, only to stop abruptly at the blast of heated air that swept between you as the wall began to move in a swirl, whipped into a river of fire. The leading edge was bright gold with streamers of vibrant orange and red and hints of turquoise heat that hit the man directly in the chest and poured into him.

When he'd absorbed the last bit of fire, he looked up at you next to your front door where you'd retreated and smiled a cruel, anticipatory smile. His body continued to jerk and contort in wicked and unsettling ways that seemed to be preventing him from following you up the stairs to take his revenge.

You were deeply horrified by what was happening to him, though you didn't move any further away because you could hear Kiki muttering as she rummaged around inside Joseph. You didn't know what she was looking for, but you knew that he was dead as soon as she found it, either because of what she was doing or the man in the window waiting for his moment. You could see, however, that Joseph thought he was on the verge of victory, and you pitied him.

When you heard her crow in delighted discovery, you whispered, that pity ripe in your voice and on your face. "Good-bye, Joseph."

In the next instant, Kiki was clawing her way out of him, starting at his chest and climbing up his throat as he clutched his neck in nightmarish pain. Your eyes stayed dry, but you didn't enjoy suffering, even his. When the little flame body that Kiki had in this dimension came pushing out of Joseph's mouth in front of a hoarse scream, Bucky ended his torment with a single bullet to the heart.

The blackened body that fell to the ground was the last straw for the last few cultists who hadn't already fled. You saw them run for the forest in your peripheral vision but couldn't watch, your eyes glued to the happily chattering little fire trying to drag something out of Joseph's body.

As grateful as you were to never have to worry about Joseph ever again, you weren't made of stone and your stomach churned when Kiki managed to pry loose whatever it was she was so intent on retrieving. When the object fell heavily to the ground, she evidently lost her grip as she went tumbling several feet, but she was up and making cheerful scolding chuffs of sound in an instant.

The little flame creature scampered in merry leaps around something that looked like a dark quartz stone a little smaller than a tennis ball, with jagged spikes of black glass sticking out of the top. You frowned in confusion when Kiki continued to make huffing and scoffing noises that you couldn't understand as she got behind the rock and started pushing it forward.

"Y/N?" Behind you, Bucky murmured your name in a voice gentle with sympathy. Whatever else Joseph had been, he was pretty sure the man hadn't deserved to die like that. If he'd had his way, Bucky would have moved more quickly and made the end much less painful. On top of that, he hated that you'd had to see your little friend do something so gruesome.

"Yeah?" You sounded weird, like you were both puzzled and worried, but you didn't turn to look at him, your gaze on the wild flickering of Kiki on the ground next to the charred remains of what was once Joseph.

Bucky reached out, hoping he was doing the right thing, and slid his arm around your waist to pull you in and cradle you against his body. "Are you okay?"

"I guess?" If you weren't so focused on Kiki, you'd have melted at the tenderness in his tone, in his touch. As it was, you snuggled back into him even as you craned your neck to try and see what the little flame was up to. "I don't know what Kiki is doing. Kiki!"

Kiki's head popped up and she scampered forward a couple feet and shouted happily, It's Grumble! She scampered back and climbed on top of the stone, her front limbs wrapped around a couple of the spikes on top. I found Grumble in the human demon!

"What the hell is Grumble?" Your hand came up to grip Bucky's where it rested against your hip. As you stepped forward to get a closer look at whatever Kiki had found, you pulled him with you by the hand you kept wrapped around his, needing him with you. Stopping at the edge of the porch at the top of the stairs, you watched Kiki playfully rock back and forth on top of her discovery.

The little flame made the popping sound that served as her most delighted laugh, something you'd heard only a couple of times since you'd met her. No! Not Grumble. Grumble! You could hear very little difference between the two sounds, the second only more intense in its rumbling sound.

"That sounds like the same word, Keek."

Kiki laughed again and rocked the stone as her little head tilted down and she chuffed and rumbled at the object beneath her fiery feet. I love it! She shouted it in her popping, crackling language. She sounded so happy, so relieved, you relaxed by a fraction, enough to be tempted when she continued, Come meet Grumble, then, and waved you forward with one arm of flame.

You looked at Bucky, who was watching you communicate with Kiki with a raised brow and ready stance, not sure the danger was as over as he had believed. "She found someone named something that sounds like her word for 'grumble'."

Bucky tensed and his gaze dropped to the happy, chuffing fire where it was perched. He didn't know exactly what Kiki was, or what all she could do, but for now she resembled a small four-legged creature with a diamond shaped head and long almond shaped eyes made of blue flame. She scorched the ground wherever she ran, and he wondered if this was now why she seemed content to sit on her rock. "Where did she find this someone?"

Your mouth spread in a sickly expression, but it could still be described as an attempt at a winning smile. “Inside Joseph?" When Bucky understood that this was what Kiki had been doing between pouring her fire into him and the bullet through the heart that had ended it, the horror of it hit him like a brick. He looked back to you to find the same horror in your eyes. "I think?"

Bucky couldn't stop looking back and forth between you and the happy little flame continuing to scold the thing beneath her feet. "What is it?"

It's Grumble. She patted her hand against the obsidian spike she was holding and her eyes squinched up in delight. He's mine. He followed me through the hole but got confused and hid inside the demon man because I aimed at him. With that she dropped down and seemed to hug the stone, her flame wrapping close with what looked like affection.

You smiled a little at her apparent joy. "Okay." Still, you needed to know more about whatever had followed her from her world. She'd told you stories of some of the things that lived there. "But what is Grumble? Like, you're made of fire. What is he made of?" You were getting more and more curious, but you didn't move down the stairs yet, not sure that it was safe.

Oh! Kiki sounded surprised at the question, looking down at the stone she was perched upon with a head tilted in confusion. When she looked back up at you, that tilted head was a counterpoint to her perplexed tone. He's rock. You could almost hear the 'duh' that came after that sentence and you snorted softly in amusement. That's why he was so hard to move. Her voice took on a gentle, loving tone, and you realized that whatever or whoever Grumble was, he was evidently precious to Kiki. He's stubborn. And he's scared.

As you started down the stairs, you heard for the first time a rumbling at frequencies at the bottom of the audible range. You almost more felt the sound than heard it, so low were the vaguely annoyed growling noises that had Kiki answering in a spitting, roaring language that sounded like an approximation of them.

You got to the bottom of the stairs, doing everything in your power to keep your eyes on Kiki and her rock and not on what used to be Joseph. Once there, Kiki's face spread in what she used for a smile as she looked up at you and patted the stone beneath her again and said proudly, Grumble.

As he couldn't understand her, you explained to Bucky. "Grumble is this rock."

"I kind of figured that out for myself, thanks."

You shot Bucky a laughing grin, loving the irritated scowl on his face, delighted that he was back to regarding the world with a vague distrust. "He's also alive, and Kiki's friend. He followed her here when she got caught in Joseph's portal."

Bucky pulled you close and slung an arm around you to keep you there. "Pretty good friend." He smirked at you when his almost suggestive tone had your eyes flicking to his. You smirked back in acknowledgement before turning your gaze back to the flame creature that was now making a soothing chirring sound.

"Is it okay if I pick him up?" you asked her, needing to get away from Joseph as soon as possible. "So we can go inside?"

The little fire chirped a cheerful assent and nodded before immediately looking down to scold when the rock gave off what sounded like a hostile rumble. Bucky’s arm around your shoulders tightened slightly in response, a little concerned by it, and unwilling to watch you step again into peril so soon after the last time. "Let me, doll." You quirked a questioning eyebrow in his direction and he turned you in his arms to lean forward and brush your lips with his own, the gratitude he felt at having you safe bright in his eyes. He rested his forehead against yours, relief blowing through him, and smiled gently at you. "You've put yourself in danger enough tonight. I'm already gonna have nightmares."

You heard the dregs of fear in his voice, saw the relief of it in his face, and knew something of what it had cost him to watch you walk out the door to face Joseph. "Between Kiki," you answered, turning your cheek to tenderly rest it against his, "and you, I was never in any real danger."

Bucky's arms came around you in a move both fast and fierce. The next moment you were pressed firmly against him. His face was buried in your throat while he shuddered once, hard, before his hold gentled, and his lips brushed your skin as he spoke. "Sure didn't feel like it."

You simply held on, giving him the moment he needed to calm himself. He held you a moment longer than that, just for the joy of having you close. When he let you go, he flashed that million-watt grin of his that hit you like lightning every time and bent to pick up the little rumbly stone with his vibranium hand.

Kiki hopped out of the way and skittered up the hand you'd held out to nestle into her spot behind your ear where she could watch your world from your perspective. She had bonded herself to the roots of your hair, which is why your head started to smoke when she got angry. She was always more comfortable when she was closer to your scalp. From her perch she hissed in an encouraging tone towards the rock grumbling in Bucky's hand.

Bucky's eyes were on the stone, his brow furrowed in a mixture of confusion and concentration. He didn't look away when you took his hand and began moving up the stairs toward the house, too focused on the resentful grumbles of annoyance vibrating in his hand, up his arm and into his brain. He thought that if he just worked at it, he could come to understand what the different pulses and vibrations meant.

"We think he likes you." Your voice seemed to pop and growl in the same way Kiki had spoken to Grumble and drew Bucky's attention. While he'd been trying to understand the rumbles of the little stone in his hand, you'd led him to the front door and the unconscious body on the threshold. He bent and hauled the only cult member left up and over his shoulder with his free hand.

Bucky eased past you to carry Joseph's lieutenant to the kitchen, part of his attention still on the now curious purrs coming from Grumble. "Yeah. Cool." He was clearly distracted, and you wondered what about Kiki's friend had him so captivated. "Let's go call Steve so he can come clean this up."

"Actually," you said as you hopped up onto the kitchen counter to watch Bucky drop Brit to the floor, "I have a better idea."

By the time you made it back into bed, it was late morning, and you were unsteady on your feet, the weariness of the night having long since caught up with you. Still, your house was clean of Brit's presence and your yard of Joseph's body thanks to the phone call you'd made. You'd once done Maria Hill a favor and she was only too delighted to repay it. Even so odd a request hadn't fazed her when faced with the opportunity to no longer be in anyone's debt. Once Maria's crew had left, you and Bucky had been able to fall into bed in a tangled heap of relieved exhaustion.

If Maria'd had any questions about who had disabled and professionally restrained the tall and powerful person in your foyer, or about the bullet exactly through the heart of the incinerated corpse on your lawn, she kept them to herself. You imagined Nick Fury had already received a full and detailed report, but that was to be expected. You could only hope she was focused on you, considered it a small price to pay to distract them from Bucky's presence in your home.

Now that you'd found him, you would not give him up without a fight.

Bucky had stayed in the little library at the front of the second floor with Kiki and Grumble while you'd dealt with the people Maria had sent. Though he'd considered hiding in the forest during the clean-up, you'd been anxious at the thought. He couldn't stand to get that far away from you, not when he could so clearly see the worry in your eyes when he suggested it.

While he waited, he'd tried to communicate with Grumble. Something about the rumbling vibrations that came from the little stone resonated with his metal arm. If he focused on the sensory data he was getting from the vibranium, he could recognize tone and feeling. He would swear with practice he could truly communicate with the creature.

The clean-up took long enough that he got a little of that practice, was able to communicate enough reassurance to convince Grumble to open small, almond-shaped obsidian eyes. Those eyes had seemed to dart upward to the flame that popped and crackled on top of him. She whistled excitedly and, wrapping her arms of flame around his spikes, rocked him back and forth in what was clearly joy.

Bucky couldn't help but laugh at her antics, especially when he could feel Grumble's affection for her. He had placed one vibranium finger against one of the facets, could feel the relief, the gratitude underneath amused devotion, confirming Bucky's suspicions regarding their relationship. Whatever form it took, Grumble had followed Kiki because he loved her. 

Bucky could understand that feeling easily. He understood now he would follow you into the jaws of hell if he had to.

Thankfully, he didn't have to. Instead, he was laying on his side and nose to nose with you in the warmth of your bed and the only thing he cared about was hearing the words again. His arms were wrapped around you, his metal arm under your head, the other pressing you against him to feel your skin all over him.

Until he'd started sleeping in your bed, he hadn't realized how hungry he was for touch. Once he'd found the glory of your body warm and soft against his, he'd swiftly become obsessed. You were a feast to the famished, sweet and hot and delicious. His preference for having nothing between you whenever possible had been immediately apparent and something you indulged without comment. That silent acceptance inspired his everlasting gratitude as he hadn't known then how to tell you what it meant to him.

He knew now.

"Doll," his voice rumbled from his chest into yours and had you humming in pleasure and pressing closer, "I told you I wanted to talk about your timing." The feel of your body, warm and generous as you snuggled against his skin made both his body heat and his heart ache, and his hands smoothed over your skin in ways meant to make you shiver.

Your face melted into a bashful anxiety that made Bucky's heart pound like a drum. He couldn't believe that you could ever think that he'd be anything but endlessly thankful that you could feel a fraction of what he felt for you and he was terrified that you'd misunderstood. "Say it again, please," he whispered, his eyes burning like blue flames, "when there's time for me to say it back."

Your breath rushed out in relief, in joy, and your smile shone as your eyes blazed. You'd hoped the softness in his eyes had been reflecting his heart. "I love you, Bucky."

The sound of the words, the shape of them as they left your lips sent a feeling thrilling through his entire body, as though they had seeped beneath his skin and into the center of his being. His voice was hoarse with that desperate emotion when he answered. "I love you, too."

The next thing you knew, his lips were on yours and he was taking your breath away. You let him, not needing air when you were breathing his breath, breathing him. Your body already yearning to his, your skin set aflame everywhere he touched, you gave yourself up to his embrace with nothing held back.

Bucky was drowning in you, in the soft warmth you'd shown him from the first time, gladly going under. He loved to hear the words, but now that he knew the name of the emotion that left your mouth so soft against his, he had to keep tasting it on your tongue. Your hands were as fervid as your mouth in their race over his skin, as greedy as your lips as they fed from his. The feeling went to his head and soaked into his body to make him ache with a joyous kind of need. The sound of your pleasure in your throat seemed to resonate with his bones.

His lips left yours to press to the pulse in your throat, wanting both the taste of your skin and the thump of your heart, glorying in the temptation of your voice. "I think my luck changed, too,” you murmured.

Bucky's body seemed to clench in reaction to the ache in your tone and he rolled until he was stretched out on top of you, his hips between your thighs, his thumbs caressing your cheeks. He was smiling sweetly as he brushed his lips over yours, but that smile turned sly as he bent to kiss your neck again. "I met your ex. Your luck completely changed."

The feel of your laughter vibrating in your throat under his lips sent a rush through him, lust and love tangled together to keep his touch tender even as his hands began to wander to incite, to arouse.

Skin to skin and heart to heart, you were soon entwined and rocking toward ecstasy. Always a joyous experience, your joining was even sweeter, now that you had given each other the love you’d both been holding back. The words were as sweet on your lips as they were to his ear when you whispered them as you quaked in pleasure. His arms enveloped you and the choked cry of your name had your hands gliding over him to hold him through his own rapture.

A long time later, once he’d adored you to his own exacting standards, pleasuring you thoroughly and doing all he could to erase the memory of the night before from both your minds, you lay boneless and satisfied in each other’s arms.

“I kind of feel weird about what we just did.” His voice was low and raspy and made you shiver agreeably. His tone was so quiet and calm, it didn’t break the silence as much as it dismissed it. You marveled at the fact that your body was utterly exhausted and still yearned. Even now you could want him. “You know, with them here.”

You glanced at the nightstand where Kiki lay curled up on top of Grumble, both ostensibly asleep. You could still feel the gentle hum of her awareness in the back of your mind, however, and knew she was still half-awake. You smiled and turned back to Bucky to nuzzle his mouth with your own.

"Kiki lives at the roots of my hair; she's seen it." You'd used up what little energy you had and let your head fall back to the pillow. Bucky, on the other hand, lifted his head to stare at you as you continued. "They're not interested, I promise." His look of mildly horrified confusion made you snort, but you answered defensively. "She sets fires if she just wanders around freely. This is the first time she's been able to hang out somewhere else."

"She lives in your hair?" You laughed out loud at the tone of his voice, rich with baffled shock, and the worried eyes that raked the top of your head as he craned his neck to see your scalp. "Doesn't that hurt?"

You were still laughing as you lifted one heavy arm to draw his head down to yours for a long, tender kiss. You should have known that his one worry would be for your safety, your comfort. This was why you'd fallen in love with the man, the generous heart that beat so true beneath that delightfully gruff exterior.

Your voice was a little breathless from the kiss when it broke, but still soft with remorse. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about her, about Joseph, any of it." That remorse also softened your mouth as it brushed over his beautiful face. "At first it was because I promised to keep her secret, then it was because I was afraid."

Bucky appreciated the apology but considered it unnecessary as he could easily understand your reticence considering the circumstances. Even if he wanted to be angry, he was pretty sure that was impossible with you soft and warm in his arms, with your gentle mouth brushing love into his skin. He should probably be concerned that you had such a hold on him, but he couldn't find it in him to care.

Snuggling you closer, he smoothed his palm slowly up your spine as he closed his eyes to better appreciate the sensation of your skin against his. "Afraid of what?" He murmured the question, and you could feel in the way he pressed you closer that he was wondering if he had the energy to love you one more time. Alas, you were pretty sure you did not, but that didn't stop your heart from kicking like it was willing to find out.

You used the arm you'd slid around his waist to pull yourself tightly against him so that you could bury your face in his neck. His palm was just rough enough to send shivers through you as he skimmed it over your skin. "That it would be too much, too weird." You smiled against his throat when he scoffed. "I have custody of a fire elemental. She's kind of a lot."

Bucky scoffed harder and rolled his eyes as he pressed his lips to the top of your head. "I'm an international fugitive because I spent the last several decades a brainwashed assassin." His hand had reached the nape of your neck, only to turn and start the path back down, his touch both soothing and tender. "That's kind of a lot, too, but you don't seem to mind."

You sighed in pleasure, in contentment, and let your eyes drift closed. The warmth of his body, the smooth skim of his skin over yours, the rumble of his voice as he spoke all combined to leave you boneless and sleepy in his arms. "I knew what I was getting into," you murmured and the beginning of a slur to your tone alerted Bucky to your fading consciousness.

He smiled and felt the last of his own tension start to fade. If you were as happily content as your body seemed to communicate as you rested so trustingly against him, he saw no need to stay on guard. He let himself relax and enjoy the sensation of love and safety that had been so rare in his life until he met you. "You were on fire the first time I saw you," he reminded you gently, smiling at the memory now that he knew how truly safe from the fire he was. "I wasn't exactly in the dark."

