#her arms are permanently stained red from the blood

[kappaology]

hi guys (trips over and posts my ultrakill oc)

clearer text and more under the cut!

MED-0200 AKA "MEDBOT"

Hundreds of MED models were manufactured to aid humanity's recovery during the New Peace. There have been several models that were created during wartime, but they were then scrapped and used for the newer models. Their medical data, however, was stored in an intricate cloud system that is shared among MED models; creating a database for MEDs to further hone their efficiency. In other words, they share a hivemind.

Newer MED models were created with a higher capacity for empathy, capable of holding everyday conversations with their patients and appreciating the arts. There have been rumors of MED models developing sentience due to their longterm exposure to human care.

A majority, if not all, MED models perished after the extinction of humanity. Some shutting down after being stripped of its sole purpose to heal, and others because violence was simply never in their code.

----

i made it a carrd containing some logs you'd find if it was an official secret level in the game :]

[protagaster]

Part 1 of the Warrior!Penelope Swap AU

Just a heads up, some of the vignettes in this AU will be structured around the songs in the musical, and some will be short stories detailing the events of the Odyssey (like the prequel did)

Credit to Tumblr users @vioofc and @too-much-flynnolium, for their own ideas surrounding their warrior!penelope AUs led to inspiration for mine!

(Cross-Posted on Ao3)

The Horse and the Infant

After 10 years of war, of battle and bloodshed, the Greek army has finally gained the upper hand against the Trojans. 

From within her Wooden Horse, Penelope vows to do whatever it takes to end this war once and for all. Whether she is truly up to the task, the Gods will see… 

~

Growing up in Greece children are taught to beware of Pandora’s Box: though something may appear to be enchanting on the outside, what it hides within could bring devastating consequences. 

Penelope was thankful the Trojans did not heed the warnings behind this tale. 

The people of Troy underestimated her and her armies, for no greater reason other than the fact they happened to be women. All of Troy assumed that Greece was in a dire state, for why else would the Greeks have to resort to sending their women to fight in their men’s stead. 

While most of her comrades were offended by this notion, Penelope saw an opportunity to finally turn the tides of war in their favor. 

Everything went according to plan. By pretending to sail their ships back home the Trojans assumed the Greeks to have surrendered. This left them cocky, feeling invincible, to the point they did not question the mysterious “gift” left at their gates. 

They brought the beautiful wooden horse into the heart of their palace, not knowing their very own “Pandora’s Box” was about to be unleashed upon their city. 

~

Penelope let out a deep, steady breath.

Inside that very same wooden horse her comrades sat patiently by her side, their clenched fingers fidgeting on the hilt of their weapons. The eyes of her sisters-in-arms were hungry with scorn, their red and gold armor eager to be stained with Trojan blood.

Penelope looked at each and every woman who had chosen to place their trust in her. The Queen of Ithaca’s confidence had never been higher.

The night was silent and the atmosphere calm. There would be no perfect moment rather than now. 

Penelope stood. In her posture she managed to portray the grace of a Queen, the strength of a Spartan, the innate blood-lust of a warrior of Ares, and the anger of a Mother. 

Her comrades, women who fought both willingly and not against their society’s views to stand by her side, who were forced to part with their futures and families over the course of 9 years, they gazed upon their Captain with only the highest of respect and admiration in their eyes. 

After all, it was only with her leadership that they had all managed to survive up to this point. 

All 600 of them. 

Penelope held her head high, addressing her comrades. Her friends. Her sisters. 

“Alright my sisters, listen closely.” She spoke to them in a hush but commanding voice. “Tonight, we make the Trojans pay.”

“These years of war have killed us slowly, but now we'll be the ones who slay!”

Penelope’s eyes dulled in the middle of her speech, her mind momentarily retreating into its most sacred place. 

Home. Ithaca. 

“Think of your husbands and your children!” 

Many of the women grew angry, recalling how many of their spouses were now permanently maimed and broken because of the Trojans. How their children were forced to grow and mature without their mothers, all because of this damn war. 

“Your families wonder where you've been! They're growing old and yet you're still here,” 

Penelope couldn’t help but look at her hair, not as vibrant as it once was 9 years ago. She couldn’t allow this war to go on for another decade. Not after so much time has been lost already. 

“Do what I say and you'll see them again!”

“Yes ma’am!”

~

The women snuck out of the wooden horse, moving with as much quiet and stealth as they were physically able. Each soldier remembered her role, of what Penelope had ordered of them.

“Aegiale will lead the charge,” 

“Clytemnestra will flank the guards,”

���Helen of Sparta will let our mates through the gates to take the whole city at large,”

“Eune will shoot any ambush attack,”

“And little Glauca will stay back,”

“Eury, free Menelaus and the others,”

“Hermy, help your betrothed, kill Hector's home and brothers!”

“Yes ma’am!”

Penelope watched from the shadows, beaming with pride at the success of her army. 

Her plan was coming to a monumental success. The Trojan warriors, men trained in the art of combat from the moment they could walk, were being hunted from the shadows, one by one, as if they were livestock. 

Less and less guards roamed the halls, their bodies lying against each other in a hidden corner of the palace. The palace walls, once an elegant and expensive marble white, were now stained with the vibrant stains of war-red. 

Troy was now vulnerable. 

“Find that inner strength now, use that well of pride!” Penelope reminded her sisters. “Fight through every pain now, ask yourself inside: What do you live for? What do you try for? What do you wish for? What do you fight for?”

Every woman reminded herself of why it was she fought, their answers ranging deep within themselves. 

“What do you live for? What do you try for? What do you wish for? What do you fight for?”

Penelope stared down at the helmet in her hands, unable to forget what it represented. It was specially made just for her, with a metal said to be indestructible. She remembered when it was given to her, only one day before she was forced to leave her home. 

She could never forget the tearful gaze, apologetic and filled with love, of the man who gifted her this helmet. 

Oh how she missed him. 

“Odysseus…”

How she longed to see those intelligent eyes once again. 

“Odysseus…” 

She couldn’t help but recall the time those eyes beamed with pride as they fondly looked down at the very symbol of their love. 

“And Telemachas…” 

Her baby girl, whom she had only known for a single year. What did her baby look like now, 9 years later?

“I fight for us…” 

This was for them. 

“I fight for us!” 

Fighting in this war, aiding her cousin, empowering her fellow woman, following the whim of the Heavens themselves. All of it was for them!

Not for Greece. Not for the Gods. Not even for her. 

For them.

What do you live for?

“Odysseus.” Penelope whispered to herself. 

What do you try for?

“Telemachas.” Penelope stared at her reflection from the helmet’s surface. 

What do you wish for?

“I'm on my way,” Penelope placed the helmet over her head, taking hold of the very spear that started her down this path. 

What do you fight for?

She was going to end this. 

Now. 

“Attack!”

The Greek army made themselves known by jumping out for the shadows, startling the Trojan warriors unlucky enough to be missed during their secret infiltration of the palace. 

Penelope and the others wasted no time inflicting their carnage upon the once untouchable Kingdom. The Trojan warriors were startled at first, desperate to know how their indomitable palace could have been so easily infiltrated. 

It did not take long for them to ready themselves, determined to keep their Kingdom from being painted with even more of that familiar war-red. 

But it was all for naught. 

It did not matter that the Trojan warriors were male; it did not matter that they were bigger, stronger, and more durable than their female counterparts.

For the Trojan soldiers fought to maim, whilst the Greek soldiers fought to kill.

These women recalled how they were forced to watch their husbands leave, only to return one year later with their bodies shattered and spirits broken. They recalled that feeling of loathing and helplessness, unable to even think about avenging their men until permitted by the Gods. 

They remembered the shame on their husbands’ faces for not being able to protect them from fighting in their stead; remembered how their children cried, pleading for them to stay, for the younglings were unable to bear the thought of both parents being destroyed by the war. 

No. Troy had every chance to end this war. Now they suffer just as Greece has, for even the Gods have sealed the kingdom’s fate. 

Tonight, Troy will die.  

~

Penelope, now inside the main court of the palace, speared the throat of one of the Trojan men attempting to slice the back of one of her women. 

There was only a small army of them within that court, both Trojan and Greek alike. The majority of the Greeks fought at the gates of the palace, keeping their adversaries from storming the vicinity.

The warriors fighting by Penelope’s side, only her most trusted sisters-in-arms, worked together to keep themselves and each other alive. Using their many hours of intense training, innate battle prowess, and the blessings bestowed upon them by Ares and Artemis, the women had achieved what was previously thought to be impossible: gaining the upper hand against the Trojan men. 

Bodies littered the dance floor of battle, all of them of Troy. Through Penelope’s strategy, not a single Greek had fallen.

However, as she speared and cut down her enemies, Penelope couldn’t help but notice the Trojan soldiers began fighting sporadically; as if they were desperate to keep her and her comrades from infiltrating the palace any further. 

But why? 

Suddenly, Penelope felt a sharp sting to the back of her head. 

“Ahh!” She collapsed to her knees, rubbing her head to find some relief from the dimming pain. “Who was that?!”

Quick to recover from her bound of shock, Penelope threw herself back to her feet and gripped the hilt of her spear. She was prepared to defend herself against the Trojan foolish enough to strike her. 

What her eyes fell upon, however, was not one of the large, daunting men of Troy. 

It was a Peahen. 

However, this was no ordinary peahen. She was not a modest brown like the rest of her peahen kin. No, this one had her feathers bursting with the familiar blue and green seen on her male equivalents. 

The feathers atop her head had the appearance of a crown, her eyes glowing an eerie white and gold hue. 

Somehow, against all logic, Penelope found herself more fearful of this fowl than she had ever felt against the Trojan armies. 

“A vision…” A voice suddenly appeared in Peneleope’s mind. 

Penelope knew instantly that the voice was coming from the Peahen. The voice was feminine, deep, and full of power. She spoke the same way Penelope would when sitting upon her throne, addressing her subjects. 

“Of what is to come, cannot be outrun. Can only be dealt with right here and now…” 

From that moment she knew the true identity of the Peahen. 

Hera. 

Queen of the Gods. 

Mother of the Heavens. 

“Tell me how.” Penelope asked of the divine Queen.

“I don't think you're ready...” 

The Peahen was honest with the mortal Queen about her thoughts, yet continued with her declaration.

“A mission. To kill someone's son, a foe who won't run, unlike anyone you have faced before…” 

The Peahen walked with grace as she spoke, silently beckoning the mortal to follow. The disguised Goddess led the Greek to a secret staircase, the very thing the Trojan were trying to hide. 

Penelope instantly understood what the God-Queen was commanding of her.

“Say no more!” Penelope ran up the stairs, confidently holding her spear in anticipation. “I know that I'm ready!”

“I don't think you're ready…” 

Penelope pushed the double doors at the end of the stairs open, eager for her spear-point to make contact with Trojan flesh and to finally end this war once and for all. 

She would not have been surprised to see a bulking man waiting for her behind those doors. After everything she’s gone through in the past 9 years, Penelope genuinely thought herself to be immune to the kind of surprises the Gods could throw at her. 

Unfortunately, the Gods never did follow the whims of the mortals they ruled over. 

There was no man standing behind those doors. In fact, no one stood behind them. 

There was only a cradle. 

Penelope’s eyes widened. Unconsciously dropping her spear, she walked over to look inside the beautiful bassinet. 

There he was. Not a cruel man filled with sin, but a babe. Innocent. Pure. Sleeping with not a worry in the world. 

“It's just an infant…” Penelope couldn’t help but hold her hand out, stroking the child’s untainted cheek. “It's just a boy…”

The baby leaned into the warm hand caressing his cheek, recognizing the hand of a mother. 

“What sort of imminent threat does he pose that I cannot avoid?”

The Peahen, once perched on the ledge of the window in front of the babe’s cradle, spread her wings and flew into the sky. 

“This is the son of none other than Troy's very own Prince Hector!”

Clouds started to surround the flying Peahen. They wrapped around the fowl, slowly covering the beautiful bird in white mist. In seconds the Peahen disappeared, the place where she once hovered now a perfectly shaped mass of clouds formed into the appearance of a tall, beautiful, regal woman.

Commanding the clouds around her with a flick of her wrist, the woman shaped one of them into a tiny baby. The cloud-baby morphed, transforming into the figure of a large grown man. 

“Know that he will grow from a boy to an avenger! One fueled with rage as you're consumed by age…“ 

The cloud-man brandished a cloud-sword, slicing at smaller clouds shaped into a crowd of defenseless people. 

“If you don't end him now, you'll have no one left to save…” 

Hera commanded some of her clouds to begin filling the room, surrounding Penelope and the cradle. She modeled the clouds into the form of a very beautiful, very comforting, very familiar man. 

“You can say goodbye to-”

Penelope’s eyes widened, staring at the face of the man whose life she cherished far more than her own. 

Odysseus… 

This cloud-Odysseus, more detailed than any of the other cloud creations Hera had created, stared longingly at the Greek woman reeking of blood. He smiled, that oh-so familiar smile she had longed to see for the past decade.  

“You can say goodbye to-”

Odysseus…

The cloud-Odysseus gazed down at the baby in the cradle. There was this look in his eyes, this desire to cherish and protect. Penelope knew this look well, for it could only be known by a fellow parent... 

No! 

Penelope couldn’t do this. She was a mother! Her role in life was to treasure and protect children, not discard and kill them! 

“I could raise him as my own!”

“He will burn your house and throne.” 

No… 

No! 

Penelope needed to find a way!

“Or send him far away from home!” 

“He'll find you wherever you go.”

 There had to be another way!

“Make sure his past is never known!” 

“The gods will make him know.”

Why was Hera doing this? Why couldn’t she understand!? Penelope can’t do this!

The mortal threw herself down, bowing before Hera in a desperate final plea. 

“I'd rather bleed for ya, Down on my knees for ya-”

“He's bringing you down on your knees…”

The Queen of Ithaca couldn’t hear herself, the Queen of the Gods overpowering everything within her. 

“I'm begging please-”

“Oh, this is the will of the gods!”

Hera’s voice boomed. Commanding. Declaring. Inevitable. 

Penelope shook her head, slowly and in disbelief. Her chest felt heavy and constricting, making every breath a difficult and pained one.  

…how…

“Please don't make me do this…”

How could she be expected to do this? Something so evil, so cruel? 

Something so monstrous?

“Don't make me do this…”

Penelope didn't know when she began to weep, only realizing when her tears splattered on the cold, hard ground. 

She felt a hand being gently placed atop her bowed head. This hand, once commanding and brimming with devastating power, now offered an ironic sense of comfort. 

From one who was also a Queen.

A Soldier.

A Wife. 

A Mother. 

“The blood on your hands is something you won't lose…” 

The hand’s presence disappeared, along with the many clouds surrounding her person. 

The cloud-Odysseus, whose eyes Penelope couldn’t bear to meet, took hold of her chin. This hand, as large and scarred as she remembered it, held her with a firm gentleness she knew was reserved only for her. 

He tilted her head up, compelling her to meet his gaze. Again, Penelope recognized the look he was giving her. It was the same one he always gave her: eyes filled with a warm, comforting love. 

“All you can choose is whose…”

The cloud-Odysseus faded away, still gazing upon her with those eyes until he was fully gone. 

Would the real Odysseus continue to look at her that way, knowing what she was about to do? 

…

Penelope waited.

… 

And waited. 

…

And waited. 

…

Nothing. 

Hera’s presence was no more. 

All that was left was Penelope, blood-soaked and guilt-ridden, and the baby, still sleeping with not a worry in the world. 

Penelope said nothing. She could only stare at the boy, the very symbol of innocence before it was tarnished. 

Slowly, soundlessly, Penelope picked the boy up. She cradled him gently in her arms, similar to the way she held Telemachas after bringing her into the world. She wanted to make sure he was comfortable. 

Then, without a word, Penelope made her way to the roof of the palace. 

[luveline]

what about reader being stressed and feeling really bad due the amount of blood and how wild the murder happened in a mission and hotch comforts her?? i really love your work and i hope you write but of course it's okay if you are not comfortable with it!! though i crave some hurt/comfort right now 🥹 take care, we love you 🫶🏻🫶🏻

ty for requesting, i love u! fem!reader

You're used to depravity, but the body cannot truly desensitise itself from carnage. You shouldn't know the inside of a person like that, shouldn't be able to pinpoint gore with the accuracy of a mortician. You feel sick knowing what was supposed to be where. Enough blood to kick down the door and have it flood the hallway, stain your shoes with a permanent rust. 

You turn away from the scene, sirens and shouting white noise, and leave blood footsteps like a breadcrumb trail down the paving stones, huge slabs of white grey printed by wet soles. You're just past the red flash of the ambulances when you freeze, your legs won't carry you. You've no choice but to sit down hard in the road. 

There's just blood everywhere. No metaphor to soften the blow, no explanation. There was blood everywhere in the crime scene and it took less than ten minutes inside of it to be plastered with it too. 

Blood and cold floor. The road is cold, maybe wet, seeping into your trousers. You put your hand down and feel the dirty bite of it pressing into your palm.

Considering his duties, Hotch finds you quickly. You'd know him from presence alone, but hiding hand is familiar on your back. He crouches down behind you. 

"What's wrong?" he asks, second hand curling around your shirt. "You can't sit here. Can I help you up?" 

You manage to get to your feet by yourself. Hotch walks you to a car like you're injured, leaning you against the hood. "What's wrong?" he asks. 

You shake your head. This isn't some slasher flick where the blood is sugar syrup and everyone goes home, this is your life, that was somebody's life, and to be killed in such a violent way… nobody deserves that. Your arms twist around your stomach as your stomach twists into itself, churning. 

Hotch watches you severely. Anyone might think he was pissed with your behaviour, but he isn't like that. He's probably pissed he can't immediately fix the problem, arms crossed against his chest, the font of his SWAT vest glaringly white. He's neat and official as always, but there's blood on his shoes. 

You try to talk and it's like your lips are gummed shut, a hum with nothing intelligible as you lean forward. 

Hotch gives in. He breathes out, the barest ghost of his cologne distracting you from the smell of rust as he wraps his arms around your shoulders. You curl your fingers into the strap of his vest, quick to press your face into his side, wherever you can that's softest. 

"I know," he says quietly, his arms tightening around you. The slide of his sleeves against your shirt, the sound that it makes, feels loud as a bell. 

You hadn't realised you were shaking. Hotch tries to wring it out of you one steady stroke of his hand at a time. You can imagine his viewpoint, your feeble position on the car and the white washed crime scene behind you. They'll be setting up the flood lights and taking photographs soon enough, no bodies to lay to rest, only gore to wash away. 

"I didn't think we could save them," you confess into his shirt, ashamed.

When he replies, it's measured, as though he's thought about his response carefully in little time. "That's realistic. This case has been… heavy from the beginning." 

Heavy isn't the word he would usually choose. He's talking to you, he knows exactly how you're feeling because he knows you well, and cares about you more, if his cheek pressed to your temple is anything to go off of. "I have to go coordinate," he says, his thumb rubbing with pressure into your shoulder blade, "I'm sorry. I'll get Reid to come sit with you in the SUV… Y/N, listen to me…" Hotch leans back, meeting your eyes. "There was nothing more we could do. I'm confident that you performed to the best of your ability. This outcome– this isn't what anyone wanted, and I'm sorry we couldn't fix it this time." 

"I just don't get how you can do that to another person," you say. Why you'd want to. You're a profiler, and you know a wealth of information about what makes certain people act as they do, but you still can't empathise with the killer. It's too much; it's beyond explanation.

"That's a good thing." His hands squeeze the tops of your arms. "It is." 

You look down at his shirt collar, thinking you probably don't deserve his comforting. This is your job, and tonight you couldn't do it. "Sorry I– I freaked out. I shouldn't have walked away." 

"That's a good thing, too, in a way."

He offers you a small smile. You can't smile back, but Hotch doesn't mind, his hands falling down the lengths of your arms. His fingers tangle momentarily with yours. 

Reid comes around to sit with you when Hotch leaves. He probably wouldn't have needed telling, your friend's hand curling over your shoulder protectively.

"You okay?" he asks. 

You watch Hotch lead his jurisdiction of operations. Things aren't okay, you're far from it, but you trust that it'll get better with Hotch at the helm. Still, a bitter taste lingers. 

"They won't be," you say, nodding to the crowd of people behind the rapidly erected barricade. At the very front is someone's mom. 

"Not for a while." Spencer tries to lighten the mood, throwing you a life jacket. "You're his favourite, you know?" 

You recall the subtle strength of Hotch's arms around you, the lean length of his torso and the warmth of his breath as he'd spoken in your ear. Without trying for it, your pulse calms. Your despair dulls to an ache. 

"You think so?" you ask. 

Hotch looks in your direction, checking on you. Spencer nods. "Definitely." He has a list of interrelated BAU statistics to prove it.

[ladynearthelake]

Bad Ending

The Feywild is beautiful.

Orym is aware of that objective truth as he sits atop the lofty boughs of Ligament Manor. Time remains a weird soup, and he isn’t sure just how much time has passed since the battle with Ludinus. For all he can actually remember of the event, he thinks it must have been centuries. But it can’t have been that long. The acute pain of loss is still present in his chest.

Covetous of her company, Nana Morri had extended Fearne’s life unnaturally. Orym knows the Fatestitcher enjoys his company, maudlin as he is. He wouldn’t put it passed her to do the same to him. Fearne still visits, but she had fallen in love with Exandria and the planes beyond. Orym relishes her visits, and tries not to hate her for leaving him when she flits away. His deal was his own choice. His chest aches. Nana’s bargain was sealed permanently over his heart when he returned. It shadows the other pain there, but cannot eclipse it completely.

The red moon is no longer in the sky in the Feywild, so Orym assumes that they defeated Ludinus. That brings him no comfort. He lost everything, so what does an averted apocalypse mean to him?

He remembers an elegant twirl of a familiar blue cape rushing forward. He remembers the world shattering around him as Dorian fell.

Orym’s memories grow soupy after that. With Dorian gone, nothing else could ever really matter, could it? He had only just managed to claw himself out of his choking grief for Will. He let himself think of a future beyond the battle. That had been his mistake. He should have known better than to look beyond the mission.

So, perhaps the battle was won, but Orym doesn’t really care if Exandria fell to ruin. His heart, impossibly, had been ripped out for the second time. Better to give the remains to Nana Morri. She could find a use for it.

Orym sits among the topiaries of broken promises and tries not to miss the moons in the sky.

He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but he startles when a familiar hand presses to his cheek.

“Orym?”

He smirks as his eyes open. It’s always good to see Fearne.

But she’s panicked. Tears are gathering in the corners of her eyes. Her face is streaked with red, both sticky and sandy. His brow furrows.

“Fearnie, are you alright?”

She sobs, holding his face firmly in her hands. “You have to come back to us. You have to. We won. You have to come back.”

His body is heavy, and he cannot move. This doesn’t make sense.

She’s here with him, isn’t she? He hasn’t gone anywhere in ages. He’s right here.

Another voice, so different than when he would hear it over the sending stone.

“Orym, please…” Dorian’s voice is exhausted and tight with pain. “You must come back. There’s still…still so much we need to say.”

He feels something stir behind Morri’s seal. His heart shudders.

Orym isn’t in the Feywild. This isn’t Ligament Manor. Fearne’s hands are gone from his cheeks, and Orym looks behind him. He sees a blossoming tree in twilight with a familiar, loved shadow standing beneath it. Will raises his hand in greeting, but makes no move to go towards Orym. They’ve spoken about this before.

“Not yet,” Will whispers in his ear.

Orym nods, his hand raising in return. “Soon.”

“But not too soon.”

His heart beats again, and he feels a hook behind his navel pull his being back through the planes. He coughs, hacking up blood and sand. The arcane fissure across his chest knits itself back together.

“Orym?”

Drips of wet plip against Orym’s cheeks. There’s a body hovering above him, radiating the warmth of the sun. The ashari can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth as he opens his eyes.

Dorian looms over him, tears rolling down his eyelashes as he stares. His cheeks are blotchy and purple. There’s a wide stain of crimson across his ragged sheer shirt doing little to hide the healed gash on his chest.

The sight of that hurt has Orym springing to his feet. He regrets the movement immediately, but only for a second. He crashes into Dorian’s arms.

“I…I don’t…” Orym stammers.

Fearne appears beside him, wrapping them both in her arms tightly.

“That was worse than the last time.”

Oh.

“I was dead?” Orym asks.

He feels Fearne’s head nod against his, and Dorian’s arms pull him in tighter.

“I thought you both were, but Dorian was only unconscious. You must have thought…” She trails off.

The memory is clear in his mind now. Dorian falling, and then an unyielding rage consuming his small form as he charged screaming at Ludinus.

“You distracted him while Imogen finished him off.”

“We did it?”

Fearne smiles. “We did it.”

Orym can feel Dorian shaking against him. He draws away slightly to look at his beautiful face.

“I told you that you didn’t have to save everyone,” Dorian says, fighting off tears.

“Old habits die hard,” Orym says, his eyes dropping from Dorian’s crystal eyes to his lips. “Didn’t seem to matter much anymore if you weren’t there to save.”

“Orym…that’s ridic—”

The world is safe. There’s no reason to resist anymore. Orym presses his lips to Dorian’s, quieting his protests. He feels Dorian startle at the contact, but then he melts into the kiss, gripping the back of Orym’s shirt.

Orym pulls away, feeling lighter than he has in years. The unrestrained happiness on Dorian’s face makes him giddy. There’s still so many unknowns, but he’s be happy to find his way with the wind in his arms.

[absoluteloser64]

james sunderlands leg kink??

when I'm going to bed at night I think of these scenarios and write them the next day within 1 hour, don't expect good quality porn lmao NOT PROOFREAD content warning: somnophillia :p

she was crying her eyes out next to him, the girl he found in the fog. both of them covered in the gore from the monsters outside.

her wooly jumper having being nervously picked at was coming loose at the threads, her nails stained red from biting them so hard. eyes all red and puffy, she was the definition of helpless.

clinging onto his arm, as her sobs never seemed to cease. and although he pitied her, and wanted to save her from this hellscape she found herself in. he couldn't tear his eyes away from her legs.

those gorgeous legs were laid flat, quivering against the rotten floorboards, slender and clean. untouched from blood that had dried itself on them. a miracle considering that short skirt she was wearing.

he didn't even know her name, she was frightened, and needed his protection. but he could bearly tear his eyes away or his mind from these thoughts, these godawful lust filled thoughts.

he squeezed his eyes shut, licking his dry lips and reminded himself of why he was here in Silent Hill, for the love of his life. squeezing his picture of her that laid in his jacket pocket. thinking of how sweetly she will call his name when they meet again.

feeling calmer and realising how quiet the dark room they were hiding in had become, he slowly opened his eyes, seeing her asleep on his shoulder with her legs curled up towards her, and closer to him.

she must know. how can she not? this temptation felt biblical...

he listened to her breathing pattern, even and calm, she felt safe around him.. but she shouldn't of. he grit his teeth in disgust at himself, however he couldn't help but timidly place his large hand against her thigh.

and god did that slight touch send a bolt of pleasure right through him, he let out a quiet sigh of relief, keeping his hand still. admiring the soft suppleness..how his palm covers more than the width of her upper leg, he could just break it..

he squeezes the flesh without a second thought, but hearing a hitch in her breathing causes his hand to fly back in fear that he had been caught. yet she still slept ever so soundly.

the print of his hand blemished her skin beautifully and he almost drooled at how easily she marked. feeling his pants become tight at the sight.

'like a peach' he thought in his lust clouded mind, two fingers leaving his clenched fist to lightly brush against her leg. stroking from her kneecap, all around down towards his handprint, tracing the large mark with his fingernail, wishing to dig it into her plush muscle to leave a permanent reminder of him.

he quietly moaned aloud at the thought, yet she was still in her deep slumber. his desperate mind justified his actions as he proceeded to unbutton his jeans, freeing his bulge from it's tight cage.

his thick cock was pointed, red raw and needy. It had been so long since he had last seen himself so erect. it had felt impossible after Mary's....passing.

he shoved those feelings to the back of his mind as he brushed the precum off and onto her thigh admiring how it glistened in the little amount of moonlight they were granted in the room.

he began stroking his penis in tandem with his other hand, featherlight on her leg, rough and hard on his dick, his hand turning white at the pressure.

thrusting upwards into his hand he could just imagine fucking those legs, in between her plump thighs, covering them in his cum over and over again.

he let out a loud growl as he released all over her legs, eyes rolling into the back of his head as it spurted out incessantly. thick and gloopy, visibly showing how long it had been since he last came.

regret filled him immediately as he stared at his mess and her. how could he have done this to her..he thought as his penis began to twitch at the sight of her marked thighs, craving another go while this could last.

he sighed, and rubbed his cum around her soft skin, swirling it around, thanking the lord she was still asleep..

so helpless, he smiled.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

For Eternity, Chapter 7

Alastor x Angel!Wife Oc (Isabel) Rated: Adult - this fic contains content inappropriate for minors. Chapter Warnings: blood, talk of murder, talk of stillbirth and maternal death.

@impulsivethoughtsat2am Was darling enough to beta <3 Many thanks, Dearheart.

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord. And my friend runs a Hazbin Fic Community

Masterlist AO3 KoFi

“Let’s go home,” Alastor’s voice came to her, sounding like he was speaking to her from one of his broadcasts. If she didn’t open her eyes, she could pretend she was sitting on her couch, listening to her husband wrap up a broadcast, saying goodnight for now. 

“Alastor?” Slowly, she opened her eyes.

The world that came into focus was dark, with sparks dancing around cut cables. She couldn’t see much beyond the small circle of dim light that she sat in wrapped in Angel Dust’s arms.

“What happened?” She whispered, “Where’s Vox?” 

“Ran off with his tail between his legs,” Alastor wore a soft smile as he held out a red clawed hand for her, offering to help her to her feet. 

“And his screen busted,” Angel Dust added with a snicker. 

“Alastor? Is- is it really you?” Her eyes traced his face, looking for some sign of the man she knew within these strange and haunting features. 

His soft brown hair was gone, though his black tipped crimson bob looked just as prone to falling out of place. No longer did he look at her with warm brown eyes. Now it was a soft pink irises on a backdrop of red where the whites of his eyes should have been. Fire burned in his eyes as he held his hand out to her. 

She watched his eyes flicker over her features, taking her in just as she was with him. Part of her wondered what he was thinking. 

Did he hate what he was seeing? 

Did she hate what she was seeing?

She didn’t think so. He was handsome in a chilling way. Even without his red coat, he was so very red, as if someone had dipped all of his imposing frame in a vat of red dye… or blood. His button-down shirt was as red as his hair and, likewise, accented with black down in a single stripe down his chest.

Though she tried to steady her hand, her fingers trembled as she reached out for his hand. For a moment, she remembered days ago, placing her hand in Vox’s in a moment of trust that spelled her downfall, and she froze. 

