#expirementing on kids is inhumane

[artzzyb00-27]

{❤️Victim and Savior❤️}

Trigger Warning for people who don't like human experimentation. The reader in this is Indigenous Algonquian. It was requested by someone and I took the opportunity to represent people of this ethnicity/group. I myself don't have direct connections to them as I am mainly Mexican, however I still find it important for them to be represented.

It had been a couple of days since the attempted invasion of the Kraang an the city was being rebuilt from the destruction that had occurred. After beginning to team up with the NYPD, the turtles were able to investigate any potential signs of mutagen that had occurred at TCRI. Of course, there had obviously been some. More specifically a mutant somewhere in _ at a facility secured by foot ninja members.

Donnie had been tapping into their security systems trying to find a weak spot when loud footsteps were heard. Turning slightly to his right putting his eyes on Raph who was pacing back and forth in his lab huffing and puffing.

"Did you fight with Leo again?" Donnie asked with annoyance, trying to concentrate fully on how the hell to get into the fire wall of the files this place had. Raph rolled his eyes at his nerdy brother and kept pacing back and forth.

"Nah, just bored and don't know what to do with the sun out." the aggressive brother expressed while throwing his head back in annoyance. Whilst listening, Donnie had typed in random codes into his hacking system. 1/20000 worked and it revealed a dozen files that showed pictures of Kenyans, Saudi Arabians, Mesoamericans, Vietnamese, and one Native American girl. Donnies' eyes widened in horror at the files.

"Holy shit-" he breathed out getting the attention of his brother who got a better look at the screen and stared in disgust. Getting closer he read the files alongside Donnie. Most of these people were proclaimed; Dead- Experiment gone wrong. Raphs' stomach twisted inside him as he pulled his eyes away from the screen.

"Guys get in here! Ya' gotta see this!" he called out to his other brothers who at the time were reading comics in their gaming area. As they came piling in, they were able to get a glimpse of what their other brother was looking at before trying to not look away. Donnie clicked on the Natives' file and read it over. Scanning it quickly, and coming to a quick and easy decision.

"Most of them are still alive, stationed by the Connecticut border. They're not that far from here, let's go!" he yelled as he geared up and grabbed the his equipment heading towards the garage were their 'Tartarugo Brothers' van. While it took getting onto backroads to avoid the sunsetting on the freeway they made it to a forest nearby Connecticut and stopped it about one mile away from the building.

Jumping from tree to tree, the turtles saw guards walking around with AR-15's and and enforced body armor. Donnie took out his pea shooter and replaced the peas with tranq-darts. Having accurate aim, he was able to make a clearing for him and his brothers. Breaking in and sneaking around, they found an elevator that would take them to the lower levels.

"Think they'll be down there?" Mikey asked. Leo looked at the elevator more and then looked down the hall. Donnie put a hacking device on the keypad for the elevator and opened it.

"Anyone else gettin' flashbacks?" Raph asked making the others smile from memories. 'Elevator Beat Box' was probably one of their most favorite moments.

Once getting to the level that indicated life forms in cells, the turtles braced themselves for whatever was waiting for them. What they got,... was definitely unexpected.

Blood splattered on the walls. Mutants and humans, some from the files Donnie had been able to see, we're laying around the corridors. Ahead, to the right, and to the left. At least 26 different piles of bodies.

"Jesus Christ-" Leo breathed out. Sheathing his twin katanas into their respective holders on his shell. His brothers moving around with less care, more en captivated by the sight in front of them. "What now D?"

The purple bandana'd brother didn't know what to do. He knew there would have probably been things down here they wouldn't want to willingly see, but this felt sickening. A few of the bodies were small, children to be simplistic.

"Some of these people are younger than 10." He informed no one in particular. As his brothers pretended not to hear the oh wonderful news.

Looking at his tablet again, he realized that the life forms he had seen were still ahead alive. The tablet hadn't been wrong. He nudged Leo and led them down the right.

After a bit of walking the turtles came across a giant door that opened to a code. Using the same device, Donnie was able to unlock the door and check to see if the people in there were safe.

Once the door opened the brothers stepped in, revealing another hallway. This one filled with pictures of some of the test subjects with there files. There was around 10 other beings there. Six of them were mutated, while the others looked human. The Native girl was there too. Raph studied her photograph more and saw how short her hair was.

Not that he was an expert by any means, but he was pretty sure most Natives had long hair and mainly braided together. Maybe that was racist, maybe it wasn't. Who knows, all he knew was that him and his brothers needed to get these guys out of here as soon as they could.

Once at the end of the hall, the turtles saw the girl with other people and mutants. All covered in blood from themselves or the guards who were laying around. One gecko mutant spotted them and nudged the Native girl who had her arm extended outwards. Paying closer attention, Raph and his brothers saw that she was making one of the guards float and spin around. She turned around and saw the brothers. No emotion evident except in here eyes. Brown eyes, the color of earth that held precious metals and life.

"Woah!" Mikey reacted to the girls power. She turned back to the guard, made him stop spinning and threw him at the wall. Pulling the small mutant boy next to her close and motioning to the others around her to get near. Looking at the turtles again and placed her focus on Raph. His red color palette drawing her attention.

"What floor did you come from?" she asked. Her voice soft yet sturdy. An accent evident in there as well. They couldn't place what kind of accent though. Trying to get over the initial shock of all the mutants, Raph gathered up thoughts to respond.

"We ain't from here, we're from da city. Who are you guys?" he asked wanting to pummel the people who did this to them. All of them had some type of scarring. Though it seemed that that was taken care of already. Donnie saw a blue heeler-pup mutant and went to check on them. They had a gash going across their arm so it needed to be patched up.

Leo looked around studying them all while Mikey tried to comfort the younger looking mutants and children. Including the gecko boy that didn't want to leave the girls' side. One of the humans, a Malian girl with a tattoo on her shoulder blade, stood in shock at her friend. Going up to her then looking at Raph. She tapped her and pulled her aside and started using sign language. The girl responded back and made the other girl sigh. She walked up to Leo and Raph and introduced herself.

"The name given to me is O-9, but the name given to me by my mother is Mathi." she said to which Leo nodded and Raph gave a small smile. He looked back to the girl from earlier and saw her crouching down next to small girl with red curly hair and green eyes. She wasn't saying anything but instead just made signs and gave a comforting hand to the girl to lean against on. He went up to her and began conversation with her. She replied happily though it wasn't that evident on her face. Mathi turned to them and gained a puzzled look. "She never speaks. Not with me or anyone she doesn't know. She must see something special in him." Leo listened and began to think. What could Raph have that allowed the presumably mute girl to talk with ease.

After getting the names of everyone, and the base of how each of them got there, the turtles found out none of them were adults. Only a few being eighteen, but even then, that's still considered a child in most cultures. So they called up the chief and asked for trucks big enough to carry anywhere from small mutant rodents to a large mutant crocodile. Within 40 minutes, coming from back roads, the chief stepped out with a few officers and some doctors to inspect the health of the injured. Other cops were arresting who they could and began interrogating.

"There's an abandoned manor near the city. It should be big enough to house them and it's connected with the sewers so you can check in on them whenever you want." she assured the turtles. Mathi and the girl overheard and went over to introduce themselves. "Ah, are you two the ones the turtles told me about?" they nodded and Vincent continued. "My wife's a fashion designer, she can make some clothes for your friends to be more comfortable." the girls nodded in appreciation.

"I'm Mathi, this is my friend Abooksigun. It means wildcat in her language." Vincent smiled and offered her hand for them to shake but put it down quickly when they flinched. The smile gone quickly. Then returned to cover up and faced the turtles.

Abook' was in thought. Deep thought. These turtles were mutants like her friends. Like her brothers and sisters. But not like them. They seemed more content. Sort of. It's was difficult to explain.

"Hey there! I'm Mikey, the cute one of my brothers. That's Donatello, brains with never ending sass," the turtle with tech gear struck a pose which gained a curious look from Mathi. "Leonardo, our fearless leader who is denial of feelings in general," the one with katanas on his shell rolled his eyes with a side smile. "and finally Raphael, the big brute with an even bigger heart." The red-bandana'd turtle looked down avoiding eye contact.

Abook' smiled and went closer to Raph. He looked up at her slightly and caught her hand coming up.

"Kwe." She said making him raise a brow muscle. Donnie typed something on his watch and translated.

"She's saying 'Hi' in her native language." He told his meat-headed brother who nodded and turned the attention back to her. He put his hand out and shook hers. The size difference was hilarious and also kind of endearing.

"Hey there. A-again," After that, the checkups of the other mutants and humans with powers went well, and Raph was able to get her to talk about herself more. Her powers were telekinesis. Controlling objects, and living beings with her mind. She could tear them apart if she was angry enough. Something they had in common, ironically.

Mathi had the ability of far-sight. Being able to know where people were at all times. She had to see the person first though. It helped to know if her friends were okay when they were still locked away.

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

After a few months of visiting, bonding, sleeping over with the turtles. Abook' was able to form strong connections with them. Especially with Splinter and Raphael. Though she only ever talked to Raph, the friendship was strong. They even trained sometimes, with her powers or not.

He cared for her more than she knew. More than she could imagine. More than she wanted to imagine. Seems narcissistic, or dramatic, but from the eyes of someone who was only ever socialized with people who gained everything but gave nothing did that to you. He knew this. Hated this. But understood it.

So much that he made Donnie teach him her language. Seeing she was more comfortable speaking to him with it. The others tried talking to her, but only gained head movement or expressions that correlated to 'yes' or 'no'. Aside from that, they got along pretty well. It made for a comforting environment for her. Abook' was wandering the lair looking for Raph when suddenly the alarm went off. She ran to Donnies' lab and saw the turtles standing around him.

"It's the foot clan! They're attacking the markets down by the docks. We need to get down there." He informed, mainly Leo, but told all his brothers. Ordering them to gear up and hurry to that truck, Leo rushed by Abook' and gave her a nod of notice. Mikey ran by with Donnie following saying 'Hi,' while Raph stayed there looking at her. Knowing what she was going to say but would shut down immediately.

"Manininatakin!"('Take me with you,' in Algonquin most likely) Raph shook his head and tried to walk past him.

"Saraminoke, you're not ready for this."('No can do,')He explained trying to not make eye contact. Abook' grabbed his wrist and used her powers to make him stop.

"Please, I can help! Give me a chance to-"

"No! You go out there with us and they realize what you can do, it won't end well. I know you can take them, but I can't have you be taken and tortured again for the purpose of data." Breathing in again after that tangent, he turned to look at her and met a concerned expression on the girl. Like her spirit and will power, her hair had grown and had been braided by Raph. Having three fingers was an advantage sometimes. "I'm sorry Abook', you can't come. Mathi will come to stay with you, watch over Splinter for us."

That was what he said ten minutes ago. Now Abook' was walking back and forth in front of Mathi and Splinter, who kept looking at each other wondering what they should do.

"It's taking them too long," she said, with stress evident in her voice. "They've been gone for too long."

"Abs', they're probably kicking butt still, you've heard how persistent the Foot Clan can be. Also, it's been ten minutes." Mathi said trying to calm down her sister. Not that it would go away, but the sentiment was comforting to Abook'. She stopped pacing and looked down.

"I need to go help them. Splinter please let me go!" she asked her best friend's father. He ran his hand through his beard and contemplated. After 3 seconds he sighed and begrudgingly nodded his head in approval. "Thank you, I will bring them back. I promise!"

"Not without me!" Mathi said using her power to see where they were. Still at the docks fighting the Foot Clan and what appeared to be a giant dog mutant. "They're at the docks still, let's go!" she said grabbing her spear and ran off through the tunnels. Meanwhile Abook' grabbed her bow and arrows and ran after her.

Once running through the rooftops and shadows of the city night, they arrived at the edge of the docks to see Foot soldiers knocked out and the turtles with scrapes on them. Gashes big enough for blood to pour out slowly and panting heavily. Looking around, Abook' saw the mutant dog they were fighting. They had cream colored fur with a big bushy tail and giant front paws. Using her telekinesis, she lowered herself and Mathi down to the ground and lifted the turtles towards them before the dog could get to them again and, most likely, kill them.

The turtles looked up in shock, Raph with fear. He went to grab Abooks' arm but she and Mathi had already ran in to stall for them. Mathi ran up to the mutant and jumped in the air throwing the spear impaling their arm. Abook' used her power to rip the weapon out and gave it back to her friend. She steadied her arrows and fired them, directing them towards the canines chest.

Dodging but getting skimmed on the side causing more blood pour out. Using his ears, he realized Abook' was readying more arrows and Mathi was in fighting position. He ran off leaving a trail of blood and the turtles had come back from the alley and went up to the girls. Mikey and Donnie thanked them while Leo applauded them for their techniques.

Raph on the other hand was off to the side looking down at the floor holding his injured arm. Abook' noticed and walk over to his side, putting a hand on his other arm. He flinched slightly but calmed down when he saw it was her. 

"I told you to stay put." he grumbled making the girl stare at him with a side smile. He sighed and patted her head. "Thank you, I'm glad you're here." she smiled and used her powers to levitate up to his level and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Raph froze and lifted his hand to his face and stood in shock. Hearing snickering, Abook' turned and saw the turtle brothers and Mathi taking the scene in wonderfully.

She smiled in content of her new life. Every dark beginning really does have a good ending eventually.

[yandere-daydreams]

Okay the ask about the reader who was unable to have kids got me thinking.... Obviously for a reader on the pill, Miguel could easily sabotage their birth control or refuse to let them take it entirely. But what about a reader with an IUD, or an arm implant? Would he remove it while they were unconscious or something? And if he did, would he tell them what he did or let them think it was still in their body (not sure if this would work with the implant, but for an IUD it absolutely could) so they fight him less when he cums inside them? These worms are tickling my brain.

not to defend a man willing to throw hands with a fifteen year old, but i think miguel still views himself as the 'doing bad things for the greater good' type, and therefore avoids anything that's just outright evil. sabotaging your birth control because it's 'bad for your health' or refusing to use a condom are pretty indirect ways of doing something openly inhumane to you, but going full unlicensed ob/gyn and removing an IUD is a little too undeniably bad, even for him. unless he can justify it, say it's likely to cause adverse side effects and convince you to get it removed yourself, he'd probably either seethe in his pent-up trauma until it expires or again, do a bit of unofficial adoption and just bring home a child after roughly nine months of finishing inside of you. he's shitty, but he's shitty in a way that he can deny to himself, even if you're convinced he's a monster. if that means he's forced to kidnap another version of gabi who lost her miguel a lot earlier, then i think he'd be able to live with that.

[noxcheshire]

I like the idea of the fight between Jazz and Danny just suddenly getting more ghostly but I also like the tags from @/metalatias where Danny realizes that Jazz isn’t in her right mind and will very much try and kill him.

Because while Danny can feed on the fear of the Gas like they’re some really expired weed, Jazz can’t and it’s harming her both as a human and as a liminal.

So now Danny, who is sick and woozy, and not really feeling his best is now having to survive and not harm his own sister in a fucked up game made by some wannabe Freakshow Clown.

But the more this continues the more Jazz begins to use her liminal abilities, because Danny just won’t go down. This causes Danny to have to tap into his own ghost powers through his human form in order to match up and tie with his deadly sister.

This sudden display of powers to others might seem like two metas hyped up on Joker Gas and things are about to get even more grotesque because of it, but to those in the know — those like the Batfam — they see it as two kids who have had access to Lazarus Water in a way far too similar to Jason, and are now fighting into their second death.

The implication of it all will bring so many questions and so many self-made answers since the Fenton’s only have one goal in mind: save their children.

They will not be distracted.

They will not be stopped.

They don’t have time to speak with the Bat, nor have the luxury to even ask their own questions.

If they do, then what will the Joker do?

So while the Fenton’s are busy meeting these demands, the Bats monitor the fight and are in search of where this Fighting Ring is being broadcasted.

They are the ones to witness the blood that flys through the air from Daniel Fenton, the red that’s the most prominent and yet the green that marred it.

Jasmine Fenton is violent and savage, an inhuman howl parting from her lips as her sharp nails dig into her brother’s flesh and yanks.

There is nothing that remains of a sister, just some beast in the throes of rage.

Daniel is far more battered than Jasmine, whom he is mostly blocking and dodging from, even in his own Pit Rage. Even in this moment when his vision is all green and all he can see is someone trying to harm him, he doesn’t do anything else but defend.

Daniel scars, bleeds, and bruises.

But he doesn’t fight back.

As if he had been taught not to.

DPxDC Prompt/Idea Sibling Rivalry

OK The Fentons got contracted by a mysterious Mr. J for some "ghost" hunting tech. At first the Fentons buy into it, until Mr. J keeps asking for stranger and stranger edits to the machinery. Before Danny could figure out why- his Parents were in the mist of dropping the contract and heading back to Amity- When Mr. J or more known as the Joker kidnaps Fenton kids to put pressure on the parents to complete their work. Even for more amusement, he's broadcasting the hostage situation to all of Gotham, and Fentons have until the kids end up killing each other to finish his devices and added bonus capture batman. Fentons end up working with the bats while Danny wakes up in a huge sealed cage. His sister tied up behind him. Joker using his gas to fill up the room to cause the two to fight each other. Only thing is.. it doesn't work on Danny or at least all it did was make him dizzy and woozy for a moment. Jazz isn't so lucky. So Now Danny has to fight off his sister, while trying not to reveal his half-ghost status.. ON TOP of trying to think of how to escape and keep his sister from hurting herself. Joker keeps being more and more amuse, dropping the cage down into a cage arena and adding weapons as an audience of his thugs crowd around shouting and chanting.

[scottguy]

The thinking (by some) in Congress is simple. If you give tax dollars to the poor (who need it and who will put it right back into the economy) then there's LESS tax dollars to give to RICH people (who don't need it, who will hoard it and keep bribing Congress members with it.)

Joe Manchin is particularly to blame.

The reason a lot of people are poor now is terrible government oversight of wealthy corporations and a minimum wage that hasn't increased in 13 years despite constant inflation, especially the corporate 'greedflation' recently. Again because politicians only care about their donors who own businesses and not working Americans.

It's not that those businesses will go broke, they'll just make a bit less profit by paying workers a living wage. Greed in America is out of control since tax cuts for the rich let them keep SO MUCH MORE MONEY!!!

It's sick, twisted, inhumane government policy that comes from the US being an oligarchy of the wealthy.

Vote these bastards out! There are way more of us than there are of them, IF we just all vote.

[tropes-and-tales-archives]

Silver Linings, Chapter Nine

Word Count:  2884

TW:  Talk of domestic violence and stalking.

AN:  Part of a series.  The series masterlist here.

Rafael clenched his jaw so hard that his teeth nearly shattered in his skull.  He read through your file, and he felt an inhuman rage fill him for your ex who had made your life a literal hell.

He saved a margin of the rage for himself.  Everything that he’d been doubting about you suddenly made sense:  your unwillingness to talk about your past, your lie about being in Portland, your constantly ringing phone and how sick you looked when it did.  Opening your door with a baseball bat.  Being obviously overqualified to be an admin assistant.  Your broken fucking bones that still hurt you to this day.

He flipped through the pages in the file.  Liv filled him in and told him how Rollins had corroborated nearly everything you had told them.  

“She was sure that there weren’t any case files in California,” Liv told him.  “But someone was looking out for her.  It was all there.”

It was.  He read it all again.  It was like traveling back in time.  Your interview with Rollins and Fin.  The paperwork from your original restraining order, and the notice that it had expired.  Then came all of the stuff from California.  

A police report from San Diego P.D. detailing the arrest of one Mark Talbot.  A copy of the medical report on your broken arm.  The resulting charge of simple assault, a joke of a misdemeanor that resulted in a five hundred dollar fine.  The ADA in that case didn’t see – or didn’t bother to see – the restraining order.  Rafael doled out a margin of rage for that ADA as well.

