#by this i mean. in a small town that's slowly decaying. i should be allowed to break bad and it should be allowed to make the town worse.

[hypokeimena]

they should let you grow weed in stardew valley

[bump1nthen1ght]

Thicker than Water (Demon x Reader) Chapter 2

Pairing: Fem!Reader/Gender Fluid!Demon

Genre: High Fantasy

Warnings: Panic attacks, mentions of past trauma

Word Count: 3165 words

Summary: You spend a day with your new companion

Chapter 1

“How about this one? It looks rather ripe.”

No, Mistress. The air of decay lingers around it, I fear it will begin showing signs of mold within a day.

“Oh, good eye.” You set the orange down, making sure to hide it away so no other unlucky customer may buy it, wiping your hands on your skirt. “What about this one?”

That one’s fine.

“Sweet.” You say, adding it to the pile of fruit accumulating in your arm. You double check the list. “Alright, I think that’s about everything.” You come up to the stand-worker and set down your fruits on their scale, finagling for the wallet in your pocket.

So many different types of produce. Is this merchant’s estate really so large that they can grow all these things?

“Uh, not exactly.” You mutter, before reminding yourself to speak inwards, as only you can hear the demon lingering nearby. “They actually represent several farms, giving them a cut of the money so the workers can focus on cultivation. Some farms have their own stalls for specialized goods, but these bigger ones are typically conglomerates.” After successfully grabbing your coin purse, you hand the worker some coins and begin loading your bag.

Ah, how convenient.

“Yes, I’d say so.” You once again check your list, mentally checking off the needed groceries. “Okay, I believe that is all the essential stuff. How about we check out some novelty stalls? I hear there’s a fine jewelry maker near the center of town.”

The only jewelry in the Nine Hells is that forged by the damned. Carved out of the husk of dead dimensions.

“So, is that a yes?”

Yes please.

“Cool.”

As you walk along the thinning market crowd, dodging between bakers and families, your shadow twists and turns. Occasionally and discreetly, it will fall behind you and stare at a particularly interesting stall, before leaping back into the darkness and reattaching to your feet. The crowd is so focused on their eye-level, what to be bought, who to sell to, no one really notices the abnormality.

After that night, that horrible night, you woke up in your bed; Sweaty and exhausted, but nonetheless harmed. Your mother had rushed to your side with a pitcher of water, relieved that your fever had finally broken. You had been asleep for a whole 24 hours, your parents finding you in your bed after you didn’t come down to breakfast. Your temperature ran high and you had tossed and turned with some kind of night terror, but recovered rather quickly.

After you had shoo’d your mother away, accepting the large breakfast and assuring her you were fine, the demon had appeared from behind the door frame. You nearly threw a fork right at its face.

-----------

“So that was….It wasn’t just a nightmare?” You muttered, eyes lost in your bowl of cheese grits.

“Yes, my mistress, it was real.” The demon steps out from the shadow of the door, causing you to flinch as their long horns scrape against the low ceiling of your room. They take another step back. “Your body gave out after you spoke your demand. I do apologize for the intrusion, but I searched your mind to find your home and brought you back to your own bed. Was that a correct assumption?”

You nod, shakily stirring your spoon, absentminded. You force your eyes to meet the demon’s, trying to contain your quivers.

“And now-” You gulp, keeping what little composure you have left, “-are you here to collect?”

The demon quirks their head, horns audibly scratching the hardwood. Their brow furrows as they contemplate, before their eyes widen with understanding. They shake their head and take another step forward. You clench your fingers around the blanket, but hold your flinch.

“No, mistress. You are not in debt to me, not in any way. That is not the ritual which was performed.”

You quirk your eyebrows, befuddled. “But, I thought that-”

“The wish you made was not so heavy to require the payment of a soul. Nor would you have been able to make such a wish in the first place.” Without you realizing it, the demon had walked over to your bed. Their staggering height should be intimidating, but the intonation of their words and the look in their eye is calming. Almost reassuring. “The payment was made when you gave me this permanent physical form.” The demon explains, flexing their fingers and faintly tracing the lines of your bedpost. “By pushing your body to the brink of death, you were able to reach across the veil and pull me through . Usually, a soul-paying ritual brings a demon temporarily to the mortal realm, to enact the wish and then take their payment. The summoning spell you performed takes a much stronger mind and body; Not only to bounce back from death, but to carry a new weight with you.”

The demon slowly sets to its knees, laying it’s head down on your blanket. “In that way, I am indebted to you, my mistress, for taking such risks to bring me here.”

You blanch, words escaping you as this massive creature pledges fealty to you. When your vocabulary finally returns to your brain, you shake your hands furiously.

“T-thank you, for your kind words and your help. But you don't need to. I mean, I-I have no want to force you to stay with me. I didn’t even fully understand what I was doing-”

“That is not a requirement, mistress. And you are not forcing me to stay, I want to stay.”

The demon urges, picking its head back up from the quilt. “If it is your wish, however, I can stay in the shadows and not bother you, protect you from afar. I wouldn’t wish to interfere.”

You shake your head once more. “No! No, that won’t be necessary. That sounds even worse, to be honest.” You mutter, picking at the quilt squares with your fingers.

The silence lingers. The Demon, still looking at you in admiration. It’s irises glow even in the soft-morning light, their pupils a deep void amidst the unnatural yellow.

“Well, I am going to eat. Feel free to….look around.” You say, gesturing to your tiny bedroom. The demon nods, slowly retreating from your bedside to the corner, eyes darting around the wallpaper until eventually settling on your dresser and small vanity.

You eat, taking hesitant bites as you watch them wander towards your things, taking the time to observe your minimal decorations. You had a tiny book collection, some knick knacks you had gotten from town or your parent’s travels, and a myriad of plants on your window sill.

The demon hadn’t shown any ill intent, not in their actions nor in their tone, but you still weren’t sure. You had heard stories of tricksters, who lure you in with false promises and sweet lies.

If four young men could do it so easily, imagine what a demon could accomplish.

You shake their faces out of your heads, brushing off the imaginary fingertips clutched around your arms. It’s over; You are safe, in your bed. God knows what happened to them. You fight away that thought as well.

As you slowly finish your breakfast, the Demon is looking at the cover of one of your books. Technically it’s an encyclopedia, filled with all the different types of marine flora and fauna. Your mother had gotten it for your birthday three years ago.

“Umm...demon?”

They pause, setting down the book and looking at you.

“Yes, mistress?”

“I was just wondering, since you’re going to be here for the foreseeable future, what should I call you?” They’re brow furrows, head tilting like that of a befuddled pet.

“I had not really considered that, mistress. Is it important?”

You scratch the back of your neck, avoiding their piercing gaze. “Not particularly, I guess. It just feels a bit rude to acknowledge you only as ‘The Demon’.”

The Demon’s face scrunches up, still confused. “In the Nine Hells, I was referred to by my title, I do not see anything wrong with that. It is a correct statement to call me a demon.”

“Well, maybe. I guess up here, your own name is personal. Something that defines you, a part of yourself. Kind of like the way you look, or how you present yourself.” You say, mussing up your bed sheets in an effort to calm your nerves.

The demon pinches their face once more, eyes darting to the book laying upon the desk.

“Is Captain a military rank in this plane as well?” The say, claws tracing the engraved title of the encyclopedia. Sort of confused by the change of subject, you glance towards the book cover. Captain Amelia’s Guide to the Unknown of the Ocean.

“Yes, but it also describes the heads of ships. Those who sail across the seas, discovering new things or dealing in trade. Pretty sure the only requirement is a boat, not a military career.”

The Demon hums, eyes still locked on the cover, decorated by a painting of a large ship, locked in combat with a Kraken.

“Then I think I’d like to be called Captain.”

You nod, fingers still entangled in your bed sheets. Captain looks back to you, sending a calming smile. As calming as a creature with more canines than a wolf can be. Your own smile is shaky, still wary of what is to come.

--------

That was about a week and a half ago now, Captain staying by you as you rested. Your parents only allowed you to help around the house after 3 days of solid bed rest, most of which you spent reading, crocheting, or talking with Captain. When they went off to work, you gave Captain a tour of the house, showing them all the tools of the kitchen and the apothecary.

Their presence had quickly become commonplace, your body no longer jolting when you caught a glimpse of the dark figure in the corner. You two would chit-chat and entertain each other, but knew when to give the other space.

Captain also demonstrated their shape-shifting ability, although it was not as dramatic as you had read about in grimoires. Mostly it was a day-to-day tiny change, one you had learned to acknowledge and inquire how they would like to be referred to as. Captain had been a little bemused by the limitations of your pronouns, but was rather swift in adapting to a strategy which best suited them.

It was nice, if a little bit strange. Although you weren’t sure if the two of you could be considered friends just yet, if not for the short time or them being a Demon bound to you by a blood contract, but you were definitely closer than acquaintances. Comrades, ship mates? You still didn’t know. But as the domestic days dragged on, you find you’re not afraid to find out.

---------

What animal is this, Mistress?

“I believe it’s a seal? Or a sea lion, could never tell the difference, if I’m being honest.” You say, fingers brushing over the wooden charm hanging off the market shelf. It’s small, the details defining but rudimentary.

You have lions which live in the sea? How fiersome.

“Not actual lions, but I’m sure they could put up a good fight. Are there any oceans in the Nine Hells?”

No. Not ones made out of water anyway; Usually its blood or other excrement.

“...Oh.” You mutter, shoving that image out of your mind. Captain didn’t often talk about their home plane, only offering terrifying details that made sense of why they so desperately wanted to escape. As curious as the thought of another dimension was to you, you tried to avoid the topic all together. Captain didn’t seem to mind.

Looking at the small charm, with it’s adorable, puppy like face, you gesture towards the shopkeep.

“How much for this?”

“Only two silver, miss.”

You look down at your spare grocery change, sending a tiny glance to your shadow.

“Would you like this, Captain? We’ve got the coin for it.”

There’s a brief silence, your shadow staying uncannily still.

….For what purpose, Mistress?

You shrug, tapping the dangling charm and watching how it twirls. “No purpose. It’s just rather cute, and well…” You brush a finger over the woodwork, feeling the tiny indentations carved, “If you’re going to be staying with me, you should have some stuff of your own, right? Seems only fair.”

There’s another pause, long enough that you risk another glance at the shade. Even without any definitive form, it looks pensive.

Yes, I would like it, Mistress.

You nod, quickly passing the silver. From the corner of your eye, your shadow seems to perk up. As you pull away from the stall, you slyly drop the charm down and into the darkness, the demon leaping out a hand to catch it. From inside your mind, the warm feeling of contentment and excitement resonates like an undercurrent, bringing a smile to your face. You can picture Captain fiddling with the toy in their massive paws, eyes alight. Butterflies flutter to life in your stomach.

Thank you, Mistress. I would not have thought such a tiny thing would bring me such happiness.

You shake your head.

“It’s no problem. If you see anything you like, let me know.”

You’re jolted out of your mind when by a large splash, a woman squealing as mud clings to her skirt, and a young man scrambles to his feet.

“And stay in the mud, you low-life pig!”

“B-But Jezebel, I-I can explain!”

“Explain what, exactly?” A small crowd is beginning to form around the commotion, but you find yourself frozen to your spot, thoughts thrown all over the place.

Three women, all beautiful, stand in the small entryway of a house. At the bottom, now covered in mud, is Richard.

“That you’re cheating scum? That you don’t deserve our time?” The first woman shouts, gesturing to the two others. She’s making a scene and she knows it, reveling in her screaming and his embarrassment. “And I’m not Jezebel, you idiot! I’m Viola!” She nothing short of screeches, leaning down and hurling a chunk of dirt at Richard. The other women huff in agreement, looking at him with disgust and spitting at his feet.

A low murmur has fallen over the crowd, gossip thriving as the women stamp their heels and Viola huffs back into the house. The door is slammed shut, the focus of everyone’s eyesight on Richard.

He looks haggard, dark circles and greasy hair indicating he hasn’t slept, at least slept well, in the last few days. His clothes, usually refined and tucked in, were loose and nearly tearing. Amidst the chattering group of people, remnants of conversations linger into your ears.

“They made the right decision, shipping him off.”

“Honestly, it was about time. A cocky brat like that needs some discipline beaten into him. I’ve heard Ivy’s Military School is ranked top in the country.”

“God knows he will need it. The boy hasn’t had class since he learned how to speak.”

The belittlement, the desperate look in Richards eye, looking for sympathy, should enthrall you. That knot of satisfaction should burst, reaping the reward of your suffering, revel in his despair.

But everything about this pitiful man terrifies you.

You nearly drop your groceries, pushing away bodies as you flee the scene, barely finding time to breathe. Your shadow has trouble keeping up with you, bending between foot steps and keeping track of your shape as you dart away, away, away.

You find solace in a dark alleyway, but peace still escapes you. Your heart and brain pound with pure adrenaline, finding purchase on a nearby wall as black spots dot your vision.

All you can see are Richard’s dirt filled fingernails, dragging across your throat, pushing you down. His knee digs into your back as you kneel on wet ground, the cold metal of a knife pressed against your neck, dangerously close to your racing pulse point.

Your shadow shifts and grows, Captain’s shape stepping out of your large shadow, taking tentative steps towards your quivering form. Your knees soon give out, sending you to the ground, but they catch you just in time. You barely feel the contrast of soft fur compared  to rough concrete, curling up into a fetal position as you try to force the images from your mind.

Captain sinks down, claws petting your back. With a small voice, they instruct you calmly.

“In through the nose, out through the mouth. Just like that, mistress.”

The simple instructions give you something to focus on, something other than your fractured mind. You instinctively curl into their chest, their warm fur brushing against your cheek as you shove your face against them. Your eyes are clenched tight and you cling onto their shoulders, chest wracked with your heaving sighs. But the deep baritone of their whispers and affirmations slowly seep into your haze, pushing out the memories.

You continue to breathe in and out, Captain’s warm hands caressing your waist as they hum lightly. They tuck their chin above yours, their hot breathes blowing across your skull.

“It is alright, ____. You can do this, you are safe. I am here for you.” They mutter.

In minutes that feel like hours, your heart rate slows down, your mind loses it’s buzz. Captain hums an unfamiliar tune as they continue to cradle you, claws drawing shapes into your back while rocking your back and forth.

When you finally feel aware, present in the moment, you wipe away the tear tracks running down your face.

“Captain?” You whisper.

“Yes, Mistress?”

“Can we go home, please?”

They nod, standing with you still in your arms.

“Of course, my dear.”

-------------

You unload groceries automatically, muscles and spirit tired after your crying fit. Captain helps, making sure to stay in the periphery and out of sight of your parents.

You give an excuse to them, explaining that the heat got to you, and collapse onto your bed. Captain lingers in the corner, poised for a command.

“Captain?” You mutter, fingers twirling a thread tassel on one of your pillows. They look up from their position. “Thank you, for being there for me. Today and…..last time.”

They nod, taking small steps towards your bed. Once close enough, they lightly wrap one of their fingers around yours, petting your knuckles.

“Of course, ____. I will always be there for you.”

You nod, a small smile crawling its way across your lips. You slip your palm into theirs, feeling their calloused finger pads, pulling them slightly closer to your form. Your eyes dart up to theirs. With a small blush, you whisper,

“And I will always be there for you.” Captain’s eyes slightly widen, but a large grin appears, a hint of their fangs glinting from behind their black fur.

“Thank you, ____.”

[rason-rodd]

All The Time We Need - Jason Todd x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Reader and Jason meet again after two years being apart and reconnect with their long lost love.

Warning : Angst, Fluff, Smut  

Author’s note: A OS definitely inspired by my 2-years long hiatus and that somewhat acknowledges it. It was almost cathartic writing it and allowed me to reconnect with Jason on a writing scale. You can read it as a sequel to “Summer Love and Swimming Pool” or not. Some moments are a bit too cheesy to my taste but I hope you’ll enjoy it nevertheless. NSFW Part is at the end. You can skip that part if you want to.

You actually realise Time flies when you take time to acknowledge it. And sometimes acknowledging is like getting buried under a mountain of sand and feeling each grain slowly chocking you and reminding you there is no escaping. The sands of Time cannot be stopped, nor can they be shoveled. They run and slip through your fingers like dust in the wind and the tighter you try to grasp them the faster they go. And when they’re gone, there is no catching them back.     That’s why Time is scary. Because no matter what you do, it won’t allow you to go back or to put an end to it. And it will certainly not allow you to forget about it either. Time will pave your life until the day you die with a constant reminder that, unlike it, you’re not eternal. And the saddest thing is it doesn’t care about what you think of it.           And yet, it seemed like Jason Todd had managed to tell Time to go fuck itself. “How long has it been?”

He hadn’t changed a bit. Looking as handsome as ever. Always and eternally sporting the same disheveled short black hair and the same mischievous yet tortured blue eyes, eyes that had put you in more trouble than you could remember. “Two years or so … I don’t know.”             All you could remember was a passionate summertime infatuation that had burnt your body and your heart night and day like a hot and dazzling sun. A fading yet intense memory you secretly cherished and replayed in period of loneliness and that you couldn’t seem to be able to replace on the timeline of your life. “Still so beautiful, I see.” You scoffed and he chuckled. “What?”       “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?” He scratched his head; arm muscles compressed in a leather jacket à la Jason that made you wonder how he could bear wearing such a light jacket in such freezing weather. “I tend to believe constancy is a quality.” You goggled at his smile, childish, adorable yet naturally so seductive. The same smile that used to make your legs shake and turn to jell-o. “I didn’t know you were back in Gotham.”         “Right back at you. Last time I heard of you, you were in this little town … Hopletown, was it?”   “Appleton.” He corrected. “Looks like Timbo talks about me in my absence.”           “You’re his brother. Of course, he talks about you, just like everyone else in your family.” Judging by his signature small crooked smile on his face he seemed touched by your words, taking even time to ponder over them. Did the family really think of him in his absence?

Shivering, you tightened your wool coat around you, attempting to prevent the cold wind to infiltrate under the cloth and steal your body heat, as you let Jason think about what you had just said. But your reaction didn’t go unnoticed and it managed to pull him out of his train of thoughts. “Do you want to go somewhere warmer? We could have something to drink, catch on. I’m sure you got plenty to tell.”         “Not plenty but I could use a hot tea.” You confessed, already imagining the spicy smell of cinnamon and chai in your nostrils and the hot steam caressing your cold face.     “Amazing.” He grinned, genuinely happy and excited, a bit like a little boy at a toy store, and lowered your beanie to properly cover your ice-cold reddened ears. That gesture got you confused for a small second but it was so sweet and caring you eventually smiled. Ah Todd, always the overprotective type I see.

***

“So, what are you doing in Gotham City? I thought you wanted to ‘travel the world Dora The Explorer-style and get the hell out of this cesspool’?” He quoted you and your genuine chuckle made him smile but only briefly as you gained back your seriousness in a matter of seconds.

He could tell you were not the same girl he used to date two summers ago. You had changed, matured. You had become a woman, a woman who seemed to struggle with responsibilities so heavy they could crush her at any second. You looked tired, weary… sad even. The cheeky light in you was gone. And he wanted to know why. Not out of curiosity but to help you.           “Well, I did travel and it was awesome, like a dream come true. But I guess we always wake up from dreams eventually.” You looked down at your tea, looking at your pale reflection in the hot water, melancholia hitting you like a train. “My mother got sick and, well, her savings were not enough to pay for all the medical care so … let’s say I had to swap my backpack for a satchel… I work at Wayne Enterprises now. Bruce hired me, out of pity I suppose.”         “I’m sure it wasn’t out of pity.” You shrugged and Jason grabbed your hand and you looked up at him. “And I’m sorry about your mother. I know how it’s like to …”     “Do you still think about us?” You abruptly cut him short, not willing to keep talking about your personal issues or to plunge Jason back in dark memories that you know were very hard for him to handle.     Sure, you could have chosen another question, another topic of conversation but the thing was that those words were niggling at you since the moment you two broke up. “I mean do you happen to think about what happened between us?”

Jason didn’t answer at first, more out of surprise than out of hesitation because there was none. There was just one answer to that question. Of course.             Of course he had thought about you all over those two years. Of course he had thought about what happened, about the moments spent with you – however ephemeral they had been -, about that love he had felt and had never learned to completely erase despite the women who had entered and exited his life. Of course there had been nights in which he had replayed the lustful burning memories of you in his arms, against him, against his naked body. Of course was the answer. But not the answer he gave you. “Come with me.” He forced you to get up and slammed a fifty-dollar bill against the table, not caring about the hot chocolate he hadn’t finished or the blueberry muffin you had barely touched. “But … the change.” You tried to protest.         “Fuck the change. I want to show you something.”

***

           Out of all the places in Gotham, you never thought he would have brought you here. “Why are we here, Jason?”       It was an ancient building, far from the fancy city centre and only a few blocks away from Crime Alley. Dilapidated, covered in colorful yet ugly graffiti, this place looked liked a landmark for drug dealers and junkies and it was an understatement to say that, without Jason’s company, it would have normally made you feel unsafe and uncomfortable.         “I grew up here, before Bruce took me in.” You glanced at Jason who was staring at the place with both disgust and melancholia. “I’ve always hated that place. But it was home. And I guess it made me… I guess that is because of that place that I somehow became the man I am today… I mean, if Jason Todd hadn’t grow up here with a junkie mother and a lousy father he would have never met Brue Wayne and never became …” He stopped, on purpose, you could tell it. “Even if I hate to, I come back here when I want to think of my past, when I’m looking for a reason to keep on fighting. This place is like my temple, a memento of who I am. Damn, you must think I’m crazy.”         “ No, not at all… ” You smiled and put your hand on his arm to reassure him. “Just very Romantic for the bad boy of the Wayne family.” You teased him, knowing perfectly that literature always been Jason’s hobbyhorse and that the whole bad boy thing was a persona, a thick armour he had made to protect himself.     “Blame Alfred. He’s the one who made me ready Wordsworth.” He joked, appreciating the small banter. “Follow me.”           You took the warm hand he offered you and followed him inside the decaying building, minding your step and trying to ignore the dirt and the potential rats.          

Once on the third floor, Jason pushed a rackety wooden door that cracked and squeaked on its hinges and you entered what once was his house. “You grew up here?” You asked only to fill the heavy void caused by this dreadful place. “It was the living room. Used to hide under the table there when my parents were fighting.”

You looked around you, trying to imagine a small Jason living in here. You always knew about his crappy childhood but there is a huge difference between what you had imagined based on the stories Jason had told you in the intimacy of your bedroom and this place.       “You asked me why we’re here.” You turned around and spotted Jason knelt on the dusty wooden floor, a small dusty shoebox that he had just taken from under a floorboard between his hands. “I’ve had this since I was a child. Used to keep the things I loved most in it. Somehow, even after I left this place, I never could take it away from here.” He handed it to you and you slowly opened it, careful not to drop it. You could tell this box was important to Jason.

The content left you silent and you sat on the floor near Jason to study it. “I never really opened it. I don’t like getting stuck in the past. It terrifies me.” You frowned, thinking about all the nightmares, all the anxiety attacks he used to have back in the days you were together. “I never showed it to anyone either but hopefully that’ll answer the question you asked me in that coffee shop.” The question? You had forgotten about it, way too overwhelmed by the sudden solemnity of this moment.  “Never?”           “You’re my first. You should be proud” He tried to joke to lighten the mood and it worked for a couple of seconds. Then, you saw it, among a dog toy, a broken necklace, a batarang and other small tokens. A photo of you two kissing and smiling. A Polaroid you had personally taken on the day when Tim had offered you the camera to illustrate your travel book. “You kept it.” You declared in a whisper.     “I told you. I keep the things I love most in that box.” You stared at Jason, at the cracks of melancholia and the vulnerability in his beautiful blue eyes he allowed only a few people to see. “Of course I thought of you over the years.”       You were not the cheesy romantic type. Jason was - something rooted to his love for gothic literature and poetry you supposed. But that sincere and pure confession got you all … flushed? bothered? You couldn’t really pinpoint the feeling but you could feel the shaky warmth spreading in your body, now paralyzed by the beauty of that moment. “Did you … think of me?”

If Time could stop, you would have chosen this moment to stop it. Here, now, away from your stressful life and its issues, away from all fears and all pains, with Jason and only him, forgetting about the past you’ll never be able to change or the future that vows to be uncertain and scary, thinking about what truly matters, now. “What do you think?” He chuckled and you saw his hand slightly twitch, as if he was hesitating to do something. And so you took it in yours and shared an umpteenth intimate look only he could read. “Sometimes I wish I’d never left.” Meaning, sometimes I wish I would have stayed and be with you.           “Trust me, princess. You made the right choice. Your life would have been miserable with me.” He tried to reassure you, in vain. After all, he could barely convince himself? “More miserable than the one I have right now? I seriously doubt it, Jay.” You frowned and finally got up, leaving Jason’s box on the ground, to watch at the sunset and its red golden rays from the shattered window. “What do you think would have happened had I stayed?” You had your ideas; small little ones of pure love, happiness and bliss that Jason would have managed to lock in that little box of his. “I have a better question, Y/N. What do you think can happen right now?” He was towering you, expecting an answer, waiting as he was gazing at your skin glowing under the soft light of the sun and at your shining eyes. “You tell me, Todd.” This sentence echoed in Jason’s head as a call.

And so his thumb brushed your cold cheek and you looked up at his face, your eyes glued to his features observing them and all the small details you hadn’t noticed before. A little scar thin as a needle on his right brow and a much bigger one, an invisible one that you could see in his eyes, the scar left by all the losses and the pains he had gone through recently. Roy, Bizarro, Artemis. Maybe Jason had changed as well after all. Maybe there was no secret to stop time. But he didn’t let you ponder over this and gently pressed his lips on yours.

