#either way he left behind a clusterfuck that the others now have to figure out

[do-not-careissa]

Stuck thinking about Bruce going through with the Nightfall protocol at the end of Arkham Knight and the absolute dumpster fire that must've left behind, at least for the Bat's in relation to Jason. Because by the end of the game who actually knows Jason is alive? Bruce and Alfred, who both just blew up the manor and disappeared into the wind without a word to anyone, and Barbara (which we only know about because of the Arkham Knight audio tapes, so as far as what the game shows she and Bruce didn't say anything to each other about Jason or AK. Babs could easily write the whole reveal off as a weird fear toxin reaction). Bruce doesn't tell Tim, Dick, or Lucius anything about Jason being alive, let alone the Arkham Knight, and even Alfred only knew he was alive.

So we get to my point, and the fic I'm telling myself I'll write that will likely just sit in my notes alongside the other half of my ideas:

However many months after AK Tim and Babs are on their honeymoon. Babs either assumes Jason being AK was a bad toxin trip, or that Bruce told the boys and Jason's just gone into hiding and doesn't want to be found, much like Bruce and Alfred. Since Tim and Babs are leaving town for however long, and Gotham is still figuring out what to do now that Batman's gone, Dick comes in to cover 'til they're back much like he does in his DLC. Maybe before leaving Babs mentions that there's been chatter about a possible new vigilante in town, this one more lethal than they'd like, be careful.

While on patrol Lucius clues him in to something going down at Black Mask's HQ. There were reports of gunshots at one of Black Mask's shipping yards earlier that night where the police found bodies, there are reports of more gunshots coming from the HQ, be careful.

Dick is too late to stop anything by the time he arrives. Finds Black Mask's dead body outside, clearly thrown, or more likely kicked, from a higher floor. Follows the broken window to find more bodies and Masks's office, currently being rummaged through by a red hooded figure. Dick confronts/attacks the figure, who either calls him by his name or makes a reference only a Bat would know. Dick demands answers, Hood clearly thinks he's joking until he's not. Bruce didn't tell them, any of them. Are you kidding me? But what about Babs, surely she said something? Dick continues demanding answers, only for the figure to lift their visor and reveal Jason's face beneath.

Dick doesn't buy it, this is clearly either Clayface, a shapeshifter, or someone fucking with them in the same way Hush had only this time it was Jason's face being copied. But why include the J scar? Jason never had a scar like that. In Dick's confusion/rage, Jason manages to disappear out the window. Lucius, still on the comms, offers to phone Babs to ask what the man meant, but Dick refuses, let them enjoy their honeymoon. He can figure this out.

Cue the frantic search to figure out who this person is, where they came from, where they're going, what they want, and it's driving Dick up the wall that this person has Jason's face, because surely this couldn't be Jason, Jason is dead after all.

IDK how this would end, if there'd be some happy reunion or if Jason would continue to stay just that far out of reach that has Dick seething. I just know Bruce not telling anyone about Jason would be fuel to the fire of Jason's "I was left behind and forgotten" complex.

[vastayan--vigilante]

From his periphery, Scar sensed the immediate shift in Jinx's demeanour; she dropped the upset and guiltstricken little girl act (was it truly just an act?) with the ease of shucking off a jacket that she didn't feel like wearing any more, shutting down into that ominous, blank-faced calm. It was an expression the vastayan had grown all too familiar with.

Don't you dare. Not now. I can’t deal with you losing your shit right now.

To Scar's relief, in spite of the less-than-stellar vibes coming from Jinx, she still obeyed his curt instructions - scanning their surroundings for threats while he performed his hasty patch job, and following close behind as he led their retreat.

The way he caught her looking at Ekko's unconscious body was... worrying.

She didn't look visibly upset. There was a detachment there, as though she hadn't fully processed the situation (or simply didn't see the point in pretending to care.) While technically it was useful that she wasn't upset to the point of being unable to pull her weight in getting out of this clusterfuck of a situation, Scar knew better than to trust the lack of emotion.

Beneath the veneer of calm was an explosion just waiting for the right spark to set it off. The vastayan just hoped that if she blew up, it was at the fuckers trying to kill them right now, not at him or any of their crew.

Overhead, he spied Billie and Ray working overtime to distract and draw away enemy fire, trying to give their grounded friends the opportunity to get to safer ground. Scar pulled the pin on a smoke bomb with his teeth and tossed it behind them to help obscure their retreat.

Protecting his fallen friend from further harm, and removing Jinx from the situation before she did something to make the situation even worse were the top priorities. If he could just get them out of immediate danger and behind sufficient cover, the others could handle the rest, and swoop down to pick them up when it was safe to do so. Right now they were only in the way, easy targets out in the open.

Of all the bad scenarios that the vastayan had imagined they might need to deal with, this was one of the worst. With Ekko down, the leash on Jinx was off, and Scar had no doubt that Jinx knew this just was well as he did. There was no telling how long she'd be cooperative for.

“Didya fix him?”

Scar glanced back at her; the stoic armour of his mask thankfully hid his widened eyes and stressed grimace. His voice distorter made his words rumble out in a deep growl.

"...No. Still hurt. But still breathing."

He'd managed to stop the bleeding and deal with the worst of the swelling. There wasn't much else he could do right now, except fervently hope whatever internal damage his friend had sustained wasn't serious, that they would be able to treat him at home, and that he'd eventually wake up okay. A graze from a bullet was one thing, but crashing a hoverboard at speed and from significant height could well have been enough to kill all by itself. Jinx seemed fine - but that just meant she probably hadn't borne the brunt of the impact.

“Y’know, if I’m the one keeping watch, maybe you should give me that giant spear.”

Was she serious?

The last thing Scar wanted to do right now was hand her his weapon. Part of him still anticipated her trying to stab him in the back with it.

But it wasn't like he was able to wield it properly with only one free hand right now, and an unconscious Ekko draped over his shoulder as a literal deadweight. It wasn't like he'd be disarmed either; he still had his clawed gauntlet, a couple of smoke bombs, and a crystal bomb left. If Jinx did decide to come at him (or just proved to suck at her new job of covering his ass), Scar wouldn’t be defenceless.

Were those figures approaching through the haze of smoke?

Fuck it.

By way of response, the vastayan curtly held out the spear to her, without breaking stride.

"Stay close. Don't go rogue."

Keep your shit together. Prove that Ekko was right to trust you to come along on these jobs.

@just--a--jinx

"We have to leave - now." (@vastayan--vigilante)

The world seemed to move at a different speed when you were under fire. There was a rush. A thrill. Everything seemed to slow down. Jinx felt herself react the moment she felt the impact. At the front of the board Ekko became a sudden deadweight, careening them into a death spiral. 

Back five seconds. 

In a blink, they were flying high again, the glint of the watch now nestled in Jinx’s hand. The shot was going to come again and they needed to move out of the way this time. There wasn’t time to think about what had just happened. Did Ekko even know? A sharp tug at Ekko’s sleeve sought to direct his attention as Jinx planted her weight on the board, leaning them away. The shot rang out once more. Ekko dropped again, this time accelerating their fall with the added angle of the board. 

Shit!

It was impossible to try the watch again as they fell. She had to hold on. At this rate they were both going to–

The noise of the impact drowned everything else out. Dazed, Jinx lay in the wreckage of the hoverboard, aching, bruised and bleeding. Only after her mind processed what had just happened did she lurch back to life to where Ekko lay motionless. 

His mask was shattered and far, far too much blood coming from his head. 

Ice cold panic crept in. 

No. This couldn’t happen. Had she messed up with the watch? What if she’d tried something different? Pale hands mapped Ekko in silent horror and disbelief, feeling for any signs of life. 

“No, no no no no nononono…” A mournful sound built at the back of Jinx’s throat. She knew what this looked like. She recognised it. She’d seen it with her parents. With Vander. With Silco. Now Ekko, too. 

Was it too late?

If Ekko was dead, what would the other Firelights do with her? Would they turn on her like Silco’s men? 

…Would they blame her? 

The thought made Jinx want to slip away into the shadows and never return. 

All your fault. All your fault. ALL YOUR FAULT. 

Hollow, tear-filled eyes looked down at Ekko. 

What would Ekko want her to do? 

After a moment of digging, Jinx pulled a flare from the pack, casting a plume of white smoke into the air. The others were going to be close by. Hopefully they’d be closer than Corina’s people. Ekko’s no-gun rule was proving extra stupid when everyone else they were up against had them. If he lived, Jinx resolved to use this to cement her ongoing argument. 

It wasn’t long before the recognisable mask of Scar arrived at the scene. Relief and dread coursed through Jinx’s veins. 

Too late! Too late! Tick tock! It’s too LATE!

"We have to leave - now."

…Had Scar seen Ekko, motionless in the dark? Did he think Ekko was still awake behind the mask? 

“...I was trying to help–” Jinx’s words were thick as she wrung her bloodstained hands. How were they going to leave? It would be better for Scar to just take Ekko and leave her here, Jinx thought. 

“He won't wake up.”

[stovetuna]

CW: character death and Tony lack of self esteem and self preservation. Ignore if not ur jam

(¬_¬) psssttt angst time. post-Endgame Steve accidentally ending up in 616 and meets that Steve and Tony. And after failing to wrestling ANY info about why this Steve is here, 616-Tony figures out other him is dead and this Steve is taking it badly and this has Tony trying to make MCU-Steve feel better by saying something like well that me probably deserved it??? All us Tonys do (This does not make MCU feel better. Nor does it make 616-Steve very happy)

ANON MY HEART! IT CANNOT TAKE THIS! (she says as she mulls over this prompt for DAYS and even snaps out of half-sleep to write a little bit of it)...

but like, imagine it. Somehow or other Steve ends up in 616!universe—a spell of Dr. Strange’s gone awry, maybe, or a clusterfuck while returning the time stone—and he’s ended up in 616!Tony’s workshop. It’s late, he’s confused and disoriented and grieving, and he’s already making for the ratty sofa (thinking fixing this is a problem for future steve) when he realizes there’s already someone stretched out on it.

not someone. someones. together. wrapped around each other like koalas on a branch. one of them is Tony—no amount of darkness can smother that blue light, or so Steve once thought—and his heart is breaking all over again, when the person wrapped around him, partially hidden behind Tony’s shoulder, raises his head, eyes alert, and Steve realizes it’s him. Himself. Steve Rogers, from another dimension. Universe. Tony would know which. 

Rogers snaps to attention and is standing and interrogating Steve and he manages to not wake Tony up the whole time. This Tony sleeps like a rock, or maybe that’s just because of Rogers, and Steve is spiraling over the fact that maybe that’s all it would have taken to make things right—better—in his own universe. He could have been brave, he could have been strong enough for both of them to walk up to Tony and ask him out, kiss him, something. Instead he lied, and hid, and ran. He’s still running. Meanwhile this taller, broader, stronger version of him chose happiness, because what else could life with Tony Stark be? 

Rogers is grilling him in the semi-darkness, asking questions Steve isn’t sure he’s allowed to answer (the rules of the time heist are still fresh in his mind), but the questioning stops when Steve starts crying and asks him how long they’ve been together. If it was enough to stop their fight, and everything that happened after.

Rogers tells him they were too late to stop the Civil War, but they pulled their heads out of their asses eventually. When Steve mentions Thanos, Rogers’ face flashes recognition but not the same level of grief Steve feels like a railroad spike lodged in his heart. Whatever else has happened in this universe, Thanos hasn’t, and this Steve and Tony are together. Steve can’t stop thinking this is all just a cruel nightmare disguised as a tear in the fabric of the universe. 

And then the lights come on at a dim 30%, revealing a Tony Stark who is whole and alive and very, very different from the man Steve knew. While Steve stands there poleaxed in crisis mode (Stark mentions “blue screening” which is a reference Steve does get and he hurts all the more deeply because of it), Rogers fills Stark in on what he knows about Steve, when he showed up, what they’ve talked about. When Rogers mentions Steve’s question about their relationship, something brightens in Stark’s blue eyes.

“Your universe’s Tony Stark is dead, isn’t he?”

Steve makes a sound that is something between a sob and a laugh. Of course Stark would figure it out with the least amount of information at hand. In response, Rogers grabs Stark’s hand. He’s gone deathly pale, as if the very thought of losing Tony is too terrible to imagine, and he shares a look with Stark that speaks volumes, because Stark looks just as grim. Something happened there, Steve thinks—one or the other of them died, or came close enough to put the fear of it in them for life. 

And then Stark opens his mouth and says “If your universe’s Tony Stark was anything like me, and categorically speaking he probably was, he probably deserved it.”

Steve’s gut plummets because Jesus Christ, does Tony Stark not have any sense of self-worth, in any universe?? Apparently he and Rogers are the same wavelength—shocker—because he rounds on Stark with “Tony, we’ve talked about this” while Stark waves him off with a scoff. 

“This isn’t low self-esteem talking, Steve—you know my track record when it comes to near death experiences. How many would you say have been the inevitable result of my own actions?” 

Rogers’s face flattens. His lips and eyes narrow. “Too many.”

“Right. So am I right, or am I right?” Stark asks Steve, but Steve’s tongue has cleaved to the roof of his mouth. Of course, Tony Stark was always able to talk enough for three people, even if two of them were, technically, the same person. “He probably went down thinking he was the only one who could fix whatever was broken, walked right into a coffin he made himself, literally if not figuratively.” 

Steve swallows. “Actually,” he says, thinking of the gauntlet fused to Tony’s armor, which had fused to his arm, “it was something like that.” 

Steve’s eyes laser in on their joined hands, tearing up when he sees Stark squeeze Rogers’s fingers. A small touch of reassurance, stabilizing and loving, to remind Rogers he was still here. Still breathing. Still alive. The look Rogers sends Stark is so warm, so full of things Steve doesn’t have the strength to name, it threatens to shove him deeper into an already devastating downward spiral. 

So of course Stark chooses that moment to look at Steve and be his usual smart self, because some things are truly universal, and Tony Stark’s intelligence and ability to read people is one of them. 

“You never told him?” 

Steve shakes his head. Rogers makes a small, hapless sound, like the thought of never telling Tony Stark his feelings, being with him, is too sad to consider. It is—Steve can honestly say it is, and of the two of them, Steve is the only one who has to live with the consequences of the choice he made (and made, over and over again) for the rest of his life.

Whatever nonverbal communication passes between the two men, Steve doesn’t see it. He’s too busy staring through blurry eyes at the floor of the workshop, wishing this nightmare would end so he could go back to his own universe and not have to be confronted with the life he wishes he could have had with a man who was now dead. 

He’s so wrapped up in his own misery, he doesn’t register movement until two socked feet stop in front of his shoes and he looks up to see Stark standing there, eyebrows knitted in concern and wonder and, worst of all, understanding. Like he’s been where Steve is, lost and bereft, irreparably heartbroken. Did this Tony lose his Steve? How? Rogers is standing right there. But Steve has seen Stark’s expression in his own mirrored reflection every morning for the past year, and while he was never on par with Tony Stark’s genius, he could read people too. Stark knows this kind of loss as deeply as Steve does now.

“We’ll get you home first thing,” Stark tells him, but it sounds like a line to quell Steve’s nerves, which it does, and a good thing too, because Stark is moving into Steve’s personal space as he says it, breathing his air and meeting his gaze straight on. “Nod if you understand?” 

Of course Stark would be considerate of Steve’s inability to speak when they’re this close. Steve nods. 

“Can I give you something, Steve? If I know myself—and I do, really, even if my judgement isn’t always perfectly sound—your Tony would have wanted to give it to you himself. But life wasn’t fair to either of you, I think. Not that it ever is, but, I’d like to correct the imbalance in some small way. Is that okay?”

Steve nods before he realizes he’s doing it, like his body knows what’s coming before his brain does and he’s helpless to resist. 

Logically, Steve knows this isn’t his Tony. Not because his Tony is dead—although that does play a major factor—but because this one is so unlike him. This Tony, Stark—he’s too tall, Steve’s mind supplies, too young, too broad; his hair is too dark and his eyes are too blue. 

But Steve Rogers would recognize Tony Stark anywhere, in any dimension. In any universe. And if it means getting to give Tony everything he was too scared to offer him in life, even for a second—let alone getting some of it back—then so much the better. 

Stark pulls him in for a kiss like it’s second nature to him. Muscle memory. But to Steve, it’s a shock to the system. Every hair on his body is standing on end. He gasps against Stark’s lips and suddenly fingers are buried in his hair, tugging him closer before he can stop and ask them if this is okay, if they know what this means to Steve, if he can actually have this. 

A sob sticks in his throat as he finally musters the wherewithal to kiss back. Stark takes it handily, licking a hot, wet line across Steve’s bottom lip before Steve slants left and kisses him hard and deep, wrapping his arms around the similar-yet-unfamiliar frame.   Kissing Stark, Steve realizes, makes him happy, in a profoundly genuine, comforting way he hasn’t felt in years, and the only way to express it is to wrap a hand around the back of Stark’s neck, just below the nape, and suck the moan right out of his mouth. Even if that happiness is soured by his implacable grief, he can shove that into the back of his mind long enough to luxuriate in the feeling of Stark’s tongue brushing against his soft palate, those hard, scarred workman’s hands sliding up under his shirt to splay soft across his lower back. He feels safe, and happy, and loved. 

And if he imagines his Tony in Stark’s place, no one has to know. And if they did, Steve doesn’t think either of them would judge him for it. His instinct is confirmed when Steve pulls away long enough—breathing hard, just like Stark, who looks for all the world like someone who just fell off a Tilt-a-Whirl ass-backwards—to look over Stark’s shoulder at Rogers, who’s staring hungrily at both of them like he doesn’t know whether to pounce or stay put. The tent in his sweatpants speaks for itself. 

Before Steve can piece two coherent thoughts together—like does he feel weird about an alternative universe version of himself being turned on by this? or does he need to stop kissing Stark before this gets out of hand? how is he supposed to get home? how is he supposed to live without this now that he’s had a taste of it?—Stark is pulling him back in for a kiss that tunes out all the noise and warms him through, tucked in the safe, quiet, happy circle of Stark’s arms.

Steve holds the man and the moment as close as he can, as long as he can, and he’s grateful, for the first time in his life after coming out of the ice, for the silence. 

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

whumptober day 10: crying

slightly more straightforward h/c this time!

summary: set after the ric grayson/joker war arc in nightwing. 

dick’s been missing for two months. jason finds him first, but it’s just the first step in finding how very, very lost dick really is.

warnings: SPOILERS for the aforementioned nightwing arcs. plentiful cursing. moderately graphic descriptions of injuries.

crying

The last time Jason received a family-wide SOS to help them rescue Dick, the guy was a twice-brainwashed mess whose brain was being pulled in opposite directions by the Court of Owls and the fucking Joker, and that was after said brain had been shattered by a fucking sniper’s bullet. (And a period of being left to fend for himself with a broken brain in between, but Jason doesn’t really like to think about that.) This time, he doesn’t know quite what to expect. He can’t imagine things have gotten even worse than the last go-around, but then again, Jason knows from personal experience that there’s no end to the list of ‘things that are worse than dying’.

Besides, the alert came from Babs. And, in quick succession, Tim, Bruce, Duke, and Cass. If nothing else, Jason is curious.

Dick disappeared from Bludhaven about two months ago. The reason the oh-so-precise Bats have the word ‘about’ in that statement is because nobody can really pinpoint the exact date it happened. Donna can recall dropping by his place ten weeks ago. Tim maybe exchanged a few emails or text messages a few weeks ago but didn’t really get alarmed about Dick not responding to his messages until the radio silence stretched for over a month. Bruce had his trackers on (that bastard) but Dick hates them and is known to destroy the ones he finds. And they can’t even really depend on reports of Nightwing sightings in the city because having his brain knocked around and pulled apart like taffy means Dick takes regular holidays from patrols if he’s not feeling particularly steady that day. (Look what being sensible and having a smidgeon of a sense of self-preservation got him.) And the CCTV in his apartment complex was shit, so. 

It’s almost like it was a planned thing, like he was kidnapped, but honestly it’s how things go and how they’ve gone for a very long time: they drift in their own worlds for long periods until an event brings them together, and then it’s back to being scattered across the country again (or sometimes the world, or sometimes the galaxy). Dick is more prone to this than most; he’s probably gone undercover more than any of them, and he’s lived the longest on his own as well. 

Even after the clusterfuck that was the last year and change, it’s nothing new. And if that isn’t the most fucking depressing thing that Jason’s had to think about today, it turns out that not only have the Family figured out where Dick is, but that Jason is the one that’s closest to his location. 

So here he is, shivering, on a particularly icy night on the Gotham docks, scoping out the warehouse where Dick’s supposed to be. It’s not very well-guarded, which either means there’s nothing in there and this is a massive waste of his time, or that it’s a trap and what’s waiting on the other side is a fucking bomb or something even worse. It’s not a great situation to be in either way, and Jason’s got half a mind to have Tim or even Bruce take over--but it’d take too long for them to get there and Jason’s never been fond of the idea of handing over to someone else anything that he could potentially do by himself.

Besides, like he said, he’s curious.

He crouches down at his vantage point overlooking the warehouse and presses the communicator in his ear. “Two guards in front but nothing else; the place is practically abandoned. Infrared picking up three people inside.” He shifts his weight from one foot to another, bracing, ready to spring. “I’m about to go in.”

Tim grunts. “I’ll be there in fifteen, give or take a couple.”

“Twenty,” Bruce says. Then: “Hood, you--” An uncharacteristic pause, and Jason can feel the sudden, uneasy chill across the entire comm channel. Bruce clears his throat. “Be careful. Assess the situation first. Don’t engage alone unless it’s an emergency.”

There’s a thanks for stating the obvious on the tip of Jason’s tongue, but something about the gravity of the situation, the mildest quaver in Bruce’s voice (he’s been missing for two months, god, two months) has him say, instead: “Roger that.”

Jason makes quick work of the guards in the front, leaving them in unconscious heaps on the ground before he creeps in. They’d hardly put up a fight, which just makes Jason’s stomach twist in anxious knots. The anxiety is made worse by the complete lack of resistance when he’s actually inside: there are only two huge, cavernous rooms, and one of them has two of the three people that he’d detected. They scatter as soon as they see him and Jason considers chasing, but now his nerves are stretched so taut that he thinks he’s going to vomit if he doesn’t see Dick now--

The night-vision on Jason’s helmet catches a figure sitting, slumped, in the corner of the room. A chain connects a manacle around its ankle to the wall, and another between the same wall and… a collar around its neck. Jason’s blood is already boiling before he steps closer and recognises the figure as Dick. His hair is long and shabby, having grown past his chin, curtaining his face. He’s shirtless but wearing ripped, stained jeans. His hands are cuffed in front of him, the thin metal biting into his wrists enough to leave his hands puffy and slightly purple from the lack of effective circulation. He looks considerably thinner--Jason can just about count the ribs under his skin--and every visible part of his torso is painted in bruises in various stages of healing. And--

--and he’s breathing.

Well, thank fuck. That’s a start.

Jason crouches in front of Dick and presses his comm again. “Found N. Little worse for wear, but alive and safe.”

He ignores the immediate clamour of questions from the others to focus on trying to get Dick awake. He brushes Dick’s hair aside and gently lifts his chin to have a look at his eyes. 

Dick smiles at him. “Hey.”

Jason is beset by an onslaught of emotion that’s part relief, part incredulity and part anger, so much so that he thinks he’s going to fucking burst with the pressure of it. Of course that would be the first thing out of Dick’s mouth--hey--like he’s meeting Jason for cocktails after work instead of being rescued after two months of captivity and torture! Well he can take that hey and shove it right up his fucking--

“Is there anything else here we need to worry about,” Jason says, busying himself with picking the locks on Dick’s manacles so that he doesn’t snap and say something he’ll regret.

Dick shakes his head. He’s got a shaggy beard going and he stinks of sweat and urine and filth, but there’s a sense of… togetherness to him, like he’d always known that Jason was going to show up at this exact minute and that had always been part of his plan. “They scattered as soon as they got word that you guys were coming,” he says, voice thin and raspy. “I guess not enough of them were curious to stick around to find out why so many capes would be coming for me.”

Jason pops the manacles and collar loose and goes to work on the cuffs. “So you weren’t taken as Nightwing.”

Dick sighs, then winces as the motion pulls on the gigantic bruise around his neck. “I wasn’t taken as Dick Grayson, either.”

The cuffs come off with a click. Jason stares at him. “So… what, you were just some poor mug they picked up off the streets to… torture for shits and giggles?”

Dick is silent for a moment. His eyes flick to a point behind Jason and back again. “They knew me as Ric.”

It takes a moment for the name to click in Jason’s brain, but he finally remembers that it was what Dick called himself during his brain-injured year in Bludhaven. “Why would Ric have enemies?” he says, without thinking.

There’s that smile on Dick’s face again, but this time it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Ric did have a life, Jason. And friends. And… enemies.” He begins to move, bare feet shifting against the floor and shifting his weight onto his hands as if he’s trying to figure out a way to stand up, but barely manages an inch of elevation before he runs out of energy, breathing heavily. “Ric--I used to fight. Street fights. Involved a lot more money and people than I remembered, and… apparently a lot of people felt betrayed when I just up and left the city one day. I’ve been fighting matches here almost every day.” A sudden, sharp grin. “I haven’t lost yet.”

Jason--stops. Utterly freezes, hands midway to helping Dick sit upright, because there’s something terribly, terribly wrong here. “Why didn’t you ever try to escape? And how--I mean, in the first place--”

How did you even get caught?

To Jason’s horror, tears start rolling down Dick’s face. His expression doesn’t really change, so Jason’s not sure that Dick’s even aware that he’s crying, but right now Jason is already halfway to being mortified. “I was on my way back from the gym,” Dick says finally, “and I think I--I blacked out. It happens sometimes.” Dick gives a wet laugh. “Talk about bad timing.”

“And--and what, you blacked out for two months?”

At this Dick’s face crumples, and suddenly Jason gets it: this is a man pushed and pushed to the end of his rope and beyond, utterly exhausted, past the point of caring who knows about it or why. “I guess…” Dick swallows. “I didn’t really see the difference. Between--between here and out there.”

Jason wants to scream, shake his shoulders--a shameful part of him even wants to hit Dick--and tell him that of course it was different outside of this stupid, dank warehouse: he has friends and family and a lifetime of experience to support him while he flies free. It’s ridiculous to even compare the two, and Jason is ready to put these words down to the effects of too much pain and too little food.

Except--

(plucked you right out of one life and stuffed you into another, didn’t they? treated you like a puppet without a past and a future, didn’t they? didn’t let you entertain the idea of a different life even for a minute, did they? punished you for straying, reminded you there was just too much at stake, and that those stakes were always, always bigger than you or your health or your happiness or your future--)

“Dick, I--” Jason really doesn’t know what to say. Tim says, “ETA five” in his ear while Bruce says, “Right behind you, Robin” and Jason knows, just knows, that this isn’t how they would want to see Dick, and more importantly, this isn’t how Dick would want them to see him.

He gathers Dick in his arms and presses him to his chest. Dick freezes for a second, surprised, then melts into his embrace. His shoulders shake, hands coming up to weakly grasp at Jason’s jacket. The sobs reach a crescendo quickly, a pathetic keening muffled into Jason’s chest, before tapering away and Dick is still, just… breathing. 

Jason breathes with him.

That’s how Tim and Bruce find them a couple of minutes later. Dick peels away and somehow musters the energy to reassure them. Bruce helps him up and carries him to the car while Jason follows; just as Dick’s lowered into the backseat his hand shoots out, grasping Jason’s arm in a silent plea. 

Jason gets in with him. Neither he nor Bruce say anything through the whole drive at the tears that continue to pour down Dick’s face, but Jason doesn’t let go of his hand for the whole ride.

[jungcity]

𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥.

Finally, we’ve reached the last chapter folks. Thank you so so much for taking the time and effort to read Bane of the Devil. I hope I’ve entertained you somehow with this story.

Until the next series, lovelies. ♡

Listen to this or this while reading, my loves.

16,257 word count.

“Rhianon, it’s not a good idea to keep her to your grandmother’s cottage! We won’t be able to hold her once the turning starts!” Lucas hissed. His arms were strained by carrying your body— dead body— across the woods and into Rhianon’s former home.

 How everything ended up like this? Lucas quite doesn’t know. Hours ago, he woke up in Rhianon’s dorm room with a throbbing headache. He had a hard time remembering what happened before he collapsed, but he recalled Rhianon blowing something to his face.

 They had something in their pockets. A secret they didn’t want to tell anyone.

 Lucas was hurt, yet he couldn’t blame them for not telling him. He was ‘Juana’s dog’ after all. But he’s done submitting to Juana’s every whims and wish. The time she told them about Y/N being a collateral damage was the moment Lucas lost all his respect for the half-millennium old witch.

 Steadfast and loyal, was their dictum. Steadfast for the people, loyal for the association. Never to one’s will. Never to a witch’s command. He’s done licking Juana’s feet. It was time for the path of righteousness: the one thing he stood for ever since he has become a venator.

 So Lucas stood up, with his heart elating of nothing but duty and loyalty: for his friends, for Rhianon. He paced back and forth, trying to gather as much information in his mind about the possibilities and reasons of Rhianon and Y/N’s unknown adventure. It was certain they took Jaehyun with them. Perhaps not.

 Lucas hissed and jogged the way towards Jaehyun’s chamber, maintaning a silent gait to remain unnoticed by the witch inside the other room. He twisted Jaehyun’s doorknob. It wasn’t locked. He pushed open the door and saw no one inside.

 Once again, Lucas turned on his heel. The every stride of his long legs was the same pulsating of his mind to think of the possible places two students and one vampire has gone to.

 But first, he needs to know what each of them desires to drive them to escape the Academy in the dead of night. Rhianon, in her jubilant façade but cunning depths, wishes nothing but to be admired by her mother. That, Lucas knew the first time he heard a mother-and-daughter argument between the two. Jaehyun, on the other hand— Lucas cursed— he has no idea what that vampire might desire. Death of everything good in the world mayhap. And Y/N.

 For what seems like a hundredth time that night, Lucas released a curse through clenched teeth. You couldn’t possibly had gone to Alena, right? That would be insane, even in Lucas’s perspective. It’s farcical, perilous, and rash.

 With furrowed brows and compressed lips, Lucas trudged with a grace of a hunter towards the Armory. He twisted the keys into the hole, then the chains rattled and fell beneath him. Walking towards the shelves where different daggers were sectioned, Lucas grabbed five blades: two he strapped to his waists, two to both of his hips, and the last one he tucked inside his boot.

 He would’ve grabbed the crossbows, but it takes a bitch to load. Lucas grabbed the scythe hanging off the far wall: a weapon only him and the other hunter instructors were allowed to wield. In his back, he strapped the weapon of half-moons and departed the armory.

 Little did he know, there was a girl watching him in the darkness. Eva stood there, her hair unbound, lips pursed, watching Lucas disappear.

 Rhianon’s muffled cries echoed through the stillness of the forest as she trailed behind Lucas. She doesn’t know what causes her stupid tears: her throbbing wound or the fact that you are fucking dead, and was bitten by Jaehyun, himself?

 When Sicheng led Rhianon inside Alena’s mansion, he guided her towards his chamber and tended to her wound in an urgent haste. Alena’s warning still rang between them, Rhianon would’ve said fuck everything and sprint towards the backyard to help you. But the look in her brother’s eyes had hindered her from doing such mindless actions.

 “What the fuck are you doing here?” Sicheng hissed, breaking the awful silence while jabbing the cotton pad to Rhianon’s wound. The split in her neck wasn’t longer than her middle finger, but it still spurted out too much blood and now hurts like a burning wound inside and out.

 Rhianon hissed in pain and tried to swat her brother’s hand away, only for him to jab the cotton way harsher than before. “I’m helping a friend!” She cried out. “So please, let me go and let me help her properly.”

 “Are you really insane? Haven’t you heard Alena’s warnings? She would kill you if she sees you again. And me, for helping you.” This was the first time Rhianon saw her brother lose his patience and composure. “I’d almost lost my mind when I watched her try to slice your neck.”

 She scoffed. “But you didn’t do anything.”

 Something like hopelessness and hurt flashed through her brother’s eerily white face. Then he sighed. “She would’ve killed us both if I did so much as to move a finger. I don’t want that to be our end, do you?”

