#but i distinctly remember that there was a little bit of urgency. as if it would truly be horrible if i forgot to curse my followers with

[cimeriansparrow]

Apparently, right before falling asleep last night, I left myself a note which only reads "hamster dance," because I knew that I would forget that my sleep addled self wanted to put that as my music note on Instagram

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Today in Tolkien - October 18th

After a few very grim days, today things start to get better again! Aragorn and the hobbits encounter an amusing call-back to Bilbo’s adventures, get a song from Sam, and meet Glorfindel in the evening, and Gandalf finally reaches Rivendell! Even the weather is propitious - the morning dawned bright and fair; the air was clean, and the light pale and clear in a rain-washed sky - and they are now going in the right direction. Aragorn has decided that they need to return to the Road to find the Ford of Bruinen; they are close to the Bruinen (Loudwater) now.

Frodo is feeling a little better, but there are still disturbing signs:

Every now and again a mist seemed to obscure his sight, and he passed his hands over his eyes.

They find a path that looks distinctly to have been made by trolls, and then a broken door into a rock-chamber that has definitely been used by trolls. Then Pippin and Merry come running back, terrified and reporting they have seen very large, live trolls in a clearing ahead. Aragorn has clearly remembered, as no one else has, that trolls are not going to be abroad in daylight, but doesn’t mention this until they actually get to the clearing and see that the trolls are stone. (I think he is slightly, if you will excuse the pun, trolling the hobbits.) Now everyone recognizes the trolls as the ones from Bilbo’s adventure! Sam makes up and sings a song about the trolls.

“Where did you come by that, Sam?” asked Pippin. “I’ve never heard those words before.”

Sam muttered something inaudible. “It’s out of his own head, of course,” said Frodo. “I am learning a lot about Sam Gamgee on this journey. First he was a conspirator, now he’s a jester. He’ll end up by becoming a wizard - or a warrior!”

“I hope not,” said Sam. “I don’t want to be neither!”

This is a good bit of foreshadowing for Cirith Ungol, Sam’s fight with Shelob, and the conviction of the orcs of the tower that he is a dangerous elf-warrior. And, of course, the fact that he doesn’t want to be a powerful wizard or renowned warrior is key to why the Ring has comparatively little effect on him.

By early evening they reach the Road, and are about to camp when Glorfindel finds them.

While Glorfindel was speaking the shades of evening deepened. Frodo felt a great weariness come over him. Ever since the sun began to sink the midt before his eyes had darkened, and he felt that a shadow was coming between him and the faces of his friends. Now pain assailed him, and he felt cold. He swayed, c’utching at Sam’s arm.

…Glorfindel searched the wound on Frodo’s shoulder with his fingers, and his face grew graver, as if what he learned disquieted him. But Frodo felt the chill lessen in his side and arm; a little warms crept down from his shoulder to his hand, and the pain grew easier. The dusk of evening seemed to grow lighter about him, as if a cloud had been withdrawn. He saw his friends’ faces more clearly again, and a measure of new hope and strength returned.

They continue on through the night, at Glorfindel’s insistence, out of the urgency of getting Frodo to Rivendell. Glorfindel sees that there are “evil things” written on the hilt of the Morgul-knife that even Aragorn cannot see, and warns him to handle it as little as possible.

Not until the grey of dawn did he allow them to halt. Pippin, Merry, and Sam were by that time nearly asleep on their stumbling legs; and even Strider seemed by the sag of his shoulders to be weary. Frodo sat on the horse in a dark dream. They cast themselves down in the heather a few yards from the roadside and fell asleep immediately.

[theggning]

Codsworth Is So Underrated, You Guys

ALTERNATE TITLE: Codsworth and the Totally Understated Mindbending Evolution of Artificial Consciousness

I find Codsworth is often the most underrated of the 16 companions in Fallout 4. Your faithful robot butler is among the very first you can recruit and an excellent early-game ally, but he has a few disadvantages in gameplay that mean he’s often sent back to Sanctuary before long. Codsworth is a mid-to-close range fighter only, cannot wear armor or be equipped with weapons. He cannot be healed by stimpak, which makes him a liability if you’re playing on Survival mode. He has no companion quest of his own, so unless you particularly enjoy him there’s not a compelling reason to keep him for a long time. He also becomes recruitable exactly 2 minutes after adorable puppy Best Boy Dogmeat, so he is often (understandably) replaced just as soon as he’s made available.

But there is this great, completely understated facet to Codsworth, so understated that the game does not draw attention to it in any way. And yet, it is a wonderful reflection of many of the themes of Fallout 4 and, I believe, a pretty strong indication of its thesis statement.

Now what in the hell am I talking about?

Like many sci-fi/fantasy universes, the Fallout series is home to many highly-advanced robots. Robots were commonplace before the Great War, and many have survived the bombs intact and in working order. Others have been built or modified by wastelanders to serve various tasks (Percy, Ada.) The most important thing to understand about robots, though, is though they may have vivid personalities programmed in, they are widely accepted to be objects. They are thought of the same way as an appliance, a machine built for a specific purpose and programmed to follow a strict set of protocols.

Many jokes revolve around the relatively rigid intelligence of robots. Pre-War, many were deployed in inappropriate jobs or designed haphazardly (Mister Handies acting as nurses in a hospital, “paramedic” Protectrons with massive deadly tasers for hands, military robots constantly going haywire and erupting in friendly fire.) Others continue to man businesses and play out daily tasks as they were programmed to do over 200 years ago. Most robots are incapable of understanding anything beyond their initial programming, and most pre-War robots are completely unaware that the Great War ever happened.

When the Sole Survivor reunites with Codsworth at the ruins of their home, it seems like he, too, doesn’t understand what’s going on. He talks about tending the (dead) garden, references the (ghoulified) neighbors, and generally acts like the chipper robot butler Sole left behind on their way to Vault 111.

But there is something slightly… off in Codsworth’s dialogue here. Though he acts like the war never happened, he also specifically mentions details that suggest it did:

Player Default: Codsworth! You're still... fully operational?          

Codsworth: {Defiant} Well of course, mum. You can thank the fine engineers at General Atomics for that! At least, you could have. Had they not been... vaporized.

A bit over 210 actually, mum. Give or take a little for the Earth's rotation and some minor dings to the ole' chronometer. That means you're two centuries late for dinner! Ha ha ha. Perhaps I can whip you up a snack? You must be famished.

You've no idea the desperation for human contact one develops over 200 years. {Upset, recalling bad memories of encountering raiders and scavengers. / Disgust} And when you do encounter them? Oh the cruelty! You're either... target practice or... spare parts!

Even stranger, Codsworth mentions details that are plainly made-up (or some kind of delusion):

Codsworth: It's been ages since we've had a proper family activity. Checkers. Or perhaps charades. Shaun does so love that game. Is the lad... with you...?   

Player Default: Codsworth... listen to me carefully... have you seen him? Have you seen Shaun?              

Codsworth: Why, sir had him last, remember? Perhaps he's gone to the Parker residence to arrange a play-date?

(Shaun is an infant. He is too young to play charades or to go to the neighbors for a play-date.)

So at once, Codsworth does and does not acknowledge the war. He does and does not seem to understand what’s happened, and he does and does not seem to follow Sole’s urgency regarding their spouse’s death and Shaun’s kidnapping.

And then, after a speech check, Codsworth finally snaps and breaks down sobbing in despair. Not only does he understand that the war happened, he has developed the ability to get depressed about it. Longing for human contact and with nothing else to do, he’s even developed coping mechanisms to help him try to deal with his loneliness and despair—futilely trying to do his chores and deluding himself into pretending everything is completely normal.

Wait a minute. Sobbing? Despair? Depression? Coping mechanisms and delusions? This Is all pretty sophisticated stuff to be programmed into a robot, and if you spend more time with Codsworth, the reality of what’s happened to him becomes apparent:

Codsworth has evolved beyond his programming. In his 210 lonely years of existence, he has developed emotional reactions and self-awareness far beyond that of most other robots, and, indeed, has basically evolved an artificial consciousness.

“Emergent intelligence” is the theoretical ability of an AI to eventually develop something resembling human thought processes, and it seems that our dear Codsworth has undergone this. Traveling with him, he displays many sophisticated thoughts and behaviors far beyond what most robots are shown to be capable of. He has memories of pre-War time and places, and understands how various locations have changed. He is capable of learning new information and forming opinions on it, gaining his own understanding of the people and factions in the Commonwealth. He can feel happiness, sorrow, fear, disgust. He can anticipate things, predict danger and imagine how people might respond to your actions. The mere he fact he has opinions and a moral code that he applies to you shows he has free will, something even other robot companions don’t (Ada has a personality, but absolutely does not care about your actions.)

He’s also smart enough to make many wry observational jokes, and to lay one hell of a sick burn on you:

{Joking - Found an old bowling alley. / Amused} Fancy a game, mum? Something tells me the bumpers are no longer available.

 Codsworth’s intelligence is even more sophisticated than that. He displays stunning self-awareness, frequently referencing the fact he is a robot and what that means. He is very proud of his background as General Atomics’ finest, and seems pleased with his robot nature and his lot in life. (Unlike Curie, I don’t think Codsworth would ever really want to gain a synth body. He seems quite happy as he is.)

Here he is making reference to still feeling the tug of his programming:

{Seeing an office with chairs arranged in a circle. / Neutral} I've the most incredible urge to rearrange those chairs in a more perfect circle.

Understanding when other robots are restricted by theirs:

A pity. It appears Deezer's programming is too severe to allow for normal conversation. Ah well.

And when they’re actually not:

Codsworth: Greetings, sir. Good to see another robot in town. That chef hat becomes you.

Takahashi: Nan-ni shimasho-ka?

Codsworth: Takahashi you say? I'm Codsworth, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.

Takahashi: Nan-ni shimasho-ka?              

Codsworth: Is that so? Well, we both know RobCo is no General Atomics. It's not surprising it failed, shoddy work and all.  {Friendly - trying to cheer up another robot. / Friendly} Chin up, though. Never know when parts may turn up.

 And here’s Galaxy Brain Codsworth ruminating on his own state of being and contemplating his nature:

{Disappointed that he can't be 100% human sometimes. / Sad} It's unfortunate that I lack the proper design to consume liquids. Something about camaraderie over a few drinks is very inviting.            

I suppose if I had the hardware, I'd have the software as well. I'd hate to see how that'd affect my honesty and manner settings.

{Reconsidering what he thought was a good idea. / Thinking} Indeed. Perhaps I should rethink my initial desire.

Hilariously, Codsworth does not seem fully aware of how remarkable his intelligence is. He occasionally says things like “if I had feelings” and “if I could feel things,” indicating that in some ways he still believes he is only a robot and defines himself by what a robot is and does.

But as we can see, our humble robot butler has essentially evolved to become the smartest, most emotionally intelligent and person-like robot in the Commonwealth*, and potentially in the series.

([SIDE NOTE: Other FO4 robots nearing Codsworth’s level of consciousness and developed personality include Captain Ironsides, KLE-O, Whitechapel Charlie, and perhaps Takahashi. Curie is close, but also receives the unfair advantage of being uploaded into a synth body with a human brain. Jezebel also functions off of a human brain. Nick is not a robot, he’s a synth (though he does jokingly refer to himself as one) and also has the advantage of a human brain encoded on his processor.])

Also hilariously, the game basically does not acknowledge Codsworth’s impressive evolution. At all. There is absolutely no direct mention of it in the script. It is all left to ambient dialogue and the player’s own observations. And because so many people overlook Codsworth as a companion, they may not even realize exactly how unique his expanded consciousness is.

Now, you might call this total lack of mention a mistake, an oversight on Bethesda’s part, or that old chestnut “bad writing.” I don’t think it is. I think it’s a deliciously subtle little detail to include in a story about humanity, machines, artificial intelligence, and what makes a person.

Many of the themes of FO4 revolve around synths—distinctly not robots, but androids, artificially created beings with fully organic human bodies. Most of the storyline factions have strong beliefs about synths and the relative humanity thereof. The Institute believes that synths are objects, tools, machines no different from a robot who are only simulating their personalities through programming. The Brotherhood believes synths are monstrous abominations, a danger to humanity itself, technology run amok which needs to be destroyed. The Railroad believes they are people. Not humans, but people, built instead of born, free-thinking beings that deserve to be treated with respect and given rights.

Through quests, dialogue, notes, worldbuilding and other venues, players explore these questions. What makes someone a person? If your personality and memories can be rewritten or programmed, then who are you, really? Where do we draw the line between humans and machines, and how do we decide who belongs where?

Meanwhile, as the player contemplates the nature of personhood and the definition of intelligence, their robot butler quietly evolves into a fully-conscious person on his own, right beside them.

Codsworth is unquestionably a machine, but also unquestionably beyond the appliance he was built to be. Which to some philosophies and players should really beg a few other questions. If a robot can be considered a person, then what makes synths so different? And how many excuses do we have to make to pretend otherwise?

Ya boy Codsworth may not be flashy, or powerful, or kissable. He may not be the most glamorous companion around. But he is a good friend, a beloved member of the family, and above all else, a loyal butler—content to serve, quietly and humbly doing his job where some may never even notice him-- or the fact that he’s casually become his own person and sent generations of roboticists and philosophers spinning in their graves.

[lioncubofboone]

I finally finished a lil fic so here ya go

Inspired by this post and by the lovely @firewood-figs

And I know I’ve kissed you before, but I didn’t do it right

Can I try again  

 Winters at Hawkeye Manor were brisk, but snow rarely touched the pale, dying grass of the East. Lightly bundled up, the kids could still run and play as they always had. Roy was still getting used to this idea of playing with Riza, as she had all but ignored him for the first six months of his tutelage under her father.

But he would take what he could get. And today, what he could get was racing each other through the branches of an old oak in the front yard. He was older, his limbs a little longer and a little more coordinated than 11-year-old Riza, so he had a few branches on her when he heard a gasp. He looked down in time to see her tattered dress caught on a branch, pulling her backwards and throwing off her balance. He was not fast enough to catch her by the arm before she tumbled to the gravel below. Little sisters in mind, he expected a wail of shock and pain as he descended but was only met with the Hawkeyes’ trademark silence.

Riza’s jaw was clenched shut, a tear welling in her honey-brown eyes. A quick inspection of the scraped knee showed her pride was more wounded than her skin, but Roy still lent her an arm to lean on as they came inside. He opened the door and was met with another surprise, for the ghost of the manor himself, Master Hawkeye, was padding around the kitchen in a paltry attempt to make himself some tea. Berthold cast them a glance, eyes roaming over Riza’s rumple dress, the blood dribbling down her shin, then turned back to the stove.

Roy blinked. Nothing? Really?

Berthold sighed at the temperamental stove as Roy sat Riza at the kitchen table, her gaze never leaving her father’s back. Roy tried to breath through the muddled emotions clogging is chest: frustration at the man ignoring his father, ire, exhaustion, and sadness at Riza’s face, schooled perfectly blank. He had come to learn that she was not devoid of emotion, far from it. Just extremely good at hiding.

Roy on the other hand, was a tea kettle, forever on the brink of boiling over. Fist clenched, he turned to give Berthold a piece of his mind, sick of biting his tongue, but his Master was already leaving the room, ascending the stairs.

“The stove is being finicky. Riza, you’re far better at managing the thing than I am, you’ll finish preparing my tea, won’t you?” He asked as a formality only, already halfway up the stairs to his study, never looking back to his daughter.

The fire died in Roy’s chest as he turned back to Riza, her expressionless eyes following her father up the stairs, watching the study door long after it had closed. Finally, she pushed herself to her feet and began to hobble to the stove to obey.

“Sit,” Roy ordered. “I’ll finish it.”

Her eyes went between Roy and the now-empty stairs, battling herself. But Roy could be stubborn too, standing between her and the empty tea kettle until she relented and came back to the table. He retrieved a wet cloth and an adhesive bandage from the closet with the door that did not close all the way and knelt before Riza, hands outstretched, waiting for her permission.

“The tea,” she reminded him with a frown.

“He can wait.”

“But... the tea,” she said again, with a little more urgency.

Roy sighed and began to wipe away the crusting blood on her shin, holding her leg steady with a hand across her calf. “If it was so urgent, then he could do it himself. I’m putting your injury above his tea,” he grumbled, not bothering to filter his annoyance.

Riza watched, wide-eyed, and Roy wondered if this was the first time anyone had helped her like this since her mother’s passing. He was a tactile person, instinctively reaching for her like his sisters always had for him. For the first few months, every touch was met with a jump, skittering away from him like he’d burned her. When he’d offered to braid her tangled hair for her she’d stared back, reminding Roy distinctly of the stray kitten he’d found in the alley behind Madame Christmas’ bar one evening, eyes wide like he’d cornered her. But just as Veronica had with the kitten, his patience had slowly rewarded him with a gentler Riza.

This Riza watched silently as he dabbed at the last of the injury and secured the bandage over it. Veronica herself in his mind, he remembered how Madame Christmas would always seal their bandages with a little ‘magic’ as shed called it. Without thinking, he placed a quick kiss atop the bandage. He stood quickly as he realized what he’d done, blush creeping up his neck as he turned to wash his hands and fill the tea kettle. He could still feel Riza’s gaze on his back as he prepared the tea and took it up the stairs, confusion creasing her brow.

 Can I try again

 Roy was always impulsive. He’d tried to temper it, biting sores into the sides of his cheeks as he choked back words that wanted to spill out, emotions that wanted to bubble up from his chest. Watching the silk of his childhood friend’s blouse fall to the floor, seeing the array before him, painstakingly transcribed onto the alabaster canvas of her back, he bit so hard he tasted blood.

First the anger, white hot, scalding his stomach and rising like bile in his throat.

Then the sadness. She was probably so scared, just a child at the time. 

Then the self-hatred, as it always seemed to circle back to that, as Roy realized he’d left her all alone in this house to be mutilated by a ghost of her father.

He closed his eyes against the sight, but found the red salamander burnt into the backs of his eyelids. He’d tempered his impulsiveness for as long as he could and he leaned forward to place a light kiss on her shoulder blade, hoping she felt all his tormented emotions through it so he didn’t have to untangle them enough to speak aloud. She didn’t flinch at the contact, letting her chin fall to her chest to expose the rest of the array, now dimpling with goosebumps that spread down her back.

He swallowed thickly and got to work.

 Can I try again

 He tasted Riza’s blood in his mouth.

He gathered her in his lap, her bourbon-tinted eyes misting with exhausting and fear, and the anger roiling in his gut mixed with the unending fear of almost losing her until it spilled over, a tear tracking through the grime on his cheek. He pressed his lips against her clammy forehead. She was too cold. His hand found the side of her neck, feeling the pulse beneath the patch of ruined skin, and when she flinched everything bubbled within him again.

If he stayed like that, lips against the crown of her head as he held her, no one in those tunnels would have given him any grief over it. There were some things more important than laws.

 Can I try again

Roy felt the fire settling in the pit of his stomach, but this one was welcome. It pooled like lava in his belly, setting his skin aflame everywhere she touched. He’d teased her with chaste kisses all day, ones at the base of her jaw and the inside of her wrist and the place where the lace of her white dress had tapered to expose the tops of her shoulders. “Finally,” he’d murmured into her ear as they were loaded into the waiting car, rice falling from her perfectly-pinned curls and onto his lap and she leaned across to capture his lips in hers hungrily.

He half-expected her to pull back and admonish him as he trailed kisses down her jaw to the sensitive part of her neck, half expected a hardened “Sir.” Old habits die hard.

But when he was only met with a breathy “Roy,” he abandoned the masterpiece of a hickey he was creating to catch those lips again, nudging them apart with his tongue to taste her. She hummed into his mouth, delighted, and for once the only emotion pumping through every vein in his body was love, love you so much, so damn much, and he hoped that she tasted it on his tongue, felt it in the way his broad hands wrapped around her thin waist to hold her against him, heard it in the way he called her “Mrs. Mustang” as he scooped her up and carried her across the threshold of the Furher’s mansion.

He hoped she felt everything he felt in the way he kissed her, but if it wasn’t clear, he’d at least get to spend the rest of his life trying again and again.

[ultramarcypan]

tradition

Arlo x Female Builder

It’s just a short little drabble I did for a friend, but I figured I could share!  I’ve played like 5 mines of My Time at Portia so I did have to do some research for this; warning that it may be OOC lmao.

It's been a strange year.   Good, all things considered she thinks, especially since she'd sailed to Portia on a whim to take over the decrepit workshop Pa had left her.  And workshop was also a generous term for the plot of land and shack she'd found upon her arrival; it had taken weeks of hacking and sawing at twigs and trees to save up enough lumber to patch the MANY holes in the house and slap together rudimentary machines for building anything more complex than a simple fishing pole.  She distinctly remembers how for the first month or so, every night she'd stumbled to bed with aching limbs and blistered, raw hands, and had to fight not to cry over the pain and the unfamiliarity of it all.  In her weakest moments, she'd even considered leaving.  Barnarock was only one boat ride away, and there was still a life waiting for her there.  She owed nothing to the sleepy little town of Portia, really.

