#directly after this he skittered off into the woods

[clayclayton332]

I like him

[tigers-eyes-26]

Fall

Daisy stretched her calf muscles one final time, then proceeded to grab the flashlight that was sitting on the railing of Luigi’s back deck. Switching it on she started to jog away from the warm light of the house into the dark woods. There was a clear trail where the trees didn’t dare grow, but they did reach their roots trying to trip an unsuspecting hiker. Daisy kept her eyes and flashlight trained on the ground to avoid the obstacles the gnarly black trees tried to put in her way. The air was cool enough that Daisy’s breath was visible. She wore long burnt orange leggings, and an oversized yellow hoodie to keep the chill out. her jog was rhythmic with each step crunching the dead leaves underfoot. The trees above had mostly lost all of their leaves due to it being late fall.

Daisy checked her watch it was 4:57am. The sun would be up at 6:30am. She planned to run for 30 minutes on the trail then turn back. Maybe she would cook some waffles before Luigi woke up. She had weirdly woken up at 4am and couldn’t go back to sleep. After a day of helping Luigi clean out his house in preparation to move, she would have figured she would have been exhausted enough to sleep throughout the night. Luigi’s house was fine. No strange sounds. It wasn’t too cold or too warm. She had been quite cozy in his bed. Always the gentleman, Luigi had offered up the only bedroom which was on the top floor. He was snoozing away in his recliner in the living room with Polterpup on his lap when Daisy had suck past earlier. Whatever woke her up gave her a chance to get in a morning jog. The rest of the day would be full of loading things into the moving truck.

With Mario getting married to the princess, he would move into the castle. While Luigi would move back into the house they had both built on the outskirts of toad town. Daisy couldn’t even imagine all the complexities that would go into building a house. But Luigi had done it twice! He built his house after kicking King Boo out of Boo Woods! It was funny to her that Luigi, of all people, chose to reside in Boo Woods. It was far away from friends and family and shopping centers. But maybe he liked being away? His own little getaway. Still, even if his house was cozy the surrounding was creepy. Luigi hated creepy! The twisted trees that made up Boo Woods cast eerie shadows. Daisy mentally shrugged. In the middle of the day, it wasn’t so bad. But right now, it was the definition of spooky.

Daisy checked her watch again to see how far she still needed to go. “OH!” THUD! Daisy ended up face first into the ground. Her flashlight skittered down the trail. Daisy sat up, picked some leaves from her hair. She rubbed her chin. There was going to be a bruise on that later. She felt a breeze on her knee. She probably had scraped a hole in her leggings. She pouted those were one of her very few cold outfits. She tried to see what she had tripped on, but in the darkness it was useless. “Stupid tree roots.” Daisy said to no one. She stood up and dusted off some more leaves from her outfit. She heard giggling and froze.

Oh no! She thought Boos didn’t live in Boo Woods anymore! They appeared suddenly circling her like prey. They giggled and smiled viciously at her. Daisy got into a fighting stance. She waited. Then sent a fist flying through the face of a boo directly ahead of her. She didn’t connect with anything and the boo to the right of her pushed her off balance. She stumbled. A boo from behind grabbed her foot. She fell again to the ground. The boo dragged her though the leaves laughing all the way. He floated her up in the air. Daisy made the mistake of looking up at her attacker. As soon as her eyes made contact, he went invisible dropping Daisy. THUD! “OW!” She landed on her shoulder and neck. Her body and legs making a weird tent. The Boos laughed harder at her predicament.  She scrambled to her knees. Daisy rubbed the back of her head. “Stupid boos...” She mumbled. They continued to circle her jeering delighted at her pain.

“Daisy!” 

She looked up as a blinding light flashed. She felt a hand on her arm helping her up. It was Luigi! They sprinted down the path. Which was hard for Daisy because all she could see was white. Luigi noticed. “Jump on!” Luigi backed into her, and she understood. She jumped and let him hold her knees up. She held on to his shoulders. Luigi ran with Daisy riding his back like a backpack. She figured he was used to having weight on his back when he was fighting ghosts with the Poltergust. She heard barking and growling. It must be Polterpup. What as he growling at? Luigi burst through the back door. He put Daisy down. “I’m g-going to get puppy!” He quickly explained and was out the door again. Daisy looked at the floor. She could see a little but only out of a large tunnel of white. She heard a yelp of pain. She whipped her attention back to the door. “S-stay B-back!” She heard Luigi’s shaky voice call. She heard Polterpup whimpering and felt him cower around her legs, he must have fazed through the door. Luigi quickly came thought the door slammed it shut and turned several locks. He turned around leaning his back against the door, “Phew!” He wiped some sweat off his brow. He took some unsteady steps toward Daisy on his shaky legs. “A-are you ok?” Her tunnel vision was filled with some of Luigi’s concerned face.

She blinked several times. “I might have looked right into your strobe light.” She grinned sheepishly.

Luigi waved his hand in front of her face, she flinched away from the movement that had entered her narrow field of vision. “I’ve done that too….” He sheepishly admitted, “Many times…. It will clear up.” He took her hand and lead her from the back kitchen to the living room and sat her down on his recliner. Polterpup limped to Daisy’s feet laid down and whined. Daisy leaned down to pet his head comfortingly. “Let’s look at your foot.” Luigi squatted down in front of the ghost dog. He hummed in thought.

“What happened?” She blinked some more.

“He jumped at a Boo that was chasing us. Got his front paw bit.”

“Oh no poor puppy!” She scratched the dog behind the ears. “What a hero! Are you a hero? Yes, you are!” She baby talked the doggy. Luigi smiled at the scene. He stood up and walked back to the kitchen. He came back with a first aid kit, a damp rag, and a bowl of something. Daisy’s vision was improving. She looked in the bowl. It looked like blue liquid or blue fog. “What is that?”

Luigi set the bowl in front of Polterpup. The Dog happily licked up the substance. Luigi shrugged. “I think E. Gadd said it was ghost energy or ghost goo…?” Luigi lifted Polterpup’s damaged paw for Daisy to see better. The paw reformed into one that wasn’t dented.

“Whoa.” This world of ghosts that Luigi was deep into was so new to Daisy.

Luigi shrugged again and opened his first aid kit. “C-can I…?” He motioned to her face.

She gave an affirmative, “uh ha.” She couldn’t really see his next movement so she jumped a little when she felt him lift her head so he could get to her chin. She focused on the ceiling as he cleaned her scrapes. She could feel his hands were shaking. Maybe from adrenalin or fright from the encounter? He was trying hard to be delicate.

Once he was done with her chin she looked down, finally noticing her knee. Blood was oozing out from around the dirt that was in it. Daisy rolled up her pant leg so Luigi could get a better reach of it.

He used the damp rag to get the dirt out of the wound, sterilized it and put a large bandage on it. Daisy watched him work. She had been patched up many times before, but she was fascinated at Luigi’s efforts while still shaking. How sweet the scene must have looked. He looked up at her breaking her out of her thoughts. “A-are you h-hurt anywhere else?” They both blushed. Luigi because he was being observed so intensely and Daisy for being caught observing him so intensely.

“My head, neck, and shoulders are a little sore.” She moved the said body parts a little testing the range of movement.

Luigi closed the first aid kit and stood up. “I’ll be back.” He semi-jogged back into the kitchen and came back with a bag of frozen peas. He handed them off to Daisy. “F-for your head.”

Daisy gratefully received the chilly bag and placed it on the new bump on the back of her head. Luigi sat down on the floor next to the napping ghost dog. Sensing the silence Daisy changed the subject. “How do you face ghosts?” From what she could see he looked down at Polterpup. Daisy continued. “I mean you can’t even punch them! I tried and my fist went right through!”

“I guess once you have the right tools….?” Luigi shrugged again.

“Speaking of tools why didn’t you have the Poltergust with you!” She raised a fierce eyebrow at him.

Luigi chuckled under the worry, “These are the Boo Woods. They live here. I wouldn’t want to be captured in my own home. I just figured I would stun them and run back to safety.” He looked up at her hoping she would be convinced.

Daisy hemmed and hawed, “That’s kinda what’s been bothering me lately. Why do you live in Boo Woods? You hate Ghosts!” Polterpup barked indignantly. “Except for this cute sweetie of a doggy.” She smiled at the ghost dog. He wasn’t having it. She reached her free hand out to pet his head. He reluctantly excepted the pets at first then fully leaned into the affection. He panted happily Daisy was forgiven of her offence.

Luigi thought for a minute. “I guess to…keep…The professor away from here.”

Daisy was shocked she stopped petting Polterpup, “I thought you were friends with the professor?” Disappointed at the lack of pets the dog laid his head back down to nap.

Luigi fiddled with his hands, “….Yes… I am…. it’s just…. sometimes he is… a little… unethical….” She gave him a look to continue, he took a deep breath. “Like I said this is Boo Woods. The Boos live here and as long as no outsiders come then everything is good. It is when people trespass on the Boos territory, they get a little…. territorial. If the professor had his way, he would be in their faces trying to study them. maybe even taking samples from them…”

“But what about King Boo? Won’t he use these Boos to find you?” Daisy’s eyebrows creased; she adjusted her hold on the frozen peas as Luigi answered her questions.

“Not all Boos work for King Boo. Like how not all koopas work for Bowser.” That was true. Daisy thought of the koopa citizens in her kingdom. Luigi continued, “I think King Boo likes to use traps…. rather than being practical…” He chuckled nervously. He hoped that was true at least. Daisy frowned at the chuckle but didn’t interrupt.  “M-most people will stay away just because it is creepy. But that attracts the professor.” Daisy heard frustration rise in Luigi’s voice. “He asks me if there is any boo activity and I tell him no. He trusts me and stays away. And it’s true! I don’t bother the Boos. I go out when the sun is up, and they are sleeping. And stay inside my house at night. I leave my outside lights on just-in-case, and they don’t bother me.”

Daisy nodded, to the best of her ability, thoughtfully; realization hit her, her eyes widened. “Who did you sell this house to!? Are they going to keep the Boo Woods safe?”

Luigi smiled at her switch of concern. “It’s a toad who use to work for the professor. He knows how the professor is and knows the situation.”

Satisfied with the answers Daisy slouched down in the comfy seat, keeping the cool bag on her head. she looked around the room most of her vision had come back just a little ring of white at her periphery. quietly she uttered her last question. “Why didn’t I know any of this earlier?”

Luigi ducked his head so that the brim of his hat covered his face. “You never asked...” he said quietly. Feeling anxiety build up about how that explanation might be taken, words exploded out of Luigi’s mouth. “I-I didn’t kn-now that you w-would…. A-and I-I would have…I-I D-didn’t t-think… I-I mean…I s-should…. ”

Daisy smirked a little at his flustered nature.  He truly hadn’t thought to tell her. Daisy set the pea bag down on the chairs armrests and lifted the brim of Luigi’s hat. He stopped his mouth and looked up at her face pitifully. Her smile grew. “It’s okay, Luigi” When he heard his name the pity in his face faded.  “I didn’t tell you what I was doing. I just woke up with so much energy, and I didn’t want to wake you.” She let go of his hat and planted her hands on his shoulder. “It’s ok. I forget to tell people things too.”

Luigi rubbed the back of his arm and cast his eyes to the side ashamed. “Because I forgot you were put in danger.”

She snickered “Eh, Life is dangerous, that’s what makes it exciting.” She shook his shoulders encouragingly. “It’s ok, it all worked out. I have my two ghost fighting heroes here.” With her other hand she gave Polterpup a pat on the head, he woke up to her touch.

Daisy placed her hand back on Luigi’s shoulder and looked right into his blue eyes. She was so thankful her eyesight was now mostly back. “That is very heroic of you to keep the boos safe.” She used her hands on his shoulders to bring him forward so she could kiss him on the cheek.  

Luigi was surprised at first but melted into the kiss. Daisy let him go and looked at his humble blushing face. Now full of energy, Polterpup playfully ran round the two joyfully barking. They giggled at his antics. Luigi stood up from his seat on the floor. “Let’s make breakfast?” He offered a hand to her. She gathered the almost thawed pea bag up and accepted his hand.

“Any breakfast foods have peas in them?” She smirked.

He pouted his lips thinking and looked up at the ceiling like it was full of recipes. “I can think of a few.”

As they cooked Daisy’s eyesight came back to 100%, just in time to watch the sunrise out of the kitchen windows.

[thedominantambus]

biggest-ultra-mags:

Damn, this little mech was fast. Tendrils smashed into the metal floor just mere inches from where Dominus once stood, the massive monster of a mech, framed body twisting quickly around to try and keep those optics trained on his quickly moving target.

"YOU WILL NOT WIN THIS FIGHT, DOMINUS AMBUS!!" Once again those tendrils took off in the direction he'd slid, skittering and smashing away the debris left in the creature's wake. He was slow, but what he lacked in speed he had in strength, those bullet blasts seemed to only set the monstrous enforcer back for a few seconds before those injured plates seemed to rotate and shift, producing a fresh new side to the metal pieces, and now there was six very angry optics all trained on the mech hidden behind his desk. Bullets ricocheted off the tendrils as they slithered on, stabbing through the desk, wood splintering everywhere. "You are not Vos, you are but a mere pet, a creature who's purpose was to serve, and serve me you shall, little turbo fox. Either you take my form and work under my leadership, or you die, and I will ensure that it is incredibly painful.." Steam bellowed out of the massive creature and quickly filled the room with a strong, fog-like haze, only those bright optics seemed to cut through the dense fog lifting into the air around the two mechs. He was angry, and now, he meant business. But so did Dominus too, it seemed. Hunched at the ready, Dire Magnus eyed the massive gun resting in the other mech's hands. "I'll give you plenty of reasons to be afraid." He sprinted forward with thunderous steps that shook the entire room, blast after blast into his chest plating seemed to stagger the snarling creature but it just didn't seem to be enough. That massive maw seemed to dislocated and separate with a sickening squelch, energon drooling down his cheeks. Fire raged inside the dire wraith's belly and with a hiss and a screech of anger at another laser blast scratched his side, a single but strong beam of light shot past that gaping maw aimed directly at the rest of the table, sending s rocketing explosion of wood and metal and fire that quickly caught the room around them in the overwhelming heat.

He didn't know if he'd hit Dominus from behind the table, but it didn't matter now, he was ready to fight regardless if Dominus lay dead or alive in the rubble of the crumbling, debris filled room. HIs shadow only seemed to loom over the wreckage, optics darting this way and that to scan for the former DJD member. "You think your petty little weaponry can take me down? you'd be sadly mistaken, Dominus. You haven't seen everything that I can do just quite yet. But you will, and you'll regret ever firing at me."

---

That was too close. He'd narrowly been missed by the tentacle crashing through the desk, and now his visibility was down...he was listening carefully to every movement, feeling the vibrations in the ground when the other moved, trying to pay attention to every little detail even more so now that he couldn't see anything.

"Minimus, I know you're inside this somewhere. So if you can hear me in there...this was not what I had in mind when I said we needed to 'spend more time together'."

A hiss of pain came from the turbofox - he'd managed to avoid most of the blast, but a searing pain was coming from his leg. He must have gotten grazed by it, or maybe even just been way too close. The heat and force of the explosion didn't go unnoticed at all either…his poor hab's gonna need a complete overhaul.

He listened to the wraith try to discredit him, to threaten him. Listen in the sense that it enters his audio processors, not in the sense that he took any of it too seriously.

"…hm. You may be right about one thing. I wasn't a DJD member."

His firepower seemed to be doing less and less to keep the other back. If he couldn't keep attacking him at a distance...it might be time to try something stupid. Dominus does his best to silently move away under cover of fog...

"I was two."

The sound of metal plates shifting came from a far corner of the room.

"And if it's a pet you want...I'll show you a Pet."

As soon as he transformed, some residual Pet instincts start to kick in, and while usually he'd be fighting them, this time they might just be his last resort. His beast mode had it's own built in weapons, and whether it was a good idea or not...he was gonna use them.

M̴͔̾ý̷͜ ̷͔̋D̴̹̈e̷̲͑ā̴̬r̴̐ͅẽ̷̼s̴͎͋t̸͍̏ ̸̘̈́B̸̩̊r̵̟̉ơ̸̗ẗ̵̠́h̷̍ͅe̴̝͌ŗ̷͆ ̷̦́

@thedominantambus

::N o pl e ase do n t--:: ::You have no say in the matter, Minimus.::

Pedesteps were drawing to a close towards Dominus's habsuite, It might have been a familiar feeling for the mech on the other side of the door for Minimus to come visit in suit when he was still on his working shift hours, but something about the gait seemed...Different. Slow and thundering, heavy tentacle-like appendages seemed to drag themselves across the floor the closer he'd got. Internally, Minimus pleaded, and the wraith did not answer. Instead, the creature's maw began to open and claws delicately slid across the closed door.

"Brother? Brother are you there? I think something is wrong, but i'm not sure what...Oh please Dominus, I'm feeling terrible right now."

The creature did its best to imitate Magnus's mannerisms, something he'd been learning for nearly a deca cycle, all of his planning had come down to this. DIre Mags could feel his unwanted visitor inside his inner frame shiver, but it was about the only thing he could do now, he had complete control, after all.

[egopocalypse]

Run Boy Run

Whumptober Day 2: Nowhere to Run, Cornered

Characters: c!Primeboys/discduo

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Blood, Threats, and c!Dream being a creepy, abusive motherfucker.

Word Count: 1.8k

Read on AO3

He can’t stop running.

His pursuer hunts him down like a snake chasing down a rat, slipping through the bare, leafless trees faster than he can flee. Snow crumples under his feet, soaking into his worn sneakers and down the cuff of his socks. No matter how fast he runs, the predator always follows. They won’t give up. They will never set him free.

“You don’t have to make this difficult, Tommy,” Dream calls from behind. “The sooner you give up, the sooner this ends for the both of us.”

“More like the sooner you fucking kill me,” Tommy shouts into the wind.

An enderpearl pops above his head, and he pivots, darting to the left to try to duck out of sight. Dream appears a few meters to his side and swipes at him, but Tommy skitters to a stop and takes off in the other direction, zig-zagging through the trees for better cover and yanking on low branches for extra leverage.