Two reports from Stanford – one from the local police, one from university police, both with the same story.  The local charges were dropped, despite the concussion.  The university charges amounted to a recommendation to the student counseling center.  

Then even further back, to your hometown in a tiny town north of Sacramento.  An unpursued case where your father had gone to the local police about the bruises that were turning up on his only daughter.

That part you had left out of your interview with Rollins – you had told her that the abuse started after high school, but it clearly had been before that.  Maybe you had repressed it, or overlooked it, or convinced yourself that it was something other than what it was.

Rafael couldn’t stomach most of the pictures.  He stared at the one of your ex for a long while – a clean-cut all-American type with a strong jaw and handsome features, save for the dead eyes that glared back from the photo.  

There was one of you that he looked at for a long time too.  You were young – fifteen or sixteen – and you were sporting a black eye.  Rafael covered that side of your unsmiling face with his thumb, and suddenly he could see what you’d looked like when this nightmare started.  Just a kid, heartbreakingly young.

Did you even know what a relationship built around love felt like?  Rafael didn’t think it was likely.

He saw Liv out of his office and sat for a moment to get his emotions under control.  Then he took that familiar walk down a floor and down the long hallway to Callier’s office.  He didn’t know what he was going to say, but he winged it plenty of times in the courtroom.  He’d figure it out as he went, and “I’m sorry” was as good a place to start as any.

You weren’t in your usual place, though.  Instead, the smirking assistant who’d covered before, Henry, was at your desk.

“Rose is in court,” he said without preamble.  

Rafael cleared his throat and clarified that he was looking for you.

Henry shrugged.  “Out.  Monday flu, I guess.”

-----

Rafael left, taking a half day and probably shocking everyone at the courthouse.  He didn’t care.

He rushed to over to your place, and he imagined every bad thing that may have happened to you.  He imagined you murdered, or hurt, or kidnapped by your psychotic ex.  

The reality was more mundane.

He hit the buzzer to your apartment, and for a long stretch, there was no answer.  Finally, though, he heard the click and shush of static that let him know you were on the other end.  Listening, but not talking.

“Hey.  It’s Rafael,” he said into the intercom.  “Can I come up?”

A beat of silence, and then your voice, tinny across the line.  “Why?”

“I want to talk to you,” he replied.  

Another stretch of silence, but then the front door clicked as you buzzed him in.

At the top of the stairs, you were already waiting for him, half in your apartment and half in the hallway.  You couldn’t quite meet his gaze, and Rafael knew why.  He hadn’t spoken to you since your outburst in his office.  Now that he knew why you reacted that way, he felt twice as bad about he’d responded.

“Are you here to make sure I’m really sick?” you asked a little petulantly.  “Seems to be below your paygrade.”

He reached out to lay a gentle hand on your arm, but you flinched away from his touch.  He sighed and let his hand drop to his side.

“Can I come in?”

You bit your bottom lip and then nodded.  You stepped aside to let him in, and he turned to watch you lock the door. There was a new deadbolt there, an accusing shiny silver against the dull brass of the original locks.

You were still in your pajamas – a pair of wrinkled cotton shorts and a shapeless t-shirt that strained a bit around your breasts.  Your disheveled hair hung down past your shoulders, and you looked exhausted.  Rafael looked around your place, and the cheerful little nest had been transformed into something infinitely sadder.  Your blinds were drawn and the air was stale with the odor of old take-out.

“If you’re here about that day in your office, you should know that I already apologized to Amanda.  And I went to my supervisor and told her what happened too.  So you don’t have to.”  You stood in front of him with your arms crossed, but you still wouldn’t look at him.  Your eyes skidded past his face and settled somewhere behind him, over his shoulder.

Rafael shook his head.  “That’s forgotten.  I wanted to see if you’re okay.”

Your face screwed up in confusion, and he added, “Liv came by my office today.”  A pause.  “To discuss your case with me.”

Your confusion was replaced by something between despair and anger.  “I…I told Amanda there was no case.  To keep the D.A.’s office out of it…”

“I know.”  He cut you off, and he reached out to lay his hand on your shoulder.  This time, you didn’t flinch.  “You wanted a paper trail in case something happens to you.  I saw Rollins’ notes.  I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“There’s no case to prosecute,” you started, but he cut you off again.

“I’m not talking as an ADA.  I’m talking as a…a friend.”

You looked at him finally, and he could see the exhaustion in your eyes.  “Is that what we are?  Friends?  Because you dropped off the radar pretty fast after, like, two dates.”

“I know.  I - ”

“This some hero thing for you?  Now that I’m a damsel in distress, it’s fine for you to come strolling back?”  You shook out of his hand on your arm and went over to your couch, plopping down gracelessly.  You ran your hands over your face and then peered up at him.

“I misunderstood some…signs you were giving,” he said.  He came over and perched beside you on the edge of the couch.  “I should have talked to you.  I thought maybe there was someone else in the picture.”

You gave a bitter laugh.  “There is someone else in the picture.”

“I know,” he said again.  “I’m sorry.”

You shrugged.  “You don’t have to apologize.  It’s just the way it is.”

Rafael reached out a tentative hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, you reached out to take it.  “Has anything else happened since you talked with Rollins and Fin?” he asked gently.

You pointed with your chin at the coffee table in front of you.  “I’ve been keeping a log.”

Rafael reached out with his free hand and picked up the legal pad.  He read your neat block printing the litany of harassment since Friday night.  Dates and times and notes:  hang-ups from a blocked number, emails from temporary accounts.  Another note, this time taped to your front door.  

“What did the note say?” Rafael asked.  He tried to keep his voice even, but he felt his rage from earlier rise up again.  

You released his hand and reached for a book on your coffee table – a library copy of Bulgakov’s “The Master and Margarita.”  You flipped it over and slid an envelope out from under the back cover.  You handed it to him.

Rafael opened it, and he could smell the cloying musky perfume that your ex had sprayed on the other note.  This one, though, was a piece of blank paper folded around a picture.  It was a photo of a lake and its surrounding landscape.

“That’s Camp Far West Lake,” you told him.  “We used to go hiking on the trails around there.  Camping, too.  My dad owned a cabin near there.”  You paused, and Rafael watched you draw your scarred arm against yourself, unconsciously protecting it.  “He…he told me once that it was a good place to hide a body.  Mark, I mean.  Not my dad.  It’s remote.  I thought he was just joking at the time.”

He tossed the photo and envelope back on your coffee table in disgust.  “We need to give all of this to Liv,” he said.  He looked at you, took note of your dark circles and almost imperceptible trembling in your hands.  He turned to face you, and he reached out to take both of your hands in his.

“Listen, you can’t stay here.  He knows where you live, and he’s escalating,” he started.

“I know that.  There’s nowhere else to go.”  You shrugged tiredly and tried to smile, but it was wan.  “I’m making plans though.  I guess I thought he’d get tired of me, or that I’d be able to hide in New York City.”

Rafael’s ears perked up at the mention of you making plans.  “Are you thinking of running again?”  He looked at you hard, and you glanced away, refusing to make eye contact with him.

“You can’t run,” he admonished you.  “He’ll find you again.  You need to stay here.  I won’t let him hurt you.”

That bitter laugh again.  “There’s no case…”

“Fuck the case,” he growled.  “SVU is the best, and they are on it.  We can keep you safe.”

You shook your head as he talked, and he kept reassuring you that nothing would happen to you.  You dropped your head then, still shaking it, and it wasn’t until he heard you sniffle that he realized you were crying, and trying to hide it.

“C’mere,” he said gruffly, and he reached out and pulled you to him.  Aside from incidental touches – tentatively held hands just now, brushed fingertips when you handed him his messages, gentle bumps into each other when he walked you home after Valentine’s Day – Rafael had never really touched you before.  Now, with his arms around you in such awful circumstances…you were rigid against him, awkward.  But he held you and rubbed soothing circles on your back, and you eventually yielded against him.  He kept holding you as the dam inside you burst and a lifetime of tears came forth.

*****

It wasn’t an ideal situation.

Of course, you always wanted to seem cool and collected and cheerful around the man you’d just recently had a crush on.  Of course, nothing in your life ever turned out the way you wanted.

You had wanted to be a lawyer.  You’d been in one of the most prestigious programs in the country on scholarship, but that hadn’t worked out.  

You had wanted to get married someday, have a kid, vacation in the same little cabin in the woods that you’d vacationed in as a kid.  That hadn’t worked out.

Finally, you had moved to New York and wanted just a little life for yourself, something tiny, nothing more than a library card and the occasional show and walk in the park.  That hadn’t worked out either.

Your entire life, you had recalibrated, from big dreams to little ones, and not a single one had worked out.

Now you were sitting in a tiny guest bedroom with your suitcases as Rafael bustled around you to put an extra blanket on the bed beside you.  

“It’s small, but you’re safe here,” he said.  “My building has a doorman, and my apartment door has top of the line security.”

Ideal?  More like embarrassingly bad.  You were exhausted, though, and Mr. Barba – Rafael – was excellent at arguing, and his points had made sense as he listed them out to you.  His building had better security.  As an ADA, he had access to a secured car service.  You worked in the same building.  He was already compromised as a prosecutor, so he could serve as a witness if and when you had a case that could be pursued.

Of course you agreed – how could you resist his points, let alone his bright green eyes? – and he had helped you pack.  When you protested that you should change, he had only tossed you your coat and said that you could shower at his place.  Now you were installed in his guest room, grimy in the same pajamas you’d worn all weekend, and he was acting like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Thank you,” you said softly.  

He sat down on the bed beside you and sighed.  “We’ll figure this out.  You don’t have to run anymore.”

A long pause.  “I owe you.”

He made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat.  “You don’t owe me a single thing,” he said.  He paused, then added, “Although, if you want to help set me up a Netflix profile, that would be nice.  Because I have someone’s log in information but she was very clear about not messing up her algorithm.”

You smiled and glanced at him shyly, and he was smiling back at you.  “I can probably help you with that.”

“Good,” he replied.  He leaned into you, jostling you lightly in a playful shove.  “Because there’s a police procedural I’m dying to watch.  Or maybe some ‘Ally McBeal.’”  He stood up.  “Why don’t you go shower and change?  I’ll order some take-out.  What do you want?”

You shook your head, still smiling.  “You choose.  Whatever is fine with me.”

*****

While you showered, Rafael ordered Chinese, then called Liv to update her.  He made a note to speak with Callier in the morning too – the more people who knew about the situation, the better.  

He knew he had to tread lightly.  He didn’t want you to feel beholden to him, or obligated to him.  As much as he liked you, he kept that at bay.  You needed action now, and you didn’t need anything complicated by a new relationship.

He just wanted to keep you safe until he could figure something out.  In truth, his feelings of infatuation had disappeared and been replaced by something more tender.  If he could, he’d lock you in his apartment forever, where no terrible men with their heavy fists could ever hurt you again.  He could just bring you Russian novels and bargain Valentine’s Day chocolates, and you could sleep in his guest room forever, and all he’d ever want is to hear you laugh again, or to give him a smile that didn’t look sad or tired.

But he knew he didn’t really want that either.  He wanted a life where he could take you back to that little café in the Bronx, where you could meet his mother and abuelita, where he could take you to a Broadway play and a nightcap afterwards.  

A life where he could show you what a relationship built around love and not fear could be like.

You both sat on his couch, eating lo mien and spring rolls.  You were scrubbed clean, your hair still damp, and you were in clean pajamas.  You had set up a profile on Netflix for him (smiling faintly, which was a start in Rafael’s eyes).  He had turned on some show about superheroes.  Rafael watched the screen but stole glances at you from time to time. You seemed a little revived – cleaned up, relaxed in a safer place – but still subdued.

“I can feel you watching me,” you finally said, your eyes focused on the screen.  

“Everything’s going to be okay, you know,” he replied.  You did a thing with your head, halfway between a nod and a shake, letting him know that you weren’t so sure.  

He repeated it to himself in his head:  everything’s going to be okay.  He thought it over and over until he started to believe it himself.

[humanwritingmachine]

As a kid I always imagined I knew about the world while the years of youth flew through me, I empty mindedly, naively saw it through a single lense. Day after day millions and trillions of thoughts rushing and racing around in my mind, and the first picture I see is me looking out my father's messy junk filled car's window. It reeked of expired boiling water in plastic bottles left behind by the countless so called "friends" of his and my brother and I. I remember him picking my brother and I up after school in the heat of the afternoon sun as our butts burnt a little when we sat on the cooking seats of the car. Excited I'd hop up and down in the back seat, after holding my mental enthusiasm back through the long hours of what I generally called a mental prison (school).

I stared out the window at the people, the beggars sitting under the cobri (bridge) that we drove through every day, I never saw the people as anything more nor did I see them as anything less. I saw people, I saw characters existing in a world that I existed in, I saw background noise. My life was never about me yet it was never about the people around me it was about the story I can make of it all, the poem I can take from it, or the book I can write out.

I dreamed of a world where one can be anything they want to be. I find that to be kind of funny today, as a child I don't ever remember having intricate thoughts and feelings yet I hear my mother speak about the different stories and letters filled with expression and thoughts as though it was not a six year old writing about reasons why she did not want her mother to talk to her anymore because her mother yelled at her.

I knew I'd wanted to write as a kid,  I grew older and my passion grew with me too, my love for simple words put together to create intricate ideas about love, life, and sadness and have the world read them and feel them and hear them in their hearts rather than simply look at them with their eyes.

  I discovered that we as people were more than capable of inhumanity and evil during the strange awkward stage of moving from Saudi Arabia to New Jersey.

    In my short 18 years of living I have no idea how or when the world I'd lived in reached to this extent of evil.

As this was an important discovery in my life, when I decided I was going to be on the part of the world that at the least spreads the truth, the truth of what is going on beyond these walls of invisibility, these walls that allows us to exist as human beings with lives and voices that can be so loud that can echo the streets for miles and miles that can make a change, these walls that are filled with food and houses and the natural riches of the trees and the colorful flowers and the running cold and hot water, behind these walls is a heaven, behind these walls lie schools and kids playing in the parks, teens partying till sunrise, music played for days, and snow was a joy filled with snow angels and building funny looking snowmen to take pictures with.

  I found that the images I had seen on the internet were of so much affect in our world, where we had a safety blanket that we hid under, I realize that as long as the people keep hiding under this blanket there will be no change. As long we continue to see all the wrongs in our own world we will never fix anything going on beyond it.

 

  I found myself practicing by seeing the images and the horrors of the world. What was happening to my people in my country for almost more than 10 years. More than 10 years of war, more than 10 years of death, I can only imagine that lands is now a completely different one. The neighbors that we used to go play with at their house on hot summer days are now infested with the smell of blood, the smell of death, settled by men with ugly beards and ugly hearts strangers from a world we had never thought would become the norm of a place I once called home.

  Part of me for a very long time felt the guilt of what do I know about pain? What do I know about being displaced? The guilt of being privileged enough to live here in a country like Canada, the guilt that ate me alive for years and years. As a Kurdish girl, I saw my people in Syria, as fighters, I had found myself attending protests and shouting in the streets at the top of my lung to fight with people fighting for their land on the complete opposite side of the world, I knew I had more ability to change what was going on, on the inside through speaking and being louder on the outside. Through using my words and my voice through adding for fuel to the fire of the passion of the Kurdish people.

I had become hopeless, as the people around me seemed to worry more about the sects, and the religion more than anything?

Why?

Why did it matter what sect I supported? Why did it matter whether I was Muslim? Suni or Shia? Kurdish? Lebanese? Syrian?

 

   I had read about the atrocities that Daesh, ISIS, the Syrian regime had done to the people. It hadn't registered in my head properly how the people around me here in Canada turned a blind eye when it came to the painful images.

I mean I understood it, who would want to see such disturbing images? That's just twisted right? To look at thousands and thousands of lifeless bodies of the dead children? To look at the rubble of what once was someone's home? The rubble that was once where a kid rested their head at and woke up early in the morning to go to school? The pictures of the rubble that were taken from a helicopter flying far away from it but just close enough to take a picture of the chaos that if you looked close enough at, you realize that between the rubble and the ashes are the bodies of women, children, young men, grandma's and grandpa's, people just like you reading this right now and me writing this.

And so I ask you as you read this, where did our humanity go?

Did we lose it in between our online posts about our prayers going out to the mothers and the children and the babies starving because their own government deemed them terrorists?

Did we lose our humanity as we went out on the streets filled with our fancy condos and our fancy cameras and our fancy cars with our friends and family laughing and playing around claiming that we are fighting for what's right, for justice all around the world but we refuse to look at the images? We refuse to educate ourselves and the ones around us, we refuse to realize our ignorance to the effects of war on the actual oppressed or the actual people that are actual suffering?

You tell me.

Tell me at what point did we deem this Humane?

It's easy for us to turn a blind eye, and ignore it all. Living here, honestly like forget being Kurdish what about the Humanity?? Where is our Humanity? How did giving zero shits about the world around us start becoming a trend?

Sure we live on a piece of soil and nothing matters and time is a flat circle or whatever tf people say at this point, we are humans after all, we exist on this piece of soil this supposed useless piece of soil has  its people, has its stories and histories, it has homes and farms, and living breathing beings with their own lifes and dreams and ideologies, who tf are we to ignore their existence and to ignore their pleading for a simple human right to live while we sit here demand justice in the comfort of our democracy and so called non existent oppression?

[ask-paradox-and-friends]

(Fuck it. I'm doing sektor cause she's the new game frost.)

@splatoonfan88 @jacktheseal @hazawatsugu

Sektor:my armour scanned you. You are small. Frail. Weak.

Tsugu:unlike you I can defend myself without a metal safety suit.

--

Sektor:your realm is housing traitors.

Tsugu:we didn't invite you into our home now get out before I force you out!

--

Tsugu:you and bi han? I'd hate to meet any kids you spawn.

Sektor:spawn? You accuse me of being inhuman?

--

Sektor:your guns against my armour? Hahaha! How laughable.

Pico:works wonders on that water asshole you sent after me.

--

Sektor:you have stolen from me!

Pico:hey not my fault you lost a ton of gear. So up yours!

--

Pico:heard you got your ass beat by my vibingverse self.

Sektor:for your life you better be anywhere near as strong as him.

--

Sektor:you think a sheild is enough to stop me?

Joan:if Madam Curie couldn't stop me what makes you think your clan could?

--

Sektor:say your taunt to my face!

Jaon:Sir Tesla made more impressive gadgets with junk in a cave!

--

Joan:you lecherous impotent whiny-!

Sektor:I am no duplutious snake you peasant.

--

Sketor:if you value your children's lives-

Dearil:if you value your hands and eyes you'd better not make a move.

--

Sektor:once the lin quei take control!

Dearil:our people will have you hanged and sealed in cells.

--

Dearil:your beloved should take whatever is left of his poultry invaders back to his home.

Sektor:and your's shouldn't interfere with Lin quei business.

--

Garou:you remind me of someone I used to know. Real son of a bitch.

Sektor:what are you getting at?

--

Sektor:your god collects a carnival of pity.

Garou:you say that like you're not a merry batch of idiots.

--

Sektor:your skills are something the lin quei could learn form.

Garou:lesson one I'm here to kick your ass.

--

Rose:nice looking gear. Shame it's wasted on you.

Sektor:I do not take advice from a bug!

--

Sektor:you'll find my armour inedible you gluttonous freak.

Rose:you're not however.

--

Sektor:can that scythe cut steel?

Rose:ask the last ultramarine who asked me that.

--

Bun:god you're a dick.

Sektor:you are in no right to judge me you burnt mistake.

--

Bun:Ruby told me about a timeline's version of wonder woman that you'd just adore.