But the townspeople had helped. They were a colorful bunch, the lot of them.  Barnarock was so different; people there minded their business and it was a miracle to get more than a curt nod from someone when you passed them in the street.  There was no mayor who had a good heart even if his business sense was questionable.  There wasn't just one restaurant, where people would call out to you as you passed by, invite you to chat and sit, buy you lunch because you looked tired, and then walk back with you to your house just because they could.  No one popped by unannounced at your house with a home-cooked meal because they'd made too much and were wondering if maybe she'd like some?  There were no rivals that---well, no, that wasn't being fair, Higgins was a unique person all the way around she figured, but it didn't make him any less crucial to the town all his.....eccentricities aside.   And there certainly wasn't any Civil Corp in Barnarock.  The people there scoffed at the notion of danger, living protected in high walls and isolated from the rest of the world.  The notion of animals and monsters roaming just in fields a stones throw from the town would've rocked them to their very core. The thought crosses her mind that her old friends would be shocked and possibly repulsed if she told them that she spent a good chunk of her time now spelunking in nearby caverns and sewers for precious ore and materials to support the town and the people that have become her new home and family. She's paid richly for her services, though she keeps insisting it's entirely too much.  It's not much different to how every shares their food, their clothes, their yarn, their tools with her---she has crafting materials to spare and the machines to turn them into things, so why shouldn't she give back to those who helped her start? Arlo had laughed when she told him as much.  "Well," he'd said around a grin.  "I imagine what you build has a lot more impact than just a homemade pie, no matter how nice it may be."  To emphasize his point, he'd gestured at his hip, where the gleaming sword she'd forged for him the month prior was strapped. Arlo was another thing that Barnarock didn't have.  That was the difference she was most acutely aware of. She remembers the first time she'd met him.  It had been two weeks, maybe, into her residency at Portia.  The fields around her home were relatively safe but also barren of any lumber, long since stripped bear due to her efforts to fix the place up.  And the colorful llamas that grazed just beyond had seemed so tame from far away. Turns out, the rainbow colors were the only nice things about them. She'd been on the ground, out of breath and bleeding from a nasty scrape on her forehead, dealing with the fact that a rainbow llama may actually be her cause of death when there had been a terrible shout from behind her.  Startled, the llama had reared and she closed her eyes waiting for pain that never came.  When she finally dared to open them, the animal was on the ground motionless, and someone, a stranger, was standing over her, leaning down. To her shame, she'd passed out then. She woke up in a building that she was able to identify as the Civil Corp headquarters in town, a place she'd passed by a few times but never actually bothered to go near.  She'd met them all that day, cheerful Sam who'd been the one to explain to her just what had happened, Remington who'd offered her a cup of team and a friendly pat on the shoulder while he'd looked over her cut once more, and Arlo, who'd lingered by the door watching her with sharp eyes and the hint of a frown.  Without the threat of dying to distract her, she'd been able to properly take in how broad his shoulders were, how sturdy his stance was, how comforting his very presence was. He'd shown up on her doorstep a week after she'd slunk out of their headquarters, apologizing profusely for her foolishness and thanking them over and over for their kindness.  She'd had all of 30 seconds to stammer out a hello and one more thank you for good measure before a wooden training sword was tossed at her. When she'd expressed confusion, Arlo had shifted his weight just a bit, looking her up and down.  "Training," he offered as explanation, and she'd blinked.  He had heaved a sigh, shoving his hands into his pockets.  "If you're going to be hard headed enough to wander straight into a herd of monsters," he'd said (which was a little RUDE, even if it was true) "Then I'm at the very least going to make sure you know how to defend yourself.  You can't count on me to protect you every time." "Can't I?" She'd mouthed off before she could stop herself, and then clamped a hand over her mouth.  There was silence for a moment where she was gearing herself up to apologizing once again to him when he'd laughed---a deep belly laugh, loud and proud and actually pretty nice to hear. "Flattered as I am that you think I'm that talented, let's err on the side of caution."  He'd spun around to walk over to an empty spot on her land and it hadn't even occurred to her not to follow. So yeah, it's been a strange year.  Learning how to sword fight, how to build, how to be part of such a tight knit community hadn't exactly been on her agenda, but she's not upset at how it's turned out at all.  And now, the year is almost over. Celebrations in Portia are just one more difference between it and Barnarock.  The town goes all out on holidays, and New Year's Eve isn't an exception to this rule.  She's never seen the plaza look so full of life, so bright.  The amount of candles lit all over is so high she's pretty sure it could count as a fire hazard, and there are streamers and ribbons and balloons of every color no matter where she looks.  The tables from The Round Table have all been dragged outside and not a single towns-person is missing, all crammed around them, sitting and mingling together and watching the clock tower tick down as a new year approaches them. She's huddled against the wall of Town Hall, preferring to leave the seats to some of the older folks who need them or to some of the kids who are struggling to stay up, slumped over onto the table with their heads pillowed on their arms.  There's movement out of the corner of her eye and she tenses for just a moment before she sees a flash of bright red.  "Hey Arlo." "Well, fancy seeing you here."  He drawls.  She rolls her eyes--where else would she be on the night of a festival?  "Mind if I join you?" "Not at all."  He slides closer, pressing against the wall with her, letting their shoulders brush against each other.  "Kinda shocked to see you here," she tells him casually, ignoring the way her heart is beating against her ribcage.  "Figured you'd be out in the wilds playing hero or something equally as noble." He huffs a quiet laugh, bumping against her lightly.  "Not tonight," he says.  "Even heroes have to rest now and again." There's a lot of ways she could answer that.  She could tease him for his constant need to serve and protect---one of his more admirable qualities, even if it worried her and the rest of the Civil Corp to no end.  She could accept it for the simple statement of truth it is, grunt and let the comfortable silence that is so common between them take over. Or she could be more daring.  More forward.  More honest with the feelings that the two of them have been dancing around for an eternity now.  Say something like 'Well, who am I to turn away a hero in need?' as she leaned more heavily into him, let her hand brush against his, let her thumb stroke over the calluses on his palm that she knows are there from years of training and hard work. She doesn't have to choose any of those options though, because a sudden shout goes up from the plaza and both of them turn, startled.  Gale has both of his hands in the air, and a RIDICULOUS party hat on his head, pointing up at the clock tower.  "10 seconds left!" The people of Portia cheer loudly, and she doesn't even bother to fight the fond smile that finds its way onto her face.  They count as one, loud and happy even in the cold night.  "10!  9!" "Hey."  It's the urgency in Arlo's voice that has her turning towards him.  It's rare for him to sound so serious without any immediate danger present.  He's fiddling with the hilt of his sword, a nervous habit he doesn't seem to be aware he has. "Yeah?" "8! 7! 6!" Arlo takes a deep breath in and it would be FUNNY that he looks so nervous because it is so wildly out of character, but instead it just makes her anxious as well.  "I'm gonna do something that may be stupid."   "What?" "5! 4! 3!" He takes a step towards her and then another, and even if she wanted to back up, the brick wall of Town Center is behind her, stopping any possible retreat.  "It's tradition?"  It's half a question, half a justification she hears from him.  "So I'm really sorry in advance if you get mad at me, but I've also really wanted to do this for months now." "Do WHAT Arlo?"  She's blinking rapidly up at him, at how close he is, praying that he can't hear the drumbeat of her heart over the shouts of the crowd. "2! 1!" Instead of a verbal answer, he swoops down on her and she has maybe a millisecond to process the sound of party poppers from the crowd as the countdown ends, the smell of his earthy cologne that's right there, the feel of his hands on her shoulder, before his lips are on hers and he's kissing her, right there in the plaza like it's the most natural thing in the world. "HAPPY NEW YEARS!" Her arms flail at her side and a distant part of her mind is shocked that she's made it as long as she has fighting monsters and mining if she's taken out by something as simple as a kiss.  That tiny voice gets shoved far to the side as she realizes that Arlo is pulling away, most likely because she's doing a wonderful impression of a stone statue right now.  Panic overwhelms all her higher functions and she latches onto his shoulders, tugging him closer again and finally, FINALLY getting the sense to respond to the kiss properly. It's nothing special.  It's barely more than the brush of lips against each other, chaste and shy and shorty really.  She pulls away after a few seconds and the first thing she manages to process is that Arlo is blushing, which is funny because the red of his face clashes horribly with the orange of his hair.  She giggles, overwhelmed by the whole situation, and burrows her face into the crook of his neck shoulders shaking slightly. "Well that's not very nice."  He sounds just as shaky as she feels, which is nice.  "A man kisses you on New Year's Eve and you laugh at him?  Don't know how things work where you're from, but a kiss on New Year's Eve is pretty traditional."  One of his hands has wandered to the small of her back and is hovering just above it, like he's afraid to touch her fully.  "Didn't take you for the bullying sort." "You misunderstand."  She mumbles into his neck, lips brushing against the soft flesh there.  She leans back just enough to grin at him, all teeth and promise.   "I'm just a stickler for tradition." And she pulls him down for another kiss.

[missywhomst]

Just One?

In her post regeneration haze, the Doctor discovers earrings (Thasmin if you squint). 

(This is kind of an experimental fic to see if I wanna do a series about 13′s post regeneration antics. Not sure how I feel about it, but I hope you all like it!)

- gif by @queerthasmin​ - 

Time seemed to be moving in leaps and bounds, and she was surprisingly disoriented by it which was funny, really, considering how accustomed she was to hopping around the space-time continuum like it was her own personal playset. And so she laughed, almost a scoff, a bit dizzy at the scenery change as she found herself being guided by Yaz down the hallway to a bedroom.

“What’re we up to now? Lost is my head, there,” she said, turning to look at her new friend. She’d found that she garnered much less concern if she pretended she wasn’t missing chunks of time from the last, well, if she had to guess about six hours. Maybe less. She was fairly certain it was still the same day.

Thankfully, or perhaps not, she discovered that she was able to carry on full conversations while blacked out. There had been a point when she was still on the train being fawned over by someone named Grace and another someone named Graham, telling them that she was fine, she was fine, and she just needed to walk it off. Grace insisted she wait for the police, that a PC Khan was nearby and that she just wanted to have a talk. She distinctly remembered saying great, that she’d love a talk, that she really liked talking, and that she’d gotten a new tongue so she needed to break it in. Then the next second she was stumbling after a firefly in the tall grass of a field, the train stopped behind her and Graham running after her yelling oi, where do you think you’re going, and you just fell through a train, love, and come on, now, have a seat.

Graham and Grace and Ryan, who was friends with Yaz, or wasn’t friends, or used to be friends, took her back to their place for a cuppa because she wouldn’t let them take her to A&E. And though she claimed she only tagged along so she could ask a few more questions and file a proper report, she was fairly certain Yaz was just curious about the person who fell from the sky. Some other things happened that she mostly remembered, and now they were in a bedroom, and Yaz was setting down a duffel bag on a bed. Then she put a hand on her back and led her to a chair, pushing down on her shoulders to make her sit.

“I brought some clothes from my flat. Figured they might fit you. I’m sure you’ll appreciate being out of those ones,” Yaz chuckled, walking back to the bed to unzip the bag. She looked down at her arms. Her jacket was torn and burned and about four sizes too big, the ripped cuffs flopping over her knuckles. Her whole outfit was in tatters, really, and she’d been tripping over her trouser legs for what felt like ages now.

“He liked this outfit. Bit of a magician’s coat, innit? Think he’ll be mad?” she asked, picking at the singed ends with absent fingers.

“Who?”

“Him. Me,” she offered helplessly. Yaz frowned, turning back to the bag without replying. It was a difficult sort of mental gymnastics that she had to perform after any given regeneration. The separating herself from her previous self while simultaneously reconciling the two existences. Bit of a head wonk, that one. She took a breath, turning to the cluttered desk and dusty mirror she’d been placed down in front of. Her eyes caught the little silver things scattered across its wooden surface. “Yaz, what are these?” she called, picking one of the dangly ones up between her thumb and forefinger. Yaz turned to look, and she watched her glance at the thing in the reflection of the mirror. Another frown settled on her face.

“Those are...earrings,” she said, and though it wasn’t quite a question, her voice lilted up at the end as if it was, cocking her head quizzically.

“Are you sure?” she asked back, turning her body to look Yaz dead in the eye. “You don’t seem too sure.”

“I’m fairly certain I know what earrings look like,” she said, tossing a few shirts on the bed. “Been wearing them my whole life. More concerned that you don’t know.”

She hummed, choosing to ignore that as she turned back to face the mirror and examine it in detail. There was a little silver hook and from it dangled a set of beads in warm colors. She flicked it with her other finger, watching them sway back and forth in quick succession, clinking together and tangling. Her eyes got buggy rather quickly and she blinked, setting it back down on the desk.

“What do you do with them?” she called again, frowning as she leaned forward to examine herself in the mirror.

“You wear them. They’re jewelry. Jesus, how hard did you hit your head. Are you sure you don’t want to go to A&E?” Yaz asked, walking to stand behind her with her hands on her hips. She just prodded at her cheeks, lips squishing together.

“I’m perfectly fine,” she muttered, holding her hair up above her head and watching it fall back down to her chin.

“You don’t even know your name,” Yaz sighed, pressing her hand into the back of her chair.

“Which is a perfectly natural response when all your atoms have been instantaneously rearranged,” she said simply, turning to look up at Yaz. Then she gasped, her eyes lighting up as she reached out to run her thumb across Yaz’s ear lobe. “Oh, I get it now! Ear Rings. That is brilliant,” she grinned, prodding the little hoop in Yaz’s ear and stretching the velvety skin there with gentle fingers, little hairs bending under her thumb. Yaz swallowed and grabbed her wrist. She didn’t look quite as certain now as she had a few minutes ago when she’d pressed her palms into her shoulders and decisively pushed her into a chair.

“Can you not do that again, please?” Yaz asked, voice cracking as she met her eyes.

“Okay,” she said, lowering her arm as Yaz let go of it. She remembered that humans were finicky about their personal space, and she could never seem to keep up. Still, Yaz’s reaction seemed odd. She brought her fingers to her own ear, rubbing her thumb over the equally soft skin as Yaz turned back to the bed to organize her pile of things.

“I picked out some clothes for you. Some pajamas, a couple tee shirts and trousers, a sports bra if you want it. Obviously not sure what your size for anything is, but we can go shopping tomorrow morning,” Yaz offered.

She leaned forward to look at herself in the mirror again, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Why do you wear them?”

“Clothes?” Yaz asked hesitantly, not turning around. She glanced at Yaz's back in the mirror.

“Earrings,” she clarified, and Yaz almost looked relieved as she let out a breathy laugh.

“Oh, um, I dunno really. They look nice? My mum did them when I was pretty little. It’s kind of like a thing for girls to wear them,” Yaz shrugged, unfolding a shirt from her duffel bag.

She ran a finger down her nose, over her lips, and down her neck. It was smooth. Sans adam’s apple. Sans facial hair. She examined her jawline and collar bones and ran her fingers down the V of her button down. It was all very soft. And she recognized it as hers. “I think I’m a girl,” she breathed suddenly, wide eyed as she traced her hairline. She’d been told that information already in between that precise moment in Grace and Graham’s bedroom and when she’d crashed through a train roof, but she hadn’t quite comprehended the idea until then. She heard Yaz chuckle behind her.

“Good for you, then.”

She picked up the earring again, scrutinizing it. There were others like it in a little porcelain bowl near the mirror. With eager fingers, she dug through them, sorting through safety pins and paperclips and earrings that didn’t have their other halves.

“I want an earring, Yaz,” she declared, searching Grace’s stash for the perfect one.

“Just one?” Yaz asked skeptically.

“Never had one before,” she mused. 

“So you want to be a pirate, then?” 

“Never noticed them before,” she mused, pondering what else she might have missed as a man.

“Okay, well, we can go to a piercing shop tomorrow, I guess.”

“Tomorrow?” she whined, deflating and scrunching her nose up. “That’s hours away, and I might not want one then.”

“All the better reason to wait!” Yaz protested, turning to her. Then she paused suddenly, her face going sour. “God, I sound like my mother.”

She scrambled to her feet and took a few large strides forward, hands up to emphasize her point. “Yaz, listen. Sometimes my brain makes decisions that I disagree with, but this is literally a once in a lifetime opportunity to get ahead of myself,” she pleaded. Oh, begging, that’s new. She wasn’t sure she liked it yet, but she did need this earring and it felt like she might die again if she didn’t get it.

“Right, there’s a lot to unpack there, but I’m choosing to ignore it,” Yaz sighed, so close that she felt her breath on her nose.

“I’m not all together right now—”

“That’s something we can agree on,” Yaz muttered.

“—I’m still...forming. When I wake up tomorrow, I might not like earrings. Who knows? Everything’s new and different, and I might turn out to be a total bore if I don’t do something about it right now,” she breathed, biting down on her lip. She wasn’t sure if that was true, but it felt true with all the buzzing urgency going on inside her. That might just be the regeneration energy still repairing her internal organs from that landing, not her best one admittedly, but that certainly didn’t matter in her quest for an earring.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Yaz groaned. “How are you not exhausted?” Seeing the pleading look in Yaz’s eyes made her sag just a little, huffing as she sat back down.

“Humans have terrible circadian rhythms, and you should inquire about changing them. I mean, you sleep a third of your life away!” she protested indignantly. Yaz cocked her head at her.

“What do you mean...humans?” Yaz quickly shook her head. “You know what, I’ve had enough weird for the night, so I’m just gonna step out and let you change,” she said, walking out of the room and leaving her to fiddle with loose earrings and wondering if that could be her next project, changing humanity’s sleep cycle. She wondered if they’d make her a statue or something. Did she like statues? Well, she didn’t like ones that moved, and there was no telling which ones could, so decidedly not.

Still bitter, she sulked over the desk, picking up earrings and examining them. She poked at the dull end, wondering how exactly they got them through your ear lobe if they weren’t even sharp. Another shiny thing caught her attention out of the corner of her eye, and she grinned, picking it up. “Brilliant,” she breathed, opening the safety pin and watching the pointy bit sparkle in the light.

She leaned closer to the mirror, looking herself in the eye and taking a deep breath as she aligned the pin with her ear. In one decisive motion, she shoved it through, and a white hot pain burned across her skin. “Ow!” she yelped with a frown, feeling rather betrayed. Yaz poked her head in to see what was going on and was at her side in a flash when she saw the blood beading on her ear.

“Are you bloody insane?” Yaz asked, looking at the pin stuck through her ear, the skin already bright red and puffy.

“I didn’t think it would hurt,” she admitted, glancing up at Yaz.

“You just tore a hole through part of your body. It’s gonna hurt!” Yaz protested, grabbing a tissue. In the meantime, she grabbed the safety pin and winced as she latched it in place. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re taking that out right now. It could get infected!”

“No, this is the perfect time to do this!” she protested, eyes wide and urgent. “I’m still rearranging. So if I can keep the hole there until things settle down then it’ll become a part of this new body. It won’t ever close,” she said, scrambling out of her chair and inching away from a slowly approaching Yaz.

“I just wanna look at it,” she said, tissue in hand. She eyed Yaz’s posture, ready to pounce, and seriously doubted her sincerity.

“Stay away from me, Yaz,” she warned, inching toward the door.

“At least let me clean it. You’re dripping on your jacket,” she said, motioning to her shoulder. She quickly wiped her fingers along her earlobe and found them slick with dark orange blood.

“‘M fine!” she motioned, wiping her fingers on her trouser leg. Yaz eyed her. “He won’t mind,” she assured her, but that seemed to make Yaz even less assured and she lunged for her. But she was too quick, sliding out the door and running down the hallway to the living room. “I’m serious, Ya—” she yelped as strong arms wrapped around her, and then they were both on the ground, the wind knocked out of her. Yaz gasped, rolling off her. Then she turned onto her back as Yaz sat on her heels. “Oh, god, that one hurt. I think you rebruised my left kidney.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to tackle you. Just couldn’t have you running out the door. If you won’t go to A&E, you’re our responsibility now,” she breathed, pressing her palms into her thighs.

“I’m not a madman,” she protested, wincing as she propped herself up on her forearms.

“That’s highly debatable, love,” Grace chimed in, and that was when she realized that she was in the middle of the living room floor, all her new friends peering down at her.

“I’m very serious about my earrings. So I’m learning. Do you happen to have any in gold? I don’t think silver’s my color,” she offered, scrunching her nose as she brushed her hair back to show them all the safety pin secured through her ear and the blood smeared down her neck.

[kainissoable]

A comparison of SH2 to SH4, in particular the openings and character storytelling choices. (contains spoilers)

I’ll preface this by saying that this is more a collection of comparisons and observations than a structured essay, and I have been informed by more knowledgable people that SH4 had time constraint issues and suffered for them. I’ve also only seen one playthrough, and given Silent Hill games often need a couple of goes to fully “get”, so these probably don’t represent my final thoughts on it.

First, a quick runthrough of the first half hour or so of each game, because I think when broken down they are illustrative of the sort of issues SH4 has with being what it wants to be.

SH2 starts with a reasonably long voiceover where you find out why James is there in the first place, and we have our long-term goal as a player set out for us – find Mary. We then have a walk through creepy forest before meeting with Angela in the cemetery. The conversation is stilted to say the least, but it immediately gives us a good feel for both characters. It establishes that there’s something wrong about the town, and that James has something of a self-destructive streak to him, or at least values his search for Mary over his own safety. This will be a driving factor in the rest of the game. James then walks on to town and through a series of short cutscenes sees and follows a figure in the fog. He finds the creature, and the player’s first introduction to monsters is having to fight one in a small space so they can escape. After this, similar monsters will be found wandering the streets for the rest of the first part of the game.

SH4 starts with some on-screen text giving a little bit of background about the PC, Henry, and establishes the major problem he has to overcome – he’s trapped in his flat and suffering recurring nightmares. Play starts in the room with general Silent Hill Yuck over everything and objects the PC doesn’t remember owning. After a bit of exploration, we get a cutscene where the room goes more to hell and a ghost pulls itself through the wall of the apartment. It seems we’re going to get thrown right into it this time – oh, no, it was the aforementioned recurring dream. We can then explore an un-Silent Hilled apartment, then crawl through a hole in the wall to a distinctly concerning kind of freedom. Original goal completed, I guess. Immediately, we meet Sexy Latina Stereotype Cynthia, who believes this to be her dream, “a pretty terrible one”, and wants to find the exit. Then she vanishes into the bathroom, and we get our first in-game enemies – fucked up dogs! Now Cynthia has apparently vanished into the ether, there’s a hole leading back to Henry’s apartment in the ladies’ loos. Henry wakes up back in his room, but the hole in his wall is still there and leads back to the bathroom he came from. This mechanic continues for the rest of the game.

The first difference between these styles of opening I want to draw attention to is that SH2 tells you what’s going on pretty much straight away. There are questions which want answering, and the questions are clearly stated. SH4 goes more with the mind screw angle and does a good job of making the player go “what the heck’s happening now?” Where it fails is explaining why Henry is doing what he’s doing. Objective: escape room. Done. New objective: Help Cynthia get out the messed up station. Oh, Cynthia’s vanished. Is Henry concerned for her and going to look for her? Does he just want to find the way out? Does he just want to know what’s going? I don’t think we ever actually find out.

The second change is the monster vs NPC introductions. In SH2, you get a vague warning that Some Shit is happening, then run into two types of common monster and the big bad Pyramid Head himself before meeting Maria, who resembles James’ late wife Mary to an uncanny degree. By the time you meet her, you know a) what the danger is and b) why James would feel protective towards her. Regardless of your feelings about Maria, James’ actions make sense in-universe.

In SH4, Cynthia turns up before any monsters in the subway world, so at that point neither the player nor Henry knows why she doesn’t want to be there except it’s dull and a bit creepy. So not only do you not get the same sense of urgency, but the emotional drive for Henry could be as shallow as getting laid. The lack of clear danger to her and apparent NPC immortality for the bits she’s with you for do serve to make it more of a shock when she dies within the first hour of gameplay, but the lack of time with her or defining character traits means her death doesn’t have the punch it should. “It’s okay… it’s just a dream” finally gives Henry some discernable character and it’s a pity nothing has been built up between these two characters before that.

Later character deaths suffer from it even more because they don’t even have the shock value after Cynthia dying at the end of the subway world. It doesn’t exactly take a genius to figure out what’s going to happen to the NPC you meet near the start of every subsequent world. After Disposable Person #2, I started to develop a pretty Walter Sullivan attitude that obviously these people need to die to get to the next bit, so there was no point in expending effort trying to find something about them to make me care.

Compare and contrast the 2-7 deaths in SH2, depending on ending and how you count Maria. They never feel cheap, even though each one could be seen coming if you read the signs, and some were obviously coming. Angela was a tragic figure, damned from the start. Eddie was pushed too far and turned to wrath. James had to kill him to survive. Maria existed purely to die and make James suffer, and yet there’s a tragedy to her as well. She was James’ futile attempts to bring back Mary, his guilt and desires. And in the ending where James took his own life, he succumbed to everything the others did. Deaths were many things in SH2, but they were never plot coupons.

[ladylynse]

Another Phic Phight entry, courtesy of @blueoatmeal‘s prompt “Domesticated: Vlad’s daily life from the perspective of his cat”. ...I somehow managed to write three thousand words without any dialogue, which is rare for me, even considering how much I typically capitalize on introspection. Humour and fluff this time (in drastic contrast to last time). [FF | AO3]

From day one, she had known that the human who foolishly thought he owned her was not like other humans. True, she couldn’t complain about the name he had given her—Maddie surely suited her better than Fluffy—and it was not as if she expected him to be able to pick up on the nuances of her true name, but he was different from the others who sometimes came by. His scent was more…distinctive than most.

There wasn’t just determination, ingenuity, desperation, obsession, or any other trait or emotion that sprang to the fore and blended back into his unique scent, as it was with other humans. No matter the food he ate, the acrid chemicals he used, or the expensive cologne he wore, he could not mask the underlying smell that raised her hackles and warned of sickness and death. He could not wash it away, either. It never faded, though there were times it grew stronger.

When she’d first arrived, it had been weeks before she’d stopped fleeing from him, stopped hiding the moment she’d sensed his approach. It had been weeks before she’d trusted him enough to stay in the same room, and weeks more before she’d deigned to allow him to touch her.

In the end, she’d decided he was trainable, and he’d deluded himself into thinking the same of her.

She was happy to keep him company during the odd hours he kept, though she had no idea what fascination the light creature held for him. It formed a human shape, but it had no smell, no body. It did not stroke her, did not acknowledge her, did not even seem to see her, despite her numerous attempts to get its attention. Her strange little human also called it Maddie. She supposed his was a simple species, and she could not fault him for getting confused. She already had to do so much for him.

Whenever he went to visit the creature of light, in the Hidden Room of Bad Smells and Slippery Surfaces, she had to remind him of the dangers. Had she not taken it upon herself to block his view whenever possible, he might have fallen for the siren song of Light Maddie, mesmerized by its captivating realm of blinking light squares and the swirling not-wall. If she did not break its spell, he would spend too long staring at the light squares, and occasionally Light Maddie would convince him to summon forth the beings of death—ghosts, she remembered—from the not-wall. Worse still, her human sometimes gave himself over to the ghosts.

She could not always suppress her instincts to run when that happened, but she was getting better at being there for him, at reminding him that this was the real world, that his place was among the living, serving her.

She had some success snapping him out of the ghost state by knocking things off shelves, but it was far from reliable. She’d had to clear off an entire countertop of glassware once before he’d finally torn himself from Light Maddie’s seductive squares of flashing lights. He had yelled at her, but she’d known it was only Light Maddie’s terrible influence, and she’d borne it gravely.

Considering he’d given her an offering of fresh fish soon afterwards, she knew she had done well.

While Light Maddie tried to keep him in its little hidden room, busy with light patterns or funny little tools or, sometimes, creating more creatures that reeked of death, her human would always return to her in the end. If he were ever foolish enough to lock her out of the room and was deaf to her very vocal protests or the way she raked her claws against the sealed doorway, she would wait for his return on the bed she allowed him to share.

The bed was best in the daytime, of course, but she couldn’t make her human understand that. He never knew enough to sleep in the warmth of a sunbeam. For a species that barely had any hair, except in the oddest of places, he—like others of his kind—had very little survival instinct. She gave him as much of her coat as she could spare, rubbing on every available surface and sleeping on his false-furs so hers would cling to them and enhance their warmth.

His lip always curled at this—she suspected it was a variation of what all humans did when they were happy—and he would use his death magic to try to return her hair to her. He did not seem to understand that she could not take it back once it was given, and all too often the hair was left on the floor for others to clean up.

Really, he didn’t seem to appreciate everything she did for him. She guarded him while he slept, and more than once she’d had to fend off the creatures beneath the blankets. Far though they were from his face, she was not fooled by their tactics; she knew their dangers and reacted accordingly. He would often wake with a cry of pain whenever she was fortunate enough to strike their flesh, and she knew the creatures must have attacked him as they recoiled from her. They had not yet given up. She needed to be vigilant.