“Maybe if you gave in, I’d make it painless,” Dream says. A trident strikes the tree by Tommy’s head and rips out of the wood, spreading broken bark and wood chips into his face. “Or well, maybe not painless, but definitely not as bad as I could make it. I’d save those methods for later.”

Tommy rubs his watering eyes and ducks, releasing a shaky breath as a thin branch scrapes his scalp. He licks chapped lips, tasting the cold sweat and snot dripping from his runny nose.

Fuck. In his panic, he completely lost track of where he was running to. He has no idea where the hell Techno and Phil’s place is from here, and even if he did, there’s no chance Dream would let him run there again after Exile, and he couldn’t expect Techno and Phil to let him in anyway, not after they fucking broke Dream out of prison.

Did he really screw up that much that they wouldn’t just destroy his home, but they’d let Dream, his murderer, his—Dream, out of prison?

“Oh, Tommy,” Dream croons, “come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Tommy’s breath hitches, and he picks up his pace. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The snow’s falling far too slow to cover his tracks, especially with Dream already in hot pursuit. He has to find somewhere drier, where the grass will grip better to his thinning tread, and his own struggle to survive won’t lead directly to a death sentence.

A trident swirls above his head and stabs into the ground right behind him. If Tommy had been any slower, he would be dead.

“Found you.”

Tommy races behind a large, rotting tree trunk. An arrow whizzes past him, whistling through the air as it cuts past his ear. Tommy flinches, curling into himself as he struggles to get his fucking breathing under control.

“That was a warning shot, Tommy,” Dream says. “Next time, I won’t miss.”

Tommy can’t keep going for much longer. His skin stings. Branches and bushes whip his bare arms and legs and paint thin, bloody scratches across his body. His lungs burn from heaving the brisk, biting air. Lactic acid laps at his limbs as exhaustion sweeps over, wishing to drag him into the dirt and accept defeat.

He'll die if he runs; he'll die if he stands still. No matter how he does it, he has to survive. He has to try.

A branch rustles, and Tommy hightails it in the other direction, pushing his aching legs to keep going. Broken twigs snap under his feet, muffled by the soft crunch of snow, yet still loud enough to hear over his pounding heartbeat. He doesn't know where he's running to or who's safe, but fucking Prime, someone help him please—

As he breaks into a clearing, something sharp impales his shoulder.

His knees buckle, and as he collapses, he curses at top volume, startling the birds enough to send the flocks flying away. The wound throbs, pulsing down his arm and lower back. With his left hand, he grapples behind his back for the arrow, only to find a short, slender, wooden handle.

A throwing axe. Dream got him with a goddamn throwing axe.

"What the fuck?"

"You like it?" Dream steps into the clearing, flipping another throwing axe into the air. "I had them made just for you." He catches the axe and points it at Tommy's chest. "Next time you run off, I'm aiming for your spine."

Oh, fuck no. There's no fucking way Dream will ever get that close. Tommy would rather die on his own terms than let Dream kill him again.

Tommy scampers back, keeping the distance between them. “You stay the fuck away from me! They’ll see that you killed me, Dream! They’ll know!”

“They will, huh?” Dream says. “Who will? Techno? Tubbo? Sam? If they cared, they’d be here, wouldn’t they? But look! No one’s here to be your human shield, Tommy! And even if they were, none of them would stop me. Techno even helped me, and Sam? Sam killed Ranboo. He doesn’t care. If he cared, he would’ve stopped me from killing you in the prison.”

“If I’m alone, then who the fuck do you have, Dream?” Tommy says. “You have nobody! You didn’t when we locked you up, and you don’t have people now. Sapnap and them, they’ll kill you, or they’ll put you right back in the prison where you belong. You don’t—you can’t have power out here anymore.”

Dream closes the distance between them. “You want to know a secret, Tommy? I always had power. I made the waivers because I knew Sam would follow them. I made Ranboo steal the blueprints so Techno could get me out. He’s the reason why the prison went into lockdown in the first place! And Techno—I knew I would use Techno’s favor to break me out. Why do you think I saved it when I could’ve used it to destroy L’Manberg?”

Tommy freezes as Dream grabs his shirt collar and leans in close.

“I always had a plan, Tommy,” Dream continues, “and as long as people continue to listen to me, I always will.”

Tommy swallows and looks past Dream's shoulder, sneaking a glance at the treeline. Even if he did try to make a break for it, the warm, slick blood trickling down his back would stain the snow and make him even easier to hunt down. Plus, his arm's really starting to hurt like a bitch now, and he can't risk fucking up the nerves or some shit and making his sword arm fucking useless.

Rebellion might screw him over in the long run (oh, Prime, please don't let there be a long run), but it might be the only way to save his ass right now.

With herculean effort, Tommy raises his right hand and flips Dream off. "Fuck you!"

Dream merely laughs; the low tone shoots a bolt of terror through Tommy's heart.

“See, that’s why I get to have fun with you. You just don’t give up.”

Dream releases Tommy’s shirt, and he falls, jostling his wounded arm. A pained noise weasels its way out of his throat, and as he tries to scoot away, Dream pins Tommy’s ankle with his heel.

“Don’t leave,” Dream says. “I won, so I get something out of it, don’t I?”

Tommy splutters. “This—this isn’t some sort of game, Dream! You don’t win a prize for being fucking evil!”

Tommy’s stomach churns as Dream’s heel digs into his tendon. He wouldn’t break his ankle or something to keep him from running, right? Dream’s a sick bastard, but even he has to have some limits! No matter what, Dream will still need him to walk.

Dream flips the throwing axe again, drawing Tommy’s attention as he continues. “I could use the Axe of Peace; that could be fun. Battleaxes take a while to clean, though, and I want to wait until you’re at your new home to use it. I could fly you up with my trident and let you go, but it isn’t satisfying if I don’t actually get to watch you die, you know?”

He catches the throwing axe and pauses.

“Oh, I know.” He wipes the axe blade on his pants. “I could use a little more practice with these, don’t you think? You can be my dartboard.”

Fuck, maybe he doesn’t need him to walk.

“Now, Dream? Dream, think about what you’re doing,” Tommy says. “That’s a little extreme, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think it is, really,” Dream says. “I told you I was going to put you through hell, Tommy. Maybe after this, you’ll start to understand how you fucked me over.”

Despite his fear, Tommy’s face flickers with confusion. “But you said you always—”

Dream throws the second axe into Tommy’s other shoulder. The blade digs deeper into the flesh than the first and cuts off his thoughts as he lets out an ear-piercing scream. His upper body gives out, and he crumples to the ground, another shriek escaping as the first axe presses against bone, caught between his torso and the ten centimeters of snow giving to packed ground under his weight.

Dream kneels down and peels back the fresh wound with a gloved hand. Tommy kicks his legs out in between choked gasps, but nothing connects.

“Hmm, that’s better, but not exactly what I was aiming for.” Dream pulls out another axe. “Looks like I have to keep practicing.”

As the pain continues, not even adrenaline’s sharp clarity can drown out the fuzziness creeping in, slowing his thoughts to a sluggish stop. He can’t stop shivering, even when pain blooms with each tiny movement. The cold chills the metal blades, freezing the wounds they dig into. Blood soaks through Tommy’s clothes, draining the warmth from his body as it congeals and stains red.

At this rate, perhaps it would be better if Dream killed him. It’d be an end to the pain, and maybe revival would fix some of the damage Dream’s wrought. Maybe Tommy could find relief in the nothing.

Without warning, Dream slaps Tommy’s cheek, whipping his head to the side as the sting ripples across his frostbitten face. (When did he get there?)

“You aren’t even listening anymore, are you?” Dream says, though the words sound muffled despite him getting right in Tommy’s face. “Come on, Tommy, surely you can survive a little longer than that.”

He groans; it’s the most effort he’s able to make.

“Your screams made things difficult, so I guess we’ll have to cut this session short.” Another axe nestles in Dream’s hand; he pulls it back and aims. “I’ll bring you back soon, Tommy. In the meantime, say hi to Ghostbur for me.”

The blade drives into his throat, and with crisp, bittersweet relief, Tommy sinks into the void.

Taglist: @seaswalllow @fear-is-nameless @phantoids @thisisaname-whatahappyname @miishae @shriketrap @sleepypuffpastry @isa-ghost @a-humble-narcissus

[i-used-to-wear-the-fedora]

HellCheer Body Swap AU, Things Get Freaky

"Whoa."

"Cool right? I found out when I was smoking in the woods behind the school." Eddie proudly showed off the bright red shining rock about the size of his palm he'd found outside to Dustin and the rest of the Hellfire club. The curly haired freshman reached out to touch it but the metalhead slapped his hand away. "Hey, finders keepers."

"Come on dude, I just want to touch it." Dustin protested but Eddie pulled the rock back.

"Aren't you worried about the fact it's glowing? What if it's radioactive and you're just giving us all cancer?" Mike asked.

"I think I'd know if it was radioactive by now. Besides that shit always glows green. Don't you watch movies?" Eddie asked as Lucas shook his head.

"That's not even remotely how it works." Lucas said, maintaining his distance away from the table. "Why'd you even grab it?"

"A.) It looks cool and B.) I was thinking about trying to carve into something cool like a necklace." Shifting the rock, it shined under the auditorium lights in his hands.

"All else fails, you could sell it." Gareth suggested.

"Or what if it's some alien shit?" Kevin asked.

"Why would it be aliens?" Gareth tried his eyes and the other teenager glared.

"I don't know, why-?" Kevin was cut off by the sound of the bell ringing, signaling lunch was over.

"Shit." Eddie quickly shoved everything into his backpack save the rock that he carefully pocketed. Mrs. McDonnell's math class was next and he was one tardy away from earning a detention. "See you guys after school tomorrow night! Mike, you're in charge of snacks this time." Eddie sprinted or the door, making a beeline for the staircase through the crowd of students shuffling around him to their next class. Barely paying attention to anything around him, the highschooler wasn't paying attention to what was in front of him into he bumped into something.

"Ouch!" The something, or someone as it turned out, cried as Eddie fell to the ground. The rock skittered out of Eddie's pocket across the floor towards the person he ran into.

"Shit, sorry dude. I didn't see you." Eddie apologized as he turned to face the other person. Eddie paused as he recognized the person who scrambled to sit up. "Chrissy? Shit-I didn't see you." The blonde was holding her head, probably from the fall.

"It's fine, I wasn't-Eddie?" The cheerleader asked when she faced the other teen. He blinked. Admittedly surprised she remembered his name. The two staring at each other awkwardly before Chrissy noticed the stone next to her. Leaning over and grabbing it, she held the rock it to the metalhead. "I think this is yours."

"Yeah..." Eddie grabbed it. Both of their hands lingering for a moment before Chrissy let go and got up.

"Um, see you around?"

"Yeah. See ya." Eddie nodded dumbly as he was still laid out on the hallway floor. His mind racing for a moment because holy shit, did he just touch Chrissy Cunningham's hand?

The only thing that snapped him out of his stupor was the ball ringing again. He was late. Shit.

~~

"What happened to your face?"

"It's nothing mom, just a bruise."

"Just a bruise? Honey, we have a business dinner tomorrow night. You can't show up looking like that."

Chrissy frowned at her mother's words as the woman hovered around her daughter the second she entered the house. The bruise wasn't even that much of a bruise. The right side of her face was just slightly redder than left from running face first into Eddie Munson. She didn't care but as always, her mother always cared much more about how her daughter looked than anyone else did.

"I'll just wear some foundation." Chrissy tried reassure her mother. The woman looked her over and Chrissy felt her stomach turn when the woman's eyes settled on her thighs.

"I don't think foundation's going to fix everything." The words cut through the cheerleader. Her mother never directly called her fat. No, she was just "worried" about her daughter. She always said she was worried about her daughter's health but Chrissy knew that was a bold faced lie considering the woman never said anything when she wretched what little she had to eat in the toilet bowl. For Laura Cunningham, healthy meant skinny.

"I have to study for a bio class tomorrow." Chrissy spoke quickly before her mother could say anything else. Speeding up the staircase to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her. Turning the lock before setting her backpack down and collapsing into her pink bedsheets. Grabbing one of the pillows, she brought it over her face and seemed into it. Today had already been long yet it seemed even at home she couldn't get a break. Pulling the pillow down to her chest, she shifted onto her side and curled her legs up. She was too tired to even get up and change into her pajamas. Allowing sleep to come early, she closed her eyes and began to drift off. Seven more months. Just seven more months and she'd be out of this hellhole.

~~

*Beep* *Beep* *Beep*

Chrissy's eyes snapped open to the sound of blaring alarm. Both her mind and her vision were still clouded as she frantically looked around her room confused.

'Since when do I have an alarm clock?'

She thought to herself with a wince. The girl suspected her brother might have had something to do with it. He always loved to play pranks on her way too early in the morning.

"Benji, you little asshole, I swear...." Chrissy's voice trailed off. Only, it wasn't her voice. At least she didn't think it was. It was way too deep and way too raspy to be hers.

This snapped the girl completely awake as she became aware of her surroundings. Namely the fact that she wasn't in her room. Sitting up she found that she was in a bed that wasn't her own. The room was small and messy. Clothes all over the floor and the walls were plastered with posters to bands she didn't recognize. The room stunk of cigarette smoke and what she suspected to be pot. Chrissy's mind raced as she tried to figure out where she was and how she got here.

"Hello?" She called out but the same raspy voice spoke. Something was very, very wrong here. Standing up she staggered for a moment, did she have a sudden growth spurt or something? Looking down she saw long pale legs adorned in ripped black skinny jeans. Something she knew for a fact she'd never worn or even owned a pair of. "What the hell?" She asked herself in the same far too deep voice. The panic starting to really set in as she looked around. Mirror, she needed a mirror. Stumbling over unsure to the bedroom door, Chrissy tried to adjust to the longer legs.

'Am I dreaming?' Chrissy asked herself as she opened the door and looked down the small hallway in front of her. 'Maybe I'm high.' She'd never been high before. Maybe that's why everything was so weird and why she didn't know how she got here. Wherever here was.

Trying the first door across the hall from her it jiggled but didn't open.

"It's locked." She told herself in the same strange voice. Moving onto the next door, this one opened too reveal a bathroom. Quickly entering and slamming the door shut behind her, she rushed over to the sink and stared into the medicine cabinet mirror. The face that stared back at her wasn't hers. Instead she came face to face with Eddie Munson. His -her?- wide brown eyes stared back at her. The long, curly brown hair was a sweaty and tangled mess. She raised her hand, Eddie's hand?, and waved it. The reflection waved back. She...she was in Eddie Munson's body.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God." Chrissy felt her chest heave. But wasn't even her chest, it was Eddie 's chest. Why was she in Eddie's body? Why hadn't she woke up yet? This had to be a dream. Chrissy paused for a moment. Pulling back the jeans and boxers waistband and staring down her eyes widened even further. "Oh. My. God." This was way too real to be a dream. When there was a knock on the bathroom door, Chrissy practically jumped out of Eddie's skin.

"Eddie? You okay in there?"

[ejzah]

Can you write a fic about the team being in a dangerous shoot out and Deeks didn't know he was shot through his vest till he finds that Kensi is safe and he collapses between her hand after the adrenaline fades?

A/N: Guess who’s apologizing for taking too long again? This girl!

***

Fade In Fade Out

“Callen, Sam, where are you?” Deeks hissed into his comm as he and Kensi ran behind an industrial sized printer to dodge a volley of gunfire. There was a brief pause and he peeked over the printer, spotting three men with automatic weapons shielding behind several crates.

“We’re on our way,” Sam replied. “Three minutes.”

“I don’t think we have three minutes,” Kensi said in an equally hushed tone.

“Well, hold him off for as long as you can and we’ll take a shortcut.”

“You ready?” Deeks asked, glancing to Kensi who gave a short nod. “Damn, didn’t plan on a shootout today, wish I’d worn looser jeans,” he added.

“Pay attention,” she chastised him, even as he saw her lip draw up the tiniest bit.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“On my count. 1, 2, 3!”

Deeks sprang up, taking out two of the guys while Kensi darted in between makeshift covers, and then down the hall across the room. As soon as she was clear, he focused on the remaining gunman, who seemed to be better at evading the bullets than his colleagues.

He dropped down again, counting to five in his head, then sprang up on the other side, making a direct hit to the chest. Tossing his rifle over his back, Deeks grabbed his gun, and quickly checked that all three men were dead before heading after Kensi.

The sound of rapid gunfire reverberated through the warehouse as he reached the hallway, and he broke into a jog. As he passed doorway, several shots ricocheted off the wall, one biting into the material of his vest near his lower abdomen. Deeks winced, pulling back to shield against the outer wall.

He blew a few strands of hair out of his eyes, heart racing slightly at the unexpected attack. He just barely stuck his head around the corner when more bullets sprayed across the space, leaving chunks of concrete raining down.

Damn it!

They went back and forth several times like that until Deeks grabbed his knife and flung it at the gunman instead of shooting . He let out a gurgle of surprise as the blade sunk into his throat and he fell, futilely clawing at his neck.

Deeks made it the rest of the way without anymore interruptions and he walked into a second, smaller room to find Kensi surrounded, one man aiming directly for her. She didn’t see, back turned, and too busy fighting off the others.

Without thinking, Deeks launched himself in the air, tackling the guy to the ground. His gun skittered across the floor when he landed. He managed to turn onto his side and got in a good punch to Deeks’ unprotected side, hard enough to make him growl in pain. Anger filling him, Deeks grabbed the man’s head and unceremoniously slammed it into the concrete three times in quick succession. He stopped moving after that.

Breathing hard, Deeks pushed himself up in time to see Kensi take out the final gunman.

“Are you ok?” he asked, jogging over to her and visually inspecting her for signs of injury. There was a small cut over her left eyebrow and a shallow scrape on her cheek that he imagined was the result of exploding wood pallets.

“Yeah, I’m good,” she confirmed, swiping her hand over her forehead.

