#good for her fanfiction

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[natalievoncatte]

19. Bake

Leaning against the doorframe, Lena watched as Kara furrowed her brows in concentration so intense that it seemed her project might burst into flames. Literally. She was was craned over a cookbook on the counter and mumbling to herself about pearl-sized beads of butter and exactly what size a pearl is.

She never admitted it, but Kara sometimes she struggled with metaphors like that, little things that a human would know that eluded one of the last survivors of a doomed planet. The others, even Alex, thought it was cute or funny but they didn’t seem to notice the pain in Kara’s eyes or how lost she looked when she missed something others all knew.

Lena stalked up behind her and leaned over the counter beside her.

“Hey,” said Lena.

“Hi,” said Kara.

“What are you up to?”

“I’m making a pumpkin pie for tomorrow, but the dough doesn’t look right.”

Lena looked over Kara’s work and frowned. What she had was most definitely not pie dough. She then glanced at the fridge and saw the list of things Kara was trying to make.

“Hmm,” said Lena.

She opened the fridge and freezer and looked over Kara’s pantry and sighed.

This would not do at all.

“We’re taking a break,” said Lena.

“We?”

“Yes, we.”

In a few minutes she had an Instacart list cobbled together and had placed the order. Kara pouted when her attempted dough went in the bin, but Lena stood firm.

“Let me help you.”

Kara signed. “I want to do it myself.”

Lena’s heart felt like it was climbing up her throat. Kara was so effortlessly pretty that it was, frankly, unfair. Her glasses were off and her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail and Lena was obsessed. She had on a baggy t-shirt that softened her lithe, muscular frame and hung a little off one shoulder. She looked so soft despite the cords of steel hard muscle that flexed beneath her silky skin.

It made Lena a little panicky. Sometimes she’d think to herself that seeing Kara every time was just like seeing her for the first time, which was exactly like the first time she looked at another girl *like that* as if some pathway had just opened in her brain.

After the grocery order arrived and Lena bumped the driver’s tip to four figures for coming on the day before Thanksgiving, Lena set to work.

“I’ve never seen you cook,” said Kara.

“In the only one in the family who can,” said Lena, as she scrubbed a potato. “Lillian thought doing menial tasks was beneath our dignity, and forbade it. Of course I snuck out to spend time with the staff.”

Kara looked at her softly.

“Let’s get that pie in the works while these boil,” she said, slipping the potatoes into the pot.

Kara ended up helping more than anything, as Lena worked her way through the list.

“This way we’ll just have to make the turkey tomorrow,” she explained. “The rest will all be done and we’ll have some time to relax before everyone arrives. Is your mother coming?”

“She’s staying with Alex this year,” said Kara.

She was looking at Lena as she spoke, her voice a little distant. A shiver passed down Lena’s spine and she felt her cheeks pink a little, as she glanced away and turned back to grating frozen butter for the pie crust.

Kara sidled closer, seemingly reading the cookbook, but every time Lena looked over, Kara met her gaze and quickly turned away.

“Here you go, darling. Fold it like a letter, turn, fold it like a letter, turn. Do that three times, then back in the fridge for half an hour and we do it again.”

Lena was, in all honesty, doing the real work and giving Kara the simple tasks, like peeling the potatoes (which was easy, because she could not only do so without burning herself, but could also just reach into the boiling water to grab.)

Kara neatly folded the pie crust while Lena mashed the potatoes and pushed them through Kara’s sieve for perfect, Michelin-star restaurant smoothness. Lena was a little daunted by the “green bean casserole”, not exactly standard Luthor thanksgiving fare, but it was easier as she was watched Kara follow her instructions to knead dough for dinner rolls.

They worked in companionable silence, Lena doing one task while Kara did another, and slowly they built up an array of side dishes and a wonderful smelling pumpkin pie that Lena had to practically tear Kara away from. She almost wished she’d made a spare pie for Kara to eat right now.

“I’m huuuuuungry” she pleaded.

Looking over Kara’s now-full fridge, full of delicious Thanksgiving fare ready to be warmed in the oven, she pulled out her phone.

“We’ll get take-away delivered.”

Knowing what she was dealing with, Lena ordered enough Chinese for a small army and ended up picking at spicy beef and broccoli while Kara sat next to her, devouring her own body weight from five different containers.

“Here,” she said, offering Lena a fortune cookie.

Smirking, Lena popped it open and unfurled the little message.

“What’s it say?”

A great opportunity lies before you.

Lena laughed. “Nothing. Now we have to clean up, you know.”

“I can do that, you just relax.”

Lena sank back into the couch -she was tired- while Kara rolled up her sleeves and did the dishes, moving a little too fast for a human, at least until Lena looked over to watch her, studying the flexing muscles in her forearms as she worked. There was something playing on the tv, but it was vastly less interesting.

Kara smelled pleasantly of soap when she plopped on the couch, rocking Lena towards her. She sank back and sighed, letting her head loll over so she could look at Lena.

“Thank you for doing all that work. I’d have been hopeless without you.”

“It was my pleasure,” Lena said, softly.

It was getting late, the sun having long set; they’d toiled in the kitchen past nine o’clock.

It was time for Lena to go home.

Kara looked pensive, pretty eyes downcast.

“You’re coming back tomorrow, right?”

It was an absurd question, profoundly silly, even. Lena had been to every Danvers family get together for the better part of three years now (there was that one missed year, gaping like a void in her chest, but that was over now, they were better, she wouldn’t spend another Thanksgiving drunk on her sofa and sobbing ever again)

Lena wished she’d opened one of the wine bottles. She needed a little help with her courage. Her voice cracked a little when she managed to say, “It’s getting late. I could just stay.”

Her heart was pounding.

Kara’s hand slid along the back of the couch and she crooked one of Lena’s curls around her finger, playing idly with it. They sat close, turned into each other, almost touching.

“You can have the bed,” said Kara. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Lena felt her throat go dry, and squeezed her hands together to keep them from shaking. She was as nervous as a schoolgirl, and it was weirdly delightful. Kara was watching her cocky confidence and a crooked smile.

“I wouldn’t want to put you out,” said Lena. “I trust you to keep your hands to yourself if we share the bed.”

“What will you sleep in?”

“Won’t you let me borrow something?”

Kara made a little gesture with her head. Lena nodded and headed behind the partition that made up Kara’s “bedroom wall” and turned to the clothes rack that served as her closet. Hand trembling, she swept each item aside, stopping when she found an old hoodie.

It was threadbare and the drawstrings were missing and it was much too large for her, but it was perfect, a maroon Midvale High sweatshirt. Lena carefully laid it out on the bed and in a single nervous, trembling motion, pulled her top over her head and set it aside.

It was chilly in the apartment, and her skin pricked with goose pimples as soon as the air hit it. She licked her lips nervously and popped the clasps on her bra before discarding it and dumping the sweatshirt on over her bare skin. The hem hung well below her waist.

Feeling her pulse in her throat, she pushed her leggings down and stepped out of them, then padded back out on bare feet, toes curling from the cold floor.

“You coming?”

Kara’s eyes went comically wide when she saw her, gaze instantly drawn to her pale legs.

“Yep.”

Lena retreated to the bedroom… then realized that Kara hadn’t changed. Lena was standing there awkwardly when Kara strolled around the partition and, in a slightly too hurried motion, pulled her own top off.

She was facing away, her back flexing magnificently as she stretched, now clad only in a soft black sports bra. Lena knew she was staring as Kara pushed her jeans down, revealing a pair of flannel boxer shorts beneath. She turned and looked at Lena.

Oh holy fuck, Lena thought.

“I usually just sleep like this,” Kara said, her voice quivering a little. “Is that okay?”

Lena nodded.

She climbed into the bed, sort of precariously parking on the edge. Kara lifted the covers and slid under, her weight on the mattress making it curve towards her, as though Lena were drawn, by gravity, to her embrace.

She let it take her. She ended up right next to Kara, and the lay turned on their sides towards each other.

Lena wanted to scream. This was a terrible idea.

“Hi,” Kara whispered.

“Hi, yourself,” said Lena.

God, she was right there, those muscles, the silky golden-tanned skin of her long legs (how did she have a tan in November?!), the supernaturally perfect blonde curls, and those big, pretty blue eyes just drinking her in.

Lena snuggled up under the blankets, shifting closer.

“So we’re sleeping in the same bed,” said Kara.

“Yes, I see we are. Though neither of us appears to be sleeping.”

“True,” said Kara, “though one might say that we’re about to sleep together.”

“One might,” Lena agreed.

“English is such a funny language. Someone might be confused if I went around saying I sleep with Lena Luthor.”

“Some might be jealous,” said Lena, arching a brow.

“Well of course. They don’t know what a little snuggle bunny you are.”

Lena grinned foolishly, trying to hide it behind the baggy sleeve of Kara’s sweatshirt.

“You’re wearing my clothes, too. Someone might say we’re going steady.”

“Aren’t we? Neither of us had been on a date with anyone in years.”

Lena wanted to feel bold, she really did, but she was so nervous she could barely breathe.

“Are you okay, baby?” Kara whispered. “Your heart is going really fast.”

Lena nodded. “I’m okay, just, um.”

She felt so silly. Here she was, bold, sassy, uber-confident battle bisexual Lena Luthor utterly tongue tied and helpless and in bed with her best friend.

Kara shifted closer, then closer still. Lena thought she might literally depart from her body when Kara’s legs tangled gently with hers. She stared in astonishment when Kara gently rolled her on her back… by climbing on top of her, slipping an arm around her back while the other hand brushed loose locks from her eyes and swept around to cradle the back of her head.

“Are we really doing this?” Lena choked out. “What are we doing?”

Kara’s face filled her vision, inches from kissing her. Hot breath ticked her lips.

“I think the real question is why did we wait so long?”

“If you don’t kiss me, I’m going to die.”

Kara did, dipping down slowly to brush her lips lightly over Lena’s in the most teasing, potent first kiss she’d ever had, a kiss to make her forget all her other firsts. Then Kara kissed her harder and Lena could feel the need in her, hunger and passion pent up for years.

She responded with her own, pressing her hips up to meet Kara.

“You took my favorite hoodie.”

“I did.”

“Be a good girl, and give it back.”

Lena, it turned out, was a very good girl.

When she woke up the next… noonish, she was still feeling the afterglow. Kara was passed out and snoring next to her, arm casually thrown over Lena’s belly. She slipped out from under it and stretched in the sunlight before pulling the hoodie back on. She’d have to find something more proper to wear, after a shower and some breakfast. She didn’t want to spoil her dinner, but she was hungry. Kara had been… exhausting, honestly.

She wanted to do a little dance, right until she walked out into the main area of the loft, bare-assed and hoodie-clad, and found herself face to face with Alex and Eliza Danvers.

“What are you doing here?” Lena and Alex both yelped at the same time.

Eliza was beet red, but said, “Ah, hello, Lena. You came early?”

(And often)

“I, um, that is, I, we…”

Eliza was bemused now, giving her a motherly smile.