You tilted your head back so that you could look into his face. His mouth was soft with affection, his blue eyes bright behind lowered lids. The way-past-five-o'clock-shadow darkening his features only added to the deliciously dangerous look of him. The sight of him made your heart race and your throat swell. A little breathless with it, with him, you kissed him gently. "I love you."

Bucky's grin flashed, dazzling white against the dark of his stubble. "I will never get tired of hearing that." His pretty lips brushed yours once, twice, before he gave in and sank into a long, tender kiss. When he raised his head again, your eyes fluttered open to meet icy blue hot with emotion. "I love you, too, doll."

Your face lit up with a bright and happy smile that made Bucky feel ten feet tall. When you snuggled into his arms and closed your eyes with a sigh of contentment, seemingly determined to fall asleep in his arms, he simply adjusted to maximize the comfort of you both and prepared to follow you into dreamland.

Just as his eyes were falling closed, Bucky's gaze landed on the little stone that had followed Kiki into this world. The vibrations that seemed to resonate with his arm and into his brain were still causing questions to chase each other in circles around his mind. There was only one person he would consider trusting with this secret, and she was also the only person who understood vibranium well enough to answer any of those questions.

"How do you feel about international travel?" His voice was loud enough to keep you from sliding into sleep, but still a low, sexy rumble. If only you could stay awake. "I know someone who would kill to meet Grumble."

You snorted, softly, and turned to rub your face against the skin of his collarbones, basking in him. "Let me know when you convince Grumble and I'm in." Your mouth twisted sardonically against his chest, even as you started to relax back into sleep. It was impossible to stay awake when your worst enemy was dead, your worst worries were over, and you were safe and comfortable in the arms of the sweetest man you'd ever known. "Then we can all try to convince Kiki."

Bucky couldn't resist the siren song of the softness of your body, bonelessly trusting, nor that of a deep and dreamless sleep that he knew would be his reward for getting you through the crisis safe and sound. "Will that be difficult?"

"She's paranoid and temperamental." Bucky could hear a small, half-hearted hiss coming from the direction of the nightstand. That hiss prompted a forceful and challenging change to your tone. "Yes. Unless Grumble has some ability to persuade that we don't, it will be very difficult."

Next came a sound like a small tumble of gravel, but the little clacks of rock against each other had such an amused tone to it, you couldn't help but hear it. Bucky laughed out loud, as he could hear the smug assurance underneath the laughter and knew Grumble was perfectly capable of persuading Kiki. Her hissing denial was clearly weak to everyone in the room, and it was clear she was as smitten with Grumble as he with her.

Though the little flame sounded irritated, you could hear the reluctant amusement mixed with attraction in the back of your mind and wondered what Kiki saw when she looked at the other creature. Whatever it was, she was as caught in her sexy, grumpy partner as you were in yours.

Bucky grinned at you, thoroughly familiar with the feeling of smug amusement he was getting from Grumble, since he got to experience it every time you lost your train of thought looking at him. You grinned back, reluctantly amused by the arrogance all over him, and thinking you and Kiki had a lot more in common than you'd thought.

The End

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[mwolf0epsilon]

That could count on some major crime? For example, I have not seen that anyone has some version of an employee has committed a murder or something like that. (Maybe I'm exaggerating a bit but, you get the point right? "Strange" is interesting, as long as you know that it should not be taken as a joke. And I'm sorry if I don't explain myself well.)

I mean, everyone has been involved in at least one strange event, since the supernatural exists in this world:

Joey Drew - Has messed with several different forms of magic and pagan rituals in his pursuit to create a practical form of alchemy. He's played god and created bastardized life.

Henry Stein - His uncle that left him the cabin in the Appalachian Mountains, told him some pretty strange stories from his experiences alone in the woods. Think "Missing 411" type stories. He himself has seen strange things in those woods...

Sammy Lawrence - There was an incident from his childhood that Wally insists was likely an extraterrestrial encounter. Sammy repressed it and refuses to believe it was aliens.

Jack Fain - He is a skeptic, but vastly fascinated by greek mythology. Has met some pretty odd people through that interest, that had very strange beliefs. At least one or two of these people were from some form of weird cult.

Susie Campbell - Her father was involved with the mafia, which was another reason why she had little contact with him. Still, Susie has seen some things no child should ever bare witness to. She's repressed most of it, but a part of her seems sadistically gleeful as a result of exposure...

Norman Polk - His family has connections to a cult that tried to kidnap him when he was a baby. The house he grew up in is also heavily haunted by the original family patriarch, a violent sociopathic cultist.

Allison Pendle - Her family is involved in a witch coven. She is a witch herself, and specializes in natural elixirs and potions.

Thomas Connor - His parents immigrated from Mexico for more than just work related reasons. There's stuff they hated talking about, and Thomas himself isn't sure if he'll ever understand those hushed stories of things that went bump in the night. He'd rather remain skeptical.

Wally Franks - The Franks family is enough of an oddity in of itself. There's a ton of bizarre unexplainable stories associated with them, and Wally himself seems to be cursed/blessed with absurdly good luck.

Shawn Flynn - Was a witness to a Banshee sighting when he was a young boy. It traumatized him.

Grant Cohen - He can't be entirely sure, but Grant has memories of an old lady outside his bedroom window, singing him to sleep every night when he was a child. His parents insist it was his imagination and that there was no elderly lady living in their home, nor that it would be possible to sing to him from his bedroom window, since his room was on the second floor.

Buddy Lewek - The studio itself was the odd event in his life.

Dot - She may or may have not had a "witch" phase. It's hard to tell what she believes or not, but Dot is a naturally curious person so she's seen and met strange people. The studio was still the strangest place she ever ended up in.

Abby Lambert - Thanks to Joey's peculiar interests she both researched and experienced some otherworldly things. Her worst experience involved a spirit board that made her promise to herself she'd never get involved in this sort of thing ever again...

Doc Hackenbush - He's an open-minded individual despite being a more logical sort. As a medical practitioner he's vastly curious as to how certain unknown phenomenon affect the human body. This fascination has stuck with him since he was a child, but he's never disclosed why. The running theory is that he may have seen something he wasn't meant to see.

Bertrum Piedmont - Joey Drew. Enough said, I'm sure...

Lacie Benton - While living with her uncle in his boat house she's pretty sure she's seen a mermaid. She says it's not like the stories at all, that thing was HIDEOUS.

Emma LaMonte - Like Norman she lived in a haunted house during her childhood. There was a particularly benign spirit living in her bedroom closet even. She liked to talk to them.

[electricbluebutterflies]

Garden work + soft babes (bonus points for domesticity + “you don’t have to do that”)

Things I will never be over - Chris and Melissa being awkward cats who absolutely do not know how to relationship. Post-series as per usual, PG-ish, also on ao3.

The unexpected plus side of finally having some quiet – Melissa can live her best plant-lady life without worrying about all of it getting trampled.

Honestly, it is weird with most of the kids off at different colleges. She had gotten so used to her role as accidental pack mom for a whole herd of god-knows-what – and she still isn’t sure what some of the younger ones actually are, never did get an explanation for the boy who can apparently turn invisible and still turns up on her porch from time to time – and now just as suddenly it is reduced if not over. Which is to say, there are still non-human beings that automatically become her problem at work and occasionally call her at weird hours because she’s a reliable source of comfort and normality, but the remaining local faction does not need her the same way right now and she is fine with that.

So, with only so much long-distance worrying she can do before she either gets bored or goes crazy (she’s not sure which is more likely), and the relative state of quiet having lasted a couple months now, Melissa has time to plant flowers and figure out her own relationship issues. And apparently today she gets to do both at once.

This was not the plan, she would like to point out. She is perfectly capable of doing relatively light yard work on her own, and how hard could it realistically be to dig a few holes for rosebushes anyways. But in that way that these things apparently happen now, Chris is around today and attempting to make himself useful, and while this was not how Melissa intended for her afternoon to play out, she has never said no to a genuine offer of help.

Besides, it’s a good excuse to stare at him while she figures out what conversation they’re currently avoiding.

She’s not sure if they’re going slow or if they’re both too traumatized from past relationships to do much of anything or… there are a lot of possible explanations for the past year, all of them neither comforting nor problematic. At this stage in her life, she can’t afford to be too impulsive, and she’d been convinced for two years that she was going to die alone because other obligations came first and then-

“Where did you want this one?”

The man she may or may not be falling in love with is holding a pink rosebush like he is not sure what it even is and it’s the cutest thing she’s seen in years.

It’s easier to show than tell. Melissa walks over and taps her foot at a spot by the corner of the house – best to keep pointy things away from anywhere they might get trampled or driven over. Late March might be a little early for this sort of project, but she’d like to enjoy the pretty for a while before something has the opportunity to get it, and given how chaotic summer is likely to be…

“You don’t have to do this,” she says for the sake of formalities, and because she’d like to get any potential fights over with. Not that she expects that, not with him, but her instincts are still too defensive and-

“You need help,” he replies, not at all a question. This is why she likes him, she thinks. Trying to get him to talk about or even admit feelings is a losing battle unless something else has gone very wrong, which is to say that in this current quiet post-everything phase of their lives it is probably never going to happen, but what he does not say he still shows. Protectiveness is an expression of love, figuring out why her dishwasher was making weird noises is an expression of love, attempting to help with her projects is an expression of love.

She knows on some level this is still a very bad idea. He’s a good man, yes, but he’s reckless and unreliable and-

No. Not so much anymore. Not since whatever the hell happened six months ago that she did not ask about because all she needed to know was she was the person he needed in the middle of the night for once not wounded, she was the person who just needed to be calm and yet not because she had also been through her own personal hell and no one makes great choices at three in the morning and-

“Something wrong?”

Damn him. Damn him and his pretty eyes and his constant fear of being the cause of her distress.

“No,” she says too quickly. She blinks, realizing that in the time she spaced out he managed to dig a decent enough hole for the rosebush and is now waiting for further instructions. And to think that for once she wasn’t distracted by the pretty even though it was right there and-

“Whatever you need…”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re too cautious?” This would be a better scenario if she didn’t look like hell, she thinks. Hair up in a messy bun, dirt on her face, she’s not actually sure where this tshirt came from or who it originally belonged to… this is the sort of conversation a woman who actually planned for this shit would try to do in a dress, but she is more reactionary than that and-

He looks at her all deer-in-the-headlights like that is not at all where he expected she was about to go. “No?”

There are so, so many things she wants to say right now. Moving slow is one thing but they don’t have to, not anymore, not with no normal-person obstacles in the way. She has run this hesitant relationship situation by everyone else in her life who might have opinions on it – a decade of her various loved ones sabotaging her predictably awful taste in people has taught her a few damage-control techniques – and all have given their approval for a situation that, at this current moment, Melissa is unsure will actually happen in the form she wants.

And maybe that’s the problem. She’s been too content with the glacial pace, too content with avoided conversations and little kindnesses and hesitant kisses and never talking about that one exception the same way they didn’t talk about her other impulsiveness, and at least this time they have stayed in each other’s lives, at least this time she didn’t try to run, at least-

“At some point we need to figure this out. The me and you part. Where this is going, if it’s going anywhere, if you’re ever going to-“

“I don’t want to weigh you down. You know that.”

Melissa rolls her eyes. She is not in the mood for whatever the hell self-loathing spiral he’s currently in, she is not debugging that, she is tired of all these defenses and-

“Every other man I’ve been with has had no problem taking what he wants. How the hell are you the first one who’s thought I’m breakable?”

It comes out too quickly, the only way she’s capable of doing anything here apparently. So she’s dated a few assholes, and at one point wasted ten years of her life being married to one. Show her any woman her age who doesn’t have skeletons like that, she’d love to see it. And she is well aware that the current version of this man opposite her right now has changed so much from when they first crossed paths, had everything brutally taken away before he could be fully human, and there may still be that darkness and…

And she does not care, she thinks as she waits for whatever conflict-avoidant response she’s about to have to deflect. Even if he wasn’t ridiculously her type, he’s one of two people in her world who can exist alongside all her other complications and she ruled out the other one as an option ages ago. It’s either this or dying alone, and she suspects he views her similarly.

“You are breakable,” he says slowly, and now is a bad time for her to be thinking about how hot his voice is but here they are. “You deserve better.”

She laughs. “You’ve seen my past. What I deserve has never been a factor.”

“I don’t know how to do this like normal people.”

Ah yes, there it is, the elephant they always try to avoid. Melissa knows better than to ask questions about the whole lowkey-cult-adjacent past, but she knows that’s where the baggage comes from. Whereas she has always been what he would define as normal, and she’s still occasionally a trainwreck.

“Does it matter? I’m not asking you to move in or marry me or any of the shit that I’ll probably have to do if I want it because you are so determined not to overstep and… I just want something. More affection. Play with my hair and tell me I’m pretty. Stuff like that.”

“I don’t read signals very well.”

“I have noticed.”

“I can try. If that’s what you want.”

“We’ve been avoiding defining the relationship for a year. I’m not sure it is a relationship. Yeah. I want.”

She expects another defensive comment – and that’s what they are, she knows, his various fears manifesting in ways that she is not the right person to fix – but instead Chris turns back to the task at hand. There are still a few more flower bushes in the back of her car and apparently that’s a good enough reason for him to let it go and-

“It’s okay,” she murmurs as she points out where he should put the rosebush’s mate. “I’m not good at normal either.”

[twoidiotwriters1]

June, 1976 (WITT One-Shot)

A/N: If you want to remain in the taglist pls interact with this one-shot even if you haven’t read book 4-5 yet. A like or a comment is fine, the people who don’t want to continue reading obvsly do not interact and I’ll delete from the taglist :) -Danny

Words: 2,590

Series’ Masterlist

Emily was tired, but she'd spent all day overthinking and she was done, it was time to grow up.

She could hear Lily Evans' voice ushering Severus Snape away, he'd been coming around for several hours during the day trying to apologize, but he'd finally crossed a line.

"It's not your fault, you know?"

Matthew's voice caught her attention, he'd stopped at the foot of the stairs, one hand propped on the wall.

"Snape and Evans have been fighting for months now, I think it's because of what he's been doing with the Slytherins... you know, the cult stuff."

Emily averted her gaze to the fireplace.

"I know..."

Matthew hesitated, he'd promised himself that he wouldn't go back to being Emily's therapist, but something was different this time, it wasn't her usual kind of sulking.

"Are you okay?"

She looked at him over her shoulder and frowned.

"I'm not the one who got called 'mudblood' by a close friend."

"No, you weren't," He admitted. "Which is why it's so strange to see you all sad."

"I'm not sad."

"Is this about James?"

He didn't want to know, but alas, he'd asked.

"No," She made a face. "I don't think I care about him that way anymore."

"It's easier said than done," Matthew crossed his arms, his shoulder now leaning on the archway of the stairs.

"What do you want, Ruddy?" Emily groaned.

"I don't want anything from you," The boy replied. "But I have the feeling that you need to talk."

"I do," She said. "Not with you, though."

Matt nodded, he sighed.

"Good luck, then, have a good night."

"'Night."

Emily watched him disappear up the stairs, she didn't know why, but the memory of his burning gaze before he kissed her came back then, his intense determination as he held her closer... That moment Emily had found herself unable to move away, to say no. She wished she had his courage to just do stuff even when he was intimidated by them, she needed that kind of bravery tonight.

Lily Evans entered the tower two minutes later, Emily stood up abruptly and the redhead came to a halt.

For a moment none of them spoke, then Lily's face showed tons of fatigue.

"What now? Is it your turn to call me a stuck-up bore because I didn't agree to go out with Potter?"

Emily shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"Can we talk?" She asked shyly. "I promise it's not a trick... I'm sorry."

Emily's behaviour towards her was usually hostile, tonight her voice was gentle, and even a little afraid.

"You're sorry?"

"I don't expect you to believe me," Emily continued, lowering her gaze. "I know you and Snape were close — I don't understand how can you like him... listen I suck at apologies, can't you just say it's alright so we can go to bed?"

Lily crossed her arms, standing straighter.

"No, I think I want you to try harder."

Emily groaned, she sat down heavily and started to think her words carefully, Lily inched closer.

"Boys can be cruel when they're not thinking — Anyone, really... I've been brutal myself — Matthew and I almost stopped being friends a few months ago, because I don't like talking about my feelings," She laughed dryly. "I don't know what is it about today that it just... I don't want to be a tormentor my whole life, let alone to someone who is... tolerable. I'm sorry for making your life a living hell these past few years."

Lily sat down, although she kept the seat between them empty to keep some distance.

"You didn't make my life a living hell," She replied. "I... can admit you're a bit clever... even likeable — that last match when you threw Lewis a bludger after he called you a midget... it was kind of funny."

"The boys walked me everywhere that week, they thought Ernest was going to try and get back at me," Emily bit her lip, but she was now smiling. "I mean, I lived in fear for days! Thinking he would spike my drink at some point with poison or something... Until Matthew cornered him outside D.A.D.A. class one day, poor Lewis... he looked so small in comparison..."

"Anyone looks small next to Matthew, he's a giant," Lily grinned. "Well, if it's any consolation, I was planning on murdering you in a much classier manner than poison, but since you've apologized, I guess I won't have to kill you after all."

Emily snorted, her eyes lingered on Lily, who looked like she'd been crying for most of the day, and yet still had enough energy to sit down and talk with the girl she'd detested for the last four years.

"Why are you being nice?" She asked in annoyance. "I mean I'm glad you're kind of accepting my apology, but I thought you'd be a bit colder, walking away before I could even finish..."

"What kind of person do you think I am?" Lily raised a brow, with the orange light coming from the fireplace her green eyes looked far more intense than usual. "If I'm honest, you should thank Remus... he's tried to convince me that you lot are far better than you look..."

Emily sighed, when she was young she'd do mischief for fun, but now that she was older, and considering all the weird stuff that was happening outside the school, she was starting to think that maybe her group of friends were indeed changing for the best.

"I'm going to be honest with you too, Evans," The girl took a deep breath. "Being the only girl in my friend group is turning out to be pure torture. I'm in desperate need of a girlfriend."

Lily's mouth twitched a bit, but she didn't laugh.

"What makes you think I want to be your friend?"

"Oh, I don't think you want to," She raised a brow. "But maybe if we're on good terms I'd be able to ask you for a tampon without having to swallow my pride first."

Lily did laugh at this, she shook her head. "Holy Merlin, Sultens, you're loopy."

"You would be too if you were seated next to Sirius every day!" She paused. "So... are you willing to make peace?"