 Almost instantaneously, the frightening picture of Sicheng dying had made her skin crawl. She would never want that as her brother’s end. He has an eternity stretching out in front of him. Rhianon would be despicable to steal that away because of her foolishness. But she wanted to help you. Her only friend.

 Then an idea struck her mind. She grabbed Sicheng’s hand which was tending to her wound and looked at her brother closely in his eyes.

 “We are here to dig something in Alena’s backyard. It’s kept under the ground— a box of some sorts. We need that to finally discover who killed my friend’s parents,” she explained with such urgency as if being chased by a panther, “Help me get the box.”

 Sicheng looked at her hard. Comtemplation etched in that pretty face of his. “Why didn’t you ask of me this favor before coming here?”

 Rhianon slumped to the bed. The idea has surely come to mind. But how would she tell her brother that a sliver of doubt has sipped into her heart? And that she didn’t want Jaehyun nor Y/N to cling onto that hope, only to be disappointed in the end? After all, Sicheng has been devoted in serving Alena ever since he begged to be turned.

 He is her brother. But he is alive because of the vampire Primus. Surely, the giver of life holds the most significant value against the one who only helped you attain that life, right? Nevertheless, Rhianon couldn’t help but feel foolish for her decision.

 “I… it didn’t come to mind,” she lied, refusing to look at her brother’s eyes.

 “No, it did.” Sicheng sighed. “Doubt only prevailed in your heart.”

 “I’m sorry,” she admitted, “I… just didn’t want to give them false hopes.”

 Sicheng sat beside his sister. “You know from the start that I’d do anything for you, right? Even if it means I’d steal something from my Primus.”

 With that, Rhianon looked at her brother again. Hope twinkled in her pupils. “You’ll help me? Us?”

 “Tell me where to dig.”

 But the help from Sicheng did little to console the grief inside Rhianon as she sat in her vehicle. Alone. And the sorrow only worsened by the fact that she didn’t know what had happened to you, nor to Jaehyun.

 Her mother had been right. She was useless and pathetic. Perhaps she doesn’t deserve to live and be a true witch after all.

 No. She needs to come back. She needs to help you. Killing the engine of her vehicle, Rhianon flew out of her car. Only to be greeted by a bloodied Jaehyun, carrying a bloodied Y/N in his arms.

 Rhianon had no time to curse Jaehyun for the two bites on your wrist for he shoved her inside the car after laying you down on the backseat.

 “Where are you going?” she managed to ask through her choked cries. But Jaehyun didn’t speak. He sprinted towards Alena’s mansion once more.

 Rhianon was left in an unfamiliar sinister road, with your dead body inside her backseat, and two bites on your wrist. Truthfully, she was fascinated by vampires. But Rhianon has no idea about their nature other than their being bloodsuckers. Her cries grew louder by both trepidation and mourning. It would seem as if there wasn’t enough space for all her thoughts inside her mind.

 She got inside her car and revved the engine. Breathing heavily through her mouth, for her nose had been clogged with snot, Rhianon tried to think of a place where she could keep you. And her grandmother’s cottage dashed to her mind. It doesn’t have any equipment other than the kitchen wares and homely things, but it’s safe and away from everyone’s eyes as it was located in the heart of the forest.

 Rhianon almost choked to death when a figure emerged from the shadows, standing in the middle of the empty road with two scythes gripped with its hands. The misty fog had made it hard for Rhianon to perceive the face of the tall frame. But when her car’s light hit the figure, she nearly cried of relief.

 Lucas.

 She had no time to mull over the reasons for him being here. At once, Rhianon departed the vehicle, while Lucas trudged towards her with a disapproving look. However, his grim expression turned perplexed as Rhianon sobbed in his chest.

 Before either of them could utter a word, Lucas led Rhianon to sit on the bullet seat. But when he opened the door to sit and drive, his breath was yanked away from him.

 Clusterfuck, everything truly was.

 “What happened to her?” Lucas asked after he forced himself to sit and grasp the steering wheel.

 Rhianon sobbed. “She’s… dead. But I don’t know until when.”

 Lucas gulped and revved far away from the darkness and into the real world. The last words that has spurred out of Rhianon harrowing his chest. It wasn’t what he thought it was, right?

 “What do you mean ‘until when’?”

 Rhianon’s hands shook, so Lucas grabbed her hand and squeezed tightly. “Jaehyun bit her.”

 “Why would he do that?!”

 Lucas felt the ire burning inside his chest. That was vile. Not unless Y/N consented to it. Which is far-fetched for your situation right now. You were soaked with blood. There wasn’t any trace of color in your lips and your face was blanched.

 “I don’t know why!” Rhianon frustratedly slapped her forehead with her other hand while tears streamed down her face.

 “Tell me what happened.”

 While driving, Lucas forced himself to listen to Rhianon’s story. How they planned out everything: from the cemetery, Hubert’s binding, and to how they sneaked inside Alena’s backyard. He would’ve called it stupid, but if he was in Y/N’s foot, he was certain he’d done the same.

 “Why didn’t you—” Lucas shook his head. Why didn’t you tell me? He was supposed to ask. Heavy in the space between them, the answer to his question hung. He cleared his throat. “What’s your plan?”

 “I don’t know. Once she wakes up, she’d be a completely different person.” Rhianon chewed on her bottom lip. “And I don’t know how to handle a newly turned vampire.”

 Rhianon’s chosen term proved her unawareness about the catastrophe that would soon be unleashed by Y/N’s turning.

 “She would be a fledgling. The primeval stage of being a vampire. It’s the most disastrous stage. Y/N won’t be able to recognize us because of the lust for blood that would curse through her veins,” Lucas explained. Just by describing the transition of Y/N’s turning was enough for the distress to hurl up from Lucas’s stomach to his throat. He swallowed the nausea as he drove through nowhere. “So we must find somewhere else safe— for her and for us.”

 With the sense of foreboding, Rhianon remained quiet. Only her sobs could be heard inside the vehicle. How she badly needed this to be a nightmare. But as the hefty baggage of your presence from the backseat swirled the air around her, Rhianon knew that all of this was true.

 You are dead. Until the vampire venom finally coats your heart and casts away all the humanity in you. Then you will live, for eternity.

 Rhianon wished to scream. To release the force that was suffocating her lungs. “Could we do anything to stop the venom?” she rasped.

 “Yes.” Rhianon’s face lit up, but her hope was immediately doused out by Lucas’s next words. “We have to ask Juana to locate the venom for us. If it’s still stuck in her wrist, we would have to cut that body part. Vampire venom takes a while to travel throughout the body.” Lucas pursed his lips. “And she would die if we do that. The vampire venom would be her death and life at the same time.”

 Firmly, Rhianon stated, “No. We won’t butcher nor kill her.”

 “Then we’ll wait until the turning succeeds.”

 Until the turning succeeds. There isn’t any escape to this, is there? You are trapped. So does the people around you. Rhianon couldn’t bear the fact of you, being a vampire. Much as to cut some of your body parts. It is hideous.

 “Some vampires...” Lucas began, Rhianon snapped her attention to him once again. “Didn’t turn into one when they had been bitten.”

 “Why is that?” Rhianon furrowed her brows in anticipation and inquisitiveness.

 Lucas spun the steering wheel. They weren’t going anywhere at all. He needs to think. “They hadn’t been strong enough to finish the process. We need to bury Y/N, and we will have to wait until she crawls out of her grave or not.”

 If she won’t make it, that just means she would die all the same. Rhianon chewed on her bottom lip— hard— as if she wanted to draw blood.

 Lucas continues, “And… we have to acquire blood to feed her if she makes it out.”

 She breathed a curse. Rhianon wished to think a bit better— a bit sane— for your well-being. What would you feel waking up a vampire? It wasn’t just a second-life— it was an unending life. Certainly, it sounds thrilling. That is for Rhianon, since she has been born with the reality of the long life ahead of her. But you? You are a mortal. The heaviness of eternity would weigh in you differently.

 Her mind has been clouded. She finds it hard to breathe. Rhianon heaved a deep sigh. “Turn left. We’ll go to my grandmother’s cottage.”

 That’s why they are here, trekking the forbidding forest towards her former house: her grandmother’s home. Rhianon grew up here— talking to animals and trees, caring for the flowers and butterflies and bees, swimming in the river. Because her own mother isolated her daughter from the modern world, Rhianon received little education through the lessons of her grandmother.

 Every now and then, when she has the time, she would come back and clean the cottage. It was a simple nipa hut, with bamboo trees as its floors and walls. When you open the door, the kitchenette would greet you from the farthest end of the space. On your left, the wooden door towards the living room and bedroom was located.

 Upon seeing the frailty of the supposed dwelling place, Lucas couldn’t help but doubt. He has been doubting ever since they departed the vehicle and entered the forest. Sure, it could offer a remote place for a vampire to be buried, but there isn’t anything to help bind Y/N once she completed the Turning.

 No. He is a hunter. He could think of a way.

 Rhianon inserted her arm in the little hole adjacent to the wooden door. A few clicks and twists, the door opened, revealing a rather small dwelling for Lucas’s height.

 He laid Y/N’s body to the bedroom— that was a small space for two persons to lie and twist and turn in their sleep. He could only pray that Y/N won’t be strong enough to turn the hut into piles of wood.

 “What do we do now?” Rhianon sniffed, wiping her face outwards. She looked like a wreckage of a ship, if Lucas was to be honest. Her black irises glinted with tears— both shed and unshed. But her beauty never betrayed her.

 Lucas ignored the thudding of her heart and forced his mind to think rationally, deliberately pushing off the thoughts of Rhianon’s hair tangled with his fingers. “We have to bury her,” he answered.

 “How long do we have to wait?”

 “A week.”

 “A week?” Rhianon gasped. “Everybody would notice her disappearance!”

 Lucas ran a hand through his white hair. “There are consequences to everything, Rhi. We only have to endure the forthcoming interrogations— especially from your mother— and make our way out of her attention.”

 Rhianon sat on the wooden chair and covered her face with her hands. “This isn’t supposed to happen.” She wanted to blame Jaehyun. But she’s no better than him. She killed Y/N as much as anyone in that wretched mansion. Out of her frustration, Rhianon snapped her head up to Lucas. “Why are you helping me?”

 She should be grateful. But the persistent doubt for his loyalty has never left the back of her mind.

 Lucas, who was standing in the doorway, looked at her with something that she could only call as regret in his eyes. “I know you are doubting me. No one sent me. When I woke up in your room, I tried to think of places you might’ve gone to. I ended up travelling towards Alena.”

 Rhianon looked away and gulped. There is no time for this. However wretched, she needs to decide for your fate. Would she let the venom blanket your humanity with its poison and promise of a secluded life away from the sunlight? Or she would end it here and now?

 Mercy or death?

 Wringing the last drop of courage from her heart, Rhianon casted your body one last look before standing up. “Help me bury her body.”

 She chose mercy in the end. Or was it?

 —

 Jaehyun has no name for the feelings that were slowly spreading inside him. For his ten years of being a vampire, he had never felt this weak— this human. And he hated himself for it.

 He hated that you had been right about him having no abilities to protect you from Alena. The way the dagger protruded from your front, he couldn’t shake off the image. It’s there— inside his mind— like a writhing worm penetrating all his consciousness, painting his ability to think with only that image: of your mouth gaping open, with frothing blood in your lips, and the way the pain never left your eyes even if life did.

 Jaehyun wanted to hoax himself that there wasn’t any fragment of hate in those pretty eyes of yours. He wished to believe that you didn’t hate him before breathing your last. But when he held you in his arms, he knew you would’ve pushed him away if you weren’t in a miserable situation of death.

 The enormous gates of Alena towered over him. Oh, how much he desired to burn this mansion to soothe. He didn’t even know why he came back. He should be beside you— awaiting your transformation.

 Perhaps he needed retribution. Perhaps he needed answers. Because he would kill himself if ever he truly was the one who killed your parents.

 The gates made the squeaking sound as Jaehyun pushed them open. The long pathway towards the front door took him a second to walk through because of his speed. Without knocking, he barged inside and was greeted by Alena herself, sitting on her throne at the farthest part of the hall.

 He bared his fangs and wasted nothing as he sprinted towards her. In a matter of seconds, he had her by the throat. Her skull slammed back down to her chair, splitting the wood from the seater.

 Vampires do not breathe. Jaehyun’s straggling of Alena’s neck would compare to something as trying to grasp the wind. The effort was merely to bind Alena in her place.

 The Primus only looked at him with vacant eyes. As if she didn’t just kill a mortal— as if she didn’t just end the life of Jaehyun’s lover.

 “I will fucking kill you,” he hissed.

 Alena’s lips twitched upwards. “Go on, then. I’m ready to die with the satisfaction of killing your whore.”

 He tightened his grip until he felt her skin hallowing. “I love her. Even in another life, I would choose her over you.”

 “She’s dead. I killed her. And there is no other life for a monster such as you—”

 Jaehyun fisted his palm and struck her hard. Alena crumpled up to the ground, harshly cupping her cheek.

 “You will die for that!” she roared.

 He felt nothing but triumph.

 Jaehyun once again grabbed the back of her collar and tossed her to the wall. Her bones collided with the hard cement with a crack, then she slumped down to the floor. It didn’t take her a minute to bare her nails to the tiled floor and looked up at Jaehyun with such hatred in her eyes.

 In a dashing speed, Alena attacked. But Jaehyun had anticipated it. For he sprinted to dodge her. By her rapidity, she hadn’t been able to stop herself as he collided, once again, to the wall. It cracked by the impact.

 Jaehyun was behind her before she could whirl around— then he slammed her forehead to the cracked wall once again. It deteriorated. Alena was transferred to the other side of the wall as debris from the hole fell.

 Jaehyun grabbed her hand, but she stood up as he did so, banging her head against Jaehyun’s. He staggered backward with a hiss. Then toppled over the stygian floors as Alena whirled and kicked the side of his face.

 She was on top of him, never wasting any drop of the moment to punch his face repeatedly. Blood spattered to the floors as Jaehyun’s mouth exploded. Alena didn’t stop raining him with punches until her knuckles were red from his blood.

 Despite his vampiric nature, Jaehyun’s head swam by the force of the punches. He blinked languorously, trying to make sense of everything. With the remaining strength, he grabbed both Alena’s fists. His and her arms trembled as they try to outdo each other.

 Blood adorned Jaehyun’s teeth— all of his face. Alena pushed her limits, and finally won when she grabbed Jaehyun’s neck. Something happened then— something Jaehyun shouldn’t be feeling at all.

 He found it hard to breathe. He was literally choking.

 Alena snickered by his reaction. “My, my, you really didn’t know, do you?” She echoed a hysterical laugh.

 Jaehyun thrashed and choked. Dots of red slowly filling his vision. And it wasn’t because of his pupils’ ability to change color.

 “Have you ever wondered how you could manage to stay under the sun without scorching yourself wholly?” She hummed. “Even if it’s only a slice of light, a vampire won’t be able to take it. But you.” Jaehyun choked once again as Alena pressed her hands further down his neck. “You could bask in the sun in a fraction of an hour without dying.” She leaned closer to Jaehyun. “Because your humanity didn’t leave you completely. It is there. In you. You are half-alive, half-vampire. Not half-dead, Jaehyun.”

 Jaehyun gasped— of stupefaction or the struggle to breathe, he didn’t know. How could she claim something such as that? How did she know that?

 Strength slowly left his bones, the oblivion pulling him under to drown. Slowly but certainly, Jaehyun’s eyes closed. Alena’s vicious laugh was the last thing he heard before he was met with utter oblivion.

 —

 “Where were you last night?”

 Lucas halted strapping his weapons when Eva approached. It was the last thing he wanted to hear: Eva asking about his whereabouts yesternight.

 “Got some business to attend to,” he simply replied before he began to pace towards the Armory’s exit. Eva’s presence never left him until he reached the training field where students awaited their instructions.

 Eva hummed, as if she knew the answer to her question and only taunting Lucas to irate him. “I suppose that business had a lot of hand work.”

 Lucas shut his eyes while releasing a breath. There’s really not a thing you could hide from this nosy woman, is there? He refused to hide his hands nevertheless. Eva yearns to intimidate him, and he won’t give her the satisfaction.

 “It had.” Lucas whirled with a smile.

 Eva crossed her arms together and walked past him. Lucas compressed his lips before following the woman.

 All at once, the students put their fist to their chest at the approaching hunters. Rhianon was standing at the end of the line, the exhaustion of last night evident in the moons under her eyes. Her slumped shoulders suddenly perked up and her back straightened as she saw Eva approaching.

 The hunter parted the students as she threaded towards Rhianon. Rhianon was smaller than her by inches, but she didn’t let the gap intimidate her.

 “Where is Y/N?” Eva asked.

 Lucas stopped himself from dragging the woman away. That would be too obvious. Don’t let anyone see through the tension underneath, Lucas’s reminder to Rhianon before they parted ways last night. He knew, by the way she fisted her hands that she was trying her hardest not to tremble.

 Mustering up courage, Rhianon answered, “Sick.”

 For the next few seconds, the two women stared at each other. Before Eva released a sigh.

 “Too bad. I was planning to spar with her.” Then she whirled and clapped her hands, gathering the students’ attention that was already fixed on her.

 Lucas gave Rhianon a nod before joining Eva at the front line. When he roamed his eyes around the students, Lucas noticed something. Newly enrolled students weren’t present. Only the students who had already shown exacting skills were.

 He turned to Eva. “Where’s the others?”

 “If you weren’t doing some business, you’d know why,” Eva stated through her smile.

 “It’s eight a.m., Eva.” Quit fucking around, Lucas would’ve added. He was dead beat because of the digging they did last night. Lucas would have slept for the whole day if not for his responsibilities. And Eva’s taunting wasn’t truly helping his moods.

 By the tone he echoed, Eva gave him a sharp look. “Why don’t you ask Madame yourself?”

 Lucas opened his mouth, but quickly closed his lips when Eva flipped her unbound her and gestured to the students to start. He shook his head with a disbelieving sigh.

 However, he needs to know the answer to his own question. So after helping students warm up their bones, Lucas decided to pay the witch a visit.

 He could only hope that she hasn’t yet noticed the absence of the vampire across from her room.

 Juana was zoning out with a teacup in hand when he pushed open the doors. She didn’t raise her hand to greet him— a thing she doesn’t really practice. But there was something odd about the way she sat in there, watching the fire in her fireplace. As if she was lost in deep thought.

 Lucas cleared his throat, successfully gathering the attention of Juana. She laid her cup into the table and stood up gracefully. In her face, Lucas noticed the weariness he hasn’t yet seen in the face of the witch.

 For a five-hundred-year-old creature, Juana has flourished to look like a girl in her blooming stage. She could pass as a twenty-year-old girl. By dint of it, Lucas once was flabbergasted when Juana revealed that she had a daughter and that was Rhianon.

 The color of their skin was a stark contrast of porcelain and gold. But they have the same raven-hair. That’s where their comparison ended. Rhianon doesn’t look like her mother at all.

 Now that Lucas observed the witch’s face, he caught something he hasn’t seen before: the hollows on her cheeks and the tiredness underneath her eyes. In addition to it was her evident detachment from the world around her.

 What happened?

 “Aren’t you supposed to be in the field? Training Y/N?” Even her voice sounded frail.

 Lucas blinked before clearing his throat. “Y/N’s sick.” Flimsy might be the excuse, yet Lucas and Rhianon couldn’t think of a more credible lie other than the most human excuse of all; being sick. They could only pray that Juana won’t venture and try to visit you.

 “Y/N’s sick?” she repeated. Lucas nodded. “What a useless bitch,” Juana sneered.

 Juana rendered him speechless. This has been the first time he heard the witch use that term towards a student. Dumbfounded as he was, Lucas prevented himself to reiterate. But he didn’t know that the witch’s next words would drain the blood from his body.

 “I’ve no use for useless students. When the sun finally peeks at the horizon tomorrow, see to it that Y/N would never breathe again.”

 His knees weakened, and Lucas found himself supporting his body by gripping the edge of the chair tightly. Juana didn’t just command him to kill Y/N, right?

 “What do you mean?” The hunter’s breathy question.

 By that, Juana whirled to face him with a smile plastered on her face. “Kill her.”

 —

 “She fucking said what?” Rhianon’s eyes bulged at Lucas, her face in utter disbelief as he told her about Juana’s latest order.

 Lucas couldn’t believe it himself. How did he become so stupid and so blinded by his devotion and loyalty? For years, he was kept in servitude. Because he believed that Juana was meant for the people— for the hunters. He was wrong. She served no one but herself and her insane goal to get her son back.

 “We at least have to protect Y/N even if she’s underground,” Lucas said before shutting the compartment of the car. They have just obtained at least three liters of blood from the blood bank. Yet Lucas knows the amount won’t quench Y/N’s thirst if she ever makes it out.

 Rhianon walked towards the driver’s seat with a frown. She was obviously ruminating about Lucas’s news. “I couldn’t believe she could be that heartless,” she breathed as she started the engine. “But as I think about it, it could be an advantage. Y/N’s buried deep underground— well not that deep— but you get the point. We could use her situation to make Juana believe that you did kill her.”

 “Yeah, I thought about that too.” Then an idea struck his mind. “Could I use the blood?”

 Later that night, Lucas did as he was told. With an unimaginable treason, he deceived his betters. Along with Rhianon.

 They used half litter of the blood and coated Y/N’s blankets with it. Rhianon and Lucas had also dug up a made-up grave to make it more convincing.

 After that endeavor in the woods, Lucas tucked in Y/N’s blanket into his bag and brought it as evidence for a job well-done.

 The moon was a great ball of white in the skies when he departed Rhianon’s chamber to pay Juana a visit.

 While walking, Lucas should’ve felt the slightest bit of fear because of his deceit, but no remorse had entered his heart. He would do this all over again if it meant making a fool of Juana.

 Lucas let his dagger be coated with blood as he entered Juana’s chamber, finding Eva conversing with the witch. At his sight, Eva smiled. She knew what Juana made Lucas do. And by the length of her smile, she was relishing.

 “What a job well-done!” Eva shrieked in excitement. She sauntered up to Lucas and grabbed the dagger from his hand, examining the blood that coats it. He tried his best not to slice open Eva’s throat with the same dagger. The woman then turned to the witch. “Does this mean I’m going to kill Alena, Madame?”

 There was honor in killing a vampire— much when it’s a Primus. Yet Lucas couldn’t understand the excitement Eva was manifesting. Killing vampires isn’t duty for her, it was sport.

 “Yes,” Juana stated with antagonism.

 Lucas quirked an inconspicuous brow. Juana displayed no such attitude towards Eva, ever. She was always putting Eva on a pedestal. Was it also just a show?

 “What if this reached VHC?”

 Fucking finally, Lucas muttered in his mind. Eva’s asking the right question. If this heinous crime of killing a student reached the VHC, this hundred-year-old academy would be burned to ashes. All the hardships Diego endured would be in vain. Not only that, Lucas would be expelled from his duty and would probably live a life of chagrin.

 But this won’t reach the Corporation, of course. Juana would kill everyone if it comes to that. And even if it did reach the ears of their betters, they would find nothing since Lucas killed no one.

 “Don’t be stupid,” Juana spat, Eva’s mouth gaped open, “Of course I won’t let that happen. Now go and do your duties.” She waved them off frantically with her hands.

 Eva stomped her feet to the ground, and with a frown, left Juana’s chamber with a loud bang of the door. Lucas put his fist to his heart and bowed, but before he could pivot on his heels, Juana said something.

 “If I found out that you deceived me, I will kill you without a thought.”

 Lucas’s lips turned into a thin line. But he mustered all his strength to look up at the witch to flash her his all-toothed smile. “Have a good night, Madame.”

 —

 Jaehyun woke up with something heavy pulling him down. Manacles. He knew it without opening his eyes. But it didn’t lessen the irksome feeling it settled in his bones whenever he would find himself bound in the same room— in the same position.

 The cold iron bed pressing in on his back was enough to set his blood on fire. Jaehyun tried to wriggle himself free, but he knew it: there would be no point trying. These manacles were silver. And silver could burn a vampire, hence he should be in flames right now. But he wasn’t.

 He should’ve known by then that he wasn’t a normal vampire. For he remained unscathed even if Alena bound him with the silver chain too many times to count. Sure, it weakens him. That was it. It would make his bones brittle but it won’t leave any blister on his skin.

 There were different types of syringes lined up pristinely on the table just beside him. He supposed they came with sundries of needles. Alena truly likes it clean: her consumption of Jaehyun’s blood.

 How naive he was— to think that it was nothing but a simple obsession over his blood. It was more than that, then. She was crawling and trailing like a lapdog for Jaehyun’s omnipotence.

 The sound of the manacles grazing the floors reverberated as Jaehyun tugged on it before the door opened to reveal Alena. She was as fresh as a morning dew, and the brawl she had against Jaehyun was only a phantom of her past. Her hair was bound tightly in a coil behind her head, her cheeks seemed as if they had lights underneath the skin for the way they shone.

 “Thank Athanar that you’re awake, my love.” Alena faked her relief, doing so much as to touch Jaehyun’s cheek. He glared at her, wishing to possess the power of pyrokinesis to burn her. “Don’t worry,” she spat, “I’ll release you soon.”

 Jaehyun snorted. “Why don’t you just kill me?” He wanted nothing more than to be done with this world, to finally face whatever lies beyond this wretched life. But ever since he met you, his principles have crumbled down.

 “Kill you?” Alena faked cries. “Eternity won’t be so fun without you, Jaehyun.”

 “Me? Or my blood?”

 Alena’s red lips thinned. She grabbed the headboard of the bed and leaned closer to Jaehyun. “Your blood, of course.” Then she gave his lips a ravaging kiss before pulling away with a smile.

 Jaehyun wanted to wipe his lips off his face, but the manacles won’t allow him. So he glared— stupid and useless at it was— and spat at Alena’s face. His spittle fell at the collar of her dress. Then her hand had collided against Jaehyun’s cheek— again and again until blood spilled from his split lips.

 Once again, he spat blood and it landed on the floor. Alena chuckled, then she walked towards the bed beside Jaehyun. She languorously ran a finger to the syringes, her shoes making clicking noise against the cold hard floor.

 “It’s been… what? Three months since I last tasted your blood? I assume you have a debt to pay, my love.” She smiled her innocent one, pulling the cap of the syringe off to reveal a thick needle.

 Jaehyun knew how it would go. Alena would never cut him open. She would drain his blood by pricking his skin with needles— lots and lots of it until he’s dazed and confused about everything happening around him.

 He tried to tug at the manacles as Alena drew the needle close to his arm. But it won’t budge. “Don’t you fucking dare, Alena,” Jaehyun warned through his teeth.

 Alena hummed. “Can’t really do anything, can you, darling?”

 His pupils dilated as the needle disappeared on his skin. It wasn’t painful, but the sight of his blood flowing into the barrel was as hideous as being skinned alive.

 The next thing he knew, Alena was flying and had collided against the wall and his manacles were already broken. Jaehyun felt the tips of his fangs baring into his lips, and his visions turning red. However, Alena was swift to recover from the impact as she was on her feet in a matter of seconds.

 “You really dare hurt me again?”

 Jaehyun spat. “Burn in hell.” Without a second thought, he barreled towards the only window present in the dark room. It was shut tight, but he could feel his strength humming inside his bones— as if it was an explosive prepared to explode anytime soon.

 Alena’s piercing scream echoed throughout the whole vicinity. Along with Jaehyun’s cry of sudden pain. He ignored the thing that was penetrating his skin as he dashed away from Alena’s mansion. The scent of the other vampires trailing behind him.

 But he was ten folds faster than any of them. Because they don’t possess the same supremacy in skills and vampiric nature such as Jaehyun.

 As the wind lashed on him like a whiplash, with the thorns of bougainvillea pricking his cheeks and skin, Jaehyun remembered the first time he managed to escape his Primus. He was bloodied too, when he ran for his freedom. He had a gash on his stomach because of Alena’s mighty sword.

 Now, there is a wound gushing blood down his back. It would only heal once the blade was pulled out. And his practice of drinking animal blood would slow down its healing for sure.

 He needs to endure. There is no you to stitch him up again.

 For hours, Jaehyun ran until the façade of the Academy loomed from a far. Having no idea how many days he had been locked up and tied down, Jaehyun needs to see Rhianon. Ask her about your whereabouts and your situation. It hasn’t been one week, yet? Right?

 There were no more students prowling at night, hence Jaehyun reached your dorm room without having to snap anyone’s necks. Before he knocks on the door, Jaehyun grabbed the hilt of the dagger and wrenched it free from his flesh. A silent hiss resonated through him by the throbbing pain.

 It was your snake dagger. The one you hid behind you the first time you have met. Jaehyun gripped the dagger tighter. He would vow to kill Alena with it.

 He raised a fist to knock, but the door had finally swung open, revealing Lucas and Rhianon with bags on both their backs. The woman halted with a gasp, but Lucas didn’t take a second to pin Jaehyun against the wall.

 “You fucking fool!” he hissed at Jaehyun’s face. “Why did you do that?”

 Lucas knows? Despite the pain caused by the friction of his wound against the wall, Jaehyun forced indifference. “I don’t answer to you,” he spat.

 Lucas’s fist collided with his cheek. He staggered on his feet.

 “Lucas! Please, stop! We need him!” Rhianon tried to placate the hunter’s ire by putting her body between the two men.

 Lucas cursed. “We don’t need a monster such as him!”

 “No, listen to me! This is the seventh night since he bit Y/N. However I think about it, we won’t be able to hold Y/N off. We need Jaehyun,” she sighed, “He’s stronger than the two of us combined.”

 Jaehyun heard the thumping of Rhianon’s heart, as well as Lucas’s. A bitter smile crept up on his lips.

 “I’m letting you go for the sake of Y/N,” Lucas seethed as he walked ahead of them.

 Rhianon gave Jaehyun a hard look. “Are you okay being topless like that?”

 “I’m quite okay,” Jaehyun answered. A grim nod was what Rhianon gave him in return. Before the woman could pivot on her heel, Jaehyun said, “You know he’s madly in love with you, right?”

 She opened her mouth to speak, but decided best not to say anything. Rhianon turned her back against the bleeding vampire and followed Lucas into the night.

 No matter how hard he tried to ignore the reek of your dead body and your blood lingering in the backseat, it won’t leave his nostrils. He could almost perceive your lifeless body and your wrist hanging limply, your lips ashen and your suit bloodied. It took all his willpower not to plunge your snake dagger to his own chest.

 And the silence inside the vehicle was deafening. Jaehyun didn’t bother to ask where they were going. They won’t answer him no matter how many times he asks. But there is one thing that he needs to know, though. What happened to Rhianon when she was led by her brother inside the house?

 “What happened to you, Rhianon? Did Sicheng help you?” It’s pathetic to feel embarrassed— Jaehyun had never felt this feeling before. Such weakness, such vulnerability. He supposed it’s because Rhianon was a dear friend to you, and having her inside the car had poisoned the courage from Jaehyun’s heart.

 Rhianon didn’t look at him when she answered. “Yes. And he promised to dig Hubert’s tongue,” she explained, “He’ll give it to us at the gathering.”

 “You believe him?” He couldn’t help but ask. Yes, they are siblings. Jaehyun wanted to believe that blood is thicker than water, but Alena has been the one who gave Sicheng another shot at life. That’s why it hadn’t occurred to him to ask for his help.

 “That’s the only choice left: to believe. And Alena hasn’t yet sent her vampires to kill me, so I believe my brother hasn’t told her anything about the plan.”

 “We’re here,” Lucas announced as he killed the engine.

 Copse greeted him. And a stretch of darkness lies beyond the forest and into the road. Where did they keep you?

 “Where is Y/N?”

 —

 They say there would be a white light once you close your eyes in perpetuity— but there wasn’t. Death is a void: a gulf of nothingness woven to crawl at the phantom of whoever you are after life. If there is something such as that.

 Here, you won’t feel anything. Perhaps you would be afloat in a sea of emptiness— but that’s nothing forbye. Darkness would deprive you of everything; your sight, hearing, taste, smell— all of it? Gone.

 Was it frightening? To experience such… void? The answer would be no. It wasn’t blood-curdling because it wasn’t anything, at all. There is no feeling here. Only darkness.

 And yet why is there a force? There’s something thrumming inside your dead phantom. Something that was seeping in every crevice of your vein like mad claws of something rotten and… alive.