“Why don’t you go change and wake Kara up?”

Alex continued to stare at Lena, the wheels almost audibly spinning in her head.

“Okaygoodidea,” Lena chirped out, awkwardly tugging her sole garment down as she darted back into the bedroom.

A few minutes later, Lena was in the shower while Kara very loudly explained the merits of texting first or just knocking on the door like a normal person, while Alex snapped back that it was technically still her apartment.

When she finally emerged in Kara’s flannel and Kara’s jeans, Alex and Kara were still bickering while Eliza was simply staring at the contents of the fridge. Lena walked over awkwardly (for multiple reasons) and rubbed at her arms.

“I helped Kara get all the other dishes ready. We only have to worry about the turkey.”

Eliza looked up and smirked at her.

“May I just say… it’s about time, sweetheart.”

[triptuckers]

the comfort of home - percy jackson

Request: yes! "Hii, I just finished watching both episodes of PJO and I wept as I beheld Sally's maternal love unfold on the screen, knowing it before hand from the books. Thus, I was pondering if you might entertain a request—a tale where a daughter of Hades (angsty) forges a close bond with Percy, and Sally, in her gracious warmth bless her soul, adopts her into their lives because, after all, they're nearly kin, entwined by the delicate threads of almost-cousinhood." Pairing:  percy jackson x hades!reader Summary:  after a typical day for a demigod, you just need a safe space to go Warnings:  mentions of fighting, injuries, blood, throwing up, swearing, angst Word count:  2k A/N: first of all anon are you a writer?????? bro those words..... pls write more !! thanks for your request, enjoy!

you're walking down the streets of new york city, feeling utterly miserable. you're soaked through because of the rain and you're hurt.

everyone knows that demigods don't exactly live a quiet life. especially kids from zeus, poseidon or hades. still, most of the times you're fighting for your life you're on a quest.

not simply on your way home.

but today was different. somehow you brought not one but all three of the furies down on you. you don't even know how, you weren't doing anything.

it was a tough fight, but you stood strong. you couldn't prevent the dozen little cuts that littered your body. you're bruised over and on top of that it started to rain, messing with your sight.

right now you're on your way to your foster home. but it's a slow journey. you're not sure you want to go there. and you're not sure how much the mist hides for them.

sometimes if you got home all bruised you told them you got in a fight. sometimes they didn't spare you a second glance.

you stop in the middle of the street. at this point you've been walking for so long you don't even notice the rain anymore.

you turn around, heading another way. there's one other place you could go. you're lost in thought, and most of the people don't pay you any attention. perks of living in new york, you guess. new yorkers just don't care.

when you get to the familiar building, you feel a sense of calm coming over you. somehow you always found yourself back here. as you walk up to the entrance, someone leaves just as you arrive, so you can slip in the door before it closes.

you walk the stairs slowly because of your injuries. every step hurts and takes tremendous effort.

when you finally get to the right floor and walk to the door, you just stand in front of it. you're fully aware you're dripping rainwater on the floor, but suddenly you can't bring yourself to knock.

why are you even here? you don't want to be a burden.

they've told you that you can always come over, no matter what. but it's late at night, it's raining outside, you're soaked.

you're standing there, debating wether or not to go in, when you hear a voice on the other side of the door.

the person is softly singing along to a song that's playing.

tears well up in your eyes as you recognise the song. you were the one to recommend it.

you raise your hand and knock on the door.

'coming!' says the voice.

moments later the door opens to reveal a woman.

her eyes briefly widen at the sight of you, scanning your body for injuries. then her eyes soften.

'oh, what happened to you, sweetheart?' says sally.

her gentle voice is what pushes you over the edge, breaking down in tears in front of her.

sally pulls you over the doorstep and closes the door. she pulls you into a hug, not caring that you're soaked.

you wrap your arms around her and cry. you let all of the anxiety rush out of you as sally rubs circles on your back and whispers soft words in your ear. you ignore your aching body and allow yourself to just be here in the moment.

after a while, sally pulls back and holds you at an arms length.

'I'm so sorry for dropping in like this, miss jackson.' you say softly.

'y/n, you know you're always welcome here. and I've told you to call me sally.' she says kindly.

you nod. 'is percy home?'

'he's out to the movies with grover. do you want me to ask him to come home?'

'no, he's out having fun. it's alright. could I just..'

'why don't you take a shower first, hm? I bet you're freezing.'

you sigh softly. that does sound good.

'yeah, alright.'

'you go take a shower, then I'll make tea and see if I can do something about that.'

she pointedly looks at the cut above your brow. you totally forgot that was there.

'I don't have any clothes.' you say softly.

'that's alright, just borrow some from percy. he won't mind.' says sally.

'thank you.'

you walk towards percy's room to get some clothes when sally calls your name, making you turn around again.

'you're not a burden, you know that right. we love having you over.' says sally.

you swallow back the new tears that threaten to fall. sometimes you forget she knows you so well.

'thanks.' you say, entering percy's room to get some clothes.

you pick a shirt, sweater and sweatpants form percy's closet before going into the bathroom.

you peel your soaked clothes from your body, hissing when you pull the fabric from your wounds.

turning on the water, you get in the shower, letting the water calm you down. you wash off all of the dried blood, dirt and sweat.

after drying off you put on percy's clothes, his scent surrounding you and comforting you.

you head back to the living room to find sally putting two steaming mugs on the table.

'we still got your favorite.' she says, sliding your mug towards you.

'thanks.'

'drink up, and tell me about today if you want. I'll see if we have some medical stuff left in the kitchen.'

you sigh, thinking back to today.

'I didn't even do anything.' you say. 'I was just walking down the road and I got this feeling I was being watched. I thought it wasn't a big deal but hey, demigod instinct, so I took a turn and went into an alley. sure enough, someone followed me.'

'someone or something?' says sally, returning with the first aid kit.

'someone at first. then the mist cleared and it was one of the furies.' you say. 'at that point I was just so done. I wasn't even on a quest so what the hell was she doing there?'

'how did you get away? you've fought a fury before, percy told me.' says sally, scooting her chair closer to you so she can clean the cut on your forehead.

'I have. it's okay if it's one. but then the other two showed up.' you sigh. 'at that point I was really annoyed. I think it was just annoyance that drove me at that point. they were clearly there because they were bored. they thought "hey smells like demigod, oh look it's the hades kid, let's mess with her."

'well, you're here now. you made it out.' says sally, finishing with the cut on your forehead.

'yeah. thanks again.' you say, sipping your tea.

'you don't have to keep thanking me.' says sally. 'you know you're always welcome here, you're practically family. I know you don't like your foster home. now, do you have any other wounds?'

you chuckle. 'only about two dozen little cuts and even more bruises. I've had worse, it's okay.' you say.

'it's never okay.' says sally. 'you and percy are way too young for this.'

you shrug. 'and yet we have to deal with it.' you say, rolling up your sleeves so sally can clean and bandage the cuts on your arms.

the next hour is spent by sally cleaning your wounds and bandaging you up as she tells you stories. you liked hearing her stories. ever since you first met her, it was one of your favorite things about her. she could tell stories in a way that felt like you were actually there, experiencing them.

just as she secures the last bandage in place, you briefly close your eyes, exhaustion getting to you.

'you can get some sleep, I'll tell percy when he gets home.' says sally.

'it's okay, I want to see him before I go to bed.' you say.

'alright, want to watch a movie of something?'

'movie sounds great.'

sally picks a movie while you sit down on the couch. it doesn't take long for you to doze off, even though you fight to stay awake. the fight with the furies was intense, so sally lets you sleep while she waits for percy to home home.

about halfway through the movie, the door to the apartment opens and percy enters.

'hey mom.' he says, taking off his shoes and jacket and dumping his bag near the door.

as he walks into the room, he notices a familiar sword leaning against the back of the couch. he frowns, he didn't know you were coming.

'is y/n here?' he says, walking over to his mom.

she nods, pointing to the couch.

percy looks over the back of the couch to find you fast asleep, wearing his clothes and your body littered in bandages and bruises.

'what happened?' says percy, walking around the couch.

'the three furies.' says sally. 'she didn't feel like going to her foster home.'

percy kneels before the couch, studying your face. he reaches out and traces one of the bruises on your cheek.

you stir awake from the movement, your eyes meeting percy's.

'hi.' you say softly.

'hey. you alright?' he says.

you nod. 'how was the movie?'

percy chuckles. 'it was good. you would have loved it. heard you got in a fight?'

'yeah. those damned furies.' you say. 'luckily your mom patched me up though.'

'you know my bed is more comfortable than the couch, right?' says percy.

you slowly sit up. 'I know. I wanted to stay awake til you got home.'

'and you did a great job at that.' says percy with a familiar twinkle in his eyes.

you hit him on the shoulder. 'you would have fallen asleep as well!'

sally watches the exchange with a smile on her face. moments like these make her especially happy you met percy.

'come on.' says percy, standing up and holding out his hand for you to take.

you take it and allow percy to gently pull you to your feet.

'thanks again sally.' you say as percy beings leading you to his bedroom to sleep in an actual bed.

'no need to thank me y/n. it's always good to have you around, even if it's like this.'

you and percy both say goodnight to her before entering percy's room.

'so, did you sugarcoat the story for my mom?' he says as you sit down on this bed.

'not really, I just didn't tell her all of the details.' you say.

percy raises an eyebrow at you. 'details like?'

'like how one of them punched me in the gut and I nearly threw up because of it.' you say.

'ew.' says percy, face scrunching up in disgust.

'you would have thrown up as well.' you say.

'but you managed to fend off all three furies on your own?' he says.

you nod, laying down. 'I think I bruised a rib, though. the rest is all small cuts and bruises. no broken bones this time. they looked like they were really fucking annoyed they could be bested by just one kid.' you say.

percy smiles, walking over to kiss your cheek, careful not to touch the wounds on your face. 'that's my girl.' he says.

'you got anything to do tomorrow?' you say, stifling a yawn.

'nope. we can spend the day here.' he says, walking over to the bed an laying down next to you.

'good.' you say. 'I just need to wash my clothes and clean my sword, and I should probably-' 'y/n.'

you look at percy.

'let's just relax tomorrow, okay? come on, you need sleep.'

you nod, moving closer to him.

as you're laying next to percy, feeling sleep get to you once more, you can't help but to feel a deep sense of gratitude.

sally didn't question why you showed up at her doorstep, but pulled you in her arms and sat with you to bandage your wounds and listen to your story.

percy listened to you as well and provided you familiar comfort you needed, telling you to relax.

you just know if something ever goes wrong, you're always welcome at the jackson household.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rulesHere’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit/Max

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Chapter 4 - Runaway

<<First Chapter - < Prev Chapter - Next Chapter >

Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Dubcon, Plus-sized reader, female reader, Poorly thought out action sequences, Guns, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real, More reader details given, but we're still pretty vague about it. Even though it is hard for me. No promises for future chapters though I might even tell y'all her name.