Lily examined her carefully, four long years of quarrels sat between them, but a lifetime of friendship could be ahead if Emily was truly sorry. She was a nice girl, and really smart too, she was annoying only when she was taunting Severus, and he was no longer her friend.

Lily stretched out her hand.

"Very well, but if you go back the deal is over and we'll be less than strangers, understood?"

"Sure."

She retreated her hand before Emily could grab it.

"Hang on — this is not Potter's idea, right? You're not trying to be my friend just so I date him later?"

"Lily, if anything I hope you and James never date," Emily snickered. "Nothing personal, you're just way too good for him."

"...Alright."

They shook hands, she'd meant what she said about it not being personal. James was a boy, a very silly one at that, and even though they were really close friends, Emily was no longer a blind supporter of his doings.

Funnily enough, this seemed to be related to Matthew, she couldn't stop thinking about that kiss! Merlin, he was a good kisser...

She shook the thought away, now was not the time for nonsense.

"I'm very honoured to be your acquaintance, Evans," Emily grinned.

"Call me Lily. Only Professors call me Evans... and Potter, but you know I hate that."

"Got it, Lils."

July 1996

"...I don't think this is right," Mel tilted her head. "Brownies are mean to be brown... not pitch-black."

"You burned them," Harry was standing behind them with his arms crossed, clearly upset.

"How could you burn them, Erick? They were in there for five minutes!"

"Are you sure..." Erick stabbed the mixture with a knife and made a face. "Ugh — they're still liquid in the middle!"

"How the fuck did you do this?"

"I thought it would work just the same if I doubled the heat and put less time," Erick sulked. "Ovens are weird."

"This is why we told you to stay out of it," Harry replied. "You don't know how muggle stuff work."

"I do know!"

"Then why did you burn the brownies?"

"Don't fight," Mel intervened, grabbing the platter and throwing its contents away. "Oh well, at least we ruined my birthday cake and not someone else's..."

"That's not okay," Harry frowned. "You should have a proper cake."

Mel looked at him and grinned. "I'll eat yours, then."

"How's everything going in here?" Emily walked in, behind her Lupin followed.

"Uncle Lu!" Mel rushed over to his side and hugged him, the man chuckled. "You came!"

"Well, hadn't been around for your birthday in a long time, I thought you'd like it," He said, lovingly patting her back.

"I do," She beamed. "We kind of ruined the cake, though, so we should buy doughnuts or something."

"It's a good thing I brought this, then," Lupin lifted his bag and placed it on the table, inside there was a beautifully adorned red velvet cake.

"You just saved my birthday!"

Harry and Erick shared a moody expression and grumbled complaints, Lupin laughed.

"The kids insisted on doing the cakes this year," Emily explained. "I told them it was not an easy job, but they insisted."

"Mel and I have done this before, Erick was the one who wanted to be in charge when he can't even make tea without magic," Harry glared at him.

"Muggles stuff are too complicated, alright?" He huffed.

"I don't mind," Mel said without paying attention to them, she was still beyond happy with her uncle's presence. "I wanted to give my mum a break, Leggie's been a bit hard to handle lately..."

"Is he?" Lupin looked at the little boy Emily was holding. "Is he ill?"

"No, he just cries a lot," The woman sighed. "Wakes us up every night."

"I thought that forcing my mother to bake when she's clearly too tired to be doing anything apart from feeding a baby was a crime," Mel stated. "So I took care of it."

"Then Flint messed it up," Harry taunted.

"And then you fixed it, Uncle Moony," The girl smiled. "So there's no harm done, right boys?"

She looked over her shoulder, raising a brow as if urging them to stop bickering before they embarrassed her in front of Lupin. Both mumbled their agreement, not quite meeting her eyes.

"Lovely," Mel looked back at the adults. "Who wants lunch?"

Mel and Erick were in the kitchen talking in hurried whispers, she appeared to be upset, the young man too. Emily and Remus were in the drawing-room, Harry was upstairs changing Reg's diaper.

"Do you know why they're arguing?" Remus asked, staring at the pair.

"Dumbledore came by this morning before breakfast," Emily sighed, leaning her head back on the couch. "Talked about this mission he had for Erick — you know how eager to help that boy is... so of course the old man came and put his offer on a silver platter, and Mel won't let Erick go on his own, so being the generous soul Dumbledore is," She said sarcastically, "He said she could go too if she wanted to."

"Really?" Remus frowned. "Well... he's been giving her lessons for years, Mily, perhaps he knows she can handle it."

"I don't care," She said bluntly. "That's my daughter, my daughter. Matt's daughter. How can he continue to risk my family's life like it's nothing?"

"You know Matthew did all he that because he wanted to, Dumbledore had nothing to do with his decisions."

"I know," Emily took a deep breath. "But he's got a lot to do with Mel's... she idolizes him."

"You think so?" The man looked over his shoulder again, staring at his goddaughter.

"I don't see why else she'd be so keen to follow his orders..."

"Maybe because she feels guilty?" Remus offered. "After what happened in the ministry..."

Emily pressed her lips together, she didn't want to talk about that.

"That's not her fault and she knows it. I told her it wasn't."

"You weren't there," He said gravely. "She went out of control. I had never seen anything like it, her magic was dark— I mean that literally. All the spells she did came out pitch-black. Dumbledore was the only one who could put a stop to it."

Emily's eyes grew worried, she looked over her shoulder as well and her gaze landed on Mel.

"You think it could be the same thing that Ariana Dumbledore had? That disease?"

"No one knows what happened to her," Remus said. "Not even Matthew knew, and he was part of the family... but it could be. Maybe Dumbledore knows something we don't, maybe this will help her... perhaps she needs this."

Emily stayed silent for a moment, then she groaned.

"I hate that we're always meant to trust him blindly."

"He's lived a hundred years, he might be wiser than all of us, don't you think?"

The woman scoffed, she looked ahead, deep in thought.

"A hundred years... Matthew couldn't even make it to twenty-one! James and Lily barely did... Sirius spent twelve years in Azkaban — But at least we all knew how the war looked like then, Remus. We fought for years... my daughter just turned sixteen, she still goes to school!"

"And yet she's already done her fair amount of fighting," The man raised a brow. "We didn't have the experiences she's gone through when we were her age. I stand with Dumbledore, she can do this."

"I'm not saying she can't," Emily grabbed the empty plates to take them to the kitchen. "I'm saying she shouldn't have to sacrifice her youth. Dumbledore asks for too much, I'm sure he's got someone else that could help him with the mission, but he's obsessed with making Mel his perfect copy."

Remus didn't try to argue back, little could convince Emily at this point, she'd never been a fan of Dumbledore, and after Matt's death it was no secret that she openly disliked him, but she still followed his orders, because she knew Dumbledore was the only chance they had to win this war.

Mel and Erick entered the room, neither of them angry, which made Remus think they had reached an agreement.

"I should leave," The man stood up. "Leon's been quiet, maybe Harry managed to make him sleep."

"Or maybe he's just playing with him," Emily stood up as well. "Really, I never thought Harry would get so attached to a baby..."

"I'll miss you, Uncle Lu, I hope to see you soon," Mel said, her eyes avoiding to look into Erick's direction.

"Me too, little Em," Remus hugged her tightly, he whispered in her ear. "Be good to your mother, alright?"

Mel looked at him with confusion, but she nodded anyway.

"So?" Emily crossed her arms. "What are you going to do?"

The young witch stared at her mother, Remus knew that expression. It was true and very strange, how she could have her dad's gaze even though her eyes were exactly like her mother's, but he knew that look, he'd seen it in Matt the last time they had spoken. Mel was done being a kid.

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @wlwmaximoff @reverse-hxlland @omiwashere @t-rexs-world @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @21bruhs @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @dielgonacoffee​ @thelastpyle @hamiltonwc

[silvermoonshipping-is-love]

DrownedSilver Week Day 7: What If

WARNING: Hints of child abuse/physical abuse. Which should obvious, given the character(s) in question, but still. Stay safe once again.

*

‘How could you?! We gave you what you wanted! And you betray everyone?!’

‘I-I...-’

‘Try running, we will find you!’

‘Everything you have will be for nothing!’

The hand tightened around his throat.

‘You don’t deserve anything… And we’ll make sure of that.’

*

Ben shot up, panting from the nightmare, regaining his breathing. He puts his face in his hands, kinda tugging at his slightly too long bangs.

‘I thought I was getting better with this…’

How come that now that everything has been fine for so long, memories of his childhood; if you can call it that; reemerged stronger than ever.

Ben sighed as he calmed down, but still feeling uneasy.

He recalls his therapist having mentioned that anxiety may cause unpleasant thoughts like these to come more frequently. Guess they were right. That was an especially horrific nightmare this time.

So Ben stayed silent and brought his knees up to his chest, trying to tell himself how it wasn’t real. He kept staring ahead, the room being engulfed in darkness, so Ben instead turned to watch the sleeping figure next to him.

Because he was still there, alive and well as he slept peacefully, back turned to his husband. So was their bedroom with their figurines and games, Hibiki’s books and glasses still on the night table, his prosthetic legs besides them, even the box with cat toys. Though their two companions haven’t joined them for the night, resting in the living room or so Ben presumed.

It was calming him, no matter how much the words still lingered in his mind and he can’t help but smile as he kinda drifted back into the past.

*

“Um… Hey. What’s your name?”

Ben looked up, his hood and messy wavy hair covering most of his face, a pathetic attempt to hide the bruises, other than band-aids. He saw a boy around his age standing in front of him, eyes and hair a very dark brown, almost black, his legs being the most noticeable part as they seemed fake and like he had trouble standing upright. The boy looked nervous, but still polite.

While not showing so in his expression, Ben was surprised somebody even talked to him, considering he’s just the quiet kid hanging around by himself near the swings like everyday. There are many, surely more interesting, children around them.

The boy started again, going a bit slower: “What’s your na-”

“I heard you the first time.”, Ben cut him off, the boy taken aback, but gaining a wonky smile.

“Oh, sorry. But you gave no answer and some kids say I talk weird sometimes. Or too much and fast, so they don’t know what I meant. ...So you wanna tell me?”

Well, the kids were at least right when it came to the talking too much, but he continued to stay apprehensive, the grip on the swing tightening just slightly. “What do you want from me?”

The boy blinked: “Your name? As I said.”

“Why?”

“Because I keep seeing you around school and wanna meet you?”, the boy answered, moving aside to lean against the swing set instead of just standing around, “You always seem so sad.”

Ben was shocked, he didn’t even think anyone noticed him, or even would talk to him. Most of his classmates ignore him, calling him rude or even creepy.

“I’m fine by myself though”, Ben said, believing it to be true. He wasn’t friendless after all, and he didn’t wish for any more friends.

But he still lied about one thing: “And I’m not sad by the way.”

“Oh… I misunderstood then.”, the boy frowned a little and stopped leaning at the set, maybe now he’ll leave.

But instead he held out his hand to Ben: “Then I’ll just start. I’m Hibiki.”

Ben didn’t return the gesture, still too shocked and confused why this boy hasn’t left him alone yet. A part probably wanting to yell at him to do so, but another stopping him from doing so, yearning for this kind of bond with anyone.

“I’m… Benjamin.”

“Can I call you ‘Ben’ then?”

“No.”

Hibiki pouted, but then accepted it.

They started a; more or less one-sided; conversation. Ben learning way too much about one person just today than he wanted or expected. Like how Hibiki’s family moved here from Japan, some hobbies of his, how invested he is towards animals and how he dreams of having an own bakery or cafe one day.

Most of the time Ben only gave half-assed answers, yet Hibiki never seemed to have minded, while his classmates would have told him off for being arrogant already by this point. It felt… nice.

At one point Hibiki noticed Ben’s Triforce necklace, asking him about it, Ben too ashamed to say too much like usual. So instead Hibiki just pulled out his key-chain of a pink fairy looking thing, the left side missing an arm and wing, as well as the color fading away. He explained it being a Celebi from the Pokemon franchise, but Ben knowing way too little about it to understand a single thing being told to him.

And while it was a strange first encounter, Ben started seeing Hibiki at school or so more and more; Hibiki being just one grade under him; and slowly but surely warming up to him, spending away the days. As long as his parents and… ‘father’ didn’t interfere.

Then again… Ben wasn’t sure if eventually Hibiki would catch on, maybe he’d even join. For him surely. And then it happened sooner than expected.

“Ben… Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Silver.” A nickname Ben picked up after allowing Hibiki to call him just ‘Ben’ finally. Even if more often than not it annoyed Hibiki, because ‘The protagonist is named Gold, the rival is Silver’, but he refused to listen.

“Why are you bruised so often?”

Ben froze and sat up from having laid in the grass, staring at his friend’s worried expression.

“Do you get into fights that often? Do they hurt you badly-”

“No, I don’t get into fights!”, Ben said, a bit too loud as Hibiki flinched, “I-I mean… I get them… I… it’s from baseball practice, remember?”

“I never once saw you play baseball, you never tell anything… And I don’t think that baseball can leave such bad wounds…”

“I get hit in the face A LOT.”, Ben tried, looking around, trying to find any lie or explanation, not noticing how his hands started to shake, “It’s really okay, Hibiki.”

“Somebody keeps on hurting you, don’t they?”

Ben fell silent.

Hibki huffed, attempting to look brave: “Who are they? If they keep doing that-”

“It’s nothing… I deserve it anyways…”, Ben muttered. He couldn’t find anything anymore, too tired for it.

So instead he braced himself and told Hibiki. About his home life and… even the cult.

But he insisted Hibiki never told anyone about it, and he was sure it would be that way.

However just a few weeks later the police scanned the entire city, ending up at Ben’s home, arresting his parents, as others looked for any trace of the leaders and any still missing children. The officers tried to assure Ben that everything was fine now, but also tell them everything he knows that can help them. It scared him, everything fell apart, what if it had consequences? He could feel tears welling up, ready to spill out, but then felt a squeeze at his hand.

Since Hibiki told his parents and the police about it, he also insisted on coming to Ben and comfort him. And he held his word, as he gave a reassuring nod, holding his hand the whole way through as Ben gave in and explained everything.

And since then Hibiki never strayed from Ben’s side. Even when he was sent into an orphanage, far away out of safety with the cult. It was more difficult now of course, states away from each other, but they kept contact up as much and as long as possible.

They met again in a cafe, both grown up, having needed a moment to recognize each other. But once they did, it ending in a heartfelt reunion and looots of catching up. While Ben still had his mostly green clothes; as well as his now even longer wavy brown hair, securely tied in a pony tail now most of the times, due to it no longer having to hide his face; Hibiki changed remarkably.

He’s grown way taller, having been slightly shorter to around the same height as Ben as a child, his hair being dyed a warm reddish brown, Hibiki mentioning he thinks of getting a new hair style as well, and deep red glasses on top of his nose. He became a real adult as Ben would joke, while he remained looking like a teen almost.

It was a joyous moment to find out that Hibiki had moved to a town nearby, meaning it was now easier to uphold contact for them.

The few years after that were messy, Ben’s study in IT leaving him stressed out, while Hibiki never gave up his dream of opening his cafe, so as they got closer started to live together in a nice little apartment. And from there it all came naturally. Confessions, dates, adopting their cats and finally Marriage.

*

Ben returned from memory lane back into their bedroom, realizing he started embracing Hibiki from behind, a content smile having stretched across his lips. Hibiki was always by his side, even through the troubles and fights and annoyances, mostly towards him.

Like how Ben still never gave up on his nickname ‘Silver’, or how he can’t cook to save their lives or him having refused to go seek a therapist the first few years.

“You worrying about tomorrow?”, a voice asked, catching Ben off guard as Hibiki moved to lay on his back, returning the embrace with one arm, showing him to be awake. Ben remembering that even Hibiki’s voice changed to a low warm tone.

“...No… Just a nightmare…”, Ben muttered as an answer, nuzzling his face into his lover’s chest, closing his eyes; wishing to no longer think about those words and pictures. “About back then…”

Hibiki looked stern: “Just to let you know, I never once regretted it.”

“I know.”

Ben sighs, finally looking back up, smiling: “But I’m better now… I just… started to reminiscence of the past a little…”

“Oh, really now?”, Hibiki chuckled, turning fully on his side instead to look into Ben’s eyes, them sparkling with curiosity to listen. “Like what?”

At least one thing from his child self remained within him.

“Oh, you know, just… back when we were just stupid kids, and how much had changed or not changed when we met again. ...Maybe I should change myself a little like you.”

Ben looked up, smirking: “You think colored contacts would work? And hazel or grey ones? Oh, do you think blond dyed hair would suit me?”

Hibki placed a hand on his husband’s cheek, caressing it with his thumb, cutting him off from his ramblings. “I think you’re beautiful regardless. Especially your eyes. I love your heterochromia, don’t hide it.”

Ben blushed for a second, but then rolled his eyes: “I know that, you sap. But just speaking.”

“Well then. In my opinion, I think blonde hair wouldn’t suit you at all. I can’t force you otherwise though of course.”

Ben giggled: “What, why?”

“I just can’t see it. You and blonde hair? Ugh.”

Ben playfully punched Hibiki in the arm, who didn’t even react to it, still smiling lovingly: “Much better now?”

“I suppose… I’m not… thinking of the nightmare anymore at least.”, Ben trailed off, “But I’m still nervous…”

“What if I fail the interview or… or the cycle continues? I’ll be like them, I-”

“Ben-”

“I can barely take care of myself, I’m not the kindest or so like you, what if I’m gonna ruin everything-”

“Ben!”, Hibiki finally got through as Ben looked back up, still in his arms.

“You’re going to be a wonderful dad. You wanted this for so long, didn’t you?”

Ben hesitated, but nodded.

“See? I know you’re going to love and care for the child the best you can. And if you’re nervous of being bad: Remember that you knowledge it and worry about it being the case. So you can’t be all that bad.” Hibiki pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “Because only bad people don’t care about the wrong they’re causing.”

“...How many times am I going to hear that sentence from you or Steven in my life?”, Ben joked.

“Well, until it is finally ingrained in your brain.”

Hibiki snuggled into his lover’s soft hair as he brings him closer.

“It’s late, let’s try and sleep. We’ll have more restless nights afterwards.”

Ben nodded once more, trying to fall back into slumber.

He does so, hoping the best for tomorrow.

[heartofsnark]

This Is Love (Chapter Eleven): Angels of Doubt, Bearing Broken Halos

Notes; The chapter title is pretentious as fuck, but I don’t care. I’m very happy with the beginning of this chapter so I’m very excite to finally let y’all read it fully. Overall, this chapter definitely is more of the build up that this uhhhh nice little religious family mayyyyyhaps be a bit less nice than originally thought.

