#how sick would it be if he left bloody footprints and that was a sign he’s getting pissed

[lazycranberrydoodles]

contributing to the vampire hua cheng fandom o7

pose referenced off of this / follow for more fafa :)

[lostsyren]

Lol, this almost happend to me with my ex so it gave me a request idea of it happening between them: Sofia sneaks over to Rafe’s place wanting to surprise him. Rafe thinks there is an intruder/robbery hearing noise. Surprise meeting around a corner in the house and Rafe hits her (not domestic violence in that way, because obv he would never hurt HER, mistaken identity thinking it’s a dangerous situation) – Super regretful attentive Rafe who is super lovey and feels bad <3

── .✦ surprise

{summary: sofia decides she wants to pay rafe a surprise visit, but little does she know, rafe hates surprises}

{a/n: hi lovely thank you for the request and story time, I hope you like it and I hope you’re ok from the scare!}

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Being let off work early had given her this idea. Sofia knew that Rafe wanted to see her, but she had to decline, due to her night shift at the club. So when her boss had graciously let her go home, Sofia thrummed with excitement at the prospect of finally being the one to surprise Rafe.

It always irked her how he’d sneak up behind her– silent, despite his lanky frame– and loop his arms around her waist causing her to bristle in shock. Or how he’d suddenly yell out in the dark while they’d be sitting nestled on the couch with a horror movie he put on. Sofia would scream and Rafe would laugh, bundling her up in a hug as the nerve-inducing soundtrack screeched in the background.

So that’s the reason she ended up pulling into the driveway of his house, sneaking in through the side door she knew he never locked, under the cover of darkness.

She wanted to get him back.

Rafe was a home– she could tell by the car and the bike both parked up in the front. Usually in the evening he’d be in the study, probably arranging another property deal.

Sofia padded quietly across the wooden floors, her lips caught between her teeth as she tried to still her breathing. She didn’t really have a plan, just to pop up when he least expected. So she drifted noiselessly through the empty rooms, eyeing the yellow light spilling out of the study.

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He didn’t even realise how dark it had had gotten, nighttime settling undoubtedly on the skyline. Rafe let out a small groan, his eyes straining from the lurid laptop light. Shuffling out of the leather chair, he stood up and headed to the kitchen, ready to finally eat something. He wanted to go get dinner with Sofia tonight but she had work, to his dismay. He hated when she wasn’t with him– the thought of those asshole golfers and cardigan wearing yuppies chatting her up at the bar made him sick. Rafe ignored how he started off as one of those assholes. But that was different, he told himself. He was different– Sofia even said so herself.

Rafe wondered how her shift was going as he exited the study, about to pull out his phone to text her, when he noticed the side door from across the open plan space slightly ajar. The sound of its hinges rattled as it was knocked about by the breeze filtering in. He hadn’t left it open…that meant someone else had opened it. Goosebumps splayed across the sensitive skin on his nape. They could be in the house.

The gun. Shit. It was upstairs. Rafe’s eyes frantically scanned his surroundings, searching for a sign– a dark figure in the corner, a set of footprints, an askew painting. But everything looked the same, as much as it could’ve done in the shadow painted room.

That’s when he heard it. The faintest sound of footsteps above him. Someone was upstairs.

With all that he had experienced–the violence, the bloodshed– Rafe’s brain conjured up equally violent and bloody scenarios of a dire home invasion, a grisly robbery, a sinister payback. God knew he had enough people who hated him to do something like that.

So he approached the stairs with a wary stride, eyes manic and fists balled. The image of the gun laying in his drawer was in his mind. Get the gun and he’d be fine– that’s what he told himself.

So he made a dash for the bedroom. But his frantic steps slowed on hearing a small creaking sound emanate from the slit in the door. They were inside.

Rafe approached the bedroom, his heart galloping in his chest, adrenaline pumping across his veins.

All the heady rush of emotions and hormones slammed into him like a truck when he saw the door peep open, a shadow cutting across the sweep of moonlight.

Rafe just swung his arm instinctively.

His first feeling was confusion, when he heard the little squeak of a scream the ‘intruder’ let out. It only became even more confusing to him when it wasn’t a 6 ft burly guy who keeled down in pain, but a 5’4 wisp of a person.

It took a second for his brain to whirr and piece together what had just unfolded.

“Sofia?”

Rafe’s mouth hung wide open, confusion quickly bleeding into distress.

He’d just…he just hit Sofia. Rafe felt sick, a frigid chill prickling across his skin.

Sofia’s hands flew to her face, her dark curls falling softly into her eyes, so he couldn’t see her expression. She had swayed backwards slightly, catching herself on the door frame.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, are you alright?”

Rafe scampered toward her, bending down to hover his hands over her face. His fingers carded through her hair, trying to see the damage he’d done.

“Ow,” she whimpered, the sound making his heart vault into his chest

Rafe tried to gently move her hands away, to see her eyes scrunched shut, a bright red mark on the left side of her face.

“Are you ok? Sofia?” He asked, voice breaking, threatening to erupt into tears.

He felt horrible, all the things people would call him (monster, psycho, killer) had gushed forward and inundated him once again. He was reminded of the reason why he was heading to the bedroom in the first place– to get the gun. Imagine if he had shot her? The image of Sofia looking at him, betrayal etched across her features, blood blossoming from her chest, flashed across his mind making him nauseous.

“I’m fine,” she laughed softly, “just trying to get my vision back.” Sofia smiled up at him through her eyelashes with an impish grin, tone humorous.

But he still spiralled into panic, his hands cupping her face, his body bent down to level with hers.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, bringing his lips to the skin he’d hit, that burned an angry crimson. Rafe brushed a litany of kisses across her cheeks, her brows, her jaw, trying his best to kiss it better, to reverse what had just happened.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured against her smarting skin, kissing it again, “sorry,” kiss, “sorry,” kiss, “sorry”.

He only stopped when Sofia’s hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him away from her.

“It’s ok Rafe, it was a mistake. I just wanted to surprise you, sorry for scaring you ok?” She said with wide, imploring eyes, her fingers rubbing little circles into his jaw.

Rafe tried to clam himself down, using the sweet sound of her voice to soothe him. His hands rested on her shoulders, clinging to them like an anchor.

“I’m ok, you’re ok…we’re fine Rafe.” Sofia whispered, words draping over him like velvet.

He didn’t notice when his breaths began to come out as ragged lurches, his chest jerking erratically, his throat confined by barbed wire.

Sofia seemed to notice though, his rapid descent into apprehension snuffing out the humour in her eyes and replacing it with a shining concern.

He never wanted to hurt her– the image of Sarah flailing under the water, Kie’s face strangulated and ashen, his father hunched over, bleeding out to die, projected in full colour on his mind.

So he tried his best to hone in on her voice.

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She was sitting on the cold marble countertop in the kitchen, watching Rafe as he prepared an ice ice pack for her. He was wearing a sweater, the dark blue one she liked.

Sofia was still thinking about his over reaction upstairs. The way his hands shook as they cupped her face, his heavy breaths, his bombardment of kisses.

She kept trying to tell it was fine, that she knew he didn’t mean it, that she knew it was an accident.

But Rafe continued to radiate with guilt. She could feel it even now, with his back turned to her, rolling hot waves of regret emanating from his body.

He walked over, ice pack in hand, almost at equal height with her sitting on the barstool and him standing. Fingers brushing against the her hair, he curled the strands behind her ear, placing the ice on her inflamed skin.

They sat in silence, Rafe focusing on the ice pack and Sofia transfixed on his eyes.

“I won’t sneak up on you again, I promise,” Sofia teased, trying to alleviate the suffocating tension. She ghosted her fingers over the veins of his hand.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Rafe said, voice uncharacteristically serious. He was usually so playful and cocky, but his lips had no smile and his eyes were deep with a stony gravitas.

She wanted to make a joke, something along the lines of ‘well you can’t be too happy, you just hit me in the face’ but she didn’t want Rafe to start feeling bad again.

“Me too,” she smiled instead.

Setting the ice pack down on the counter, Rafe let out a heavy sigh.

“Hey baby, don’t worry ok?” She soothed, her hand resting on his shoulders, squeezing hard.

“I hurt you Sofia. That’s not nothing.” His words were rasped, as if it hurt to say out loud.

Sofia’s eyes flickered between his, her other hand inching up his arm.

“You wanna make me feel better?” She said, voice low and sultry, trying to coax Rafe out of his dread state.

He definitely picked up what she was putting down, his mouth opening slightly as his eyes drank her in.

“Sofia…” he began, tone almost chastising as he tried to step back.

But Sofia’s grip on him tightened. “Shhhh answer the question Rafe.”

“Of course I do.”

“Well then, let’s go upstairs then, shall we?” She murmured, standing up to wrap her fingers around his wrist, tugging him slightly.

She turned around to lead the way, before she felt Rafe’s hand drop from hers. Sofia was about to turn around to face him before she felt his big arms wrap around her waist, hoisting her up into his embrace.

Gasping in shock, her hands flew around his neck for support.

“Changed your mind?” Sofia teased, eyes crinkling in a smile.

“Need to show you how sorry I am,” he said voice low, bringing his lips to kiss her cheek.

“I’ve already forgiven you Rafe.” She said softly, against his jaw.

Rafe didn’t look at her, his face in the crook of her neck, almost in repentance. “I haven’t forgiven myself yet.”

Sofia didn’t know why, but that made her heart break. She traced her fingers over the planes of his face, making him look at her. Her fingertips were feathering and gentle, her touch inviting. She slowly leaned up to brush a kiss over his closed mouth.

She felt Rafe hesitate at first, his body freezing, before his lips dissolved into the kiss, a heady concession of muted passion.