Of course, she also had to wake him each day before his sleep became a sleep of death. Dropping things did not always work here, even when she carefully knocked something onto his head—usually one of her toy mice, being easy to transport and hard enough for him to notice when it fell, though she favoured the string of the feathered ball as well. Given the lack of reliability, however, it was often necessary to go right next to his face to check that he was still breathing. On occasion, she would realize that his head was too exposed, too cold, and would grace him with her body heat by curling up on top of him. This proved to be the most effective method for waking him, but he was distinctly ungrateful every time she did so, and he had not yet realized her stony silence in response to his sharp words meant that she did not find it an acceptable way of interacting.

It was a price she had to pay, however. Her intelligence came with patience, and he had already shown that he was willing to learn and adapt to her ways. He’d only had the gall to feed her tasteless, dry kibble once; after she’d regurgitated it over his regular eating spot while he’d been away, he’d learned his lesson. It had been no different when he—or, rather, the ghost to whom he had given the task—had failed to renew her litter box. She required it to be fresh. When it had not been, she’d made a point of relieving herself in his shoes when he’d been away. He had since learned not to leave such imbeciles to care for her needs.

Now, they had fallen into a routine. After she woke him, he would wrap himself in his false-furs and talk to her about his plans. He always had plans. They never seemed to work out, as he never planned for her involvement. She had tried to show him this oversight when they played with the ivory figures on the two-coloured board, swatting at more than her fair share whenever he became overeager, trying to encroach on her territory with his little black figures. He merely laughed, stroking her and calling her little pet names. She always purred to show her pleasure—she must reward his good behaviour—but she resolved to find another way to get this message across to him.

The few times mice had dared to invade her home, she had killed them and brought them to him to show off her prowess. He had acknowledged her skill in that but never sought to expand upon it. Of course, he had also disposed of the mice without feasting on even the choice parts, so she knew he had a lot to learn.

He was getting better, however. He had made a point of presenting her with offerings of food in person in the mornings. If he dallied, enticed by Light Maddie and the temptations of the hidden room, she would increase the frequency and volume of her meows. In this way, he would understand the urgency of the situation, and she was often able to save him from Light Maddie for a little longer.

The detailing of his plans continued at this point—she suspected he thought she may bless them if he appeased her—and, all too often, one of the ghosts interrupted them. Sometimes, her presence was not enough to keep her human grounded in the living world, and he was overtaken by the death state and drawn away. There was nothing she could do for him when it came to this, and it was often when she would sleep. To be fair, he would still leave her even when he was not coerced by Light Maddie or the ghosts, but she knew that very few humans did not face the outside world each day to toil; it was out there that they sought to find and retrieve the offerings they gave to their watchers, and her human was no different in that respect.

Other animals of lesser intelligence—she would never forget the day she had met the horrid ghost dog—may think they had been abandoned, but she knew better. Her human relished her presence too much to leave her. Even if he came to his senses and decided to flee from this place, he would take her with him. It was not that he feared her displeasure; it was that he loved her. She knew that in every stroke, every coo, every murmured bit of praise. She was his Maddie. She allowed him to think of her as a partner, subservient though he truly was, and he recognized the honour she bestowed upon him. She would not sit on just anyone’s lap, after all, particularly if they carried with them that peculiar scent of death, decay, and danger.

In his absence, she would do what she could. This involved defending her home from everything from spiders to uninvited ghosts, but most of those ghosts were afraid of her now. The blue box-stealer in particular knew her wrath. Too many times, in his eagerness to abscond with her favourite play box or bed or even litter box, he had not been fast enough to evade her claws, and now a warning hiss was all it took to deter him. (The hiss was especially effective when he could not see her, expertly hidden among the shelves as she could be; she suspected he was the one who had spread the word that she had powers they had not yet uncovered, powers akin to theirs or that exceeded theirs. She approved. Their terror was right and true, and the infernal vulture ghosts have not disturbed her since the whispers began.)

Upon her discovery of the plant ghost, she resolved to test the plants in her home regularly. Her human was unimpressed whenever he caught her nibbling on a fern or three; he acted as though she did not know which plants were deadly and which were not, and as if the threat of the plant ghost was not real. If he would not seal away Light Maddie and close off the not-wall forever, she had to do what she could to preserve the integrity of her home. She did not wish to be caught unawares.

She had been particularly disturbed the day she had come upon her human trying to create more death beings with ties to the living world. She could not ignore the reek of wrongness that permeated her home when the attempts at creation began, and she took her cue from her human. He did not truly care for his creations, so she would not allow them to touch her. She did not want them to get attached—or risk herself getting attached to them. It would be…harder to scorn them if she found herself caring for them. She had made that mistake once, with the girl. She would not do so again. Indeed, she had resolved to destroy her human’s experiments whenever he continued attempts to carry them out. They were unnatural and unsafe.

She knew how fond her human was of the other boy like him, and she’d long since decided she could tolerate him. It helped that one of the boy’s friends (she had seen them together and recognized the mix of scents) had once attempted to free her human from Light Maddie. Light Maddie had been suitably distracted by visions of the one her human called an oaf, an imbecile, a buffoon, and she had activated that one’s programming whenever possible. (It was only a matter of treading across the keys in a particular order, and she had seen the boy’s friend enter the sequence; it had not taken much experimentation to reliably replicate it while laying upon the keys or walking in front of the light squares to distract her human and remind him of her presence.) It had served her well until her human had called in another ghost to locate and remove what he believed to be a virus. She had not corrected him, nor had she informed him that further experimentation had allowed her to restore what he’d thought was offending programming.

Truthfully, she had hoped her human’s acquiescence to the death state would lessen when he began to more frequently involve the human girl in his work. She did not know of Light Maddie, the not-wall, or the secret room, but she was well aware of the strange objects that came from there, and she had no qualms about using them. The girl smelled too sharply of vengeance for her taste, but her human expressed his pride in the girl and her work, and she had allowed the girl to stroke her. Her touch was warm, strong, and her scent changed to a more honest one when she did so; being granted petting privileges helped the girl in her own struggles, and she one day hoped to extend the same privileges to the boy her human sought to coax into taking up residence with them.

She was unhappy that she saw the boy mostly when he was in a similar death state to her human, but she had seen how he fought to bring her human back from the brink, and that had won him her favour. Besides, he had remarked favourably upon her presence more than once. She suspected he was the reason her human had decided to worship her over others (though why any chose companionship with those dreadful dogs was beyond her; she simply could not understand the minds of some humans). However much the boy smelled of death dog slobber, he could not be beyond redemption.

Her favourite days were those when her human did not come home bleeding or burned, coupled with the rare times when he did not complain loudly about his own minions—be they among the living or the dead. No, she relished the times that he came home and started a fire, allowing her to relish the false sun’s warmth. As she waited for him in the gentle heat of the hearth, he would prepare her meal and serve it. She would eat her fill, and then she would take up residence on his lap, gently kneading and then settling down. They would rest together this way, and she could feel him relax as he stroked her or brushed her.

He was too tense, her human. It was getting harder for him to return from the death state each time, and she suspected he had not even noticed. It was why she didn’t wish him to continue with it, why she wanted him to end his association with Light Maddie. But she had not discovered a way to return the not-wall to the gaping hole that was its natural state, and the best she could do in the meantime was sabotage his experiments and give him her love.

When he was sufficiently comfortable, she would groom him. He was only as flexible as her in his death state, and she did not want to encourage that. His own tongue looked woefully inadequate for the task, so she would do what she could, even though she’d have to drink soon afterwards to rid herself of the lingering taste of death. (The taste of death was satisfying when the kill was her own, but it was unnerving to taste it on a living human.) He always seemed amused when she moved from licking her paws to licking his leg or, when he began scratching her behind the ears and under the chin, his fingers. She tried to regularly clean his face for him, but he never gave her enough time to do an adequate job. Too often, he would laugh and pull her away, though whether he set her back on his lap and continued doting on her or picked her up to show her another one of his inventions depended on the day.

Still, it was…nice, being with him.

He treated her well.

She was a reason for him to live, to focus on this life, in this world, even if her presence was not yet enough to stop him from returning to the death state.

She hoped he would give it up for her eventually, whether or not any of his plans worked out or his dreams came to fruition. Because they didn’t need anyone else; they could get by, just the two of them. She was happy. He could be, too, if he allowed it. She had no doubt about that. He smelled happy, in those rare moments when he forgot to worry and fret, to pine and plan.

He hadn’t learned, and she couldn’t make him understand, the one thing she knew so well.

The present was precious. It was easy to get lost in the past and forget the future, and it was easy to focus on the future and neglect building any bridges to that future in the present. Neither past nor future should be ignored, but neither should they be favoured over the present.

Her human had fallen into a pattern of sacrificing the present in an attempt to secure the future, but he had told her of his past failures in his certainty of future successes. She knew how many foiled attempts at achieving his dreams lay broken behind him. It was rare that he remembered he was often leaving his happiness behind, swallowed in greed and envy for what he did not have, and that was why she hoped her presence would ground him—and remind him of all he had now.

She would find a way to rescue him from this downward spiral soon enough, before his tenuous grip on reality failed completely and he gave himself over to the death state.

Until then, she would allow him to continue to serve her, to be reminded that he had a place in the living world, and she would enjoy his company as much as he enjoyed hers.

(see more fics | my phight phics)

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: The Dawn Will Come

Chapter 13 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3! 

In which Fenris drags himself away from the ruins of Haven to rejoin the rest of the Inquisition, and many religious discussions are had. (@essequamvideri20, I hope you enjoy! lol!)

Read the whole chapter on AO3 instead; only an excerpt here, since it’s a longer one (~8200 words).

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

Cold.

The first thing he noticed was the cold. His legs, his feet, his ears… everything was cold.

Including the fleshy, wet thing that nudged his face, then snuffled against his ear. But that feeling was oddly familiar.

Fenris turned his head, then winced at the throb of pain that rippled across the back of his scalp. “Toby?” he croaked.

A puff of hot canine breath wafted across his face, and he winced again at the smell. With effort and not a little pain, he rolled from his right side onto his belly.

His head was pounding from that small effort alone. He rested his cheek against the frozen ground and simply listened to Toby’s panting breaths for a moment.

Toby whined and nudged his shoulder, and Fenris weakly lifted his hand to rest it limply on the mabari’s head. “Is Hawke all right?” he rasped. If Toby had made it to wherever the Haven refugees were camped and come back here, perhaps he had seen Varric and Cassandra bringing Hawke to safety along the way.

Toby gave a small bark, and Fenris could feel the rhythmic shaking of Toby’s body as he wagged his tail.

With a painful sigh of relief, Fenris relaxed into the frozen ground. “Good,” he whispered.

Toby growled, then nudged Fenris’s ear with his nose again. Fenris feebly tried to push him away. “Stop,” he groaned. “You know I do not like that.”

Toby licked his face – an act that Toby knew was not allowed – and Fenris finally opened his eyes to scowl at the mabari. Then his baleful gaze fell on Toby’s neck.

He was wearing an impromptu collar made of thick rope and adorned with three small bottles. Fenris frowned curiously, then reached for the bottles. He opened one bottle and sniffed it: elfroot potion.

Clever, he thought. He looked at Toby. “Was this… Hawke did this?” he asked hopefully.

Toby cocked his head to the side, and Fenris tried again. “Varric?”

Toby wagged his tail, and Fenris nodded, though with a bit more worry. So Hawke was probably still unconscious when Toby had left the Haven refugees to return here. She must have been quite sorely injured in her fall.

All the more reason for Fenris to get to his feet and get moving.

Slowly and carefully, he pushed himself to a sitting position, then drank the elfroot potion. He dropped the empty bottles and rested his elbows on his knees; his head felt distinctly woozy and it hurt to breathe, so it was likely that he had a concussion and some cracked ribs. All the more fortunate that Toby was here.

He sat still for a few minutes until he could feel the elfroot easing his pain. Once his head had stopped spinning, he pushed himself to his feet and looked down at Toby.

“Lead the way, my friend,” he told the mabari.

Toby led him toward a brick-lined passageway, and it immediately became clear that this was not simply a well; the passages were wide enough for three people to walk abreast and tall enough for a man to comfortably walk. Perhaps it was part of the secret pilgrimage path that Roderick had mentioned, or some other relic of Haven’s past; Fenris had to admit he hadn’t had time to learn much about their former settlement, given the urgency of everything else.

He was grateful for this passage, though. If it hadn’t been here, the avalanche would almost certainly have killed him.

As he continued to follow Toby in silence, he became increasingly aware of the sensation in his left palm. It had been vibrating more obnoxiously than usual since they’d closed the Breach, and it seemed that Corypheus’s attempts to remove the mark had further exacerbated the irritation; it felt as though the mark’s vile magic was rippling and bubbling beneath his skin. Not in a painful way, but almost like an itch that sat deep beneath his skin and couldn’t be scratched.

He irritably rubbed his palm with his right thumb. Then Toby stopped short and growled softly.

Fenris looked up, then curled his lip in annoyance: a group of wraithlike demons were drifting in the passageway just ahead.

He and Toby quietly crept closer to the demons. Fenris took a slow breath and prepared to lash the demons with a flare of lyrium-powered energy. He gathered his focus, then pushed toward the edges of his tattooed skin.

But instead of flaring through his lyrium scars as he’d intended, his focus snapped into his left hand instead, and a blast of pure magic poured from his palm into the demon-filled passageway.

Fenris stumbled back in shock. The flare of magic was roiling in the air, and the demons were squalling and writhing. A moment later, the magic and the demons melted away, leaving the passage dark but clear of foes.

Fenris gasped for breath and glared at his hand. A faint glow of magic still flickered in the cracks that lined his palm, but the vibration had settled back to its usual faint and ignorable hum.

Magic. Fucking unpredictable magic. He inhaled deeply to calm his panic, then flinched as Toby leaned against his leg.

He blew out an exasperated breath, then buried his fingers in the soft fur of Toby’s neck for a moment. He then waved his hand toward the passageway. “Come. Lead us forth from this cursed place,” he said.

Toby licked Fenris’s hand, then trotted off down the passage. It wasn’t long before the temperature in the tunnel began to drop, and the distinctive rushing moan of wind reached his ears. A minute later, the passageway opened into the outdoors, and Fenris sighed.

“A frozen wasteland,” he said ruefully to Toby. “As if I should have expected anything else.”

Toby barked, then eagerly nudged Fenris’s hand and bounded away toward the north, and Fenris followed the mabari’s path with considerably less enthusiasm.

The trek through the snow was wearying, to say the very least. Fenris was accustomed to his feet being cold, but not for such a prolonged period of time. He already felt chilled from lying unconscious in that secret passage for who knew how long, and every step through the steadily deepening snow was effortful. He gritted his teeth and pushed through his fatigue, focusing his attention on Toby’s energetic form as the mabari leapt and rolled through the snow.

“I am glad that someone is enjoying himself,” he called out, and Toby barked happily in response.

As the day went on, Fenris’s amusement with Toby’s antics began to fade along with the fading of the albeit-faint light of day, and it was all that Fenris could do to keep one frozen foot moving in front of the other. By the time sunset rolled around and the blustering snow had finally begun to clear, Fenris was forced to use Toby’s muscular shoulder for support as he dragged his stiffening legs through the unending snow.

Finally, at long last, he spotted the orange flicker of a flame about a hundred paces ahead. He heaved a sigh of relief and continued his clumsy tread through the snow. His feet and legs were now numb, and the effects of the elfroot were starting to wear off, rendering each breath to a painful burn.

Toby whined softly, and Fenris shook his head. “It’s all right,” he rasped. He took another agonizing breath. “I am all right. We… are almost there.” He drew strength from the warmth of Toby’s thick fur and forced himself onward.

When the glow of the fire was about fifty paces away, Fenris’s tired eyes picked out the shape of five figures clustered around the fire. Toby barked loudly, and one of the figures stood up.

“Fenris?” she called, and Fenris collapsed to his knees in relief at the sound of her voice.

“Fenris!” Hawke screamed his name and started to run toward him, but one of the other figures held her back while two others ran toward him instead: Cullen and Varric.

“Thank the Maker you survived,” Cullen gasped. “Varric was fairly certain you had. We were about to mount a search party.” He hauled Fenris to his feet and helped him toward the fire.

Varric patted Fenris’s arm. “You okay, elf? Always knew Hawke kept the mabari around for something.” He smiled at Toby, who was leaping excitedly through the snow once more.

“I am well,” Fenris mumbled. He managed a faint smile at Varric, then looked toward the fire again. Hawke was on her feet with a blanket around her shoulders, and Dorian had one restraining arm around her while Solas stood at attention at her other side. As he, Cullen, and Varric drew closer, he noted with alarm the pallor of Hawke’s face and the matted darkness of blood in the hair near her left temple.

Cullen eased Fenris into a seated position by the fire. “I will let the others know you’re here. We will prepare you a bedroll, and I will fetch a healer,” he said, and he ran off.

Toby settled his big warm body directly on Fenris’s feet, and Hawke hurried around the fire. “Here,” she said urgently, and she arranged her blanket around his shoulders.

It held the heat of her body, and Fenris shivered slightly at the comforting feel. Then she was cupping his face in her soft warm hands, and Fenris met her shining amber eyes.

“I knew you’d be fine,” she said tremulously. Her fingers stroked his cold cheeks. “I knew you would. I just knew it. I didn’t give up, Fenris. I promised you, remember? I didn’t give up.”

He pressed one reassuring hand over her shaking fingers. This wasn’t what he had meant; he had meant for her to not give up on herself if something happened to him. But now wasn’t the time to argue the point.

He carefully studied her face. “I understand that you were badly injured,” he said. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said. She settled beside Fenris and began rubbing his arms as though to warm him up. “I wanted to go find you myself, but he wouldn’t let me.” She shot Varric a resentful look.

Dorian rolled his eyes and smirked at Varric, whose face was a picture of weary patience. “Maker, she is stubborn, isn’t she?” Dorian said. He looked at Fenris. “She broke her leg and got smacked on the head by a rock. The only way she’d have gone to find you is in a palanquin, and I can guarantee you no one would be carrying that down the mountain.”

Fenris’s eyes widened at the description of her injuries, and Hawke tutted. “Oh Dorian, you’re so dramatic. I was fine as soon as the mage healers got to me.”

“Sure, dramatic,” Varric drawled. “And the blood that was pooling in your broken leg was no big deal.”

“Blood?” Fenris said sharply. His critical gaze darted over her face and body once more. “Is that why you look so pale?”

“Oh no,” Hawke said loftily. “That’s just the cold.” She ignored Varric and Dorian’s skeptical snorts. “I certainly hope that Crestwood place is warm and sunny,” she chirped. “I could use a tan, don’t you think?” She continued to briskly rub his arms.

He winced. “Please stop,” he said faintly. Her rubbing was jostling his head and ribs, which were becoming increasingly painful.

She instantly stopped. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry,” she squeaked. “Are you hurt? What can I fix?”

He shook his head. “No. You… need to heal yourself,” he said. He swallowed hard; his throat felt so dry. “I will wait for another healer.”

She frowned at him. “Fenris, I’m not overextended. Let me fix this.”

He took another slow, quiet breath and shook his head, but Hawke’s eyes were darting over his body. She closed her eyes and muttered, and her palms glowed with the soothing green light of her healing magic.

“Hawke, don’t,” he mumbled, but it was too late; she was cradling his temples in her hands, and his pounding headache was already ebbing away. Then her gentle glowing fingers were pressing his ribs, and the moment he winced in pain, she stroked his ribs and smoothed the pain away.

He closed his eyes in undeniable relief. Then Solas spoke. “Here. Take this.”

Fenris opened his eyes. Solas was holding out a waterskin, and he nodded slightly as Fenris met his eyes. “You have survived Corypheus yet again,” he said. “An admirable feat.”

Fenris shook his head and took the waterskin. “Not admirable. Just necessary,” he said shortly. He gulped thirstily from the waterskin, then handed it back with a nod of thanks. Now that he wasn’t in pain, the exhaustion seemed to be creeping in on him even more swiftly than before.

He rubbed his face roughly to try and wake himself up. ���Corypheus has a magical item,” he said. “A black magical orb of some kind. He tried to use it to take back the mark.” He looked at Solas. “Perhaps it is what he used to construct it in the first place.”

Solas was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded. “I am certain you are correct. An item that powerful…” He rubbed his chin. “It is likely the source of his power. He cannot be allowed to retain it.”

“No, he can’t,” Fenris agreed. “It must be destroyed.”

Solas shot him a sharp look, and Dorian huffed. “Radical alternative: we could, you know, study it. Figure out how Corypheus came to use it in the first place.” He gave Fenris a humorous look. “Learning new things is good sometimes, you know.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes at the Tevinter mage. “What is it that makes you think I am so averse to learning new things? Is it because I was a slave? I was not taught to read in Tevinter, so you take me for a thickheaded fool?”

“No,” Dorian drawled. “I think you don’t like learning because you’re always saying things like, ‘oh, strange magical item I don’t understand. Let’s smite it into pieces before we understand how it was made!’”

Fenris leaned forward slightly. “There is a fine line between learning how something was made, and learning how to exploit it for personal gain,” he snarled. “You enjoy dancing on that line, mage. Forgive me if I prefer to avoid the inevitable risks.” He pointed an accusing finger at Dorian. “Do not think I have forgotten about Alexius’s amulet. I know it remains in your possession.”

“Oh look, yet another thing you don’t know,” Dorian said snidely. “I don’t have it, in fact. I gave it to Felix.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “To Felix?” Why would Dorian give the amulet to Felix? From all the gossip Fenris had heard during his time in Tevinter, Felix was a rather weak mage, more suited to academic than magical studies. He wouldn’t be able to help Dorian determine the workings of the amulet.

“Yes, to Felix,” Dorian said. He folded his arms. “Perhaps I thought you would feel more comfortable knowing it was not in my possession, seeing as how fond you are of me. And if there is mage I know who is painfully, boringly incorruptible, it’s Felix. The amulet will be safe with him.”

Fenris eyed Dorian suspiciously for a moment. Giving Felix the amulet wasn’t as good as destroying it, but it was something. “I see,” he said.

Dorian huffed and looked away.

Everyone was awkwardly quiet for a moment. Then Fenris pursed his lips. “I apologize, Dorian,” he said grudgingly.

Dorian shot him a very skeptical look, then softened slightly. “You’re serious.”

Fenris clenched his jaw, then nodded once. “Yes. I am sorry for… my assumptions,” he muttered. “You did, after all, undo Alexius’s spell.” And you saved Hawke from that terrible future, he added silently.

“Hmm,” Dorian said thoughtfully. “Well. That’s… well. Apology accepted, I suppose.” He grinned. “I don’t suppose you’d like to kiss and make up?”

Fenris rolled his eyes, and Hawke slid her fingers over Fenris’s palm. “Not unless you want to go through me, my handsome friend,” she said playfully to Dorian.

Dorian chuckled, and Toby wagged his tail. Fenris leaned his elbows on his knees and let his head hang forward. If only he could close his eyes for just a few minutes…

Hawke squeezed his hand. “Come. We should get you to the camp proper. You can lie down and get some sleep.”

Fenris nodded; he was too exhausted to pretend anymore that he wasn’t dying for a bedroll. He allowed her to support him with an arm around his waist as the five of them made their way to the main camp, with Toby bolting off ahead of them.

Fenris sighed. “Corypheus said some troubling things,” he said tiredly. He wanted to get this out before he lay down, in case he forgot. “He said he went into the Fade a thousand years ago. Physically entered the Fade, and that… he said the Black City was empty when he got there.”

“What?” Dorian said sharply.

“Seriously?” Varric said incredulously.

Hawke scoffed. “Come on. Everything he claims is bullshit. He’s delusional.”

“Perhaps,” Fenris mumbled. In truth, he was too tired to think much about what Corypheus had said. “I am simply passing on what he said, because it elucidates his plans. He wishes to restore Tevinter to its old glory and to become the one true god over all of Thedas.”

“Shit,” Varric said.

Solas sighed. “That certainly is illuminating.”

Fenris nodded; Solas sounded as weary about the idea as Fenris felt. Then Hawke tsked loudly. “What is it with people being so obsessed with becoming a god, or making a god happy, or all of that crap? It’s not enough to just make yourself and the people around you happy?”

Varric chuckled. “Unpopular opinion you have there, Hawke. Better watch your mouth around the others.”

“An interesting opinion, though,” Dorian said. He gave Hawke a curious look. “You’re not Andrastian, I take it?”

“Nope,” Hawke said airily. “I’m not a religion kind of girl. The only temple I worship at is this handsome elf’s body.” She squeezed Fenris’s waist.

Fenris sighed tiredly. “Kaffas, Hawke, you will make me blush,” he muttered. The Inquisition’s makeshift camp was in view now, and Fenris hopefully eyed the ramshackle collection of tents. Hopefully Cullen had done as he’d said and earmarked a bedroll for him.