Word Count:  10451

Chapter Warnings: Cult Angels, Animal Death (in the context of dangerous wildlife needing to be put down), A Judge Wolf, Indoctrination, Assault, Me Awkwardly trying to write himbo Nick Rye for the first time

For chapter one and the warnings about this fic’s overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here!

They don’t go to The Spread Eagle that night, staying too late making plans. But it’s all for the best in the end, Casey would be more busy in the evening and if she’s interrupting his work, he’ll be less likely to listen. It’ll be easier to talk to him tomorrow just as the bar opens, before anyone arrives and during down time. Regardless, when she comes back to the trailer park. She breaks next to the registration building, checking her mailbox in case Cassie or Joseph had wrote her back, but no such luck. Maybe it will take a while for them to even get it?

A breeze passes through as she leaves the building, that familiar flower smell itching at her nose. The trailer park has fields of those white flowers surrounding it, the delicate petals seem ghostly in the moonlight. Moonflowers, the trailer park has to be named after them, these flowers that haunt her in her dreams. A shift of movement, far back in the expanse of flowers catches her eye. Someone tending to the flowers with a hoe, but she doesn’t know anyone in the trailer park who takes care of the flowers. Surely, if they had a grounds keeper, they’d start with the trash within area; not the flowers surrounding it. 

Dahlia decides to park her bike before investigating, not wanting to leave it in the open while she journeys through the flowers. She pulls out her phone once she’s parked, tucking one earbud in. If only to ease her nerves as she walks to confront the odd stranger. 

“When you told me I should text your brother.

I was walking with a blunt in my hand.

Double Jameson was in the other.

I was drinking like a spiritual man.”

She stands at the edge of the field of flowers, little the scent tickle her nose, watching the…person in the distance. Their gender, or at least presentation of it, unidentifiable. She blinks her eyes, when did she start seeing spots? Her tension eases, body and mind relaxing. 

“I was just talkin’ to Jesus in my hotel room.

I was just talkin’ to Jesus in my hotel room”

And she walks further through the flowers, brushing through them, fractals blurring her vision with every step. Her head swims and floats away, fuzzy as the smell surrounds her. She drags her fingers along the blossoms as she walks, grounding herself with their velvet touch, the contrast of her black painted fingernails against them. 

“And I could barely stand

He said, "Get some water, man"

'Cause they don't understand

I'm not what they think I am”

As she nears them with every unsteady step, she sees them more clearly. And truly they’re a ghastly sight. Shaved head and dirty white clothes; the smell of the flowers strengthens as she nears them, turning acrid with an edge. That smell comes from them, like they’d bathed in chemicals infused with the flowers. The mask latched around their grime coated face, covering their mouth is marked with the Eden’s Gate symbol. They pay her no mind, focused on tending to the moonflowers, their eyes are glazed nearly white and milky. Like Dahlia’s eyes looked her first night in Hope County, when she dreamed of Faith despite having never met her. 

“They can never ever understand me, no

What I came from, what I was before”

“Are you…okay?” She asks them, despite her own swimming vision and weak knees. 

“HelpmeFaithhelpmeFaithshieldmefromsorrow.” 

They grumble, not sing, the lyrics to one of Eden’s Gate’s songs. Their voice a rasp as if they can hardly breathe, each word running into the other, energy manic.  The moonlight shining on gaunt cheeks and white eyes makes them look dead, a walking corpse before her. She reaches out, gingerly touching their shoulder, hoping touch can break through whatever state they’re in. 

And then they scream, swing the garden hoe and bashing it against the side of Dahlia’s head. She’s knocked to the ground, head hitting rock and dirt. The creature screams out and jumps on her, trying to maul her. Vacant eyes staring down at her, her body and head too fuzzy to even give it the reaction it deserves. She should be scared, she should be terrified, but she isn’t. 

Gently, she puts her hands on each side of the person’s neck, applying pressure, not enough to strangle but to hold it at slight distance. It tries to dig dirty fingers into her flesh through her jacket, screaming mangled cries of pain or anger, she can’t tell as she looks over its face. The haunting glow of moonlight on their dirty face. 

“How you get to heaven with a broke halo?

How you get to heaven with a broke halo?”

“Help me, Faith,” Dahlia sings the song it used to soothe itself, “help me Faith, shield me from sorrow… From fear of tomorrow…”

And a switch has been flipped, it stops screaming. Body going lax, fingers no longer trying to tear her apart as she sings the church song, own voice overlapping the contrasting melody of her music. 

“Help me Faith, help me Faith, shield me from sadness…From worry and madness…” 

And it’s slipping out of her loosening hold and climbing off her, resuming it’s gardening work, as if she never existed at all. On trembling legs and with her vision still blurring, she leaves, not sure of what else to do. A part of her knows she should be more panicked, more concerned, more anything, but then she takes another inhale the floral scent around her and she can’t find the energy. It fades as she leaves the flowers and their scent behind, vision steadying as she enters her trailer, the full reality dawning on her just as she shuts the door behind her. 

“What the actual fuck!?” She screams at her empty living room, because what the actual fuck did she just see?  Her mouth is dry and her brain a mess as distress finally shines through the haze. 

Dahlia digs her phone out, shutting off her music and doing a search. Her vision is still fuzzy with prisms of shifting colors, body still light and floaty. They were there the first time she saw Faith, they constantly itch her nose and make her eyes see things. The church compound was covered in bushels of them.  

Moonflowers, she searches, and sure enough the images show the white trumpet shaped blossoms. Also called datura, angel trumpets and it’s down a rabbit hole. They’re toxic and hallucinogenic, can be harvested for either medication or poison. Scopolamine and atropine are in them; Dahlia does not even remotely know jack shit about chemistry. But a quick search shows scopolamine has been used in everything from nausea medicine to truth serum. So…she may have just hallucinated the person? From the flowers… but when she touches her forehead, where the person stuck her, blood stains her fingers. She really did get hurt…

Dahlia grabs her sketchbook, sitting down on the floor before her coffee table as she’s done so many times before, and she draws what she saw. Painstakingly she tries to recreate them, to draw the gaunt of their cheeks and the grime on their skin. To catch the white emptiness of their eyes. And she dates the drawing, scratching out the date in as neatly as she can. And on the next page she draws her first weird dream, sketching herself vomiting flowers and blood, those moonflowers. She adds the rough date she remembers it happening in the corner when she’s satisfied. Then she draws herself burnt and marred with flowers blooming from her mangled remains, hand moving of it’s own accord to match the details, shutting out the rest of the world as she works to carefully craft every line. She dates it as well and then draws the newest one, smears of ink on bare skin with flowers blooming from them. 

Once each image is created with a date etched in its corner, she sits back and rakes a hand through her hair. She’s had nightmares before this, certainly, but never as frequent or vivid as these. Flowers are the recurring theme and she’s not sure why; maybe the datura are doing it? The scent of them always present, making her sleeping brain conjure odd images. She already has a list of things to do; the apple festival is the highest priority, but she still wants to know what each flower means and what on earth is working in those flower fields, what connection it has to Eden’s Gate. 

She’s exhausted, graphite from her pencil smudged and sticking to her hand. But she feels more at ease having put her demons into art, having created something out of this. There’s still a lot of questions in her mind. This constant back in forth of trusting the church only to doubt them again is frustrating. 

Dahlia barely manages not to fall asleep in the shower that night, exhaustion clinging heavy to her leaden muscles and pulling at her eyelids when she lays down on her couch. 

The junior deputy is running on two hours of sleep, coffee, and an energy drink the next morning. But that doesn’t stop her from swinging into The Spread Eagle as soon as it opens, Pratt in tow since they’re technically on shift. 

“Something wrong, deputies?” Mary May asks when they stride in, Dahlia can already see Casey through the kitchen window, prepping food for the later in the evening. 

“No, we actually just wanted to talk to you and Casey about something.” 

“What’s up?” Mary May raises an eyebrow and the chef’s head perks up. 

Dahlia explains Debbie and Doug’s situation, that John is trying to buy them out, at the very mention of the Seed sibling’s name she can see Mary May tense. But the tension lessens, smiles on the bartender and cook’s face when the deputy mentions their plans for an apple festival. 

“I know we could use more cooks selling food there and Debbie mentioned you work with the Testy Festy, Casey.” 

“Plus, figured the band that plays here, might be willing to work a night or two if you talked to ‘em Mary May.” 

“Look, you had me at pissing off John Seed,” Mary May says, grinning, “I’ll talk to the band and Casey, you damn well better help them out.” 

“Come around here, sister,” Casey calls out, voice deep and booming as she walks around into the kitchen already warm as starts prepping food, he spares her a glance as he minces vegetables, “your destiny hangs off you like a coat, the soul of a warrior, and the heart of a hero.” 

Dahlia blinks, taken aback by his unabashed and weirdly soulful compliments. She doesn’t really believe in destiny nor does she see herself as a warrior or hero, but she certainly appreciates the thought. Her heart, that of a hero apparently, warms and she smiles after another second.

“So…you’ll help?” 

“It’s important for people to gather, to bond, and feel a sense of community.  I’ll call Deb and Doug to offer any help I can.” 

“Thank you so much!” Dahlia grins: Casey is definitely an odd duck, but he cares about the community and willing to help. So, a fantastic guy in her book. 

“Happy to help, sister.” 

First two people dragged into their plan, Pratt and Dahlia give some friendly goodbyes before being on their way. This is already coming together and Stray is nearly vibrating with excitement as they leave the bar. 

The pair continue to do their patrol while swinging in to talk with folks about the festival. They swing by Lorna’s Truck Stop, Dahlia unable to resist snapping a picture of the giant cheesy cow statue outside of it before they walk in, door chiming.  An older woman is talking to someone in a green hood, the woman with chubby cheeks and blue eyes pushing a little bag of mini pies into the hooded person’s bruised hands. 

“Here you go, Jess, on the house as always.” 

“Thanks,” the hooded girl responds, an awkward gruff to the words before she leaves. When Dahlia catches a sight of her, Jess has a face of mottled bruises and cuts. 

“Anything I do for you, Deputies?” 

“We were hoping you could help us out, Lorna,” Pratt starts. 

And just like Casey and Mary May; Lorna’s all bright smiles and kind eyes, happy to help. Even pushing bags of the free small handmade pies into the deputy’s hands before they go. There is something undeniably heartwarming at everyone’s willingness to help. She crams one of the little pasties into her mouth, sugary berries on her tongue as they get back into the cruiser. 

The shift passes by with ticketing traffic violations and stopping in to rope people into helping out. Hudson and Brennan sending texts letting Dahlia know that Grace has agreed to help and Adelaide will too if only so her boytoy Xander can have a smoothie stand during the festival. Riding through the valley, Dahlia sees a billboard advertising gun lubricant, Grace Armstrong’s face plastered on it, though her eyes on the board seem off. Dahlia too far away to put her finger on it, but it looks like that part of the advert has been damaged.  An award-winning sniper and veteran; well loved in the community. Dahlia only saw a glimpse of her at the barbecue, talking with Hudson, but it seems clear just how important she is to the county. 

Within an hour of their shift ending, Doug and Debbie have them called out to the orchard. Their smiles are bright, the middle-aged couple holding each when the deputies pull in. Pratt’s still trying to pretend to have a grumpy face but there’s still a slight smile pulling at his lips as they get out of the cruiser. 

Arms are wrapping around Dahlia in a second, Debbie pulling her into a tight hug, the young deputy tenses hands hovering awkwardly at the woman’s sides. 

“Thank you, so much,” Debbie says, pulling away but her hands still on Dahlia’s shoulders, “we’ve been getting calls all day, everyone wants to help us do this, thank you so much.” 

“Uh, yeah, it’s no problem…just happy to help,” Dahlia flusters under the attention, proud of what she’s done, but squirming under the weight of gratitude. 

“Well, we certainly appreciate it,” Doug tells her with a smile, “but we called you out ‘cause we got some flyers made, figure’d it help advertise, though word of mouth already seems to be doing us a lot of good.” 

“We could definitely hand them out, see if some places are willing to hang them up too.” 

“And now we’re the flyer brigade,” Pratt grumbles under his breath and Dahlia jabs her elbow into his side. 

“I’ve already been coming up with everything I wanna sell at the festival, but if you two have some free time Sunday, I could use some taste testers too,” Debbie offers, with a smile, “least I can do is feed you for all your help.” 

“Yeah, I can do that,” Dahlia agrees readily. 

“I…could probably swing by.” Pratt tries so hard to sound above it all, but free apple pie can apparently draw even him in. 

“Can’t wait to see you both then!” 

They wave goodbye to the couple, Dahlia packing the flyers with her into the cruiser car. The ending hours of their shift and the day is spent finding places to hang them up. Mary May posting them in The Spread Eagle, hanging in the window of the garage and general store, Whitehorse even letting it be posted up in the window of the department.  Dahlia’s ride home that night takes longer as she stops at places to ask if they’d hang up the advertisement; after getting Lorna’s Truck Stop and Audrey’s Diner to put them up. Dahlia stops at the Hollyhock Saloon, bartender agreeing to hang it up in the small bar, the rookie deputy giving a quick hello to Brennan and some of the other officers gathered at his table. The 8-bit Pizza bar hangs them up without any question, happy to help, and Dahlia manages to convince Darcy to hang it up in the registration building of the trailer park before she heads in for the night. Dahlia crashes easily that night, sleep finding her as soon as she hits the couch.  

The next day Stray is hit with déjà vu as they’re called out to deal with Eden’s Gate blocking another road. She’s still not sure why this is apparently a thing they do. And to her misfortune it’s not Waylon or members of the church she likes waiting behind the cement block when they pull up this time; but Theodore and Lonny. Because of course. 

“Deputies,” Lonny forces a smile, “to what do we owe the pleasure?” 

“Well, you’re breaking the law, so there’s that,” Pratt says with a roll of his eyes. 

“Yeah, heard you two gave some of our members a hard time about blocking off a road,” Theodore comments, arms crossed over his chest. 

“I’ll refer you back to the fact it’s against the law,” Dahlia grumbles, “why on earth are you blocking the road anyway?”

“Got some property nearby that needs some work.” 

“The church own a lot a property?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow, that was Waylon’s reasoning too. 

“Soon to be even more when John secures the orchard for us,” Lonny has too wide of a grin as he looks Dahlia over, “though rumor has it some little cop is trying to get in the way.” 

“Irrelevant, you’re breaking the law. Just scram and there won’t be any issues.”

“Look, h-“ 

“We’ll be going then, deputy,” Theodore puts a hand on Lonny’s back, reigning him in. Though the way Lonny sneers tells Dahlia that their conflict is only resolved for the moment. 

Regardless, Pratt and her watch as the men yet again pack away the blocks and clear the road out. Dahlia still can’t quite figure out why on earth they’d need to or would want to block the roads. Between that and the strange person she saw in the flowers, bearing the churches symbol, things just seem to get weirder and weirder. She considers for a moment asking the church members there about the person with the shaved head, but she has a feeling asking more questions will just put her higher up on Lonny and Theodore’s shit-lists. 

“Still don’t get why they keep blocking the roads,” Dahlia comments when they get back in the patrol car. 

“They’re assholes, what more reason they need.” Pratt shrugs before starting the cruiser engine and Dahlia just doesn’t feel like it’s that simple. 

“Well, if they do it again, we don’t really have a choice but to arrest ‘em do we?” 

“Can’t let them get away with shit forever; three strikes seem fair.” 

Questions still run through her mind; but there’s no way of getting answers at the moment, left to bury her curiosity as they leave back down the winding roads. Hours pass and bright blues shift to pastel pinks as the sun sets upon Hope County. 

That evening at The Spread Eagle, she’s listening to Pratt and Hudson argue about something; she can’t even be sure what but she’s just amused to not be at the butt of the humor tonight. She’s cramming fries into her mouth when she feels eyes on her. 

“That’d be her right there,” Mary May says, pointed out at Dahlia as she talks to a man the young officer has only seen in passing. Shaggy dark hair under a cap and beard on his face, though the last time she saw him he’d been wearing glasses. She thinks it’s Nick, only having seen a glance of him at his own barbecue. 

“If I’m in some sort of trouble, I’d like fair warning, Mary May.” Dahlia comments, unsure why anyone would be trying to find her in a crowd. The blonde’s smile eases her nerves as she comes across the bar, the man walking Dahlia’s way. 

“No trouble, Deputy, Nick here was just wanting to know which one of you started the apple festival. He’s going fly a banner ad around for Debbie and Doug.” 

“Oh, that’s awesome.” 

“I just wanted to find out who was helping them out, Nick Rye,” he introduces himself, sticking his hand out for her to shake. 

“Pleasure to meet you.” 

“I’ve been crop dusting for Doug and Debbie for years, last thing anyone needs is for John to get his hands on that place.”

“That seems to be most people’s sentiment.” 

“Told ya just about everyone is sick of his shit,” Mary May says with a shake of her head, “it’s about time he doesn’t get what he wants.” 

“That son of a bitch has been hounding me and Kim for months now, trying to buy our place.”  Nick’s jaw clenches, irritation coming off him in waves. 

“I know Kim damn near broke his nose for it.” 

“Wait what?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow; how often does John harass people? 

“Listen to this,” Nick gesture emphatically, now sitting down next to Dahlia, “asshole shows up to the house while I’m gone, trying to bully Kim into selling the damn place, while she’s pregnant. What kind of sick fuck shows up at a man’s house while he’s gone and tries to strongarm his wife into signing the place over. Fuckers lucky I wasn’t home.” 

“You not being home was kind of the point of when he showed up.,” Mary May reminds him, “besides, no offense, but even ready to pop I think I trust Kim’s right hook protected her more than yours ever could.” 

“Now, that’s just mean,” Nick says with a slight pout to his face, reminding Dahlia of a tall puppy dog. 

“It’s okay Nick, anything you lack in strength you make up for in…” Mary May seems to have to search for the next word, normally brains would be the natural contrast, “well, you just keep being you.” 

“Never really thought about being anyone else; well except maybe an eagle, but I don’t think that counts.”  

“No, it doesn’t really count, Nick,” Mary May says with a slight laugh.

Dahlia stifles her own laugh raising an eyebrow at the ridiculous turn of the conversation. Nick is sweet and willing to help out with the festival, so she won’t spend too much time questioning his desire to be an eagle. It’s not long before Pratt and Hudson fall into conversation with the pilot; allowing Dahlia to comfortably settle into the background as the night winds down.