As he continued to pepper kisses across her skin: her lips, her cheeks, her forehead, he moved across to where the couch was, gently laying her down.

The house was quiet and empty– the only sound that could be heard was Rafe showing Sofia just how sorry he was, the night bringing more surprises than Sofia thought it would.

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[manjiroscum]

BEFORE DARK

Character/s: serial killer!Haitani Rindou

Warnings: f!reader, mature language, explicit sexual themes, mentions of blood, mentions of violence, murder, implied breeding kink, not bonten era, alternate universe, dub-con, unprotected sex, rindou is sick and twisted, and use of pet name. Minors do not interact.

Note: sorry this took so long, uni sucks :( this is the third entry for kinktober and is dedicated to bby cat the cutie @dottores 🫂💖 ily

❖ kinktober ‘22 masterlist | ENTRY #3

Summary: Sometimes the monster under your bed is better than the one sleeping next to you.

WC: 1.4k

It was a dark and stormy afternoon. The sky had been crying since dawn, enough to cause light flooding on the streets outside that were barren of any signs of life due to the horrid weather. In fact, it was too bare for any passerby who wish to feel some sort of comfort from seeing a human being on their way home, cursing at the emptiness of it all. But this downpour came as a blessing to your troubled mind. The sound of raindrops beating endlessly on the roof calmed your raging thoughts as you lay next to the demon who revealed its horns unintentionally last night.

Any sane person would have left him and called the nearest authority to capture him. To bring down any form of judgment on those who kill their own kind. And yet, here you are, watching Rindou lightly snore beside you. His warmth shouldn’t feel so delightful and lulling, let alone be sought after on this cold day. The red you saw often on your moodiest days was nothing compared to the color of his hands that had wrung bodies dry. He shouldn't feel so soothing to be with.

A murderer is never one who respects the value of life, let alone a serial killer who was making the rounds in the neighborhood for any signs of sport to kill.

However, the warm smile that spread across your face once he reached out to you came out naturally. Those strong arms that wrap around you and cage you in—you couldn’t phantom how capable of evil they are. Rindou yawned and nuzzled his chin on your head. He was murmuring something, but you are unable to pick up the words. Your mind was spiraling once more and the guilt in your heart continued to pang as if it were a child unable to forget you stole their candy. Perhaps you shouldn’t be ignoring it as you sink further into his chest until his beating heart could be picked up by your ear. It continued to nag your mortal soul as the hours passed by, weighing in your mind even as you made dinner that evening. The image of the bloody cleaver carelessly placed inside the drawer underneath the kitchen sink haunted your vision. Rindou knew you would see it if he placed it there, so why?

What if he finds out that you knew?

“The vegetables are gonna burn, princess.”

A curse left your lips as you snapped out of your thoughts and proceed to lower the flames unless you wanted dinner to be delayed. Rindou chuckled at your ‘clumsiness’ before he pressed a kiss on the side of your forehead. He whispered his encouragement then left you to your own to go grab a can of beer from the refrigerator. His footsteps were too light and silent for a man who was all muscle. Drops of sweat that rolled down your temple felt ice cold as you listened to him. The biggest question of it all was how you could continue to love and care for such a person when he could easily hurt others. And if he could, who is to say he can’t do the same to you?

Keep it together.

Don’t say a word.

Ignorance is bliss is what they all say. Yet, sometimes the truth always comes up in the most unconventional ways at the most inconvenient time. Of course, your choice of turning a blind eye to it was going to bite you in the ass.

You just had to catch him in the act of trying to hide the body of his latest kill just as you came home from work. The gods may have cast a curse on the area because it was still raining nonstop. Your hair was damp due to running from the bus to the front door. Muddy footprints that did not belong to your heels stained the floor which you followed, ending in you standing in front of the bedroom door. Swallowing hard, you reached for the door knob. Heart roaring in your chest like horses on the race track, fearful of what may greet you on the other side.

The door creaked open before you could even twist the knob. Rindou, who smiled at you, heard you enter the house. His hair was slightly tousled and his clothes had wrinkles on them. A small rust-colored stain sat just below his shoulders. He just killed somebody. Again. Whether he read your ghastly expression or not, your boyfriend instantly pulled you in for a hug.

“Your hair’s wet,” he mumbled after he backed away to rub your head. “Forgot your umbrella again, didn’t you? You should’ve said so, I would’ve fetched you from work.” Rindou’s smile never ceased that there was something unnerving about it. He didn’t leave your side nor leave you to change out of your clothes. He merely sat on the edge of the bed, eyeing you silently. The silence was almost unbearable if it weren’t for the pitter-patter of raindrops on the roof. Yet, as soon as you were in your underwear, his arms immediately wound themselves around your waist. His mouth pressed chaste kisses on your nape. His nose inhaled the faint scent of your perfume, welcoming it like it was a drug he couldn’t get tired of. The second his fingers started to pull your panty down, you knew what he was trying to do.

A distraction.

Your light groans of protest and wish to bathe first fell on deaf ears. Rindou was quick to hush you with a kiss on the lips once he grabbed your chin and turn your face to the side. The sickly sweet taste of him and his growing bulge rubbing against your ass close to overpowering your rational thoughts. This was another song and dance he knew all too well. He rid himself of his loose pants prior to grabbing your hand.

“Want you, princess,” he whispered into your ear. His free hand directed you to squeeze his erect dick. “Can you tell that I missed you so much?”

Without wasting more time, Rindou hauled you to the bed with a wicked grin on his handsome face. Lilac strands covered his devious irises while his hands did more sinful acts that felt more like a blessing by undressing you completely. The way his mouth devour your nipples as soon as they were freed from the cups of your bra was mind-numbing. Rindou’s thick index finger teased your leaking slit, eager to push and part your warm walls. A moan slipped past your quivering lips which he drank in, echoing your sentiment when he rubbed the mushroom tip of his cock against your pussy. He was still wearing that shirt with a bloodstain as he slowly entered your pussy, eyes squeezed shut in bliss. Even as he started thrusting into you, setting a fast pace, he never got rid of it. You refused to touch it, scared that the people he killed will start to materialize and haunt you for not breaking your silence. He must have noticed this, increasing his speed so that it almost knocked the wind out of your lungs. Your grip on the sheets was close to flattering. It was as if it was set up for it to slip past your fingers so you would have no choice but to grab his shirt. Inevitably, you did.

Rindou smirked.

Your screams for your lover to fuck you harder were drowned out by the exact soundproof walls that kept his victims from being heard outside. Your mind turned hazy, tunneling solely on the urge to reach that euphoric high that Rindou give you to notice the police badge on the nightstand. Too caught up on his skillful tongue in your mouth and his cock in your pussy to care about the mattress feeling like it was made out of stone. Your sense of smell was fogged up by Rindou’s own tantalizing scent to catch a whiff of a metallic odor because blood was pooling underneath unknowingly to you.

“Cum, princess. Fuckin’ cum around this cock.”

But not to Rindou. And as he shot his hot cum straight into your womb, he couldn’t help but shiver at the thought of impregnating you as his fresh kill sat crumpled under the bed after stuffing him there hurriedly. He was far too excited to care. Deliberately, he had been waiting for you to walk in after he smashed that stupid cop in the head for snooping around. It went all according to his twisted plan when you showed up on time, terrified of what he had done, and he couldn’t be happier. You were going to become his perfect partner in crime, whether you like it or not.

🎐taglist: @cryptred @wakaslut @festive @marism @wakasa-wifey @zuuki @stffychn @keijisprettygirl @bunnyjiros @tobidabio @leavemealonebutinpink @kamisoria @b-achiras @chloee0x0 @tokyometronetwork @riszu

[expectingtofly]

Take a Load Off

2.5k

fluff, post-canon, human!cas, anxious dean, established dean/cas

(i saw this post by @emptymeg and couldn’t get it out of my head, so here’s a fic :)

also posted on ao3

“What’s in the box?” Dean asked, coming into the library to see Cas setting a large package on the map table with a huff. The table creaked under its weight. “Hey, name that movie.”

Cas cocked his head. “What movie?”

Dean groaned. “Seriously, dude, you’re hopeless. What’s in the box! Brad Pitt?” Cas shrugged and Dean sighed. “Forget it.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Cas said, fetching scissors from a drawer, “This box is for you. I bought you something.”

“Oh?” Dean came to the table, interest even more piqued. “What kind of something?”

Cas gave him a look. “Not what you’re thinking.” He cut through the tape securing the box. “I read that this can relieve stress and help you sleep better.”

“I already know something that can do that.” He added a wink for good measure.

“So,” Cas continued, ignoring him, “I thought you should try it. You haven’t been getting enough sleep lately and I’m worried about your anxiety levels.”

“Wait a moment,” Dean protested. “What do you mean, my ‘anxiety levels’?” Cas opened the box and he leaned over to look at the contents. Folded, silky dark grey fabric. “What is that, a blanket?”

“A weighted blanket,” Cas corrected, heaving it out of the box. “Twenty pounds.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” He plucked at the fabric. “This is supposed to help?"

“It’s proven by science.” He nodded at a chair by Dean. “Go, sit.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean sat down and Cas draped the blanket over him. “Fuck.” Dean lifted his arms up under the blanket, then dropped them. “This is actually heavy.”

“Do you feel relaxed?”

“I feel ridiculous.”

“You don’t look it at all,” Cas deadpanned and Dean kicked at him. Cas pulled a brochure out of the box. “Soft cotton filled with poly pellets,” he read. “Alleviate anxiety and increase serotonin.” He studied Dean, eyes squinted. “You still look tense.”

“Sorry, Cas.” Dean shoved the blanket to the floor with a thump. “Think you got duped.”