He needed that. He had thought about it all day and the truth was, you had too. You welcomed his kiss without hesitation or second thoughts and came to press your small body against his - which seemed so tall and strong in comparison to yours – to instinctively look for safety and protection. “I missed you, princess.” He whispered close to your mouth for a brief second before capturing your full lips with his again. “I missed you too.” You confessed, hands over his hard chest, feeling his heart beat loudly under your palms.     Jason was holding you close now, his arms tightly circled around your form as if he was scared for you to leave, scared to be alone again. His fingers weaving in your hair, his head buried in the nape of your neck, he was pecking your delicate skin, smelling the sweet and heady perfume, glad it was exactly like the one he remembered. “Damn, Y/N. You’re still driving me crazy.”  He murmured as he allowed his hands to slide in your coat and under your jumper to caress your bare back, awakening a cheekiness that you thought was long gone. “I tend to believe constancy is a quality.” You quoted him.

***

           As soon as the door to your apartment slammed shut, your coat dropped to the floor and with hasty hands, Jason threw your beanie across the room, showing an excitement you had almost forgotten. It almost knocked an old crystal vase over but he couldn’t care less.   He had waited long enough. Two years to be precise and he couldn’t wait a second longer. “Bedroom?” He asked between two hungry kisses that were making you almost suffocating against him. “ At the end of the corridor.” You whispered, already breathless, as you managed to finally get rid of his leather jacket.       “Okay.” He suddenly grabbed you to hoist you up with incredible ease, hands under your ass, squeezing it on purpose. A lustful yet cheerful action that made you yelp in surprise.  “I’m already making you scream? Perfect.” He declared with an amused smile as he rushed towards the bedroom, with you in his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist, his lips devouring yours.     “Wrong door.” You said as he tried to open the bathroom. “Fuck.” You giggled and very soon your body finally bounced on your bed as it landed on the soft mattress.

You attempted to sit down to admire Jason but before you could do anything the hasty young man was already on top of you, right in between your legs, his lips already kissing your hot belly as his hands were slowly pulling up your jumper above your lace-covered breasts.           That’s when your first moan finally escaped your mouth. “God. I missed that sound.” Jason mumbled against your shivering skin as he cupped and squeezed your round breasts. “Do it again.” He demanded, his tongue licking you up until it reached your cleavage. “Jason.” You moaned his name, feeling a very specific humid warmth forming in between your legs as you fingers were struggling to get rid of his green t-shirt.   He cursed and knelt on the bed to take off your jumper that he carelessly tossed on the nightstand. It knocked the lamp and the radio alarm clock to the ground with a loud clinking noise. “Can you stop breaking my stuff?” You joked and he apologized with another amused bright smile. “I’m sorry, princess”             “Are you? Show me how much.” You declared with an audacious confidence you hadn’t seen in a while. “Yes, ma’am.” Jason winked and immediately unbuttoned your jeans to pull them down along with your panties, revealing your wet and rosy womanhood begging for his attention. He sighed and took a deep breath when he saw it, glad to rediscover that little part of you. Slowly, his calloused fingers went to caress it, making you draw a sharp breath as your fingers tightened around the covers. You didn’t want him to tease you too long and you somewhat you know he wouldn’t. Not today. He was too excited and needy for that.     And so were you in a way judging by the certain frustration that made you mewl when Jason’s expert finger slowly entered you while his thumb came to tickle your swollen clit. You wanted him now but you had to admit you had missed his fingers down there, the same way you had missed everything about him. Which reminded you there was something you had to do. “Let’s even the odds, shall we? I want to see how you handle such a sweet torture.”   “Sweet torture?” He repeated with a cute chuckle as you unbuckled his leather belt. “How am I torturing you, Y/N?” You unzipped his black trousers and immediately plunged you hand in his underwear to gently grab his already hard cock, making Jason curse even more crudely than before.           You chuckled and free his shaft from his boxers to jerk him off. He was as thick and long as you remembered. You bit your lower lip, impatient to feel him inside you. “Like what you see?”             “Shut up.” You knelt on the mattress and immediately took his tip between your lips to suck it like a lollipop, enjoying the taste of his bitter pre-cum on your tongue and the sound of Jason’s sharp breath in your ears. “Damn it, princess.” He managed to say with half lidded eyes.   You licked his penis with a grin before finally welcoming it in your mouth with a lustful moan. How much you had missed it. “You know. I think I get what you mean by sweet torture now.” Jason confessed as he weaved his fingers in your soft hair, torn apart by two ideas: one, let you continue your amazing blow job. Two, fuck you like he never did before. But you did not listen and started bobbing your head the way you knew he loved, taking his dick as deep as you could without gagging around him. “Fucking hell, Y/N” Jason groaned as he grabbed your head between his hands to accompany your pace. “You’re fucking amazing.” Then, his hand gently slapped your ass and he bent over to kiss it with a loving smile that was swallowed by another growl of his as his abs violently tensed with pleasure. “Alright, enough.” He pushed you flat on your back and placed himself between your legs again. He kissed your folds and licked your slit to wet it even more than it already was to finally lingered on your clit that he sucked eagerly, forcing a guttural crying moan out of your tightly sealed lips. Damn, that tongue! “I thought you said enough.” You complained, your voice as low as a whisper.

Jason chuckled and smiled brightly before he eventually knelt in between your spread thighs. “God, how gorgeous you are.” He declared as he tapped his hard cock against your reddened lips, a cheeky gesture whose sole purpose was to make you beg. You knew it. “You want this?”       “Fuck, Jay.” You grumbled, moving your hips vigorously against his shaft, looking for a way to finally welcome it inside you. But Jason ignored your whim and bent over your body. “You want me?” His face was so close to yours you could feel his hot breath caressing your lips. “Yes.” You murmured. “I want you, Ja…” He did not let you finish your sentence and caught your lips with a burning eagerness, his hand around his cock guiding it inside you, making you moan in his mouth. “Fuck.” Jason growled between his gritted teeth as he felt himself slowly sinking inside of you. “I almost forgot you felt so tight.” “ I almost forgot you were so big.” You cleared your voice, an inexplicable mechanism to relax and allow his cock to fully enter and stretch you. “I know. Sorry.” He winced, adjusting his position on top of you to admire how beautiful you were around his penis and how perfect you pussy was for him. “Damn. I don’t know if I’ll last long, princess.” Jason admitted with a shiver and you cried out when he suddenly pulled out to push himself back inside of you with one long exquisite move. “That’s alright. We’ll do it again.”

Those last words made Jason grin in a way he had never done before as he was genuinely happy that you didn’t want this to be a one-time thing, a casual lay to remember the old good days.       So he immediately took a nice pace that quickened after each new thrust and you let your hands caress his smooth chest from his strong pectorals down to his divine abs and the chiselled V below his navel, finding him simply handsome. Then you nudged his rear with your ankles, pressing his hips closer to yours to take him deeper inside of you, and started moaning his name again, a strong wave of pleasure forming in your core, ready to drown you. “Jay!” His mouth met your neck and sucked on the thin skin with ardour. “Are you gonna cum for me, princess?” That was too much to handle. “Yeah” You cried out, tears of bliss watering your eyes.       “Cum for me then.” He didn’t have to say it twice. You dug your nails in his back and screamed loudly as your walls clenched around tightly his thick cock. “That’s it, princess.” He said as you kept calling his name on and on, sending him closer to a most awaited orgasm that he eventually reached and let explode in you under the shape of a loud growled “fuck” and beads of white seed right inside of you. “Y/N” Jason groaned between his gritted teeth as he thrust hard and deep in you for the last time, his sweaty forehead against yours. “Jay!” You shouted again while clawing at his back painfully enough to make him wince and hiss.     Then he stopped moving, exhausted and breathless just like you, and watched you sink in the mattress trying to catch your breath. He caressed your hair as you both slowly came down from cloud nine. A kiss on your nose and he whispered. “You’re okay?” and in spite of the silliness of the question you nodded. “Never been better.”

Your lips found each other again and Jason let himself lie down on you, placing his head on your breasts, listening to your hearts pounding and to your loud ragged breaths. “I missed you.” He whispered and he held you body against his.     “I missed you too.” You repeated as you planted a kiss in his wet dark hair. “Did you have to keep your jeans on?” The question escaped with a laugh and Jason chuckled. “You know me. Didn’t want to waste any time.” He managed to gather the little energy he had left to sit down and finally remove his trousers as he thought he would feel more comfortable without them. “Oops. I think I broke your clock.” He grimaced as he noticed you the broken device on the floor and the flickering numbers flashing up endlessly on the screen. “I don’t care.” You said as you pulled Jason back against you. “We’ve got all the time we need.”

[thiswasinevitableid]

88. I dropped my watch in an open grave, jumped in to get it, and while you were visiting your dead grandmother, you saw me climbing out of the grave (credit to @enchantedcass)

Indruck, sfw or nsfw, please!

Here it is! This is technically SFW, though there's some discussion of sex and a bit of steaminess at the end.

“Here, these are fresh.” Indrid sets the wildflowers on the small, stone marker, so covered with moss and worn with age that no one can read it. He only knows where to find her because he watched from the Barrens as she was put in the ground.

Temperance Leeds. His grandmother, the one who narrowly avoided accusations of witchcraft, the only human who ever set foot deep enough in the trees to bring him food, to drape blankets over his shaking shoulders. She never forgot him, and he shall return the favor as long as he lives.

There’s a thump of earth behind him and he whirls; it’s midnight in a graveyard, who could possibly be here? The ghosthunters usually wait for darker nights to come. In his periphery, a hand rises from an open grave.

Great, if the dead rise he’ll probably be blamed for that too.

“Fuck” A young man pulls himself from the grave, staring at his cell phone, “c’mon, please don’t be fuckin cracked.” Light illuminates his face and sighs, “thank fuckin christ.”

The light disappears and he blinks, eyes adjusting to the dark. Indrid, too caught up in working out why he’s in the ground, hasn’t bothered to hide as he should. The human notices.

“Uh. I. Uh. Dropped my phone checkin the time. I, uh, definitely wasn’t smokin in the off limits, uh, fuck, graveyard I, uh, I fuck, promise I’ll clean up my beer bottles I mean, uh, fuck.” He scratches the back of his neck, “please don’t call the cops?”

“Can you see me?” Indrid cocks his head.

“Yeah?”

“And you are worried about me alerting the police?”

“I mean, guess we’re both breakin the rules but I kinda figured you were staff here because of the clothes.” He gestures to the ensemble Indrid cobbled together from clothes lines.

Indrid stands, stretches his wings, flicks his tail and watches the human slowly notice the color of his eyes and the outline of his horns.

“Fuck. Look, man, whatever you are, I swear I won’t tell, I’m just tryin to keep busy, please, my folks are already worried about me-”

“I’m not going to harm you.” Lightning cracks through the sky, flashing his shadow across the frightened human, “I just wanted you to see me clearly.”

Rain patters on the leather of his wings. The man looks up at the sky, face seeming even younger as it fills with resignation. Indrid recognizes it’s source.

“You have nowhere to go, do you?”

“No. I, uh, decided I wanted to get outta town and never come back, made it as far as here before I ran outta money.”

Indrid offers his hand, watches the man’s face zero in on the claws, “You may spend the night with me, if you wish. My home is a ways into the woods, but it is dry and warm.”

“Okay.” The young man replies softly, letting Indrid help him up as the dirt turns to mud. Indrid shelters him as best he can with a wing until they reach the cottage. Indrid kneels by the fireplace, lumps kindling into a pile as the young man sets his backpack on a chair.

“Nice place. Gotta admit I was expectin somethin more dilapidated. On account of the whole, uh, y’know.” He gestures to Indrid’s horns and cloven feet.

“It was much like you expected, once upon a time. But a human named Arlo Thacker took pity on me and helped me build it with the aid of a few friends. There.” The fire flickers merrily, “that should keep us warm. You may--ah, what are you doing?”

The young man has removed his jacket and shirt, revealing what Indrid recognizes from human magazines as a sports bra. His hands are now on the fly of his jeans.

“You said I was supposed to, uh, spend the night with you?”

“Yes, in that you may sleep here to be safe from the weather and any who might wish you harm. Not so that you may keep me warm. So to speak.”

“You’re not gonna fuck me?”

Indrid flicks his tail, surprised, “You would offer yourself to me, looking like this?”

The man nods in a way that suggests he’s run a calculus in his head and decided Indrid’s desire was less abhorrent than some other option. Indrid crosses the small living room, bringing them face to face. He reaches out a hand, runs his claws through black hair until the human closes his eyes. Then his hand slides to cup his cheek, one nail tracing fond little shapes on the skin as the man sighs. Against his better judgement, he tilts his head down to nose the dark locks; smoke lingers there, just as alcohol hangs on his breath. He’s so warm, so willing and so very soft. Indrid wants nothing more than to undress him further, carry him to his cozy bedroom and discover what sounds come when he fits their bodies together.

“What’s your name?”

“Duck. It’s a nickname.”

“A charming one. But no, Duck, I will not take such advantage of you. I may be called a devil, but I do not believe in making one trade their body for basic kindness. Come along, the bedroom will allow you more privacy.”

“Thanks.” Duck sways, and Indrid senses a weariness he’s not certain a good nights rest will fix. Tomorrow he will be sure to be gone when Duck awakens, leaving his dry clothes and a map back to town outside his door so that he can do what Indrid can dare to; leave the Barrens and find a life waiting for him in the world beyond.

-----------------------------------------------------------

There are some days when Duck thinks his encounter in the woods was a dream. The hand-drawn map he keeps folded among his books tells him otherwise.

He’d come home after that night, made his peace with Kepler for a few years more, and often awoke from dreams where he was pushing through brush in pursuit of a strange shadow. He never cites these as a reason for his taking a job at a state forest in New Jersey that includes the Barrens.

Now, he’s decided to upgrade from his apartment to a house in the woods that’s been listed for over two years and is a goddamn steal because of that.

“As you can see, there’s another residence across the clearing; that’s why the company that built this lovely dwelling was able to do so. They intended to build a nice little community here.”

“The fact that ain’t happened got anythin to do with the reason I gotta stay the night before I make an offer?”

Ned’s smile falters, “Indeed, dear boy. I like you, so I’ll be forthcoming; we’ve never seen anyone in the other house. But they have most certainly seen us.”

Duck settles in for an uneventful afternoon and evening, reads his book and considers whether he could fit some windowboxes on the house for garden space. It’s not until it’s pitch black outside that it starts; footsteps on the roof, followed shortly by red eyes peering in through the living room window.

He opens the front door, the undergrowth rustling hurriedly to his left.

“Uh, hey there. You may not remember me but, uh, we’ve actually met before. About ten years ago. You uh, you let me stay the night?”

Only some crickets, unaware of the tension in the air, reply to him. Then the bushes grow two, ruby red flowers.

“Duck?”

“Yep. Y’know, you never told me your name. If we’re gonna be neighbors, feels like I oughta know what to call you.”

A shadow moves from the trees, stopping when it reaches the light spilling from the windows. He’s as Duck remembers him; short horns sprouting from a mop of silver hair, claws on his fingers and black wings folded on his back. His skin is a swirl of ashy grey and ember red. And his face, while striking, is human. That was the part that always tripped Duck up; the Jersey Devil was always drawn with a goat or horse face, making him question whether that’s who he met all those years ago.

“Indrid. My name is Indrid.”

“Nice to see you again, Indrid.”

The other man smiles, and Duck knows what will replace the mad hunt through the brush in his dreams, “Likewise.”

-------------------------------------------------

“You know, she had three more children after me. None of them suffered the same curse.” Indrid kicks idly at the long decayed remains of his family home. Their nightly walk brough them close to it this time around, and Duck had been curious. His interest is never prurient or morbid; Duck wants to get to know Indrid, not his legend.

“That fuckin sucks.”

Indrid chuckles, “I do enjoy how you put things so plainly.”

“I’m serious, what kind of folks put their kid out when it’s a baby? I mean, mine weren't always the fuckin parents of the year but at least they understood lookin after me was part of the deal.”

“It was a different time.”

“Fine, but I’m still judgin the hell outta them.”

Indrid looks fondly down at the human, “That’s as fair a fate for them as any.”

---------------------------------------

“It don’t weird you out?” Juno indicates Indrid’s house from where she and Duck are sitting on his front porch. The twin Adirondack chairs are a new addition, as the warmer months mean he and Indrid spend ample time trying to see the stars through the treetops.

“Nah. Indrid’s a real good neighbor when he’s around. He’s uh, from an old family so he don’t gotta work. Part of why he keeps such weird hours.” Duck wishes he could introduce them; it’d be nice for the three of them to have dinner before Juno heads south again. But Indrid has several centuries of shitty human encounters that dig under his skin like splinters, and Duck will never push him to ignore that pain. Besides, there will be other visits.

The summer and fall pass in much the same ways last winter and spring did. Duck works in the park, visits friends in town, runs errands, and generally goes about all the mundane moments that make up a life. Then he spends his evenings in one of the two cottages, or walking alongside Indrid on long-overgrown pathways.

The hardest part of it all is not mentioning Indrid in every single conversation; Duck is already tempting disaster being unable to lie and the neighbor of a cryptid. He doesn’t want to also drive his friends up the wall talking about said cryptids art, or his laugh, or the little herb garden Duck is helping him grow.

They’re in the stretch of days between Christmas and New Year, and Indrid has just finished opening the gift Duck brought him; a thick, soft sweater that Duck stitched a “I” into the front of along with a few little pine tree patches. Indrid smiles at him and notices that Duck’s sweater is done in a similar fashion (in fact, everyone in the Newton family wears one like this). The grin turns bashful and Indrid rubs his cheek against the fabric.

“Thank you, Duck. I, ah, I’m sorry I do not have anything to give you. Holidays are not my strong suit.”

“Just gettin to see you is enough.” Duck stands to refill his tea, Indrid’s gaze caressing his back as he moves through the room. He almost hadn’t gone home, had offered to stay and keep Indrid company. But his friend insisted, reminding him that while it felt odd to be without each other, they both had spent plenty of time apart and been fine. All the same, when he got home yesterday Indrid was knocking on his door before he even put his bag down.

Duck didn’t mind at all. No more than he minds when Indrid sleeps with his head in his lap or strokes his hair while they read on the couch.

The cryptid stokes the fire as the snow gives way to sleet, streaking the windows with icy drops.

“Goodness, what a frigid night.”

“No kiddin.” Duck sets his mug down, turns just as Indrid gets to his feet, “can’t say I mind, kinda reminds me of the night we met.”

The colors of Indrid’s skin make a blush difficult to spot, but Duck’s learned which dip of his head and quirk of his lip means it’s there.

“‘Drid? Did you ever think about that night? Because I did. I, uh, I do.”

“Yes.” Indrid’s tail twitches.

“What do you think about?”

“I, ah, I...you first.”

Duck crosses the creaking floorboards, looking up into red eyes, “I think about how safe it felt when you brought me here. How when I woke up, I felt like this was some kinda weird sign, that I needed to rethink some things and that’s how come I went home, which turned out to be a good call. And” he smirks, “I think about how I was drunk and desperate enough to ask the fuckin Jersey Devil if he was gonna fuck me.”

Indrid blushes once more, studies the ground as Duck touches his shoulder, “I must say that is the part that dominated most of my thoughts. Not right away; for the first few weeks when I thought of you I only hoped you were alright. Then I would let myself imagine that I had been devilish indeed.”

Gently, Duck raises Indrid’s hand and cradles his cheek with it as they did that night, “What would you have done, devil of mine?”

A snicker, “I will answer that only if you tell me whether you are angling for the demonstration that I think you are.”

“Damn right.” He closes his eyes, heart swelling and skin prickling as Indrid steps closer and nuzzles the top of his head.

“I would have asked if you were tired of running. If you wanted a home. And would you like to make it here, so that we could keep each other company. I know in my heart this would have been a selfish offer. I am glad I did not make it, did not trap you here, resign you to a fate that was not what you would have chosen freely.”

“I’m pretty fuckin free these days.”

“And that all on it’s own fills me with joy. But yes, there were nights where I wished I’d been selfish.”

Duck tips his head up, brushing their noses together, “Say you made that offer and I accepted. What then?”

Indrid cups his face with both hands. The kiss is chaste, Indrid sighing against his lips as he twines his claws in his hair. Duck wraps his arms around his waist, lightly teasing the edge of one wing.

“Then” Indrid murmurs, “I’d carry you to bed.”

“Yeah, that part woulda been easier when I was seventeEEN” he laughs as Indrid scoops him into a bridal carry with ease. He’s never been in Indrid’s bed, so he giggles again when he discovers it’s ten times squishier than his own. The cryptid sinks onto it with him, guiding him so they’re face to face on their sides.

“May I undress you?”

“Knock yourself out, darlin.” Affection deep and warm as a thermal spring wells up in him as Indrid carefully removes his sweater and shirt before dainty setting his claws to work on his fly. When Duck is down to his boxers, hunger enters Indrid’s eyes for the first time.

“Oh you are divine.” One hand strokes his leg, pausing at the crease of his thigh each time it reaches there. The other curves along his belly up to his chest before caressing his face, the black claws making his skin seem oddly pale and very fragile in comparison.

Duck touches the hem of Indrid’s shirt and the cryptid freezes.

“‘Drid? Is this okay?”

“Do you...truly wish to see me unclothed?”

Duck surges forward to kiss him as he rucks up his shirt, the movement a sufficient answer for Indrid to raise his arms and let him pull the sweater and battered shirt beneath it away. His skin here is the same swirl of colors as the rest of him, but there’s a dusting of peach fuzz fur across it. It’s delightful under Duck’s tongue, though the little keen of pleasure from Indrid is even better.

“It’s strange” Indrid traces hearts and zig-zags with his claws along Duck’s sides as the human continues kissing his chest and neck, “I thought that seeing you like this would so overwhelm me with need that I’d beg to have you this instant. But it seems I feel much the same way I did in my fantasies of that night.”

“Oh” Duck reaches up to toy with the base of a horn and Indrid groans happily before continuing.

“Had you stayed, knowing you were now mine, I’d have taken my time. Nestled you under the blankets, opened you up on my tongue until you were weak from pleasure. That way it would be easy to take you when I was ready. Perhaps on your back, so you had me to hold onto if you needed. Or on your belly, so you would be even more sheltered from the cold, cruel world by my body and wings. And I’d stay there for hours, make up for decade after decade of touch starvation by glutting myself on your young, willing body.”

“Holy fuck, ‘Drid.” Duck pulls him down into a kiss, “christ that’s a fuckin good image.”

“Mmmm” the cryptid licks his cheek, “it is, isn’t it. But since you are not going anywhere, and we are not limited by the confines of my imagination, I am even less inclined to rush. Will you indulge me with just kisse tonight?”

Duck brushes silver hair from his forehead, planting a kiss there when he’s done, “Of course.”

----------------------

The morning brings several feet of snow and announcement that those who can stay in their homes and shelter from the ongoing storm should. The pines drop heaps of white across the ground, and frost makes the windows so icy it’s better to draw the curtains and stay curled up in the dark.

Duck doesn’t mind at all.

[spicycreativity]

Howl - Chapter 1

Rating: Teen

Fic Content Warnings: Blood, injury, suggestive content, alcohol use

Characters: All

Pairing: Analogical, background Moceit because apparently I can't help myself

Add'l Notes: dw if you don't know what a loup-garou is or how the lore works; all is explained in the story / Have I ever been to Louisiana? No 💕Did I write an entire story set in rural-ish Cajun Louisiana anyway because I hate myself? Yes 💕 / If you're from Louisiana and noticed any screw-ups, pls correct me so I can fix it

It also comes with a playlist! For ambience, not necessarily for the lyrics

Summary:

Two things happen to Virgil Landry on Halloween:

1) Logan Doucet, his longtime friend and slightly-less-longtime crush, asks him out

2) He becomes cursed to spend his nights as a half-man, half-wolf monster: a loup-garou

Despite his new affliction, Virgil strives for normalcy all the way up until he can't anymore and everything falls apart.

The floorboards creaked in their familiar pattern as Virgil paced over them, his feet sliding around awkwardly in his over-the-knee boots. He was supposed to meet Logan alone in an hour, an hour! His heart thumped painfully under his ribs. What did Logan want?

Virgil yanked his phone out of his pocket to re-read the message for the 85th time, ignoring a few new messages in his assorted group chats:

Logan: If it's not inconvenient, could you meet me early at the Plaza tonight? Maybe 6:30?

Virgil: yeah sure 

Virgil: everything OK?

Logan: Yes :-)

What did it mean? Was everything okay? Or was Logan just lying to make him feel better? Because if so, it wasn't working. Virgil ran his hands through his hair, careful not to smudge his makeup. It had taken him an hour and a half to perfect his vampire makeup in the mirror and he didn't want to risk messing it up.

With a sigh that turned into a groan, Virgil threw himself down on his couch. It made the walls rattle, nearly displacing a few trinkets on his crappy, rickety shelves. He heard a tell-tale scrape above his head and knew that his favorite painting had gone crooked again. God, this place was a wreck-- Just like Virgil. He made a mental note to ask Patton for help patching up the leaky roof. It was as good a time as any, as they were well out of rainy season, but it did seem a little rude. What was he even supposed to say? Hey, Patton, I know carpentry is literally what you do for a living, but could you help me for free since I'm broke and sad? Thanks, bud. Yeah, right. He sighed again and tugged at his medallion, a rusted old thing with a glass gem in the center. He had picked it up from a thrift store months earlier in anticipation of Halloween, but maybe he should have made some effort to restore it. It smelled strongly of rust and decay and felt terrible between his fingers, all oily and sticky.

So far, the only saving grace of the day was that it wasn't raining now. Virgil had spent his workday in silent anxiety, eyeing the storm clouds through the shop window and rubbing a small piece of sunstone between his thumb and forefinger. It seemed to have worked, as the clouds had dispersed a little and allowed the watery light of the autumn sun to peek through.

Virgil's phone lit up with a few more messages in his group chats: Roman having hysterics over some detail of his costume, Janus and Remus discussing how to avoid the small army of toddlers that always ran rampant at the Halloween parade. Virgil ignored them all. He was in no mood to be friendly, would probably snap at them. Logan hadn't said anything since his message to Virgil, which he had presumably sent on his lunch break. The question haunted Virgil, that great unknown lurking behind him and instilling a fear that no ghost ever could: What did Logan want?

Virgil set his phone down and leaned forward, heaving a sigh that turned into a yawn. Great. Whatever. That meant he was on the verge of hyperventilating, his breathing already irregular. Damn it, Logan knew better than to leave him hanging like this! They'd known each other for so long and he'd always been more perceptive to Virgil's needs than the others.