“It’s alright, Isa.” his voice was smooth and so right, even when everything else was wrong. “You’re safe now. I’m here now.” 

His palm was wet under her fingertips, and she jerked back at the feeling, looking at her fingers with wide eyes. Red stained her fingers tips, causing her stomach to churn. The black of his palm had hidden the blood that coated the skin.

This was hell. Her Alastor would never take the life of another while they were alive, but now, in death, in the deep darkness of hell, could she blame him? He had killed to save her. 

“It’s okay. Their deaths are not permanent.” Angel Dust rubbed a set of hands down her arms. “They’ll respawn in a bit somewhere and be right as rain.” 

Taking a breath to steal herself, she put her fingers back in his palm, allowing his hand to wrap around hers and pull her to her feet. Was it really killing if death wasn’t permanent? For better or worse, she had thrown herself into the horrors of hell to find him, her Alastor, and she wasn’t sure it would be fair to be scandalized by what he did to save her because of it. 

“Well, aren’t you just as beautiful as the day we wed,” Alastor’s smile grew soft as he pulled her to her feet. 

Isabel tried to look around, but the shadows were unnaturally deep, keeping her from seeing almost anything. “Why is it so dark?”

Sparks lit up pools of liquid, but beyond that, there was nothing she could see. 

Angel Dust rested a hand on her shoulder as he spoke, “Trust me toots, you don’t want to see.” 

“What does that mean?” She whipped her head between the two tall men. It was death. How bad could it be? “What happened?” 

Alastor’s smile widened, sharp yellow teeth on full display. “I simply took care of some riffraff. Reminded the Vees that I’m not to be played with. Nothing more to worry your pretty little head over. Now, shall we leave this place?” 

“What about Angel Dust?” Isabel pulled her hand from Alastor’s, causing his smile to twitch as she turned her attention to the pink man. “Will you be coming with us?” 

“Naw, I gotta stay here,” Angel Dust cut her off before her protests could pick up speed. “If I leave with you, it’ll give Val even more reason to think I was involved. I’ll be home later on.” 

“Home?” 

“We kinda live together in a way.” Angel Dust shrugged. 

“Regrettably.” Alastor rolled his eyes as Isabel looked again between the two men towering over her. 

When she stepped into Ange Dust, wrapping her arms around him tightly, it caught him off guard. His four hands hovered away from her body as he glanced over her head at Alastor, not wanting to face the wrath of the much more powerful man. 

“Thank you,” she spoke softly into the plush fluff of his chest as he struggled to wrap his mind around the fact that, after everything he had done, after he had touched her and exposed her, she wanted to hug him. A pure angel, one of Heaven’s chosen Winners, wanted to wrap him in their arms. “Thank you for bringing me my Alastor.” 

“Sure thing, Birdie.” Angel Dust relaxed after a nod from Alastor, hugging her to him for a moment. “I’m sorry,”

She squeezed him tighter for a moment before letting her arms go slack and stepping back, a warm smile on her face that made Angel Dust wonder if that was the very warmth of Heaven’s Gates, “You were only doing what you had to do. I forgive you.”

“Let’s go, Dearest,” Alastor took her hand in his and tugged her to his side where shadows were coming alive around him. “Close your eyes, hold on to me.” 

The sensation of movement with nothing solid under her feet was nauseating. As soon as her feet touched solid ground, again they were on nothing at all as Alastor pulled them from shadow to shadow, jumping through the city until he finally let them materialize under an archway. The rough sidewalk under her feet lead up to an imposing building. 

“Now, we simply must do something about your attire- not that you don’t look splendid wearing my coat. I’m simply feeling rather underdressed myself.” 

Alastor snapped his fingers with a flourish and a whirlwind of black and green sparks and smoke surround her.

 Simple black ankle boots replaced the slinky white silk stockings and lacy panties she had worn. His coat fluttered around her with the power that wrapped around, birthing a dip hem dress with a sweeping neckline that felt far too fancy for modern times. The thick skirt gathered around her legs in a way that reminded her of the fancier way people had dressed in the past, before casual became the norm. 

It felt good to have her body covered. It felt even better that it was the thicker fabrics she had favored both in life and in death. It’d been longer than she wanted to think about since she had worn something she liked and not the thin airy fabrics that caught Adam’s attention. 

Alastor stepped up to her, unbuttoning his coat and slipping it free from her shoulders. He folded it over his arm, a move that she had seen him do countless times before in life. After wiping the drying blood on his coat, he held his hand out to her again.

“Ma chérie,” He twirled her when she put her hand in his, trying to ignore the flaking feeling of drying blood under her fingers. “Now you’re dressed fit to be seen. Shall we go in?” 

“Alastor?” she looked from him to the large building that looked a lot like a hotel.

“Yes?” 

“Are there, are there people in there?” 

Alastor glanced up at the building that served as his home and domain. “Yes, that is typically how hotels function.”

“Can we talk first? Just us?” Isabel stumbled, not sure what exactly she wanted but knowing they needed to talk, just them, before people.

“Theres a rather modest garden behind the building. Shall we go for a stroll around back?” Alastor offered, unfolding his coat and slipping it onto his shoulders. 

With his coat once again in place, he took her arm and lead her around the large building. The sounds of their heels on the stone pavers with gunfire and explosions in the distance broke the near silence. 

“Charlie brought your gift,” Alastor opened the conversation, knowing well that unless she had made some fundamental growth after death, she would stew in her own anxiety instead of making that first step. “And your message.” 

“Oh,” her heart fluttered, much as it had in another lifetime when they had walked arm in arm through a park and she had realized she had fallen in love with him. 

“You shouldn’t have,” he continued. “I wasn’t worth waiting for. For pining for. You could have begun your afterlife decades ago. You should have moved on from the memory of me, of what we had.” 

“Did you?” she was afraid to ask. “Move on, that is? If you have, if there’s someone else, I understand.”

“There was never another who had even a fleeting hope of holding a candle to you. There was no one after you. There never will be anyone else.” 

“Then why should I have moved on if you didn’t?” 

He laughed, a sound that she had always found sweet. “I had no heavenly hope. You didn’t deserve to be alone for eternity. For me, the loneliness is but a fitting punishment.”

“Why?” there was no way around asking the one question that had plagued her for decades. “Why did you have no hope for heaven? What did you do so wrong that resulted in you being sent here?” 

Alastor was silent for a few moments, leading them to a bench. He directed her to sit. Once she settled on the seat, dress smoothed out under her, he knelt at her feet. Again, she could close her eyes and picture a similar moment they had shared in life. 

His hands, large, dark and clawed, wrapped around her calfs. He massaged the soft skin, running his palm up and over her knees, reveling in the feel of her under his touch. There was nothing sexual about the touch. She knew that even as it had her heart beating in her chest just a little faster. 

After spending decades thinking he would never feel her skin under his hands again, her very presence intoxicated him. Yet that terrified him. He hadn’t even known she was there, and he had almost lost her. 

As soon as he knew how she had gotten to Hell, he needed to find a way to send her back. It wasn’t safe for her in hell. More than that, though, she didn’t deserve to be in hell. She didn’t deserve to be with him. He didn’t deserve to have her spend her eternity at his side. 

But Satan help him, he wanted it. How cruel hell was!

“How did you die? When did you die?” 

“I lived near fifteen years without you by my side. Fifteen long years, until a gunshot to the head put me down like a mangy dog. I’ve been here in the decades sense, making a life for myself.” 

“Alone?” 

“Every night,” He smiled up at her, fingertips caressing her thighs. 

“Why here?” she asked the question he had hoped to distract her from. 

“Do you wish for me to confess to you my sins?” he asked, head hanging in a rare display of shame, not for what he had done but for having to tell her. 

“I just want to understand,” She caressed his head, discovering small, prong like antlers standing between erect tufts of hair she realized were ears. 

“I will tell you,” he sighed deeply, slowly looking up at her again, “after we will have one night together and then we find a way to send you back up there.” 

“I don’t-”

He cut her off. “It’s not safe for you here. You don’t deserve hell. I’ll tell you but you’ll go back where no one can hurt you again just to get to me. Isa, I am here for the sin of murder.”

“Alastor, you-” 

“Let me speak. Perhaps after, you’ll be eager to return to Heaven’s gates and I’ll not have to fear another hurting you.” When she fell silent again, he continued. “My first was my father. After, it was someone once a year or so, not often at all. I’d see someone doing something I felt was unforgivable and served justice myself. It was a minor hobby at best.

And then we lost our child. The doctors, they had been far more worried about trying to save the child as your blood poured out of you. I can still see it, even now, if I close my eyes. Red had always been a lovely color on you, but I had hated the color in that moment. 

Your life slipped away while they didn’t do enough.” 

“Alastor?” Isabel was trembling on the bench, trying to wrap her mind around what her husband was telling her, why he had become a distorted monster in hell instead of a partner for her in heaven. 

He smoothed his hands over her thighs, a soft smile on his face as he took a deep breath. She caressed his head with shaking fingers as she waited, fearing there was more. 

“I killed them in the year after I buried you. Each and every doctor that failed to put enough effort into saving your life fell by my blade. It soothed my heart, knowing that they no longer lived after they had taken my reason for living from me. 

After that- with no one left. Mother was gone, you and our child were gone. There was no reason to hold back. So, I didn’t.”

“How many?” Her lips were numb as she spoke. 

“I was burying my 139th victim when a hunter must have mistaken me for a deer, or maybe he knew exactly what he was doing, what I was doing, putting an end to me and sending me here.” 

Tag List: @preciousbabypeter, @catticora, @alastor-simp, @alastorthirsty, @bafaunfu

[spookypete-94]

By Definition

PricexFem!reader

Based on the mission in MW3 with Price and Soap. Price stumbles upon reader whom is protecting civilians while being hunted by what you think is your own kind. Will be a two part story.

CTW for blood, violence, and language.

In the dictionary evil is defined as morally reprehensible, sinful, wicked. If you asked John Price, he would say it is defined by heinous actions. By men and women who can harm others. He himself would fit that definition, but as much as he sees it that way, his inner voice says he does it for the greater good. Part of him will never believe it but it’s how he justifies his actions. A hard sentiment to follow through with.

When General Shepherd dispatched him and Soap to the stadium at Verdansk from an attack of of Markarov, he knew evil would be the simplest way to describe it. In reality, it was a blood bath. Morally reprehensible, more like no morals whatsoever. Sinful and wicked, not even painting the scene to full picture. Ambush. Hate. Death. All better things to describe such ill intent. It was around every corner, him and his Sergeant seeing it decorate the endless hallways and numerous rooms.

The worst part of it though is the civilians thinking they were being attacked by those that had sworn to protect and serve for them. A wolf in sheep's clothing. Terrorists adorned in peace officer’s uniforms. The blue line tainted with the permanent red stain of mistrust, a light that will forever be altered in his mind of a horrendous plan.

The order from the General himself, to take out all of those in police uniforms. Something that felt abnormal to him, shooting ones who looked like he had worked alongside with many times. But if the terrorists had done this and John had been sent, he would consider himself the undertaker. The Grimm Reaper to make things right in the world… no matter how hard he had to justify it.

If John was listed in a dictionary, he would describe himself as well trained. Hesitancy not even close to the vocabulary of words in the list of himself. So, when he found you kneeling in front of a food counter, clad in the blue uniform causing the demise at the moment he was reluctant. You see, your arm was spread around a mother and her two small children. Chest pronounced saying "Shoot me, instead." Teeth bared as if screaming, "I'll bite your fucking throat." if he were to get too close. You weren't the wolf in sheep's clothing. You were the actual thing, the guard dog that did serve and protect. The yellow stripes on the outside of your arm signifying you were of rank, from what he could tell a sergeant. Blood and sweat had been smeared across your face, black powder from your gun down your hands and arms telling him you had been at this for a while now. Your pistol in your other hand, at the open and ready for the next feeding of bullets. Looking at the carrier vest, he saw no more mags in the pockets. You were unable to curb your handgun's hunger even if you wanted to. Finally, lowering his rifle he had trained on you and moving his finger off the trigger, he lifted both his hands up hoping to prove to you that he was not the threat here.

"They are dressed like officers," he said taking quick steps to you.

"Yeah, no fuckin' shit," you spat out in between ragged breaths, puffing out further like a cobra ready to strike. Any other person might have been offended at the tone and choice of words, but to John, it meant you had your wits about still. You had been running, near drained and now only operating on pure adrenaline. As he got closer, he watched as you pushed the family further behind you. His heart ached at the muffled sobs.

"Don' wanta’ hurt any of you," his voice lower trying to find remorse for the ones you were guarding. Your eyes trained on him just like he had been with his rifle. The guard dog is planning her next move of attack even if she has no more bullets. Teeth shred just as well in close quarters, and you were baiting him at the moment come closer so you could prove it. Truly you were feral, but somehow so fucking beautiful to him.

"Do you want more bullets or do you wanta' take my spare?" he asked, trying to find common ground of trust.

"What?" You asked confused, glaring up at him. He was helping you?

"Bullets or gun?" He asked pointing down at the one on his vest, going a more direct route.

"Gun." No hesitation. Just like John.

Standing up fully, he watched as your stance widened. Well trained to keep protecting the family that was behind you. Releasing your famished firearm of its open mouth, you rehosltered it, cautiously taking the one from the man in front of you still feeling like this was a trick.

"The hallway down the stairwells behind have been cleared by us, but you need to treat them like they are still hot, don't know wha' the enemy is up to, but get them to a safe place." His arm lightly patting your shoulder making you look up from the press check you were conducting to confirm that the gun was indeed loaded. The faith and trust you had in others had been taken out at the knees and butchered from the ground up. For who knows how long, you had been thinking your own kind was hunting you. A creature they thought was docile from her given gender in nature. Little did they know, they were trying to catch and kill a dragon. A beast among pretenders.

His eyes showed you the type of man he was. At the moment, he was concerned no doubt, but he was a man true to his word. A beacon through this chaos. "Get out of this alive. I want that gun back."

Was this his way of making light of the situation? Or the fact he was trying to give you a reason to get out alive?

"Captain." The other man that was with him grunted to try urge him along from the screams that were erupting on the other side of the food court.

Nodding, you looked behind at the mother and children behind you. Again, finding the nerves and strength to keep going.

"Let's go," your head jerking the way as the new pistol in your hands helped guide your way securely. John didn't get to watch your back. It hurt that he didn't at least make sure you got out of the food court alive. Instead that inner voice that defends his work, prayed to whatever god was listening. Begging that you freed yourself unharmed with the other three trapped souls from this hell.

To you, all you could hear was your heartbeat pounding in your ears. If you got to look back on all of this and review it, that would be the thing you remembered most, but no one would know. They cannot hear your own heart and feel the amount of fear coursing in your body right now. That man was right however, they definitely cleared their way up here. Bodies were dropped, blood running in multiple directions. It was a dog fight for sure to even make it this far. Who the hell was he? The Angel of Death himself?

Once outside, you had managed to help the family through the parking ramp. Relaxing a little, seeing them run in the direction of safety of what was Point of Command. Finally, you had found the secure safety of your own kind. In the back of the ambulance, you learned that there had been an explosion at the airport. How can there be so much chaos today? What was even happening? The ambulance soon left after your vitals were taken and it was confirmed to have no large injuries. Your Chief gave you the direct order to stand down and stay back, worried you were too shell shocked to respond to the explosion. The unknown man's gun still in your hands, unable to holster it since it didn't fit in any of yours. Sitting down on a bench, you couldn't help but stare down at it.

"Where did you get that gun?" A blonde woman asked kneeling down in front of you. Her hand rested on your knee as she spoke. Clearly, she just understood the carnage you had seen and didn't want to speak to shell you had put up to try to disassociate yourself.

"A man inside gave it to me, was wearing camo," a voice that did not sound like yourself answered. It was raspy, more than likely from fighting for your life inside out. Your lips were chapped and peeling already.

"Did he have a big beard?" She asked, her manner of speaking showing that she was hopeful.

Only being able to nod, you did so a slow motion of up and down.

"John, I found her." she said into a radio standing up.

"Bring her to me," the other side said back. The voice you knew all too well belonged to the bearded man that had given you a fighting chance. Raising the gun up, handle to this woman thinking it was what he wanted back so bad. Instead, she stuck her hand out to you, an invite to stand up.

"He wants to meet you." She clarified. "My name's Kate Laswell. And we have an offer." She was gifting you a kind smile, calm in the storm that had finally lifted. A ray of sunshine through black clouds.

Reaching up for her hand, you took it. Little did you know, everything was about to change.

Captain John Price Masterlist

Part 2

[munsonkitten]

Steve gets Eddie out of the Upside Down. He doesn’t know how he does it, but he does. He holds his organs in with his own body, carrying him pressed front to front, one arm cradled under his thighs and the other wrapped around his back, Eddie’s head lolling on his shoulder. He has Eddie’s face on his bad side. If Eddie were to say anything to him, it would be lost to the constant ringing in that ear, but he hopes it’s nothing too important — Steve understands the situation. Either Eddie’s going to survive, or he isn’t and nothing he tells Steve now will be any help without a hospital.

All he cares about is keeping Eddie awake and keeping him alive. 

Each heavy footstep as Steve runs jostles Eddie back into wakefulness, thank god. Steve doesn’t know what he would do to keep Eddie awake otherwise, seeing as his own voice is gone, unable to make its way through his throat because how the fuck could anyone talk after seeing the shit he’s seen? 

They can’t get through the gate in the ceiling of Eddie’s trailer like this, that much was obvious from the moment Steve found Dustin cradling Eddie’s limp body to his chest.

Steve gets him out. He doesn’t really remember how. He doesn’t really remember what gate they went through. He just remembers running. He just remembers Eddie in his arms, weak and dying. 

He doesn’t really know how he managed to carry him that long or that far with injuries of his own. 

They get him into a car, Nancy behind the wheel because Steve won’t let go of Eddie in the backseat, cradling him to his chest. They get him to a hospital, they see an ambulance unloading a mangled, broken body with a shock of fiery red hair. 

Max. It’s Max. Max is hurt — bad. 

They take Eddie away from him. They take Max away. 

Steve fights off nurses that try to help him, too. He’s fine. He needs to get to his kids. He needs to get to Lucas who is fighting his way over into the hectic emergency room, to Erica who keeps a hand gripping the back of her brother’s shirt so she doesn’t lose him. 

He wraps the kids up in his arms, pulling them close, not caring that he’s getting blood all over their clothes. Nancy and Robin help a limping Dustin over to a seat. He gets taken back to get looked at. Steve can’t go with him despite his protests. That’s my kid! he thinks he screams. His ears are ringing so bad at this point, and he doesn’t think it has anything to do with the constant buzz he usually hears. His head feels like it’s full of static as he watches Dustin get taken away. That’s my fucking kid! he screams again, and now his voice is hoarse and he has no idea how long he’s been yelling, but he gets pulled into a chair and his head is pulled into Robin’s lap as he lays down, shaking and sobbing into her stomach. 

Steve is woken up by a firm hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t even realized he fell asleep, really. Not this time. He’s been so in and out for what feels like days (but was more like hours), that it’s hard to tell when he’s awake or not. 

He looks up to see an older man standing in front of him. He’s balding, and has a gray goatee. He looks like he has permanent worry etched into his features, like something has been going wrong for every day of his entire life. His eyes are soft, though, in such a familiar way. 

“Mr. Munson?” Steve croaks. His throat is dry, his neck hurts from sleeping sitting up, and he’s still covered in blood and gore. 

“You must be the Harrington boy,” the man says without answering. His voice is gruff, and he has a Southern accent, but Steve wouldn’t be able to place where. He still looks at Steve with those kind eyes, though, despite the shortness of his words. 

“Yeah. Yes, sir,” Steve nods, standing up. He immediately regrets that, feeling a wave of lightheadedness was from the blood loss he’s experienced in the last several days— several years, really. He holds out his hand to shake, but draws it back when he sees the red stain covering the entirety of it. “Steve Harrington.”

“You saved my boy,” Mr Munson says. He pulls Steve into a bone-crushing hug and releases a sob. “You saved my Eddie. Thank you. And call me Wayne.” 

“H-have you heard anything?” Steve asks him. “They won’t tell me.”

“He’s stable,” Wayne says, pulling away. “He’s… he’s in a lot of trouble. They think he did it; they have him strapped down and cuffed to the bed, but there's a good chance he’s going to make it.”

Steve breathes out a sigh of relief. He has no idea how they’re going to get Eddie out of this mess, but fuck, it’s better than him being gone. Steve was really scared there for a while. 

“I don’t know what the state of your home is, but considering you’ve been here instead of going home and washing all that shit off you, I figure… I have a motel room outside of town,” Wayne says after a minute. “Unaffected by the earthquake. I can take you there if you want to get cleaned up and get some rest. Ed will still be here when you get back.”

Steve finds himself agreeing. 

The water pressure in the motel sucks, and Steve finds himself washing blood away for what feels like hours. The water just won’t run clean no matter how much he scrubs and scrubs. He thinks his wounds might have reopened, but he won’t remove the bandages on his own. He doesn’t think he can stomach it. Plus, he didn’t want to rip open the wounds when peeling them off, so he figured soaking them would be the best option. 

So much for not reopening the wounds, he thinks as blood continues to pour down the drain, and he feels less and less like he’s going to stay standing. 

Feeling defeated and not at all clean, he steps out and grabs a towel from the rack. The white towel turns pink in an instant, then saturates deeper and deeper as more blood soaks into it. 

A soft knock at the door nearly makes Steve slip in his haste to cover himself up. He opens the door to see Wayne standing on the other side with a pile of clothes in his hands. 

“These are Ed’s. I grabbed them when I left home just in case he found me, but… Well, anyway, they should fit you,” Wayne says. He pushes them into Steve’s hands and stands there awkwardly. It seems like both of them have been feeling a bit awkward. They don’t know each other. Steve barely knows Eddie. But they’re in this together now, it seems, so they’re both trying. 

Steve nods, looking down at the soft shirt and sweatpants in his hands. There’s a small hole in the neckline of the shirt, clearly worn and well-loved by Eddie. 

“I don’t mean to overstep,” Wayne says. “But those bandages need to be changed.”

“Y-yeah,” Steve stutters. “Yeah, but I don’t have extras and I can’t r-really do it myself.”

“Alright,” Wayne says. He walks back into the main room, leaving Steve in the bathroom doorway. He picks up his car keys and his wallet from a table, shoving his wallet into the pocket of his jeans. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Steve ends up sitting on the bed in nothing but the underwear Wayne had given him. He doesn’t think too hard about it being Eddie’s. There’s a towel beneath him, catching the blood that runs down his torso and his back. There are a few chunks taken out of his thighs that he didn’t notice before, too caught up in, well, everything to really care. 

Wayne comes back not too much later, a bag full of gauze and bandages and antiseptic and Tylenol. He begins laying everything out on the bed beside Steve. 

He works in silence, disinfecting Steve’s wounds and bandaging them up. Steve, on the other hand, makes a myriad of embarrassing noises, laced with pain. 

“Eddie’s come home beaten up more than once,” Wayne says as he finishes up bandaging Steve’s thighs. “I’ve had to fix that boy up plenty of times.”

Steve can tell, too. Wayne is gentle and practiced in the way he does this, like it’s definitely happened way too many times to count. He doesn’t even think between each step, just does them carefully without speaking a word or hesitating. 

“I don’t… I don’t know if Eddie’s ever told you about me,” Steve says, swallowing down the guilt rising in his throat. “But if he has… Thank you for helping me, anyway.”

“Oh, sure,” Wayne shrugs. “Not that Eddie didn’t come home crying, saying Steve Harrington called him a queer and tripped him so he fell into a locker and busted his nose, or anything.” 

“No, yeah, I — I know,” Steve whispers. “I’m sorry, and… I’m going to make it up to him, I promise.”

“You saved him, Steve,” Wayne says. He starts packing up the supplies and shoves the bottle of Tylenol into Steve’s hands. “And last year, I asked if you were still giving him any trouble, and he said you weren’t friends with that Hagan boy anymore and you were leaving him alone, even if the other boys weren’t. He said you’d changed and I’ll be honest, I didn’t believe him, but I see it now.”

“He said that?” Steve asks. 

“Uh huh,” Wayne nods. “And that Henderson boy would come around to talking with Ed about that game they play. He always had good things to say about you… Never quite understood why. It’s like he was trying to set you two up on a date, or something.” 

“What?” Steve asks. 

Wayne just chuckles in response, and says, “Don’t worry about it, kid.”

Steve ends up falling asleep on one side of the bed, warm in one of Eddie’s sweatshirts and a pair of pajama pants. He wakes up at some point, sweating and feverish. He rips the sweatshirt off, kicks off his blankets. Wayne is there a minute later with a cold washcloth that he places on Steve’s forehead. 

He falls back asleep, but it’s fitful. He knows he should probably see a doctor about his injuries, he knows he’s fighting off an infection as he sleeps. He’s just so tired. He just wants to keep sleeping. 

Wayne leaves a few times, comes back, forces water and pills down Steve’s throat, replaces the washcloth, checks his bandages. He doesn’t think his own parents ever cared this much for him when he was sick. He has no idea why a man he barely knows is showing him so much kindness. 

Steve wakes up to the shrill sound of the hotel room phone ringing. It’s just a few short rings, a swear from Wayne, and then the ringing stops. Steve thinks about falling back to sleep when he sees tears fill Wayne’s eyes, and hears a very quiet, ‘Thank you.’

He assumes the worst with the way Wayne gets emotional, but then he hangs up and breaks out into a huge smile. 

“We can visit him, kid,” Wayne tells him. He goes over to a duffel bag in the corner of the room — Steve knows it’s the one full of Eddie’s clothes. He digs through it until he finds something, and tosses it over to Steve, who, in his fevered state, can’t even think about doing anything besides letting them hit him in the face.

In the end, Wayne has to help Steve get dressed, and it’s awkward, and the pants don’t quite fit right and the outfit is nothing Steve would wear in a million years — Black jeans with holes in the knees, a black shirt with the sleeves cut off and ‘Iron Maiden’ emblazoned on it in red. Wayne picks up Eddie’s vest from the chair Steve carefully laid it down on. He had been wearing it under his jacket that he wore into the Upside Down. Eddie hadn’t asked for it back. 

“You know something?” Wayne says, holding the vest in his hands. 

Steve just shakes his head. 

“He wears this every single day. Won’t leave the damn house without it,” Wayne smiles. He turns it over in his hands, running his fingers over a fraying edge of the back patch. “This patch on the back here was a t-shirt at one point. I took him to St Louis to see Dio in ‘84… It was supposed to be a graduation present, but I couldn’t take it back when he didn’t graduate, not when I saw how excited he was. Anyway, I bought him a shirt because I had saved up as much as I could to go all out for this. It was his favorite shirt, wore it every day until the neckline was falling apart and the sleeves were just about coming off. He asked me one day if it would be okay to turn it into a patch, you know. He knows it cost money, so he thought he’d ask. I just laughed and told him he better before it’s completely ruined.”

Steve finds himself smiling as Wayne tells him. 

“Anyway,” Wayne says, passing the vest over to Steve. “For him to give this to you — I don’t know if you know what that means. He’s put hours into sewing these patches on, he made some of these pins by himself, you know. Made the design, pressed it with one of those button presses the school has, or whatever, he spent his own money on others. It’s all the things he likes most… What I’m saying is that this vest is Eddie. It’s everything he is. You better keep that safe and understand how much trust he has in you. That’s why I’ve been helping you, even knowing you were a dick to him in school.”

Steve feels like he’s going to burst into tears. He hugs the vest to his chest, and then quickly slips it on to wrap himself up in it. It’s covered in blood, it smells, but it’s Eddie’s. 

Eddie isn’t strapped down to the bed when they walk into his room. He isn’t cuffed. There are no police officers sitting guard outside his room, stopping everyone but hospital personnel from going in. Steve is just about to ask how when the answer walks into the room. 

“Hey, kid.”

Steve turns around and can’t believe what he’s seeing. Jim Hopper is standing there, his head shaved, his clothes hanging loosely off his body, deep bags under his eyes. But alive. He’s alive and standing right in front of Steve, and he’s the reason Eddie isn’t being carted away to prison while he’s still in a coma. Eleven steps into the room behind him, and her head is shaved again, too. She’s taller now, her face is so much older. Like she’s aged five years in the eight months since Starcourt. Steve imagines she’s seeing the same thing when she looks back at him. 

She walks right in and wraps Steve up in her arms, her head pressed into his chest. She lifts her head and presses in close to his good ear before speaking again, and Steve — well, Steve figures of course El would know. She has always been far too observant. 

“Thank you,” she whispers. 

“For what?” Steve asks, returning the embrace. 

“You have kept my friends alive,” El whispers. “You have taken care of everyone. Dustin says they would have had no chance if you did not drive them around.”

Steve laughs. That’s true, but he doesn’t feel like he’s all that important in the grand scheme of things. 

Hopper pulls him into a hug next, and it’s weird because Hopper and Steve were never all that close, but it’s nice, too because Steve still mourned Hopper, and now he’s here. He’s here and he’s likely the reason Eddie isn’t cuffed to his bed rails, and he’s going to make all of the Upside Down bullshit better because he isn’t afraid to go in headfirst to anything. 

“What are you wearing?” Hopper asks, taking a step back to look at him. 

Steve feels even more heat rush into his face, even when he’s already feverish. “They’re not mine.”

Hopper barks out a laugh, then grabs Steve’s arm to pull him into the hallway. 

“You need to get fixed up, kid,” Hopper says with no room for argument. “I got Eddie’s charges dropped, and now you’re going to do this for me, alright?”

“Or what?” Steve asks. “You’re going to re-arrest him?”

“I just might,” Hopper says, amused. 

There’s a doctor at the end of the hallway that Hopper passes Steve off to, and he spends the next few hours being sewn up and pumped full of antibiotics. He spends that time worrying and wondering if Eddie is going to wake up anytime soon. He’s worried that he won’t be there when he does. 

Steve doesn’t really know why that matters so much to him.

Read more on AO3

[eco-lite]

My favorite moments from David Mack's Control. Most of them are Garak, even though he's barely in this book...

[Text ID: “’I'm well aware that you're all fugitives of the highest order in the Federation. Nothing new for you, Doctor, or for your inamorata"—he let contempt drip off that last word—"though I have to imagine being the target of an interstellar dragnet must be something of a new experience for your friends.’” End ID]

Okay this is hilarious. David Mack establishes that Sarina Douglas (the genetically-engineered woman Julian helps in "Statistical Probabilities." Remember her?) and Julian have been in a relationship for a while, but he's also clearly a garashir shipper who loves to make Garak suffer. Jealous!Garak my beloved.