~3.8k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above

You wake in the morning with your nose buried in a thick patch of chest hair, and strong arms around you. Your legs are hooked around one of his thick thighs, and something hard digs into your stomach. You start to inch away, but his arms tighten, and his hips cant against you, a thick, sleepy groan rumbling in his chest. It would be a nice way to wake up, if not for the circumstances. It’s been ages since you slept beside another person, let alone someone that feels as comfortable as John does.

“John,” you say softly. You don’t want to fully wake him up, just get him to let you go. “John, please let me go.”

He hums, one hand sliding to your waist, and then down to your hip, pulling you closer, grinding you against his thigh. You squeak in protest, becoming aware that you’re already wet, like you’ve been unconsciously humping his leg in your sleep for some time. You push your slightly freer top half away a little, so you can look at him. He’s still sleeping, a little frown on his face as he’s pulled unwillingly toward consciousness. He really is handsome, especially like this, all his defences down, grumbling like a hibernating bear.

“Don’t wake up,” you tell him, as if it’ll make any difference. “I just have to pee.”

One of his blue eyes cracks open, a little unfocused. “You comin’ back?” His voice is rough from sleep, rasping like sandpaper.

“Sure,” you say, even though you have no intention of doing so. Your body seems as eager as his is for something you’re sure is dangerous. Maybe he smells good, like tobacco, warm, boozy spices and something undeniably male, and maybe he feels warm and solid against you, but you don’t want to encourage this. You just want to enough space to clear your head. His admissions last night still have you spooked, John’s words not tempered by a night of surprisingly good sleep. “I’ll just be a minute.”

He loosens his hold on you enough that you can wiggle free, his eyes opening a little more so he can watch you slip out of bed. He rolls over onto his back, and starts snoring gently before you’ve even made it to the bedroom door. You take the opportunity to snag one of the bags stacked in front of the closet and your purse off the dresser and bring both to the bathroom with you. You’re not sure what’s in the bag, but you know the larger suitcase has things from your closet in it, so you’re hoping this one has more from your dresser.

You get dressed, glad that most of your underthings and a comfortable pair of jeans and a thick sweater are inside and pack your toothbrush and makeup bag into the larger one, and creep downstairs carefully. One of them is snoring gently on the couch, but otherwise, the house is silent. You carefully fish a set of keys off the hooks by the door and sneak outside. You don’t know where any of your shoes are except the red heels, so you just leave in your sock feet, and pile your things into the pick-up truck. You’ll drive it into town and leave it there, buy a ticket on a train or a bus, and get the hell back home.

It sucks to have to leave everything you own, beyond the clothes in the one bag and the contents of your purse, but maybe you can call the cops— Well. Probably not. Better to just start over anywhere else. You have digital copies of a few pictures of your parents, and that’s better than nothing, even if their wedding album is sitting on a shelf in John’s living room, along with all the family photos that your parents took of you and them while you were growing up. Your mother’s sketchbooks too, and her camera, and your dad’s guitar.

You bite your lip, holding back tears, and start the truck.

No sense mourning things. The memories are in your head and your heart, not trapped in the pages of books or twisted into the strings of the guitar. You don’t need them.

You haven’t driven in a long time, and the truck, unfortunately, is a manual, which you haven’t driven in even longer, but you manage to pull away from the house without revving the engine too hard, and pick up speed once you get to the road, only just remembering to hit the clutch with your left foot before you change gears. You’d feel pretty pathetic if you only made it to the road before stalling out the pickup.

You’re not sure which way town is, but you figure the road has to lead somewhere no matter which way you choose, so you navigate blindly, turning onto a bigger road a little ways down the gravel one that leads to John’s house. Bigger road means more people, although the hour is still so early that there’s no one around yet. The sun is barely up, and it’s still shadowy in the woods on either side of the road. The woods give way to fields suddenly, the sun making a too-bright debut, shining right into your eyes. You flip down the visor and adjust the rear-view mirror, wincing when you see a blue car a ways behind you, approaching fast.

You didn’t notice the car when you were leaving— It must have been parked behind the bigger van that they’d used to move all your things— but it looks sporty and fast, and judging by the way it closes the gap, there’s no question that it’s them. You push the truck harder, squinting against the light, heart hammering. The car’s engine roars, loud enough that you can hear it over the blood rushing in your ears, and pulls into the lane beside you. Gaz motions for you to pull over from the passenger seat.

You slow up enough that they pull ahead a little, and you yank your steering wheel to the side and stomp down on the gas and the clutch, shifting into third gear and nailing the side of the car, shattering a tail light and making it spin, stopping just shy of the ditch.

For a moment, you’re still close enough to see the shock on their faces, but you’re moving fast and leave them in the dust, at least momentarily. It won’t take them long to recover and catch up again, and if they hit you with the same maneuver, there’s no way you’ll be able to get the truck under control. There’s not enough weight in the bed of the truck to compensate, and you’ll wind up in the ditch for certain.

Funny, how it comes back to you. Learning to drive along mountain roads way outside Aberdeen, either in your dad’s little car or your mom’s old truck (usually the car, which was the easier one to drive. Your dad was the safer driver too, the better parent to learn from), and you can almost imagine your mother in the passenger seat, laughing her head off at the insane circumstances, encouraging you to throw caution to the wind, to get a feel for the road under the wheels and the way the old truck handled. She always laughed when she was under stress, but it’s comforting to think of. Your mum would never let a couple of thick-headed military assholes get the better of her.

The car is catching up again, so you floor it and smash through a fence gate into a muddy field, where the car won’t handle as well, and speed your way across the stubbly remains of wheat, already harvested. The car follows, and, predictably, struggles, the low frame too close to the muck, bumping unhappily over the soft, uneven ground.

Laughter bubbles up in your chest, relieving some of the built-up anxiety. You smash through a segment of the fence on the other side and yank the truck back onto the road, giggling when the truck fishtails a bit, mud slicking the tires on the pavement. There’s so much adrenaline coursing through your system that you feel like you might be sick the moment you let any of this catch up with you. So you keep driving, and pray that it doesn’t.

The car gets close again when you reach another wooded section of road. Through the rearview mirror you can see Gaz pop out of the window, gun drawn, but you don’t hear the crack when it fires, you only feel the impact when the bullet strikes one of the rear tires. You shriek, slamming on the breaks as the truck spins out of your control and off the road, slamming into a tree head on.

The lurch forward as the airbags deploy, your body hitting them hard, knocking all the air out of your lungs as you’re slapped back into he seat. The seat belt bites into your shoulder painfully. You unbuckle yourself quickly, ears ringing too loudly for you to hear the screeching tires of the pursuit car. You fall to the ground when you try to get out, head spinning.

You stumble into the trees, still blinking away double vision. If you can find a good spot to hide— Maybe you can double back and take the car while they chase you blindly through the trees. You cast about, feeling every rapidly forming bruise, wishing desperately that you had shoes, and dive into the underbrush, scooting forward on your belly, brambles catching in your hair as you curl up, out of sight.

“Please come out, doll,” you hear Gaz call out, boots crunching through the woods, closer than you would like. “It’s okay, we’re not mad. Just come out and we’ll take you home, yeah?”

Johnny is yelling further off, his voice incomprehensible but sing-song, mocking. Gaz moves further into the woods. You wait until his voice grows a little more distant before you drag yourself back out, sweater streaked with mud, leaves in your hair, and quickly sneak back to the road. The car is still running, the driver door left open. You breathe a sigh of relief.

“There you are, bird.”

You scream. A gloved hand drops over your mouth, cutting off the sound, and an arm loops around your waist, picking you right up off your feet.

Fuck.

"Look what you did, bird. Wrecked up Price's truck. 'E's not goin' to be 'appy about that." He turns so you can see the slightly smoking truck, the front half of it crumpled beyond repair.

You shake your head until he pulls his hand away from your mouth. "Its not my fault I crashed. Gaz shot the tire out. I wasn't even going to steal it, just leave it in town once I'd gotten to a bus stop."

He hums. You hear the slight crackle of a radio. "Got 'er, lads. Come back to the car."

"Rog."

"Aye."

Ghost shoves you into the back seat. "Stay put," he says sternly. "You're already banged up, don't want to 'ave to tackle you."

You sigh, all the fight leaving you. You feel awful, bruised and shaken up and trembling, and you do nothing but watch as Ghost gathers your things from the truck and puts them in the boot of the car. You slump back in the seat, inspecting the scratches on your hands idly. Your head hurts, and your shoulder aches, and you feel a bit like you've been stepped on, but nothing feels broken, just bruised and tender. You got lucky.

Well, not lucky. There's very little about any of this that counts as luck. Especially considering the look on Johnny's face when he jogs out of the trees. At first he looks stormy, but he grins when he sees you and opens the back door to crawl onto the seat and on top of you.

"Steamin Jesus, where'd ye learn ta drive like tha'?" He asks. "Didnae ken ye were a racer."

"Outside Aberdeen," you reply. Your ribs hurt. Soap’s weight makes every little ache more acute.

"Price isn't gonna be happy about his truck," Gaz says, tossing himself into the driver's seat. "What were you thinking, doll? You could've been hurt."

"You didn't have to shoot the tire." You try to push Soap off, but he wraps himself around you, a bit tight, but bearably so. You’re trembling, and he’s trying to help, in a thoroughly unhelpful way. "I was just trying to get home."

"That's the wrong way. Your home's with Price now." Ghost gets into the other front seat, and Gaz reverses back out onto the road.

You sigh, leaning your head against the window, watching the countryside flash by. It takes an embarrassingly short time to get back to John's house. You didn't get as far as you would have liked, hardly got anywhere at all. Your eyes prickle with tears, but you don't want to cry in front of them. You want to go back to bed, maybe back in time to the morning. You would have been wiser just to curl up next to John again.

Soap drags you from the car, hands a bit rough on your bruises, and pulls you back to the house. John rushes out, worry creasing his face, blue eyes sweeping over you and turning furious. "What happened?" he barks, not at you, but at his men.

"Bird was makin' a run for it," Ghost says.

"Wrecked your truck," Gaz adds.

"That's not my fault!" you protest. "You shot at me!" You glare at him, frustrated tears overflowing down your cheeks. It’s like they have no idea what kind of stress they’ve put you through.

"Woah, woah, c'mere, doll." John pulls you against his chest, wrapping strong arms around you, stilling some of the tremble in your limbs. "You broken?"

You shake your head, leaning into him, gripping his t-shirt tightly. You breathe in raggedly, trying to steady yourself.

"Lads. Why did you shoot at her?"

"Trying to stop the truck."

"She's a civilian you muppets. I take it that the truck's in no shape to drive, or you would've brought it back. You could have killed her." He pets a hand over your head, plucking out a few leaves. "You should’ve let her go."

"She stole your truck!" Soap protests.

"So what? It's wrecked now anyway, innit?" The silence behind you speaks volumes. "Alright, doll, why don't you go get cleaned up? " he murmurs against the top of your head. "I need to talk to the lads, and what I have to say is not fit for a lady's ears."