Sektor:am I supposed to be insulted?

--

Sektor:you've been cuddling up to my mother!?

Bun:I'm the child Madam Bo always wanted. You're the little shit that crawled out of her.

--

Sektor:what gives you and your people the right to rule?

Saito:we were chosen by the people through our services.

--

Saito:you do not seem to be heat proof.

Sektor:what are you on about?

--

Sektor:you and that monk prefer such primitive weapons.

Saito:we do not need crutches as oppose to you.

--

Kaito:'you reek of mommy issues and I can fix him syndrome.'

Sektor:what?

--

Kaito:'we need to address your life.'

Sektor:I don't need or request a demon's advice.

--

Sektor:those weapons of yours would be better suited in our armory

Kaito:'I dare you to come and expire.'

--

Paradox:Bi han sent his bitch after me?

Sektor:His deadliest fighter brute!

--

Paradox:so can you match his stamina or endurance? And no I don't mean when he's plowing your garden.

Sektor:can your skills match your arrogance?

--

Sektor:you can't get through this armour and can't defeat me!

Paradox:I can sneeze and you'd have to be shoveled off the dirt.

--

Naruko:oh honey you think you're dangerous.

Sektor:HOW DID YOU GET INTO MY WORKSHOP!?

--

Sektor:you will pay for your blemish on our honor!

Naruko:you're the one who fell for my bi han disguse. *perfectly mimicking Noob's voice.* 'Oh sektor I require you to come with me alone.'

--

Naruko:look at what you have to do to even match a fraction of my power.

Sektor:you better refresh your math when we're finished.

--

Sketor:such a bulky unsightly armour.

Sunblood:such a primitive feeble welded together scrap shirt.

--

Sektor:once my clan is outfitted with this amrour.

Sunblood:oh good make it even easier to bring you down.

--

Sektor:if your organization trys to making any move against us.

Sunblood:not very perceptive are you?

--

Mai:and you are?

Sektor:the new grandmaster of the lin quei

--

Sektor:those eyes need to be studied.

Mai:so does your death.

--

Sektor:you have the blessings of Gods?

Mai:you mean my parents?

Oh boy...

New mortal kombat dlc is out.

Here we go.

So who to do quotes for first?

Noob saibot

Cyrax

Sektor

(I know I skipped the kombat pack 1 and the guest charathers but I'm not doing the guest crew cause idk eh?)

[primatechnosynthpop]

Wow! Against all odds, I finally got around to actually writing the follow-up to I'm Gonna Be The Anti-Hero that's existed exclusively in my head for months! Well uh here it is :3

---

The secret underground room beneath Plymouth rock was dark and silent as always, save for the faint dripping of water through a crack in the ceiling. It figured that, after living there for countless centuries, the structural integrity would finally begin to erode. That dripping sound, although highly irritating when it first started a month or so ago, had now settled into background noise which John Smith paid no attention to. He was a pilgrim, not a witch; it wasn't like the water could hurt him.

Then again, he realized a few moments too late one rainy spring day, perhaps he should have reevaluated that statement. He was minding his own business sitting in his chair and reminiscing about the very old days (that was the only thing he could really do anymore, slowly decaying as his body was) when the soft and steady dripping suddenly escalated at an exponential rate into what sounded like a small waterfall. He turned his head to see a semi-transparent humanoid figure taking shape out of the water pooling in the corner--strangely tinted red, as though the water were mixed with blood. As the old pilgrim watched, jaw agape, the figure strode purposefully toward him, taking on a more solid form as it did so.

"What are you doing here, intruder?" John Smith demanded, one hand tightening around the hilt of his sword while his other hand reached behind his back to fumble for his musket.

"This secret underground room isn't government sanctioned," the stranger hissed. (Although... was he a stranger? John Smith somehow felt that he'd seen this youngster once before, but he couldn't quite place where or when.) "And you have no official identification registering you as a legal citizen. Not to mention, you haven't been paying taxes... disgraceful."

Before John Smith had the chance to concoct a retort or draw either of his weapons, the masked man's hands were around his throat and crushing his windpipe with a force that could only be driven by an inhuman amount of bloodlust. And within seconds, the life of a pilgrim that had been extended for centuries past its expiration date was finally put to an end.

*

"I can't believe they want us to make a clown movie at a time like this."

"I can believe it," Neil replied without looking up from the shopping list in his hand. "The studio wants a lot from us, remember? They're not going to care how sad we are. Anyway, it's been four months--" The emotions bubbling up within him refused to let his voice stay level, so he gritted his teeth and hissed out the rest of his sentence rather than let himself start crying in the middle of the dollar store. "We should be over it by now."

"Neil..." Kevin began in the way he'd often addressed Neil over the past few months--brow furrowed, voice edged with an obvious and vaguely patronizing concern--only to trail off and shake his head with a sigh. Apparently he'd finally given up on trying to make Neil feel better, which was just fine by him, because things are never gonna go back to the way they were before and it's my fault and I don't deserve to feel good about it.

"Anyway, we've got what we came for," Neil muttered, waving his hand in the general direction of Kevin's shopping basket without looking him in the eyes. "Let's go."

At the checkout counter, the cashier frowned and shook her head when Neil offered her a five-dollar bill. "Sorry," she told them, "But all this is going to cost $29.99."

"What? But we don't have that kind of money!" Neil lamented. "And we got this stuff from the clearance section... plus this is the dollar store, so shouldn't everything just cost a dollar?"

For a visual aid as he spoke, he grabbed one of the items they were ringing up--a bargain pack of multicoloured clown wigs--and shook it in the cashier's face. Apparently unmoved by his bargaining, she pursed her lips and crossed her arms.

"Maybe you should have checked the price tags first, sir."

"Huh? But, but..." Neil trailed off when he looked down at the price tag on the item in his hands. The bright orange tag had the original price, $7.50, crossed out and replaced with $2.35... but then below that, scribbled in tiny and barely legible font, it read "just kidding, it's actually eleven dollars now." "Aw, man," he groaned, tossing the pack down on the conveyor belt and sticking his hands in his pockets. "Just our luck."

Kevin had a thoughtful look in his eyes while he drove them home empty-handed. When he pulled up outside the clubhouse a few minutes later and they climbed out of the truck, he suddenly laid a hand on Neil's shoulder.

"Say, Neil, let's not get discouraged," he said. "I've got another idea for how we could get our hands on some props."

"Really?" Neil asked, perking up despite himself. "How?"

"Well, I think--" Kevin broke off as unexpectedly as he'd started, encouraging smile briefly dipping into a grimace. "...You know what, I'll take care of it myself. You can hold down the fort here, okay? I won't be long."

Neil's brow furrowed. "Okay, but what are you...?"

Without explaining himself any further, Kevin clapped him firmly on the back, hopped back into his truck, and drove off. Neil watched him recede down the road with bewilderment. Being all secretive like that wasn't like Kevin... Unless he's trying to protect me from something, he realized with a twinge of bitterness. That would be just like him, the way things had been recently. Ever since the past winter, and what had happened with Ryan, Kevin's latent big-brother-ish tendencies had escalated; now he watched over Neil like a hawk and freaked out every time he so much as stubbed his toe. Under different circumstances Neil would have relished being fussed over, but now it was more annoying than anything else. The thing was, he didn't deserve it. If anything... his fingers strayed up to absentmindedly fidget with the four-leaf clover pinned to his shirt. I deserve to have bad luck. I deserve to suffer, after what I did to Ryan.

Still, there wasn't much he could do about it now, and he wasn't going to say no to having the clubhouse to himself for a while. With a sigh, he disentangled his fingers from the clover's leaves, ran a hand through his overgrown bangs, and turned to head inside. Maybe he could play cards or something to pass the time.

*

A thick layer of dust had settled over everything in Ryan's house. That made sense, of course. It had been four months--no, five, since Ryan hadn't come home once while he was being a vigilante--since anyone had set foot there. Even so, Kevin was unprepared for the full-scale assault on his lungs when he opened the door, and promptly broke into a coughing fit.

"Man, good thing Neil stayed home," he thought aloud as he batted thick, swirling clouds of dust and spiderwebs out of his face. "The way things have been going for him lately..."

He'd probably choke to death on all this dust, he thought but didn't say aloud, and then felt bad for thinking it in the first place. Kevin didn't understand what had happened to Neil in the course of the past few days, but ever since picking up that clover, he seemed to be having a run of uncharacteristically bad luck. Whether it was random chance or something more suspicious was afoot, it sure wasn't doing much for his already thoroughly frayed nerves.

"Alright, calm down, James," he muttered to himself, shaking his head to clear his thoughts and ideally dispel the rest of the dust. "Focus. Concentrate. What are you here for? Props for your webisode. Right."

Keeping that objective in mind, he made his way past the front entrance and into the living room. There, a few objects were strewn around that caught his eye: a mannequin bust wearing a colourful wig; an eccentrically patterned jacket draped over a chair; a brush dipped into a rusted metal container filled with what he hoped was red paint. After looking around a little more he found a large cardboard box filled with mutilated stuffed animals, which he mostly emptied out and started filling with the useful items he came across.

All the while, a persistent feeling of unease stirred in his gut, becoming increasingly hard to ignore with each belonging of Ryan's he packed away. This is wrong. I shouldn't steal from him. Kevin paused and looked down at the box in his arms with a frown. One of the items sticking out the top, a blank-faced doll head, seemed to stare accusingly back at him. For a moment he saw it not as a plastic figure, but as a human form encased in ice and then broken apart. He blinked and the illusion quickly vanished, but an unsettling feeling remained in its wake. Neil was right; it had been months already. So why did going through Ryan's things make him feel so dirty? Ryan didn't need any of this stuff anymore. He was gone. Wasn't he?

With a weary sigh that, had anyone been around to ask, he would have accredited to the physical exertion of carrying heavy stuff around, Kevin set the box down and stepped back to survey the room he was in now. If he remembered right, this kind of room was called a study--there was an armchair with a few suspicious stains lurking beneath the dust, a desk strewn with papers all scrawled full of nonsense like the ravings of a mad scientist, and an ornate bookshelf. He wandered over to the latter furniture piece and ran his hands along the spines of the books, letting their leathery texture ground him in the present. He noticed several unusual bibles and other ancient texts, and a stash of calendars, some of which he was pretty sure had originally belonged to him or Neil; the up-to-date calendars and one of the more normal-looking bibles went into the box, while he decided everything else was better left where it was.

There was one other set of books he recognized: a teen fantasy series that Neil had often gushed about. Thinking back to the previous fall and all the events he normally tried not to think about, he experimentally lifted one of the fantasy books off the shelf. At once, just as he remembered from when Neil showed him, the bookshelf rumbled to the side and revealed a narrow staircase descending into the basement.

If anyone asked him, Kevin couldn't really say what compelled him to go down those stairs. The secret chamber was as empty as he remembered, with nothing down there that could possibly be of use for the webisode. And without a lantern, he could barely even see the only things that were there to speak of: the paintings of Ryan's ancestors.

"Ryan..." The name manifested on Kevin's lips unexpectedly as he stared, squinting through the dust and darkness, at the row of portraits grinning lopsidedly back at him. He knew the paintings couldn't hear him--hell, they weren't even paintings of Ryan himself, just his relatives. But their faces were practically identical to him, that face he hadn't seen in person for nearly half a year, and that alone was enough to clog up his throat with unbearable emotions.

The thought of It's a good thing Neil isn't here for this surfaced again, and this time Kevin had to agree with himself. Losing a close friend was... well, there was no way not to take it hard. But Neil seemed to have taken it particularly hard, even blaming himself, to the point where any mention of Ryan would immediately send him straight back into a depressive spiral no matter how happy he'd been a moment earlier. That was why Kevin had kept this idea a secret from his friend in the first place--that, and he wasn't sure if it was going to pan out and didn't want to get Neil's hopes up. He figured that if Neil asked where he got all the stuff he'd found, he'd just say it was from a garage sale.

Now, looking into the achingly familiar manic blue eyes of those portraits mounted on the wall, Kevin thought of those news reports about the mysterious killings that had been going on around town. If that really was Ryan, and he was somehow still alive...

"Why?" he whispered. Without really thinking, he reached out and pressed his hand against the painting as if to cup its cheek. "Why haven't you come home, Ryan? Where are you?"

*

The target was at home, alone in her bedroom playing video games. Casual, unbothered by any harm her actions may have caused. Shameful. In an icy swirl of perhaps not-so-righteous fury, the vigilante took form in the corner of her room and crept up behind her. With an average build and no weapons at the ready, she would be no trouble to dispose of.

"Playing dead in order to toy with an innocent man's feelings," he growled. "Some people would call it ghosting. I call it a crime punishable by death."

"Jesus christ, what the fuck?!" Wendy yelped as she spun to face the vigilante. "How'd you get in here?"

"You shouldn't worry about that," he told her, gloved hands already flexing in anticipation of tightening around her neck. Or perhaps this time he'd thrust his hand straight through her chest and rip out her heart--an appropriate punishment for her crimes. "You'll have plenty of time to figure it out once I send you to hell."

"Okay, seriously? What is happening here?" Eyes narrowed, Wendy put her game on pause and got to her feet to stare the vigilante down. "You said something about me playing dead..." Her eyes suddenly widened with recognition, and the vigilante waited for the fear to set in along with it, but instead she shook her head and laughed. A pitying laugh. "Wait, you're not friends with that, uh, that filmmaker guy, are you? Geez, I seriously must have dodged a bullet there."

"Filmmaker..." the vigilante murmured as the word echoed in his mind. Yes, that's right. The man she stood up was a filmmaker... of a sort. (How did he know that? How did he even know who this woman was? Those questions weren't worth dwelling on, he decided.) "You may have thought you dodged a bullet back then, but I'm here to see that the bullet circles back around and destroys you like you deserve."

Wendy crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow, any trace of fear on her face outmatched by her sad, pitying smile. "Sure, keep the edgy sayings coming, Mr. Hot Topic. And what's with the getup, anyway?" she added with a nod to the vigilante's predominantly dark outfit. "Must be kinda warm."

Warm? The vigilante snorted derisively. No, of course he wasn't too warm. His blood, as it always had for as far back as he could clearly remember, ran cold like that of a snake. He couldn't remember a time when he'd been warm. And he certainly couldn't remember a time when he'd worn anything other than his current ensemble. Rather than waste time telling this insufferable woman as much, though, he simply took a few purposeful strides to close the distance between them, hands extended and more than ready to kill.

"Ugh, get away from me, creep!"

In a startlingly swift motion, Wendy's leg shot out and connected with the vigilante's ankles, sending him toppling to the floor. He hissed in irration, though not in pain--when his sensations were already perpetually numb, it would take a lot more than that to hurt him--and got to his feet, dusting himself off with a scowl. In the few seconds this took, Wendy grabbed a baseball bat from the corner of the room. Now she stood brandishing it in perfect athletic form with a battle-ready glint in her eye.

"Not another step, you hear me?" When the vigilante didn't dignify her with a response, she gritted her teeth and gave the bat a twirl--attempting to show off, it seemed, but her hands shook slightly and she nearly dropped the bat, only barely managing to regain her grip on it. "My mom is in the other room right now, and... well, she hasn't done anything wrong, so you don't want to punish her, right? And if anything happens to me..."

He stiffened at Wendy's mention of her mother. An innocent citizen? That was the type of person a vigilante was meant to protect at all costs; otherwise vigilante justice was no better than the police. But no one is innocent in this city. Even so, he understood the implicit threat--not that Wendy's mother would bring him down herself, but that either woman could very well call the police. And the last thing he wanted was to get law enforcement involved.

"...Fine," he snarled at last, turning on his heel with a twirl of his vigilante cape. "You can live a while longer. But I'll be back, and then you'll regret your sins."

He heard her gasp but didn't bother sparing her another glance as he let his form dissolve into a splash of red-tinted ice, sinking through her floorboards and off to thwart another criminal.

*

Slowly and carefully as a technician deactivating a bomb, Neil set the three of spades down across the top of the three other cards he'd lined up on the table. The humble beginnings of a tower stood for a moment, and he held his breath eagerly as he reached for another card to place on top, only for it to suddenly shudder and collapse like an anime girl who'd stood in the rain for too long.

"Dang it!" Neil threw his hands in the air in exasperation. When he did, a droplet of his own blood landed on his glasses, and he realized with a start that his hand was bleeding--just a paper cut, but still, he'd better wash up.

As he ran his hand under cold water, transfixed by the sight of the blood swirling down the drain, a sudden cracking noise rang out just above him. His head snapped up to stare at the spontaneously cracked bathroom mirror. His reflection stared back, stricken and gaunt, as shards of shattered glass rained down into the sink, where they mixed with the water and the blood. Neil shivered, his breath quickening.

Icy water... ice, blood, broken mirrors. All mixed together. Shattered. Blood, guts, ice, mixed together, down the drain. My fault my fault my fault my fault--

"No," he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut and digging his nails into his scalp as hard as he could. "No! I didn't do it, I didn't... I didn't mean to..."

Deep breaths, a voice in the back of his head reminded him. It sounded like Kevin's voice, worried to the point of being slightly patronizing. Neil grimaced, annoyed at his own brain for manifesting its self-preservation in such a way, but he complied nonetheless. Keeping his eyes wrenched shut, he took several deep breaths in and out until his heartbeat slowed to normal--he hadn't even noticed it speeding up--and his hands didn't shake when he lowered them away from his head.

"Hey, you know what'd really make me feel better?" he said aloud to nobody in particular, putting on a broad smile and wiping his hands off on a towel. "A nice hot bath! Yep, that'll counteract my blood running cold, alright..."

He ran his hands up and down his arms as he spoke, although he didn't know who he was trying to fool; the chill that had settled into his bones had nothing to do with the temperature. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure who this whole performance of forced cheerfulness was meant for... the studio, maybe. He wouldn't put it past them to hide cameras everywhere. Either way, even if it wouldn't fix his psychological issues, a bath really would be pretty nice. He put the plug in and started running the tub, with the water temperature set just hot enough that it would scald him a little at first.

He wasn't sure exactly what happened when he sat down on the edge of the tub to take his socks off, whether he slipped on something or leaned too far back or what, but suddenly he lost balance. And by the time he realized he was falling backward, he only had a split-second to curse his rotten luck before his head connected with the wall and he blacked out.

*

In the end, Kevin managed to get a pretty good haul from Ryan's house. In addition to the stuff he and Neil could use for their webisode, he'd retrieved the calendars and a couple other things it looked like Ryan had stolen from them, as well as their old communicator wristwatches. (He wasn't sure if the watches fell into the camp of things Ryan had stolen, or if they'd just brought them over to his place for a sleepover once and forgotten them there. Either way, Kevin figured it could come in handy to start using them again.)

"Hey, Neil," he called as he stepped into the clubhouse with the box in his arms and kicked the door shut behind him. "I'm back."

There was no reply. Frowning, Kevin set the box down with a slight grunt of effort and wandered through the living room and down the hall. There were a few playing cards scattered on the table, suggesting that Neil had been trying to make a house of cards but given up halfway. Kevin couldn't really blame him for that; assembling cards in such a way that they'd actually stay upright was yet another thing that had been more in Ryan's ballpark than in either of theirs. Still, that didn't explain where Neil was now...

"Neil? You there, bud?" Still being met with no answer, Kevin came to a stop outside the bathroom door, which was ajar with water pooling out from inside. "Oh, man, that's not a good sign..."

He gave a tentative knock, and when there was still no response, grabbed the handle and pushed the door open. The sight that met his eyes when he did so immediately made his breath hitch and his blood run cold. The broken mirror over the vanity reflected his slack-jawed expression as he stared at the overflowing bathtub, the pair of still-clothed legs dangling over the rim, and the smudge of blood on the wall leading down to the head of the man those legs belonged to, slumped inside the tub with his head submerged in the water.