 It wasn’t painful, but it was there. Like a gush of river splashing into every nerve. And there is only that— the unending cycle of something in your body. No, it wasn’t painful until it reached the most barren part of your body: the heart.

 Your eyes fluttered open frantically, your irises dilating but there was only darkness inside this— this coffin. Deficient was the air and baffled as you were, you have not felt its absence. Your lungs seem as if they have never been full of air until now. And your body thrums with a strength you, yourself, aren’t familiar with.

 Apart from these perplexities, the one thing which confounded you more was the dryness of your throat. No, water won’t quench this thirst.

 Blood. You need it. You’d die without it.

 You were shaken by the reality of it— like an earthquake the world has yet to experience. It is like a force which rattled all the mountains— your being a vampire. There wasn’t anything more horrendous.

 A scream, then you were thrashing inside this cocoon of fabrics and ropes. Never minding how the dirt coated your nails underneath. You were an animal, a wild one. And there’s no one who could hold you back tonight.

 As you crawled your way out of your grave, your ears caught the rather soundless wriggling of the worms into the soil around you. Then you reached out your arm beyond— the cold air bit on your hand. There was a gasp, and a thudding of heartbeat.

 At long last. Splatters of soil flew everywhere as you crawled out of the grave successfully.

 Your sight was blurry. It’s shaking. Whoever or whatever was in front of you, their hearts thrums painstakingly inside their chests. You could almost taste their blood in the air— as well as the fear.

 “Y/N,” someone called out.

 You threw your attention towards her while baring your new fangs. She’s a girl— with long dark hair and golden skin. She was holding her hands up, as if trying to placate the monster in front of her.

 “It’s me, Rhianon.”

 Not so far away, the scent of blood reached your nostrils. You let out a snarl, the girl backed up. The tall man with white hair stood protectively in front of her, looking at you grimly.

 His blood flows freely inside him. You could hear it like a gush of a river. It made your ears perk up. Without thinking, you lunge forward to the tall man. In a blink of time, you had him by his throat as you slammed his back against a large tree. He groaned in pain, but he didn’t fight.

 “Y/N!” The girl from earlier called out to you. You craned your neck to see her. She was waving some kind of plastic— and there was blood on it.

 No. No. No. You won’t believe it but it’s true. The need for blood was like hot coals in your throat. Burning and smothering the flesh inside and there was nothing that could wash the torrid feeling but blood.

 The grasses parted by how swift you moved and how quick you grabbed the bag from the girl’s hands. With a snap of your teeth, you drank every last drop. It surged down your neck and the tattered suit you were wearing. The girl was holding you another bag the same time you tossed the empty one.

 Angry, you are. Angry and disgusted by the way the blood seemed to answer all your woes. It was like a touch of heaven in your wounds, stitching you back up again.

 You have lost count of how many bags were given your way. They piled and piled up on the grasses with every snap and every gulp. You emptied every last one while loathing yourself. You won’t live like this. You can’t live like this.

 But it’s the only way.

 You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Blood adorned your skin, intensifying the hatred you have for your own soul. When you stretched out a hand to the girl, she shook her head.

 “You’ve drank them all,” she breathily said.

 All, and it still isn’t enough.

 Without recognizing any of the two, you stood up and walked away. Only to be stopped by the girl’s question: “Where are you going, Y/N?”

 Inchmeal, your mind started to weave its way towards clarity. The girl had become familiar; her golden skin, her eyes like pools of blackholes, her long raven hair— Rhianon. You furrowed your brows as you took in the image of the man. White hair, perfect eyes, luscious lips— Lucas.

 As if they, too, have seen the confusion in your face, they tried to smile. “It’s me— Rhianon. And he’s Lucas.”

 Without another word, you ran and boxed Rhianon in a tight hug, tugging Lucas closer to embrace him, too. The girl sobbed at your dirt-sodden hair, muttering sorry’s and ‘I’m so glad you’re back’.

 “Why are you—” You halted on your question and spun around to roam your vampiric eyes around the surroundings. The tall trees would’ve obscured everything, but now it’s clear because of your developed line of sight.

 “What— what is it, Y/N?” asked Rhianon while holding your hand.

 There was something in the air. A cloying smell penetrating your nostrils. Little by little, it’s fading. Until there was nothing but the dull smell of earth and air around you. Was it only your imagination?

 “Nothing,” you said, “I thought I’ve smelled something… unusual.”

 Offering you his leather jacket, Lucas spoke, “Come, Y/N. We know it’s been a long night. There’s a cottage not far from here where we could stay.”

 The pathway ahead was moonlighted. And by your eyesight, you found it easy to navigate. A stone’s throw away from the small nipa hut, Rhianon’s scent started to attack your sense of smell.

 “You used to live here,” you pronounced, “With your grandmother.”

 Rhianon turned her attention towards you. Her confusion had transformed to that of understanding. Plucking a wildflower from the ground, she smiled. “Yes.” She offered you the flower. “Here. I know your rebirth isn’t because of something pleasant— but I’m glad that you’re here, nonetheless.”

 Taking the small flower from her hand, you did your best to return the smile. “Thank you.”

 They say vampire venom works best when the human is on their brink of death. Jaehyun knew that. So he decided to bite you, and turn you into a monster just before life had been extinguished out of you.

 Abominable, it is. Being turned against your will. And of the man you believed you have loved the most. Painful the memories were, but you refused to falter now. You have known darkness when Alena drove her dagger to your back. You have known despair the moment Jaehyun bit you— and there was nothing you could do to stop him.

 But however miniscule a hole might be, light would penetrate. No matter how rotten, you would use this new life to avenge your parents. You would avenge them without the help of a deceiver. And this time, you would do it right.

 “Where is Jaehyun?”

 That was the first thing you have asked them when you finally reached the cottage. It wasn’t large, but it was home. Rhianon tended to it very well from the utensils to the pillows.

 “We have no idea,” Rhianon stated, “Ever since the night in Alena’s, I’ve never seen him again.”

 You hummed. “He killed my parents.”

 You expected an uproar from your two companions. But none came. So you whirled towards them from your quiet staring at the moon. They gave each other a knowing look before looking at you again.

 Rhianon was the first one to speak. “Are you sure about that?”

 If certainty was in the line, you couldn’t say. But he told you himself: he was turned ten years ago. A fledgling would kill and drink anyone’s blood once they finally crawled out of their graves. You have experienced it yourself.

 Jaehyun has been a strong vampire. That kind of strength needed an unimaginable amount of blood.

 “I’m not. Or perhaps I still force myself not to believe it. But I’ll get the answer one way or another.”

 —

 Jaehyun let his back rest against the rough texture of the tree, perhaps kilometers away from your grave.

 He nearly got caught because of his stupid wound that was healing too slowly. You, too, have smelled it.

 How did he become so craven? He completely fluctuated when he saw the earth above your grave moved. Perhaps he couldn’t endure seeing you in your new form.

 You would kill him at first sight, that he was sure of. And Jaehyun found that he wasn’t prepared to die in the arms of his lover. After everything, and no matter how strong he might be, he knew he won’t fight back.

 First things first, he needs to know the truth about what happened to him ten years ago. Since his stupid mind couldn’t recall any bits of the night he crawled out of his grave other than the sight of Alena in anticipation of him. Hubert was there. But he won’t be able to tell anything until he has his tongue back.

 Isn’t it funny? A twist of fate has twiddled you both with its fingers. Jaehyun’s only goal was to help you find Hubert’s tongue. But little did he knew, he would need it too for his own lucidity.

 He would have helped Sicheng dig, but coming back to Alena’s mansion would be utterly stupid. So Jaehyun sat there, at the bottom of the tree. He sent a quiet thanks to Rhianon for lending him her jacket that was way too small for him. And a curse for Lucas who didn’t offer his.

 Then a silent apology and ‘I love you’ for you.

 —

 Dressed in intricately designed fabrics, with jewels adorning their pale skins, the vampires took their wine while chattering in luscious tones with the orchestra humming music dainty for the ears.

 In the other side of the room, the hunters with their usual laidback gowns and suits mingled together, not daring to take one step closer to their sworn enemy.

 The moon was forgiving, as it illuminated the earth below with its usual white and blue light. No stars adorned the heavens, but there wasn’t any sign of rain for the ground to sip.

 Jewels reflected each other in the blinding lights, irating the hunters further. This lavish lifestyle of vampires didn’t go unnoticed in their prying eyes. And yet the bloodsuckers remained unbothered. Or perhaps they wished to offend the humans more.

 There is a treaty— yes. But the apathy these creatures have for each other won’t vanish by a simple signature in a yellowed paper sealed in a land no one dares to go but the elders of Athanar and Diego Asdalis. And Diego is dead. The elders are comfortably sitting in their thrones, neglecting the creatures outside their palaces.

 Jovial, the music grew. And the dance began. The dance of vampires and hunters, they would call it.

 Feet clattered, fabrics shuffled as vampires took each other’s hands and led their likes towards the dance floor.

 Thin-lipped was the hunters, but they, too, grabbed each other’s arms. These vampires won’t better them.

 On and on they spin. Bejeweled skins shone, juxtaposing the simple attires of the virtuous hunters. From above, it was a glorious sight of spinning creatures, heedless of each other’s trap.

 The double oak doors swung open, revealing Alena in her dashing red gown. The dance halted as everyone took in the sight of the Primus. Together, the vampires bowed in reverence.

 A coy smile adorned the woman’s lips, her red lips was the most curvaceous you would ever see. Beautiful as she was, the beast underneath remains untamed.

 Some would say she is unparalleled.

 Until someone comes along beside her.

 This one— her beauty was not of this world. She stood like a beacon of darkness and life in itself, rivaling the Venus beside her. Truth be told, the Primus was unmatched by this woman’s beauty.

 She stepped inside, her heels clanking with her feet only she could own the place. With her silk gown perfectly hugging her body, with the color of her lips matching her eyes— some would say even the vampires drooled at her sight.

 She took a glass from the enthralled waiter, and sipped on its crimson liquid languorously. She spun around, like how a tornado does just before it lays ruin in everything it would touch.

 The woman raised her glass to the Primus, her smile as dangerous as the tip of a dagger. “For the Primus,” she echoed. Then she poured the remaining contents of the glass to the floor.

 —

 You heard gasps, from the hunters or the vampires, you couldn’t really care. What was important to you was Alena’s reaction. One push, and she would definitely strangle you— if she won’t die from anger first.

 This night has been what everyone has been waiting for: the gathering. At long last, it’s here.

 From your peripheral, you saw Eva, gaping at the sight of you. You turned and smiled at her. Lucas told you about Juana’s order to kill you. Too bad that they trusted Lucas that much.

 Oh, what victory.

 As if your smile wasn’t enough, you sauntered up to her. Your hand holding another glass of wine. You tossed the rim of the glass against her forehead. Her head lolled a bit from the impact.

 Running your eyes up and down her visage, you grimaced. “No offense meant but,” you spat, “you look awful.”

 She indeed looked as if she needed a stylist. Bland was her dress, bland was her hair, bland was her make-up. All of the hunters aside from Juana looked vapid. Of course, the witch bitch won’t let these lowly creatures match her magnificence.

 At the far side of the corner, with the founders of the VHC, Juana stood staring at you. Her bosom was up like two hills on her chests. With that corset, it’s awful to breathe.

 You walked towards her. When they saw you approaching, the founders excused themselves to leave you with Juana.

 “What an entrance,” she said, staring at the few pairs dancing in the center. If she was baffled to see you alive, she didn’t show it. “Why are you alive?” She smiled at the passing hunter.

 You chuckled. “Hurts to know that your trusted hunter betrayed you for me?” Then you grabbed her arm and dug your nails to her skin.

 Juana stared at you grimly. “Let go of me.”

 “Look at me,” you said, searching her eyes for any trepidation. When it sparked, you smiled. “I am not a collateral damage. I am not an animal you could kill whenever you like it. I am not a toy you could play and display in your collection.” She wriggled free. Her eyes were hard. You smiled at her. “And I promise you, this night won’t end without me chopping off your head.”

 You didn’t give her any chance to speak, for you have already walked away while drinking the contents of your glass. Halfway towards Rhianon, someone showed himself from behind the tall pillars of the hall.

 Ravishing, he always is. Jaehyun stood there, hands in his pockets. Looking like an angry god in his suit. He had his hair combed and waxed. And he had his eyes fixed at you.

 You, too, you whispered in your head. This night won’t end without me killing you.

 You ignored the silent pleading in his eyes and walked straight to Rhianon. Students weren’t allowed here. But Rhianon isn’t a normal student. She’s Juana’s daughter. “Have you already seen Sicheng?”

 She shook her head. “Not yet.”

 “Where is Lucas?”

 “He’s searching for my brother.”

 “Let’s wait here for a while then,” you sighed.

 Rhianon gulped down her own glass. And by the energy she was exuding, you were told that she’s nervous. “Do you think they’ll attack soon?” she asked before biting her lower lip.

 You roamed your eyes around the vicinity. Most of the vampires were eyeing the hunters suspiciously, and vice versa. As if both sides were only waiting for something to happen— for one another to slip— so they could attack. By the tension in the air, it is not for long.

 “Yes. The hunters’ heartbeats are loud. They are ready.”

 “What about you? Are you ready?”

 You smiled. “Yes.”

 As the Primus, Alena hops to one conversation to another. Her smile was a permanent mark in her face. It betrayed the animal within.

 One mistake was what you were waiting for. And it’s going to be hell in this mansion.

 Jaehyun was behind her as she greeted the other vampires. Those who have lived for three-hundred years already. Of course, they are engaged. It would be odd to see the fiancée without the fiancé.

 Then it was Juana’s turn to greet the Primus. They exchanged jovial smiles, as if they were friends since the beginning of time. At your location, you could hear the murmur of their conversation as if they were inside a bubble. Unintelligible but dangerous, nonetheless. Everyone felt it, too. For the vampires stilled as well as the hunters. All eyes were on the two women speaking at the corner.

 Alena leaned closer to Juana. From your peripheral, the hunters reached for their weapons concealed by their gowns and suits.

 Juana’s gasp was deafening, then she slapped Alena.

 You chuckled slowly.

 The game has begun.

 The vampires pounced at the hunters. The bloodsuckers were outnumbered. How interesting.

 First blood was drawn as one vampire slit a hunter’s throat. His blood soaked the floors, like the red wine everyone sipped earlier. You fought the urge to get on your knees and lick his neck.

 “Run for the backdoor.” Lucas was already bloodied when he reached you and Rhianon. “Sicheng’s waiting for you there.”

 Before he could run, Rhianon grabbed his arm. “Be careful.” Lucas didn’t answer. He only grabbed Rhianon by the back of her head and planted a kiss to her lips then to her forehead.

 She turned to you. “Go. Do what needs to be done.”

 “You have your weapons in you?” you asked your friend.

 She nodded. “You?”

 You pulled up the slit of your gown to reveal your dagger. “Here.”

 “Would that be enough?”

 “It is.”

 Rhianon nodded before sprinting towards the backdoor. When a hunter dashed towards you, you quickly grabbed your dagger and swung fast to stab him in the neck. He fell, eyes still open.

 “Now, shall we start?” Eva appeared in front of you. A playful smirk flashing on her face. She’s armed with two scythes. Much larger than your dagger.

 But you are a vampire. You are swift, much guileful, and more dangerous than this hunter. When she swung her scythe, you hopped backwards. Your weight was lifted by your ability to jump high.

 Eva bared her teeth, then swung again. Staggering backwards, you memorized her every move. When she swung the blade in an attempt to chop off your head, you crouched and sliced her leg with your dagger.

 Eva cried out in pain, losing hold of her other weapon. You swiftly picked it up. Now there was a moon of a weapon in your hand.

 With a road, she attacked. When you attack with such anger, the wit leaves your mind. Eva swayed her scythe as if to cut you in two. She was angry. Too much. And that’s where she went wrong.

 Without another thought, you swayed your scythe and sliced open her stomach. Blood gushed out and splattered your face.

 Eva choked. Then her scythe made a clamor when it fell to the floor. She knelt, then her body fell to the cold hard floor. Her blood pooled around her, but she was still breathing.

 “Mercy,” she whispered.

 A smile, then you walked away. She’s going to die soon. And that would be mercy.

 Everywhere, chaos ensues. Some vampires were dead on the ground, bodies burning. Some hunters’ bodies were crippled and broken on the floor. Still, the battle continues.

 You watched as Juana and Alena had their own war at the end of the hall. The vampire bared her teeth, while the witch flicked her hand. Alena was… losing. Oddly as it is, you refused to move. As much as you wanted to kill Alena, it’s too beguiling to witness these two rotten beings fight each other.

 Then Alena was on the ground, while Juana towers over her. “You took my son!” she roared.

 You rolled your eyes.

 “You crazy bitch!” Alena cried out.

 Juana stabbed her stomach with a sword. Alena cried out in pain. She grabbed the blade and attempted to raise it. Only cutting her palms open.

 “Stupid,” you muttered from afar.

 Juana twisted the blade while laughing. Alena’s head lolled back in pain. “Die! Bitch! Die!” Juana shouted. “Rot in hell—”

 What heartbreaking scene. Sicheng stabbed his own mother in the back. The sword protruded from her back to stomach. You must admit, you didn’t see Sicheng approached.

 The sight was to behold. A son, a mother, and a vampire.

 Juana fell to the ground with a thud. Sicheng pulled the sword from Alena’s stomach. At the sight of him helping Alena on her feet, you could only hope that Sicheng won’t betray Rhianon like this.

 Because heaven help you, you would kill him for it.

 Sicheng bowed to Alena. Then the Primus waved her off while clutching her stomach. In the blink of an eye, she straightened her back. No more wounds. No more injuries.

 Now, it’s your turn.

 “Not so fast,” you spat out as you ran towards the Primus. Alena senses your presence, for she successfully dodged your first attack.

 You held tightly to the scythe, teeth bared. Alena smiled an insulting one, taunting you to lunge and lose all your composure.

 But you have danced with the devil way too many times. You know how the music goes.

 Alena sized you up. Both of you walking in a circle, anticipating for someone to lash out first. Suddenly, she staggered backwards as Jaehyun pounced on her from the back.

 Alena was bloodied, ragged even. She glared at Jaehyun, then at you. “You’re a fool to think that you could beat me,” she seethed.

 You ignored Jaehyun’s presence. Alena owes him, too. But she’s yours. It’s you who would claim her life— not anyone else’s, not Jaehyun.

 Once again, you aggressed. Alena dodge, but she was met by Jaehyun’s fist. You slammed your knees on her face before she could crash against the floor. The crack of bones, then Alena’s mouth was dripping blood.

 She dodged Jaehyun’s attack— then kicked the back of his knees so aggressively that you winced. Alena turned her attention towards you. With a snarl, she lashed out.

 This time, you let her pounce on you until your back collided with the wall. The battle rages around you, blood adorned the floors and innards were splayed. Lifeless eyes stared at different directions. As if they were watching the battle between you and Alena, too.

 You felt a dull pain on the back of your head as Alena slammed her hands to your face. You groaned in pain by the impact. Then she was tossed aside as Jaehyun grabbed the back of her collar.

 Before sauntering towards the Primus, Jaehyun gave you a silent nod. Alena lay crumpled to the ground, Jaehyun kicked her stomach then she doubled over again. His height towered over her, then he pressed his soles to her cheek. The force made the floor cracked but Alena grabbed his ankles and pulled.

 Back slamming to the floor, Jaehyun struggled to stand up. When you attempted to dash towards him, Alena grabbed his hair and wrapped her arm around his neck. A snap of bones, then his veins were already visible by how forceful Alena’s grip was.

 She would kill Jaehyun. Would you watch her end him? Would that be retribution?

 You cursed. But before you could think of backing out and letting Jaehyun die, you grabbed a dagger from the strap on your hips and threw it towards the Primus. She was shot at the shoulder. Jaehyun wriggled free as Alena staggered backwards with a hiss.

 You buried your soles to the floor, and sprinted without a second thought. Alena met you with bared fangs. But you dodge her attack as you whirled

 You had your arm wrapped around her neck instantly. The familiar sound of breaking bones echoed through your ears. Satisfaction spread out as a sneer on your lips. Alena thrashed and tried to grab you— but to no avail.

 Everything went silent. The clang of weapons to weapons, the shouts, the cries. The only thing you heard was the skin of Alena’s neck as you pulled her head off her body. With a triumphant smile, you grabbed her hair and kicked her body to fall to the floor. The blood from her severed her dripped and spread like a red ink on an otherwise stygian floor.

 Slowly, everyone stopped as they took in the image of the dead Primus. The vampires gaped at you in horror. As well as the hunters.

 The vampires had their fangs bared at you instantly. Your mouth turned in a thin line. They weren’t happy to see their Primus dead, of course. Gripping Alena’s hair with your hand, you backed away. But the first vampire attacked, so you strike her with Alena’s head.

 Jaehyun was in front of you suddenly, spreading out his arms to meet the vampires. “She’s your new Primus!” he bellowed and hit a vampire who had been too late to halt his attacks.

 The vampires stilled, their perfect brows furrowed.

 “What do you mean?” one asked.

 He fisted his palms before answering, “It is I who turned her. Alena wasn’t her Primus. And you know the rules…” Jaehyun paused for a minute before continuing, “She’s our new Primus.”

 “That’s absurd! How could we make sure that you really turned her?”

 “Why don’t you crack open my skull with your powers and shit?” Jaehyun spat, “I am not lying. And could you stop pretending that this isn’t of benefit to you? I know all of you fuckers hated Alena.”

 What is he trying to say? Did you hear it right? You? The new Primus because you killed Alena? You grabbed Jaehyun’s arm. “Shut up.”

 He whirled on you with a grim expression. “Shut up and let them kill you? No.”

 “This isn’t your fight!” you hissed.

 “It’s mine as much as it’s yours,” was his straightforward reiteration.

 You hate this man. You hate the way that after all that he has done— he still has that same stupid effect on you.

 Jaehyun turned his attention back to the gaping vampires. “Now, what? Kneel!”

 One by one, they knelt on the ground, eyes confused but subservient nonetheless. As they knelt, you have noticed that there are only five hunters left. One of them was Lucas. He was panting hard, scythe on hand.

 This is a massacre.

 “Stand up,” you commanded. At once, all the vampires stood up. “Kneel.” Then they knelt. “Now,” you began, “Kill each other.”

 “Wha—” one vampire tried to open her mouth to speak, but was attacked with the other vampire from behind. Chaos once again dominated the mansion, with the vampires killing each other.

 But there is one loophole. Jaehyun remained standing. Hurt was an understatement for the expression that was etched through his face. You stared at him with lifeless eyes.

 “Why aren’t you dead?” you asked flatly.

 “You—”

 You cut him off. “Yes. I did command them to kill each other. Believing that you would die, too. Are you satisfied?”

 “Y/N…” he stated with a voice as broken as everything around you. Perhaps it broke you, too. But you were numb. “Why?”

 You leaned closer to him. “Because I hate you.”

 Without a backward glance, you walked past him, past the dead bodies, past Lucas, and towards Rhianon.

 As the last vampire was killed, Lucas caught up to you. “Alena turned Sicheng, Y/N.”

 Shit, shit, shit. You pushed the backdoor open and searched for Rhianon around. Then she was there, holding Sicheng in her arms. A dagger to his chest.

 “Wake up,” she croaked, “Please. Don’t leave me.”

 Eyes frantic, you knelt beside Rhianon. “I… Rhianon—”

 With tears rolling down her cheeks, she asked, “What happened? Why did he stab his own self?”

 You felt Lucas’s burning gaze. But you couldn’t speak. Arid was your throat. How could you be so foolish? Why haven’t you thought about Sicheng when you barked the order?

 “It’s my fault— I— I ordered the vampires to kill each other.”

 Rhianon shoved you away, her sorrowful expression turning dark. “How is that possible?”

 Lucas was the one to answer, “She’s their new Primus.”

 “Rhianon— I’m sorry— I didn’t—”

 She grabbed your collar and sneered at your face. Utter loathing evident in her dark irises. “Do. Something.” When you didn’t move, she propelled you away again. This time, she screamed so loud you were afraid she’d break a nerve. “DO SOMETHING!”

 Your hand to his pale wrist. You brought Sicheng’s wrist to your mouth and bare your fangs. With a chumble, you let your teeth sink in his skin, producing as much vampire venom as you could muster.

 Sicheng’s blood coated your teeth as it ran down his pale arm. Rhianon remained unmoving beside you, her heartbeat extremely loud for your sensitive hearing. In it, you have heard the trepidation as well as the hate. For you.

 One minute became two. Two became five. Sicheng remained lifeless, intensifying the wrath and the grief inside your friend’s heart. This has been your doing.

 But then his eyes snapped open. Rhianon gasped and pulled him close.

 It happened too fast. Fast even for your vampire eyes. Sicheng had his hand wrapped around his sister’s neck. You stared in mortification as he lifted Rhianon to the air. She gagged and clawed at his wrist.

 Your first instinct was to pounce on him. And that was what you did. Rhianon fell to the ground as you jumped on Sicheng. Your bodies rolled off the ground. He was clawing at you— trying to break free.

 “I am your Primus!” you roared, “And I order you to calm down.” Sicheng stilled, pupils dilating. With a twist of your wrist, you pulled out the dagger from his chest. When you felt his bones relaxed, you slowly got off of him.

 He sat up on the ground, searching for any faces. Then he straightened when he saw Rhianon in the arms of Lucas, palming her neck while coughing.

 “Rhianon?” he asked. Sicheng was on his feet in a matter of seconds, and closed the distance between him and his sister. “What happened?”

 “You’re a piece of shit…” Rhianon coughed, “You know that?” With a sob, she grabbed her brother and embraced him tightly.

 —

 “Could we change clothes first?” Lucas inquired inside the vehicle as he swerved the steering wheel.

 The four of you were on your way towards the cemetery, where Hubert was currently located. By the position of the moon in the heavens, the dawn would soon break. And you would never let this day end without knowing the truth.

 In your heart, in the little space inside, you still refused to believe that Jaehyun has been the one behind your parents’ deaths. Perhaps it is the love that hasn’t been extinguished off of you after all.

 If your heart could still beat, it would surely fall to your stomach by how fervent the rhythm would be. The road has been long— and it would feel as if the ride has been for naught. At least, almost all the vampires in this town were dead. Along with Alena. If ever one of them killed your parents, you have already exact your vengeance.

 But if it is true that Jaehyun killed your parents, you have to gather all your courage to kill the man you love. An eye for an eye— always.

 The thought of Johnny, your brother, who had no idea about your whereabouts and what creature you had been turned into, flashed in your mind like lightning. Oh, Johnny, you cried in your mind. If you could still cry, you’d surely be a waterfall of tears sitting on the bullet seat.

 But that was the point. You couldn’t. Not anymore. Jaehyun took all your humanity from you.

 “We’re here,” Rhianon pronounced.

 Bloodied and beat, the four of you entered the cemetery. Unlike from last time, and the one before that, you didn’t need any flashlights to see through the dark. The signage from the entrance didn’t give you any goosebumps or creeps either. There is nothing more dangerous than you tonight.

 Hubert was bound in the circle when you arrived. His wails remained uninterrupted. They only grew more desperate when he saw the four of you coming towards him.

 Lucas stood protectively behind Rhianon as she knelt and sat the wooden box to the ground. It is the box where something of Hubert’s possession had been kept. With a deep intake of breath, Rhianon opened the lid. Only to be greeted by a smoke.

 The three of you except Rhianon drew your foreheads in a crease. What is happening? And why is it only smoke? However, it was not a usual smoke. It would as if it had a life on its own. The smoke remained dancing, refusing to disintegrate and disappear into nothingness.

 Rhianon’s mouth opened and spewed enchantments. At once, the smoke compressed to become solid. With a dashing speed, it flew towards Hubert and disappeared to his mouth.

 You stood there, knuckles white. What just happened?

 As if on instance, Hubert gagged. He was becoming used to his own tongue. He tried to wiggle it, touch his mouth with it, run it through his lips. Hubert cried out in astonishment.

 “Now,” you began, stepping closer to him to hand him the picture of your parents, “Tell me who killed them.”

 “Give me the image of my wife and child first, vampire,” he spat with contempt.

 You greeted your teeth. There is no way you’d play this game with him. You are done with games. It is time for answers.

 “Don’t fuck with me, Hubert.” You leaned closer. Mustering enough authority to your voice, “Who killed them?”

 “Humans are a fool.” He snorted. “You already killed her.”

 It was expected. But it didn’t lessen the horror that you felt. Does revenge truly taste like this? Now, you feel as if beheading Alena hadn’t been enough. You wanted to breathe life to her once again, so you could kill her over and over. For eternity.

 It is sickening— this vengeance. There was no happiness. There was no sign of relief. It had only amplified the grief and the revulsion.

 Feeling hollow inside and out, you turned your back against Hubert.

 “But,” he added, stopping you on your tracks. “Someone else consumed their blood.”

 Don’t let it be Jaehyun, you prayed. But you are a devil, so God didn’t hear.

 “Alena killed them. Jaehyun drank their blood to the last drop.”

 —

 Citylights danced below you. The night air was filled with honks of cars. Paired with a brisk wind which failed to make you feel anything. Your skin had died, together with all your ability to feel anything physical.

 It’s been a week since everything went downhill. It’s been a week since you have found out the truth about your parents.

 In the span of that week, many have changed. As the founders of the VHC were killed in the fight between the vampires, Lucas was hailed as the newest leader of the hunter’s society. Many mourned Juana, despite her wickedness and deceit. Along with the mourners was her own daughter, Rhianon. She knew that Sicheng killed their mother out of his duty to protect Alena, but you have found out that the siblings separated ways for a while.

 Rhianon came back to her grandmother’s cottage to master the arms of magic. Ever since Juana died, all her powers had been transferred to her only daughter. That makes Rhianon the reigning Supreme of the witches.

 As for Sicheng… he had a role to fulfill. You hailed him new Primus. Since there is no way you would dedicate your life in commanding the other vampires in this town. However powerful it might make you feel.

 And Jaehyun…

 He landed behind you. His presence alone was a whirlpool of both sorrow and excitement. The last time you saw him, he was bloodied and bruised. That was it.

 A meter away from you, Jaehyun leaned and propped his elbows to the railings, staring at the horizon— a juxtaposition of city lights and mountains.

 His soft hair swayed back and forth because of the wind. And his pale features never betrayed his beauty. Sometimes, you wonder if he was real. Or just a piece of an artist’s imagination that came to life. He had that beauty in him; a brush stroke of perfection set in his dark-brown eyes. His lips were a piece of heaven in itself. But there is hell underneath those smiles of his.

 “I’m glad you came,” you muttered.

 “It is you who summoned me. There’s no reason to decline.”

 You tried to sniff the air, pretending that you could breathe it in with your dead and pallid lungs. “I’m here to say goodbye.”

 “No. You don’t.” He chuckled petulantly.

 “Alena killed my parents,” you began. Jaehyun snapped his head towards you, eyes like searing hot coals against your skin. “You drank their blood.”

 Your eyes to his eyes. His reflected pain. Yours reflected grief.

 Jaehyun ran his tongue through his lips. “I don’t remember.”

 Shaking your head, you flashed him a bitter smile. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t.” You held his eyes. “But it is the truth.”

 His next movement was unexpected. Jaehyun knelt, knees colliding against the rooftop’s floor. Your eyes grew hard. But he remained kneeling. “I’m sorry. Truly,” he said hoarsely. Right there, you knew that he would cry if he could.

 “Sorry won’t make everything right.”

 “I don’t want to lose you again.” His lips trembled. “Give us a chance.”

 Us. How enthralling that sounds. You and Jaehyun, until the end of time. Heavenly as it might sound, the world doesn’t revolve that way. Grief and love is a mixture of water and oil— it was never meant to be.

 “I don’t know how to forgive you,” you said in a frail voice.

 Jaehyun’s face lit up in a fraction. He stood up and took your face with his. In a low voice, he whispered, “I’m begging you. Don’t leave me.”

 A bitter smile. “How could you wish for that? You turned me, Jaehyun. You turned me into the monster that killed my parents.”

 He croaked, “Forgive me.”

 “Is there forgiveness for that?” You looked at him coldly. “And I don’t even know you, Jaehyun. Who were you before you had been turned? What are your dreams?”