[Text ID: “Garak shot a wary look at his bodyguards, then he moved closer to Bashir. ‘Are you asking as a Starfleet officer? As a doctor? Or as a man in need of asylum?’ ‘I'm asking as your friend.... Help us, Elim.’ It might have been nothing more than Bashir's imagination, but he thought he saw the faintest hint of jealousy in Garak's eyes when the castellan glanced at Sarina. But then Garak looked back at Bashir and smiled. ‘Very well, Julian. For an old friend... anything is possible.’” End ID]

Poor Garak. This is truly painful. Especially since Julian recognizes his jealousy and doesn't ever address it.

[Text ID: “’Executions without judicial oversight? It's an obscenity masquerading as national security.’  ‘Yes. And it's also how the Obsidian Order kept total control over the Cardassian Union for nearly a century.’ That put an end to Bashir's perambulation. ‘Wait, no. I didn't mean to say—' ‘That any part of the Federation could ever have anything in common with the Obsidian Order? Or with the Tal Shiar? Oh, how I envy your naïveté, Doctor. To believe that any nation state could ever endure without having an appendage willing to stain itself in blood—what a luxury it must be to live in the arms of such delusion.’ He expected a tirade from Bashir. A red-faced defense of the Federation's principles, its integrity, its virtue. Instead the doctor reined in his dudgeon and approached Garak's desk. He set his knuckles on the polished wood and bowed his head while he drew a calming breath. ‘I can't deny there's rot in the core of Starfleet. In the heart of the Federation. I've seen it.’ He looked up at Garak, and his eyes had the hard, unyielding focus of a man ready to go to war. ‘I came to you because I need to know how to stop it. How to end it. How to destroy it.’ ‘Well, that's simple, Doctor. What worked for Cardassia will work for the Federation. To excise this cancer from your body politic, all you need to do is kill the body, burn it down to ash, then resurrect and rebuild it with wiser eyes and a sadder heart.’ Bashir's brow creased with scorn. ‘You mock me.’ ‘Not at all, Doctor. You saw what happened to this world at the end of the Dominion War—to all the planets of the Cardassian Union. The Dominion burned us to the ground. Slew all but a fraction of our population. Left us with nothing but cinders and cenotaphs. That is what it took to free Cardassia from the grip of the Obsidian Order. Are you ready to pay that price so the people of the Federation can bask in the purity of their liberty? Is it worth the blood of billions? Is it worth seeing your worlds on fire?’ ‘You make it sound as if there's no middle ground,’ Bashir protested. ‘No choice besides surrender or slaughter.’ Garak saw no reason to blunt the truth's cutting edge. ‘Why else would such programs exist, Doctor? What is the value of intelligence if it doesn't lead to action?’ This time Bashir rose to Garak's challenge. ‘What is the value of action if it betrays all that we stand for?’ His shoulders slumped as if they bore a terrible weight. ‘Garak, I didn't come here to be lectured, or to be told I'm too idealistic. I came here for advice.’ ‘Of what sort?’ ‘The kind that will help me stop Thirty-one. Permanently.’ Maybe the doctor was foolhardy. Perhaps his mission was doomed to fail. But there was no denying the man possessed the courage of his convictions. Garak tried to remember what that had felt like in his long-ago squandered youth—and then he realized, to his shame, that he had never known the sweet sting of such passions. ‘If you want to kill Section Thirty-one,’ he said, ‘you'll need to turn their greatest strength against them—transform it into their most dire weakness. They thrive on secrecy, on anonymity, just as the Obsidian Order once did. Take that away from them. Expose them and they'll be vulnerable—and that's when you strike the killing blow.’ He set his palms on the desktop and leaned forward to emphasize his final piece of counsel. ‘But make sure you leave nothing of your enemy intact. When your work is done, don't try to turn their assets to your advantage. Destroy them all, every last one—or else the monster will simply rise again.’” End ID]

Although the concept and plot of this book is really interesting, I was generally not impressed by the characterization in this book. But Garak is an exception. I love this passage because it's a brief return to Garak and Julian's cherished philosophical debates. And it so perfectly encapsulates Garak's world-view after all he's been through. He's under no delusions of how far a society will go to "protect itself." Or how hard it can be to dismantle a broken system. He's experienced both tragedies first-hand.

[Text ID: “’The codicil concerning Doctor Bashir indicated a ninety-four percent likelihood that he would seek the aid of his former lover and Deep Space Nine crewmate, Captain Ezri Dax. Instead, he ran to Castellan Elim Garak.’" End ID]

Ha. That's telling, isn't it...

[Text ID: “’Have you considered the possibility that you've chosen the wrong side?’ The question felt to Bashir like a vote of no confidence. He hoped he had heard Garak wrong. ‘What do you mean, the wrong side?’ ‘I merely mean to ask, Julian, if you've ever stopped to entertain the notion that perhaps Section Thirty-one serves a valid purpose?’ The question itself offended Bashir. ‘Don't be absurd, Garak. Thirty-one wields deadly power with absolutely no legal accountability or oversight. It commits countless crimes against Federation citizens and foreign peoples. It steals, defrauds, counterfeits, murders. It acts in the name of the Federation while betraying every principle for which we stand. Its continued existence is an insult to our entire civilization.’ Garak struck an imperious pose. ‘Really? An insult? What if that insult to your Federation is the only reason it still exists?’ He prowled forward, crossing Bashir's imaginary boundary of personal space. ‘Every nation-state in history has relied, at one time or another, on the services of such organizations for their very survival. Why should yours be any different?’” End ID]

Devil's advocate as always. But Garak has a point. Cardassia was only able to maintain it's strictly military society--the status quo--because of the Obsidian Order. Based on his own experience, it's reasonable to think that Section Thirty-one may be the only thing holding the Federation together. No matter how much its actions go against the holier-than-thou principles the Federation claims to uphold.

[Text ID: “’Beliefs are dangerous things, Julian. Once we invest in them, it can be hard to challenge them without invoking cognitive dissonance. But in this case, I suggest you try. Because if I'm correct, going to war with Section Thirty-one can only end badly for you. Either you will lose, and you and all your friends will suffer gruesome fates I'd rather not imagine; or you will win—and in so doing, end up inflicting more harm than good upon your beloved Federation.’" End ID]

Not Garak trying to predict the ending of the book. Somehow the real ending was a mix of both. And that "beliefs are dangerous things" line... Yeah.

[Text ID: (Referring to the décor of the Federation Headquarters in Paris, which is scientifically constructed to be soothing and discourage potential violent behavior) “Like the Federation's pervasive imperialism, the lobby's social controls were subtle and hideously effective.” End ID]

Damn, you said it, not me. I do love this book's determination to deconstruct every charitable feeling the reader might have about the Federation.

[Text ID: “Alone with Bashir, Garak looked at his friend. He circled in front of him. ‘Are you still with me, my dear doctor?’ He squatted in front of the hoverchair and tried in vain to make eye contact with his friend. ‘Are you blind to the sight of me? Deaf to the music of my voice?’ Bashir's silence and his wounded stare into an empty distance disturbed Garak in ways he feared to confront. This was not the man he remembered from Deep Space 9, or the confidant with whom he had trusted his private musings in the aftermath of the Dominion War. This man was detached from the world, in it but separated from it by a barrier as unbreachable as it was intangible. This was the shattered husk of a good man, the sorry remains of one who had refused to bend to the cruelties of the world and ended up broken instead.” End ID]

I didn't realize this book leads directly into Una McCormack's Enigma Tales (excellent book, go read it!) until this point. That knowledge makes this moment hurt more, I think.

[Text ID: “There was naught left for Garak to do now but keep his friend safe, in a clean and well-lit place, and give him whatever time he needed to heal himself—or at least to die in peace, with his last measure of privacy intact and jealously guarded by someone who loved him.” End ID]

Time to curl up in a ball and stare into the middle distance for a while...

[steveshairychest]

Steve believes it's over; he believes they've won.

Sure, the town is divided by giant cavernous cracks, but that's not something he can fix with a nail bat. Steve's job is done. There'll be no more jumping through gates and fighting off monsters, no more injuries, and no more deaths.

Because they beat the bad guy.

Steve had watched him burn with his own eyes. He'd watched Nancy fire the shotgun right at Vecna's chest and taken pleasure in his screams as Vecna plummeted to his death. It came with a cost, but they won.

Things were just starting to fall back into place when he realised he was wrong. It starts as a faint sound, almost too quiet to hear over the chatter in his car, but it causes the hair on the back of his neck to stand and his hands to grip the wheel in fear. A quick glance in the rear vision mirror tells him no one else heard it. Mike makes a face at him when he meets Steve's eyes in the mirror and points at the road. "You don't have to keep checking. I swear I'm wearing my seatbelt."

No one notices the slight shake in his voice when he tells them to be quiet. No one notices his panic.

He hears it again when the kids pile out of the car. It's louder this time, almost deafening.

It's the sound of a clock, a grandfather clock.

Max had told him what it sounded like, she'd stared off into the distance and told him it made her heart race, made her so scared she felt sick. She said it sounded drawn out and wrong, like the clock was broken.

Steve hears that exact sound for days. It rings in his ears while he volunteers at the shelter, it deafens him in the middle of a conversation with Robin, it jolts him awake at night and leaves him reaching for the bat beside his bed.

But he doesn't tell anyone.

He doesn't tell anyone when his usual headaches get worse. He doesn't mention the hallucination of Barb he sees in his swimming pool when the kids come over to swim. He doesn't want to worry anyone, not when everything feels so normal, so peaceful.

But he's never been good at hiding secrets.

Especially not from Robin, who clocks him the minute he starts asking if she knows his favourite song and if she has a portable walkman. "But we won. We killed him." She chokes on her own words and they both slowly sink to the ground in a hug that nearly crushes them both. "You can't leave me, Steve. You can't. You can't. It's not fair. We won."

Steve holds her. He holds her so close to his chest and tries not to think about the reality that this might be their last hug. He doesn't have long now. If he were to lift his head from Robin's shoulder, he would be able to see the clock that has permanently wedged itself into the wall of his home.

Robin spends every waking hour with Steve from then on. She's there when he wakes in a cold sweat and she's there the first time Vecna gets him; the first time he feels cold fingers digging through his darkest memories to make him relive them all. He can hear the faint sounds of Robin's screaming as he is forced to relive the first time his father hit him, the first night he spent alone in his house, the first time he had his heart broken, the first time he watched a friend die.

'Dancing in the Dark' by Bruce Springsteen blares loudly in his ears just as Eddie's blood is drying on his clothes and then instead of kneeling in the grimy dirt of the upside down, he's kneeling on his kitchen floor, still in his pyjamas with Robin's arms holding him firmly in place.

"I thought it wasn't going to work." She cries. "You were in the air, Steve. I-I couldn't reach you. I had to climb on the bench -"

"It's okay. It worked. I'm here." He shushes her softly and brings their foreheads together; they're both breathing rapidly and there's tears staining their cheeks. "I'm not going anywhere." The clock chimes almost mockingly in his ears.

––––

Steve never expected to be back here. To be standing under the stormy red sky of the upside down, armed to the teeth with weapons to fight something they thought was already dead. But things haven't exactly been going his way as of late.

The second everyone found out Vecna has his eyes on Steve, they were all piling into multiple cars and fucking climbing down one of the cracks into the upside down.

What if they fail again? What if they go to all this trouble and Vecna snaps Steve like a twig the second they get too close?

Steve secretly wished the others never found out. He wished they were all still up in Hawkins swimming in his pool and laughing so loud it drowned out the clock in his ears. He wished they would listen if he told them to leave him here, to go home and forget about him.

"It wouldn't stop with you." Nancy says to him because she can read him like a fucking book. Steve didn't even have to say anything. She touches his arm gently and offers Steve a comforting smile. "Let us protect you for once."

Steve can see the fear in her eyes, but he doesn't say anything. He nods once and keeps pushing on through the never ending darkness.

They should all know by now that things never go the way they want.

They find Vecna easy enough, the dumb bastard is in the exact same place as last time and no one but Steve seems to think it's a trap. "It's too obvious!" He tells them, but no one is listening. No one ever listens to him in these situations. He can feel Vecna's ice-cold fingers prodding at the back of his mind as they creep through the house.

Instead of Vecna being on his own like they expected, there's something, or rather someone, crouched low to the ground at his feet; a guard dog ready to pounce.

A guard dog that has the same blood matted hair as the boy Steve spent weeks mourning, the same high cheekbones and soft, pouted lips. But it isn't him, it isn't Eddie. The thing at Vecna's feet snarls and reveals two rows of bloody, dagger like teeth and his usual kind, brown eyes are just,,, black. So black, Steve feels like he can see his own terrified face in them.

There's a split second where Steve thinks he's going to wake up. He's going to jolt awake in his bed and be pulled away from this nightmare.

But it never happens.

The last thing Steve hears is the guttural scream that emits from the creature that was once Eddie before he is sucked into Vecna's hold, his feet dangling above the ground as he's slowly lifted into the air.

This is it, he thinks. They came all this way just for him to die right in front of them.

Steve can't see what's going on around him and can barely hear anything over the sound of his younger self screaming. He's trapped in his own fucking head. Hands pat him down and dig around in his pockets for the walkman; the walkman he was supposed to grab out of the car.

He didn't grab it. He fucking left it on the front seat of the car.

Steve didn't even get to say goodbye.

"They don't need you anymore." Vecna's voice rattles through his head. "You're disposable." He's standing before Steve now. They're in his house, standing in the middle of the kitchen as younger Steve watches his parents leave for the millionth time. "Even your parents didn't want you."

He's right. They've been relying on him less and less. The only reason the party is even here is because there's a chance someone else, someone more important, could get caught in Vecna's trap if they don't stop him.

Steve's just collateral. A bump in the road to victory.

Steve stops fighting. He's done.

He takes in a deep breath and waits for the pain, waits for Vecna to finish him off, but the pain never comes. In fact, he can feel himself floating back to the ground, can feel hands grabbing at his arms and legs and pulling him down, down, down.

"Steve, can you hear me? Steve! Steve?" That voice... he never thought he'd hear that voice again. Maybe he was still in his head, maybe this was another sick joke from Vecna. "Hey, big boy, are you with me?"

"Eddie?" And when his vision comes back to him, he's really there. Eddie is cradling Steve in his arms, and if Steve isn't so relieved to see him, he'd be more worried about what happened to the monster he saw just moments ago. Well, he thought it was moments ago. "What happened? Is this real?"

Eddie smiles down at him; just a normal sharp teeth free smile. Steve sits up and reaches out to touch Eddie's face, the face he's seen in his dreams for weeks. The black, soulless eyes he'd stared into earlier are replaced with the kind, brown eyes he'd drowned in the first time they met.

But then he notices something else.

Eddie's skin is scar free. There's not a single scratch on him. There is no evidence he was ripped apart by the bats.

Something's wrong. He looks around, expecting to see Robin or Nancy, just anyone, but they're alone. Sensing his rising panic, Eddie reaches out and gently holds his face, a small, sad smile pulling at his lips.

"It's okay. It's over now, Steve. You can rest."

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Salvia Splendens Means Forever Mine- Part 3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 1.8k

TW: Death, blood, bleeding out, making out, kissing, men being creepy, swearing, blood, trauma, cliffhanger moment

A/N: Guys I am so sorry. School has actually picked up and so have rehearsals, I'm losing my mind, but I'm trying to write multiple things at once, and that's so silly of me. I'm sorry this is so short, and I promise the next one will be longer. Thank y'all for your patience. It means a lot! PS That's fully Lady Mac in the painting !!

Part 1 Part 2

In all fairness, it was your turn.

Spencer had been captured and drugged, Derek had been arrested and charged with multiple murders, Gideon’s lost love had been murdered by a serial killer, Elle had someone reach into her body and write with her blood on her living room wall, so truthfully, you were a little shocked it had taken you this long to be murdered, or kidnapped, or who knows what else. 

The team hadn’t royally fucked up, per se. You all were beyond careful, but sometimes, when you misprofile, things happen. How were you supposed to know that it was the girl and her boyfriend, and not just the boyfriend. 

The best part about this was the fact that you got to watch as the woman you saved two days ago get stabbed to death repeatedly, screaming at you to save her. Her blood splattered across your face, your clothes, your skin, permanently staining it in your mind. Your favorite Shakespeare show had always been Macbeth, it seemed a bit ironic now considering you felt as though you would never wash her blood off your hands. 

The screams would echo around in your head as you stared at her body on the mattress across from you. The red grew in splotches like a sick mold, blooming out from underneath.

The boyfriend, whose name was slipping your mind, slid the knife up your thigh, and you couldn’t tell if he was drawing more of your blood, or dragging hers across you. 

The couple had been so kind as to remove your shirt and pants, leaving you in nothing but undergarments, and no socks. Colorado was fucking cold at night

You heard the girl, Millie, giggling as she shoved the woman’s body with her foot. You winced as you felt the knife going higher than you would have preferred, his hand sliding around your waist. 

“Andrew. What are you doing?” 

His name was Andrew. Got it. 

His hands immediately retracted, shrugging and crossing his arms, but still standing over you. 

“Go dispose of her body.” 

Andrew nodded, quickly tugging your hair, painfully, before moving to clean up the mess the two of them had made. You swallowed the groan in your throat and closed your eyes; the woman’s body never left your sight though. 

“Why does a gorgeous agent like you wear such a boring necklace.”

Your eyes shot open as Millie swung the little gold chain around her fingers. You pulled you hand, intending to reach your neck, but the restraint dug into your wrist, surely leaving a mark in the process. 

You hadn't realized it was gone. Your neck suddenly felt so cold, so make, without it.

“Oh so which one of them gave you this?” 

You exhaled, but kept your eyes on her hand at all times, not wanting to lose sight of the necklace. 

She smirked, watching as every muscle in your body stayed as tense as it could. 

“Was it…Agent Morgan…Agent Prentiss…no, hmm…” She twirled it around, enjoying as you fidgeted around, terrified that the necklace would break. 

“The skinny one?” You tried so hard not to react, but you have this nasty habit of biting your cheeks when you get extremely nervous or worried, and Millie’s smirk turned wicked when she realized. 

“Ah, so it is the nerdy one…interesting…Andy?”

Andrew, who had been leaning on the door frame, eyeing you up and down, making your skin crawl, looked over at Millie. 

“Baby…” She drawled, “Put this necklace on me?”

“No.” You couldn’t help it as the words shoved their way out of your mouth before you even had a chance to process it. 

Andrew stalked towards Millie, eyeing her up and down before snatching the necklace out of her hand. “It’s real pretty on you baby.” He slowly placed it on her neck, the gold contrasting against her skin. 

“Ya know, I just have to ask…what does this stupid pendant even mean?” 

You shook your head, eyes cast downward, unable to watch someone else wear the necklace Spencer had given you. 

“Hey. Fucking answer me.” She kicked your shoulder causing you to wince in pain as you felt the bruising start to form immediately. 

You missed it as Andrew picked up the knife. You missed it as Millie took it from him. You didn’t miss how she stabbed you in the gut, causing your eyes to flash white. 

People say pain is hot, it shoots through you like a fire you can’t put out, but they’re wrong. It is ice in your veins. The numbness slowly takes over your body as it shuts down, trying to avoid the unavoidable. 

Your mouth let out a strangled “fuck” when Millie ripped the knife from your stomach, causing the blood to start oozing out of your wound. 

God it was not supposed to end this way. 

You placed a hand over your stomach, barely registering the wetness as you pulled it up to your eyes. You watched as the blood dripped down the sides of your hands, and that's when the adrenaline shot kicked out from underneath you. 

“Oh my god.” you mumbled, placing your hand over the wound. The first thing you were supposed to do was stop the bleeding. With what? There’s nothing around? Panic was seeping through every pore in your body. You had been trained for this, why couldn’t you remember what to do? What should you even use to stop the bleeding, god it fucking hurt. 

You watched as the door across the room slammed shut, causing you to flinch at the sound, causing you to groan in pain at the sudden movement. 

“Fuck. Fuck.” 

This couldn’t be it. You couldn’t just die while some sick and twisted bitch walked around with your necklace on, while you slowly bled out on some disgusting mattress in god knows where. 

Maybe this is what Spencer thought about while he was dying. 

“I’m not dying.” You whispered, wavering slightly. The blood loss was getting to your head and your eyes were getting heavy. “I’m not…shit. It’s fine…I’m”

His hand was softer than you remembered, but at least he wasn’t as nervous as before. It was your six month anniversary and Spencer had gone all out. He had taken you out to dinner, your favorite restaurant in the area, wined and dined you. It was perfect. The two of you had ended up back at your place, your back against the door as you dug your hand around in your pocket. 

“Spence.’ You mumbled, smiling against his lips, losing all focus as one of his hands grabs your waist, squeezing it with anticipation. 

Your lack of focus spurred Spencer on, and suddenly the door to your apartment was opening–he had found your keys and opened it, all while distracting you with his lips, his touch.  You were glad someone had their head on straight. 

You stumbled back slightly, not leaving his touch, feeling the warmth on his hands on your arm, pulling you back into him. 

“Move in with me.” He whispered against your lips, and you’re not sure if you heard him correctly. 

“What?” You whispered, taking the slightest step back, opening your eyes and looking up into his eyes. His sweet, shining eyes, filled with hope, and something a bit more. 

“Move in with me…” Spencer licked his bottom lip, that same nervous tick that would drive you fucking crazy whenever you looked at him. 

“What about the team…” Spencer shook his head. 

“Who cares.” He smiled at you. “I just want to wake up next to you every morning.”

Spencer kissed your lips softly.

“Please sweetheart” Your jaw.

“Every single morning” Your neck. 

“Spence…” You moaned slightly, surely leaving bruises on his arms from your grip. Your mind was everywhere, unable to truly cling onto any of the words Spencer was whispering to you.

“In our bed.” 

“Sold.” You pulled his head up and basically launched yourself at him, lips on his. 

Spencer was not having as great of a time in his head as you were. 

Just as the team was getting out of their cars, he had heard your voice, causing him to immediately go on high alert, hand on his gun in an instant. The rest of the team had followed suit, all of them quickly looking at Hotch and Reid, trying to figure out a plan. 

Reid almost had to be held back by Morgan the way he basically started to walk right into the building. He knew what happened in hostage situations. He knew how unforgiving captures could be. He couldn’t stop picturing all of the possibilities of what made you scream out in such pain. 

But suddenly, he heard the front door slam, causing all of them to instantly aim at the couple, demands and yelling all happening so slowly.

He could hear the suspects voice, that dumb asshole that wouldn’t stop flirting with you in  the restaurant they had eaten at a couple days ago. His arrogance was the least of Spencer’s problems now. 

Then, he heard a woman’s voice, calling the unsub “sweetheart” and “darling” and “baby”. How could the miss the girlfriend? 

She had seemed so…submissive. But clearly, the profile was off a little bit. 

That’s when he heard the first gun shots go off, causing him to look up at the body on the ground, and the girl sobbing but getting on her knees. The boyfriend had a gun in his hand, but was too slow. 

Morgan quickly walked up to the girl, Hotch following him closely, gun trained on her. 

Hotch’s eyes went wide, and he quickly gave a nod to Emily, causing her to block Spencer’s path. 

“Where did you get this?” Hotch yanked it off of her neck, clutching the necklace in his hand. 

“You’ll find what’s left of 'em in there.” She smiled sickly, getting shoved by Morgan towards the black SUV brigade. 

But Spencer had already seen the necklace, and heard her answer. It was a miracle how agile he was, considering the FBI had to waive all of his physical exams to let him go into the field. Before anyone could really clear the building, Spencer was already inside of it, ignoring the shouts from his superiors and peers. 

He slowly made his way through, trying not to vomit at all of the blood all over the floors and the very clear drag marks of a body. 

His eyes landed on your body, bloody mattress and all and he froze. He couldn’t believe his fucking eyes.

Next Part

________________________________________________________

SSMF Taglist: @raely-study @multifandoms-assemble @marylovesevanpeters @shqwqrma @niya06

[littlemisspascal]

Getting Lost is Being Found

pairing: joel x female reader

rating: M. 18+ only.

word count: 5.4k

summary:

When you finally brought yourself to open your mouth, it wasn’t a question that came out. It was a fact, simple and blunt. “You’re one of them.”

“I am,” he replied, the sun still emblazoning him in radiant light. Almost made it hurt to look at him. “But I never wanted to be a human again until I saw you.”

warnings: black dog/hellhound au with hints of a bigger plot that I'm too tired to dive into. reader is referenced as smaller + younger than Joel. alpha/omega dynamics. slices of life. time jumps. non-descriptive smut. fast burn/love at first sight. biting. blood. rough handling. language. non-major character death(s). thunderstorms. reference of reader's parents. nudity. sneaking in a CoD reference cuz why not

note: Trying to remember how to write for the fun of it. This is the result *awkwardly throws out into the universe*

i.

You stand on your bedroom’s balcony, concrete tiles cold beneath your bare feet. Your eyes look towards the horizon, fingers tightening around the wrought iron railing.

A storm brews. The sun is swiftly retreating behind the distant hills, leaving the city dark and cold in its wake. Electricity taints the air, the hair on the back of your neck prickling -

And then you hear it, harmonizing with the thunder’s rumblings, the ghastly howls of the Black Dogs chasing down the scent of their prey.

ii.

Nightspyre, for all its blackouts and seediness, isn’t the worst place to call home. Not when you’re collared and marked by an Alpha, not when your Alpha has stared Death in the eye and made Her flinch. Not when retaliation for every spilt drop of innocent blood emerges each sundown in the guise of hulking shadows and gleaming red eyes.

The collar had been your request. An old-fashioned tradition dating back centuries, replaced in recent years by sharper, more permanent means of securing a mate. Your mother, rest her soul, had treated her collar as her most prized possession every moment of her short life. Red velvet with a gold tag inscribed with your father’s name. Gone are the days Omegas gathered and gossiped over the patterns and colors adorning their necks. Bitemarks are the present trend, judged and compared by the size, placement, and number of teeth.

They’re advertised as the ultimate display of devotion. A lifelong promise between an Alpha and their chosen mate. A claim warning off others from sniffing too closely. Simply put: a marked Omega is a loved Omega. 

But you learned the hard way when people saw your mark, they didn't see love. They saw something cruel. Something monstrous.

Only when you began wearing a collar you'd fallen in love with after seeing it in the window of a thrift store, adorned with faint golden moons and stars, did the concerned looks and judgmental whispers gradually stop. Convinced them maybe your Alpha wasn't so heartless as they initially believed.

After all, everyone knows monsters don't know how to be gentle. It goes against their very nature. Everything they touch dies an agonizing death.

iii.

“Do you think it’s possible? To know someone your whole life and also know nothing about them at all?” you ask, fingertips tracing the jagged edges of the bite beneath the curve of your collarbone. It’s a hideous thing made in a frenzied moment of raw need, consequentially stained your favorite sheets irredeemably scarlet. 

Your Alpha looks up from where he’d been dragging his tongue over the knob of your hip bone, replying, “Of course.” He moves to hover over you, bracketing your head with his arms, fogging your senses with his distinct scent of petrichor and woodsmoke. “As long as lies exist, no one’s ever truly known. Just pieces of ‘em.”

“Pieces, huh?” You touch his face now, thumb lifting his upper lip in the semblance of a snarl, revealing a glimpse of too-sharp teeth. “I wouldn’t mind collecting more of yours, Jo–”

A warning nip to your hand, blood hot under the surface. “Careful what you wish for.”

iv.

Lightning bathes the living room in a flash of white. Outside the city is wet and dismal, but here, inside, it’s flickering candlelight, and your Alpha is pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, body more shadow than flesh, and you close your eyes, allowing yourself a moment to pretend the hand on your cheek has fingers instead of claws.

v.

Three years ago you first saw Joel during one of the worst storms in Nightspyre’s long history. You’d been new to the city after finishing your degree and securing a job there, still a rookie navigator of its maze of cobblestone streets and alleyways. The weather was a fickle tormentor, you quickly learned, swapping between dry heat and violent downpour seemingly at whim. You’d entered a restaurant for a late supper in cloudless twilight, and exited an hour later to bone-chilling rain hurtling down from a pitch black sky. And it had been a miserable discovery for you to make whilst shivering beneath the front entry of an abandoned church, paint-chipped with boarded up windows, that absolutely nothing looked familiar in the rain. For all you knew, you’d tripped and stumbled into a completely different world.

A lightning bolt streaked across the sky, your eyes following its descent from the heavens, and that was when you first saw it. A black dog prowling amongst the faded and cracked tombstones, tail unnaturally stiff, seeming completely indifferent to the pouring rain—and ‘dog’ seemed like an insulting descriptive at the time, too small and domestic for the behemoth canine, but calling it a wolf didn’t settle right with you either. It was…it was…

It was staring right at you now, crimson eyes cutting across the distance and the darkness like searchlights. You froze, heart lodged in your throat, and it was such a bizarre thing, to be in the presence of something as simultaneously terrifying as it was so eerily beautiful. And the longer you stared, the more convinced you became that this was no ordinary creature. There was a dreamlike quality to its appearance, blurry around the edges, like it could change shapes at any second. 

Fuck, maybe you had tripped into a completely different world.

Another bolt of lightning bathed the cemetery yard in white light, the dog’s figure caught in the flash. Its black fur was thick around its neck, adding further bulk to its already broad body, and completely dry all over despite the puddle forming at its paws. You heard the uptick of your rampant heartbeat. Instinct screamed at you to run, but something else made you stay. A conviction you both were meant to share this moment together.

And it scared you how much that belief didn’t scare you.

Darkness swallowed the light again, taking the red eyes with it. You remember how you’d stood there until the clouds changed from black to gray, rain losing some of its vicious sting upon striking your skin, and you’d returned home in a numbed state of exhaustion and confusion. In the days that followed, you didn’t get sick from the incident, not even so much as a sniffle, adding another layer of oddness to the whole ordeal. And that dog…you couldn’t shake it from your mind. 

You wanted to know more about it. Any and every last scrap of detail you could find.

vi.

Welcome back! Your recent internet searches:

black dog breeds

massive black dogs with red eyes

black dog folklore

hellhounds

People also searched for:

fairy hounds

perro negro

okuri-inu

the hound of the baskervilles

dogs in folklore, religion and mythology

vii.

“You realize how ridiculous you sound, right?” Abe told you, wiping at his glasses with a cloth, a nervous twitch in his fingers. “The Black Dogs are a silly legend to scare children. Anyone who says they’re real is selling something.”

“I’ll tell Professor Ratna you said that,” you replied with a smirk.

Your quest for answers revealed everyone had an opinion one way or the other on the topic of massive red-eyed, dark-furred canines. Most thought they were myths limited to the boundaries of their pages in books or the online web. A few though, spoke in hushed murmurs, casting around wary glances, as if afraid of accidentally summoning one from the depths of the earth. Others talked with booming voices and gesticulating hands, telling you everything you wanted to hear like they’d been waiting for this conversation their whole lives. 