It’s not even the noon the following day before things around Hope County manage to pick up pace.  Sirens and lights flashing as Pratt rushes them up north towards the mountain; there’s a palpable tension. Crisis situations are rare; most days filled with handing out traffic tickets and dealing with roadblocks. Hell, the county is boring enough that the sheriff would allow them to actively work on a festival during shift hours. So, a call requesting EMS, all deputies and units, and the F.A.N.G Center; is definitely out of the normal. 

They see the gathering of people as they pull up, Whitehorse is talking with workers in F.A.N.G Center shirts, Hudson and other officers gathered around and EMS workers carrying someone into the back of an ambulance. 

“Pratt, Rookie; over here now!” The sheriff calls out for them and they rush over. 

“What’s going on?” Pratt is the one to ask. 

“Wolf, possibly rabid, but we don’t know. It attacked a pair of hikers. We tried to tranq it but nothing is bringing it down, we gotta find it and put it down before it hurts anyone else.” The F.A.N.G Center employee explains to them. 

“No way to get around killing it?” Dahlia asks, she understands it can’t always be avoided, but she would prefer not to.  

“We hit that damn thing with enough tranq to take down an elephant and it still tried to maul us before running off; tried to get it with a snare pole and it broke it. We can’t rehabilitate an animal we can’t get near and if we let it go; it’ll hurt someone else.” 

“You heard the man, alright,” Whitehorse’s voice booms as he starts addressing everyone, commanding attention “we got a wolf to find, grown wolf, white fur and aggressive. I want everyone to stay in groups; we have tranquilizers, snare poles, and what’s used to put ‘em down. We want to try to do it as humanely as possible but protect yourselves and keep an ear to your radio. We need to make sure the trails are safe and can’t let anyone else get bit; move out!”

The deputies are given tranquilizer guns, the snare poles, and syringes filled with pentobarbital. Though, given what they’ve been told, she’s not completely sure how effective any of it will be. If the wolf has enough tranquilizers to take down an elephant in it already and is still moving; as well as having previously broken one of the snare poles, then how on earth is any of this suppose to work? 

But she doesn’t voice these concerns as she follows after Pratt, Hudson, and another police officer tagging along so they can maintain a decent sized group per Whitehorse’s instructions. 

The mountains are beautiful, she thought that when she’s gone hiking before, but even during this tense situation she finds herself amazed by how gorgeous it is. Bright green summer grass and towering trees as far as the eye can see. Mountains that reach up to kiss the bright blue sky. 

Dahlia stays at the back of the group, letting Pratt and Hudson lead as she keeps her ears and eyes peeled for anything suspicious. The sneer pole is across her shoulders, her wrists on top and holding it there as she walks. She half listens to Pratt and Hudson talk; something about people making up werewolf rumors because the wolves have been acting wilder and wilder lately. She’s reminded of her meal at the Grill Steak, that man who warned a group of people about wolves. He claimed they were trained by Eden’s Gate; but those still just sound like conspiracy theories. 

Tension crawls up Stray’s spine, skin forming goosebumps at the sensation of being watched, then the sound of snapping branches coming from forests that surround the trail she walks along. She moves without thinking, leaving the trail and her group behind, following where she heard the noise. 

Branches and brush scratch at her arms as she ventures deeper into the wooded area; then she sees his back. Jacob Seed, why does there always seem to be a member of their family just around the corner when trouble happens? 

“Something you need,” he says, not bothering to turn and face her, examining his red rifle. 

“You shouldn’t be out here.” 

“I shouldn’t be,” he spares her a glance over his shoulder, blue eyes rife with condescension, “last time I checked it’s a free country, ain’t it?” 

“That’s not what I mean. There’s a wolf running around; possibly rabid. It’s not safe for you to be out here alone.” 

And he laughs; dry and deep, the sound making her raise her eyebrows. Why is the idea of being mauled by a rabid wolf so funny to him?

“You worrying about me?” He asks, finally turning to face her in full, shifting the bright red gun to the holster on his back. 

“I mean, yes? My job is keeping the public safe and you are a member of the public.” 

“Pfff, you’re just a pup,” he says walking past her, “be better off watching out for yourself.” 

His hand is large and rough as it ruffles her hair while he walks by; his palm and fingers nearly encompassing the entire top of her head. His hand is probably bigger than her face she realizes, heat flushing up her face though she’s not sure of why. He’s so condescending and patronizing and fucking giant; the last point isn’t entirely relevant but it’s still true. 

“I’m a deputy, don’t patronize me.” She says, reaching up to grab his hand from her head, capturing it in her own. His rough scarred hand is nearly double the size of her own; warm calloused skin against her own. 

“You having fun there?” He asks, when she doesn’t let go of his hand right away, instead pressing her small hand back against his palm, comparing the immense size difference. He really could probably wrap one hand around her entire head. 

“Your hands are so big, wow.” 

“’Preciate it pup.”  

And he laughs again, still dry and brief in it’s sound, pulling his giant hand from her smaller one before he leaves. She glares at his back; corded muscle shifting beneath his black tee shirt. Despite her pout, she can understand why he’d see her unable to defend herself in comparison to him. She’s been confident in her physical abilities for a while; but she imagines a man like Jacob isn’t scared of anything. 

“Rook, where the hell are you?” Pratt’s voice crackles over her radio as Jacob walks off. 

“There was a hunter out here, I was warning him about the wolf,” Dahlia explains herself, she wasn’t suppose to leave the group per Whitehorse’s orders, but no one could blame her for warning a civilian. There’s something odd about thinking of Jacob as just a hunter or civilian; though she’s not quite sure why. 

“We’re in the woods near the Visitor’s Center, get over here, you pain in the ass.” 

The radio crackles out and Dahlia gets on her way; she knows the Visitor’s Center is south of where she is. Though she has no sense of direction, so that has little bearing on her ability to find it. She hikes down, feeling that’s the closest approximation to south that she can get, sticking a little closer to the woods than the paths. She prefers the shade and atmosphere of being surrounded by the trees. 

But the further she travels down, the sparser the trees grow, exposing Dahlia to the sun. Green grass and branches crushing underfoot as she stumbles down the terrain. She can just imagine Pratt and Hudson’s frustration, but warning someone about a rabid wolf is certainly understandable.

A drawn-out howl echoes through the woods, making the deputy freeze. Sunlight is warm on her face and stinging at her eyes as she turns towards the sound. A spire of craggy rocks coming off the mountain; the silhouette of a wolf howling with the sun behind it. She uses her hand to shield from the sunlight, straining to see more detail. Seven distinct darts stick from the wolves back; tranquilizers. 

Dahlia quickly tugs her uniform shirt off from over her black tank top, wrapping the fabric around her forearm. Not quite the cushioned guard they use for training police dogs, but it will provide some barrier between it’s bite and her skin. Worse case scenario, she’ll be taking rabies shots once everything is done. She holds the syringe of pentobarbital in one hand, she has her firearm too if that’s unable to bring the wolf down, but she prefers to let it go peacefully if she can. 

She stays crouched down as she approaches the peaked edge of the mountain, craggy rock building up to a spire, levels to climb up to reach the clearing where the wolf sits. Dahlia stays low as she climbs, moving as quietly as she can, using a blue grappling hook handle to help lift herself up to the final level. There’s a gap in the clearing; a log showing a passage between craggy rock to craggy rock; boulders surrounded by grass. She can see the wolf, but it’s yet to noticed her, another howl echoing out as it cries out to the sky. 

It’s beautiful and she’s all at once ashamed that it has to be put down. Matted white fur with a black nose and lips; it’s eyes are luminously silver, like moonlight. Red is mottled across it’s face, red frothing around it’s mouth, as well as a brighter crimson stroked across it’s brow and down it’s nose. Across it’s furred shoulder blade and spine are seven different tranquilizer darts that were shot at it, how has it not passed out? It doesn’t see her not right away, then it’s nostrils twitch and it’s lips pull back to snarl, red tinged drool dripping down it’s maw. Then it’s gaze is on her, growling and baring it’s teeth. 

And then it pounces.  

She puts up her cloth wrapped forearm, the force of it’s body hitting hers knocks her onto her back. It’s teeth snap into the fabric, as it tries to chew through her arm, the edges of fangs just grazing the flesh beneath. One large paw presses against her wrist, attempting to pin her limb down so it can rip the meat off her bones. 

Dahlia pulls back the plunger on the syringe before slamming the needle into the thick of the wolves neck, sinking through fur and flesh before she pushes the chemical through. The wolf snarls through it’s bite on it, then she watches that shine in it’s silver eyes die. It’s mouth goes slack and then it’s body falls limp on top of her. 

The deputy pushes the wolves dead weight off of her, getting up onto her feet, she touches the torn shirt wrapped around her forearm. Drool and blood has stained the green, small damage done to her skin under. It stings but nothing she can’t deal with; the idea of getting rabies shots worries her more. She crouches over the wolf and looks at it’s face, the red around it’s mouth is darker, rusted and clearly blood. But the brighter more purposeful crimson looks like paint. 

She remembers the warnings she overheard in the Grill Steak before; someone warning conservationists about wolves owned by Eden’s Gate. Though, he called them a cult. It’s not for sure or a real connection; conspiracy theories and paint. But, who could have gotten close enough to paint the wolf’s face? Who would want to? 

“Rookie,” Pratt’s voice crackles over her radio. 

“Pratt…” 

“Rook, if you’re not here in five minutes, I’m gonna kick your ass,” Hudson threatens in the background. 

“Please, she’d probably like that.” 

Dahlia’s face flushes at Pratt’s teasing, she can’t say he’s completely wrong, but that’s not the point.  She hefts the wolf’s corpse up onto her shoulder, carrying it’s heavy weight, the head of the furry creature beside her head. It’s fur is soft and thick despite the matted nature. She’s not big on hunting culture, but the wolf would make a nice rug. 

“I got the wolf,” she says into her radio, holding it in one hand while the other keeps the carcass steady on her shoulder as she carefully makes her way down the craggy rocks. 

“What?” 

“I got the wolf,” she repeats to Pratt’s flat question. 

“What? Wh-where the fuck are you?.” 

“I’m on a big ass like spirally mountain thing.” 

“That tells us literally nothing,” Hudson informs her.

“Uhhhh,” Dahlia looks over the edge, of the elevated mountainside, “I think I see a helipad nearby?” 

“Fuck, I know where you are, stay put. Okay, do not approach the wolf.” 

“Uhhh, I think you misunderstood me.” 

“What do you mean?” Pratt asks and she can just imagine his raised eyebrow. 

“I mean, I got the wolf, I already put it down. We can call off the search, but, uh, I think we have bigger issues.” 

“Did you get hurt again?” 

“Hey,” she objects to his tone, “you make it sound like I’m always getting hurt.” 

“You didn’t answer me.”

“No, I did not get…seriously hurt.” 

“Oh lord,” Hudson grumbles in the background. 

“Look, that’s not the issue, alright. Just get up here and let Whitehorse know what’s going on, okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Dahlia finds a steady rock in the clearing to pull herself up onto as she waits, since apparently Hudson and Pratt have figured out where she is. She tries to look for anything else on the wolf that could indicate it being owned; but nothing. Dahlia does find herself wondering why it’s fur is white? Aren’t white wolves usually those in snowy climates, for camouflage? 

She doubts she’ll receive any answers, so she tries to quiet her mind. The sun warms her skin where she sits on the rock, white wolf still up on her shoulder, ripped uniform shirt still wrapped around her forearm. It all forms an odd picture, she’s certain. 

It’s less than an hour or so before she hears the rustle of footsteps; Hudson and Pratt along with the other officer walking up the way to her. Pratt just stops a second and shakes his head, Hudson is rolling her eyes. 

“Hello,” Dahlia says with a soft wave. 

“What the actual fuck, Rook?” 

And she cracks up; unable to help but laugh at the absolute absurdity of the situation and Hudson’s flat response. She may have already hit the highlight of her career here. 

“Stop laughing; it’s not funny, you could have gotten seriously hurt!” Pratt tries to scold her but he’s laughing through his words, the oddity of it all must be hitting him as well. Dahlia presses a hand to mouth to try and stifle her laughter as Hudson gets her radio out. 

The senior deputy radios Whitehorse, letting him know they’ve gotten the wolf. He tells them where to meet him with the body, so the veterinarian and F.A.N.G Center workers can examine it. Dahlia will be reliant on actually listening and following obediently behind the older deputies.

“C’mon, Rookie, let go.”

“Alright.” Dahlia hops down from her rock and starts to follow after them down the mountain. 

“You need help packing that?” Pratt offers, probably because the wolf is nearly the length of her entire body. 

“Nah.” 

“You just feel cool packing the wolf on your back, don’t you?” Hudson is the one to call her out, raising her eyebrow with a soft smirk on her lips, looking entirely too pretty. 

“Uhhh….” 

“God, you’re a dork.” 

“I can’t really argue with that,” Dahlia admits with a red face and shrug of her shoulders, happy to see Pratt and Hudson smiling at her dorkiness. 

“What happened with the hunter you were warning?” Pratt asks after a beat of silence as they keep walking, helping her over a craggy step with a hand on her hip to keep her steady as the weight of the wolf limits her movements.  

“Uh, asshole just patronized me and left. I don’t know why I still talk to him, he’s always a dick,” she says, rolling her eyes when she thinks about Jacob calling her a pup. He likes to comment on her being a puppy a lot. 

“Someone you knew?” Hudson asks, offering a hand to help Dahlia get over a large branch in the way of the path. The ease at which the two older deputies silently help her, makes a soft smile pull at Dahlia’s lips. Silently grateful for them as she answers their questions. 

“Jacob Seed.” 

“Seriously?’ 

“What?” 

“You don’t find it a little fuckin’ weird how the Seeds are always around you?” 

“I mean, they’re not around me anymore than anyone else.” 

“They really fucking are; you went to the barbecue, John jumped at the chance to rope you into that.” 

“Churches like new blood, it’s n-“ 

“You’ve apparently talked to Jacob more than once; I didn’t even know he could talk,” Hudson says rolling her eyes, “all he ever does at anyone outside the church is glare.” 

“She’s talked to Faith a lot too, apparently.” 

“I still don’t even know where she fucking came from.” 

“I’m still not fully convinced she isn’t a ghost,” Pratt tells Hudson. 

“She’s not a ghost,” Dahlia says with a roll of her eyes. 

“And you would know, because they cling to you like leeches, right?” 

“Shut up.” 

“You know what I think it is,” Hudson says after a moment, “you put up with Joseph’s creepy ass speeches and they realized you’d put up with anything.” 

“He’s not….that…creepy…” Dahlia says with zero conviction, because, well. He’s definitely off, but despite all the weird little red flags, he did help her and Cassie. So, he can’t be all bad. Even if his brother is taking people’s shit…and well…she still doesn’t know what the hell was up with the shaved head person. 

“You can’t even say that with a straight face.” 

“Look, we’ve had run ins with him before, he’s the weirdest creepiest person in this whole damn county and that is saying something,” Hudson shudders, “I’d take Zip lecturing me on being a government shill for nine hours over Joseph even looking at me for even a second.” 

“His stare is weirdly intense…” 

“All of them are weird; John’s skeevy, Jacob looks like he skins people alive in his spare time…Faith’s kinda cute, but at what cost,” Pratt tells her and eh, Faith’s not really her type. The Church Mouse is pretty, but a bit too delicate for the young deputy to really get those weird stomach feelings she gets around women like Hudson or Mary May. 

“Really, I didn’t think you liked women who are taller than you?” Hudson asks. 

“Faith is like barely taller than me,” Dahlia says with a snort, watching the pure look of offense on Pratt’s face, how could she be taller than Pratt? 

“How short do you think I am, Joey?’ 

“What?” Hudson raises an eyebrow, confused by their confusion, “ heard she was like six foot something with black hair.” 

“She’s like this tall,” Pratt puts his hand maybe two inches above Dahlia’s head, “and blonde.” 

“Kinda blonde,” Dahlia corrects, thinking of the youngest Seed siblings dirty blonde hair that fades to a slightly light color at the ends. It toes the line between brown and blonde fairly well. 

“Whatever.” 

“Someone told me she was taller than John, I know they did, am I losing my mind?” Hudson tries to think for a moment; gears visibly turning behind her green eyes. 

“Did you ever really have it?” Pratt taunts her. 

“Keep it up, asshole, see what fuckin’ happens.” 

The trio makes it down to where the sheriff asked, a parking place within the northern area of the county with little gas pumps but not much else. The F.A.N.G Center employees and the veterinarian with a stethoscope around his neck waiting for them as they make their way over. A worker with the center helps get the stiffening wolf off of Dahlia’s back, putting it into the back of a van so they can take it to be examined. 

“Good work, Deputies,” Whitehorse congratulates them and Dahlia grins at the praise. 

“To be completely fair,” Hudson interjects, “it was Rook who was able to get him.” 

“Hey, we helped…move the body…” Pratt jokes, in their own ways they’re both ensuring Dahlia gets her due credit and she can’t help but smile. 

“Well, outstanding work, Rookie.” 

“Thanks, but uh, I’m kind worried about something.” 

“What’s that?’ The sheriff asks, the attention of him, the veterinarian, and center workers all falling on Dahlia. 

“The wolf has paint on it’s face, like a cross or something…which kinda makes me think someone owned it or…something?’ 

“Yeah, that’s definitely not all blood.” A worker looking over the wolf’s face in the van confirms. 

“There’s nothing else on it, but we definitely will have to keep that in mind.” 

“But, uh, what happens from here?” Dahlia asks. 

“I’ll test to see if it’s rabid or if anything else might be the cause for the aggression,” the veterinarian, his name tag she finally catches says Dr. Charles Lindsay, “I’ll let the hospital know and if needed, the hiker will get treated for rabies.” 

“Ah, uhh, is there any possible way you could let us know at the same time…well let me know��?” 

“Why…?” 

“I may have been slightly bit.” 

“Slightly?” Pratt is the one to yell out, incredulous at Dahlia’s description of her injury. 

“Just a little bit,” She brings two fingers close together in front of her for added effect. 

“Jesus fuck, can you just not get hurt for like a week?” 

“No, clearly not.” 

“Pratt, take her out to the clinic,” Whitehorse says with a heavy sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I don’t need a doctor.” 

“Yes, you do. Even if the bite ain’t too bad, you never know if it’s infected. Not only could the wolf be carrying something, but it had someone else’s blood in it’s mouth. This isn’t optional, Rookie, you’re going to the clinic and that’s an order.” 