 By that, he let his hands fall. “I am… Jung Jaehyun. A motorcycle racer. I loved the race so much—” That I killed a little girl, he wanted to say but found out that he couldn’t. He has already done enough grievous things. He couldn’t do this.

 “It’s okay. You need not force yourself.” You touched his cheek once more, leaving his lips with one last kiss. “Perhaps in another life we could try again.”

 Then you disappeared. Leaving him battered and broken and… alone.

 —

 “Y/N! Damn! I’ve missed you!” Mark gave you a suffocating hug after you opened the door for them. Of course, it didn’t suffocate you at all. You only echoed a ‘hmpf’ sound to fool yourself.

 “I’ve missed you, too, Lee.”

 Haechan remained standing at the doorway until Mark pulled away from you. You raised a brow at him as he ran his eyes up and down your frame. As you shared a knowing smile, Haechan pulled you closer and gave you the tightest hug ever.

 “You little devil,” he muttered on your hair.

 “Still your little devil.” You chuckled.

 Mark joined the hug. And you could almost feel the vampire venom coating your eyes as fake tears.

 “You’ve got so much to tell us!”

 So you brought out the liquor and the food. There, in your living room, the three of you sat on the floor. You have been gone for almost four months. Everything about you has changed. However, your friends remained the same.

 Haechan threw another banter, making Mark laugh while clutching his stomach. You took a swig from your bottle while chuckling, spilling liquid down your chin and shirt.

 You have successfully dodged all their questions about your supposed vacation. Every now and then, you would lie and show them pictures you simply downloaded from the Internet as proof. Mark nodded in amazement, while Haechan nudged and told that you should’ve taken them with you.

 How awful that would’ve been. You couldn’t stomach thinking about your friends, experiencing the same horrid situations you had been into.

 Drinking in the humanity in the air, you stared and watched them as their cheeks turned pinkish because of inebriation. Haechan’s words became sluggish, while Mark started to hiccup.

 These are your friends. Human. One day, they would wither. One day, they would die. And you’d continue to live.

 You stood up and walked towards your room, picked up pillows and blankets, and walked back to the living room. Where Haechan and Mark currently snores. A pang left your dead heart as you wrapped the two boys with a blanket.

 “Good night,” you whispered. “Sleep well, you devils.”

 —

 Johnny came back home after a week since you arrived. As usual, he had the widest grin on his face when he saw you. Just like when you were still a kid, he scooped you up and whirled you around while laughing.

 You tried your best to share his joy, you really did. Perhaps you have succeeded in pretending, since Johnny was and still ecstatic everytime he sees you on a daily basis.

 Night after night, you would sit on the couch. While some Netflix series plays on the screen. Johnny would tell you about the countries he has been to. Finally, after years, he finally revealed his job. Photographer, he said. But you were still quite hesitant to believe him. You could infiltrate his mind, but that would be diabolical.

 “What happened to Jaehyun, though?” he asked one morning.

 You stilled, unable to form words. Since your last meeting at the rooftop, Jaehyun hasn’t shown himself to you again.

 “Before I went home, I saw him in London.”

 “London?”

 Johnny chewed on his food before answering, “Yeah. I was shocked to see him there since I thought he was living here or somewhere else.”

 “I… thought so, too.”

 “But London?” Johnny made a sound. “I thought that dick’s an L.A. kid. Anyways, he didn’t accept my payment to the money I owed him.”

 That was the last time you have ever talked about Jaehyun with your brother. You simply couldn’t form coherent words whenever someone says his name.

 “London, huh?” you mumbled while staring at the horizon from your bedroom window. The gloaming stretches out as a blanket of bluish clouds. The sun would rise soon, and you would lock yourself up in bed until it’s nighttime again.

 Everything was muffled. The yawn of the early passersby. The clangor of utensils as mothers prepare for their children’s lunchbox. The toss and turning of Johnny on his bed.

 He didn’t sleep a wink last night. And you know why.

 Ever since you were turned, the only way to drink blood was to go to the blood bank. You would refrigerate the blood at the mini-fridge you have installed in your bedroom. Safe, you thought they were. Until Johnny came barging in while you were sipping on one of the packs.

 He gagged at the sight of you. With horror in his eyes, Johnny shut the door. The blood pack fell from your hands and landed straight to your carpets.

 It would seem as if there’s still humanity left in you since you forgot to close the door. What a human mistake.

 “Are you fucking with me?” Johnny asked when you sat with him in the kitchen. It was his initial reaction upon seeing you.

 “It’s a grape juice,” was your stupid reiteration. Dark and luscious red, the blood was. There’s no way it would be a grape juice.

 “Now you’re making a fool of me.” Johnny leaned on the kitchen counter, his arms crossed against his chest. “Why are you drinking blood?”

 “It’s not blood—”

 “WHY ARE YOU DRINKING BLOOD?” he screamed. You could swear it rattled the utensils hanging as well as the picture frames.

 For the first time since the both of you were orphaned, it had been his first time to raise his voice at you.

 “Answer me—!”

 “I’m a vampire, Johnny.”

 A pause. You expected him to howl with laughter. But Johnny remained unmoving. He was checking your face, checking if you weren’t fooling around.

 “I know vampires need blood to survive, but that is a fucked up thing to say, Y/N,” Johnny sighed, “Is this because of Mom and Dad?”

 You closed your eyes. He thinks you are losing your mind. And you couldn’t blame him. If the roles were reversed, you would’ve thought the same of Johnny. “I’m telling the truth.”

 “Truth?” He slammed the table. “Where is the truth to that? Vampires don’t exist!”

 “They do! And I am one of them now!” you hissed, afraid that the neighbors might hear your unpleasant conversation.

 Johnny ran a hand through his hair. Then he stood up and paced. “Tell me if you want some medical aid. I’ll do everything to help you.”

 “You think I’m insane?!”

 “Then what are you?!” he shouted back.

 You purse your lips together while shaking your head. “I’m telling the truth.” Then you grabbed the knife resting conveniently on the top of the table. “Watch.” You sliced your arm, the blood dripped.

 Johnny stared hard at your wound. Then his eyebrows started to furrow when the wound started to close on its own. “What the… what the fuck?” He cupped your cheeks with his hands, eyes panic-stricken while staring at yours. “What happened to you?”

 Since you don’t have the heart to tell Johnny everything, you ignored his question. “I told you. They are real. And they killed Mom and Dad.”

 He embraced you tightly. Heat emanated from his body, wrapping you in its warmness. Johnny was sniffing on your hair. He was crying. “What is this?”

 “I don’t know.” And that was the truth, you really don’t know. From here, everything would finally change. And it won’t be for the best.

 That’s how Johnny found out about your real and true nature. It happened last night. None of you had the heart to talk about yet. Your mind has been clouded, as well as Johnny’s.

 As the sun painted the skies a red and orange hue, you stood up and stretched. Time to hide. But before you could jump in your bed, there was a knock.

 You sauntered up to the door and twisted the knob. Johnny, with dark moons under his eyes, greeted you.

 “Hey,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s sunrise… and I was checking up on you.”

 “I’m… fine.”

 “Can I come in?”

 You opened the door wider.

 Johnny stepped in and roamed his eyes around the room. Then he spun towards you. “Perhaps we could change your curtains? Let’s buy something thicker and new.”

 A warm smile had spread on your lips. “I’d like that.” You hugged your brother.

 Johnny embrace you tightly. “And maybe you could take vitamin D so you won’t have to drink blood?”

 Both of you chuckled. “You are a genius.”

 —

 “In the end, we are alone. And there is nothing but the cold dark wasteland of eternity,” you whispered and shut the book. Lestat de Lioncourt never fails to describe how it feels like to be a vampire.

 Alone. With the weight of eternity on your shoulders.

 Some people wish to live long. Forever, even. And perhaps you have wished for that too, when your mind hasn’t yet developed around the realities of the world.

 Living forever sounds thrilling. Not until it sticks to your chest, like a disease that hadn’t been meant to kill you. This disease was a vice versa of death— it makes you live longer to see the world turn to dust.

 Eighty years. Eighty years of you hopping towards a country to the next. Eighty years of you changing your name and identity to fit in the adjusting world. Whenever your neighbor would notice how your face doesn’t seem to change over the course of years, you would disappear without a trail.

 It’s tiring. But it is the way of things.

 Johnny died twenty years ago because of old age. Five years after that, death claimed Haechan and then Mark. Both of them failed to know your true nature. It was best to keep it from them. So you hid, away from all the people at their wake. But you made sure to visit every year since then.

 As for your friends— Lucas and Rhianon— some happy endings happened to them. Rhianon bore a girl, which she named Luna. They now reside in their cottage in the woods. Lucas died recently. The operations of the Academy as well as the VHC went to his right hand, Jeno.

 Despite its imminence, Rhianon’s grief at the loss of her husband took a toll on her. Luna has all the ability to take care of her mother. But you still lived with them to help Rhianon recover.

 Now, you are here. London. To where Johnny once saw Jaehyun. Why are you here? You couldn’t answer yourself.

 Eighty years since you last saw him. You wonder what happened to him. Or how he looks right now. Surely, something had changed, right?

 In those years, you have taught yourself how to forgive. How to let go of the grief and the pain and the loathing. In this cold and desolate eternity, you deserve to be happy.

 You stared at the River Thames. Calm was its waters now that it’s already midnight. You let the briny air caress your cheeks and soothe your heart.

 Then you felt it. That same presence. It hasn’t changed at all. Not far from you, to where the other tower was located, there he stood.

 If your heart could beat loudly, it surely would. The distance between you was a physical ache that you wanted to quench. So you moved your feet towards him. And he did the same.

 You wanted to sprint to finally hug him. But the bridge is still alive of cars passing and few bystanders walking. You deserve this. This walk of longing.

 Dark brown eyes. Smooth and perfect face. Red luscious lips. He was Jaehyun. From head to his toe.

 You stared at him, gulping down all the years that you haven’t seen him. He looked exactly the same. The same man who could make your lips spread out in a warmest smile. The man who could make you feel summer even though everything in your body has been cold.

 “Hey,” he whispered. “I’m Jung Jaehyun.”

 “Jung Jaehyun,” you repeated. “I’m Y/N.”

 “Nice to meet you,” you both said in unison.

 You once did your love wrong, but you are willing to try. So does he. Jaehyun has been ready to lay out all his cards for you. No turning back. Because losing you had been the bane of his existence.

 And for once, he believes that he deserves something beautiful.

 He took your hand. His smile never fading. “Will you spend your forever with me? Literally.”

 Without hesitation, you answered. “Yes.”

 Perhaps Lestat de Lioncourt had been wrong. The bleak eternity seemed to have been fused of blinding lights now. Bright and bright it shines.

 Despite the death that reeks in your soul, one thing was for sure: the love you have for each other was alive. It was red as blood. Fierce as the sun and the moon combined.

 And there’s an eternity ahead of you to spend with him.

[meltingangels]

As it’s been up on AO3 for a while now, I am making my first Cyberpunk fic available to read on tumblr!

Fic Title:

It's Not a Shrine

Fic Summary:

"What the fuck, V?" (I made a post on tumblr about how funny it would be if V was some kind of Samurai/Silverhand superfan. And how Johnny would react if he walked in and saw all these posters and shit on the wall. And I needed some serotonin, so here we are)

So I made this random post on tumblr and someone said they’d like to see it ‘made canon’ so here I am with this. Whether it progresses or stays as a oneshot depends on the reception.

Basically, I thought of what would happen if V was into older/indie rock music, and a big fan of Samurai- Johnny Silverhand’s group. And how he would react (if he didn’t show up in V’s apartment like he does that first time) if he walked in and there was this huge-ass poster of him on the wall.

Just have at it, lads. This starts off kinda serious, to set the scene. Also because I feel starting off serious makes the end part all the funnier.

Also because I don’t know how to do a short oneshot.

V figured that whatever was on that fucking relic had to be a pretty big deal, if Dexter Deshawn and Evelyn were willing to up against Arasaka to get it. Sure, it would have been nice to know exactly what that was, but given how much time and planning had gone into every other aspect of this insane heist, they’d just shoved any thoughts about the relic itself to the back of their mind. 

They just had to focus on somehow pulling this off, which...even with all the planning...was going to be a fucking miracle. Any aspect of the plan could end up getting fucked up, or someone could end up fucking them over, but the fact that a successful heist would propel them into the fucking stratosphere of Night City’s underworld- with a paycheck to match- was just...well.

Too much to resist. Who wouldn’t want to take up that sort of opportunity? They’d be insane not to try. Anyone who was worth anything in the sprawling underground network of the city’s gangs would know who they fucking were. 

It’d come with it’s drawbacks of course, but once people know they’d gone up against fucking Arasaka and stolen a relic from right under Yorinobu’s hands? 

Most wouldn’t even dare to touch them.

Yeah, the idea of ‘making it to the big leagues’ as Jackie had said it, was too much for either him or V to resist. Sure, they’d talked about it a hell of a lot, going over the risks and all. Which outweighed all their past jobs put together. What they’d done so far was small-time stuff. Just general merc business, nothing to be overly proud of. Certainly nothing to attract any big names. Truth be told, V still wasn’t sure how Jackie had managed to get them the gig in the first place. 

But they hadn’t questioned it. Just like they’d stopped questioning the heist when presented with Dexter’s plan and the hefty reward they’d negotiated. Which, again, was more than most of their past jobs put together. Given how much money and time was going into the heist, despite the fact it would take a miracle to pull off without a hitch, it seemed almost foolproof.

But it had gone wrong in every possible way. Despite claiming the plan was pretty much bulletproof, and he had some of the most reliable sources for all his information, Dexter had still somehow missed the fact that the fucking Emperor had come to talk to his son. A huge factor that had turned everything upside down. Not only had they been made unwilling witnesses to the heir of Arasaka murdering his own fucking father, the entire hotel going up on alert had sent literal shockwaves through their oh-so-foolproof plan. 

V and Jackie couldn’t get back out through the elevator and ended up shimmying along the literal edge of the balcony, with a fucking glass roof on one side, and a sheer drop on the other. And because everything had gotten completely screwed, they’d had to take the glass roof option. The rush of adrenaline and fear coming from sliding down the tilted roof, with dozens of bullets raining down way too close to their backs, was nothing compared to having pain ripple through them as every last breath was knocked out of them.

Then there had been the sense of terror, sending chills down V’s spine, when they turned to Jackie and saw the blood seeping through his white-collar shirt. The knowledge that they somehow had even less time than they thought. That was...honestly...V didn’t think anything could have been worse than that. Looking up from the scarlet red, to the sudden paleness of Jackie’s face. A face that looked more in shock than anything else, eyes hinting at the fear he quickly tried to hide behind his usual jokes and bravado. 

V had barely taken her eyes off of him the entire time, terrified that every time they looked over, he’d be dead on the floor. But, somehow, against the odds of that stomach-turning injury- and the countless waves of Arasaka guards armed to the teeth, they’d made it. Made it out, the chip safe and secure in Jackie’s head, to the relative security of the Delamain vehicle. Where V had almost let out a laugh at the fact they’d made it.

Only for Jackie to bleed to death in the back seat, while she was powerless to stop it. The feeling of his blood seeping out over her fingers, bunching her jacket up against the wound, had somehow been fucking nothing compared to how he’d reached out to touch her face and smile. That same crooked, warm smile, eyes shining like this wasn’t the last time they’d be doing so. Or how her heart had finally shattered into a million pieces when that hand fell down, and his body went slack. Honestly, no amount of alcohol or drugs that Night City could offer would ever get that out of her memory. 

V knew it would haunt her nightmares for years, if those ever stopped. Then there was those first moments without Jackie, with her stumbling out of the car covered in her best friend’s blood. With the scarlet fucking covering her up to the elbows, staining her own white shirt the same way it had ruined Jackie’s. 

She could remember stumbling into the motel, and before she had it in her to find her way to Dexter’s saferoom, there had been a thought just as terrifying as the idea of Jackie’s body being back in the car waiting for her. 

The thought of having to take Delamain round to Mama Welles’ place and show her that her son was gone.

And as if that wasn’t enough of a clusterfuck for her mind to deal with, she’d then been left reeling with the bitter sting of betrayal. Panicking in a way that showed the exact opposite of the slick, cool gangster he always portrayed, Dexter had shot her in the fucking head. After his goon had beat her to a fucking pulp. Which, of course, V assumed would be the end. A world class beating and a bullet to the brain did tend to bring an end to someone’s life. Well, the bullet would do that by itself. All the implants in the world couldn’t save you if your mind was completely fucked. 

But somehow she’d fucking made it through that. Left in a pained daze as confusion overrode any sense of fear or anger. Jackie had died. Why hadn’t she? There was a bullet in her head, so why the hell wasn’t she wherever you went when you died. If there was ever any such place, that is.  Why had she somehow survived, not only through said beating + bullet, but through the insane fucking car chase after? 

That had ended in a crash that almost took out the guy who pulled her through all that.

As if all of those events weren’t consecutive, metaphorical and literal hits to the heart, there was then the mind-fucking revelation that followed. That the relic wasn’t just any piece of fancy tech. No. Well, sure, it was a fancy piece of tech. But it was also so much more. As were the memories V had previously believed were some kind of hallucination. This piece of tech, buried in their own fucking head, was a digital construct. Something that was almost like a human soul . Which was mind blowing as it was. 

But then there had been the moment V realised the truth of what Viktor was saying to them. 

They had Night City legend Johnny Silverhand in their head. His construct had been what Dexter and Evelyn had risked everything for. What Jackie had given his life for. 

Yeah, the guy was no doubt a terrorist. But there had been some kind of method to the guy’s madness. And even with that, they couldn’t work out how to feel. Yeah, the idea of being wiped clean was fucking terrifying, but the fact that neither of them would be able to do anything about it? That changed things. V thought the tech was conscious in its decision to take over her body. But it was just that. A piece of tech, going on what it had been programmed to do.

Of course, they were still terrified. They’d beaten death once, only to have it looming at their back again. But there was some sliver of hope. The guy who saved them, Goro Takemura, had ultimately saved V because they were the only other living witness to the Emperor’s murder, but their first meeting had given V that hope. He’d given them some leads to follow, promising more information if V helped out on his end. 

And that had been just enough to keep V going. Whilst they’d yet to see any sort of physical manifestation of Silverhand’s construct, what they were dealing with outside of that was still more than any sane person would want to deal with. They’d found out, in the absence of her return, Delamain had returned Jackie’s body to his family. 

Meaning some strange, shot up car had arrived on Mama Welles’ doorstep, carrying her son’s broken and bloody body.

Facing the woman after that had been almost as terrifying as staring their oncoming death in the face. But she’d shown V compassion they still didn’t believe they’d deserved, including them in every part of Jackie’s memorial celebration, letting them contribute to the ofrenda and speak of just some of the many fond memories V had of her son. Who had been taken from the world far too fucking early, right when they’d really started their climb to the top. 

Then there had been the sucker-punch of emotions that resulted when the woman gifted Jackie’s motorcycle to her. The piece of hardware he’d saved up for months to get, buffing it up and tweaking it every chance he’d got. The one vehicle he never, ever, let V drive. 

God, that...that had been something else. Picking up the keys, turning them in the ignition, and being sent to their knees by the rush of memories that resulted. Memories that turned into an agonising blur, sending spikes of pain into their head, leaving V unable to move from where they’d knelt against the unforgiving ground.

That, of all places, had been the first time Johnny Silverhand had showed up. In the flesh, so to speak- standing before V almost as clear as a real fucking person. It was also the time they learned that a hell of  alot of the stories about the guy were true. If she had his memories, he had hers, so he’d no doubt have known the sequence of events that brought him here. 

But he’d still gone into some kind of rage, taking control of V’s body for a few terrifying moments, scattering some of the clutter that Jackie had clustered in every corner of his garage. Slamming her head against the fucking wall . The guy had been fucking terrifying, all but holding V by the throat, going off on some tangent about how he now had a chance to end the shit he’d started with Arasaka half a decade ago, with that fucking bomb that wiped out damn near all the tower- the blast of orange light shattering every single window in a several mile radius. 

A blast that had been powerful enough to shake the foundations of the buildings around the tower, in a way that signalled the start of something. Or what Johnny wanted to start back then, at least.

V shouldn’t have expected much more from someone who was a known anarchist, but they did. Because in a way they’d been dodging talking about, they knew a hell of a lot more about Silverhand than they were letting on. How he’d not seen certain memories, V wasn’t sure. But they were grateful to that twist of fate. Because yeah, they knew way more than they should. That was an understatement. When they’d been tossed from foster home to foster home after their parents died in an armed robbery, one of the few things V had been able to do to escape it all had been through getting into music. 

One of the handful of friends she had at her last home, before turning 16, had saved up from this little waitressing job they had at some tiny diner- all so they could gift V with a retro music player she’d been coveting. It was second hand, perhaps a few times over, bought from some old rocker- but it was one of the best gifts they’d received.

At first, they’d thought about using the tech skills they’d learned in their research outside of school to wipe the device clean. But something had stuck out. The device showed up the album covers on the screen, but would also play a holographic image of the main performers via a tiny projector in the device itself. And, bored of waiting for other music to download through the home’s crowded, outdated internet, they settled in to scroll through what the old rocker had left on there. One particular album had stood out to them amidst the black and silver of metal and old rock. 

It was a dark cover, upon which was set a distinct logo. A black and red Samurai-type mask, eyes seeming to be set ablaze even as a still image. When they’d selected it, they saw the projection. Admittedly, it was a bit fucked up- blurry and glitchy in places. Not in as high quality as the rest; clearly recorded by a fan in the audience. 

Patched together. But patched together in a way only a devoted fan could. 

That, and the bright-ass logo, convinced V to listen.

And that had been it, pretty much. They’d gone through the entire album in one sitting, and that was all they listened to for three days straight. At first, it was just the general tune and the lead singer’s voice that drew her in. But then she started really listening to the lyrics, and that’s what truly started her down that twisted rabbit hole. She started digging into who Samurai were, and, more specifically, who their lead was. They were a proper, kind of old school rock band, who had a pretty decent and dedicated following. 

But they never went mainstream. Which, given their lyrics and what happened with Silverhand, made sense. When V first read about how Johnny Silverhand started a one-man war against Arasaka, the figurehead of the monopolising corporations that had taken over the world, they were hooked pretty much instantly. They saw and heard way too many stories growing up on the streets, of shops being taken over and homes being demolished for shiny skyscrapers and luxury hotels. 

Of how the streets became laden with neon logos and signs blaring into your vision as far as your orbital implants could see. How they held a terrifying amount of control over the NCPD and major leadership positions. That the city was basically a monopoly board for the ultra rich to play in. To fuck with in whatever way they saw fit.

So yeah, like any sane person (or angsty teen) would do, V found themselves in Samurai’s music. And as the years went by, and they learned more about Silverhand and how he’d somehow managed to bring down Arasaka’s own fucking tower in Night City- at the cost of his own life now less- for the chance at bringing down the megacorporations ruining people’s lives, they found it being a part of themselves. Especially as they got into the mercenary gig at 18 and started working their way up, seeing the deepest and darkest parts of Night City’s underworld. 

Ok, it was kind of an obsession. 

But it wasn’t only an ideal that V could get behind, it was also an escape from the chaos of her life. 

Fucking hell, she even spent a huge chunk of her first well-paying job on tracking down and obtaining one of Silverhand’s original guitars. Sure, him and Samurai weren’t the only band with posters and memorabilia decorating her apartment walls (which she carefully took down and carried with her as she moved from place to place), but they were definitely the majority of it. There was even an original poster, taken and edited by a photographer who got into one of Samurai’s last concerts. 

A photo of Silverhand all but screaming into the mic, one hand on said microphone, and the other on a gun that gleamed as silver as his cybernetic arm. The crowd reaching out to him amidst a haze of blazing lights and dense smoke.

Which, after all that and a string of events that were like something out of an old Hollywood action movie, left V where she was now. After spending 3 days hopping around Night City, taking on job after job, and switching between motels, they’d finally gotten the courage to go back to their apartment. Because yeah, they were definitely still scared shitless about the idea of their brain essentially being wiped clean. But the immediate issue was that, in the few days she’d had with him cropping up everywhere, she’d gotten to know Silverhand a bit. 

The guy still scared her half the time; not that she’d admit that to his fucking smug (and annoyingly good-looking) face, but the other half of the time? He was pretty interesting. Definitely still holding on to a metric tonne of anger towards Arasaka, and more blunt and abrasive than any person she’d ever met, but interesting. Beneath the layers of anger and resentment, as well as more cockiness than one person should ever fucking possess, there was hints at the shit beneath all that. 

Of who Johnny was, beyond the legend attached to his name.

So yeah, that left them stuck outside the door of V’s apartment, Johnny crossing his arms as he leant back against the wall with a huff- the former being more than a little afraid to open the door. They’d lucked out with the memories of hers that he’d seen so far, but that was going to run out sooner or later. Especially with the both of them being on borrowed time. So it was better to get this shit out of the way sooner, rather than later. 

Didn’t make the prospect any more appealing, of course. She knew how Johnny felt about the so-called fanatics and groupies. Good for a one night stand, but nothing else. 'Just following the slightest sense of fame' as he put it. So V could only imagine how he’d react to not only seeing a room half full of Samurai memorabilia, but also the knowledge he was stuck in the body of the owner of said memorabilia. 

One of the ‘wild fans’ he’d said he despised. Sure, V wasn’t exactly ashamed of liking Silverhand’s music (or him, because fuck) but having your teenage hero seeing a room full of his band’s shit was on another level.

And she couldn’t even duck away afterwards. They were literally stuck together for the foreseeable future.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck fuckfuckfuck.

“Any reason you’re stood there with your eyes wide as hell, like your fucking brain already got wiped?” Johnny spoke up, abruptly bringing her back to the present.

“No. No reason.” V shrugged, hoping to appear nonchalant whilst internally screeching.

“Something in there you don’t want me to see?” Johnny showed up in the corner of her vision, leaning against the wall. “Can’t be any worse than the shit out here.”

“You that interested in seeing my apartment?”

“With the alternative being stuck in your head staring at a fucking door, yeah. I am.”

Okay, he was definitely getting more and more pissed off as the seconds ticked by. To be fair, she had been staring at the door trying to gather the courage to open said door...for about...five minutes. Truth be told, she was surprised Silverhand lasted that long. Guy wasn’t exactly one for being patient. 

Which was the understatement of the fucking century. But the idea of him fucking her up for making him wait was somehow, somehow, worse than the idea of who was basically her (he was an anarchist asshole, but damn if the guy didn’t make a good point sometimes) idol growing up, seeing her apartment plastered in his band’s memorabilia. There was already an onset of cringe overtaking V’s system, grimacing as she anticipated the barrage of fucked up questions that would be coming her way- but somehow she finally got in in her to swipe the key across her door. 

At least she hadn’t left it in a fucking mess like she normally did. 

That would be something.

When Johnny casually walked through her to examine the apartment, V stepped in after him, the door sliding shut agonisingly loud behind her. Those first few seconds were some of the longest of her life, and given all the shit that had happened recently, especially what got her to this bizarre fucking moment in the first place- that was saying something. Saying something. Which was, V realised, something that Silverhand wasn’t doing. 

In the few days they’d spent together, he rarely shut up. So this was about as miraculous as her rising from the fucking dead. Of course, the silence had it’s drawbacks- V could practically feel the tension rising...as Johnny scanned the room. As he no doubt saw the countless Samurai poster variations amidst the swathes of rock memorabilia. And, of course, landed on the huge fucking poster of him on the opposite wall. 

Which went literally floor to ceiling, beaming out amidst the cluttered apartment like the fucking neon lights of the city outside.

Something that made the silence all the more-

“Hey, V?” Johnny spoke up abruptly.

“...yeah?” V braced herself.

“What the fuck?”

V opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was a nervous laugh. Sure, she was mildly terrified, but the way he just said it so deadpan and blunt as he slowly turned halfway- eyebrows raised so fucking high you could see it above those trademark sunglasses...it was honestly one of the funniest things she’d ever seen and heard. 

It somehow sounded simultaneously unlike him, without any of the usual spite or anger, but so much like what she’d expected all the same. He sounded a mixture of disappointed, and outright freaked the fuck out. Which was...understandable. The guy had been brought back from the dead, stuck in some random ass stranger's body, only to walk into their apartment to see half of the wall was like some fucked up poster shrine to him and his band. 

Yeah. V could understand his reaction. Didn’t make it any less hilarious. (Or make her any less scared of the inevitable fallout, but hey)

“You gone deaf or something? Relic malfunction?” Johnny tried getting her attention. “I said...what the fuck, V?”

“I...uh...can...explain?” V spoke hesitantly, hands raised in mock (no, totally real) surrender.

“Uh huh. Really?” Johnny didn’t look or sound convinced, arms crossing in front of his chest as he turned to fully face her. “Going to make this worse and tell me what I think is going on?”

“What...do you think...is going on?”

“This shit isn’t in bad condition, but I can tell its old as fuck.” Johnny gestured to the wallpaper-like swathe of posters. “And not because its Samurai shit either.”

“So…” V wrung her wrists together nervously.

“You’ve probably had it since you were like, what? A fucked up hormonal teenager?”

“I…”

“Great.”

“Look, this-”

“Is somehow worse than waking up in your body?”

“Hey!”

“How would you feel if you rose from the fucking dead and found a shrine to yourself?”

“It is not a shrine- ”

“Sure looks like it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself-”

“Says the asshole with a huge fucking poster of me on their living room wall.”

“How am I an asshole?”

“Because this shit is weird, V!”

“Liking a band is a bad thing?”

“No. Having a fucking shrine is-”

“IT’S.NOT.A.SHRINE!”

Yeah, V was definitely considering that she was going crazy. Here she was, after almost pulling off the most insane heist Night City in years, the death of her best friend- and rising from the dead...arguing with the digital construct of the guy she’d looked up to for half her fucking life. Over whether her (admittedly kind of oversized) poster of said idol made up the centerpiece of some kind of shrine. If you’d told her this was what her life would amount to, trying to defend her teenage-borne obsession with an indie rock band to their resurrected anarchist/terrorist lead singer, she wouldn’t have believed you. 

Not even after overdosing on every fucking drug Night City had to offer.

God, worse than the insanity was how fucking embarassed she felt. Because even she was starting to realise how weird it would be for Silverhand to wake up in someone’s head, only to walk into their apartment and see said person was pretty much obsessed with him. Because yeah, she had to admit to herself it was an obsession.

 How could you blame her? The guy’s music was pretty fucking awesome, he had somewhat understandable views on corporate overlords... and he was probably one of the most attractive guys to ever walk the streets of Night City.

But he hadn’t seen every poster yet. He’d turned back round, talking about something V couldn’t hear over the rising mix of terror and cringe running through her veins, fixated on that huge-ass poster of him on the wall opposite them. And he’d yet to almost crack his voice with another what the fuck , meaning yeah. He hadn’t seen every poster. 

Namely, the one she’d stuck on the square wall behind her bed. Which was worse than the gigantic one taking up a quarter of one of her living room walls. It was some reporter’s photo from a backstage venture at one of Samurai’s concerts. (Taking up that whole section of wall) Silverhand was sitting on top of an unused amplifier, looking at someone outside of the camera’s point of view. Signature vest top nowhere to be seen, leaving him shirtless. In those stupid tight leather pants and boots combo. With his trademark sunglasses on. Smoking a cigarette, smirking, skin shining-

Possibly the thirstiest fucking image that photographer could have taken.

“V?” Johnny snapped her out of it.

"What?" V bit back.

Shit, she’d gotten distracted by the somewhat spicy photo. (Another thing she’d take to her fucking grave) She had to move while his attention was still on the other poster. Because if she could just cross the few feet over to her bed, unnoticed, she could carefully pull the poster down and stash it under the bed. She could say some shit about how yeah, it was pretty fucking weird, and take down the other one after.

Yeah, if V could just make it across the floor, she’d get through this with at least a shred of her dignity intact.

However, Fate (the bitch) seemed to have even more fucked up plans for her.

Because today, of all days, in this one shitty moment…

Her foot landed on the creakiest fucking patch of flooring in the entire goddamn apartment.