One homeless drunkard who dwelled in the alleyway next to 57th Street Tavern explained through slurred words, “I’ve seen ‘em, twice I have. They’re big brutes, shaking the ground when they walk. But–but they leave nothing behind. No tracks. Scary fuckers, they are. And they know it–they feast off fear, then they feast on flesh.”

You asked him how he’d lived through the close encounters unscathed and he shrugged off the question. “I ain’t never hurt nobody. The folks they hunt down, they’re already going to hell. The Dogs just bring ‘em there faster.”

You’d visited Professor Ratna next, catching the older woman in-between classes during her lunch break. She’d politely entertained your inquiry rather than outright scoff at it as the rest of the university faculty had done. “My specialty is mycology, not folklore, so I am no expert on the subject,” she said, taking a sip of tea. “That being said, I’d urge you to be cautious if you’re going to continue going around asking these questions. Few things happen in this city the Dogs don’t know about.”

“Makes it sound like they’re keeping the city hostage.”

She set down her teacup and looked you straight in the eye. “No, my dear. They are what keeps the city safe.”

You had left her office even more unsure of your own convictions than you’d felt when you arrived.

“Well, if you’re ever unlucky enough to come across one, run the other way as fast as you can,” Abe said, hesitantly looking up to meet your gaze. “Don’t even think about trying to pet it.”

The thought honestly hadn’t crossed your mind until then. It sounded like the quickest surefire way to lose a hand, perhaps even the whole limb. But if you had taken the chance at the church, you couldn’t help but what would the pelt have felt like –

Thick, dense fur like other canines? Or deceptively smooth and oily like a serpent’s scales?

(The answer, as it turns out, is a curious mix of both.)

viii.

The next day, a man knocked on your front door. He was tall, body thick with muscle and marked with smatterings of freckles and–oh. Your gaze stopped on his abdomen, refusing to dip any lower as realization turned your brain to mush. 

He wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing. Nude as the day he was born.

He wasn’t saying anything either, brown eyes sweeping over your face like he was trying to memorize every detail. In another setting, preferably one without nakedness, perhaps over a candlelit dinner, you would have been flattered by the attention but as it was –

Pressing closer against the safety of the door, you took a tentative sniff of the air. His Alpha scent knocked into you like a tidal wave, barely stifling a reflexive whine in your throat. He smelled like thunderstorms, electric and pungent, like wet grass and ozone all blended together. And something else beneath the surface, something distinctly fiery. Smoky. God, you wanted to drown in that scent.

But first things first –

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The Alpha’s nostrils flared, followed by a low rumble from the depths of his chest that had your grip on the door tightening to keep you from doing something embarrassing  (shamelessly flinging yourself at him came to mind). “I followed your scent. Mint and vanilla.” Another inhale, deeper this time, eyes darkening. “Sassafras.”

His voice was hoarse, grating. Sounded like he hadn’t used it in months, maybe even years.

Your thoughts deserted you again, leaving you to dumbly stare at him for a moment. “Um.”

You’d dated a couple Alphas in the past, nothing that ever developed seriously and that was mostly due to the fact they all didn’t like your scent. Scent-compatibility was an essential factor when it came to bonding–after all, you’d be smelling that scent for the rest of your lives together so it was better to be a pleasing one. One described it as boring, another said it was too clean. Whatever that meant.

But this Alpha—this strange, heavenly-smelling, unfairly attractive man liked your scent enough he followed it all the way to your front door. 

“I–uh,” you blinked once, twice, slowly rebooting your brain, “what was your name again?”

The question had a curious effect on the man, emotions rippling across his face, one after the other, looking lost, but only for an instant, before he swallowed thickly, throat bobbing in a distracting manner.

“It’s Joel.” The corner of his mouth dipped. “I think.”

“You think?” you echoed, eyebrows raising. Who didn’t know their own name?

He lapsed back into silence, but there was a defensive edge to it that wasn’t there before. 

You exhaled a quiet breath and gave him a scrutinizing look, gaze dragging all the way from his head to his dirty bare feet and back up again without pausing on any…intimate areas. You wished you could peel back his layers, cut straight through the weird aura and iron defenses and find out what was there at his center that he’d hidden away.

It must be something incredibly precious, you thought. 

Or something shockingly hideous.

“Tell me, Joel,” you crossed your arms to hide your trembling hands, “have we met before?”

The Alpha tilted his head, midafternoon sunlight turning the dark of his eyes into liquid gold. He swallowed again, then quietly admitted, “Once. A couple nights ago…”

You found yourself leaning closer. He didn’t move away. You could almost taste the rain, the howling wind, the thunderclaps, the lightning, everything wild clinging to his skin. 

“Are you–” You cut yourself off, glancing away. You worried your bottom lip for a moment, hesitant to release the words burning on your tongue, scared of their potentially devastating influence. 

“You’ve been asking an awful lot of questions around town, Sass,” Joel said, soft as a caress. “Haven’t you figured it out by now?”

And that – well, that just about confirmed every last suspicion you had.

When you finally brought yourself to open your mouth, it wasn’t a question that came out. It was a fact, simple and blunt. “You’re one of them.”

“I am,” he replied, the sun still emblazoning him in radiant light. Almost made it hurt to look at him. “But I never wanted to be a human again until I saw you.”

ix.

“Any regrets, Sass?” Joel asks in the midnight hours.

“Hmm?” You curl closer, ear pressed against the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

“If you’d known it’d be like this,” he whispers into your hair. “Would you have run away if you had the chance?”

“Maybe,” you say, and you feel more than see the sudden tension roll through his body, shielding himself from the hurt. “But I would’ve found my way back sooner or later. I’d miss you too much.”

Joel says nothing, doesn’t have to. The way he presses you into the mattress, moves inside you, against you, with roaming hands and searing kisses, becoming one — speaks volumes more than words could ever convey.  

x.

The south side of Nightspyre is a haven for smugglers and thugs, consisting of multiple rows of derelict warehouses and an understaffed police presence, half concealed in the smog produced by the factory district. The streets are sticky with unknown substances beneath your shoes, each breath burning the inside of your nose.

“Gets prettier every time I visit,” Tess says wryly, standing next to you and looking at a spray-painted dick on the side of a dumpster.

You shoot your friend an amused look. Her brown hair’s half-up in a bun, she’s tough as nails, and carries at least four concealed weapons on her person at any given point. Female Alphas aren’t a common sight in the city, but Tess’ intimidating presence fends off the inappropriate comments, striking fear into the hearts of even the biggest Alphas with one icy glare. She’s the perfect ally to have by your side.

“Let’s just grab Joel and get out of here.” You pick up the pace. Your eyes note the different colored ribbons hanging from the overhead telephone wires. Each represents an illegal activity, whether it be gambling or drugs. If one knows their code, these ribbons act as a map of the district.  

Tess holds a hand up, stopping at a crossroads. You watch as she looks to the left, center, and right, then up at the ribbons–red, orange, and black respectively. The code regularly changes depending on the month or weather or local events, memorized by those who frequently visit the area, but there is one warning that will never be made different.

“Beware the path marked by the ribbon dyed black,” you recite quietly. “For if you follow it, you’ll surely become the next meal of the pack.”

“Sure you don’t wanna grab a drink instead?” Tess asks, jerking a thumb in the direction of the orange ribbon. 

You say nothing, adjusting the shoulder strap of your bag, and turn right – trusting that your friend will follow close behind, watching your back as she always has since you first met.

xi.

It's a wonder that there's enough of the body left to investigate, you think, crouching behind a car that smells overwhelming of weed and watching a group of men in police uniforms toss around ideas about who or what killed the dismembered and burnt corpse.

Deaths like this, they're how the myth of the Black Dogs continues to circulate and gain credence amongst the locals. The police, on the other hand, refuse to acknowledge them or the black ribbons pointing the way. They'll claim any other excuse under the sun - rabid wildlife, homicidal rage fueled by drugs or alcohol, deranged serial killers, hell even lightning strikes - but to openly admit beasts of folklore are responsible for the high fatality rate? Not a fucking chance.

They've tried setting traps a few times, reassuring folks they'll catch whatever savage thing is responsible for making the streets run red with blood. "Don't worry," they always say. "We have everything under control."

It’s you who should be worried, you want to retort, images flickering through your mind of sharpened teeth and paws the size of tires. Only a fool attempts to catch a hurricane in a glass jar. 

xii.

It’s another forty-five minutes before you find him.

You slide down a steep slope of dead grass, fresh mud from last night’s storm painting the sides of your pants, seeping into your shoes, almost dragging you face-first into the brown sludge of Pickett’s River if not for Tess’ fast reflexes. Eyes on the culvert pipe, you grit your teeth, remind yourself why you’re here, and step forward into the mess of sewage and soil and rainwater. Disgust is immediate, soaked above your knees, but you force yourself to take another step and another and another until you reach the large, ebony mass lying at the culvert’s gaping mouth, black mist emanating from his heaving flank.

“There you are,” you murmur, dropping to your knees near the muzzy outline of his head. Triangular ears twitch before they are concealed in a haze of shadow again. Your heart sinks, forcing a bit of levity into your tone. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this, yeah? Our backyard is a helluva lot nicer than this shithole.”

“I’ll build a doghouse for him myself if it’ll save me from getting dragged outta bed at this ungodly hour,” Tess offers from somewhere behind you.

She’s smart enough to stay back, especially when the sound of her voice has eyes snapping open in a blaze of red, immediately narrowing into smoldering slits, lips curling back from bloodstained teeth, snarling in challenge. 

“None of that,” you scold, followed by a bop against his nose with your finger. He stills, some of the feral luster clearing from his eyes. His body remains primed to fight, muscles coiled, lingering side effects from last night’s hunt. “It’s over. It’s a new day.” A hot breath of air wafts over your face, flooding your nostrils with a concoction of coppery blood, damp earth, and sulfur. “Fucking hell, that’s awful. You, Alpha mine, need a toothbrush. No, scratch that, you need to gargle bleach to get that nastiness out of your mouth. Ugh.”

Joel shoves his head forward, rumbling a deep, guttural note as his wet nose pressed against the vulnerable tendon of your throat, a hint of teeth grazing your pulse. If not for the bitemark under your shirt and the history of early mornings identical to this one spanning across the course of your relationship, perhaps you might have screamed or fainted in fright. Given the circumstances though, you merely tilt your head back further, allowing him to drink his fill of your scent until he remembers.

He had explained once, his human memories were like sand in this form, his mind an hourglass torn between two lives. Your scent triggers the reset, tipping everything right side up again, memories falling back into place until the next hunt steals them back again.

You know when it clicks because Joel’s breath hitches, a violent shudder rippling along his spine. It’s always agonizing, watching him transform, listening to the grinding and splintering of bones and sinew realigning themselves. The cloud of obsidian mist begins to lighten, the once ambiguous outline of a colossal beast slowly, so painstakingly slowly merging into a man – naked, trembling from the aftershocks, clinging to consciousness by his own stubborn will. 

Brown eyes meet yours, blood smeared across his mouth and beard. “Sass,” he says, a dry rasp sending a wave of warmth all the way down to your frozen and wet toes. “Aren’t you getting tired of coming after me yet?”

“Nah,” you shake your head, smiling. “I think it’s good for our relationship. Keeps things interesting.”

He snorts. “Interesting. Sure, that’s a word for it. How many times’ it been this week? Two, three?”

“Four,” Tess chimes in, punctuated by a pair of jeans striking Joel square in the face.

“Mornin’ Tess,” is the low, sheepish response from your Alpha. He pulls the pants off his head, hair ruffled every which way. “Didn’t see you there. Is that a new haircut? It’s nice. Suits you.”

Your friend hums, unimpressed. She used to think you were cute together, that the twang of his accent was amusing, but after eight months of accompanying you in retrieving his naked ass from various sordid and revolting sites around Nightspyre she’s become immune to his charms.

You pull out a shirt and shoes from your own bag. “We’ve gotta get a move on. Police already think you’re strange. Don’t need to give ‘em another reason to dislike you.”

“Four hunts in one week,” Joel mutters under his breath as he begins dressing, a disturbed look in his eye, and you hear what he isn’t saying, unspoken words weighing heavily upon your chest like individual stones.

Four more damned souls.

xiii.

Sometimes you can’t find him the morning after a hunt, losing him amongst the creeping shadows, and you’re forced to wait, anxious and helpless, until there’s another storm, another hunt, another death to reunite with him. 

Those times, the house feels too empty and your bitemark aches something fierce, a brand seared against your skin. Nightmares plague your sleep until your sheets are a tangle of sweat and tears. The cloudless blue skies and starry nights are further personal insults, mocking your heartache.

xiv.

It’s a tricky concept to wrap your head around, the idea that Joel had once been a human decades, perhaps centuries ago. Time isn’t something Black Dogs keep track of and Nightspyre’s historical archives are in the city hall’s basement which floods every other rainfall. He’s older than you, that’s something you can confidently say. Less confidently you can guesstimate he was probably in his late thirties when he was turned.

Your first year together you tried to piece together his story, pestering him with whatever question crossed your mind. Were you born here? What were your parents like? Any siblings? Hobbies? Your attempts proved mostly unrewarding though - his memories of that life are few and flimsy, giving him a headache if he thinks about them too long - and by now you’ve learned he prefers to make new memories than dwell in the past.

The day he knocked on your door becomes his birthday. He turns forty and who gives a fuck if it’s accurate or not, certainly not either of you. You celebrate with cake and ice cream topped with hot fudge.

“My mother used to make cake like this,” Joel says after swallowing a bite. You look at him, your own spoon hovering in front of your mouth, ice cream threatening to melt, but his eyes are glossed over, lost in a memory, and you can’t bring yourself to move, scared of disrupting the moment. “She added chocolate chips in it. Made it sweeter. She’d let me lick the batter from the spoon.”

An image of a young Joel forms unbiddenly in your mind. You can imagine him hovering at his mother’s side, waiting patiently as she scoops and pours and mixes the ingredients, how wide he’d grin when he finally got his prize, smearing chocolatey goodness across his mouth.

“Your ice cream’s melting,” Joel’s voice yanks you back to the present.

You blink a few times, reconciling the child in your head with the Alpha in front of you, then look down at your spoon where, sure enough, the ice cream’s more of a liquid than a solid, blending with the cake and fudge in a gooey swirl. You stick it in your mouth, not really tasting, not really thinking except -

Next year you’ll remember to buy chocolate chips.

xv.

A horde of ominously gray clouds accumulates on the horizon, blotting out the sun. Standing together on the balcony, Joel drapes himself over your backside, chin on your shoulder, both your gazes locked ahead.

“Death is becoming greedy,” you say, mouth coated in bitter venom. You don’t care if She overhears, so long as you carry his mark you’re untouchable. Not even Her powers can disentwine your souls. Where one goes, the other will follow - and she needs Joel too much at the moment to let him go just yet.

“It’s not Her. There’s something else poisoning the city, rotting it from the inside out…” Joel trails off, interrupted by the first drizzling drops of rain, the distant clap of thunder summoning his alternate form to the surface. His fingers flex against your waist, forcibly swallowing down the growl building in his chest with an audible gulp.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

You don’t say tomorrow morning. Not anymore. It’s too specific, too painful when it doesn’t come true.

“See you in the morning,” he echoes, and gently turns your head, sealing the vow with a kiss. It’s chaste, sweet, foreheads coming to rest against each other, savoring the moment even as the rain pelts your skin and clothes. “Go on, get inside and get warmed up. And no matter what you hear—”

“Don’t go outdoors,” you finish, pressing one last kiss against his jaw. 

xvi.

Joel starts to age again. It’s a slow, gradual process for his body to remember what it means to be human. He still heals unnaturally fast, still answers Death’s call whenever there’s a soul to collect, but - 

There are flecks of gray peppered in his beard. Along his temples. They turn silver when the light hits them just right. Never once does he make an effort to shave them off or dye them. 

He needs glasses when he reads. It shouldn’t be possible yet somehow the dark frames make him look even hotter, especially late at night when they’re perched on the brim of his nose as those perfect lips silently mouth along with the words of whatever genre-of-the-week has snagged his attention.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” you ask abruptly one morning. Joel’s in the middle of peeling oranges, making an attempt at adding more fruit to both your diets, and the kitchen air is oversaturated with citrus. “Dying?”

His hands pause, pensive lines creasing his forehead. It’s a sign he’s thinking hard about his answer, giving it the necessary time to form and develop. You wait, perched on the kitchen stool, pushing your toes against the floor to keep your leg from bouncing anxiously.

“I already died once, remember? This,” he says, gesturing towards his gray hairs and then at the house as a whole. “This isn’t dying, Sass. Not for me.”

You lean forward with your arms upon the counter. “What is it for you then?”

He looks at you for a long second, soft and fond, and smiles. “This is me finally living.”

xvii.

Loving Joel is easy, you learn. As natural as waking up with the morning sun, as necessary as drawing breath into the depths of your lungs. You don’t believe much in fate or destiny, but there are moments where he looks at you, like he can’t believe you’re the one who's real, and it feels like it’s always supposed to have been you and him. 

“Of all the churches in all the world,” you quietly laugh under your breath one night, head resting on his stomach. 

His hand stills in the middle of stroking a warm line down your spine. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you shift just enough to press a kiss against his sternum, smiling to yourself at the hitch of his breath. “Just thinking how lucky I am.”

Joel’s hand continues its movements again, but this time when it goes back up it carries on past your shoulder, pads of his fingers dipping into the teeth indentation marks there. 

And you know he’s thinking the same.

xviii.

Joel’s sliding home inside of you, all scorching heat and possessive growls, face buried against your neck. You wrap your arms tighter around his shoulders, nails cutting scratches deep into his skin, drawing blood. They’ll be gone before he’s done with you. Damn healing factor, a blessing and a curse.

“I want to be like you,” you murmur carelessly against the hinge of his jaw, mouthing a kiss that’s more tongue than lips.

“No,” Joel grunts, and then he’s moving back, pulling out of you. You whine, a pathetic and desperate high-pitched plea of an Omega trying to appease her Alpha, to call him back to fill the emptiness threatening to devour you alive. He ignores it, grabbing at your face with a large hand, forcing you to look at him, really look and fuck, you’ve never seen him like this before.

That emotion in his eyes, dark and gleaming and intense – it’s fear.

“You don’t want to be like me, Sass. You can never be like me,” Joel says, and he doesn’t even try to mask the tremble in his voice. “I won’t allow it.”

You reach a hand up, purposefully slow and obvious in its approach, and curl your fingers around his wrist. He loosens his hold instantly, exhaling a ragged, shuddering breath like you’ve stabbed him.

“Okay,” you say, and that’s all.

His face is wet when it buries against your neck again.

xix.

There’s a secluded house on the city outskirts, an unextraordinary two-story dwelling with a yellow front door and a stepping stone pathway, known to its pair of inhabitants simply as home. 

Most mornings you can be found in the front yard, humming a song from your youth while painting your next masterpiece. Joel will sit in the shade on the porch steps, coffee in hand, watching you watching the world. There are plans to build a greenhouse in the back, another hideaway to retreat to when the world feels just a bit too large. A bit too bloody.

xx.

“It’s going to hurt,” Joel warned you, six months after you’d first met, peppering kisses against your shoulder.

For as many strides as Nightspyre’s made keeping up with modern law changes and customs, out here amongst the untamable hills and freak electrical storms people remained convinced the best and safest life for an Omega was at an Alpha’s side.

Unclaimed Omegas didn’t last long in Nightspyre. If an Omega didn’t find a mate themselves, then one was found for them. Didn't matter if they didn't like each other, if their scents didn't match. Having an Alpha mate was an Omega's golden ticket to a better life - or, at the very least, a larger cage where the bars weren’t so easily seen.

“Not from you,” you panted, tilting your head to grant him more access. He was still an enigma to you, so many layers left to unwrap, but you knew there was no one else in the world you wanted more as your mate than him. No one else made you feel the way he did. “It won’t hurt if it’s from you.”

His hands pinned your arms down, making you gasp, and then - then there were sharp teeth slicing through skin, biting, claiming, intertwining your lives together irreversibly.

You were his. And he was yours.

[poisonsage808]

hiii! i wanted to say first off that I love your work! i always come back to them whenever I'm in need of some sandor time and they never fail to make me smile.

i wanted to ask if you could do something w/ "i was so worried. it was killing me, not being able to reach out and touch you" from that secret relationship prompt list. I thought it was fitting for sandor cause that man secretly loves physical touch does he not?

♡ Strong Enough ♡

Sandor Clegane x Stark!Reader

a/n: hello there! i see your user all the time, i’m so happy you requested something and thank you for your constant support! i tweaked it a bit to suit him more but i hope you like it xoxoxo

tw: blood, violence, death, swearing

The gods were having a laugh at him, weren't they? Giving the ugliest brute in Westeros the heart of the sweetest thing he thinks he’s ever seen in gods know how long just to take them away. Of all the people in the world to weasel their way into the Hound’s heart, it had to be you. Twin to the Young Wolf, Robb, fucking you. A fucking Stark!

You’d somehow befriended the Hound during his stay at Winterfell but then you kissed him on the way to King’s Landing. He was certain you’d hate him after he killed that butcher's boy and end whatever it was the two of you had, but you didn’t. Then he was even more certain you’d hate him after he took you and your sister, Sansa, hostage, but you didn’t. Sandor was abso-fucking-lutely certain you’d hate him after King Joffrey ordered your father to be executed… but you didn’t.

“It’s not your fault,” You told him, some of those times through flooding tears, “Don’t risk your head, alright? Not for me, not for anyone.”

Gods, he hated it when you cried. And Sandor had been seeing you cry a lot ever since Joff had your father beheaded. Even so he allowed it, especially because you never cried in front of anyone else. You were strong like that, never giving them the satisfaction of knowing how you were truly feeling. Your red rimmed eyes may say otherwise, it was proof enough but Sandor still thought you were strong and he would hold you whenever he had the chance.

“Keep your head down, little wolf, and do as you're bid. Tell your sister the same.”

‘They won’t hurt you’ he wanted to say but they could. They did and have, whenever they had the chance. They being the Lannisters— Baratheons, whatever, the royal cunts he worked for. Sandor never felt guilt as heavy as he did these past months. He felt it every damn time he saw your stoic face, albeit the red under your eyes seemed to be permanently stained that way, in court or dutifully beside your sister.

The gods were testing his restraint as if Sandor needed a bloody test. He damn near gutted Meryn yesterday for the punch he gave you in front of everyone. He’d take a tongue lashing or walk the gallows for it, gladly. Then he met your eyes. Don’t risk your head, your voice ricotched inside his skull so loudly it stilled him. Sandor had never been so happy to see the dwarf in his life, ending the beating before Meryn’s sword struck you and only you. The little bird with her ripped dress sobbing on her knees tucked into your protective arms. He would’ve killed the Kingsguard himself if it wasn’t for Tyrion and, as much as he wanted to, he didn’t want the last time he saw you to be in that room.

Sandor bandaged you himself, undoing the shite work that old pervert Pycelle did.

“No one’s gonna hurt you again, little wolf.” He swore— no, he vowed, and the Hound didn’t do vows, “No one, you hear me?”

“I’m ok, Sandor.” You assured him as you always did, each time sounding weaker than the last. Never quite yet a lie, you were still strong.

Sandor felt the shift in the air less than halfway to the Red Keep, the walk was eerily quiet. He knew King Joff wasn’t beloved by any means but utter silence was a warning and he’d curse himself if he didn’t chance a look at his surroundings. He’d tell himself this anyways but his eyes landed on the little bird… then his little wolf following behind her.

You didn’t smile when you caught his brief gaze looking back at you over his shoulder. No, you felt the same tense aura he did and he could see the worried expression on your face. Fear. He thinks he hates that look on you more than tears. Sandor wished he could just grab you, hook you under his arm and make sure you stayed there until he saw you to safety.

Don’t they always say “it happened so fast” well it fucking did. Sandor blinked, Joff was hit and his sword was drawn out right after. Then everything went to shit. The Bread Riot they would call it by tomorrow but Sandor Clegane could name it right here and now; his worst fucking nightmare come to life.

Joff was fine, he made certain of that firsthand but when he turned around, though his body never ceased moving, his heart stopped. You and the little bird were nowhere to be seen. Sandor felt like he could breathe at least when he found Sansa, just in time by the looks of it. His sword hacked through flesh and bone then he swung the girl over his shoulder. She cried the whole way back, never ending blubbering was just as bad as her chirping. Only this time they were both thinking the same.

“Where are they!?” She sobbed, “Please, you have to—“

Sandor didn’t need to be fucking commanded to find you, so he didn’t stay to hear the rest of her pleas. He went back to face the riot a third time. Occasionally some idiot came at the Hound only to meet their gorey demise at his sword. Sandor shouted your name until his throat hurt, growing more panicked the longer he went without a response.

Until you called back.

Footsteps come closer, heavier, faster. Rounding the corner his nerves finally leave him alone with relief. Sandor’s shoulders slump as lets out a breath that takes away some of the tension he was holding onto. He takes one step closer while you close the distance with a leap. Your arms locked behind his neck, the blood on his armor smearing against your own attire. You didn’t seem to care, he certainly didn’t. The deathly grip on his weapon shook and his sword clattered when it hit the ground. Sandor enveloped you in his arms and breathed in the scent of your hair. He almost thanked the gods that laughed at him that you were alive—

Then he pulled away harshly, hands flying to your cup your cheeks and turning your head all around looking for any bruises or cuts. He ignored the way you said his name until he inspected every fucking inch of you, making sure you weren’t bleeding or something worse had happened. If you were it would all be his fault, he made fucking vows for you! He—

“Sandor.” You said again

He sighed then begrudgingly met your red rimmed eyes, “It.. it fucking killed me not to reach out and touch you.”

You somehow smiled and attempt to gently pry his hands away to hold them, “I’m ok, I—“

“No.” He growls and holds your face still in his grip.

His eyes are wide, boring into yours. His breaths short and shaking with every exhale. Is this fear? In the Hound— your Hound?

“It would’ve fuckin’ killed me if something happened to you. Do you understand me? I’m strong but,” Sandor sighs and blinks away any traces of fear you thought you saw but he doesn’t meet your eyes for the final part of his little speech, “I’m not strong enough to lose you.”

Halfway through his admission your brows punched up and tears welled in your eyes. You managed to swallow down the sob that almost escaped. Words aside, the seriousness and earnestness in his voice had you choking up. Including his statement, it was just about the closest Sandor Clegane has been to admitting he not only cared about you but quite possibly loved you.

“Look at me,” You managed to say, “I’m right here, Sandor, I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes find yours again. You’re smiling that bloody smile that twists his guts in a way he doesn’t necessarily dislike. It’s weak… but it’s there and it’s mighty reassuring. Sandor’s thumb catches a tear that drips down your cheek. He hates it when you cry.

“Alright…” He swallows hard on nothing.

[yesimwriting]

Final Girl - Part 9

Final girl Masterlist (all parts in order and extra fics, updated parts 1 - 9)

Series Summary: Y/n can’t believe that she has to leave the only home she’s ever known just because her mom’s latest boyfriend has a house in some town in California. Just as she’s starting to think that Woodsboro might not be that bad, something life altering happens after she agrees to sleep over at  Becker’s house. Now her name is practically synonymous with Ghostface’s.

Chapter Summary: Nightmares aren’t that bad when you’re sleeping over at Stu’s house. Too bad no amount of late night movie watching and hot chocolate can cure a bad case of being on Gale Weathers’s radar. 

----

The light glints off the knife’s edge so sharply the entire thing warps. The blade looks longer, then smaller, then larger. It changes with each movement of the person holding so much it’s fascinating, almost like a cartoon. 

For a second it feels like it’s just that. Like I’m watching Scooby Doo or Nancy Drew or some other kids’ mystery show. Then the knife comes down. 

I scream, snapping into the moment as I start running. Everything’s hazy, I can barely register how unfamiliar this place is. Branches are tugging on what I’m wearing, scratching at my face, but I can’t feel them. All I feel is the blood rushing in my ears. 

Something cold and sharp digs into my shoulders. I’m thrashing, but it doesn’t matter. It’s too late. My attacker forces me to turn. It’s him--the too familiar white mask, the permanent scream. 

He lifts his knife and forces it down. My eyes shut as the blade meets my chest. The pain is a barely there flicker. It’s being drowned out by a tingling sensation that’s taking over my entire body. The feeling disconnects me from it all until my vision fades to black. 

Reality returns quickly. My body is laying on something soft, my face pressed into something cushioned. 

“No, don’t--” The words come out so tight I almost don’t recognize the voice. Billy. 

My head snaps up. The dimly lit space looks like it should be Stu’s living room but something about it feels off. Like everything’s been flipped or something. I don’t see Billy until my mind reconnects the dots and refocuses.

He’s standing with his hands held out cautiously. His back is to me but I can feel his tension. Swallowing back my panic, I force myself to look in the same direction as Billy. That damn mask. Ghostface. 

“Billy...” It’s a shaky whisper and I don’t know what I expect from it.

The helplessness washes through me. My eyes drop down, but that makes everything worse. 

There’s a thick puddle staining the hardwood floors reflecting the low light of the room. It leads to a pale arm that leads to a shoulder that leads to what--oh. The realization that the mess of glistening red used to be a chest sends a sharp wave of nausea through me.

My gaze shifts up, catching eyes that should be familiar but are too hollow, too blank as they stare up at nothing. Stu. 

I scream, my entire body shaking with the urge to get closer like that’d mean something. There’s another sound, some kind of grunt or cry--I don’t--I don’t know--and then Billy falls. First to his knees before slumping over. He lands on his side...next to Stu. 

The killer looks up at me with a tilt of their head, they walk over my friends, but they don’t--they--

----

When the darkness of the room washes over me, I’m already sitting up. Not real. Not real. Not real. The tightness in my chest doesn’t go away and a type of sickness that hurts stays in my upper stomach. 

I can hear myself panting, but I don’t feel the relief of air entering my lungs. My hand stretches over tangled sheets, a part of me trying to stabilize myself. Maybe that will make the nausea go aw--no. 

I’m on my feet in a second, crossing the room to get to the door. Autopilot leads me to the bathroom. Wait--this isn’t my house--I fell asleep at Stu’s. They were both here--so where are they now?

My nausea spikes. I gag, moving instinctually onto my knees. 

“Hey.” The voice feels far, I can’t grasp onto it. “Hey,” a warm touch on my back as my hair is pulled back. “You’re okay, angel.” 

Oh. I try to breathe through my disorientation as I turn my head. “Stu?” 

The amount of nerves in my voice must throw him off but I can’t make out too much of his expression in the dark. Just as the thought settles, the light flickers on and my eyes are squinting to adjust. 

Stu moves to stand and keeps a hand on my arm to encourage me to do the same. I’m so stiff and the world is so hazy I don’t think, just follow. The same thing happens as Stu sort of extends me so that I’m in front of the sink. 