Dahlia can’t and won’t argue with the sheriff on that. Instead shrinking slightly at the realization that her own disregard for her own safety has gotten her scolded despite her accomplishment. She doesn’t think about risks to herself; she needed the wolf put down to save others and if the worst case scenario is her own well-being being sacrificed, that’s worth it to help others, isn’t it?

“C’mon, Wolf-Bait lets get going,” Pratt says, giving her a light smack on the shoulder to follow him. 

“I’m coming, asshole.” 

She follows behind Pratt, back to the cruiser where they parked at the beginning of this day. The sun has long since set, the moon now bright and high in the sky as she climbs into the passenger side seat. Unable to stop herself from pouting slightly that she’s being forced to go to the clinic again. Even if she understands why. 

“Hey,” Pratt gets her attention as he starts up the cruiser engine, “if it makes you feel any better. I’ll be happy to put you out of your misery if it turns out to be a werewolf.” 

“Fuck you!” She yells out through a laugh; his dumb joke bringing a smile back to her face as they go off to the clinic. 

She’s at the clinic late that night, her injury doesn’t need stitches just some bandaging, some bloodwork and tests done to account for anything that could be wrong. Then she’s sent home with antibiotics; the entire time Pratt making jokes about werewolves and silver bullets like a nerd.  All that’s left is crashing for the night and eventually hearing if she has rabies. 

Dahlia sleeps easily that night; thanks to her adrenaline crashing down. She sleeps in the night morning, Saturday never being such a blissful treat for her as she manages to not wake up until around noon. 

The young deputy takes her time when she gets up, eating cereal and grabbing a shower. Faith mentioned her being able to see Cassie at the convent this weekend spending a day together, so that’s her plan on top of doing the rounds on roping folks into the Apple Festival. 

The Convent isn’t far from the trailer park, two buildings seated before the edge of a cliff with craggy staggered mountain range covered in trees beside it.  So many mountains and cliffs within the county. The larger of the buildings has dark roofing, a smaller white church with white latticing canopies between them. Like the material used to construct a gazebo and fields upon fields of the white moonflowers. 

Before Dahlia can step too far onto the property, a woman with long baby blonde hair with flower tattoos spiraling up her arms and the sin of GREED across her chest runs up to stop her. 

“Hello, is there something I can help you with?” 

“Yeah, I was here to see Cassie.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, but our sister Cassandra is busy today.” 

“Sister?” Dahlia asks, blood running cold for a moment. She can’t seriously mean…Cassie wasn’t interested in joining, she just needed shelter.

“Well yes, she’s opened her heart to the Father, a child of Eden’s Gate now.” 

“Interesting…” Dahlia clenches her jaw, “Faith said that I could come see her today.” 

“Well, I’m afraid that’s not possible, she’s been busy with finding salvation. She’s with herald John, giving her confession, she can’t possibly be bothered right now.” 

“I-”

“Deputy~!” Faith’s sing song voice rings out and Dahlia can’t help but still feel angry, they were supposed to help Cassie, not convert her. The youngest Seed sibling rushes over, nearly floating with the ethereal energy only she can manage. Her white floral dress of the day has a halter neckline and flowers are woven into her braided hair. 

“Faith…” 

“I’m so sorry; I heard, I know you were excited to spend time with me and Cassie today, but I’m afraid things just became too busy with her deciding to join us here.” 

“Yeah…what the fuck?” 

“Excuse me?” Faith says, her pretty little smile fading for a moment. 

“Cassie needed shelter, not Jesus, so I reiterate…what the fuck?” Dahlia gestures wildly, anger tinging her words. Her blood pressure rising and heat crawling up under her skin like pins and needles. 

“Cassie is an adult, she made a choice to join us. Surely, you can’t deny her that freedom, deputy?” Faith’s face pulls into a pout, making Dahlia feel unreasonable all at once, but Cassie was never interested in the religion aspect. 

“Yes, she’s an adult, but she was vulnerable, and I don’t think leaping into a religion when you’re in a shitty place is the best move. I-I wanna talk to her myself.” 

“Well, I’m afraid that can’t happen, not today. But, maybe next weekend or you could write a letter of course.” 

“She still hasn’t responded to my last letter…” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Faith puts a hand on Dahlia’s shoulder, meant to be comforting but the deputy flinches away, “as I said, it’s been impossibly busy, she’s been studying our beliefs and methods of joining. It’s a long process at times, very time consuming, but I assure you…Cassie opening her heart to the Father doesn’t mean it’s been closed to you.” 

“Yeah, sure, just too busy.” 

“Well, you’ve certainly been busy too, haven’t you?” She tilts her head delicately to the side, still smiling. 

“I have?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow. 

“Mmm hmm, John’s already learned of you helping put together an apple festival.” 

“Oh, yeah, Debbie and Doug wanna save that place so why not, I figure.” 

“Yes, we’ve been hearing all about it, John’s not exactly thrilled.” 

“Nothing personal to it…” 

“I figured, I’m not upset, I promise,” Faith offers a soft smile, “the orchard will end up in the rightful hands no matter what. John just worries a lot about getting land for our church, after all we’re growing by the day and need space for our people.” 

“And Debbie and Doug worry a lot about keeping their livelihood, ya know?” 

“Like, I said, I have no ill will over it, I’m just interested to see you’re so full of surprises.” 

“I am?” 

“Mmm hmm,” she giggles, but offers no more information, like she knows a secret that Dahlia doesn’t. But before Dahlia can ask another question, a sight among the convent makes her breath catch in her throat. 

Shaved head men and women; tending to fields of those flowers, masks across their face. So, they’re definitely with Eden’s Gate as if she really had to question. They work silently, tending to the fields of moonflowers in their white sweaters. 

“Who are they?” Dahlia asks, giving Faith a pointed look. The girl’s eyes move back and forth from the deputy to the workers. 

“Oh, those are our angels,” she answers, grinning, “they’re high ranking members of our church, so devoted to The Father they’ve taken vows of silence and dedicate their lives to helping The Project. Amazing, aren’t they?” 

“Vows of silence, huh?” Dahlia says, more to herself than Faith. Then why did they mumble lyrics and scream out…why would they attack Dahlia? Is Faith lying to her, she’s got to be, right?

“You know, deputy, if you’re so interested in The Project, The Father would still happily let you join our family.” 

“Hmmm, I’m sure, didn’t realize there was a huge process to it though…” Dahlia comments, hoping Faith will elaborate, what the hell kind of hoops did Cassie jump through? Confession, is all she really knows. 

“Well, “ Faith grabs both of Dahlia’s hands in her own, smiling, “we ask for our new family members to prove they see the truth of our faith, to prove their dedication, rid themselves of their sins and make sacrifices in order to truly cut their ties with sin.” 

“That’s-“ 

“Faith, there’s a call from the conservatory!” Someone calls out and Dahlia’s words die on her lips; the notion that Faith’s description is vague and generally unhelpful. 

“I’ll be right there, see you later deputy, hopefully we can meet with Cassie next weekend.” Faith waves her goodbye and then leaves. 

Stray straightens her jacket before leaving the convent, a flood of unanswered questions and doubts in her mind. Everyday something new worries her about Eden’s Gate. If Faith’s lying…that’s fucking bullshit. She doesn’t want to imagine that Faith would lie to her face like that. But, why would their oh so special angels, even the name makes her roll her eyes, be screaming and murmuring despite vows of silences? Why would they attack her?

The rest of her Saturday is spent speaking to people about the Apple Festival, roping Chad from the Grill Steak into it. At least, she believes she did, she’s not completely sure of anything he says. His dialect unintelligible, so she just upped her cajun dialect until she barely knew what she was saying either. Its good busy work, getting places to hang up advertisements, though her heart and mind are somewhere else the entire time. She’s thankful that most people are just genuinely invested in helping; because she certainly isn’t getting by on her charisma. 

Her night is spent with trying to distract herself, but thoughts always coming back to the weirdness of Eden’s Gate, to her doubts. Wondering what exactly led to Cassie’s conversion… She’s being silly, she tells herself time and time again, but something just doesn’t feel right lately. Maybe she’s overeating; seeing connections and red flags where none exists. But, the case remains that no tv, manga, music, or drawing can distract her that night. 

There’s still a slight cloud looming over Dahlia when she arrives at the orchard Sunday, ready to taste Debbie’s baked apple goods. The sun is high in sky and the smell of apples lifts her mood slightly; but she finds herself still distracted as she parks her bike. 

“Deputy!” Debbie greets her and Dahlia gives the warmest smile she can muster. The older woman’s smile helping lift some of that cloud. 

“Hey.” 

“Staci’s already here, c’mon, we’ll sit in the market stall,” Debbie gushes bring Dahlia over to the picnic tables that are under the covering; where they first talked about the festival. 

Pratt is already there; the smell of baked sugar and apples hits Dahlia’s nose before she even sees the array of food Debbie’s put out. Apple pie, apple dumplings, apple scones, and she’s sure that’s just the beginning. 

“Hey dumbass,” Pratt greets her around a mouthful of apple pie as she sits down next to him. 

“You couldn’t wait like five minutes?” 

“Nope.” 

“Ass.” 

The deputy’s feedback is predominantly noises of happiness; neither really food critics but happy to be shoving it in their mouths. The gloomy cloud is starting to lift by the time they’ve finished off a pie; cinnamon, sugar, and apples warm on her tongue. Apple dumplings settle warm in her stomach and she forgets why she was ever upset. The scones are munched down next; cream sticking to her fingers and lips as she eats. 

“God you’re a mess,” Pratt taunts and she sputters a laugh when she turns to face him. 

“You have food in your beard, asshole.” 

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath and starts wiping at his face. 

The stuff their faces for a long while longer; strudel, apple cake, apple cobbler, candy apples, and fritters. Pratt leans back from the table, pressing a hand to his face after a while. 

“You alright?” Dahlia asks, raising her eyebrow. 

“Debbie is gonna have to roll me out of here at this rate; are you not fuckin’ full yet?” 

“…No…” She pauses, before shoving more cobbler and whip cream in her mouth. Debbie and Dough are off rushing to get more goodies. 

“Jesus fuck, Rook.” 

“You’re just a baby.” 

“Shut up,” he leans back away from the table and runs a hand back into his hair, “hey, Rook?” 

“Hmm?”

“You ever gonna shoot your shot with Joey?” 

“What?!” She chokes on her food, just barely stopping it from flying out of her mouth, where the actual fuck did that come from? 

“Your little crush on her, you ever gonna do something about it?” 

“Like what?” 

“Ask her out, you know, like people do.” 

“Yeah…why the fuck would I do that?” She cannot grasp his logic here. 

“I don’t know how to explain to you that when people have crushes; they ask the person out.” 

“I don’t know how to explain to you that that would be really fucking stupid.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I already know the answer, there’s no way she’d say yes, and frankly if she did I’d be concerned.”

“Concerned?” 

“Yeah, who in their right fuckin’ mind would say yes to me?!” 

“So, you wanna act weird around her forever and never deal with it?” 

“That was the plan.” 

“I’m just saying the sooner you rip the band-aid off, the quicker you can act like a normal person around her.” 

Dahlia sighs, she doesn’t want to act like a freak around Hudson for the rest of her life or for her little crush or whatever to get the way of life. Pratt knows more about this crap than her, because everyone does. So, if he’s saying this would help, maybe it would? But, her brain still is struggling. 

“But I already know she’s gonna say no, you know she’s gonna say no, literally anyone with a functioning braincell knows she’d say no. So, why would hearing her say no make a difference?” 

“Its like closure and shit; I think it’d help.” 

“Ugh, just sounds like an excuse to make an idiot out of myself.” 

“Compared to the genius you usually are?” 

“Fuck off.” 

She swallows down a mouthful of strudel before the conversation can continue, but Pratt’s words stick with her. It’s not as if she needed any more on her mind, but she got it anyway. The two continue taste testing for Debbie, though the subject of Hudson never comes up. She’s not sure why Pratt is suddenly so keen on helping her work through her little crush, a friendly gesture, she figures. Maybe her life would be a little easier if she could stop turning into a red-faced mess around the oldest deputy. 

It’s late when they finally finish tasting everything; Dahlia giving friendly goodbyes to Pratt and the couple before she goes back home. Her weekend coming to a close with her falling asleep with a stomach full of baked apples. 

She’s woken up to her phone ringing; instead of her alarm. Dahlia already knows well that despite shift hours, the nature of their work and the higher level of being deputy means that being called out at odd hours is expected. But her blood runs cold when she sees sheriff Whitehorse is the one calling, something is wrong. 

“Sheriff?” She answers, sitting up on the couch. 

“Rook; I already called Pratt and Hudson, I want you all at the clinic now! It’s an emergency!” 

And that’s all she gets before the call ends. She throws on a uniform and runs out the door, jumping on her motorcycle. Mind racing with each passing second. The hurried and frantic tone in Whitehorse’s voice flaring anxiety inside of her. A million possibilities shooting through her mind as she rides towards the clinic; is it about the wolf? Has there been a murder? Is someone she knows hurt? Could it be an officer? 

She’s practically tripping over herself as she climbs off her bike, running into the clinic. The staff is a mess, nurses rushing frantically to attend to someone. Words of transferring, stabilizing, blood transfusion. Something is wrong. Each word swims around her head, but she doesn’t know who they’re talking about. Then she sees Whitehorse, Hudson, and Pratt at the front desk. The three living closer than her. 

“What’s wrong?” Dahlia asks running over; all three’s expressions are tense. Pratt shaking his leg, Hudson digging her nails into her arms until her knuckles turn white, and Whitehorse looking a moment away from collapsing. 

“It’s Pastor Jerome,” Whitehorse tells her, “someone attacked him.” 

“Left for fucking dead,” Hudson interjects, a crack in her voice that Dahlia’s never heard before. 

“They’re trying to stabilize him long enough to transfer him to a hospital in Missoula. We need to make sure it stays secure, no telling if whoever did this won’t try to do something again, and we need to be there to ask questions once he’s out of the woods. I don’t want this slipping through the cracks, Jerome’s a good man and he damn well deserves our best effort.” 

“Got it,” Dahlia nods in agreement to the sheriffs words.

Images of the man in the priest collar coming to mind. She’s seen him in passing, never a conversation between the two. But she saw him speak with Whitehorse; Pratt implied that both him and Hudson went to Jerome’s church as kids. He means something to them all and that’s clear in just how serious it’s being taken; obvious in how shaken up they all seem to be. 

She stands next to Pratt, squeezing his shoulder in an attempt to comfort, wishing she could offer more. He tries to give her a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, too worried about the pastor. 

Why would anyone attack him? His church is modest, nearly dying out from everything she’s been told, it wouldn’t make sense to rob him. Hope County has some less than accepting residents; but the idea of a potential hate crime is a hard pill to swallow…

All Dahlia can do is wait with her coworkers, listening to the frantic yells of nurses struggling to save a man’s life. Heart in her throat, anxiety telling her that any second this will become a murder investigation as she watches the hands on a clock ticking away…

[kuriboo]

Aerial Twist

Fandoms: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga), Yu-Gi-Oh! 5D's, Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V Words: 2,090 Characters: Kaiba Mokuba, Akaba Reira, Izayoi Aki Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Family, this is post arc v and pre 5ds, and takes place in the early duel monsters manga, Arcadia Movement, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Panic Attacks, Trauma, we use dub names here but only most of the time I apologize in advance, Links in Notes

When Kaiba told Mokuba he was meeting with the CEO’s younger brother, Mokuba felt a little insulted. Even if they were the same age, Mokuba was KaibaCorp’s VP, and Riley held no position within the Leo Corporation. This was glorified babysitting while the ‘grown ups’ talked.

He never should have underestimated them.

The vice-presidential position included a lot of duties in its job description, but babysitting was not one of them.

To be honest, Mokuba felt a little insulted. He oversaw a lot of important projects within KaibaCorp, and usually wasn't involved with any big meetings with other corporations. Either that was Seto’s thing, or they both were too important and busy to get involved. So when Seto told Mokuba he was needed for a meeting with the Leo Corporation, he was surprised. When Seto told him he was seeing the CEO's younger brother, he wasn't happy. As the VP of KaibaCorp, Mokuba was aware of the hierarchies of many of the corporations his brother did business with. Even if he and Riley were around the same age, Riley held no position within the Leo Corporation . This was glorified babysitting while the ‘grown ups’ talked. 

What did a kid their age who didn't help run one of the biggest companies in the world do? Before Seto acquired KaibaCorp, Mokuba spent most of his time being bullied and being rescued from bullies by Seto. Sure, he liked to duel and play capsule monsters and stuff, but that didn't mean Riley would. He'd never met Riley in/person before, so he didn't know what to expect. 

Eventually, Reiji Akaba brought Riley into Mokuba’s office himself. He introduced himself as well as Riley to Mokuba. Then he bent down to Riley's level and calmly told Riley they would be spending time with Mokuba until he returned. Once he was sure Riley was okay with that, he left to attend his meeting with Seto.

The two of them were alone. 

"I'm Mokuba." Mokuba had no idea whether to offer Riley a handshake or not. Riley stared at him blankly, not seeming to expect one." To be honest, I don't know what we're supposed to be doing,” Mokuba admitted. Talk business? Play with cars?

Riley shrugged. "Don't know." 

Well, great, this was already going well. 

Unfortunately Mokuba couldn't give up on this meeting altogether. Seto had warned Mokuba to leave a good impression with Riley; leaving a good impression with Riley meant leaving a good impression with Reiji, and good impressions were everything. Mokuba had to do his best to like, make friends and interact. Ew. He had to think of something.

"Do you like dueling?”

"Uh huh." 

"Do you want to duel now?" 

This was a more difficult question for Riley to answer. It took them over a minute to think. "Okay." 

Well, for being such a hesitant duelist, Riley sure was a good one. Not better than Mokuba, of course. He liked the occasional Ritual Monster (Hungry Burger was a given), but he was mostly a dragon user. It was hard not to be a fan of dragons when your brother was Seto Kaiba. At least Mokiba had some monsters to help set himself apart. But while Mokuba’s deck used a lot of special summoning, Riley's was on a whole other level. Fusion, XYZ, they had it all. Mokuba wouldn't be surprised if they had any Ritual Monsters in there, too.

Mokuba still had the upper hand, obviously, but he never should have underestimated his opponent.

The duel never got to end. 

At the sound of glass shattering, Mokuba immediately was alert. The glass came from the big window in his office -- it was supposed to be bulletproof, and he didn't work on the ground floor, but somehow this wasn't the first time this had happened. He'd been kidnapped enough times to know a kidnapping attempt when he saw one. Who was after him? Why now? He was the middle of very important work with a business partner. At least they should wait until Mokuba was alone. That’s Kidnapping 101! He turned to the window, but he couldn't immediately see anyone there. 