“You’re not doing it right,” Cas grumbled, picking it up off the ground. “You have to give it a chance.”

“I just gave it a chance.” Standing, he brushed Cas’ hair off his forehead, gave him his best you love me smile. “Now, do you really wanna help me relax?”

Cas studied him for a long moment, then said, “Okay.” He carefully folded the blanket. “We’re keeping this, though. I still think it’ll work.”

Dean made a face behind his back and started to follow him out of the room, but the phone Sam had recently installed in the library for a hunter hotline started ringing. He groaned and Cas hesitated in the doorway.

“Do I have to?” Dean asked him.

“I suppose so,” Cas sighed and set the blanket down on a chair. Turns out the call was from a hunter out near Boise who needed help with a case. Of course, Sam was away visiting Eileen, so he and Cas got stuck spending the next two hours going over the case information, trying to figure out what the monster was. They finally settled on vetala, a whole pack of them, and after instructing the hunter on how to kill them, Dean hung up the phone.

“Fuck,” he swore, rubbing at his eyes. “Who knows how big the pack is. Could be a whole dozen of the freaks.”

“Well, now she knows how to kill them,” Cas said. “And there’s other hunters in the area who can help.”

“Yeah...” Dean fiddled with his pen, tapping it on the open pages of his dad’s journal.

“What’s wrong?” Cas asked.

Dean realized he was frowning. “Nothing.” Flexing his shoulders, he stretched out his back, stiff from poring over books. “Just, three people are already dead. I better be right that it’s a pack of vetala.”

Reaching over, Cas rubbed his back in small circles and Dean leaned back into his hand. “We did all we could, Dean.”

Dean wasn’t so sure that was true. But, short of driving all night out to Boise, he supposed there wasn’t much else they could do. Still, he didn’t like the idea that he might’ve missed a clue, might’ve misled the hunter. He clicked his pen again and again, going over the case in his mind, worst case scenarios—

“Are you going to sleep now?” Cas asked, and Dean glanced at him.

“No.” Dropping the pen, he pushed his chair back and got to his feet. “Don’t think I can now.”

“Would you say you’re feeling stressed? Anxious, perhaps?” Cas deliberately looked to his right and Dean followed his gaze to the weighted blanket folded on a chair.

“Dude, don’t even start.”

“You should use it,” Cas urged. “There’s no shame in feeling anxious, I often feel the same way too.”

“I’ve dealt with worse before, this is nothing new. Just comes with the job.”

Cas sighed. “You put too much on your shoulders.”

Dean shrugged. “Like I said, comes with the job.” If he wasn’t always on edge, he figured he was doing things wrong. Get too comfortable and bad things happened. Just the way it was.

“Still, you can admit you need a break.”

“Jeez, Cas, I’m wounded.” Dean pressed a hand to his chest. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”

Cas rolled his eyes and stood. “Don’t stay up too late.” He seemed to hesitate, fighting against saying more, and Dean said,

“I’m fine, Cas, really.”

“Okay.” Cas didn’t look too convinced, but he kissed Dean goodnight and headed off to their bedroom.

Dean cleaned up the mess of books and papers on the table, turned off the lamps just to do something with his hands. Normally, this is when he’d grab a drink, try to calm his head, but he’d been trying to cut back lately—blame Cas’ concern for his liver—so instead he decided to head to the Dean Cave. Maybe a few episodes of Dr. Sexy would distract himself enough to sleep.

Leaving the room, his eyes fell on the weighted blanket again. Cas and his ridiculous ideas. If Dean hadn’t been sleeping too well lately, that was just the result of living their kind of life. Nothing to do about it. Ignore the stress or end up drowning in it, that was his motto.

(And a horrible coping method, according to Sam and Cas)

Either way, lying under twenty pounds of “cotton and poly pellets” wasn’t going to help. Though the blanket had been really soft, he’d give it that.

He forgot all about it the following day, though, when Sam found a case a few towns over, and Dean and Cas drove over to meet him there. Disturbed gravesites, people disappearing near the cemetery at night. A ghoul, by all signs. A day of morgue visits and interviewing witnesses, then another two days of sitting parked in the cemetery, waiting for the ghoul to emerge again and feed. Dean was almost happy to see the thing when it crawled out of its grave. Almost.

Killing the damn thing hadn’t been too easy. But after inadvertently destroying a few gravestones, nearly falling into an open grave, and narrowly avoiding losing a few limbs, they finally bashed the ghoul’s brains in thoroughly, and split up from the cemetery. Dean went to speak to the latest victim’s mother while Cas and Sam got rid of the remains.

Returning to the bunker first, Dean showered, blood and ghoul remains washing away down the drain. But even the warm water couldn’t ease the jitteriness sitting high in his chest. The ghoul had been strong, fast, and Dean’s heart had leapt into his throat when it got a hold of Sam. Even Cas had struggled to stop the thing, gunshots only serving to anger the son of a bitch more.

Getting out of the shower, he scrubbed himself dry with his towel, inspected a cut along his arm. Not deep enough for stitches. If Sam had avoided a concussion, they were lucky. The ghoul was dead, at least. Left a dozen ruined graves and a few torn apart teenagers in its wake, but dead.

As he changed into clean clothes, he heard the bunker door open. “All good?” he asked, entering the war room to find Sam and Cas setting down their bags.

“If you mean will the trunk always reek like ghoul, then yes,” Sam said. He grimaced as he took off his boots, muddy footprints already leaving a trail down the bunker stairs. Then he glanced at his phone and smiled, said, “Eileen’s calling.”

“Whipped,” Dean mouthed at him as Sam answered his phone, smiling at the screen and walking off down the hallway. “Well,” he told Cas, ”you look like shit.”

Cas gave him his best, I can smite you even without my grace look. “Charming.” He headed off down the hallway towards their bedroom and Dean followed. “How did Mrs. Landis take the news?”

Dean sucked in a breath. “Uh, 'bout how you'd expect, I guess. Told her a bear had gotten to her son, but it was all taken care of now. Not much else to say.”

The mother had sobbed and thanked him. He’d done a piss poor job of comforting her and left with an all-too-familiar sick feeling in his stomach; they hadn’t done enough, they could never save everyone.

“And you?” Cas asked, pulling him from his thoughts. He glanced at Dean as he pushed open the door to their bedroom. “Are you alright?”

Dean started to nod, say fine, but he knew Cas would see straight through the lie. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he shrugged, dropping his hands into his lap. “Just shook up. Coulda been a bad one.”

Cas nodded as he pulled off his trenchcoat, the edges bloody and muddy. “We’re all safe. You don’t have to torture yourself thinking about what could’ve happened.”

Dean shut his eyes, took a deep breath. “I know.” Easier said than done.

He heard Cas’s footsteps, then felt Cas’ fingers on his cheek and tilted his head into his palm. Breathed in and out. Cas smelled like blood and guts and sweat, not a particularly pleasant combination, but his hand was warm and his other hand was carding through his hair and, shit, that felt nice.

“Go to sleep,” Cas said quietly. “You need rest.”

Dean nodded and Cas kissed the top of his head. He left to take a shower and Dean scrubbed his hands over his face.

Fuck, this hunt had been a close one. Closer than they’d had in a long time.

Dropping his hands, his eyes settled on the weighted blanket that Cas had left folded on the chair at the desk, a silent plea for him to use it. He rolled his eyes. Anxious, his ass.

He started to pull the covers back on the bed, but the thought of lying down with the hunt running on repeat through his head was less than appealing. Cas’ trenchcoat hung bloody on the wall, and Dean clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking, adrenaline and nerves still rushing through him.

Alright, maybe a little anxious.

With a glance at the door to convince himself Cas would be in the shower for a little while longer, he grabbed the blanket, brought it to their bed.

Getting under the covers, he draped the blanket over himself and lay down, shifting to get comfortable. Once settled, he stared up at the ceiling and waited for the miracle blanket to work its wonders. How much money had Cas spent on this shit? He really had to hide the credit cards.

He shifted again, the mattress creaking, and dropped back with a huff. Not that he didn’t appreciate Cas trying to help, but a twenty-pound blanket wasn’t what he needed. What he needed was a full night of sleep and a blow job and an all-expenses-paid trip to Cancún. His nose was itchy, his knee was bruised, his back was fucked up from getting thrown against a gravestone, Sam had already found another case in Albuquerque, and, fuck, he was just so damn tired.

Shutting his eyes, he forced himself to breathe through the sensation of his chest tightening. He could feel the blanket rise and fall with every deliberate breath, and he counted like Sam had taught him years ago when he’d woken with a panic attack—breathe in for seven seconds, hold for four, let out for eight.

Don’t think about what could’ve happened. We’re all safe. Cas is safe, Sam is safe. I’m safe.

His heartbeat slowly settled. The blanket’s weight was strangely comforting, warm, trapping him under the covers. Forced to stay still, he felt his limbs slowly relax into the mattress, the tenseness in his shoulders dissipating, his back easing and hands curling loosely along the sheets.

Okay. Shit. Maybe there was something to this weighted blanket thing. His mind grew hazier as his thoughts began to wander, and he found himself drifting off to sleep when the bedroom door creaked open and startled his eyes open.

“You’re using it,” Cas whispered excitedly, standing in the doorway. “Are you relaxed?”

“Fuck off,” Dean told him. He would’ve flipped him off, but that would require lifting his hand out from under the blanket and he was too—dammit, Cas was right—relaxed to move.

“I knew it would be perfect,” Cas said, sounding too triumphant. Shutting the door softly, he got into bed next to him—well, tried to. He shoved at the blanket encroaching on his side of the bed. “Dean, move over.”

“Nope.” Dean shut his eyes again. “Reap what you have sown.”