Another arm is in front of me, holding a tiny cup between two fingers. The liquid is a sharp green. I take the cup before I really know what I’m doing. It smells like the heavy kind of mint that belongs in a dentist’s office. 

I bring it to my lips and swish the mouthwash around for longer than I normally would before turning on the sink and rinsing. Such a small thing shouldn’t make that much of a difference but getting rid of the taste of acidic bile in my mouth clears my head enough to let me think. 

My head turns in the direction of the arm. “Billy.” 

Something clues him into my confusion. It could be the way I said his name or the way I’m just staring like he’s some sort of ghost. He’s trying to figure it out, or maybe he’s trying to piece together a reaction that’s appropriate when someone’s staring this much.

“Hey,” it’s said a little unsurely, “You’re okay. You’re--” His hand finds its way onto my upper back, moving in that circular motion that’s become familiar. It’s enough to let me feel okay about looking towards Stu again.

“You guys are--” I can’t get the words out, can’t figure out how to explain it. “You’re--you’re okay.” I can feel the shakiness in my voice but I can’t bring myself to fix it. 

Again, instinct takes over and I pull Stu into a hug. He has to be surprised but he doesn’t hesitate to squeeze me back just as tightly. Billy stays close, his hand still on my back. 

They’re both here, still warm and breathing and here. The relief is too much and it joins a flurry of other feelings. 

I pull my head off of Stu, “Where were you guys?” I know that anger’s irrational, there are hundreds of reasons they could have both been up, especially since we didn’t fall asleep too late, but I can’t help the panic hiding as aggression in my tone. I try to pull further away, but Stu doesn’t let me. “I woke up and you guys weren’t there and I thought--” I’m not even sure if what I’m saying makes sense, but it’s coming up the same way the bile did, “You can’t do that--you--you left. You can’t just leave.” 

“No one’s leaving.” Billy’s voice lacks the defensiveness I expect. “We were just downstairs. I couldn’t sleep so I went to get some water and Stu woke up, and you know how that is.” The attempt at a joke is appreciated, but I can’t bring myself to show it. 

Normally, Stu not letting go when I try to push him off bothers me, but now I’m kind of glad he didn’t let me get too far. Something about having them this close is grounding. They’re okay. 

“Yeah,” Stu hums, “Who’d leave you?” He says it so casually, so assured, like the thought of going somewhere would have never crossed his mind if I hadn’t said that. 

It’s assuring in a different way, not quite getting at all of my panic. “I had a dream that--” The longer I’m awake, the more aware I am of how unnormal I’m being. That doesn’t mean I can stop it. “It was--it was so real, and then I woke up and you--” 

They’re being quiet. I know that I’m being a lot and they’re probably still trying to figure out how to react to my panic, but it’s making me antsy. If they’d joke or tease me about this, I’d be able to convince myself that I haven’t fully lost it.

Billy smooths my hair back carefully. “We’re okay,” his voice is low, a little tight. “Everyone’s okay.”

I nod once, trying to convince myself that his certainty is my own. “In my dream--you guys ended up like--” It’s hard enough to mention her when I’m well rested and feeling together. “Like Casey.” 

“That’s not going to happen.” Stu’s hold on me goes from fully relaxed to a little firmer.

Argument and doubt immediately bubble up. No one counts on dying. Casey was in her house. I got a call from the killer while home and they knew that Billy was locked out. The cops are still so lost Dewey wants to meet with me again to go over some details. There’s no reason for the killer to just go away...and from what they said the last time we talked, they’re not planning on it. 

Stu places a hand on the side of my head, angling me closer with no warning. He places a quick kiss against my temple. I nearly jump before realizing what just happened. That was such a Stu reaction I can’t help but smile a little, even though I shouldn’t encourage him. “You’re cute when you’re worried about us.”

At least that’s the return of something normal. “You say that about everything.” 

He breezes past my attempt at harshness, “Not everything.” 

“You said it when you noticed that my history folder and notebook match.” 

The corner of Stu’s mouth turns upwards, “Ah. The matching notebook-folders.” 

I roll my eyes, regretting bringing that up again. He had asked about the matching thing so much I felt like he had to have been making fun of me. “I’m not doing this again, a lot of people color match their stuff.” 

“And their sticky notes,” Billy mumbles. I turn my head enough to glare at him. He found me sorting my sticky notes by subject early into our friendship and so far it’s kind of been our secret. Not because it’s a bad thing, just a little type-A and make-fun-able. “Kidding.” Maybe I’d find him funny if I was better rested. He stares at my blank expression for a second, “Are you going back to bed?” 

There’s a small chance I’ll never sleep again. I don’t get a chance to answer. Billy steps back, pulling me forward a little. We all walk out of the bathroom and down the hall. Before I can say that I really don’t feel like sleeping right now, Billy walks past the door to Stu’s room. 

----

Stu pushes the mug so that it slides against the granite countertop. One of my hands wraps around the handle and the other presses against the ceramic’s side. The warmth soothes me as it leaches into my fingers.

“Thanks.”

He smiles a little, tapping his fingers against the kitchen island, “It’s the least I could do since you’re worried sick over us.” 

Billy looks over at us, mumbling some response I barely register, “The least you could do?” 

“Whatever, man, you kn--” 

The block of knives is only a few feet away. I can only see the handles, the blades are hidden in the wood, but that doesn’t make it any less distracting. 

Trying to force myself to stay in the moment, I stare at my mug, studying the giant, cursive London and cartoonish city line that wrap around the ceramic’s side. Big Ben is at the center, almost piercing the lettering. I almost ask about England, but decide not to risk it. Stu’s parents are always traveling. There’s a good chance he wasn’t on this trip. For all I know, the mug was what they brought back for him. 

I lift the glass to my lips, taking a few sips. The hot chocolate is almost shockingly good. Perfectly balanced between sweet and cocoa-y. Even the whipped cream and marshmallows are paired so well it feels scientific. 

“Y/n?” 

I set the mug on the counter, eyes studying the deflating marshmallow lump. “Yeah?” Tearing my eyes away from the marshmallow mutant, I force myself to look up. Billy and Stu share a look. It’s brief, but it feels heavy. Like one of those moments where they slip away into their own world. Normally, when they do that, it’s more like being left out of a joke. This time it might as well as be a psychological assessment. Be more normal. "I’ve never had hot chocolate after 2 AM before.” I take another sip, “It’s nice.”

My recovery feels smooth, so I let myself look up again. Stu’s already staring at me. It’s the kind of focus that wouldn’t be suspicious from him if he’d make some kind of joke about it. Any kind of flirty comment would make it okay and cancel out the seriousness behind his eyes. “You’re feeling better, right?” 

The worry is there, but pushed forward with such Stu-like energy that it almost feels more like a statement or request than a question. “A little.” I don’t know how true it is, but it’s easier to say that than admit how unsure I am. And maybe I’ll speak feeling better into existence. “Seeing you guys...knowing you’re okay helps.” 

Ah. Sleep depravation is no joke because that’s something I’m definitely going to regret. It’s way too vulnerable and easy to make fun of. I stare at my mug until the quiet’s too much and I have to face what I’ve done. Stu’s not holding in a laugh or radiating a smugness that he’s given into over less. He’s still watching me, but it’s different, softer and more open. I set my mug down before looking over at Billy. His eyes dart down to the sink almost immediately.

My attention snaps back to Stu as he moves forward to place his hand on mine. “Look who loves us.”

I glare halfheartedly as Stu gently bends and squeezes my fingers. “Duh.” Like these two weirdos don’t already know. “I know it was cheesy, but given the circumstances, can you guys please not.”

“That wasn’t cheesy.” Billy’s voice is low, a little rough. “But the nightmare over u--” 

“Shut up.” He’s smiling, clearly enjoying my reaction. “Sorry that I’d probably lose it if anything happened to either of you.” 

Billy rests his weight on his forearms, leaning forward. The front strands of his hair fall forward as he angles his head towards me. It’d be so easy to extend an arm and push his hair back into place. “Probably?”

I use the hand Stu isn’t still holding onto to grab my mug. “You were mean about it. That got you guys downgraded.”

Stu tugs on my hand with just enough pressure to get my attention. “Hey, leave me out of whatever he says.” I roll my eyes as I take a sip of hot chocolate. “I’m a total sweetheart compared to grumpy over there.” 

A burst of laughter tries to claw its way up my throat as I’m swallowing. I know what Stu said wasn’t that unbelievably funny, but something about oversimplifying Billy like that gets to me. “He isn’t grumpy.” I set my mug down. “He’s multifaceted.” 

“Multifaceted?” Billy repeats, tone trying too hard to be more wary than amused for it to work. The failure makes me fight down a grin. I like the slips from his usual demeanor, not that Billy’s rough around the edges exterior is something I’d change, it’s just nice to see him relaxed from time to time. It’s also probably good for him. 

I nod, committing to whatever bit I’ve accidentally started. “Like a house cat.” 

Billy’s eyes stay focused on me, the corner of his mouth hinting at what’s close enough to a smile for me to count it as a win. He looks like he might say something, but then Stu snorts. Laughs in a way that has him pulling on my hand again. “You nailed it, angel.” 

Billy tilts his head stiffly, still managing to glare at Stu. It’s still part of the joke, for now, and I need to make sure it stays that way. “So we agree, not grumpy.” 

“Hm...” Stu pauses, scrunching up his face as if I’ve just asked him an incredibly deep question that warrants this much reflection. “He’s not grumpy to you because you’re pretty.” 

Warmth rushes to my face and I don’t get why. Stu’s definitely said similar and much more intense things before. This comment shouldn’t be different, but he breezed out that last part so casually...like it was factual. “Shut up.” 

Stu turns my fingers. “And you have this kicked puppy thing you do with your eyes that makes it not worth it.”

That snaps me out of any embarrassment. I try pulling my hand away, but Stu doesn’t let me get too far. “I do not.” 

Stu squeezes my hand between both of his. “Yeah, you do, babe.”

I glare at him and Stu has the audacity to grin. The brief flash of teeth is a little too confident for my taste. He needs to be humbled. I turn my head enough to look at Billy. “He’s exaggerating, right?” 

Billy’s expression is hard to read. “It’s just...your eyes.” No. They’re teaming up and turning on me. “It’s not a bad thing.” 

Yeah, just what I need, another reason to seem like a cute little, doe eyed victim. It gets under my skin even though I know they didn’t mean it like that. 

“Hey,” Billy’s voice is low as he leans a little closer, “We’re just kidding.” 

I know that, which only adds to my irritation, because why can’t I just be normal? 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Stu tries, “You’re all big, bad, and scary.” 

Stu drops his voice dramatically, and despite myself, I smile. It’s awful how funny I actually find some of the things he does. Sometimes I feel like I have the sense of humor of a middle school boy. Billy raises his eyebrows, giving me a look that screams we really choose to deal with this, huh? He picks a mini marshmallow out of the bag before I can fully react and tosses it at Stu.

The marshmallow bounces off of Stu’s forehead and lands on the counter. I laugh a little more than I should. “What was that for?” 

“For being an idiot.” 

Stu scoffs, picking another marshmallow. He throws it at Billy. The marshmallow bounces off of Billy’s chest and falls in front of me anti-climatically. “Fuck you.”

His reaction is half joking and half not, like a majority of his more aggressive comebacks. It’s always just Stu going along with it until he’s not anymore. Maybe I should try to say something calming or distracting, just to assure the preservation of the easy mood. But I can’t think of anything, so I just pinch the marshmallow that fell in front of me between two fingers and toss it in Stu’s direction. It hits his arm and falls onto the counter. 

They both turn to look at me. The weight of their full attention takes me a little by surprise because I have no good justification for that. “What?” I shrug a little, “Everyone else threw one and I felt left out.” 

Stu lets go of my hand, which is a little concerning. He leans back, leg moving forward to push against my seat. The barstool is the kind that swivels so he succeeds in turning me. “You’re lucky you’re cute or people would talk about how weird you are more.” 

I push the front of my leg against his in an attempt to get my seat back into place. He doesn’t budge. “Right. I’m the cute, weird one.” 

His lips part slightly and his grin feels a little surprised. That can’t be a good thing. “You think I’m cute?” 

Oh my god. What have I done? “Hm. I don’t think that’s what I said.” 

“That’s what I heard.” His leg shifts, moving so that he’s touching closer to my knee than before.

There’s a chance that I could turn away or push him off, but that feels like letting him win, so I ignore the warmth rushing to my faced. “That’s what you always hear.” 

“I heard it, too.” 

My head snaps in Billy’s direction. “Don’t encourage him.” 

“If Stu had made it up, it would have been dirtier.” 

They don’t need any motivation to make these kinds of jokes. I know that I should be smarter about this, commit to my annoyance, but I can’t stop the laugh that slips out. “You guys are the worst.”

Billy moves so that he’s leaning even closer. So close I can make out his individual lashes. “Really looks like you feel that way.”

His voice comes out low, a hint of rasp finding its way into his voice. The words are casual, a return of a joke. Nothing in them can justify the weird rush of heat to my face.

“Yeah, well,” this has to be a sign of sleep depravation, “Looks can be deceiving.” 

He adjusts the weight resting on his forearms, “I believe you.” 

The reply is a little flat, hard to get, but the underlying amusement is clear. Like there’s some joke I’m missing. “Shut up.” I push myself further back into my seat.

“I didn’t say anything.” 

I pick up my mug. “You had a...vibe.” BIlly’s eyebrows draw together. “A making fun of me vibe.” 

The corner of his mouth pulls upwards. “A making fun of you vibe?” 

“You know what I mean,” I mumble, taking a sip of my hot chocolate. 

He tilts his head, as if seriously thinking through what I said. “You sound like you’re tired.” 

I knew we’d circle back to this eventually. There’s a good chance they’re tired. When they woke up in the middle of the night, they probably expected to go back to bed soon enough. “If you guys are tired, you can go to bed.” 

“We sleep when you sleep.” Stu turns my chair so that I’m facing him a little more again. Great, add their sleep schedules to the list of casualties my new weirdness is responsible for. “Don’t worry, babe, I can go all night.”

Stu looks so pleased with the stupid joke that I give in and crack a smile. “You shouldn’t have to, though.” 

His eyes lose some of their humor, softening in a way I don’t quite get. “I’ve stayed up for less important things.” 

“He’s tried,” Billy mumbles dryly, looking over at me, “I’ll actually stay up with you.”

I grin, “Wanna draw on his face when he falls asleep?” 

Stu lets out an offended scoff from the back of his throat, Billy ignores him, returning my smile. “Permanent marker.” 

“Hey,” Stu pouts, “Don’t be mean, or I won’t tell you about my surprise.” 

Hm...with Stu, there’s an 50/50 chance that whatever he’s referencing is weird. “Ominous.” His smugness does make me curious. “Okay--tell me.” Stu’s quiet for a second, a hint of smugness in the tilt of his head. I move my arm forward, softly shoving his arm. “Please?” 

At that, he cracks, his hand turning over in order to grab mine. Stu places a kiss to the back of my palm. “Only for you, angel.” He then lets me go and stands. Whatever the surprise is, Stu apparently has to leave the room for it. 

I blink, turning my attention to Billy, who halfheartedly shrugs. “There’s no telling with him.” 

Definitely an exaggeration on Billy’s part, considering the way the two just get each other. It’s a bond anyone could pick up on. “As long as he comes back fully dressed.” 

Billy faintly smiles. “Probably a 50/50 chance.” 

Tapping my fingers against the counter, I turn my attention back to my mug. “I don’t know, he seemed a little excited.” 

Stu comes back before anything else can be said. He’s holding out a VHS tape. Even though he’s still at the edge of the kitchen, I can make out a familiar red on the cover. No way. “You--” 

He keeps an arm extended in front of me until the tape’s in reach. I take it and he sits down with a triumphant grin. “I know my girl.” 

After I forced him to watch Clueless, I didn’t think I’d ever get him to do anything like that again. And now he just has it here, lying around on a night he didn’t even expect me to come over. He also didn’t pull it out for points earlier. If I hadn’t woken up, he might not have even mentioned it this visit.

It’s sweet and oddly thoughtful, especially coming from Stu. That fits him, though. When I least expect it, he’ll hit me with something like this. I grin, “Someone’s getting soft.” 

“I can take it back.” 

Gently tapping the tape against his arm, I look up at him. “Don’t you dare.” 

The tape is pulled out of my hands. I turn my head in time to see Billy fully steal my weapon from me. “Before you kill someone.” 

He’s joking, but the thought of their death is still fresh. My mind isn’t given a chance to latch onto the thought, because Stu leans forward and steals the tape back. “I’ll go set it up.” 

Stu stands up again, walking towards his living room. I slide off the stool, ready to follow him. I only make it a few steps before feeling a touch on my shoulder. It takes me a second to think to turn. Billy’s standing closer than I thought he’d be. On anyone else, that natural tendency to move so quietly would weird me out at least a little. But on Billy, it’s just another thing to add to the list of cat qualities I’ll definitely have to mention later.

Or now, considering the way he’s just staring, hand still on my shoulder. “Hi?” 

His thumb runs past the loose collar of the oversized shirt I’m wearing and over the base of my neck. “Hi.” Billy presses his lips together briefly, “You’re--” He stops himself, eyes flitting away from my face. “You’re okay, right?” 

From him, the question isn’t so much an assumption as it is an almost nervous check in. Billy’s stiff, like he’s bracing himself for hurt. Whether that’s stemming from forcing the question out or concern over my answer or something else all together, I don’t know.

His eyes are focused on something just past me. Billy’s so tense I can feel it in his hold. He’s not squeezing me, but there’s some rigid quality to the contact that wasn’t there before. Whatever he’s thinking of must be heavier than what I’ve been feeling. I don’t know why, but I shift closer and pull him into a hug. 

He lets me, eventually moving to place his free hand on my back. “I’m okay.” Billy’s surprisingly warm. “You and Stu just need to really try not to get murdered.” 

I feel his exhaled almost laugh more than I hear it. “We’ll try.” 

“Good.” The word comes out blunt and hard. I feel the tightness of it in my chest, aggravating the panic that took over earlier. Helpless and grieving and guilty. “Cause I’d--I’d lose my shit if--” 

My hold on him tightens. I’m squeezing him so much it has to be uncomfortable and my face is pressed into his shirt even though I can feel tears welling in my eyes.

He runs his hand up and down my back firmly, assuringly. “Nothing’s going to happen.” There’s no way of knowing that. My silence must get to him, because Billy moves his other hand near the nape of my neck, slowly forcing me to move my head away from his shirt. “Look at me.” It takes me a second, but I eventually find it in me to meet his eyes. “Nothing’s going to happen. We’re going to be okay.” I sniffle once before nodding. “All of us, because you’re not the only one that could lose their shit.” 

His tone comes out so hard it radiates an aggression that should make me feel worse. It doesn’t, the anger doesn’t make my throat feel tight like it normally would because it’s not directed at me. He’s watching me intently, hand shifting onto my collarbone as if he’s starting to regret what he said. 

I nod again, a little more convinced because it’s hard to challenge Billy’s intensity. Almost impossible to not believe him, no matter how little control he actually has over the situation. 

“Y-yeah.” My voice feels too small, too childish, like most of my actions tonight. His hand moves forward enough to get his thumb to brush against the pulse point of my neck. “I don’t know what I’m going to do when you two graduate.” 

I’m joking. Mostly. Billy lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “We’ll be around, so much you’ll be sick of us.” Again, another thing I want to believe just because Billy’s the one saying it. “If anything, you’re the one that’s going to break us up.” My eyebrows draw together as his thumb presses down a little harder.“Princeton, taking over the world...” 

“You’re exaggerating a little.” All of that’s still a world away, and there’s always a chance--knock on wood--that I won’t get in. But the shift in his mood tells me that those maybes don’t matter right now. “You guys could come with, there’s a lot of stuff in New Jersey.” Ah--that was kind of a weird thing to say. I can’t just pack them up and take them with me. That’s not how the world works. “Or--y’know--you guys could just visit and I--visit--I can visit you guys, too.” 

Smooth. Billy’s thumb drags down again, the touch regaining its comforting feel as he presses his lips together to fight down a smile. “Come with you?” 

“Not like--” I have no one to blame but myself. “I mean--yeah, it’d be cool, and New Jersey’s probably a good place to figure things out...” He’s just letting me ramble, which has to be intentional because he knows how I am. Honestly, it’s a little rude that he’s forcing me to elaborate with so little sleep in my system. “Plus your super awesome best friend would be there.” 

His smile eases a little more, “Super awesome best friend?” 

“It sounds like something you’d say about me.” 

He lets out a breath that’s definitely more amused than he wants it to be. There’s something about getting an extra smile or clearly suppressed laugh from Billy. It’s fun, like a game I’m forcing him into. 

“That is how I talk.” His lethal levels of sarcasm take nothing away from my victory. 

Billy steps forward. Instead of letting go, he moves his arm so that it’s around my shoulders. I’m kind of glad that he’s staying close. We walk to the living room together. 

Stu’s head snaps up from the VCR. “Took you two long enough.” He tilts his head back even further before raising his eyebrows dramatically. “Leave me out of something fun?” 

I roll my eyes, slipping out of Billy’s grasp and moving to sit on the couch. “Yeah, actually.” I relax into my seat. “We just hooked up in the kitchen.”

Stu jumps to his feet as I struggle to commit to the bit and not laugh. “Careful, angel.” He sits down next to me, so close our knees are touching as he moves his arm to get me even closer. “I might get jealous.” 

It’s not really a threat when he goes there often. Sometimes joking, like he is now and sometimes actually annoyed, like the time I couldn’t go to the movies with him because I had already agreed to hang out with Sidney for the third time that week. But now’s not the time for that, so I play along, “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

The other side of the couch dips, Billy’s arm moving to rest on the back of the couch. “Ouch.” 

There’s little harder than trying to keep them both equally happy. “Relax.” I relax further into the couch. “You know you’re both my favorites.” 

“But if you had to pick a number one...” 

I lift my hand, lazily swatting at Stu’s arm. The back of my hand barely brushes against his forearm. Stu moves quickly, grabbing my wrist before I can retreat. He pulls my arm towards him, slipping his fingers between mine. “Instead of starting problems, you should start the movie.” 

“Bossy.” He lets out a quick tsk, reaching over for something on the end table next to him. The crinkling sound of a wrapper has my eyes following his movements. He holds the packet in front of him triumphantly. “Now I don’t think I should give you these.” 

My sour gummies! “You actually have--” I reach forward with my free hand, but Stu pulls them back. “C’mon, you don’t even like them.” 

“You were mean.” 

He’s basically pouting, especially since I didn’t really do anything. But pointing that out won’t get me my gummies. “Fine. I’m sorry and you’re a treasure that I don’t appreciate enough.” 

Stu grins, angling his head towards me. “That’s more like it.” He shifts his arm, pulling the packet open before handing it to me. I grin, happily taking the pack and popping a gummy into my mouth. Stu wrinkles his nose. “How do you eat those?” 

I pick another gummy from the pack. He has to be exaggerating how much he dislikes them if they’re at his house. “If you hate them, why do you always have them?” 

Stu shrugs, a movement I can feel against my arm. “They’re on the list, the house shopper gets them.” 

I almost snort, nearly choking on the gummy that’s in my mouth. “I should make a list of all the rich people things you say.” 

“Ask him the difference between a house keeper and a house manager.” That only makes me laugh more. 

Stu glares past my head and at Billy. “Ask Billy about his family’s vacation cabin.”

This conversation belongs to a different tax bracket. “If either of you bring up skiing I’m leaving.”

Billy angles himself towards me in order to grab a gummy out of the pack. He squishes it between his thumb and pointer finger, exaggerating his skepticism. “That’s where you draw the line?”

I let myself sink further into the couch, “I’m being generous.”

“Mhm.” Billy shifts, moving his shoulder away from mine. I’m about to dismiss it as him being in a personal space mood when he rests his arm on the back of the couch, his fingers brushing against the collar of my shirt. “I believe you.” 

The response is brushed over, but there’s a pinch of smugness there that would be easy to dig at. I’m pretty sure that if I were to lift my head, I’d see evidence of it. A sarcastic smile he can’t explain away or a hint of too much humor behind his eyes. But I’m too comfortable to go after it

With no warning, the other side of the couch dips with no warning. My eyes snap towards Stu. I frown. “Stu?” 

“Just starting the movie.” His back is to me, but the grin in his voice is is audible. “Try not to miss me too much, sweetheart.” 

My nose wrinkles, face briefly pressing into Billy’s side as I cringe. “I think I’ll live.” 

The upbeat music of Clueless’s opening starts playing. After a second, the couch shifts again. Stu pulls the now empty gummy packet out of my hand and place sit on the coffee table. He then sits down, closer than before, our legs touching. After my dream, I can’t bring myself to scold him. They’re both here, completely okay. I don’t even say anything when Stu pulls my arm towards him. 

Billy lets out a breath that I feel more than hear. “Don’t fall asleep,” he whispers, “You’ll hurt your neck.” 

I roll my eyes. Sleep isn’t going to come back to me. It might not for a really long time, and there’s no way it’ll happen during Clueless. And sometimes Billy can be such a mom about things. It’d be more annoying if it wasn’t kind of...endearing to think of Billy as being a little bit of a secret softie. He likes to seem detached, but it’s all surface level. 

“Fall asleep during Clueless?” I tilt my head up enough to look up at him. “Do you even know me?” 

----

Narrator’s Perspective 

Stu’s eyes move away from the screen and towards your face again. It’s been less than 10 minutes, so checking on you is a little pointless, but Stu can’t help it. Sure, you must be tired, but there’s no way--oh. Your eyes are shut and you’re completely still, temple resting against Billy’s side. 

“She’s asleep,” Billy summarizes, not looking away from the screen. 

Nodding absentmindedly, Stu keeps his attention trained on you. There’s a softening of your features that always comes when you’re asleep. He can make out enough of that easiness, but there’s an underlying quality that feels stiffer. Stu tries to convince himself that any inconsistencies with the pout of your lips and the set of your brow is a product of the low lighting or his own tiredness reading too much into things. 

Your reactions tonight had been a surprise display of how well things are working. You’re all over them, you need them, you--He had never seen you like that. Most of it felt the way he imagined it would, but that relief was undercut by a different kind of tightness in his chest.

Stu runs his thumb over your knuckles. Billy sighs, finally turning his focus towards you. He smooths his thumb across your collarbone. “She’s fine.” 

Stu presses his lips together for a moment. “Yeah.” 

Billy manages to read that just as easily as he read Stu’s silence. He moves his hand to reach for Stu’s shoulder. “We want her needy, not broken. We’ll just ease off, no calls until she’s ready.”

“Yeah, she just--” There’s no way to say it without pushing at one of the lines they’ve both silently agreed to never mention. That moment in the kitchen when you slipped away, the blankness behind your eyes. It paralleled the way Billy gets when he gets into his head and disappears for a few days. The way he’s been for over a week. “You think she might need something?” 

It’s an awkward thought to force out, Stu so skeptical of the idea it’s almost like it came from someone else. Therapy, psychologists, all of that mental fix-what-isn’t-broken bullshit has always been a sore subject. “Isn’t her mom a little...” 

“Who gives a fuck about her mom?” Billy’s voice comes out more strained than he wants it to. Part of it is worry, part of it is the implication of motherhood and maternal genetics being that significant. “She--” There’s no real end to his sentence. What is it about you that makes Billy so sure you’ll be okay? Makes him so sure you have to be okay?

It’s not that you have that much going for you survival wise. You’re a good person, but that doesn’t mean much. Good people die all the time. You’re smart, but sometimes that just makes things worse. Billy lets himself mull over it, reflect on you and the way you made him feel when you walked in today. He decides then that you do have something going for you. “She has us.”

That admission serves as a sort of apology. “You and me. That’s all the help she needs.” 

You shift against his side, still asleep. The way you held onto him earlier bubbles in his chest. It’s one thing for you to need them, another thing to think that they’re so fucked up they broke the one good, normal thing about them. 

Stu frowns, noting the heaviness behind Billy’s eyes. It’s familiar, and now some version of that shadow that pulls Billy away from him is trying to take you. “We just won’t leave her alone.” 

That might not be the best thing to say, considering that the closest they come to acknowledging Billy’s occasional slip aways is Stu’s extended presence during those periods. The implication that Billy needs to be looked out for the same way you do is also risky, something that could be taken too seriously depending on Billy’s mood. 

A beat of silence, but Billy doesn’t stiffen or react to the implied similarities. “Until she snaps out of it, we don’t leave her alone.” They already spend an amount of time with you that’s hard to justify. Especially with the ever approaching grand finale of their plan. “I’ll need help with my history homework or get tickets to some movie, and when I’m not doing that, you’ll need help with an essay or be in a fight with your parents or--or anything.” 

Letting go of your hand, Stu leans further into the couch and stretches his arm over the couch. He rests his palm against Billy’s shoulder. “Yeah.” There’s more he could say. A range of things, maybe a joke or two about your unexpected outburst of worry. “We’ve got her.���

Billy nods, the motion stiff as he avoids looking at either Stu or you. He’s used to Stu’s closeness, and your openness tonight did ease that part of him that always assumes anyone that matters is flighty, but it’s pairing itself with things he’s not used to. The combination is starting to make him feel off, uncomfortable in a way he can’t understand.

“We should wake her up.” Billy’s voice is flat. “Her neck will hurt in the morning if we don’t.” 

Stu’s expression shifts to something a lot more smug. “I’ve got it.”

Billy rolls his eyes. Stu’s exaggerating in an attempt to bring back a more easy going atmosphere, but Stu’s definition of reasonably touchy is different than most. You’ve been through enough for one night, so Billy moves away. You let out an annoyed sound, trying to move closer to him in your sleep. He ignores the fondness that stabs at him and gently shakes your shoulder. Your eyes squint open. 

----

The dimness of the room makes it hard to register the fact that I’m awake. It takes a second, but I get there enough to pull myself off of Billy’s shoulder. I straighten my back, ignoring the hint of stiffness I feel in my neck.

I wipe the sleep from my eyes, looking at Billy and then Stu. “What?” 

“So much for too riveting to fall asleep.”

Billy’s a little too amused by the fact that I briefly dozed off. “I was...barely out.” 

The corner of his mouth turns upwards, “Then explain the snoring.” 

I scoff, moving back to give myself some space to hit his arm. “I do not snore.” He raises his eyebrows at me and somehow that’s more insulting than if he would have pressed the argument. I turn my head to look at Stu, “I don’t snore, right?” 

Stu takes my hand, squeezing my fingers. “It’s a cute snore, angel.” 

Sighing, I pull my hand away from his grasp, ignoring his pout. “You are so just taking his side.” 

He holds up his hands, “You’re adorable, but I’m neutral.” 

Yeah, right. “Yeah, you’re Switzerland.”

“Someone woke up moody.”

Because I have no good defense and sleep is still making my eyelids feel heavy, I just glare in his direction. Stu chooses to retaliate by placing a hand on the side of my head and pulling me towards him, placing a kiss against my temple before I can tell him to knock it off. 