Especially lately… They'd been spending more time alone, and Virgil couldn't deny the sweet, warm giddiness that enveloped him every time they were alone together. First meetings were always his favorite, seeing Logan's face light up with a smile. He hadn't dared to think that Logan might feel the same way, but it was getting harder and harder to keep his fantasies on a leash. Worst-case scenarios and best-case scenarios dueled in his head: Logan kissing him, Logan telling him they couldn't be friends anymore, Logan confessing, Logan announcing that he had some incurable disease.

Virgil grabbed his phone and jumped to his feet. He couldn't do this anymore, couldn't sit here and torture himself. He would just leave now. He would rather arrive freakishly early than face another minute of this self-inflicted torment 

He double and triple checked he had his wallet and his plastic fangs, which he

was planning on putting on later. The medallion bounced against his exposed chest as he walked and he wondered briefly if it might be more trouble than it was worth. He could always swap it out for one of his pendants, maybe amethyst to calm his nerves. But it looked so good against his skin, falling perfectly in the deep V of his flowy white poet shirt. Unlike his other necklaces, it screamed vampire. And Janus would tease him if he caught Virgil wearing a subpar costume, and then Roman would join in, and Remus, and it would turn into a whole thing . He could wear the stupid medallion for one night.

 -

Virgil regretted this decision as soon as he got his moped going. Even at its 30 mph crawl, the heavy necklace bounced against his chest in a maddening rhythm. At least it was distracting. Every time he started to worry about Logan, the erratic tap-tap-tap of cold metal on his chest brought him back to Earth.

It was a long ride into town down a windy country road. He hugged the shoulder as best as he could despite the lack of traffic; Virgil's neighbors were few, but they all liked to take corners at frighteningly high speeds. The one person who did drive by honked at him and flashed their lights. Virgil's heart dropped and he nearly flipped them off before he realized that they liked his costume. It occurred to him then that he must look pretty absurd: A vampire riding a purple moped, cape fluttering on the wind.

Upon reaching the Plaza, Virgil did a few laps around downtown, smiling at the spiderwebs decorating Vaillant City Hall. Another lap revealed that empty parking spots were already becoming scarce, so Virgil pulled into one and checked his phone. Nothing from Logan. Just more hysterics from Roman, and Patton's best attempts at comfort. Virgil rolled his eyes. Maybe Roman did need some tough love. He scanned through the messages to orient himself, to make sure he didn't look dumb, and then typed out his reply.

Virgil: look, Prince Charming. 2 rolls of body glitter is more than enough. Stop freaking out

Roman: That's DOCTOR Prince Charming to you

Virgil: :*

He put his phone away, tucked his keys in his pocket, and forced himself to walk slowly toward the Plaza. He was still excruciatingly early, but maybe he could pop into a bar or grab a coffee or even swing by his work-- Oh.

There, standing by the reflecting pool with his hands in his pockets, was Logan. Virgil smiled despite his nerves and sped up. Leave it to Logan to somehow be earlier than early.

"Hey, Data," Virgil said once he was in earshot.

Logan's face lit up, and even the yellow contacts he was wearing couldn't mask the fondness in his face. "Evening, Virge," he said. His smile dropped too quickly and he kept his hands shoved in his pockets. Virgil surveyed all this with dread. Was he reading too much into it? Most definitely. Could he stop? No way.

"Everything okay?" Virgil asked, tugging at his medallion and turning his nervous gaze upon the placid waters of the reflecting pool. Great. Now he had two awesome reasons to be nervous. It was an old Vaillant legend that anyone who disturbed the waters of the pool would be cursed, and Virgil did not mess with curses. He usually took pains to avoid the Plaza, even if it meant he had to take the long way to work.

"Yes, Virgil," Logan said in a voice that was far too breathy. He cleared his throat. "As you know, we have been friends for a long time. I…" He paused, blinked. "I forgot what I was going to say."

"Jeeze, Lo," Virgil tried to tease. "You're making me nervous."

"But I--" Logan ran a hand through his hair. "Virgil. I had prepared something far more eloquent than what I am about to say, but I can't seem to remember it at the moment. Forgive me if this comes across as confusing."

"All good," Virgil said, making only a minimal effort to hide his confusion. The medallion was cold and oily under his fingertips, but he couldn't stop messing with it, tugging at it, rattling the chain. He needed some outlet for all this nervous energy.

"We've been spending more time alone together and I

thought-- I wanted--" Logan touched his face and Virgil realized a second later he had tried to push up his glasses, which he wasn't wearing. Oh, how cute. "Virgil, I would like to go steady with you."

A rush of vertigo smacked into Virgil with such force that he had to take a step back just to keep his balance. "Go steady?" he heard himself say. "Like-- Like, boyfriends?"

"If you are amenable to that," Logan said, furiously running his fingers over the piping on his uniform. "If not, I-- We can pretend this never--"

"Yes," Virgil interrupted. "Yes, yes, yes. Logan, I do want that."

"Oh," said Logan, his face breaking into a smile. "Good."

Virgil clenched his fist around the medallion wondering if it was too soon to ask for a kiss. He took a breath and felt something give with a quiet snap. The broken chain snaked along his neck, dragged down by the weight of the pendant. Virgil watched in silent agony as the necklace landed in the water of the reflecting pool with a quiet splash. "Shit."

"Allow me," said Logan, already in motion.

"No!" Virgil caught his hand and held it. "The curse." He realized what he had done and let go of Logan's hand.

"I don't believe in such things, Virgil, but if it's important to you, then I'll leave it."

"Thank you." Virgil stared down at the water and sighed through his nose. He'd already disturbed the water. Would it be better to leave the necklace or take it out? Littering seemed more disrespectful, he supposed. So he bent and grabbed the necklace before he could change his mind. "I'll, uh, de-curse-ify myself later."

Logan nodded, looking preoccupied. "Let me know if I can help. I might be able to repair the chain."

"Actually," said Virgil, stuffing the wet necklace into his pocket, "I was wondering if maybe, um…"

"Yes?"

"Can I kiss you?"

"Please do."

Virgil closed his eyes so he wouldn't get weirded out by Logan's contacts. He had been expecting a short kiss, sweet and chaste, but Logan's hand tightened in the loose fabric of Virgil's poet shirt and his teeth grazed Virgil's bottom lip. Fuck propriety, then; the Plaza was still fairly empty. Virgil raised a hand to grab a fistful of Logan's hair and ran his tongue along the edge of Logan's lip.

They were interrupted by a wolf whistle and golf claps. "I'll be damned." Crap. Why did it have to be Janus? He was never going to let Virgil live this down.

Virgil pulled away so fast it made pain shoot through his neck. He exhaled sharply and covered the area with his hand for all the good it would do, turning to face Janus with a blush blooming on his cheeks. "What are you supposed to be?" he asked, looking Janus up and down. Janus had always been unnecessarily private about things that really didn't matter. He had evaded all of Virgil's attempts to guess his costume, and now presented wearing an old-fashioned suit including top hat, gloves, and cane.

"Don't change the subject," said Janus, dismissing Virgil with a wave.

In true vampire fashion, Virgil snarled and bared his teeth, then remembered something. "Oh, shit, my fangs!" He dug in his pocket for them, leaving Janus to do… whatever he was going to do.

"Logan, I presume?" Janus asked. Virgil stopped in the process of sticking on one tooth, heart hammering again. Janus and Logan had never met, and they could both be… a bit much in their own ways.

Logan nodded. "Logan Doucet." He held out his hand for a shake.

Janus took it. "Thank God you didn't bother to paint your face, else Virgil would have more than smudged lipstick to contend with. You've got some on your mouth, by the way."

"Thank you," Logan said stiffly. He withdrew his hand and used it to wipe away the lipstick stain on his face. "Nice to meet you, Professor Moriarty."

Virgil's eyes darted back to Janus, who smiled. "When I'm not acting as the Napoleon of Crime, you can call me Janus. Janus Bellefontaine."

"Where's Remus?" Virgil interjected, looking around. "Didn't he ride with you?"

"He got waylaid by some angry mothers because his costume made their kids cry," Janus said, nonchalantly running a

fingertip over the brim of his hat. "He'll be along." To Logan, he said, "Virgil tells me you're an accountant."

"Yes," said Logan. 

"And you haven't killed yourself yet, so I assume you must like it."

Virgil busied himself sticking his fangs onto his canines so he wouldn't worry about the conversation at hand. A sideways glance at Logan revealed that he seemed to find the comment amusing, thank God . "I've always been good with numbers. People, less so."

"Never would have guessed," Janus said, and Virgil didn't have to look at him to know he was smiling that crooked, tight-lipped smile that might have been genuine or might have been mocking. Asshole. "Well, if you have any rich clients, send them my way, won't you? I sell nice suits to dumb men with low self-esteem and too much money and I'm always on the lookout for another rube to swindle."

"If the suits are any good, I'd be happy to," Logan said.

Satisfied that his fangs were in properly, Virgil's attention shifted suddenly to the cold, wet medallion in his pocket. Right. He was cursed. Despite his interest in the occult and the supernatural, Virgil didn't have much experience with curses. His friends weren't really the type to play around with magic (well, maybe Janus, maybe- maybe Roman) and he wasn't the kind of guy who made enemies. No one had ever cursed him before. How soon would this one take effect? Should he go home and come back? Should he hop into the bayou, makeup be damned? Did bayous even count as running water?

He was so caught up in his panic spiral that the sudden sensation of hands on his shoulders made him jump. "Fuck!"

To his surprise it was Roman, not Remus, who laughed from somewhere behind him. "What, are Logan and Janus boring you?"

Virgil looked up and flinched again. While Roman looked relatively normal in his glittery Doctor Frank-n-Furter costume, Remus, who was lurking just behind his brother, was a horrorshow of fur and face paint and fake blood. "Um…" He shook himself and noticed Patton standing a ways off, peering at Remus. Distracted, he went to introduce Patton to Remus and Janus only to learn that he and Roman had run into Remus on their way over and rescued him from a brigade of shouty young mothers.

"He's Macavity," Patton said in a tone like he was pronouncing the death of the family goldfish.

"The other Napoleon of Crime," Janus agreed. "And you are?"

"Patton Haydel!"

A pause. "I gathered that. " Janus gestured at Patton's costume, which he had also kept a secret. Virgil had been staring at it as well, trying to figure it out. Patton was wearing what appeared to be a headless bear costume, round glasses, and what might have been a cowboy hat, though Virgil wasn't 100% sure. "What are you?"

"You have to guess!" Patton said, extending his arms and backing up so everyone could get a good look at him.

Virgil stared at him, running his tongue over the edges of his plastic fangs. "I got nothin'."

Logan took a sideways step and tapped Virgil's hand. Virgil nodded, and Logan interlaced their fingers as casually as he might clock in for work. "He's Teddy Bear Roosevelt."

They all groaned. "Good work, Pat," Virgil said begrudgingly.

"You have a big wet spot on your crotch," Remus pronounced, pointing at Virgil.

Janus raised his eyebrows, turning to Virgil with undisguised schadenfreude, but Logan stepped in before anyone could say anything. "It's water. He dropped his necklace in the reflecting pool."

"Well," said Patton, "that's not good."

"You dropped something in the reflecting pool and didn't immediately run for the nearest source of running water?" Janus asked. He looked from Virgil to Logan, then to their intertwined fingers and grinned. "Ah. More pressing matters at hand?"

"Maybe it's not too late," Roman said, drumming his acrylic nails against his thigh. "We can still dump him in the bayou."

"There's alligators in there!" Virgil said. "Fuck that. You know my house is plastered with wards. I'm sure I can make it through one evening."

"Your funeral," said Remus, leering. "Let me know if your dick falls

off.

 -

Despite his friends' concern, Virgil had a wonderful evening. Logan stuck close the whole night through, and they even snuck a few kisses here and there like infatuated teenagers. Each one sent a lightning thrill down Virgil's spine and made him want a dozen more. His friends noticed in turns and either teased or cooed, but each reaction was encouraging.

Logan kissed him goodbye at the end of the night and he practically floated back to his moped. He was so caught up in his daydreams that he only remembered the curse when he caught sight of the nazar hanging on his kitchen wall. Cursing under his breath, Virgil went to his bookshelf and began to compile a few methods of curse-breaking. Did a shower count as running water? God help him, he was not getting in the bayou. Maybe he could combine methods.

A few moments later, Virgil had everything set up in the bathroom. He lit the last candle, tightened the herb sachet around his neck, and stepped into the shower. Okay, time to focus. He was washing himself free of the curse and wouldn't it be nice if Logan were here? Logan didn't believe in magic and his clear-headed confidence would undoubtedly make Virgil feel better, too-- Focus! Wash away the curse. Logan would probably help him if he asked, helping Virgil set up the crystals and making sure his candles stayed lit-- Virgil! The curse! Wash away the curse.

The bathroom smelled of candles, incense, and herbs. Almost like Virgil's workplace, except that Virgil was using lavender and his boss preferred nag champa.

He stepped out of the shower and inhaled deeply, letting the mixture of scents relax him and draw him toward sleep.

[evilzoldyck]

Break the Internet

On slow days like these where assignments were not yet assigned, Shalnark found an effortless way to make use of his time to save himself from unbearable boredom. Surprisingly, looking up valuable and sensitive information of strangers turned out to be more entertaining than he thought. Shalnark could scroll through endless facts without noticing how swiftly the minutes turned into hours. 

Who knew the mayor of Yorknew City had accumulated an obsessive amount of photos hidden in his secret folder on his work computer dedicated to indulge his foot fetish. A plethora of renowned figure he vaguely recognises seemed to have the same tastes, it was also no surprise that these people had paid for sex more than once according to their transaction history. There were a myriad of amusing information he could use to keep himself busy, it was like reading an open book to someone’s inmost secrets, history and relations. 

Though after scrolling through profile after profile, Shalnark couldn’t help but go back to yours. In contrast to many others, you lead an admirable life. An exemplar samaritan from your volunteering efforts, an upstanding citizen contributing to society and a diligent student all the way from middle school to university. This eventually landed you a job as a developmental disability nurse, working with children who were less fortunate and needed assistance. 

How cute.

Though no one could hide and cover their secrets with a good track of records, and unfortunately for you, Shalnark knew your yours. Upon foraging your profile for any information he could acquire, he’d stumble upon the history of your recorded texts shared with your current boyfriend. His eyes widened at the ludicrous amount of contents exchanged consistently back and forth in such a short amount of time. 

However, Shalnark was ecstatic to know that you were a little bit of a freak. 

Numerous pictures and videos of nudes and explicit candid activities shared trustingly with each other. He must admit, your pretty and innocent appearance assisted you to create the perfect facade that threw him off guard. Therefore he would never took you for someone who’d enjoy sexting so much. 

Shalnark clicked on a recent video which instantaneously showed a video cut of your body sprawled on the soft sheets, presumably showing off your lingerie as you slyly pushed your chest forward to show off how the delicate laces hugged your curves and slowly trailed your finger down but never letting the camera falter to follow after it. 

Shalnark seemed to be enjoying it more than he thought, in just a matter of hours he had went through every video you recorded and sent. He couldn’t lie that your actions turned him on, he was left to imagine just how soft your skin would actually be like in real life and how sweet your soft mewls would sound right next to his ear as he fucked you right. 

Though the boyfriend was a problem. Upon further examination, there was a reason to why there was so much lewd content between you and him over texts. Your current partner, Yoji, was working out of town for a huge business project that took months to settle. In the meantime, you both decided to fill the intimacy void obstructed by the physical distance through online social network means. 

As expected, Shalnark wasn’t as intrigued or impressed in comparison to yours upon studying Yoji’s profile. Just an ordinary businessman with a slight dirty records of using tricks such as feigning business formalities and paperworks to launder money. A common plebeian among the sea of crowds, he could never understand how someone like you could be with someone as dull as him.

Though this mini mission of his that he assigned himself should be fairly easy. 

A simple tune emitted from the computer caught your attention from your book you were currently reading to reveal that it was a notification for a video chat from Yoji. Smiling in anticipation you accepted wholeheartedly after making sure to fix yourself up quickly. 

The screen lit up to display the familiar smile and face of your boyfriend. You felt your heart flutter at the sight of him, the distance had taken a toll on your heart and you were eternally grateful that he had even the vestige of time to spare for the both of you every night despite knowing the stress and burden he has from the project. 

“Hey cutie, how was your shift?” He asked, softly smiling from the dark hotel room with the computer screen as the only source of light that slightly made his face visible for you. 

“Tiring as usual but worthwhile,” you replied casually, resting your chin with either of your hand. “How’s the contract coming up? Are things finally wrapping up there?” 

He let out a small sigh before responding back, “it’s getting there.” Immediately you felt guilty, you could see his bloodshot eyes and darkened bags that’s no doubt caused by the accumulated work he’s been facing. “Though can you do me a favour, baby?” 

Perking up immediately you’d gladly do anything to help relieve the slightest bit of tension from your boyfriend. “Anything,” You obediently affirmed as he chuckled a little at your enthusiasm.

“Can you get on the bed,” he instructed slowly. “And fuck yourself for me?” 

His words instantly brought your blood to rush into your cheek, it certainly wasn’t the first time you both did it over FaceTime but it still was an experience you couldn’t get used to without being a little shy. Perhaps the reason behind your apprehension was that because it was a live feed in comparison to the videos and pictures that you carefully rehearse, you were slightly nervous in putting only the best show for him. Nevertheless, you did as he said and made yourself comfortable on the bed while folding your legs to sit on top of them. 

Shalnark smiled pleasingly from the next room over from your boyfriend’s at how willing and compliant you were, though having to masquerade as him was not ideal, he figured he’d have fun and take advantage of the situation before he discarded his toy. 

“Take off your top and let me see you play with your tits,” he muttered as he instructed the order on his phone that currently controlled Yoji’s slowly decaying dead body. 

“Okay,” You tender and shy voice came through from a secondary laptop screen which allowed Shalnark to enjoy the show from the comfort of his own private hotel room and away from detecting any suspicions from you. 

True to your words, you took off your comfortable sweater from the front that revealed your full bare breasts on display for him. Biting your lip, you took both of your hands to your chests slowly, you made sure to send sultry gazes towards him, hoping he was a turned on as much as you were. 

Gently, you began to palm your chest as your tits pebbled from the touch, stimulating warmth that bloomed from the pits of your stomach. Yoji seemed to be enjoying the view as he stared intently at the screen. That gave you a boost of encouragement as you continued to play with yourself, pinching and softly tugging on your nipples which made you whimper and roll your head back.

Shalnark languidly laid back on his chair and began to rub his dick through his shorts, eyes never leaving your form as they caress your breasts prettily. You really did know how to put on a show for him. 

“Take off your shorts and panties.” He ordered once more. With little reluctance from your end, they were discarded within a moment, leaving you completely vulnerable for his viewing pleasure. “Spread your legs and play with yourself.” 

Feeling yourself get even wetter by his demanding decree, you spread your thighs to allow him to look at your glistening pussy. You loved entertaining with the idea of subjecting yourself to him, knowing he loved it when you do as he says, even though he didn’t completely have control over you.

Reaching down to collect the copious amount of slick fluid leaking from your cunt, you trailed it along your slit before rubbing soft circles around your clit making you jolt in pleasure. You felt your hardened little nub making contact with your delicate touches as it easily slipped from your lubricant. 

“That’s great, honey,” he breathed out. “But spread it a bit more.”

“Like this?” You asked meekly, one hand behind your back to support yourself from falling down as you spread your thighs more open. 

Shalnark’s dick was already out by this point from the confinement of his trousers as he stroked it painfully slow as to match your pace. His eyes couldn’t bear to leave the screen as you displayed your pretty cunt so openly to him, teasing it with your tiny fingers making him want to reach through the screen and show you how much better his would feel. With one hand still gripping onto his device, he typed in another order.

“Yeah, now put a finger in.” 

Panting slightly, you reached down and slowly entered a single digit, letting your cunt to squeeze around your finger as you moaned at the intrusion. 

“Y-Yoji! Ahh...” your head lolled back when your walls closed in on you, making you rub on a very special spot that sent your senses flying. In haste, you added another finger in as you continued to play with yourself and you noticed Yoji’s eyes never faltered from the screen, watching you slip your fingers in and out.

“Does it feel good, baby?” You nodded lightly at his words. “Can you rub your pussy faster for me? I want to see you fuck yourself harder...” 

“Mmh!...” you cried as you sped up your fingers. It felt so surreal, you could feel yourself almost touching the stars at this point. Your eyes were hazed in the image of your boyfriend as your mind were only clouded by carnal desires. You’ve never felt so good every time you did this with him, it made you all the more excited to see him in the next upcoming week for when he gets back. 

Feeling your walls clenching onto your fingers, you knew you were near your end soon. “I-I’m getting close...” you whined out, “I’m going to cum, Yoji!” 

“Stop.” 

You let out a dumb, “huh?” in response. He would seldom stop you just before you reached your peak so this was a slight surprise.

“Reach into the drawer for your dildo, I know that’s where you keep them.” Blushing profusely, you nevertheless acquiesced and promptly took the small pink toy in your hand. “Now fuck and play with it.”

You glared at him through the screen but that front shattered as you felt the head enter into your warm, plush cunt. At this point you’ve nearly turned yourself inside out. “Y-yoji! Ohh...” you moaned at the snug fit as you got it all the way inside, arching your back in pleasure as your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

“Feels nice doesn’t it, babe?” Too high off of pleasure you hummed blissfully in return. 

Grabbing the base you continued the pace you were with your fingers, no longer having any patience to draw out your orgasm any longer. The room was filled with your wanton moans and debauched sighs as well as the promiscuous sounds of your slick with the toy no doubt coming through to the audio. 

“I’m so c-close!” You managed to whimper out. “Let me cum Yoji- please! Let me cum!”

“Say the magic words.”

“F-fuck! Ahh...” sweat beads ran down the back of your spine at this point. “I love you! I wish you were h-here... fucking me instead- god! I miss you so much, I think a-about you every day, I want you here with me always!” 

“Good.”

With his word, you felt your hot, soft walls closing hard around the pink toy and squirt out a gratuitous amount of fluids, coating your thighs and sheets with it. Your mind was blank as you felt yourself so stimulated that you worry your body could couldn’t handle this much force. Gripping the sheets tightly through your orgasm, you cried out in pleasure as you fell backwards with your toes and back curled naturally. 

Shalnark’s hands were now already coated with his thick cum, smiling exuberantly at your fun and cute little adventure. Well, now he guess was the time to pull down the curtains and reveal himself. After all, his puppet broke, he has no use for him anymore. 

Panting out to catch your breath, you laid on the side to face the screen and smiled tiredly. 

“How was I?” You asked sheepishly. Yoji’s face turned blank for a moment before dropping his head down to the keyboard harshly. 

“Yoji?!” You cried out in desperation and fear as you sat up in shock. What on earth just happened? You saw a little sword like needle pinned itself on the back of his head and before you could make sense of it the screen went black before revealing a jubilant young man with a smile seemingly etched onto youthful face.

“That was more than amazing!” He joyfully cheered. 

Quickly you grabbed a hold of your blanket to make yourself somewhat decent in front of this strange pervert. 

“Aww,” he whined at the lack of skin that you covered. “Why are you suddenly acting shy on me now?” Pouting in indignation as if you suddenly took away a toy he was playing with. 

“Who are you? What did you do to Yoji?” You’ve no doubt this man was behind it all. 

He sighed out your name nonchalantly and replied exasperatedly, “he’s already dead so I wouldn’t get too worried about it, I’ll just take over his position.” He giggled boyishly. “How about it? You seem like your in need of a new boyfriend since your last one is... you know...” he cringed and pretended to slice his head with own his hand. 

“You’re crazy if you don’t think I’m not going to report you!” Crying in defiance as you felt tears starting to fill your eyes.

“But then it’d be a shame if your private home movie went viral,” He grimly implied as the screen changed into you fucking yourself silly on the bed. Somehow this creep had managed to record every single second of your lewd activity. You gasped horrifyingly, feeling the said tears now dropping into your hot cheeks. 

“What would your family think? Your colleagues? Your bosses? Don’t you work with children?” He placed a finger on his chin pretending to think hard. “I’d imagine it to be quite hard to find a job if something like this went pub-“

“Just stop,” you sobbed out pathetically as you turned to face him through the screen. “What do you want?”

“Meet me at your favourite cafe tomorrow at noon.” Smiling innocently despite the tenebrous tension between the two of you.  When you didn’t say anything, too defeated and scared to utter out a word, he took your silence as a tacit comply as his smile seemingly began to widened.

“Great, it’s a date!”

[vannahfanfics]

Before you read, here’s the previous chapter. New? Start from the beginning!

Skyward

Ao3

Chapter 8: Uravium

“Katsuki! I can see the bottom now!” 

The bottom of the long, dark mine shaft slowly yawned up to meet them, blue-black earth shining with the pink light still swirling around their bodies and emanating from Ochako’s pendant. The humming sound began to dim, and Ochako gasped as gravity regained its control of her body. She began to straighten out in the air, her feet coming down towards the floor. The two of them landed with no more than mere scuffs on the rocky bottom, and Ochako exclaimed in fright when the light from her crystal began to retract into the gem and fade. 

“Don’t worry, Cheeks.” Katsuki smiled while he crouched down, flipping open the flap of his bag to look around in it. He procured a small lantern and a set of matches, swiftly plucking one out to strike it on the coarse side of the box. “Just a little more,” he grunted as the faint light petered out, but just as it did, there was a spark and then a little orange flame bloomed in the blackness. It threw orange light over the lines of his face as he leaned down to light the lamp; the oil greedily caught the fire, igniting the wick and sending a puddle of soft light splaying out around them. “There,” Katsuki smirked in satisfaction, then picked up the lantern and stood up. 

“We’re a long way down,” Ochako observed when she cast her gaze upward. The sky was but a circle of blue far above their heads, partially blocked by the half-decayed scaffolding jutting out into the mine shaft. 