“You?”

“I’ll be a little bruised up tomorrow, but otherwise,” Deeks shrugged and Kensi sighed in relief, settling a hand on his back and stomach as she leaned her forehead against his neck.

“Thank god.”

He wrapped his arms around her, holding Kensi tightly to his chest. With the movement, something twinged sharply in his lower stomach, making him wince. A few seconds later, something warm trickled against his skin. He eased back from Kensi and looked down with a frown, not quite registering why his jeans were turning a darker color.

“Babe?” He didn’t respond to Kensi worried town, head suddenly swimming and the earth lurched around him. “Deeks!” Kensi shouted, moving straight on to panicked as his knees buckled.

Kensi caught him as he fell, lowering him to the ground. With shaking hands, she ripped open the closures on his vest, carefully peeling it back. He saw her eyes widen with fear at whatever she saw before she pressed down with enough force to make him scream in pain.

For a few seconds, the world was painfully and overwhelmingly clear. Deeks looked at Kensi, a weak smile lifting the corner of him mouth. Then his vision swam again, the world closing in around him as he distantly heard Kensi begging for help.

***

A/N: Technically, I know the vests don’t cover all that much, so a bullet could quite easily hit Deeks. However, we’ll pretend they provide more coverage.

Title taken from an episode of M*A*S*H.

Thanks for the prompt!

[gruesomejack]

Rabbit tried to skitter past, but found himself pausing as the other boy spoke to him again. He hesitated and shook his head, but couldn't bring himself to walk away. The woods could be dangerous if you didn't know them well and he hated the idea of some little kid getting stuck and hurting himself. Squeezing the handle of his bucket, he looked back towards the wooded trails and then back to the boy. "I could uh-... I could help you look, if you want?" He offered, his voice soft. "I know the area pretty well."

Rabbit bit the inside of his cheek and took a second to look at him. The kid had a mop of blonde hair in his eyes and the sort of cadence to his voice that made him think he lived close, but maybe not directly in the area; sort of warm and southern-sweet. He was kind of cute, but he couldn't put a name to his face, which meant they probably hadn't gone to school together. That was for the best, anyway. The last thing he needed was for a classmate to find him out here after a year of running away from the Bakers.

"Do you know what direction he slipped off towards? There are some clearings and cool spots to just hang out in. I'd check those places first." He said and tried to smile, but it came off as more fearful than anything else. "I'm sure he hasn't gotten too far."

Nothing was biting.

Rabbit sat at the edge of the stream, his knees pulled to his chest as he watched the water move and ripple. His cheeks were wet-- He was frustrated and although he'd tried his best not to cry, he couldn't help it. He hadn't eaten much over the last few days and his stomach ached at how empty it was. Rabbit sniffled and rubbed at his cheeks, wincing at little at the burn that settled in on the high points.

Pushing himself up, he reeled in his line and wrapped his pole. He grabbed the bucket he'd been sitting beside and side at the emptiness inside it. He'd just have to forage for something, or try to sneak onto the campgrounds and pocket someone else's dinner. The thought made him feel guilty, but he couldn't let himself starve.

Before he could start turning back towards the trails, the sound of shoes crushing through the leaves caught his attention. Frowning, he pushed a breath of a curse through his lips and hoped whoever it was had enough decency to let him pass without any trouble. Rabbit sidestepped and moved towards the opposite brush, but the sound was close and then too near to avoid. Brows twitching, he peeked over with soft fear glazing over his dark eyes.

The face had Rabbit glancing away. He tried to side step again around the young man. "Excuse me. I-I gotta get through, sorry."

@aidenwaites

[tales-unique]

FAITH, LOST

Chapter 1

Sheltered, that was your life. You had been born in the village and knew nothing of the world that lay beyond its borders. There were days that you would gaze up at the snow covered mountains and wonder, but ultimately give up. You know you would never have the nerve to leave everything behind. Not that you had much of a choice in the matter.

Cloistered by overprotective parents, your mother and father had raised you to be a respectable, religious woman, devoted to Mother Miranda and the four Lords under her command. Your faith was central to your being and, as your mother would often tell you, you would be rewarded for such candor in due time. Yet, as time went on and you bloomed into a young woman, you began to question when your time would come. Many friends had been taken from you in service of Mother Miranda and, despite your unwavering loyalty, you could feel envy seeping into your heart. Your faith never faltered, you never once spoke out against her wishes, and still you were not chosen. You're on your knees, giving praise and thanks at the altar when the church bells ring, summoning all the faithful to the Chapel. Moving with purpose you hurry to join the congregation, their numbers fewer than there were last time as a result of the Lycan attacks, smoothing down your simple dress as you take your place inside. There Mother Miranda stands in all her holy glory and you feel your chest swell with awe and pride. It had been years since your parents were taken but you felt nothing but happiness that they had gone on to serve such a revered and holy idol. You smile up at her in awe and wonder as she speaks to you all, arms open wide in welcome. She praises your commitment and resolve to follow the faith and calls on you all to offer another to her cause. In your ignorance you desperately pray to be chosen, but your voice is drowned out by the cacophony of the other devotees. But when all seems lost you look up, tears in your eyes, to see Mother Miranda looking directly at you. "You, child," she beckons you forward with a gentle flourish of her hand. Mother Miranda is speaking directly to you . You feel as though you're dreaming as you walk the aisle, coming to kneel before her. Your eyes never leave her, overcome with euphoria. She looks at you lovingly and touches your cheek with a gentle hand, your lashes fluttering. "Yes, you're perfect," she smiles, raising her arms like the Virgin herself as she addresses the others that you are the she will be taking. Finally your steadfast devotion rewards you after all these years. You grin in naive excitement at the congregation, who clap and smile and praise her name. But it doesn't reach their eyes. They are envious of you but are trying their utmost to appear virtuous before Mother Miranda. They have no idea that it’s them who are the lucky ones. Like those who have been taken before you, Mother Miranda gently covers your eyes with a silken handkerchief, rendering you blind and reliant on the firm grasp on your shoulder as she guides you to a destination unknown. The temperature drops and you feel uneven ground give way to hard stone beneath your feet and you feel unease settling in your bones. You haven't ventured far from the village, given the threat of the Lycans, Vampires and other things that plague your home, but you hold fast to your belief in Mother Miranda and that she wouldn't lead you astray. Suddenly, you're gripped by something strong and heavy, forcing you to a standstill. Instinct kicks in and you try to fight, to run, to do anything to get away, but it’s futile as your feet skid uselessly in the snowy dirt. Hands roughly grasp your hands and pull your arms out straight and gasp sharply when you feel a sudden cold biting at your wrists. Something cold, heavy and binding. Panic clouds your mind as you try to pull your hands free, turning this way and that when you no longer feel the comforting weight of her hands guiding your shoulders. Suddenly you’re let go, the attacking presence leaving you, and you try to catch your bearings. "Mother Miranda? Mother Miranda!" You cry out desperately and when you receive no reply your panic multiplies. Shivering, you strain to hear anything that gives away where you are or who is out there with you. When you hear nothing of value a strangled cry leaves you as the anxiety that this could be your death weighs heavily on you. You have no idea that this is exactly what she wants. "This way, child!" Her voice is a beacon in the darkness and you turn quickly to where you perceive her to be, only to be thrust into dizzying vertigo as your foot teeters on the edge of nothingness. You scream, scrambling back so quickly that you stumble and fall. You grunt with pain at where you land against the snow lined steps, blinking owlishly when light suddenly blinds your vision. In your haste the silken handkerchief, your makeshift blindfold, has been pushed down. It hangs limply around your neck while you blink to adjust to the light. "Oh God," you whimper, finally seeing just how close to the edge you had been. The village is a beautiful vista before you, the snow-laden ground glittering in the sunlight, but the danger is far too real for you to be able to admire it. The cold is still bracing as you quickly scramble to your feet and you realise as you struggle that your wrists are locked together in iron shackles. Confusion blooms within you, your brow creasing as you stare down at the unforgiving metal. Had you not shown Mother Miranda that you were completely devout? That you were willing to give her your very life if she asked it of you? Maybe you were being punished. Your blood runs cold at the thought. Determined to prove otherwise you venture up the steps with vigor, bracing against the cold. At the top you are confronted with an old, dilapidated Church not dissimilar to the one inside the village. You feel drawn to it, hurrying towards the large, wooden doors. Pushing them open doesn't take much effort, given how rotten they are, and you quickly enter to seek shelter from the cold. "At last, the little mouse finds her way." "It's about damn time!" "She made it! She made it!" "Look, she's here, Mother!" The voices talk over one another and you recognize them instantly; the four Lords of the village. "Welcome, child," Mother Miranda smiles at you from the raised platform at the head of the Church, "I'm so glad that you made it." "Mother Miranda, m-my Lords," you stutter, partly from the cold, quickly dropping to your knees and bowing your head out of respect. At your side a strange and terrifying doll dressed in a ratty white wedding dress skitters about, giggling maniacally and clapping her little, chipped porcelain hands. "Oh, you're very pretty! I like this one, Mother! Can I have her? Please, pretty please?" She chatters excitedly, screeching when she's pushed aside. "No, Mother, I should have this one! You promised!" Whines the grotesque, hunched monster, staring at you with glassy eyes. You know of Lord Moreau, from the Reservoir, as you recall his picture on the altar, just like Lady Beneviento and her sinister doll from her secluded mountain top estate. You whimper despite your best intentions, not wanting to offend, feeling your body sag slightly in relief when Mother Miranda waves her hand and forces them to leave you be. You blink up at her, tears stinging your eyes. You don't understand what is happening and you're afraid. "What a fragile little thing," a giant of a woman scoffs from where she sits off to the side, watching you with piercing gold eyes. She takes a deep drag from her cigarette, allowing the pale smoke to billow from her crimson lips as she observes you. You feel like an animal being paraded at auction, nothing at all like the splendor told to you in earnest by other members of the congregation. "Mother Miranda I must insist that I take her. My daughters are in need of a maid and some new entertainment , and this one looks so delightfully fresh ." The grin she gives betrays her predatory nature, shining through her beautiful and regal facade. Lady Dimitrescu, the Countess of Castle Dimitrescu, and one of the more revered Lords. You swallow nervously, recoiling meekly under her gaze, though it does little to help. You can’t escape her intimidating stare. The last is Lord Heisenberg, who lounges silently on a pew opposite Lady Dimitrescu. You know little of him, but you know his scarred face well from his picture on the altar. He radiates an aura of discontent and malice, no doubt finding this all a waste of time from the way he scowls when he looks at you. You would never have thought Mother Miranda would choose someone like him to be a Lord, given how little regard he seems to give the whole affair, but looks are often deceiving here. "Heisenberg," Mother Miranda speaks, her voice taut, "have you no say?" "What? Her ?" He points to you with his cigar, a booming laugh rolling off his tongue as he stands. He sets down the large hammer he had slung across his shoulder with ease, your form jumping at how its weight splinters the wood of the floor with ease. "She wouldn't last a minute on my table," he drawls, stepping up to you. He stoops to regard you and on impulse you try to retreat from him. The attempt fails and he grabs your jaw roughly in his hand, jerking your head this way and that as he examines you. The leather of his glove is rich and smooth, the scent of gun oil and smoke tantalizing your senses. "Oh you ignorant fool!" Lady Dimitrescu hisses, a wicked snarl on her lips, "she wouldn't be a test subject! She would be a servant !" "Why the fuck would I need a servant? All she'd do is get in the way!" Heisenberg snaps back, knocking you down with how roughly he shoves you away. He squares up to where the Vampire sits and Lady Dimitrescu is quick to rise to this blatant display of arrogance and disrespect. Her lips, painted a beautiful crimson, split to bare her teeth in a vicious hiss. “You wouldn’t know the first thing of what to do with her, you pathetic child !” She spits, “but then again, what would you know about having taste in staff in the first place?” “Oh, we know all about you tastes , you overgrown b—” "ENOUGH!" Your mouth hangs open and your eyes widen at the sight of Mother Miranda in all her splendor. Three pairs of magnificent, raven black wings extend from her back as she puts a swift end to the petty squabbling. Extending a hand out she motions for you to rise, an almost maternal smile upon her face. You don't know why a sudden sinking feeling of dread settles like a lead weight in your stomach, only that something sinister lingers as yet unseen. "My dearest one," she coos, taking your face gently in her hands when you stand before her. Her fingers are tipped in gold claws and are cold to the touch as they smooth over your cheeks. The black feathers shift ever slightly and you see more glimpses of the beautiful face of Mother beneath her gilded cage headdress. "You have been so loyal to me and my children, I know that you will be the perfect choice for this task." You swallow, suddenly feeling insignificant under the gazes of the Lords despite the uplifting words. Her hands, still tender in their endeavor, fall to your arms. She turns you gently, guiding you to your fate. The shock in the room is palpable when you are set in front of Heisenberg.

[solangelover]

Nyctophobia

A/N: Haven’t written in FOREVER but this was done a while back for the @after-everything-pjo-zine ! It’s out now, free download! Please check it out and support the other content creators who put a lot of effort into the zine. I had art done for my fic by @kalytera and it is EXCELLENT please check it out!

Read on AO3 or FF.net

Nico sprinted after the monster, directly into the forest.

He had been on border patrol and let the son of Hermes working with him leave early. They hadn’t had any monster activity in months and the kid looked like a zombie. Nico didn’t have too much sympathy for him, though, as he knew Cecil and his siblings were gearing up for some big prank. But still, Nico was more than powerful enough to take on a monster or two on his own. Not that he expected any action.

Of course, he was wrong.

In the darkness of the night, Nico saw something moving in the woods just beyond the border. He knew whatever it was couldn’t actually get in, but it was so close that Nico decided to go ahead and get rid of it. He had been itching for action anyway. The moment he stepped outside the border, the monster shot out of the trees. Luckily, Nico had his guard up and quickly rolled out of the way. The monster slammed into the camp border and whipped back around to Nico.

It was hard to make out what monster Nico was facing, but he didn’t care too much. It just looked like a giant badger of some kind. Not giant as in a Giant giant, but very abnormally large for a badger. Nothing major, Nico had faced down the worst of the worst in his life. This was a plaything in comparison.

“Let’s go, big guy.” Nico readied his sword. The monster lunged again, and this time Nico hoisted his shield to block the teeth, standing his ground. He swung out with his sword and grazed the badger’s cheek, causing it to flinch to the right and back off. Nico used the shadows to hide himself as he circled around the monster’s left side. It swiveled around looking for him, taking a second too long as Nico darted forward and stabbed it in the side. The creature screeched, flailing around and knocking him over with its tail. With a grunt, he fell to the ground, his sword skittering away from him. The monster, however, did not turn back to attack like he expected. It must not have been as invested in the fight as Nico was, because it began running back into the forest where it came from.

“Wha—hey!” Nico was affronted. He wanted that fight, and he was winning.

So here he was, chasing a giant badger in the dark woods. After running for 5 minutes, Nico realized that he had lost the beast. How, honestly, he didn’t know. He must’ve been out of practice. Or maybe the badger burrowed underground. He didn’t know how he’d missed a giant hole in the ground, but either way, he was annoyed.

The next thing he realized was that he was lost. Again, how he could get lost so quickly literally right past the camp border, Nico was at a loss. He was really out of practice.

Nico spun around, trying to see if anything looked familiar. Just trees and darkness. He tried to figure out which way he came from, but he got turned around. The adrenaline from before began to leak out of his body as his situation set in.

Nico was lost. Out in the woods. Outside of camp. In the darkness of night.

Well, okay, Nico tried to reason with himself. No problem, just shadow travel.

Except he hadn’t gotten the clearance from one Doctor Solace yet. But this was a bit of an emergency situation, so it was probably fine.

I mean, this isn’t actually that urgent, a voice in Nico’s head said. Just walk in one direction and you’ll probably hit camp.

Nico nodded to himself. He could try that. Why was he even worried anyway? He was looking for action—being stuck in the woods was the best way to find it. Maybe if he was lucky, he’d run into the badger beast and get to finish the job. So, he started walking.

And kept walking.

And walking.

Nico lost track of time and his steps, but it felt like an eternity. His breathing was coming out in short puffs, the cool air revealing each breath. His heart was beginning to race, though he wasn’t sure why. He was only walking. His eyes darted around, at first out of caution, but it slowly felt more and more like paranoia.

It felt like the darkness was pressing in on him from all sides.

His body started to tremble as he walked faster, but Nico knew this feeling.

He was scared.

A son of Hades, afraid of the dark. Ridiculous.

But he couldn’t help it. He felt its cold tendrils snaking up his back, making his hair stand on end. Dark fingers were curling around his throat. His breathing was shallow, and too fast, but he couldn’t seem to draw a full breath. His hands flew to his hair, tugging at it as he tried to ground himself. He realized he had stopped walking, just standing in a small clearing of trees, head spinning.

He was fine. He was in the forest, he’d been there a million times, it’s no different than in the daytime. It was fine. He was fine.

But he knew he wasn’t. He could almost hear the whispering voices, feel the tug where the shadows fell upon him. They wanted to take him from this world into the world of darkness. Maybe that was his world, not this one filled with light. Maybe they were right.

No, he thought. He couldn’t give in—he’d been through too much to give in. But isn’t that the reason he belonged in the shadows? Darkness and death followed him everywhere—maybe he wasn’t supposed to run from it.

Nico’s heart was pounding, his blood rushing in his ears. He belatedly realized that he had collapsed to the ground. The world swayed before his eyes. He was barely drawing in breath, his chest felt locked tight like something was constricting his lungs. Nico squeezed his eyes shut, feeling tears track down his cheeks.

Seriously? Here? Now?

Somehow, Nico’s thoughts were racing and yet, his mind was blank. The whispers were growing louder, buzzing through his head in an unintelligent stream of sounds. He could feel the darkness closing in on him, feel his consciousness slipping away.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t move.

He couldn’t do anything.

Suddenly, a sharp pain cut through Nico’s haze and made him cry out.