He gently ushers you into the house and closes the door firmly behind you. You trudge upstairs, feeling utterly pathetic, and lock yourself into the bathroom. Still sniffling, you comb sticks and leaves out of your hair with your fingers and put yourself into a hot shower, where you give yourself the freedom to cry your eyes out, hoping that the sound of water drowns your stifled sobs.

The house is quiet when you shut off the shower and dry yourself off. You wrap the shirt you'd slept in around you and poke your head out into the hallway. John is right there, holding out a bundle of clothes. "Here, sweetheart," he says softly, like he's worried a sharp word will set you off again. He must have heard everything. "I sent the boys to deal with the truck and that tail light, so it's just us. Just come on downstairs when you're ready."

You open the door wide enough to accept the clothes, and he turns to leave again, content to leave anything else to be said when you make it downstairs.

He'd obviously taken his cue from what you'd been wearing already, because he gives you a sweater and jeans again, comfortable worn in things. You go downstairs carefully, every joint and muscle in your body aching, even after the shower.

"How do you take your coffee?" he asks. "Or do you prefer tea?"

"Coffee, please. I can make it. I'd feel better if I did, honestly." You skirt around him to the cupboard where you'd seen Gaz take mugs out, recognizing your own nestled among John's mismatched ones. You put milk and sugar in your favourite mug, and pour in coffee, stirring it throroughly. The clink of the spoon is loud, and so is the pan he sets on the stove top.

"Eggs and toast okay?" He asks.

"Um, yeah. That would be nice. Over easy?"

"Yes ma'am." He looks at you over his shoulder while butter melts in the pan, blue eyes all worry. "Did I say something to you last night? Maybe the sort of thing that made you feel like you needed to steal a truck and run as fast as you could away from here?"

"Um. Yes." You hold onto the mug with both hands. "Some stuff about wanting to start a family. With me."

His ears turn pink. "I see."

"I suppose this is where you tell me it was just the whiskey talking, right?" you ask hopefully. You like him, even if it’s ill-advised, maybe even dangerous to do so.

"Wish I could."

Your stomach twists. “Oh.”

John turns around fully, guilt and sadness written all over his handsome face. He steps closer and touches your arm gently. “I’m so sorry about what my boys have put you through, sweetheart. None of this has been right.” He sighs, brushing a few tendrils of still-wet hair away from your face, studying you, those intense blue eyes focused on you intently. “But there’s something special about you, doll. I really do want to keep you forever. Not if you’re scared, and not if you feel forced— It’s just, the thought of you leavin' and never wanting to speak to me again is— I don’t want that.”

You swallow nervously. “This is just really overwhelming.”

“I know. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have let this happen. Soap really could have just given you my number.” The smile he gives you is hopeful, and you can’t help but return it, just a little. “Now go sit down, doll. Let me take care of breakfast, hm?”

You nod and move to the table, sitting where you can watch him, and peek out the window too. The car is gone, but the van is still there for the moment, sitting idly to the side. You consider making another run for it, but your aching limbs protest even the thought. There’s not enough fight in you, and you’re not even sure you want to fight John, not the way you do the other three. His only crime has been wanting you to stay, and being a bit overzealous about it. You can’t be mad at him for that, can you? It isn’t really his fault.

Well, it might be his fault, in a roundabout way. He trained them, taught them how to ruthlessly pursue an objective. It’s just not his fault they can’t keep it from coming home with them. That’s a clear failure of whoever does their mental health assessments.

You sip your coffee and watch John crack eggs into a pan. He keeps glancing at you, and his smile flickers on a little longer each time that he catches you looking back, until he doesn’t stop smiling, and just looks happy, glad to have you there, even if you’re just keeping a silent vigil on the other side of the room.

It's not like you have anywhere to go. It'll take days at least to feel like you haven't just been in a car crash, and days more to locate everything to pack it back up. So long as you don't have to share a bed with John again, you think you could live with this, for at least a week. It can't be that terrible, so long as the others leave you alone. You rather hope they just leave. If you asked, would John send them away?

"John," you say as he sets a plate with buttered toast and a couple of eggs on it in front of you, and sets a couple tablets of paracetamol beside your plate. "If I stay… Will they be staying too?"

"I'm going to have them leave this afternoon. That alright with you? We can go for a walk to the neighbours while they pack up, if you're up for it. Maybe dr-- Well, not drive." He sets his own plate down and sits next to you, handing you a knife and a fork. “Have to get that sorted out. But the neighbours-- Rob and Melissa-- Their dog just had puppies a few weeks ago. Do you like dogs?”

You nod, breaking the yolks of one of the eggs with a corner of toast. "My parents had a dog when I was growing up. Some kind of German shepherd cross. Best boy. His name was Rob Roy, because he was a wee outlaw. Mam found him digging in the trash and--" you stop and give John a baleful look. "Sorry. That was more than you were asking."

"No, that's the most you've said at once this whole time. I'd listen to you talk all day, doll. Don't ever apologize."

"Sorry I-- Oh, shit, sorry--" you press your fingers to your mouth, cutting yourself off. "Force of habit."

"I'd like to see you lose that one. You have nothin' to apologize for. Not one damn thing, and especially not talking. I think you have the prettiest voice I've ever heard."

You roll your eyes, but you can't help smiling. "You're just saying that."

He touches your arm lightly. "You don't know me too well yet, doll, but I never just say anything."

Yet hangs in the air, heavy and deliberate. He wants you to know him, wants you to stay with him, wants you to like him. Even if it makes no sense, the offer is tempting. It's been a long time since you've let someone get close— You've had the occasional fling, and the odd reunion with an ex that you’d stayed friends with, but grief is like a canyon you can't bear to cross. What if you love someone and you lose them, the way you lost your parents? How could you live with that all over again?

Still, there's something that feels like warm sunlight in his smile, and you can't help but incline toward him, slowly but surely reaching for the light. No one can live in the shade forever. There’s no nobility in suffering.

So you let yourself talk, at least a little. And he listens, hanging on to your words like they're precious, gazing at you with something unfurling in his expression that you can't name. You're almost afraid to try.

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

[dapper-lil-arts]

Darlings. is it gay when the phantom you created as a manifestation of your dreadfull loneliness takes the form of one of your closest friends.

Fanart of this pretty good horror rarijack fanfic, "The haunting of carroussel boutique" personaly i am surprised the writer didnt take the chance to point out how fucking funny this is. Me n kim started laughing about it during stream and i just had to draw this

[sincerelywhistler]

can I come home to you?

A commissioned piece for @ejunkiet to pair with her GORGEOUS Porter fic “can I come home to you?” featuring her Treasure design🤍

GO READ IT GO GIVE IT KUDOS GOGOGO-

[gothamite-rambler]

Talia being a good villain mom and embarrassing him. Like real moms do!

Damian, in his Robin suit, answered his phone while speaking with Commissioner Gordon.

Damian (confused): Ye- Yes, unknown caller?

Talia (chipper): Mommy is visiting!

Damian (blushing): Mother. No… No.

Batman (sharing the same frustration): Please tell me she isn't close by.

Damian: Mo- Talia, when you say "visiting," you mean you're arriving in town, but not close by?

Talia (chipper tone): Well…

Suddenly, a grappling hook lands on the precinct, and Talia climbed up effortlessly. Batman and Robin didn't notice, but Gordon did.

Gordon: She's behind you guys.

The father-son duo turned around and groaned. Talia clapped her hands, excited to see Damian in his Robin uniform.

Talia: Tifl! Give your mother a hug!

Damian: No!

Damian ended the call and tried to run away but wasn't quick enough to jump from the roof to safety. Talia tackled him to the ground and hugged him while spinning around.

Talia: My baby, my baby, I've missed you, my baby!

Damian: Why can't you be emotionless like Grandpa?!

Gordon: Tifl… mother… Bruce, you had a child with Talia?

Batman: I don't like to talk about it. And can you not use my government name right now?

Gordon: Come on, we're friends! I figured out your identity years ago.

Batman: Don’t remind me! Give me a minute; I have to pry my baby mama off my child.

Batman walked over to break up the smothering hug that Talia was giving Damian, while Gordon watched on, chuckling.

Gordon: Good for him – I'll wait over here.

Damian: Mother, I can't breathe!

Talia: Shush, let me love you!

Batman: Talia, you are embarrassing us!

[fuckmeyer]

if smeyer wasn't a coward vamp!Bella would have immediately eaten her daughter Rensesmem whole-hog like Saturn Devouring His Son

[ato-dato]

Spent an hour of my day just sitting together with my sisters and my mum showing each other gomens edits. Both sad ones and thirst traps. Family bonding time.

My mum also has fanart of aziracrow kissing on her phone home screen. And today she said sometimes she just stares at it longingly. Shes in her 3rd rewatch of s2 as well.

[weavingletters]

Danny, after learning he can survive in space as a ghost, spends many hours floating up there. Orbiting the earth and staring outwards. He picks out Saturn, vega, Andromeda. He uses the time to de-stress and relax and fulfill his obsession.

On one such trip, after ancients knows how many hours he hears a bark that echoes in his ectoplasm. He thinks at first that it's Cujo, come to fetch him at the request of his sister or his friends. But the dog he sees when he turns around isn't Cujo.

It's Laika. She wants to play.

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Maddy watched her son as he chatted with his friends at the kitchen table, homework and after school snacked were scattered across its surface as Danny told his friends all about his new crush.

And that was exactly what it was. She recognized those soft pleading puppy dog eyes, those dreamy sighs and of course the way that Sam girl was bending the cutlery in her grip as she gritted her teeth.

If she hadn't tested her multiple times she would have thought Sam was a ghost! Now there's a funny thought! A ghost! Under thier noses the entire time! She could have laughed!

Bringing this up with Jack made him have the same conclusion as her. They needed to go to Gotham to capture this Red Robin boy and make sure he wasn't an evil ghost in disguise and if he isn't then they needed to give him a good shovel talk anyway. This was the baby of thier family after all. Thier little angel was the sweetest, most innocent child on the planet and they wouldn't let anyone hurt him!

Meanwhile Danny is whispering to his friends about how he had reanimated like 800 hot dogs and set them loose in Vlads business tower when Bruce Wayne was supposed to be visiting. They had little guns, swords, battle flags and everything

Maddie later realizes the Robin of the less red variety was also her sons "type" and tries to capture him too. She also considers putting her son in therapy cause she's noticing some unhealthy trends in his choice of significant others...

Later Danny calls the police station and asks to speak to batman. When asked why he confessed he wanted to ask if they could free his parents and that thier godfather was a supervillian who was weirdly obsessed with Danny and his mom and has been abusive in the past.

The bats didn't even get a chance to make a joke before the bat adoption papers were out.