"Neil!!"

Kevin sprinted across the room to lift Neil out of the tub. It then took him a few seconds longer to turn off the faucet and pull the plug, as by that point the shock had turned to dread and his hands were shaking. Once the water was slowly starting to drain, he fell to his knees and pulled Neil tight to his chest, one hand clutching at the back of his soaked-through t-shirt while the other fumbled across the back of his head searching for the source of the blood. It didn't take long for him to find the slightly matted patch of damp hair indicating where Neil had banged his head against the wall. Kevin swallowed hard as dread leapt up to claw at his throat. The only question is... how long was he submerged?

"Neil," he whispered, and was almost embarrassed to hear how hoarsely his own voice came out. "Wake up. Please."

No response. Kevin reluctantly pulled back to hold Neil at an arm's length, and shuddered at how limply his friend's body flopped forward. He noticed, with a white-hot jolt of irrational anger, that the four-leaf clover was still in place. Fat lot of good that thing's done for him. He grabbed the clover and crumpled it in his fist, all the while tears pressed against the back of his eyes; he struggled not to let them fall. Damn it... first Ryan, now Neil... What kind of protector was he? What kind of friend?

He slammed his fist, the useless clover still clenched within, against the drenched floor tiles. At that moment, the lightbulb above his head exploded and sent sparking wires raining down around him. As soon as electricity met water, it sent a nasty shock through Kevin's veins; he screamed out of equal parts surprise and pain and scrambled up onto the countertop, which was barely wide enough to support him.

On the floor below, Neil's body convulsed. Then his eyes snapped open and he drew in a gasp that turned into a scream halfway through. Although touching his friend's hand sent the current through his own body for a moment, Kevin was quick to grab him anyway, and he managed to pull Neil safely out of the electrified water and into a fierce embrace. Neil kept shrieking, and he squirmed frantically around, not seeming to recognize his surroundings at first.

"It's alright, Neil," Kevin assured him despite how hard his own heart was pounding. "I've got you."

"Oh..." Neil's body slackened, and he pulled back to blink slowly at Kevin, realization dawning in his eyes. His cheeks coloured with embarrassment and he ducked his head. "Uh, thanks."

Neither of them said anything else, for lack of ability or perhaps willingness to put it into words. After a moment, Kevin realized he was still holding the clover, and he handed it back to Neil, who took it with a dip of his head and a murmur of acknowledgement, and pinned it to his soaking wet t-shirt.

Somehow out of everything in the room, themselves included, that little scrap of plant matter was still intact. And although he wasn't superstitious, that simple fact was what would stick in Kevin's mind for the rest of the day, turning it over until he could only conclude: Yep, there's definitely something weird going on with that thing.

*

Despite the many months he'd prowled the city, this was the vigilante's first time in the hideout of a proper gang. It looked about the way he expected: dimly lit, no windows, weapons hung up on the wall and cigarette butts littering the floor. The gang members, dressed primarily in leather jackets with a few in denim, lounged in chairs leaning too far back, or on top of tables, or on their motorcycles parked right in the middle of the room. Most of them didn't even notice the vigilante as he approached. They were too caught up chattering and cackling amongst themselves like a nest of overgrown crows. The one gang member who did seem to notice the vigilante from the get-go simply looked up at him with raised eyebrows and addressed him once he got close enough to strike.

"Hey, haven't seen you around before. Looking to join the club?"

"Hardly," he snarled. "This whole place is crawling with criminals."

The whole room broke into laughter at that. The vigilante gritted his teeth, fists clenching at his sides. These people were different from the criminals he'd taken down before; between their numbers and all the weapons they had easy access to, they might just pose a serious threat if he wasn't careful.

"You're the ones, aren't you?" he went on once the laughter had died down and the gang members were all watching him with a mix of bemusement and curiosity. No trace of fear amongst them yet, but that would change... "Throwing bricks at innocent people, even seeking to damage their property. Absolutely detestable."

"Woah, hang on," another of the gang members cut in sharply, reaching for a weapon as they stood. "First off, the whole brick throwing thing was months ago. Second of all, we never did that to innocent people, you know!"

"Yeah!" yet another gang member cut in, pumping her fist in the air. "Only to those losers who blew up our boss!"

...Boss?

The vigilante slowly turned, a deeper chill than normal running down his spine, as a strangely familiar smug cackle echoed from behind him. He came face-to-face with a man in a tank top and baseball cap, sneering at him with his arms crossed. Max. Gulping, the vigilante took a step backward. He's their boss?

(How did he know that name? How had he known Wendy's name either, for that matter? Why, out of all the criminals in the city, did a select few ignite disproportionate resentment within him? He'd dealt with some of these people before, he knew, but when he tried to remember when and how it all just turned to slush in his brain.)

"Yep, those losers got what was coming to 'em," Max said. "Except not really, 'cause they didn't suffer enough. But it's okay, we'll get 'em extra hard next time."

"No..." For reasons he couldn't quite explain, the vigilante's voice shook with equal parts fury and sudden fear. "Don't you dare hurt them."

"Huh?" Max tilted his head, already slightly squinted eyes narrowing further. "Heyyy, wait a minute, aren't you one of--?"

Before he could finish that thought, the vigilante was upon him with a karate chop to the windpipe. It was a more reckless attack than he'd planned, and even as Max stumbled backward coughing, he could hear the rest of the gang grabbing their weapons and running up behind him. But it was fine; the vigilante could take them all on and then some. He could kill any number of people if it was for the sake of defending his friends.

(Friends? Did he have friends? Somehow it felt that he must have, once. But that was strange, because the only thing he could clearly remember himself ever being was a cold-blooded vigilante.)

*

"Don't you see? Society's the one to blame! It's society's fault that he had no choice but to become this way!"

As Kevin delivered this speech, waving his arms dramatically toward the focus of the scene, Neil spun the video camera around to point it toward himself. Hopefully the studio would think of the disorienting cinematography for this webisode as a bold artistic choice rather than thinking of it as amateurish and embarrassing. He then leapt back, breaking into maniacal laughter with his prop gun raised in the air. Under ideal circumstances, this role might have been better suited to Ryan, but... well, they couldn't stay hung up on him forever; they had a job to do.

"Eh-heh-heh! Thanks to society, I have the urge to kill!" Neil twirled around to show off his clown costume, while just out of frame, Kevin hastily put on a wig and fake mustache. "And now... I'll kill this innocent man, who's different than the guy who was talking a minute ago!"

(It was fascinating--fascinating and dumb--how a broken mirror and a bit of blood could set him off, but something as heavy as a gun in his hand only brought him the faintest twinge of discomfort, easily ignored for the sake of making a webisode. After all, as Kevin had assured him many times over the past few months, it was the gun and its villainous weilder who were to blame for what had happened to Ryan. On an intellectual level Neil knew that was true--and besides, if he hadn't deflected that bullet, all three of them would have died. But knowing that did nothing to redirect when and why the darkness in his brain manifested.)

Now, much to Neil's surprise as he took aim with his prop gun, Kevin shouted "Cut!" and walked across the abandoned lot they were filming in to turn the camera off.

Neil lowered the gun, confused, as his costar removed his costume with that now all-too-familiar look of concern etched across his face. "What's the matter?"

"I don't know... somehow I've just got a bad feeling about this," Kevin muttered. "Maybe try firing into the air a couple times first."

Neil complied, and was met with the expected result from the prop: a couple of clicks indicating an empty chamber. "You worry too much these days, Kev," he said as he fired one more blank into the sky and then lowered the prop again. "It's not a real gun; it can't--"

As he spoke, his finger accidentally pressed the trigger again, and he broke off with a yelp at the sudden burst of pain in his right foot. He dropped the apparently very real gun with a clatter and clutched at his injured appendage, losing his balance in the process. Kevin swore under his breath and rushed forward to catch him. Before his friend could reach him, Neil's other foot came down on a wide crack in the pavement. A chill ran through him, momentarily distracting him from the throbbing pain, but it passed as quickly as it arose without seeming to trigger any effects.

"By god, what's happening to you?" Kevin exclaimed as he grabbed Neil by the shoulders and held him upright. "You've been so unlucky lately, it... it almost seems like a curse."

"A curse?" Neil stiffened, but quickly forced himself to shrug and morphed his grimace into a dismissive eye-roll. "Pfft, what are you talking about? There's no curse! I've just been, y'know, having an off-day..."

"Neil." There was that concerned look again, that almost parental tone of voice, as Kevin stared him down and tightened his grip on Neil's shoulders. "A couple hours ago you almost died, and now... you can tell something weird is going on, right? And, look--" He sighed, gaze darkening. "I don't exactly know how to fix it, but whatever's happening, I can't just sit back and watch you succumb to it. I can't lose you, too, Neil... not after..."

He trailed off with a faint warble in his voice, lowering his head. Neil gulped, a heavy weight surfacing in his chest. It was true; though he hated to admit it, at this point it was hard to deny that he was cursed. And yet, even as his foot throbbed around the spot where the bullet was lodged and his shoe was slowly stained from within by his own blood, it was hard to convince himself that he should accept help. On some level, didn't he deserve this? Wasn't this a fitting comeuppance for getting one of his friends killed?

Yet here was his other friend, clutching at him ever tighter to the point where his grip on Neil's shoulders was nearly as painful as hitting his head or getting mildly electrocuted or shooting himself in the foot. I'm not the only one who lost Ryan, he reminded himself--another thing he knew perfectly well on an intellectual level, but easy to forget in practice. Kevin is hurting too. I shouldn't make him hurt any more.

"Fine, I admit it," he sighed, letting his tensed-up shoulders slump. "I'm unlucky, okay? And if you think it's possible--" He tore the clover off his shirt and glared down at it-- "then we're going to beat this thing."

*

For as tough as the gang presented themselves, it must have been most of these people's first time in an actual fight. The vigilante swerved to avoid weak punches, clumsy kicks, poor attempts at stabbing. It all blended together after a while, and he stopped thinking of the gang members as individuals; they were just an indistinguishable swarm of insects whose attacks were easily dodged. Unimportant, save for their leader.

The vigilante had Max pinned to the floor now, holding his thrashing form in place with one arm while he brought his other fist down on the ruffian's face, over and over, as hard as he could. Not every blow connected cleanly, and Max had managed to bite him several times already, but that was irrelevant. Criminals must be brought to justice. That was why the vigilante hated these people, wasn't it? Because they were criminals. Yes, what other reason could he have, when this was all he'd ever been?

And then, just as he managed to land a blow to Max's jaw that left him defiantly spitting out blood and a couple of teeth, the vigilante's spine snapped.

It took a moment for him to register what had happened. He just heard a loud crack, and a sharp pain shot through him, and suddenly he couldn't hold his legs in place and collapsed. Max wasted no time taking advantage; he delivered a kick to the vigilante's gut that sent him flying back across the room, where he hit a wall and slumped to the ground, gasping in breathless agony. At once the other gang members closed in on him. Grimacing, the vigilante drew himself up onto his hands and knees, then braced himself against the wall and, with a far greater strain of effort than expected, dragged himself upright. By the time he'd managed to get to his feet, dozens of knives were inches away from him.

Then, to his surprise, Max pushed through to the front of the crowd and held his arms out to hold back his underlings. "Nuh-uh, this one's mine," he told them, sneering as though oblivious to the blood dribbling from between his lips. "I said I'd get him twice tomorrow, and I meant it."

The vigilante flinched as Max took a swipe at him. But rather than a fist connecting with his face, he was met only with the shock of exposure as the bully grabbed his mask and triumphantly yanked it off his face. He was left dumbfounded, blinking, as his vision readjusted to the light.

Wait a minute, I remember--

And then came the punch, square in the nose. Ryan yelped, pressing his gloved hand over his nose to stop the bleeding. When he dodged another punch, his body failed to cooperate and he crashed to the ground again, back aching furiously and heart pounding against his ribcage.

How and why his back had broken, he couldn't say, but one thing was clear: he was horrendously outmatched. Max was saying something now, gloating as he advanced on Ryan with a dagger in his hands, but Ryan couldn't make out the words over the blood rushing in his head. Why on earth had he gotten into a fight like this in the first place? What was he doing? He had to get out of there!

With that thought, yet another thing happened that Ryan didn't entirely understand. (Ryan didn't understand, but the vigilante did. It was one of the few things the vigilante knew: dissolve, reform, enact ruthless vengeance, dissolve again.) His body shuddered, and suddenly he found his solid flesh and bone giving way to a slurry of blood and ice that slipped through the cracks in the floor and disappeared. Then he was formless, freefalling through the dark, or at least that was what it felt like. When he took shape again it felt like dragging himself out of quicksand. Yet when he raised his slowly resolidifying head and looked around, he found himself in the basement of his own home, staring up at the portraits of his ancestors that had started it all.

No. Not started it all. "I had a life before this," he whispered, voice raw with the shock of memory and too many months spent speaking in an inhuman growl. "My name is Ryan, I have a life and a job and friends, I..."

Yes, that's right. Friends. Where were they? He closed his eyes and tried to remember. Each recent memory that took form in his mind was accompanied by a crashing wave of guilt and regret, and soon his body shook and tears pricked at his wrenched-shut eyes. That's right... I became a vigilante, and I teamed up with such a horrible person, let him manipulate me, all because I was too afraid to go back and apologize. And then...

The last thing he remembered, just after the flash of light and shock of paralyzing cold, was the sound of a gunshot, something shattering, and Neil screaming.

"Oh, dear god," Ryan whispered. He raised his head, opening his eyes and lowering his hands from his newly tear-stained face, and sat back on his heels as though worshipping the paintings before him. "What have I become?"

*

The ropes were just slightly too tight around Neil's limbs to be comfortable; he couldn't resist squirming a little as Kevin laid out the open bible on the end table next to his proton pack and began reading from it.

"Okay, um, let's see... ex-or-ciz-amus te, omnis immunde spiritus..." He squinted at the yellowed, faded pages, biting his lip. "Omni satanica pot-es-tas, omnis incurs--incursio infernalis adversarii... uh..."

"You're doing great," Neil called from his position tied to the bed frame; Kevin gave him a weary smile and thumbs up.

As Kevin continued reciting the verse, occasionally stumbling over a particularly tricky Latin word, the room's temperature eventually dropped a few degrees. Neil shivered, but his heartbeat picked up in excitement. He could feel something stirring in his blood like ripples on a lake, and when the furniture in the room began to quiver, so too did his body in eager anticipation.

"...Crux sacra sit mihi lux! Nunquam draco sit mihi dux..." A chill wind swept through the room; Kevin gritted his teeth, one hand pressing down on the bible to hold its pages in place while he grabbed his proton pack with the other. "Vade retro Satana! Nun-quam-suade mihi vana!"

The furniture rumbled louder. Neil's eyes widened as an entire bookcase lifted off the ground. "Kevin, watch out!"

"Hang on, Neil, I'm almost done. Uh, where was I... sunt mala quae libas..."

"No, Kevin, the--"

"Just one more line, okay? Ipse ven--"

"KEVIN!"

That last terrified yell was what it took for Kevin to finally turn, just in time to see the six-foot block of polished oak fly directly into him. Neil shrieked and thrashed against his bindings with all his might, but even if he weren't tied up, there was nothing he could have done. The bookcase came crashing down, its contents spilling out onto the floor around it in a flurry of paper. And when the dust settled, Kevin was pinned beneath it, unmoving.

"N... no..." Neil whimpered. Dread tightened like a noose around his throat as the horrible thought seeped into his mind: This is because of me. Now I've gotten them both killed.

"Oh, yes, what a tragedy... just your luck, isn't it?"

Neil's blood ran cold. He raised his head to see the translucent, smoke-shrouded figure of a giant clover looming over him. Its four leaves, dark green tipped with crimson and speckled with barnacles, opened down the middle to reveal a row of needle-sharp fangs. For a second, "Where did you come from?" was on the tip of Neil's tongue. But it was just as well that he was too terrified to speak, because no sooner than the question appeared in his mind, he realized the obvious answer. Oh, right. This is the demon that cursed me.

"Don't worry, your friend is alive... for now," the demon jeered. "But that could change. It's so easy for accidents to happen, you know?"

As if to demonstrate, the demon's leaves fluttered and suddenly a fire sprang up dangerously close to the scattered pile of books on the floor. When Neil screamed in protest, the demon laughed, and part of the ceiling gave in, sending down a controlled shower of debris to put out the fire before anything flammable could catch.

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Neil exclaimed with a shake of his head; he'd be almost exasperated if he weren't so terrified. "You're really powerful and want to hurt people, geez, not exactly a challenging concept. So, what do I have to do?"

That question seemed to give the demon pause. "...Do?"

"You know, to appease you or whatever. If you're threatening me with Kevin's life, then there must be something you want from me, right?" An idea occurred to Neil just then, and his already hammering heart beat even harder, to the point where he hoped the demon couldn't hear it and tell how freaked out he was. "Hey, it must suck having to be a clover. What if a lawnmower or forest fire had gotten to you before I did? And if you like hurting people so much..." He paused, smirking as the demon leaned toward him with obvious interest. "Wouldn't it be easier just to possess my whole body instead of wasting time messing with my luck?"

"That's..." The demon hesitated, its leaves curling up in what looked like excitement. "Ah. Ah-ha-ha! You're a clever little mortal, aren't you?"

"But don't get it twisted," he put in, glaring defiantly up at the demon despite hardly being in a position to threaten anyone. "You have to promise not to hurt anyone else. Especially not Kevin."

"It's a deal!"

Before Neil could stop and reconsider whether this was really a good idea, the demon dove toward him, row of fangs wide open as though it were going to bite his head off. He flinched a split-second before something cold and stinging like nettles clamped around him.

When he opened his eyes again, the world was tinted dark green as if viewed through a dingy screen, his head felt hazy... and he couldn't move, at least not of his own volition. Even opening his eyes just then wasn't his decision. He heard himself cackle, felt his arms and legs flex far harder than he'd known he was physically capable of flexing, breaking the ropes that bound him to the bed frame and setting his body free to do whatever the demon wanted.

"Hah..." the demon muttered in his voice as it made him walk over to where Kevin lay, still trapped and unconscious. The demon knelt down and poked experimentally at Kevin's shoulder and forearm. "This one has more muscle. It might have been a better choice for possession, if it wasn't so damaged already..."

For one petrifying moment, the demon grabbed Kevin's head and stared intently at him, stretching Neil's face into a grin so wide it made his whole face ache, and Neil's mind raced with horrible thoughts of things the demon might make his own hands inflict upon his poor helpless friend. But the demon simply laughed and dropped Kevin, who let out a low groan as his head lolled to the side--an indication that at least he really was still alive. But all of a sudden Neil had trouble believing that small mercy was really worth it.

"Ah, well, this body will do," the demon decided. "Let's take it out on the town and see how long it lasts!"

*

This time when the vigilante materialized in Wendy's room, she did little more than roll her eyes and move to grab her baseball bat. However, rather than try to attack her or even growl out any threats, the vigilante took two shaky steps and then collapsed, catching himself against her dresser. Wendy's eyes widened as she took a closer look at his face. His mask was off now, revealing a pair of striking blue eyes glistening with obvious distress, cheeks flushed with exertion, and a streak of half-dried blood running from his bruised nose. And when he spoke, it wasn't in the gravelly tone she'd heard from him before, but in a quiet higher-pitched voice--almost a whimper.

"Please... tell me..."

Wendy hung back, caught between a sharp tug of sympathy in her heart and a very rational wariness based on their previous encounter. The vigilante tried to walk again, and again nearly fell; his face wrenched up and he let out a pained hiss. At that, sympathy won out over rationality. Wendy edged toward him with her baseball bat in hand, and when she was close enough, held it out to him.