“Yep,” Katsuki said, “we sure won’t be getting out that way—but it also means it’ll be hard as hell for those pirates or that Tomura bastard to follow us.” 

Ochako released a relieved sigh, but still shuddered at the image of Tomura’s cold, piercing eyes. She wrapped her arms around herself, quaking from the entire experience, and Katsuki looked at her. 

“Oh, Cheeks, are you cold?” Before she could refuse, he had plopped down the lantern and was shrugging out of his vest. “It doesn't have sleeves, but—” he said while he stepped behind her so he could drape it over her shoulders, “it should keep you a little warmer.” Ochako was warmer indeed, especially her face, which was shining nearly as pink as her necklace had been. She was thankful for the orange hue of the lantern light, as it hid her blush. She slipped her arms through the sleeves of Katsuki’s vest with a shy mumble of gratitude, while he just nodded and picked up the lantern to shine it around. 

“Well, we can’t stay in these mine shafts forever,” he grunted. “We have to find a way out, and hopefully that’ll put enough distance between us and them that we can finally get you somewhere safe, Cheeks.” He started walking, and Ochako followed; for a while, the only sound in the empty mines were their footsteps. She could tell something was eating at him, though. His jaw was set and his eyes burned in contemplation, but she couldn’t tell whatever in the world he was thinking. Just as he was about to ask, he looked at her and said, “Cheeks, I want you to tell me everything about that necklace of yours.” 

“My necklace?” she blinked and reflexively reached up to clutch it in her hand. 

“Yeah,” he affirmed with a nod. “I don’t really care much about the pirates, but we really need to know why Tomura and the military are after it. It’s clear they want the power of your necklace, but what do they have to gain from it? Clearly, it only activates for you.” 

Ochako looked down, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. She didn’t know why Tomura and the military wanted her pendant, but Katsuki was smart—maybe he could see the reason that she had failed to find. 

“Well… It’s a family heirloom,” she began, looking down at the crystal in her hand. She ran her fingers over his curved sides as she spoke. “My family has lived in the mountains far to the north of here for generations, and so has this necklace been passed down, from mother to daughter. Honestly, I never usually saw it except for during special occasions like weddings. We kept it in a hidden compartment behind the fireplace which was covered by a wood carving of our family crest. We were just a simple farming and livestock family,” she said, looking up wistfully. “We were very happy until my mother and father both caught a very grievous illness a few months ago…” Her eyes flooded with tears then, and she reached up with her free hand to wipe them away with the back of her hand. “I’m just like you… I wasn’t allowed in the house because it was so deadly. I didn’t get to say goodbye.” 

“I’m sorry, Cheeks,” Katsuki murmured, stepping a little closer to her. He allowed her to lean her head on his shoulder as they walked. It was warm, both with his body heat and the soft firelight of the lamp, and that did make her feel a little bit better. They were in this together.

“I moved back into the house after the doctors had removed all the illness from it. I wanted to be close to my parents, so I took out the necklace and started wearing it. I didn’t know that it would turn out to be such an important thing,” she sighed, looking back down at the unassuming pendant. She wondered now what her family really was, what the meaning was behind the family crest etched in gold on the pendant’s surface. “A month after my parents died, Tomura and his men came to the farm. They didn’t tell me anything. They just told me I had to come with them. They had guns… I was so scared.” 

“Bastard, threatening a girl like that,” Katsuki growled under his breath. He slipped his arm around Ochako’s waist in a comforting gesture, sensing how talking about Tomura made her upset. Ochako nodded forlornly, still sweeping tears from her face. 

“We were on our way to a military base, he said,” Ochako continued. “We were taking a dirigible. The pirates attacked, and while I was trying to escape, I fell from the airship… And that’s how I ended up in your mining town.” 

“Hmm,” Katsuki hummed, twitching his nose as he ruminated on the strange, puzzling situation. “Sounds to me like Tomura knows more about your crystal and your family than we do. Izuku Midoriya’s gang is notorious for intercepting military transponders, so he probably learned about it that way, so now we have to deal with both of them.” Sighing, he looked back at Ochako with a small smile. “Ah, don’t look at me like that,” he said as she pouted uncertainly. “We’re gonna get through this, Cheeks. Luck has been on our side so far.” 

She wanted to feel better at his reassurances. She really did. But she just couldn’t help but wonder when their luck would run out. 

“Hello,” Katsuki said suddenly, raising the lantern as he looked ahead. Ochako followed his gaze to see that the mining tunnel had widened out into a large room. Wooden boxes, tables, and dusty equipment littered the cleared space—a base camp of some sort? They walked into the room to a table, where musty old papers still littered the desk. Katsuki picked one up, then gasped. “These are research papers about Uravity!” 

“What?” Sure enough, hypotheses about Uravity were written out in neat script on the paper. Katsuki brought the crinkly, stained paper close to his face, struggling to read the faded text. He set the lantern down inadvertently on the edge of the table. They both gasped as the lantern slipped right off. It crashed to the floor, and though it thankfully didn’t shatter, the fire sputtered out. 

Immediately, the room was bathed in a bright pink glow. 

“What the hell?” Katsuki breathed, turning slowly in a circle to look around. Embedded in the walls and the ceiling were glowing pink stones. Ochako breathed out in wonder, eyes reflecting the beautiful sheen of the pink gems— and then she realized that it seemed awfully familiar. She hastily yanked her necklace back out from underneath her dress and found that it too was glowing in the darkness. 

“Katsuki, look!” 

“What the hell is going on here?” he whispered while he peered down at her necklace. He snatched up the document again and used the soft light from the crystals to resume reading it. After scanning the paragraphs for a minute, he exhaled in awe, “Uravium.”

“What?” 

“These crystals,” he said with a gesture around the room and then pointed to her necklace. “And yours, too. They’re all uravium, and uravium is the gem they mined to make Uravity float in the sky.” 

“What? My crystal is related to Uravity?” she cried in shock. Never in a million years would she have imagined that her crystal was something so important! 

Katsuki looked back down at the old document with a frown. “Yeah. I can’t read most of the rest, but apparently, they discovered this old uravium mine fifty some-odd years ago. But the technology to use uravium has been lost, so the miners turned it over to researchers to see if they could find out more. Apparently, all they were able to really figure out is that the uravium becomes more active when Uravity is floating over the mine.” 

“So that means Uravity is somewhere above us right now!” Ochako realized, and Katsuki nodded. 

“That can’t be a coincidence,” Katsuki huffed and set the paper down on the table. “If your necklace is an uravium crystal, then it could hold the key to finally finding Uravity. Uravity was said to be a major power when it was in its prime. There’s no telling the treasure or weapons still on it. If the military got ahold of it…” 

“That would be disastrous,” Ochako finished gravely. She wrapped her hands around her crystal, smothering the light as if she could hide it from Tomura that way. “But why my family? Why me?”

“I don’t know, Cheeks,” Katsuki sighed and crouched down so he could re-light the fallen lantern. “I don’t think we’ll get the answer to that anytime soon. The only thing that I do know is that we absolutely can’t let a guy like Tomura get his hands on the crystal.” When the lantern flared up, the pink lights were snuffed out, and Ochako unwrapped her hands from her crystal to find it inert once more. Feeling a little nauseous, she tucked it back underneath the collar of her chest. However, she could still feel its weight against her chest, and she could almost imagine it throbbing with that secret power. 

Seeing the worry on her face, Katsuki smiled and reached up to lay his hand on her cheek. She leaned into his touch, appreciating the way his calloused, work-roughened hands felt on her skin. 

“Don’tchu worry about a thing, Cheeks. There ain’t no way in hell I’m gonna let Tomura or those bastard pirates get their hands on ya.” 

“I know.” Ochako smiled. There were a lot of uncertainties in her life right now, but thankfully, she had one thing that was certain—she could count on Katsuki no matter what. That was enough for her to keep pushing forward, no matter how scary things might become. Together, they would discover the secrets of her necklace, of her family, and of Uravity.

Enjoy this story? Here’s the next chapter! Please consider perusing my Table of Contents.

[weeniewrites]

Lost Connections

Zombie Kenma x g/n reader part 1

3k Words

tw: zombies, mentions of death, reader kills a few zombies, descriptions of rot and gore, mentions of past limb loss (Kenma’s in bad shape), the plots pretty peaceful all things considered i just go in depth when describing gross things

-a lot more’s changed since high school than you could’ve imagined

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It’s been said that traveling in groups is the safest idea. There are more hands for tasks, people to lean back on in the case of an injury or for comfort. But considering the state of things, the messy wasteland you assume the rest of the world has become, the stress that’s put on you and everyone around you, you know too well the strain that would put on any relationship. So you travel alone, to avoid the pain of loss and strain. Arguing that even if you can’t carry as many resources with you, you need much less food as a party of one.

You’ve made a home base of sorts. A basement near but not next to a general store, making it easy to move the supplies from there to your place without drawing attention to your home of operations. When you moved in the basement was empty save for a couple shelves and the walls unfinished to the point where the insulation’s still exposed. You’ve contemplated ripping a panel down to put under your blanket as a makeshift bed but it’s too itchy. What's insulation even made of? Maybe you shouldn’t touch it. So no bed. This isn’t your home anyway. It’s not your home. It would be more convenient to stay in the general store, yes. Not have to move your food, an overall nicer looking place. But too many windows, too many risks coming from staying in a building that so clearly carried food at one point. You haven’t encountered them yourself but you’ve heard of raiders from your time traveling with others.

Thankfully this town is small, away from others. The wildlife in the woods can be dangerous but it's far enough away from civilization that zombies are few and far between, easily taken care of or ignored until they stumble away. You’ve hit the jackpot essentially. Food. A stream of hopefully? Clean water that you boil still just in case. And no one around to bother you. Just you, an assortment of plastic containers, and your slowly decaying mental state.

‘Til the day you hear a rumble. Curiosity outweighs your concerns to make you peek out the basement window that’s usually covered. There’s a truck! What kind of idiots running and screeching around in a truck that makes so much noise! But you can’t help the excitement at seeing something you used to see so often. And then it's gone out of your vision with a shout, a hoot and a thump.

A thump? Did they hit something? Gaining your better sense back you cover up the window again and retreat to your cave of poorly circulated but still drafty air. There’s more than enough supplies in here. No reason to venture out. You shouldn’t go. With that high and mighty attitude you heard, those must’ve been raiders, or at the very least not the kind of people you’d want to stay around. Too risky. Too risky to even talk to...

When did you get to the door?

“Snap out of it me, you’re only alive because you’ve been cautious. You’re safer alone.” You croak out. When’s the last time you spoke? With there being little reason to? Just another noise to keep track of and minimize. You take one more look around at your supplies and curse. You need to get water today. It’s possible to wait a day, but between not wanting to wait on something so integral and the curiosity of what you’ll find outside. You remove the barricade, twist the rusty hatch lock, and go out, bat at the ready.

It’s fairly quiet, a few zombies dredged up from the earlier noise needing to be dispatched but it's easy to crush their heads with a well-placed swing, decay making them fragile. Seems like the rowdy bunch left town as soon as they came, perhaps outrunning a hoard? God, you’re an idiot for coming out here but at least it worked out with little affair. Though your one pair of pants is dirty now. It’d be nice to have a different pair, your backup being worn to threads. It’s possible to raid zombies for supplies but you DEFINITELY don’t want to strip them. Considering the amount of undead you’ve seen today (several compared to the usual none) it’s not worth it to make this foolish trip longer by washing up. Maybe the stench will hide you, can these things even smell? A trip to the stream to fill up your jug, a trek back through the road you know best and one last zombie stumbling around to take care of and your work's done for the day! It’s almost a nice routine at this point even if it feels like murder. Gross stinky murder.

It hasn’t seen you yet. One side of its body is visibly damaged, perhaps dragged? Ah well. Not your problem. Despite the sorry state of its body, it has an unusual amount of hair left. Man those roots are overgrown. The thing’s stumbling so you have no worries about being able to outrun it. Overall it’s no match for you with only one arm left, shambling with most of its weight on one leg, the other on its bad side visibly torn. Curious. A couple more steps and you’ll be done for the day and-

    It sees you. One wide unblinking yellow eye meeting yours. You hop back, circling around to keep your distance and get a better idea of how to respond. Intense scrutiny makes you catch more details, the lack of blood on the seemingly recent injuries, the face you refuse to look at (it's always the most unsettling) and the... Is that a Nekoma jacket? Shit. Shit shit shit shit you went there! That was your high school you can’t- you back up further and the thing shambles with you. Its too dangerous to get sentimental now just, don't look, don’t look and bash the poor things head in. It’s too late. Whoever it is is long dead just-

    The blond zombie trips and falls to the ground, wiggling around to look back up at you and you can’t avoid its face any longer, his face. Kenma’s face.

    God, you wanna cry, tears already threatening to cloud your vision. It was always a possibility to see someone you knew personally but what’s he even doing out here? You’re so far away from home, or at least it feels like it just. Shit! He’s wiggling you need to get this over with. Can’t avoid hesitating and compromising your safety further. A step back, readjusting your grip on your bat and... he's not. Moving? Did he run out of energy? Can zombies even do that? Why’s he-it. Why is it staring? His big yellow eyes looking almost curiously up at you.

“Kenma?”

His head tilts.

“What the fuck.”

The rustle of leaves and the trash picked up by the wind are the only sounds. It’s just you and this old dead classmate. At least that gives a chance to react to whatever this is. There’s not exactly a protocol! You didn’t plan for this! Shit just, um-

One eye attempts to blink, faltering halfway down- God that's gross

“Kenma?”

His head tilts again

“Okay shit that's, god that's definitely you- Can you understand me?”

No response

Maybe that was a fluke the first time, you would try and project human behavior on a shambling corpse in your lonely state. Fucking idiot... He’s still not moving.

“Kenma, why aren’t you attacking me?”

 His head twitches and you flinch, steadying your grip on your bat.

“Do you want to eat me?”

No response. Okay thats... weird. Wait let's try-

“Kenma, do you want to attack me?”

You can almost physically feel his focus shift, your breathing picking up as his eyes seem to focus on you rather than through.

He shakes his head.

“What the Fuck.”

You keep him tied up across the room at first. It’s idiotic. It’s not like you had a space set up specifically to keep an undead. Why would you? But he’s been surprisingly docile. Complying with any question or demand as long as you clearly address it to him. Knotting the rope around him was nerve-wracking. His jaw dropping open and hanging slack on request to place a gag inside “To stop you from biting me.” His spit leaves mismatched spots on the fabric. Being mindful to stay on his weaker side, you bind his neck and torso as his eyes keep a careful, blank eyed watch. Should his arm be tied up too? There’d been rumours that only bites turned people but risking a scratch just because you didn’t know for sure felt unwise. Finishing the knot on the first short piece of rope you take a step back to access his state. And another as he tenses. And another as he wrenches his head around, tearing through the fabric though pieces catch in his teeth.

“Kenma, stay still.”

He wiggles in complaint, face as taut as the rotting skin will allow.

“Kenma, do you want to hurt me?”

He shakes his head

“Kenma I need to do this... We need to do this. To be sure, to be safe.”

No response.

“Kenma I don’t want to hurt you either, but I need to be sure you can’t hurt me okay? Just in case”

....

“Please?”

His glare is focused on the floor beside him. Any attempts to get closer are met with a huff. Maybe... It’d be best to try again later.

Staying with Kenma is... scary at first and probably will be for a while but there are parts of it you don’t mind. That are nice even. The touch of familiarity, of home. It’s nice to talk to someone even if the most he can do is nod. Something feels wrong about tying up an old friend. He’d say he didn’t want to hurt you anytime you asked but, you can’t be sure. Zombies must have like, instincts or something. Why else would they become the aggressive shambling corpses you’ve come to know.?

You don’t know if he can fully understand you but he’s less restless when you speak, sitting calmly rather than scratching the wall and floor where he can reach. The occasional shuffle of movement makes things slightly less monotonous though it's hard not to tense up at the noise. Movement usually means danger. While you’re cracking open a can and deciding if the risk of smoke was worth a warm meal, he’s jostling around in his bonds enough to knock a jar off the shelf he’s tied to. The shattering glass loud enough to echo in the small space.

“Shhhhh!!!”

His stare’s more intense than in life, that cat-like part of him where you could feel his stare across the room, now with unblinking cloudy eyes. They’ve kept their yellow shine despite his pallor skin. But his movement’s stopped at least.

“Kenma I need you to be quiet okay? It’s dangerous to make noise. Can you be quiet for me?”

He nods.

You set your can down for now, standing and listening intently. No movement on the loud floorboards above you. No noise outside save for the rain and the occasional caw from a bird. Safe.

“Okay lemme clean this up”

Pickles are easy to pick up at least, though the whole room stinks of vinegar now. Hopefully it’s not enough to draw anything to you. Wouldn’t like, blood or something draw them? Yeah, this must be safe okay just, grab a plastic bag from the convenience store, shove the pickles and glass in and toss it out at some point later. You already have a rotting corpse for a friend you don’t need rotting food down here too. Curiosity makes you wonder though as you touch the wet food, the vinegar unpleasant on your dry fingers.

“Kenma can you smell this, or is it just blood you can smell?”

He stares blankly

“Shoot sorry okay uh, Kenma can you smell vinegar? What you just spilled?”

A pause, and then a small nod.

“Kenma, can you smell blood better?”

Awkward timing to ask that as in your distraction, your finger catches on the shards, cutting shallowly but more than enough for it to burn. Flinching at the pain you shuffle away as you hear more than see him tense in his bounds. One of his pupils swells to an unnatural level of dilation, intently watching the red dripping down your finger.

He nods.

After cleaning up the rest, much slower this time to avoid another mess up, and to keep a very very close eye on Kenma considering his reaction. You finally pick up the rest and stow it away in the corner. Wiping your hands on your old pants.

    That general store's first aid kit better have disinfecting wipes left. And it does! “My lucky day! Ah, haha..... Yeah, sarcasm isn’t very funny without an audience.” Or in general. A wipe, a bandaid, and boom! Good as new.... Geez he’s still staring.

“Kenma I’m fine, chill. You look like you want to eat me.”

He glances away though his attention, like always, inevitably comes back to you.

“It’ll heal. I know you can survive a lot of things I can’t. But I can heal and you...” 

You trail off, thinking about the injuries that plague the better half of one side of his body. Questioning how one even loses an arm but not wanting to know how.

“Shit Kenma, can you feel pain?”

Kenma blinks. Shit an actual successful one! Who knew he had it in him.

“Okay how about this, instead of using an entire wipe on just one little cut. Can I clean you off a little Kenma? It might feel better.”

A nod.

“Okay, I’m gonna come closer now. Kenma don’t move too much or you’ll scare me.”

You must actually be losing it if you’re willing to get this close, but... If it could make him more comfortable it feels worth it. Keeping your movement slow in case fast ones set off hidden hunter instincts or something, you settle at his side, reaching out for his hand and trying to hide your wince at how cold it is. Decays made his already small frame even daintier, his wrist feeling almost fragile in your hand. Don’t focus on that just, clean him up. His nails are bloodied and you wonder how one hasn’t popped off yet. Ew. But rubbing around the nail beds (there’s no chance in hell you’re risking getting underneath his nails) his palm, between his fingers, his wrist, sliding the wipe a little further up his arm to get what’s not covered by his sleeve and. “There we go! Much better.”

He blinks at you again. Man this is, really close. There are so many details to his face you couldn’t see prior. His eyes are slightly shriveled up, the skin pulling at the corners. Despite his mouth being closed you can see a hint of teeth with his lips no longer being able to fully close. His nose has caved slightly in on itself making you uncomfortably aware of where his nasal bone is. You look away with a shiver and he shimmies in front of you, his hand twitching and faltering but succeeding in holding him up. You turn again and he moves, struggling to stay within your line of sight.

“Do you... want me to look at you?”

A nod

“Kenma I can’t. I-I need a minute”

His arm violently twitches. You can’t help the way your body lurches away from him, a well trained and well needed fear response.

“Please just! I’ll do it just give me a minute I-”

You blink.

Panic blinds you as a cold hand covers your mouth, shocking your eyes back open to meet his. It stinks it stinks it stinks! Your hands squeezing against his one frail wrist to force it away, the skin leathery and wet. You feel something pop. The force of your shove makes him lose his balance, slamming the air out of his chest like a second death rattle as he meets the wall. His wide eyes look up at you, neither of you moving as the dust that was shocked up in his fall settles. And then, he looks away.

It should’ve been nice to lose the intense pressure of his stare, but it’s not. Any new unpredictable behavior is frightening. As you move to stand, he starts kicking away from you. His trajectory slightly curved as his good leg does most of the work and his arm it... it falters with each push. His wrist moved more than it should, more than it could even a minute ago.

“Wait Kenma!”

His head jerks back, silencing you. Afterwards, he continues his trek further away from you, as much as the ropes allow, audibly dragging across the floor.

“....Kozume?”

No response

He’s still not looking at you.

Unsure of what to say, you stand in silent watch as he struggles to maneuver himself into a seated position, hand slipping across the floor with each attempt to push up.

“Did I hurt you Kenma?”

He ignores you in favor of trying to scratch the floor with his limp hand, your previous work on cleaning him up already being undone.

You sigh as you open your pack. Only once your attention is away from him does he look up, looking away each time you lift your head. Satisfied once you find what you wanted, you start closing the distance between the two of you, pausing as he straight up glares at you. Face tense.

“Kenma?”

And in the most surprising gesture so far, he lifts his hand to place a finger over his lips. The gesture is clumsy, his fingers are unable to fully close and his hand’s dangling limply but the intention is clear.

He’s shushing you.

You roll your eyes.

“Kenma I didn’t raise my voice because I was looking at you. This is just.. It’s a lot. You’re a lot.”

He looks like he’d be blinking if his lids decided to move this time.

“Kenma, it’s okay. We’re okay. Or we will be once we get you patched up. That-” You point at his limp hand. “Doesn’t look comfortable. Is it okay if I come closer?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Kenma is it okay if I come closer? I promise I’ll be quiet.”

A pause and then he nods, his head turned just enough to see you as you finish the trip back to him. “Now I don’t know a lot about medical care but I think? Your wrist might be dislocated. So here’s what I need you to do.” You guide him through the motions, taking your time to make sure everything's lined up like the diagrams in the first aid booklet. It’s not possible to position yourself right and keep your distance but if this is how you die, trying to help an old friend feel more comfortable then fuck it. You’ll go out a proud idiot. Pushing his hand down it snaps back into place with a crack. He hisses in discomfort.

“It’s all better now. You’re all fixed up okay? But just to be safe, can I have your hand Kenma?” His hand appears in yours near immediately. “I want to wrap this as if it were sprained, since you can’t heal? I’m worried we tore some of your muscle or something and I don’t want the damage to spread. Hold still okay?” The bandage wraps up and around, carefully around his palm. It’s almost like taping up his fingers before a game. “Is that okay Kenma?” He nods, gaze not rising from the floor and the rest of the day is spent in silence, Kenma occasionally testing his hand’s movement throughout the night.

[writerfangirlbooks]

Scooby and the Winchester Gang

Scooby Doo Gang & the Winchester brothers - no real romance, just fun plot. 

Request by: @newsodapop67​(way back in 2016 when my spn book was still new! Waaay before the Scoobynatural crossover was announced!) 

Prompt: "you should make it so the scooby gang is trying to trap the monster but Sam and Dean and stuff are freaking out bc they're doing it wrong."

Word Count: almost 1,200

Credit to gif owner!

The Winchester brothers saw the clues of a werewolf clan in a small town in Mississippi. Soon enough, the Bunker was abandoned and the Impala was driving in the back roads. A very careful and 80's painted van was in the parking lot of the police's investigation center.

Dean frowned with distaste as he stared at the van. His younger brother shook it off with a small smile and a shrug, nearly having to drag his stunned idol inside. Sam and Dean Winchester stood inside the police office and were even more surprised. Once three steps inside, very colorful people were inside looking around.

A shorter girl with a brown bob-cut hairstyle in an orange turtle neck, short red silk skirt, and big glasses was the first to notice the tall brothers. "Well, jinkies! Hi, guys, I'm Velma. This is my gang," she motioned to three others, plus and dog. "Fred, Daphne, Shaggy, his dog Scooby."

Sam was flabbergasted, which didn't normally happen. Dean's eyes became stuck on Daphne - a girl just taller than average height, pale orange hair, a purple dress, and boots. She turned and caught his eyes. Neither looked away. Fred, a tall blond, noticed and stepped forwards. Shaggy was off in the corner with Scooby Doo, trying to sneak eat some Scooby Snacks that Daphne didn't know they had.

"Nice to, um, meet you all. I'm Agent Gabriel and this is my partner, Agent Leitsac Jr.," Sam said, earning a dirty glare from his brother.

They both pulled out their fake badges and showed them around for a quick second, before beginning to put them away. Fred jumped forward, very interested, and unsuspecting.

"Wow, really? That's so sweet! Mind if I take a look?" He asked eagerly.

Together, the Winchester brothers told him a plain no. Dean asked, "Have any of you seen the sheriff around? We have some questions about the recent murders going on."

"What a coincidence," Daphne smiled and stepped forwards, her fingers running consciously around her bright green scarf. "So are we. It's real tragic isn't it."

The two were hooked under the other's gaze. "Very," Dean responded slowly.

Sam cleared his throat and walked to the front desk, inspecting it. "No one has been here since morning. The donut is half melted and very cold. What time did you get here?"

"Just ten minutes ago," Velma answered.

"Yeah," Shaggy spoke up. "All the food they have here is cold."

"Shame," Dean mumbled, finally breaking eye contact and scanning the walls for anything suspicious, such as an unusual stain or design.

"Have you even looked around? Or have all of you just drooled around in here?" Sam shook his head and began to head towards one of the doors inside of the office.

The whole gang began to frown and object at once, each at an unusual octave. Dean shook his head with a sigh and the brothers split up, the other looking around the two doors. Fred followed Dean, not joyful about the lustful staring contest between the girl he loves and this random agent.

"Jeepers; gang, look at this!" Daphne let out a screech from the small interrogation room. Everyone ran to the commotion.

"What?" Fred and Dean demanded.

"There - there is a mouse! Under the cabinet," she let out a low sob and shook.