Grumbling, Cas turned off the light and got under the covers with more rustling and movement than necessary. Finally, he settled down. The bunker hummed, the heating running, the pipes in the walls creaking as a shower turned on down the hallway. The blanket heavy on top of him, Dean began to fall asleep again.

“Are you really gonna keep that on all night?” Cas asked, disturbing the quiet.

“Yup.”

Cas huffed and Dean could only keep up the ruse for a few more seconds before lifting the edge of the blanket. “Come on, get under.”

Sliding over, Cas got underneath, and they laid side by side, pressed against each other. Their fingers brushed, and Dean crooked a finger around Cas’ thumb.

“This is nice,” Cas commented, voice quiet. “I’m glad it’s helping.”

“Mhm.” He was starting to think he should’ve bought one of these things a long time ago. He hadn’t realized how strung out he was before until now, all the tension in his body slipping away.

Cas shifted onto his side and Dean blinked open his eyes to look at him. “I guess I was right all along, wasn’t I?”

“Don’t push it.” He caught Cas’ smile in the dark and elbowed him on principle before shifting over to kiss him. Then he tugged at Cas’ arm and turned onto his side, prompting Cas to press close against his back and wrap an arm around him.

He smiled, eyes falling shut at the warm press of the blanket and Cas’ body around his. Now he was relaxed.

tag list:

@becky-srs @xojo @marvelnaturalock @aelysianmuse @prayedtoyou @letsjustdieeveryone @good-things-do-happen-dean @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @theninthdutchessofhell @madronasky @famouspsychicpizzabandit @multifandomdisorder @arcticfox007  @improvedpeanut @castiel-is-a-cat @harmonyhelms @thetrueliesofafangirl @dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you @theangelwiththewormstache @confusedisaster @welcome-to-crowleys-hellhole @celestialcastiel

let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the tag list :)

[yviesfictionforaging]

•The Naughty List•

Warnings: Slightly spicy content, mention of punishment, and a bit of violence/bondage.

Disclaimer: I apologize for any mistakes, English is not my first language, and the translator sometimes screws up.

Publisher Note: I’d like to preface this by saying I am not the author of this work and am merely functioning as a kind of publisher, all credit goes to @ maraudermap000 I’m grateful to them for having trusted me to publish they’re work

~~~

(Summary; You have repeatedly escaped from the officer, however, after you have escaped one last time, the officer makes it clear to you that it will certainly be the last. Now, you have entered the list of the most naughty.)

Time was running out. And with it patience was diminishing, drop by drop.

The woman on the threshold still stood on the disgusting list... A cold and empty space had received his tired eyes, which with rage and revulsion looked at the abandoned hole.

Fury permeated his features… Every muscle in his body tensed, in a miserable attempt to control his rising temper.

His hand, calloused and worn, kept a sick grip on the bar. The iron was painted with her crimson blood.

He came out.His gaze pierced one by one on the bloody tiles.The subtle footprints that would now have to be washed away, those that marked the creature's escape...

Where is she?

She had escaped...

The officer left the frivolous corridors of the station, away from that room where the creature used to take shelter.

His footsteps, slow and strong. They were nailed in a hidden fury against the asphalt, being reserved, being judged.

The officer stopped. A poster, with caramel shades. Even with her deteriorated appearance, she showed the blurred image of a woman...

With soft features, serene features.

“Wanted, since the beginning of May...”Six years had passed since that broadcast. The case had been closed, the girl had been filed as missing.

Oh... Poor girl...

~~~

- "This is unacceptable!... How is it possible that they are not able to conclude with this simple case?!"

The smaller man, lying on the opposite side of the room, finally dared to speak.

"L-let me explain, sir... The lady hasn't been seen for quite some time, traces of her clothes have been found inside an apartment on the edge of the city... However, just that. No one has seen anything, no one has proof...There are no footprints, no traces of mutilation... No blood, or any type of sign that gives us enough information to decide how, or what happened to her... There is nothing...”

The biggest sigh, not bothering to hide her disappointment. “And what about you, officer?...What did your records conclude?” “Were you there, or am I wrong?”. A uniformed man, watching the conversation warily, was sitting on the opposite edge of the table. When asked the question, he kept exactly 30 seconds of silence. He looked at the old man, with a half smile, while his eyes remained on the other's. "Official?... The man's mouth moved by a thousandth. No noticeable movement.His gloomy features looked at the old man with severe emphasis.A silent warning, or perhaps the hint of a subtle and spiteful perversion. The officer smiled brightly, his eyes never leaving the older man. "That's my estimate. I was at the scene of the crime, however, as my partner says...” The officer leaned closer to the table "I'm afraid there was no sign of help. Quite boring, to tell the truth…isn't it, John?” The man, in the negative, copied the body language of the opponent. His eyebrows shot up, and his tone dripped with accusation, intrigue, and contempt...

“My men informed me that they saw you inside the apartment, at the same time that the girl disappeared” The officer's smile never wavered, and knowing what was coming, he seemed to grow even more. Now breaking his face into an expression of expectation and feigned disdain. "What do you have to say to that, officer?"

The man nodded. He slowly rose from his place, reinstated to his full height. The smile on his face tightened as he towered over his opponent. "Let's get to the point, sergeant..." A ferocity in his voice rose. The old man took a step back. “I hate interrogatives...” “Especially when the one doing them is not me.” Little by little, the man was getting closer, until at one point, the old man ended up cornered. The other officer, a young man, who had been lying next to him a few seconds before, had already left the room. The old man slid his hand away from him, trying to find the handle of his pistol. However, a knife edge pressed against his throat. The whisper behind his ear melted like a heartbeat into his visors. And before he could speak, the flesh pierced. A few seconds before passing out in the torrent of flowing blood, the little life that the old man had left allowed the last words of the officer to be marked within his consciousness...

"It's a shame... I'm sure Y/N would have loved this wonderful view... It's a shame he's not here" And everything vanished.

 ~~~

 The time had passed.He still couldn't find her...Three hours had passed since the escape. Ever since he saw her out of his arms... He now he lay inside that alley, like a classic novel. Like the stories that they promoted so much on television... The cat and the mouse. The young woman was trying her patience, and she didn't like that. "How dare you escape." His smile was gone. The enjoyment was now in vain... Could you possibly escape? He hated to wait... And he in turn was willing to wait for you. However, not now. Y / N, she lay hidden inside the icy passageways of that alley. Worldly, as if her petty little attempts to hide would work... The officer knew that he was not a man of magic, nor did he have supernatural abilities.  And despite this, he always found her. He delved into the depths of the darkness, looking for the slightest movement that would give the woman away. But he found nothing... “Get out of there, mouse... And maybe your punishment will be reduced...”

He got no response.The alley was silent.

 No more than the drip of her footsteps against the stone... She could hear it...

"Do not test my patience, child..."

The officer spat. He was almost at the end of the alley, there was no more secluded.

Behind a dumpster, Y/N hid. She could feel the officer's presence just a few feet from her position.  He was about to find her...

Her emotions mixed, as she desperately tried to shrink down as much as she could, in an attempt to hide in the darkness of the container. The officer was approaching her, stalking her. Inside of her, Y/N thought that maybe the officer knew exactly where she was... she knew her attitude, her delight in dragging out the sweet moments in each chase. Always so elaborate, always so strict... He never thought that she would be in that place... Instead of hunting, she was now married...

And that terrified him. Inside the apartment, Y/N stood on the window frame. Her body pressed against the wood. A steady breath hissed over her neck. She fought against his grip on her wrists, which were pressed tightly against her back.  However, it was useless. The shadow pressing down on him had been severe. He commanded her and she did not obey. “Get away... Please leave me alone... Let me be free!"

She could feel the smile against her skin.

Her shadow enjoyed her pain...

 She struggled, she broke free again and again, and still... Over time, the bonds returned, and at the same time, they seemed to grow stronger.

 She never gave up,Never, until she found the hidden pleasure within her escapes...

She denied it. She swore...

The officer always found him... Then she remembered, in the solitude of her prison... How she had initiated that torture...

 ~~~

 “It had been a long and tiring day… he had tried to escape, but the police finally caught him…After the attempted robbery of her, she was brought to the gates of the police station.  Where a professional would deal with her... She had looted a store, she had been found shortly after... she still didn't understand why... She was slammed against the rug, pushed into the room. She was seated on a chair, tied by two tight ropes around her wrists...It was the first time she fought. Until the light disappeared, and he made an appearance. The long, uniformed man.  Tall, elegant... With a charming, honeyed and daring smile. He strutted in his direction, with utmost confidence.

He stopped in front of her, for longer than necessary her gaze traveled over him... The brown orbs shone with pleasure, a happiness that he hadn't felt in a long time. They took her by her arms, and threw her towards the prison...

Days of torture, thousands of attempts to escape...

The officer always came back to monitor her.  Always, during the afternoons... He was never late.

And without further ado, he simply withdrew from her, barely touching her and giving her nothing but lascivious glances. He just watched.  Hungry.

Amusement always dominated her features. Y/N She wondered if she felt amusement at her state....She never knew...Until that day...When man's patience ran out.

 ~~~

A loud sound brought Y/N back to reality.

 A pair of arms wrapped around her waist, as they pressed her against the wall...

 She gasped, driven by the moment, as the officer's features flashed before her. She expected to receive a smile, a mocking comment... Instead, he didn't. Her face showed a growing, mature irritation.

An anger he had never glimpsed on her features. The officer , he was enraged.

Enraged at the lack of him, at having been betrayed in such a way. He didn't say a single word. He took the young woman in her arms, and roughly dragged her back to the station.