Johnny instantly turned to face her, downed eyebrows raising once more when he took in her almost cartoon-like sneaking stance. Even though she knew she looked fucking ridiculous, V couldn’t quite bring herself to move. She was literally frozen in fear, knowing that any second now...

“The hell are you-” Johnny started, before turning his head.

As he started to follow her line of sight, V relaxed her cartoon pose and started slyly backing away, (Like that would help her. The guy was literally stuck in her head) following his gaze. When his eyes finally crossed over to her bed, V felt herself get struck with the hugest fucking sucker-punch of cringe she’d felt since she was the angsty teenager that had inadvertently gotten her into this mess.

But then Johnny finally fixed his eyes upon the shirtless photo of him, stuck up next to her bed of all places.

“Oh for fuck’s sake-”

[wordsfromthesol]

Pretend to be Friends

Author: @wordsfromthesol Taglist: @anousiemay @malfoys-demigod @pricetagofficial​ @zphilophobiaz Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader Summary: Red Hood took an interest in a the new vigilante in town…you. Warnings: Injuries, language Word Count: 2.0k A/N: Still in Mobile and haven’t had much time to write, so this is one I finished before work went crazy. 

"So, you must be new." You heard the voice echo behind you. Letting out an exasperated sigh, you turned around to face the vigilante. It was only a matter of time before one of the big ones discovered who you were.

"Not really. No." The response was short and bitter.

"Ouch, alright. Well, I'm Red Hood."

"I know." The words left a bite in the air as you leapt off the building.

The next three nights your vision was plagued by that irksome red helmet. How he figured out where you were still puzzled you, but if he was going to stick around you might as well talk to him. "ALRIGHT!" You screamed across the alley way towards the building you saw him lurking on. "I give in!" Though his face was covered, you knew he was smirking underneath the mask as he sauntered towards you.

"So, Eclipse, is it?" Red Hood named you as he approached.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised." You scoffed at the vigilante name you had chosen. "So, why have I had a tail these past few nights?" Though you rarely used the confrontational approach in real life, once you put on the mask you gained a newfound confidence. And tonight, you were putting that to use.

"Oh…I just…well you didn't seem to have anyone. And this job is dangerous." Though that was partially true, there was also something about you that intrigued Jason…though he couldn't put his finger on what exactly it was.

"Well I don't see any Red Hood minions around either."

"Yeah, but I have friends." He pointed to his helmet, "if I need them." You didn't bother with a response, instead choosing to look out over the city below. You knew there were other vigilantes, but it hadn't registered that they may actually know each other. "Just let me give you my number. In case --"

Before Red Hood could finish the sentence, you interjected. "I think I can handle it. Thanks." And with that, you were gone again.

**

The next few nights you didn't see the familiar red helmet looming in the distance…maybe you actually did scare him off. Though just as the thought crossed your mind, the vigilante collapsed on the roof's edge next to you.

"Quiet night, huh?"

"Yeah. All I had was a purse snatcher."

"Dang. Was really hoping to get some punches in." Red Hood almost seemed disheartened that crime was low for the night. You almost didn't ask, but the non-vigilante side won out this time.

"And why the need to punch someone?"

Even through the helmet, you heard the hero let out a big sigh. "Just family issues. My older brother is driving me crazy. And then the old man comes in…let's just say I didn't stick around to be further berated."

"Oh we've got family issues, do we?" You questioned, raising an eyebrow at how much Hood seemed to be opening up to you.

"Ha! My family is one big issue."

"Do they…uh…" The question didn't need finishing.

"Unfortunately. Yours?"

"Oh…uh." You were unprepared for the rebound question. No one ever seems to actually take an interest in your life. "No. They don't. I don't have many though and none of them live close."

"I don't blame them. Gotham is one big clusterfuck after another."

"Yeah." The two of you sat in silence for almost an hour before finally parting ways.

**

After that night it wasn't unusual for Red Hood to join you on patrols or stake outs. Finally, after a few months and a close call, you took him up on his offer.

"Alright Hood, you win." You commented as you approached his perch on the roof ledge.

"Well I always like to win…but what exactly did I win?"

"I'll take your number. For emergencies."

"What happened?" You could hear the apprehension in his voice.

"Nothing!" You spat out the word, not realizing the question had barely left his lips. He stood there, staring at you in silence. You were determined not to break, but then he took his helmet off. The domino mask underneath wasn't enough to cover up his concerned expression. "It was nothing, I promise. Just a close call. I didn't even realize how close until after the fight was over. And I saw a bullet hole in the brick, inches from my chest. So I just thought…well you're right. This is a dangerous job and I should have someone to call if I need backup." Content with your explanation, Red Hood stretched out his hand, gesturing for your phone.

**

Red Hood started showing up on almost every patrol. Though he seemed content to let you do the fighting, he was always there waiting on the rooftop afterwards. You began to think it almost pointless to have his emergency number, when was always a block away, waiting for you to join him. That was until you had to use it. It had almost been a year since you met Red Hood when the fateful night came.

You had been chasing down a new drug ring starting up in town. Following the dealer into the alleyway, you were met with two burly men armed with 9mm pistols.

"Is this your definition of an ambush?" You scoffed at the turnout as you barreled towards the two. Though just as the two landed against the asphalt, you heard a crack as a force pulled your leg from under you. Turning around, you saw another man holding a baseball bat. You took a sharp inhale and ran at the new assailant. As he fell to the floor, you heard more voices and footsteps. Angry voices. Putting as much force as possible on the uninjured leg, you hopped over to the nearby fire escape ladder. Jumping up, you slowly crawled up to the landing and pushed yourself against the wall. You pulled out your phone and texted "911" to Red Hood as you hoped the reinforcements didn't find your hiding place.

Almost as soon as the new goons saw their co-conspirators laying on the asphalt, they left. You only had to wait a few more minutes before you heard the familiar sound of Red Hood's motorcycle. A sigh of relief flooded your body as you hopped back over to the fire escape ladder.

"Eclipse?!" You heard Red Hood's exasperated cry through the alleyway.

"I'm here!" Before you could continue or explain, Red Hood interjected.

"What the fuck! You send a 911 text and then don't answer your damn phone! I thought you were dead or bleeding out or some shit!" Red Hood couldn’t seem to stop the spew of words leaving his mouth. Your feet…or rather foot, finally hit the ground. You winced from the pain shooting up your leg as you leaned against the cold metal. Hood immediately noticed your expression change. "What's wrong?" He realized this should have probably been his first question, after all this is the first time you had ever asked for his help.

"My leg." You nodded towards one of the assailants on the ground. "That asshole blindsided me with a bat." You watched the anger surge through him as he came to your side, you were almost glad the culprit was unconscious. Who knows what Hood would have done to him.

After one look at the damage done, Red Hood made another call. Apparently he did have other vigilante friends. "Red Robin, I'm going to need the car. And get the doc ready."  

"Really, it's fine. I'm sure I can take care of it." You tried to weasel your way out of, well not only meeting more vigilantes, but also owing Red Hood a favor.

"Yeah…right." He glared at you, as you clutched the fire escape. "Totally in hand." Before you could protest, he was picking you up and carrying you to the edge of the alleyway. A car abruptly came to a stop in front of you and another hero stepped out.

"So you're the one Hood's always sneaking off to hang out with." A devilish smirk lined the dark haired boy's face.

"Can it replacement. Motorcycle's over there." Red Hood pointed a block south. As Red Robin began his walk, Hood screamed after him, "AND IF I SEE ONE SCRATCH ON IT!"

**

You pulled up to an unfamiliar place, but Red Hood already proved his connections in Gotham…so you supposed you had to trust him. Not that you had much of a choice at this point. There was no hope you were moving on this leg anytime soon.

"So, whose this doctor then?"

"Someone we trust. When the patch ups are too much for us to handle ourselves." He said it as if what happened was normal, no big deal. You couldn't get anymore questions out before you were met with a pretty blonde doctor and a wheelchair.

"Do I want to know?" She questioned as she wheeled you into the building and straight to the x-ray room.

"Just an asshole with a baseball bat and some luck." You tried not to look down at the damage it had caused. It seemed like hours went by as your injured leg was manipulated in ways it definitely shouldn't have been. Finally, you were wheeled back to a room. Much to your surprise, Red Hood was waiting patiently for you.

"Well?" He blurted out the question before you and the doctor could even get in the room.

She let out a deep sigh, "Well it's not great. A section of her fibula is shattered and she has a compound fracture in her tibia."

"So surgery?" Your voice went solemn.

"Unfortunately. Fairly routine though. Plates and a rod will reconnect your fibula, and we'll put some pins to realign the tibia."

"Great. So does that happen here…or…?" You still weren't sure how you were going to get through all of this without anyone noticing or revealing who you were.

"Here and now. We…" the doctor turned her head and glared at Red Hood, still lingering in the room, "will leave you to put on a gown. You can keep your mask on."

**

You assumed hours had passed, but it only seemed a few seconds to you. As your eyes fluttered open, you first noticed the new bandaging around your leg and then your eyes drifted to the man sitting in the corner of the room. "Why are you looking at me like that." You weren't even sure how your mind formed a complete sentence.

"Doll, I'm not looking at you like anything. Stop being paranoid."

"You don't have to pretend to be my friend or anything." The words were falling out of your mouth before you could stop them. Why would you even say that?

"Well, I'm not pretending. You know me better than anyone." At this point Jason was pretty sure that the combination of pain medicine and the anesthetic was causing the bizarre line of questioning. You had to have known that you were friends, right?

"Please, I don’t even know who you really are."

"And that is why you know me best. No preconceived notions."

"Oh so you're important then?" You chuckled before adding, "or just a dick."

"That's my brother." Red Hood laughed at the pun you didn't understand, before looking over and seeing the confused sad look gracing your features. "Look, I don't even know if you'll remember this…" He slowly pulled off the domino mask hiding his face. "But my name is Jason, Jason Todd."

A faint smile graced your lips as you followed his lead, "Y/N, Y/N  Y/L/N." The two of you broke out in laughter at the drama of it all before hastily putting the masks back on as you heard footsteps headed your way.

[cherrybombusa]

GROUP THREE  - THE FINALE.

PLAYERS:

THE WANNABE - Virginia Ann Virginia. THE BITCH - Zahra Jackson. THE REPORTER - Clarissa Teller.

MEMORABLE MOMENTS:

-The Intrepid Reporter, Clarissa Teller stood in for one of the Gang! She now has firsthand knowledge of the Candy Girl.  The Gang chose luck, and passed! They gained extra hints on their puzzle due to their success.  -The Gang used all three tries on their puzzle, and succeeded.  -Zahra chased the Candy Girl.  -The Gang ran away from Dean Hargrove when he confronted them - this will come back to bite them later. 

The kissing booth had been a successful venture for the lifeguards every year, but with Virginia Virginia at the helm of the booth this year, the sunscreen fund was far from suffering. She was helping to count the money when a little note fell out of one of the stacks of cash. What it said? “MEET ME BACKSTAGE AT 7:30 SHARP, OR I SPILL YOUR DIRTY LITTLE SECRET. SEE YOU SOON!” @virginiacherries

Zahra had spent most of the day on Roller Coaster Row along with the rest of the Boardwalk’s patrons, but now that the day was winding down to a close - and the Coasters were taking a break to draw the crowd down to the stage - she’d better go find her friends. It probably would have been difficult had she been on her own in the endeavor, but like a miracle worker, a Boardwalk worker shows up and tells her that Rory has been looking for her. Apparently her cousin is backstage waiting for her. Huh. She must be with the band -- and Zahra better hurry to get there before the ribbon cutting starts. @zahrajackson

THE NARRATOR: Reunions were supposed to be pleasant occasions, weren’t they? They were supposed to bring feelings of joy, and nostalgia; you were supposed to forget the awkward haze that had plagued your last year all together in high school, and just… pretend like the good old days were actually just that. Good. Absence did make the heart grow fonder and all that, didn’t it? 

Though, maybe it’s silly to wonder why this little reunion, hanging out in the wings of the Main Stage, might not be so pleasant. It had only been a week ago that Virginia was drugged in Harvey’s basement, after all. Playing at the whims of a suspected lunatic, baring their souls - and their tongues - to each other. Not even ‘a Day in Carousel Cove!’ could smooth over that awkward little blip, could it? And the fact that Clarissa could just tell something was up with the little group definitely didn't help.

Still, the three of them made their polite-ish, familiar conversation. Zahra was wondering where Rory was - Clarissa was wondering where the heck that hunk, Harvey Hargrove was - and Virginia… Well, she was wondering where the hell this Candy Girl was.

ZAHRA: Zahra was getting a little annoyed to be honest. Going backstage would definitely not help keep her... whatever with Casey on the down low, and being caught in semi-awkward, semi-polite conversation with Virginia and Clarissa was nowhere in her day plan. The sooner she could find where the hell Rory was, the better as far as she was concerned. "Okay, let's skip to the part where we're done talking," she interrupted abruptly, clearly having been paying little attention to what was being said. "Have either of you seen Rory or can I go?"

VIRGINIA ANN: Virginia wasn't shaking in her boots just yet, but she couldn't help but feel the lump in the back of her throat when she had read that little note. So cryptic, but so telling. The last thing she wanted was for everyone to find out her dirty little secret(s) so she showed up and played nice, as much as Virginia Virginia could play nice. "Um, hello? Were you like not given a lesson in Polite 101?" Virginia quipped back, motioning between herself and Clarissa. "Do we look like we'd know where Rory is? She's probably somewhere making out with Libby." Frankly, Virginia didn't give two flying farts about where Rory was, she was just wondering about where this coveted Candy Girl was. She wasn't expecting whoever they were to show up, but there was a part of her that kept her eyes flocking between everyone. Maybe it was Zahra or Clarissa who had sent her the note. Or maybe Virginia was just letting this get under her skin a little too much.

THE NARRATOR: Clarissa is just about to question the statement - um, Rory and Libby? Hello, how had she never thought of the angle?! - their conversation is cut off by the sound of Dean Hargrove on the stage to their left, welcoming the citizens to the boardwalk, thanking them for a great day, and more; but before the man can introduce Lux’s parents who have just joined him onstage… Before he can start in on his plans to announce the renaming of the ‘Lux Lewis Memorial Carousel’, he’s cut off by a voice that none of them quite recognize… a voice that might just damn them all.

CANDY GIRL: “REST IN PEACE TO OUR DEAR OLD LUX, BUT I HAVE NEWS THAT THE CHERRY TIMES IS TOO SCARED TO TELL! THIS WAS NO SUICIDE. LUX WAS MURDERED. THE QUESTION IS - WHICH ONE OF HER FRIENDS DID IT?”

THE NARRATOR: At that moment, a sheet unfurls behind Dean Hargrove, and a projector that seems to have been installed into the soundbooth across from the stage flips on. The image it casts should be a shocking sight, but to our little ragtag slice of the gang, the Cherry Bomb logo is all too recognizable. The image is a blown up cover of her latest issue, and - surprise, surprise! - Lux is once again the star. 

It would have been hard not to hear the collective gasp of the crowd - to feel the tension that had pulled it’s way into the air around them - but this little slice of the gang is too focused on copy after copy of the Cherry Bomb falling from the catwalks above the mainstage to notice. Everyone is looking up, away from the sick slideshow that’s now showing crime scene photos from the night of Lux’s death - trying to get a glimpse of whoever is throwing them - but nobody can quite see who is responsible. One thing is for sure, though. Whoever they are, they’ve got Boardwalk Employee shirts on.

CANDY GIRL: “AND TO THAT LITTLE GANG! MAKE SURE TO CHECK OUT THE LATEST ISSUE. SOMEONE IS MISSING, AND YOU’RE THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO CAN FIND THEM BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE. GOOD LUCK!”

THE NARRATOR: Just as the little message is over, and the vicinity is filled with the all-too-loud sound of Cherry Bomb by the Runaways bursting their eardrums… Something slaps to the ground behind them. The three of them turn, just in time to come face to face with a figure in a black hoodie - at their feet? An issue of the Cherry Bomb.

They can’t quite tell if it’s a woman or a man; they can’t quite tell how tall they are without the help of their boots, or what the color of their hair is. The only thing distinctive enough to notice is the fucking mask that’s staring them all right back in the face; smiling like a lunatic, and sending chills down their spines.

Could this actually be her? Could it… Could it actually be the Candy Girl?

Nobody moves for a moment; a long moment. So, when the figure finally kicks a foot out to slide the magazine toward them - the issue only stopping when it hits their own shoes - they can’t help but flinch… And then again, when they take off running.

MAKE A CHOICE: WHOEVER THE HELL THAT IS - THEY’RE GETTING AWAY! DO YOU WANT TO CHASE THEM [STRENGTH], OR LET THEM GO [CALM]?

ZAHRA: Zahra's mind was moving a million miles a minute, jumping from Lux's potential murder to the copies of the Cherry Bomb raining down to frantically trying to remember when she had last seen any of the rest of the gang, to the likelihood of the person in front of her being the Candy Girl. A hundred little things were in her brain, so when she took of running after the hooded figure she wasn't even fully thinking about it. The math was simple and instinctive - whoever they were, they were involved. If they were involved, they had information. Information means one step closer to making sure she doesn't lose another member of her little found family. Not to mention that if they were involved, they were at least partial responsible for this whole clusterfuck and that could not go unpunished. Never before had she been so glad she hadn't worn heels (sandals and painted toenails were much more beach appropriate, anyway).

THE NARRATOR: Ha. The figure had been expecting them to give chase, and they fell right into the time trap. Zahra gave a good chase - ducked when they did, dove through every sudden turn they made. She was good - better than they thought she would be - but she wasn't good enough. 

It was somewhere in the crowd that figure finally managed to get the jump on her. She was being pushed in every direction - pulled by the chaos of people trying to get the hell out of the chaos - when she finally lost sight of them. What she did find, though? The supposed ‘Candy Girl’s’ mask on the ground, trampled by the onlookers, but still there... at least she had proof, right? 

So much for throwing hands. She better get back to Clarissa and Virginia.

MAKE A CHOICE: THE GANG HAS SUFFERED A TIME PENALTY FOR THEIR ACTIONS.

THE NARRATOR: Zahra's losing the masked lunatic or not - however annoyed Virginia was that she hadn't caught her - they were personally delivered a copy of the Cherry Bomb for a reason, right? The Candy Girl wouldn’t just show herself if there weren’t some grand scheme involved. 

Clarissa wants to go get her father, like, ASAP, but somehow the other two manage to convince her not to do it. They have to open the Cherry Bomb alone - they would surely get punished if they went to the police. Right?

The cover is collaged with photos of Lux, the inside? Crime scene photos. There’s no pictures of her body, of course - that would be crude, even for the Candy Girl… kind of. But images of the blood soaked into her carpet; still pictures of her bedroom, flaunting a life once lived, those are there. A shot of her suicide note, ‘I’m sorry, I love you,’ and all.

  And right there, in the middle of the spread, like a centerfold? A note, written in Sharpie - just for our ragtag little slice of the gang.

CANDY GIRL: GET OUT,,, GET OUT, WHEREVER YOU’RE LOCKED!!!! NOT A FAN OF SMALL SPACES?? I’LL STICK YOU IN A BOX. SOMEONE IS MISSING, BUT I WON’T SAY WHO… FIND THE KEY, AND FIND OUT WHO. 

BUT WATCH OUT, WATCH OUT! YOU’RE ON THE CLOCK! LET IT RUN OUT, AND THEY’LL STAY IN THE BOX. WILL THE TIDE COME IN? HMM, MAYBE IT WON’T. OR BETTER YET? MAYBE YOUR FRIENDS WILL FLOAT.

THE NARRATOR: Oh...my. Now, that’s a predicament, isn’t it? I suppose we’re at least lucky that the Candy Girl leaves the rules simple, right? Find a key, and… Maybe she doesn’t kill one of your friends. Maybe.

MAKE A CHOICE: YOU MUST FIND A KEY, BUT HOW DO YOU IT? BY LOOKING FOR CLUES [PROBLEM SOLVING] OR BY TEARING BACKSTAGE APART? [LUCK]

VIRGINIA ANN: Virginia didn't know if it was her lack of critical thinking, Zahra running off, or the photos within the Cherry Bomb, but after the initial shock of the crime scene photos, the last thing Virginia wanted was someone to end up like Lux again. Virginia had never considered murder, she thought she had pushed Lux to the edge of her suicide but was Candy Girl right? Had Lux been murdered and if so, was this lunatic the one who was doing it? And were they planning on doing it again if the three of them didn't act fast enough? A key, Virginia could do that. She could find that. Immediately after reading the note, the blonde began tearing apart every surface she could. Tearing tarps away, moving cords, opening boxes, anything that could lead her to the puzzle piece they needed.

THE NARRATOR: It shouldn’t have worked - it definitely shouldn’t have worked! But, somehow - with the heads of Zahra, Clarissa, and Virginia on the case - the three girls actually manage to find something. It’s a Cherry red briefcase with a lock on the top; a place for a four digit code. And get this, Clarissa was looking at the note, and it turns out that it was a clue all along!

MAKE A CHOICE: SUCCESS. YOU HAVE GAINED EXTRA HINTS FOR THE RIDDLE, AND MADE IT EASIER TO RESCUE YOUR FRIEND.

ZAHRA: Zahra enters 2134 into the lock.

MAKE A CHOICE: WRONG CODE. TRY AGAIN.

VIRGINIA ANN: Virginia enters 3214 into the lock.

MAKE A CHOICE: WRONG CODE. TRY AGAIN

CLARISSA: Clarissa rolls her eyes. "Ugh, fine! If you, like, seriously need me to be the one to put it in, then I'll do it, but don't blame me when the thing blows up!" The blonde was terrified - of course it was this gang of weirdos who got her pulled into this kind of trouble - but as she clicks '3142' into the briefcase... miraculously it clicks open. And doesn't explode. Thank god!

THE NARRATOR: Finally, the box pops open, and as promised, they’re granted a shiny little key on a ring… But along with it, they’re also given another note from the Candy Girl. Another riddle.

CANDY GIRL:  SOMEONE IS MISSING - YOU HAVE THE KEY.

BUT YOU NEED TO MORE, FROM YOUR FRIENDS, YOU SEE.

ONLY THREE WILL PLEASE THE LOCK - ONLY THREE UNLOCK THE BOX.

TWO MUST RUN, THEY MUST RETRIEV!

BUT THE ONE, MUST SCOPE THE BEACH. MISSINGS THE THEME, MISPELLED IS THE CLUE, FOR THE DIRECTION THAT YOU’LL WANT TO DO.

TO THE RUNNERS, HERE’S YOUR CLUE! LOOK FOR SOMEONE WHO HATES ONE OF YOU! BEST FRIEND OF YOUR BEST FRIEND - TWIN FLAME OF YOUR GUY. OMEONE YOU BOTH KNOW IS HIDING THEIR LIES.

THE OTHER KEY HIDES WITH THE KEEPER OF PROSE - AND MAYBE THAT ONE IS TOO ON THE NOSE. BUT IF YOU DON’T FIND HIM, NOTEBOOK AND ALL, THEN WATCH OUT, WACH OUT…

IT’S YOUR BABY THAT FALLS.

THE NARRATOR: Their hearts are pounding in their chests so loud they’re all convinced they can hear it echoing off of the walls - even over the music that’s still playing - but… Nothing could mask the sound of the Dean barking their name from behind them; Lux’s parents watching, horrified, as they pick up the copy of the Cherry Bomb that’s still laying there on the ground, where they left it. “Would any of you like to explain to Mr. and Mrs. Lewis what the hell is going on here?” 

No, no, no! There’s no time for this. They have to solve the riddle - they have to find the keys before it’s too late. Somebody needs to get rid of the Dean… or maybe they just need to run.

MAKE A CHOICE: SOMEBODY GET RID OF THE DEAN, [CHARISMA, BRAVERY, HONESTY] OR RUN! [BRAVERY, FIGHTER, SURVIVOR]

ZAHRA: Zahra didn't even register the words of the Dean. Her mind was stuck on that line - IT’S YOUR BABY THAT FALLS. Icy fear filled her at the implications - this was Rory they were working to save. With those five words the Candy Girl had reached into her heart and wrapped a hand around it, threatening to rip it out entirely. They didn't have time to hesitate or explain - not with Rory on the line. Fuck. Fuckity fucking fuck. The Dean's voice was a faded muffle, drowned out by her pounding heart as she looked at Virginia and Clarissa. Her eyes had narrowed and her hands had curled into fists, crushing the second note with the force of her anger, panic, and pure terror. "We're running," she said simply, determination and fear both audible in her tone. And, for the second time that day, she took off as fast she could, holding onto that note and the hope that they'd solved the riddle correctly.

MAKE A CHOICE: SUCCESS. EVERYONE MUST RUN! SPLIT UP. FIND THE CORRECT FRIENDS. RUN THE CORRECT DIRECTION ON THE BEACH. IT’S THE ONLY WAY TO WIN. EVERYONE RESPOND. [STRENGTH, BRAVERY, OR FIGHTER]

CLARISSA: Clarissa thinks it's a bad idea to leave her to run for the keys... and then all the way back to the beach. Like, did they think she was Superwoman, or something? But if this Candy Girl was really as sinister as she seemed to be - well, Rissa couldn't exactly let Rory Collins, like, die on the beach, could she? Besides the fact that her Dad would be pissed at her, even she had to admit it would totally hang onto her conscience until she bit the dust too. So with a groan, she just takes off toward wherever the hell Noah is and hopes that he has this dumb key. He better. She didn't want to be seen talking to Noah Russell, for like. Any other reason.

MAKE A CHOICE: CLARISSA WAS SUCCESSFUL. SHE MUST GET TO THE BEACH.

VIRGINIA ANN: As soon as Zahra said that they were running, it took no time for Virginia's feet to start going. There wasn't much going on in her brain, but it didn't take a genius to deduce that Zahra would be the one going after Rory and that it would be Virginia and Clarissa getting the keys. With her legs moving as quickly as she possibly could, Virginia hunted for Libby who she hoped would have a key for her. It's not like she wanted to go to another funeral before her 19th birthday.

MAKE A CHOICE: VIRGINIA WAS SUCCESSFUL. SHE MUST GET TO THE BEACH.

ZAHRA: Zahra ran as fast as she could, for once uncaring about keeping her hair perfect or her clothes pristine. She just ran west, heading for the beach. Her legs burned with exertion but the adrenaline had well and truly kicked in. Losing Rory was unacceptable - especially so soon after Lux. Especially not when she was here this time, actually able to do something.

VIRGINIA ANN: After getting the key from Libby, Virginia prayed to the stolen Louis Vuitton bag in her possession that she had gotten everything in time. With a huff, she took off in the direction of the beach, her legs pumping more than she ever thought they could. If there was a list of things Virginia was grateful for it'd be that stolen bag and the years of cheer conditioning that prepped her for a true life-or-death moment.

CLARISSA: Yikes. So, apparently the little group had been through more hell than she thought. She had retrieved the key from Noah, and along with it she had gotten a sneak peek at another little piece of the gang that had been tormented over the last half hour. Had it really only been a half hour? Christ.

She had to stop thinking about it, though - she had to stop thinking about how much she wished she had actually stuck to her cardio, like she had insisted she would over New Years - and keep pushing. She wouldn't let Rory Collins die. The Lux news cycle was barely even over!

MAKE A CHOICE: SUCCESS... KIND OF.

THE NARRATOR: Zahra scopes the beach far and wide, it’s an exhaustive effort, but after a mighty search, they finally spot it. The tide has been coming in - barely the top is visible… and it’s filling with water fast. She could already be gone. They sprint toward it with all of their might - they pray that she’s still breathing in her little prison… But is she? 

MAKE A CHOICE: UNLOCK THE BOX.

ZAHRA: Zahra had never been as grateful for Virginia, Clarissa, or several years of competitive commitment to cheer as she was right now. Maybe this was the first time she'd been truly grateful for Virginia in, like, ever. She'd never admit it, but her hands were shaking as she fit the keys into the locks, holding them a little too tight to make sure there was no chance of dropping them and having them be washed away by the tide. With her heart in her throat, she unlocked the locks one by one, threw the box open, and pulled her cousin out into her arms.

RORY:  Rory wasn’t sure how long she had been locked in here. Her throat was raw from screaming for help, from crying between shouting. No one seemed to be coming. At that realization, she’d curled up as small as she could in the claustrophobic little box, with her arms wrapped tight around her ears as she tried to block out the sound of the waves that were so nearby. Too close for comfort. 

If those people with the masks came back - god, she wished they would just come back - she wasn’t going anywhere without a fight. Not that it had helped when they grabbed her. Rough hands yanking her into the dark. 

Her hands was sore from throwing herself against the top, trying with everything she had to break through. After a while, she’d given up on that, certain that an ugly bruise was already blooming on both palms. She promised herself she’d keep trying anyway if no one came in the next few hours. Surely someone would realize she was gone soon, wouldn’t they?

God knows how long it had already been. At least 3 hours - maybe more. Maybe a lot more. Rory wished she had a watch. Or a light. For the first time, she wished she was more addicted to the cigs she occasionally bummed off of others. At least a lighter’s meager flame would have offered some comfort in the pitch black box. Rory couldn’t even see her hand when she held it in front of her face.

She hated the dark. Hated it. She hated the water more… so when she started to hear the sound of those waves, crashing up against the walls of her tiny prison? When she began to feel her clothes getting wet, and smelling the salty foam in her nose? When what little air she had became a crack in the corner of the box, and when she got so tired that she began sputtering on water? 

Rory was going to die here, wasn’t she?

The sound of someone running on the beach - someone shouting her name - jarred her from her spiraling thoughts. It pulled her from the haze of near-death, and giving up. She let out a bloodcurdling scream, and pounded on the top of the box with her hands. “HELLO? LET ME OUT OF HERE!” She shrieked, her voice sounding hoarse even to her own ears. Her thoughts tripped over one another as hope flooded her brain. They came- they came and they got her, her friends -

As soon as the top of the box started to crack, she bolted through the opening and threw her arms around the first person she saw in a death-grip hug. She was shaking, tears spilling down her cheeks, and unable to stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth. “Oh my god you came, you guys came,” before her throat was too tight to speak anymore.

MAKE A CHOICE: YOU HAVE SAVED RORY AND SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETED YOUR PLOT EVENT.

[planetsam]

Michael Sanders prompt, if you ever feel inspired: future snippets of Michael and Alex and their relationship after the caulfield rescue. Bonus: Nora and Walt talking about their dumbass genius alien baby and the cosmic love of his life and plotting to get them together. 

“So where’s Alex?”

Michael chokes on his cereal but Walt figures he’s been patient enough. It’s been about a week of letting him and Nora get to know each other. There’s no making up for lost time, not when it’s an entire lifetime. There’s just forward. But Walt knows you don’t go forward alone and he’s also not anxious to repeat history. He sure as hell isn’t going to be the go between for his boy and Alex again, just because Jesse’s a sadist and the two of them are pretty stupid for a couple of geniuses. Nora is curious enough to set down her coffee cup and looks between the two of them before settling on him.

“Alex Manes,” he says. Miss Nora looks stunned and horrified, which Walt can’t blame her for. He looks at Michael who stares at the table with an intensity usually reserved for the subject. Michael looks far younger, far more like the boy he isn’t rather than the man he is. Walt refuses to be phased, “you check in with him at all?”

“I’ve been busy,” Michael mutters.

“Alex just found out that there are aliens in the universe and you’re one of them,” Walt says, “and he dropped everything to help you. Seems that might warrant a phone call.”

“He didn’t just find out,” Michael snaps, suddenly finding his voice, “he just got around to telling me. He and Kyle have known for weeks.”

Walt leans back in his chair and looks at Miss Nora. The shock on her face is giving way to something far more curious. Being imprisoned may have done a number on her, but he recognizes the look in he eyes just as well.  Michael has to collect himself and plaster on something almost innocent before he looks at his mother. Walt can’t exactly blame him for wanting to put his best self forward for her, even though he’d like to think that they all are aware that doesn’t matter to Miss Nora.

“So how has this been going on?” She asks.

“Nothing’s going on,” Michael says.

“Since they were teenagers,” Walt corrects, “though things have been rough since Alex came back from his last tour,” he looks at Michael, “you know his father hates you because you’re an alien.”

Michael snorts and then straightens up like he’s made a decision.

“His dad hates me because I’m bisexual,” he says. Miss Nora looks confused, “I like men and women,” Michael elaborates.