Dorian, meanwhile, pressed on with the discussion. “What do you make of all this, then?” he asked Hawke. “What Corypheus said to Fenris about the Black City? You really think that’s all… what, lies and delusions?”

“Yes,” Hawke said. “Think about it. Delusions are constrained by what you already know. If you’re a crazy dwarf from Orzammar, you might have delusions about becoming a Titan. If you’re a crazy Dalish, maybe you have delusions about, I don’t know, turning into Fen’Harel or something. So of course the crazy ancient Tevinter magister has delusions about going into the Fade and seeing the Golden City already black. A well-known piece of his own culture got twisted in his head to meet his tyrannical goals.” She looked at Fenris and Varric in turn. “I mean, we already know he’s off his rocker, right? Remember how he made no sense when we were in his prison?”

“That’s true,” Varric said slowly. But Fenris shook his head.

“Corypheus is not the same as he was then,” Fenris said. “The way he spoke… He is no longer addled, Hawke. For all intents and purposes, it seems that his thinking is clear.” He frowned as he remembered another important and dangerous fact.

“He is enhanced by red lyrium,” he said bluntly. “It is sprouting from his skin, almost like Meredith. But… it seems to have no impact on his thinking.”

Hawke’s eyebrows rose, and the skepticism left her face. “Fuck. That is… not good.”

Dorian frowned deeply. “That’s exceedingly bad, in fact.”

They were all quiet for a moment. Then Dorian turned to Solas. “What do you think of all this, Solas? You’re not Andrastian. This must be especially strange for you.”

“And why is that?” Solas said. “Because I am elvhen?”

“Well, yes,” Dorian said. “And you – well, I suppose I assumed you believe in the old elvhen gods.”

“I believe the elvhen gods existed, yes,” Solas said. “As for this Corypheus’s claims…” He shrugged. “No real god need prove himself. Anyone who tries is mad or lying.”

Hawke smiled at him. “So you agree with me about Corypheus being cuckoo, then.”

Varric glanced over at Solas. “So you believe in the elves’ gods. But how does that fit together with the Maker? If Corypheus isn’t lying about the Black City–”

“Oh come on, Varric, he has to be lying,” Hawke interjected. “The Black City is not a real actual place like the Chantry says. It’s just some weird reflection of reality in the Fade.”

Varric scratched his stubbled chin. “I dunno, Hawke. A lot of different writers and academics through the years have described the Black City pretty consistently.”

“Because it’s what they expect to see,” Hawke said patiently. “It’s like Solas says: the Fade is shaped by people’s expectations. If a mage goes into a dream expecting to see the Black City, then that’s what they’ll see.”

Solas shot Hawke an appraising look, and Dorian sighed. “Kaffas, this is getting confusing,” he complained.

Fenris had to agree. The issue had been confusing enough to start with, and Hawke’s skepticism was not mixing well with Varric’s pragmatism or with Fenris’s long-standing uncertainty about the reality of the Maker, or with Corypheus’s disturbingly well-articulated claims.

He rubbed his forehead. He didn’t have the capacity to think about this right now. He was frankly relieved when Cassandra’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Fenris! Come this way. There is a bedroll ready for you, over here…”

He nodded gratefully as she ushered him beneath the shelter of a large makeshift shared tent. “Cassandra,” he said. “I am glad to see you alive.” He sat on the bedroll with a groan of relief, and Hawke solicitously sat beside him as Dorian and Solas drifted away, still debating the issue of gods and monsters and the Fade.

“As I am to see you,” Cassandra said fervently. She rubbed her hands together nervously. “I apologize for not remaining to see you to safety. I broke my word to you, and… I hope you will forgive me. But we – Hawke was sorely injured, and I… we could have stayed behind, but–”

“No, Seeker, we couldn’t have,” Varric said. His patient tone indicated that he and Cassandra had had this discussion many times already. “Hawke would have died if we hadn’t gotten her here when we had. Then Fenris would have murdered us for letting something happen to her.”

Fenris’s stomach swooped at the thought of Hawke avoiding another near-brush with death, and Hawke tutted loudly. “All of you bloody assholes acting as though I’m made of glass,” she complained. “Honestly, I’m–”

Fenris squeezed her hand. “Thank you, Varric, Cassandra,” he interrupted firmly. “For looking after her.”

Hawke pulled her hand from his grip and lightly punched his arm. “What did I tell you?” she hissed. “My life isn’t worth more than yours!”

He turned to her with a glare. “That is not the point. It was a sound strategic decision on their part,” he argued. “There were two lives in danger. Varric and Cassandra saved the one that was in obvious danger of death, assuming the other was either less severely injured or already dead.”

“But you weren’t dead!” Hawke protested. “You needed help, and they–”

“They sent Toby to bring me back,” Fenris said. “Cullen said they were about to send a search party. And we are both here now, and both alive. It was the right decision.” He stared at Cassandra sternly. “You made the right decision to bring her here.”  

Cassandra’s expression remained uncertain. “I understand your point,” she said. “And I am glad that Hawke is safe and well. But the fact remains that only you can close the rifts, Fenris. You are the one with the mark, and you are the one our people have been looking up to for inspiration. It…” She trailed off, then bowed her head briefly. “It is extremely fortunate that you survived. Not just for those who care for you,” she glanced at Hawke and Varric, “but for us all.”

Fenris frowned at her, but her gaze was steady with conviction. She took a step back. “Excuse me,” she said. “I must rejoin the others. Plans must be made, whether we are ready to make them or not.” She cast a resentful glance at Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana, who seemed to be deeply entrenched in an argument, then turned away to join them.

Hawke turned to him with a scowl. “See?” she said. “Cassandra thinks–”

“Hawke, stop,” Fenris said flatly. He ran a hand through his hair. “I won’t argue about this further. We are both safe and well. There is no point dwelling on what might have been.”

She was quiet for a moment, then she stroked his jaw with her thumb. “No, there isn’t,” she said softly.

He gazed at her in confusion. Then he realized what she meant.

The dark future. The terrible memories of Hawke encrusted with red lyrium, and the evil red tears that trickled from her eyes. A future that might have happened, but which was narrowly avoided – so very narrowly.

He swallowed hard. It wasn’t the same. How could he forget something so terrible when it continued to haunt his dreams?

He didn’t reply. Hawke quickly kissed his lips, then rose to her feet. “I’ll bring you some hot broth,” she said. “Get cozy, all right? Varric will tell you a bedtime story.” She winked at Varric, then walked away.

Fenris looked at Varric. Varric gazed back at him. Then they both chuckled.

Fenris sighed and finally lay back on the bedroll. He covered his eyes with his arm. “Fasta vass. I am… beyond the limits of tired,” he groaned.

“I bet,” Varric drawled, and they chuckled again. Varric took a seat on the ground beside the bedroll, and Fenris cracked open one eye and looked at him.

“How did you know I was alive?” he asked. “How did you know to send Toby?”

Varric shrugged. “I mean, I didn’t really know for sure,” Varric said. “But I had faith in you.”

His tone was casual as always, but he was toying idly with one of his earrings as he spoke. Fenris sat up on his elbows and frowned slightly. “Faith?” he said. “You mean…?”

Varric smirked slightly. “You never thought to wonder if the dwarf believes in good ol’ Andraste, huh?”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t. In all the years he’d known Varric, they’d never really discussed religion. They talked about most things – books and politics and cards and their friends and Hawke, but somehow religion had never really come into it. Fenris had assumed Varric was an atheist like Hawke, since he always chuckled at Hawke’s jokes. But now, with Varric’s comment about faith...  

“Do you?” Fenris asked. “Believe in Andraste and the Maker, that is?”

Varric shrugged. “Sure. I mean, yeah. I’m not… I mean, I’m no Sebastian. But… generally speaking, yeah, I do.”

“Oh,” Fenris said blankly. He wasn’t sure what else to say, so he was quiet.

Then Varric broke the silence. “What about you, elf? What’s your take on all of this? Do you think you’re the Herald of Andraste?”

Fenris frowned at him. “How can I? We know now where the mark came from. It was an accident of magic by an evil magister.”

“I guess,” Varric said. “But… still. What are the chances?”

Fenris frowned more deeply. “What do you mean?”

Varric shrugged. “I mean, the chances that you stepped in just in time to take that mark from Corypheus. And that it was you who did it – a former slave of Tevinter, just like Andraste. And a guy who hates magisters enough to willingly face off against one, and to make it out alive three separate times. It’s… a pretty spectacular story, if you think about it.”

Fenris scoffed. “You and your damned stories,” he said. But now that he thought about it, Cassandra had once said something similar: that his Tevinter slave history drew some interesting parallels with Andraste.

He shook his head. “Hawke would say it is all a coincidence. Sheer dumb luck and chance.”

“I know what Hawke thinks,” Varric said. “I’m wondering what you think. You’re the centerpiece in this shit, after all.”

Fenris grunted. He strongly disliked the idea of being the centerpiece of this whole debacle, true though it might unfortunately be. Then he shrugged. “I don’t know, Varric,” he said honestly. “I don’t know what to think. About the Maker, or Andraste, or the Fade. It… I have never quite been sure what to think.” His gaze drifted over to Cassandra, who was deep in argument with Cullen and the others.

“I envy Cassandra sometimes,” he confessed to Varric. “She is so sure of her faith. She draws strength from it. That kind of certainty must be comforting.”

“That’s funny,” Varric said. “Because I think she envies your certainty.”

Fenris recoiled in surprise. “My certainty? With what?”

“All this Inquisition stuff,” Varric said. He gestured vaguely at the camp. “The mages. Fighting the dragon. Other stuff.”

Fenris frowned. “But that… I’m not… Making a decision is not the same as being certain about it,” he said.

Varric shrugged. “Don’t tell Cassandra that. I’m pretty sure her faith in the Maker extends to you.”

Fenris scrunched his face up, then lay back on the bedroll. That was not an entirely welcome thought. He’d been growing quite comfortable around Cassandra. The last thing he wanted was for her to see him as some kind of prophet.

He sighed and closed his eyes. “Perhaps you should tell me a bedtime story after all.”

Varric snickered. “Not a chance. I know that’s you and Hawke’s special thing. I’m not getting involved in that.”

Fenris smirked without opening his eyes. “Don’t worry, Varric, you are not my type.”

Varric laughed again at the long-standing joke. Then the two men fell quiet.

Fenris inhaled slowly, then exhaled and listened to the sounds of the camp. It was relatively quiet, all things considered; the talk was subdued and soft, punctuated by the soft clanking of ladles in cooking pots and the whinnying of Dennet’s horses. Fenris was rather surprised that there were so few sounds of distress or pain.

He sighed and rolled onto his side, then pulled up his blanket and nestled his head on his folded arm. He would just rest for a little while until Hawke came back.

When he finally heard her voice again, it felt soft and heavy, like it was coming to him from far away. “Is he asleep?” she murmured.

“Yeah,” Varric replied. “You want to wake him?”

“No, no,” Hawke whispered. “He can eat later. Let him sleep. He needs it.”

So do you, Fenris thought. He tried to say it, but his whole body felt heavy and warm from his eyelids down to his feet, almost like he was sinking in a warm bath, and it would be far too much effort to speak.

The bedroll shifted slightly as she sat beside him. Then Varric spoke again in a soft voice. “He’s coping well with all of this, huh?”

“Of course he is,” Hawke said. “He can cope with anything. But he shouldn’t have to.”

Her voice was soft, and it drifted through Fenris’s idle mind like a lullaby. Her fingers carefully smoothed a tuft of hair back from his face, and she traced the tip of his ear with her fingers. Then she spoke again. “He never wanted this. More fucking magic on his body. I hate that this has happened to him.”

Fenris frowned slightly. Her voice wasn’t quite as soft now; it was quiet still, but harder than before.

Varric’s quiet reply was wry. “You know it’s never just been about the magic for him,” he said. “Otherwise he wouldn’t be with you.”

“I know,” Hawke said softly. “And that’s my point. Healing magic and barriers are one thing. But this fucking mark from Corypheus? Magic that we don’t understand from a person who won’t explain it, stuck in his body even though he doesn’t want it. It’s all a little too familiar, don’t you think?”

Varric hummed in acknowledgement. Then Hawke spoke once more, and her quiet voice was hard as steel.

“It won’t happen again,” she said. “If any more weird magic comes anywhere near him… not a fucking chance. I won’t let it. I’ll kill anyone who tries.” She tucked another strand of hair behind his ear.

Varric chuckled. “The two of you are something else. It’s like your whole relationship is built out of violence and bad jokes.”

“And sex,” Hawke added. “Don’t forget sex.”

Varric snorted. “And that’s my cue to leave. Get some rest, Hawke.”

She chuckled softly. “Thanks, Varric,” she whispered. A moment later, she was snuggling up behind Fenris on the bedroll.

She draped her arm around his waist, and Fenris could feel her settling her forehead between his shoulder blades. Moments later, the heat of her body started to seep through his back.

I love you, he thought. But his lips wouldn’t move, and his body was heavy and warm, weighed down and heated by Hawke. Her chest rose and fell against his back in a slow, soft rhythm, and finally, with the comforting certainty of her breathing body behind him, Fenris fell fully asleep.

Read the rest on AO3. 

[sleepyfan-blog]

aa,,, yes, im a sucker for isward ngl and uh- could I request some isward angst-? (but if you wanna do fluff then thats cool too) im just,, hh ily writing so much,, :>>

Fandom: IBVS by @onebizarrekai

Characters and pairing: Isaac Beamer, Edward Quinton, Drew Jovel, Nevin Jovel, Barry Price, Xavier Jackson, Christopher Jackson, Charlie Jackson, Isward

Warnings: major character death, Blood, angst

Word count: 2,566

Summary: Can the Supernatural Investigation Club figure out what’s been making people disappear?

“Ten people have gone missing in three days. Why has no one but the five of us noticed this?” Isaac muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing as he stares at the cafeteria, his arms folded over his chest “And that’s just this week. Another twenty have gone missing in the past month.”

“I-I don’t know.” Drew stuttered, pressing a little bit closer to his twin brother and shivering a little, his golden-brown eyes flickering over the rest of the student body “I… A new student transferred to our homeroom a week before the disappearances started.” He’d been pulled into the supernatural club - despite Nevin’s initial protest - due to the other’s healing ability… And the fact that the four of them were kind of terrible at keeping secrets. Well, Edward and Isaac were. Nevin and Barry were better at keeping secrets, though practice.

“But they’re never called on in class. Like - their name is called on for roll call and that’s it.” Nevin rumbled, scooting a bit closer to his brother, trying to shove the clawing paranoia down. “Neither of us can remember their name, even moments after it’s spoken.”

“Hmm… That’s… Really weird. Barry, have you heard any chatter from your contacts who like trying to summon eldritch bullshit that they’ve been up to their shenanigans again?” Edward asked, glancing at his childhood friend, shifting a little and wishing that they were meeting in his secret hideout - but the cafeteria was centrally located and all of them had separate classes after this.

Barry shook his head a little “If they have, no one’s told me about it… I’ll ask a couple of them but… Three of them have gone missing, and their friends don’t seem to remember the people who vanish. It’s like… It’s like when they disappear, they’re erased completely.” Just then, all five of their cellphones went off at the same time.

The five teens blinked and pulled out their phone. The number was 6̥͈͕͓͍͘1̵3͚͍̺͕̼͕̱-̙̞̘͖̦6̡̮̳̥̳4̹̱̘͉9̢̹-̡6͙͍̭̯́4̛̖̱̰̤̦̭4̵̳̹3 to all of them, and it read [Qrngu vf bayl gur ortvaavat. Rira gubhtu guvf vf whfg bar tnzr bs znal. Znlor lbh pna fgbc zr, yvggyr urebrf orsber v jva? Be jvyy lbh snygre naq or qribherq? Abj gur tnzr unf gehyl ortha.]

“Hoookay, so who just sent us a bunch of random bullshit? My phone’s glitching out a little.” Edward grumbled “Did you guys get the same string of nonsense?”

“It’s not nonsense.” Drew murmured quickly, glancing around the room, biting his lower lip and quickly wrote something quickly and shoved it at his brother, before pulling out another sheet and starting to write something down on it, pausing after he was done, shaking a little. The others leaned over and…

Nevin swore quietly under his breath and muttered “We need someplace private to talk. Right now.” It was written in cursive… And Spanish, which none of them could read that well. “Delete the message from your phones. At best someone’s fucking with us.”

Edward nodded “I’ll take you to one of the hidden rooms in the school.” He frowned a little, but quickly took the others into his main lair. He turned and demanded to both of the sophmores “Alright, spill.”

“The message was sent to us in ROT-13. I decoded the message and wrote it in Spanish, to decrease the chances of… Whoever sent it to us reading it over my shoulder.” Drew explained, shifting uncomfortably. “It says: Death is only the beginning. Even though this is just one game of many. Maybe you can stop me, little heroes before i win? Or will you falter and be devoured? Now the game has truly begun. … Also only the first letters of each sentence are capitalized - none of the rest of the letters are - including the single I with i win… Which spell out DEMON when put it together.”

“That’s… Kind of fucked up and weird? But that’s not exactly a reason to get all riled out. It could just be someone trying to fuck with us… Although our phones all glitching out at the same time is weird.” Edward responded, shaking his head a little. They needed to focus on the missing people problem - this possibly prank text was something that could be dealt with later.

~

“Nevin… We forgot someone.” Drew murmured, voice suddenly full of fear, his eyes widening in shock.

“I.. Oh fuck. Chris! I haven’t seen him at all today… Have you?” Nevin hissed, his eyes widening. How could they have possibly forgotten him?

“No, I haven’t… He lives two houses down from us… We should go check up on him while we’re on our way home from school.”

“You’re right - hang on. I’ll text Barry and tell him where we’re going. we’re supposed to meet with him, Isaac and the King of Morons to figure out what sort of creature we might be dealing with. I just wish that they’d take your warning about the text more seriously.” Nevin sighed, shaking his head a little.

They arrived at C̷̯̤͖͈͍̮r̼̖̣̮͓̗͢ó̬̬̖͔̲̮̝s͈̯̮͠ͅṣ̫͝ͅͅ'̳̬s̳̝̳̯͝ home, knocking on the door. A tall stranger answered it, his eyes glowing violet. “We’ve been expecting you.” His voice echoed strangely, and both of the g͞u̴̯͓̣̖a̶r̖̯͓͕̻d͈͈̀i̷͙a̦̘͍n̙͈̩̣͙̹͖ twins immediately fell unconscious.

~

Edward and Isaac were trying to look up what sort of supernatural creatures who could make you forget their name when it was spoken by someone else. More people had gone missing. Edward stared at a picture of himself and someone who Isaac didn’t recognize, frowning a little “Hey… Ed, what’s wrong?” He leaned against his boyfriend, pressing a light kiss to the other’s cheeks.

“I… I don’t know. I have pictures of this guy - like I’ve known him since I was Geno’s age, at least. But I don’t… I don’t remember him. But he’s important to me… Does that make sense?” Edward answered, confused.

Isaac was about to respond when their phones chimed at the same time, the number was one they didn’t recognize and couldn’t see, their phones glitching so badly. [I HAVE THE LOREKEEPER, THE LIGHT, THE SWORDSMAN, AND THE SHADOW. CAN YOU FIGURE OUT WHAT’S WRONG, PROTAGONISTS? THE OTHER HEROES ARE SUPPLEMENTAL, BUT PERHAPS THE MAIN TWO WILL BE ABLE TO SAVE THEIR PARTY, AND WIN THE DAY.]

“That’s… Fucked up and weird. It’s always just been the two of u-” Edward started, blinking twice as he clutched his head, cursing under his breath as memories suddenly burst forth into his head with the fury of a sledgehammer. Not all of these memories were pleasant.

Isaac stilled, groaning quietly “I… Oh no. They can make us forget our own friends… The… They’ve got…”

“Shit. They’ve got the others. At least I was able to convince my folks to send Geno over to Reuben’s place… Both of the kiddos have powers, and I really fucking hope that Reuben lives far enough away to be out of this bullshit. No matter what the type of demon - which D̯̮̲̘̰̀r͖͙͇̼͕̼e͔̹̙̮a̹̫̖͎ͅm is probably right salt, a religious icon of your choice, and holy water will work to subdue it from everything I’ve read.” Edward growled, a determined expression appearing on his face.

“Which is all well and fine… Except that I don’t believe in any sort of organized religion - the only one of us who might have is Drew, who’s been captured. I’m pretty sure that sort of iconography requires some sort of genuine belief that it will work in order to work.” Isaac murmured, a concerned frown appearing on his face as he crossed his arms. What did he think could stop a demon?

“… Well, fuck. You’re right about that. Salt and holy water it is… Along with my strings to bind the demon in place so we can tell it to fuck off this mortal plane.” Error responded, a determined expression appearing on his face “… And yes, I’m looking up on my phone how to get holy water.”

~

One quick trip to the local church supply store - which apparently existed, not that they had known that until a quick look up on their phone - they had as much holy water and Purified Salt as they could carry - having managed to somehow sweet talk the store owner into giving them most of it for about ten bucks, the rest was given freely. Not wanting to question their bit of good luck, the pair of them sat down on one of the benches in the park. “Okay… So, we’ve got the stuff… How do we find and fight the demon?” Isaac reflected, a small frown appearing on his face - the sun was just beginning to set, and a sense of urgency was pushing at him. Something awful had happened - and worse was going to continue if they didn’t stop this as soon as possible.

“I… I don’t know. Do you know where C̷̯̤͖͈͍̮r̼̖̣̮͓̗͢ó̬̬̖͔̲̮̝s͈̯̮͠ͅṣ̫͝ͅͅ'̳̬s̳̝̳̯͝ or D͍̞r̘͇̖̭͍͖e̘͓͢a̮̳̮̪̕ͅm̨̖͓͚̩̲ ̴̝͙̘̹̙̣a̱̠n̯͓̘̯̮ͅd̴ ̫̞̰̜̞̕ͅǸ̮i̫̮͘g̮͈̱̫̕h̖̼ṭ̱͍̩̻͟m̲̤a̤̣͙͍̹̣r̯̬̞͓̪̀e̵̲̗̻̞̺̘ͅ live? That might be a good place to start. We already checked Bl͕͇̘̪͕u̹̭͎̯͎e̶̫̦͉̜'͓̭͍͖͘s home and no one lives there right now. It’s like it’s been completely abandoned for years.” Edward asked, shifting a little and trying to keep calm. He was feeling distinctly restless. Were they missing something?

“I… I think I’ve been to Chris’s place before…” Isaac answered with a frown, leaning into his boyfriend, grateful for the other’s steadying warmth. Both of the teens stood up, with Edward following close behind his boyfriend as the other led him to a nondescript looking house.

Edward hesitated for a moment before opening the front door open a crack and taking a peek inside. He cursed quietly and shut it. “So, there are strange, purple symbols glowing everywhere in the inside of that house. It’s really fucked up and spooky looking. Also I’m pretty sure I saw blood splatter and long gouges in some of the walls. But we’ve got friends to save. You ready for this, Isaac?”

Ink nodded, a determined expression appearing on his face “Yes. Let’s kick demon ass. It’s not like we haven’t done that before.” With that the two of them entered the house. Isaac stopped dead as he stared at the symbols - which weren’t in Latin or Greek - or any other ancient, unspeakable tongue. “Great. We’re dealing with some sort of New Demon - or one with a fucked up sense of humor.” he muttered quietly to his boyfriend, rolling his eyes a little. If it weren’t for the weird forgetting his friends thing, he’d have thought this was an elaborate - if kind of shitty - prank.

“Why?” Edward asked, staring nervously at the symbols before keeping his eyes firmly fixed ahead - he didn’t want to lose his sanity by having eldritch symbols burned into his brain or something equally awful “We gotta keep moving, Isaac.”

“Because, the.. The symbols. It’s wingdings. Like the crazy font?” Ink mumbled, frowning a little. Something pressed at the back of his mind. Something very important about the font - why it was much more ominous than it should be, as a joke font.

“Okay, I agree. That’s weird. Maybe the demon we’re dealing with is trying to confuse us to death.” Edward started. He looked like he was about to say more, but was cut off when a blood-curdling scream shattered the tense silence. Both teens sprinted to the door - Edward using a couple of strings to yank the door off of it’s hinges. The stairs leading down to the basement (of course it was a fucking basement) were bathed in more ominous purple light as they ran as quickly as they dared down the tight, rickety steps.

Barry, Drew, and Nevin were tied to the wall, with Chris in the middle of the basement, his hands and feet pinned to the floor with silver daggers, blood still dripping from the wounds. There was some sort of symbol painted beneath him - but neither Isaac nor Edward were focusing enough on that to really tell what it was. Nevin was the only one of the four of them conscious, and a strange, black substance was dripping down his face as he continued to struggle against his bonds, his eyes glowing a furious cyan “LET US GO, YOU MISERABLE OLD FUCK! I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU THINK YOU HAVE TO GAIN, YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO FUCKING TORTURE US LIKE THIS!”