 ~~~

 Upon arrival, he violently threw Y/N's body into the gloomy hole of the prison, where the bars were closed. His body fell to the ground, bruised and desperate to escape. The shadow approached her, and knelt in front of her place. Without touching him. "Look at me" He demanded, firm. Y/N looked up from her and immediately met the elder's dark orbs.

His hand settled under her chin, ignoring her painful hiss. He shook his head, very slowly. “You have disappointed me, boy...” “I expected more from you...” That surprised her.  And involuntarily a nasty pang showed in her stomach. The officer's hand was withdrawn, now, he was pressed firmly and cruelly against his chest, crushing her against the dirty prison floor.

Y/N squirmed, trying to break free. Once again, it was in vain... The officer walked towards her, her eyes scanning her reaction with contempt. Then, unexpectedly, the officer's hand dropped to her belt. Her leather was unhooked from her waist smoothly, and it was then, that her smile reappeared...Gloomy and mischievous... “You're on the naughty list, brat...” “You've been nothing but a headache these last few days, you've been behaving like a little kid... Making me angry...” “You deserve to be punished ...”

"And this time... You won't be able to escape from me..."

[txtdreamss]

mirrorball // [g.w.]

sequel to tolerate it

warnings: angst, fem!reader

summary: It’s been 2 weeks since George told you he has a date to the yule ball. As of now, it’s the night before and you are reflecting on your feelings for him and wondering if you can continue as his best friend.

word count: 1.5k

A/N: So, here it is! I am hoping to get this posted as soon as possible for those of you who wanted to see a part 2 to tolerate it. I had a really difficult time deciding on how I wanted to end this, and I really hope it pleases you guys (not sure I’m happy with the ending, but that is to be expected). Sorry in advance for any errors, as this is a one-woman show and I sometimes miss my own mistakes. :) Special thanks to @ajusquishy for being the first to ask about this addition to tolerate it!

*****

I want you to know I'm a mirrorball I'll show you every version of yourself tonight

The past 2 weeks had been the most difficult time of your life. George had been following Alicia around like a lost puppy, and even Fred was getting sick of it. Oddly enough, it seemed like George couldn’t get through one interaction with you without mentioning the girl’s name.

“Oh Y/N, we decided to match my tie to her dress!”

“Did you know she said I am the cutest quidditch player she has ever met?”

“I’m thinking about asking mum to knit her a sweater this Christmas!”

At first you could handle it. As his best friend of nearly 6 years, it was your job to handle it. Why didn’t that make any of this easier?

There wasn’t a change in George that you had neglected to notice. Hell, your heart dropped when he showed up with a new bruise after quidditch practice. You were the one who had told him to grow his hair out (and damn, was that a good piece of advice). George had even been with you when he chose his first pair of dress robes for merlin’s sake!

Molly Weasley saw you as her stand-in while the boys and Ginny were at Hogwarts. Of course, she didn’t know that George and Fred had grown in their pranking abilities thanks to your sugar-sweet exterior, but that didn’t change the role you played in the Weasley children’s life. You were the responsible friend who also just happened to lead a double life when it came to the twins.  It was thanks to you that they had received only 3 detentions this quarter, and it was their fault that you now had an affinity for “accidentally” leaving dung bombs in the outer pockets of Cormac McLaggen’s bag.

“Hey, Y/N... I haven’t seen you around much. You aren’t avoiding me, are ya?” George’s baritone voice broke you out of your thoughts. He settled his arms on the top of your head, and sighed deeply, letting his head drop. “Fred and I need your help figuring out what the best escape route from the dungeons is.”

“Go ask Lee, he can do some math too.” Yes, you were being harsh, but George’s presence was enough to shatter any semblance of self control you still had left.  “Now, if you excuse me, I have a study date with some ancient runes and Hermione.”

As you stalked out of the common room, George couldn’t bear to bring up how he hadn’t been able to come up with any solid pranks in exactly 14 days.

*****

You'll find me on my tallest tiptoes Spinning in my highest heels, love Shining just for you

Tonight was the night; your hair was curled to perfection, and the gown your mother had sent you was the color of holly. The heels you had strapped on were a matte black dusted with the occasional piece of red glitter. Despite the fact that George was not your date, you couldn’t help my let your thoughts drift to him as you got ready. Would he think you looked pretty? Would he think you looked as good as her?

Lee tapped you on the shoulder, and you steadied yourself before letting him gently grab your hand. “Don’t let that prat get you down. You look like a goddess, Y/N. Now, let’s go show Georgie what he is missing.” 

Lee was a great friend for doing this for you; he knew about your feelings (Fred apparently can’t keep his mouth shut), and immediately became set on helping you get back on your feet. He had become your greatest cheerleader as of late, and claimed that George doesn’t know it, but he definitely has feelings for you.

As you both walked into the great hall, you couldn’t help but let out a gasp. There were snowflakes and all types of seasonal decor strung up across the room, and it was almost like the room had transformed into a winter dreamscape. Fred and George had beat you there, already sipping punch with Angelina and Alicia.

“You boys clean up nice.” The twins and Lee let out a chorus of ‘hey’s, clearly displeased with your mockery of their appearances.

“Oi, I was betting 5 galleons that Fred would show up in his trainers...” George’s voice was surprisingly meek, almost as if he was looking for your approval with his jabs towards his brother.

The boys immediately began discussing their plan to spike the punch bowl with firewhiskey, and Angelina and Alicia launched into a conversation about where they had purchased their gowns. You felt more than out of place at this point, and decided to relocate after notifying Lee that you’d be fine on your own for a bit. Almost immediately after, Angelina went to distract McGonagall while Fred and Lee snuck under the table of refreshments.

You went to talk with Hermione and the younger trio, and were drawn into a lesson in muggle dancing.

“No, Ron, that is not how you hit the woah.” (I’m sorry I felt so inclined to include this cuz the image makes me chuckle lol).

“Well, ‘Mione, why don’t you and Y/N show us how this is done then?” Harry and Ron crossed their arms, and Hermione slipped her arm around your shoulders.

“C’mon, Y/N. You look like you could use something fun.” She dragged you onto the dance floor, and you both began dramatically spinning each other to the sound of your wheezing laughter.

If only you had noticed a certain red-headed prankster gazing at you like you had hung the stars in the sky...

*****

You are not like the regulars The masquerade revelers Drunk as they watch my shattered edges glisten

Fred and Angelina had taken to the floor as soon as the waltzing began. After watching them twirl to the crescendos of the music, you finally decided enough was enough. All it too was a look at Lee, and he understood what you needed to do. You slipped out of the doors to the great hall, and found yourself wandering amongst the carriages powdered with snow, occasionally stopping to draw shapes into the piles of flakes.

Following five-ish minutes of mucking about, you finally decided to sit on the steps that bridged the courtyard and the hallways. Snowflakes continued floating, but you quickly realized the droplets of water on your face were from small tears and not the weather. Sniffles escaped your nose, and you crossed your arms in a poor attempt to keep warm despite your lack of sleeves.

Out of nowhere, you felt heavy cloth drop onto your bare shoulders.

“Be careful, love. Ya look like you’re halfway to becoming an ice lolly.” George shuffled his long, lanky body onto the steps. You looked at him through your lashes, and he seemed almost squeamish.

“Don’t you have Alicia waiting for you inside? I’m sure she wouldn’t be thrilled to see you out here.”

“Bloody hell, Y/N, I think we have been pretty dense.” Confusion evident on your features, George let his larger hand cover yours. “I didn’t want to ask Alicia. I wanted to ask you.”

“What do you mean? You’ve been talking my ear off about how much you like her for weeks now...”

“I was trying to make you jealous.” Silence overtook the interaction.

“So you’re saying that we both have been blind to our feelings?” 

George let out a small chuckle, and pulled his hand away. To be quite honest, you felt like maybe you had been ignoring the signs: the subtle stares, the extended physical contact, the willingness to be there whenever and wherever you asked him to.

“I think we may want to start over and forget the last few weeks.”

“I think I would quite like that.” You stood up, and brushed the snow off your skirt before extending your hand towards George. “Well, George, the yule ball is in... now... would you like to be my date?”

“I would enjoy that a bunch, Y/N.” He took your hand, and pulled you into his chest. “May have a dance to start off the evening?”

“...There isn’t any music.” You chuckled, but George simply grinned at you before beginning to hum.

“Problem solved. So, may I have this dance?”

“You may.” You dropped your head into the nook of his shoulder, and George began to sway and spin you, leaving 2 pairs of footprints in the snow beneath your feet.

From just beyond your view, Fred, Lee, Angelina, and Alicia let out somewhat of a “oomph” and high-fived each other before turning to go back inside.

Shining just for you.

[smage17]

The Simplest Thing in the World

Title: The Simplest Thing in the World Pairing: Dio Brando x Jonathan Joestar Rating: G Tags: Modern AU, Reincarnation AU, Established Relationship, Sickfic, Fluff Summary: When Jonathan comes down with a fever, Dio takes up the task of caring for him. The only problem is he isn’t exactly sure how. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rain had been drizzling down since morning, turning the day a murky grey. Even with the furnace turned up, that autumn rain left a chill throughout the house. Horrendous weather. Not the kind that Dio would have stepped foot in, let alone stayed out all day digging around in — which is why Jojo should have listened to his advice and not gone out on his scheduled dig off in the countryside. Instead, he had carried on about the logistics of postponing the survey, how desperately excited he was to uncover whatever knick-knack he was hunting for this time, until Dio had given him a cold shoulder to rival the weather outside. Not to be swayed when he’d set his mind to something, Dio could do nothing but begrudgingly accept Jojo’s kiss on the cheek as he walked out the door. And so, while he should have been relaxing on his day off, Dio had sat restlessly by the fireplace all day, distractedly thumbing through novels and case files. He tried not to think about the weather or the memories it brought up, and especially not about how much he wished Jojo were next to him right now. It’s not as if the two were bound to each other, after all — except by the threads of fate, perhaps. Dio didn’t feel the need any more to keep Jonathan under his constant surveillance. After they’d settled the initial problems between them, the loose threads and things left unsaid from their past life together, they managed to have a comparatively less fraught relationship. It was easier to be honest, with the gift of hindsight. To do things right this time. They’d even gotten married three years past. Dio didn’t need Jojo by his side, he reminded himself. It was only that he didn’t like his correct advice being ignored.