His body moved on instinct. Nico’s eyes flew open and he rolled into a crouched position. With a groan, he fell back down to his knees, gasping for air that his lungs so desperately needed. As his vision cleared of black spots, he finally looked down and noticed the fresh blood gushing from his thigh. His head whipped up just in time for him to dodge a swipe from the same badger monster from before.

Nico had never been so relieved to see a monster.

With the pain in his leg sharpening his focus, Nico gathered his energy and pushed up, suppressing a scream as his leg protested the movement. He drew his sword once more, still drawing in large gulps of air. The badger snarled and lunged once more. Nico quickly sidestepped and swung down with his sword, slicing the outstretched leg of the monster. It howled in pain, tumbling to the ground before staggering to its feet and retreating back into the woods.

Nico wasn’t planning to give chase, until he heard a large thump and another screech from the monster. He limped in the direction it ran to see that the badger had slammed into an invisible barrier. The camp border! Nico nearly cried with relief, completely ignoring the monster as it scurried away from him. Once he stumbled past the border, Nico fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. He could see the lights of camp. They stood out against the darkness of the night, reminding Nico that he was still shrouded in shadows with his back barely within the camp border.

He scrambled to his feet, feeling blood trickle down his leg and soak his sock. He used his sword to prop himself up as he limped forward, refusing to look down at his wound, which was probably bleeding more than he’d like. While he knew logically that his injury made his progress slow, Nico couldn’t help but feel like the shadows were pulling him back. It was like before, when he would shadow travel and almost get stuck in-between destinations. The voices were whispering again, trying to lure him into the darkness where he belonged. His vision was beginning to fade, black spots dancing before his eyes. He knew it was the pain and blood loss, he knew that. But it scared him because what if it was him? What if he was fading again? What if he disappeared in the night and no one knew?

Nico’s heart was pounding, which was not good for all the blood still gushing from his wound. His foot hit something, and he pitched forward, falling hard on the wooden steps of the Big House. He moaned loudly, unable to contain his pain and fear.

He distantly heard the door creak open and felt someone kneel beside his head. Nico was sure he was nearly hyperventilating, both from physical exertion and panic. He couldn’t hear anything being said. Then, there were hands on him, and he desperately shook them off, afraid of being pulled into shadows.

Then, a sudden warmth washed through his body.

The air rushed out of Nico as his entire body relaxed, his head falling back not onto the hard wood like he expected, but into gentle hands that cradled him carefully. As his breathing steadied, he peeked up to see blue eyes gazing down at him with concern, blonde hair falling down and framing a freckled face.

Nico saw Will’s lips move, but no sound reached his ears before his eyes slipped shut.

---

Nico woke the next morning to the familiar sight of white walls and sunlight streaming in through the window. He sighed, disappointed he landed himself in the infirmary for the millionth time, before he remembered the events of the previous night.

Nico was suddenly very alert, his heart rate jumping immediately as he sat upright in bed. He shoved the sheets back to inspect the wound on his thigh. It was wrapped up in white bandages, but no blood was showing through. Will must’ve been able to heal it closed, or at least stitch it up well. Nico tested moving his leg around a bit, surprised that it really didn’t hurt at all. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, willing his heart to slow down.

“Glad to see you’re awake.” Nico’s head jerked up at the sound of the son of Apollo’s voice. Will strolled in front of Nico’s bed, looking down at his clipboard as he scribbled something down. Then he looked up and locked eyes with his patient.

Nico gulped. Will didn’t seem too happy to see him.

Before Nico could say anything, Will glanced down at his injury and said, “I fixed it up as much as I could. The wound wasn’t too deep. The blood loss was the worst of it, which is why you’re hooked up to an IV.” He gestured at the item, which Nico hadn’t even noticed in the few minutes he’d been up.

Nico nodded, leaning back against his pillow for a moment. He subtly tensed his muscles, assessing his physical condition for himself. Overall, he felt alright, just tired. It was probably the blood loss and… the other things that happened last night. He didn’t want to think about it, but it was like he could still feel the cold darkness lingering under his skin. His sense of panic out in the forest sat in the back of his head, keeping him from fully relaxing.

Will walked around the side of Nico’s bed, sitting in the chair and putting his clipboard to the side. “Nico…”

Nico knew that tone. The tone of a concerned friend, the tone of someone who wants to talk about things Nico really did not want to talk about. It always turned out to be a good thing when he talked with Will, but he couldn’t ignore his initial reaction of get away, especially not after last night. “Thanks for healing me, Solace.”

Will just looked at him, concern and worry evident in his eyes alone. Nico looked away quickly, unable to take that look without spilling his guts, which he most definitely did not want to do in this moment.

The medic nodded, not that Nico saw, and said, “Of course. You know I’m always here for you, Nico.” The son of Hades knew Will was trying to get more out of him, but he just couldn’t—wouldn’t—talk. Not right now.

Will seemed to get the hint. “You’re probably tired. The few hours of sleep you got isn’t enough to recover from your blood loss. You should get some rest,” he said reluctantly.

Nico glanced up as Will stood to leave, relieved when Will smiled down at him. At least he wasn’t mad that Nico wasn’t talking. He probably knew, to some degree, that there was more going on here than a monster attack.

Nico nodded back in silent gratitude for Will’s understanding.

“I’ll be back to check on you later.”

Will pulled the curtains closed around Nico’s bed, and Nico was alone. He could feel his mind beginning to buzz with thoughts and anxieties, so he quickly shook his head. The dark-haired boy shuffled further down into the infirmary bed, shutting his mind up and giving into the exhaustion he felt. If anything, he’d at least get a good rest out of this whole situation.

---

Nico woke up sometime in the afternoon, the sun shining in the sky. He sat up slowly, feeling out his body. His muscles ached a bit, probably from pushing himself while injured last night, but otherwise, he felt alright. The wound on his thigh throbbed dully. Pushing his sheets back, he saw that his bandages were still white, meaning it was mostly healed, thanks to Will’s magic.

The son of Hades glanced around. His curtains were still closed, and the infirmary sounded pretty quiet around him.

Nico paused for a few seconds.

Then promptly swung his legs off his bed and planted his feet on the floor.

He knew he shouldn’t leave, not without Will clearing him first. Will would not be happy with him (he knew from experience). But he could feel his nerves sparking under his skin, anxiety and fear sticking with him even through his nap. He didn’t want to be trapped in the white walls of the infirmary when Will eventually found him.

So, he stood up, shook himself out, and tried to look casual as he strolled toward the doors of the infirmary.

“Hey—wait!”

Nico glanced back, seeing a young child of Apollo nervously approach. “You—I mean, you can’t—can’t leave…?” She sounded so uncertain, Nico almost felt bad. Almost.

“Oh, it’s fine. I was just resting until I felt ready to leave.” He decided to leave Will out of this because lying to his sister felt a bit too much like betrayal.

Before the girl could reply, he opened the door and left.

Nico headed straight for the arena, intending to work out some of his excess energy so that he could go back to his cabin and fall right back asleep. He wasn’t even limping on his previously wounded leg, which he took as a good sign. He also reasoned that, considering a monster got the best of him, he should get to training as soon as possible.

He chose to ignore all the other thoughts pulsing in the back of his mind.

(Darkness, fear, shadows, don’t belong don’t belong don’t belong—)

Only ten minutes of swinging around a sword passed before, “Nico di Angelo.”

Nico winced at the tone. He lowered his sword and looked over at the entrance to the practice area, only to lock eyes with a stern (and frankly, intimidating) son of Apollo.

He knew better than to ignore the healer, so he waited as Will stalked over. The other boy crossed his arms tightly, coming to a stop in front of Nico. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Nico cast about for some kind of response, but he knew there was nothing he could say in this moment to justify his actions. Not without diving into the details of his monster encounter, which he didn’t exactly feel up to doing.

After opening and closing his mouth a few times, Nico simply shrugged, eyes darting off to the side. He heard Will blow out a frustrated breath. Meanwhile, the son of Hades distracted himself with the rocks at his feet.

“Nico,” Will said, in that same knowing tone as before. Nico nervously adjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword before sheathing it, if only to give his mind something else to focus on for a few seconds. There was silence for a moment before Will continued. “I���m not mad at you.”

At that, Nico glanced up at the healer. He could see it, in the soft blue of Will’s eyes, that he was being honest. Nico had seen Will angry—usually not at him, but Nico had pulled stupid stunts in the past—and this wasn’t it. This was concern and genuine care. Nico was always waiting for Will to stop caring, to stop reaching out to him, but he never had, and he was beginning to think he never would.

The dark-haired boy nodded, unsure of what he should say. When it was clear Nico was not going to respond verbally, Will spoke again. “Something happened out there.” His eyebrows creased in concern when Nico stiffened. “You don’t have to tell me if you really don’t want to. But I want to help you, Nico. I saw you last night. You were… scared. Terrified. And I know it wasn’t from whatever monster attacked you. That’s not you.”

Nico gave himself a second to think about it, before blurting out, “I’m afraid of the dark.”

Both boys looked surprised, a moment of silence passing between them.

Nico expected to be judged, to be mocked. He knew it was Will, and Will wouldn’t do that. But hearing it out loud, it was laughable, at least to Nico. He could see the irony. He was Prince of the Underworld, the Ghost King. But he couldn’t help it.

“That’s—” Will started, then shook his head, starting over. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Nico.”

The son of Hades scoffed. “Sorry for what? That I’m a coward? It’s not your problem, Solace.” He looked away, shaking his hair so it covered his eyes.

“Nico…”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” Will said firmly. “I mean, it is. Ugh, I mean, it’s okay to be afraid of things. Everyone has their fears.”

“I’m the son of Hades. I exist in the darkness. I literally use the shadows to move around!”

Nico waited for Will to say more, unsure of what he wanted the other boy to say.

“Nico, please look at me,” Will pleaded.

Nico sighed, and peeked up at Will through his hair. He was met with an understanding gaze and a gentle smile.

“You’re not any less of a warrior for your fears, you know.”

And maybe that was truly what Nico needed to hear, whether he knew it or not.

But still, “I think it’s embarrassing.”

“I think it’s human,” Will shot back.

“Well, I’m only half, you know.”

“Shut up,” Will rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Nico looked away again, feeling a bit better even without having said much about what transpired last night. Maybe he didn’t have to. Maybe Will understood anyway, and really meant it when he said he’d be there for him.

Maybe he did have a place in this world, in the light, where the darkness of his mind and enemies of his past couldn’t get him. Maybe Will would be the one to show him that, once and for all.

[ckneal]

I know that it’s not the week for it, but you know what’s going through my head today?

Michael, going to Purgatory to fish out the Ghoul’s soul, just like he promised Adam that he would, and how annoyed he must have been when he realized he’d have to make the trip alone. Because of course the Ghoul couldn’t go, being soulless—that’s the whole reason Michael has to go in the first place, since Adam’s gone and enmeshed their lives together not just with the monster who had killed him in his first lifetime, but with the very part of that monster’s being that is tied to the earthly plane and incapable of traversing the higher levels of existence available to humanity and all its misfit offshoots only in the afterlife. And of course, with Adam now settled in his old, human body—having been painstakingly reformed from the ashes that the three of them had tirelessly rooted for in the woods outside of Windom—the Ghoul couldn’t very well be left on his own. Soulless and driven primarily by his id, there was no telling where the Ghoul would wind up or who he might hurt if left unsupervised.

And so, Michael begrudgingly has to go to Purgatory alone, possibly aware of the fact that no sooner would the portal close behind him (after all, Michael could open and close the door to Purgatory at will, there was no need to risk who knew what creeping out into their motel room), before the Ghoul leaned over to Adam and murmured something along the lines of, “So, you remember when Michael was dead, and how we’d get off telling each other all the things we’d do if we weren’t stuck in the same body?”

MEANWHILE, Michael was left with the nearly impossible task of finding one stray monster soul in the gruesome, ongoing battle royale that is Purgatory. His choices of strategy are to either assume his trueform and squint down at the souls scurrying over the realm like a swarm of ants in hopes of finding one specific ant, or to walk around in his human-looking form, hoping to find the one soul he needed to find in order to go home. Both were exhausting, and not helped by the fact that Michael had no idea if the Ghoul’s soul was even there—what with the way that the monsters were constantly murdering one another. Even the angels (as per Castiel in season 6) didn’t know where the shredded souls of Purgatory went after they died again here. On top of that, even when presenting himself as human, Michael’s grace gave off an aura that inherently attracted the attention of monsters and Leviathans alike, and while neither was a true threat to an archangel, the continuous fighting was numbingly tedious to say the least.

Especially since most of the beasts that Michael bested and offered to show mercy in exchange for information burst out laughing when Michael then revealed that he was looking for a ghoul from roughly ten years ago. Monsters on the more harmless end of the spectrum didn’t last long in Purgatory.

Eventually, Michael gets a lead about a cave rumored to be a djinn’s nest. Djinn were naturally highly sought after by the less violent souls who found themselves in Purgatory. With no way to escape, it wasn’t uncommon to pursue a gentler avenue to that second, inevitable death in a djinn’s trance. But some people had overheard telltale sounds of fighting coming from inside the nest, suggesting that something else might actually be hiding there.

Michael tracks down this nest, knowing that it’s a long shot. The Ghoul’s soul would have been living in this bloodbath for a decade, after all, but he steps into the alleged djinn’s nest and feels the solid impact of a club striking ineffectively against the back of his head, and sure enough, there stands the Ghoul.

One thing that Michael found unexpectedly jarring was how young the Ghoul looked. He hadn’t thought much of it when Adam had asked him to age up their shared body—supposedly to help him slip back into his old life if he came across anyone he used to know—but the difference was hard to ignore when he was looking at Adam’s face as it was the day they met, under the coating of grime that marked every moving thing in Purgatory. A face that was, additionally, staring at Michael in a mix of confusion and terror. And it was only then that Michael turned his head and realized that it wasn’t a club that had hit him, but an axe—made of silver, if Michael wasn’t mistaken.

It was an awkward first meeting. Naturally, having been in Purgatory over the entirety of his soulless-sona’s relationship with Michael and Adam, the Ghoul had no idea who or what Michael was, and looking between Michael and the now dented axe, could only reasonably conclude that whatever Michael was was a lot harder to kill than a shifter. He took about three seconds to assess the situation, and then did exactly what had helped him survive in Purgatory for so long: ran for all he was worth.

On Michael’s part, he was realizing that he’d been so caught up on the headache of finding the Ghoul in the first place, that he hadn’t even considered what he would say to him when they finally met in this place. “No, wait!” were certainly not the first words he would have planned on.

The next hour or so was spent with Michael reminding himself over and over again that he loved Adam, and Adam loved the Ghoul, and he had promised to do this for both of them. He let the ghoul run outside the cage and then used his wings to relocate himself into the Ghoul’s path, the wayward soul crashing directly into his chest, and Michael’s arms springing around him to keep him from getting away. The Ghoul turned out to be surprisingly feisty though, and while Michael had no doubt that the Ghoul wouldn’t break free, his struggling was a nuisance. Michael wound up pinning the Ghoul against a tree—decidedly ignoring how his soulless-sona would likely have enjoyed that.

“WHAT are you?”

“I am the archangel Michael—”

The Ghoul’s struggling promptly resumed, along with a line of panicked cursing. “Okay, fuck, I know I wasn’t the best guy, but fuck, really? There are so many bastards in here, and you’re going after—”

“I’m not here to hurt you!”

“Okay, but I’m not looking to accept anyone as my lord and savior either! GET OFF ME!”

“Adam Milligan sent me.”

The Ghoul finally stopped struggling at that. As best he could around Michael’s hold on him, he started to gesture to his own face—then stopped and gestured to both his and Michael’s face. “You mean Adam Milligan as in. . ?”

“Yes.”

“WHY?”

“I will likely ask him that question every day for the rest of our lives.”

“Our—”

And it is at that point that Michael becomes aware that his grace—beacon that it is in the madhouse that is Purgatory—had attracted a horde of Leviathans. The Ghoul can hear it too, as whatever’s coming their way is big enough to topple trees. Michael tells the Ghoul to stay close so he can keep him safe, which elicits another strange look from the Ghoul, who had had very few experiences with people wanting to keep him safe, even before he and his siblings were killed. He reminds Michael that Leviathans are pretty high up on the food chain, and Michael assures him that he’s so far above them that he isn’t even on the food chain. The Ghoul winds up running anyway when he sees how big the horde is, Michael shouting after him.

Leviathans, of course, can’t actually kill an archangel, but that isn’t the Leviathans’ goal. They’d heard the rumor about a vampire who managed to make its way out of Purgatory smuggled inside a human soul, and wondered what their chances would be stuffed inside an archangel’s grace. And as such, they abandoned their humanoid forms and proceeded to throw themselves onto Michael as tar-thick liquid goo. Michael could blast them off of himself, but it was difficult with how they skittered around, and there were so many of them—and then all at once, a bottle crashed against Michael’s side, and his entire being was enveloped in fire. A startled, terrified noise burst out of his throat, realization triggering a memory that Michael usually kept firmly out of mind. Then something heavier crashed against Michael’s chest, and he tumbled backward with a splash.

When he opened his eyes, the Ghoul was on top of him. The two of them were laying in the bed of a shallow river Michael hadn’t even noticed before.

Scrambling up into a sitting position, the Ghoul asked, “You alright?”

“What was that?”

The Ghoul reached into a satchel he was wearing—which was now soaked through. What he held up was clearly a molotov cocktail, but when Michael looked closely there was something swirling in the liquid inside.

“Phoenix ash. Djinn who had the cave first, um, had one. I heard it took out Eve, figured it could help with those things.”  

“I see. . .” Michael started to sit up as the Ghoul carefully tucked the bottle away.

Then the Ghoul cleared his throat and asked, “So. . Are we friends, or something?”

“Something like that.”

The look the Ghoul shot Michael was sharp. After all, phoenix ash wasn’t exactly a resource to waste on just anyone, and Michael begrudgingly offered, “You have memories waiting on earth that will explain all of this.”

“How do I have memories on earth? I’m dead.”

“. . .It’s complicated.”