Apparently, mice frightened her. Sam scowled and went to the black heavy cabinet. Behind it, laid a dead grey mouse that was almost cut in half.

He made a disturbed grunt and pushed the cabinet over, allowing all the others to view it as well, causing a simultaneous gasp of shock. Dean's face wrinkled in disgust and halfway let out a shudder, walking towards it. Sam stepped to the side. There was no noticeable scent, other than the blood and decay of the small animal. However, they recognized the claw marking.

<->

They arrived in the small town just after noon. Now, it was seven at night, nearly pitch black outside with few lights. Though the brothers were nowhere near terrified, they understood that werewolves had way better hearing than him.

Silently, they passed the guns filled with silver bullets to one another. Their boots were careful not to trip or scratch anything in the mix of dirt and grass. The trunk closed quietly, as if it understood the situation at hand. Dean locked the Impala and the two set off down a narrow path. From what they found out in the previous hours, there was about seven werewolves, all rogue made clan.

All was going well until the Mystery Van showed up again. The Winchesters let out a growl of annoyance and continued their path, guns risen to chest height. Sam has checked the calendar and discover there wasn't a full moon due for two more weeks. However, after examining the three dead bodies and mouse, it was very clear it was a full-on werewolf attack.

In Sam's pocket, he had the words to an ancient, but newly discovered, trick to de-wolfing a person. That would only work if everyone cooperated, which was highly unlikely. A low-pitched, definitely wolf-like growl sprang from very near the brothers. They turned, ready.

"Would you do it for a Scooby snack?" Daphne's high pitched voice rang out, causing the brothers to do a full three sixty.

There was some rustling and the voices of a conversation between Velma and Fred was clear. The brothers looked around, waiting for the attack. These morons are going to get us killed, Sam thought. What's a Scooby snack? Dean wondered.

The gang stumbled into the woods and came face to face with the Winchesters. Daphne raised a suggestive smile and the large dog instantly began to sniff around, followed by his friend with hair as long as Sam's. Velma carried a map in her hands, biting her lower lip. Fred held a flash light as he looked around. He aimed the brightness right into their faces.

"Hey! What are you two doing here?" He asked, surprised.

"Our job! And be quiet; they have good hearing," Dean hissed.

"Who has good hearing?" Velma asked, looking up.

"The werewolves. What are you doing here?" Dean asked in a low voice.

"Ruys! Rover here!" Scooby Doo said loudly.

The brothers' eyes widened and their faces fell into shock. Dean looked over at Daphne. "He talks?"

"Of course he talks," Shaggy said, walking around a tree stump. "And we're here to find out who is wearing the masks. We think it's the sheriff."

Sam was appalled. "What do you mean 'wearing the masks'? These are actual monsters, that could seriously hurt you. You all could die."

Fred couldn't help but smile as he said, "There are no such thing as monsters. My friends and I have been doing this for years. We hunt down weird things and find the truth."

"You've been doing it wrong," Sam muttered. A howl pierced through the wind in the dark, stopping all conversation. It was time to be serious.

Wattpad/Pinterest: writerfangirlbooks

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[fantasyoverreality98]

Fight the Darkness

Masterlist

Pairing: Gaius x MC

Author’s Note: Yes, I have written another fanfic about Gaius x MC. I can actually see potential for this one to have more than one part though so maybe I’ll write a continuation in the future, we’ll have to see. There is some sexually suggestive content in this one so just keep that in mind when reading. Anyway, I think I should take a break from obsessively writing fanfic and do something else for a bit. As always, sorry for any potential grammatical or spelling mistakes.

Word Count: 3,333

---------------

Gaius Augustine was a murderer. He was her murderer. And she had never wanted anyone more in her life.

“Amy, where did you go? Call us back, please. We’ve been looking everywhere for you.” She ignored the message from Adrian, deleting it immediately after listening.

The town was small, the chances of him being here were extremely slim, and yet she just knew. Somewhere, probably in some desolate manor, the object of her obsession was lingering.

She felt him more than heard him. Smirking, Amy continued to walk down the empty path, into the trees. The sword on her back served as a comfort. No matter what strange creatures may lurk inside the forest, she could fight them off. Years of training had prepared her for whatever might come.

A branch snapped off to her right, and Amy whirled around, drawing her weapon. She laughed to herself when a rabbit ran out from the shadows. Momentarily relieved, her guard dropped.

That was when he decided to strike.

“Took you long enough.” She spoke with a breathy voice, staring up at the hooded figure. “I was beginning to think I might have to resort to more extreme measures to draw you out.”

“How did you find me?” Gaius kept her wrists pinned against the tree beside her head, his face inches from hers. The hood kept most of his features shrouded in shadows, but he looked just as he had twenty-five years earlier.

Amy leaned into him, her chest brushing against his as she breathed heavily. “It’s a secret.”

He stared into her eyes a moment longer before letting go, taking a step back. “Do your friends know you’re here?”

She rolled her eyes, pushing off the tree. “No. I left without saying anything.”

Gaius looked as if he couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. He pulled his hood back, looking exactly as he had a quarter of a century earlier. “What are you doing here?”

“Always with the questions.” Amy took a step toward him, trying not to grin when she saw that he looked flustered. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m here for you.”

“Amy—”

She held up a hand, and he stopped speaking. “Why is it that I haven’t heard from you at all since you left? You’re a hard man to find, Gaius Augustine.”

He studied her with interest, desire shining in his eyes. So, she wasn’t the only one who had never forgotten those moments on the boat. “I didn’t want to be found. I’ve been moving around over the decades.”

“Well, I found you. It took me a while, but I did it. Good luck getting rid of me now.” She broke out in a grin, and, to her surprise, he laughed.

“Now, why would I want to be rid of you?” Gaius looked as though he was about to reach out for her, but he hesitated, letting his arms drop back to his sides. “We should get out of here. Something evil lurks in these woods.”

Amy couldn’t resist answering, trying her best to maintain a serious expression. “Is that something evil you?”

Gaius scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I am the least of your worries.”

The temptation to continue teasing him was overpowering. After twenty-five years, she felt an uncontrollable urge to torment him with her bad jokes. “Tell that to the mortal Amy that you ran through with Jax’s sword.”

It took a minute for him to answer. “Do you plan to spend all night reminding me of all my evil deeds?”

“Maybe not all night. I did come here for another reason.”

With a long sigh, he turned away and started to walk back toward the town. They’d been walking for a few minutes before he finally spoke again. “How is it that you have managed to stay just as insufferable as you were twenty-five years ago?”

Amy shrugged, her face starting to hurt from smiling so much. Teasing him was just too much fun. Sure, she could tease all of her friends back home, but the sort of ammunition she had for Gaius beat any joking insults she could ever throw at them. The amount of murder jokes she could make was insane.

God was she ever fucked up.

“So, how’s your redemption been going?” Amy wanted to fill in the silence, the idea of them walking without saying a word too serious. She genuinely wanted to know what he’d been up to.

Gaius stared at the road ahead, frowning as he considered the question. “I guess you can say I’ve done a few more good deeds. I’ve been trying my best.”

They ended up walking to an abandoned house on the edge of the town. It wasn’t a manor, but it was close enough. Amy bit her lip to hold back a laugh. The man sure did like to live up to the dramatic.

“Nice place you’ve got here.” She bit her lip harder when he glared at her.

“Are you coming, or are you going to stand out here making horrible jokes all night?” Gaius looked like he regretted bringing her back to his house. If it could even be considered a house. It was more like a ruin.

Amy followed him inside, taking in the decaying structure. Her nose wrinkled when she studied what looked like a petrified animal corpse. “This place is absolutely disgusting. Not exactly the romantic or sexy reunion I was hoping for.”

“We had sex in a tiny room on a boat. I have trouble believing you would be opposed to this place. Your standards don’t seem very high.”

“Hey!”

Gaius didn’t look at her, but she could see him fighting back a smile. He started to chew on his bottom lip, turning his face away from her. She watched him attempt to clean, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Fine, I guess I deserved that.” Amy sat down in a chair. It immediately broke under her weight. Scowling, she struggled to her feet, brushing the dust off her clothes. “Did you really have to pick the setting of The Haunting of Hill House for your temporary home?”

He still didn’t look at her. “Is that a film? None of your references make sense to me.”

“Forget it.” The problem with hanging around a three-thousand-year-old vampire was that they never understood pop culture references. For the first time since finding Gaius, Amy missed Lily.

Lily. Her best friend who was probably going insane trying to find her. They had barely spent any time apart since defeating Rheya. Amy would have to send a postcard one day, just to let everyone know she was okay.

The silence inside the house made the situation more awkward. Both of them knew, though neither of them had said it, that Amy had come here because she wanted Gaius. And not in a friend kind of way.

“So, do anything badass lately?” Amy couldn’t get any lamer if she tried.

Gaius stared blankly at her. He blinked, looking like he just might answer, before he shook his head and went back to ‘cleaning.’

Wind howled outside. A storm was on its way. The sky had been full of dark clouds when they were walking back to the house, the air chillier than it had been when she’d first arrived right after sunset. It was probably past midnight now.

“Why are you really here?” Gaius finally stopped pretending to clean and looked up at her, throwing a broken chair leg over his shoulder. Something else fell from the projectile, the sound of shattering glass filling the room. “You can make all the murder and sex jokes you want, but I think we both know that you came here for a reason.”

Amy crossed her arms over her chest, pacing the length of the room as she searched for an answer. It had been stupid to think he wouldn’t question her. No normal person traveled around the world searching for someone they should do their best to stay far away from. Just because she decided to give him a second chance didn’t mean that the two of them would remain close.

Rain started to fall on the house, the cracks in the roof allowing water to drip down onto them. Amy ignored the ice-cold raindrops that fell on her, sliding down her spine. “You know why I searched for you.” The vagueness of her answer would no doubt irritate him.

“That does not answer my question, Amy.”

The storm outside seemed to slow for a moment. Her eyes flickered over to Gaius, who was standing near a crumbling fireplace. Finally, when she figured she could only put off answering for so long, she turned to face him. “Because I have feelings for you. What else do you want me to say? And don’t lecture me again on how it’s wrong because I know. I know.”

Gaius didn’t answer her. He stayed beside the fireplace, watching her without a word. Amy wasn’t sure whether she should feel relieved that he didn’t react to her outburst, or if she should worry that it meant he didn’t feel the same way. The worry slowly turned in annoyance, then anger.

“Can you just say something!” Her voice boomed, the sound startling both of them. Swearing under her breath, Amy closed her eyes, digging the heels of her palms into them, trying to block out the sensation of darkness that had started to sweep over her.

Hands grabbed her wrists, gently pulling her hands away from her face. She waited until the feeling had passed before opening her eyes to look at Gaius. His eyes were wide, his mouth hanging open. The last time she had seen him look so terrified was when she’d broken Rheya’s control over him.

“I thought Rheya’s powers were gone,” said Gaius, looking as though he feared she might snap again. “Didn’t they disappear in the opera house?”

Amy was breathing heavily, trying to shove the darkness back down. “That’s what I thought too. But then one day, about a year later, I got so angry that—” She shook her head, trembling at the memory. If Adrian hadn’t been there to talk to her, she had no idea what might’ve happened.

Whatever darkness that had possessed her inside the opera house when she drained Rheya’s powers hadn’t disappeared forever. For a short time, she had believed it, thought that life would return to a relatively normal state, but it seemed outside forces had other plans. The temptation, the possibility that she might be able to bring Jax back still haunted her. It followed her everywhere she went, a voice that was not her own whispering deep inside that she could do it. All she had to do was embrace the darkness.

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me. I get it.” Gaius was standing so close to her that his breath hit her face. He inhaled sharply, staring at her lips.

Desperate to both forget about what had just happened and satisfy the reason she had come here, she tilted her head back to brush her lips across his. He let go of her hands, pulling her closer. She sighed when he put his thumb under her chin and tilted her head further back, kissing her harder.

Thunder boomed somewhere in a distant field, the force of the sound shaking the walls of the decrepit house. The rain found its way inside, soaking their clothes. Lightning flashed outside, so bright that it flared behind Amy’s closed eyelids. Every touch felt more intense than it ever had before.

“Is there a bed in this place?” she mumbled, holding back a laugh when she felt Gaius frown against her lips. “Just curious.”

He shook his head, pulling her with him to the battered couch a few feet away. “Those beds have several inches of dust on them. And other unappealing things.”

“Couch it is, then.” Amy laughed when Gaius pulled away to look at her, running his fingers along her face. “Don’t look so surprised. You were the one who said I have low standards.”

Before he could retort, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him back to her. He fumbled with her jacket, moving without complaint when she shifted to be on top. Amy’s chest heaved as she slipped the jacket off, pausing for a moment before she pulled her shirt over her head immediately after.

Gaius started to breathe heavier, his eyes drawn to the place where he had stabbed her so many years ago. The scar had mostly healed, but the skin was slightly discolored. It had always struck her as odd that a scar remained, but she guessed it was because the wound was from before she’d been Turned.

“You’re looking a little overdressed.” Her voice was lower than usual. It had been so long since she’d been with anyone. Years, she was sure.

Gaius smirked, letting her undress him as he lay beneath her. She ran her hands down his stomach once she’d got him out of his clothes, digging her fingers into his skin as she ground herself against him. He moaned, sitting up to kiss her.

The rain continued to beat against the house, the only sound in the room besides their heavy breathing and the occasional quiet moan. Amy pulled away long enough to slip her underwear off, her heart pounding harder than before when she straddled Gaius’ lap again.

They moved at a slow pace, his hands running up her back to unclasp her bra. She threw it on the floor, trying her best not to think about how filthy it was. The couch itself wasn’t any better. But she didn’t care.

“Amy—” Gaius spoke her name with a sigh, brushing his lips across her chest as she moved above him. He swore under his breath when she picked up her pace, his nails digging into her skin as he gripped her hips and helped her to move faster.

One of his hands made its way between her legs, and she bit her lip as she felt herself getting closer to finishing. His name slipped past her lips as a whisper, her forehead resting against his as her breathing grew ragged.

Amy took a trembling breath, moaning quietly, and stopped rocking her hips against him, the two of them sitting in silence once they’d finished. The pitter-patter of rain filled the house, the storm finally coming to an end.

“This was one of the reasons why I came here,” Amy said, a breathy laugh escaping her when Gaius rolled his eyes. He sat up and pulled her off of him, running his hands through his hair.

“You make it hard for me to focus.” He turned to look at her, not looking like he was too concerned about focusing. “Do you plan to stay long?”

She rested her head on his shoulder, grabbing his hand and lacing her fingers through his. “Who said I planned on leaving at all? You’re the reason I left New York.”

Gaius sighed, staring at the shattered window across the room. “The others will come looking for you. I doubt they would appreciate knowing I’m the reason you ran away.”

“Who says I care what the others think?” She stood from the couch and slowly got dressed, feeling him watch her the entire time. “They won’t ever understand the way I feel about you. I gave up thinking they would get it a long time ago. I wasn’t happy there. I belong here. With you.”

He stood and got dressed, turning to face her, the tension that was between them when she first arrived now gone. “I will never understand how you can even stand to look at me after everything I’ve done.”

“The conversation we had on that boat changed my perspective. I like the real you a whole lot better than the person you were under Rheya’s control.” She reached out to run her fingers across his face, and he leaned into her hand. “Plus, the whole having sex with you right after that kind of helped you win me over.”

Gaius laughed, his teeth gleaming in the dark room. “You are irresistible.”

Amy grabbed his shirt and tugged him closer. “I thought I was insufferable.”

“One can be both irresistible and insufferable.” He cut off her response with his lips, dragging her back to the couch. A puff of dust shot out from the cushions when they dropped down, and Amy coughed, making a mental note to find them a more suitable place to stay the next night.

Eventually, the rain stopped, the world outside growing quiet. Amy struggled to keep her eyes open, wanting to enjoy every second she could with Gaius after twenty-five years apart.

“How are you feeling now?” His question startled her. She had thought he might have fallen asleep.

With a shrug, she continued to trace random shapes on his chest. “Okay. The darkness went away, if that’s what you’re really asking.”

Gaius shifted, and she lifted her head to look him in the eyes. “Does that happen often?”

“What? The whole earth trembling, voice booming thing?” She could see that he didn’t appreciate her attempt at making another joke. Amy sighed, rolling onto her stomach to look at him properly. “No. It only happens when I can’t control my emotions. The last time it happened, I was thinking about Jax again.” A figure jumping in front of her to prevent Rheya from turning her Feral flashed in her mind and she closed her eyes, trying to rein in the pain.

“Do you—” Gaius gulped, the fear in his tone not going unnoticed. “Do you think you could ever get as bad as you did in the opera house again?”

Amy didn’t have an answer to that question. The thought of ever returning to that state of mind terrified her. In that moment, she had felt truly unstoppable. A lust for power had overwhelmed her. If that ever happened again, she wasn’t so sure she would be able to resist it a second time around.

For over two decades, the thought of what if had haunted her. Almost as much as she missed Gaius, she missed the feeling of invincibility that Rheya’s power had given her. To bring Jax back, to help her friends in whatever way she could…power like that was irreplaceable. It was tempting beyond belief.

“How long are we staying here?” Amy forced a smile, a hint of hunger starting to creep in. She couldn’t be completely certain if it had anything to do with thinking about her hidden powers.

Gaius watched her, curiosity shining in his eyes. “I move every few weeks. I planned to leave in a few days.”

“Great,” she answered, putting her head back on his chest, shutting her eyes before the conversation about Rheya’s power could continue.

Twenty-five years ago, Amy had absorbed the power of the First Vampire. For a fleeting moment, she had felt the fate of the world placed in her hands. Then, mere minutes later, she had made the decision to choose love. The love of her friends had overpowered the hunger for power. And she had been content. Most of the past twenty-five years had passed without incident.

But Amy could feel a darkness gathering deep inside of her. It came in flashes, brief moments where she lost control and her voice shook walls. The endless possibility still flowed through her veins. One day, she feared it might burst. Darkness could only be contained for so long before it enveloped everything in its path.

Ignoring the claws that seemed to dig themselves further into her heart, Amy closed her eyes, reminding herself that she was with Gaius now. The years of pain were over. She would overcome this thirst for power in no time. It was nothing. She would be fine.

Just fine.

[scullysexual]

Gone

Chapter One: Goodbye.

Chapter Two: Twenty-Four Hours Missing.

Chapter Three: Death.

Chapter Four: Decay.

Mulder and Scully are ready to take matters into their own hands now and Scully reveals some family secrets. 

A/N:Remember that potentially controversial/ooc thing I mentioned for all those in the chat last night? Yeah, it happens in this chapter. There’s a lot I might change about this chapter in the future and a lot I will change in past chapters because of what is mentioned in this. I don’t ask this a lot but since this is still in the early days, I want to make this as good as I can get it, please tell me what you like, what you think works, and what you think doesn’t work, that kinda stuff. I already know partly myself what I need to do and change but any input from you guys would go a long way, as well. 

-_-

SUNDAY

Really? Has somebody let the Mulders know?

Dana freezes behind the closed door of the kitchen. Her hand on the door handle, ready to push it open, she stops when she hears her father’s voice on the other side, on the phone. She presses her ear against it, listening carefully.

I’m sorry. That’s really tragic, actually. … Has there been any new information on Charlie? … Of course. I’ll see what I can get Dana to tell me. Thank you, Detective Skinner.

Dana waits she hears the phone be placed back down on the holder before she’s pushing the door open, her stomach her knots about the conversation awaiting her behind this door.

Her father looks up from the stack of papers in front of him as she enters. Dana says nothing, feeling animosity in the air as she heads over to the toaster.

She focuses on her task rather than the emotions running through the air; get the bread, place it in the toaster, pull down the handle.

“Samantha Mulder is dead.”

Her breath catches in her throat. That’s why Skinner was outside Mulder’s house last night.

“Her body was found in the forest Charlie went missing in.”

Dana looks up towards the clock on the wall above her. It’s been a day and a half since Charlie went missing. A day and a half.

The toast pops.

“She was missing for a year,” Dana says, grabbing the toast and dropping it on a plate.

“She’s the same age as Charlie, the same age as this Duane Barry.”

Dana mulls that information over, not realising it before this moment.

“Dana, look at me,” her father tells her.

She turns.

“What were you doing in the forest?”

Dana shrugs. “It’s just a place we like to meet up.”

“And you took Charlie with you?”

She nods.

“Your sixteen year old brother?”

Dana looks away, resisting the urge to roll her eyes and lets out a slow, controlled breath so it doesn’t sound like she’s sighing.

“He plays baseball with Mulder and Ethan sometimes,” she offers as an explanation.

Bill sighs. He looks as though he’s about to say something else before deciding against it. Dana hopes this is an end to the interrogation.

Silence passes and when it feels like this conversation has been put to rest (for now) and her father goes back to his papers, Dana speaks again.

“Where’s Mom?”

“Asleep,” Bill answers. “I checked on her this morning.”

Dana nods, watching as her father rips off pieces of tape and places it on the papers in front of him. From where she stands, she can see the papers read:

MISSING

CHARLIE SCULLY

LAST SEEN FRIDAY BY THE WISHING WELL, 9:55PM.

“How long are you gonna stay?” Dana’s asking, looking up from the posters.

“I’ve been allowed two months,” her father answers, solely focused upon his task.

Dana nods, satisfied with the answer, and grabs her toast, intending on going back to her room with it.

“Dana.”

Dana stops at the doorway and faces her father.

Now looking at her, he says, “I don’t blame you for Charlie’s disappearance. It wasn’t your fault.”

Dana smiles sadly, wishing we could believe it was true.

 .:.:.:.:.:.:.

 She waves to him from her bedroom window when he looks up. She watches him head down the street until he disappears out of sight.

She moves away, closing the curtain again and sits back down on her bed.

Mulder’s information about the mine had creeped her out a bit. She didn’t know this town, she hadn’t lived here her entire life like Mulder and Ethan and everyone else, she didn’t know its secrets or barely it’s history.

They agreed to go to the well Tuesday as soon as school finished but Dana was curious now.

She looks to her alarm clock, the red letters screaming 9:47 at her.

A deep melancholy mood sets within her. In seven minutes Charlie would have been missing for 48 hours.

She swallows at that but it hardens her decision to go to the well. She wants answers now. She doesn’t want her brother to end up receiving the same fate as Mulder’s sister.

She heads off down the stairs, grabbing his sneakers and slipping them on.

The door to the living room still remains closed. Dana opens the door slowly. Inside her parents sit in on opposite ends of the couch- her father stares at her mother, her mother stares at a photo. They don’t notice her.

“I’m going out,” she says.

They both turn to look at her. Her mother is stricken.

“No, you’re not,” she tells her. She looks wildly around for a clock before finding the small one on the mantelpiece. “It’s…it’s almost 10:00.”

Dana watches as her mother’s face falls at the realisation. Two day’s Charlie has been missing for.

“No,” her mother says, controlling herself. “I want you to stay in. And…and you’re not going to school tomorrow.”

Dana stands shocked. It’s her final year. She has tests, work that needs to be completed, projects to finish. She only has three months left.

Dana shakes her head. “So what, you’re gonna keep me locked inside for the rest of the year?”

She’s angry now. Angry at her mother’s ineptness, her father’s seemingly lack of care, that three kids have been allowed to go missing and no one’s done a fucking thing about it. She’s angry that she’s being punished for it all.

“Is that what you think this is?” her mother stalks towards her, her own rage palpable. “Your little brother is missing,” she says as if Dana wasn’t aware of that fact.

She nods. “Yeah, and he’s probably dead. Just like Samantha is, just like Duane Barry probably is.”

Dana feels the pain in her cheek before her brain processes her. She stares in brief fear at her mother as Maggie stares back at her, her own fear evident in her eyes as she brings the same hand that she just slammed Dana with to her mouth, lost in the shock of what she had just done. Even her father is surprised.

“Dana, I’m…” her mother begins, trailing off.

With tears burning in her eyes, Dana bolts, ignoring her father’s calls after her. She grabs her keys and is out the door before anyone can stop her.

 .:.:.:.:.:.:.

 She doesn’t go to the well. She lets her tears fall and her feet and mind guide her. Her mother has never hit her before. Her mother has never hit anyone before, not even Missy though she’s no doubt been close.

It was the grief, Dana tells herself. The grief and the words said by Dana. She doesn’t know why she said it. Maybe the assumption had been buried deep down inside of her and she just didn’t want to acknowledge it, maybe Sam’s death activated her own fears about Charlie and highlighted that they’re running out of time.

She should go back. Should apologise and say she didn’t mean it. But she can’t. Some unresolved issue with having to be right, to stand her ground even when things go wrong. She can’t go back, not yet.

Her feet have led her to Ethan’s house. She stands outside his gate, her hand on the lock, and stares towards his door. She hasn’t spoken to him since Friday, he stopped calling her telephone. She stares, unable to move. This isn’t the house she wants to be at. So she turns and walks towards the house she does.

 Mulder is there, standing in his doorway, confused.

“Can I come in?” she asks, her voice breaking but she doesn’t try to hide it.

“Of course.” Mulder moves out of the way. Immediately her senses are assaulted by Mulder’s house smell and instantly she feels comforted by it.

Mulder shuts the front door behind him. “Is everything okay?” he’s asking. He reaches a hand up to her face when he sees remnants of the now faded red mark. Dana tenses, backing away slightly. Mulder, understanding, drops his arms back down.

“Scully, what happened?”

Dana bites her lip, her hands tangling together. “Can we go to your room?”

Mulder nods, leading her towards a door not far from where they are.

His bedroom is in the basement. The size of a living room, it reminds Dana of a studio minus the kitchen set-up. It’s remained virtually the same since the summer; his I Want To Believe poster is still up on the wall, various photos of assumed UFOs on the pinboard, newspaper clippings, and the like. A new photo has joined, she notices, a picture of him and Samantha when they were much younger. Dana smiles.

“Did something happen at home?” Dana turns away from the photos and the pinboard to see him sat leaning against the arm of the small couch. She walks over to it and sits herself down.

“I was gonna go to the well, but…” She looks down at the floor, the argument seems so stupid now in retrospect. She should’ve just stayed in and went to bed.