Wrinkling my nose, I twist my arm back, trying to smack his chest. Stu lets go of my head and catches my open palm with an ease that’s a little insulting. He squeezes my wrist to his chest, head angling downwards. The light coming from the TV changes as one scene cuts to the next. The dimness seems to briefly lodge itself behind Stu’s eyes. 

“You know you’ve played into my trap.”

Stu angles his head to one side, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He makes a silent point by lightly tugging on my wrist. “Really?” 

“Mhm.” I straighten my spine instinctually, even though any height I get from that is useless. “I’m building your confidence, so that when I decide to attack you, you’ll never see it coming.” 

He grins before letting out a laugh. I know that I’m joking, but again, being dismissed that quickly is a little rude. I’ve never given him any reason to think I could kick his ass, but it’s not that impossible. “When?” 

I pull my arm towards my lap and Stu lets me go. “Shut up.” 

“What? I’m on your side.” Right. “You’re a mastermind, angel.” 

Billy sits up before exhaling. The sigh is low and brief but gives away how tired of us he’s getting. I can’t blame him, Stu and I are a lot to manage even when he’s well rested. “I don’t think you have to try too hard to build his ego.” 

I smile, turning my head to look at Billy. “It’s not a complicated plan.” 

Stu scoffs out a sound of protest before sinking further into the couch. “Fuck you guys.” 

A joke about how he’s pouting briefly comes to mind, but I decide that I’m too tired to push it. Considering how little sleep we’ve all gotten, it’d be easy to pass the line between easy going teasing and into one of Stu’s actual moods. “We’re kidding.”

“Yeah,” Billy starts, and I already know it’s not going anywhere good, “You’re the most humble.” 

Stu looks over my head to flatly glare at Billy. “Hysterical.” 

Despite Stu’s annoyed expression, there’s something about the exchange that’s so familiar it feels easy. Lighthearted despite potentially sharp edges. It’s the specific energy that’s usually associated with a specific group. “You two argue like an old, married couple.” 

That shocks Stu enough to make him forget any potential argument. His expression blanks as he turns his head down sharply to look at me. Whatever he finds in my amused expression makes him laugh. “Yeah, like I’d tie myself down to Billy’s sorry ass long enough to grow old together.”

Billy scoffs, and even that feels in good humor. “Like I’d be able to put up with him that long.” The words are dismissive, Billy’s tone bored, but I don’t miss the way he glances over at Stu. 

“Please,” Stu mumbles, pushing Billy’s arm from around the ledge of the couch before leaving his hand there, “You’d be lucky.” Stu scoffs out the sentence, but again, there’s something warmer lurking beneath the surface. 

It’s hard not to smile at the hidden in plain sight display of fondness. They really do get each other. I don’t know what’s shifted in the two seconds of silence, but I can practically feel them disappearing into one of their silent exchanges. It’s weirdly cute, but it’d be cuter if I wasn’t sitting between them during it. My position feels like it’s highlighting how out of place I am. 

Stu’s arm moves off the back of the couch and settles on my shoulders. “Who’s too good for who, sweetheart?” 

Yeah, there’s no way I’m even giving that a joke answer. “I’m tired, not stupid.” 

He frowns, “You’re no fun.” Before I can respond, Stu adjusts his hold on my shoulder to angle me a little closer to him. “I get it.” To his credit, Stu is whispering, but his voice is still loud enough for Billy to hear. Definitely on purpose. Stu angles his head towards me, leaning closer in order to pretend that this next part’s the real secret,“We’ve got to keep Billy’s feelings safe.”

Billy lifts a hand off the back of the couch and flicks the side of Stu’s head.

Even though I’d have to crane my neck awkwardly to look at Billy, I can feel him shrug. The motion briefly brings how close the two of them are to the front of my mind. 

“Ow--man, what was that for?”

I laugh, the sound too sudden and loud for this time of night. Stu might take that the wrong way, but I can’t help it anymore than I can help the way I slump into the couch. 

“Okay.” Billy sounds a little like someone speaking to a child resisting nap time, but does nothing to get me off of his shoulder. “Let’s go to bed before you fall asleep again.”

The thought of going to bed isn’t appealing, but I’ve complicated enough things tonight. I peel myself off of Billy’s shoulder and he keeps an assuring hand on my back. Stu follows along, standing up first and then making a point to hold onto my arm like I could fall without his support. 

We walk up the stairs almost exactly like that, hovering close together like kindergarteners on a field trip. It’s reassuring as we get to Stu’s room, helping me fight against the lingering anxiety from my dream. I focus on that as I force myself to sit on the edge of the bed. They’re fine.

Billy lays down on the same side he was on before. When I don’t move, he turns enough to nudge my shoulder. I take that as a sign to force myself to actually lay down. There’s no good way to justify the nerves. I fell asleep earlier and nothing bad happened. 

“Nothing’s going to happen.” The sentence is forced out and mumbled in a way that doesn’t fit Billy. It feels so hesitant I almost convince myself that I imagined it. 

“Yeah,” Stu echoes, moving so that his arm brushes against mine, “Everything’s okay, angel.” He pulls my hand towards him. “Promise.”

Still not the kind of thing that can be guaranteed, but I want to believe them. I nod even though it’s too dark for either of them to see. The motion is more for me, anyway, an attempt to force myself to agree. Things are okay for now, and that’s enough for me to close my eyes. It doesn’t take long for the lingering sleep in my body to come back, dragging me under before I can overthink anything else. 

----

Sunlight speckles the darkness behind my eyelids. It’s not an overwhelming brightness, but the change is jarring enough to wake me up slowly. I wipe at my eyes with the back of my hand, a little disappointed that the hazy feeling in my head doesn’t go away with the movement. Lack of sleep, I guess. 

I blink, turning my head to check on Stu. He’s still asleep, partially curled onto his side. It could be because of how energetic he is while awake, but Stu’s sleep always seems so full. My head turns in the other direction. Billy’s still, eyes shut, but something about his position feels stiff. I frown, making a point of only studying him out of the corner of my eye even though his eyes are closed. I wouldn’t put it past him to just know. 

Billy turns a little, the motion controlled enough to pass as something someone would do while asleep. He lets out a small sigh, another thing that could or couldn’t be sleep. “You’re up.” It almost sounds like an accusation. 

So he was awake. Knew it. “So are you.” 

He squints his eyes open. A few strands of hair fall forward as he angles his head to look at me. My eyes lock on the way they brush against his forehead. I squeeze my hands together, weirded out by the fact that I think it’d take less effort to push his hair back into place than to not, that it’s taking any effort to not fix. 

“Did you sleep okay, at least?”

The question surprises me more than it should. Billy may seem like the kind of teenage boy that’s too cool for a lot of things, but every once in awhile something a little softer slips out. A bit of a mother hen quality that likes to hide under a thin layer of snarky concern. I’d point this out, but I’m attached to our friendship. 

I prop my head up. “Yeah, I slept okay.” And I don’t even have to lie to say that. After lying down, it took no time at all for me to fall asleep. An all consuming, dreamless sleep, which is all I wanted. “You?” 

“Okay.” 

Hm. That was a quick answer. He seems fine, but the shadows under his eyes have been a little more prominent than usual lately. That paired with the glimpse of what I saw yesterday has to be worth noting, right? 

My eyes drop to the comforter. “You um...” I press my nails into the fabric. “Yesterday, I know I totally freaked, so I might sound a little hypocritical, but when I got here...you didn’t seem...” Ugh...there’s no good way to say this to him. It’s easy for him to twist things in his head and I don’t want him to feel attacked. “...Like you.” 

It’s only been a few seconds, but the silence expands something between us. My nails dig into the plush comforter even harder to distract myself, but it’s not working. I have to look up. Billy’s expression shifts from overwhelmingly blank to something a little harder when our eyes meet. 

“It’s just been a long week.” His tone is casual enough, but it’s missing what makes him familiar. “My dad’s on me about grades, senior year...” 

Billy did not just try to pin everything on his ‘senior year’. The realization that he’s probably lying, or at the very least, not telling me the entire truth, tries to crawl to the front of my mind, but it fails. It doesn’t matter. 

“Whatever it is...” I take a deep breath, “If you ever want to talk about it more, or just...need anything...” 

His eyebrows pinch together, eyes taking their time passing over my face. I don’t know what he could possibly be looking for in my expression. He must find it, because he eventually looks down. “Trust me, if I ever want to have a feelings talk, you’re the first person I’ll go to.” 

There’s a hint of teasing in his voice that makes it easy to smile. “I get it...” Billy places his palm over the back of my hand. “I’m all mush.” 

“Eh,” he tilts his head, playing into the joke as I roll my eyes. He shifts so that more of his weight is resting on his elbow. “You’re nice.” The shift in tone is sharp enough to give me whiplash. “You care about people.” 

I keep my eyes on our hands. “You’re nice, too.” He might not be aware of it, but he’s a lot kinder and more careful than people give him credit for. He’s always there when I need him and he always tries to understand. “You’re a good friend, so if you--” 

“I’ve seen you get worse over a math test.” Technically true, but that was a complicated situation. It wasn’t just the math test, it was the morning after the Ghostface attack and then I found photos of the Becker’s yard printed in a copy of the newspaper abandoned in the bathroom. But I have reacted pretty dramatically to less than ideal grades before. 

Billy’s hand grips mine with a little more pressure than before. “Yeah,” I mumble, already regretting trying to push.

He sighs, “I’m okay.” 

Billy relaxes his hold on my hand. “Yeah,” I nod, “Guess I’m just a little overprotective.”

“You like me that much, huh?” 

I roll my eyes. “Eh. You’re okay.” 

His eyebrows draw together in exaggerated offense, “Just for that, I’m not making you breakfast.” 

He lets go of my hand and moves to stand in an attempt to make his threat seem more genuine. I push myself to sit up fully, “You know how to make breakfast?” 

Billy’s already approaching the door but he turns his head enough to glare at me. “I’ve never set off the fire alarm.” 

“That was one time.” 

He dismisses my defense by opening the door. I push myself off the bed, looking over at Stu. He’s still out. “He’s fine, he’ll wake up when he’s hungry.” 

I focus on the even rise and fall of his chest. Stu’s face is pressed into his pillow, one leg still covered by his blanket and the other kicked out, dangling close to the edge of the bed. At least one of us knows how to sleep. 

“Yeah,” I agree, walking towards the door, “He’s lucky we’re too nice to draw on him.”

Billy looks back at me as he steps onto the stairs, “He’s lucky I don’t have a pen.” 

I laugh. “Maybe we can find one.” 

The part of the living room that’s too far away from the windows to reach a decent amount of sunlight is still illuminated. An artificial glow catches my attention. I guess no one turned off the TV last night. 

I walk towards the TV, crossing my legs beneath me as I sit down. It takes a second because of all the extra buttons on the control panel--rich people TVs should have instruction manuals taped to their sides--but my eyes eventually find the off button. I press it and all the TV does is turn staticky. 

“The tape’s still in there, you need to turn off the VCR first.” 

Makes sense. I mess with the buttons, turning the whole thing back on and starting over. Billy waits near the couch as I manage to turn the VCR off because after a second, regular cable starts playing. I hit another button. Instead of powering off, the TV switches to another channel. Before I can press anything else, a voice catches my attention. “The police department still has no leads on the crime that has rocked this sleepy community almost a year after the still unsolved murder of Maureen Prescott.” 

“Isn’t Gale Weathers that journalist you yelled at?”

Ugh--that’s how I know her. "I didn’t yell.” I stare at her focused expression as she stares down the camera. “I just made my thoughts on her journalistic process clear.” She’s wearing a suit that’s as vibrant as the one she was wearing when I met her at school. “Also my thoughts on what she was wearing.” 

The studio lights reflect against her gingery red, blonde highlighted hair in a way that’s unfortunately put together. “She’s kinda pretty, I guess...” Her getting-the-story-at-any-cost personality is something I’d admire if it was directed at anyone else. “For someone that totally sucks.”

“Which is why I’m still pressing forward with an updated version of my book detailing the two crimes, the suspects, and the most recent piece to the complicated puzzle--the sole survivor of the Becker Case.” 

Oh, there is no way she means--

My yearbook photo flashes onto the corner of the screen. “Local high schooler, Y/n L/n.” 

Blood rushes to my ears. Something warm and assured squeezes my shoulder. Billy. “Y/n?” 

The floorboards creek beneath the weight of even footsteps. “Thanks for--” The grogginess in Stu’s voice disappears with the rest of his original sentence, “What happened?” 

I finally connect with my body enough to pick my jaw up off the ground enough to form a sentence, “She put me in her fucking book.” 

----

a/n billy and stu when the traumatic thing they do is actually traumatic: 😦

also we’re about to get into the gale arch! yay!

----

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thanks for reading!! <3

[raya-rhaenyra-ahsoka]

The Mark of Athena except, instead of it being a coin given to Annabeth by Athena/Minerva, it’s a tattoo burned onto her forearm. Hear me out.

The tattoo has a tribal design of an owl, an olive branch, and the Greek letters A.Θ.E on it. And it's carved and burnt onto her skin. It glows red when Annabeth’s alone on her quest, and it would slightly hurt as the red glow would also be burning on her skin. It would look like a regular tattoo on her arm when it’s not glowing.

Their encounter would’ve been like:

Athena grabbed Annabeth’s right arm and dugged her nails onto them causing a burning sensation surging through her arm. “Follow the Mark of Athena,” She said. “Avenge me.”

“Mom…” Annabeth winced in pain as Athena’s nails dugged deeper into her skin. “What are you talking about? What mark?”

Then she saw the mark Athena meant. Her mother was placing the mark on her. On her skin, she saw a drawing of an owl, an olive branch and the greek letters, A.Θ.E. It looked like it was carved and burnt onto her skin.

“Avenge me or leave me.” Athena had said.

Annabeth had to pull herself from her mother’s grasp and ran without looking back.

She had tried scrubbing and washing it off, but to no avail. And ever since that day with Athena/Minerva at Grand Central, she only wore long-sleeved shirts to hide the mark on her forearm, as it would only remind her of her last encounter with her mother.

She didn’t tell anyone about it. Not the Head Counselors, or her siblings, not Jason, Piper, and Leo－her crewmates in the Argo II before sailing for New Rome, and not even Chiron.

Annabeth tugged her shirt's sleeve when Ella the harpy recited the prophecy concerning the Mark of Athena fearing anyone will know about it. Wisdom’s daughter walks alone, the Mark of Athena burns through Rome…

She discovered that the mark on her arm glowed a fiery red while she was at Fort Sumter in Charleston. There was also a mark of Athena that glowed on the walls when she became trap inside a dark room with the mark burning spiders away.

No one else knew about it until Piper asked her what the Mark of Athena was while the seven of them were in a meeting in the Argo II's mess hall. She pulls out her sleeve and shows it to the rest of the seven. Some of them were fascinated by it to the point where Leo says it’s dope and I want one! Others, particularly Hazel and Percy recognizes that it looked like it was burnt on her skin.

After the 2nd Giant War, the tattoo faded and now permanently looked like a wine-stain birthmark after the Athena Parthenos was returned to the Greeks and placed on Half-Blood Hill.

Her Dad, Frederick freaked out when he saw the birthmark-esque tattoo, and her cousin, Magnus basically snorted and said, Your mom placed a mark on you? Oh, my gods, Couz, what did you do?

So, yeah, just a thought. 😊

[trancylovecraft]

(KNY) YANDERE PLATONIC! KOKUSHIBO x SISTER READER: You, Shibou. I, Kokoro (CHAPTER FOURTEEN)

Previous Chapter ☆♡☆ Masterlist ☆♡☆ Next Chapter

AO3 link

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: "..So much more than a rat."

A martyr is defined as a person who voluntarily suffers death as the penalty of witnessing to and refusing to renounce a religion. Though in more recent times it has been used to define a person willing to give up their life for a cause not needing to be fuelled by religion or politics.

The man throughout the night, Feet thundering against the cold stone.

His breath was ragged as he sprinted across the empty streets, Cold air singing as a juxtaposition to his burning lungs. The warm blood trickled down his forehead, His eyes wide and wild as he searched for sanctuary.

Faster and faster he went, Tall houses rushing past him in a flash. His head kept jerking back behind him, Terrified of something following him. Something seeking, Something hidden deep within the depths of the night. Something keeping close behind.

He didn't know what happened, One minute he had gotten back from work and the next he was running away. A thick slash mark across his forehead, Oozing out iron ichor from the deep cut.

Like a rabbit running away from the fox, He scampered away.

He felt like it got closer and closer. Almost hearing the faint drumming of footsteps gaining on him, Echoing throughout the night. Hitting like hail against the ground, Making a bitter chill run down his spine.

Who was it? Who was chasing him. Was there someone chasing him? Is he being paranoid?

His sweat dropped, He yelped out in fear.

"Help-! Help me! HELP, ANYONE-!" He cried through the raw dryness of his throat. Tears started to swell at this point. The patter of footsteps grew and grew, So loud like thunder strikes.

They were approaching, They were going to get him-!

"PLEASE- ANYONE!" He screamed. Hollering throughout the night and bouncing off the village walls. It was so blaring, So loud yet there was no one who came to help. There was no one who was going to save him.

He was going to die- HE WAS GOING TO DI-

A sword ran through his neck. Struck like lightning and flowing like a river as it went through his skin and muscle with no effort.

His screaming was cut short by his head hitting the rocky street. A burst of blood erupting from his severed neck.

It bounced once, Then twice then swivelled into place.

A permanent petrified expression laid upon the mans face, Eyes wide and bulging with his mouth eternally open to catch flies. His body wobbled, Thin legs shaking before falling down onto it's knees, Then it's chest.

The footsteps following him finally stopped as well, If only for a moment. The silence rang throughout the street as the blood pooled around the carnage. All before the tiny pair of footsteps turned into a walk, Stalking over to the corpse.

[F/N] looked down at the body, Pausing just where the puddle of red stopped gathering, Careful not to stain her sandals.

The blade clenched in her hand was drenched in blood, Ichor dripping off the tip and onto the rocky pavement below. The imperfect hilt and the makeshift construct of the blade made it all the more strange for such a child to be wielding it.

She looked at the man with no pity nor disgust. There wasn't any anger or drive behind her strike, Just apathy as she stared down at the bloody mess she had made. Her grip on the hilt of her sword grew tighter.

She crouched down, Knees turning as she got closer to the severed head of the decapitated man. Nudging the body out the way with her free hand she finally reached down to the head, Arm extended towards it.

Her hand grasped a firm clutch of his matted hair, Already entangled with blood as her fingers got a good hold on his locks. She pulled it up, The head following her hand as she held it dangling from her fingertips.

She walked. The severed cut of it's neck dripped a thick trail of blood to follow her footsteps, Hand already covered in the pungent liquid that splattered her fingers.

The head swayed from her hands as she walked away. She could of only been about eight or maybe nine yet the way she carried herself was so old and practiced, She could of been mistaken as a woman from a distance.

She didn't look back, Moon raised high within the cold night. She walked towards it, The headless corpse left alone in the street to squeeze out all of its remaining liquids onto the floor.

And soon enough she was gone just as soon as she came. No trace of her ever being here except for a thick trail of blood dragging out of the village and into the depths of the woods.

☆♡☆

"It's just.. It's been tough with my father being ill, You know?" The smell of sizzling meat and the punching kick of spices hit the noses of the passers-by, The enticing aroma being like a siren's song to anyone who would dare enter the proximity of their lulling call from the market.

The sun was raised high in the sky, A morning blessed with the cool heat of the summer sun and the chilling breeze to chase it. It was beautiful and the villagers were aware, All out and about to enjoy the weather and do errands to match.

The market sat under the suns rays, Stalls lined with both food and material products. Meat grilled right at the table, Vivid bursts of tapestries hanging for all to view and contemplate buying.

It was a wonderous place filled with crowds in the dozens. Chatter was live and roaring throughout the street, Sounds of bargaining and laughter were common and all around. It was scenic as it travelled through the village.

[F/N] stood by one of the stalls, Just tall enough to peek over the edge. It was a stall with colourful pouches of spices laying about, Hanging rabbits and cattle meat from the hooks on the wooden structure above.

Her skeletal figure stood awkwardly, Her bony fingers twiddling themselves as she shied her eyes away from the merchant in front of her. She looked downtrodden, Turtling into the oversized scarf wrapped around her neck.

"I.. I'm sorry that I can't pay, Nevermind, I'll stop bothering you.. Apologies!" [F/N] called out rather forlornly as she turned around slowly, Starting to walk a few steps in the opposite direction with lowered head.

The merchants smile turned into a frown, Watching the frail girl trod off down into the busy streets.

"Hold on!"

[F/N] stopped in her tracks as soon as she heard the merchant's voice call out her name. Her head turned over lightly, Eyes peeking out from the tattered blue of her scarf to look at him from afar.

The merchant sighed, A look of pity plastered upon his face as his hands reached up to the fresh meat hanging above him. Picking a cream-fleeced rabbit off one of the hooks he walked out from behind the stall towards her.

"Here you go, Okay? I hope your father gets well soon, Send him my regards, Kid." He said with a small smile as he presented the little rabbit to her, Gesturing for her to take it.

[F/N]'s eyes widened, The sparkle in her eyes starting to bloom as the sun reflected off the hues of her irises. Her bony fingers reached out towards the rabbit, Wrapping around the hide of it's neck before bringing it into her arms.

"Thank you, Sir! You don't know how much this means to me and my father!" [F/N] said, Her hollowed out cheeks parting to give him the sweetest smile possible on her face. The merchant nodded, Hand reaching out to pat her shoulder before turning around to go back to his stall.

[F/N] watched him go for a second, The rabbit in her hands held close. It was such a pristine and fresh piece of meat, It's coat was the colour of beige and it's big ears were flopped down to it's side. The clean cut on it's neck being the culprit.

She turned away, Clutching it close as she began weaving her way through streets of people. Her small body slipping through the cracks without a single trace, Finally leaving the area entirely.

As soon as it did, Her smile changed into something more triumphant.

The merchant had fallen for her lie, Just like all the ones before him. The old trusty one about her father or how she had no money. The latter wasn't much of a lie but it was overexaggerated and it worked every time.

She shoved what little coins she had within her haori pockets, The dragon patterned blue being newly acquired from a pretty white fox she had found while travelling through the woods.

It had the fabric in it's mouth. Being curious she had wrestled it out of the beasts maw and had found it to be a haori of cerulean blue, Liking the design of it she had decided to keep it and wear it now.

The coins shoved into the inner pockets were sparse and everything she had. She chided what little wages she got from her job, Exploiting the young and desperate to fatten their own pockets.

She sighed however, There wasn't much she could do or no one she could argue against as she travelled down the bustling streets. Of which people seemed to grow thinner and thinner as she went along until there was barely anyone there.

This village was poor, [F/N] could tell. From the crime running rampant in the night to the poor architecture of the houses, It was obvious. The merchant would be no different, From what she could deduce was that he was a poor man struggling to make money for his family.

She tried not to think about taking advantage of his good graces, Pushing it to the back of her mind.

[F/N]'s stomach growled, Making her free hand lunge down to her midsection and hold it in effort to soothe the ravenous feeling inside of her.

Either way it didn't matter what wages she earned or how she had lied to the merchant back in the market. She would be out of this village soon enough, She had a job to do after all and she had no time to mull over her situation.

"GET AWAY!"

A voice yelled out from in front of her, Making [F/N] snap her head up at the familiar voice.

A good few metres away from her was a group of boys, Younger than her but a bit older than the young child they surrounded. [F/N]'s eyes widened, The embers in her eyes bursting out into an angry flame once she realised what was happening.

"HEY!" [F/N] yelled out as her legs picked up, The rabbit in her hand tightened as her free hand clenched into a fist. Running over to the crowd of boys she saw they were kicking and tugging at the hair of the child they surrounded.

The leader of the group barely had any time to react as [F/N]'s fist connected with his face, Slamming into the side of his cheek.

The boy shouted in a yelp as his body hit the hard dirt of the ground with a thud, Blood erupting from his mouth. The other boys around him stopping the assault of the child to assess the situation with fearful eyes as they met the imposing figure of [F/N].

"The fuck do you think you're doing! Get the hell away from him you bastards!" [F/N] yelled at them. A grovel in her voice as the surrounding boys rushed to their leaders aid, Of which had already snapped out of his daze to look up at her.

"T-The hell are you?! We ain't bothering you at all-" The boy spat but was cut off once he came face to face with the enraged visage of [F/N]. Veins popping out the side of her forehead, Eyes containing a fire that spoke more than words ever could as his jaw snapped shut.

The boys beside him threw looks towards [F/N], Almost ready to pounce before their leader spoke.

"..C-Come on, Let's just get outta here." He mumbled yet spoke with such ire. The boys picked him up by the shoulders and helped him onto his feet, He threw one more cautious look towards [F/N] before he signalled his group to leave the area.

[F/N] watched them scamper out of the area, Spouting curses and cusses as they ran away down the street. [F/N]'s raised guard didn't dare to drop until they were finally gone, Leaving only her and the young boy in the village street.

Her head looked over to the boy, Her eyes softening as she laid upon him.

"Shizuko..! Hell.. Are you alright?" [F/N] asked as she crouched down beside him, Laying the rabbit beside her. Shizuko, Her younger brother. He was lain out on the ground, His fluffy hair was a mess with dirt coursing through his curls from the beating.

The green yukata and haori he wore was messed up with the grounds soil, Dirtied with splotches. It was unfortunate, It was newly thieved and of high quality. [F/N] doubted she'd find anywhere to wash or steal a new one anytime soon.

[F/N] reached over to him. Shizuko looked up at her with relieved eyes as she wiped the trickling blood off of his forehead. He hummed, Scratching at the wool of his gloves as he looked away from her.

"I.. I'm fine, Onee-san. Just a bit dizzy." He mumbled as he continued to scratch at his hands. He didn't dare look back up at [F/N], Not wanting to see the reaction she wore on her sleeve. Or more accurately- Her face.

[F/N] sighed as she used the sleeve of her kimono to dry the blood.

"What happened? Why were they picking on you.. I swear, If this isn't the first time.." [F/N] hissed as she scanned over his young self. He was only around four or maybe five, It was hard to keep track of time yet he was too young to hold the dirty bruises scattering his legs. Shizuko's scratching got more intense as he shrugged.

"Dunno.. I saw them playing and I wanted to join them.. But when I went to they made fun of my gloves and called me names.. So I called them one back and they just started kicking me.." Shizuko admitted as he showed [F/N] his hands.

[F/N] hand which was holding his cheek grew much more firm, Angrier. Her nose upturned into a snarl and her teeth bared at the mere imagining of what happened, All backed up by the bruises on his skin and the dressing of blood dripping down it.

"Those little- I should of given them more than just a punch.." [F/N] muttered as her hands ran down his body, Checking for any more injury on his little body with care and skill.

"..I'm sorry.. I don't wanna make you mad, Onee-san.." Shizuko said as he looked up at [F/N] with his dark eyes. They were reluctant, That was what [F/N] could tell as she stared back into them with a light gaze.

[F/N] sighed, Her hands raising to meet his own. She squeezed them once, A reassuring gesture.

"No, I'm not mad Shizuko. Not at you. You need to tell me these things, I'll take care of it. You know you can rely on me, Right?" [F/N] smiled as she stared into his eyes, Warm and inviting.

Shizuko smiled back, Though rather lopsidedly.

"Yeah, Nee-chan. I know.." He nodded. [F/N] nodded back at him before her hand hooked under his armpits. And with a small comment of "One, Two, Three!" Shizuko was brought up to his feet.

[F/N], Still kneeled down, Brushed off his emerald yukata with her hands. Making sure everything was in place before she got up herself.

"Now come on, You hungry? Cause look what I got!" [F/N] said triumphantly as she picked up the rabbit to display to her younger brother. Holding it high like a treasured prize. Shizuko's eyes widened, Sparkling in the warm sunlight.

"Woah! You got a rabbit? Does that mean we can have actual meat tonight?!" Shizuko squealed as he jumped up and down excitedly. His smile ear to ear, Brighter than the sun in the sky as he exclaimed it. [F/N] nodded.

"Correct! If I'm right there's some spices back at that old house, So we'll be eating good tonight." [F/N] exclaimed happily. It wasn't something usual kids were excited about, Rabbit wasn't a luxury nor was it a rarity for them to have.

But for them it was a good day. Any day where they ate meat instead of left-over vegetables was a good day.

"You won't burn it this time.. Will you, Onee-chan?" Shizuko questioned, Tilting his head to look up at her with slight caution.

[F/N] rolled her eyes.

"That was one time, I won't do it again!" She said adamantly. Lowering the rabbit to her side in favour of placing her hands on her hips. Shizuko giggled as he watched her reaction, His gloved hand raising to tug at the one on her hips.

"Come on! I want rabbit- I'm hungry! I'm hungry!" Shizuko pleaded as his little hand tugged at the arm of his older sister. [F/N] rolled her eyes but the smile on her face couldn't dim as she let Shizuko hold her.

She was happy that his spirits were raised from the low of the beating. As they started walking, [F/N] started to remember how this wasn't the first time this had happened to him and it put a damper on her mood.

Each town or village they had went through, From the valleys to the mountains the same things were to be expected. Newcomers were looked at with suspicion, Especially at two young kids with Shizuko was an easy target for the boys. He was small and wasn't able to fight back against the older boys, Especially targeted since it was obvious he didn't have any parent to snitch to. Which is why [F/N] took up the mantle of caretaker.

It didn't help that the constant scratching of his hands made him seem odd to any passer-by's. It made [F/N] angry, He couldn't control how his hands processed touch and how he chose to show it.

She wished people would have more empathy sometimes, Though by now she had become use to the opposite of it. Still, She had some hope. Not for her but for her younger brother at least, He didn't deserve it.

Her hand squeezed Shizuko's, His fingers curling around her palm to share body heat. A comfort between two siblings and the only touch the younger could ever stand, His hand grasping tighter at his sister's.

What a fool that man was. The concept of a late bloomer was never a thing to him, Just taking the child by the heel to dangle them over the river and not hesitating to let it run red. In truth, Shizuko wasn't defective as he said.

He never was, Never would be in her eyes no matter if he had the hands or not. But he did, He had the hands. He had failed the test, Yes, But he had been a late bloomer. His ability becoming more and more prevalent as he grew.

More and more until it had became way more than what that man's abilities could wield, So much so that he could identify the exact make of a fabric or the location it was made in. He could identify a fake from an authentic. In other words, It was divine.

But it was too powerful, Growing painful as he got older. He had gotten a disgust for the feeling of any object he touched, Feeling near sick once it connected with his fingertips.

[F/N] had trouble keeping up, The only solution she could think of was a pair of finely woven woollen gloves of the highest quality. The softest, A mild solution as it barely helped his discomfort.