“And what, I’m supposed to just trust you? No secret code, or sales pitch or anything?”

“It’s a long story. If I go into it, we'll likely be interrupted.”

The Ghoul frowns and stands up, water running off his clothes as he wades out of the river, thinking. Michael moves to splash water on his face, still shaken from having been set on fire, even though his grace is already healed. He’s interrupted by the Ghoul saying, “Alright, let’s go.”

Michael says, “Just like that?”

And the Ghoul looks uncomfortable, frustrated and vulnerable because he isn’t convinced, but he gestures around them, to the scenery that is currently calm but littered with bones sticking out of the mud left and right, evidence of past bloodshed that would only repeat again and again throughout eternity. “What else am I gonna do?”

 And so Michael snaps his fingers, and the portal back to earth opens.

Outside of a body, a soul is actually a very small thing (see season 11), and so Michael actually winds up cradling the Ghoul’s soul in his hands as he steps back into the motel room. And then promptly drops it when he finds Adam and the soulless Ghoul in a state of undress in their king-sized motel bed.

“Oh hey, you’re back!” Adam says, rising out of the bed in a pair of shorts, as if he hadn’t been doing anything wrong—which, of course, he hadn’t been, Michael reminds himself as he let Adam kiss him in greeting. Even so, he finds himself having to draw in a long, calming breath when he looks over and sees the soulless Ghoul grinning at him, reclining on the bed, unbothered and completely naked.

Souls are immaterial things and not subject to the laws of gravity. And as such, when Michael dropped the Ghoul’s soul, it didn’t so much hit the ground as float gently toward the bed, inherently drawn to the other part of itself that resided within the Ghoul’s body. When it reached him, it fazed right through the Ghoul’s chest, without ceremony, and only then did the self-satisfied smirk leave the Ghoul’s face, as he bolted upright, looking like he was about to be sick. Adam was concerned, but Michael assured him that everything was fine. The Ghoul’s head was merely spinning as a decade’s worth of memories inserted themselves into his consciousness, merging who he’d been on earth with the part of him that had fought for his life in Purgatory.  

“He should probably stay in bed. It will take him awhile to adjust.”

“Right. . .” Adam nodded and turned back to Michael. It was actually a little surprising how quickly concern disappeared from Adam’s demeanor, Adam trusting Michael’s assessment of the situation unequivocally. Heat replaced it as Adam’s lips found Michael’s again. “I know you don’t need to sleep, but do you want to lay down with us for awhile?”

Adam already had a hand lightly resting on Michael’s belt.

Still on the bed, the Ghoul was watching them with interest.

Later, when Adam was asleep, half sprawled on Michael’s chest with the Ghoul curled against his back, Michael opened his eyes when he felt finger tips idly moving over his stomach. He looked over and found the Ghoul, propped up on one arm, watching the movements of his own hand over Adam’s shoulder, with an expression on his face that Michael found unreadable. The Ghoul’s hand withdrew, and Adam nuzzled in closer to Michael when he moved incrementally, trying to get a better look at their third companion. And even as the Ghoul laid there, perfectly still when their eyes met in the dark, as an angel Michael was aware of how the Ghoul’s heartrate spiked as he seemingly sucked his tongue for a moment before saying, “Thanks for, you know.”

[wingsdreamt]

steeleidolon​:

Maybe they can make a difference. Pull that chain. Be the spark. Fan the flames. Deliver some jolt, some spike of Hope into the world. Not out of any sense of obligation, not because they have any inkling that they will see the results. Hell, this might be a suicide mission, except both of them have failed suicide missions in the past. They came back with eyes open, still breathing, hearts still beating, refusing to simply give up and die just because someone else wills it.

This thought, and the too-familiar smell of the labs, creeps down his spine like electrified ice-water, and he grits his teeth against the visceral urge to punch down.

Or to turn around and shimmy back. No, no. They’re here. They’re committed.

“Me too, man.”

The T-junction ahead roars with fans. To the right and directly in front of them, mesh and filter-shrouded blades whip and whir, a rattling drone loud enough to obfuscate any warping or popping their knees on the metal might impress. It’s loud enough to drown out any hope of conversation too. Damn it.

Kunsel threads his arm back behind himself, bends his elbow, and signal-gestures to the left before taking the turn as gracefully as one can in a four-by-four box. At least the standard construction is consistent, sharply squared off and supported underneath with struts strong enough to hold them, likely strong enough to hold whatever monsters might escape from their containment. It’s vital to have a working ventilation system, after all, if one intends to use it to pump suppression gasses into an enclosed space.

Cue a glance up directly above, where tanks - like recessed scuba cylinders - are banded, bolted, and linked together with pipes and wires for remote control. Kunsel ducks his head and slopes further forward, army-crawling on his forearms and spread thighs rather than hands and knees. He figures Zack will get the picture, and it affords him a little more room to gesture two fingers down, clenched fist. Stop where I’ve stopped.

Quicker, practiced, he skitters forward to the other side of a grated hatch and then rolls over, folds flexibly, and ends up facing Zack, peering down below. The shaft has passed either through or above one of the blocky prefab pods, and is somewhat misaligned, providing a split view.

There’s the peek of a toilet and sink on one side, and then the broader section of the ventilation panel reveals… amber light, interspersed with flicker-glows of blue, a computer server, a monitor with a weirdly fetal-looking screensaver. Maybe that’s just the angle on the desk. The main lights are off, and it appears to be unoccupied at present.

Lucky them.

He demonstrates the thumb screws on his side of the vent panel. Easy enough for both of them to undo and lift up, aside, and then drop down one after the other.

Floor level. A plush carpet cushions their feet.

It looks like the office of a tenured executive professor with decades upon decades of plaudits, richly appointed. Shelves in immaculate order border one wall, filled with dozens upon dozens of hard-bound volumes, a luxury in the digital era, contrasting the standard filing cabinets. Display cases in glass and wood hold items of curiosity - specimens floating in formalin, hermetically sealed jars of two-headed serpents and bizarre fish-creatures, a zolom egg, embryos identified only by arcane labeling systems…

And a preserved human arm. Left arm, by the looks of it, skin pale under display lights. The wing tattoo from wrist to tricep must have been exquisite in life, deep black with painstaking black-feathered details.

The specimen holding bay, visible through its reciprocal mirror, was recently occupied. The smears on hard-point restraints and the angled slant of an examination table are still shimmering red.

“…well, this fucking place never gets less creepy. You wanna get the hard copies? I’ve got his computer.”

Any variation of disgruntled noises he makes as blue light crosses into his purview is lost to the roar of the spinning fan blades. Once the grate is lifted, Zack touches down after Kunsel on three points. At a glance, the office might have looked astonishingly mundane– not so much once the menagerie of scientific collectibles comes into play. 

“Hate it, hate it, hate it,” Zack growls, hunching his shoulders and staring too long at what must ostensibly be a human arm while the hairs on his neck stand on end. A perfectly normal arm as far as he can see, save for the intricate inkwork beneath the skin. Why the self-purported man of science himself might feel the need to save this particular arm or even put it on display in the first place, Zack can only imagine. This one feels less like a curio and more like… a morbid trophy.

That isn’t even the worst part about this place. He is keenly aware of Kunsel’s presence next to him when he goes stock still and his breath catches in his throat. The sight on the other side of the thick wall of glass is intimately familiar to him, and Zack wrangles with the flash of panic that briefly keeps him rooted in place. Voice. Focus. Back to Kunsel.

Looking through the bookshelf and cabinet is perfect, because it keeps his back to the slab of steel looming behind the mirror like a bad memory.

“Right. Yeah. On it.”

With a roll of his shoulders, he takes an exaggerated step towards the nearest row of shelves filled with multi-colored tomes. He runs his finger along the top of the books on the way to the metal filing cabinet situated at the end of the shelf. Most of the books appear to be purely decorative. Textbooks covering various topics on the nature of microbiology, genesplicing, and phylogenetics. Zack stops, hovering two fingers over a row of first-edition copies about the Planet’s history. A few with a focus on the Ancients in particular. There is a small gap between the last book, Decline of the Cetra and History for the Modern Midgarian. 

Interesting.

He does another quick pass before deciding to move on. The real trouble would be figuring out which of these ethically questionable gems to take back with them. Anything worth keeping in an unlocked cabinet couldn’t be that Planet shattering. Zack cards through the file folders after he slides the drawer out on its track to skim through titles.

Some of the documents were purely archival; datasets or sequences that had been analyzed long ago littered with chicken scratch notes scrawled in the margins and a dash of angry, red marks. 

Now for the alphabetized sections. Finger over thumb, he looks through each header’s contents. Minutes tick by. Boring, gross, boring–

 ‘Regulation of apoptosis,’ ‘Petri net modeling of biological networks,’ Slowing the rate of senescence in non-human tissues,’ ‘Accelerating mako-osteoclast activation and development of new limbs.’ 

The standouts. At least, the papers he could understand enough to single out.

One last check. Zack flattens out a palm along the sides of the drawer, feeling for any unusual grooves or catches that might unlock a hidden panel. No luck. Plucking out stapled notes from several file folders of interest, he stacks them up then thumbs to the back of the drawer for an empty folder to stash them in. After the folder has been tucked under his arm, Zack rearranges the folders into some semblance of their previous orientation before sliding the drawer shut.

“Alright…think I’ve got as good as we’re gonna get out of those cabinets. I am so ready to get the hell out of here. Dig up any interesting dirt on his computer?”

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

The Stolen Umbrella || Weddings & Funerals --- ꒰ ch. 1 -> a hargreeves homecoming ꒱

A Diego Hargreeves x Reader Series

❛      As if experiencing it all over again, the world crumbled around him. Fearfully, [Viktor's] head whipped up to the shaking walls around him, immediately trying to reign in the powers he thought had spilled out. But to his relief and great confusion, it was the same mysterious force looming over the house. ❜

     𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐒 the droplets of rain race across the foggy glass of the cab window. His journey back to the place he could hardly call home was filled with dread. And he wasn’t quite sure if it was because of his father’s funeral, or knowing he was to face the very place that he had tried so hard to forget.

     He could see the cold and unforgiving walls that had surrounded Viktor his entire childhood in his mind’s eye. The ones made of marble and the finest wood, decorated with “family portraits” but Viktor knew the only value they held to anyone was strictly monetary. The shrine of himself and his siblings hung like trophies, forever reminding him they were nothing but show dogs. They were their father’s trophies. Their powers were, or at the very least their accomplishments were.

     Try as he might, his siblings were something he could never want far from his reach for long. He thought of them often, specifically when he played. The two of his five brothers he was certain he would never see again were the ones he thought of most.

     Everything comes back to him faster than the raindrops that skitter across the glass, faster than the racing of his heart as the cab turns the final corner onto the street he grew up on. Viktor could hear his father’s footsteps echoing off the granite floors, the very same that struck fear into the Hargreeves siblings’ hearts when they heard him wandering around the house doing God knows what. The smell of his cigars that lingered all throughout the house, leaking directly from the study from which they were all forbidden. The taste of Mom’s cooking that and how it always managed to cheer them up. His first taste of loss when his brother had disappeared at dinner all those years ago; which as it seems, was only an appetizer for the dark blanket of ice that imprisoned his heart when the Academy became five. Even the deep rumble of the floors and walls that shook the house from time to time that kept a certain mystery alive in their imaginations.

     Before he can dwell on it any longer, the cab comes to a stop. Viktor stands before the Umbrella Academy, not so much his old childhood home. It towers over him in an intimidating matter, much like his father did all his life. The inside was no different. He expected the grand entrance to seem much smaller since his youth, but this was not the case as he stepped inside. The cast-iron chandelier did little to light the two-story entrance in comparison to the mosaic windows that dripped with golden sunlight. And much to his dismay, he felt just as small standing here now as he ever had.

     His gaze journeys up the marble columns that support the second floor, his head rolled farther back as he takes in the details that hadn’t seemed to change. Viktor stops suddenly when his eyes land on the petite figure seated at the hearth in the adjoining living room. The only sense of warmth in this place he would recognize anywhere, not that it was hard as it looked as if she had stepped right out of time. She was staring blankly ahead, not moving a muscle.

     "Hey, Mom,“ Viktor says.

     Grace does not respond. She remains fixed on the fire that roars in front of her. The light of the flames dances off her head of golden hair and fifties-era clothing and pearls. Growing worried, Viktor inches closer.

     "Mom?”

     "Viktor?“

     Viktor turns when the voice that responds is not his mother’s, but his sister's. He’s shocked to find Allison descending the stairs and with a welcoming smile no less. Their last exchange, after all, had not been a warm one.

     "You made it,” Allison breathes, sounding relieved.

     Viktor gapes at the woman in front of him, shocked not by the changes in his sister he had caught on films and news articles from time to time, but the fact she was actually talking to him. At first, Viktor braces himself for an off-handed remark he is sure he will receive from his sister; that or disappointment. But to his surprise, Allison’s saddened smile widens a bit just for Viktor as she approaches him.

     "Hey, V.“

     Allison now towers over Viktor offering a somber and understanding expression before inviting her brother into a hug. He reluctantly accepts, still unsure as to how or why this was happening but this does not change the spark of warmth he felt at the gesture. As they break apart, they hear a gruff scoff from Diego as he passes them for the stairs.

     "What is he doing here?” He does not bother to look their way as he throws his scorn. “You don’t belong here. Not after what you did.”

     Allison’s hands find a home in her pockets as she turns to glower after one of their grumpier brothers, Viktor suddenly finding the black and white tile beneath their feet very interesting. At least he had been expecting that.

     "You’re really gonna do this today?“ Asks Allison, watching as Diego marches up the steps without another word in his usual crime-fighting attire. "Way to dress for the occasion, by the way.”

     Without skipping a beat - or sparing a glance in their direction - he throws back a remark as swiftly as one of his knives.

     "At least I’m wearing black.“

     Wounded, but not surprised in the least, Viktor grimaces as he looks up at his sister. Worn from years of newfound isolation, he shrugs off any instinct of a fight. "You know what? I–”

     He shakes his head, gesturing to the door. “Maybe he’s right. And I shouldn’t–”

     "Forget about him,“ Allison says through a face of anger, though her eye held sympathy reserved only for Viktor. "I’m glad you’re here.”

     Viktor manages a small smile when he searches his sister’s eyes and finds no trace of sarcasm or pity. Instead, all he finds is genuine longing and remorse. This was not the sister he knew as a young boy, the one who was so quick to side with their father and brothers when he needed her most. The one that had cut him so deeply when both of them were already so wounded. And because of this very fact, Viktor had absolutely no idea how he felt. He was torn. So many unkind things had been said by both of them. Ben truly was the glue that held them all together, and without him, the academy crumbled; starting from its strongest bond.

     And now? Now what, Viktor didn’t know. He was still swept up in the whirlwind of recent events and now they were colliding with their past. But Allison’s willingness — her sincerity, is what made Viktor hesitate.

     Maybe, just maybe, with their horrible excuse of a father gone they’d have a decent chance. A decent chance at getting through one lousy funeral together.

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

     The floorboards cry out under Luther’s weight as he paces his late father’s room, a frown screwed onto his face. He does not dismiss a single detail he takes in in fear he will miss something crucial. Something about all of this, the thought of death defeating even the great Sir Reginald Hargreeves, defied all logic he had been force-fed since he was a boy. There just had to be more, Luther was sure of it.

     His eyes are trained on one of several vials aligned along the windowsill near the locks when it happens again, another earthquake. The vials begin to wobble, each vial gently clashing with the other creating an almost bell-like sound. Luther counts the seconds until the earthquake ends; seven seconds. A bit longer than he remembered, but nothing too unusual.

     "I can save you some time,“

     Luther turns from the windows to find Diego watching him in the doorway, wearing the same cocky smirk he always did.

     "They’re all locked,” Diego confirms. “No forced entry, no sign of struggle. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

     Diego steps into the soft blanket of light that coats the room, his face lighting up in curiosity at the sight of his brother.

     "Oh, you got big, Luther,“ his voice comes out in a mocking drawl. "What’s the secret, huh? Protein shakes? Low carbs?”

     Having none of it, Luther attempts to brush it off, desperate to move on. “What do you want?”

     Satisfied with himself for having gotten to his brother, Diego digs into his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of parchment that crinkles in his hand as he offers it.

     "The autopsy report,“ Luther grabs for it, and with another smirk, Diego pulls it away for gimmicks. "Ah,”

     Luther rips it from Diego’s hand, furthering Diego’s satisfaction.

     "And you have this why?“ Luther asks hotly, unfolding the report.

     "Well, that’s because I…” Diego bows himself into the plush upholstered chair in the corner. “broke into the coroner’s office. And surprise, surprise, Dad’s death was… normal.”

     Luther’s insistent glare scours the report as Diego confirms what it reads. “Just a boring, old heart failure.”

     Luther winces internally at the black and white photo of his father laying lifeless in the morgue.

     "Yeah, so?“ Luther chokes back.

     "So,” Diego drones, confused. “why are you in here, checking all the windows?”

     Luther looks at him suddenly, and curiously. “Were you the first one on the scene?”

     "Pogo found him.“

     "Yeah, I talked to Pogo,” Luther answered, his suspiciousness shining through. “He said he couldn’t find Dad’s monocle.”

     Sensing what is coming, Diego battles an eye-roll. There’s a glint of perturbance in his eyes, and as if testing his brother he asks the question he knows he is about to face.

     "And your point is?“

     "Can you think of a single time you saw Dad and he wasn’t wearing that monocle? No. Which means someone took it. Which means there’s a chance he wasn’t alone when he died.”

     Diego stares at the floor in impatience, waiting for his brother’s speech to finish. He launches himself out of the chair and stalks toward Luther eager to put his ideas to rest.

     "There is no mystery here. Nothing to avenge.“ Diego says. "Nothing to solve, nothing like that. It’s just a sad old man who kicked it, in a big, empty house. Just. Like he. Deserved--”

     A sound like thunder swallows the tension hanging in the air as the walls begin to shake. The vials on the window ring again, almost like an alarm system as the Hargreeves men wobble back and forth just ever so. Without breaking his threatening stance, Diego’s eyes flicker around the room. A hint of intrigue flickers behind his eyes but is quickly extinguished in his distaste for his surroundings and company.