Walt wasn’t fully expecting him to say it. He’s been giving them their privacy, he doesn’t know if Michael told her. Looking between the pair of them though, it seems not. Miss Nora doesn’t seem to fully understand why Michael looks so stressed about it. She puts a hand on his wrist which gets a soft smile from Michael.

“Not everyone here thinks that’s okay,” Walt says, “especially Alex’s father.”

“Which part?” Miss Nora asks.

“The boys liking boys part.”

“Why is that any of his business?” She questions. Walt exhales even though he knows it was silly to think Miss Nora would draw a line at that. He shrugs, “I think Walt’s right, he probably dislikes you because of the alien thing.”

“It’s not about him,” Michael says, “Alex wants to get on with his life.”

“Alex is scared,” Walt corrects, “his father used to beat the tar out of him for liking boys,” he ignores the look Michael gives him. He’s lost his patience with the secret keeping, “he was fighting a war, got hurt and just came back recently. He’s feeling vulnerable,” he explains. He meets Michael’s venomous look, “Michael hasn’t been helping.”

“He’s been telling me to go away!” Michael protests.

“He didn’t look like he wanted you to go away in Caulfield,” Miss Nora says.

The outrage on Michael’s face is heartwarming. Walt’s got no stomach for the hallmark style crap that’s been happening, even though he understands the need for it. He’s glad the band aides been ripped off though. He’d glad they’re past that point and onto acting like a family. He’s never been under the illusion that they’re a proper one, but he knows they’re a good one. Or as good as any can be under the circumstances.

“So everyone’s on his side?” Michael demands.

“We don’t want you to get hurt,” Miss Nora starts.

“It’s ten years too late for that,” Michael snaps, “he left. By choice. And he keeps leaving. So I’m not going after him,” he pushes himself up, “I gotta go clear my head.”

Walt sighs after the door is shut and gets them both more coffee. He doesn’t know how Miss Nora is taking the news that Alex is a Manes or that her son has a dramatic love life or that he’s bisexual. It’s a lot for anyone to take in. Or anyone who hasn’t sepent the past decades being imprisoned and tortured. She doesn’t look particularly shell shocked as she looks out the window to see Michael going off to clear his head.

“Is it better if I call Alex over here or if you drive me to him?” She asks.

“Probably bringing him over here,” Walt says.

“Tell him I’m too frail to travel,” She advises, “does Michael need to cool off or should I follow him?”

Walt wants to tell her he’s her son. And he is. But Miss Nora looks at him steadily and patiently and he seems to belatedly realize that she’s waiting for him to tell her. After all he raised him.

“Give him a minute,” he advises, “I’ll go find my damn phone.”

The things is rarely charged since Michael graduated but he’s always kept it around in case Alex needs to get to him. There’s been a few times over the years he’s been damn glad he didn’t turn it off too. Like last week. But that hasn’t meant he’s kept it charged. Once it’s up he finds the last number from Alex. He’s not surprised when Alex picks up on the first ring.

“Don’t get too excited it’s me,” Walt says.

“Hi Mr. Sanders,” Alex says, “how are you?”
 “Alive,” Walt says, “but I’ve known for years, how are you?”

“Alive,” Alex says and doesn’t elaborate. Still a punk.

“Well Miss Nora would like to thank you if you’re feeling up to it,” he says, “she’s not fit to travel,” he glances out the window to see Michael gesturing wildly and Miss Nora standing with her hip cocked and her arms crossed. Dramatics seem to be genetic, “so I told her I’d ask if you could come over, make an old woman happy and all that.”

He hears Alex hesitate and doesn’t blame him, but Alex was also raised to do the polite thing when it came to his elders. Not that he always does that. But Miss Nora’s not some homophobic monster. And he’s seen Alex do more to make his family name worth something than most of them.

“I don’t think Michael and I should see each other right now,” he says.

“Well lucky for you he’s out clearing his head,” Walt replies, because a half truth is better than a blatant lie, “and Miss Nora’s not really up for much talking. She just wants to thank you.”

He can see the wheels turning in Alex’s head before he finally exhales.

“I can come over in ten minutes,” he says.

“Sounds good,” Walt tells him, “see you then.”

He tries to shove away the guilt, then he tells himself he’ll figure out a way to make it up to him. Alex is a good man, far as he can tell. He’s good for Michael and Michael is good for him. Usually. He also knows that when they’re hurt neither of them is good for the other. Thinking about Alex makes his scars ache. Healing Michael’s hand was a process. But they could explain that. You can’t explain a missing limb or organ in the same way. Not that Alex ever knew that was an option. But Jesse did. The whole thing is such a clusterfuck, he’s more willing to open the door and deal with that mess.

“—he’s the one being ridiculous. I’m not throwing myself at him again like some lovesick puppy.”

“That wasn’t my question,” Miss Nora says. 
“I don’t want to talk about him!”

“Great,” Walt cuts in, realizing adding this much guilt to his tab before breakfast can’t possibly be good, “because I think we’d better finish eating,” Michael throws his hands up and rolls his eyes, “you want me to cut up your pancakes and make train noises while I’m at it?” He asks as Michael stomps in. Miss Nora looks at him, “it’s how we feed children.”

“I’m not a—“ Michael cuts himself off with a swear, knowing damn well that what he’s saying makes him sound like exactly that, “I’m done talking about this with you two.”

“That’s fine,” Walt says as they all wind up back at the kitchen table. 
Michael’s eyes narrow and Walt just thanks his lucky stars for Alex’s good timing as the doorbell rings. Before any of them can say anything, Nora motions the door open. Walt realizes he’s going to have to reinstitute the rules about when and where telekinesis can be used. On the other side of the door, Alex looks stunned, his eyes darting around. Walt’s not sure if it’s the telekinesis, Nora not looking on death’s door or Michael’s presence. Though when his eyes settle on Michael, Walt’s got his answer.

“You’d better come in,” he says.

Alex doesn’t move.

Michael doesn’t react to all the eyes being on him, but then again there is one pair he cares more about. His jaw tightens and clenches before he pushes himself away from the table and walks out the front door, dragging it closed behind him. Miss Nora watches it curiously. Walt doesn’t know if she can listen or not, besides he figures he’s got bigger things to worry about considering Michael’s got no reason to hide his powers. At least that’s one less thing standing in the way of whatever’s going on with them.

“He looks like Tripp,” Miss Nora says.

“The resemblance doesn’t stop there,” Walt says, “he’s a good man,” he looks at her, “seems like you know that.”

“He was going to drag Michael out of there,” she says, “I think Michael was going to leave with him either way.”

Walt ignores the shiver. Michael’s lived with the threat of winding up in a place like that his whole life. Walt’s always known the day may come when he’d have to get him out. One way or another. He just hadn’t counted on someone who wasn’t Max or Isobel also being there. He’s not the nosy type, no more than he has to be to keep Michael safe. Not that Michael needs him to anymore, but old habits die hard. Besides he’s never fully soundproofed anything so they could hear if they were being snuck up on. It’s not like it takes much to eavesdrop.

“—I could stand here and tell you that I didn’t want to leave, but I did.”

Miss Nora comes over wth just as much interest in the conversation. Walt wonders what his life has become and if Alex knows what he’s signing up for with all of this. If he knows he’s going to spend his life surrounded by dramatic, eavesdropping aliens.

“I didn’t help,” Michael mutters.

“You were in pain, I just didn’t know what to do. I handled it completely wrong, especially because it was my fault in the first place.”

Walt swears under his breath. He has no idea if Michael’s going to tell Alex what went on or how not his fault his pain was. He’s not a betting man, but even he doesn’t know if Michael’s instinct to protect Alex outweighs his instinct to protect his siblings.

“It wasn’t you.”

“You don’t have to try and make me feel better—“

“No, I’m serious,” Michael cuts in, “Isobel was in trouble. I had to help her. I had to make her think I did something bad.”

“But—“ Alex’s brow draws together.

“It was alien stuff okay?” Michael says, somehow guilty, defensive and heartbroken all at once, “you couldn’t know.”

To his credit, Alex straightens up slightly and gives Michael a hard look. Walt’s impressed, he doesn’t know if he’d do the same if he was in Alex’s shoes. Michael looks away. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Miss Nora frown.

“Right,” Alex says carefully, “of course not.”

“What? You think I didn’t want to tell you?” Michael questions.

“I don’t know—“

“Of course I wanted to tell you!” Michael says, “but we never told anyone,” Alex raises his eyebrows, “Max told Liz recently. I wasn’t expecting you to go on some kind of alien discovery treasure hunt, Alex.”

Alex scoffs and Walt is oddly proud of him for not taking Michael’s crap. He doesn’t think anyone needs his approval but if Michael ever got that backwards notion in his head, Alex would get it. Probably. Guilt’s a hell of an enabler. Which is probably why Walt steps away from the eavesdropping to put on another pot of coffee.

He figures breakfast is probably the least he can do.

[writingwithadinosaur]

“Under the Knife” - Part 4

“Under the Knife” - Part 4

My Masterlist - Here

Story Masterlist -

Here

My Tag List - Here

Hannibal Lecter x Reader, Will Graham x Sister!Reader

Word Count: 3,100-ish 

Key: Chunks of text in italics are (Y/N)’s thoughts. Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Description of Crime Scene/Murder Victims, Murder, Cursing, Blood

Summary: You are Will Graham’s sister who works with him at the FBI. When you get offered a job promotion, life starts to change. Some changes for the better; Some for the worst.

Tag List: @fruitloopzzz @theeactress @melconnor2007 @ashenfallsof @geeksareunique @all-by-myself98 @sj-thefan​ @fuck-your-bad-vibes-dude​ @ntlmundy

Author’s Note: This is my first Hannibal piece and I am proud of it. There aren’t too many stories for Hannibal, so I figured I would add to the collection.

This does take place in some happy medium where they are all alive and work together. Sort of a happier season 1 era.

This is beta-read by @theeactress​, but please let me know if there is something that we missed or that we should look at again! 

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces, check out my tag list above and let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