But even so he held onto [F/N]'s hand, Her touch warm and being the only one ever to make him feel at ease.

As they walked along the street, [F/N] smiled. They weren't well off nor was there ever a day they had time to just sit back and relax. But they had each other, And that was enough for them.

But a thought lingered in her mind, One that never left her for a second. Even when she smiled it was still in the back of her mind, Eating way like a brain disease, Every second of the day that thought stayed with her.

If Shizuko was a late bloomer, Then what about all the others?

☆♡☆

"..You actually didn't burn it this time."

The moon was placed in the low sky, Signalling the early night.

The mix of luminescent blues and the darkest of ultramarines painted the heavens above, A beautiful mural speckled by the sparks of faraway inferno's. Lighting up the night and the village streets below with soft moonlight.

The luminous light took no heed in flowing through the partly stained window, The orchid blue igniting the floorboards below and the ombre shades of the abandoned bedroom. It glowed on the ledges of the dusty furniture, Outlining the bold shapes in the dark.

[F/N] sat on the bed. The alluring smell of slightly-overcooked rabbit invaded the room, Luckily overpowering the rotting stench of the decaying old woman in the other. Died from old age, Not by her hand.

This house was only a temporary hideout, Only a place to pass through and rest up before they moved onto the next. The old woman passing of natural causes was a blessing in disguise as it gave them time to reside here before her neighbours got suspicious.

"Well, You didn't burn it as much as last time." Shizuko teased lightly, Giggling as he bit into his rabbit.

He sat beside [F/N], Comfortably placed upon the mattress with his legs folded in a basket. His gloved hand clutched on a cooked leg, Only singed slightly at the sides. The smell of the spices and herbs drifted in the air, A running rosemary and pungent paprika.

[F/N] tossed her head to the side, Smiling as she held a small arm. A much smaller portion compared to her younger brother as her bony fingers wrapped around the forearm.

"Shush! You're lucky I was able to get the grill in here working, Just eat your rabbit in peace. Okay?" [F/N] bit back as she started to nibble on the rabbit's paw, Barely chewing off any of the skinned meat from the bone.

For a good few minutes they sat in silence. The dust particles floating about the room only illuminated by the glossy radiance. They took it in, Both chowing down on their meal, The rabbits ravaged skeleton sitting only a few feet away on a bedside.

Though it was interrupted when Shizuko slowly stopped chewing the meat from his half-eaten leg, Eyes focusing down onto the exposed bone in thought before glancing up towards [F/N].

"Onee-san..?" He mumbled, A stark contrast to his chipper tone turned sour.

[F/N] blinked, Looking down at him.

"Yes? What do you need?" [F/N] asked.

Shizuko didn't answer for a moment, Taking a look back down at his rabbit as he seemed to ponder his words. His frown deepened, Looking back up at her.

"Why do we never have rabbit often like the other kids?" Shizuko asked, Staring into her eyes with his own charcoal hues. He looked conflicted, Confused even. [F/N] swallowed down a chunk of meat as she looked at him.

"..What do you mean?" [F/N] asked slowly.

Shizuko hummed, Frown sharpening.

"Everywhere we go it seems like the other kids always have some kind of fancy meal like udon or ramen while we only have it sometimes.. We always have boiled vegetables or berries.. Why can't we have fancy food like the other kids too?" Shizuko asked, Tilting his head.

[F/N] didn't speak, Her mouth locked firmly shut.

The rabbits arm lowered in her hands, Dropping to her thinning thighs as she turned to stare towards the moonlight's grace. Her eyes searched within the room's darkness, Sentences fizzling out on her tongue as she desperately tried to grab at the proper words to say.

She didn't even want to say, She didn't even want the question to be prompted in the first place. Telling him would be wrong, Telling him wouldn't do him any good nor would it do her any good.

But she knew it would come along eventually, So she spoke.

"Well.. We don't have ramen or udon because.. It's not too good for your health." [F/N] finalised. Looking down at Shizuko as he took in her words, Silently praying to whatever god up there that he would buy it.

Shizuko only stared back up at her, Eyes narrowing in on her face.

"Why? All the other kids have it every other day..?" He asked. [F/N] bit her tongue, She guessed the curious mind of a child really was unmatched. She gripped the ledge of the bed as she spoke.

"It's because you're special, You know, 'Cause of your hands." [F/N] lied through her teeth as one of her hands snaked over to his, Wrapping around his palm in a comforting manner as she spoke.

"My hands affect food..?" Shizuko asked, Confused.

"Yeah.. If you ate too much of the fancy food then your hands would loose all their power, That's why we can only have it every so often." [F/N] explained. It wasn't the best explanation, Nor was it thought out, But it was the best she could think of as she spoke.

Shizuko looked away from her, Turning back down to the rabbit leg he had in his hands. The gloves clutching onto the rabbits wrist moved a little, His eyes honing in on them.

"Are you okay, Shizuko?" [F/N] asked, Suddenly feeling concern from his actions.

Shizuko raised the rabbit leg, Only nibbling off a chunk from the thigh. Chewing slowly, He scoffed.

"It's just.. Why are we so different from everyone else? The other kids don't move houses every week.. They always have new clothes but not us and they have parents that look after them! Where's our parents, Nee-chan?!" Shizuko exclaimed, Hands slamming down onto the bed.

[F/N] was taken aback, Her eyes widening for a moment. Shizuko seemed angry, In a split second he had seemed to let out whatever was building up inside of him. [F/N] swallowed, Trying to think.

Lying to him, That was something she never wanted to do yet had done it more times than she could count anyways. Not to mention the merchants and the sellers, It always left a sour taste in her mouth when she did.

But was lying to him as bad as telling him the truth? To what lengths was a lie morally wrong and what ways did a truth truly hurt? She didn't know, She really didn't know.

But her heart followed her mouth, Tongue guiding her way.

"Shizuko.. " [F/N] said softly, Getting down from her perch on the bedside to kneel in front of him. Her hands still ran to grasp his as he seethed slightly from his outburst, He looked into her eyes, The moonlight's radiance reflecting off of them.

The warmth of her hand cradled his, Soothing him for a second.

"The reason we don't have parents is because.." [F/N] swallowed back her hesitation. "..They died years ago, Leaving us alone."

"W-What?! How? How did they die, Nee-chan?!" Shizuko exclaimed, Eyes going wide.

Sweat ran down his brow, His jaw going agape at the revelation. The hand wrapped around his squeezed slightly, Though she wasn't sure if it was for her comfort or his this time as she tried her best to steady her shaking jaw.

"Bad people killed them when I was just a kid and you were still swaddled in cloth.. I was barely able to get you out of there before they got to us too, I had to carry you through storms, You know." [F/N] said finally as she looked up at him.

Shizuko didn't speak, Just stared blankly with a shaky frown. The rabbit leg had been long dismissed to the side, The luminosity shining across their faces and the serene surroundings was a silent soliloquy in that one frozen moment.

Shizuko swayed his feet slightly, A sombre expression washing over him.

"You won't die too, Right..? You won't leave me will you, Onee-san..?" He asked, The first tinge of insecurity shone through his voice. It made her frown deepen in the lines, The worry seeping into his voice was repugnant to her.

Her hands parted from his for only a second.

"Shizuko.. I will never leave you. You will never have to be alone, Okay? I'll be here to take care of you, I'll make sure that you never need to worry about things like clothes or food.." [F/N] hummed so low within the bask of the moonlight, Her voice just as soft.

Shizuko looked back at her, Their eyes connecting in an understanding not uncommon for the siblings. The way both of their eyes shined, The way both of their expressions turned into something more warm and familial as each second passed by.

It was comfortable.

"..You promise?" Shizuko smiled, His voice nothing but the pass of the wind. [F/N] smiled back as her hand reached out, Her hand reaching out and her pinky entwining with Shizuko's.

And suddenly, The room didn't seem as cold anymore.

"I promise you that I will never leave you.. Death would need to pry us apart for that ever to be the case.." [F/N] confirmed, Her pinky squeezing around his in such a comforting manner.

"..Were they nice? Our parent's..?" He asked. His voice so quiet yet in the quiet of the room seemed so loud.

[F/N] smiled once more, A familiar love growing between the two despite the sour taste pooling in her mouth. She nodded her head slowly, Though the splash of red appeared in her peripherals.

"Very. Now finish your rabbit and get under the covers, It's well past your bedtime." [F/N] said finally, Getting up from her knee to stand in front of him. Shizuko smiled brightly, Snatching the rabbit leg and hastily chowing down the meat before shuffling back on the bed.

[F/N] helped him take off his haori. They had no nightwear so they slept in their yukata's. Raising the covers, Shizuko buried his legs under them. The old woman's bed providing warmth as she blanketed him with the thick duvets.

Shizuko laid his head against the pillow, Still smiling as he got comfortable.

"Night, Shizuko.." [F/N] said, Turning and trailing away from the bedside into the ombre casting in the room. The luminescence leaving her, Yet Shizuko's eyeline never straying as he raised a brow.

"Huh? Where are you going this time, Onee-san?" He mumbled, Nuzzling into the soft bristles of the feathered pillow. Ebony eyes as dark as the shadows staring into her with concern.

[F/N] smiled once more, Turning back to him.

"..I'm going to go fight the bad people, Okay? If anyone comes knocking, You know what to do." [F/N] comforted.

Shizuko smiled.

"Leave through the window and hide in the spot you told me to..?" Shizuko giggled as he pulled the sheets over him just a little more. [F/N] nodded, Turning back into the darkness.

"Exactly. Sweet dreams, Okay?"

That was the last thing she said before she walked further into the dark, Her pencil thin figure getting more and more fuzzy the more she traversed in. As she reached the wall she leaned down, Hand connecting with the faulty hilt of a sword hidden within the black.

She picked it up, Careful not to make any noise as she opened the door. Slipping through the crack with the blade following close behind.

Taking one more look at her little brother, She sighed.

She had to do this.

Then the door clicked shut.

☆♡☆

The moon still held high within the vastness of the atmosphere.

It was cold outside, A chill running down the spine of any bare skin that dared to be exposed within its domain. Not that there was anyone out at this time of night, Even if they tried they'd be deterred by the horrid weather.

But not [F/N]. The light taps of her footsteps lead her down the abandoned stone pathway, Devoid of the usual day-life within the village. Market's empty, No more adults standing about for idle chat or conversation. Just the whisper of what spoke drifting in the cold wind.

The grip on her sword tightened, Her hands shaking didn't bother her as her face was just as freezing as the weather surrounding her. It was such a large blade to be cradled within the small hands of such a young girl, Almost comical in her grasp.

She couldn't think about that though, What scraps of agency she had was left behind with her little brother. She had a job to do, Her sole sword was the only thing she needed to bring with her.

Nothing else.

The meetup point was suppose to be only a few metres away behind a closed sukiyaki stand. This village, Despite it's lovely exterior, Was rife with a disgusting underbelly laying below the flowers and flair above.

That's what [F/N] was told anyways, She wasn't paid leftovers to question why or who she was here for. She was told to listen, She was told to obey. That's all [F/N] needed to do and all she had ever done, Ever since she had been on payroll at least.

She walked further and further, The sukiyaki stand now in sight. It was located within the dingier part of town, Where bars were more frequent and the only company you could acquire was drunkards and tipsy old women on the prowl.

This however was one of the only non-alcoholic food stands around. It stuck out like a sore thumb, Probably why it was the meet-up area in the first place. Easy for someone to spot yet not out of place for the locals around.

[F/N]'s footsteps stopped, Now standing directly infront of the closed wooden shutters of the stalls. Everything was quiet now, Nothing but the friendly chitters of crickets and the hush of the wind dancing in the air.

She waited, Not moving a muscle.

.

..

..

"You're here."

A voice echoed out from behind the stall, A familiar tune to the tone of monotone.

[F/N] blinked, Turning around she had already sensed the man by the shade he cast over the moonlight. By the stench of tobacco and the lingering scent of alcohol, She knew he was there.

"I said I would." [F/N] stated. Not a snarky response like one you'd banter back to a good friend, But just a statement. No emotion of affection behind it, No kind of fondness but a simple brash cordiality.

The man looked back at her, A scruffy beard haphazardly grown on his face with tired eyes. Yet they were vigilant, They were prying and they scrutinized the girl who was more than a foot smaller than her.

She didn't shake however, Her stance didn't stumble nor did it stutter. She stood strong, Stronger than someone like her should of been standing for. Staring him dead in the eyes he spoke once more.

"You have a large bounty tonight. This village is a hotbed for the lowest of the low, The payment will be better than the last, Around 5598 yen is up for grabs. You taking it?" The man asked, Taking and throwing the cigarette hanging from his mouth onto the ground. Stomping it out.

[F/N] nodded slowly, Calculating the amount of money she would earn. Was it enough for a single bowl of udon? Maybe two.. Shizuko did say he wanted to have more of the 'Fancy Food'.

Even so would she have any left afterwards? She'd need to be smart about this. Maybe once she got older she could earn more money like the adults taking contracts, Maybe then she'd be able to afford nicer things for him or perhaps even herself.

"Yes.. I'll take it." [F/N] confirmed, Her free hand extended and uncurled on instinct. The man blinked, Blowing out the last remnants of his cigarette in smoky wisps before reaching behind his back and fishing for something in his back pocket.

And then a scroll was dropped into her palm. Tossed by the man as her hand grabbed onto the chilled fibre, Pulling it back to her and uncurling the rolled paper.

"Okay, Have fun then. Report back the next night for your reward. You know the rules: If anything goes sour I'll find out.. And won't be back, Once you off the targets you bring the heads back for proof of kill and of course, Don't get caught." The man said, Turning around.

[F/N] didn't bother to watch him go, Eyes already skimming the names and locations written down on the paper. He had already disappeared into the dark of the night before she even bothered to glance up at him.

The paper had listed several unknown names and vaguely familiar locales, Just as usual. There seemed to be around six on this one, Six separate criminals for her to slaughter with their blood turning into her money.

That was her job. Ever since those men had lured her away with her baby brother in her hands she had been doing this. While [F/N] hadn't been born with the sensitive touch of the hands, She was born with something else.

A finesse with a sword, Or any weapon for that matter. Her hands were special in the way it swung a blade or jabbed it into flesh. Like a honey badger, It was a wonder how she could take on people so much bigger than her and come out on top.

Not even a skill but a talent, Not even needing much training from the group of mercenaries that had took her in. She didn't see much of them but she didn't need to either, Just travel from whatever village or city she was told to go to.

Killing criminals is what she did, The scum of the earth and the barnacles on the bottom of the ocean floor. Though as she thought about it more and more, It was more like the snake swallowing it's own tail.

She shook her head. Thinking wasn't something a mercenary was meant to do, Not in this kind of scenario. [F/N] squeezed the hilt of her sword, Her legs picking up in what she was meant to do as she took off into the vastness of the night.

[F/N] ran, Faster and faster as she didn't even make a sound running through the street. The first location was already engraved in her mind, Locked to the task, Her eyes went straight forward.

Morality was nothing but a hinderance when survival was a priority.

☆♡☆

The blood runs off the blade in rolls, Dripping carmine onto the cold dirt of the floor.

It splashes against the ground in splotches, Life returning to it's mother and seeping into the miniscule crack lining the muck. The wind did nothing to move the sword which it came from, Didn't freeze nor flare in the nights lukewarm air.

Popped vessels, Ligaments snapped like faulty twine, Jugulars punctured with polished canines and fingers chopped like fresh produce. None of these made her bat an eye, Not anymore.

The human body was like putty in her hands, Or bamboo against the edge of her blade. Once you do this for long enough, You learn to map out the nerves from foot to forehead. Memorise where to cut to cause most misery, What splatter of blood will come out if I puncture here?

Decapitating heads especially, Becoming akin to breathing over the years. Just one flick of her wrist and the spray of blood would burst into the air, The leftover bouncing away onto the ground.

[F/N] had to learn, Needed to if she wanted to survive. The severed head of both men, Women and even kids her own age being the singular trophy she needed to return with. Like a dog, She followed. Because if she didn't, She wouldn't be fed.

Being trained by a gang of mercenaries was nothing short of altering, Though [F/N] couldn't even remember what she had changed from in the first place. The only memory she carried was fast asleep in his bed, One where she worried for constantly.

When the blood runs into the river water, What's to say it won't reach the stream ahead? [F/N]'s tried her best to shepherd him away from her own life, Still tasting the lies on the tip of her tongue.

But their future, His future. Both of them were unsure, But [F/N] knew that she couldn't keep him away forever, Not when he started to grow and foster curiosity.

So she stood within the confines of the old rotting walls, Silently looking down at the carnage caused by her own blade. His severed head still spilt his own ichor, Eyes bulging and staring lifeless at his own decapitated body.

He wasn't the first, And he wasn't going to be the last either. Not for a while, Not for a long time coming.

[F/N] still had one more target to hit by the end of the night, And if she wanted her brother to eat by tomorrow she'd need to aim well.

So she entangled her fingers amongst the mans bloody locks once more, Yanking his head up and tossing it into the rucksack filled with all the rest, Making it feel right at home amongst all the other heads she carried.

And [F/N] left without a sound, Silent as she moved throughout the shadows of the room and out the drafty window cooling off the blood. No one spotted her, Not as her ravenous figure melded into the shadows.

On route to the next one.

☆♡☆

The darkness of the night, A curse to many that wandered the streets of this lone village yet it was a blessing for [F/N] as she moved throughout the shadows.

Her body was concealed. What few people were about had no idea about the young girl only feet away as she passed, Only a drift of the wind as her body circled the perimeter of the house.

It was her final target, Her final stop and that money would be hers. [F/N] was exhausted, Absolutely drained yet her heart kept pumping and her lungs working. She needed to keep going, Keep working until she broke.

That was what a good mercenary was, What a good tool was.

The house was bigger than the others in the village, In the nicer section of houses and streetways. It had two stories and was rather tall for it, The first floor being triple her height as a pre-teen.

She hopped the high fence with relative ease, No noise made as her legs swung over the lumber bar and feet thumping against the grassy floor. She hadn't been spotted, Not by any possible bystanders or the residents themselves.

[F/N] needed to move quickly. From what she had scouted, Her last target was inside. She hadn't spotted any others inside though the scroll did describe him as having a wife and child of some sorts, But from what she had seen they weren't home.

Her hands brushed against the splintered wood of the housing walls, Trailing her way towards the nearest window. It was so easy, For a usual criminal he definetly didn't have any survival instincts as it was open ajar.

Strange, But she didn't think much of it.

As she shuffled closer towards the window, She peered inside. Hands resting on the frame as her eyes barely peeked over the edge.

A simple table and tatami mat was the only thing inside. The lantern placed atop it wasn't lit, Even slightly broken, Making the room just as dark as it was outside. There were several doors, All shut.

But the centrepiece of the entire room, Was the man sitting at the head of the table.

He wasn't anything special, Though [F/N] couldn't see much of him as his back was turned to her. Just the scalp full of dark hair and a thinly green yukata that clothed him, Average too, This really did seem like an easy job.

The hands gripping onto the ledge tightened, Careful not to make a sound as she pulled herself up from the dirt and grass she stood on before. Worn sandals pressing on the old wood with no noise, She climbed inside.

Her feet hit the old floorboards, The creak being near melded into the silence. [F/N] stared at the man, Eyes not wandering for a single second. This was it, His nape was in sight and so ready to be cut.

Moving forward, He didn't suspect a thing. None of them did, Neither him nor the rest.

Her sword slid out of the hilt, Rusty blade not shining though the moonlight shone through the open window. Her grip tightened around it, Careful as she raised it up, High towards the gods that guided her blade.

"..Papa?"

[F/N] stopped.

For a moment she felt as if time itself had stopped around her, Just to observe to moment.

[F/N]'s eyes darted over to a door she hadn't noticed before, One along the far wall. It was tilted open, Just a crack. [F/N] didn't even notice that it had opened, But she certainly took note of the young girl looking through from the other side.

She was mousy with golden blonde hair, Dark eyes that peered through the crack. [F/N] could make out that she was young, Younger than her with pretty ribbons tied up in her honeyed-hair.

She was Shizuko's age..

[F/N]'s eyes connected with the girls, Her own widening as the sword in her hands was still raised in the air, Ready to strike down on her father.

But the man froze up, Shoulders raising as [F/N] realised the dark shape cast by her blade was in his full view.

He turned around, Terrified eyes meeting with the ones that were destined to kill him.

But in a split second he acted, Jerking his head back to meet his daughter, Eyes pleading as his mouth opened up to call out to her.

"M-"

He didn't even get past the first syllable.

[F/N]'s sword was brought down onto him like the striking tide against the shoreline, Blade cutting through the fibres of skin, Hardened bone to muscle. It didn't even take a second for his head to fly off his body in a spray of hot blood, Tossing around until it slammed into the front wall.

The head rolled onto the floor, Bruised and battered until it stopped.

Right in front of his daughter, Who looked down at it in horror.

The girl screamed, High and shrill as her dark eyes widened to their very limits.

[F/N] didn't know what happened, Her face splattered with the mans ichor as she looked over towards his severed cadaver of a head. The droplets of blood ran down her cheek to her chin, Nesting in the corners of her face.

From the corners of her eyes to between her lips, The ichor had infested.

Every inch of me is covered in the blood of an innocent man. She didn't have control of her body, Not her hands nor her blade. Instinct to kill acting on it's own. [F/N]'s eyes trailed down to her hands, Where the blood was most potent. Drenched entirely in red, Spilling onto her hilt and the metal of the rusty blade.

Holding her weapon up to her face, She looked at herself in what little reflection remained and just stared.

Don't get caught.

That's what he had said, That's what rung in her ears every time she hunted.

[F/N]'s eyes darted back over to the girl, Her screams still piercing and echoing around in the room. It was silencing, It was like air raid sirens hollering throughout the night. It was all [F/N] could hear, Not even listening to her ragged breathing no longer.

The girl pressed herself to the very back wall of the room she was in, Legs near crushing themselves into the wall in desperate attempt to keep the growing pool of blood away from her.

Did.. Did she do that? He had a child..? He had a child. He.. This man..

The mans head, Her fathers head. It stared up at the girl, Thanatoid eyes gazing up at his daughter.

It only made the girl cry harder.

"I.. I'm-" [F/N] didn't even acknowledge her parting of her lips or the strum of her vocal chords. Her fingers shook, Almost dropping the lowered blade in her hands.

"G-GET AWAY! G-GET AWAY!" The girl screamed, Eyes finally turning up to her and staring like a cornered animal. Like she was a ravenous wolf, Like the blade in her hands was the sharpened point of canines.

Ready to bite down onto her.

"D-DEMON, DEMON!! SOMEONE, H-HELP ME!!" The girl continued to scream as her knees almost buckled on her, Shaking, Trying not to collapse against the decapitated head of her father.

[F/N] stumbled back, Legs acting on their own.

She needed to go-! She needed to get out of here! The girl's wails would alert the neighbours soon if not already, Soon enough they'd find her- They'd get her-! In all protocol she should kill the girl- The girl-

The girl looked like Shizuko.

[F/N] ran.

Her body moved for her once more, Jerking around towards the open window and near lunging herself through it. Hands gripping the ledge, She felt herself snake through and the soles of her sandals slam against the dirtied ground.

The girls cries never stopped, Not as they ran through the window and echoed out into the empty night. [F/N] could already hear the calls of concerned neighbours, Watch as the bursts of lantern-lit light shine through the cracks of the houses around them.

[F/N] didn't wait to see their faces.

She sprinted away, Hopping the high fence with ease. This wasn't in the job, This wasn't in the deal! The man who she had slaughtered like cattle, From what she read on the list he hadn't had any daughter mentioned-!

It said he lived alone-! It said he-

[F/N] felt herself break.

They lied.

They lied to her.

[F/N] kept running, Making her way onto the streets as she heard the uproar of crowds. Yelling, Screaming and crying. All noises ran throughout the streets like a pack of dogs, Chasing her, Following her and ready to drag her back.

Those men, The people that had gave her the job. They had told her he was a criminal that lived alone in this town, No family of the sorts to be found. But he did, His daughter was there.

She looked well-cared for- She seemed healthy-

But they had lied.

And [F/N] had taken that away from her.

Tears started to drop down her hollowed cheeks, Shaking legs trying not to tumble over. She was still covered in that man's blood, Head to toe, But she ran like hell to the place her body took her.

Shizuko.

[F/N] needed to get to him immediately.

They needed to get out of this town, That girl had seen her and knows what she had looked like. Everyone would know, They'd be searching-

That man.

He wouldn't be back for her, Not for her bounty. With the way the village seemed up in arms, Screams piercing through the night and chasing her down, He would know exactly what had happened.

There would be no one to save her. Not her, Nor Shizuko.

So she ran, Faster than she ever did before.

Covered in the blood slaughtered innocence.

☆♡☆

"Careful-! We need to move quickly.."

[F/N] hissed lowly to Shizuko, Though it was not venomous in tone. The light of the daylight was a malison to them, Most ironically like a shadow, Following her like a curse.

Her hand gripped onto Shizuko's, His young undeveloped fingers wrapping around the thin and spindly phalanges of [F/N]'s. He looked up at her, Worried and confused eyes staring at the focused one's of his sister's as she peered around the corner.

[F/N]'s back was pressed firmly against the outer wall of the house, Located near the edges of the village. Her head poked around the corner, Observing the stroll of pedestrians nearby.

They were on edge, High alert. [F/N] could tell by their raised shoulders, The way their eyes darted back and forth as if something would jump out at them. They were very aware something was out there, Something dangerous.

They had her description, They most definetly did.

[F/N] heard the worried gossip of the locals in town, She heard the way they discussed the murders and the one who had hailed them. Her hair colour, Eye colour, Skin to her clothing was all rumoured about.

She couldn't be seen, Not even a glimpse.

"Onee-san.. What is happening? Why are we running?" Shizuko whispered, Hurriedly and hushed. His little hand gripped onto hers so tightly, Confused as to why she was so disturbed.

[F/N] glanced back at him, Trying to keep her horror to a minimum. "..Don't worry about it, We just need to lea- ACK-"

Though before she could finish her sentence she keeled over, Hand resting on the edge of the house lunged to her belly as she suddenly groaned in pain.

Shizuko gasped, Instantly coming to her side.

"Onee-san! Are you okay?! What's wrong?!" Shizuko cried as he watched [F/N] grasp desperatley at her tummy. It felt as if her stomach was eating itself whole, Not having anything in days, Her body started to feel woozy.

Drool ran down her lips, Aching for a bite of food she so desperately craved. But she wiped it off anyways, Trying to supress her hunger.

"..I-I'm fine.. D-Dont worry about me." [F/N] coughed as she finally released the hold on her stomach. [F/N] raised from her position, Back straightening out to display the ridges of her spine poking through it.

Though her answer was quick, Shizuko didn't believe it any longer. "No way! S-Something's wrong.. I.. Nee-chan, What's wrong with you..?" Shizuko whispered as he looked over [F/N]'s skeletal form.

There was no way they could get food here, Not anymore. The vendors would notice her, Especially the ones she had already swindled. Anyone she had interacted with in the past few days would recognise her description, So there was no feasible way she could get any sustenance.

Besides, It's not like she had the money to pay for it.

They needed to get out of here, But that was easier said than done. With the several murders, Some residents have taken to night patrols. Others who fancied themselves heroes have kept their eyes open, Searching for the person who could've done this.

Their loved ones, That was no doubt.

"..Please, Shizuko. I'll tell you everything later, I promise you.. But we need to leave now! We can't stay.." [F/N] pleaded with him, Squeezing his hand as tightly as she could with what little strength she had.

Shizuko looked back up at her, Eyes starting to water. Though he was young and unaware of the situation, He understood the severity. Especially when he looked into the eyes of his older sister, The ones that looked like they were about to shut down.

"Come on now.. The exit is only a bit away. We'll get some food and shelter for you soon.." [F/N] smiled through her pain, Hand starting to tug Shizuko along as she walked out of the corner.

It was a lie, This town was so far from it's neighbouring villages that it would take hours just to get to the nearest settlement. But [F/N] so desperately wanted to believe that they would get out, She had to, She had no other choice.

She'd get Shizuko out of this, Out of the mess she had made. Even though her body was failing, So close to collapsing altogether, The only thing she could think about was her younger brother's safety.

So she tugged him along, Carefully making her way through the streets. Scurried through alleyways and back routes, Making sure that no one would see her, That they would get out and she would somehow figure out a way to safety.

Her legs carried her forward, Thinning and whittling away by the second as she ambled towards where the town edge muddled into wilderness. Carried along the sides of the streets, She pulled the scarf over her head just a little further.

"Come on.. Almost there.." [F/N] assured Shizuko as she finally caught a glimpse of that finish line. Eyes shining with hope, She picked up the pace.

[F/N] finally saw the ending. The wilderness blurring from the town streets. She saw the lush clusters of leaves burst out from the branches in the trees, She saw the way the fields of rye-grass blow in the gentle wind.

She saw the sun high in the picturesque sky, And her stomached ached with hunger.

[F/N] stumbled towards it, Desperate as her legs shook like a new born-foals. Shizuko in hand she yearned for the sun, Wobbling towards it. Her vision growing deluded, Woozy in the head from the dire hunger in her stomach.

So close-! So close to-

[F/N] collapsed.

Her legs finally gave out, Knee's buckling under her as she fell to the ground. Her body hit the smoothed out dirt pavement with a thump! Fortunately letting go of Shizuko's hand in time, Not letting him fall with her.

"ONEE-SAN!" Shizuko yelped as he ran over to her fallen form. Lowering down onto his knees as he watched his older sister wheeze and sputter out what moisture she still held in her throat.

[F/N] picked up her head, Eyes straining towards the blue of the sky.

She needed to get up, [F/N] couldn't fail here! She had luckily fallen next to a wagon and horse duo that had luckily concealed her form from the passer-by's a few streets down, But [F/N] knew it would only be a temporary hide out.

Fingers dug into the dirt of the pavement, Muck getting under her hardened nails. [F/N] tried to get up, To get out of this situation and get Shizuko to safety. She needed to try.

Get up, Get up now! You can't fail here.. Useless- Get up-

"..Looks like you could use some help."

A man's voice called out.

[F/N] jerked her head up towards the wagon, What little spike of adrenaline helping her up. Her eyes widened, Strained and shaking as she watched the figure of an older man hobble around the side of the wagon.

He cast a shadow over her and her brother who had rushed to her side. Grey haired and weathered stature looming over them, [F/N] stared back up at him with wild eyes, Almost challenging him to do something.

"..Y-You. Who are you..?!" [F/N] interrogated, That coarse of adrenaline in her veins helping her to her knees along with Shizuko guiding her movements. She stared at the man, Arm moving in front of Shizuko as if to protect him.

The man took the cigarette out of his mouth, Staring back down at her as he tossed it on the floor and stomped it out.