     "A safety hazard is more like it,“ he says, looking around the room. "You telling me the old geezer never got that fixed?”

     Luther doesn’t answer, just steps forward to enunciate the staggering height difference between them. Diego still does not back down; his eyes light up instead, recognizing Luther’s body language and he laughs when all clicks.

     "Man, he never even told you what it is, did he?“ Luther stands unblinking, his fiery glare fixed on Diego as he fuels the fire. "After all this time being Daddy’s little lapdog? You threw your entire life away for that man, and he still couldn’t bother to trust you?”

     Luther was losing his fight against the anger rising, but instead of lashing out as he so wishes to do, he manages to spit a warning at Diego. “You should leave.”

     Diego throws out another dry laugh, his dark eyes settling on a seething Luther.

     "Whatever you say,“ Diego says, voice low and threatening, his eyes never once leaving him. "brother.”

     Diego retreats into the hallway, his footsteps disappearing with him leaving Luther alone with his thoughts.

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

     Viktor finds himself entering the living room and bar, his eyes lumbering around the parlor as his legs do. Yet again, his eyes fall on one of many shrines dedicated to him and his powered siblings. A shelf of frames decorated with their faces, and front and center is the first of many comics that were made in their honor. It was a cartoon display of all of them in the infamous bank heist where they first made their public debut. Encircled in bold below, were the words, School Is In Session! Meet The UMBRELLA ACADEMY

     On the lower shelves sat his father’s favored articles; the academy’s visit to DC, the seven of them posing in front of the White House as the title below dubs them the Wonder Kids, or, the eighth wonder of the world. And the other was a framed cover of ’tween hit’ magazine, sporting the academy’s smiling masked faces that looked right back at Viktor. It read, exclusive! getting real with UMBRELLA ACADEMY.

     His eyes seem to find great difficulty unsticking themselves from the sight of him and Ben in the White House photo. He remembered that day clearly, how much pressure his father had put on him — put on all of them during that trip and how helpful Ben had been, as always. That picture was the first time the whole trip he had genuinely smiled, and all because Ben had made him laugh just as the photographer snapped the picture. His heart sunk, the sadness and overwhelming sense of guilt that had overtaken his life since… it happened again, tripling all at once.

     Viktor quickly shook his head, willing the memory away to the best of his ability. He manages to pull himself away from the sight, looking anywhere but. As he travels along the walls he comes upon one of his father’s many bookshelves. His eye catches a familiar title, and curiously he pulls it from the rest to see his younger self staring back at him.

     As if experiencing it all over again, the world crumbled around him. Fearfully, his head whipped up to the shaking walls around him, immediately trying to reign in the powers he thought had spilled out. But his relief and great confusion, it was the same mysterious force looming over the house. Roughly 13.5 seconds, they had definitely gotten longer. And certainly more frequent. The thought of what could have been planting a seed of dread in his stomach that quickly sprouted as he remembered his father’s words; his threat…

     Extraordinary: My Life as The White Violin by Viktor Hargreeves

     It was the copy he had sent him when he first published. He opened up the front cover where, sure enough, printed across the opening pages were his handwriting in permanent marker.

     ‘Dad,

     I figured, why not?

     V.’

     Try as he might, he couldn’t quite picture him reading it. The only scrap of courage he had ever managed to scavenge to tell his father off; and here it was, sitting amongst his father’s things.

     "Welcome home, Master Viktor,“ comes a familiar accented voice.

     He turns to find just who he suspects, though it is clear he has aged a deal since Viktor had last seen him. The old primate stands across the room in his usual formal attire, cane, and spectacles that somehow completed the ensemble perfectly. Perhaps it was because he always reminded Viktor a bit of his father – except he always wore a smile for himself and his siblings. Not to mention he treated them with kindness, though it never seemed to extend beyond the metaphorical leash Sir Hargreeves had him tethered on.

     "Pogo,” Viktor breathes.

     He crosses the room, taking him into a hug that he gladly accepts with a warm hum. Pogo pats him gently on the back, and after a moment, he pulls away to see him smiling kindly at the young man.

     "So good to see you,“ he says, eyes dropping to the book still in his hands. "Ah, yes, your autobiography.”

     "Do you know, um…“ he swallows the lump growing in his throat, nervous to hear the answer he knows is coming. "Did he ever read it?”

     "Hmm,“ Pogo hums, and he smiles sadly up at Viktor as he shakes his head. "Not that I’m aware of.”

     Viktor nods stiffly, brushing away the disappointment that strikes at his heart. He despises the fact that after all these years when he was no longer around, Viktor’s father still managed to let him down. Figures.

     Desperately wishing to change the subject, he scours the room for a change of topic though he does not have to look long. Another spike hits his heart, though this one is a dull ache. A crack in his heart that’s been there for years, and the crack in the foundation of his family that would send it crumbling years later.

     Himself and Pogo turn to face the portrait that hangs above the mantelpiece of a young boy.

     "How long has it been since Five disappeared?“ Viktor asks numbly.

     "It’s been sixteen years, four months, and fourteen days.” He replies solemnly.

     He looks at him curiously, not having expected an exact answer. Sensing this, he nods in understanding.

     "Your father insisted I keep track.“

     Viktor’s eyes flicker to the ground in a moment of embarrassment – he was surprised to find that he felt the urge to share. Strangely, it felt as if it was keeping his memory alive.

     "You wanna know something stupid?” He scoffs internally at himself at the many memories, now they were just pathetic in his eyes. “I always used to leave the lights on for him. I was scared that he would come back, it would be late, and the house would be dark and he wouldn’t be able to find us, so he’d leave again. So, every night I’d make a little snack and make sure all the lights were on.”

     "Oh, I remember your snacks,“ Pogo says wistfully. "I’m pretty sure I stepped in half those peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches.”

     Pogo quickly recognizes the sullen look in Viktor’s eyes and tries his best to ease his pain though he does not know what good it will do. “Your father always believed that Number Five was still out there somewhere. He never lost hope.”

     Bitterly, Viktor wonders aloud. “And look where that got him.”

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

     The ornate wooden doors slide open with a deep rumble as they always had. Allison steps inside her father’s study, marveling at all the trinkets that surround her. She is only a few steps inside and already it feels like a whole new room from this perspective. All at once, the memories come flooding back to her. Clear as day, she can see her father at the desk that sits before her. His upturned nose is buried in that journal of his as he pours over it, never once breaking his concentration.

     "The children are ready for bed, sir.“ Her mother would report with a gleaming smile. "They wanted to say goodnight.”

     Grace slides the door open unveiling all seven Hargreeves children in their identical pajama sets. They stare hopefully at their father who does not bother to look up from his journal. What little hope they had evaporates into thin air when he continues scribbling, the only indication he gives to acknowledge their presence is a curt shake of the head.

     "Okay!“ Grace chirps, turning to the children with a hint of disappointment. "Time for bed now, kids. Come along now.”

     Gently, she ushers them off into the hallway and they comply with a collective huff. All except Allison, who stands rooted to the wooden floors, a glare fixed on her father. Grace places a gentle hand on her back, sending her a gentle smile.

     "Come along now, Allison, your father’s busy.“

     Allison numbly allows her mother to guide her into the hallway, and before she follows her siblings she throws one last spiteful glare at the man behind the desk.

     "He’s always busy.”

     She stalks off down the hall, curiosity slowing her movements when she realizes their mother isn’t behind her like she normally is. Allison turns her head to see her mother standing before her father’s desk at attention; she can only see half of her father’s face from where she stands but he had finally pulled his nose out of that stupid book. He says something to her mother that Allison doesn’t quite catch, but she does manage to make out some of her mother’s words;

     " …at 79% capacity. Backup generators still in contact, but I would still recommend another maintenance check within the next 72 hours.“

     "Very well.” He said, returning to scribbling in his notebook.

     Allison’s brows knit together, her attention now fully directed at her parents. What were they talking about? And why were they being so secretive? Well, Allison thinks, more secretive than usual.

     Allison inched closer to the corner leading to her bedroom where she was farther out of sight, and that’s when she noticed her mother was lingering even after having been dismissed. Something was… bothering her.

     "Sir, if I may,“ she chirped, her smile screwed on extra tight. But all Allison could hear was the fear in her voice. She had been noticing a lot more of that lately. "Perhaps the--”

     Thunder fell over the house again, the sound of it anyway as the usual rumble shook the house preventing Allison from overhearing her mother. Any hope of Grace repeating herself was quickly snuffed out in her father’s anger; clearly whatever she had said to him had upset him, and he furiously dismissed her, without ever looking up from his journal.

     Allison now watches confused as the worn-out leather chair begins to move on its own. Almost immediately, she understands why when she hears her brother’s scattered voice amongst a series of clutter being tossed around behind the desk.

     "Where’s the cash, Dad?“ Klaus mumbles, ruffling through the many drawers. "Where’s the cash.”

     Allison crosses the room to peer behind the desk with a quirked brow. As she does so, the house shakes yet again, bringing her attention briefly to the mystery that hung over their house their entire lives as it continues for several lengthy moments. She can hear Klaus from under the desk, ‘Come on, you useless pile of bricks, not now.’ The rumbling stops as it always eventually did and she makes her presence known to her brother the same way she might address her daughter whom she caught with a hand in the cookie jar.

     "Klaus?“ He jumps. "What are you doing in here?”

     Klaus’s head pops up from underneath the wooden surface, a genuine bright smile lighting up his face at the sight of his sister.

     "Oh! Allison!“ He pulls himself up to his feet. "Wow, is that you?”

     "Hey,“ he clicks his tongue, his face softening in a relieved whimper as he pulls her close. "come here. Long time. Too long.”

     She smiles knowingly, well aware of his previous antics that he now scrambled to hide. He broke the hug and began searching her eyes, pulling off a somewhat believable look of concern.

     "Hey, I was hoping to see you, actually,“ her head tilts curiously at his words. Until he finished his sentence, which quickly prompted an eye-roll. "because I wanted to get your autograph.”

     He tucked his palms underneath his chin like a baby cherub and squealed happily. “Add it to my collection!”

     Her face falls into a hard look of disappointment when she spots the white medical band around his left wrist. She gestures to it, asking pointedly.

     "Just out of rehab?“

     All too easily he slips into a feigned look of indifference and begins brushing it off with many lies that roll right off his tongue.

     "No, no. No, no, no, no,” he mutters dismissively, twisting the band around his wrist. “No, I’m done with all that.”

     He sighs, tucking it under his long sleeve to conceal it. He gestures around the room with exaggerated sadness.

     "I just came down here to prove to myself that the old man was really gone.“

    Allison raises an eyebrow at him and he smirks, immediately switching back to his usual bubbly tone.

    "And he is! He’s dead. Yeah!” He cheered, jumping up and down as he clapped. “You know how I know? Because if he were alive, not one of us would be allowed to set foot in this room.”

    He does have a point about that, Allison thought.

    “He was always in here, our whole childhood, plotting his next torment, right?”

    Klaus throws himself into the leather chair, his sneaker-clad feet piling up on top of the desk next to Allison as she began sifting through a pile of their father’s things.

    “Remember how he used to look at us? That scowl?” Klaus mused, gesturing to the portrait of their father behind him above the hearth. “Thank Christ he’s not our real father so we couldn’t inherit those cold, dead eyes!”

    Klaus pried both his eyes open with his hands, a squeaky exclamation leaving him as he peered up at Allison. Using the same squeaky, now accented voice that was supposed to be their father, he stared her down, coaxing a chuckle from her lips.

    “Ahh! Number Three!”

    “Get out of his chair,” came a gruff voice across the room.

    Both Allison and Klaus — eyes still pried apart — turn to find Luther had just entered the study, his expression worn with great agitation. Klaus’s hands drop to his lap, and he rises from the chair shocked. He and his sister silently adjust to the drastic changes in their brother.

    “Luther!” Klaus gaped, flexing his arms in gesture. “You really filled out over the years, huh?”

    “Klaus–” Luther warned, but Klaus’s hand flies up to quiet him.

    “Uh, you can skip the lecture,” his eyes flickered between Luther and Allison, and his voice began to lower in his discomfort. “I was just leaving.”

    He gestures awkwardly between the two, and he makes quick on his promise. He shuffles across the room, his hands swaying freely. “So you guys can talk amongst yourselves.”

    A gloved hand lands on his chest, stopping him where he stands, and he looks to Luther offended. He replies with a stern glare, his voice still in a low warning.

    “Drop it.”

    “Ex-squeeze me?”

    “Do it. Now.”

    He holds the man’s gaze for a long moment before giving in, and hotly he rips himself away from Luther’s hold and stomps towards the desk.

    “Alright,” he huffs, ripping one of his father’s things out from inside his long overcoat. “It’s just an advance on our inheritance!”

    Several things drop to the rug on the floor in a muted clatter, and off to the side, neither Hargreeves boys catch the small amused smile flash across Allison’s face.

    “That’s all it is!” Klaus continues, his voice falling into a mocking whine. “No need to get your panties in a bunch.”

    Allison and Luther watch with eyebrows raised as Klaus disappeared through the door, his huffy pouts fading as he does.

    Klaus stumbles out into the hallway, throwing a single glance behind his shoulder assuring he hadn’t been caught. When he knows he’s safe, he pulls the ornate wooden and gold box from the back of his trousers with a mischievous smirk. He examines it briefly, ignoring the chiding comments over his shoulder before he plants a quick kiss on the rim of the box that he knows will fetch him the money for his next deal.

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

Asian Awareness Project

A Small But Helpful Collection of Links dedicated to helping Palestine thanks to vinseul on tumblr

GoFundMe to help Gaza

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[writtenonreceipts]

29 I thought ypu were dead aelin and aedion

Thanks so much for the prompt!  I had fun with this.

Slight Canon divergence—Alternate Aelin and Aedion reunion.  Mostly because I can’t remember how the actual scene went…it’s been a while since I’ve read the books.  Oopes.

And it is deff longer than I intended it to be.  My bad…

#

Reunion

The body slumped against the stone cobble of the tavern wall with as much grace as a sack of potatoes. There was nothing special about the body.  No significant rings or emblems.  Even his coat was second rate.  

As Aelin stared down at him, she almost regretted her actions.

Almost.

She wiped her knife clean on the edge of the man’s coat and left him there, his throat sliced open like a second mouth.  Aelin looked into his dead eyes, dull now that the dark blue hue appeared black.  Not even the oil lamps over head could illuminate anything in this alleyway.

Aelin stood and sheathed her knife.  She knew she should keep it out and ready.  The night had only just begun and she had deeply intricate plans of how she would spend the night.  She kicked the foot of the dead man and left the alley.

Tucking her cloak around her, Aelin slunk through the shadows.  While she couldn’t see him, she knew Rowan was lurking somewhere nearby. The ass felt it well within her right to take care of this part of her training without any help from him.

Not that he was helpful to begin with.

Aelin paused at the corner of the street.  There was something wrong with the night.

Standing just out of reach of a streetlamp’s dull glow, Aelin peered into the night.  She couldn’t sense Rowan nearby.  He was likely in his hawk form on a rooftop somewhere.  No, there was something else disturbing the peace of the night.  Something…familiar?

Aelin scowled.  She was supposed to be gathering intel on traitors to Maeve and Wendlyn.  She was supposed to be gutting men and women for their secrets.  Using their own lies against them.  She was supposed to be proving herself worthy for her own birthright.

“Where are you?” she whispered into the night.

The village she was stalking was relatively small.  There was only one main square for businesses before the main road peeled off to homes and farmland.  It truly wasn’t the most exciting place to be or find secrets hiding in the dark corners.

That did not mean, however, that there was nothing to be learned here.  Aelin only wished that she didn’t have to kill everyone she spoke with.

Not that the last man didn’t deserve it.  Not with his wandering hands, his vile tongue, and the fact that Aelin knew exactly how many mistresses he had.

Aelin shook her head. She needed to focus.  There was something in the darkness of this sleepy village that watched her.  And it wasn’t Rowan.

Never one to walk away from her problems, Aelin cast one more look over her shoulder and then stepped off the cobbled road of the village and into the forest beyond. Rowan could follow if he wanted, but Aelin was certain there was something far more menacing in this village than a grumpy old Fae warrior and herself.

Another cold breeze rushed through the trees.  The branches overhead groaned and rustled while the dead leaves on the forest floor skittered about.  Aelin pulled her cloak tighter around her, making sure the hood kept her face covered. Having the cold air assault her face was the last thing she wanted.

As she moved deeper into the trees, Aelin could have sworn she heard footsteps behind her.  If she had better control—more control—she would have been able to tell for sure who or what was there.  For now, she remained alert.  After all, hunting things in the night was one of her specialties.

The snap of a tree branch had Aelin spinning one direction when another force came up from behind.  She spun around again but found nothing but trees looming over her and shadows crawling across the forest floor.

Baring her teeth, Aelin hissed into the wind.

She didn’t have time to try and call out to Rowan when a massive shape barreled into her.

Yelping, Aelin and her attack fumbled in the dirt and debris of the forrest floor.  She managed to free her knife from its sheath only to have her attacker whip her around onto her belly, knife flying from her fingers.

Fae.

A damned Fae.

Growling, Aelin struggled in the strong hands of the Fae.  The hands holding her tightened and she was yanked up, send headfirst into a tree. Aelin barely managed to catch herself before breaking her nose.  Her cheek and hands certainly were scraped up by the rough bark of the tree.

“Who the hell are you?” she snarled.  

Aelin grabbed from the second dagger hidden in her boot.  Brandishing it, she stared into the empty void of the forest.  Her attacker disappeared.

“Little killer, little killer,” a low voice sang.  It wasn’t Rowan.  Aelin knew that much.  But there was something, something familiar about it.  “And I thought you’d put up a fight.”

“Show yourself bastard and I’ll give you a fight,” Aelin said.  She spun the dagger in her hand and strained to listen to the sounds of the forest.  Anything different, any steps, any change in the air.