"Hey, uh... here. It's not exactly medically sanctioned, but maybe you could use this like a cane?"

"Oh... good idea, thank you!" He broke into a grin, and Wendy shivered; somehow he was far scarier when his eyes were bright and cheerful. "Terribly sorry for how I treated you last time, by the way. I really wasn't myself."

"Uh-huh?" While the vigilante tested out the makeshift cane, Wendy sat down on her bed, arms crossed. "And who are you, anyway?"

"I'm Ryan... or at least I think I still am." His smile faltered, and he looked away, anxiously running a hand through his hair. It was starting to come unpinned, and his hat was askew; evidently he'd been through a lot in the few hours it had been since their first encounter. "It's been... strange, lately. I don't think I'm entirely human anymore, if I ever was. But I came back here because there's something I want to understand."

"You want to know why I ghosted your friend?" It was just a guess, but Ryan nodded; Wendy smiled privately to herself for having figured it out. "Alright, I can tell you..."

She uncrossed her arms and leaned back on her bed, thinking back to the disastrous date she'd gone on several months prior. It was a story she'd recited many times to friends, relatives, other first dates as sort of a half-joking warning ("So, as long as you don't blow it as much as that guy did, we should be good...") and the more she told it, the more warped and exaggerated it became within her memory. But when she really thought back on it now, it hadn't been so disastrous at all--pretty damn awkward, sure, but not even close to the worst date she'd been on.

"Kevin actually seemed really sweet," she recalled, smiling despite herself at the memory of his big dorky grin. "I would have gone on a second date with him. But then, first thing the next morning, I read in the news that some guy got arrested right outside the restaurant while we were on our date. And the criminal's name? Neil. Same name as the 'friend' Kevin had said was helping him out." She shrugged, lips twisting into a frown. "I just got kinda freaked out, you know? Like, 'oh geez, did I go on a date with a drug dealer or serial killer or something?' Of course it probably wasn't anything that serious, and pretending to be dead was probably an overreaction, but... well, what's done is done."

Wendy was so caught up in her own memories as she explained all this that she wasn't really observing Ryan's reactions. Once she concluded her story, she glanced over to find him sitting on the floor with his legs tucked up awkwardly beneath him, the baseball bat in his lap; he was staring at the floor, expression unreadable. He stayed like that for a long moment, not seeming to notice that Wendy had stopped talking, until she cleared her throat. Then he jumped to attention, eyes flashing like those of a woodland cryptid in headlights.

"Ah! Yes, of course... well, I still don't entirely understand, but I think I resent you less now." Ryan tilted his head and shot her another shiver-inducing grin. (Whether it was supposed to be threatening or not, she had no idea.) "And you're right; I almost forgot--we're all criminals too, Neil and probably even Kevin and especially myself! So how can I be a vigilante?" He answered his own rhetorical question with a shake of his head, manic grin softening into a melancholy smile. "It's ridiculous. I've been so foolish."

With that, his body began to ripple, losing a little of its solidity. But before he could break apart and dissolve through the floorboards like last time, a chirpy little beep-beep-beedle-beep noise rang out. Ryan's eyebrows shot up, and he glanced down at an accessory around his wrist... Wait, is that one of those communicator watches like the one Kevin had?

If it was, Ryan wasn't quick to answer it. He simply stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, at the beeping device in silence. Although she knew even less about Ryan than she knew about his apparently only slightly more normal friends, and she didn't normally care to get too involved in the personal affairs of strangers, he was still in the middle of Wendy's bedroom. And the longer that little jingle repeated, the more annoying it got. So she cleared her throat again and asked, in as polite a tone as she could manage given the circumstances,

"So, are you gonna answer that, or what?"

*

It was a stupid, pointless idea. Not an idea at all, really. Just the last scraps of... not even hope, that was pretty much deplenished at the moment, but effort. The effort not to let everything fall apart even further than it already had.

Kevin had woken with a throbbing pain throughout pretty much his whole body. Judging by the crushing weight pressing down on his torso, he was lucky to have woken up at all. The only parts of him not pinned down were his head and right arm, and even those hurt to move, though at least the spinning in his head put some degree of separation between himself and his broken body. Forget about trying to wriggle free when it hurt just to breathe.

So there he was, stuck, the shelf slowly crushing the air out of him, and Neil was gone. Where to, he didn't know. When he craned his neck he could see the empty bed frame, and the ropes broken and discarded at the foot of it. The bible he'd gotten from Ryan's house was facedown beside the tipped-over end table, next to a crushed and twisted lump of metal and plastic that he was horrified to recognize as his beloved proton pack. So wherever Neil was now, he must have still been cursed... or worse. And there was nothing Kevin could do about it.

Unless. Grimacing at the way his joints twinged, he raised his unpinned arm above his head. There on his wrist, perfectly intact despite everything he'd been through, was his communicator wristwatch. In all the hubbub of that day, he'd never gotten around to mentioning them to Neil, so his friend wouldn't be wearing his. But what if...?

It was stupid. It was pointless. There was no way in hell. But it was the only thing he could do. In a display so lacking in dignity that he was grateful nobody was around to see it, Kevin used his teeth and tongue for lack of a free hand to dial in the frequency and send off a signal. The watch's screen flashed in affirmation; he let his head flop against the floor with a weary sigh. Now all he could do was wait.

When he was at Ryan's house going through his things, and he found those communicator wristwatches, he'd only found two of them. And although that could have meant a dozen different things, there was just one wild, far-fetched possibility that any last semblance of hope now rested upon: that the third watch was missing because Ryan was alive, and he was still wearing his.

He didn't expect to get a response. By the time he did, he was struggling to stay awake--funny thing, trying to breathe with fifty pounds of wood pressed directly on your chest really takes it out of you. But he snapped to attention, or the closest he could get when his head was swimming and his body was beginning to go numb from lack of circulation, the moment he heard that voice crackling through the speaker.

"H-hello? Kevin?"

The relief that coursed through his veins was so overwhelming, especially on top of everything else, that he could only laugh--only for it to quickly turn into hacking as his ribs offered a sharp jab of protest. He raised his sleeve to wipe away a streak of blood that dribbled from his lips before speaking into the watch.

"Ryan. Where are you?" He regretted wasting time with that question the moment he asked it; he could tell from the way his organs felt like they were curling in on themselves as he spoke that he didn't have the energy for a full conversation. So before Ryan could stammer out a proper response, Kevin continued: "Neil is in trouble. You've gotta help him."

"What?" The shrill uptick of anxiety in Ryan's voice was palpable, and even just hearing that voice in and of itself stirred up a whole miasma of feelings that there was no time to properly react to. "What's going on? Are you okay? You sound--"

"I'm fine," Kevin lied through gritted teeth. "And... I don't know exactly where Neil is, but I know he's in trouble." A choking mix of emotions and his own blood swelled in his throat as his slowly blurring gaze wandered to the facedown bible. "I've tried to do some stuff today that I couldn't do without you. I-- we need you, Ryan. So, please... help."

With that final plea, something broke within him like a dam that he hadn't even realized was cracking. His arm flopped to the ground, wrist landing near his ear, where the communicator watch kept emitting Ryan's voice as it slowly rose in pitch until he was almost shouting. But even as his friend called frantically out to him, Kevin found it harder to make out the words. He groaned, letting his head loll to the side and his eyes fall shut. The last sensation he was aware of as darkness closed around him was that there was something wet on his face.

*

"Kevin, are you still there? Hello? Kevin!"

He wasn't responding. Why wouldn't he be responding, if the situation was so urgent? Maybe because he couldn't respond. Because he was--

"What are you going to do?" Wendy's voice cut into the swirl of panic Ryan was rapidly descending into. She hovered over his shoulder, peering down at the watch with wide, anxious eyes. The watch's screen had gone dark. No signal. Yes, indeed, what to do?

"What else? I have to save Neil."

If Kevin didn't know where Neil was, then there was no way that Ryan should have been able to instantly find him. But when he closed his eyes and let his vigilante instincts take over, he found that he didn't have to know where someone was. Whatever dark magic was infused in him now, letting him exist in this not-quite-human state even after what should by all accounts have been his death, it was hardwired for vengeance. And saving Neil meant exacting vigilante justice on whoever or whatever was harming him. With that in mind, the vigilante dissolved in a flurry of blood-tinted ice and reformed seconds later in the place it somehow knew it needed to be.

The first thing Ryan noticed when he appeared on the rooftop was the storm brewing overhead. He raised his eyebrows at that; earlier that day there hadn't been a cloud in the sky--and for that matter, when he looked around, it appeared that most of the sky was still perfectly clear, with the storm clouds being localized around this building. The second thing he noticed, upon peering over the edge of the roof, was that he wasn't on just any rooftop, but a skyscraper that towered above every other building in the vicinity. Lastly, he noticed a flagpole at the far corner of the rooftop, several feet away from him. And that was when his gaze fell upon Neil.

Neil was laughing as he swayed back and forth, clad in a brightly patterned jacket that wasn't his usual style at all, his arms and legs wrapped tight around the tall metal pole. Above him, the dark clouds lit up in a flash, followed almost instantly by a rumble of thunder. Although these particular stormclouds didn't come with rain, Ryan shivered. An incredulous exclamation was on the tip of his tongue (What on earth are you doing, stop it, you'll be killed!) when Neil locked eyes with Ryan, and he realized with a jolt of horror that this wasn't Neil at all--his body, yes, but someone or something else was controlling it. His mouth was stretched into a grin far wider than what a human face could normally achieve, and rather than their usual brown, his eyes glowed a sickly shade of green.

"Why, if it isn't my dear friend Ryan!" Neil--or whatever was piloting him--called, raising one arm off the pole in an exaggerated wave. "Oh boy, the guy I got this body from is sure surprised to see you alive! And as much as I'd love to send you plummeting off the edge of this building, I did promise not to hurt anyone else, so..." He waved his hand in a circle, unnaturally glowing eyes crinkling with amusement. "How about instead I pull you in a little closer so you can get a nice good look when your friend's body fries?"

With that, a sudden gust of wind blew into Ryan from behind, sending him stumbling forward. When he attempted to regain his footing, his broken spine betrayed him once again and he flopped to the ground with an undignified oof just a few feet away from the base of the flagpole. Grimacing, he pushed himself up and crawled the remaining short distance to grab Neil's ankle. As he did so, he noticed there was a bloodstained hole in his friend's shoe, and that his pant leg was slightly damp and already bore a few singe marks. Between that and whatever had happened to Kevin... he shuddered at the thought of what his friends had gone through in his absence.

"Nice try, vigilante," the thing in Neil's body jeered. "But I've gotta say, you don't pose much of a threat since I broke your spine."

He stomped his other foot down on Ryan's hand; Ryan yelped and instinctively released his grip. And at the very instant he let go, in such perfectly unlucky timing that only a supernatural entity could orchestrate, the stormclouds above them opened up with a searing, crackling, blindingly bright lighting strike.

Neil tilted his head back and laughed at the top of his lungs as countless volts of electricity tore through him. That horrendous laughter drowned out Ryan's screams of protest, not that there was anything he could do anyway in his current state, when he couldn't so much as get to his feet. All he could do was lay there and gape in horror as Neil's body shuddered and his flesh began to sizzle and burn.

Though it felt like an eternity of torture, the lightning strike couldn't have lasted for more than a few seconds. When it ended, Neil dropped like a ragdoll into Ryan's arms. Ryan, too stricken to even check for a pulse, simply stared blankly into his friend's glazed-over eyes. Then Neil blinked, and his eyes were glowing green again, and he laughed, the sound rougher now that it was being produced by a charred set of lungs.

"Ah-ha-ha-ha! I wasn't expecting this body to survive that! Can you believe Neil is still kicking in here?" He tapped a finger against his head, then sat up with a playful kick of his legs. "...Or is he? It would be just like a demon to lie, wouldn't it?" He grabbed Ryan's chin with his burnt and blackened fingernails and forcefully tilted his head up so their gazes met. "You can't tell, can you, vigilante? So, how hard are you willing to throw your broken body around to try and save someone who might already be toast? Maybe you should just give up and go on with your day, hmm?"

While the demon taunted him, Ryan's mind raced to concoct a plan. Some miraculous last-minute solution that would fix everything... Neil would be able to think of one. Perhaps he already had. But that wouldn't do them any good when Neil was trapped and helpless within his own mind. If this really was a demon, and a powerful one at that, the only thing that might work was an impromptu exorcism.

"Crux sacra sit mihi lux! Nunquam draco sit mihi dux! Vade retro Satana!" Reciting the passage from memory as rapidly as he could without tripping over his tongue, Ryan grabbed Neil by the wrists and held him tight while he hissed and tried to jerk away. "Nunquamsuade mihi vana! Sunt mala quae libas. Ipse venena bibas!"

An ungodly noise somewhere between a shriek and a roar erupted from Neil as he tossed his head back and convulsed. It was far too visually similar for comfort to his electrocution less than a minute prior, and Ryan wondered if the demon was doing it that way on purpose in an attempt to scare him into stopping. If so, it wouldn't work. Even if this process was as painful for Neil as it was for the demon possessing him, it had to be done.

Sure enough, as the final line of the chant echoed across the rooftop, Neil shuddered and slumped to the ground next to Ryan. When their gazes met this time, the demonic glow was gone, but Neil was breathing fast and shallow and his eyes were wide with lingering terror.

"Ryan," he whispered. "You're... alive."

"I think so," he replied with a tentative smile. "It's all a little confusing. But we're going to be okay now, Neil."

However, no sooner had those words left his mouth than Neil stiffened up again, eyes momentarily flashing green. "No," he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head as if to dispel the demon's grasp. "Not yet. Still gotta... get rid of it..." He grabbed Ryan's hands and held them desperately tight, like a scared child clinging to their parent or older sibling. His eyes flashed once more, and this time when the glow faded, his face bore a strained smile. "I've got an idea. Ryan, don't freak out."

And with that, before Ryan could process what was happening and reach out to stop him, Neil sprung to his feet and took a running leap off the edge of the building.

*

For a while now, Neil had been having unusually vivid dreams. They weren't always nightmares, but they often were. Dreams about different worlds, different realities, different lives. Ones where him and Kevin and Ryan weren't all friends. Or worse, ones where they still were, but that wasn't enough to save them. One of those recent dreams, which began as an exciting fantasy only to devolve into a nightmare, was about some kind of flying vehicle. Ever since having that dream, Neil had made two vows to himself. Firstly, that as soon as he gathered the funds to afford it, he'd go back to school and complete his aeronautical engineering degree. Secondly, to always carry a parachute, just in case.

But the demon possessing him had no way of knowing that, now did it? And it wouldn't want to still be trapped inside a host body that was splattered all over the pavement. That was what Neil was banking on, at least. Otherwise he might really be in trouble.

As he fell, a stinging sensation rippled through his body. He shuddered, yet there was a smile on his face--no longer a grin stretched unnaturally wide, but an expression of his own volition--and his heart pounded not with terror but with exhilaration and boundless relief. Sure enough, the demon leapt forth from him and departed in a swirl of green smoke. And with it gone, he wasted no time in engaging the parachute--just in time to slow his acceleration enough that the fall wouldn't kill him.

Admittedly, he didn't exactly come down gracefully. He landed in a tangle of limbs and fabric that he had to shrug off the borrowed jacket, parachute and all, in order to escape, and the landing was just rough enough to deliver a painful reminder of the electrical burns covering the better part of his body. Still, Neil couldn't stop grinning as he gingerly picked himself up and dusted himself off. He was alive and no longer possessed; that was a win in his book.

When he craned his neck to look up at the roof, he thought he saw Ryan still sitting there. Neil grimaced as he recalled what the demon had said about breaking Ryan's back; hopefully that injury was undone with the demon being vanquished, but since Neil's injuries were still there, maybe that wasn't so. Either way, he couldn't just leave his friend up there alone.

As quickly as he could run with a bullet wound in his foot, he entered the building and took the closest elevator to the rooftop. But by the time the elevator chimed and its doors slid open, the rooftop was abandoned, with no sign of Ryan save for an abandoned hat, cape, and gloves, and a slowly fading dark red stain.

*

If Kevin hadn't already been surprised to wake up alive the first time, he sure as hell was now. The only reason he knew he was alive at all was the deep, persistent ache that wracked practically his entire body. That, and the warmth of the hand laid atop his own.

Forcing his eyes open with a pained groan, he turned his head to see the man sitting at his bedside. Ryan squeezed his hand and flashed him a sad smile when their eyes met. His vigilante costume was gone, traded for a simple dress shirt and tie, and his hair fell unpinned around his visibly tired face; the chair he sat in, upon closer inspection, was an old-fashioned wheelchair.

With some effort, Kevin pushed himself into a sitting position. Looking around, he found that he was laying on the couch in the living room with his chest bandaged. How Ryan had managed to pull him out from beneath the bookcase, he had no idea, but he sure wasn't going to complain about it.

"Ryan, you... you're hurt?" It was a stupid question--why else would he be in a wheelchair? "Did the demon...?"

"It's gone now," Ryan responded. "But..." His gaze lowered, and he dropped his hands into his lap to fidget with the blanket draped over his legs. "It was a costly victory, I'm afraid. In order to defeat the demon, Neil--"

His tearful speech was interrupted by the distant bang of the front door being thrown open.

"Geez, you could've told me you were going straight home!" Neil's indignant voice rang out down the hall. "I wandered all over town looking for you."

Ryan's head snapped up, and he and Kevin turned in unison to see their friend running toward them with a slightly crooked gait. With a cry of joyous disbelief, Ryan opened his arms, and Neil tackled him in an embrace that nearly sent him toppling over; Kevin had to lean forward to grab the back of Ryan's chair to keep him upright as he and Neil clung to each other.

"Neil, you're alive! I-I thought..."

"It's okay, Ryan," said Neil. Then, pulling back and glancing at Kevin with a melancholy smile: "I think we're all going to be okay."

*

"So, what do you think?"

As the ending credits rolled on their latest webisode, Neil and Kevin turned to face Ryan with matching expectant grins.

"Well..." Ryan drummed his fingers against the keys of the laptop and tried to think of something positive to say. "The costumes you used were a lot more fashionable than usual--wait, hold on. Weren't those my clothes?"

They were in Kevin's truck parked outside the studio's headquarters, with Neil in the passenger seat and Ryan in the back. It had taken a little over a week for them to recover to the point where they could comfortably climb inside a vehicle, let alone Kevin being able to actually drive, and the studio had already sent them several notes warning them that their pay would be docked for submitting their webisode behind schedule.

"Ah, yeah, sorry about that," Kevin muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"To be fair, if he hadn't broken into your house and stolen a bunch of stuff from you, he couldn't have called you on your communicator watch," Neil interjected cheerfully. "Or tried to do an exorcism... but I guess that didn't really work out for him anyway."

"Hey, c'mon, it wasn't stealing!" Kevin gave Neil a gentle shove, prompting him to briefly wince but laugh anyway. "If we'd known you were still alive, we wouldn't have taken your stuff, Ryan, honest."

"Ah, I'll have to remember that for next time," Ryan quipped. He closed the laptop and handed it back to Neil, who tucked it away inside an oversized shoulder bag. "Well, that may not have been the best webisode we've made, but I can tell you two did your best."

"Yeah, it'll be way better once we get back to making them as a trio," Neil said.

It was still amazing to Ryan that his friends were so quick to accept him back after all he'd done. If anything, it made him feel worse about his prolonged absence, because he knew now that he could have come back at any point and they would have been glad to have him. It was easy to fall into regret when thinking of all that had gone wrong, and all that could easily have gone even worse. But the fact was, they were together again now--altered by what they'd gone through, and not entirely for the better, but still themselves.