[justaz]

semi-dark king merlin au, someone from ealdor tells king cenred about merlin and he is captured and held as a slave in essetir. since merlin despises captivity and servitude, he’d rather be dead and free than alive and in chains so he acts out and pisses people (especially the king) off so they’ll think him too much trouble and kill him. at first they stick to beatings until merlin manages to get his chains around a few necks and now has a body count so they kill him…..only he wakes back up a few hours later and king cenred is Intrigued and keeps him close. merlin keeps acting out but no matter how many times they kill him, he won’t stay dead. merlin has this moment after waking up perfectly fine after his twenty seventh death where he is hopeless and believes there to be no escape, not even thru death. a few other sorcerers in chains come and help him clean up and give him a lil peptalk, realizing him to be emrys, and then they revolt and take over the kingdom and crown merlin as king and now uther is like “wtf” bc his neighboring kingdom who was kinda sorta on his wavelength about sorcery, though uther did not approve of keeping them alive, is now a kingdom ruled by magic. he goes to war with them but with magic running free and fucking emrys on the throne, they don’t make a lot of headway. anyways merthur meet on the battlefield, enemies to lovers, you get it

[natalievoncatte]

The yawn stretched Lena’s jaw to the point that she felt like a cat, baring her fangs. Naturally, it prompted a Kara Danvers Pout, which was utterly devastating. Kara looked at her over the top of her drink cup, straw still pursed in her delicate pink lips as she frowned slightly.

“How long have you been awake?”

“I had a half hour nap this morning,” Lena sighed.

She’d been in the office for three days, but she didn’t admit that.

“Leeeenaaaaaaa,” Kara said, drawing her name out into a gentle rebuke. “You promised me you’d stop doing that to yourself. I’m taking you home.”

Lena’s heart skipped and Kara abruptly jerked upright, briefly glancing at her. Lena hated when that happened, when her body betrayed her. Kara meant escort her home; Lena’s thoroughly tired mind had supplied another scenario, one where Kara carried her onto the bed, relieved her of her clothes and dove between her legs, but that was never going to happen. Lena let out a long sigh of resignation, trying to be satisfied with best-friendship.

She hoped Kara hadn’t suddenly developed telepathy.

If you took me home I’d never leave. I could make love to you for a hundred years.

Kara smiled back at Lena’s wistful look. “I mean it.”

“Okay. I can come back to it tomorrow. Besides, I’m too full of grease and cheese to stay awake. Should we…”

Lena never finished her sentence. There was a crackle in the air, a sudden wet smell of ozone, and the thunderous boom that made her ears ring.

Kara flashed in front of her at super-speed, yanking off her glasses and tossing them on the couch in a smooth motion.

Hovering in the middle of her office was some ramshackle contraption resembling a mechanical eye about the size of a basketball that scanned Kara with a faint purple energy ray.

“Kara Danvers. Supergirl. I am Zeglos, Regent of the Alotian Republic. I am calling to you from the home of my people, located in what is to you a subatomic realm we call Universe Q. We need your help, you are our only hope. The invaders are slaughtering us and razing our home. There is no time.”

Kara glanced back at Lena. “I’ll help if I can. Let me-“

“There is no time. You must come with me now.”

“Wait, hold on a second-“

The machine flashed, thrumming as it powered up, and blasted here with a wave of light that surrounded them both, and then in a crackling boom they both vanished, leaving behind the ozone smell and a faint impression of Kara’s boot heels in the carpet.

Lena stared into the empty space for a moment, then shot to her feet, snatching the phone off her desk, where it had lain ignored since Kara walked into the room.

She called Alex, shocked at the blubbering panic in her own voice. Within a few minutes, everyone was there, piling into the room. Lena warded them off from the spot where Kara had stood. Alex was cold and calm, her voice clinical, and she immediately began issuing orders. J’onn took Lena aside and gently asked her probing questions in the manner of an old detective, coaxing every meager detail of the event out of her.

Within half an hour, Brainy and Lena had set up all sorts of equipment around the room, scanning, hoping to find some energy signature or other clue that could enable them to bring Kara back from wherever she’d been taken.

It proved fruitless. They tried everything.

Minutes stretched into hours. Lena was exhausted, heavy with fatigue.

“Go home, get some sleep,” said Alex. “We can’t help her if we pass out on the floor.”

“I’ll sleep here.”

She did, throwing a thin blanket over herself on the couch. It was Alex, not Lena, who cleaned up the Big Belly Burger mess. Lena slept fitfully, showered in the en-suite attached to her office, and changed into an old hoodie that she kept there and wore when no one was looking.

It wasn’t hers. Threadbare, a maroon color faded to a soft red, the back still emblazoned with a cracked and fading Midvale Mathletes Club logo, it was Kara’s. Lena had snatched it from Kara’s sofa and put it on one night when she was feeling bold and then, as now, felt surrounded by it, the oversized garment swaddling her.

And it smelled like Kara, just enough. Kara had stared at her intently for a moment when she took it that night but said nothing, a wistful sad look on her face before the moment was broken by Wynn’s bad joke at the table. Wynn was gone now, but the hoodie remained, just as it had remained when they were fighting, when she thought she’d never see Kara again. She’d worn it then and cried herself to sleep in it.

Just like now.

A day became two. Then three. Five. Lena tried everything, pursued every theory. They called in every favor, human and alien. Brainy tried to send messages to the future. Nia dreamed fruitless dreams. Alex paced like a caged animal and Kelly kept the peace, keeping them all fed, making sure everyone slept, talking things out whenever tempers flared.

Nothing worked.

Lena even tried praying, something she hadn’t done since the last time she was in a small church in Ireland. It didn’t work this time, either.

Lena was seated next to Brainy on the couch, going over a design for a new device to try to follow what was by now a thoroughly cold trail. Alex stood at the balcony door, staring out into a slashing summer rain squall that buffeted the glass with distant thunder and gusts of wind.

The ozone smell tickled Lena’s nose and she looked up, just as Kara took a stumbling step out of nowhere, appearing in her office with an utterly bewildered look on her face.

“Kara?”

Alex snapped round, adding her voice to the chorus. “Kara?”

Kara stared at her sister, open-mouthed, tears welling in her eyes.

“Alex?” she said. “Alex, you’re alive? How is that possible?”

“Alive? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Kara!” Lena cried, her voice ragged in her throat.

At the sound of her voice, Kara snapped around, eyes wide. Her knees buckled and she sagged, almost falling. She stumbled forward as Lena stood and they fell into each other, Lena hurling herself, reckless, into an embrace that revealed too much. She almost climbed Kara, all but throwing her legs around her as well as her arms as she buried her face in the Kryptonian’s neck.

“Oh God. Oh Rao. I thought you would all be gone. I begged them to let me leave but they wouldn’t let me go, I had to…”

“Kara?” Alex asked, cautiously. “Why would we be gone?”

Kara barely seemed to hear her as she gently twined her fingers in Lena’s hair and wrapped her powerful arm around Lena’s waist, encircling and shielding her.

“How long has it been?”

“About a week,” Lena choked out. “I was so scared.”

“A week?” Kara blurted. “It’s only been a week here?”

Alex put a reassuring hand on Kara’s back, standing next to them. “Yeah, you were taken on Tuesday, kiddo. It’s Wednesday, the 17th.”

Kara stared past Lena, resting her chin on the shorter woman’s head, and began to sob with relief.

“Kara?” said Alex.

“Time dilation,” said Brainy.

“They told me time would pass slower up here but I didn’t believe them. I’ve been gone for… for…”

“It’s okay, Kara,” Lena whispered. “You’re okay, you’re back.”

“Eighty seven years, four months, and eighteen days,” Kara sobbed. “It’s been so long, I thought you were all dead.”

Alex stiffened. “Kara. Oh my God.”

Kara buried her face in Lena’s hair and breathed her in, shuddering. “I’d given up. All that kept me going was hoping I could see you again. This is a gift. A gift. I love you all so much.”

Kara still held her, rocking slightly, her big shoulders shaking with powerful sobs.

“Kara,” Lena whispered. “Kara, it’s okay.”

“I love you,” Kara blurted. “I love you. It’s okay if you don’t love me back, I just need to tell you, I have to tell you. All I could think about down there is how stupid I was and how stupid I’ve been and how none of the reasons I never told you made any sense,” she sucked in a breath as if she’d briefly forgotten how, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

There could be no mistaking her intent. She seethed with it, it radiated from her very bones. Lena hugged her hard, crushing her with all her might as if to crawl inside her.

“God, Kara, I’ve dreamed of hearing you say that. I love you too. Let’s… mmmph!”

Kara was kissing her. Lena’s brain briefly froze, then she realized the full magnitude of what was happening. Kara was kissing her. Kara was kissing her. Then Lena was kissing her back. There was so much in it, need and lust and adoration and an unbelievable desperation, but above all love. Lena felt her heart open as if hadn’t in a long time, like a flower unfolding to receive the nurturing warmth of morning sun.

“I’ve been waiting for this for so long,” Kara whispered when they finally broke and Lena again could breathe.

“Let me take you home,” said Lena.

[specialagentartemis]

trick or treat!! 😋🎃

Happy Late Halloween!

Have a fanfic snippet inspired by a conversation from the Preservation Tree Server. Where is it going? Who knows but the concept was very funny to me.

Pin-Lee was frowning at her feed screen and tapping her fingernails on the table arrhythmically when Mensah sat down. “You said there was an update on the TranRollinHyfa suit?” Mensah asked her.  Pin-Lee’s expression was causing her stomach to twist.  Deep breaths, let her chest fill with cool Preservation Station air and release it calmly.  It couldn’t be that bad.  Surely it couldn’t be that bad. “Yeah.”  Pin-Lee grimaced slightly and laid her screen down.  Seeing Mensah’s expression, Pin-Lee’s eyes widened just a little and her grimace turned apologetic.  (Was her own face that bad? Was she that obvious?)  “It’s not bad!  It’s… I mean.  We’re fine.  We’re.  Okay.  So you know that the governing board of shareholders for TranRollinHyfa sued us for the mess we made on their station.  And we counter-sued them going, are you fucking serious right now.” Mensah nodded.  “I’m aware,” she said dryly. “Yeah.  So we sued them for, y’know, allowing you to be held hostage on their station for twenty-two cycles and not only doing nothing about it, taking bribes to actually prevent our ship from docking.  Also letting GrayCris’s asshole lawyer carry around an illegal gun.  Also emotional damages for you, and for me, Ratthi, and Gurathin for good measure.  Approving SecUnits to come after you trying to kill you.  Lots of stuff to counter-sue for.  And it was intentionally overkill.  Trying to send them a message to knock it the fuck off.  I expected them to settle for dropping their suit.”  Pin-Lee’s smile was pained.  “But.” “But?” Mensah prompted.  “You look concerned.  Did we lose?  Do we owe them money after all?” “No,” Pin-Lee said.  “I’m too damn good at my job, I guess.  We won.” “… I don’t follow.” “We were awarded everything we asked for.” “You’re saying that like it’s a bad thing.” Pin-Lee tilted her head back and forth in a gesture of ambivalence.  “Turns out they don’t have the money to pay it.” “So we’ll take exactly what they were suing us for, and call it even.” “Can’t. TranRollinHyfa is going into bankruptcy and liquidation for this.  But for something the size of a station, that’s really, really bad, and tends to end up with assassinations and a bunch of employees dying rather than having their contracts auctioned off and it’s a whole fucking nightmare.  So.  They offered to settle for everything.” “And when you say ‘everything,’ you can’t possibly mean…” “I sure do,” Pin-Lee said, spreading her arms to mean either expansiveness or defeat, Mensah couldn’t tell which.  “Preservation is now the sole owner and proprietor of TranRollinHyfa Station.”