The Fae moved for her. Aelin met him with her dagger slicing up for his belly.  He rolled from the attack and Aelin only managed to rip the edge of his cloak.  

His legs swiped for hers and they were on the ground again.  Aelin tried to swipe at him—to hit flesh, bone, anything.  It didn’t matter.  He blocked her every move before he got one large hand wrapped around her throat.

Gasping, Aelin dropped her dagger and reached up to grip his hand.

The male chuckled and drew leaned over Aelin.  His face was cast in the shadows of his cloak, but Aelin could still see a sharp smile on his mouth.  She scratched at his hands, his wrists.  This was not how she would die.

Where the hell was Rowan?

Overhead, moonlight broke through the cloud coverage of the night and filtered through the empty tree branches of the wood.  Finally, Aelin was able to see better than the blue and gray shadows of the night. If only she could breathe.

But the male leaning over her froze.  Something caught his attention because he swore and rolled off of her.  

Immediately Aelin gasped for air, her hands going to her throat to massage the tender skin.

“Hell,” she croaked.

Before she could recover properly, the male had a dagger out and aimed directly at Aelin.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

Aelin continued trying to breathe.  Answering him didn’t seemed to be very important.  In their scuffle her hood had fallen and now she had dirt and leave in her hair.  Shaking the mess out, she scowled at the Fae and his still covered face.

Now that they weren’t fighting to the death, she could tell his was a large male.  Tall, broad shouldered, well-built.  He wore fighting leathers and a loose tunic tucked into his breaches.  Wisps of blonde hair flew out from his hood.  

There was nothing overtly familiar about him.  Yet still, Aelin couldn’t shake the thought from her mind…she knew him.

“Don’t make me force an answer from you,” the male said.

Aelin stared up at him. The dagger in his hand gleamed in the moonlight. It was a beautiful weapon.  Well-crafted and balanced.  If she made it out of this alive, she’d have to figure out a way to steal it from him.

“Tell me your name and I’ll tell you mine,” she crooned.  

She half expected a chuckle, a curse, something other than the dead silence.

The Fae took a step closer until the blade of the dagger kissed Aelin’s neck.

“Who. Are. You.”  His voice took deadly edge, far sharper than the weapon at her throat.

Aelin cocked her head. The bite of the dagger on her skin wasn’t anything special, hardly noticeable.  Even when the small bead of blood slipped down her neck.

“Aelin Galathynius,” she said.  She was trying to discern what this male was on about.  The sooner she could figure that out, the sooner she could get out of this mess.

The words were no sooner off her tongue than the Fae had a hand at her throat again, the blade to her belly.  He pulled her to her feet.

“Liar,” he hissed.

The sudden motion had his cloak shifting and his hood fell from his face.  And Aelin found herself looking into his eyes.  Her eyes.  Ashryver.

Her mouth went dry and her muscles taut.  She’d heard rumors of the wolf.  Adarlan’s Whore.  She didn’t want to believe them.  Didn’t want to think of her cousin, her once best friend as such a monster…

“Aedion,” she whispered.

“Who are you?” he snarled.

Aelin gaped.  He was handsome, she’d always known he would be. A strong jaw, straight nose, golden blonde hair.  They could have been siblings.  They practically were.

Against her better judgement, Aelin reached a hand out to rest on the side of his face.

“Aedion,” she repeated. “By the mother, look at you.”

And he was stumbling back as through Aelin’s words, her touch, had burned him.  Breathing deeply, he ran a hand through his hair and stared.

“It’s not possible,” he said.  His gold and blue eyes were wide and wild in the moonlight.  “I didn’t want to believe that captain and what he said.  It’s not possible.”

Aelin couldn’t help the tears that burned behind her eyes.  The slipped down her cheeks as she looked at him.

“I thought you were dead,” Aedion whispered.

Dragging her hands over her wet cheeks Aelin shook her head. “I may as well have been.”

As he sheathed his dagger, Aedion kept shaking his head.  His eyes never left Aelin though.  It was as though he believed she would disappear the second he looked away.

“I never wanted to believe what happened,” he said.  “I wanted to…I tried to…”

Aelin stepped forward holding a hand out to her cousin. “I know,” she said, “I know what you did.”

And looking into his eyes, Aelin started to understand a little bit of why he did those things.  Because not only were their eyes the same color—they had the same regrets, the same horror painted in the iris’.  

“Aelin.”

Without any warning, Aedion rushed forward and pulled Aelin into a bone crushing hug.  For the first time in a very long while, she finally began to feel like she was returning home.

#

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tags:

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[leon-scott-kennedy]

So Covert, I Hardly Knew Him

Part I Part III | Part IV

Part II: Descent

The air tasted stale. Corpses didn’t need fresh oxygen to survive if that was even the right word. They could lay dormant for years, decades, maybe longer. No one had tested that theory yet. Hopefully, nobody did. The stench alone would kill anyone that stumbled across them.

Whatever Leon had expected behind door number one, dead silence wasn’t it. Maybe the distant lowing of the decaying dead or even the hum of ventilation. The base, abandoned as it was, clearly had emergency auxiliary power to ensure lockdown containment. Still, instead, he found a pitch-black sterile hallway with neatly labelled doors running down either side of the hall. Most of them were useless bureaucratic offices until the hall abruptly ended at an elevator door.

“First, I need power,” Leon muttered. His voice sounded far too loud to his own ears. He stabbed at the down button a few times, and as expected, nothing happened. “Right.”

Leon should have paid more attention to the signs because halfway back down the hall, between ‘Human Resources’ and ‘Server Room,’ he found a door labelled ‘Stairs.’ That was an option, but one that didn’t offer a quick escape. ‘Security’ sat directly across the hall; ‘Control Room’ to its left.

The door to the control room was locked. Not wholly unsurprising, but irritating nonetheless. Rather than waste time tracking down a key that was no doubt somewhere in one of the dozen rooms on this floor, Leon kicked the door. It barely budged. After a few more well-placed kicks, Leon bodily slammed into the door, and the thick wood finally splintered. He finished the job with a last angry kick.

Leon raised his gun and stepped into the room, ready for a body to fly at him any second from the dark. “Finally, some good luck,” Leon said. He scanned the room, his flashlight passing over desks of binders, paper, and panels of buttons. On the far wall, a row of lights glowed faintly, all red, except two green.

On closer inspection, Leon surmised that the only systems online were specimen containment and sample storage. “Someone used their brain,” he muttered. If he was lucky, any outbreak had been contained, but when was he ever that lucky.

A quick search through the room yielded very little. Finally, Leon found an abandoned keycard that he swiped off the desk and tucked into his back pocket. Probably wouldn’t get him far, but better safe than sorry. Next, he dug through the piles of bound operations manuals for a clue as to his next step. Everything he needed to know to get power up and running was detailed with step-by-step instructions.

“That’s handy.” Leon snapped a picture with his phone just in case.

The generator room was in the north end of the fourth sub-floor laboratory testing and specimen storage. But, of course, the elevator wouldn’t work without power, and the automatic magnetic locks on the lower floors wouldn’t open either.

Leon pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of fucking course. Better check security.”

The door to the security office is unlocked and swings open with a light push.

“Great security,” Leon mused. The room was empty except for dead security monitors, overturned rolling office chairs, and a mini-fridge that Leon did not want to open. “Guess that’s a bust. Onwards, and downwards.”

Leon busted into the stairwell with effort and a bruised shoulder but quickly discovered that he couldn’t enter any of the lower floors no matter the amount of enticement he gave the doors with his foot. The automatic, magnetic locks at work. But to turn on the power to open the doors, he needed to get into the fourth sub-floor; somewhat counterproductive.

Hopefully, the amount of time and energy it took Leon to break into the secure labs had been enough to keep whatever lay below contained. His last option was a small vent in the upper left corner of the room beside the door labelled S4 in peeling blue paint. But, unfortunately, it would be a tight squeeze.

Leon couldn’t pry the vent cover off with his fingers, so he trekked all the way up the partially crumbling stair, back to the first floor, to find something to wedge under the casing. But, instead, he found a metal nameplate in an office with an empty fish tank and a dead cactus. More living things that had suffered in the pursuit of the biological hack to weaponizing life itself.

By the time he scaled back down the stairs and pried the vent cover off with the edge of the nameplate, Leon’s shoulder ached something fierce. He tucked the nameplate into his back pocket, then grabbed the edge of the vent and hauled himself in. His shoulders were almost too broad, but he pulled his body through the vent inch by inch like an octopus squeezing into an impossible tight crevice until he found a grate large enough for him to escape through.

The metal cover clattered noisily on the floor below. Leon dropped down into an equally sterile lab-like hallway, except this one was trashed. Blood, grime, and gore coated the walls. The stench of rotting flesh was so overwhelming that Leon gagged.

Leon could spot two bodies from his tactical crouch, one behind a toppled desk and the other slumped against the wall ten feet away. The second body had no torso. Medical and lab equipment was strewn down the hall, lab windows were shattered, and splintered doors hung off their hinges in a still-life of pure chaos and devastation.

Glass crunched under Leon’s boots, and then he heard it - the muted murmur of the undead. His hands clench tighter around the grip of his Samurai Edge and flashlight as he swept the hall for any sign of movement.

A shadow out of the corner of his eye shifted. Leon spun. Two staggering victims, four shots. The bodies dropped. A crunch to his left, six more shots, three more bodies.

The still air behind him shifted, and he turned. Not quick enough.

Cold rotted hands gripped him by the head and shoulder, the sudden weight throwing him off balance. His flashlight skittered across the floor and collided with the frame of an overturned gurney. Leon twisted, throwing the body into the wall, but the zombie lurched, barely put off by the aggressive impact.

Leon doesn’t have time to raise his weapon.

BANG!

BANG!

Brain matter and blood splatter hit Leon across the face. The body crumpled at his feet. Leon could barely make out the slight figure in the dark, but as she stepped forward, gun levelled at his chest, he recognized the long legs under a dark thigh-length trench coat.

“Ada.” Leon wiped the wet spray off his face with the back of his arm.

Ada’s smirk was lethal. “How have you survived this long without me?”

Mouth pressed into a thin frown, Leon raised his own gun. Ada Wong, mercenary to the highest bidder, was never a good sign.

<< First || Next >

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Welcome to Backwater ch.16 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Where was the one place that Red told Stretch not to go? Right.

~~*~~

Read ‘Into the Woods’ on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Thin branches caught at Stretch as he slowly stumbled his way through the darkened woods. Twigs catching at his sleeves and scraping at his bare ankles as if trying to hold him back. He ignored it, ignored the annoyance and the scratches they left behind. One snagged and held until his t-shirt tore under the strain and still, he walked, following that faint, sweet song.

In front him of sparks seemed to form from nothingness, flickering lights dancing right before his eye sockets. Beneath the gauzy layers muffling his consciousness were vague thoughts of old legends from Waterfall about ghost lights that led travelers down wrong paths to their deaths, drowning them in still hidden pools where even their bones would never be found.

He remembered telling those stories to Blue at bedtime, whispering those haunted tales and then pouncing on his brother when he’d least expect it. Drawing out shrieks and laughter, his delight worth ending up with a little bro sleeping next to him in his bed that night after a nightmare.

He remembered it all and still he did not, could not, stop walking. It all seemed dreamy and distant, felt like his feet didn't belong to him, only vehicles carrying him deeper into the shadows beneath the heavy boughs rustling above. The lights seem bigger now, the sparks collecting together and forming into a larger shape. He couldn’t quite tell what it was, it was fluid, changing even as he looked right at it.

For the first few steps, thin moonlight glinted through the branches. No longer, every stride carried him deeper where even the moon couldn't penetrate. The only light was the face in front of him and when had it become a face? Stretch wasn’t sure, but he followed it, fascinated by her parted lips where that song formed and was cast out between them, drowning in it as surely as those who lost their way in Waterfall.

Her face was as white as the moon’s, surrounded by a cloud of long, pale hair, nothing more than a face that hovered out of his dreamy reach. He kept walking, following along with the double enchantment of that voice and face, even though that vision began to blur, melting like candlewax into something else entirely. Beneath the veneer of loveliness something was hidden, awfulness lurking under the surface, rotten with sharp teeth. The head hung in the air in front of him and slowly he was beginning to see what was dangling under it. Glinting wetly was no body at all but horrific, dripping entrails that heaved with every croon of song.

He could see it, yet even as something deep within his soul was howling in terror and beating against the bars of his mind, he only felt a sense of numb lethargy. That song ended and he only stood there, blinking dumbly and yearning for its return. She reached out to touch him, her spindly fingers tipped with long, curling claws, and he didn’t flinch as they brushed his cheekbone, caught him under the chin to yank his head painfully up.

“Too old.” Even those few words were sonorous, as lilting as a lute. That beautiful voice warmed him, so lovely, the most gorgeous thing he’d ever heard and the disappointment it held made him want to weep. He might have cast himself at her feet to plead forgiveness if not for her ruthless grip on his chin. She let out a disgruntled hiss, low and sibilant, “Much too old…a Monster? No blood, no flesh, no bite—ah, but wait.” She leaned in, sniffing delicately and something about that was familiar, something— “but you have magic, plenty of sweet, delicious magic.” She smiled and he stared dreamily at the rows of razor-sharp teeth, her long tongue lolling out and leaving a sheen of dark saliva on her lips. “You’ll do.”

It was only when she came closer and he could smell the fetid stink of her breath that a worm of panic finally wriggled its way through his calm. Gone was the angelic aura, her appearance twisting instead into that of a haggard ghoul, an anglerfish dangling her lure. He could smell blood and decay, and something worse, rotting meat and vinegar.

Her jaw seemed to unhinge, showing a gaping maw wide enough to swallow him whole, her gullet a deep, moldering gray that exhaled a fresh stink of vinegar, and he still couldn’t move, his silent shrieks only in his own mind as she drew him closer.

As she reeled him in, a loud, cracking sound filled the clearing, a splintered branch falling heavily to the ground. It broke whatever spell that held him and with a violent wrench, Stretch tore away from her, turning and running in a blind panic. He couldn’t see, crashing painfully through the trees in front of him but he could hear and behind him was something else tearing through the branches and tree trunks.

Stretch didn’t dare look back, he only ran, all the panic he couldn't feel earlier boiling up in him. He wasn’t even sure if he was going the right way, lost in a panicked flight away from whatever was following him. Reaching for his magic was pure instinct, for an attack, a shortcut, anything at all. He nearly gagged at the agonizing burn as it rejected him yet again, a splintering throb of pain jabbing into his temples.

He stumbled over his own feet and nearly fell, skittering in damp leaves and barely caught his balance enough to keep running, tearing through the whipping bushes, thin branches snapping around him. There was no time, nothing he could but let loose the screams denied to him earlier as something heavy caught him right between the shoulder blades and sent him sprawling to the ground, knocking the breath out of him.

“no!” Stretch panted out, clawing at the dirt, fallen leaves scattering as he tried to crawl free, grasping at weeds that pulled up uselessly from the soft ground. “no, no, no.” His voice rose into a panicked scream that only cut off when he was abruptly rolled onto his back. He cringed, expecting to feel needle sharp teeth sinking into his skull, crunching him down in a single gulp, and his skittering regrets were only for his brother, his dear, sweet little brother worrying over him back in Ebott and who would never know what happened to him.

Seconds ticked by and nothing happened, nothing but deep, heavy breathing coupled with the weight holding him down.

Stretch braced himself, taking a trembling grip on his sanity as he finally opened his sockets and found himself looking up into a pair of deep red eyes set in a large white skull. Bony paws were on his ribcage, pinning him down into the leaves and dirt. The creature was skeletal, like him, but like no skeleton he’d ever seen. The frontal bone of its skull was ridged with bony outcropping like horns or antlers, its sockets large and slanted, and its wide mouth was set with the teeth of a canine predator. But this was no dog or wolf, nothing that belonged in the current animal index. It was something prehistoric, dragging its bones from the murky depths of time to stand above him and stare with burning crimson eyes.

Thick, damp breath whuffed into his face with blistering heat and Stretch could smell its breath. Not fetid meat, but something oddly spicy, something---

It looked him over, crimson eyes flicking down and up, and then through that mouth of sharp teeth said perfectly clearly. "Did it bite you?"

The only sound that escaped Stretch was a near wheeze, "nnnnnnn...?"

The creature snarled louder and Stretch flinched, cringing away from those jagged teeth as it demanded, louder, "Did it? Did it bite you!"

"n-no," he shook his head frantically. "no, no, it didn't."

“You’re sure?” Another growl, more breath scented with that strange spice and when Stretch didn’t reply, another loud, feral snarl, “Are you sure??”

“yes!!” Stretch screamed back, coughing on a near sob.

The creature sagged, some of its ferocity draining into peculiar relief. Its claws dug in briefly as it moved, large paws settling on the forest floor as it released Stretch and padded away. “Don’t move,” it ordered.

He very nearly disobeyed it immediately, don’t move, what the fuck, who did Not Wolfy think he was fooling? Stretch was three seconds from fucking gone when a loud, ghastly shriek came from far too close, that same unearthly voice from before.

The beast snarled again, but not at Stretch, it turned and directly that roar in the direction of a faint, moony glow that wasn’t the moon, not at all. Stretch closed his sockets and didn’t move, shivering as the cold ground beneath him seeped into his clothes.

There was another round of incomprehensible growls and shrieks, all too close, and exhaustion was spreading through Stretch with the cold, it all seemed like so much, too much, and all he could do was croak out a miserable, “please,”

“Be quiet!” From much closer than he’d expected, and that voice held nothing of the sibilant appeal that led him into these woods. It was deep and rough, dark as the night sky and the words bitten off on jagged edges. “Stay quiet and don’t move. Don't run, it'll only make her chase you. Give me a moment to calm her down."

More growls and shrieks filled the cold night air that seemed to count as a sort of language, and Stretch could only lie there in the surreality of two creatures of woods arguing over him. He didn’t want to look, still couldn’t help opening his sockets a bare slit to see that horrible head hovering in the air in front of the creature that was like a reverse Night Fury, all sharp teeth that snapped and clenched, their voices squabbling loudly.