And despite it all, the preceding events and the possibility that another horrible thing could happen to them in the future, he found himself agreeing with Neil's hopeful statement.

"Indeed..." Ryan reached out and took Neil and Kevin's hands in his own. They smiled back at him with the same residual traces of relief in their eyes that Ryan had felt every so often over the past week--relief that they were still there to smile at each other. "Gentlemen, I look forward to working with you again."

¤--END--¤

[zippiestdraws]

Choking Curiosity ch 11

ftm reader x Michael Myers

Read on ao3

This weekend you were ready to splurge at the goodwill. You desperately needed to get some furniture, not having a couch, kitchen table, or even a bed frame is starting to get old.

You almost considered enlisting Michael’s help to lift the couch inside until Quentin came through for the price of pizza delivery.

Sweat drying, the two of you sit at the table after disassembling and assembling it to fit through the front door with two pies to reward the effort. You have finally declared all the structural repairs done.

“So what are you going to do with this place, now that it’s not falling apart?,” Quentin asks around a mouthful.

“Try to make it less ugly, for the most part.” You look around at the severely outdated kitchen that definitely won’t be getting an upgrade. “Just gonna slap some paint on it until I get a better job, really.”

“I think you should turn it into a party house.” he laughs at the idea, “or you could get some roommates. Are you going back to school here?”

Your stomach turns a little bit. You’ve only been living day by day so far, not knowing what the future held or what you wanted. 

“I don’t know yet.” a noncommittal answer, but he nods. The roommate comment nearly makes you choke on your food, you don’t acknowledge it and hope he hasn’t seen the extra toothbrush in the bathroom.

It’s silent as you eat until you both sit back and stretch, exhaustion settling in while you digest.

“You should get a TV, or at least a radio, it must be so boring in an empty house.”

He’s right, even with a library card it can be hard to pass the time, especially alone. 

Well, almost alone.

When Quentin leaves, you lock the door behind him and head back to clean up the leftovers. Unexpectedly, Michael is there standing over the table eating pizza like he hasn’t eaten in days. You don’t know where he was hiding while you had company, but he sure came quick for food.

This is the first time you’ve seen anything underneath the mask, the tip of his nose peeking out from underneath the lifted latex, but you can’t help but laugh a little because there’s pizza sauce smeared all over his face like a child trying to eat ice cream.

Realizing you’re present, he stiffens for a moment, but slowly relaxes before sitting and continuing to eat under your gaze. You see his blue eye watching you back intensely. 

You try not to let him know you’re staring, but now that your curiosity is piqued, your eyes are starting to wander.You want to know what his hair looks like, after spending so long knowing him as his mask, it’s a bit of a disconnect. 

You’ve been denying yourself, but you’re going to have to accept that you find him attractive, now that you find your eyes tracing his jawline and down to admire his chest. You look back up, and Michael’s still watching you. 

His face gives away nothing as he finishes the last slice.

***

You don’t know if it’s the presence of furniture that makes the difference, but Michael has begun to hang out around the house more often than before. You’d never admit it outloud, but you’ve come to enjoy his company in a domestic sense, even if he’s not a big talker.

It’s been a while since he’s come home with... evidence on him and for that you’re grateful. You may be screwed up enough to let a serial killer live in your house, but you’re not so far gone that you can ignore what he’s done. Every day with him your excuses get thinner.

Quentin’s comment on boredom nags at you again. You look at Michael sitting in the bare bones living room with his book.

“Hey, Michael.” you enter gingerly, his head turns towards you. “Do you like to read?”

The question hangs in the air as soon as you say it, so you elaborate.

“I was thinking, since you were interested in the sign language book, I can pick some more up for you when I return it.”

You really hope he’ll let you return it on time.

His shoulders rise and then fall slowly, surprising you with a shrug before he returns to the page.

You also wanted to ask what he thought about movies but it looks like the conversation is over.

He’s still in the same spot when you leave for work and something within you begs for a reaction. You pause just in view of the couch he’s on and turn slightly back.

“Michael, will you ever show me your face one day?”

The way he returns your look is almost like you’ve taken him off-guard.

You take your leave, waving to Abtin on your way to work, hoping you didn’t impulsively step over the line.

***

Work started out bad and it seemed to just get worse. When you arrived you were immediately put on cleanup duty in aisle number five where somebody lost their lunch, afterwards for the next seven hours it seemed that every customer came to relieve their anger issues on you over expired coupons, and to top it all off, a group of kids decided to play football with an egg carton and fumbled it into you as soon as you turned the corner.

Eggs and shell dripped from your shirt for the rest of your shift and the walk home, leaving you already tacky and frustrated before opening the door.

The acrid smell of smoke curls your nostrils when you step inside.

“Michael?”

The door shuts behind you and you hurry to the kitchen on tired legs. A pan sits on the stovetop in disarray and what looks like burnt bread litters the ground. Michael is nowhere to be found.

I guess a cookbook for dummies from the library is next. 

You throw the pan in the sink. On closer inspection, of course it would be eggs blackened to the metal. You guess that makes the scorched bread everywhere toast, which strikes you as weird considering you don’t have a toaster.

You can’t be bothered with the mess and head upstairs to take a shower.

***

Pulling pajamas over your wet skin, you jump when you see Michael standing in your peripheral, almost like a child both trying to hide and get someone’s attention at the same time.

“I would appreciate it if you would at least clean up after yourself in the kitchen next time.” the day’s annoyances resurface in your tone. 

It slowly registers when you look at him that his jumpsuit is spattered with blood. He hardly gives you a chance to react, taking wide steps and breaching the gap between you and holding his hand up to your face.

You look to his face, confused, and then back to his hand, furrowing your brows before you see what he’s trying to show you. Decent sized burns litter his fingers, a few blisters already bubbling to the surface. 

You think back and presume it’s from holding bread over the gas stove.

Sighing, you lead him tiredly to the bathroom and have him sit on the toilet while you dig in the cabinet for the first aid kit.

All too fast, but also excruciatingly slow, you take out the burn cream and gently rub it over his fingers, looking to his eyes multiple times to see if you’re causing pain.

His hand holds inhumanely still while you wrap the gauze, how large it is compared to yours dawning as you apply the medical tape.

“You really should have cleaned up before wrapping it, but don’t pop the blisters or they can get infected.” you lecture while piling everything back into the white box it came from.

You stash it away and find him still staring at his injured hand, unmoving. You stand in front of the sink awkwardly eyeing him.

“What do you want me to do? Kiss it better?” you snort, trying to ease the tension.

Michael turns at the statement to look at you, blinking before his hands slowly move up to the neck of his mask.

You watch in awe as he timidly peels his mask off.

[skvaderarts]

Chapter Thirteen: Matronymic

Masterlist can be found Here! Thanks!

Note: Thanks for all the kind comments! I loved talking to you guys!

The peaceful sound of waves hitting the shoreline was shattered by the sound of children laughing as Kyle, Carlo and Julio darted about, kicking up sand and generally causing mayhem. Nero chased after them, earnestly pretending that he couldn't keep up with them. It was debatable if he was actually faking it when he stopped mid way and bent over, complaining that he'd hit his foot on a rock. The children kept their distance, not willing to take the chance that he might be kidding and risk being snatched and carted off. After recovering from his supposed injury, the young devil hunter hightailed it after the children again, unwilling to allow too much distance to form between him and the kids. Despite the fact that the two older children could actually swim, he still felt the need to keep an eye on them. And Carlo had to be watched intently. He was thrilled to spend time with them like this for once. Most of the time Nero was so busy that he didn't get to just spend a day with the children without some sort of interruption. No one was at fault in this circumstance, but it still pained him at times that he couldn't just sit and enjoy the children while they were still… children.

From the edge of the boardwalk several yards behind them, Vergil stood with his back to the road. The darkslayer hadn't strayed from his place at the edge of the boardwalk, the shadow of a large, healthy tree of some sort casting ample shade and shielding him from the harsh rays of the sun. It wasn't particularly hot there, but Vergil had spent enough time in the intense heat of the underworld to have grown tired of its influence. He'd adapted to it and accepted it as a reality of his existence, but tolerating and enjoying were two totally different things. He tolerated Nero's slights against him. He enjoyed smiting his enemies. They were different matters entirely.

Just a few feet behind him, V approached. He eyed the sandy expanse in front of him with an unreadable look in his eyes, his soft green orbs casting a shadow of their own between where he currently stood and the water. His eyes lingered longer than they probably should have before he averted his gaze towards his shoulder bag. It was still in Vergil's possession, and he would have to retrieve it at some point in the near future. After all, he'd brought it with him from their hotel room for a reason. His belongings served him no purpose while they were inaccessible inside of their carrying case.

Dante waved at them over his shoulder as he passed by, heading towards the water where Nero currently was. Vergil allowed himself to consider what his twin might be up to given the careful effort he seemed to be putting into sneaking up on Nero, but it didn't take much to come to the conclusion that it was probably something silly and childish. But the more that the oldest Son of Sparda watched his twin carry out whimsical episodes of youthful stupidity, the more that it occurred to him that there was something… hollow about it. It was as though he had constructed some sort of mask or wall to hide something behind. Vergil himself had done so for years, so it wasn't exactly difficult for him to pick up on after long periods of exposure to his younger doppelganger. What he didn't comprehend was the purpose behind it. What could Dante be concealing from everyone, especially from his older twin? It perplexed the blue devil to no end, though he tended to not try and dwell on it. There would be plenty of time and then some to get to the bottom of what was going on with his younger sibling. 

One thing was for certain however.

Something had changed in Dante during his absence. 

He was not the same carefree teenager that he had once been. And the more he tried to ignore that, the more it bothered him. In a way, Dante seemed… tired to him. It was a sentiment that they both shared. But what had happened to trigger such a drastic tonal switch in him. Dante had once been hyperactive and reckless, going so far as to do rash and insane things with little thought or planning. It had always been a stark contrast to how Vergil went about his own goals. But Vergil couldn't help but notice that as they got older, they seemed less and less different. They were closer now than ever, but their minds were miles apart. He couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly, but Dante just seemed distant to him now, even when they were close to one another. It wasn't as if he were avoiding him outright, but he was definitely avoiding something about Vergil or something relating to their relationship with one another. For now, all Vergil could do was speculate as he waited for V to join him. And he was determined to hate every second of it.

V joined him a moment later, opting to sit on the bench that was connected to the railing. He faced the road quietly, glancing over his shoulder at the beach behind him. Although he was still near Vergil, he had purposely put distance between them. At the end of the day, the white haired summoner needed his space, but there was more to it than that. He'd spend a considerable amount of time over the last day or so considering what Magnolia had said to him the other day in her home. She had made a valid point. But he couldn't put aside Vergil's past transgressions as easily as he would have liked to, regardless of home much mental energy he spent on it. The harder he tried to move on from his unfortunate history with his father, the harder he dwelled on it. It was as if he were caught on a snare and the only way he could break loose would be to sever the part of him that was caught in the trap, but he couldn't see what was caught in it. He was only capable of reaching out in the dark, blinded and suffering but unable to do anything to fix it despite the fact that he was willing to do what was necessary to rectify the situation.

In truth, it was exhausting.

He felt as crippled mentally as he did physically. 

Perhaps even more so.

A short distance away, Dante sprang his trap. Nero was in the process of trying to wrangle his mischievous children together in one spot so that they would prove less difficult to keep an eye on. As such, the young devil hunter had his back to Dante and was none the wiser that he was present, leaving the older hunter an opening to enact his clever plan. With quite literally no forewarning whatsoever, Dante caught Nero under the arms and he was going to lean over and give the children a stern talking to. The younger of the to floundered instantly, in exactly the wrong position to try and deliver any sort of meaningful counter attack. Dante then snickered and flung him several feet into the ocean water, garnering hysterical laughter from the children. They had seen his approach and had opted not to tip their adoptive father off to his arrival. Although they hadn't spent a ton of time with their new uncle, they were aware that he tended to do things they found funny to Nero. And that was enough to guarantee their cooperation. So long as Dante kept them entertained, they were happy to be his partners in crime. And he was happy to oblige their request. Pestering Nero was truly one of his favorite pastimes.

Nero hit the water with a loud smack, indicating that he had landed less than gracefully. But then again, he hadn't really been given the option to do so in the first place. Dante joined the children, bending over and placing his hands on his knees as he cackled hysterically. Was he fully aware that his beloved nephew was probably going to sneak out of his hotel room when the children fell asleep tonight to skin him alive. Yes. Did he really care that much? Well, there were stupider ways to die. At least it would be at the hands of someone he liked. In retrospect, he wasn't sure if that was better or worse… 

"Dante what the fuck is your problem!?" Nero shouted with as much air as his lungs could scrounge up as he broke the surface of the water. The children might have been impressed with Dante's inhuman display of physical strength and sneakiness, but the younger devil hunter most certainly was not," You just wait! I'm gonna get your ass!"

The more experienced devil hunter folded his arms across his chest and chuckled slightly, raising his eyebrows. He was as unimpressed as he was unworried. At the end of the day, Dante knew that Nero couldn't do anything to him out in the open within the line of sight of so many pedestrians. Until they went back to the hotel, he was totally in the clear. And he planned to capitalize on that.

"Oh, I'm sorry… Kid. You looked a little hot. Thought you might be suffering from heatstroke, so I thought I'd help ya cool off," With much effort, Dante managed to contain the shiteating grin that attempted to spread across his lips as he spoke. One he was sure that Nero's white hot furry had reached a literal boiling point, he turned in the direction of the kids,"Don't repeat anything he just said. I'm pretty sure your mom would like that. But if you slip up, I'll back you up when you blame him. That sound good?"

The children nodded. They had absolutely no reason to rebel against that plan. What child in their right mind, even one who didn't really understand what was going on, would turn down a free get out of jail card with an infinite expiration date? Dante took a step away from the water and was caught off guard as Nero lunged forward and grabbed him, using his redirected body weight to throw them both into the water. The children erupted into another fit of laughter, still unsure as to what on earth was going on. Thankfully, they were too young to be able to identify attempted murder. Nero didn't need any witnesses in the event of a court case.

From across the soft, white sands of the beach, Vergil shook his head. As far as he was concerned, the heat had gotten to his younger twin. Nero had an explosive personality if his experience with him was anything to go by, so he couldn't fathom what had to be going through his head to decide to do something like that. That being said, he wasn't going to condone the murder of his idiotic twin. No. Dante had to continue to live and suffer his presence. It was the ultimate form of punishment.

V let slip a soft chuckle, smirking at the scene unfolding before them. He was starting to see where Nero got his more playful side from. Dante's personality was largely forign to him. They hadn't interacted extensively during the Redgrave City incident, and before that, they had never met. Slowly but surely he was educating himself on the members of his family. But Dante was… challenging. One could only hope that Dante didn't attempt to fling him into the bay like that. Things would take a decidedly negative turn quite rapidly if he did so.

"They seem to be enjoying themselves," Vergil said with a slight shake of his head. He closed his eyes for a moment as his mind tried to refocus on the task at hand," It's truly a wonder that he's managed to live this long. I'm almost impressed."

"Satisfaction isn't in your nature, it seems. I can't imagine that you were always like this," V said as he attempted to scoot over and out of the sun. The light breeze had picked up and turned into a mild wind, shifting the angle of the shade," Though I do advise you against doing something like that to me."

With a slight tilt of his head, Vergil adjusted his gaze. He gave V an unreadable look, but was unsure of how to react when V seemed to dismiss it all together. That wasn't something he was accustomed to. "... I'm assuming that Dante's foolishness isn't what you came here to discuss."

A quick nod of V's head confirmed Vergil's suspicions. The darkslayer gritted his teeth in discontent. Though he was eager to get this uncomfortable conversation out of the way, he didn't feel the desire to do so right now. But he wasn't gaining any points with his oldest son by holding out on him. With an almost protracted sigh, he closed his eyes again, leaning into the rail. "What would you like to know?"

Uncomfortable silence fell over them like a thick weighted blanket as V seemed to ponder the question. There was a part of him that didn't expect to get as far as he just had. As such, he didn't really have any specific questions in mind. The young summoner settled on something he considered rudimentary and uncomplicated. It seemed like a reasonable place to start.

"You can start with her name. I have no memory of her." V's head fell slightly as the words left his mouth. With every word, his tone grew more faint. It seemed that he physically wasn't prepared for the conversation they were currently having. Actually getting answers was something he had always told himself would more than likely never happen. Everything about this conversation seemed… surreal. And he had no idea how finally knowing the truth would actually affect him.

With a long, uncomfortable sigh, Vergil stood up again. The eldest Son of Sparda folded his arms, wishing that he hadn't brought this up so soon. While he never had what he would consider a "good day", today had been better than most. He wasn't sure if this conversation would ruin that, but it was a definite possibility. And the conformation that V didn't know his mother was almost physically hard for him to swallow. He'd assumed that a while back based off of other things that he had overheard V say in casual conversation, but having it so blatantly stated as fact cut him in a way he couldn't put into words. Vergil had never imagined that she'd… 

"... Vivienne. Her name was Vivienne. Though her last name escapes me at the moment," Vergil paused for a long moment, both to allow V to process his statement and to try and recall her maiden name. It bothered him that he couldn't remember what it was, even if it had been difficult for him to pronounce at the time she'd told it to him. That was a lifetime ago now."... I believe it was… Beaumont, but she went by her mother's maiden name, Monroe. Some sort of falling out with her father if I'm not mistaken. It was complicated."

There was a long moment of silence between them as V digested the information that had been given to him. He nodded to himself, unsure of what to say. After a while, he glanced up at Vergil. In a way, they both looked equally distressed to be talking about this.

"Do you think she's… Is she…" V couldn't quite make himself think or speak the words he wished to so that he could finish his inquiry. There was a part of him that didn't really want to know. It was as if his mind was playing tug of war with itself. Luckily he didn't need to. Vergil sighed quietly as he looked down at the ground and then over at him. For a moment they shared a silent instance of consideration, not needing to express their thoughts or emotions out loud. For perhaps the first time, they were on the same page.

"I have no idea… But I intend to change that,'' There was a note of finality in Vergil's voice as he turned towards the stairs that led down to the beach and took a step towards them. It was time that they met back up with Dante and Nero,"  I searched for her once before when she disappeared all those years ago. I think it's time I did so again."

(-~-)

Some big revelations in this chapter! Heck yea! One of the biggest requests was to tackle this topic, and I think we were all on the same page here! As always, I look forward to discussing this chapter in the comments, and I hope you like the chapter! I feel like this will spark some quality conversation lol! It's nice to have this whole week's chapters finished by Wednesday morning for once! Time to get a head start on next week. As always, I hope you had a great weekend, and I hope to see you next week. Take care!

[kenzia]

Edward Kaspbrak was Dead.

SHORT STORY - SET AFTER THE ADULTS GET OUT OF THE SEWERS, BUT I THINK THAT’S PRETTY OBVIOUS - NOT BETA READ, JUST A QUICK THING CAUSE I WAS BORED AND HAD AN IDEA

Edward Kaspbrak was dead.

Kicked the bucket. Breathed his last. Gave up the ghost. Expired. Was called home.

What a shitty phrase that was. Called home. Where is home after death, because Richard Tozier sure as hell didn’t believe God existed. The devil did though. Eddie had fought him and lost.

Eddie’s body was in hell. Down in those sewers where they had left his body. If those sewers were hell what was Derry? A congregation of people who ignored the fire below them? People who didn’t know that they were closer to the devil than God had promised.

Richie was sure there was a time in his life when he thought heaven was real. It was Eddie’s lips more than it was a pile of clouds in the sky, but it felt real, and he had it.

Richard Tozier had survived.

As Frank Ocean once said, maybe it takes a near death experience to feel alive.