"I'm a merchant 'round here. Was about to leave for the next town over with my exports before you two collapsed against my wagon, So'? You need help or what?" The man asked rather bluntly, Watching as [F/N] stumbled to her feet.

[F/N]'s eyes rushed to the wagon. Confirming his claims once her eyes laid on the clusters of jars, Crates of fresh produce and barrels filled assumedly to the brim of wines and juices of all kind.

It made her mouth water on command once more, Stomach lusting after the sweet-sour taste of the fruits inside.

The man caught quick wind of this, Instantly moving in front of his wagon.

"Ah, Ah! You ain't takin' any of my stock without a fee, Little Lady." The merchant remarked, Standing rather defensively between her and his wagon. [F/N] gritted her teeth in turn, The greed of this man making her want to punch his jaw in.

But before she could say anything, The merchant spoke up once more.

"I recognise you, Ya' know." He started, Leaning up against the Wagon. "You're that kid who killed some of the people around here, You match the description from what I've heard. Or am I wrong about that?"

"..Yeah, So what?" [F/N] huffed, Nose curling up into a snarl as she almost challenged him with her eyes. So he did recognise her, Word has spread even to the travellers passing through.

The mans lips upturned into an opportunistic grin, Standing up to his full height.

"I could get cha' outta here, Both you and that one there." He said, Pointing a fine finger towards Shizuko. "It just so happen's that I'm passing by a pretty lovely village to sell my stock, Maybe I could drop you off there."

[F/N]'s eyes narrowed in on him.

"What's the catch?" She prompted.

"The catch is 5000 yen." The man replied as he fished a hand into his yukata pocket, Reeling out a cigarette which he promptly stuck in his mouth. "I ain't wavering on the price, It's sittin' firm."

"5000 yen..?" Shizuko asked lowly, Glancing back towards [F/N] who instantly started to search through the pockets of her haori.

Her hands searched desperately, Trying to scrounge as much coins as possible from within her pockets. Fingers touching cool material, They snatched every little penny from inside and yanked them out into her palms.

Shizuko watched as [F/N] started to count the coins laying within her palms, Shifting through every last one as she tallied the number in her head.

[F/N]'s lips thinned.

She counted them again, Flipping through the coins once again with just a little more urgency than before. Come on, Please- 5000 yen. [F/N] prayed to whatever god was listening, Whatever one could help her, Prove the number wrong-

"Nee-chan.. Do we have enough..?" Shizuko asked, Tugging on her haori as he noticed her crestfallen expression.

"I.." [F/N] stuttered, At lost for words as she stared at the amount carried in her hands.

2530.

2530 was all she had.

The man seemed to take note of her expression, Watching as her face just went blank, Staring dead at what could've almost been her death sentence laying in her palms.

"Ah, Well. If you don't have enough money, Can't take you and the kid there. It'd be a long journey and you'd need to take some of my produce, The stuff I'm tryna sell here." The man explained, Shrugging as he lit his cancerette and turned away.

[F/N]'s expression grew frantic, Watching as he started to just waltz away from her and her brother. She loathed him, She hated him. A man who had more than others yet yearned for their riches anyways.

He was greedy, He was mammonish. Everything [F/N] hated in a man yet he was the only one who could get them out of here.

Looking down at the pennies in her hand, She knew that she wouldn't be able to afford their journey out of here. Their journey. [F/N] looked down towards Shizuko, Watching his eyes start to loose that glimmer.

It made something in her just.. Stop.

That frantic look in her eyes started to die, Her hunger slowly fading to nothing but white noise in the background as she looked at him with something more akin to acceptance. Shizuko, Her younger brother, The boy who she loved and cared for his entire life.

They had fought through hunger, Fought through thunder and storm and won against all odds. She had lied and swindled hundreds, Killed even more, All to make sure that her little brother would survive.

But what were the odds now?

Her head turned up towards the sky, Where the sun was held. It was almost looking down at her like the gods from the heavens above, The beautiful blue sky that reflected in her eyes, The birds soaring free through the clouds.

They wouldn't get out of here, They would not live.

Not together.

"..Then just take him, Take my brother."

The man turned around, Lit cigarette in mouth as he turned to look at the girl stood still beside his wagon.

Shizuko's eyes widened, The grip he had on her haori tightening.

"Nee-chan! What do you mean just me?!" Shizuko yelled, Tugging harshly on her haori to try and get her to look at him. "What about you..?! You're coming too, Right? Come on, Don't be like that!"

Despite his cries, [F/N] didn't look down at him. She didn't move or budge a bit, Almost despondent, Her eyes wandering somewhere far off into the distance.

"The price for both of us is 5000 yen. I have 2530, That is half of that number. So just taking my brother would be enough fee." [F/N] spoke. Soft in tone as she smiled, Finally turning down to look at Shizuko.

He stared back at her with terror unlike she had ever seen, But her eyes only held acceptance. Acceptance of her fate, Acceptance of his.

She smiled at him, And Shizuko felt himself shatter.

"Mmm… Yeah, Alright' I'll take that deal." The man broke through their silent conversation, Shrugging as he walked forward towards them with an expecting palm out. "Hand it over and the deal's done."

[F/N] outstretched the fist that clutched the last of her saving tightly, Hovering it over his hand.

"Before I give you this.. You need to promise me something." [F/N] said, Her voice darkening along with the sharpen of her eyes.

"Shoot." The man prompted.

"You must promise that Shizuko will be taken care of." [F/N] insisted, Staring him dead in the eyes. "You make sure that he'll be fed and housed somewhere, With good people. Make sure he has a damn good life."

"Nee-chan.. What are you doing..?" Shizuko muttered. The look in her eyes, The one that reflected the suns greatness. The acceptance within them, Shizuko did not understand even a little bit.

The man almost laughed at that, Humourlessly, But almost.

"Yeah, Sure, Whatever. There's a nice little rundown temple where some monk takes care've a buncha kids like you. He'll be fed real good there." The man said, Rolling his eyes before blowing out a puff of cigar smoke.

[F/N] eyed him like a rabid dog before finally letting go of the coins in her hand, Letting them fall into his hands.

She has no other choice.

He quickly snatched them up, Stuffing them in his already filled pockets before waving a hand and turning towards the front of the wagon.

"Alright then'. Then say your goodbyes quickly and get your brother in the back. I gotta head out quickly if I want to make it there by dawn." The man said as he strode off around the side of the wagon, Going off to tend to the twin horses sat idle in front of it.

[F/N] didn't remove her eyes from the back of his fine-woven yukata, Though her gaze was somewhere far-off. Despondent, She didn't move.

But Shizuko kept tugging on her arm, What little strength his age had started to plead with her.

"Nee-chan! What do you mean just me?! What about you? You're coming with me right..? You promised you would stay with me! You said that you would so don't break your promise!" Shizuko asked rather urgent, Eyes pleading with the ones that didn't meet his.

[F/N]'s lips parted, Letting out a small sigh as she finally turned her head around to meet him.

A smile still there, Plastered on her face.

But her eyes spoke differently, And Shizuko couldn't comprehend what they meant.

"..Of course." [F/N] spoke, Her thumb starting to rub circles into his hand. "But right now.. I'm going to need you to be brave, Okay? You're going to go away somewhere for a while, Somewhere I can't follow.."

[F/N] bent down onto a single knee, Barely keeping her up as she lowered down to meet Shizuko's eyes. He looked back at her, Turtling back into his shamrock yukata. He seemed at a loss for words, Barely able to stutter out a sentence.

"What.. You're not coming with me?" Shizuko mumbled, Shaking his head. "What will happen to you? Where will you go..?"

[F/N] continued to look him in the eyes, Smile still on her face yet it faltered.

It was if her lips had tightened, Pressed together to make sure the words she had wanted to say would not get out. [F/N] didn't dare speak them no matter how much she may have wanted to, No, Instead she looked up towards the sun.

The blue sky was as vibrant as it always was, The birds sailing free across the expanse of their sea. Hark, [F/N] could hear their calls, It echoed throughout the sky above, Making her long for the heavens.

But the birds raised higher and higher, The sun above seemed much more dull than it usually did. [F/N] watched as the clouds drifted away, Away from her. The sun continued on as the birds soared off into the distance.

They would continue, She would not.

"..I'll be fine, Shizuko, You know I will.. I.. We'll just be apart for a while, Okay? Once I'm settled and doing better, I'll come find you, Okay?" [F/N] tasted the sour flavour on her tongue, The same one that appeared when she talked to town merchants.

Disgusting.

Even so, Shizuko didn't seem to accept this, Heartrate spiking as he lunged into her arms.

"N-No! I don't want to leave! I wanna stay with you Nee-chan! Don't let me go, I-I don't to leave- You promised, You promised!" Shizuko cried as he wrapped his tiny arms around her mid-section and buried his head into the hollow crook of her shoulder.

[F/N], Even though her strength was dwindling quickly could very well pull him off of her. She could of very well picked him up and set him down onto the back of the wagon, But she didn't.

Instead, She wrapped her own spindly arms around him, Resting her head atop his mop of curls and sigh.

She closed her eyes, She had to do this.

"Shizuko.. How about I tell you a story?" [F/N] whispered, Pulling him closer towards her.

Shizuko blinked, Tightening his hold around her. [F/N] didn't hear a single word from him, Not whisper or wail. She sighed once more, Knowing very well that Shizuko wouldn't say anything.

So [F/N] took a deep breath in and started.

"…So, Once upon a time there was.. A boy and his lamb." [F/N] began, Digging her nose deeper into the curls of his hair. "The boy and the lamb were very close, They had basically been together since birth.. The boy was the lamb's very best friend.."

"..The lamb was the boy's best friend too, Right?" Shizuko finally mumbled, Head still firmly pressed into her neck like an anchor, Unwilling to let her go.

[F/N] smiled.

"Maybe. I suppose it depends on how you decide to look at the story.." She said, Staring up towards the sky once more.

"The boy and the lamb did everything together. They ate together, They slept together, They were never apart and both of them were very happy about that.. The boy loved the lamb, And the lamb loved the boy." She whispered.

"Until..?"

"..Until the lamb wandered too far from home one day." [F/N] said, Now unable to stop the water boiling up over the rims of her eyes. "T-The lamb was careless and cocky, It had wandered into a lions den."

Shizuko noticed the wobble in her tone, Eyes darting over to see the face he just couldn't make out from this angle. [F/N] kept his head pressed softly down on the crook of her neck, Not wanting him to worry.

"And the lamb was stupid enough to drag the one person it loved most into the den with it, The boy had followed the lamb and now they would both be eaten alive for it.. They both would die." [F/N] whispered.

[F/N] now had a hard time keeping her voice steady, Keep herself from hugging Shizuko tighter and never letting go. [F/N] didn't want this, She didn't want to die. She wanted to live but-

"..N-Now, The lamb was much faster than the boy. It could very well just run away to leave the boy to die, It could save itself but.." [F/N]'s words died out into nothing more than a whisper now, The grip on her younger brother softening to a featherlight grace.

Tears flooded over, There was no other option.

"The lamb had gotten them into that situation, T-Therefore the lamb decided that it would get eaten while the boy ran. The lamb would give itself up for the boy, Because.. T-The lamb loves the boy, The lamb would do anything for him.." [F/N] croaked, Holding him closer to her chest.

Shizuko couldn't feel the hot tears melting into the curls of his hair, He wouldn't see where they came from even if he did. But his eyes started to wobble, Specks of saline starting to dust his eyes.

He gripped onto her tighter, Tighter than he ever did before.

"What does it mean.. Nee-chan, W-What does the story mean?" Shizuko whispered.

"..I-It means that the boy needs to run now. No matter if the boy and the lamb don't want to separate, E-Even if they had promised to stick together. It means that he must go now and leave the lamb behind.." [F/N] whispered.

Her grip loosened on him ever so slightly, Almost debating whether she should stay like this forever or let him leave. But the way her stomach ached, The way she felt that she would fall apart any minute now.

It told her what she needed to do, What she must.

[F/N] let go of Shizuko, And with whatever little strength she had left in her body she snaked her thinning arms under his armpits and hauled him up towards the back of the wagon, Nestling him amongst the piles of cargo.

Shizuko didn't cry, But his eyes became an angry red. He didn't take his eyes off of her either, And [F/N] was too dehydrated to cry any longer. So she just stood, Smiled as she stumbled back away from him.

"Nee-chan.. You'll come find me, R-Right?" Shizuko pleaded as he laid in-between the goods, Settled between boxes and jars filled with everything that he'd ever need. "You won't forget about me.. You.. I'll see you again, Right?"

Shizuko, Born from the blood of his predecessors and raised through storm and slaughter. His hands were blessed by the gods, His palms were divine. He was curious, He was intuitive, Headstrong to the letter.

He was smart, He was clever.

Yet just not enough to know that here today, He would be the only one to see the glory of the moon tonight.

"Of course. I'll find you after all of this is over.. Sooner or later." [F/N] smiled, Weak and feeble as she tried to quell the way her organs started to die. The way her muscles started to fail, Her eyes grow foggy.

In her barely-working heart she knew it was a lie, And it disgusted her to her very core. But he didn't need to know that, He only needed to survive.

"Leavin' now!" The merchant called out from the head of the wagon, Sat with the reigns of the twin horses clutched tightly within his palms. He had a lazy look as he glanced back at them, Only needing the confirmation of the back of Shizuko's head and [F/N]'s distance away from his wagon to take off.

It happened in a single whip of the reigns, A squeal of the twin horses' rally and the rattle of the wagons wooden frame.

The horses raised their front hooves, The shine of their sleek chestnut coat shone under the sun as they slammed them back down onto the smoothed out pavement.

They took off, Dust in their wake as the wagon was pulled along with their trailblazing gallop. Stallions, They had to be, Otherwise how could they have dragged them apart so quickly?

The sound of clopping hooves, The neigh of the equines. [F/N] stood by, As still a broken clock as the dust of the stallions gallop drift around her emphasised ankles. She watched, Eyes still connected to Shizuko's with the saddest smile she had ever worn painted on her face.

He stared back at her, Still sat on the back of the cargo. He rocked back and forth along with the movements of the wagon, Though his eyes remained fixed to her no matter what. An unsure, Tight lipped frown on his face.

He got smaller and smaller, Almost like a speck of dust. [F/N] didn't know how long she stood there, How long until the beautiful blue sea above them became one with the horse and wagon.

And Shizuko was gone, Disappearing on the horizon.

The sun still shone bright in the sky as ever, The clouds drifted further and further away from her and the birds became nothing but a memory she could recall in her far mind. And as ever, She was starving, Soon to die.

The wind brushed through her untended hair, Dancing in the wind. It tickled at her skin, Lukewarm summer heat seeping into the skin that hung thinly on her skeletal frame. She took it in, The last she would ever feel.

[F/N] turned, Eyesight becoming two-timed and foggy. She stumbled in her walk, Mind working slower than it would ever normally but she knew what she had to do as she tried to keep her footing in stride.

[F/N] found it funny, What little strength she had was used to recall a fact. One she had read from a book she'd stolen once, It was a fun piece of trivia. One she recalled as she turned in the other direction and stumbled off.

When cats grew old, When their time came and they were going to die. That cat was said to sense it, To know when it was going to pass on to the next life.

When it did, When that cat got that impending sense of their life-string shortening it was spoken to go off and find a place to die. They do this because they know that they are weak and vulnerable to predation, They do it because it's peaceful.

But a cat doesn't want to die alone, A cat would much rather pass on surrounded by what little loved ones it had. But it's a complicated answer as to why they would prefer isolation, Aside from the benefits it might give.

There is no one answer as to why the cat chooses solidarity, Some even go the opposite route and become much more affectionate to their owner.

But if they do isolate they will often curl up to numb their pain, They go to sleep, Unconscious after days and nights of walking. Somehow still alive despite their fragile state.

Laid against the steps of a shrine, Shadow protecting them from the scorching heat of the cruel morning.'

☆♡☆

The slosh of the cold ocean waves hit the legs of the rickety wooden docks as always, Aquamarine seafoam was their residue, Running down their supports in rolls.

The shrine stood tall, Decaying support and dying candle-light still visible through the paper-thin windows. Like a god above everything else, It towered. Her prison still there to loom over her, Cast a shadow on her back.

The dark void of the infinity castle still hung overhead, The emptiness almost audible and reverberating through the entire passage. It was so null here, So completely nothing. It was lonely, It was isolating. Alone, As always.

And Akaza's hand was still gripped firmly with [F/N]'s, Fingers hesitantly interlocking in a union unfamiliar to both.

"..I have killed hundreds, Akaza. Not demons, But human beings. People who did nothing to provoke me or my ire.." [F/N] spoke, So low that it could've melted into the sloshing of the luminescent sea around them.

But Akaza heard it well, He heard it all.

The slaughtered newborns, The slaughtered men, The starvation and the sacrifice. The lion and the lamb.

His eyes were focused into a point of the docks below him, The broken glass of his golden eyes didn't look up at her, Not as their fingers were still entwined. The story that she had told him, The one where she had starved against a shrine not unlike the one they were perched before.

His stare intense against the docks, His lips thinned.

The story she had told him, To survive as the strongest of the weak. It made something in him turn, Something he did not like.

"..You had to survive. You killed because you needed to feed your brother and yourself, It is just simple survival of the fittest." He didn't have control of his tongue in that moment, He himself was not even sure why he was saying this. But he didn't make a move to stop it, Just squeeze her hand tighter.

[F/N] glanced over to him with sorrowed eyes, An angry strained red appearing in them. There was no light reflecting in them, A frown deeper than her eyebags appearing on her face.

Still sodden wet with the ocean's salty water, From her hair to her clothes she was drenched. Droplets running down her skin like rain on a tiled roof, Chilled, She was shaking. Still curled up into a fetal position as if trying to calm herself down.

Like a cornered animal she sat, Terrified and alone.

"Thats the thing.. Akaza." [F/N] sighed, Looking back over towards the colliding waves of the ocean. "I have killed innocence. I have killed fathers, Mothers, Daughters and brothers. Every inch of me is drenched in their blood.."

She spoke, Her words turning into cold vapour floating off into the air.

"I am nothing but an abandoned beast.. I have broken my promises, My word is my lie- Just.. Don't try to convince me I'm a good person, I don't want to hear that right now.." [F/N] whispered as she dropped her head down, Closing her eyes as if to wake up from some terrible dream.

But reality was a horrid reminder not many could escape. Akaza didn't say much after that, How could he? What words were right to speak? Would he even dare? Why the hell did he even care in the first place?

[F/N] shook her head, Water still dripping down her defeated form.

"..What about you?"

"..What?" Akaza responded as his eyes darted over to hers for only a moment, Confused to her prompt.

"..Why'd you save me? You know.. Apart from getting to kill Kokushibo. You seemed pretty adamant that I still had something to offer.. But.." [F/N] pursed her lips, Her brows knitting together as if picking her words carefully.

"..You broke your principle. You hurt me, A woman." [F/N] finally said, Turning her dropped head to look at him. She recalled how he had punched her mid-fall, Pushing her over just far enough so that she would land in the water.

Blood had came out, He had injured her.

Akaza's body instantly tensed up, Muscles flexing up into something that seemed defensive as a scowl appeared on his face. [F/N] could feel his grip grow tighter around her palm, Something she didn't react to.

"..I didn't hurt a woman." Akaza remarked, Spitting out his words like a snake shooting venom. "..I stopped the strongest Hashira from making the worst decision of their life, From throwing away their strength."

[F/N] almost rolled her eyes if it wasn't for that unwanted flicker of gratitude still harboured in her soul, She clicked her tongue.

"..Whatever. It's not like it matters anymore.. Inari isn't real, Kaigaku is still alive and.. There is no way I'll ever get out of here, Out of this hell, Not alive anyways.." [F/N] whispered into the voids cool air, Almost wanting to glance up at the heavens before ultimately deciding against it.

[F/N] didn't say anything more after that, Neither did Akaza have a response. Instead the noise was filled with the settling of the old shrine behind them, The battle of the waves against the docks and the infinite emptiness of the void.

She sat there, Hands still covered in slick cardinal ichor. It would never wash off, No matter how much she'd scrub and scrub in the bath until her skin peeled off. It would remain forever, Wet and undried. Disgusting and dirty.

[F/N] had ruined hundreds, If not thousands of lives.

What redemption was in letting her stay alive when she had taken the souls of the many? What reason did she have to exist, To still be standing when everything around her just fell apart at her hand. Shizuko, Mitsuri, Everyone.

[F/N] was their curse, Their burden.

Tears started to reform in her eyes.

Why was she still alive?

Akaza sighed, Mind working thousands of miles per hour. He didn't know how to feel or what to do, How to comprehend all that happened in the last few hours. Kaigaku, The Soul Hashira and her suicide attempt-

How could he possibly react?

"..There is nothing I can do anymore.. I.. I just can't go on like this. Everyday it feels harder and harder just to not breakdown and give up.. I.. I just wanna give in, What more can I do?" [F/N] whispered not to Akaza but herself, Still staring intently at her palms.

Akaza still sat staring down at the old wooden stairs, His lips still thinned into a prominent line. He was lost in thought, Words spoken by the woman beside him swirling in his mind like an oncoming storm.

What could she do? What could she possibly-

Akaza's eyes widened.

"..What? You got something to do or..?" [F/N] took notice of the sudden change in his actions. Especially once his head perked up and snapped towards her, Almost able to see the lightbulb sparking over his head.

"Shit.. No.. Actually, There is something you can do." Akaza spoke and [F/N] instantly scowled at him. Great, Another lecture. She tossed her head to the side and lowered her head.

"..Akaza, I don't want some misguided speech about how it's all worth it. Please, Just keep it to yourse-"

"No-! No, I mean like there is something you can do to actually get out of here!" Akaza butted in, Exasperated as he looked back at her with an annoyed glare. [F/N] narrowed her eyes on him, Drifting her vision over to him.

What plan could he possibly have to get her out of here?

"You said that you and Kokushibo don't have a good relationship, Yes?" Akaza asked, Urgent in the eyes and voice.

"..Yeah? What of it?" [F/N] asked, Rather suspicious as she eyed him up and down.

"Then maybe that's the way to getting you out of here." Akaza stated, Almost as if he had this thought out in the minute he had planned it. "You need to gain his trust, You need to make him lower his guard."

[F/N] gawked at this, Eyes widening.

He was suggesting of all things, Of all possible ways to get her out of here.. Was getting friendly with her captor? A demon who had certainly killed thousands, Kidnapped her and destroyed her shrine. He was suggesting she played nice with him?

"Oh, Absolutely not." [F/N] rebutted, Shaking her head adamantly as she curled tighter into that sitting fetal position. There was absolutely no way she would ever try to please that monster, The one that she deemed worse than herself.

Akaza scoffed, Starting to pinch his temple in frustration.

"Oh come on, [F/N]. I'm giving you a way to get out of here, Gain the bastards trust. It sounds like he likes you and that is a fucking miracle here." Akaza snapped as he grew closer to her. "You would be the only person he would ever relax around, So you fucking take advantage of that."

[F/N] stared at him as if he had grown two heads, As if he had spoken absolute gibberish and expected her to understand it.

She opened her mouth, Angry and ready to argue.

"No, No, No! I'm not getting friendly with that goddamn degenerate. I-I don't wanna play house with him! I don't want to pretend to be his sister or.. Oh for fucks sake he's uppermoon one, He's a bastard. He's- HE'S-"

"-He's giving you any other choice?" Akaza cut in, Making [F/N] silence herself immediatley as she was met with the determined and unwavering stare of Uppermoon three looking her dead in the eyes.

[F/N]'s mouth hung open, Ready to argue and rebut everything he said but-

Nothing came out, Not a single word.

[F/N] shut her mouth, Slowly guiding it to close. Was she really given any other choice, In this vacant hell there was nothing but her and her captor. But was she really willing to give up her morals for..

Morals. Why would morals matter now? It didn't when she swindled family men out of their well-earned goods, Wrung the necks of hundreds and broken the promises she had held so deeply to her heart.

She was already at the bottom of the barrel, She couldn't sink any lower.

"..No. I don't have any other choice." [F/N] whispered as she turned away from Akaza, Eyes no longer wanting to linger on him and look at that determined expression. Jealous of his tenacity.

Akaza smirked, Getting through to her.

"Then you start playing nice with that bastard. You make him think that you want to be near him, All the while planning your escape out of here." Akaza said, Almost commanding as he squeezed her hand.

[F/N] sighed.

The grasp on Akaza's hand started to loosen, Fingers slipping away from their knot before retracting altogether. Akaza's watched [F/N] pull herself to her feet, The step underneath creaking with her weight.

"..Yeah, Okay. Whatever." [F/N] sighed. "I'll.. Play nice."

Akaza's smirk died, His eyes narrowing in on her as he watched her walk aimlessly up the stairs, Towards the shrine.

"[F/N]..!"

She turned her head almost despondently towards Akaza, A look in her eyes that told him she was lost. That her feet carried her somewhere she did not know, That something was still very long with her.

"I still have a question.." Akaza called out to her, Putting a hand beside him to push Akaza to his feet. "The Sunlight Village, The one you said you grew up in. It's still apart of the demon slayer corps, No?"

[F/N] looked at him as if she knew what he was about to ask. It was out of curiosity, Out of genuine want to know. To him, It just didn't add up.

"..If you were apart of the demon slayer corps as a prominent member, Your father, The head of the sunlight village would've been able to recognis-"

"-I killed my father, Akaza."

[F/N] called out and her voice echoed throughout the entire void. Akaza stopped, Falling silent instantly at her quick answer. [F/N] smiled as she looked at him fully now, Humourless, Sad more than anything.

"I returned to The Sunlight Village, This time with a sword in my hand. By the time I had returned my mother had died from a miscarriage years before, So I couldn't get to her. But unfortunately for me, My father was still alive." [F/N] started.

"I severed his head with my own blade, I dragged his body to the river by the house and squeezed him until he popped every last drop of blood into the water." [F/N] stated so calmly, As if stating the sky was blue or that the grass was green.

Akaza could only stare dead as she turned back around, Not moving, Still as the wind now as they sunk in the silence.

"..If there was one person in this world that I do not regret slaughtering, Then it was him." [F/N] finished, A sort of fire in her voice so sure of itself. "That monster deserved it and so much more, I was merciful for giving him death."

And as soon as the words left her mouth she had raised her foot, Stepping forward and ambling towards the entrance of the shrine.

Akaza didn't speak up after that, His question answered and so much more as he watched the woman he thought he had figured out start to walk off. Would she be okay? Akaza knew deep down somewhere in his cold heart that she'd be fine.

For now, At least. She'd be alright for now.

But.. She didn't tell him the full story.

From where she had finished off, Any person listening from an outside view would've assumed she had starved and died. Though she was still standing, Barely, But still alive she was.

She didn't tell him how she survived, How she got mixed up with the slayers or kill one thousand of his kind. She didn't say how she became a man when she worked as a Hashira, Nor did she say why she wanted to kill demons in the first place.

Akaza didn't ask anymore questions however, Today had enough of them. He didn't have the energy nor the guts to question her any longer. Instead, He'd let it settle, Just for a little while.

She didn't want to tell him, And that was fine.

He'd let it go, Just for today.

Akaza turned around, Beginning to wander off down the rickety yet trusty docks. The still wind started to pick up and start to dry of his corpse-coloured skin, Making the small tufts of salmon hair start to wave in the air.

And just as fast as he came, He left. Disappearing in a burst of wind and the strum of the biwa woman he called out to.

☆♡☆

The sunlight flooded in through the cross-paned window, Illuminating the specks of dust drifting through the inner spring air.

The emboldening light reached the desk of the makeshift office sat in the infirmary of the butterfly mansion, Amaterasu's radiance smiling down on the petite woman idling by the bookshelf adjacent to the desk.

Shinobu shut the hard-cover book, Carefully reaching upwards to place it back with it's family of similar literature. Biology, General medicine, Botany. All of these were keywords in all the titles, Each sorted and ordered neatly on the shelf.

It was a slow day in the infirmary, Only one or two patients laying fast asleep on the beds lain out for them. This gave Shinobu some time to herself, Time she usually dedicated to practicing her craft or getting her usual one-hour in for sleep.

But she didn't feel like sleeping, And she had flicked through every book in her library a good few thousand times. Other tasks she usually did like feeding her pet goldfish, The one sat on a cosy fishbowl on her desk had already been tended to.

So Shinobu wandered over to the windowsill, Where a sudden floral aroma hit her nose like it usually did. But unlike flicking through her books it never got old, Instead making her smile something more genuine than she usually wore.

Petunias, They were her favourite flower.

In the past few months or so, Shinobu had taken a hobby to gardening. Often spending more and more time out in the mansion's lush gardens, Planting and potting flowers, Digging up produce grown in the soil.

She found something comforting about watching something so small as a seed grow into a budding flower. The petunias she grew on the long pot across her windowsill being a particular example.

Shinobu reached a delicate hand out, Cupping the base of where the stem met the petals with a polite touch. Leaning down just a little bit she closed her eyes, Taking a long breath of the sugar-like scent, Inhaling every ounce of it into her lungs.

It calmed her, If only a little bit.

TAP! TAP!

Shinobu opened her eyes.

She raised back up to her full height, Hand falling away from the flower as she spied the visitor on the other side of the windowsill. It was her crow, Kamakiri, A sleek ebony feathered bird with a decorative butterfly charm collar around it's neck.

Shinobu smiled, Reaching over and flicking open the latch to the window. She pulled it up with a mindful screech, Careful not to wake what little patients she had in the infirmary.

"Ah.. Kamikiri~! I see you're back from your scouting." Shinobu greeted. "Though I suppose that's not entirely why you're here.."

Between the beak of the crow was a pristine white envelope, One the colour of doves. Kamikiri nudged it forward and Shinobu took no time in fishing it from her birds mouth, Stretching out a single finger on her free hand for her bird to sit on.

Kamikiri happily took the perch, Flapping its wings upwards before settling down on top of her mistress' finger. Shinobu, With her free hand, Managed to unseal the letter from within the envelope with relative ease.

She held it up to the sunlight, Letting Amaterasu guide the words dotted with ink on the paper. Her glossy eyes scanned every symbol, Her lips pursed as she continued on, An intrigued expression appearing on her face.

"..A cult near Fukushima, I see.." Shinobu muttered as she continued scanning the letter, Observing the official report from the head kakushi. She continued on, Eyes reading every word with consideration.

But her breath hitched in her throat.

Kamikiri squawked, Her wings flapping once, Then twice before lowering down and taking off out the window. She soared out yet stayed close to the mansion, Circling back to go assumedly perch in the makeshift bed that was made for her here.

Eyes widening, Shinobu's shoulders raised. What resemblance of a smile on her face broke down into a monotone line, Eyes staring blankly at the keyword written plain on the piece of paper.

Shinobu's eyes darkened, The petunia's smell becoming all the more potent.

"UPPERMOON TWO"

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