“On the contrary, I have every right to do so, Ǹ̮i̫̮͘g̮͈̱̫̕h̖̼ṭ̱͍̩̻͟m̲̤a̤̣͙͍̹̣r̯̬̞͓̪̀e̵̲̗̻̞̺̘ͅ. Besides, it’s not as if you have any room to talk, considering…” A tall, stern looking man called out, a dark smirk on his face as he stalked towards the both of them “And you two have arrived, right on schedule. I was wondering if the two of you were going to be late - or try to flee. But I see that allowing  you all to form positive social bonds has made catching you so much easier. Come forth and help me, C͏̪̫̫͙h̻̜̪̻̗͙͠a̷̠r̡̻̠̤a̵̼͙̳̤.”

A small, pale spirit rises up from C̛̖̳r̞̙͙͔͍͍o͈̮̳̼̪̠͉s̪̟͓̦͉̻̯s'̮̟̜͔̱́ś̪͍̠ body. It turns to face them, their eyes a bright, glowing red, a strange black substance - not unlike what currently is pouring from Nevin’s back and face - and it hisses “I̪̬̰͎͚̯̼ h̷̯̣͔̼̣ͅͅa̜̥̞̳̣͝t̘̼̥͖̗̬͓e̴͚̰ ̗͍̤͚͟y̳o̦̗̫̣͘ͅu̻̥̹͘ ̺̹̗̝̮ś̜͓̯ó̬̝̻̠͈ m͈͙̙̟͡u͔͚͈̱c̥͍͙͚h̟̣̠͖͍̦,̸̲̘ ͉͇̺̥̘̀G̪͇͔̦̟͔a͍s̷̖̱t̙̦̞̺͖ͅe̼͇̱͇̟͖r̪͓͘!ͅ ̝́I̤̜͇͡ w̙͟i̙l͟l̨͔̝̦̳ ͍̠̱̭͍̟k͖̦̗̺̼̪i̳̻l͓͎͇̫̺̳l̻̜͉ ͍̬̞̯͖̣y͖̜̯͘ou̜!̦͉͍̟"̯̟̩͠ screeching angrily at the man who had called it forth from their friend.

“I don’t care that you hate me, Demon. You are bound to my will, and I command you to kill E̥̞̖̥͔̟̙r̸̹̪͇̫r̬̟̗o͏̼̼̲̣̗̝ŕ̹̮̙̹ ̯̥͢a̮͙͓̙n̳͝d̰͔̱ ͙̺̬I͔̟̗͉n̻̠̜̭̞̩̮k̨̦̞, bringing me their souls. After that take Blue’s soul and then the emotive guardians’ together, as can only be done for them. Cross will be last to be harvested, and then we can begin this experiment anew.” The man ordered, smirking a little as the demon howled in rage, but threw itself at the both of them nonetheless.

Exactly none of the holy water or salt did jack shit to the demon - and as Ink desperately used what little paint he had brought with him to fend off the attacks from the angry spirit that kept throwing itself at him with a relentless determination. He dodged, swiped at them, rolled to avoid another swipe of their knife. “Ed! Do you have Nevin down yet?”

“I’m trying. These cuffs are resisting my strings! I-” Error choked and collapsed, clutching at his chest, his eyes returning to their normal color, before starting to dull. The strange man was standing directly behind him, another glittering, silver knife in his hands, this one stained with bright, fresh blood.

“Edward!” Ink screamed as he raced over to his boyfriend, kneeling down as he desperately tried to shake the other “No… No no no. You… You have to stay with me… P-please you can’t… Y-You can’t die on me now…”

Error coughed wetly, a weak smile on his face “Hey… ‘s okay… We fought him hard… Jus… Just go… I think he has to kill us all or it won’t work… R-Run… Love… F-For me?”

“No! I won’t leave you…Leave our friends to die! I… I’ll-” Ink’s eyes had a manic gleam as he used his paint as a barrier to block both the man and the tiny DEMON’s attacks “I’ll kill them both, and find a way to save everyone. I-I will!”

The man chuckled as he raised something in his hands “So predictable.” something clicked in the man’s hands, and Isaac’s world went dark, Edward’s weak “Noo!” and Nevin’s loud cursing the last thing he heard as the shadows stole his sight, his body limp and numb.

[giasonesdream]

The Center Console Does Nothing To Support You (Bad Behavior 2 Part Series)

Summary: You and Jeongguk come from a wealthy background. That doesn’t stop your boyfriend from getting into activities he has no business in. All you can do is support him, encourage his bad behaviors with questionable acts of your own. (Explicit)

Word Count: (I’ll be right by your side, ‘til) 3009 

tagged: Jungkook x Reader, drag racing!AU, Smut, road head, exhibitionism, dom/sub undertones

Lake Shore Drive after Rush Hour is beautiful, empty. That, plus the added late night summer air rushing through rolled down windows, it all makes you feel weightless, free, adventurous.

But tonight’s adventure is not really one of your own, but your boyfriend, who sits behind the wheel with one hand gripping the tattered leather and the other rubbing at your bare thigh. It’s a situation you two have been in more than a handful of times this summer, sneaking out of the gated community of your north side homes, travelling the half hour path to get to your friends waiting for you on the south side, your and Jeongguk’s safe haven. On eroded streets littered with potholes and weeds growing from sidewalk cracks is where you feel the most at ease.

Electricity thrums from the palm wrapped around your skin. Jeongguk is excited for the race tonight, ready to show his friends how much he has improved since their last one. You truly have no interest, unaffected by your boyfriend’s competitive side. You have been with him too long to care, but also because you know your disinterest makes him work even harder to win.

You will not lie to yourself, the dynamic of your relationship with Jeongguk must seem a little odd from an outsider’s perspective (hell, even some of the older boys in Jeongguk’s group would question him to the umpteenth degree), but it is one the both of you are very comfortable with. You and he are equals, and for the most part, you come across as best friends; not all that big on PDA besides the times either of you are feeling more introverted or needy, choosing to glue to the other’s side. And the banter is endless, sometimes quipped and hard to tell if you’re joking or not, sometimes so over the top and dramatic no one could possibly mistake you two for just being typical young adults in love.

There’s a lurch in the car as he speeds down the rather empty expressway, and you subtly eye the needle and see it push towards 75 mph. With a sigh, you continue scrolling through your phone.

“Try not to get us or yourself killed tonight, Jeon,” you mutter nonchalantly. “You know you don’t get anything if you win this stupid race, right?”

Jeongguk scoffs next to you, and you don’t even have to turn to see the offended look on his face. “Um, bragging rights is what I would win, [y/n].”

Right, because Jeon Jeongguk, Certified Shy Dork, would totally use the bragging rights with anyone but you (you, who does not give a shit). You tear your eyes away from your screen to stare him down until he feels it.

The street lights trail across his face, accentuating the roundness if his cheeks, the slope of his nose, the sharpness of his jaw, and it takes all of your strength to remember why you chose to glare at him in this moment.

He feels it soon enough, your eyes on his profile, and he chances a glance over in your direction before focusing back on the road. “What?”

“Jeongguk, you don’t have to impress these guys. They like you. You’re in their little gang.” Though you are neither here nor there when it comes to his new choice of friends, you understand his desire to fit in, to have them like him. It would be adorable if he wasn’t partaking in an...illegal form of entertainment.

You hear him scoff again, twitching at the way he involuntarily kneads your thigh. You must have hit the nail on the head, as you usually do. “I’m not trying to impress them,” he denies, not even sounding confident to himself.

You give another sigh, this one not as noticeable. You and Jeongguk were born and raised Northsiders, living a rather privileged life with proper allowances for taking out the trash and not worrying about getting sick because health insurance is a thing. Of course Jeongguk would want to make these guys think he could hang, “get down and dirty” as he had said unironically one time.

You pat the hand that’s still firmly on your leg, rubbing mindlessly at the sturdiness of his forearm before covering the top of his hand with your own, playing with the fingers. You can feel his nerves become restless as you continue to fret with his fingers, pulling at them only for them to snap back into place against the skin cloaked in warmth.

“Issue?” you hear him ask, his previous laxed state becoming more and more wired.

You give a pout you know he won’t notice, turning in your seat to practically face him head on. “Ggukie, your hands are getting clammy,” you whine, only slightly teasing. It truly did gross you out a tad when his furnace of a body would get sweaty at too much contact.

With a smirk, he loosens his grip only to move his palm further up your thigh. And normally, you would push him away, cringe away from the humid touch- but his fingers skirt on the inside of your thigh as they run higher and higher, and your legs jerk together at the barely there stimulation.

Jeon Jeongguk had been a special case, never going a moment in his 22 years of living when he wasn’t getting attention from women. You distinctly remember when you both were children, how your mother and aunt would fawn over the adorable runt, how small and pure he looked.

“Oh, [y,n], don’t you think little Jeonggukie is cute?” they would ask you, heart eyes too prevalent for your liking. It made you roll your eyes and turn your nose up at the boy.

And even through his awkward teenage years, he still got the attention because he was still adorable, or that is what your friends and mother say. He was just Jeongguk. Always had been. It hadn’t dawned on you that maybe the girls in your school had a point until one day he came over to visit you, and suddenly you opened the door and had to look...up. That was at the age of nineteen, when you first realized that yeah, Jeon Jeongguk was an eyeful and more (cue the flustered, bumbling idiot you became).

And here he sits now, one strong hand easily steering the leather bound wheel while another built arm is stretched to constantly be touching you, and really, how can someone look so hot doing so little?

He’s right there, you think to yourself, mindlessly chewing at your bottom lip as you contemplate your next move. The lights still dance over his face, illuminating his features in the dark of night in a lazy rhythm. He really is right there. All you have to do is lean over and…

You place a peck on his cheek, pulling back a bit to check his reaction, testing the waters. He seems unfazed by the gesture, only half of his lips tugging up in a smile. So you go back in again, leaving open mouthed kisses that trail down his jaw. You don’t realize the grip you have on the wrist connected to the hand still trapped between your legs until you let go to pull at your seatbelt.

With a quick glance, you look outside the windows, making sure there isn’t a car riding besides you (fuck anyone behind you). And since the coast is clear (enough), you let your hand slide over to his jean clad legs, the other hand finding balance on the leather console between you two.

“Holy shit!” Jeongguk shouts, urgency in his voice enough to make you flinch away in panic.

“What? What?!” You ask frantically, checking the road around you, slamming yourself to duck your head out the window. You swear to god, if Jeongguk hurt an animal-

“Were you about to blow me?”

As his words slowly catch up with your brain, you turn back to glare at him, eyes squinted and tongue poking in your cheek. His expression is a mixture of wide-eyed shock and an eager smile.

You speak too calmly for comfort, obviously hiding your irritation with being interrupted. “I was...planning. On it.”

That does nothing to change his face. He only glances at you, huffing out a laugh. “That’s a real thing?”

...Did he seriously just ask you if roadhead is a real thing? “What?”

With a defensive shrug, he explains. “I just...I thought that only happened in movies and fanfiction.”

Leaning against the passenger door, you scrutinize your boyfriend, pushing his hand away from you. Leave it to him to ruin the moment with his very unsexy antics. “Whose fanfiction are you reading?”

Jeongguk sputters for a second, the streetlights catching the gaping look on his face. “I...pfft, is that part important? At least, right now?”

You want to interrogate him, watch him get flustered with the idea of having to admit one dirty little secret you seemed to not know. But, unfortunately (or very fortunately, depending on how you look at it), he’s still very hot and still very much mouthwatering in probably the most naughtiest of ways.

You can curse your hormones later.

You crawl back into your previous position, noting how Jeongguk leans his head to give you more room to lick, mouth and bite at the skin of his neck. You barely miss the way his eyes flutter, and you snap instantly.

“If you don’t keep your fucking eyes and focus on the road I will climb into the backseat, I swear to god, Jeon,” comes the hissing threat. At his frantic nod, your lips fall back to his throat with more fervor, frustration building at having to stop so many times. It shows in the way your teeth bite harshly into the meat of his neck, sadistically satisfied with the air he sucks in through his teeth.

Your palm goes back to work, breezing through the foreplay of feathering up the inside of his thigh and quickly palming at the semi-hard length in his pants. You’re sure he feels the smug grin against his neck; how sensitive your boyfriend is, how worked up he gets for you so easily. It sends a shot of lust to your own core to know you affect him so.

When you try to shift closer, the seatbelt locks, and you huff again, having to pull away to shove it off of you so you can try and mold the upper half of your body to his as best you can with a goddamn console still there and immobile.

You are quite skilled, nimbly undoing the buttons and zipper of his jeans so you can stuff your hand down his underwear. The hissed “shit” he whispers only makes you thrum with more excitement. You have lost count of how many times you have done this, worked your hand up and down his cock (Jeongguk could probably tell you because, underneath this sexy exterior he sometimes wears, he is always 100% A Dork Trademark). You have become an expert, collecting the precum that pools at the tip when he’s finally completely hard and hot in your closed palm. Though the precum acts as a decent lubricate, you both know a more effective way of getting him dripping wet. You give a slow lick at the sensitive spot behind his ear, biting back a smile at his heavy exhale, before you finally lower your mouth to breathe against the head of his aching member.

It takes some maneuvering, getting into a somewhat comfortable position where your ribs aren’t entirely digging into the console. There’s still a pinch, but it’s manageable; and really, feeling the way the smallest shiver shoots up Jeongguk’s spine when you wrap your tongue around the underside of his cock just makes it worth it. You repeat the action, letting the tip of your tongue get caught under the head before wrapping your lips around it completely. With one hand wrapped around the base, you move your mouth lower and lower, always licking until the head rests at the back of your tongue. Your gag reflex betrays you when you try to inch downwards, closing up and making you pull off to breathe.

Your reflexes can be a bit finicky, sometimes wanting to cooperate, sometimes wanting to be a complete and utter bitch to work with (“so, a lot like your personality, as a whole,” Jeongguk would say, which would result in a smack to his shoulder). But you keep your tongue moving, leaving kitten licks at the crown while your throat calms down enough so you could try again.

You take your time, ignoring your own eagerness, as you suck your way down his length, making sure to breathe heavily through your nose and keep your throat open until- success.

The center console presses against your lungs, and your other hand scrapes the leather as you try to focus on the way he hits the back of your throat. With another steady breath, you experiment with swallowing around him.

You feel the car swerve and you yank your head off his cock, yelling his name angrily, though your throat is a bit scratchy. Your body lurches to the side as he jerks the car back to its straight position.

“Fuck, sorry,” he apologizes with a tight voice, weaving his fingers into the tresses of your hair. “It’s just...your mouth.”

You think any other time you would flattered, maybe even a bit cocky with how he submits when you’re the one with his dick in your mouth. But you would very much like to live, or at least not die with his dick out and have the firemen find you in this rather precarious position.

You don’t regard his apology, simply opting to go back to your previous task. The air rushes outside, but it doesn’t mask the slick sounds that accompany you coating his dick in your saliva, mixing with the salty precum that beads at the top whenever you go just a bit lower than usual.

He does a lot better when you decide to try for deepthroating again, electing to tighten his grip on your head and stuttering out a groan when you swallow a few times around him. You even congratulate yourself when you don’t choke as he bucks his hips up, desperate to go deeper in the wet, tight heat of your throat.

You’re a mess, spit dribbling from the tight seal of your lips and smearing down your chin and your hand; it’s fucking hot. The heat swirls and knots in the pit of your stomach when he accidentally pushes your head down, moaning out another frantic apology. It takes you a second, but you’re finally pulling your hand away from the base, confident that you can steady yourself enough to fit the last few inches down your throat.

“Shit, shit!” Jeongguk tries to bite back the noises, successful up until you pull up to suck tightly around the head. In the back of your mind, you notice that the air outside the car has eased, meaning you must be off the expressway and onto the side streets that take you to your destination. You must be close.

You suck with a purpose, moaning and rubbing your thighs together because you won’t have time to get yourself off. You hear his faint warning, the “gon-gonna cum, [y,n]-” as you keep your lips secured around the tip, bringing your hand back to stroke the length now completely saturated with spit and precum.

His breathing is heavy, and you chance a glance to look up to see his brows furrowed together, jaw slack as noises get caught in his throat. Right before he cums, his mouth snaps shut, teeth biting into his bottom lip and his muscles tense. Your eyes flutter shut when his seed coats your mouth, not giving yourself a chance to taste too much before you swallow it down. Your hand still twists up his cock, milking him for all he’s worth until the last remnants dribble pathetically against your tongue.

You give one last lick, holding back a giggle when he tries to flinch away from the overstimulation. With a final kiss to hiss check, you fall back into your passenger seat, rubbing at your ribs as you try to will down the lust that makes you throb in your shorts.

“Shit, [y/n].” Jeongguk’s voice pitches at the end, his tone showing just how wrecked he is. You’re sure you would sound the same if you spoke, so you only nod.

The road you’re on now is familiar, the asphalt getting bumpier and holier the further along you go. You’re almost there.

Still not trusting your voice, you only give your boyfriend a look when he suddenly pulls over to the curb, shifting the gear into park and leaning over the console to drag you into a sloppy, open mouthed kiss.

You swallow his groan, and you’re sure he can still taste himself on your tongue. When he finally pulls away with a tug of your bottom lip, he grits out, “Your turn.”

When the hand that had been on the steering wheel comes to your knee, you can ignore the dampness of his palm in lieu of how he tugs your legs open.

“What about-” you pause to clear your throat. “What about the drag race?”

Jeongguk clicks his tongue. “They won’t start without me. Besides, you can be my goodluck charm.” He beams up with a smile that seems so pure, you honestly can’t believe this boy is your boyfriend, the boyfriend - who still has his goddamn dick out -ready to finger you.

“Tch, fucking better win,” you mumble as he tugs at the buttons of your shorts. “Drag me all the way out here for nothing.”

You both knew your words were empty. Away from your homes on summer nights like these, this was your safe haven, paradise.

A/N: I haven’t watched the new episode of Bon Voyage, but I’ve been seeing gifs of Jeongguk driving and welp. Here ya go. This is the first part to a two part series. Hopefully I can finish the second half sometime soon.

[wiggly-blue-shite]

Chapter 33 From the Top

(Prof H X Ted)

(Hey. There's mention of suicide in this chapter super briefly though. Soo uhh yeah)

When Henry woke up Theodore was not lying next to him anymore. Where was he? Henry's cooold, Ted's supposed to warm him up! Well putting on some clothes would also make him warmer.

Henry threw on a shirt and pants, and went to find Ted.

"Theodoreeeee, where areee youuu?" Henry poked his head out of the room and saw Ted sitting on his couch holding a picture frame. Wait is that the picture of... Shit.

"Hey Henry," Ted was still staring at the picture. Henry didn't really want to talk about that right now.

Henry walked over and sat next to Ted. He put his head Theodore's shoulder. Warm.

"Who are these people in the picture with you?" Ted showed the picture to Henry.

It was the one that was taken beginning of junior year, at the diner Leighton worked at. Henry was playing a little keyboard, Mark, Stu, Leighton, and Greg we're singing along with Henry. Steve was having a laughing fit. Chad was trying to read. Henry knew exactly what they were singing. Good times.

"Old friends from college." He knew Ted would ask more about them. Damnit, should've put it on a higher shelf, out of reach.

"Are these the..." noooo. Henry buried he's face into Ted's shoulder. "You don't have to talk about it."

Ted deserved to know. He cares so much, Henry can't just lie to him. Damnnnit.

"Do you want to know about it?" Henry picked his head up and looked at Ted. Ted smiled at him.

"I want to know everything about you." Ted kissed Henry's nose. Henry giggled a little bit. Ted's such a sweetheart.

"Well they were my roommates. Splitting rent 7 ways made it so we could actually afford a little condo. Well Steve did sleep on the couch." Henry chuckled to himself a little bit, he would complain about that couch.

"Ok wait who's who" Theodore gestures to the picture. "I know that's you. Look at how young you are!" Ted laughed a little bit.

"Are you calling me old?" Henry knew he wasn't but it's fun to make him nervous.

"No" Ted had an urgency in his voice. He cares so much.

"I'm kidding." Henry kissed Ted cheek. "Yes that is me. The guy sitting to my right is Greg, next to Greg is Mark, then Steve, and Stu. Leighton's the one standing and chad's the one reading." Henry pointed each one out.

"Wait are these the people the working boys characters are based off of!" Ted's eyes brightened. Henry hadn't thought about that mess of a play in a while. He would have put in different names but it's not like the dead will mind.

"Yeah." Henry was surprised that Ted remembered. "They were very important to me." It still hurt to think he wouldn't ever see them again. God.

"I can tell. You look really happy" ted smiled at the photo.

"Yeah..." Henry missed them. Going through school without them was painful. Living in that condo with out them was painful.

"What happened to them?" Ted should know. Henry didn't really like talking about it. But Ted wants to know.

"They're dead." Henry sighed, "Car crash, alcohol poisoning, and suicide. In that order." Henry distinctly remembers every one of there funerals. Leighton's funeral was the worst. Henry didn't know anyone there. It was just same black suit he had worn 5 times before.

"I'm so sorry Henry." Ted put his arms around henry and hugged him. Henry hugged him back. Ted really cared about him. It felt good to have someone care like that.

"They were the closest friends I've ever had. I've grown to accept it." Henry really had accepted there deaths, that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt though.

"You don't have to talk about it anymore, if you don't want to." Ted kissed Henry's forehead lightly. Henry loved Theodore so much.

"You would have liked them." Henry didn't really know whether they would get along or not. But it's nice to think that they would.

"I'm sure I would've." Ted smiled. Henry loved it when Theodore genuinely smiled. Henry kissed Ted because how could he not?

"I love you." Henry was really happy in this moment.

"I love you too." Ted kissed Henry. Henry loved the way Ted's lips felt. What did Henry do to have someone so caring love him. The look in Ted's eyes put butterflies in his stomach. "We should eat something."

"Oh yeah, eating." Henry didn't know what they would eat. It was a miracle that Ted was able to make dinner last night, like that's insane.

"You have to eat." Ted started Henry down. He cares so much.

"If you can manage to cook anything, I will eat it." Henry smiled. He knew Ted would probably figure something out.

"Is that a bet?" Ted smirked.

"I don't know is it?" Henry leaned in.

"No no no. We can make out later. I am going to make you food." Ted stood up and walked into the kitchen. Henry watched him. "I'm going to put on music!" Theodore called out from the kitchen. Ted pulled out his phone and he started playing showtunes. He's willingly listening to showtunes!

"You have a theatre playlist?" Henry giggled a little bit. He was weirdly proud that he was listening to them.

"You bet your ass I do!" Ted rummaged through the kitchen trying to find ingredients. Henry laughed, still kind of creepily watching from the couch. He was so in love.

The next song started. Oh this is a great song! It made Henry laugh to think about Theodore singing this song.

"The name on everybody's lips

Is gonna be Roxie!" Omg Ted's singing along. Henry started giggling.

"Hey this is a good song!" Ted yelled from the kitchen. Oh he's adorable.

"You're preaching to the choir!" Henry yelled back. Wow this is hilarious.

"They're gonna recognize my eyes

My hair my teeth my boobs my nose!" Henry could not stop laughing.

"From just some dumb mechanics wife

I'm gonna be Roxie." Ted was dancing slightly. Henry could barely breath he was laughing so hard. Holy shit.

"They're gonna wait outside in line

To get to see..." Henry sang the accompaniment. This is Theodore's performance. Ted winked at him. This is great.

"Think of those autographs I'll sign

Good luck to ya!" Ted was full into it. Holding the wooden spoon like it was a mic and everything. That's hilarious. Henry couldn't stop smiling.

"Roxie!" Henry yelled. Theodore's smile was adorable.

"And I'll appear in a lavalier that goes

All the way down to my waist." Ted swayed his hips around. He's adorable and hot. Wow.

"Here a ring, there a ring, everywhere a ring-a-ling!" Henry knew he was off key but that's just because he was laughing to hard.

"But always in the best of taste!" Henry sang that last love with Ted. Both of them broke out laughing. Henry loved over acting the next part though, not to steal Ted's limelight.

"Mmm, I'm a star!" Henry stood up super dramatically.  This is so much fun.

"And the audience loves me!

And I love them." He pointed at Ted and winked. He felt a little ridiculous but you know whatever. There's no being embarrassed in this situation.

"And they love me for lovin' them

And I love them for lovin' me." Henry rushed over to Ted and dramatically caressed his cheek.

"And we love each other." Ted pulled Henry into a kiss.

"And that's showbiz... kid!" Henry pulled away just in time to say the line. Ted laughed. He has such a sweet laugh.

Henry could give less of a shit about the rest of the song. He wrapped his arms around Ted's neck and pulled him into another kiss. Ted's arms wrapped around Henry's waist.

"Oh by the way breakfast is done." Ted chuckled a little.

"Damn That was fast." Henry was impressed. As someone who avoids cooking at all costs Henry did not understand how that works.