<3

- DreaSaurusREX

~~~~~~~~~~~~

No matter how many times you looked at crime scene photos or had to visualize how the killers from the Evil Minds Research Museum had done their work, you were not fully ready to be completely immersed in an active crime scene. 

You were inside another upper-class house in Lorton, Virginia. Everything seemed normal on the outside, until you got past the familiar yellow tape. You were escorted in by Jack. As you walked through the front door, Jack motioned to the right. 

“Mindy Pencalt’s sister called local police and said that she was worried about Mindy. They have weekly video calls and Mrs. Pencalt didn’t respond for two days, which apparently was very abnormal. Uni’s came in and saw her on the kitchen floor, then called in for backup.” 

You walked over, putting on gloves as you got closer. You brushed some hair away from Mindi’s neck. You saw the blood down her front, but you really got a good look at the slice that spanned across most of her neck. You spoke out loud as you inspected the victim, mostly to get confirmation from Jack that you were right.

“This was a quick kill. Sliced neck, just like half of the other victims. No other obvious wounds or marks other than a gash on her forehead that seems to have happened right around time of death. Which means she didn’t-or couldn’t put up much of a fight.” You stood up as you began to see the scene in your mind as it happened. You walked slightly behind where Mindi was laying on the ground. “Most likely from the killer coming up and shoving her head into this set of cabinets before taking his weapon and cutting into her neck from behind.” 

After you had acted out bashing an invisible victim into the overhead cabinets and then taking an invisible knife and dragging it across the same invisible victim, you stopped and looked again at the sliver in her neck.

“The cut starts a few inches below Mrs. Pencalt’s right ear, drags through and across her sternohyoid muscle and stops an inch or so to the left. Leaving her to bleed out at a decent pace. The length of the cut and where it starts and ends indicates that the killer is left-handed.”  

You were looking at the cut on her neck when another thought popped into your mind. Without breaking your gaze from her neck, you held out your open hand towards Jack. 

“Swab, please.” There was some shuffling behind you and not even 20 seconds later, you felt the small familiar shape of a long cotton swab. You gently use your gloved hand and the swab to open the wound slightly. You made a confirming noise to yourself and spoke out loud as you reached your hand out for a disposal bag from whoever gave you the swab.

“The slit is at more of an upward angle. Which means that he is taller than Mrs. Pencalt, who is... how tall?” You ask over your shoulder, still not looking away from the corpse in front of you. 

You could hear Jack flip through his notepad for a few seconds before responding with “5’7”. You just nodded, trying to visualize the killer in your mind. As of right now, it was just a shaded outline of a man. Now you had some sort of height to work with though, but you still didn’t have any major identifying markers yet.

“I would estimate our killer is somewhere between 5’10” and 6’ tall. Which makes him almost painfully average.” 

You looked around Mindi’s body once more to see if there was anything else that really stuck out to you. Any sort of signature left behind on any surface, a stray hair or thread from a shirt being snagged. But you found nothing. You mimed the movements the killer would have made to really see the picture and try to get more into his head. Physically being at the crime scene did so much more than just looking at pictures and notes.

“After the trash is taken care of, he moves on to find and set up his mise-en-scène.” 

You turn to go through the only hallway visible, finally looking up. You were expecting to just meet an accepting or objecting Crawford, but instead was greeted not only to an accepting Jack, but also a somewhat surprised Hannibal. He knew you were brilliant, but he had never had the chance to see you really work. 

“Oh! I wasn’t aware that Dr. Lecter was going to be joining us.” You were really thrown off your rhythm for a minute. Jack nodded before turning and heading down the hallway to what you were sure was a dismembered doctor.

“When you are done, meet me down here. First door on the right.” 

You were left with Hannibal in a slightly awkward position. Looking around at the floor, you tried your best to gracefully get away from the victim and closer to where Hannibal stood without messing up the crime scene. He offered a guiding hand to help to which you gladly accepted. Once you had your feet planted, you decided to speak up and try to dispel as much of the weirdness you felt as you could.

“I um-- I would have offered to drive us both if I’d have known you were coming. I thought you said that you only consulted on one part of this case.”

“Originally, yes, it was just the one. But Jack asked me to tag along, as back up. He wants to make sure he made a good choice in recruiting you. And having never had the privilege to see you work like this before, I felt the urge to agree even more so.” 

You could feel like there was something off or something else he wasn’t sharing, so you just raised your eyebrow at him, waiting for him to continue. He took a slightly large inhale before changing to a more cautious tone of voice. 

“I also agreed because Will and I thought it would be safest if I followed this case as well.” 

Your mood went from confused and unsure to upset and slightly betrayed very quickly once Hannibal’s reasoning settled in your brain. You tried your best to stay cool, but you couldn’t help the frustration that slightly morphed your voice. 

“So this is Will’s way of babysitting me, is it? He-- No. Both of you are so sure that something is going to happen that you felt the need to put yourself on this case?” 

“This is just a precaution and to try and help Will feel a bit better about the situation.” 

“I--.” 

Before either of you could continue, Jack’s voice rang from the next room over.

“Lecter! Graham! Get in here! We don’t have all night!” 

You took a deep breath, trying to sort out the clusterfuck of emotions in your head. You opened your eyes and diverted all attention to walking away from Hannibal and ignoring the situation. Before you could take a full step, Hannibal tried to speak. 

“(Y/N)--”

You just paused and held your hand up to stop him.

“I’m sorry but I really do not want to talk to you about any of this right now. I just want to go in there, get some initial findings, and go home.” You couldn’t fully see it, but Hannibal nodded his head in understanding and extended his arm in the direction of the next room. You muttered a small “thank you” before continuing towards where Jack called out for you.

You would deal with all of this later. For now, you needed to be able to look at this scene and try to find anything that could save whoever this creep had in mind next. 

Walking into the room, you saw the various markers and teams working on collecting evidence and taking pictures. Jack was right by the door to greet you into your first macabre serial killer scene.

“Give us the room.” Jack ordered and everyone got to the end of whatever they were doing and filed out, giving you, Jack, and Hannibal the room to yourselves. Now you could get a better visual of just what you were dealing with. 

“Do you want to know what we have so far, or do you want to just do your thing?” Jack watched you as you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from the scene in front of you. All you could do was shake your head ‘no’ as you worked your hands into a fresh pair of gloves, which was enough of an answer for Jack.

“The floor is yours, (Y/N) and Dr. Lecter.” 

With Jack’s previous experience with your brother, he had learned to just let your brain work and then talk later. But Hannibal had never seen this side of you, so he observed with immense curiosity as to what you pick up on and the connections you make. 

“I would rather (Y/N) take over. This is her case. I am just here for support.” Hannibal said somewhat softly, seeing that you were trying to slip into the same mindset as he had witnessed earlier with Mrs. Pencalt.

You tried to just breathe through the resentment you were feeling as you straightened your shoulders and stepped through the doorway of the room, slowly making yourself forget that they were there, focusing on how your killer would have done all of this.

You could assume this was Dr. Pencalt and Mrs. Pencalt shared bedroom from the general layout of the home, or the fact that Dr. Pencalt was laid out in the middle of a king sized bed. 

As you stepped closer and closer, you were able to see those clean cut lines that you’d come to know very well by now. His body looked slightly elongated due to the fact that he, like the previous Scalpel victims, was dissected at every major joint. Each part of him had an inch or so gap between each other. 

Making your way around the bed, you found the door to the attached master bathroom open and the light on, a trail of blood connecting the bed to the bathroom. When you peeked inside, the once pristinely gray floor tiles now had a layer of red over them and thick blood stuck in the grout. You nodded as you committed that room to memory and walked back to the bed.

You carefully tilt Dr. Pelcant’s head to the side to try and find a small hole in where a syringe would have gone, figuring it would be somewhere in his neck. You couldn’t find anything with just your naked eye. 

“We’ll have to see if Beverly or Zeller can find the injection point. If we can see any sort of angle to it, that could help narrow down our killer’s height.”

Jack wrote that down in his notes as you took a step back from the body and scanned the whole room again. Your gut was saying that you just needed to keep looking. Hannibal and Crawford watched you, waiting to see if you had anything else to add. Hannibal saw that you were slightly troubled by something.

“Something wrong, (Y/N)?

"Something about all of this is off."

“What is it?" Jack butt in, a slight shift in his tone making you a little more frustrated at yourself for not seeing it yet.

"I'm not sure. It’s just-- This set up- This doesn't feel like the others. Not entirely."

"Could it be because these are not photographs, like how you're used to seeing?" You know Hannibal didn’t mean to sound condescending in any way, but with your bitter bias towards him right now, it definitely felt it. Still, you didn’t look away from the bed.

"No. I know it's not that."

You couldn’t tell exactly what Jack and Hannibal were discussing behind you but you didn’t really care; Everything had started to muffle as you focused more and more on the display in front of you. 

My eyes and gut keep bringing me here. This is it. Something isn’t right here. But what the hell is it? The body is cut up in the same way as the other doctors. The only slightly weird thing is that the eyes are left open on this vic. Everything is so neat and tidy, why can’t I tell what is wrong?

Then it hit you. That’s what is wrong: Things were neat. More specifically, the bedsheets.

"The sheets." You felt the words slip out of your mouth as your brain was still going, now picking up on how this bedroom looked like a picture from a Better Homes & Gardens magazine, just with a dead body laying in the bed instead of a photogenic couple or dog or something.

“(Y/N), I really don't think their choice in bedding lead to their--"

"Shh! Shut up for a second! Just-- Everyone shut up!" You waved your hand at Crawford to try to quiet him quicker. Jack was about to reprimand you, but Hannibal held up a hand to him, letting him know that you were on to something. You did a full circle around the room before landing back on the sheets. 

“The sheets are flat.” You said aloud, moreso to yourself than to the other two off to the side. You then looked directly at Jack, not giving Hannibal any attention, knowing that would bring your personal life back up and derail the potentially good track you were on.

“There are only two victims in this household, correct?” You spoke while following the blood drip stains from the edges of the bed to the pool on the floor to the trail that led to the bathroom.

“Yes.” Crawford responded, slightly judgmental.

“And we’re sure about that?”

“Positive. I looked in every room in this house myself before you two got here.” You just nodded, your eyes finding their way to the bathroom and the seemingly odd pool of blood in there.

“Were there any weapons found in the bathroom?” Both men were a bit confused at the sudden change of topic, but continued anyway.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“How well did the crime scene interns look though?”

“What exactly are you insinuating, (Y/N)?” You could tell that Jack wasn’t a fan of you talking like that, but you had your reasons. 

“Either we have a mysterious third victim that was killed in the bathroom and then vanished, or this is one of those cases where the evidence collecting teams didn’t search thoroughly enough and missed out on a piece of evidence.” Jack waved his hand, motioning for you to keep talking. 

“Taking into account that there is only one trail of blood that leads between these two pools of blood, there are in fact only two victims in this house. So what I am insinuating is that your collection team missed something.” You turned back to the corpse in the bed and went on to explain yourself further, physically taking the steps that the vic would have taken in this likely scenario. 

“Dr. Pencalt was relaxing in bed when he heard commotion in the kitchen. Instead of jumping out of bed and going to check it out with no weapon, he rushed to his bathroom to search for something to defend himself with.” 

You quickly scanned over the bathroom, your eyes finally landing on exactly what you were looking for: the toilet. You gently hopped over the blood that had stuck to the tiles and got to the toilet. You lifted up the lid to the tank and reached in. You turned back to the men as you got the new piece of evidence out safely.

“One of the most common places that civilians hide their guns or valuables are in airtight baggies, in the tanks of their toilets.”

Jack gave you a slightly annoyed look before calling for an evidence bag and handing it to you. You sealed up the gun and hopped back to the main bedroom, Hannibal making sure to help steady you as you landed. Once you were on solid ground again, he respectfully backed away. You gave the gun to Jack, turned around to face the bathroom, and continued your assessment.

“So, like I said, he goes to his bathroom to try to get his gun to defend himself against whatever he thinks is in his kitchen other than his wife. He gets into the bathroom but then is stopped before he can make it to the toilet or his gun. Here, he is injected with whatever insanely fast paralytic drug our killer decided to use tonight, and falls to the ground, where the killer decides to chop him up.” You walked parallel to the trail of blood leading back to the bed. “And then place him here.”

You could feel yourself slowly losing your grip on your mind due to exhaustion. You took your gloves off and ran your hands over your face. 

“I need to get some air. I did all I can here. I need to write some stuff out and then I can get back at this tomorrow when I have some more forensic evidence to work off of.” You were about to leave the room when Jack called out.

“No.” You stopped and faced him to see if he was serious. His face was stone. “Write out what you need to. Then I want you and you, Dr. Lecter, to report back to my office in an hour. I need a list of suspects, a good motive, or something out of this case, tonight.”

You knew you couldn’t do or say anything to change Jack’s mind without possibly getting yourself taken off the case. So you just took a deep breath and nodded, making your way out of the bedroom. Hannibal just nodded his head as well and followed you out.

You heard the soft but quick steps of Hannibal’s nice shoes catch up to you as you reached your car. You didn’t want to talk to him, not sure of what you would even say now that you felt almost completely drained. 

“Hannibal, I really don't--”

“I know.” 

You were slightly taken aback at his interruption. He leaned slightly towards you and opened your car door. You then realized that he only wanted to make sure you got to your car safe, as he always did when he was with you. You felt slightly guilty, but tried to not think about it too much as he waited until you had your seat belt on to shut the door. Letting you drive off; Leaving you alone in your car to try to prepare for this undoubtedly intense brainstorming in an hour.

[janiedean]

Jaime/Ned, #9

9. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

(do I know what this is? probs no, but we’ll see)

Jaime’s relative happiness at having gotten away with it lasts exactly the time it takes him to find a way out of the Red Keep without either getting caught or having to kill anyone else on top of... well.

His already illustrious list.

He’s not going to think about the sound Aerys made when he slit his throat.

He is going to think about the sound Gregor Clegane made when he stabbed him in the back, though. That had felt satisfying enough. Same as the sounds everyone else who had their hands on the princess had made when he took care of them before he took the weeping girl into his arms and hightailed the shit out of the Red Keep - there was nothing left to do for Princess Elia or Prince Aegon and he certainly didn’t want the girl to see what had become of them.

So, he had managed to find a way out, through the empty kitchens and then somehow reaching the only door that wasn’t manned by his father’s army before he hauled himself down to the beach, the still weeping princess latching to his neck, both of them covered in blood, and now he’s standing in the small harbor, thinking that they got away with it -

And realizing that he has no fucking clue of what he should do now.

His father’s army is sacking the city, which means that Robert Baratheon has won the damned war, which means that neither of them certainly will be happy to see that one Targaryen heir survived thanks to his intervention. He also has slain his king, which he knows is fucking high treason regardless of how much Aerys deserved it or not... and he had saved his niece, as in, the only one of Rhaegar’s heirs that survived, which means that... well. It’s a damned clusterfuck, that’s what it is, because slaying Aerys would maybe grant him Robert’s favor and his father most likely won’t complain about it given that his men were on orders to kill the rest of the royal family... but saving the girl means that he won’t be in their good graces, and if he goes to any Targaryen loyalist with her that might be something they could appreciate... but he still did slay Aerys.

Which... would most likely result in the girl living and him dying, and while he could be all right with it... well. He really isn’t in a hurry to die right now.

Rhaenys is still holding on to his neck and crying her eyes out, though at least she’s silent now.

Jaime drops sitting on the shore, cradling her to him, and trying to figure out what the fuck is he supposed to do here.

Going back to the Red Keep and try to make his father or Robert Baratheon reason is absolutely out of the question.

He could go to Casterly, he reasons, but there is no bloody way Cersei would help him, he knows, and he’ll think about why he’s so sure of it later. Not now. Tyrion certainly couldn’t, he was as old as Rhaenys is right now when he last saw him.

Right. No Casterly either. He could try to board a ship and go to Essos, but considering that all he and the girl in his arms have to their names are their bloody clothing and that everyone in King’s Landing will know they’re missing before tomorrow, he doesn’t see how that might work short of stealing one and he doubts he can row all the way to fucking Pentos on his own.

Right. Bad idea. So, what else -

Right. The Dornish never were fond of Aerys or his own father, he remembers Oberyn Martell’s distaste for court even too well, but they did side with him because of Elia and Lewyn... and see how it ended. They would take the girl, and they wouldn’t kill him, most likely. Except that how in the fucking Seven Hells is he supposed to get to Dorne like this? He wouldn’t make it out of the city in the first place.

Unless he somehow manages to hide in between troops going to Dorne for some miracle, and that would be hard enough -

Wait a fucking moment.

His hand stalls from its repetitive stroking of the girl’s hair, which is most likely for both their benefits at this point, but -

Last he knew, Rhaegar had brought Lyanna Stark to Dorne. Certainly, Ned Stark won’t send someone else to get her. And Ned Stark, well. Ned Stark is honorable, and certainly is not Robert, and it always was known in court that he had a fondness for children. Maybe -

Well.

It’s not as if he has that many choices. He tries to think of any other option he has, but no - asking Stark to hide the both of them in his army and then split the moment they’re in Dorne is the only thing he can think of that has some chances of not ending up with either him or Rhaenys dead.

He supposes they will have to go back to the city and hide around until Stark leaves... or she could hide on this shore here, not many people know about it, and no one would notice her in the caves leading to the Red Keep. Well.

At least he has a fucking plan.

He resumes stroking the girl’s hair.

He’ll tell her of the plans later.

--

Thankfully, she understands that he can’t bring her with when trying to get information, so she stays in the caves with his dirty cloak to cover her and he goes back to the castle after washing blood off him with saltwater. He manages to not be found as he tries to fish for rumors, and after a few hours he learns that Ned Stark will leave a couple of days from now on and that his army is camping below the hill.

Very well.

He steals some food for the both of them, sleeps the night off under his dirty cloak with the girl clinging to him, and the day after he sneaks them out of the shore and to the hill.

--

He steals another brown nondescript cloak from some laundry basket he finds on the way out, and hides the both of them underneath - if she clings to him, it’s not so hard. Then he stands in the shadows until he sees Stark retreating to his tent for the night.

Alone.

Then he takes a deep breath and hopes against hope that Stark doesn’t fuck this up.

--

“What -” Stark says as soon as Jaime lets the flap fall closed behind him, and then immediately shuts up when Jaime pulls down his hood and opens the cloak enough to show him the terrified girl clinging to him.

“Lord Stark,” he blurts, “I didn’t know where else to go and while I certainly am not asking you to commit treason, I also don’t think you would want to see her dead and I cannot think of any other way to reach Dorne without anyone trying to kill either of us, so I would be extremely thankful if you considered not calling your friend now and help me out at least for her sake.”

It’s not the speech he had prepared. Admittedly, he sounds exhausted and he knows he looks exhausted and that he still has Aerys’s blood under his nails, and he knows that the girl has a badly scarred over wound on her face that they gave her before he could get her out of that room, and he knows that Stark must not have taken too well the fact that he killed his king, which he supposes everyone must have figured out by now, but he’s not screaming for help now.

He’s not even touching his sword.

He’s just staring at Jaime with grey, tired eyes.

“You - you did it, didn’t you?” He asks, stopping himself before he can say killed her grandfather or whatever.

“I had to,” Jaime says, “he was going to burn down the entire city with wildfire. I had to.” The girl flinches, holding tighter to him.

Jaime really wants to sit down.

Stark nods. Jaime wonders if he’s thinking about his father and his brother.

“I would not want to see her dead,” Stark sighs. “What - well. Your father, he... showed... her brother to Robert.”

Shit. Jaime puts a hand over her ear. “And?”

“We haven’t spoken since,” Stark says.

Good, Jaime thinks, even if it’s not enough to make him stop being alert.

“You look exhausted,” Stark says. “You can leave her on my bed. I need to talk to you alone.”

Well.

That wasn’t a no.

“You heard him,” Jaime whispers to Rhaenys. She nods, tentatively. “I will be right there talking to him. Just - try to rest a moment, all right?”

“Will you come back?” She whispers, sounding miserable.

“Sure,” he says, kissing the top of her head before laying her down on the bed, putting a blanket over her shoulders. Gods, he was tired from carrying her. He nods, then goes towards the farthest corner of the tent, where Stark is waiting for him.

“Listen,” Stark says, “I don’t want to... not help you. I understand what you’re trying to do. And - well. If the king wanted to burn the entire damned city - never mind. But - I have to go get my sister.”

“I know,” Jaime says.

“Well, I talked to people. My sister is with Arthur Dayne at the Tower of Joy. And the rest of the Kingsguard that... hasn’t perished until now. I don’t want to fight him, but I don’t even know if he would... well. Cede, I suppose. So, I have a deal for you.”

Jaime thinks he can imagine it. “Speak.”

“I will hide you both with the army I’ll take to Dorne. I will let you bring her to Sunspear when we cross the border. But then I will need you to join me at the Tower of Joy and try to help me reason with Ser Arthur, because you’ve known him longer and - maybe he would listen to you more than me. And if everything goes well... I don’t know what you are planning on doing, but I could try and put in a good word for you.” He looks at Jaime with the eyes of a man who really is as tired as Jaime feels.

“Deal,” he says, extending a hand without even thinking about it twice. It’s more than he’d have presumed he would get, and he knows Stark will hold his end - he is honorable to a fault, after all.

When Stark takes it, Jaime feels like he could fucking faint in relief.

“You can go sit with her,” Stark says quietly. “I can ask for some more dinner and find you better clothing. We will discuss the details later.”

“Thank you,” Jaime says, too tired to hold on a longer conversation.

Stark nods at him and leaves the tent.

Jaime will have to trust him, but he knows that with how honorable to a fault the man is, he won’t. He sits down next to Rhaenys, runs his dirty fingers through her raven hair, and lets himself hope that he has done the right thing.

[hirazuki]

Ooo I'm curious about your hot takes on the Inuyasha reboot after reading your tags 👀

Ahaha, where to start XD Idk if they are hot takes, but here are my thoughts in bullet point form for coherency, I couldn’t figure out how else to organize them. Under a cut, as usual, because it got lengthy... as usual :D

We are 13 episodes in, and I still have no idea wtf is going on or what the series is actually about. And yes, I’m aware that we didn’t know of Naraku’s existence or of the overarching plot until at least episode 16 of that series either and Inuyasha was still very episodic in nature at that early point too, but here’s the thing: Inuyasha did not build upon a pre-existing series. For better or for worse, Yashahime has certain expectations to live up to that the original anime didn’t, by virtue of its being a sequel. Unfair? Maybe, but tough; that’s what happens when you make a sequel. Additionally, despite us not knowing The Main Plot™ of Inuyasha until later, the basic framework for it was laid out clearly by... episode 2? I think? Find and collect the Shikon Jewel shards. Boom, done. Were there distractions or fillers? Sure, but you never got the sense that the characters simply up and forgot about the shards. Even in fillers, the shards often made some kind of appearance. With Yashahime, there’s like three potential storylines going on: 1. The most obvious: most of our main cast from the OG is missing; where are they? Apparently no one in-story cares! :D Inuyasha, who’s that lol. I’m all for a sequel focusing on the new generation with cameos of the old crew; after all, they already had their own series. But this is like... no one cares about them? No one talks about them? And the more characters go about not mentioning them, the stronger their absence is felt. Like, for instance, Kaede knows Moroha is InuKag’s daughter. Moroha grew up on her own, doesn’t know her parents. Kaede doesn’t mention them to Moroha, doesn’t even spare a passing thought about them for the audience’s benefit, Moroha doesn’t ask. Kagome’s family in the present day meet Moroha, recognize her as Kagome’s daughter and... say nothing??? Souta shows Towa Kagome and Inuyasha’s old photos, but doesn’t say a word to Moroha?! Like. It makes no sense. By people not even acknowledging their existence, it makes the fact that they are nowhere to be found even weirder. Also the new gen girls don’t care about their parents or finding out who they were/are... like, okay, it would maybe be in character for one or two of them, but all three don’t give a fuck??? 2. Kirinmaru/the rainbow pearls: Idk how familiar you are with the story, but similar deal with Naraku and the shards here. Kirinmaru is being set up as the villain, still a mysterious figure; our new gen trio is supposed to collect the rainbow pearls that... some of his henchmen have? Or he is after them? Or is that Riku? Unclear. ANYWAY the new gen girls often forget all about the pearls’ existence :D 3. Setsuna’s memories: Setsuna’s dreams have been stolen by the dream butterfly and they need to get them back, because without her dreams she has no memories and is unable to sleep. Cool! Finally a solid, easy-to-follow plot line! Except wait! Towa, who supposedly made it her goal to get Setsuna’s sleep back, forgets all about it! All the time! Like, none of them make an effort to look into this other than being like “oh yeah, know anything about the dream butterfly?” to random folks every now and then. The Inugang back in the day was putting some grad school level research towards their goals, just saying. It just feels like everything’s all wishy-washy and there’s nothing really solid tying the series together. People just remember shit exists when it’s convenient.

.

Character development is MIA. I’m not expecting ground-breaking char dev in 13 episodes (though I do know 12 episode series that were phenomenal in that regard), but like... I do expect the series to focus on building the dynamics between the main three characters. So far, the series is more focused on teasing the audience with glimpses and promises of the OG cast instead. The creators are using nostalgia and bait (esp of a certain pairing) to drive interest in the series, rather than developing the new characters as fully-fledged characters for their own sakes. 

.

Moroha is was the only thing I actually liked about the series. She is a little spitfire and you can somehow instantly see both Inuyasha and Kagome in her, while she also remains very uniquely herself; I have never seen such a successfully developed main pairing child in any series. She featured quite prominently in the first few episodes -- and unlike both her parents, she’s got a great memory and knowledge of lore -- where she balanced funny moments with badass fighting moments and being the token supernatural encyclopedia. It was great! And then... they’ve like... forgotten her. She’s been left behind so many times by the twins. She’s the butt of every joke. She’s become the type of comic relief that’s, well, insulting. More like a buffoon than anything else. And it’s basically all for the sake of giving the floor to Towa :/

.

Setsuna is okay. Not offensive, but unremarkable. She’s got her dad’s personality but like way toned down due to her different growing up circumstances, which is nice, but like... I feel she isn’t given any room to grow or breathe or anything. She’s also basically there as a device to enhance Towa’s development.

.

Towa... oy. I tried to like her, I really did, but she just doesn’t work for me. They set her up having a very Kurosaki Ichigo type deal with beating up bullies and getting into trouble at school and shit -- I’m fine with that. That’s cool. Esp if it’s linked to not feeling like she fits in bc she’s a hanyou? Awesome. Except once she travels back in time to the feudal era it’s all “Oh killing is bad you shouldn’t kill people” and “even though they attacked me I can’t possibly hurt them” and “you need to empathize and talk things out” and “friendship is magic” and shit. It feels like she had a personality transplant, it literally makes no sense. Her design is totally nonsensical too -- out of everyone at her school, she’s the only one dressed in a bright white suit? Do protags not wear the school uniform? Someone should tell Kagome lmao. She’s a pro at hand to hand, and she can absorb demons’ powers and fling them back at them like a personified Tessaiga, and she has a lightsaber sword, and she’s immune to miasma, and -- like... you get it. It’s too much. It’s way too OP for the type of universe that Inuyasha/Yashahime is set in. She’s hanyou for fuck’s sake; remember all the training Inuyasha had to go through? When he couldn’t lift his sword? When his sword attacked him? Sango, Miroku, Kagome, even Sesshomaru all had trouble with their weapons and had to work to become stronger. But Towa? Nope. Towa is straight out of the Yas Queen/Girl Boss manual, so she gets a free pass on everything.

.

UGH they are doing the VLD/bad writing thing where things happen (like, BIG THINGS) and none of the characters actually react to them. Or stuff happens and there are no consequences. No one ever talks about anything. It’s wild.

.

Everyone has amnesia!! :D People either don’t know or don’t remember anything or anyone. People who absolutely should know things all of a sudden magically don’t know them. Like, Kohaku -- traveled with an undead priestess, spent years in the company of demons, traveled with Sesshomaru... and yet had NO CLUE that Setsuna is Sesshomaru’s daughter or that she is hanyou, despite her living and working with his team of demon slayers all this time. Like... how, man. How. And Kaede! Don’t get me started. Since when does she perpetuate random demon-boogeyman type stories as facts? Demon children will kill each other in the nest so that only the strongest one will survive, therefore Setsuna must have killed Towa when they were infants. O_O What are they, sharks? Has she been hanging out with Kisame? Wtf?? And she’s speaking about Sess’s kids as though she doesn’t know him or anything about him, when she has had Rin under her roof all these years. It just makes. no. sense.

.

Things that happened in the original series are happening again now! Because that’s the best we’ve got, recycled plot elements wooo! No, but really, characters that died or things that were resolved in Inuyasha keep coming back. Why? What was the purpose of bringing back Kinka and Ginka? To have a foil for Towa and Setsuna as twins? Someone please tell Sunrise they can just create new characters. Like, it’s one thing to have call backs to the original or cameos, references, whatever. But like... this is entire (dead) characters and interactions.

.

No one knows how long it’s been since the original series ended. Fans initially heard 20 years from promo material, then “over 15″ and “10 years since” in-series regarding two different events, and now in a future episode summary we’ve gotten 18 years since Hosenki II gave Inuyasha the black pearl. But like, which black pearl? Because the one in Inuyasha’s eye doesn’t exist anymore, but Hosenki II had told Inuyasha that it would take 100 years for him to produce one. So, are we retconning that or where the fuck did it come from? Also, this doesn’t help one bit, it just confuses things even more. Back to the point, though, we have no coherent timeline or real frame of reference whatsoever, and I’m betting it’s in large part to keep the mystery of who is Sesshomaru’s wife going, as it keeps Rin’s age very vague. Everything is vague and mysterious in Yashahime, to the point where no one knows what’s going on, in fandom or in-story even. It’s kinda like how too much plot twist/shock reveal ruins a story, too much mystery does the same. It’s insane that both shippers and antis of that ship can lay equal claim that the “18 years since” announcement works in their favor.

tl;dr: Idk man, Yashahime is a clusterfuck of a series. Even if the mother of Sess’s twins is either of the characters I ship him with, I will still not like the series. There’s no saving this writing. Every episode feels like this:

[animemangasoul]

Why Me?

Summery: Boris and Kai are stuck together in Hiwatari Enterprise trying to not get themselves killed by hired mercenaries. Boris so did not sign up for this.

Chapter: 1/2

“Say something,” he hisses, fingers not quite able to grasp the other’s forearm without shaking. “Hiwatari, fucking say something.” Leaning closer he breathes. “Anything.”

But there is nothing. Kai isn’t moving and....

“Fuck fuck fuck.”

Lifting up the other’s shirt, he traces a stained finger over the makeshift bandages. Thankfully it’s still holding strong so Kai wouldn’t at least bleed out too quickly while he tries to get them out of this clusterfuck.  

“I knew those bastards were shady the moment they fucking walked through the door. I just knew it,” he says furiously, pulling the previously white shirt back down before wrapping his own tattered suit jacket over him. “But does anyone listen to me, nooo.”

Climbing back on his feet; a hiss escapes his lips as his knee almost buckles under the sudden pressure. “Fuck.” There was no way either of them would get out of here alive if he didn’t come up with a plan and soon.

Kai was in no shape to make a run for it and, grimacing down at the brace secured around his leg, he once again curses the slow healing process of the human body.  

If he’d only gone on that assignment a week earlier, maybe they would have stood a chance. But with his knee busted and Kai in his current predicament.

They wouldn’t be able to---

Shuffling over to the door, Boris presses his ear against the cold, hard metal, counting his heart beats along with the number of footsteps running over their heads.

It didn’t look good.  

This whole mess stank like Ivan’s unwashed socks.  

“Wh--what?”

His head snaps back so quick Boris vision blurs for a second. “Hiwatari?” Stumbling over, he’s down on his knees before Kai’s unfocused gaze can even lock onto him, biting back a grimace. “Hiwatari!”

Kai blinks slowly, eyes flittering this way and that, lips parting to let out confused murmur of utter nonsense. “Hiwatari? Boris repeats, this time trying to keep his voice soft. “You with me?” But Kai doesn’t seem to be hearing him. Just continues to mutter something under his breath; fingers clenching and unclenching.

The longer, whatever this is, went on the closer Boris came to snapping.

They didn’t have time for this.

Kai couldn’t fucking lose it now.

This....  

Boris couldn’t carry him out of here on his own. The idiot was welcome to go ahead and turn batshit insane when they found Yuriy. His redhead friend was after all occupied to handle him but Boris, this wasn't his fucking job.

“Kai,” he hisses. “For God’s sake. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Something in his voice must have registered somehow because suddenly, lavender eyes are burning into his own making him stiffen. “Boris?” Kai looks..... scared. Confusion bleeding through his glassy-eyes and he doesn’t seem to quite register why Boris was there in front of him. “Boris?” The words are nothing more than a whisper and “Boris what’s going on?”

Taking a deep breath, Boris tries very very hard not to freak out. “We’re trapped inside your stupid company and mercenaries are here to kill you. Questions?”

“What?” Kai’s tone is frosty, confusion temporarily leaving room for annoyance.

And Boris grins, because finally there is some life behind those eyes.

“You heard me.”

When Kai’s fingers shoot out to curl around his wrist in a painful tug, Boris only snares back.  

“What is going on here.”

Boris doesn’t answer, just holds his gaze, and when Kai glares, he returns it tenfold, and when his former teammates tries to stumble back to his feet in an angry mutter of curses, he presses two hands on his shoulders and refuses to let him up.

All the while hostility is written clear as day across his face, but....

The utter relief flooding his system almost manages to drown out any resentment he harbors for the traitor. Kai wasn’t gone. He wasn’t.... and probably wouldn’t, die here. And Boris wasn’t going to be responsible for his pathetic demise.

They could still get out of here and when they did-

“You’re bleeding out idiot,” he snaps, forcing Kai to stay still. “Do you wanna die before we’ve even attempted an escape?”

All he gets for his trouble is gruff, colorful insult, topped off with the infamous Hiwatari glare.

Boris doesn’t budge.  

“You’re injured,” he repeats himself, keeping his hands firmly on the other’s shoulders. “And my knee isn’t all there right now, so how about we don’t rush this shit and actually think this through?”

Kai huffs. “You, thinking? Today is just full of surprises.”

What a little shit. Boris really really hates him.

“I ain’t Yuriy, Hiwatari,” he snaps back. “I will leave you to die. Don’t test me.” Kai tries to say something back; probably something that’ll make Boris want to hit him, but before any word so much has a chance to leave his mouth, he coughs. Once, twice and then descends into an all-out fit.

To say that Boris freaks out was an understatement. “Fuck! Hiwatari, Hawatari.... just breath. Just, just try and breathe ok? Hawatari! Kai!”

But Kai doesn’t stop, he keeps coughing and it sounds all the more painful each time, the only break in-between the coughs coming from a hitched inhaling of air before he goes right back to coughing his lung out again.  

Curling into a ball, Kai scoots into the corner of the basement, arms coming up to gingerly wrap around his stomach; his bandaged gunshot wound stomach to be exact.

Safe to say, Boris couldn’t let him do that.

“Hey, no. Stop that,” he says, pushing himself forward till he can reach the other teen to pull his arms away from his left side. “Hiwatari,” he finally hisses when he sees no end to the coughing. “Hiwatari just.... please.” The last word comes out as nothing more than a whisper, and he doesn’t know why he says it, it’s not like Kai can hear him. Not with the pain he is going through. Not with the way he is doubled over, and not with the trails of tears leaking out of his tightly shut eyes.

But----

But----

“Fuck fuck fuck, damn it. Hiwatari?”  

Nothing.

Fingers still gripping Kai’s forearms; holding them away from his stomach, Boris tries to even out his own breathing as he takes note of his increased heartrate. “Hiwatari you--” but there he stops, because what is he supposed to say? What is he supposed to do?

“I’m going to get you some water,” he finally decides, scrambling back to his feet, ignoring the sharp flair of pain flashing through his leg. “Just stay here.”

But before he can even take a step away from his fallen comrade, Kai latches onto his hand and holds him there. “Don’t,” he gasps, eyes firmly shut and chest heaving. He looks paler than Yuriy and the feverish tint to his eyes when he opens them sends off warning bells. “Don’t.”

Boris shakes him off, albeit gently. “Hawatari--” he starts, but a quick shake of Kai’s head cuts him off.

“It’s not” a cough. “safe out there.”

His coughing seems to be subsiding and his breathing is evening out slightly, but Boris doesn’t feel comfortable leaving it like this. Water would do the idiot some good. Still, he knew how dangerous going out there to scavenge for something would be. The makeshift bandages had already been risky enough.  

If only he knew the building outline. If he’d just scouted ahead instead of letting himself be railroaded by Yuriy. He shouldn't have even been here, but Yuriy had asked him to, because whether or not Kai liked it, he needed the back up. Especially when dealing with scum like Vitaly.

Still, keeping a close eye on Kai’s sweat soaked figure, and the slowly reddening shirt, Boris could do nothing more than curse profusely under his breath.

“Can you hang on till we get out of here.” It’s more of an order then a question and Kai seems well aware of it for his only answer is a glare.  

“Don’t belittle me Boris,” he hisses; glazed eyes blinking slowly, bottom lip bitten raw and a sheen of sweat coating his forehead. “I can handle myself.” The words come out with confidence despite the waver in his tone and the light shaking of his hands.  

It suddenly hits him like a truck, what he’s been trying to avoid thinking about.

Kai desperately needs medical attention or he isn’t going to make it till tomorrow.

Somehow that..... he swallows thickly.

An echo of something painful dragging through his heart like thousand knives piercing flesh and Boris finds himself ruthlessly breaking it down and shoving it back to the very corners of his mind.

‘Compartmentalize,’ he tells himself. ‘Don’t think about unnecessary things.’ And just like that the walls come back down and his heartbeat evens out.  

Ok then.

“Do you know the building outline Hiwatari?”

It takes Kai a second to process what he’s just said, and the momentary confusion in those lavender eyes makes something frantic claw up Boris throat.

“Yes,” Kai finally answers; blinking slowly and sinking lower down the wall. “Yes... I do.”

Boris swallows. “Great.” Leaning forward he drags Kai back into a better position “I can work with that.”

He could, work with this.  

They just needed to get out of here. Avoid Kai’s would be killers and somehow depend on the very same; bleeding out, probably dying Kai, for directions.  

Yup, this would definitely work out.  

Reaching out, he taps the other on the cheek, startling Kai awake. “Don’t sleep,” he snaps, and if there is the tiniest bit of fear laced in his words, well, Kai is probably too out of it to notice. “Now, tell me what you know and let’s get out of here.”

1, 2

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

three | hard to forget - adam p.

[ authors notes ]

This one took a little longer to get out and for that, I’m sorry. It wasn’t clicking until just now. So, this is the unedited and rough version because as soon as I finished, I figured to hell with the editing process, just post it and be done. Yes, it’s still angst city. Yes, they’re both still being stubborn. BUT... they were finally kind of forced into interaction so yay? I guess? 

FYI, this is probably gonna be a mini fic, so there’s probably only about 9 or 10 actual chapters left of it. I never meant for it to be that long BUT... we’ll see... all depends on how well it actually goes over... Do with that what you will... Also, the OFC’s self worth issues are not going to magically disappear just because the story comes to some kind of conclusion. I believe I mentioned this once before, the ofc here has the same issues I do to an extent... Anyway, enjoy a little lingering sexual tension in this part?

[ one - two - darling, the unofficial first chapter of the story - the soundtrack ]

[ warnings ]

Self esteem issues cw. Anxiety cw. Alcohol cw. Angst and sort of a slow burn. Mini fic, fyi. Probably won’t be very long. Potentially smut at some point. I switch between first person pov ( my oc’s pov ) to third person pov ( usually hangman, but also any other side characters I might use in this). 

[ tag squad ]

@kyleoreillysknee​

@rampagewriting​

@writertoo18​

@thatnerdwriter​

@wrestlingismyguiltypleasure​

@chasingeverybreakingwave​

@waywardwrestlewritingwaif​

@sassymox​

@hungmanhorsecarriage​

@wardl0w​

@unabashedwrestlefics​

@cowboyshit​

@adampage​

@missjenniferb​

@wrestlingthot​

@mafiadaddypaulheyman​

[ tag doc  | about page  | masterlist ] 

                                                  T H R E E 

[ ADAM ]

“Talking to her is probably a better idea than staring a hole through her, man.” Wardlow spoke up from beside Adam just as Adam poured himself another glass of whiskey. Adam took a long and thoughtful sip before shrugging.

“Obviously, there’s nothin to talk about.”

“And you’re an idiot if you believe that. Full offense meant.” Wardlow ordered his own drink and took a sip, eyes darting up to the screen mounted close to the ceiling  behind the bar. He chuckled at the score on the hockey game playing and then spoke up again. “All I’m saying is you don’t want one of the other guys stepping up and getting a shot you didn’t take. I mean, earlier… Did you not overhear Maxwell?”

“Oh yeah. I heard him. Why the fuck do you think I put him against the wall real quick like I did. It’s not my business if she chooses one of them though. Nothin’ I can do about it, either.” Adam shrugged, but deep down, it had him on edge. On top of everything else… He was having to deal with the fact that one night with Rosalie showed him just how much he didn’t want things to be one night only between the two of them.

Everything was turning into a massive clusterfuck that he couldn’t escape, no matter how far in the bottom of the bottle he tried burying himself.

The win tonight over his opponent felt like a hollow victory because just as the ref raised his hand it really sank in just how alone he felt and how well he’d managed to alienate himself from his friends. The fact that Rosalie was fine with a one night stand and wanted nothing further to do with him meant that he couldn’t share the moment with her, either.

But the problem with all of this was that the more he tried to go without talking about how he felt, the further down he tried to push it all, lately, that was the harder everything tried to push it’s way to the forefront. It was getting to a point where he felt like he was one breath away from exploding in frustration at any moment.

The more he tried to find Rosalie in back and at least clear the air between them, the better she seemed to get at making herself scarce.

Just as he found himself thinking about it, he happened to spot her, pushing her way through the crowd surrounding the bar at the other end of it. Banging on the wooden bartop noisily, she hopped up and down, shoving money at a bartender who came past and getting herself a bottle of Tito’s. Adam felt himself tense all over and whether or not he meant to, his eyes were fixed on her. He bit his lip and took a long sip from the glass and Wardlow cleared his throat. “If you don’t step up, Page. Someone else will. Women like that don’t stay single or lonely long at all. Trust me.”

Without another word, Wardlow was gone, leaving Adam to watch intently. He swore to himself and grumbled when Matt Jackson wandered right up to her, boldly leaning against her from behind and muttering something against her ear.

“Naturally, he’s gotta go there.” Adam grumbled to himself as the scowl took over. He watched the scene unfolding and maybe he was a little more amused than he should’ve been when he saw Rosalie rolling her eyes before she turned around. She suck popped a gum bubble and blew at her bangs. Every physical cue she was giving off read clear irritation and annoyance and yet… Matt was apparently determined.