And so he certainly didn’t perk up in excitement when he heard the lock turn on the front door. That not-excitement quickly faded when the door swung open and he saw the figure standing there. Jojo was soaked through from his hat down to his boots, hardly recognizable from how sodden he was. “Bloody hell Jojo, what happened to you?” Dio said, setting his book down and making his way over. He stayed decidedly back from the splash zone as Jonathan unburdened himself, setting his gear bag down and hanging his coat to drip over the mud tray next to the door. Jonathan let out a groan. “Umbrella broke halfway from the station. I hadn’t expected it could rain this hard!” He gave a laugh, but there was no mirth in it. “Didn’t I warn you of the forecast just this morning?” Dio huffed, although he was already on his way to the kitchen for a towel. He rejoined Jojo shortly, continuing to reprimand him even while drying his hair. “I told you to forego the dig, and now look at what a sorry state you’re in. If you had listened to me, Dio, instead of traipsing off like a fool, this never would have occurred.” Dio paused, waiting for some sort of retort or excuse from Jojo, but the man just stood there letting himself be ruffled and dabbed at with the towel. Through the folds of fabric Dio could see Jonathan’s face, an abject picture of misery. It was like a puppy who’d been thrown into the streets and kicked a few times for good measure. Dio didn’t have any sympathy for such mutts, but Jojo was his. He couldn’t allow a look like that to tarnish his husband’s features. He slowed his ministrations with a sigh, leaning in to press their foreheads together. “Gods Jojo, you’re like ice. Go get changed and have a seat by the fire before you catch your death. I’ll make you some cocoa, hm?” “Really?” The eyes peeking out from beneath the towel and damp tendrils of hair had already begun to regain some of their sparkle, and his lips were curled up in a barely restrained smile. Decidedly undoglike already. Yes, this was the way Dio preferred Jojo to look. With a nod, he gave the towel one last ruffle and headed back to the kitchen. He tried not to think about how much Jojo would drip on the floor on his way to their bedroom.

When he came back to the living room, Jojo had put on his warmest flannel pajamas and was bundled by the fire in the tartan blanket Dio had been wrapped in just moments ago. His eyes were half-closed, and he seemed about ready to doze off in the comfortable warmth. It brought a smile to Dio’s own face as he settled down on the couch next to him. “Here you are.” He said, handing the mug over. He was certain the rich cocoa — complete with the tiny marshmallows Jojo loved — would have him forgetting about his miserable walk from the station in no time. Then Dio could go back to saying “I told you so”. Jonathan sipped at the cocoa, mug gripped in two hands for the warmth. Dio leaned into him. “There, does that make you feel better?” he asked, knowing it would. Jonathan gave no reply, only slurping the beverage quietly. Dio furrowed his brow. The least he could do was say a word of thanks! But when he glanced up at Jojo’s face, his eyes widened. Jonathan’s eyes had fallen closed, and he leaned slightly to the side as if he had drifted to sleep, but something about it wasn’t quite right. Dio pressed the back of his hand against his husband’s forehead, finding it burned in a way that could not be explained by his proximity to the fire. “Jojo?” He inquired, which was met only with the fluttering of eyelashes. “Alright then,” Dio said, taking back the mug — which at least got a whine in response. “Diooo….” Jonathan mumbled quietly. “Shh, now’s not the time to worry over your chocolate. I believe you’ve caught a fever.” The man only listed more to the side, clearly not having as much concern for his own health as Dio did. Then this would be up to him alone, after all. Jonathan was lucky to have such a caring lover as he! Carefully, he slung Jojo’s arms over his shoulders and eased him from the couch. Any other would have had a difficult time lifting the man, but Dio had no such problem supporting the barely-conscious Joestar as they crossed to the bedroom. He didn’t even complain when he felt the disgusting sensation of stepping upon one of Jojo’s wet footprints in his stockinged feet. But oh, there would be a time for that. Once he had Jonathan properly tucked into bed, he didn’t waste a moment to gaze upon the pitiful image before heading to the kitchen for a damp cloth, retrieving the cocoa on his way back to the bedroom. “Come on, Jojo.” Patting his cheek briskly, which succeeded in getting him to open his eyes, bleary though they were. “Good boy.” He placed a kiss on Jonathan’s feverish head before applying the cool, wet cloth. “Don’t fret, your cocoa is right here on the side table. You are ill. Stay here and don’t move, I’m running out to the chemist for some medicine.” Jojo only made a light mumbling noise, reaching his hand to cover Dio’s as it lay upon the cloth. But there was no time for sentimentality. “I won’t be long. Don’t you dare get out of this bed.” Dio gave his hand a quick squeeze. He only paused to turn on the soft bedside lamp before heading out into the dreadful weather with his own, functional, umbrella.

Though the umbrella had kept him dry, the weather had him feeling quite cross by the time he returned. To think this was all happening because Jojo had defied him this morning! Mad though he was, he wasn’t about to let the man die for his mistakes, so he took out his anger by slamming the kitchen cupboards in his wake as he gathered what he needed. He set out the bottle of medicine on a tray, filling a glass with water as well as a bowl to refresh the cloth on Jonathan’s head. By the time he was finished that, the anger had ebbed and his energy had refocused onto the task at hand. Thankfully, the man was still in bed, and stirred just a little when Dio entered. When Dio set the tray down on the side table, he was relieved to see the cocoa had been finished — always a good sign. If Jojo had been sick enough to refuse chocolate, now that would have been a great cause for concern. Dio pulled out the stopper on the medicine bottle. Before he let the dose drop into the glass of water, he paused, a jagged chill of caution shooting up his spine. He found himself glancing at Jonathan — who was not paying attention — out of some centuries-old reflex. Slowly, he took a breath and came back into himself — his current self. It mattered not if Jonathan saw him adding the drops, for this was only medicine, and prescribed to the man after all. Understandable that his reflexes would kick in, for he believed this was the first time in two lifetimes that he, Dio, was administering a drug with the intent to heal. The realization didn’t sit well with him, and neither did the dawning fact that he had never nursed another before. For only a moment, a sickening feeling of helplessness rolled in. Never had he been so out of his depth. But he’d be damned if he let Jojo be privy to that fact! How hard could it be for one such as himself to care for a single ill buffoon? In fact, it was very likely that now given the chance, Dio would excel in this feat like he did at everything else. He let the medicine drop into the glass, watching as it dispersed through the water. Then, he turned to the sleeping man — and nearly jumped to find Jojo’s slivered eyes trained on him. There’s nothing to worry about he reminded himself. “Jojo… my love, sit up and drink this.” It was hard for him to casually speak in such endearing terms, but he saw the energy — however slight — that the words awakened in the other man. Jonathan had cared for him on the one or two occasions he’d gotten too sick to do it himself, and although he enjoyed having Jojo’s full attention he hated the feeling of vulnerability it left him with. Now he was realizing there was plenty of vulnerability on the other side of that exchange as well. Abhorrent. But if it was necessary, then Dio would suck it up for the sake of doing this right. Once Jonathan had been propped up against the pillows, he set the glass upon his lips, holding it in place rather than trusting Jojo’s weak grasp at the moment. “Slowly,” he cautioned, although Jonathan still managed to gulp the cool liquid down as fast as Dio would allow. He let out a great gasp when he had finished, unsurprising since he hadn’t paused even to take a breath. At least the medicine was in him now and could begin its work. “Thank you, Dio.” Jonathan said softly. “Don’t mention it.” Even after all these years, the trust with which Jojo had accepted the medicine nearly made his hands shake, and Dio had to will them still before he continued his work. He lifted the cloth, letting his hand rest on Jonathan’s forehead momentarily before dipping the cloth in the bowl of cool water and wringing it out. The temperature hadn’t gone down at all. “For going out there to get the medicine, and everything…” Jojo continued as Dio replaced the cloth. “I’m sure… I’ll be fine now, so you can just…” His eyes were fighting to keep themselves open, and his voice was weak. “Now Jojo, I think we’ve had enough foolishness for today. Lay back.” Dio helped him to do so and tucked the blankets up to his chin. What more could he do? He tried to think back to the times Jojo had nursed him, but the memories were foggy due to his own delirious state at the time. Still, with all the books he had read, he’d picked up a few common practices for a situation like this. “I will make you soup,” he said, matter-of-factly. He blinked down at Jojo, who stared at him foggily — had the man just been speaking? No, surely not. “Erm, but I—” “No need to worry, it won’t take but a moment. Call for me if you need anything.” He cupped Jonathan’s cheeks and placed a kiss to the crown of his head. Then, he was out of the room with haste, on a mission. Of course, there was no time to go shopping for premium ingredients, so the boxed chicken broth they had in the pantry would have to do. Still, he made sure to add in fresh chicken, celery, carrot, and plenty of herbs and spices. While it simmered, he popped back into the bedroom, cooling Jojo’s forehead as he slept. By the time he was done he was certain the soup could heal even the worst afflictions, not to mention could rival that of any four-star chef.