"Well it's basically just fancy toast." Ted laughed. "You have like nothing in your kitchen." Henry laughed as well.

Ted put the "fancy toast" on plates that Henry was not going to wash afterwards.

They sat down and started eating. Holy shit this really is fancy toast.

"You're really good at cooking." Henry was impressed.

"And you're really good at singing and dancing and science." Ted smiled and leaned in. Henry leaned in over the table. When...

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Of course.

[spring-emerald]

By the Book (pt. 1)

A KuroDai Secret Santa gift for Pau (@pokomero_ at twitter).

Happy Holidays!!! Please accept my humble offering.

Daichi stops in front of barred room, looking into the dimly lit cell and pointedly stares at the shadowed figure lounging on the single bed attached to the wall.

“I know you’re awake,” he says after a few minutes of silence from the occupant of the cell.

There’s a light chuckle before the shadowed figure moves to sit up. “You know me too well,” the man drawls, earning an eye roll from Daichi.

“Come here. I need to speak to you.”

With a sigh, the man gets up and shuffles indolently towards the bars, where the lights on the hallway illuminates his face, a smirk already in place.

“Did you miss seeing my face, Sawamura?” The man’s tone is playful, but the glint in his eyes spells otherwise.

“It looks especially good behind bars, Kuroo,” Daichi replies with a fake smile that got wider when Kuroo drops the smirk and narrows his eyes at him.

“What do you want?” Kuroo’s voice takes a hardened edge.

Daichi drops the friendly façade as well, adopting a serious demeanor. “Someone broke into the Athenaeum last night and stole a few volumes of the Compendium from the Vault. Do you know anything about it?” He asks, getting straight to the crux of the matter.

Kuroo raises a brow at the information. “Someone broke into the Athenaeum? Again?” He whistles, clearly in admiration of the feat.

“Do you know anything about it?” Daichi asks again, through gritted teeth, keeping his anger at bay.

“I’m sure you haven’t failed to notice, but I’m currently locked up at the moment. I’m touched though, that you think I’m capable of running heists while imprisoned.” Kuroo says, putting a hand above his heart and bowing a little smugly, which earned him a glare from Daichi.

Kuroo huffs. “I don’t know anything. But if I ever get a chance to meet them, whoever they were, I’d like to shake their hand and congratulate them on successfully one upping you lot.”

“Your group isn’t behind this?” Daichi asks, suspicious, trying to gauge Kuroo’s expression for a hint that his lying.

Kuroo scoffs. “My group aims for aspirations higher than that. Why steal books about history when you can steal a book of life?”

Daichi hums. “Why indeed. Though I feel the need to remind you that you also failed on stealing a book of life.”

“I only failed because they were wrong about you.”

Daichi only looks at him with a bit of pity, but soon shakes his head. “Well, it seems that you really don’t know anything about it, surprisingly. But once I learn that your group is actually behind this, you might be sharing this cell with a few of your members.” He steps back just as Kuroo snarls viciously at him at the mention of threat to his group members. “Until then, enjoy your stay.”

Daichi tips his head in a small nod to the guard nearby.

Kuroo just rattles the bars of his cell in response, but Daichi’s already walking away without looking back.

-----

When a person is born, their soul is linked to a book that details their life from the day they were born up to the day that they die. Any change in the book will result to a change in their life’s path and a book’s destruction will cause the death of the person that owns it.

A few centuries ago, the books used to be entrusted to the person for safekeeping, as it is meant to be one’s guide through life. But due to human greed and dissatisfaction, some people decidedly altered, going as far as against the prescribed events in their book of life, some to gather more riches, some to extend one’s life, but ultimately fostering chaos and creating imbalance among the people.

It is when the collective governments ruled about keeping the Books in one place to avoid all of that and restore fairness, peace and order and those people that did not support this edict, while not treated as enemies of the state and will not be actively pursued by the Guardians, they were considered outlaws and were forced out of their respective districts to fend for themselves. Such is the price they pay for their supposed freedom.

Hence, the law criminalizing Alteration and the establishment of the Athenaeum.

The Athenaeum is the proud and large six story, distinctly domed building, lined with marble pillars and tall windows, with a vast underground Vault, located at the heart of the central district-Shiratorizawa. It houses the citizens’ books of life, both alive and dead. As designated by the book, there are people from different districts that were given jobs as Book Keepers, tasked to keep the books safe and to relay the prescribed activity to the respective citizens of their district.

Sawamura Daichi is the Head Book Keeper for the district of Karasuno. And like the other Keepers, he has a case on his hands.

The resurgence of Outlaws had been happening for over a few years now, and only few of them have been caught so far. One of them is Kuroo Tetsurou, the infamous leader of the Resistance, a group of Outlaws actively rebelling against the Government regarding the keeping of the books in the Athenaeum and letting it dictate the people’s life, going as far as propagating lies about its nature. People know better than to believe them, but that doesn’t seem to deter them. They tried to be aggressive though.

Daichi met Kuroo when he was caught in an attempt to steal Daichi’s book of life, perhaps to try and alter it, but he was thwarted by Daichi himself, who had been working late that night and was promptly turned over to the Guardians. His group laid low after he was caught, and things were normal. At least, until last night, when some of the Compendiums were stolen.

Compendiums are not as significant as the Books and are stored in the Vault along with the books of the dead, but they are kept as compilations of significant happenings throughout the course of history. In time of peace and order, and people living harmoniously, the only entries are about the ruling government and their achievements thus far.

However, the missing volumes, as what Shimizu had told him, are the earliest ones, particularly from the time before peace was restored, detailing the significant events when Books are still personal possessions. Therein lies the complication as Archivists and Keepers alike have reasons to believe that Outlaws probably stole them to gather information to aid their wayward cause.

“Any luck?” Sugawara’s up from his seat, even before Daichi can fully enter the Hall, where the rest of the Karasuno Book Keepers are waiting for him to hear the results of his investigation.

Daichi shakes his head, taking off his long coat, depositing it in the back of a chair. “He said he doesn’t know anything about it.”

“And we’re gonna believe him? Just like that?” Tanaka asks, visibly dismayed.

“He’s been imprisoned for a few months now. There are no visitors in his log.” Daichi replies. It would be a mistake to do so, after all, since any association with a known outlaw is enough grounds to be detained as well until thoroughly proven to be innocent.

“So what are we going to do?” Asahi worriedly looks around at his fellow Keepers.

“Our jobs,” Daichi answers decisively. “Security’s been tight since the incident, and while the Guardians are doing their best to find the culprit or culprits, we run things as normally as we should as well.”

Little did Daichi know that that is easier said than done.

-----

“-ichi! Daichi!” Daichi huffs and groans as he slowly registers the sensation of being shaken.

“Daichi, wake up!” He opens his eyes, blinking until the dimly illuminated face of Takeda comes into focus.

“…Sensei. Wha’s wrong?”

Takeda doesn’t answer him, but pushes something hard against his chest instead and throws clothes and a heavy cloak on top of him. “You have to hurry!” Takeda says with alarming urgency.

Daichi blinks the confusion out some more before looking down, and fishing the hard object, coming out with a familiar book. “Sensei, what’s happening?” He’s awake and alert now, looking around the room for potential danger. “Why did you bring my book?” The Books are meant to be kept in the Athenaeum and under no circumstances can they be taken and brought out.

Takeda turns to him, away from packing a satchel on the writing desk. “You need to leave, Daichi. It’s not safe for you to stay here.”

“Why?”

“I heard that the Guardians are coming to arrest you.” Daichi recoils in disbelief in that, until Takeda continues. “They think you stole the Compendiums.”

Daichi stiffens, stands frozen as white-noise pass through his ears, Takeda’s words repeats inside his head, then he snaps and straightens, eyes wide. “Wh-What?! Bu-but I didn’t! Sensei, I didn’t! Why would I do that? How did they think that?”

He’s done everything to be a model citizen, following orders and doing his job as Head Book Keeper seriously and religiously, setting an example to his fellow Keepers and their Scholars, basically living life by the book. Surely the Guardians know this. Why would they suddenly think that he’s going to turn and side with the Outlaws?

Takeda steps in front of him and grasps his shoulders. “I know, Daichi. I know. But they’re set on arresting you.”

“But why?!” He’s done nothing wrong.

“You visited Kuroo in the wake of the disappearance of the Compendiums. They seem to take it as circumstantial evidence of you working with him.”

Daichi feels like a bucket of frozen water was dumped on him, his earlier words come to mind, as if mocking him. He curses. “But I’m not! I was investigating! I wanted to know if he knows anything! If his group had anything to do with it!”

“Daichi, I know. I know you wouldn’t do that, but they don’t. A guard heard your conversation with Kuroo and whatever Kuroo told you, they find very incriminating.”

Daichi rapidly leafs through the memories of his encounter with Kuroo yesterday, and groans cursing Kuroo in his head when he remembers the bit about mentioning his failure and pinning the blame on Daichi.

“I can explain it to the Guardians, sensei. I’m sure they’ll believe me.” Running away is just… wrong, especially since he knows that he’s done nothing wrong and he’s not afraid to stand for the truth. He can prove his innocence.

“They will need the Compendiums back, Daichi. That’s the only way you can prove your innocence. Until those are back, you’ll be detained. We don’t know how long that will take.” The worry in Takeda’s eyes, in his whole being culminating in his shaking hands. Daichi’s seen his mentor be anxious about the smallest of things before, but it’s never like this, and never has anything to do with Daichi, for Daichi. But at the moment it’s so potent that Daichi swallows in fear of what’s in store for him if he stays.

“But… but this isn’t in my book. And the others, I can’t just-”

“Daichi, please! I’ll take care of the others, but you need to leave. They could be here any moment.”

Daichi doesn’t waste time changing into the deep brown tunic and khaki trousers, and cloak and well-worn boots, a garb simpler and inconspicuous than the distinct Keeper uniform of dress shirt and vest and slacks he wears to work, hastily pushing his book inside the satchel Takeda’s insistently pushing into him and clutching it close like a lifeline.

“Where will I go sensei?”

“Anywhere but here, Daichi. And not your district, that’s the first place they’re going to look. Get as far as you can! To another district, anywhere.” Daichi nods hastily, grabbing Takeda’s hand and squeezing it, a last ditch effort to get some comfort. He steps out and looks around the surroundings.

“Daichi,” he looks back at Takeda. “Keep your book with you at all times, alright? And stay safe.”

Daichi nods, slinging the satchel across his body and pulls the hood of the cloak over his head. He takes a deep breath and runs.

[suzubelle-chan]

Razi- Dreams and Illusions

I’m new to the whole Lovestruck fandom, but I couldn’t resist throwing myself into writing a fic about everyone’s favorite male djinn. Hope you enjoy the fluff!

Pairing: MC/Razi set after all the Baba Drama is over and they are married

Rating: G

___________________

When Razi opened his eyes, his apartment dwarfed him and every item was a shade of blue. The djinn stuck his hand out and it met with a familiar smoothness. Despite the warmth inside his bottle, he shivered. Why was he in his bottle? What had happened to him? He looked around the apartment, but no one was around. No JD, no MC…

The djinn slumped down sitting at the bottom of his container. He tried to think of what happened to him earlier…He was leaving for downstairs to get the bowling lanes open when MC dashed out of the bathroom, colliding into him like a bowling ball.  After the couple stood on solid ground, his wife hugged him so tightly. She was beaming, practically glowing with cheer. Her mouth opened but then…darkness. Whatever words she said were completely gone. Fingers combed through his hair, an attempt to pull out whatever caused him back into his bottle back into his mind. Eventually, he sighed and sunk to the ground, completely hopeless. All he could do was wait until someone came back and freed him.

However, his mind shifted when the bottle suddenly jumped up into the air. The djinn looked up to see MC’s face taking up his entire field of vision, tears dewing up near her eyes. Her voice was muffled through the glass, but the djinn clearly heard his name.

“MC!” Razi called out, banging on the glass.

His wife spent no time unplugging the bottle. The djinn zoomed out of the bottle and landed right in front of the woman. She spent no time crashing her body into his own. For a second, he fumbled back a bit displaced from the weight. Some part of his mind thought that she weighed a lot more than he remembered that morning, but he pushed it aside. He had more important things to ask about how he got into his bottle in the first place.

Razi’s lips barely parted before MC crashed into him with her own. A wave of passion and urgency swept through him and he returned her feelings with his own. He could feel her arms clasp around his chest, hands clamping down on his back. She held onto him like she was scared he’d poof back into his bottle at any moment. MC slowly left his lips, causing the man to open his eyes. Her ice blue eyes completely leaked with tears. She almost thumped her head against his chest as she started to sob, her grip loosening but still wrapped around him.

“Oh Razi! I thought you would never wake up! I thought you! I…!” MC wailed and broke down into sobs.

The djinn frowned as he lifted her head to face him. “MC,” he crooned out in his low voice. “I’m right here. I’m not going to leave again. But please tell me…what happened to me? I can’t remember anything.”

“You don’t…oh…”MC’s face turned bright red and she looked shyly away. “Do you remember fainting?”

He flinched, “I fainted?”

“Yes…and then you wouldn’t wake up. You stayed unconscious for hours, days, but you wouldn’t wake up…Diego looked you over but he couldn’t figure out why…he guesses you just hit your head too hard when you fell…Roshini said it would probably be best for you to stay in the bottle until you woke up…so we did and we waited…and waited but still…I’m just so relieved that you are awake.”

Razi rubbed her cheek and his eyes widened, trying to take her in. Her face was like a full moon, wider with a slight glow to her skin. Her chestnut locks now trailed beyond her shoulders and ended at the end of her back. She pressed his hand closer to his cheek with her own, he noticed how much thicker her arms were, not with muscles, however. Placing a hand on the other side of her face, he asked, “How long was I in the bottle?”

His wife played with a piece of her hair and took a long and deep breath. She looked straight into eyes with a worn out look, “About six months.”

“Six M-Months?!?” He hollered. Sheer terror spun like a hurricane in his brain. He left her for that long!?! Anything could have happened to her! And his mind told him something did.

A blush bloomed on the woman’s face, but she didn’t smile. Instead, she asked, “You said you didn’t remember fainting. Do you…remember what happened before?”

“I was heading downstairs, you ran into me really excited, and told me something but…” he rubbed his head. “I can’t remember what.”

“I told you about the baby.” MC stared into his face. She loosened her grip on him and slowly stepped away from his grasp, giving him a good view of her from head to foot. “I told you about our baby.”She placed her hands on the center of her now distinctly round middle.

Razi’s brain froze at the sight of his wife. There was no denying her being pregnant. Her breasts had developed as well, now sitting on her stomach. She wore a light blue top with white swirls that draped over her upper body as well as the top of her jeans, which only added to the maternal image. The djinn couldn’t believe it, she was absolutely breathtaking, gorgeous, everything he could have ever asked for. Which is why MC’s head lowered down, gazing sadly at her belly as she rubbed it, broke his heart.

The woman started, voice wobbling, “I know this is a huge shock. Especially since the first time you found out you-”

However, Razi stopped those words with a tight hug, burying his head in her neck. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Tears pricked and spilled out of his eyes. “I don’t know what happened! I love you and I’m absolutely ecstatic that we are having a baby! If there was any way I could go back, show you just how happy I was and spoil you rotten, like the woman I love should be treated, I would. But instead, I just left you, in the worst place and at the worst time. I’m so sorry.” He nuzzled closer, afraid to even look her.

MC pulled his head back and rubbed the water away from his eyes. “Look what happened was an accident. I spent a lot of time blaming myself, how I should have told you better. However, since we can’t go back in time, and trust me your family tried searching for a spell but they couldn’t find one, and try to prevent all this crazy mess from happening, let’s focus on what’s happening now.” She moved his hands down to her belly. “Us.”

The djinn beamed at the sight, hand rubbing her stomach. “Us.” He softly whispered. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

“Besides, I wasn’t alone. I had all of Havenfall’s Finest taking care of me.”

“Oh stars, I didn’t just leave you alone. I threw you out to the wolves.” He then blinked. “Don’t tell Mackenzie I said that.”

“Hey. The gang has been trying to spoil me one way or another. Especially Roshini, she’s barely let me walk let alone work ever since I told her.”

The word “walk” jolted Razi’s paternal instincts on and he looked at his wife; now a gorgeous delicate thing barely capable of lifting a spoon, let alone her bodyweight. “I agree with her; the planets must have aligned. You better sit down, come on.”

MC looked up at him with a playful grin and shook her head. As she stepped, or rather Razi noticed, waddled towards the couch, the djinn made sure to fluff up a few pillows before helping her down. When she was all settled, he propped up her feet into his lap, slipped off her slippers, and started to rub her feet. With her head leaning on some of the pillows, MC sighed, “Razi…”

“What? I have several months of pampering and spoiling to make up, might as well get started now.” As he moved his fingers around, the djinn required, “How have you been? I know I made things harder on you.”

“Well, everything has been okay. Naturally, people in town got curious why you left suddenly, especially with me pregnant, so we told everyone that your dad suddenly got ill.  You had to see him while Roshini took care of the alley while I was pregnant. It’s actually pretty funny. Your parent’s call every week and your dad will raise the hugest fuss to put him on speaker and make sure we are in public. And once we are, he starts coughing and crying as loud as he can, calling for you to get his medicine or a drink or something. It’s a real riot hearing him, we didn’t have the heart that we told the town he has a mental condition. Actually, it helps sell it.”

Razi’s hands left her feet and covered his face. His fingers slightly pulled his cheeks down, “Ah yes, that sounds like my dad alright.”

MC continued with a chuckle, “ Well at least, I know where the Nassar dramatic gene comes from. I’ve been pretty healthy thanks to Diego watching over my diet and some of your family’s recipes. Although Roshini does let my cravings slide every time his back is turned. JD’s actually been rather helpful, doing work around the place, although he whines about it all the time. Mothman set up the nursery, even though your family wanted to use magic to do it.  Mac has been keeping the town safe and there hasn’t been anything that caught Haven’s Finest’s attention so it’s been peaceful. There was this one time that the baby got hiccups and started to float bowling pins around the place, but the alley was empty and that ended pretty quickly. Although JD did get a few bowling pins to the face and has been calling the baby ‘Razi’s magical twerp,’ since then.”

Razi chuckled, then slowly pulled his wife into his lap, hand on his wife’s back. His other hand floated around her stomach before she patted it down. “How far along are you?”

“A little over eight months. With a little luck, we’ll have a brand-new family member before Christmas. Although, I hope that everyone doesn’t buy any more baby stuff. We’ve got enough for ten kids and I don’t think there’s enough magic in the world to make it all fit in the nursery.”

The djinn glanced around their apartment. He spotted another door, pastel blue with golden animals, right next to their bedroom, “So is the baby a boy?”

MC shrugged, “I don’t know.”

He looked at her incredulously, “Really?”

MC lowered her head, “It just didn’t feel right without you being there, knowing and celebrating, and helping me pick out names and clothes…If I ever try all I can ever think about how you were not there with me.” A few tears poured out of her eyes.

Razi rubbed them away with his free hand. “I’m sorry again.”

“I’m sorry, I’m bringing us down so much. My moods have been all over the place since the beginning. This baby is certainly a Nassar.”

Just before Razi could comically defend his family name, something thumping his palm distracted him. He gazed down to see small budges poke through his wife’s belly. After a few movements, most of the activity settled near the djinn’s hand.

MC positively beamed, “Guess they wanted to see what was causing so much so much of a fuss for their mama.” And she smiled at him, a hand playing through his hair. “And also want to hear their papa for the first time.”

Papa. The word struck Razi like a lightning bolt, filling him with so much love that he thought he would burst now. He gently lifted MC on the couch, so he could lean down and press his head  “Hello baby. I’m your Papa. Sorry that I haven’t been around, but I’m going to love you so much. Just as much as I love your mama.” He started to kiss all over the bump. The child eagerly tried to touch their father back. “Feels like a healthy baby to me.”

“Yeah, now if only they would wait until they were born to practice their manticore spiking. It gets a little annoying after a while, especially at three am in the morning.”

Razi chuckled, “Looks like we’ll have our hands full.” He rubbed her belly with so much relevance. Some part of him couldn’t believe this wasn’t some kind of dream. A twisted but still happy dream. However, his blissful mood shattered at the sound of his wife groaning, holding onto her stomach.  He bolted right up, standing above her. “MC!? What’s wrong?”

MC sighed, “It’s nothing, Razi, just some Braxton-Hix Contractions.”

“Contractions?!?” Razi hollered. “The baby is coming now?!?”

“Braxton-Hix. Practice contraction for my due date. Or as JD’s been putting it, ‘the twerp’s grand entrance’”. After a few short huffs, MC continued, “You would think after the third time Roshini turned him into a pillow so I could sit on them, they would have cut the jokes.”

The humor flew over the djinn’s head as he continued to worry. “Is there anything I can do? Massage your back?” he asked, hands floating in the air, waiting to be used.

MC stated, “That sounds lovely, but I’d rather be on the bed, it’s a bit more comfortable. Plus, the walk might make it go away.” She stretched her hands out in the air, teetering her self a bit forward, but still couldn’t get herself up. After a few pants, she groaned. “Okay, help me up.”

Razi grasped her hands and slowly pulled her up. His hands rested on her shoulders, “Are you sure you are okay?”

MC started to pant now, “Yeah…I’ll be…” however a scream cut off her words, as she leaned into the couch’s arm. After a few pants, she screamed again, legs collapsing underneath.

“MC!” Razi cried out, kneeling beside her.

Between groans, MC squeezed, “Razi…I think…the baby is coming.”

The djinn froze, “What?!”

“Looks like they really wanted to meet their Papa,” the woman managed to smile before cringing in pain.

Razi quickly scooped up his wife. “It’ll be okay. It’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”

He tried to soothe, but his voice shook with worry. “Just hold on…I’ll get you to the hospital…just hold on.” He started to race out the door.

Suddenly the world slipped out from underneath the djinn’s feet and slowed down, every moment lasting a minute. He felt himself fall down, about to land on his stomach, but for some reason, his magic failed him. For the first time in his life, no blue smoke appeared when he needed it.  Now all he could do was watch as his pregnant wife fell to the ground with him. He stared at her face, ice blue eyes wide in disbelief at him and her hands clutching her middle, trying to shield their child.

He completely failed her. He wasn’t there for her when she needed him the most, taking care of her, loving her and showing her just how important she was to him. And now their child was coming and what did he do? Fail them too, probably even long before they were born. If the loves of his life ever survived this, he would make sure he’d spend the rest of his life making sure they knew how much he loved them. And if they didn’t, his family had gotten debts before. None of them would blame them if he asked another, especially for this purpose. He’d do anything to make sure they were alright. But now, he couldn’t do anything. All he could do was brace for the worst and impact.

The djinn certainly fell to the ground, but the worst never happened. In fact, the strangest thing happened. The moment his wife hit the ground, she disappeared in a puff of familiar blue smoke. It spread all over the apartment, causing him to close his eyes. When he opened his eyes, he first realized he was in his usual clothes, the familiar weight of his suspenders on his shoulders. Laugher overfilled his ears and glanced up from his empty hands. All of Havenfall’s  Finest surrounded him, all of them with eyes shut and laughing. Some were even clutching their stomachs. Finally, his eyes landed on MC, clutching her thin stomach, as she laughed the hardest of all, so much so she was sliding onto her knees.

“Did you see the look on his face?” she started, peaking an eye up at the rest of the gang.

“When he discovered that you were pregnant or when you went into labor?” Mothman asked.

“No, the best one was when he slipped on his floating ribbon!” JD replied.

“Ah yes, my ugly duckling has shown that he has the grace of one!” Roshini declared.

The laughter only roared now, as JD and Mothman leaned on each other for support, Roshini leaning against the wall, wiping tears away with her fingers. Even Mackenzie and Diego howled with laughter.

“What’s going on?” the djinn on the ground asked.

MC finally looked at him, beaming at him. “Oh Razi!” She quickly scooted over to him, held up his upper torso, and hugged him tightly. “I’m so glad you are alright!” A few more chuckles escaped before turning into deep breathes, and then a few sniffles as she rubbed her head against his chest.

Razi gazed down at his wife, a few tears slipping from her eyes. He rubbed her head and stroked a few tears away. “Yes, I am. Are you?”

Before the woman could open his mouth, Roshini interrupted. “Of course, she isn’t! You scared her half to death fainting like that!” The woman almost glided over the couple, picking up the woman before pressing her into her chest, fingers combing the brown hair to comfort. “I don’t think there’s a woman alive who would okay with that kind of reaction to her pregnancy.”

Razi stiffened up. “Pregnant.” He quickly grabbed his wife away from his sister. He stared at her, hands on her shoulders. His sea blue eyes wide now “You really are pregnant?”

“Yes,” MC confirmed, widely smiling. “Yes, I am.”

The djinn bear-hugged his wife, swirling her around, his face stretched with his smile. “This is amazing! You incredible, wonderful woman you!” He declared and peppered her face with kisses.

MC giggled, “Hey give yourself some credit too!”