Mini-Smaug didn’t look at him, but it spoke again, low and steady. "She's angry that I am attempting to steal her rightful prey and the only reason she's not fighting for it is she hadn't bitten you yet. I told her you're mine.”

It…She? Whatever she was, she didn’t seem too happy to be giving up her midnight snack to the local dragon contingency. She huffed angrily, baring needle-sharp teeth then turned in her hovering way to vanish into the woods with a last angry shriek.

Falkor’s evil twin watched her go, waiting until that pale unearthly glow faded entirely before turning back to Stretch and the only light in the clearing was the crimson of its eyes.

Laying there so far from home, for the very first time Stretch wished that he’d never gotten on that bus. He didn't even have his phone to tell his brother goodbye, could taste his bitter regret from not answering any of those worried texts. He couldn't teleport, couldn’t fight. He was useless, always had been, and so too would be his death.

He could hear footsteps moving across the clearing, soft in spite of the creature’s size. Stretch squeezed his sockets tightly shut and managed a single, desperate plea. "make it quick."

There was a significant pause, a moment of utter silence, then, "What?"

"please, make it quick," he begged. "don't drag it out. eat my soul first, get it over with." The rest of him would dissolve to dust pretty quick after but he didn't see a need to mention that. He let his soul form in his ribcage and a new silvery glow filled the small clearing, the light seeping through his thin t-shirt. Hopefully this creature wouldn’t take too close a look at it before starting its meal or else the deal might be off, and Stretch wasn’t sure he wanted to consider what might be worse.

Silence, then the creature made a sound that Stretch slowly recognized as laughter. A strange clattering sound rose up and he opened his sockets again to see the creature rolling around in the leaves, still chuffing out great guffaws. Okay, getting eaten was bad enough, he didn’t need to be seasoned with any extra humiliation. He glared at the creature and huffed out, “what the hell is so funny?”

It rolled to its feet, clawed toes gouging into the leafy soil and returned that glare with sour amusement, "I'm not going to eat you, fool," it growled out scornfully, "The taste of idiot would spoil any meal. I told her you were mine, not mine to eat."

How that sort of face could raise its brow bones suggestively, Stretch didn’t know, but it took a minute for those words to combine with that expression. When it did, his shock and fear didn’t lesson, only took on another flavor.

"oh. oh, yours…you…uh." Stretch sat there dumbly, staring at the creature with wide sockets, ‘cause holy shit, it was fucking huge. He wondered if he wasn’t better off getting eaten.

The beast let out an irritated huff, its long tail lashing agitatedly. “Don’t look at me like that, I told her that to get her to leave, not because I was after a mate.”

“oh. right.” At least some part of him had already been consumed tonight, because someone had obviously already eaten whatever sense he still had rattling around.

“She won’t bother you again, but she’s hardly the only one out here looking for an easy meal. Can you walk?” The beast sat down, tail curling around its feet, and Stretch took that moment to scramble to his.

He gave himself a once-over, wriggling his ankles and bending his knees. Everything hurt, sure, he was gonna be one huge bruise tomorrow, but nothing was broken, thank the stars. “yeah, i’m okay.”

"Good,” The beast yawned, a weirdly benign way to show off those rows of menacingly sharp teeth. “Now get out."

Get out. Right. Getting out sounded like a top-notch plan. Stretch looked around at the woods, at the trees towering over them. There was no path, just a bunch of damn trees that all looked the same in the dark. "pal, i would love to, wanna tell me how?"

The creature let out an annoyed grumble and stood, pushed past him in a rough scrape of bone, "Follow me, outsider."

Follow me. Welp, he was at least seventy percent sure this one wasn’t gonna eat him and if they bumped into anything else that might, those claws and teeth would probably dissuade them better than Stretch’s current brand of useless. Cautiously, he trailed behind the creature, two steps behind that long tail that moved with sinuous ease. He still wasn’t sure quite what this guy was, but asking seemed kinda rude, all things considered, what with the saving his life and all. Seemed like getting saved was starting to become a trend here in Backwater and it was not one Stretch liked much. Someone else needed to take a turn at playing Lois Lane because he was done with his turn

But that didn’t mean that all questions were off the table. “what was that? that…lady thing?”

The creature didn’t turn around. “She was a penanggalan.”

“well, that sure cleared things up,” Stretch muttered. He followed the creature over a fallen tree, wincing as he scraped his ankle on the bark. “how did you even pronounce that? it sounds like you gargled with broken glass and chased it down with a bottle of motor oil.”

The creature didn’t seem to care much about linguistic issues, it didn’t even look back at Stretch to make sure he was keeping up, only kept forging the trail. “Be that as it may, it is what she is.”

“evil penguin, got it.” Then warily, not sure he wanted the answer. “so what would have happened if she’d bit me. you would’ve handed me over with a bone apple tea and a napkin?”

“If she’d bitten you, I would have had to kill you.” It was said so matter-of-factly that at first it didn’t even register.

Once it did, the new murder threat did not sit well. Stretch stopped, clapping a hand over his mouth against a sudden rush of nausea and took a stumbling step back as he stared at the creature in horror. “you…what??”

The creature paused then and this time it looked back at him, crimson eyes cutting through the blackness. “I wouldn’t have enjoyed it.”

“oh, like that’s reassuring!”

“It would have been necessary,” the creature said heavily. Their tail lashed agitatedly. “Their bite is infectious. You’d soon be covered with running sores and an insatiable urge to spread that bite to others until you died in slow agony. There is no cure, it’s generally an exceedingly rare disease. They usually eat their prey entirely.”

“oh, well, nice to see they have their own version of pandemic control!”

The creature turned away and started walking again. “Better that than the alternative.”

“so why didn’t you kill it, then?” The evil penguin was still out there looking for a snack and whoever it ran into next time probably wouldn’t be so lucky.

The creature stopped again so suddenly that Stretch ran into it, wincing as that agitated tail lashed against him like a whip.

“And are you one who dictates what should live and what should die?” the creature demanded. “Do others get to be predator or prey by your leave? She was hunting in the manner of her kind and you think you can demand her life as penance for that?”

“uh.” His first instinct was to say fuck, yes, but a harder look at it all made him think this guy had a point. As much as he didn’t want to be anyone’s lunch special, could he really fault another creature for simply doing what they did? It was an uncomfortable thought and maybe one he’d revisit later, but for now he only said, softly, “no. i don’t. you’re right, sorry.”

The creature stared at him with those burning eyes then swung back around and walked on, Stretch at his heels, and there didn’t seem to be anything else to say.

The walk back took longer than he expected; it was slow going, it felt like the trees were closed in around him and he kept stumbling into them, the rough bark scraping his bones and catching at his clothes. It was getting colder as well, his thin t-shirt and shorts offering little protection against the chill. Stretch started to shiver, wrapping his arms around himself to hold in whatever meagre warmth he could, but he could still hear the dull rattle of his own bones as he shook.

The creature paused and made a weird, rough sound deep in its throat.

"what? what it is?" Stretch looked around a little wildly, half expecting to see something else crawling out of the shrubbery, ghouls, vampires, the knights of Ni, who the fuck knew.

What he wasn’t expecting was for the creature to say abruptly, "Get on my back."

"uhhhh.” There was probably a good reply for that, but Stretch felt like his mind short-circuited, leaving him with only a mess of vowels and constants to string together into incoherency.

"Get on my back," the creature repeated impatiently, “I'll carry you."

Well. If this guy was gonna eat him, he'd already be chow. When in the woods, do as the creatures did, he guessed.

The creature crouched down and Stretch managed to clumsily clamber up, using the bristling bones as handholds until he could settle on its spine. It was more comfortable than he would have guessed and almost before he finished the thought, they were off. He scrambled to grab hold, clinging desperately as it ran unerringly through the woods. Its large paws were silent as they fell on the underbrush, never missing a step or falling for a trick of shadows, weaving easily between the tree trunks and bushes so that they didn’t even brush against Stretch’s legs. He huddled down against the spine behind that large, ridged skull, and into the warm bone beneath him, and let the world fade around him.

It seemed like hardly any time at all passed before the creature slowed again, then stopped. Stretch slowly loosened his hold, half-expecting to find something blocking their path. But in front of them was the tree line and he could see a single yellowed light in the distance, the one from Red’s porch.

Stretch slid off the creatures back and took a couple of stumbling steps towards it, choking on relief and wonder.

“how did you know to bring me here…” Stretch trailed off and looked back. Those crimson eyes cut through the darkness and memory clicked like a key turning in a lock, a half-forgotten dream of crimson eyes through window glass, staring in at him. “it’s you! you’ve been watching me!”

The creature only gazed back at him, unperturbed. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“the fuck you don’t, you liar!” Stretch sputtered. “I saw you outside my window, you…you creeper!”

Maybe not wise to shout names at the dragon creature who’d saved his life, but it’d been a long night. Didn’t seem to matter much, the creature only rolled their shoulders in an approximation of a shrug. “You’re a stranger on my territory. That bears watching.”

“oh, are there bears out there now?” Stretch snapped. “are they spying on me, too? ‘cause i have the right to bear arms of my own, you know!” Or, you know, he bet Miss Maggie sold civil war muskets alongside the bicycles and probably wouldn’t bat an eye to sell him one.

An irritated exhale puffed smoke out through the creature’s nasal cavity. “All you have to do is stay out of the woods, fool. Even you should be able to manage that.”

“i didn’t mean to go into them the first time, my dog—my dog!” All his anger slid away and Stretch fell to his knees on the ground, his skull in his hands, “oh, fuck, the dog, red is gonna be so upset.” Tears were burning in his sockets, he’d fucked up big this time, Red was so kind to him and all Stretch gave him in return was bullshit and pain.

“Outsider, look up.” Gruffly said, but not unkind, and he did, still blinking hard. To see the dog sitting on the porch, wagging his tail happily and brimming with delight from their adventure.

“you little bastard,” Stretch said, relieved. Seriously, he was glad Mutt was okay and not only because it’d give him a chance to murder the brat himself.

A nudge at his back made him startled and he turned to see the creature next to him, “Go on, outsider. Count your luck this once and don’t come back to the woods.”

Like he was about to hop on Trip Advisor to plan another tour? “trust me, you wouldn’t catch me in there on a bet.”

“Keep your bets and stay away.” The creature turned and started walking towards the woods, only to hesitate, glancing back with those deep red eyes staring at him unblinking. “Outsider,” it said, softly, “I would have hated to kill you.”

“yeah, well, i would’ve hated to die, so, thanks, dread pirate roberts, i’m off.” Stretch didn’t wait for a reply, only scrambled to his feet and headed towards the house, but he could have sworn he heard a soft sound behind him, almost like a laugh.

He trudged up to the porch, squinting in the glaring yellow light and the dog let out a happy bark, tail wagging furiously.

“shhhh!” Stretch scolded. He snagged his bag from the chair on the back porch, he’d had more than enough of the night air, probably enough for ten years or so. “i’m mad enough at you right now, if you wake up red, i’m selling you to the kids tomorrow along with the candy.”

The dog only kept thumping his tail unrepentantly, following Stretch into the house all the way up the stairs to his room. He hopped up on the bed next to Stretch as he sprawled out on the thin mattress, settling in with a sigh by his hip.

Probably Stretch should take a hot shower and wash away any lingering stench from…everything. At the very least he could curl up on the bed in a ball of incoherent, gibbering terror, probably nobody would fault him for that. Probably.

Instead, he dug out his phone from his bag. It felt heavy in his hand, the weight of it more than mere electronics and he only held it for a long moment. Then he opened the messaging app and started scrolling through his brother’s old texts.

They were hard to read. The first few only curious, barely tinged with worry as they wondered where he’d gotten off to so early and with every lack of reply, the texts were worse, moving through panic to angry scolding, then outright fear before finally into resignation. His little brother was so very worried and had no idea where he was, if he was truly safe, and Stretch couldn’t even promise he was.

hey bro, i have a place to stay, he wrote, made some friends. i’m doing okay.

It was the truth. Mostly.

He started to set his phone aside, but before he could, it buzzed with a reply despite the late hour. Stretch took a long, slow breath, let it out, then checked the message.

That’s good. I love you, Pappy.

Tears stung in his sockets again, trailing down his face in twin warm streams. He wiped them away impatiently, then had to fend off the dog when he tried to lick them away with a whine. Once he was no longer in danger of smothering from a wet tongue, he texted back a hasty, love you, too, bro.

Stretch closed his sockets and let his head fall back against the thin pillow. One hand settled into the dog’s thick fur, the sturdy warmth of its body cuddled close to him and in the other, he held his phone tightly against his sternum, right over his damaged, aching soul.

~~*~~

tbc

[greaterspawnislands]

ain't no compass, brother, ain't no map | of the seed and the sickle

new series incoming! hope you enjoy!

(link in the notes/reblog)

Two weeks after Wilbur exhales his last rattling breath, twelve days after fresh dirt had been shoveled over the mound next to the willow tree, Tommy takes three things with him from the hollow house.

First, the guitar that Wilbur's fingers had been too weak to play in the last few days of his life. His fingers had strummed a chord that was feeble and out of tune before setting the guitar down and turning to his elbow to choke out a cough.

Tommy's own fingers catch along the greased strings, and he hums to himself as he carefully sets it in tune before closing the case around it, the worn leather hugging it tightly.

Next, one of his father's cloaks. The black material slides around his shoulder and the clasp locks neatly. The cloak is a touch too short for him, and when Tommy twists he can see the white diamonds that line the bottom edge. It will not shield him entirely from the biting cold outside, but the cloak subtly shimmers with protection, warmth, unbreaking, and it will have to be enough.

Finally, he stands in front of the Blood God, who watches him prepare with a careful expression. "Tommy," he rumbles, the same way he has every time Tommy declares his plan, the way he has every day since the first. "Are you sure about this?"

Tommy sets his jaw, glaring up at Technoblade. "I'm going to get Wilbur back, Techno."

Techno nods with an exhaustion that doesn't suit him, arms crossing as he leans against the door frame. He isn't in his usual gear that he wears when he leaves for his godly duties, instead dressed in a simple cotton shirt and loose pants. A long pink braid, frayed and falling apart, drifts over one shoulder. Tommy almost delays himself, beginning to reach out to rebraid it, but he pulls himself back. "It's just- he's not going to be the same, Tommy. You know that. You saw him last time."

"I know." Tommy stamps one foot, the cloak rippling around him. "But he's still my dad, Techno, it's still Phil. I have to try."

"It's not just him," Techno warns gravely, and Tommy feels a shiver run down his spine.

"I know that," he repeats wearily, head dipping. "I know."

A heavy hand settles on his shoulder, and Tommy looks up from the floor to meet Techno's burning eyes, managing to keep from shying away from the ever-roaring fire within them. "In that case, I will not hinder you on your quest." He leans forward, pressing a light kiss to the top of the teen's forehead. "May the deities and gods grant you sight and blessing, and may your quest reap the rewards you seek."

Warmth pricks at Tommy's eyes, the source from the same grief that had been sitting in his throat for weeks or years, and he grunts to hide the emotion welling up in him. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the sight, Blade."

Techno scoffed, ruffling Tommy's hair as he steps back. "Bring him home, Tommy. Go where I cannot go, find who I cannot find."

Tommy tilts his head slightly, and for a moment he isn't sure who they're talking about anymore. Techno has that faraway look in his eyes again, the one that holds memories from centuries of a friendship that was now splintered and left to wither.

"I will," he whispers, the words sticking in his throat. There is no more dawdling. There is no more point in stalling, there is nothing left to say.

Tommy leaves Technoblade in the threshold of their home, and goes where the Blood God cannot.

Frostbitten leaves crunch underfoot as he passes the treeline, hands drifting along snow-covered bark as he traverses the forest beyond the fields of their property. The trees grow more dense as he travels, tall aspen trees stretching their empty arms across the bleak, cloudy sky. Further overhead, crows dot the treetops, their caws echoing in the otherwise silent forest.

Tommy turns, listening to their cries as he stumbles blindly through the forest. Banking left, the caws grow louder, and two crows balance on a lower branch, peering at him with eyes far too intelligent for any normal animal. Tommy knows who these crows belong to, and it takes all his patience to find his politeness instead of attacking with barbed grief.

"Hello," he murmurs, approaching them gently. The two birds dart back, heads tilting forward as they examine him. "You know where I'm looking to go, don't you?" One caws, blinking once, skittering along the branch. "Yeah," he encourages. "You think you can show me?"

The two crows exchange a look, then look to a third as it flutters down to join them on their branch. In unison, the three birds take flight, easily weaving through the icy branches as they flutter off.

Tommy gapes, clutching his cloak around him as he breaks into a run. "Wait!" he calls, struggling to keep his head up to follow the birds as he navigates the dense forest. "Wait, please! I need to know the way!"

He follows them until his stamina runs out and he staggers to a stop, leaning against a tree as he folds forward, his hands on his knees. "Oh, fuck," he gasps, chest heaving. "Fuck, no, wait, I've lost you all, you haven't-"

An ear piercing caw catches his ear, and from the sound, more crows are startled from their branches, beginning to circle in the sky above him. Tommy watches the murder, transfixed for a moment, until another caw brings his head snapping back down.

Directly across from him is a hill that hadn't been there a moment ago, a cave in the center of it sloping gently downward into what Tommy wished was merely darkness unknown.

"Right," he says, throat suddenly bone-dry. "Thank you, I suppose."

He doesn't want to enter the space, it barely looks tall enough for him as it is. The cave whistles with the wind and whispers words Tommy can't quite make out, and doesn't want to strain to hear.

But the notes lingering in the air sound like Wilbur when he sings in springtime, light and gentle in the warm breeze. It's the image of the three of them on the porch, Tommy watching Phil whittle some wood into a carved pattern as Wilbur plucks away at a beautiful melody.

He grips the strap of the leather guitar case that is slung across his back. The crows chirrup encouragingly, beady eyes watching him with great interest as he steps past the threshold.