“But…?” Mulder is prodding.

“I had an argument with my mom. She slapped me. She’s never done that before.”

Mulder exhales.

“I don’t want to go back home, Mulder.” She tries to keep the begging out of her voice.

Mulder nods. “Do they know where you are at least?”

Dana thinks for a moment. She guesses they could assume she was at Ethan’s but…

“You should call them, Scully,” he says, taking her silence as a no. “They’re already worried about Charlie, they don’t need to be worrying about you, too.”

He hands the phone. Dana looks at it, before looking back at him. She takes the phone and dials her home number.

Her father answers.

His greeting is a, “Where are you?”

“I’m at Mulder’s,” she answers. Mulder walks off towards his wardrobe, allowing Dana some privacy. “How’s Mom?”

Her father sighs. “She wants to apologise. I want you to apologise. You were completely out of a line tonight, Dana.”

Dana looks towards the floor again, nervously playing with the cord. “I know,” she says, grumpily.

“Your mother was wrong to hit you, she knows that, but you were wrong to say what you said.” Dana says nothing. Her father sighs again. “How long are you staying at Mulder’s for?”

Dana looks up as Mulder moves towards her carrying some clothes she thinks are going to be hers for the tonight.

“I’m staying the night,” she says and Mulder nods towards the couch. “On the couch,” she adds. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

Bill says nothing against it. He knows his daughter enough to know when she needs her own space to cool down.

“Fine,” he says. “But make sure you’re back tomorrow morning to apologise.” Dana hums in agreement. “I love you, Starbuck.”

A smile tugs at Dana’s lips.

“I love you too, Ahab.” The phone call ends and Dana passes the phone back to Mulder and trading it for the clothes.

“You take the bed, I can sleep on the couch.”

Dana smiles. “I don’t want to rob you of your bed, Mulder.”

But he’s shaking his head. “It’s fine, I find it comfier anyway.”

She continues to smile and heads towards the bathroom. Before going in, she turns. “Thank you, Mulder.”

He smiles back. “It’s okay, Scully.”

She disappears off into the bathroom. During her time in there, Mulder passes in a toothbrush for which she thanks him for.

She turns to the mirror, ready to brush her teeth, in joggers and an oversized T-shirt were she smiles to herself at one thought.

Scully.

She likes it.

 .:.:.:.:.:.:.

 MONDAY

There’s a moment of disorientation. The scent of somebody else wafts into her nose. Her eyes dart open and even with her poor vision, she can see she’s not in her bedroom.

Her hand blindly searches for her glasses on the nightstand, knocking everything else over until she finds them and slides them onto her face. She sits up, a stray curl falling in front of her face, getting tangled in the bridge of her glasses, and Mulder who stares at her from the couch.

“Morning,” he says, cheerfully. Scully glances at the clock on the table and cringes at the time. 06:17. How anyone can be cheerful at this time is beyond her.

“Sleep well?” he’s asking.

Scully yawns, nodding. She did, actually. It was the best night’s sleep she’d had in a while.

“I have to go home,” she says, climbing out of the bed.

“I can walk you back if you want. We can grab bagels.”

She nods, her stomach agreeing with that very much and grabs her clothes from yesterday folded neatly off the chair. She disappears off into the bathroom to get dressed and try to do something with her hair without the use of all her hair products. She gives up, deciding it’s a beanie day today anyway.

When she exists, she finds Mulder ready to go, his backpack beside his feet. He smiles when he sees her.

“You ready to face school?”

Scully hadn’t even thought of that. Everyone was aware that it was her brother that was missing by now. She wonders if it’ll be like what Mulder experienced the school day after Sam disappeared.

She shrugs. “Are you ready?”

His sister was dead after all. What a pair they made.

 Scully shivers as she walks, her jacket doing nothing against March’s still cold mornings.

“Cold?” Mulder asks, he was smart enough to wear a coat.

“I’m fine,” Scully says.

They pass Ethan’s house and there’s a moment of guilt when she looks towards it; when she decided she needed Mulder more than Ethan, when she slept in Mulder’s bed before Ethan’s.

“Shit!” Mulder suddenly shouts. Scully’s attention is pulled away from Ethan’s house to Mulder at the exclaim.

“What?” asks Scully, concerned.

“I was supposed to meet with Ethan last night.”

Scully frowns. “Why?”

“He found this number in Duane’s dope bag. Said he was meeting some man and he wanted me to go with him.”

Scully is dumbfounded for a second at Ethan’s stupidity. After everything that has happened- three missing kids, one of them turning up dead and fucking-stupid-Ethan Minette decides to meet with some stranger in the middle of the fucking night. And Mulder agreed to go with him.

“You should have told him no,” she’s saying, doing nothing to let her annoyance at both of them not show. “You should have told him not to go.”

“Well, I did…sort of…”

Scully shakes her head, rolling her eyes, and huffing. She saunters off ahead of Mulder.

“You still want me to wait for you?” Mulder calls as Scully quickens her pace.

“Don’t bother,” Scully calls back, thoroughly annoyed with him now.

She reaches her house and tries to cool off, resisting the urge to look behind her and see if Mulder waited for her regardless of the fact she told him not to.

She doesn’t, however, instead taking in a deep breath and letting it out, letting all her anger and annoyance at Mulder and Ethan out with it. She puts her key into the door and twists.

 .:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

 It’s a series of whispers. Stares that, once she looks their way, they’re adverting their eyes like they never looked in the first place. Scully had no patience for it. They like to gossip, to huddle around tables and talk about people. It was no different than before, really. Only they were talking about her and her family.

The morning had gone fairly well. She had opened the door and her mother was right there, embracing her, telling her she was sorry over and over again. Scully apologised, too, took back the words she said. Her father had stood near the living room doorway, proud.

Scully had hated it.

She slams her locker shut and spies Phoebe a few lockers down, surrounded by Ellen and Diana.

Scully’s lonely walk to school had given her a chance to think, for her brain to spiral into questions she hadn’t thought of before.

One of those questions involved Phoebe.

Scully walks over to her, intent on getting her answers.

“What do you want, Small?” Phoebe asks once she realises Scully’s standing behind her.

“What we’re you doing in the forest the night Charlie went missing?”

Diana and Ellen look at each other warily.

“I didn’t kidnap your little brother if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Scully crosses her arms, holding up her guard. “I wasn’t. It’s just strange that you were already there.”

Phoebe sighs like she doesn’t like time for this.

“I overheard Ethan and Mulder talking about Duane’s dope. Thought I’d get there first.” She turns on Scully, moving a step closer towards her causing Scully to take a step back.

A smile passes across Phoebe’s face at the action. Scully tries to not let her uncertainty show.

“If you want someone to blame, Dana, why don’t you just blame yourself? After all, I don’t remember you doing much that night other than running away.”

Another question lights up in Scully’s brain.

“What do you remember?” Because she remembered nothing, Mulder remembered nothing.

“I’m done talking to you now.” Phoebe moves off but not before Scully feels a pat on her head. She cringes, ducking away and moving so Phoebe can’t touch her again.

She’s not out of earshot before Scully hears her say, “Weirdo.”

Scully stands there, staring after them, wondering what the point was.

She moves off, intending to walk to her class and not talk to anyone for the rest of the day before-

“Hi, Dana.”

Scully turns to see Monica catching up to her. Scully sighs, not in the mood for a lesson about how being a Pisces is going to affect her future.

“Hi, Monica,” she says anyway, trying to sound a lot more cheerful than she really is right now.

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry about Charlie. It must be really horrible what you’re families going through right now.”

Scully hums in agreement.

“If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

Scully stops in her tracks at the sight of Ethan walking through the main doors. He looks rough, tired.

“You know, I noticed you don’t have a lot of friends that are girls, and if you ever wanted to come over…” But Scully’s bolting off before Monica gets to finish her sentence.

She leans against the locker next to Ethan’s as he placing his books inside it, fuming.

“What do you want?” he asks, sounding pissed off himself.

“How about to tell you that you’re a fucking idiot?” She crosses her arms and does nothing to conceal her anger.

“Mulder tell you about the guy?” he asks, his own defences coming up.

“Two kids are missing and you’re just willingly going off and meeting strangers alone?”

Ethan slams his locker shut, the action sending vibrations running through the various lockers causing Scully to move away from the one she was leaning on. Those closest to them jump and stare.

“Mulder was supposed to come with but the bastard didn’t show up and I’d hazard a guess to say that he was with you.”

He stares menacingly at her. In his eyes she sees jealously, paranoia, anger and somewhere deep down, hurt.

“You know how many times I’ve tried ringing you this weekend? Mulder said that you needed time but you were happy to spend that time with him, weren’t you?”

Scully swallows, unsure what to say. She still partially blamed Ethan but maybe she should’ve spoken to him after all.

“Mulder understands what I’m going through.”

He stares at her and Scully waits.

Without saying anything else, Ethan walks off, leaving Scully alone.

 .:.:.:.:.:.:.

 She picks at her lunch. Sat alone at the furthest end of the table, her fork plays the fries on her plate. She’s not hungry, just fed up, and wants nothing more than to just go home.

She had a meeting with the school counsellor that she didn’t bother turning up for. What was the point anyway? Talking wasn’t going to make Charlie reappear after all.

Laughter drifts its way towards her and Scully looks up to see Phoebe, Diana, and Ellen in fits of giggles, looking at her before looking away.

Scully pulls a face and stabs angrily at her fries. You wouldn’t think they were seniors.

They’re surrounding her all of a sudden. Phoebe directly opposite her, Diana and Ellen to the right side of her. Nope, Scully really can’t be dealing with this.

“I noticed something about you before, Dana,” Phoebe begins. “You have problems with being touched by other people.” Her hand slowly creeps towards Scully’s. Scully is quick to notice and pulls her away. Phoebe smiles, the results of her experiment complete.

Scully never really saw it as a ‘problem’. She just like her own personal space, what was wrong with that?

“One can’t help but wonder you and Ethan have sex.”

The girls beside her laugh and Scully shifts uncomfortably.

This conversation.

“That is, that you’re having sex after all.”

The truth was, no she hadn’t. She never felt any rush to and besides, she and Ethan hadn’t been together for long. It seemed too soon.

She looks down at her plate and Phoebe gets her answer.

“Oh, sweetie…” Phoebe comforts, though Scully can see right through it. “Let me share some womanly advice with you: we got to college next year, nobody’s going to want you if they find out you’re still a virgin after so many years.”

She can see what Phoebe is doing but it doesn’t work. Scully was never affected by peer-pressure. She’d survived the Elementary school bullying when the teacher left the classroom one time and Betty Harris snatched her glasses off her face and threw them around the room, told her to go find them when one of the boys hid them. After enduring the humiliation of walking into everything and a migraine from straining her eyes to see, she found them in the top cupboard broken.

Scully had gone home crying to Melissa that day, saying she wanted new eyes because hers were broken. She never ever forgot the image of Missy pushing Betty against the wall behind the gym saying she would kill her if she ever so much as looked at Dana again. Betty had left her alone after that.

Scully stares at Phoebe, thinking that Phoebe at age seventeen wasn’t that much far off Betty at age seven.

“Hi.”

All four of them turn to see Mulder standing sheepishly at the edge of the table holding his tray up to his chest.

Phoebe turns back to Scully and stands. “I hope you take my advice, Dana.” She leaves, knocking into Mulder on her way past him. Scully thinks she hears Mulder mumble a thanks to her.

“Hi, Fox,” Scully hears Diana say. She watches as Mulder smiles and she smiles shyly back.

“Hi, uh…Diana.”

Scully rolls her eyes and looks away. Mulder notices it.

“What?” he asks, sitting down where Phoebe was just sitting.

She eyes with him subtle rage, still annoyed at him for letting Ethan go meet a stranger on his own.

“What did they want?” he’s asking.

Scully shrugs. “Just to annoy me. What do you want?”

“I came to ask you a favour.”

Scully considers.

“I’m going to see Sam at the morgue after school, Skinner’s taking me. I was hoping that you would come with me.”

She thinks about it. It was no small ask, he knew that. She looks at him, her anger dissipating at the pleading, puppy-eyed look he gives her, one that says that he’ll accept her saying no but he’s going to be sad about it all the same.

It wins her over. She nods. He smiles.

 .:.:.:.:.:.:.

 Skinner is waiting for them. She waits for Mulder, wondering if this is really such a good idea after all.

He runs down the steps towards and Scully smiles, exhaling deeply.

“You sure about this, Mulder?” she’s asking.

He looks towards Skinner’s car then back at her, nodding, smiling as if he’s trying to convince himself.

They climb into the car, ignoring the looks they get from students standing nearby.

“Dana,” Skinner says in greeting.

“She’s coming with me,” Mulder says.

They walk down the corridor following a doctor, Skinner just up ahead. Scully looks towards Mulder when they reach the door. Skinner’s offered to wait outside and Scully wonders if she should do that too but Mulder shakes his head, wanting her in there with him.

If she had the option she’d choose to stand outside but this is for Mulder, Mulder is her friend, if he wants her in there with him she’ll be in there with him.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” the doctor asks.

A body- Samantha’s body- lies beneath a white cloth on a metal table, covered in head to toe with the sheet. Scully’s heart beats faster against her chest as she stares at it. God, this is hard for her, how must it be for Mulder?

Mulder nods his head, signally that the sheet is ready to be lifted. Scully holds her breath as the sheet is pulled back by the doctor.

Samantha’s face is revealed. Her skin a blue tinge to it, her eyes closed. She’s been washed, preserved in a freezer for two days now. Scully’s eyes widen. She’s never seen a dead body before.

Below the table, Mulder’s hand is clutching at hers, squeezing tight. She looks down at their entwined hands, then back at Mulder.

His face is emotionless. He just stares at his sister on a table in a morgue.

His sister is dead.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” the doctor says and she wanders off towards the desk.

Tears are now in Mulder’s eyes. With his free hand, he gently strokes the top of her head, the tears now falling silently.

“What happened to her ears?”

Scully had seen that before. It looks as though a mini bomb has gone off in the girl’s ears.

“Her auditory canal looks to have exploded. We don’t have any answers yet.”

Scully looks to Mulder with questions she knows she shares with Mulder but Mulder says nothing, he just continues to cry.

“She’s dead, Scully,” he’s saying through sobs. “She’s really dead.”

The realisation, the truth in front of him, seems to break him and he shatters into a series of painful cries, falling against the table. Scully says nothing, just continues to stare at him with tears in her own eyes, threatening to fall.

 .:.:.:.:.:.:.

 Feet dangle next to each other as they sit on the dock. In silence. The events of this evening swirling around in their head.

Scully’s is filled with other thoughts, too, thoughts that she is begging to share with someone.

She glances a sideways look towards Mulder. He’s emotionless again, staring out beyond the water. She wonders if he could deal with her problems tonight.

Her legs bounce. Her hands tangle. The wind blows a cold chill towards them. The world carries on regardless of dead children, missing children, broken families…

“Mulder, can I tell you something?”

Scully stares straight ahead.

“Of course,” he says.

“It’s nothing to do with Sam or Charlie or anything like that.” She chances a quick look at him. “Are you okay with that?” Before turning back out to the lake again.

“Sure.”

Scully sighs, ready to disclose information she’s never had the chance to tell anyone before.

“My parents haven’t slept in the same bed for four years.”

It’s out. The weight that has been lifted from her is enormous. She feels as though she could float away right now.

“I- I didn’t know,” Mulder stumbles out after a bit.

“That was the point. Nobody was supposed to know.” Her legs swing harder. Anger fills her. It’s all she is now; a bottle of angry and tears ready to spill at any moment. “You ever feel like we exist in one big lie? We’re supposed to act as though we’re happy and everything is fine when we’re really we’re just houses decaying on the inside, dressed up prettily so the first gullible buyer will fall for us?” She breaths out deeply. “I want answers, Mulder. Real answers. About Charlie, about Sam…I’m sick of doing nothing.”

Her eyes are firmly fixed on the lake ahead, the line where the sky meets water.

“Scully…”

She breaks her gaze, turning to Mulder.

“Let’s go to the well.”

He’s staring directly into her eyes, serious. Scully smiles, standing up, ready to do something.

[judexgraves]

The Warning, Ignored

“Check,” said the cloaked figure in front of Veronica.

Veronica lazily swayed from one side to the other in a chair she didn’t remember. In front of a chess game she didn’t remember starting, and with a person she had no recollection of knowing before now. The room was completely void yet pure white. She could not make out walls, but yet she felt trapped. Where was she?

“What?”

The cloaked figure’s head tilted up, but there was only darkness, no face to be seen. “Check,” it repeated. “It is your turn. What will you do now?”

Veronica looked back down at the chess pieces that were strewn amongst the table. Some had already fallen, and some were still in play. She wasn’t even sure she had played this game more than a handful of times in her life. Why was she playing it now?

“What do you mean?” she asked but when she looked back up there was Tabitha instead. Her face gave a look of confusion as she leaned all the way to the left into the couch armrest. Her eyes opened and closed slowly as she heard Tabitha’s voice, frantic, but unable to make out the words.

*****

“Narcan!” the paramedic demanded.

Tabitha stood at the opening of the back of the ambulance. She watched another paramedic hand over a syringe and her heart dropped. Tears streamed down her face and her hands trembled. The paramedic injected Veronica and Tabitha breathed a sigh of relief when Veronica’s eyes opened.

“V!” she yelled out. She watched as Veronica seemed to register her voice but her head fell back onto the stretcher.

The paramedic closest to the door moved to close it. “We’re going to Saint Mary’s,” he said while he slammed the doors in her face. The ambulance rushed off with lights and sirens blaring.

“But… I want to be with her,” Tabitha whimpered, confused why she wasn’t allowed into the ambulance.

Tabitha, still in her work clothes, jumped into her car and drove with her emergency blinkers on to the hospital across town. She had no idea what Veronica had done, or what she was thinking. Tabitha had been working a double at the restaurant when she got an odd text from Veronica. I love you… don’t let them wake me!

What does that even mean? Don’t let who wake her? Did she OD on purpose? What is going on in her head to think that’s okay? She’d never been so much as depressed, let alone suicidal! All these thoughts consumed her as she sped toward the hospital, nearly keeping up with the ambulance.

*****

Veronica looked out over the hilltop she stood on. It was dark, and the flora among her feet were rotted, decayed into nearly ash. The smell of sickly sweet death clung to her nostrils, but no matter where she looked she couldn’t quite find what would cause such a smell. There was no carcass, only the dead flowers. Slowly, she lifted her arm toward her nose, but before she got to close she realized it was her. She was the smell. She gagged, having to swallow back bile. What was wrong with her?

“You are sick,” the familiar voice caused her to look behind her. The cloaked figure made her chest ache.

“I’m only twenty-two, I haven’t even had the flu before. How am I this sick?”

“Pestilence does not care for your age or who one is.”

“Pestilence?” Veronica’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“They are coming. You are the beginning of an end.”

Veronica shook her head. “Now you just sound like you’re quoting scripture… I don’t-”

“Believe? No one believes until it is too late. There are many things one must believe in, and sickness and death will always make one a believer in them.”

“I can go to a doctor.”

“They have no cure for what is eating you from within.”

Veronica choked on a cry before she quickly turned away, only to fall to her knees from the dizzy spell. “I can’t leave my loved ones behind.”

“They will follow soon enough.”

“Will anyone survive?”

“No. Humans are the vermin, and we must cleanse.”

Veronica shook her head. Despite the putrid smell that came from her hands, she lifted them to her face to wipe the flow of tears. “I can stop it. If I stay away from everyone and end my life, I can stop it.”

“You can try…”

*****

Tabitha burst in through the doors of the ER, explaining to the man at the front desk who she was and what was happening. He checked with a passing nurse who gave a shrug and a nod, so he buzzed Tabitha into the open ER past the waiting room. She hurried into the room that she saw Veronica in, convulsing. Whether or not she was meant to be there was a wholly different story, but to her it didn’t matter the rules of the ER. She pleaded over and over for someone to help Veronica before two nurses pulled her from the doorway of the room. As they tried to console her, Tabitha couldn’t hear a thing, nothing more than noise in the background as medical staff tried to stop Veronica from convulsing. The foam from her mouth getting into her bright pink hair.

One nurse maneuvered Tabitha to walk with her away from the scene, but Tabitha just looked over her shoulder until they rounded a corner and she could no longer see inside the room. She then looked to the nurse and shook her head repeatedly. “Please. I’m begging you. Help her.”

The nurse sat Tabitha down at a table in a break room. “They’re doing all they can, ma’am. Please, take this and calm down.”

Tabitha looked at the can in front of her and carefully she took it from the nurse and nodded as she gave a few light sips. It only soured her stomach, despite the ginger she tasted, so she set down the can and began to sob. The nurse rubbed her back gently as if to comfort her, but Tabitha found no comfort in the memories embedded in her mind of Veronica convulsing.

*****

Veronica went in and out of consciousness. She saw the bright lights, heard the frantic demands of doctor and nurse alike, even felt the harsh punctures of syringes and that of the needle prick of an IV. She kept trying to beg them to stop, to let her die, but couldn’t form the words. The heroin had either done quite a number on her, or all of this stress was traumatizing her. She wasn’t sure. She had never touched drugs before, but she was sure she had done enough to end her life. So why was she still alive? Why weren’t people just letting her die? Didn’t they see? Didn’t they know she was already dead? That they would be too if they allowed her to live?

“Stop,” she whispered, but in the midst of all the frantic noise, she fell on deaf ears.

“They won’t stop, and neither will what’s inside you,” the voice came to her as if in a dream once more.

Veronica looked to her left and instead of machines and nurses, she saw the cloaked figure. Decay rained down upon them both in a soft shower. She smelled that distinct rot again. “It’s going to get on them, make it stop!”

A haunting chuckle emerged from the void. “They were infected the moment you arrived.”

“Stop. Please,” she begged.

“I only collect. I am the warning, ignored.”

Veronica turned her head to see the rot that was coursing upon the nurses and the doctors. They didn’t see it, but she did… she knew, and they were blind.

“Stop.”

*****

The faint beeps were lulling Tabitha to sleep as she sat beside Veronica’s bedside. They had gotten Veronica calm enough to put her out of the ER and into a room for further testing. The doctors tried to explain to Tabitha that the blood work they did was inconclusive. That besides the heroin something, odd, was in her blood. They took more to review, considering it a fluke for now, but to be safe wanted to keep her for observation.

Just as Tabitha’s eyes were shutting she heard her name. Her eyes shot open and she saw Veronica’s worried face.

“V!”

“Tabby… why? I told you not to do this.”

“What? Are you really upset with me to want to save you?”

“You don’t understand. I was trying to save you; all of you.”

Before Tabitha could speak, an alarm rang out. Codes were being listed frantically, but the only thing she understood was the word, QUARANTINE.

“What is going on?” Tabitha whispered.

“It’s happening,” Veronica said, voice weak and her bottom lip quivered. “It’s begun.”

Tabitha turned to Veronica seeing small, red welts appear on Veronica’s body. “V?” she questioned in a shaky tone.

Veronica looked to Tabitha. Her right eye bulged and then rotted from her skull. Black ooze trickled from the open space. “You should have listened.”

Tabitha screamed. She looked down and saw small, red welts appearing on her own skin. Before she could call for a nurse there were many more screams which echoed from the hall. There were so many and so loud. It was almost deafening as Tabitha drew closer to the door to open it. The scene in the hall was enough to make Tabitha’s blood run cold.

Some nurses were running toward patient rooms, others were sitting in the floor clawing at their red, welted skin. A patient was face down in a pool of dark blood that seemed more like oil. Tabitha shook her head. Her vision tunneled as she felt nauseated. As she felt the bile rise to her throat she felt herself falling. She passed out before she hit the ground.

*****

“Checkmate,” the cloaked figure said.

Veronica sat upright and rigid in the familiar chair. Her eyes scanned the game of which she still doesn’t remember playing, but the figure was correct. It was checkmate. The game was over.

“Did I even play?” A chuckle from the void had her arm hairs stand on end.

“Not willingly, no,” it replied.

“Why me?”

“You were merely a random means to an end. It could have been anyone, and now it is slowly becoming everyone.”

“Will I see them again? My friends? My family?”

The cloaked figure looked to a door, one that Veronica hadn’t noticed. “Walk through there and you may find out.”

Veronica sat in silence for a moment. Her head slowly turned back to the cloaked figure. “I’ll play you for it. This time, I'll actually play.”

“Play me for what?”

“For the human race.”

Deep laughter filled the room. “It is over. What has been done, is done. I only collect.”

“I tried.” Veronica choked on her cries. “I tried to warn them.”

“Yes. You did, child, you did.”

Veronica felt tears fall as her mouth opened and she spoke with the figure, “I am the warning, ignored.”

[sansonrio]

Seventeen

It’s the third day in a row that Tim wakes up to a pounding in his head, phone clutched loosely in his hand.

He gazes blearily at the open door to his closet; suits and ties thrown hastily on hangers, shoes half falling out onto the floor of his bedroom, a single sock mysteriously poking out from underneath his suitcase and he begins to wonder when he let himself fall so far.

Tim drops his phone and turns onto his back, pulling the duvet over his head and pretending he doesn’t actually have to get out of bed, Bruce can handle it, right–

His phone buzzes from the floor. Tim chooses to ignore it, knowing that if he can’t have this one day to himself then he might as well quit. It takes all of his willpower to leave the device alone but after ten seconds the buzzing stops and Thank god, it’s so loud against the wood floor–

He jumps the second time his phone buzzes. Tim’s a one-and-done kind of guy, so if someone’s calling twice he figures it must be important.

Practically falling off the bed, Tim snatches the phone from off the floor.

“Hello?” he answers and cringes at how his voices breaks.

There’s a pause from the other end, then “Tim?”

And he can’t help the sigh that escapes, wishing he could hang up, turn the phone off, and force himself back asleep like it would solve something. He lays back down, blinks the rest of the sleep out of his eyes.

“Dick? Why are you calling me at–” he holds the device in front of him to check the time, “–three on a Monday morning?”

The line goes silent, long enough Tim thinks he was hung-up on when he hears a muffled swear and… running?