Richie had never wanted to die more in his life. He could still feel Eddie in his arms, limp and bloody.

He could feel Eddie’s warm skin on his lips from where he pressed his lips desperately into Eddie’s cheek in some kind of belief that there was a true love’s kiss. Ben had brought Beverly back when they were younger, so why couldn’t Richie bring Eddie back?

All Richie got in response was wet lips salty from the tears still escaping out of Eddie’s open eyes. Open eyes that were glazed over in death.

He could see the silhouette in his mind of Eddie’s body lying in an inhuman position on the rocky floor of the sewers the grey water soaking into his body.

Edward Kaspbrak was dead.

Richard Tozier had survived.

Eddie went out with a bang trying to get Richie. Bam. It was Richie’s fault. Eddie could be right here giving them all shit and trying to tug off Richie’s soaked clothing. Who cared about a cold anymore Eddie was dead.

All over the world, no one knew what had happened. Who else was going to miss Eddie other than the Losers? No one. Absolutely no one knew that Eddie who was once afraid to look out a window in fear of falling out died saving the town of Derry. Hell, Eddie who died saving the world.

Bev was holding Richie’s shoulder tightly her entire body shaking with sobs. Bill was off somewhere hauling his wife down. His wife who was told to stay home. His wife who just had to follow him to Derry.

If it wasn’t for Audra Denbrough maybe they would have Eddie’s body. Maybe Eddie would be here sobbing in Richie’s arms.

If Eddie was here he would wipe Richie’s tears before he wiped his own. He would tell Richie to stop crying because they made it. They made it and everything was okay now. They could start over. They could start it together.

It was sour.

Richie had lost something once. He lost it for years. He forgot about it but always knew something was missing. So, Richie hunted. He hunted for that lost thing until the second he got to Derry because here it was. Not the town, but it was here.

He had it in his fucking hands.

Eddie had felt the same way, and they had talked. Talked about what the future might hold after they defeated the devil and moved away out of this town forever.

Eddie had told him that they should focus on defeating It before they talked about the twenty-seven years later when they were pushing sixty. When It wasn’t coming back. When they were all old and forgetting each other not because of the fucking town but because of their age.

Richie would look ugly at sixty. Eddie said he would stay even when Richie was too old to walk the stairs himself, but here Richie was sprinting across Derry young as fuck and Eddie couldn’t even take a breath.

It would almost be comical if it wasn't so sad.

Bev’s head dropped and Ben’s body fell over her like a second layer of skin. They could start their next twenty-seven years. Maybe they would have kids of their own now that their looming threat was gone.

Bill and Audra had each other.

Mike looked relieved as if one of their own didn’t bite the dust of this town.

They rode their bikes down these roads back when they were losing teeth and hiding from Bowers. Stopping when Eddie had to grab his prescription or when Ben came out of the library. Back when they were drinking and blazing in Mike’s barn not afraid of the law. Not after their encounter in the sewers.

They were untouchable.

If It couldn’t kill them nothing could. Not anything. Not anyone.

Absolutely fucking untouchable.

Bill had Audra. Audra had Bill. Bev had Ben. Ben had Bev. Mike had his town. The town had Mike. Richie had the memories of Eddie. Eddie didn’t have memories because he was fucking dead.

Edward Kaspbrak was dead.

Richard Tozier supposed he would never be alive again.

[sunshineandfangs]

I have promises to keep, And only miles to go before I sleep

Klaroline AU Week - Day One  (Mythological Creatures)

Caroline sipped at her Spritz, a sweet burn coating her tongue and throat as she toasted the red-orange glow haloing buildings across the canal. A gorgeous Venetian sunset was certainly one way to usher out the eve of her seventeenth year and herald her eighteenth.

Her peers that still called the tiny Mystic Falls home were likely taking gap years, looking for jobs, or starting college. Not globetrotting. Not being a mere 18 and having set foot on all seven continents. Their tongues couldn’t dance with a sometimes clumsy, sometimes eloquent flow of words in dozens of languages. And they didn’t have memories that burned like star fire in their minds. From the twinkling yellow of the City of Lights to the vivid green of the hills of Kerala. 

Of course her peers also lived without knowing their expiration dates. There was that.

She closed her eyes. 

Tipping her glass, the last drops of her cocktail slid down her throat. A swipe of her tongue licked the remnants from her lips and she could feel a weak breeze catch one of her curls.

And then her peace shattered, a jolt like a livewire running down her spine. Her glass slipped from nerveless fingers, though it didn’t fall far. A pale arm reached around her and caught it, his presence a static thrum of power at her back.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmured in her ear, “I do so hate to have my possessions damaged.”

Shock rapidly shifted to ire and she whirled around, taking a step back to gain some distance. Her arms crossed as she glowered, eyes taking in a sight she hadn’t seen in years. Short blonde curls and bright blue eyes. Curling raspberry red lips, their smirk deepening the dimbles in their cheeks.

The Devil was an angel once, it’s been said. Rather unfair he kept his stunning appearance when he Fell.

--

10 Years Ago

Dipping her small hands in the water of a stream, Caroline carefully washed the dirt from them. The cold temperature bit at the flesh of her hand, but she pressed on unflinchingly, meticulously picking out the dirt from under her nails and scrubbing at her skin. When she finished, fingers nearly numb, she pulled her hands from the water, shaking them out and spraying small drops around where she kneeled.

Hands finally dry Caroline continued to kneel at the bank, picking up each of the stems of yarrow she had just picked. With surprising dexterity she slowly braided the stems together, interweaving strands of her hair into the forming wreath. It was a strange, macabre ornament.

Yet she didn’t hesitate to press it to the brand on her side, the cruelly slashed lines still sluggishly bleeding crimson rivulets. A hiss whistled through her clenched teeth, but she only pulled the bundle away after three deep breaths.

Yellow, green, and splattered red was cradled in her hands and she gently, gently lowered it into the rock lined hole she had dug. Set in its tomb of earth, Caroline placed one last, larger river stone over top to complete the ritual. 

And then she waited.

Water in the stream trickled and bubbled. Crisp autumn air nipped at her exposed skin. Somewhere in the distance some birds chirped as a squirrel scurried up the bark of an oak. Her side throbbed, blood warm and sticky.

The water froze and the air went still and stagnant, the forest now silent.

Black smoke crept out from below the river stone, foul smelling as the wreath burned.

“Now, is this not a fascinating occurrence.”

Caroline said nothing as the voice rumbled from the earth, the sound seeming to echo all around her. More black tendrils spilled out, twining together in the air, growing darker and thicker until a cloud of smog enveloped her small form.

“Oh?” The voice taunted. “So quiet, little one. Was it bravado and not defiance I tasted?”

Blue eyes, still round in a youthful face, flashed with icy fire as knuckles bleached white in her lap. “I am young, not stupid. I am hardly going to scare you off before you give me what I want.”

There was silence for several rapid patters of her hummingbird heart, long enough that Caroline feared she had miscalculated. And then there was a bark of laughter, nearly human if not for the way it shook the world around her.

“Such fire, little one!” Amusement faded to something more derisive. “And such confidence to think I would make a bargain with the likes of you. I do not make Deals with your kind, girl.”

Had she been less prepared, such words may have shaken her nerve. Instead her lips only twitched as she attempted to smother a growing smirk.

“Oh, I know. A demon with honor? That’s funny!” She grew somber as she continued. “Yeah, I can respect that you don’t go after kids. It’s probably your lone good quality... one that the rest of your kind don’t share.” Subconsciously her hand shifted towards her side, where it hovered over the still throbbing wound. And again she was left waiting, hating that she was at this demon’s mercy. Knowing it had none.

The darkness had grown thick as she spoke, blocking nearly all the midday sun. And she hoped it was a good sign when it suddenly started moving. Shifting and writhing and converging before her.

A man (rather what appeared as a man, she reminded herself) crouched before her. His looks were unfairly pretty, all blonde and blue eyed. So, she was almost thankful when inhuman gold bled into his eyes, his pupil an unnatural black, the lines and edges of his face suddenly looking a bit wrong. Too severe, too predatory.

“Andrealphus,” his voice rumbled and hissed, its power still sending trembles through her. “A pathetic little cretin.”

Caroline couldn’t quite hide her shiver, despite the fact his ire wasn’t directed at her. And he must have sensed the spike in fear, his predatory attention now fully fixated on her. She watched the abyss of his pupil dilate and felt a dry swallow catch in her throat.

“Caroline Forbes,” he intoned slowly, rolling the syllables across his tongue. His pupil was still wide and black and consuming as he stared at her. His power prickled just shy of pain against her skin. “Do you accept the price I will demand? It will be my pleasure to hunt such vermin, but I do not offer my aid for free.”

It was almost easy now to meet the demon’s gaze, his threat not really a threat at all considering. And she said as much. “I could refuse and be forced to flee, already branded like some kind of animal, and wait for nonexistent mercy from the demon that specifically devours children. Or I could accept and deny such a creature the satisfaction. Perhaps, even gain a stay of execution from the only one of its kind to never take a child’s soul.”

She did not waver as she spoke, her voice and eyes steady as she looked at the being across from her. When there was a flicker in his expression, she noticed. Though, its meaning escaped her as it faded too quickly. His face settling into something completely impassive.

“Then, we have a bargain, Caroline Forbes. I shall remove the threats you now face, the demon, Andrealphus, and their Summoner, William Forbes. Then, upon the eve of your eighteenth year, when you are a child no longer, I shall exact my price.”

He extended his hand to her, a completely ordinary looking hand. And after a split second of hesitation, she took it.

Her screams were swallowed by the darkness. Expectation did not dull the agony that shot up her hand and arm from where they touched. Black, inky shadow crawled up her skin, burrowed into her flesh, marked the evidence of their contract.

When it was over the demon and his darkness were gone. The world once more awash with the noise of the stream and animals. Her side no longer ached and when she tugged up the hem of her shirt she found the skin clean and healed. Not even the hint of a scar could be found. But before she could celebrate the lack of a brand, the back of her neck pulsed. She scrambled to tug her hair out of the way, awkwardly craning her head to look at her reflection in the water.

Impossibly black lines traced an intricate sigil on the nape of her neck. It pulsed once under her touch before going dormant. Appearing as nothing more than a strange tattoo, out of place only in that it was on a child. She scowled, letting her hair fall and cover it, but refused to pay it any more attention as she planned her next steps.

The demon would keep their word after all, but Mystic Falls would never be home again.

--

Present

Crossing her arms was reflexive and she hated the instantly defensive maneuver. So what she said next was admittedly not very smart.

“You’re early,” she spat. And she hated the indulgent amusement on his face even more.

How he was still smirking as he spoke. “Don’t fret, love. You still have the handful of hours before I collect my dues.”

Her fingers twitched. “Then, why are you here?”

--

If he was honest, which he always was when he wanted to be his most cruel and most tempting, then he would say that he didn’t know. It was a whim to appear early, albeit by a mere 24 hours or so. 43.5 if he was feeling generous, 17.5 if he wasn’t. What a delight time zones were.

But no matter. He came because he was a bit curious what had become of the defiant little girl with her sharp tongue and blazing eyes. He wouldn’t say he was disappointed by what he found either.

A bargain with him should have strained her soul, let alone one made nearly a decade ago. And yet she was still full of light when others would have dimmed. More than her eyes blazed, and he couldn’t resist provoking her, wanting to witness the flare of her soul.

“I told you, sweetheart, I do not care to see what belongs to me damaged.” He smothered a grin as he watched her aura spark and snap like lightning. “And I despise those who try to rob me, especially in the final hour.”

She stilled, but didn’t quail. If anything she drew herself up as she regarded him.

“I certainly didn’t grow less intelligent as I aged. The cost of attempting the impossible would not be worth it.” Her eyes narrowed. “So don’t threaten me. I won’t run.”

--

He moved before she could process even a blur, his fingers tangled in her hair, his palm hot and solid just above where his mark sat. Foreign sensation set her nerves twitching with pleasure-pain, her brain unable to make sense of what had been dormant for 10 years. His lips were at her ear as he whispered.

“Oh, Caroline. That wasn’t a threat, that was a statement of a fact. You will know if I threaten you.”

His hand loosened from her curls, trailing the faintest of touches across his mark where it still burned, as he released her. An expression of dark satisfaction crossed his face when she couldn’t prevent a reactionary shiver.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, love. Have a good night.”

And then he was gone before she could regain her composure or snap any of the retorts brewing in her mind. There was adrenaline still singing in her veins and a hint of arousal to her ire and dismay. Though she wasn’t going to waste her time feeling ashamed. It wasn’t her fault his form was absurdly and unfairly attractive.

--

Morning came quicker than Caroline would have liked, her sleep less restful too. So, to say she was irked when a knock sounded on her door at - her eyes squinted at the hotel alarm clock - 8:00 AM, was a bit of an understatement. She grumbled, nestling deeper into her sheets as she tugged a pillow over her head.

A familiar laugh reached her ears. “I know you are awake, Caroline.”

Perhaps she should have thought about her actions rather than just reacting, but she didn’t. She was furious and that energy had her flinging her covers off and storming toward the door.

“Why are you here?” She asked, her anger turned cold and quiet in the moment between gripping the knob and jerking the door open. 

He eyed her, a taunting mien fading into something more contemplative.

“To celebrate, Caroline. Happy Birthday.”

She shook her head. “No. No, I refuse. You’ll have my soul tonight. Hell, you can take it right now if you so choose, but you will not make a mockery of my last hours.”

Again his expression shifted, though she still couldn’t read it nor did she try to.

“A mockery?” He echoed. “Do you really think that low of me?”

--

Her soul was near overwhelmingly bright, and she hissed out a sharp “yes” with no hesitation. And he watched the maelstrom of her being churn around her and wondered at his own reaction.

From anyone else such disrespect would be met with his fury. He would have capitalized on her words and ripped her soul from right where she stood. And yet he had no desire to do so. In fact, he was impressed rather than angered by her continued defiance.

--

She waited, her fingers tight on the now warm metal of the knob, expecting to feel unfathomable pain as he took her soul. Instead he cocked his head, his tone frighteningly calm and nearly conversational in its levity.

“Supposing I am so inclined, how would you, a mere human, hope to stop me?”

Her smile was equal parts bitter and resolved. “I would leave you no life to mock, only a soul to catch. An ability surely not beyond one such as you.”

--

It was then he decided he would not harm this brave, foolish human. This young woman who would so recklessly imperil her soul all for a modicum of control. Once he had been the Light-Bringer, and he may no longer call himself such anymore, but it would not be him to snuff out her light.

--

It seemed idiotic to think, but Caroline thought she saw something in the demon’s face soften. Her mistake. A split second later his hand was on her neck. 

She stiffened as she felt his power flex under her skin, bracing for something that never came. It was a warning, she realized, as she stared at the demon regarding her with an odd solemnity. 

“I do not allow humans control in my Bargains, Caroline. Nor would any self-respecting demon. And had I accepted what your spite so damningly offered to me, your soul would have been the least of your concerns.” To her surprise, his hand moved away again, and he even took a step back to allow her some breathing room. “You are very fortunate I have no interest in playing such games with you.”

Caroline’s lips pursed. “You’re not going to leave me alone today, are you?” She finally asked.

“In an hour, I will return to escort you to breakfast. Should there come a point today that you honestly feel I am tormenting you or making your day worse I shall leave. And I shall not return for a year to the day. Deal?”

She couldn’t prevent the way her eyes noticeably widened, all but bulging out of their sockets in her shock. Because what? He was going to give her more time on her say-so?! What happened to ‘I do not allow humans control in my Bargains, Caroline’?

His chuckle disrupted her careening thoughts. “Do you accept, Caroline Forbes?” There was his stupid, ordinary looking, utterly damning hand extended before her for the second time in her life.

It troubled her that she couldn’t see a downside to his deal, surely that meant there was a trick. But if he was going to show up anyway, then she wanted the out. Reluctantly, she took his hand, his power thankfully only a warm wave up her arm rather than anything painful.

He smiled, twisted their grasped hands around so he could kiss her knuckles. “I’ll see you in an hour, love.”

--

Author’s Note: I had intended to write more, but my muse sputtered out. Perhaps, after AU week? Maybe? I do find it hilarious that I wrote this without using Klaus’ name once. It would have come up later...

[babycakesdaydreams]

“You alive, kid?”

Fandix opened her eyes, blinking through exhaustion and a layer of sweat. Kern stood over her, looking about as exhausted as she felt, one hand on her glaive and the other clutching at her side. Fandix knew she’d been asked a question, but she didn’t have the energy to answer.

“Good,” Kern mumbled. She pushed away from the tree, shifting her weight until she was leaning on her glaive instead. “Listen, kid, when they show up... Don’t try to make sense of them. And when they ask you a question-”

Her eyes locked on to Fandix’s, making the young duchess shiver. The level of focus in her eyes was almost inhuman, and though she still couldn’t describe the eyes physically, the impression they left would be burned into her memory for years.

“-don’t bother lying.”

“There you are,” voices overlapped voices, young and old and soft and angry. Fandix felt dizzy, as if she’d stood up too fast. She was still sitting, back propped up by the tree. Wasn’t she?

“Fuck off,” Kern said, exhaustion tinged with annoyance.

“I have a question for you,” the cacophony of voices all sounded amused. And just a tiny bit offended. Had Fandix always been able to gather so much information from a voice?

“I answer the same way every time,” Kern grumbled.

“But one day, you won’t!” A cheeriness that seemed false. A shadow was taking shape in the corner of Fandix’s vision. She turned to look, but nothing was there. She blinked; the shadow in the corner of her eye remained, even when she turned her head. It was like she couldn’t quite keep up with it.

“Will answering differently change the course of the cycle?” Kern asked, softly. Sadly.

“Maybe! Maybe not.”

“Ask your question,” Kern ordered.

“You live and breathe and fight and nearly die over and over again for these little creatures.” One of the fallen soldiers nearby actually moaned. Fandix was fully awake now, and afraid.

“Get on with it,” Kern snapped. She was paler than before, new beads of sweat rolling down her neck.

“They comfort you and flirt with you and kill each other and sometimes they even betray you.” It didn’t seem to have a full grasp on the human language, dragging sentences on well after their expiration date. “After all of the cruelty you see these creatures commit, after all of their evil schemes and murderous plots...”

“Ask the damn question,” some of the fire had gone out of Kern’s voice, her shoulders drooping and eyes reddening. As if she were holding back tears.

“Are they really worth saving?” The silence following the question was deafening. The tension continued to build, a feeling close to panic setting in. The soldier groaned again, and Fandix felt a tear escape her eye.

“Yes,” it was barely more than a whisper, but Fandix felt a strange surge of relief when she heard it. As if a different answer would have meant some unfathomable tragedy.

“Every time you say that, there’s just a little bit less truth to it,” the voices sounded excited by the prospect. Fandix felt sick.

“You have to hear it six times,” Kern said. Her voice was emotionless now, as if she spoke out of habit rather than any emotional obligation.

“I do,” the voice admitted, some of the glee fading.

“And you can’t ask the others until you get a ‘yes’ from me,” Kern continued.

“Correct,” the voices almost sounded annoyed now. Kern actually laughed, though it was cold and empty in a way that hurt to hear.

“If you think it’s taken a long time to break me,” Kern said, turning toward the field of fallen soldiers. Out there, in the distance, Fandix could just make out a few figures, wandering among the fallen. “You have another thing coming when you try to break the others.”

“And what do you think?” The voices still didn’t have a shape, a body to be attached to, but Fandix knew they were speaking to her. When Fandix didn’t answer, too stunned by the full force of these voices echoing in her head, they spoke again. “Are humans really worth saving?”

“Of course we are,” Fandix said immediately.

“Oh, dear. I didn’t ask if you were worth saving. I asked if they were.” The distinction didn’t make sense. Did it?