[waywardstation]

Don't Fall Asleep

Chapter 1

Something has started disrupting Ingo in the middle of the night and waking him up, and it seems like it's getting progressively more dangerous with each visit. Something about the eerie occurrences are not adding up, and Ingo is growing more and more exhausted as time goes on. Akari wants to help find out what's haunting him and stop it before something serious happens to him.

This has been an interesting fic to write. Two times now I've tried to write a fic based on a certain prompt, but by the end it's changed so much it's a different fic altogether. This fic is the result of my second attempt to finish the original. Perhaps one day I'll finish it haha, but I hope you enjoy this one! Seems fitting for Halloween ^^

Be aware near the end of this chapter, there is a scene of fabricated fatal injury.

OR read on AO3!

Enjoy!

—————

It shouldn’t be this cold.

Ingo’s first thought murmured in his head, barely registered over the loud bang that jolted him from sleep. He found himself looking up through the darkness and at the ceiling of his tent — the thick fabric above was moving, dim except for a blur of ambient light that stretched up the wall and reached across it. 

Something was howling. And still slamming.

Rubbing the frost from his heavy eyes, Ingo turned onto his back and sat up to properly assess the room.

It was impossible not to immediately notice that the doors to his tent were open and loose, wind swinging them back into the walls repeatedly. And the warm light from his now-opened furnace had been snuffed out, replaced with a cold, dim glare from the snowstorm raging outside. Snow was piled at the entrance and scattered across the floor, as well as sprinkled across his own bed and belongings. 

How did that happen?

Shivering, Ingo pulled back his blankets and left its waning warmth to approach the entrance, picking Gliscor’s Pokéball off his table on the way over. Steadying the doors with his hands, he used one of his feet to shove most of the snowpile back out through the door. When that was taken care of, he took a cautious glance outside, squinting into the hazy storm.

Clan members had told him that the Zoroark packs would grow more comfortable with approaching the settlement when the temperatures dropped to even more unforgiving temperatures, and the nights grew longer. 

Was it already time for that? Had one of them tried to get into his room? Had it actually entered and then left?

He didn’t think he would have been left unharmed if one had. And his supplies surely wouldn’t have been left alone either.

Perhaps a curious Zorua, then? But Zorua couldn’t reach up high enough to open the tent doors… unless he hadn’t truly secured the locks when he went to bed, perhaps.

Ingo looked over his shoulder into the dark room to check if the assumed intruder was still here somehow, pressed into a corner or hunched under his bed frame. But there was nothing in the darkness, of course. No sharp eyes glowing from the corners, no ominous forms blending in with the furniture. Not even any snowy footprints smeared on the floorboards. 

Turning back to face the flurry rushing outside the doorway one last time, Ingo stared into the spaces between the snowfall. No forms, no figures, nothing. He could barely even see the trees through the flurry, the white-dusted forms bending and swaying with the gale.

Something about it was unnerving.

But the intruder was long gone now, if it had even been here in the first place.

Ingo shut the door, one last rush of cold pushing through as the howling wind was muffled, and the ambient light was swallowed by darkness. Locking it securely, he pulled on the doors to double-check this time. The man sighed, a cloud of breath fading into the air. The wind was no longer tormenting him, but it was still freezing inside. Too cold to sleep comfortably.

Moving towards the frozen furnace, Ingo set Gliscor’s Pokéball back with the rest on the table before crouching down. The fire inside had gone out completely, leaving a dark hollow in its place.

Something had to have done that, surely. The wind may have been able to extinguish it, but it would not have been able to swing open the locked hatch.

Reaching out for his wood supply tucked into a low shelf nearby, Ingo placed three more logs into the furnace and sparked a small flame. It quickly illuminated the insides with a warm orange as it steadily began flickering across the logs, and Ingo shut the furnace door before any embers could jump out.

The only thing left to do was get back into bed and wait for the room to heat back up. Ingo trudged across the wooden floorboards and pulled back his somewhat-warm sheets to curl up under them.

With his head sinking into his pillows, Ingo let out an exasperated sigh as he tried to make himself comfortable under the covers. His heavy eyes scanned the room one last time — nothing. No movement, no sounds, and no wind, save for the storm now muffled outside. There was only the soft, swelling glow of the furnace working hard to thaw the freeze that had settled.

Ingo relented to the heaviness and closed his eyes, but deep down, he expected he probably wouldn't be falling back asleep. It had always been difficult for him to do so once he was roused. 

And the thought that someone or something had been in his room while he was asleep was admittedly unnerving.

So with eyes closed, he listened to the snowstorm rushing outside, buried under his insulated blankets in a haze as the hours melted together, until a bleak daybreak began to brighten his tent’s canvas. It was difficult to get out of bed and travel down to Jubilife Village’s training grounds that day, he didn’t feel well-rested at all.

—————

Six nights later, Ingo once again found himself blinking into the darkness, shivering under his blankets like he’d been sleeping in deep cold for half an hour. 

Another bang of the door against the wall, and more howling of the wind rushed in to greet him. 

More snow scattered across the floor and his belongings.

Ingo sat up quicker this time, eyes scanning the room. His heart jolted when his gaze met with a dark silhouette hunched over the end of his bed, large yellow eyes staring at him.

The eyes blinked and the head tilted. What had once startled Ingo now put him at ease.

“Gliscor,” Even amongst the wind and snow rushing inside, Ingo sunk back into his blankets with a sigh of relief. His ace must have exited his Pokéball and chased off whatever had entered his room. “You’re keeping watch, aren’t you?”

The eyes blinked again, and slowly Gliscor reached upwards to hang from the rafters by his tail, hunching back into the darkness where he felt comfortable. The only sounds made were the creaking of his carapace, and his soft chittering.

Once again, Ingo removed himself from his bed, shoved out all the snow at the entrance (and took another peek outside, to of course find nothing. The swaying tree line in the distance still caught his gaze for more than a moment, though), and re-lit his furnace — much more swiftly this time, knowing Gliscor was there and at ease. It meant he at least had the comfort of knowing no wild beast was hiding in his room with him this time.

“Did you see anything out there?” Ingo spoke aloud into the room as he locked the doors and checked their security.

“Scorrr,” Connecting eyes, Gliscor chittered reluctantly. Perhaps he hadn’t seen what it was either.

“That is alright, I appreciate the vigilance all the same.” Ingo yawned as he buried himself back under the warm blankets, looking up above him at the rafters. Gliscor stared back down and chittered, large eyes now catching the furnace’s dim flicker. Ingo could feel his companion’s gaze linger on the back of his head, before he heard his carapace creak as he shifted to watch the door. “Goodnight, Gliscor.”

He was probably going to have to bring this semi-nightly occurrence up at the Pearl Clan’s next morning meeting, he thought.

Eventually the sun rose up over the snowy mountains after another haze of hours went by. Ingo noticed somewhere during that time Gliscor must have returned to his ball, as the room was empty when he finally moved to leave his bed, groggy and exhausted.

—————

Five nights later, Ingo had once again awoken to the same exact scene. A frozen, scattered room that had been opened up to the harsh cold, and a confused Gliscor crammed up above him in the rafters, tail hanging down and wide eyes watching over him. 

He got up and swept the snow out once again, but something felt different this time.

“Do you sense anything out there tonight?” Ingo turned up to his companion, scrunched up under his own wings in the rafters. Gliscor didn’t move from where he sat, but his large yellow eyes were focused intently out the door.

Ingo followed Gliscor’s gaze out into the snowstorm. Like every other night, the tree line could barely be seen, bending with the rushing snow. Ingo squinted, trying to see them better, but he quickly decided to stop — staring too long was warping one of the closer trees to look like, well… something was standing there.

It sent dread through him, but no, it was just a tall, thin tree, dark against the snowstorm. He was starting to see things.

Rubbing his eyes as he locked the door, Ingo relit his furnace, climbed back into his now-cold bed, and sighed.

“Goodnight, Gliscor.” “Gliii,” 

Buried under his blankets, Ingo’s gaze was lazily drawn to the small window openings in his door. He watched the snow rush by behind them, blurred and long and wispy. He closed his eyes, accepting this was going to be another sleepless night that dragged on until sunrise. 

He really needed to bring this up again at their next morning meeting. It was concerning that it felt like every single night this happened was just the exact same night, repeating itself.

Maybe they needed a nightwatch. Some extra eyes around the settlement’s perimeter at night, to keep scavengers at bay. Maybe he’d suggest that tomorrow.

—————

Four nights later, Ingo did not wake up to the expected sight of his ceiling. 

He awoke to the sideways expanse of dark snow and distant mountains, with the wind and snow screaming in his ears. Cold bit deep into muscles and bare skin where it had seeped into his clothes and dragged against his face. 

Dragged.

He was being pulled–

The tug of his leg, void of feeling but aware of the strain, became obvious once it was suddenly dropped in the snow like deadweight. Ingo choked on a cloud of frozen breath and scrambled to push himself upright with numb limbs.

He was in the middle of the snowstorm, frigid wind lashing him. 

Hands went to his waist for Pokéballs that weren't there. Looking around frantically to both gain his bearings and try to spot his kidnapper, Ingo spotted his distant tent obscured by sheets of slurry. The doors were open to the darkness inside, and a trench of disrupted snow trailing behind him led all the way back to it. 

Something had dragged him out here. And while that something seemed to now be long gone, it had managed to pull him all the way out of his tent, through the settlement, and a good distance into the howling wastes.

Where was the night watch? There was absolutely no one out here, as far as he could see. How had no one seen this happening? He couldn’t even see any telltale signs of them in the distance. No lantern lights or anything.

Ingo stumbled to his frozen feet and quickly made his way back to the open doors on shaky legs, teeth chattering and mind thoroughly rattled. Entering his snow-scattered room, he noticed it was quiet in a way it hadn’t been the last few nights.

There was no dark shape up in the rafters, no yellow eyes watching him from open spaces between furniture. And there hadn’t been outside, either. 

Gliscor was not out this time. Had this thing even bested his own Pokémon with its stealth?

It unnerved him that whatever had done this had gotten as far as it had undetected. Had it adapted, learning it had to be sneakier?

He looked out through the door before shutting it quickly. There was nothing to be seen out there, and still no flickering lights from anyone keeping watch — there never was anything, but he felt like something was still out there.

This is no longer safe, Ingo thought, new fire flaring in his furnace as he threw his heavy pile of blankets back over himself, having added four more to the pile. His Pokéballs had now been moved beneath his pillow rather than the bedside table, and he released Gliscor. This time, he kept his companion with him on his bed, his long heavy wings draped over like another blanket.