“Sorry, currently ah– working,” Dick responds, and Tim hates the way he can tell the other man’s smiling. A siren, far below Tim’s window, passes by, and he’s distracted so he only catches the end of what Dick’s saying. “–thinking I could stop by, if that’s fine?”

Tim scrambles out of his bed, suddenly recognizing why he hears the same siren through the phone. He whips around to the balcony outside of his bedroom and half expects to see the shadow of a person.

“Now?” he hisses, lowering his voice. “Are you– are you actually crazy?”

Dick laughs, “You know, you’re not the first person to ask me that. Be there in 5,” and hangs up. Running a hand through his hair, Tim tosses the phone onto his bed. He’d usually run to the bathroom and make himself into some semblance of put together-ness, but this is three-in-the-morning Tim and this Tim has zero expectations for himself, caped crusaders be damned.

He only jumps a little when there’s a soft thud coming from outside; he squeezes his eyes shut, thankful he lives in the part of town where billboard lights don’t shine down every alley, allowing certain persons to slip down fire escapes without so much a glance from passersby.

A light tapping on his window forces him to get up, making sure each movement looks as sluggish as he feels. Before he even has the chance to dig his fingers under the decaying window, Dick– now Nightwing– forces it open and slips in alongside a cool breeze. Tim blinks slowly, huffs and tries to force the panes back down before giving up and deciding the night air feels nice.

He turns back, surprised when he finds the door to his bedroom open, light from the kitchen spilling down the hallway. Taking a deep breath for what feels like too many deep breaths for one night, he stalks out of his room.

There’s a clinking sound that Tim can only imagine is the sound of Dick rummaging through his refrigerator.

“You know,” he starts, rounding the corner to his kitchen, “you’re all starting to become the reason why I have to grocery shopping three times a week. Three. The cashier thinks I dump it all into the river.”

“Oh?” Dick keeps his back to him. “Tell Bruce. You know he’s itching to give you a raise.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “That’s not the point. Like, at all.”

“Or–” Dick looks back at Tim smirking, his hands still working on whatever food he’d grabbed. “–you could tell us to stop.”

“And would that work?”

Dick laughs but doesn’t say anything else.

Tim notices a discarded mask on his counter. Dick doesn’t– hasn’t ever taken off his mask when in costume. Not in front of Tim, at least. Figuring Dick would explain, Tim sluggishly moves to sit at his kitchen table; he picks the metal folding chair he’d found on the side of the road when he first moved in.

Grabbing two glasses from a cupboard above the sink, Dick moves throughout Tim’s kitchen like it’s his own (they all do, really. Tim doesn’t mind). He sets one by Tim and sits down across from him in the only other chair at the table.  

Tim, absentmindedly playing with the condensation on the glass, yawns.

“So,” he starts, watching Dick stretch his arms behind his head, “to what do I owe the honor of your presence?”

Dick smiles back. “Aww, must a guy need a reason to see a good friend?”

“If he’s visiting that friend at three in the morning, then yeah, I think he does.” And Dick laughs again as he runs a hand through his hair; if Tim didn’t feel like he could pass out right there at the table, he’d probably laugh too. He settles for an amused look, waiting for the other man to say something else. After a couple of seconds pass, Dick raises his hands as if in surrender.

“Alright, alright, this isn’t just a social visit,” and he pauses, winks at Tim, “But you are funny when you’re tired. You should see your face.”

Tim rolls his eyes again but thinks he probably wouldn’t be mad even if it was. Probably.

Dick sighs, and suddenly looks at Tim with a kind of pity; it’s the kind of look Tim’s been getting used to over the past year. The change in mood puts him on edge, and if it were anyone besides Dick he wouldn’t be suspicious. Tim can’t help the twitch in his eye but doesn’t say anything. He lowers his gaze to his glass, suddenly ashamed.

“We’re… worried about you, all of us,” Dick says, head cocked to the side as if unsure where to start. “You know.”

It dawns on Tim why he’s here. He curls in on himself and feels a flush arise on his cheeks. Not now. Please, not now. The other man never gives up on a mission, though, so Tim waits.

The silence doesn’t last long– Dick breaks it first. “Bruce told me things have been… busy. With the holidays, and all. He asked if I’d spoken with you recently.”

Tim looks up at that, annoyed at himself for being surprised. The somber look Dick gives him doesn’t help. He raises an eyebrow, “And?”

“And,” Dick draws it out, looking away from Tim, “I told him no. But he wanted me to. Come here, I mean.” He leans his chin on his hand, gaze awkward but steady as he meets Tim’s. “To extend an invitation.”

And now Tim’s confused. “A what?”

A small smile appears on Dick’s face, a little sad.

“An invitation. For you. To come spend the holidays with us.”

Tim frowns, grasping at straws as to why Dick would come just to ask him that.

“We see each other at work every day. Why wouldn’t Bruce just ask me then?” He scowls, slumps further into his chair. It’s… not the first time he’s been asked, actually. But to Tim, it’s always been a sort of formality, done more out of politeness than sincerity.

“He thinks you don’t take him seriously.”

He huffs, giving Dick a look that says, Really?

“Bruce Wayne asks me to spend Christmas with his family and I’m supposed to take him seriously?”

“Yes!” Dick nearly shouts, holding his hands out like he wants to shake Tim.

The reaction throws Tim off; he stares back at Dick, eyebrows furrowed, as the other man leans back in his chair and rubs his face.

Another siren comes blasting along one of Gotham’s streets and Tim flinches, grateful Dick had been too distracted looking out the window to see it. The two sit without saying a word as more red and blue lights swing their way across the apartment.

Dick, still not looking at him, says, “I’m sorry.”

Counting the cars that pass, Tim startles when a gentle hand on his wrist breaks him from his train of thought; he realizes his hand is cramping from his vice-like grip on his glass. He breathes, pulls each finger slowly away from the moisture that’s built up.

“You’ve been through a lot his past year,” Tim meets Dick’s eyes. “And I would never want to make this decision for you.”

It’s been nearly a year since his father passed and Tim did everything in his power to keep the thought out of his head. He was still working on how to prove himself a capable adult; he just… hasn’t had the time to think about anything else.

The implications of Dick’s request aren’t lost on him.

“Dick, I–” and Tim doesn’t know where he’s going with this. “You all have done so much for me. More than I could’ve ever expected, really.” He rubs a hand through his hair now, too, realizes he’s picked up Dick’s habit. “I don’t think I could– I mean, really, I couldn’t–” Stupid, stupid, stupid

“Tim,” Dick softly interjects, reaching across and grabs his hand, and suddenly it’s hard for Tim to look at him so he turns away.

He’s briefly aware of Dick crossing the table, bending to hold him, and wishes he couldn’t feel the warm streaks of tears down his face. It’s too much, he thinks, everything, all at once. He’s well-versed in the world of pity– he’s going on six years of living in it. But this… Too much.

It’s been a few minutes, and Tim knows it must be uncomfortable for Dick, standing the way he is, but neither move. He sniffles– hates it, but he can’t help it– and he’s being squeezed tighter before Dick sits back on his heels and holds him at arm’s length.

“It’s your choice.”

Tim nods.

“I won’t force you into anything. But we will always have a space for you, if you want it,” the sincerity in Dick’s voice makes something in Tim hurt. “And Alfred’s cookies might just be the best on the planet, so.”

Tim looks up at him and laughs, even with the few remaining tears sliding out.

Dick stands and smiles back, the kind of smile Tim thinks he’s the only one capable of giving. He offers his hand to Tim, who takes it, confused, and is promptly pulled into another one of Dick Grayson’s signature bear-hugs.  

“Call me, Tim,” Tim hears from above him. “Or text. Whatever. Just talk to me, okay?”

Tim nods again, taking in as much of the hug as he can before they let go.

Dick grabs his mask off the counter, making his way over to one of the windows and pulling it open.

“Oh!” Dick says, startling Tim, “Almost forgot something!” and makes his way back to the kitchen. He grabs the uneaten sandwich he’d made and quickly pinches one of Tim’s cheeks, who swats the hand away with mock annoyance.

Halfway out the window, Dick looks back at Tim.

“Take care, Tim. I hope to see you soon.”

And Tim… thinks that he will.

[chainofbeing]

Adam witnesses the destruction that can be brought on by the Anthronesians, and sees the all too familiar horror that festers in Mights mind.

Veatorian woman: Emmy Coates

Hass man: David M. Sledge

Might-Upon-Serenity: Frances Gillard

Ovig Nadal: Glyn Pritchard

Sound design, Writing, and, Adam Delta 5: Cai Gwilym Pritchard

email us at chainofbeingofficial@gmail.com

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And check out The Green Horizon, found wherever good podcasts are. You're smart, you'll figure it out

[the sound of a relatively busy town, music playing people talking, Vestak-cry at its busiest]

I stare down at Might, she’s not moving but her pain permeates the air, distress, anguish and fear, through something troubles her even beyond her wounds. The metal shell has grown back now and her organic interior is healing relatively well. “Is there anything I can do to help?,” I say to a Veatorian woman outside of the healers yurt, she looks me up and down “Can you use that?” She gestures to the spear at my side “somewhat,” I reply “go out and hunt,” she points toward the mesa “head that way for 4  hours and then head toward the minor sun, you’ll reach some rich hunting grounds, food is scarce we need something to give these bandits,” the proposition of just giving up upsets me, I’d seen this happen many times before, Forus Minor was the most recent, having spent a bit of time there I began to recognise the kind of person it took to coerce and steal in this way, “I’ll find a way to stop them, I promise,” she looks at me as if I’d promised to destroy the moon or reverse time “with the weapons they have? We can't all be immortal,”

[the sounds of swamp wilderness, insects and frogs making noise Adam trudging along]

I grab some water and a long piece of cloth to wrap around my head to keep cool and start walking, leaving my coat behind. My ribs ache as I walk and so I begin to consider the weapon that the masked woman carried to distract myself. A laser rifle, an actual fucking laser rifle. Like something out of an old sci-fi story. The idea seemed so fantastical to me, like hover cars or pills that you take instead of eating, I mean sure, On a big enough supercruiser or an OLCoSat, but research into handheld energy weapons had been discarded hundreds of years ago. And yet I watched my friend get hit with one. I’ve been walking toward the mesa in the far distance for an hour or so when I come across another town, this one far more built up than Vestak-cry,

[the town creaks and sways, old wood and metal settling, flies buzz and a light wind blows]

The tallest building is around 3 stories high, its wide and round and built out of the engine of a mega-hauler or something of a similar size, I don't recognise the make. It casts a shadow on the rest of the village, with a roof of plastic sheeting pulled taught across and fastened to several bars which are run through it. The rest of the town surrounds this centrepiece, densely packed due to the trench that defines the border of the town. There must be about 150 separate settlements all huddled around the tall central building. I circle round to the entrance, the large metal gates lie open as I walk over the makeshift bridge the smell of rot and decay becomes suddenly very intense, I look over into the ditch and see that there are several bodies lying at the bottom, many with gunshot wounds in the back of the head or with large singed portions of their body missing. In the town the walls of all the buildings are marked with large gashes and bullet holes, every so often a blackened streak will appear or a hole through several buildings lets the wind whistle through it. More bodies litter the town, the killing blows less methodical as some of them clutch lengths of iron rebar or other makeshift weapons grabbed in a moment of panic. Silence is relative, you may think where you are is quiet, but if you listen closely enough there will always be the sound of a vehicle or the wind blowing lightly, in concert halls after a powerful song ends the space is deathly quiet, even as the last waves created by the instruments reverberate in the room. The same is with the town, there is no silence, the wind blows and buildings settle, yet next to what must have been a loud and bustling organism made up of hundreds of people who all knew each other's names and lives, all with individual stories that converge on this one point, it might as well be a burial chamber, forgotten and lost. The Hollowed out engine is a market , from what I can gather, all along the circumference and in the core of it stalls are strewn about, small, yet useless, trinkets with the more valuable items stolen. On the front entrance to the market there is a Tra’ha’dowl, strung up from the iron bars which keep the plastic roof in place, it can only be a few weeks since he was killed, his small black eyes are sunken and faded with decay and his small many toothed maw hangs open, his rubbery pale skin hugs tightly to his skeleton as the flesh rots. Hung from his neck is a black banner with the white insignia of a six spoked wheel run through with a sword. Beneath this the words “Unto Humanity Only” are inscribed in an ancient human language, not spoken since the old days of humanity, before the council. I leave the town and begin a long arc back to vestak-cry hoping to cover as much ground as possible in the hopes of not returning empty handed. And so I once more march in the wilderness.      

There's a large pool of water just ahead of me, some creature drinking from it causes ripples to emanate from its long toothy snout. It is hunched down on six legs and its long flowing feathers ripple in the light breeze, I extend my spear and it raises its head reflexively, a pair of ears shoot into the air and it tenses up, it goes to run but it stops, something slowly snakes up its legs and at first I think it's some kind of eel from the water or a serpent of some kind, but then I realise that the vines are pulling the creature into the water it calls out, thrashing in futile desperation. The tips of the vines pierce its skin and it falls still, its large black eyes lose their deep colour and go hazy and it allows itself to be pulled to the bottom of the pond. Completely astounded and with my spear pointed downwards in front of me I cautiously approach the edge of the pond, the water still ripples and I peer down into its depths, I can't see the bottom either due to its murkiness or its depth I can’t tell. A moan calls behind me and I spin around, spear raised, a smaller but much angrier looking version of the beast I watched get devoured is hunched down, it has less hair then the other and it is armed with a large set of chipped horns and long curved teeth. It charges and I stumble to the side narrowly avoiding getting run through. It gracefully turns around and goes for another charge and I thrust the spear at its eye, missing and instead adding another nick to its horns. On its third charge I drop to the ground and brace the end of my spear into the ground as it gores itself with the force of its own charge, I push up and forward against its ribs to keep it away from the edge of the water from which more vines smoothly snake outwards, and it stumbles away. I twist the ring on the pole and it electrifies, the beast cries out and its muscles tense up, while it’s still stunned I pull out the blade and drive it up through its jaw and into the skull, it collapses, and the vines begin to withdraw.

[the sound of Vestak cry, no music but people still talk and move about] Back at Vestak-Cry I drag my blood soaked cloth filled with the chopped up creature to the centre of town, I leave it next to a plastic barrel filled with fresh water and a large bushel of herbs, a meagre offering from a town of people whose value comes from the intellectual realm rather then the physical. Might is still unconscious when I go to check on her, two attendees surround her, sitting and staring into space, waiting for an improvement. “Surely she should be better by now?” I say impatiently to the Dŵrian closest to me, he blinks twice, one lid covering the whole bulging eye from the bottom and then opening again. “they don't talk, vow of silence,” a large hass sits in a rocking chair and is sprinkling some substance into their liquid filled breathing apparatus. “That’s a good thing if you ask me, Dŵrians have a natural sense of superiority. just because they are amphibious, it’s obnoxious.” “Well?” I ask, my attention shifting to the aquatic humanoid “She’s taking her time, that weapon the human carried really did a number on her, that ain't no usual firearm, seemed magical,” He looks me up and down “you’re probably fixin’ for an explanation huh?” I nod  “suppose I can try and provide some illumination. People like us come here to be isolated. This is just a small fragment of who lives here. Most came here by accident ‘cept us that us that is. This planet is uniquely situated so that don’t appear on any maps and cannot be discovered by conventional means,” “How is that possible?” he shrugs, “ maybe the mineral makeup of the planet? Perhaps some ancient artefact buried deep within some hidden temple just waiting for you to go get it,” he says sarcastically and then laughs, “we could spend hours speculating. But the point is that ‘cause of this... phenomenon there are lots of people on this rock who would rather not be, people who had no good reason for being out this far away from hubs of the galaxy if you catch my drift.” Anyone trying to keep out of council monitored widening field routes by using backway lanes and jump points mixed with a planet that doesn't show up on scanners gets you a bunch of unsavoury types on the same planet as other vulnerable and lost people which is never good. He points up at one of the mesas far in the distance, the green mess of the vines gradually becoming more sparse, presumably as whatever gas the plant breathes becomes less abundant. “The group that human is a part of are set up on that plateau there, they came here about 4 months ago, they’ve already set up base out of the ship they came here on, They’re not here on accident, they don't wanna be found. When they got here we thought nothing of it. But then they started expanding outwards. The nearest village, sapiran… well, humans aren't exactly known for their peaceful nature, no offence,” “None taken,” I say, my eyes fixed on might, “and the vines?” I ask “What about them?” he says, surprised at my asking “They cover every square inch of the ground, everywhere I go it grows incredibly densely and it doesn't behave like a plant should, aren't there any vitamancers here? Surely they‘d know something about it?” “The only vitamancy that gets here is by our amphibious friend here,” he points at the Dŵrian who looks absently at the horizon, “hey Bedyw,” the Dŵrian doesn't flinch. The Hass man picks up a chunk of whatever substance he was filtering into his breathing apparatus and flicks it at the Dŵrian who starts and looks at the Hass with visible confusion on their scaled face “you’ve got a vow of silence not a vow of not listening! The vines!”  Bedyw shrugs what do you expect me to do? “I dunno, mime it or something,” They raise their hands and scrunch up their face at the ridiculousness of the idea but go to try and explain anyway. they look me in the eyes and put their hand on the ground tugging at the vines, then they motion the shape of a sphere “the vines cover the whole planet?” they give me a thumbs up. They hold up a single claw and then put their fingers to their temples and draw them away, splaying out their hands and widening their eyes as they do so. “One… dream? One explosion?” they turn to the Hass man and gestures hey I tried.

 “Well that was unhelpful and confusing,” Bedyw does another gesture that I don't recognise but assume is some expletive. “If you don't mind me askin’” the Hass man says taking a deep breath from his breathing tube which sits on around his neck, “what's the deal with you two? Me and Bedyw reckon you're ex-lovers or something” “No it's not like that,” I say “Well what is it like?” I pause, nothing quite describes it really, no one else in the whole universe has been through what we had been through and had lived in the way we had. “It’s more like…we’re siblings, sort of,” “I've got plenty of siblings, some 400, but mama always said I was the special one. how’d you become acquainted then?” “It’s a long story,” “I’ve got time,” “No, it starts at the beginning of life itself in the universe so you really don’t,” “Fair enough,” he grumbles “Sorry, but aren't you more worried about the Anthronesians? Not how I met Might?” “Everything is as it was ever going to be,” The Dŵrian rolls their eyes “Aren't you more worried about what's up with Might?” he asks “I mean sure, but I just have to be patient, she’ll heal in time,” “Not her wounds kid,” he says but then realises how ridiculous he looks calling someone hundreds of thousands of years old ‘kid’ “Can you not see it?” “Oh. right.” “Somethings eatin’ at her, she ain’t been right for the past few weeks. We can all see it, surprised you can’t” “It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen her I just assumed this is how she is now I- I don't know,” Might begins to stir, a deep black sphere appears above her forehead and the air around her starts to shiver, “See?” I say moving over to her “if she’s still having visions, it can't be that bad,” “This ain’t like usual, somethings wrong,” A thin line of black emerges from her eyes like tears streaming upwards into the air and they make contact with the sphere of light hovering above her. The world suddenly turns black and I feel myself brought into her mind.

[the vision realm is harmonious, slightly musical almost, but also tortured and disturbing]

I’m in a small cave, the walls are made of dark strings which splay outwards, through the thick tangle I see the shape of some huge creature move around and snake up and over my head settling behind might who stands at the other end, the tangle of thin lines emanating from behind her, she stands with her hands out,  strings wrapped and tangled between her fingers. “Adam,” she says, her voice travelling along the threads , “We have little time. Eden, you need to get there first, to the start of it all,” A dark shadow appears behind her but neither of us react, as if we had known of its presence long before it arrived. “To leave this place” she pulls down a thread, plucks it and watches the vibrations travel away from her “You must go to the Anthronesians, they have a dissimulation field, they’re hiding something, uncover it” she points and I know where she means, on top of the mesa. The shadow places a pale hand on her shoulder and the lights in her body around where he grips her change into a polychromatic haze, glowing brightly, “after that you don't need to worry, your path will become clear,” “Yeah sure I’ll be totally calm,” she gestures the equivalent of a melancholy smile with her hands, a depth to her feeling lost on me, due to my limited perception of the light spectrum. The shadow grows larger. “If this doesn't work,, will you visit the others? I’m sure they’d like to see you. Well, most of them anyway,” “If what doesn't work?” The haze of rapidly shifting light completely engulfs her body and she draws her sword, pulling the threads wrapped around her fingers down, untangling many of the knots that provide the ceiling and walls with structure. She spins and swings the blade in an upward motion cutting up the shadows chest and severing a few threads in the process. An angry mist of polychrome energy bursts from the wound singing more and severing them. The shadow hatefully grabs might by the mask and throws her to the ground, unfazed she jabs the sword into his forearm and pulls it back toward her. The shadow recoils in shock and might rolls back onto her feet. The darkness around the shadow dissipates and for the first time I see Ovig Nadal in his true intolerable and impossible form,

From his eyeless head which hangs on a long stooped neck a white set of horns wriggle and writhe violently like maggots, and Impossibly and most distressing they are simultaneously still. Two sets of wings protrude out from his back, long and bowed. The edges of his body shiver and shudder, as he moves 7 echoes of his motions follow like ghosts each in a different colour of the light spectrum. His wide and smiling jaw hangs open as he pants, polychrome gas rising from his gullet with each deep breath. This same gas drips in liquid form from his fresh wound. Surrounded by an ashy substance which is the same pallid colour as his skin, His presence emanates outwards, in defiance of the universe and he holds out his slender, clawed hand as if presenting the damage to us. His form refuses to hold a consistent shape, undoubtedly might be witnessing a separate horror however, despite the shifting form, my eyes sting with tears nonetheless.

[The sound of the vision realm is filled with the words that Ovig Nadal is about to speak, mere glimpses hard to discern fully until he says them]

The image of this edgeless horror is known to me; it has festered in the back of my mind since Eden, as it is in all of humanity, all generations proceeding from me are instilled with a fear of him, the impact of my actions seared his image deep into the collective unconscious. “I seek only to free you, you blinded children, you thankless and scornful hordes,” as he speaks the matter which he appears to be made of begins to flake and an ashy substance fills the air. “You are an alien in this universe,” might says, “and in this of all realms you have even less grasp of your place, you are more of concept than of being, but even ideas can be laid to rest and quelled, I banish you, you who would seek to revoke and undo, my mind will not be a battleground for you. So fuck off.” The last of the ash dissipates and the black threads fade to blue and then into nothing, we now stand in a large empty space in which there is the true nothing "That's better," she says and I awaken to the sight of the Dŵrian and the Hass standing over me "You okay kid?" The Hass asks me "Yeah I'm good," "What was that all about?" "Vision realm, extra-dimensional creature had possessed might but it's fine now" The two look at each other and then back to me "Fair enough," might rouses from her sleep as I am pulled to me feet Not one to waste time she speaks before I can "that was weird huh?" "What was that move all about?" "I don't know I just suddenly felt that was was I was meant to do, it felt so right," “So he’s why your visions were different then?” “I guess so, but I’m not sure why he didn't just possess me outright? Its like something was keeping him from completely taking over,” “I didn't think anything could stop his will,” she turns to me, serious now "if you want to deactivate the dissimulation field you're going to have to go now," "No goodbyes?" "We'll see each other again, I'm sure,” "Do you know that or are you just being sentimental," “we’re immortal, the odds are that eventually we’ll run into each other" She roots through one of her pockets "Take this, for your little bag of tricks," She holds out a small bronze sphere, covered in seams and edges "Is this-?" I ask "Yeah," she answers "Holy shit, this is so rare! I don't know if I’ll feel right using it," "Farewell, Adam" "Farewell might-upon-serenity," We refrain from using each other's curse names. I turn and head in the direction of the Mesa, with a simple mission in mind and a trust that my friend will guide me well.

[yamiivance]

Fictober 2019 - 1

                             Cracked Bottles can’t hold pressure

Prompt number: 1: “It will be fun, trust me.”

Fandom: Nightmare On Elm Street(2010)/Dead By Daylight(Personal AU/verses)

Rating: T

Warnings/Tags: Overprotective Parents, Abusive parents, References of some bad collage culture + references to Freddy Krueger, emotional outbursts, parents refusing to talk about things? 

(Please let me know if I missed anything I should tag)

—

“Hey Mama?” Hazel eyes scan around curiously bright eyed and as usual a small old camera in hand- occasionally taking photos of buildings or angles on street signs as they pass them.

Her Mother's brown eyes meet hers with a raised eyebrow.

“Hm yes my sweet little Cassey?”

A smile split across Cassandra's face as she giggled hiding a bit in her grey-blue denim jacket shyly.

“Mama- please!” She gently nudged into her Mother's side with a nuzzle- who simple returns the laugh and smiles back, sometimes Cassandra forgot how beautiful her Mother was, she was wearing her nice clothes since she was sure Her father had shown her off to clients before allowing her to show her around town like this.

Her Mother was wearing a nice dark suit jacket, a purple dress shirt and matching skirt with black tights and short heels to appear a bit taller well still being easy to walk in.

“...Mama...?” Her voice rang out in question again the hesitation to ask it and the nervous expression on her Mother's face told her most of what she had already guessed but-

“...Is this the preschool- uh... is this the place... Dwi- uh big brother went too?”

Of course her Mother was quick.

“Of course not you know what school you and your brother went too.”

Hazel eyes widen and she glances away tears burning her eyes.

“N-No Mama not that-”

“WHOA HEY- LOOK OUT-”

A young teen's voice shouted out the sound of a skateboard skidding to a halt and the sound of a metal fence shaking a bit she glanced up and blinked as the teen looked at her and laughed.

“Ma'am are you ok- I'm so sorry I got a text from my Dad and it distracted me- he can be a bit overprotective but sometimes I don't think he realizes it that he can cause more harm then good-”

His laugh – his brown hair was stuffed under a grey hat- curls stuck out from under it- brown eyes- a strangely familiar face. She'd seen a face like that in her big brother's photos...

“Quentin-”

The teen? Young adult maybe? blinks shocked. She wasn't sure if he was older or younger then her big Brother but she knew that face from some photos he'd shown her of his preschool days.