Mokibar looked towards Riley. They were staring at the broken glass, their hands covering their ears. Tears were forming in their eyes as they dropped to the floor. 

This was all going to leave a really bad impression on the Leo Corporation.

At least both of them still had their duel disks. Maybe they could duel their way out of this. 

Vines covered in thorns stretched through the hole in the window and into Mokuba’s office. Someone climbed up and jumped into the room. The way their face was covered by a mask prevented Mokuba from knowing if he recognized them or not.

"Who are you?” Mokuba demanded.

"I am the Black Rose Witch.” 

A stranger, then. Mokoba forced himself to relax. “If you want to meet with me or my brother, you'll have to make an appointment with our secretaries. Both of us have very busy schedules; as you can see, I'm in the middle of an important meeting.”

“I don't need an appointment with the likes of you," the witch said, as they turned their face in Riley's direction. Tears were falling down Riley's face uncontrollably, but they seemed to be trying to pull their hands away from their ears. “Besides, this meeting does not seem so important." 

Mokuba rolled his eyes. So the witch thought they were above everyone else, but that was nothing new to him. He grew up with Seto Kaiba. "So if you don't want an appointment, what are you here for, then?" 

“I am here on behalf of the Arcadia Movement.”

"Arcadia?" Mokuba blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that, though the plants made more sense now. "The psychic duelist group?" Cult, more like, but he had no interest in calling out his would-be kidnapper on that and aggravating them. Of course he knew about Arcadia. KaibaCorp knew about everything. 

“Psychic duelist?" Riley whispered. They didn't seem capable of much more than that. Mokuba was barely close enough to hear them.

"Duelists that can summon duel monsters and card effects to the real world,” Mokuba explained. "My brother doesn't believe in that stuff, but I'm not him. I mean, we do actually know a psychic duelist. Though they don't really call themself that.” He glared of the witch. “What do a bunch of psychic duelists want with me, anyway?"

“I told you, you are not the one I seek!” A violent wind started whipping through the room. There was no way the wind outside was this strong!

Mokobe reflexively lifted his duel disk in front of him. Yeah, that'll help a lot against a psychic duelist. "Then what do you want?"

“The Arcadia Movement is here for Riley Akaba.” The witch took a step towards Riley and Mokuba. The wind picked up, pulling cards from their duel disks and sending them flying around the room.

"The Leo Corporation apparently does a good job of making sure Riley is never alone, like a possession to be guarded. That's why we're here to free you. Of all the people you were to be around, Mokuba Kaiba, despite being the vice-president of Kaiba Corp, was determined to be the least threat, which is why we are here now.”

“Hey!” Mokuba  allowed himself only a moment to feel hurt by that. He knew he had to be the one to act, he was used to these situations while Riley still didn’t look like they were doing too well. This was weird, though. Mokuba was used to the one being kidnapped, but not so much to being there during the kidnapping while not being the target. What was he supposed to do? What could he do? He jumped in front of Riley, putting himself between them and the witch. "Not on my watch! You'll have to get through me to get to Riley.” 

The Black Rose Witch seemed unphased by Mokuba’s declaration (though it was hard to tell under their mask). They held up a card. "Ivy Shackles!" 

Mokuba felt himself thrown towards the side of the room. He couldn't stop the scream that flew out of him. He didn't feel himself make contact with the wall, but the next thing he knew he was next to it, tangled up in a bunch of plants. This must be the Ivy Shackles, huh? 

Riley turned to look at Mokuba. Tears were still falling down their face, slowly now. Yeah, this was going to leave a great impression. At this rate, Kaiba Corp would never get to speak to the Leo Corporation again, Shakily, Riley stood up on their feet. As they looked at Mokuba, he saw something change in their eyes. A darkness appeared that he hadn't seen before now.

The witch took a step towards Riley. 

Riley's head snapped back in the witch's direction. One remained in their Extra Deck; Riley looked down as if as if he were listening to something, then drew the card out of their duel disk. "Psychic duelist... " They stared at the card as they held it in their hand. “Dark Rebellion Supreme King Dragon, I need help.” 

A huge dragon curled itself around Riley, roaring; there was bavely enough room for it in Mokuba’s office. Riley placed one of their hands against it. It was as real as the Ivy Shackles of the Black Rose Witch. The dragon bent its head towards Mokuba. Mokuba flinched, not knowing what to expect, but the dragon used its mouth to tear away the Ivy Shackles and free him.

The Black Rose Witch took a step back. “You’re..." 

“I don't need your help. I don't need to be freed." They bared their teeth, scowling at the witch. "I want to be here! I want to be with my brother and my friends. This is what I want!” 

Dark Rebellion Supreme King Dragon stepped around Mokuba and Riley before roaring at the witch, swiping at them with its claws. Pretty soon the witch was retreating, even though Mokuba had the feeling they could have fought back. He wondered if they would come back, if they would go after Riley again.

Mokuba looked to Riley again. He could still see that darkness there, but it was disappearing. Now he couldn't believe the way he'd looked down on them , how incompetent he'd thought they were when they first walked into his office.

"I'm not being watched because I need to be guarded. It's because I'm dangerous.” 

“Uh, thanks," he said weakly.

The door to Mokuba’s office flew open. "What happened?" Reiji ran into the room; the commotion must been able to be heard in Seto's office, then. Reiji ran to Riley's side to check on them. He did not appear phased by the giant real dragon in the room that disappeared the second Riley saw him. 

“I am so sorry, we should have better security than this,” Mokuba immediately said. "I did my best--"

Reiji silenced Molaba with a look. His expression was hard to read. "I am not mad with you." Reiji was able to quickly  tell that Riley was unharmed. 

“Someone tried to kidnap me," Riley told Reiji. "But Mokuba and I were able to chase them away.” 

Mokube really hadn't been able to do much besides getting smacked around, but at the moment he didn't have it in him to protest. 

He blinked, and Seto was by his side. His brother had come, too. "Mokuba, what happened?" 

“It was Arcadia.” A wave of exhaustion was hitting Mokuba. He hadn't realized it until it really hit him that they were safe now. 

Selo frowned. He looked closely at Mokuba. "This meeting is over. You need to get checked out”

“I'm fine," Mokuba protested. He wasn't so weak that he needed to be helped with every little thing. Reiji and Riley Akaba were right there. This was embarrassing.

Seto rolled his eyes. “You’re covered in scratches and you hit your head against the wall. I won't let you take chances with your health like this, Mokuba." 

Did he hit his head against the wall? Mokuba didn't remember that happening, but his head did hurt. The scene melted away for a second. For just a moment it wasn't KaibaCorp’s president checking on his vice president after an attack during a business meeting. It was Seto and Mokuba alone in the world, Seto checking on Mokuba after a bully came after him. Mokuba tried not to tear up. He hadn't thought about those days in a long time. He’d hardered up since those days, a conscious effort to become more self-reliant. Seto had changed since then, too. 

But in all the time that had passed, Seto still had Mokuba’s back when he needed it. In all that had changed, they hadn't lost each other.

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

2.  Mandatory Monroe Mingling

Grace had been waiting to get off of work ALL DAY. Aside from the fact that the bookstore had been even slower business than usual, she had so much to do whenever she got out. She took a sip of her coffee as she left the doors and noticed Mr. Laurent was staring at her AGAIN. That man was a peculiar one. But, she figured it probably had to do with being an eccentric, successful writer and she suspected a recluse, because other authors came into the bookstore, but he was the only regular and he was always alone. At least he didn’t seem dangerous, which was a lot more than she could say for a lot of people.

But, he was weird. She chuckled a little thinking about how he was following her around the store, probably trying to pump himself up to talk to her, then when she addressed him, he totally froze. It wasn’t the first time they’d even seen each other and she wondered, whenever he read her name tag if he was one of those people who didn’t remember faces, or one of the more typical types that couldn’t tell certain faces apart and therefore didn’t know that he already knew her already… or at least should have. She had been working in this store now for five years, two of which she worked the day shift, which was when he usually came in.

Then again, Mr. Laurent was never actually in the store until today. He was always in the coffee shop and all staff was told to never bother him and only accommodate him if he asked for help. That was actually a part of their orientation! Grace tried to read his work before, but it wasn’t really her thing. She liked fantasy, sure, but it just felt like a knock off of numerous other works, compressed into this fictitious place that was a hodgepodge of other places. Like if Middle Earth and Narnia had a baby and it married Wonderland and they adopted Neverland… or something. She couldn’t keep up with all of the convoluted world building long enough to pin down what she even hated about Esmoroth. But, she hated it. She'd never actually say those words to him, probably.

The kids in her philanthropy program seemed to enjoy the books, so they appealed to someone. She rushed home from the train, washed up, got dressed and drove to her parents' estate. Whenever she came in, she was immediately transported to the first time she'd come back home, after her years away. Every. Time. She thought about that day and trembled as she crossed the threshold, reminding herself that she was safe from that now, that her life was very different today.

"Miss Grace St. Catherine!" She was announced. Her mother sighed and made her way over to greet her and try not to grumble about her last name.

"We've been waiting for you, Dear. Come, come. I'll introduce you to the new chairman of the board at the Infinity Train Foundation…"

"I'm looking forward to that," Grace said. She wasn't, and they both knew it, but the foundation helped her to get home and she worked closely with them in helping other children with various issues. She didn't care for many of their ways, but they helped a lot of people out and as long as Grace had good rapport with them, she could help plenty of the kids in their programs, in her own ways.

For her parents, that meant financial, but Grace was more hands on than that. She headed several incentives, such as dance classes, reading club, safety drills, support groups, and she pushed for others that sometimes didn't get approved, such as martial arts training and self defense, survival techniques, and crisis management.

Those sounded like great ideas to her, but the Foundation was more interested in making children feel safe and getting them in the mindset to trust in those caring for them in their environment. Those suggestions, the Foundation believed, would make their children feel like they were constantly under attack or unsafe. Grace let it go. She had enough resources to implement these things elsewhere, and she did. She felt bad for the kids involved with the Foundation who might never receive the proper training for an emergency situation, though.

She wished someone would have taught her the things that she now knew. She placed her hand over the scar on the back of her neck. An A with a squiggly line, carved into her skin when she was a kid, to not only show her loyalty to the Apex, but as a sign of ownership. No matter what happened the past few years since she'd gotten out, that reminder would forever be with her. Ms. Monroe wanted to have it removed, grafted, covered, ANYTHING to make it easier to forget that her daughter had been missing for 8 years and came back as an older, darker, broken version of the perfect child that she wasn't watching closely enough and never paid proper attention to.

Grace sometimes thought she refused to have it removed to punish her mother for just that. She spent those years convinced that her parents didn't want her back anyway, certain that they were glad that she had wandered off, that they were happier without her there to be weird and lonely and sad. She spent them wondering, "If they loved me, why haven't they come to get me?" Of course, she knew better now, but unpacking and reprogramming herself would take more time that a few years.

Her father was speaking to the white haired man that she was being introduced to, but he quickly hugged her and began boasting on her - how far she had come, how strong she was, how much of a survivor, and how proud… she loved her parents, but they exhausted her. While her mom would have preferred that those 8 years never happened and believed that she could will them away by remaining in denial; her father seemed to believe that they were the only years of Grace's life whatsoever and her coming out on the other end was her victorious claim to greatness.

Sure, his daughter overthrew her traffickers, started a cult as a teenager, and spent years as a criminal mastermind and destructive thug, but she overcame it and was now the poster girl for fucked up kids whose parents can afford rehabilitation without incarceration. Huzzah! 

There was nothing heroic about escaping to her. They never showed up to rescue her. The only hero she had was a crime lord who killed her owner in a business deal gone wrong. A tatted older woman with a British accent and an "A" in the back of her neck. From that moment, Grace knew that if she wanted to survive, she'd have to save herself. She’d have to be tough, ruthless even, and emulate the power she saw in that queen bitch that day.

They didn't go by names when One was in charge. They all had numbers. Hers had been 148. That's what they called her and what she came to see herself as before her "steward" was killed. Whenever she was free, she took other kids and they were going to revolt against One and be like the woman only known on the streets as "The Conductor." Nobody had ever actually seen One. He was, as far as Grace knew either a ghost or a fake name for whatever organization had so many children from all over the world involved in it's trafficking ring. But the kids left behind.. they remembered Grace. "Leader" of the Apex. Future Conductor. Enemy of One…

Getting arrested for assault somehow was the best thing to ever be happen to her. It got her on the track back home. She had forgotten it was a real place. The rules were so much different than on the streets. The people she knew had changed, too… or she had misremembered them. At any rate, being 18 and beating up a gang leader with a bat should have gotten her hard time, but being a Monroe, the long lost daughter of Ambrose and Gethsemane Monroe… she became an inspirational story instead. She hated it, but she hated the thought of going back to the other life more. Hated to have to remember what happened to Hazel... what happened to others.

So, now, she lived her life as a different woman. She did a lot to try to help children. She worked some place that was low-key and enjoyable. She changed her name and kept all events that weren't already known about her time away her secrets. Atoning for things that she did as a child - things she was forced to do, things she thought she needed to do, and things she did because she wanted to included humoring her parents by showing up to events for their various charity endeavors. They sweetened the deal by having a lot of those be targeted towards helping children have better lives and she was introduced to a lot of people in such positions over the years that she had been back.

Grace was in the middle of pretending to listen to the chairman's son list his entire resume of organizations he'd given money to whenever she heard her phone ding. She meant to mute it before, but now that she had it out, she was surprised to see "Simon Laurent wants to follow you" in her alerts. She laughed a little, phasing out Preston or Princeton, or whatever his name was to scroll through Mr. Laurent's feed. It was mostly photos of a white cat, small humanoid figures and dioramas, press promos for work, landscapes, a woman who she was sure HAD to be his mom, and the occasional selfie. Sure. Mr. Laurent could follow her. Maybe if he saw her outside of work look, he'd get the courage to shoot his shot. Of course, she wouldn't seriously date him, but it would be cool to have a nice guy interested in her for a change.

Mr. Laurent seemed nice. He was pretty cute, too. Plus, he had enough money that if she DID go on a date with him, her mother wouldn't give her a lecture about dating in her "little St. Catherine Bubble." It was similar to her lecture about working with poor people and befriending the lower class.. but magnified by the fear of someone coming in, using up her inheritance and her having a substandard baby for a commoner. It was like her mom didn't know what kind of life she would've had to lead in the empty warehouse the Apex brought kids to… like she refused to know.

It was around 10 pm whenever Grace left her parents' home, promising to make plans with them soon. She drove home listening to music and sat in her car for a while, establishing her schedule for the next couple of weeks. Mandatory Monroe Mingling was done for this month and next week: Date Night with X, 1:48 am.

The walk to her apartment building wasn't long, but she always felt a sense of dread whenever she walked alone. She always imagined a white stretch limousine with gold decorum pulling up beside her and a slick fellow in the back rolling the window down to ask, "Say, young thing? You look like you wanna get away for a minute. Let me give a you a ride to some place nice."

When you're 10, nice things seemed like they belonged to nice people and taking a ride to a nice place with a nice man? What a concept! Especially when the last thing you did was something SO silly to get your parents' attention. Maybe if she went someplace nice for a little bit, that would make them miss her, make them see that she was worthy of being noticed… 

She saw headlights and gasped, turning suddenly as a random car passed by, not even paying any attention to her. She laughed at herself and went inside.

Mr. Laurent hadn't liked any of her photos, so maybe she was wrong about him being attracted. He probably just needed some books to try to appease his publisher and sought out the only Black person on staff at the bookstore to help him, then added her page just because people do that sometimes. "Oh well. You don't need a nice guy anyways. Probably would just get in the way…" she looked at the photo of her next date, pinned to the wall, and she stuck a sticky note on the face of the one from her calendar and wrote: Sunday night, Valentine's Day and drew a heart on it. Her phone dinged again. She looked at it 12:45 am.

Simon Laurent liked your photo… she checked on the photo. It was one of her and her pet turtle, reading on the balcony. The caption said: Trying to read The Book of Esmoroth to Hazel. Neither of us are very impressed. "Oh my God!" Grace said, laughing. She had forgotten about that! Now, he'd seen it. She didn't know if he liked it for shade, to let her know that he knew, or if he planned to come back and try to say something nasty about it. She took a little thank you card from her stationary and quickly doodled a drawing of herself and Hazel and wrote, "Sorry we didn't nice to your book." She wrote his name on the front, stuck it in an envelope, tossed it in her bag and figured whenever he was next in the store, she'd hand it to him. He usually came once every couple of weeks, sometimes once a week and ever so often like twice a week, so she's see him soon, she was sure.

She didn't expect to see him the next day, and at one of her displays, at that. "Mr. Laurent. You're here again, two days in a row," she noted, digging through her bag for the little card.

"Yeah… somebody in one of my group chats told me that I needed to get some children's books by Black authors, so.. I'm trying to do that."

"You're in the comics, graphic novels and manga section.. kids' books are by the big gorilla with the tubas on her shoulder." She pointed towards the landmark as she described it and handed him something with her other hand. "Also, here."

He furrowed his eyebrows and took it. "Thanks, and thanks.." he marched towards the gorilla and she went to go clock in.

Simon stopped to look at the card as soon as she was out of his line of eyesight. How. Cute. He felt better about the fact that she didn't like his work, now. Also… she was pretty good at drawing. He was going to have this framed.

Grace stopped at the coffee shop for her floral tea and to shoot the breeze with the morning barista before getting back to the sales floor. Her phone dinged. Ugh. Was her mute option glitching? She smirked and shook her head. ANOTHER Date Night? So soon? She hadn’t even had her Valentines’ Day date yet but okay. She'd check this guy out for herself, later.

For now, she went to go find Mr. Laurent in the kids' books section. Maybe she could kill some time by helping him again… and perhaps flirt. Just because she didn't think they'd ever date didn't mean that she couldn't flirt a little. She was emotionally unavailable, not dead.

He already had an arm full of books when she found him. "So… you need help?"

"I've picked up every book that I saw a Black child on the cover of. I don't know if I can be trusted to do my own shopping in here." She laughed and took some of them off of his hands. He was staring again. She stopped smiling and stared back. "Sorry… it's.. you have a very infectious laugh."

"Then why weren't you infected with laughter?"

"I was laughing where I always do. In here," he said, pointing to his chest. She laughed again, harder this time.