“Shame you didn’t show that enthusiasm a few hours ago.” Roshini scolded.

“Aw come on, the show was hilarious! It’s a shame we couldn’t sell tickets.” JD stated.

“What exactly brought on this whole act?” Razi asked.

“Well, you see…after you fainted, MC panicked…a lot.” Mothman stated.

“Hey! I was worried!” MC shrugged.

“Yeah, she freaked out, practically screaming at us about how you fainted.” JD continued.

“When I was called over to check on you, she wouldn’t stop hovering and crying.” Diego rolled on. “I couldn’t focus on you, because she was such a mess. We knew we had to calm her down but I didn’t have anything on me to help so we tried other ways.”

“We tried everything, even pickles and ice cream,” JD stated.

“I can’t believe you actually bought that stuff,” MC said, staring at the town’s sheriff.  

“I can’t believe you actually ate it.” Mac shrugged.

“What can I say, it looked tasty,” MC admitted with a shrug, playing with a curl.

“We decided to get her to think of what was gonna happen when you woke up. One thought leads to another and before ya know it-we started comin’ up with a scene that it took you a couple of months to wake up. MC really enjoyed it.” Mothman commented.

“It was absolutely charming. Mothman knew you so well. Then you started to wake up so…” Roshini started.

“You decided to go along with it,” Razi finished, scowling at the three people he lived with.

“Can you blame me?” She patted his head. “Now I’m off to tell the family. Hopefully, Mom has some kind of charm or spell that will make sure my little niece gets MC’s good looks. She gave her brother a once over look. “Perhaps her brains as well.”

“And I’ve got to show this video to Grace! As if learning she’s gonna be an aunt isn’t great enough!” JD flashes a smug smile, waving their phone.

“We’ll leave you two alone now to rest. You are gonna need it,” Mothman replied with a smirk.

And the three main miscreants dashed out of the room before the djinni could snap his fingers.

Diego patted on his shoulder, “I don’t know much about magical babies, but I do know some good gynecologists. I can give you a few recommendations.”

Razi touched the shoulder, “Thanks.” Then he looked away at Mackenzie, “And I suppose you can keep Havenfall safe?”

“For your kid. Definitely. From your kid? That might be a tall order.” She chuckled. “We’ll see you two later.”

The rest of Havenfall’s Finest left, the expecting couple now by themselves. MC barely blinked before she was sitting in her husband’s lap on the couch, hands wrapped around her waist, kissing her face and neck.

“Razi!” she let out of squeal of delight.

“Just making sure, this isn’t part of my sister’s illusion.” Razi smiled. After a few moments, he stopped and just sighed, resting his face close to hers.

“Glad you are happy about this,” MC stated. Her smile faltered a bit as she sighed, “Sorry about scaring you so much you fainted. I should have just put a bun in the oven and have you find it or buy you a father’s day card or something.”

“It’s alright. I guess the news was so amazing I couldn’t handle it.” He started to lean down and pull up on her shirt. “You two are so amazing.” He sighed, staring at her non-existing bump before showering his lips over it.

“Razi!” MC called out.

“Just showing the baby I love them.” After a few more kissing, Razi rested his cheek on the belly. “Hi there baby, I’m your Papa. Despite what your Aunt Roshini and your… JD and Mothman may have told you, I’m the good guy. They are the meanies here, not me.”

“Razi…” MC scolded teasingly.

“What? I’m just teaching the baby about their family, that’s all.” He started innocently. “And that lady is your mama. She’s really funny and beautiful and will be the best mama in the world. She’ll definitely protect you but you better behave, she can be pretty scary. And I promise I’ll be the best papa in the world for your kid. No matter what.”

Razi continued to kiss and promise to the child, breaking only to kiss and promise his wife she would barely lift a finger for the next few months, content that he was no longer in an illusion but a dream come true.

Author’s notes:

Sorry if I don’t have the characters voices down yet, I’m trying to get as much of their dialogue down, but carpal tunnel limits how much I can write/type. Promise I’ll work harder on it next time. If anyone wants to beta for the next one, let me know!

Someone PLEASE convince to NOT give Razi and MC a baby girl named Shantae in my next fic, because I’ve already ideas for a baby fic. Even though it would be perfect and awesome the name would be since the baby would be a half-djinn. I don’t care what you have to do, I’m slowly loosing this battle of temptation, and I need to be saved from my own nerdy ass.

[thorns-and-rosewings]

Wild Things

A gift fic for @ninjacat1515 I hope you enjoy it! ^_^

When Eliza first stepped off the boat and onto Raoul Silva’s private island she could tell almost immediately that something was wrong and it wasn’t just because the goons that had escorted her here wouldn’t come off the ship… in fact, no sooner had she set foot on dry land did the men retreat farther back onto the boat and none of them even bothered to unmoor it. They just tore part of the dock off in their haste to leave as fast as humanly possible.

“Okkaay.” The shifter muttered under her breath as she took note of her surroundings and how everything just seemed eerily quiet. In spite of having known Silva for some time she’d never been to his island before. It wasn’t exactly what she’d expected… truth be told everything just seemed far to quiet and there was a strange and pungent odor in the air that smelled distinctly like… fish?

“Ah, you must be Eliza.” The voice of a woman who had just stepped out from the shadows of a nearby building said politely, although her abrupt appearance did make Eliza jump a bit. Unfortunately, she could not help but be on edge, as he had been at the receiving end of Silvas teeth before. Hell, she’d been chomped by the whole frickin’ family before. Old habits truly did die hard, and being on guard around members of the Salazar family may be something she would never truly lose.

Now the woman before her Eliza knew to be, for lack of better words, Silvas evil secretary. The ‘evil’ part having been literally on her resume when he had acquired her services a little over a year ago. Appearance wise, as she wore an attractive light grey what could only be accurately described as the universal ‘Secretary’s Uniform’ and she was even carrying around a clipboard… although oddly enough she wore what appeared to be running shoes rather than traditional heels. Her eyes could only be described as being a very pale lavender and their unusual color was only accentuated by the pair of glasses she had. Finally her hair which was about shoulder length was of an unusual color, just like her eyes. It was not quite white and not quite light blue, so the nearest word to properly describe it would be the color of ice… although while most of it was properly brushed out and neatly tied back into a low hanging ponytail it looked as though the entire left side of her hair had some kind of gel product in it causing the hair to look distorted and messy. “My name is Dana and we’re so glad you could come on such short notice. Mr. Silva is waiting to speak with you, if you’ll just follow me please.”

“Um… yeah.” Eliza muttered as she hesitantly followed the taller woman. While she could tell the woman wasn’t a vampire, she also was quite sure she wasn’t human either. And whatever she was Eliza had a feeling it wasn’t a particularly cuddly critter. “Silva mentioned something about a problem you guys are having here. But he never got specific beyond the urgency for me to pack my bag and get out here as fast as possible… so what gives?”

“Well…” Dana momentarily trailed off as the sounds of something crashing were heard echoing from somewhere farther inland. But the brief pause allowed Eliza to take notice of a multitude of tears in Danas clothes that exposed a multitude of shallow but nonetheless painful looking cuts. Definitely not the kind of wounds vampires tended to make, and Silva was very against injuring his employees so they were not likely to have come from him… still Dana regained herself and continued moving, although now at a far faster pace. “I’m afraid it’s a very difficult situation to explain.”

“Try me.”

“Mr. Silva will tell you all about it.” She stated firmly effectively ending the conversation for the remainder of their walk. It wasn’t to long before they came to what appeared to be the ruins of what was once an enormous statue and sure enough there was Silva…

Silva may have been smiling his trademark happy yet evil smile but his appearance was… off… to say the least. For starters his pricey suit was a wreck, completely ripped up and completely missing its left sleeve and the biggest red flag was that all the hair on the left side of his head was styled straight upwards with the same gel that was messily smeared in Danas hair as well. It was not a good look, made even more unnerving by how the look in Silva’s eyes practically screamed he was about ready to completely lose it. “Ah welcome dear sweet Eliza!” He said, his voice careful to hide how his obvious agitation behind his usual seemingly happy demeanor.  “Thank you so much for coming here in such a hurry.”

“What’s going on Silva?” Eliza asked flatly.

“Straight to the point as ever? Fine, fine. Walk with me and I will explain everything.” Silva said calmly gesturing with his hand for Eliza to follow him. Immediately Dana was her bosses side and Eliza internally groaned as she realized that she was probably going to have an entire tour of the island before he got to the point. “The story begins a few months ago, surely you’re aware of the most recent problem the world seems to be having. You know, how dinosaurs seem to be popping up everywhere and causing all kinds of mayhem? Of course you know... Why just a few short days ago you had to scare off one of the three-horned beasties that had wandered onto your beloved sanctuary.”

“How did you… you know what nevermind. I don’t think I want to know how you know this stuff.” The shifter growled lowly. Inwardly remembering her complete shock of seeing an actual Triceratops calmly walking through the grounds of her sanctuary. It had been a majestic scene, until the creature took notice of all the people watching it and got spooked and ultimately charged at the gathering of shifters. Resulting in a great deal of property damage and Eliza needing to take the form of Beast in order to drive it away… Although her words did little more than make Silva burst out in a fit of mock laughter.

“Satellites my dear! Nothings easier than commandeering a satellite to just check in on the people I care about the most.” The flashy vampire pointed out although his words didn’t make the fact that he had been spying on her via hacking a satellite any less disturbing.

“You have entirely too much free time and too many toys.”

“Regardless.” He said waving off the young woman’s obvious annoyance. “Well you’re sure to find out sooner or later. But the truth is that the animals were rescued from their now molten crater of a home, only to be sold off to anyone who could afford them. Be it arms dealers, pharmaceutical companies or big-game hunters.” Silva paused, noting how Eliza had stopped walking and was now staring at him with a look filled with nothing short of abject horror. “Not exactly a happy story I’m afraid, but it’s important that you know the origins of my current dilemma.”

“Silva, tell me you didn’t have anything to do with all mayhem that’s going on now.” The shifter demanded.

“Of course I’m not responsible for things ending up as crazy as they are now! However…” He trailed off, clearly looking for the right words in order to continue his story. “You see… In recent times I’ve had some unpleasant dealings with a Russian arms dealer. Nasty fellow, got on my nerves relatively quickly and even had the audacity to sell me a cache of weapons that were nothing but duds! So, when I heard that he was attending this little event in order to acquire some dangerous carnivores to be his own personal attack dogs I just had to be a thorn in his side and purchase whatever creature he really wanted the most. So, I sent Dana to the auction on my behalf.”

“And that is when the trouble began.” Dana acknowledged, just as Eliza suddenly noticed that the evil secretary had gone quite pale and looked like she was ready to become physically sick. But she suppressed it masterfully and continued on… “Our target became very interested in a prototype creature called an Indoraptor. You remember the stories about the Indominus Rex? Well this creature is a smaller derivative of that beast. And naturally, we outbid him…”

“However the preview model was not the one that we received.” Silva groaned apparently too distracted to have taken notice of his secretaries’ moment of sickness. “That one got lose or something… But right when I thought I blew $29 million. A beast was delivered to my lovely home.”

“So let me get this straight… You bought a breed of dinosaur that is pretty much a living weapon and I’m going to just take a shot in the dark here; it’s running loose all over this island and trying to kill everyone and everything?” She stared at the vampire, honestly not entirely sure what to think of his entire story. But the one thing was becoming painfully clear… When any kind of revenge or payback was involved, in spite of his vast intellect… Silva was a complete moron driven only by his anger and no common sense.

Sensing the young woman’s ire the blond man sighed and rubbed his temples. “Yes and no.” He muttered. “I received an Indoraptor all right, but I can definitely see why they did not show this one as the preview model! If they had it would’ve made the geneticist a laughing stock!”

“What-”

“He’s cuddly.” The vampire said flatly. “2000 pounds of raw muscle, teeth and claws and the damn thing is freaking cuddly. Mind you when we first received it, it was showing all the signs of an abused animal. Even had terrific scarring on its hide, like someone beat it with chains and then let the wounds get infected and the animal then scratched them raw. It was actually quite sad… But we fed him, gave it a large room to stalk around in, mostly while we were trying to figure what the heck to actually do with him, because I will admit I didn’t exactly plan this out as well as I should have.” He paused as a small smile creeped onto his features. “Until one day one of the feeders left the latch on the door open and he got out… we prepared for the worst, only low and behold. The big beastie was like a giant cat. All he wanted was pets and hugs. It was hilarious! But I was able to have this creature stalking around my home while I’m speaking with my business clientele and they are completely terrified him. Usually begging me not to sick it on them. Thus, negotiations almost always went my way…”

“Or at least that’s how things were until recently.” Dana muttered. “All of a sudden his personality has completely flipped. I watched him drag away one of our employees the other day. As you have noticed the majority of our staff got on a boat and is remaining offshore until things calm down, cant say I blame them… considering we have a multitude of personnel who are still missing and we can only assume that they are either in hiding or dead. I’m guessing dead because or so called pet, went for both Raoul and myself.”

“Thing about abused animals,” Eliza said calmly, carefully noting how Dana had accidentally referred to Silva by his first name. “some can be overly affectionate out of fear, and when they aren’t afraid anymore… you better watch out.”

“Thanks a lot Dr. Dolittle.” Dana injected flatly. “Point is, Indigo is now out of control and needs to be dealt with.”

“Indigo?”

“Its name, apparently they were identified by colors in place of names.” Silva said as more visible cracks in his demeanor and he smiled in a semi insane way. “Now this is where you come in, dear Eliza. I need you to go in there and take care of this problem for me. I would be beyond grateful for your assistance!”

“All right, this is the part where I tell you to go screw yourself. You’re the idiot went and bought an animal you can’t control! Besides, just what would you have me do about it anyway?!”

“We are aware that you can turn into a Tyrannosaurus Rex.” Dana injected. “Our hope was that you could… deal with our little problem before things get even more out of control than they already are.”

Now it all made sense and truth be told Eliza wasn’t having any of it. They expected her to come all this way only to get into a vicious and bloody fight? Well they had another thing coming for them! “Oh no, I am not getting all ripped up because you-”

“If you do this for me, I’ll completely pay for all the damages the dinosaur rampage inflicted on your sanctuary.” Silva broke down and literally pleaded. “I am begging you! He’s driving me absolutely crazy!!!” Now Eliza had seen many things over the course of her life that most people would never believe. But the sight of Raoul Silva, perhaps the greatest hacker in the world, clearly on the razors edge of sanity was definitely one of the most unnerving… Dare she say it, she felt… bad for him… In spite of everything that happened between them, she still felt bad for him.

God damn it…

(20 Minutes Later)

 Eliza cautiously made her way through the winding labyrinth of buildings and wreckage that covered the majority of Silva’s Island. Armed with only her natural born instincts as a shifter and a walkie-talkie to communicate with Dana and Silva when the deed was done. She had been told that the Indoraptor had been seen predominantly around the building that housed Silva’s computer mainframe and network systems. So that was the place she was beginning her hunt.

Upon reaching the building she cautiously open the door and peered inside only to be greeted with the sight of what had undoubtedly driven Silva insane… well more insane… a mountain of destroyed computer equipment.

Eliza whistled in an impressed way as a few sparks of electricity erupted out of some exposed wires. “No wonder Silva is losing his mind. I always imagined nothing would make him want to cry more than the sound of his precious computers breaking.” Just inside and got nearer the wreckage, only to become fully aware of the strange sound that sounded bizarrely like a voice… granted it was very low and laced with static, almost as though it was generated by one of the destroyed computers that littered the ground.

“Sssssiilvva?” The voice came through the static again. Only it seemed to be even more garbled, yet still the single word it was saying was discernable. Eliza stopped feeling her heart fall into her stomach as a massive form moved out of the shadows of the room.

It was big, not T Rex big… but still pretty darn big. Its hide was as black as ebony although was very noticeably riddled with scars that looked just as Silva had described, like someone had taken a bike chain and whipped it. It had very large pale blue eyes and perhaps its most noticeable feature, a thick indigo colored stripe running down the entire length of its body. In its mouth was what Eliza could only speculate to be the wreckage of what was once a pricey laptop.

The creature walked forward and with a surprising amount of precision put the destroyed laptop on oddly arranged pile of mangled computer equipment, even taking an extra moment or so to make sure that the piece was placed in just a certain way. Clearly whatever it was doing was deliberate and thought out. What Eliza never got the chance to finish marveling at the creature’s apparent intelligence as it turned its attention completely onto her and after a moment there came a low staticy word of “Meat.” And it suddenly charged at her. The vision of this animal lunging at her brought about an immediate involuntary reaction and suddenly Beast towered above the monstrous hybrid and with one swat of her tail she sent the Indoraptor flying and crashing into its carefully arranged pile of junk.

Beast roared angrily at the Indoraptor and just as she was getting ready to charge a garbled mess of static erupted from where the creature had landed. Static that once again sounded suspiciously like words and so panicked that it made even Beast pause. Was there someone else in here with them?

“No hurt! No hurt Indigo!” The voice said again only now Beast realized that this voice was actually calming from the Indoraptor! It was pretty safe to say that no one had ever seen a T-Rex drop its jaw in total shock… Well, there’s a first time for everything because that’s exactly what happened.

The hybrids head cautiously poked out from where it had landed and it looked up at Beast nervously. “Big. Really big.” Came the static laced words again. After a moment its head disappeared and suddenly the creature popped out of the rubble with a very large fish in its jaws. It cautiously approached the Rex before putting the fish on the ground and nudging it closer to what could potentially be its aggressor. “Eat fishy not Indigo?”

Beast stared, in both the human and animal portions of her mind this entire situation had gone in a completely bizarre direction. Unfortunately for the Eliza portion of her mind beast came to her senses a bit quicker and actually decided to eat the offered raw and somewhat rancid fish. The taste was pretty bad and the human gag reflex managed to force her out of her transformation and she fell to the floor coughing, trying to spit out some of the disgusting taste that still lingered on her tongue. Unfortunately, her rapid reduction in size led the creature to get closer… A lot closer… actually by the time Eliza looked up this thing was now mere inches from her face, looking at her and sniffing curiously.

“Small now.” The barely audible voice said with a tone of interest. “Who you?”

Eliza didn’t answer, quite frankly she was spending more time trying to wrap her brain around the fact that this creature was somehow talking.

“Who you?” It asked again. This time words making the shifter come to her senses and answer before it decided to lose its patience with her and try to eat her again.

“Eliza.” He said hastily and then decided what the hell and gave something a shot and pointed to herself. “Friend of Silva.”

“You pack?” It asked tilting his head to the side a little before seeming to answer its own question and the damn thing nodded and suddenly pressed its head into her chest and rubbed emitting a deep purring sound in a friendly manner. “Pack good.”

“Yeahhhh.” She trailed off, just as she took notice of something around the animals’ neck that looked like some kind of collar. And suddenly it dawned on her and Eliza inwardly swore left right and sideways.

“Leave it to Raoul Silva to find a real world working version of the ‘Talking Collars’ from the movie ‘Up’ and put it on his fricking raptor!” She inwardly hissed. Although she also took note that it looked a bit damaged and while the raptor was rubbing up against her she carefully pushed the damage components back into place. Hopefully fixing the static problem but she wouldn’t know until it tried to talk again. Remembering her task, she suddenly pushed the big beasties head away from her and stood up.

“Your… Indigo right?”

“Me indigo. You Eliza.” It chirped happily. The static now gone from its voice and allowing it to be properly identified as a male and a full emotional range to be distinctly notable its tones. “You help Indigo now?” He asked as his tail wagged slightly in a playful manner.

“You want me to… help you?” Eliza echoed not entirely clear what the animal, Indigo, actually wanted. “Help you with what?”

Indigo suddenly hopped up and began running around the piles of wrecked equipment and began to reorganize them. At the same time also revealing that among all of the sharp pieces were numerous pillows and blankets, even clothing all arranged into a ring. And right in the center was a pile of rotting stinking ocean dwelling fish. There was even a dead Mola Mola propped up in one corner! He suddenly returned and began to much more forcefully push his head against Eliza, directing her out the door and into the central courtyard. “Help Indigo find meat! Meat from not-pack humans!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Eliza said as she maneuvered herself away from the hybrid beast. “You can’t eat humans! Bad! Bad Indigo!”

“Indigo not eating humans!” The creature defended, actually taking a step backward like Eliza had cracked a whip on him. “Red bite humans, they made Red sad with zaps. Red always cry until he died… Green ate human, Green got shot dead. Violet bit doctor human, doctor human made Violet dumb with cuts to her head. Violet die. Gold…” Indigo trailed off right around the time that Eliza started to feel sick when she realized that Indigo was in fact talking about other Indoraptors he must have been created with. Animals that had no doubt suffered badly if this story was any indication. “Gold was psychopath. Gold ate humans, but gold was big. Gold was frightening. Gold never got in same trouble as others. Indigo once tasted human meat, but taste bad… Indigo like fish, not meat. Fishy better.”

“If you’re not eating them what did you mean when you said that you want to find… meat.” She pressed. Now officially starting to think that that Silva and Dana had mistaken this animals recently developed strange habits as signs of aggression. And the damaged collar had no doubt inhibited their ability to understand whatever he had been trying to say. All in all, he seemed like a pretty tame creature, if not a goofy one. Fuck… he was adorable in a menacing-predator-that-is-scared-of-a-butterfly sort of way.

“Indigo trade.” He replied simply. “Indigo trade meat for fish.”

“Riiiight…” Eliza looked at him skeptically. “So, you throw them in the ocean?”

“Yes! Throw meat in water, catch fish in return. Fair trade.” All right, that pretty much explained the whole situation. Indigo wasn’t killing off Silva’s goons, he was throwing in the ocean as some sort of weird ritual he believed would help him catch fish. Like he believed something was actually giving him fish in exchange for people. So chances were fairly high that all the men who had disappeared were actually alive and all right, just probably well-hidden on another portion of the island away from the raptor.

“You don’t want to hurt Silva do you? Or Dana?”

“Never, Silva pack! Dana pack! Baby will be pack!” The raptor screeched, literally screeched with some earsplitting roar mixed in with the artificial voice of the collar.

Eliza blinked once in slight confusion. “What baby?” But then she stopped as a realization dawned on her.

…Oh…

(A few minutes later)

Silva and Dana cautiously entered what had once upon a time been the computer room. Only a few steps inside they were greeted with the sight of Eliza scratching Indigo’s belly and the big raptor laying there and enjoying it. It was not the site they had expected to see when the young woman had radioed them and informed them that she had dealt with the situation. Upon noticing the vampire and his secretaries arrival a cheeky grin spread across Eliza’s face.

“So you to finally got here. I’m sure he found something to do in order to keep yourselves entertained while I handled everything?” She really tried, but was still unable to hide all of the smugness in her voice.

“What’s going on?” Silva demanded as he cast his eyes over the now apparently docile Indigo. “How in the world did you fix this?”

Eliza snickered a bit. “Turns out he wasn’t getting aggressive at all. He was getting protective.” She then gestured over to the ring of broken equipment with the pile of fish in the center. “Do you know what that is Silva?” Judging by his look of growing agitation, no doubt directed completely at her not getting straight to the point… no, no he did not. “It’s a nest… He was making you guys a nest.”

“What in the world fo- Gah!!” Dana started, only to find herself being grabbed by Indigo and dragged over to the nest. As the big hybrid did so, a pair of large feathery wings unfurled from her back and her hands became very sharp claws… revealing her true form to be a harpy… but before she got a chance to use her claws she was dumped in the middle of the nest. And then a fish was dropped in her lap… She just sat there for a moment completely dumbstruck and unable to grasp just what the hell was going on.

“It would seem Mr. Silva, that you have fallen victim to an age-old temptation… and thus you’ve knocked up your secretary… classy… Oh and congratulations, I’ll be sure to send you a fruit basket.” Eliza could no longer contain herself and burst out laughing as the look of sheer bewilderment slowly spread across Silva’s face. Not to mention that Dana looked every bit as dumbfounded as her employer and apparently, secret lover.

In spite of the mirth everyone really should have been paying a bit more attention to what was going on around them. Especially when Indigo’s head perked up and his attention became locked on a lone figure that had just entered the room. It was one of Silva’s missing thugs and judging by his disheveled appearance he had been hiding for some time. Probably only coming out when he thought that his employer’s pet was no longer out of control. He had been quietly approaching Silva from the behind, no doubt right about to ask what was going on… When all of a sudden Indigo snarled and rushed forward, which of course resulted in this man screaming and running away. Naturally he didn’t get very far and Indigo grabbed him with his mouth, not in a way that would have severely injured him but in a more than effective way to drag this man wherever he wanted.

The laughter was almost immediately cut short and was promptly replaced with all three of them chasing after the hybrid creature, screaming for him to stop and put the man down. Even with the vampires incredible speed he wasn’t able to keep up with his pet. Indigo raced all the way down to the water’s edge on the north side of the island and in a single surprisingly swift movement he flung the man far out into the ocean.