“...Uh yeah... um how do you-”

“You were my big brother's friend! Dwight!”

She squeaks out the joy of finally being able to say his name to someone- to not have to dance around questions or be met with glares or sharp movements from her Father.

“...Uh--- Y-Yeah wait are you haha- oh my god you're his little sister right? Cassandra? He used to write to me about you he adored you so much from what I can tell! I hope you too are still close- how is he? - Hello to you as well Mrs. Fairfield!” He bows gently at her politely.

Her Mother's smile was polite but she'd grabbed Cassandra's arm tightly and goes.

“I...I am sorry Mr. Smith but... we must be going-”

“...But... but Mama-”

Cassandra's voice cracked, her whole body shook with distress- as her Mother went to drag her away- the worlds leave her mouth desperately.

“You haven't heard from him Mr. Quentin- I- They- Mama please- I...!”

“No buts. Cassey.”

But of course Quentin was already cutting them off-

“H-Hey wait- whoa now- ho-hold on- what you haven't heard from him ether- what- is -... you like photography too- that's his first camera huh? He trusted you with it...”

And yet his hands asked. 'Are you safe? Do you need help?'

She hesitantly responded with one hand well speaking something else.

“Yes of course he would I am the world's best little sister- hehehe!” Though it was a bit forced due to the sobs still wrecking her breathes.

'...Mostly, I just... need someone to talk to- they won't talk to me.'

He stayed alongside them- Mrs. Fairfield not even glancing at the two not realizing they were signing.

“Mama please let me go I'm fourteen not a toddler! I want to talk with Quentin- I swear I'll call if he does anything funny please-”

Finally she pauses glaring at Quentin but her glare wavers when she saw the kind and concerned expression on his face- she glanced away guilty.

“I...I am sorry- of course you can go- but you better text me if there's so much a HINT of trouble understand?”

“Of course Mama! I always do!” She hugs her before skipping over to Quentin, who gives her a little high five.

“You're a little smooth talker huh? You must get it from your Mother huh? She's a smart lady- here Mrs. Fairfield- here's my cell number if you need to contact me ok? If you're worried just call me- or her I promise one of us will pick up at all times!”

The women stares at the paper for a moment but smiles and takes it.

“Thank you Mr. Smith please do watch her- though if a hair is out of place I will contact your Father.”

The threat in her eyes was very real, and yet Quentin simply nods. “I understand.”

“What's it like Skateboarding?”

A laugh escapes him now. “Ah I see interested?”

She looks nervous now, her Mother had already started walking away.

“No- I mean... well it's not very lady-like and I- I wouldn't know where to start-”

Quentin shakes his head.

“Come on I'll take you to the skate park nearby ok? It will be fun, trust me!”

She nods shyly, and much to his surprise he pats his skateboard. “I can push you if you want so you can get used to it a bit?”

Her mouth opened a bit in awed shock.

“Are... are you sure?”

“Of course I am!”

She happily skips towards the board and sitting down, pressing her knees against her chest and holding onto the board with her hands, she was glad she decided on her nice jeans instead of her skirts today.

“...so you haven't heard from Dwight ether...?”

Her voice was soft, shy.

“...sadly no last I heard from him was he mentioned starting collage and being really excited about his photography classes... He even mentioned taking ASL courses again just to keep himself refreshed.”

Cassandra nods slowly watching the world go by from her spot on the skateboard.

“...But he... hasn't been in contact with you or anyone else, you two seemed pretty close- that camera proves it...?”

Tears burned her eyes and she hiccuped mumbling out.

“...t-they... won't tell me anything- he... he came home and- l-locked himself in his room w-wouldn't come out so... so I sneaked in and- he was all beat up- and and he was so upset and looked scared and- I... they won't tell me what happened and now he's just gone and they won't even let me say his name and and-” She sobbed shaking and gripping the skateboard tightly.

“Dad calls him a pervert and our brother believes him- and I try to tell him Dwight is NOT a pervert but he doesn't- Dad has him on a leash and he doesn't even notice everything's wrong!”

“A-and... and-”

She sniffs rubbing at her face still trembling and hiccuping but seemingly trying to calm herself down.

“I-I'm sorry- I... just- I just... no one will... listen to me and t-they treat it like- he was-”

“You don't have to explain that to me...”

Quentin's voice was soft.

“I understand my Dad's always been hiding stuff from me honestly... it's... confusing... Maybe Dwight is still writing me and my Dad's just taking the letters- he does that sometimes- I promise I'll see if that's the case ok? So don't worry so much relax. You're only a kid you can solve these mysteries in time, but don't forget I'm sure Dwight would want you to enjoy yourself too! Like learning to skateboard perhaps?”

“hahaha, m-maybe maybe... yeah I know I-I'm sorry for putting all that on you Mr- um. Quentin... I just... needed it off my chest thank you for listening...”

She sniffs as she stands up off the skateboard and stretched a bit, wiping her eyes and glancing to him. “...So... how do we um, start?”

He smiles at her, an excited one, adjusting his blue jacket a bit and making sure his necklace is tucked away safely.

“Heh, why not you watch me for a little bit, relax calm down and then we'll get start on those lessons huh?”

Cassandra nods softly as she goes to sit down, crossed legged on the ground and taking a deep breath, gently she glances at her camera which hung from a makeshift necklace Dwight had made her for it.

Scanning though the new photos she'd taken on the way here before her breakdown- the photos even before that back with her Mom.

Most of it was Scenery just slightly blurry from motion images of trees, houses and street signs, a few sneaked pictures of her Mother and the decayed Preschool as they passed and a very blurry image of Quentin skidding to a halt on his skateboard.

Glancing up away from the small red and black camera she watches as Quentin does a kick flip on one of the ramps, landing and grinding on the edge, though she can see he swayed a bit and quickly slid back down with his board and to a stop.

“Heh, heck yeah- what you think of that? I'm a little rusty but- it's not something I'd forget how to do ether like riding a bike!”

Cassandra smiles softly hazel eyes sparkling with excitement.

“It... was... AWESOME!” She'd got to her feet, dusting off and moving towards the ramp more. “Do I get to try?”

He laughs. “Of course but let's try and easier spot yeah? Maybe somewhere flat so you can work on your balance and how to move around first?”

Nodding excitedly she steps closer to Quentin- “Here hold my Camera ok?”

“Sure- can I look at the pictures Dwight used to show me the ones he'd take- any old ones still on here?”

She winked at him. “Of course, I'm sure he has copies of them but, I couldn't bring myself to delete some they seemed important?”

Quentin glances at the camera and starts looking though the photos. “Shout if you need me, but try seeing how you do on your own, just put on foot on and then the other and just practice balancing like that, then we'll work on moving and stopping.”

“Ok!”

He hums looking though the simple pictures of scenery. “These are really nice I'm assuming these are the ones you took today yeah- pffff hey that's me!”

“Yeah that's you dummy almost killing us!”

“hahaha I did not almost kill anyone you dork-”

He blinks staring at a smaller version of himself next Nancy and Dwight- and... in front of Badham Preschool's sign- and just above the little sign was what looked to be a gardener smiling with them... His heart gripped in his chest he wasn't sure why, he'd been young maybe that's why he'd simply forgotten preschool- but not his friends- or not entirely... but...

He scroll though more images of Nancy holding up a really nice picture and her looking happy- the gardener there again- Quentin on the man's shoulder him running- motion blurr and all- and then just... an image of the strangely familiar man again, wearing a red and green sweater and fedora smiling at a picture he was handed in what looked to be a basement? Boiler room?

...He wasn't sure why that image made him feel... uncomfortable, they all seemed perfectly innocent obviously Dwight must have liked the man to have such a good few high quality pictures of him- they all must have... but... who was he and why couldn't he-

“...M-Mr. Quentin are you ok?”

Cassandra's voice shot him out of his thoughts as he glanced to her on the skateboard looking worried.

He hadn't realized it but he was hyperventilating- and now the worried look on Cassey's face. He forces himself to get his breathing under control, not even sure why he'd been panicking in the first place...

“...I-...I'm fine? Sorry I'm not really sure... what... uh happened there- do you- did Dwight ever say who this man was?”

He points at the man in the photo hesitantly.

“Of course! That's Mr. Krueger! Dwight said he was always very nice to him- that he missed... having an adult figure like that-... I-... uh... I think he was the gardener of the preschool right...? Um... sorry that's... all I know really?”

Quentin nods simply a confused expression on his face. “...hm... thanks heh, I guess it's not always easy to remember things from when your five huh? -Anyways let's get started on those lessons!”

“Yay! So I think I have the balancing thing- but how do I move without tipping over?”

Quentin chuckles.

“That's the not so easy part but no worries here just try and copy my stance?”

[cogentranting]

Because I Would Not Stop For Death Pt 1.

Summary: My version of the ending of Supernatural, with a specific emphasis on Dean as the main character. Also on: AO3 Accompanying Meta: X

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Dean had spent his whole life traveling roads like this, stretching straight ahead into nothingness, no lights but the stars above, no sounds but the surging rock music and purr of the engine. And no one around—not people to save or monsters to fight—except, perhaps, for whatever family happened to be riding alongside him, though on this night he was alone. Normally, he found nights like these peaceful. The reverberations of the Impala’s engine felt like extensions of himself, and the open road looked like freedom. But now that feeling of peace and possibility had been replaced by an urgency that Dean could not explain. The plains around him felt raw and exposed, and some sober presentiment made him feel like playing music would shatter the tentative waiting. His foot pressed a little more insistently against the accelerator. He needed to get home.

The sound of his phone going off, startled Dean and he scrambled to answer it before a second ring could further disrupt the reverie of the night.

“Did you get it?” Sam’s haggard voice came over the line. It had been months since Chuck had turned on them and raised the monsters from their past. They’d been run ragged, chasing down rogue monsters and dodging old enemies, all the while looking for something that would help them when the other shoe inevitably dropped, and Chuck made his next move. It had taken its toll on Sam, and Dean had fought hard to find an excuse for Sam to sit this particular mission out, hoping that maybe Sam would rest. If any rest had happened, it had not been enough.

“The lead was a bust,” Dean replied. Rumors and scraps of lore had pointed to a hand of God surfacing in a small town a few hours away, and Dean had chased after it in the desperate hope that it might be something they could use against Chuck. All he had gotten for his trouble was a cursed object and some bizarre locals. “What about things there? How’s Jack?”

The one bright spot, the little piece of hope that Dean was clinging to but couldn’t really believe: Jack had been resurrected months ago, and was now fully restored to them. Soul and all. “Good,” Sam replied. “He’s worried about taking on Chuck, obviously and he’s stressed. But he’s himself again. And he’s getting stronger.”

Dean breathed a sigh of relief in spite of himself. He let the hope grow a little bigger, even as the morass of his thoughts dragged at him. He could almost feel the gun in his hand, see the look on Jack’s face as Dean had pointed it at him, with every intention of—Dean cut his thought off fighting the shame and guilt aside for the moment. Of course he and Jack had talked when he came back.  There had been confessions, lots of guilt, and Jack had forgiven him, and he’d forgiven Jack for… that other thing. Dean couldn’t quite bear to name it, even in his own thoughts. Still the thought of what he’d tried to do to Jack would be added to the long list of things that Dean could never wholly forgive himself for.

He repositioned the phone on his ear. “Well good. Bout time we had a win.” He forced false optimism into his voice. “Team Free Will 2.0. Ready to save the world one last time.” He hoped that maybe a little of his manufactured hope would rub off on Sam. He never heard Sam’s reply.

The Impala’s headlights caught the shadow of something in the road and Dean slammed on the brakes. The phone fell to the floor and slid under the seat. The speeding car screeched to a halt just a few feet from the massive barrier. For a few seconds Dean leaned over the steering wheel and stared at the obstacle which blocked the road completely. Well… to say that it blocked the road wasn’t accurate. It was the road. Earth and asphalt had been ripped up and formed into a wall, five feet high, several feet thick. Something about the way it was piled gave the distinct impression of having exploded upward of its own accord.

Dean shook his head. “Uh uh. Nope.” Sam’s voice could be heard faintly calling his name from the phone beneath the seat. Dean ignored it and threw the car into reverse.

An invisible force slammed into the side of the Impala. The quiet night was torn open by the protesting shriek and thunder of metal as the car briefly lifted into the air and then hit the ground, rolling once… twice… three times before coming to a rest startlingly upright.

Stars and shadows crowded Dean’s vision. There was an ache in his body that seemed to have no origin and no end. Practically on instinct, he turned the ignition key. The engine sputtered and died. Dean felt almost calm; the night’s urgency had melted away with the arrival of the threat his instincts had awaited. Here was the fight his blood so often called for. His hand found the demon knife without issue in the pitch darkness of the car, as if it were drawn by fate.

Slowly he stepped from the car, letting the door swing shut behind him as he surveyed the plain for his assailant. This was Dean Winchester to the core—bruised and bloodied, nothing but the Impala at his back, the potential of all the horrors of the night before him, only a knife in his hands, and still he wore the steadfast conviction that this fight was not his last. This was Dean, and the three approaching figures knew it well.

Not much scared Dean. He’d been hunting since well before he’d passed through puberty. Since then, he’d fought gods and angels and primordial beings, killed many of them, and mouthed off to all. But if any of those things he’d faced in all his years of hunting could make his blood run cold, it was these three walking toward him.

Abaddon. Alistair. Azazel.

“Hey fellas,” Dean called as they drew closer. “You’re looking better than the last time I saw you—you get some work done?”

Abaddon gave a terse laugh. “I wish I could say the same about you Dean. You look tired. You really should take better care of yourself. Such a waste of that pretty face. And since we’re on the subject,” she reached up and pulled the collar of her shirt down just far enough to reveal the tops of a series of thick jagged scars. Scars from where Dean had hacked at her chest with the First Blade. “You did a little work on me yourself.”

Demons didn’t scar, and every time Dean had been resurrected his old wounds and scars had been erased. This must have been a special gift from Chuck.

“Did a little work on all of us,” Alistair added, gesturing to the scars crisscrossing his face from the day Dean had tortured him. “I have to say, cosmetic surgery: not your calling.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Dean lunged forward with the demon knife, slashing Alistair’s face and sinking the blade into Abaddon’s chest in one motion, all the while internally raging at the futility of the action. A butter knife would do him just as much good against things like these. Abaddon roared in fury, while Alistair’s throat contorted with a deranged chuckle.

Azazel flicked his wrist indolently. Dean slammed backwards into the Impala. “Chill out, Kid.”

The force pressed him persistently back against the twisted metal, just hard enough to hurt. It always felt like someone was sitting on his chest—a little difficult to breathe, speaking a little too strenuous to be worth it.

“Hey Sweetheart, hold this for me,” Azazel called to Abaddon. “If you can manage. I heard that last time you had some trouble with that.” Abaddon scowled and assumed control of holding Dean in place.

Azazel sidled forward and leaned against the car next to Dean, his face a mere breath away. The smug half smile ignited something in Dean, the embers of an old rage he’d finally buried after decades of effort, now recklessly thrown into the open to be fanned into flame once more. “Ah Dean. It’s been too long. Let’s catch up.”

“Sure,” Dean snarled around the choking sensation that comes when the deepest wounds reopen. “Remember that time I shot you in the face?”

The demon gave a genuine grin even as unmistakable savagery flashed in his yellow eyes. “Never thought you had it in you kid. I mean, you told me you would do it. Back in the 70’s. Just before I killed Grandpa. But still, when you pulled that trigger, I was stunned.”

“He doesn’t have the eye for talent that I do.” Alistair winked. He had retrieved the demon knife from where it had fallen on the grass and was idly turning it over and over.

Azazel nodded thoughtfully. “It’s true. I dropped the ball. Put all my money on Sammy. From what I hear, apart from a few benders, he never really lived up to all the hype. But the things I’ve heard about you. Daddy’s pathetically loyal little attack dog became Alistair’s star pupil. Started the Apocalypse. Knocked the angels off their perch. Bore the Mark of Cain. And became a knight of Hell. Oh I wish I could’ve seen Dean Winchester tearing humans apart with that mark.” He pried Dean’s arm away from his side and examined the forearm. “Shame you got rid of it. Real waste.”

Alistair stalked closer. The eerie white eyes flicked from side to side, tracking some phantom thought. “You should really be thanking me, Dean.” The knife turned again and again in his hands. “I remade you. The old you never would have made it this far. Anything remarkable about you I carved into you. In a way, you owe me.” He leaned in, so close Dean could smell the decay lingering on him, and with a startling intensity he searched Dean’s gaze for something. His pallid lips curled into a smile. “You can pay some of that back now.”

This time Dean didn’t see the knife turn. It was in and out three times and the blood was beginning to warm the shirt over his lower abdomen before the pain registered. A quiet gasp was all Dean could manage.

Azazel carried on as if the violence had escaped his notice. “But of course there’s so much that you’ve done that I just can’t allow you to get away with. I had all these glorious plans about how I was going to get Hell on Earth ready and then bring back Lucifer. Then when, he finally does come back, you go and get an archangel supercharge and kill him. And even worse, there’s the horribly decent upbringing you’re giving Lucifer’s kid.”

The demon’s voice faded out slightly and as Dean’s head lolled backwards the stars swirled above him. He recognized the thing swelling up within him. That strange force that was creeping into the space left behind by his blood as it seeped into the night air. It was death. He should know. He’d died enough times. The thought of dying here made him more angry than scared. It wasn’t fair that he should have beaten these scars of the past so long ago, and that they should be thrown back at him now. But even that anger was fading quickly. The stars made his anger feel small.

           Vaguely, he wondered where he would go this time. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go to Heaven. His mom and dad and Bobby were there, but there were a lot of bad memories up there—vengeful angels and the like. Besides, with God himself mad at him, it seemed pretty pointless to hope for a shot at Heaven. Alistair here was certainly a reminder of how much he wanted to avoid going back to Hell. The Empty didn’t sound much better. Purgatory wouldn’t be so bad. Hunting forever, never losing the thrill of the fight, maybe he’d even see Benny again. Not so bad at all.

           Azazel wrenched his head back down, forcing him to look into yellow eyes. Hatred that strong and old is dense and it held Dean in this life a little longer. He gritted his teeth. The fight wasn’t gone from him yet. Silently, without even really forming the words in his head, Dean half-formed a prayer to Jack.

           “Here’s the thing, Kid,” Azazel began, with the tone of a business negotiator. “I’d like to take my time with this. Relish the moment, make it slow. But, we’re not here just for us. I’m sure you guessed, the Big Man brought us back for a reason. He asked us to deliver a gift for you.”

           He couldn’t turn his head to see where the demons produced it from, but when Azazel held up the crystal, glowing with searing white light, Dean recognized it instantly. A bomb forged from the energy of hundreds of thousands of souls, specifically for the purpose of killing the Darkness.

           Abaddon laughed. “Looks like he remembers it.”

           “Oh good. So I won’t have to explain what this does.” Azazel fondled the bomb carefully. “A weapon capable of killing God’s sister… makes you wonder what it’ll do to a human.”

           There was no time for any sort of response. A few words of incantation and the light blazed out of the crystal into Dean’s chest. His mouth gaped, his fingernails dug at the Impala’s paint, all he saw was light, and all he could feel was heat. Then the night went cold and silent once more and he gasped, small shallow breaths, because anything deeper pulled at the ragged wound in his stomach. In the aftermath of the brilliant light, the night was blacker and all Dean could see was Azazel’s mocking yellow eyes.

           “Good catching up, Kid.”

           The weight lifted from his chest and Dean dropped to the ground, alone again, the twisted mass of the Impala the only sight for miles. He tried to get his legs under him but they didn’t respond. A trembling hand went to the knife wound and came away slick with blood. Cold pulled at his limbs and numbed the edges of his mind, all the while an unutterable heat was building in his chest. Building and building, with a heat that threatened to eclipse his very being, pulling the bits of himself away from each other, even as that cold, seeping nothing dragged him down and down. He couldn’t hold his hand against the flow of blood anymore and it dropped to his side. Low pulses of energy shone around him, real enough to illuminate the night. He closed his eyes and felt Baby’s cold metal against his skin.

           The rustle of wings forced his eyes open. There was Jack standing on the road. But it was fear, not hope that spurred Dean. He could feel it, like a racing heartbeat, the urgent pulse of the bomb within him. The god-killing bomb. Jack took a step off the road, toward him. Dean found one last surge of adrenaline, or will power, or fatherly instinct and with all his strength shouted, “Jack, no! Get back!”

He saw it in Jack’s face as the boy sensed the energy radiating off him and realized the danger. And in relief he listened to the rustle of wings as Jack retreated. There was a shattering, blinding, rush of light and heat and energy, and the Kansas plain looked like daylight, then deadly whiteness, then madness itself. Then it was night once more and even the stars seemed dark. And there was nothing.

Jack watched the flash from a few miles away. He felt nothing. But a very different nothing than what he had experienced when he had no soul. That was a calm, cold nothing. This was a tense, fragile nothing, like a held breath. As darkness settled again he took flight and reappeared where he’d left Dean.

He thought he’d missed his mark. This was not the place he’d left. There was no swaying prairie grass. No worn asphalt. No Impala. No Dean. There was only a ringing in the air, and dirt that, on closer inspection, was not just dark but scorched black. Jack stood and felt the aura of destruction that hung about this place, absorbing to the core of his being the sense of all the things that on this night had been reduced to a shattered, stark nothing.

   The phone dragged down Sam’s hand as he paced the library, willing it to ring. Dark shadows under his eyes gave his a face a haggard look, as if it had been weeks of sleeplessness, not a single night. Twelve hours had passed since Dean’s phone cut out. Twelve hours since any news.

While Sam paced, Cas sat at one of the tables, dreadfully still, his faze fixed staidly, on an indeterminable point on the wall. Sam whirled toward him, his fear suddenly made manifest as anger. “I’m going out to look for them.”

Cas held out an arm perfunctorily, playing his role in a scene that had already been rehearsed several times over the interminable hours. “You already went out looking, for hours, and you didn’t find any trace of them.”

“I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

“You don’t even know which roads to search. Jack has wings. If anyone can find Dean, it’s him.”

A hundred memories of Dean in danger, hurt, dying, competed for attention in Sam’s mind. He opened his mouth to continue the fight or give in, he hadn’t quite decided which. Before he could muster the energy to see where his words led him, he was interrupted by the sound of wings.

Jack landed heavily, staggering slightly. The boy looked wearier than a nearly omnipotent being had any right to. Both men took a staggering half step toward him, unsure whether to rush to his aid or give him space. Even as relief at Jack’s safety calmed a flurry of fears in Sam’s mind, he was searching the empty space behind Jack, as if believing that Dean would suddenly materialize.

Jack’s shattered stare held their questions at bay. The bunker itself held a trembling breath. Ghosts of memories peered in through the doorways, waiting for an answer to an unasked question.

When he could stand it no longer, Sam broke the silence, his voice uncharacteristically small. “Did you find him.”

“There were demons… and I thought I got there in time… Dean told me to run and I- I… there was an explosion like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

Cas chose his words like picking through shards of broken glass. “Jack, what kind of explosion?”

Asking that question was easier. Focus on the trees, don’t look at the forest. Not yet.

Jack seemed lost for a moment. “There was this energy… it felt like” he searched his memory trying to pinpoint the memory that itched in the back of his mind. “Like the energy from my soul I used to kill Michael.”

Cas’s gaze darkened at some thought that accosted him, but Sam had reached his breaking point. “But Dean. Jack, where’s Dean?”

Jack looked up, eyes wide, as if asking for Sam’s forgiveness. “He’s gone.”

“Then bring him back. Like you brought Cas back.”

“I tried. But it was like with Mary-” Jack choked on the words and the memory and Sam flinched a little. Jack cleared his throat and started again. “It was like with Mary. There was nothing left. Nothing I could do. After the explosion… even the Impala was just gone.”

Sam sagged against the wall. Empty space opened below him and he could feel it sucking him down, down, further down into the great vacuum of everyone he’d lost. There’d always been so much loss in his life. From his mother, to the friends left behind by a life on the road, to Jess, his father, Bobby… But no loss ever ached quite like the prospect of life without Dean. It was like asking him to live without the ground beneath his feet.

The look of a caged animal came into Sam’s eyes. “I need to see him. Take me to Heaven.” He’d lived without Dean before. And every time something took Dean away, it left him changed. Sometimes incomplete, or twisted, or broken, sometimes not. But always changed. And maybe he could do it this time, now that he had Cas and Jack and Eileen, and if Dean were in Heaven with Mom and Dad and Bobby… If he could just talk to Dean and know. Then maybe he could know what to do.

But Jack shook his head, a little fearfully, a little desperately, like a child overwhelmed by what they didn’t understand. “He’s not there.”

“Then take me to Hell!” Sam roared, with more anger than he’d intended.

Jack didn’t flinch away. He understood the desperation gripping Sam. He’d felt it himself hours earlier when he found that he couldn’t bring Dean back, and had formed the exact same plan that now burned wildly through Sam, and likely Cas as well. In vain. “He’s not there either.” His voice had become softer, like a parent soothing a child.

Panic spun Sam’s heart. “What do you mean? Where is he?”

Jack shook his head. “I searched everywhere. Heaven, Hell, Purgatory. I searched and I tried to get answers from every angel and demon and monster that I met but he’s not there. I don’t… I don’t know where Dean’s soul is. Maybe the Empty but I can’t get there. Not on my own.”

“No. I don’t think he’s in the Empty.” Cas’s voice was low and filled with trepidation. Neither Jack nor Sam dared prompt him to continue. He did anyway. “The way Jack described the energy, as being like the magic from his soul… Sam, I think the soul bomb killed Dean.”

“The one Rowena and Billie helped us make?”

Cas nodded. “Or one like it. The thing is, that bomb was designed to kill the Darkness. To kill something on the level of God himself. If that’s what killed Dean…” His voice trailed off.

For a moment the trio felt the cold expanse of the empty bunker press down on them with a menacing, aching, loneliness. Finally Cas, collected himself and pronounced his judgment.

“I don’t think Dean’s soul is in Heaven or Hell, because I think it was completely destroyed.”

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Part 2