"You're hilarious, Mr. Laurent. If things don't work out with the publisher, you should at least do something with your comedy." He couldn't tell if that was her honest opinion, her being sarcastic, or some other option, but he really enjoyed being able to talk to her. This couldn't continue like this, pretending to need books to get close to her. He had to at least try to be a normal person and get her to hang out with him when nobody was paying her to. That way he would see her outside of her business mode. He’d comprehend her as a person and as a character more..

"What would be hilarious is if I were to ask you out… and you said yes. Wouldn't that?" He bit his lip. What a fucking bizarre way to collect himself an L. She did laugh, though. So… one bright side. She quickly stopped and looked bothered though, so no bright side.

"Ummmmm… I think that would be a train wreck for you, Mr. Laurent. I'm not somebody that you wanna go out with."

"It's okay. I expected you to reject me." He wanted to run out of the store and literally never step foot inside of it again.

"That's not it! I have too much to sort through to go on a date with someone like you. You seem very put together and content. I almost always bring disaster with me. I don't like to make other people's lives messy."

"That's valid. Thank you." He rocked on the balls of his feet.

"You want me to put these books away?"

"No, no, no… I'm gonna buy them. But, you will most likely never see my face in here again," he joked. She looked sad. "Just kidding. I'm very much a creature of routine. There's no way that I'm trying to find a new bookstore at my age."

"You're only 20 something, right?"

"Twenty FIVE. That's practically 30!"

She shook her head, "I'm also 25, but definitely only going on 11." They both laughed as she helped him to the counter to check out his books. Her phone dinged and her coworker asked," Who's blowing up your phone? Another hot date?" Grace threw her coworker a look and Simon frowned and looked at the books on the counter. So.. she does date… but just not somebody like you.

"He's being facetious," Grace offered, sympathetically. Simon wanted to crawl into a hole. He waved a hand like it was nothing, but his entire pained face and damp eyes told everyone that was a lie. He took his books and rushed out as soon as his ticket was paid. "What is wrong with you?" Grace asked her coworker.

"I didn't know that Mr. Laurent was trying to hit!" Grace covered her face with her hand and shook her head. After that, he just MIGHT find another bookstore. Poor Mr. Laurent. He was a really nice guy. 

03. Upon Further Research

[omegatheunknown]

AEW Revolution 2021

Super fun night at Daily's Place, all told, but if all you're going to remember about a big card is how it ended, well...

-Production continues to be a bit of an issue. AEW PPVs tend to be closer to ROH than to WWE, which I imagine is largely preferable to the core audience, minus the hiccups that include continued ill-timed (but not gratuitous) camera cuts, sound mixing absolutely drowning theme music and uh, evidently the crucial pyro, whether they're going to spin it on Dynamite or not. - I haven't done a full-sized review for a long while. I sorta dipped a few months into the crowd-less/small, masked-crowd era out of watching Dynamite and NXT regularly. Though I did watch the Royal Rumble. For some reason. Anyway I miss hot crowds, I miss surprise pops. - I would like a straight answer out of anyone 'disappointed' by Christian. Who were you holding out for that wouldn't be a disappointment? Punk? On what planet was that actually happening? At least it wasn't Angle, or Foley, or someone unable to actually go. Christian's got gas in the tank, and let's not pretend he isn't one of the best to ever do it, in terms of his actual wrestling.

*Pre-Card Britt Baker & Maki Itoh v Riho & Thunder Rosa (*) - Star largely awarded for Maki Itoh's stateside AEW debut and implied continued presence, which is undoubtedly cool and good. Outsized personalities are something the women's division can definitely work with, even if this was not much of anything, as random pre-show tag matches go.

*Main Card The Young Bucks (C) v Chris Jericho & MJF for the AEW World Tag Team Title (***) - Wasn't going to be the usual high-octane Bucks tag match against this pair, though MJF's grappling is perfectly suited to what he's doing and Jericho, despite his abject (and okay, supposedly irrelevant, but man is hard to enjoy him on screen these days...) clownery on social media, remains perfectly willing to lionsault and work real snug. - Don't know what would've put this one over the top, a hot crowd? Outcome wasn't super in doubt for me? Casino Tag Team Royale Match (***) - I'm not a big fan of matches with more than three teams, or more than six competitors, or... I mean these are always slogs and if you're going to derive any satisfaction it's going to be from surprise eliminations or unlikely teams showing up or who ultimately wins. - In which case, two out of three ain't bad. QT Marshall's renaissance continues, the depth of the division is entirely out of hand (Bear Country? Good! Varsity Blonds? Good! The Pretty Picture? Also good! Sons of a Gunn? Probably good eventually!) and of course, fucking Death Triangle is absolutely who you want winning. Hikaru Shida (C) v Ryo Mizunami for the AEW Women's World Title (***1/2) - Shida is locked in. Early days in AEW she didn't look much more talented than any random STARDOM mid-carder, but she's found her comfort zone as a character for an anglo audience, and she's kicking ass in the ring. - Mizunami obviously knows Okada's tailor, entrance robe-wise, and a little touch like that imparts so much gravitas to a performer you don't necessarily know the most about, outside of her tournament run. - This was a very good match but the finish lacked for oomph. Post-match angle was... clumsy. Silly? Good on Rosa for chasing a crowd out of the ring singlehandedly I suppose. Kip Sabian & Miro v Chuck Taylor & Orange Cassidy (*1/2) - Literally all I wanted here was for Miro to unleash the beast and we started in that direction and I was pretty hype, 'Charles' got taken to the woodshed and OC could barely crawl to the ramp. - 8 minutes with back and forth seems a little unnecessary, though Orange has beaten Jericho among others. Still, he could've been a non-factor and Miro could've sent Chuckie T into the shadow realm. Hangman Adam Page v Matt Hardy (**1/2) - Well this was going one way. Always have to remember that Matt has walked that way pretty much his whole career and is still quite capable in the ring, some really nice counter sequences ending with reliably crisp twist(s) of fate. - Should probably bump this up a whole star if not two for the triumphant finish. I mean... that's awesome. The Dark Order are a wholesome face cult that's there for *you*, Adam.

Ladder Match for the 'Face of the Revolution'/TNT Title Contendership/A literal giant brass ring (**1/2) - AEW's set the bar for ladder matches a little higher than the likes of Cody and Lance Archer could possibly reach, no slight on them but this is not their wheelhouse. Caster's in a weird place, push wise... some 'fire' bars, though. - Lance could've won though. Or Penta. Though, Scorp deserves title shots, overdue for some gold, I can't even think of the most significant singles belt he's held... AWS? RevPro? - Ethan Page is a kickass get, though unavoidably I think about the possibility of getting Jordynne Grace (among others in Impact's women's division) onto the program. - Weird highlight of the match just seeing Jake getting attended to on the bottom corner of the ring for a couple minutes. How much has Jake the Snake done to establish the credibility and value of Lance Archer? So. So much. Sting & Darby Allin v Brian Cage & Ricky Starks in a Street Fight (****) - Sting, in 2021, having the match of the night. 61 years young. Well. He had some explosive looking stinger splashes, and looked pretty game for most of it. - Darby, as is tradition, was thrown at or through or threw himself at or through most of the big spots, and that's worth the price of admission for this whole cinematic digression. Plus, Sting. - Commentary should've... stopped? Taken a different tone? I'd like to see future Sting cinematic matches go further into the Lucha Underground aesthetic. Kenny Omega (C) v Jon Moxley in an Exploding Barbed Wire Death Match for the AEW World Title (***1/2) - It's a shame. We watched Onita v Funk before the PPV and this was obviously light years better in every single way, there was actual wrestling, Kenny did a springboard maneuver in an exploding death match, everything looked pretty vicious, the pace was solid, even the Good Brothers stealing Kenny's valour by helping him was totally fine because they were all leaving Mox to get written off for the foreseeable future. - But uh. - Where's the kaboom? There was supposed to be an earth-shattering kaboom! - You cannot tell us that the ring is going to explode and then the ring does not explode. You cannot ask poor Eddie Kingston to sell like death for some sparklers. You cannot end your show with a wet fart. Air out of the room like the end of... well, any WWE PPV.

[lovecomedy]

Fanfic recommendations nobody asked for

Those are my favorite wincest fic ever, just because. They are all complete. I’ll add the summaries together with my own two cents.

Consider the Hairpin Turn by cherie_morte. 27K Words

AU of 6x22: Sam's wall has shattered and the memories in his mind have splintered. When the Sam who remembers Hell tells him to go find Jess and be happy, Sam knows he can't stay while Dean needs him. But when the Sam from Hell says that Dean is already there looking for him, Sam leaves his memories of the pit behind to find him.

What he finds is a life he doesn't remember: a house that he shares with his brother (and has for years), a law career he thought he'd left behind at Stanford, and a relationship with Dean he never dreamed he could have. Life is almost too good to be true, at least until Sam begins to hear his brother's voice calling to him, begging him to wake up.

This is my favorite fic of all times. It’s beautifuly written. The way that it narrates Sam’s trauma of Hell is what keeps me coming back for more . Honestly it should be published as a book. Don’t worry, it has very happy scenes and there’s a happy ending

Welcome to the Neighborhood by ImogenPortchester. 2K Words

Dean thinks the new neighbors are interesting, but all is not what it seems.

Super short. Super heartbreaking.

Fics by leonidaslion

I mean first off, just read everything written by leonidaslion

Sing Your Hymns Like Angels In Defeat. 32K Words. 

And Lucifer Fell for a second time with the burning brilliance of a star. The Flare shone in his wake, and darkness fell upon the land ...

Dean goes blind, and I love how it describes Dean’s stuggles with it. You feel like you’re blind with him. Really, really, REALLY well written. Should probably also be a book

Fumbling in the Dark: Love Advice For the Romantically Impaired. 72K

True Love really is blind...

It’s basically a character study of every single episode of the first 5 seasons, with a wincest twist. Slow burn. Holy shit, is it a slow burn. 

Just Say My Name. 3K Words

Dean turns into a complete and utter nympho. It takes Sam a while to notice the difference.

Funny, lighthearted and porny

Hush. 2K Words

Motel walls are thin...

Discovery!kink. Sam and Dean try to have quiet sex while John is in the other room. At least, Dean is trying

Sam Winchester and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. 15K Words

Sometimes, you just shouldn't get out of bed in the morning ...

Fics by fleshflutter

Dark Side of the Moon. 20K Words

Cursed!Dean is deaf and blind. Sam deals.

The incestuous courtship of the antichrist's bride. 48K Words

Sam is trying to become the Antichrist in order to save the world. He has a small army of angels and demons, he has an adoring cult, he has a work of prophecy by Jack Kerouac, and he has Dean. Things are going pretty well until he accidentally signs Dean up as his Beloved Consort, a role that requires sex with the Antichrist on an altar. And that's when things stop going pretty well. Also, the soundtrack to the Apocalypse sucks.

I don’t like crack fics, but goddamn this one is FUNNY. You can tell a lot of thought was put into this freaking masterpiece

Captured by the Game by rivkat. 54K Words

AU. Azazel has given his favorite son a task: worm his way into the confidence of a hunter. It sounds simple, but Dean Winchester just might be more than Sam can handle.

It wasn’t real by NaughtyPastryChef. 1K Words

Sam is trying to explain to Dean where he was when Dean was stuck in purgatory. It starts with "I hit a dog" and then, suddenly, inexplicably, they both know exactly where Sam was.

Wonderful explanation for that arc in season 8 nobody can stand. Plus, time travel, which I’m always a sucker for

Backseat of My Brother's 67 Chevy by NaughtyPastryChef. 1K Words

Extended scene from "Baby". Dean's feeling proud of Sam's hookup until he hears that Sam tried to give that waitress his number. Uncharacteristically, he lets Sam force him to talk about it. 

Bury My Old Soul, and Dance on its Grave by  dreamlittleyo. 2K Words

Dean knows how far he can push Sam.

Antichrist!Sam and Consort!Dean. Codependent winchesters. Yeah

Graveside Blues by hunenka. 3K Words

He uses his body like a blanket, like a shield.

I like how protective Sam is of Dean here, and it deals with something I don’t see a lot such as the jealousy he would have of Dean’s bond with Amara

own it by orphan_account. 6K Words

But he's never going to be able to burn the image of Sam cradling one hand around the perfect curve of Dean's face, dropping the other to the cut of Dean's hip (made for fingers and tongues to trail down, to taste), walking Dean backward until Dean is flush against the wall and Sam is flush against him. This is something that can't be denied.

John finds out. Explores the wonderful trope of both Sam and his father being possessive of Dean, and being very antagonistical to each other. Dysfunctional family yay. Also very porny

Fics by astolat

Punxsutawney. 9K Words

* astolat thinks any plot worth doing is worth doing TWICE

This is the Mistery Spot plot, but a little different. Sam AND Dean wake up to the same day over and over again. So they talk.

Kings and Queens and Jokers, Too. 4K Words

"Yeah, you boys nailed that trickster real good," Bobby said, dry as dust.

People are acting weird around the brothers. Can’t really say anything else without spoiling it. Listen just do yourself a favor and read it. 

options. 500 Words

Decisions, decisions. 

Short and funny. Little bit porny

Desired. 2K Words

He hadn't even known about any of this himself until Sam found it, figured it out for him. He hadn't known how it was going to be.

So, smut. They have a better time when Dean is the one who asks for it

Rockabye Sammy... by  AnotherWorld3111. 1K Words

Sam can’t sleep, so Dean tries to help.

Sam keeps hallucinating Lucifer. Dean is worried and protective of him. Porny

We Know Each Other As We Always Were by mickeym. 45K Words

In 1941, while the world is at war, Sam Winchester falls in love with his brother. They're young, they're in love, and in spite of the hardships of life around them, the world is a pretty good one for them. Until Dec. 7th, 1941, when Japan launches an air attack on Pearl Harbor, sending the US to war against Japan. Dean Winchester feels he needs to join the Army; needs to help fight the good fight and help save lives. He promises he'll return, but can he keep that promise?

GAH this is so romantic! It’s an AU, but I feel like they’re very in character. It feels like a novel

For The End of My Broken Heart by Wickedtruth. 59K Words

Dad's disappeared and Sam's left to pick up the pieces of his broken brother. Post Devil's Trap AU.

Very codependent Winchesters. Also John finds out. 

here at the end of all things by  remy (iamremy). 40K Words

AU from Season 12 onwards. The British Men of Letters win in the USA, and slowly manage to establish their bases and authority over the whole country. They also capture Sam Winchester and keep him prisoner for eleven months, experimenting on him regularly before wiping his memories so that he has no idea what has been done to him.

Even after Dean rescues him and they begin planning to get revenge once and for all, the niggling doubt at the back of Sam's head remains -- what did they do to him? Why won't his anxiety get better? And what is it that he's missing?

Ok you got me, this is gen. But the whole fic feels like a (good) Supernatural episode, it’s so realistic and canon-like. The relationship between the brothers is just like the one we see on the show, meaning desperately codependent and wincest in every subtext.

Fics by deadlybride / zmediaoutlet

What I like about @zmediaoutlet is that she takes the time to write everyone in character. It’s always as canonical as possible and it feels real

femme. 4K Words

Rummaging around the internet, Dean finds a kink he hadn't seen before; Sam explains, and demonstrates.

I love feminization, but unfourtunately there’s only one fic that does it right, and it’s this one

gratification. 2K Words

It's not a compulsion. Dean just likes it.

breña. 1K Words

Sam and Dean wait, knowing what's coming.

The night before Sam jumps in the box

not the good things, nor the bad. 20K

Dean wavers in a grey area between being taken and giving in.

Part of it started with the kinks series, but you can read this just fine without the other parts. It deals very beautifully with Dean’s thoughts regarding his bond with Amara and his sexuality

DeMille Has Nothing On Us by  HandsAcrossTheSea. 13K Words

"Hey Dean - wanna film it?"

This is part of the Those Hazy Days I Do Remember series, but you can 100% read it as a stand-alone, no problem. Sam and Dean film each other and this has that season 1 vibe, of just two brothers on the road. It’s slightly OOC, just because of how touchy-feely they are. But that’s something I sometimes wish we could have on the show, anyway

How many floors to realize by Lazy Daze. 26K Words

AU from the end of It’s A Terrible Life, in which Zachariah decides to keep stringing them along a little while longer, because damn if they aren’t somewhat entertaining, right?”

Rabid by i-am-therefore-i-fight 

Beautiful!! I love @i-am-therefore-i-fight‘s take on demon!dean. It’s different to what we’re used to. This fic is very angsty but has a happy ending

Bitten by a True Believer by kermiethefrog. 3K Words

“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean says. Flashes him a wicked grin, charcoal-eyes. The way he spreads out on Sam’s mattress, bare and offering himself up like Holy fucking Communion, drums heat under Sam’s skin, and he’s never sure if it’s arousal or anger when he’s faced with the demon. “Show me a good time, big guy.”

Another demon!dean fic. I like how even as he is a demon, he is still desperate for Sam’s attention

The Time Traveler's Brother by  AmyPond45. 54K Words

Dean's life is turned upside down the night his mother dies. But that's also the night a mysterious grown-up version of Dean's brother first appears in his life. While Dean grows up, "Old Sam" is often there, especially when Dean's father isn't. As Dean learns what the future holds, he begins to question everything his father has taught him about who he is and what he is supposed to become. Can Dean find a way to save his little brother from his own future?

This is based on The Time Traveler’s Wife, which is my favorite book. Don’t worry, you don’t have to have read it to understand this fic

need against need against need by dollylux. 5K Words

Jack spends his first night in the bunker with Sam and Dean. (Jack POV)

Don’t worry, Jack just watches and ponders about the Winchester’ realationship

the centre cannot hold by orphan_account. 6K Words

Sam does not remember; Dean does. All Dean can do is watch, and mourn.

But then Castiel becomes God, and the world starts to break at the edges (and maybe that isn't a bad thing.)

It kinda becomes a character study, while the brothers deal with what happened during the Soulless!Sam period

The Last Temptation by bccalling. 1K Words

When Sam tells Mary about all the things he and Dean get up to in the dark, Mary wants in, and Sam sees his opportunity to make Dean’s every fantasy come true.

Mary shows up. Porny and very sweet

Angels and Demons by  OhWilloTheWisp. 9K Words

AU angels and demons are animals. Sam was not happy when his owner, Ruby, left him boarded at a kennel. He was even less happy when he discovered an angel in the same facility. But his encounter with the angel will end much differently than anyone would have guessed. He may have never expected his mate to be angel, but now that's found him he won't let anyone keep them apart.

Sam and Dean are kinda like animals here but there’s nothing sexual. It’s very sweet and romantic. Anna/Ruby in here as well