“Indigo you beast! What are you doing?!” Silva demanded as he raised his hand and gave the raptor very hard swipe with his claws. It was not a particularly hard strike, as much as it was supposed to get the creature’s attention. Of course it worked, maybe a little too well, as the motion made Indigo cower and whine. No doubt due to past traumatic memories.

“It’s all right Silva! He’s not actually hurting anybody!” Eliza stated trying to diffuse the situation. “He just thinks throwing people in the water makes it easier to catch fish for some reason.” Before Silva could reply, there was a splashing sound from the water and when everyone looked… The man was gone. Indigo’s head perked up and he looked expectantly towards the water.

“Trade.” He said calmly. “Trade with friend. Meat for fish.”

A rather cold, unpleasant feeling settled in the trio’s stomachs at that moment. With Dana being the only one actually finding the ability to say what was on everyone else’s mind and she quietly asked. “Who is your friend?” And right on cue, no less than several hundred massive and varying fish were abruptly thrown out of the water and smacked with a great deal of force into all the parties watching, with the only exception being Indigo. Who had been smart enough to stand off to the side… A massive form surfaced from beneath the water and a large reptilian eye looked upon the group. After a moment the Mosasaur submerged… but not before it smacked its flipper in the air several times in a distinctive waving motion. To which the Indoraptor merely chirped happily back in its direction and waved as well…

In spite of now smelling like 15 kinds of different fish, Eliza still managed to watched this scene and laugh weakly. Very much aware of the angry glares she was getting from the vampire and the harpy.

“Well… that’s definitely not good.”

[olivay-official]

A Shot in the Dark

Prologue:

Jay is a badass college student who in a wonderful lab accident (it’s always a lab accident isn’t it?) gained superpowers! Now when she’s not studying for exams she fights crime. Which is kind of awesome. Well other than the problems her secret identity brings her. Like the boy who’s made himself her sidekick, Oliver, who conveniently doesn’t wear a mask and is also her best friend. But he doesn’t know Jay is the superhero named Red. And to top it all off Jay’s superpowers basically make her a medical marvel, and something the elusive villain, Dr. Deranged desperately wants to get ahold of since all his other experiments have gone awry. Those other “experiments” also happen to be super charged villains who like to make Jay’s life just a little bit more complicated. Oh and their best friends- Jackie and Andre- know their identities but not the others, just to make things more complicated!

Let’s dive in shall we! ** warning-- strong language, bullets are fired and there is a pretty intense dream sequence that is not for the faint of heart... or those who have issues with dream death.

It was quick, so quick I barely had time to react. The four of us were just walking down the street enjoying burritos as we made our way through town. I could feel that something was wrong but I couldn’t quite place my finger on why. Maybe all the crime fighting was getting to me. My night’s as Red often left me on high alert. I thought it must all be in my head as I looked at Oliver, Andre and Jackie happily chatting as we walked. That was until all hell broke loose. 

Alarms blared and shots rang out. A group of familiar low life’s came running out of a genetics lab. The Giant was carrying a very large machine strapped to his back wires dangling from where it had appeared to be pulled from it’s resting place. Circuita true to form was causing the lights and alarms all around the block to go haywire. People in the near vicinity began to run, screaming as they went. Others pulled out their cell phones and began recording from a “safe” distance away including Jackie. Then there were your general street thugs- the Bone Crew at it again. Taking the wonderful opportunity to grab and take what they wanted. One man in full facial tattoos hopped up on top of a car and began laughing hysterically.

How was he already out of jail? I distinctly remembered Oliver and I throwing him in prison last week… Oliver! Damnit! This was when his not wearing a mask would really come back to bite him in the ass- not that it hadn’t already. Oliver’s body tensed next to mine. Andre was pulling at Jackie’s sleeve trying to get her attention, eyes wide as he stared at the mayhem not fifteen feet from us. Without my mask and with all the camera’s I was at a loss for what to do. Not like I could walk on up and start fighting some baddies without someone drawing the connection to my identity- or one of my naive friends trying to stop me. With any luck I could get them out of here and circle back in my superhero garb to kick some ass.

“Guys we should get out of here, like now!” Andre emphasized, the urgency in his eyes giving me a clear picture of the fear that lurked in him.

“Yeah… yeah we should go,” Oliver said slowly realizing there was nothing he could do with so many witnesses and without the aid of Red. At that moment The man on top of the truck turned towards us recognition glinted in his eyes as he regarded Oliver. This is not good, My thoughts practically screamed at me. 

With a maniacal grin the skull faced man twisted the assault rifle around his body to face us. I didn’t think. I only reacted. I moved, putting myself between Oliver and the gun. I opened my mouth to rip off some kind of witty retort when the ear shattering blast cut me off. I stumbled back blinking as my back fell solidly against Oliver’s chest. For a second my body was numb. My burrito slipped from my fingers slopping against the concrete. Then pain ripped through my shoulder in a starburst of whit hot pain searing through my skin and muscle.

“FUCK!” I cried out as my knees began to give way. My other hand came up to clutch the injured shoulder.

“Jay!” Oliver took hold of me supporting my weight to keep me upright. He looked at me mouth hanging open before his head snapped back up to face our assailant who was already aiming his next round.

“You really like letting women take the hits for you, don’t you?” The man’s mouth twisted up into a vile grin. The man dropped his aim deciding to go in for the taunt instead. He hopped down from the car taking his time to approach as my weight was slowly forcing Oliver to his knees. The man knelt down for a second, eyes soulless as they looked me over. I snarled at him. I would have loved nothing more than to wipe that smile off his damned face. But if you’ve ever been shot you know that it fucking hurts!

“Pretty, young thing aren’t you?” His eyes traveled up me to face Oliver who’s jaw was set, a dark look in his eyes that I had never seen before. “Don’t worry honey, I’ll make sure to put you out of your misery. And your boyfriend here can watch.” He didn’t bother looking at me as he said the words.

The man began to stand training his gun on me. My body screamed at me to move. I had to do something. Lying lifeless in Oliver’s arms was going to get us both killed. I could feel that sense of danger again (obvious since there was a fucking gun in my face) I could see it as if in slow motion. The man’s finger began to squeeze the trigger. I kicked up knocking his gun off course. The man swore as his next shot went no where. Now it was my turn to grin. Before the man could regain control of the situation Jackie was there leaping up onto his back and clawing at the man’s eyes with a shriek or maybe it was a battle cry.

“I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this right now,” Andre muttered as he grasped the gun in the man’s hands and began wrestling for control. Another shot fired off this one grazing my thigh.

“Motherfucker!! Watch where you point that thing Andre!” I shouted.

“Jay! Jay, can you stand?” Oliver asked voice commanding as he squeezed my good shoulder. An electric charge filled the air. My eyes widened as I realized what was about to happen. Using what little strength I had in me with multiple bullet wounds I rolled off of Oliver taking my good arm and sweeping it around the back of his neck pulling him down with me.

“Look out!” I cried as lightning filled the air. I screamed as I rolled onto my injured shoulder and back onto my back, breathing heavy. My vision was blurred as I surveyed the damage. The bolt itself hadn’t appeared to have an intended target but the blast itself had knocked both Andre and Jackie off of the Bone Crew man. The gun now sat crackling on the concrete. Circuita looked towards the tattooed man irritated.

“Time to go Jullian, we’re under orders not to kill this one just yet,” She purred as she looked towards Oliver now sitting up and glaring fiercely at the supercharged maniac. Just like that, however, the Bone Crew man followed orders standing and following Circuita off to whatever hell verse they had come from. With impending doom put off for the time being Oliver turned his attention back to me.

“Jay! Jay are you okay?” He asked as he scooted over to me. I managed a half hearted grimace in response. I could hear sirens in the distance. There were sounds of cries and screams all around. I wasn’t the only one injured from the sinister group’s little tryst. Oliver looked at my shoulder, panic filled his eyes, without the adrenaline in his veins he was coming undone. I could hear the breath hitch in his throat as he looked at me. He was more than panicking.

“You know I’m really tired of getting shot,” I muttered groggily. Oliver’s mind seemed to begin working again. He practically ripped his jacket off his own body quickly moving around me.

“You’re going to be okay Jay, I promise you’re going to be okay,” Oliver was saying it more to himself than to me. He tied his jacket above the wound in my leg, tight, cutting off the circulation. I groaned as he cinched the fabric ever tighter. Moving back towards my head I could see the fear in his eyes. His brows knit together as he looked at my shoulder, already warm and slick with blood.

“I’m- I’m going to put pressure on it. It-it’s going to hurt,” He warned, voice weak. I nodded, eyes heavy. He pressed his hands to the wound in my shoulder. I let out a shrill cry as black spots dotted my vision. He pressed down harder as I writhed beneath him. he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment shaking his head. When he opened them they looked bloodshot and watery.

“You’re going to be okay,” He sniffed, “You’re not dying here Jay, you can’t die on me okay?” His throat was tight as he said the words, willing me to live. My head lolled to the side. The blood loss coupled with the downside of an adrenaline rush was the perfect nap time combo in my book. In my line of sight I could see my fallen comrade, the burrito I didn’t even get the chance to finish.

“That bitch owes me a burrito,” I whispered as I glared at the refried bean spatter on the cement. Oliver choked out a miserable laugh.

“You get shot and that’s what you’re thinking about?” He asked amidst his nervous laughter. His hands now shook as they pressed down on my shoulder. I wanted to speak but the words wouldn’t come, my mouth just wouldn’t respond. “Jay? Jay! Stay with me Jay, please, just stay with me okay! Jay!” His voice sounded faraway as it shouted at me to come back to him. I closed my eyes wishing I could reach back to him.

***Oliver***

I took several deep shaky breaths as I waited in the hospital. My chest felt tight as I fought back the tears. I didn’t need to cry again. I had done plenty of that in the ambulance. She’s going to be fine, she’s going to be fine, I told myself over and over again. I couldn’t let myself believe anything else. Why would she do it? Why would she take that bullet for me? I should be the one on the operating table, not her. Why did Jay step in front of me?! I ran frustrated hands through my hair as I let out an inhuman groan. My leg bounced impatiently. I pulled at the locks around my head just to get myself to stop thinking, stop thinking about Jay being cut open and stitched back together again. I heard a small cough to the side. I snapped my head up to see a mother pushing her son behind her. I must have seemed like a lunatic to her. My hands and shirt were still covered in Jay’s blood. I abruptly stood turning on a dime and heading down the hall to the bathroom.

Standing at the sink I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed my hands until they felt raw but I just couldn’t rid myself of the crimson stain. Shutting off the water I looked up into the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot and red rimmed. Blood was lightly spattered across my face, smears from earlier appearing around my chin and forehead. My hair stuck up in every direction some pieces sticking together with a deep red crust. My shirt was both stained and torn in places. Stained with her blood. The girl who took a bullet for me. The girl who may be dying at this very moment as I stood here washing my hands. I slammed my fist into the mirror harder than was necessary. The glass cracked under the force of the impact. Several small shards fell from their frame clinking as they hit the porcelain sink, though the rest remained con-caved but intact.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry again. I wanted to run. I wanted to do anything but think about how utterly useless I felt. I was supposed to be a hero, maybe not like Red but I was supposed to be better than this. I wasn’t supposed to let Jay take a bullet for me. It was all my fault she was in there. All because I never thought to wear a fucking mask. She didn’t deserve this. She deserved so much better than this. I was no hero. I couldn’t even protect my friends when it mattered the most. Andre and Jackie turned out okay but they were still in the hospital for minor signs of electrocution, and that was my fault.

I squeezed the sides of the sink and tried to control my breathing but when I looked down at the red on my hands I lost it. Tears streamed down my face and I felt I was choking on air. My hands shook as I lifted them up to my head pulling at my hair again. Jay’s blood was on my hands. Mine. She was hurt. She was dying. No! No! She can’t die! She can’t! Not like this. Not like this! Oh please don’t let her die like this, don’t let it be my fault.

The bathroom door opened and I tensed preparing to rip into whoever had wandered in only when I turned to face the poor unsuspecting soul I came face to face with Andre. My chest constricted. I tightened my jaw and turned back towards the cracked mirror

“Hey man you doin’ okay?” Andre asked hesitantly.

I grunted in response

“Oh good because I was worried you would be losing it. I’m good too by the way, thanks for asking,” Andre bit back.

I turned to glower at him. I wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

“Jackie and I are fine, just a scare, nothing major,” He sighed. “I know you’re blaming yourself right now man but no one asked for Jay to step in front of that bullet,” Andre snipped.

“She wouldn’t of gotten shot if I hadn’t been so careless Andre!” I cut him off.

“Careless? Dude, the guy had a fucking assault rifle- what the hell were you supposed to do?” Andre pointed out.

“I don’t know but none of this would have happened if I just would have worn a mask like-“ I began.

“Like Red?” Andre cut in. “Man you didn’t know this would happen. You’re not supposed to be getting involved in the fighting. You’ve never actually needed a mask before because you’re not supposed to be doing what she does,” Andre clarified.

“But now I am. They know my face. I’m putting everyone I know in danger!” I hissed.

“You’ve only come in when necessary. This was an accident man and moping about it now won’t change what happened! Now you gotta pull yourself together and fast because the cops are waiting outside for a statement from us,” Andre explained. I shook my head.

“I can’t do that.”

“Well you’re going to fucking have to because Jackie’s already given her statement and she doesn’t know anything about your connection to this.” Andre waved his hand between the two of us. I widened my eyes.

“Are you kidding me?” I squeaked. “How could you let Jackie give a statement?”

“What was I supposed to do? Tell her to lie? Because that wouldn’t be suspicious or anything.” Andre rolled his eyes.

“You’re right,” I sighed. “Besides, knowing Jackie, she’ll have the story up on her blog by tonight.” I shook my head.

“Be grateful I already convinced her to leave the picture she caught of you out of it,” Andre said. My head snapped up. I locked eyes with him.

“The what?!” I found it hard to keep my voice level.

“She snapped a photo of you when you were trying to keep Jay from bleeding out,” Andre explained. I shook my head angrily.

“She can’t post that!” I hissed.

“I told her not to doesn’t mean she’ll listen.” Andre shrugged.

“Andre I can’t have my face out there- not anywhere. Not after this.” I tried to get him to grasp the gravity of the situation.

“Alright, I’ll talk to her about it again man. But for now you really gotta get out there and talk to the cops, their kind of on a tight schedule around here,” He said referring to the dozens of people who had flooded into the ER after the attack. I nodded taking deep slow breaths. If Jay could take a bullet for me then I at least could do this.

***Jay***

I was there again. I was standing there facing down the barrel of the gun. But it was different this time. I could feel it but I wasn’t sure why. The man turned the rifle onto Oliver taking his time as he aimed. Oliver stood frozen as he stared at the man, unable to move.

“No!” I cried as I tried to put myself between them but it was as if I was moving in slow motion. The man lowered his gun pausing to look at me then a wicked smile grew on his face. Without a word he slowly trained his gun on me, taking his time to aim before he fired. I couldn’t move fast enough. I tried but it was like I was moving through syrup. Pain ripped through my shoulder in white hot bursts. I could feel the bullet digging around inside me, tearing up my insides. I could scarcely breathe as the pain sent me to the ground, virtually helpless. I lay on the hard ground unable to move. My breathing was labored as I looked towards skull face, a snarl on my lips.

“Jay!” Oliver called to me. All his attention was on me as he came to my side pulling me up into his lap. My body hurt in a way I didn’t know was possible and as hard as I tried I couldn’t fucking move. Oliver put his hand over the burning wound staunching the flow of blood.

“Don’t worry about her, I promise to make her death quick, that is once I’m done with her,” The man with the skull tattoo’s purred as he strolled casually to where I lay. He’s going to kill you! You need to move! I screamed at myself. But it was no use my body was frozen where I lay.

“Ah!” Jackie let out a shriek as she came in from the side. The man didn’t even flinch as he turned his gun to her and shot her dead.

“No!” I screeched. Struggling with every fiber in my body to move. I barely lifted my shoulders off Oliver’s lap before I was falling back down with a pathetic whine, fire racing through my body as though the bullet was still burning its way through my insides. Somewhere behind me I could hear Andre make the most heartbreaking wail as Jackie fell lifeless.

“I would apologize but honestly what did she think she was going to do?” The man laughed as he looked from Jackie’s body back to me. Fighting back the pain I lifted my fist and sent it flying. I had been aiming for the man’s jaw but ended up hitting the side of his neck. Something was wrong. The man was hardly phased by my attack. An attack that left me drained and covered in a sheen of sweat.

The man laughed again.

“That was cute. It’s my turn now.” His eyes flashed with something dark and before I knew it he was pulling the trigger again. I tried to move. Tried to do something but I was too slow. I cried out as pain ripped through my leg burning through my flesh. Tears streamed down my face and it was getting harder to stay conscious. What was happening to me?!

Without warning a bolt of lighting flew through the air headed straight for us. The bolt hit Oliver square in the chest. His body seized beneath mine before collapsing awkwardly onto the ground. I screamed as I used what little strength I had to roll over onto the ground. I dragged myself over to his head. His eyes remained open but lifeless. My chest ached as a sob ripped through me. Why hadn’t I sensed her attack before it got here? I should have felt it coming!

I could hear the man with the skull tattoos walking around to the other side of Oliver to face me. He crouched down next to Oliver’s head a twisted grin slicing through his face. I had never hated someone so much before.

“Honestly I’m shocked, the bastard didn’t even try to protect you. He sat there and let you take it.” He shook his head. “Death by electrocution was a little bit too good for him don’t you think?” He lifted Oliver’s head before letting it smack back down onto the concrete. “Neither of you even stood a chance. You both run around this city acting like heroes when you can’t even save yourselves,” He said mockingly.

“Shut up!” I screamed hoarsely.

“There’s no need for the tough girl act, now is there? We all know it’s a lie. You’re nothing. You hide behind that bitchy attitude, behind those powers of yours but take that away and who are you? Nothing more than a broken, stupid bitch. Look around you, all of this? It’s your fault. It started with you and those powers, and yet you still can’t do anything to save your friends or even yourself. All it took was a gun to take you down,” The man spat.

“No. No that’s not true. Th-this isn’t happening. I-I saved him, I-I saved t-them,” I sobbed violently shaking my head.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited to get that mouth of yours to finally shut up,” The man seethed as he thrust the barrel of the gun between my lips. I stared at him wide eyed with fear and completely and 100% helpless as he pulled the trigger.

I let out a blood curdling scream as I sat up in a hospital bed panting and covered in sweat. My heart jackhammered in my chest as I realized it was all just a dream. A horrible horrible dream. A haunting image of Oliver’s lifeless body flashed in my mind. Scratch that- it was a nightmare.

“Jay! Are you okay?” Oliver asked. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I realized he was there. In the dim room I could just make out the dark circles under his eyes as he hovered down next to me. I opened and closed my mouth several times trying to find the words.

The lights flicked on as a nurse rushed into the room looking alarmed but ready to handle whatever was happening. She looked between the two of us and raised a wary eyebrow.

“M’am,” She began slowly.

“I’m fine!” I spit out a little too quickly. “I just- I had a nightmare and woke myself up,” I explained. The nurse’s body lost some of it’s tension as she nodded.

“I’ll give you some more morphine to help you sleep,” She said coming over and adjusting the morphine drip next to me. I could immediately feel the effects. She looked at us as she left the room, clicking the light off as she went.

I sighed running my fingers loosely through my hair and shaking my head.

“Jay?” Oliver’s voice was gentle as he placed his hand soothingly on my back. I looked up at him fighting back the tears burning at my eyes.

“What happened?” He asked. How could I tell him about it? How could I explain to him how terrified I was of losing my powers and being helpless to protect him. Oliver heaved a heavy sigh, apparently everyone was feeling the heaviness of the past couple hours… wait how long had I been out? Oliver looked like he hadn’t slept in a while. His shirt was crusted over with dried blood and his blonde hair stuck up in every direction.

“How long have I been out?” I asked looking around the room for a clock. He chewed on his bottom lip as he sat on the edge of my bed.

“It’s three in the morning,” He said slowly.

“Oh! It’s only been a few hours how did-“ The look on his face cut me off.

“It’s Sunday morning,” He finished slowly.

“What? But that means I’ve missed like an entire day!” I said a bit too loudly. Oliver nodded.

“There were some complications during surgery,” He explained slowly. His body squirming uncomfortably beneath my gaze.

“I- I was in surgery?!” I asked astonished.

“Jay, you were shot,” Oliver said incredulously.

“Well yeah I know but how hard can it be to stitch that up?” I rolled my eyes. Oliver shook his head running a frustrated hand through his hair in a way I’d never seen before.

“You were fucking shot Jay! You almost died! That takes more than a few stitches,” He snapped, his tone shocking me.

“Oh, I- I didn’t know it was that bad.” I swallowed hard. Oliver took a deep breath to calm himself.

“You lost a lot of blood, too much blood. There were problems finding your blood type. None of the normal stuff was coming up conclusively, and then when they finally started the surgery they found the bullet had moved around. Tore up more of your body than they’d thought,” Oliver explained his voice shaking. “They had to sedate you pretty heavily afterwards. You aren’t even supposed to be awake right now.” Shit shit shit, this was so not good.

“Am I going to be okay?” I wondered out loud as I felt around to make sure all my limbs were intact.

“I don’t know,” Oliver shook his head. “The doctors said they still needed to run some tests. They wanted to give you some time to rest after surgery but now that you’re awake I’m sure they’re going to be checking everything.”

“Tests?!” My voice rose an octave. “What kind of tests?” I asked as bile began to rise in my throat. Oliver didn’t seem to notice.

“A blood test for sure they took some samples to get your type but that kept coming up inconclusive, and when they tried to give you O...Everything about it was strange Jay. The doctors couldn’t figure out what was going on,” Oliver explained to me. Samples- samples that couldn’t be used for a test if they had to try to find my blood type- it ruined the sample. But why test my blood at all unless O wasn’t working… but that was impossible O was the universal doner. Then again what about me was normal? Just add this to the list of weird things that accompany my superpowers. A full blown blood test, however, might tip the doctor’s off to what’s going on inside me and I refused to become a science experiment not to mention what would happen if Dr. Deranged got ahold of a sample like that. I shook my head. No, I wouldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let that happen.

Without any hesitation I threw the blankets off of me stepping out of the bed I wobbled forward uncertainly, pain shooting up through my body.

“Jay, stop it! What are you doing?” Oliver worried as I painfully ripped the IV from my arm. Fuck that hurt!!

“I need to get out of here, now!” I hissed.

“Jay you can’t leave you’re in the hospital!” He said the words as if they somehow held meaning to me. As if they were going to change my mind on anything.

“You don’t fucking get it!” I shouted at him practically teaming with irritation. He was just so fucking dense!!! I stood on unsteady legs and went to find my clothes. Unfortunately for me all that was left were my yoga pants and shoes. They must have had to cut my top off earlier. I hastily ripped the bag open and began to dress in what I could, tying the hospital gown in a unnecessarily large knot at my back to make a shirt.

“Jay! Stop it!” Oliver seized my wrist as I went to grab one of my shoes. His piercing green eyes looked at me with a mix of concern and annoyance. Yeah you and me both buddy.

“Oliver, I have to get out of here!”I tried to convey just how dire it was I leave this hospital room before the nurse came back. I had hoped the seriousness of my tone might convince him to let me go. No such luck.

“What’s going on Jay? Why do you need to leave?” He spoke gently as if he were speaking to a small child. He thinks I’m fucking crazy! Oooh if only he knew, that idiot! I tried to contain the outrage that I’m sure was spelling itself all over my face.

“Jay,” His voice was so soft it startled me for a second. He reached one hand up to cradle my face. His thumb brushed against my bottom lip. He was standing so close I could feel the heat coming off of him. “Please talk to me. None of this is making sense. Today you- why’d you step in front of me?” I wanted to tell him so badly but even if I could work up the courage to say the words I didn’t have the time to explain. I could hear footsteps moving down the hall. I needed to leave. I needed to get out.

“Why can’t you just figure this out already,” I whined.

“Jay,” He warned his hand falling from my face, his other gripping my wrist tighter. Did I really need my shoes…?

“Oliver,” I sighed, “it’s just complicated okay. But I can’t stay here. If they run a blood test… I can’t let that happen. You’re just going to have to trust me.” I looked up at him with what I’m certain was a mix of hope and something he probably considered crazed. How I actually felt was desperate. For sooo many reasons.

“Jay, what’s going on? You can tell me,” Oliver pleaded in that same pathetic tone. He really thought I had lost my mind. I gave him one last disappointed look before wrenching my wrist from his grasp. I snatched my shoes from the chair and ran to the window. I was only two stories up. I could manage this, I had done worse. I looked back towards Oliver who was now looking at me with wide frightened eyes. The footsteps were closer now. I quickly shoved my feet into my worn red shoes. How did he not recognize these?!?! Oliver took a hesitant step towards me as I flung the window open and perched myself on it’s ledge. I glanced back.

“I can’t tell you. You're going to have to figure it out yourself,” I explained before dropping out the window.