A million faces flashed before Fandix’s eyes, and with each instant that held a new face, she felt like she knew the person with the intimacy of a lifelong friend. All of them looked sad, each of them silently pleading for...something. If she had a heart, it would have broken.

Wait. If she had a heart?

“You’re overwhelming her,” Kern said, reproving. “Besides, you can’t ask her yet. She isn’t ready.”

“Oh? I suppose not, after all. What a waste. I’d love to hear an answer...”

The presence was gone, and Fandix heaved a sigh of relief. Her head was still spinning, and her limbs felt to heavy to lift, but she was alive. She’d survived...whatever that was.

“What was that...thing?” She asked. Kern sank onto the dirt next to her, groaning with the effort.

“A god,” the other woman murmured. Her eyes fluttered shut, and Fandix’s did the same only a moment later.

[xiaomomowrites]

Greek mythology eremika if you wanna do another mythology that’s fine 😊

Introduction: Uh haha okay, this one was really fun (too fun) and we maybe might have possibly a little bit got carried away.  So get ready for a long list because this one was too good. Set in a modern day AU where Greek mythology exists, thus, gods, goddesses, and demi-god[esse]s exist are a thing.

Eren is son of Hades (whose mortal form was Grisha) and Carla, so he’s a demi-god.

He doesn’t wanna be like his dad, and he gets a little insecure with his anger issues that were a lot worse when he was 15 hah.

Mikasa is the daughter of Aphrodite and Ares, Levi is her half brother, they share the same dad, but his mom was a mortal. Mikasa is a goddess.

Powers consist of ridiculous strength and fighting skills

Mikasa comes down to Earth because she’s bored, and she felt inexplicably drawn to Eren, while she was watching from above.

He was so powerfully drawn to her too, but it’s ‘cause she’s the daughter of Aphrodite lol

Eren outs himself by saving her. Mikasa, tactful and immortal, wasn’t afraid when she got held up at gunpoint, but he panicked and saved her recklessly, thus revealing the fact that he’s half god.

At first Eren is hesitant on starting something up with her because he thinks her lifespan is much shorter than his, assuming she’s mortal. But after the incident he realizes he loves her anyway, and would rather spend whatever time he has with her as best as he can…so he makes a move.

“Hey, I like you, a lot. Do you wanna see where this goes?” (it ends up basically a relationship, she just doesn’t want to put a label on it and make it official)

Mikasa says “I’m just visiting, don’t wanna get too attached” (she’s vague; he assumes she means she’s just visiting the country)

So they hang out a lot; she loves being around him, it makes her feel something. She finds that she actually enjoys being on Earth

Eren’s always flexing his powers when it’s just the two of them

he shows off his inhuman strength whenever he can,  she finds this cute lol

Eren uses his invisibility to scare her but she already knows he’s there, she’s not stupid. Mikasa plays along and pretends to be scared

He does some lame romantic shit with candles he lit (fire power yuh) and tries to ask her to be with him again. 

“I don’t get it, do you..not…like me?” he asks one day. She still says no because she feels like she can’t be with him with this big secret.

“No, I do.”

“Then why…?”

“It’s complicated.”

Their relationship would be tied to his lifespan (again, because these two just can’t get a break haaah) and that’s also a deterrent for Mikasa.

“But I love you” oof.

Armin is the child of Hermes, but only Eren knows. Mischievous lil shit, my boy. Both of them think Mikasa is mortal.

Mikasa says things and lets clues slip of what she is and Armin puts two and two together

They visit an old statue built after the Great Titan War, erected to commemorate one of the gods, and Eren just really likes looking at it because it reminds him of who he is. Mikasa smiles fondly, “ha, I remember when this was built.”

Eren laughs it off, “Good joke, but you’re only twenty-four. I get to live to be ten thousand years old.”

Mikasa finds this cute, but just smiles at him.

People start dressing like they used to in the sixties, and Mikasa says “aw, they’re bringing it back. But personally, I always liked the Roaring Twenties the best.” Eren just thinks she’s talking about decades like it’s history, not as if she’s already lived through it. 

Mikasa doesn’t flex like Eren does but obviously it shows here and there:

of course she’s irresistible af, she just gets the attention of like everyone, male and female (lol I’m looking at you, Sasha), so cue jealous Eren.

especially Eren, who finds himself absolutely enamored with her and gets caught staring way too many times. “How is this fair?? I’m a demi-god, I should be immune to this.”

Work out buddieeesssss, and she lowkey curls heavier weights than he does. Instead of being mad jelly he appreciates the fact that she’s crazy strong

She teaches him how to fight hah

postscript:

“So, Mikasa, are you good at Greek Mythology?” Armin takes the seat in front of her as soon as Eren is out of earshot.

She eyed him warily, “I guess I am. It was my favorite subject in school.”

“Mhmm,” he hums, “so if you’ll indulge me for a moment…?”

“Go ahead.”

“Alright, so. Aphrodite, as you probably know, was married to Hephaestus, but she had an affair with Ares, yes?”

“Mhmm,” Mikasa nods.

“It’s just, when Ares and Aphrodite are written together, their most commonly told story is of them being ridiculed for infidelity. And more often than not, Ares’ name is associated with humiliation. And so that got me thinking,” Armin continues, “all that ridicule to such a powerful god- the God of War, mind you- don’t you think that would tamper with his reputation? Don’t you think that by being with Aphrodite for one night, his entire life was ruined?”

“It’s hard to say,” Mikasa replies bitterly. She recalls her father, drinking away his problems with Dionysus as he reluctantly withers under the cruel words of other people. He may be the God of War, but he’s not exactly the best at dealing with internal battles. “Gossip and rumors tend to ruin a lot of people.”

“There’s one thing I just can’t seem to shake off, though,” he goes on, “it says in all the books that Ares has many offspring: Eros, Anteros, Phobos, Deimos, Harmonia, Himerus, and Adrestia.”

Yes, Mikasa frowns internally, she’s aware of all her (half) brothers and sisters.

“But there’s always one more kid they never mention. She’s only ever alluded to, but she’s the first born of Aphrodite and Ares. They said she was a beautiful child with black hair smoother than a baby’s bum and porcelain skin. Now you’d think that she’d exist somewhere: maybe in the background of one of the pictures, a name quickly mentioned in a conversation, hell, even just a supporting character somewhere, but no. She’s nowhere to be found. And yet every book I’ve read on Greek mythology says she exists. Thoughts?”

Mikasa stares at him, and if Armin wasn’t totally trying to fuck with her he might be a little scared.

“I mean, with both her parents being the head of a scandal and the whole world thinking you are a bastard-” Mikasa physically recoiled at this, but Armin continued, “it can all be overwhelming, no? I like to think she took the next opportunity to start her own life- rid of all rumors and untainted with impurities- and ran with it. But by doing this, do you maybe think she was a coward? She couldn’t face what people thought-”

“No.” she answers sharply. 

No, she was not a coward. Mikasa was the daughter of Ares, damn it, like hell she would shy away from a problem. Realizing that she answered too quickly for it not to be suspicious, she tries to recover. “I mean, there’s no telling what she was thinking. I think… she just wanted to start over. She wanted a new life, one that she could control. Not one where people had already judged her character while she was just a babe. It was unfair what people thought of her. Born a bastard, the daughter of a whore and a good-for-nothing man. It makes sense that she wanted to take back control of her own life- Armin, what brought all of this on, anyway?”

Armin just looks at her, eyes unreadable but still scrutinizing. One look, and Mikasa already knows.

“What?” he feigns innocence. How dare.

“Say it, Armin.” She challenges.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No, say I’m the child of Aphrodite and Ares, or else I’m just a normal human being.”

Armin swallows hard. He stares at her, contemplating for a few moments. Her gaze was hard and almost threatening. This was the daughter of the God of War he was challenging; he was treading on thin ice. “You’re the child of Aphrodite and Ares.”

“You’re what?” It’s Eren who overhears, and suddenly both eyes are on him.

Mikasa’s whole composure falls, and guilt washes over Armin. “I’m sorry…I didn’t tell you.”

“No, this is great! Great!” Eren stops her before she can apologize anymore. Armin’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He fishes around for more words but they don’t seem to come to him. “It’s great!”

“One more and I’ll believe you.”

Eren pulls her into a hug, “I know my expiration date is ten thousand or something years, but I’d love to spend those ten thousand years with you.”

[thecharmingknightemma]

rules

Hello everyone! I'm sorry if this is long but it's necessary so that you can jump straight into writing with me even if Emma is nearly an oc or a stranger to your muses - and because I'm not English and want to be sure it's all clear. I've been writing for eight years and I'm known to be chill and accommodating but I am also extremely aware of what my preferences and comfort zones are so please read the rules.

My name is Ele, I'm 31, cis woman, super friendly, slow because chronically ill especially when it comes to ooc chat which require too much energy and focus from me, so while I love plotting and commenting threads don't expect ooc chats to be a priority if they aren't fully about the threads. This blog has sideblogs: 'monsterinamusicbox', sosadandyetsoamazing, musesonawhim, and more might come. 

This is an AU Blog so you don't really need to have seen OUAT because this is NOT canon Emma Swan, there is no Storybrooke, and the princess Emma who remembers what was meant to happen in OUAT will let you know everything that you missed; so you'll need to read Emma's bio, either her AU enchanted forest backstory OR the backstory from our world which can fit Marvel, DC and other shows, depending on which character you play (it's awkward to realize the other person has no idea of what I'm writing, like I said, this won't be Emma Swan even in our world, she's been raised by her parents).

There is another backstory for non Enchanted Forest crossovers that doesn't have an abusive ex in it, check it out if the original one is triggering for you. You can request it, no explanation needed.

update of July 26: due to my health and lack of time I can't try to plot with every single mutual even if I follow first, so I ask you to please give me a sign you read my pages and would like to rp. Either by liking my many plotting calls, sending me a meme, liking starter calls, anything will do. Often when I try to plot people haven't read my pages yet or don't reply, and it's a lost occasion to plot with people who are ready. Thank you for your understanding.

WHO I RP WITH

I’m mutuals only and selective. If I don't follow you and you try to rp I'll ignore you, because I get anxious about saying no. If curious you can find reasons why I didn't follow you back here. Memes and opens have no expiration date. Untagged nsfw = I unfollow. Some shows I prefer not to interact with because I don't know them or aren't into some of their themes: vampire diaries, teen wolf, riverdale, gossip girls and any zombie/demons show outside of IZombie, Lucifer and Buffy/Angel.

Between asterisks it's what only people who write ouat characters need to read, the rest is for everyone:

**If your character is involved in her backstory, you have every right to discuss details with me so you won't feel godmodded/forced to adapt to it! I will also change things connected to your ch, for example if I write with a Jefferson, Emma's bff will be Ariel and not Grace. I'd rather not interact with ocs that are supposed to be her siblings or children etc. Henry was never born so if you play Henry we should plot it out because my Emma can’t be pregnant as a kid or she will be a completely different character.**

In this blog due to backstory issues she would want Regina dead so I prefer NOT to interact nor come up with new aus in which she’s fine with it (I have 2 plotted exceptions and that’s enough for me), and same goes for people who are currently villains from any fandom, though in that case we can plot out exceptions in which they aren’t being villains; if they are a grey-area, aren't people who hurt her family, and if you are pro-redemption it's fine, if not Emma wouldn't submit to anyone or bother to chat, she will try to kill them or die, so no threads are really doable. She's also not the type to hang out/bother with characters who are rude to her or to insist if they want her to leave, or to support who keeps manipulating her, hurting people or doesn't seem to be helped by her presence at all but keeps coming to her with pain to share (the latter would get a therapist card). Basically: Killian Jones the way he was written in the show, or even a Rumplestiltskin who found Belle and chose to do better and so on are fine. Villains who will mistreat Emma, have hurt her family, or are currently hunting children for sport? Not good for Emma.

TRIGGERS AND WHAT I WON’T WRITE

Triggers will be tagged ‘name of the trigger tw’, you can always ask me to tag more AND tell me if something in her backstory makes you uncomfortable, so that I can find a solution (that issue is resolved/doesn't need to be mentioned) or tell you if it can't be skipped and you can choose not to write with me. I don’t write about miscarriage, toxic/abusive relationships and rape between my character and yours (temporarily evil due to magic/Dark One Emma being manipulative is fine, but rape is still a no). It’s not exactly a trigger but please tag your gore and body horror? The topic of hell is also complicate, I need you not to focus too much on torture and eternal damnation. And please, PLEASE, tag your daddy kink/mommy kink references ic and ooc. 

MEMES

I’d rather get asks when you want to start a thread, reblog all the memes you want from me. I will reblog from the source or send you one if you prefer it that way but I don’t care if you reblog them from me.

ACTIVITY

Sometimes I'm fast, some I'm slow, but you can have as many threads with me as you want, take your time, reply as much as you want as long as you give me enough to write, drop threads, send memes or not. I like icons but I don't need them to write, you can stop using them whenever. 

NSFW and relationships

NSFW of the smut kind will be tagged as such and usually put under read more. I don’t write smut with everyone, only with people I know ooc/feel comfortable writing it with. I love shipping but I DON'T FORCESHIP, FRIENDSHIPS ARE WELCOMED. My Emma is straight. I do not romantically ship her with Neal/Baelfire even in aus, in her dark witch verse he's a past love Emma Swan had. Happy to find out if a relationship works between my Emma and Killian (my nearly automatic otp if you don't write him darker than in canon), the Huntsman, AU Pinocchio, Jefferson, and more if there is chemistry, but friendship is open to any of them too. Here for crossover ships as well. I’d really appreciate if you could tag your Swan Queen and Swan Thief, thank you.

OTHER FANDOMS I LIKE

Due to potential aus or crossovers, as in princess Emma showing up through a portal or me writing aus to adapt to your fandom, I want to bring up that some of the shows and movies I know are/what she can be in them with small changes to her regular backstory:

AOS (she can easily be inhuman or an alien),

Avengers movies (and at least Thor, Cap, Iron Man and Hulk’s movies), Ant-Man, Captain Marvel (same as above),

the 100 (she’s too happy to be anything but someone who comes from an unknown village or comes from one of the unknown worlds),

Chuck (she can be an ordinary human being, enhanced person/semi-alien depending on who rps the Chuck characters),

Elementary (she can be a regular human or whatever you want)

Flash (she can be a metahuman),

Guardians of the Galaxy (Same as for Marvel),

Legends of Tomorrow (human, alien, metahuman),

Doctor Who (she can be anything),

Firefly: she can be anything (I can also shake things up with her being an alien/having powers OR by coming from the planet where fairy tales are real).

Galavant (same universe as the Enchanted Forest),

Supergirl (she can be an ordinary human or alien),

IZombie (human or zombie),

Lost (she can be anything anything)

Buffy and Angel but only the tvshows (human, witch, one of the many new slayers),

Timeless (human unless the other rper prefers a crossover),

Lord of the Rings (probably just princess Emma portal jumping?)

pretty much any famous sitcom like Friends, the Office, Parks and Rec, b99 (likely she can only be human unless asked otherwise).

Also Lucifer and Good Omens (she could be an ordinary human or it’s more of a crossover in which she comes from her own universe and has magic), and more I can’t think of right now.

[loki-fanfic-whore]

Inhuman ch.4

Warnings: none for this chapter

@drakesfiance

Chapter 4 Solidarity 

Tomas was furious, he could feel himself getting physically hot from it. How dare they keep him from you. You must be worried sick about him and Louis. He pictured a sloppy sobbing mess curled up in pillows with tissues all around. He worried about the last time you had eaten or drank anything. In his absence were you still taking care of your basic needs? You had always put him on a pedestal and always took care of him first. You were so selfless that it would be your downfall. It’s why he always fought. He fought because people would talk. They always tried to say these bullshit rumors about how slutty you were or a scheme to get you to give them money or sex. Tom never displayed you openly as his, but always kept you and your reputation safe. He had never told you what they always said. He knew it would break your heart.

Thor appeared first to watch Tom pace angrily, his fists balled up.

“Brother Tomas, I for one agree with you. Your wife should always know your whereabouts!” he gave a loud crack of laughter as if spoke from experience. Tom sighed and stopped pacing.

“She isn’t my wife…she should be, but I was trying to wait until after Uni, and now because of those damned pills and you all, I may not even be able to see her!” his fists were shaking at this point.

“Brother Tomas, please try to calm yourself…whatever was in the oil of fish supplements may have negative reactions to your body as well…I have seen what it does for those not so lucky as you.” Tom stopped and stared up at him.

“Tell me.” Was all he said as he worried now about you even more.

“It is better if I show you.”

Thor cautiously walked up to Tom and placed a hand on his shoulder. He motioned towards the lab where Tony was fixing part of a suit.

“ Brother Jarvis?” Thor piped up. Tony snickered and continued his work.

“Yes sir?” Jarvis responded overhead.

“Can you show Tomas the accounts of Emily VanHorn and Lucas Rhyngheist.” Thor spoke again. A translucent screen flashed in front of him and became covered in news articles and reports. Some in first person shooting. The headline read “19 year old mysteriously combusts!”. Tom’s eyes widened as he looked at the photo of a kid holding up a bass and smiling. Then the video of his turning into a fiery ball of ash. There was no audio, but tom could feel the languished screams. He swallowed the bile in his throat down. Jarvis switched the screen to the reports of Emily VanHorn. Tom audibly gasped as the headline read “12 year old child dies in fiery burst! Foul play suspected!”. The news article showed a photo of a bed which had perfectly body shaped hole melted through it. Nothing else in the photo was even singed. The next photo was of a little girl who was smiling with her two front teeth missing.

“Jesus Christ” Tom uttered under his breath as his eyes skimmed the article.

“On the 14th of May Emily got home from school and complained of hurting due to a cold. She was told to take her medicine and go rest. Her mother, Claire VanHorn checked on the girl about three hours later to find the bed completely burned through. Claire had to be committed to a psychiatric facility due to a mental break. Emily was her only child and Claire an only parent. Foul play is suspected.” Toms eyes flicked to Thor’s and then to Tony who had turned around to watch his reactions. Tony was wiping his hands on a rag.

“There were more…many more. They are dotted all over America but every single one of them is different, some die immediately, some within a few days…You are the first who hasn’t died…yet…the first to be able to tell us what happened before you got your abilities.” Tony was speaking in an incredibly gentle voice for the normal brute of a man.

“The fish oil. She- My girlfriend gave one to Louis trying to see if it would help him…then all of the sudden within a week he was walking through walls. I was taking them the whole week, twice a day, and I don’t even know the extent of what I can do…I still have some pills, but they are at her house.” This answer caused Tony to stand up straight.

“We need those pills. We could run tests and if need be issue a recall to keep them away from the public. This would also draw out the culprits behind the tampering and mass experiments to see who could genetically take it.” Tony looked at Thor then to Tom.

“Hey maybe we can arrange you to see your lady after all.” Tom nodded and relaxed for about two minutes until a new and serious idea popped into his head. You knew it was the fish oil. He prayed that you knew better than to try to take them. Dear god, please don’t take them. He wouldn’t be able to handle you expiring in a fiery ball. Leaving him with nothing but tears and ash.

You sat at your table like a mad woman with maps and news articles spread everywhere. A notebook open and full of notes on all of the Avengers Press releases and scheduled dates coming up. You knew your best bet would be to get to them and explain everything. You had cried your tears, shouted your screams, but now…now was the time to act. You were still in your school clothes and hadn’t bathed since they took them. It had been over a day now and you were worried sick he was thrown in some god-awful cell somewhere. Your stomach interrupted your thoughts as it cried loudly in hunger. Glancing around you saw the bag of medicine you had haphazardly thrown onto the table by the door.

The fish oil. They took him because of the fish oil. You knew what needed to be done.