When he eased quietly through the bedroom door, Jojo seemed more alert to his presence than before, and his colouring had improved. Dio smiled as he approached the bed, setting the soup bowl on the bedside tray. He brought over a chair and sat down. “My Jojo.” He stroked his husband’s cheek, “Do you think you could eat some soup?” The glimmer in those dark blue eyes was reward enough for the sentimentality. “If you made it, of course Dio.” Jojo’s voice was still soft, though it seemed like he’d regained some strength by now. A little seed of pride sprouted in Dio’s chest as he helped Jonathan to sit up (not that he had ever been short of such a thing). Jonathan reached for the bowl but Dio gently swatted his hands away. “Allow me,” he said, making it clear obedience was not optional. So Jonathan sat back against the pillows let Dio lift the spoon to his mouth. Dio listened to the slurping sounds without complaint, although they grated on him. He supposed Jojo did not have much control over his manners in a situation like this. “It’s not too hot, is it?” he asked. Jonathan shook his head. “No, it’s delicious.” “Of course it is. Have some more.” Dio refilled the spoon. Soon they had settled into a rhythm, and Dio found himself relaxing, watching the man eat the soup that he was sure would make him feel better. But soon the bowl was empty, and Dio turned back to fretting. So much so that he hardly paid attention to the soft look Jojo was giving him. “I’m so thankful to have you as my caretaker, Dio…” What could he do next? He’d given the man medicine, let him sleep, and even fed him homemade soup. Maybe the cloth needed refreshing, or perhaps he could get him more water? Yes, something to drink would be good. “I know you always strive to be the best, but you needn’t do so mu—” “I’ll go put the kettle on for tea!” Dio said, leaping from his seat and heading to do just that. A pressure on his wrist stopped his swirling mind in a moment, and he turned back to see Jonathan gripping weakly onto the cuff of his shirt. Dio took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then took Jonathan’s warm palm into his. “What is it that you want, Jojo? What can I do for you?” Of course. If he wanted to know what he should do, he need only have asked the man himself. At this moment he may well have done anything for him. “Would you…” came Jonathan’s hesitant reply, “Just stay by my side? I feel so much better when you’re near.” Dio’s features softened and his heart fluttered in his chest. “Of… of course, Jojo.” When he had turned down the covers and slipped into bed, Jojo wasted no time cuddling up to him. In truth, it was sweltering, but now was not the time to complain. At the very least, the chill that had plagued Dio since morning had finally been chased off. So stay by his side he did. Dio lay with Jonathan, stroking his hair idly as the time ticked by. Reading to him when he was awake, and humming to him softly while he slept. It was a tune he seemed to remember from long ago, though he couldn’t recall quite where he’d picked it up. Perhaps a memory from the distant past, a comfort from when he’d once been ill a lifetime before. Jojo’s features were soft in his sleep, and when Dio leaned his cheek against the man’s forehead, it felt almost cool. After a time, Dio drifted off to sleep, still holding Jojo close.

When they awoke, it was morning. The sun was shining and birds chirped outside the window. Dio took a moment to blink in the light before gazing down into those sleepy blue eyes. They were considerably sharper than the night before. “Feeling better, Jojo?” “Mhm, much better. All thanks to you!” “Now Jojo, if only you had postponed your dig until today…” Dio mumbled more to himself than anything else, not really putting any fight into it. Jonathan snuggled closer. “Oh but Dio, if I had, I wouldn’t be waking up so lazily next to my beautiful husband like this.” “Mm… when you put it that way, I suppose I can concede.” “Nor would I have received all that loving attention yesterday.” Jonathan let out a contented sigh. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been so well cared for in my life.” His voice was still somewhat weak but Dio could feel a smile in it, and so he let himself smile too. “Naturally, I, Dio, would provide the utmost care for the only man deserving of my affections,” he said, running his fingers through Jonathan’s curls. “Then I truly am lucky to have you. Maybe I should try to get sick more often…” “Jojo…” Dio’s voice was filled with reproach, which got a weak chuckle from Jojo, more felt than heard. “I am kidding! But I do enjoy this doting side of yours, Dio. I would love to see more of it.” “Hmm…” Though he loved Jojo more than anything, he’d often thought that kindness was simply not in his nature. Perhaps it was the lingering traces of who he’d been in the past, when he’d grown up in a harsher life. It was only now that he realized just how good it felt to heal Jonathan with his own two hands. To feel that seed of pride blossom when he saw adoration in those blue eyes, not merely because Dio deserved to be adored (which he did), but because of the care he’d given. When Dio considered it, perhaps he enjoyed it too. He couldn’t let Jojo get too spoiled of course, but if his mere attention could make the man feel better he couldn’t argue. With Jojo cuddled warm against his side, it’s not as if he didn’t understand the feeling. He stroked his husband’s cheek before kissing him gently. “Dearest Jojo, if you wish for it, you need only ask.” As if it was the simplest thing in the world.

[tahitianmangoes]

The Last Shall Be First and the First Shall Be Last

I’m trying something a little new/different. I’m writing a short (well, we’ll see!) series focusing on Charthur. Kinda like a small collection of ficlets that can be read all together or individually! 

Part1: The Climb (Also on AO3)

The Climb

The events of that night weighed Charles down with a sadness that he hadn’t felt since losing his mother.

The first time would be the last; the first time Charles felt Arthur in his arms, in an embrace he had longed to hold him in since they found themselves stuck in the snow at Colter, would be the last and it hurt him more than anything. Charles had watched Arthur ride away from him after that. Charles had wanted to confess his feelings to Arthur but could never find the right time or right words. And now it was too late. He wondered if Arthur already knew. Surely, that was giving Arthur too much credit for his emotions. Charles allowed himself to smile sadly as he watched the man he loved ride away from him one last time into the night.

He felt sick but he had work to do. He and Paytah were given the difficult task of burying Eagle Flies. The boy had died foolishly saving Arthur. "It shoulda been me!" Arthur had growled, his voice cracking with guilt and anger. Charles had wanted to comfort him but didn't know what to say anymore.

There was little time for ceremony or to find the perfect place to bury the Chief's son. Charles could see the pain on Paytah’s face though he tried not to show it. He didn’t make eye contact with Charles and didn’t say a word to him the entire time. Charles knew he thought he and Arthur were to blame and maybe, in a way they were.

The Wapiti were almost ready to go when Charles and Paytah returned, they had little in way of possessions any more. “We should head north, to Canada.” Charles told Rains Fall, walking over to him quickly. They didn't have much time. “If we set off now we should get a good head start.” “You have helped enough, Charles and my people are grateful but I think now is the time we part ways.” Charles’s eyes widened. “But… I need to help you get out of here before the army comes! They’ll be heading this way right now!" Rains Fall was shaking his head. He had wore a sorrowful smile but the look in his eyes was as resolute as ever. “We will be just fine.” “But…” Charles repeated uselessly, speechless. “You care deeply for Mr Morgan. You should go after him.” Rain Falls said laying a hand gently on Charles’s shoulder. “He needs you more than we do.” Charles would have argued if he had thought there would have been any point but he knew that Rains Fall must have made his mind up and that had to be respected.

So Charles mounted Taima, kicking her swiftly in sides and shouting “hyah!” He sped from the reservation. He knew Arthur had gone back to Beaver Hollow and was at least two hours ahead of him but maybe he wouldn't be too late...

He rode into the night, the sky had gone from deepest navy to blackest obsidian. No stars shone that night. Charles didn't remember the route he took, didn't remember the journey at all. With each thud of his heart he thought Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. He flattened his body to his horse, urging her faster and faster until she snorted and whinnied. "Please, just a little more," Charles whispered to her. "Please."

Beaver Hollow was ablaze when he got there. Smoke plumed into the sky and the camp burned amber. The tents and caravans were burnt to the ground and smouldered. Susan’s lifeless body lay at the mouth of the cave. Charles called Arthur’s name into the night desperately, hoping he'd call back but of course, he didn't. It looked like everyone else was long gone. Was he too late? Had Pinkertons torn through and taken him? There was no sign of anyone else either. Horses gone but belongings untouched. He went to Arthur’s tent which was half gone now, the only thing left the pressed flower and photograph of Arthur’s mother he kept by his bed. Charles scooped them up. He didn't know why. Maybe because these would be the only things left to remind him of Arthur if he truly were too late.

There were footprints in the mud, too many for Charles to make out whose were whose. If he stood by Susan, he could see there were more footprints on one side than the other then a pair in the middle. If he closed his eyes he could imagine the scene: Dutch stood in the middle, between Arthur, probably John and Susan too, the only ones with any sense left. On the other side was poor, dumb Bill, misguided Javier and that snake Micah. “Who is with me and who is betrayin’ me?” Dutch would have roared. He was gone and Charles had known it for a long time, only sticking around because he couldn't tear himself away from Arthur. He should have gone after the Blackwater job went wrong but now he was in too deep and he cared too much.

Two sets of prints went into the cave. Charles took the risk that they belonged to Arthur and John. The cave was dark, the lanterns had burned out and Charles could hardly see a hand in front of his face but something guided him, something that he couldn't explain but he trusted somehow. Arthur, Arthur, Arthur.

Arthur’s striped mustang lay lifeless in the trail once Charles found his way out of the cave again after what seemed like a lifetime of stumbling about in the dark. He touched the body of the wretched animal. Still slightly warm. He knew how much she had meant to Arthur. The poor thing was riddled with bullets. Charles wondered whether it had thrown him. He found the trail again, two footprints leading up the mountain. Charles’s whole body pulsed with adrenaline and fear. What if he was too late. He’d never forgive himself. He should have gone with the Wapiti.

The mountain would have been arduous but Charles didn’t feel it. His feet carried him with ease. Two sets of prints turned into one and Charles knew Arthur was close.