,, Jackass even has roses. If he really gave a shit he’d know she liked sunflowers or daisies.” Adam found himself thinking. The thought lingered, annoying him all over again. No matter how much he wanted to be angry and hate his former friends, he knew deep down that everything they’d said to him the last time they all talked had unfortunately been true.

They may have set it all in motion, but he’d been the one who let it continue for so long. Then he’d been the one who exploded and went straight for self-destruct mode rather than doing what he should’ve done, beating their asses and getting his frustrations out there and putting it behind him. And all of that, his brain wasted no time in reminding him, trickled down to the situation with her, and his inability to even fathom taking a chance and speaking up about the way he really felt. And it bothered him because he knew that not only was he letting his friends slip through his fingers but now, a chance at being with her too.

And then, it happened. Rosalie happened to spot him sitting there, watching her. For a few seconds, she stared right back, teeth grazing against a full lower lip. Adam hated to admit it, but he felt a small surge of pride at the fact that he’d done a good enough job leaving marks behind their night together that the small bite mark just below her earlobe hadn’t really faded that much.  ,, then again, I was so desperate to leave any kind of sign that I even had her to myself  for one night that I really latched onto that spot at least 4 times. Was the hardest mark I left.” 

He must have been staring at the area pretty hard because her hand raised, fingertips settling right against the spot in question. She squirmed on her stool under his gaze and bit her lip. Adam shifted on his stool and took a deep breath, trying to will away the way he was starting to strain against his jeans. Because before that happened again, they needed to have a long and serious conversation.

She shotgunned a sip from the tequila bottle and swallowed hard, wincing at the way the alcohol must’ve burned it’s way down her throat and Adam raised his own glass, finishing it off without breaking his gaze with her.

Apparently, it was enough to be noticed by Matt, who glared at him before grumbling to himself and walking away for the time being. Neither of them were caving yet, the stare war still going on. If he were a more confident and far less anxious kind of guy, he’d almost swear that maybe the tequila was hitting her system and maybe, she was flirting across the room.

As soon as even the hint of that thought hit, Adam was on top of it, shoving it down deep before hope dared to have a chance to grow.

She sighed and the movement of her lips had his eyes locked there, following helplessly as her tongue dragged over the outline of her mouth. When she brushed shaggy bangs out of her eyes, Adam’s hand clenched because honestly, he just wanted to tangle his fingers up in her hair again, use his grip on the soft and thick locks to tug her mouth into his so deep that by the time the kiss broke they were breathing for each other.

She broke eye contact first, turning her attention to the doors of the sports bar and Adam tore his eyes off her, fixing them on his own drink.

,, if I don’t say something soon, I’m going to lose my damn mind.” 

[ ROSALIE ]

I could smell Matt Jackson before he even pressed against me from behind. The cologne he wore is not my favorite and it never has been. ,, It’s not my fault I prefer Adam’s natural scent to the overpowering notes of whatever the hell Matt is wearing all the time.” my brain chimed in and I quickly shoved the thought out.

I was here tonight because no fucking thanks to Adam’s earlier match and win, I needed a good stiff drink. ,, Is a good stiff drink not how I wound up in the situation I’m in right now though?” - my brain was at it again, nagging and being pesky. Between my own mind and my mom, I was dangerously close to exploding lately.

Matt pressed against me from behind, reaching past me to grab a soda he’d apparently ordered and I cringed to myself, eyes rolling as I prepared myself for what Matt felt was ‘his best game’. In truth, his best game is a fucking annoyance to me.

If I were going to hook up with a Jackson brother, I’d die before I ever considered Matt. Nick… Nick clearly has more going for him that’s not quite so…. Overpowering and annoying.

Not that I’ve ever given them any sort of actual thought in that regard, I’m just stating a fact.

“You drinking alone, Rosie?”

“Don’t call me that, Matt. I have a name.”

Matt chuckled in amusement. He was still pressing against me a little. I tensed and he seemed to finally take the fucking hint, stepping away a little. “You could bring your bottle and come over to where me and Nick are sitting. It’d keep Maxwell off your ass.”

“I’m here alone. As in, I want to drink this tequila all by myself. Nice try, Matt.” I responded, turning just enough to smirk up at him as my words hit their mark. He grumbled and bit his lip, shaking his head. “I don’t get it. Why not just give somebody a chance?”

“Why not just leave somebody alone, though? I’ve told every single one of you who keeps trying lately, I have zero interest. That what happened that night is not only not any of your business, but it was supposed to stay between me and Adam.”

“And yet, you were telling your friends.”

“I didn’t tell them!” I grumbled and rolled my eyes in frustration, blowing at hair that flopped into my eyes and I took a sip, continuing, “They knew something was wrong with me and they kept at me til they guessed. Not that it’s your business, Jackson.”

“You can call me Matt.”

“Can I call you gone already? Because I’m exhausted with this conversation. Look.. I get that you have a hard time hearing the word no. I get that you’re trying to pour on the charm and I get that you think you want me but trust me, Matt, you don’t. Nobody ever actually does.”

“That’s not true, hon.” Matt’s brows knit together as he looked me up and down, licking his lips. I grumbled and turned away, rolling my eyes as I knocked more of my bottle back.

Somehow, I found my eyes fixed on Adam in all this.

And I tried, but I couldn’t tear my eyes off him. And as I stared, all I kept seeing was that fire in his eyes earlier tonight during his singles match. The way he looked fired up and ready to take on the whole world. I was starting to get soaked all over again and I shifted around on the stool a little. 

The hunger burning in his eyes as they roamed over me had memories of that night stirring to the front of my mind and if I thought I was soaked before, that was in fact a lie. I could feel my thighs slipping off each other. The realization had me reaching for my bottle and taking a generous sip. I tried again to tear my eyes off him but I couldn’t do that either. Instead, I found them fixing on a not quite hidden hickie that I knew full well I’d left behind on the right side of his neck. I swallowed hard and took a deep breath because I remembered that I hadn’t been the only one who left a mark.

And at the sudden rearing of the thought, my fingers raised, gingerly dancing over the deep impression of his bite in my skin. I could feel my face getting hotter by the second. 

Matt seemed to finally catch onto the stare down happening between Adam and I and he grumbled, making a hasty retreat.

It took everything I possessed not to shove through the crowd and go to Adam. Especially with the statement he made in an interview before his match earlier tonight burned into my brain. Hurting me because I knew for a fact that the words weren’t true and it killed me that he might even halfway consider them to be so.

I finally managed to tear my eyes off of him, spotting Sonny Kiss and Joey Janela making their way into the bar. I waved to them both, grateful for the distraction they’d provide me. The barrier they’d make between me and my desire to go to Adam and bare my entire soul.

And probably be rejected. Or have to hear him say that the one night between us was a moment of weakness and it didn’t mean anything.

Or any number of things I’d heard a thousand times before.

[packsbeforesnacks]

You Wanna Ride It, My Mimercycle || Noah & Winn

TIMING: Monday, May 4th, 2020, Sunset LOCATION: The Veterinary Clinic PARTIES: @noah-kalani & @packsbeforesnacks SUMMARY: Local Wolf Man (and Friend) Caught Murdering Mimes, More at 11 (”Do you need a license to drive a mimercycle? Asking for a friend.”) WARNINGS: None.

Winn had been riding home when he’d heard the howl, stopping off near the turn to his cabin to message Ariana and Miles in a mild panic. And they’d both been fine, and Kaden wasn’t involved, and that should’ve been the end of it. But it wasn’t. Winn was still reeling over Miles having a secret (well, unknown to him) brother, and that brother being in trouble with fucking Hunters. This was why Winn hadn’t wanted to get close to wolves! (‘Course, the voice in the back of his head was quick to remind him, it was nice to have folks worth carin’ about again.) His mind drifted to Noah unbidden, still stuck on the other night — and the mornin’ after. 

But before he could interrogate his feelings on the other man, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, an unfamiliar scent blowing into his face. Or, more accurately, an intimately familiar scent. There was a black-and-white blur ahead of him on the deserted road. Aw, fuck. Not now. Havin’ to think about his stalker was already bad, and now the fuckin’ mime was showin’ up at the worst possible time. He wasn’t anywhere near the station yet, this part of town only vaguely familiar to him. Winn revved his bike, pulling forward. And to his horror, Winn discovered his stalker wasn’t alone. Oh no. That would be too kind of the Universe. Instead, Winn’s mime was, oh God, riding other mimes? The unholy blob beneath Winn’s mime-self was the twisted, mottled form of a bike, the naked hands and feet of two faceless mimes pedaling it along like the worst Flintstones special. The seat and handles were… Oh, for fuck’s sake. Winn would recognize those dimples anywhere. But why was Noah’s mime-self here?

To say it had been a bit of a rough day at the clinic for one Noah Kalani might be a bit of an understatement. From the computer error that mixed up appointment reminders (No Mrs. Seawol, Alfred was not scheduled to get snip sniped today, that text was a mistake) to one very very heartbreaking euthanasia (yes he broke down and cried once the owner left) he had been put through the wringer in more ways that one, so much so that the Dr Choi took one look at him at the reception desk –silently munching on the lunch he almost forgot to eat– and sent him outside to get some air and some sunshine on his face. Sitting there on the bench next to the parking lot though Noah couldn’t help but fidget in his scrubs. It was almost 5pm.  He just had to make it till then and he could go home, take a shower, cuddle with his own pup, and not agonize over the weird Winn situation of the other night.. But of course like always the universe had other plans, and they were unfolding right before his very eyes.

Winn’s brain had scarcely put together a joke about riding Noah when it all went to Hell. Ricky had warned him. “More aggressive,” he’d said. And the, what, demons were exactly that. The mime-motorcycle (mimercycle, ugh) seemed bent on runnin’ him off the road, as silently as possible. It rammed into the side of Winn’s bike, Winn’s tires skidding on the road as he tried to avoid going down in a blaze of gore-y. His phone flew out of his hand where he’d half-composed a text to Ariana and onto the pavement at a crisp sixty miles an hour. (Don’t text and drive, he guessed.) Fuck, why wasn’t there anyone out, it was, like, five! They were headin’ towards a more populated town, he knew. Given the mimes’ dislike of a public stage, that meant that, soon, he’d either be dead or the mimes were about to make the evenin’ news. And Winn still hadn’t figured out why Noah’s mime wa— Aw, goddammit. He knew that scent, mixed with the scent of a dozen or more other animals, but still distinctly Noah. 

Way Winn saw it, he had two options now. Keep drivin’ towards the other man, riskin’ both their lives or… well, actually, he didn’t have much of a choice. The mimercycle caught up to him again, ramming him from the back and almost pitchin’ Winn off his bike. He slammed on the brakes, just enough that he heard the crunch of at least one of the mimes’ bones as it made contact with the metal. He abandoned the bike, running the rest of the way up to the veterinary clinic to greet his friend. “Hey, uh, take this, but do not touch the blade” he said, pullin’ his silver knife out its sheath and pressing it gently into Noah’s hands. “Silent-but-deadly is about to catch up to us. And, like, maybe focus on them instead of me if you don’t want to see my ass again.” Winn kicked off his boots and threw his jacket towards the clinic. This wasn’t how Winn wanted Noah to see the wolf for the first time, but there wasn’t any other choice. He couldn’t — wouldn’t — let Noah get hurt because he was scared. Never again.

Watching as the nightmarish scene played out before his very eyes, Noah couldn’t exactly figure out where to look first. Because in front of him was now a very sweaty looking Winn, his motorcycle, a terrifying mishmash of limbs dressed in black and white stripes, and oh, hey guess what. Looks like those are mimes. Fantastic. Just what he needed. The cherry on top of the perfectly fucked up day. Figuring it was better to roll with the metaphorical punches White Crest was dolling out than even try to question it (because mimes? really?), Noah sprung into action, closing the last few feet between him and Winn (oh hey hello Winn, nice to see you too, next time bring liquor, not not a shitshow of mimes) the wolf inside of him already relishing the possibility of a fight. Taking a split second, however, he looked over Winn, hoping that the other man wasn’t injured or anything, because that would make whatever this was going to turn into just that much harder. But just as soon as Noah finished his visual assessment on the man in front of him, Winn was pressing a blade into his hands, a silver knife to be exact. The thought making Noah’s skin already start to itch. “Wait, Winn, what the hell—” Noah started before Winn simply transformed.

It was near the Moon, a fact that Winn’s wolf was fully and completely aware of. He had time, just barely, to bark out a “Kill your own mime or it’ll come back.” It came out half as a growl, Winn’s teeth and jaw already warping into his lupine form. It was a little painful tonight, Winn noticed. But maybe the wolf was just eager to get its claws into a victim. He flung himself forward, knocking off his own mime, the clusterfuck of the mimercycle speeding along comically and crashing into a trash can sitting outside of the veterinary clinic. Uh-oh. They didn’t look very happy. Fortunately, neither did Noah. The other man was tense — hell, if he were a full wolf, Winn was almost sure he’d have burst into fur already. 

He didn’t have much time to wonder how Noah’s day had been, though, when his own mime slammed back into him, still in human form, just barely knocking the breath out of Winn. Maybe Winn would get lucky. Maybe his mime wasn’t a werewolf-mime, just a really-strong-human-ish-mime. He growled, clawing at the asphalt beneath his paws, rearing up on his leg. Was it too much to ask for his mime to get scared off? Apparently so. The mime grinned, all teeth, but without Winn’s trademark mirth. It was unnerving. And then, it started miming. It was… loading something? Into a… gun? No. Not a gun. A crossbo— Oh, fuck no, not this shit again. Winn’s reaction time, thank fuck, was great as a wolf when he wasn’t drunk as piss, and he rolled out of the way just in time. He heard the “bolt” thunk into something, it slowly fading into corporeality, the contours of the object becoming real. He whined in Noah’s general direction, trying to warn him that these assholes meant business. Why’d his mime get the cool toys?

“Kill your own mime or it’ll come back.” Those were the last words Winn spoke before he turned, body morphing into a full beast. He was hauntingly beautiful like this, Noah would have to give him that. But now was not the time to contemplate just how beautiful your wolf friend was in his other form, or how badly part of your heart ached to join him. Turning toward the mess that was currently trying to excavate itself from behind the dumpster, Noah noticed someone familiar, his trademark dimples somehow menacing on his painted face. Fucking hell, this mime looked like him, this mime looked like HIM. What the actual fuck. But Noah had no time to really contemplate this horrific being in front of him, because as soon as it stood up it was miming something. What, Noah had no clue and no time to find out. Fuckity fuck fuck. Focusing his energy, Noah lunged, trying to put what little knife training he had into practice, but not before the mime swung at him, some sort of invisible weapon tearing at the sleeve of his scrubs and ripping into the flesh of his forearm. Shit. The mime was miming a fucking invisible weapon. Noah’s eyes widened a little bit, fear now clouding his eyes, especially as the other two mimes flailed in the background. Okay, Kalani. Focus. You brought a knife to a mime fight and you are woefully outnumbered. 

Watching as the other two mimes started slowly resembling something more like humanoid beings and less like a collection of limbs, Noah knew what he had to do. And so he did it. He sprinted headfirst towards the obvious danger, throwing the knife as forcefully as he could, body already getting low and bracing for impact. Tackling. He was made for full contact, that much was evident as he rolled through the impact. Luckily the knife had caught in the mime in his shoulder before it had time to swing the invisible weapon at him, knocking it off balance and giving Noah just enough time to tackle. Excellent. Now get out of here and re-group, he urged himself as he scrambled away from, well, himself, hoping he wasn’t about to get jumped by the two other mimes while he was on the ground. 

But luckily, his getaway was smoother than expected, eyes focusing on one thing and one thing only, getting away from the mimes. But not before he saw something manifest next to the pile of mime limbs. It was comical almost how horrifying the manifestation was, jagged nails sticking out of a long bat shaped piece of wood. Yeah, it figured his own mime would conjure up something athletic. Scrambling as fast as he could,Noah grabbed his new weapon, hoping that Winn would forgive him for the change. Because yeah, he wasn’t really good with knives, but he sure as hell could swing a bat. And it was a good thing too, because as he straightened up into a standing position so did the other two mimes.

Winn had about had it with this mime fuckery, and the fight hadn’t even been going on that long. He saw pieces of Noah’s fight, flickering across his eyes as he avoided bolt after bolt, trying to get close to his own mime to get it out of the way. Just for a second, just long enough to help Noah. Three mime demons on one human was not a fair fight, and Winn could get rid of the other two easily enough. He just needed to get there. Winn saw Noah knife the Noah-mime (score one for Kalani), the smell of human blood lighting up his senses as the wind told him of Noah’s injury (ugh, score one for mimes). Damn it. Another bolt thunked into a nearby tree, and Winn decided to focus on his own mime. Noah’s mime was crumpled, momentarily, a few feet away. Winn’s mime had murder in its eyes, the smile gone from its face. Clearly, its memory of the incident with Kaden had left out some key details. Did it really think Winn was an easy target? As if. 

Winn rushed it, snarling and gnashing his teeth. He really hated to do this, but… He dove under one of the bolts as it launched, and latched his teeth into his mime’s leg. There was a flicker of hesitation in his heart, half-sure that biting the mime would hurt him. But fortunately, no such horror happened. He reared up on his hind-legs, spinning in a half circle and launching his mime into Noah’s, both of them rolling in an unholy tangle down the street just enough to (hopefully) give him time. And time he needed. Noah had, somehow, a bat straight off of The Walking Dead, and that motherfucker was currently being swung in the direction of the two minion-mimes. He grunted, landing beside Noah. Time to even the odds. 

Winn feinted at the left mime, the muted fear leading the mime to open its mouth in a silent scream as a hulking wolf-man headed its way, but at the last second he, and his outstretched claws, dove for the mime on the right. It was a close thing, and Winn hoped Noah could deal with the mime-that-who-pissed-itself, but Winn’s claws sank true and deep into the mime’s gut. He stuck his other paw out and into the mime’s stomach, yanking as hard as this form could, and the mime exploded into a puff of black-and-white smoke. One down, three to— Fuck. 

Something slammed into Winn’s side, hard. He rolled, rolled, and stopped, panting. And before him stood himself. Only this time, there was no easy smile, no mimed crossbow. Oh no. The mime had decided to get serious. And that meant Winn staring into his own eyes… as the wolf. A monster, hulking, as warped as Winn was elegant. It was a facsimile, the copy not quite right. Mutilated, likely, by the times it had been thrown around. Its fur was the worst part, striped as all mimes were, lines drawn across its powerful body like a warning. Danger. Where was a Hunter when you needed one?

Finally upright, Noah hardly had any time to take in his surroundings, or address the slippery trickle of blood he could feel slowly sliding down his arm, before a mass of black and white was hurtling toward his menacing imposter, knocking the mime down once again. Winn. He’d forgotten momentarily about the other man — correction, wolf — he was fighting alongside, but he was grateful for the assist nevertheless, especially as the two mime demons started their slow creep towards him, hands already shaping invisible items. Watching Winn out of the corner of his eyes, Noah was determined to bat cleanup (all puns intended) and swung with all his might at the mime Winn had left, resulting in a perfect headshot. And just like that, the demon vanished in a puff of smoke, marking their kill count as two. 

Using this split second of time to catch his breath, Noah looked around, hoping they were somehow winning? That's when he saw it. The grotesque caricature of a werewolf, one might say, striped, lumbering, its back to him, its eyes focused on one thing and one thing only. Winn. It was safe to say Noah didn’t know much about mimes, nor did he know much about werewolves, or the terrifying hybrid of both (yeah, he was going to have nightmares for YEARS). But watching his mime counterpart starting to stand again, hands clawing desperately at his wound, black sludge oozing, no, sizzling slowly out of the edges he knew one thing for sure. He actually did need that knife. Letting go of the bat, Noah dove low towards his own likeness again, bracing for another impact and using his momentum to carry him through. Tackling like this was infinitely harder without pads, but the adrenaline coursing through him refused to let him forget his years of muscle memory as he crashed yet again to the ground on top of 200 pounds of mime. 

Scrambling to get into a sitting position before an all too familiar pair of arms wrapped around him, Noah swung a couple of punches, channeling his own wolfy brute force and aggression to make them count. “Stay DOWN, you fucking MOTHER. FUCKER!” he screamed into his own face, the irony of the moment definitely not lost on him. But, of course, Noah had bigger fish to fry than to think about how much therapy he was going to need after this. Hoping his mime was stunned enough, Noah grabbed the knife and wrenched it out, hands, feet, and legs somehow clambering out of one special hell and into another. But not before he cocked his arm and aimed the already blackened, bloody knife into the meaty striped back of monstrous mime-wolf.

There were things that Winn knew about himself which, considering the crossbow situation, he had to assume that maybe this cursed thing knew too. For example, since the incident with Kaden, he was, ever-so-slightly, weaker on one side. Winn had learned to compensate, and knew that, soon, the Moon would undo the last of the damage the silver had done. The mime, though, wasn’t actually a wolf, and Winn could tell. It was in the way that it moved, the way that it seemed on-edge, even in its pure aggression. Winn, however, was intimately aware of his furrier half. And that was the edge he needed. The wolf inside (outside?) of him was howling, urging him onward to kill, kill, kill. 

Winn clawed once, twice, quickly swiping at the mime. He wasn’t trying to hit it, just throw it off-balance. Wolves were strong, he wouldn’t be able to just tear open its chest. But if he could get it on its back, he could tear out its throat. The soft skin was the weakest point he could think of, and he didn’t have the dagger on him (and he shuddered to think what it might do to him in this form). They went back-and-forth like that, as Winn heard Noah shout at his own double. He couldn’t make it out, too focused, but he could feel the fury from Noah. He wanted to howl in pride. The mime hesitated, hearing the fight behind it (and, oh God, did they care about each other?), and Winn saw his opportunity, sweeping his claws low at the side that Kaden had injured. As he made contact, he felt the mime-wolf tense — not from him, but from a knife to its back. He and Noah had gotten lucky, or maybe they were just in-sync, because the silver dagger sank true. (And Winn shuddered, for just a moment, remembering how the dagger had felt in his own back.) 

But this was his chance. He followed through, tripping the mime up and shoving it hard, on its back. Its mouth opened in a silent scream as the silver jammed deeper into its back, its neck exposed. And Winn went for the kill, snarling as he ripped its throat out, the body fading in striped waves as the mime choked on its own tar. But this wasn’t over, not yet. He needed to help Noah. The dagger laid in front of him, messy and black, and Winn took a chance. Winn made an angry, barking sound, trying to get Noah’s attention, before picking up the knife in his mouth (barely missing the silver of the blade) and flinging it in a high arc through the air. Alright, football boy. Fetch.

Letting the knife quite literally slip out of his hands from all of the mime blood it was drenched in, Noah hoped he had helped in some capacity, the wound in the mime-wolf’s back already bubbling out thick, viscous black sludge. It was almost as if the skin was boiling off, and Noah couldn’t help the shiver that went down his spine. Was this really what happened when real wolves came in contact with silver knives? Because if so, then that was the real scary stuff right there. Bringing his focus back to the task at hand Noah made sure to wipe what he could off his hands on his scrubs, his wolf healing not fast enough to really seal the wound, but just fast enough to keep him from feeling the effects of his blood loss. 

Looking around for the bat from hell, Noah stared in horror as it dawned on him. In his haste to help Winn he’d accidentally thrown the bat towards his mime, not away from him. Fuck his life. Because yeah, he was left weaponless, watching helplessly as his mime-self did not fucking stay down like he had been so kindly asked to do. Hearing the bark from behind him, though, Noah turned just in time to see Winn’s wolf form pitch forward, something silver hurtling in an upward arc towards him. Wait, was that the knife? Oh thank heavens, the flying thing was the knife. Wait… no, no, no, the knife was flying, spinning like an unwieldy bullet, and, oh God, who did Winn think he was? Tom Brady? Because he was most definitely not Tom Brady. No, Noah was trained to go crash crash boom boom, not spinny twirly jumpy catchy. 

But seeing as how the wolf gave him no choice, up Noah went, praying to all that was holy that he could manage to catch the knife on the butt end. It took a second, maybe less before the younger boy completed his jump, hand luckily catching the knife with only minimal damage to the palm of his hand. Readjusting his grip, Noah twisted back toward his own mimesona, its dimples still pulled in that menacing smile. Holding the knife as tightly as he could, Noah sprinted forward, using his own body as a battering ram of sorts before he plunged the knife into the heart of the mime, pitching them backwards and onto the concrete for the third and last time. And just like that, it was over, a pile of oozing black goo where his own grizzly persona had once stood.

Fucking… hell. “I hate mimes,” Winn said — or, well, tried to say. It came out as a whiny, half-growl, the lupine mouth trying to create sounds it was simply incapable of. The wolf was… happy. More or less. Noah wasn’t badly injured, Winn and Noah had defeated their mimes, and Winn’s bike was still in working condition. Winn’s clothes, however, had not survived the experience. And though mime magic (maybe?) had kept the town clear, Winn doubted that his luck would last for much longer. He needed to get inside, and he needed to get inside now. If he were a born wolf, he could transform further, pretend to be… a really big dog? Noah could lie. Hopefully. Maybe. Winn went over to the other man, sniffing at his injury and whining in the back of his throat. It was healing. Not as fast as Winn would heal, in the same situation, but it would be fine. He could tell. Noah was covered in mime goop, though even that was fading into puffs of striped smoke. 

He huffed out a noise, taking Noah into his arms and hugging him as the wolf, careful not to let his claws hurt Noah. He dwarfed the man, in this form, but he could already feel the adrenaline running out of his body. The wolf was tired, and that meant, well, Winn had two options. He could hope that Noah forgave him for yet another incident involving Winn’s dick, or he could run away. Winn knew what he had to do. He picked up Noah quickly, carrying them over to the alleyway beside the clinic, obscured, just barely, by the dumpster that had been shoved in the fight, and turned back, still embracing the other man. He was glad, so glad, that he was okay. He… didn’t know what he would have done if Noah had been hurt. He didn’t know what Noah would have done if Winn hadn’t been there to help fend off the mimes. 

Winn leaned his head into Noah’s shoulder. He smelled, he knew, pretty bad, the mime gunk leaving a stench from the places it had congealed in his fur. If that smell didn’t come out, Winn would have to stand in the rain for the next week. Wet dog was better than dead mime. “So,” he said, after holding Noah for a long moment, “I’m naked, and gross. Do y’all have a shower and, uh, can I borrow your scrubs? Don’t want to ruin a nicer pair of clothes, since those seem not long for this world. I can, uh, I can stay here until it’s all clear. Just bring me, uh, a towel or somethin’?” He was rambling. Winn pulled back from the hug, looking into Noah’s eyes, and feeling that same pull he’d been trying to forget about. Sober, Winn resisted, a half-smile forming on his face. “We kinda kicked ass, huh?”

Even covered in the stupid mime goop, that was already starting to evaporate into oddly striped smoke, Noah couldn’t help but smile. He did it. They did it. How? He didn’t have the slightest clue, but that wasn’t what mattered, in this moment anyway. No what mattered was Winn. As if on cue, Noah felt the wolf’s arms wrap around him, a weird feeling of comfort washing over him. “Hey bud,” he whispered softly, hand reaching up to intertwine into the course fur surrounding Winn’s muzzle. “Really glad you’re okay.” Because he honestly was glad that Winn was okay, relieved even. Because if Winn had… No. He wasn’t going to think about that. He didn’t need to think about that. What he really needed to think about was why in the world he was being lifted into the air?! 

“Holy shit!” Noah exclaimed, clearly not expecting Winn’s wolf to heft him up like a small child, arms and legs flailing (only slightly) out from underneath him. “Winn, what the hell,” he grunted out as he was deposited behind the dirty mime dumpster, somehow now hugging a naked man. Typical Winn Woods. Sighing, the younger man ran a hand though the dirty mop of hair now resting on his shoulder, somehow finding it hard to care too much about the awkward predicament Winn was putting him through right now. It was just nice to be hugged after all, and nice to know they were both not going to be mime dinner. “Yeah, I can find you something to wear, just give me a few seconds to breathe,” he murmured in response to Winn’s plea for clothes, not really wanting this moment to end. But all good moments did have to end sooner or later. 

As Winn pulled away from the hug, another one of Noah’s worst nightmares unfolded before his eyes. “Hello employee, and strange man hugging said employee.” The almost monotone timber and dry cadence rippled through the alleyway, sending chills rippling down Noah’s spine. Dr. Choi. Freezing on the spot, Noah gulped involuntarily, not knowing whether to jump on top of Winn (to cover his nakedness, of course) or to scramble away from him. Shit. “Noah, I’m guessing you’d like a spare pair of scrubs for your guest here, and possibly for yourself?” she continued as she raised a small, thin eyebrow eyebrow in the pair’s direction, apparently unphased by him covered in blood hugging a naked man behind a dumpster. “Uh, yes please.” Looking at Winn and then back to Dr. Choi and then back at Winn again, Noah could feel his brain start to literally malfunction. His mouth was devoid of words, incapable of forming even the smallest sentence so he just nodded instead, hoping that would be enough. “I’ll leave them on the counter next to the dog tub, then,” she replied nonchalantly before turning on her heel and walking back inside the clinic.

“Y’know,” Winn said as Noah led his naked ass into the clinic, “you’re handling my furrier half pretty well.” Hell, Noah had touched him — let Winn touch him — while in that form. Winn felt the warmth from Noah’s hand, still recent on his cheeks, and smiled like a goof. And Noah was havin’ far less of a freakout over Winn’s naked body than the other night. (Though, it likely helped that they’d both just nearly died, that everyone was sober, and that there was no morning wood afterwards this time.) The vet seemed chill in a way that Winn could appreciate… though, almost too chill? He sniffed the air, trying to smell anything odd, but all he could for his trouble was the tarry smell of the mimes. Yuck. 

Winn spotted the dog tub, making a beeline. He’d showered with a hose in the middle of nowhere before, this wasn’t all that different. Out of the corner of his eye, Winn saw Noah about to leave the room, to give him some privacy and whined. Wait, no, human form. Words. “Hey, um… Please don’t leave. I mean, don’t have to scrub my back or nothin’, but, um… Just need to make sure you’re safe. It’s a wolf thing. Kinda. And don’t you want to get a little cleaner, too, bro?” Winn winced, turning on the water and bracing himself against the cold, scrubbing at the occasional scrape that the mimes had torn into his skin, trying to make sure that, at least, the dirt was all out of it before it healed up. He reached over the edge of the tub to swipe some pup shampoo, figuring it was… mostly the same, right? “So, uh, I’m bushed,” Winn said, running his hands through his hair to get whatever remaining muck out. “But I need to borrow your phone for a sec. Mine’s back on the pavement somewhere, and there’s some shit goin’ down, and I need to make sure that everythin’ is alright? I’ll explain, promise.” Clean enough, Winn grabbed the huge towel that the good vet had left for them, knowing that he prolly smelled like a wet dog. Hot. Super great. Good thing Noah was used to the smell. 

He shook his hair out, before drying it off like, y’know, a human, and slipped into the scrubs, back turned to the tub. They were about his size, prolly a spare pair of Noah’s, though the lack of underwear didn’t do any favors for him in the, uh, cling department. Alright, first home, take Noah with him, get them both fed. Provide. Wait, no. He shushed the wolf, even as his stomach growled loudly. Miles, Ariana, and… Ulf, whoever-the-fuck-that-was, were on the case, and Winn knew he’d be next-to-useless now, as beat up as he was. He’d check in with Miles, ASAP, and be there for him and his brother. Like a good packma— Winn paused. Like a good friend. Speaking of friends, though… He turned around. 

Noah’s eyes were closed, and Winn took the opportunity to take in the sight before him for just a moment. The other man was built, he’d known that much, but Winn wasn’t prepared for the curves and edges of the other man’s body. He averted his eyes from Noah’s dangly bits, not wantin’ to be a creep, and his eyes landed on a scar on the Noah’s hip. Old, Winn could tell. From the transplant, then. He felt a flare of anger at Noah’s donor. Saving his life, but dooming him to pain, was irresponsible. Noah should’ve gotten a choice — someone should’ve given him the Bite. Winn needed to bring it up, somehow. But, for now, he threw the towel at the other man. “Dinner time,” he said, a wolfish (ha) grin on his face. “My treat. Make up for all of the, uh, nudity. Unless,” Winn added, before he could stop himself, “ya liked it, that is.” And with a wink, Winn turned around to go find his jacket and boots, and lock up his bike for the night, satisfied by the simple joy of being alive.

“Winn, I just killed a Stephen King-inspired Halloween costume version of myself with my own bare hands,” Noah huffed out, grateful that none of the other techs were poking around to watch him lead a very naked man into the backroom. “Your furry little problem is the least of mine right now.” Because yeah, the grand mindfuckery of a situation that was happening — Winn’s wolf form, as well as his dick being out (again) — was really just turning into a normal day in the life of one Noah Kalani. Well almost. The wolf thing did spark a lot of questions, but one crisis at a time. 

Turning on the faucet in the tub, Noah backed away, despite the small wolfy part of his mind screaming at him not to let his friend out of his sight. But apparently this nice human-focused gesture wasn’t needed. “It's a wolf thing.” Winn explained almost nonchalantly, and Noah hadn't even realized those were the words he had been searching for until they were hanging in the air between them. It's a wolf thing. The idea itself wasn't strange, no. Noah had been using that as an excuse for years, but it was strange to have something that usually only existed inside his own mind uttered back to him, and by someone so casually. 

Glancing over at Winn as he scrubbed himself down, Noah allowed himself a lingering glance, something about this more raw encounter different than all the other times he’d seen Winn. And maybe that was because Noah was finally truly seeing. Seeing the possibilities, as well as vulnerabilities of Winn Woods, the other man’s body in various stages of healing, and an angry bite scar maring the skin of his right hip. A small blush that colored Noah’s cheeks. Winn was actually really beautiful in his human form. But he’d also been beautiful as a wolf, that much was true. 

Pushing this new strange dichotomy out of his mind, Noah gingerly stripped off his scrubs, intent on ridding himself of any and all lingering mime. Handing Winn his phone he’d retrieved from the bench before they’d gone inside, Noah jumped into the tub that Winn had so graciously vacated, trying to make his time in the dog shower as quick as possible. Catching the towel that was thrown at him, Noah dried, giving Winn a playful eye roll as he did. “Your nudity is about as welcome to me as those mimes were,” he lied, jumping into his new pair of scrubs and following the other man out of the door with a grin. It had been a rough day but, somehow, it was starting to look better.

[tanoraqui]

I just wanted you to know that I just read all your hellmurder castle 'verse posts and I LOVE THAT AU SO MUCH

what you have to understand about my Hellmurder Castle AU (Homestuck set in the world of Girl Genius, if you haven’t read it) is that it was born specifically from my spite exasperation with all the long, epic AUs about either only the trolls or the trolls + beta kids, with alpha kids appearing as background characters at best and often not at all. Many of these fics are great, and many of them were written or at least planned before the alpha kids even appeared in canon, in which case it’s not the authors’ faults at all. But I LOVE my alpha kids, and Roxy may be my favorite and Dirk is a delight, but I was ALSO tired to tears of how even in fics featuring the alpha kids, it was almost always Derse-heavy.

So I basically said “fuck it”, yeeted them all into the world of Girl Genius (which was inevitable), figured out the torrid backstory of the beta kids and ancestors and how the dancestors and trolls fit in, and set about focussing the plot and character development exclusively on the alpha kids, particularly Jake and Jane. Particularly particularly Jake, because a) I thought him more underappreciated than Jane, and b) the idea of a Heroic Adventurer who constantly has to resist his own reflex to be a minion is fucking funny.

Let’s elaborate, shall we? Because I’m okay again, after the epilogue. I have forgiven. So, the hypothetical pfennig novels/fics in a series:

Jake English: Escape from Castle Lalonde

In which Jake leaves home, and meets a number of interesting people.

covers from basically that scene of Roxy capturing him through Jake escaping with Jane, and them agreeing to be adventuring partners. A lot of the middle consists of Jake helping Roxy and Dirk win back Roxy’s ancestral home of Castle Lalonde, defeating whatever villainous spark - probably an OC - had taken up residence.

Jake means to leave, but Roxy and Dirk need help cleaning up, and getting their labs running, and with interesting projects…and possibly they put a shock collar on him so he can’t leave the grounds…or at least tell him that’s what the collar does, and prove it, like, twice, and then turn it off because they don’t actually want him crippled in an emergency; mostly he’s just a great minion and Roxy is pretty sure he’s destined to be part of their team for defeating the Batterwitch, as laid out in the obscure and highly metaphorical prophecy her mother left her in a wizard book.

this is not at all good ground for either friendship or a healthy minion/master relationship, which is why Jake is pretty damn game to help Jane escape and then run away with her.

Jake English and the Red Miles

in which…I actually have barely any memory of wtf is supposed to happen in this one. Presumably, they have to survive the Red Miles at some point, with some ridiculous series of revivificationsthe trolls show up at Jake and Jane’s camp (okay fine, I love them, too), and after some alarmed mutual weapon-pointing, explain that Jake’s grandmother, Lady English, made them after Jake left, except now she’s died so they’ve come to find Jake and either bring him home or, at least, join his adventuring team and keep him safe

(yeah, Jade instilled some loyalty, which is Sketch. In fairness, when she lost control of the original generation of trolls, all her best friends were killed and/or disappeared, presumed dead. she has reasons)

I wonder if there was supposed to be a timeskip between this and the previous book, or if Escape from Castle Lalonde happened later into Jake going out adventuring than I think, or if Jade just got bored and made 12 new people like…3 hours after Jake left home

for pacing, the trolls should probably show up pretty early in this story, so they have a long time to be around before shit hits the fan

a lot of this book, aside from whatever shenanigans they’re dealing with re: Red Miles, would be Jake dealing with the fact that he is suddenly responsible for 12 people who keep looking to him for orders, and somewhere in the distance is an entire town (Hellmurder Village) that’s likewise.

they do not go back to the Castle at the end of this book, even though they arguably should bc Jake has responsibilities. But he also has adventuring to do, by golly, and…hm, it’s one of the Rings that causes the Red Miles, isn’t it? So maybe they get it at the end of this book, and now they have to track down the other one. Which brings us to…

Jake English and the Rings of Skaia

In which Jake and Jane (and Roxy and Dirk, and 12 young trolls) explore a castle, learn a little history, and generally level up their friendshipsI split up the aspects of Castle Heterodyne in this au: Jake has the recently inherited Castle with the terrifying, nigh-magical power source buried in its depths, and Jane has the abandoned derelict that is fully sentient, most automated, and even more malicious than it is trapped. This is the story of that castle, and the Ring of Life hidden somewhere in it

Jack Noir. The castle’s sentience is Jack Noir. Or perhaps more accurately Spades Slick? Who cares.

I had a very elaborate mythology/history thought up at some point about the twin spark queens of Derse and Prospit and their great enmity, and the saga of betrayal and heroism that marked their reigns and left behind this castle and two super magical scientific rings of power, and I do not remember ANY of it now.

This is the bit where that scene of Dirk ripping out Vriska’s soul comes from. He and Roxy are here for the fabled treasure as well - possibly the castle only appears/is accessible at certain specific times? And they don’t know the trolls are with Jake, so…clusterfuck, there.

Jake English and the Troll Queen

in which the big bad is reveeled

there’s trouble brewing in the countryside, idk, monsters or pirates or something that can be traced, after some investigative heroing, to the self-styled Her Imperial Condescension, still unfortunately at large

mostly this fic is Jake growing into leadering a little more but also addressing the question of that inbuilt loyalty Jade gave this generation of trolls, because really, that was Sketch - and in general, who are we as people defined by who we follow, what groups we ally ourselves with; is it birth or genetics or who raised us or the family we choose or…

i kinda think Dirk and Roxy are conducting concurrent but generally not overlapping investigations to Jake&Jane’s(+the trolls) (dirk and roxy having pretty neatly answered all the above questions years ago by choosing each other, but still being kind of insular about it, and need to relax just enough to trust other people)

in the end there’s some confrontation with the Condesce and she convinces ½-2/3 the trolls to join her bc, honestly, why shouldn’t they

Jake English and the Castle in the Lake

in which…okay, in this one bit of fic I implied her base was in the ocean but I totally had this title written somewhere, so what is the truth??

in the above linked scene, the trolls who stayed with Jake and Jane were Karkat, Terezi, Kanaya, Gamzee, and Feferi, but idk about that. If Feferi’s there, why isn’t Sollux? And, like, Aradia would probably have just fucked off in her own direction completely, given the chance…

our heroes are trying to sneak into HIC’s base and disable it, okay. that is the plot of this one. probably they have to find it first, which is tricky, and basically a D&D dungeon crawl, and that’s before Jane gets tiara’d. Which definitely happens climactically. and then everyone else gets captured, with the possible exception of Dirk, who probably gets beheaded instead. things do not look good for our heroes…

Jake English and the Lost Hero

in which we find out exactly what happened in the previous generation

maybe even alternating chapters, past/present? 

what happened basically is that the first generation of trolls, the Ancestors, went absolutely batshit roughly as per homestuck canon. The Condesce, being OP, started just conquering land. She was stopped, eventually, mostly by the epic sacrifice of Rose and Dave. And John…except Rose and Dave’s bodies were found, and in a clusterfuck of inventions warping time and space and reality itself, John’s never was

Jade survived, of course. obviously.

John did, too, it is revealed. He was just disconnected from the time-space continuum, stuck popping up in random times and places, sometimes close to those he loved and sometimes not, mostly uncontrollable…

he’s appeared here and there throughout the stories, probably, a mysterious figure in blue who nearly has time to say something before dissolving into fizzing wind. Now he appears more frequently, and for longer periods as the story goes on, including just enough to help break Roxy and Jake out of prison. And whichever trolls were stubbornly sticking with them - if the Condesce wasn’t just mind-controlling all the reluctant ones…let’s be real, she was…lotta “I know you’re in there somewhere” fights here, probably

also, Vriska reveals herself to still be trying to help our heroes, because it is SO Vriska to try to double-cross Her fucking Imperious Condescension

this double-cross is revealed partly from her using Jake’s minioning safeword that he developed with Grandma Jade, way back when; meaning roughly “I don’t want to do this but I’m not sure I can stop”. It’s pumpkin, of course.

they revivify Dirk on the way out, and either stop in the Condesce’s lab to get sparkily distracted trying to pin John into reality or they make it back to Hellmurder Castle before doing that?

What am I saying. The Condesce is probably working on some spacetime-warping tech of her own, and Roxy, Dirk, and Jake use it to fully anchor John for the first time in…who knows, subjectively? It’s possible he stays behind to buy them time to run

Jake English and the Battle for the Green Sun

in which things come to a head

aka the Battle for Hellmurder Castle, and it’s mysterious and terrible power source

Jane and half or so of the trolls start out on the Condesce’s side, but if you thought there were good “I know you’re in there” fights before, just WAIT until Jake saves Jane with the power of friendship

ultimately, it’s alpha kids + Alternian trolls + dancestor-clanks VS Her Imperial Condescension

it’s close

it’s very close

I would have krilled for an H–EIR—ESS CHALLENGE X3 COMBO, ie, Jane, Feferi, and Meenah vs. the Condesce, so that happens

John maybe appears one last time-displaced time, for him before the events of Lost Hero, to deliver a well-timed hammer swing

I love Jake, but I’ll give Homestuck this one: Roxy getting the final blow with an ancestral Strider sword? Perfect.

in the denoument Jake awkwardly invites everyone to live in Hellmurder Castle, because he feels vaguely like he should stay and look after it, and of course he wants his chums around. Jane, Roxy, and Dirk are all like, “well, a real lab or seven would be amazing…but also…adventuring. Why don’t YOU come with US?” Jake is like, “oh JEEPERS yes!” The trolls and dancestors meanwhile talk out among themselves who genuinely wants to stay and who wants to go out adventuring, either with these idiots or just to make their own way