Settling back under his covers once more, Ingo’s side swelled before he released a massive, exhausted sigh through his nose. This was getting to be ridiculous, what was going on? If it wasn’t Zoroark season at the start of all this, it had to be now. He was going to have to bring this up again in the next meeting, because it was not being taken seriously enough. But no one else was reporting occurrences like this. Was it only bothering him? He didn’t–

Ingo’s thoughts halted as his eyes adjusted to the dark. In the shadowed corner of the room and behind one of his cabinets, there was a single long tendril, stark against the darkness. Wispy and white, it hung in the air, suspended as if it was underwater. 

That hadn’t been there before.

Something about the sight made Ingo’s chest flutter, sick. What was–?

He didn’t know what happened next, as suddenly he was blinking exhaustion from his heavy eyes. It was morning, Gliscor was gone, and his blankets had been tossed about, now strewn around the bed and floor rather than piled on top to insulate him; he found himself to be freezing, and it felt like he had been for some time. 

Had he nodded off and somehow slept through the rest of the night without any blankets on him? That wasn’t good.

His eyes ached, heavy with exhaustion — he sure felt like he didn’t sleep well. Groaning, he pulled himself out of bed while he wrapped one of his thickest blankets around himself. He had to warm himself up by his furnace a little before getting ready for the day. 

He was intent on reporting this at the morning meeting — how had he been allowed to be dragged that far out unnoticed? They had told him they’d have people stationed outside, on the lookout for any Zoroark. If this had happened to him, it could happen to anyone.

Maybe he should go back to sleeping at his other place tucked away in the highlands. He stayed in the settlement around winter by choice, but maybe it would be safer to leave. Maybe this thing would stop tormenting him then.

Ingo threw a glance over at his cabinet one more time.

As expected, the wisp was gone, like it had never been there in the first place. But his dread was not. It settled in his chest as he hunched in front of his furnace.

—————

“Hey, are you alright?”

“Ah, good afternoon, Miss Akari… my cab could be in better shape, I admit.” Ingo sighed while rubbing at his eyes with the heel of a hand, as if the act itself was exasperating. His words sounded clogged. “My sleep schedule has been somewhat derailed lately.”

Akari moved to sit down on the bench next to Ingo, though she kept her distance, sitting on the other end. Rather than proudly standing at his post before the training grounds’ battlefield, he had secluded himself back against one of its walls. With his posture even more slouched than usual, he was bundled with extra layers, his stuffy nose practically in a steaming cup of tea. 

While the days had been growing colder, Ingo had easily dealt with much worse than this. And he never opted to sit down while at the training grounds unless he absolutely had to.

“Sounds like you’ve got a cold. Do you need anything?”

“No no, I can assure you I am not ill, do not worry.” Ingo sniffed. He was not oblivious to the way she was leaning away from him, clearly wary. “There was simply a mishap last night.”

“Oh.” Only then did Akari scooch closer to him – she was growing curious now, anyway. “Well, what happened?”

Ingo sniffed again. He didn’t even know where to start, really. “It seems that there is a Pokémon that continues to enter my home every few nights while I am asleep, but I cannot fathom why. It never steals any supplies, nor does it damage anything. And while it hasn’t… explicitly harmed me yet, I’m afraid the possibility is rising. Initially I brushed it off, but I am concerned that doing so has only intensified things. It is making sleep difficult.”

“Hmm.” Akari began to gently swing her legs on the bench, bumping her heels against the dirt. “Is it a Zoroark? It’s nothing you haven’t handled before.”

“Possibly, though it seems rather unlikely at this point.” 

Ingo thought back on that morning's meeting with some regret. He supposed he had embarrassed himself by asking why he had been allowed to be dragged out all the way into the wastes in the middle of the night, and why nightwatch seemed to be completely absent, having been nowhere to be seen throughout the whole incident. 

Other members had responded back that actually nightwatch had been active last night. They had people stationed around the settlement last night, and none of them had ever seen anything enter his home or drag him out. No one had seen him running back either. 

He had been in his tent the entire night, according to them.

After the meeting, one of the clan’s elders had taken him aside. He told him that they were only taking his words seriously without any proof of incident, setting up a nightwatch based on his word alone because he was a respected warden. But if it was all a false alarm — bad dreams, or sleepwalking, perhaps — then he best try not to embarrass himself in front of the whole clan with such confidence.

Ingo’s frown pulled thinking about it. He felt it best not to share any of that with Akari.

“A Zorua, then?”

“Afraid not.” Ignoring the fact that he doubted it could have even opened the front doors, a Zorua certainly could not drag him that far out of his own tent by his leg.

“Misdreavus?”

“No,” A delayed but confident answer; not once had he been woken by any child-like screams that the species were well known for.

“Um, Haunter?” 

“I’d… say not.” That one was more difficult, but ultimately, it wouldn't have needed to open his doors to enter. Right?

“What about Froslass?”

“Apologies, but I don’t believe any of these quite fit the identity of my intruder.”

“Well, what if it’s not even a Pokémon then?”

“I’d have to say I doubt that,” But a part of him briefly considered it.

Ingo knew what Akari was referring to. About the solitary wisps she’d come upon, wandering through the wilds in isolation after the sun had set. About the ghost stories the clans’ kids told each other, concerning souls of the long-dead settlement to the south roaming into their village from the wastes. Wanting to inhabit their homes as if they were their own.

Pokémon, he could deal with. He knew Pokémon. But the supernatural, he wasn’t so sure about.

“How can you be sure? Have you even seen what it looks like?” The teen continued to poke at the subject.

“It only arrives when I am asleep, and has always departed by the time I wake up. And I cannot fight off sleep indefinitely, Miss Akari.” Even now, the thought of getting quality rest made his muscles ache for it.

“Yeah, but I can!” Akari reconsidered her words when Ingo threw her a ‘please do not try that’ look. “I mean, I can do it in your place – stay awake when you won’t! I can stay with you tonight; I’ll keep watch when you go to sleep, so when this intruder comes in, I’ll be there to catch it!” She seemed to be making herself more excited over the idea as she went on. “We can make it a sleepover!”

“While I do appreciate the offer Miss Akari, under these circumstances I must decline.” Ingo was not keen on the possibility of getting the teen involved with this… thing, whatever it was. Her generally superficial reception to it told him she might not have realized just how alarming this situation was, either. “Besides, the Pearl Clan has recently decided to begin patrolling the settlements’ borders after nightfall. And I’ve decided to keep my own Pokémon out with me for now. I am certain this mystery intruder will not enter so effortlessly anymore.”

“Oh come ooooon,” Set on persuading him, Akari began chanting. “Sleep o-ver. Sleep o-ver. Sleep o-ver!”

“How about I let you know if I believe your services are required.” He compromised, taking another sip of his tea.

“Ohhh,” Akari knew what that meant, but she couldn’t force it, she supposed. She kicked at the dirt again, unsatisfied but accepting. “Fine.”

Ingo took another sip from his tea and dipped his head forward. He did not feel ready for the day.

—————

Three nights later. Ingo laid there as he blinked awake, finding himself staring at the ceiling once again. The wind was howling and open doors were slamming against the wall. Just as expected.

He turned onto his back and propped himself up on his elbows, eyes heavy and mind foggy. The furnace was out once again, and snow was piled at the door, just like it always was.

As he swung his legs over the side of the bed and began to cross the cold floors, Ingo realized with some discontent that the novel fear of the situation had begun to fade somewhat – it felt more like concerned caution now, or participating in a routine. Symptoms of someone who was growing too comfortable with the circumstances, and that made Ingo… uncomfortable.

Maybe it was because he had Gliscor out with him now, sleeping up above him from the rafters. 

Or maybe it was just because a few too many nights of bad sleep had worn out the senses. He didn’t know.

The doors were closed and locked once again, and Ingo turned, yawning as he approached the furnace to light it. Crouching down, he reached for the firewood and sparked a flame, before shutting the small door and securing the latch.

“Is it all clear, Gliscor?” Ingo asked out loud as he watched the flame flicker, making sure it would grow brighter instead of smolder. His companion had been rather quiet; had he even noticed if anything had come in? 

There was no answer, however. Was Gliscor asleep? As a nocturnal Pokémon, Ingo would have thought he would have been very alert right now– 

“Gliscor?” Ingo tried again. He looked up from where he was crouching to search for his companion, but fell back onto the floor instead.

Gliscor was not here. Not in the rafters, not by the bed, nowhere at all.

Instead, there was something else. It almost blended in entirely with the darkness that accumulated back there, but…

Two legs.

Two long, dark legs, thin as could be, back against the wall and right next to his headboard. A heart-stopping visual all on its own, made worse as Ingo’s eyes followed them all the way up into the rafters above. He couldn’t see where they ended, being lost to the darkness. 

But sticking out of that darkness to hang down were the same wispy white tendrils, suspended like cobwebs in the air. Like hair.

That same white wisp from last time.

It was like whatever was standing there was bent over backwards just to fit under the roof.

Whatever it was… It was in his room. It was next to his bed. It had been standing above him. 

A bolt of terror struck him, but before he could say or do anything, a loud crack exploded from behind. A tremor, then snow burst into the air and dim light intruded through the sudden gaping hole in the room that used to be the tent’s entrance — Ingo found himself on the floor with half of his room missing, as if the wall had been ripped off.

What-?

His instincts told him to look back, to not let whatever was by his bedside out of sight. A quick look over his shoulder though, and there was nothing there. It was gone, just an empty wall now in its place. Ingo stared back out past the jagged boards and torn fabric of his open wall into the flurry, almost dazed as the static in his ears gave way to distant shouts, cracking wood, and enraged bellows amongst the wind.

Something was attacking the village.

Was it the… thing that he had just seen? Was it responsible for the hole in his wall? 

Getting to his feet, Ingo took one look back at his wrecked room, exposed to the elements. Snow was piling up on the floor and furniture (some of which were now knocked over), and scraps of cloth and fabric were flapping in the wind. His belongings were strewn all about now.

But there were definitely no long, dark legs. It hadn’t hidden – nothing was peeking down from the now-crooked rafters. The sense of dread was still there, heavy in his chest, but it felt different. It was not from its presence anymore.

The screams and commotion were growing louder, now. He had to help – perhaps that is where Gliscor had gone too. Turning, Ingo hastily grabbed for his hat and tunic, pulling them on as he slipped into his shoes. Then a move to collect his Pokéballs, stuffing them into his tattered coat’s pockets as he pulled it off the hook from which it hung.

The snowstorm fully embraced him with its stinging cold as he stumbled out of the debris, rushing away from his tent and into the extensive blackness.

It was near impossible to see anything through the combination of heavy darkness and thick snowfall, but he could hear everything. He was surrounded by the sound of shouting and crashing, stomping and roaring, all distorted by the storm. Visceral and unrelenting, it sounded like a massacre.

Terror gripped at his heart – there were men, women, and children here who were not equipped to defend themselves from something like this, not in the middle of the night. If whatever had been in his room was going from home to home, attacking whoever was inside–

More screams somewhere ahead of him, and what sounded like wood splintering. Roaring.

“Hey!” Ingo squinted as the flurry continued to berate him, calling out to someone, anyone. The only answer was more screaming and crashing. It sounded like a home was being torn apart. Pulling his coat closed around himself, he hurried towards the sounds.

If he had his bearings correct, then Urb’s family’s home should have been up ahead.

Ingo’s ears suddenly rang, and the sounds died. Instead, a murky, unrecognizable shape came into view, revealing itself to be a pulverized Pearl Clan tent as he got closer.

“Urb!” Ingo called out for the clan member as he approached, kicking through the snow. The home was unsalvageable, wind howling as it rushed through the openings in the twisted boards that were bent and broken beyond repair. He stepped around the fragmented belongings scattered across the snow, hand ready to grab his Pokéballs from his coat pocket.

There was no answer, so he tried to call for the young man again. “ Urb!”

The wind blew over the last intact pot in the home as he stepped inside, shattering it at his feet and across the broken floorboards.

“Leuca!” He called next for Urb’s sister, then their elderly mother. “Platea!”

The fabric coverings tore as part of the structure weakened, the boards bending a little more. Ingo covered his head reflexively, but thankfully it held.

“Does anyone need assistance!” A sudden rush of the gale tried to drown him out with its howling.

No voices answered him. No calls, no groans, no nothing. Peeking into the wreckage, Ingo found no one. 

He was alone here, standing in the wreckage of this abandoned home.

Ingo was too frazzled to decide if that was a good or bad thing. 

Another boom cut through the silence to rattle him, with distant screams following behind. It was as if the source had moved, and was trying to taunt him… or lure him. Ingo’s chest felt sick — what was going on?

But he found he couldn’t ignore it; leaving the site behind, he ventured out into the sheets of flurry again. And again, he was surrounded by the terrifying sounds of a fight, of a vicious, heavy beast relentlessly going after his people. But he kept pushing forward towards the noise regardless. He couldn’t see, but the incline beneath his feet told him he was pressing uphill.

It was Vicus and Rema’s house that he came across next. They had children in there.

Even more destroyed than the last, only one wall of this tent was left standing, barely – the storm was pushing against it, intent on separating it from the last stretch of canvas and rope that kept it up. The rest of the home had fallen inward; he couldn’t have searched inside if he wanted to.

“Rema!” Ingo called out when he thought he spotted someone lying limp in the snow, but it was only one of their spare tunics, half-buried under the growing sheets of white. “Vicus?”

Another gust, and the storm finally ripped the wall free. The last remaining side of the home collapsed onto the rest of the debris with a crash, and the canvas was taken, lost to the wind.

“Humi? Asty?” Ingo reluctantly called out the names of their children, though at this point he felt he’d receive no answer either.

He stood before the fallen home, shivering in the cold until another explosive crash several yards away brought another bout of screaming and crashing. Ingo turned and ran into the snowstorm once again, trying to catch up with the storm-warped roaring.

Ingo heaved out clouds of air, pushing through the snow that was beginning to seep higher into his pant legs – it felt like it was getting deeper. Where was everyone? Where was the nightwatch that was supposed to be out, patrolling the settlement? Where was Gliscor? He should have ran into someone by now. It was like he was entirely alone out here in the settlement, like this thing was going house to house, snatching away everyone inside and destroying everything as it did so. But it hadn’t done it to him, he was still here. Why? The entity in his home – was this a Zoroark, relying on illusions? Was it trying to trick him specifically? That didn’t make sense. If this was some kind of strategy, this was the worst, most calculated attack he’d ever seen. What was going on? This wasn’t right—

Another abandoned house, smashed to rubble with no one in sight. Pressing past it and pushing uphill, he found even more wreckage, with the snow working hard to bury it entirely. The sounds of fighting were always just out of reach, he was never fast enough, and was always left to find the horrible aftermath.

“Irida! Gaeric!” Ingo threw out into the flurry. He was becoming desperate at this point; the further uphill he got, the closer he was getting to her, and to the center of the settlement. Everything was there–

His chest squeezed again, his limbs were starting to grow numb. This couldn’t be happening.

It was still impossible to see anything through the snowfall. If he hadn’t passed by all those homes, Ingo would have started to wonder if he somehow wandered out into the barren wastes instead. He raised his hand, ready to call out again, when a bellow reverberated through the air. 

It was not somewhere far off this time. There was no distance to distort it.

This time, the call was unmistakable.

To his left, a hulking shape stood out in the storm. Ragged and sharp like the destroyed tents, it was different in that it was moving and breathing. Unkempt fur stuck up in tufts, rustling in the wind where it hadn’t frozen over in patches. Sharp Icicles jutted up in curves like frosted scythes, and bright eyes surrounded by black, sunken shadows were trained on him.

Ingo froze. Here was the one responsible for demolishing the entire village. One of his worst fears had come true – the behemoth had finally put in the effort and found a way to get itself across the river to reach their settlement, and had found him again. He was always sure on some level, Draugr would have wanted to finish him off – it was why he always took such care to avoid Avalugg’s legacy. Confusion and terror teamed up to stop Ingo in his tracks entirely.

Draugr’s challenging roar rumbled through Ingo’s rib cage. The hulking Mamoswine took a step forward, slow and purposeful. Ingo in turn took a step back, quick and unsure.

His shaking hand flew to the Pokéballs in his coat pockets, only to find they were… empty. He went to his other pocket, then his belt. They weren’t on him. Where were they? He had grabbed them, he knew he had. They were supposed to be in there–

It was just the two of them out here, and he had nowhere to go.

Draugr huffed, heavy and forceful, lowered his head, and charged. 

His bellow was deeper than Ingo remembered, scarier, louder. His frame was bigger. His tusks were longer, sharper and splintered into more sharp points than he could count. His eyes were warped, and his once-heavy movements lacked their drag.

He was worse than Ingo had recalled in every way. 

Ingo’s instincts screamed at him, yelling that he needed to get out of the way. Yet the snow held onto his legs when he tried, and he found he could not move. Not like how he wanted to. Maybe it was a reflex. Was he shutting down?

“ No, nono no-!” In a moment, he was shoved off his feet, pulled into the air by a deep, dreadful, familiar tug that reached under his ribcage. His heart skipped a beat before he was slammed back down, the snow at his back and blurry red eyes staring into his face.

A glance downward to see the tusk had been driven right into his abdomen. He couldn’t feel it, but he knew it had pushed right through, up and out through his back. He’d been gored, his entire side having been hole-punched to accommodate this pillar of ice.

His hands went to the tusk, red spreading over it. To hold on? To push on it? To pull it out? He didn’t know. It was already stuck, the frozen surface melded to everything warm inside. Just like last time. Why couldn’t he feel it? This was worse than before. He couldn’t survive this. Had anyone else fallen victim to this? Was this why he couldn’t find anyone? Draugr was bellowing again. He was going to push further. Oh, oh– his whole side, his guts, everything inside was going to fall out—

Thrashing in the snow, Ingo gasped, choking on a shout as if he’d been suffocating. He fell back onto his side, grabbing at his open gash to hold everything in.

He couldn’t—

Wait.

Dim sunlight stretched across the fresh, soft snow to reach him. He squinted at the cold, early-morning sunrise peeking out at him from over the purple mountain line.

A group of Chimecho and their kin were gently jingling far off somewhere, and the distant burbling of the river went on amongst the peaceful quiet. The open doors to his perfectly-intact tent creaked gently as it swayed behind him from where he laid, crumpled in the snow at his doorstep. His coat and hat hung just at the edge of view through the doorway; he’d never put them on.

Gliscor was standing there before him in the snow, terrified and looking like he wanted to help, but he didn’t know how. How long had his companion been there? How much had he seen?

Chest heaving, Ingo frantically felt beneath his underlayer, now twisted and filled with snow, and grasped at his side. Frozen fingers rubbed against scarred skin, shakily following it up his back as far as he could reach. Only after pulling the shirt up to visually confirm it for himself was he finally reassured.

It wasn’t open. 

There was no blood staining his hands or saturating his clothes, nothing falling out that should be kept inside. 

The old injury felt rough, yes, and a painful sensitivity lingered from the prolonged exposure to cold air, but it was healed over. It had been for a long time. Just like it was supposed to be. 

He was fine.

It hadn’t been real. None of it had been real.

Ingo hung his head, heaving breaths stuttering out as he leaned forward in the snow. His heart was thundering beneath the hands that clutched at it. 

“G-Gliscor–”

“Gliiii,” Gliscor whimpered as he reached out and carefully wrapped his claws around his trainer’s neck, hugging tight. Ingo hugged back.

The gentle strip of sunlight dulled the frigidity as he took in the early-morning ambience, slowly processing that he was safe at his open front door. He was still in the settlement, just outside his tent, and Draugr was nowhere in sight. Pearl Clan members were approaching him, saying things he didn’t hear. Gliscor was still fretting against his shoulder. Hot adrenaline receded back to the familiar weariness as the cold air froze his sweat. He didn’t realize tears had sprung up in anticipation of the pain.

All these nights… he had never left his tent, let alone his bed.

His doors had never been opened.

Gliscor had never been out with him.

He had never woken up.

These were all nightmares. 

This whole time, he was experiencing horrible, vivid nightmares.

[gothamite-rambler]

Nyssa: The sister that makes Talia seem sane

Nyssa (an hour into her ranting): Cats and dogs will live together, babies will cry, towers will fall!

Talia: Nyssa.

Nyssa: The humans will consume each other, and the world bleeds—

Talia (sighing, annoyed): Nyssa.

Nyssa: Yes, it bleeds off the edge of this flat earth—

Talia: NYSSA!

Nyssa (irritated): Whaaat?

Talia: I’m not letting you babysit Damian, and not a damn thing you say will cause the apocalypse if I don’t!

Bruce (defending Talia): And the world isn’t flat. I can’t believe I’m on Talia’s side right now.

Talia: I’m surprised, too. Nyssa, stop talking about nonsense theories and leave!

Nyssa: Fools! Only fools believe the world is round. It’s flat! Hidden by a dome force field!

Talia (pointing to the door): Get out.

Nyssa (continuing): The snow giants keep it guarded!

Talia: Get your ass out before you poison my child's mind!

Talia grabbed her ranting sister by the hair and dragged her out of the room.

Nyssa (whining): Hemar, you never let me talk!

As the bickering sisters left, Bruce turned to Ra's, who silently sipped tea while observing the entire exchange. Damian sat nearby, busy coloring a picture he had just drawn, paying his crazy aunt no mind.

Bruce: Huh, Talia is—

Ra's: The saner of the two, yes. I cannot fathom where Nyssa got that level of insanity from.

Ra's suddenly broke into a wheezing fit that lasted ten seconds, a lingering side effect of the Lazarus Pit. Bruce instinctively pulled his son closer, ensuring he was protected.

Bruce (sarcastically): It’s a mystery, I’ll tell you that much.

*hemar is arabic for donkey*