The dawn was beginning to break as Charles, exhausted, reached the summit and saw the body of Arthur Morgan crumpled on the ground. For a moment, he stopped. The world stopped too. “No,” Charles whispered. He flew to Arthur, “no, no no..!” Rolling Arthur over he could see that he had put up a fight, of course he had, his face bloodied and bruised as were his fists. His clothes stained crimson. His eyes were closed and Charles thought, as morn’s first light shone on him, he somehow looked angelic.

Arthur’s eyes opened ever so slightly, sparkling blue looking up at Charles, unfocused and hazy. He coughed before he breathed, “...Charles…?”

Part 2

[my-funky-little-cowboy]

Yeehawgust Day 9 | Cattlepunk Characters: John Marston, Abigail Roberts, Jack Marston Word Count: 1,472 Warnings: None

John shoved the final bag into the back of the wagon, he turned quickly and the bundle rolled back and out of the wagon.

“Oh come on, now!” John groaned, the contents of the pack scattered on the ground. 

He stopped, seeing Arthur’s satchel among the things littering the ground. A pained expression flashed across his face as he bent down to pick the bag up, wiping the dust from the worn leather. It was heavy in his hands. He was sure they had emptied all the weird trinkets and collectibles that Arthur had stuffed away all those years ago. 

He flipped open the bag and reached inside. His hand dusting over the worn cover of a book, he pulled it out, his breath caught in his throat and he closed his eyes. He let his arm with the satchel fall, his head falling back. 

Arthur. 

He opened his eyes slowly, turning to place the satchel in the bed of the wagon. Slowly cracking open the old journal, he smiled looking down at Arthur’s elegant handwriting. He flipped through the pages, his heart ached as he recognized the small drawings of Jenny and Sadie from that final year.

He continued to flip through the pages, leaning heavily against the wagon. The memories of that last year flooding back to him, his heart heavy. Seeing all the people Arthur had met in that last year, the interesting sights, his diagnosis. He stopped briefly, the words he read next haunted him.

Turns out, I’m not very well. Got tuberculosis. Doctor did not know how long I would last. All them bullets shot at me, all them horses threw me, all them fights and it was beating up that pathetic little fella Downes that killed me, I reckon. He’s the only man I been near was real sick. He begged for mercy and I beat the bastard and he died. And now I’m dying too. The way of the world

John stopped. He hadn’t known then, he knew Arthur hadn’t been feeling well, a cough here and there. Nothing he didn’t expect his brother to bounce back from, but then the bank job had gone so wrong.

The gang split and God only knows what went down on Guarma. Abigail had said it was bad. When Sadie and Arthur had come for him at Sisika he looked like a hollow shell of the man John had grown up with.

Those following weeks, watching him waste away, that promise, the only thing Arthur had asked of him, the thing that kept him going even now.

He looked back down at the journal, flipping through the rest of the pages, Arthur’s final thoughts. He stopped on a page with a portrait of a man, and beside it a curious looking building with the name Dover Hill scrawled under it. He skimmed the entry and it’s talk of grand machines and mechanical men. 

Marko Dragic

Had he ever heard about what happened to his curious friend? He snapped the journal closed hearing the footfalls approach.

“Almost done, John?” Abigail asked as she reached the wagon, Jack following behind her, the crate in his arms overflowing with provisions.

“All loaded up here.” He slid the book into the pocket of his jacket, turning to greet them.  He reached out and took the crate from Jack, loading it into the back of the wagon.

“And all that?” Abigail motioned to the fallen contents of the pack and John grinned sheepishly.

“Right, I’ll get those loaded up now. One of the bags fell.” He rubbed the back of his neck and dropped down to pick up the miscellaneous pieces, placing them into the wagon.

Abigail shook her head and climbed into the driver’s seat, waving for Jack to climb up into the back. John tossed the last of the items into the back and climbed up next to her. He picked up the reins and cracked them gently, the wagon pulling out of town.

It had been nearly 7 years since the Marstons had been back down this way, back to where Arthur had given everything up for them. They rode slowly through the valley, the familiar paths from that winter, through Roanoke Ridge, he recognized the trails as they came closer to Beaver Hollow, and he steered them north of the area, opting to take some of the less populated roads as they moved farther west.

They continued west into a bone-chilling wind as the sun dropped below the mountains, the trees becoming thicker as they moved farther into the forest.

 A moose call echoed through the valley, starling Jack who looked up from his book.

“What the hell was that?” Jack exclaimed!

“Jack!” Abigail shouted, smacking his head gently. “This is all your fault!” She frowned at John and he chuckled.

“Jack, watch your mouth.” He stifled his laugh and Abigail nudged him with her shoulder.

The wagon splashed through the shallow water as they crossed the shallow river, the cold water splattering John’s leg as he hung it from the wagon, turning his attention back to the road and the sign off to the side. The crude carvings pointed west to Colter, south to Saint Denis, and north to...Dover Hill?

John pulled back on the reigns, slowing the horses as they came up to the sign. 

“We should find a place to set up camp tonight, it’ll be dark soon...and cold.” His curiosity piqued, he pulled the wagon down the northern path toward Dover Hill curious to see what Arthur saw all those years ago.

They wound up the trail, eventually the path opened and a large building came into view. John pulled the horses to a stop.

“What is this place, John?” Abigail asked.

“I don’t know, sign said Dover Hill, and the name looked familiar.” He trailed off.

“Looks abandoned. Maybe we should head back to the road?” She offered.

“Wouldn’t you rather stay indoors if it’s an option?” John hopped down from the wagon, pulling the shotgun from under the seat he moved toward the building, leaving Jack and Abigail in the wagon.

He knocked loudly on the door and waited, no response. He put his ear to the door, silence. He tried the handle and it relented to his push and he disappeared into the darkness.

“Hello?” The light spilled into the space in front of him, reflecting off the dull glass.

 He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette pack, grabbing the small matchbox from within. Striking a match to the rough wood a dull glow filled the room. He lit the end of his cigarette and scanned the room for a lantern or candle, finding one and lighting it, he swung it back around the room.

The light flooded the space, the walls were lined with bulbs and levers, the panels dark without the electricity flowing through them. John ran his hand along them, his fingers leaving thick trails in the dust. He stopped in the doorway that led into a large caged room, the body on the floor was long dead, the skin tight to the bones and the clothes in tatters. The dark stain of the blood surrounded the body, long dry, the boot prints from the body gave John all the story he needed.

Damn, wonder if this was that fella.

He lifted his lantern, casting the light into the rest of the room and his jaw dropped. The room filled with mechanical metal men in various states of completion, enough to form an army, forever waiting for directions that would never come. 

He turned back, looking to where he left his family, and back down to the floor, the bloodied footprints leading out of the room back toward the front door. He looked back at the army and a chill ran down his spine, the vacant lifeless eyes leaving him feeling unnerved. John grit his teeth as he carefully surveyed the room once more before making his way out of the building. 

John reappeared in the doorway and Abigail crossed her arms over her chest.

“Find anything? Anyone inside? It’s getting cold! We need to either settle here or find someplace before nightfall, otherwise we’re gonna freeze!” 

John shook his head, pulling himself back up into the wagon, tucking the shotgun up under the seat. “It’s clear, but someone got killed in there. I think we should move on.”  He said, his eyes locked on the building, the uneasy feeling still settling in his gut.

It wasn’t a lie, but it was sure gonna be a hell of a lot easier to explain than that other stuff. He gently cracked the reins, turning the wagon around and moving back toward the main road, he shook his head. Arthur sure had met some strange folk.

[stressedspidergirlsfandomblog]

Tw: child abuse.

Eskel flopped onto the damp grass and stared at Geralt. "No one can see you're still standing there, you might as well come down."

"They'll see impressions in the grass. Besides it's not so bad."

"I can see you trembling from here. You should have shut your mouth, Geralt."

"Too late to take your advice now."

"Well you have heard it already, and then after they whipped you, you had to pop off again! It's like you want them to half kill you."

"Gets me out of watching your ugly mug in training. And gives all of you a chance to catch up with me."

"Geralt, when they come for you this morning, be quiet. Shut your mouth do you hear me? Let them say whatever they want, kiss their feet like they want, and you can get down off the bloody post and come inside."

"You should be inside asleep."

"So should you."

"Sun's going to be up soon. You should go. Don't let me drag you down with me."

"Just because Vesemir said that doesn't mean that's how I see it. Or any of our yearmates. We know you're damn good with a sword, good with the memorization, Geralt. Without those late night study sessions we had back when they had us all in one room, most of us would have taken far more hidings."

"Still. You'd better go. No point in finding yourself next to me."

"Don't mouth off Geralt. Maybe they'll let you see the healer if you keep your trap shut for once."

"Go."

"I'll see what I can get for food for you."

Geralt's face softened. "Thank you."

When the sun was barely peaking over the horizon they came. Geralt looked up and straightened his bloodied back.

"Come down."

Geralt slowly slipped off the rock, determined not to fall and embarrass himself further. He would maintain control like he'd been taught. He had spent most of the past fifteen hours in meditation. There he could escape the worst of the pain and allow his body to heal. Once down, he carefully walked to stand in front of the masters and let his head bow in deference. Carefully, he clasped his hands behind his aching back.

"It smells like Eskel, did he come out and visit you?"

"We room together, I usually smell like Eskel. Perhaps an extra soap ration would solve that problem. I can't be responsible for his body odor. He also tends to take my shirt, sir, since I wash it more often. Perhaps that's what you smell."

Any inspection of the grass near the wall would show footprints and the imprint of a body. Not to mention the other witcher boy's clothes would still be damp if they went to get him now.

"Do you ever tire of being insolent?" The question seemed idle, the voice carefully bland.

"No sir, I suppose not or we wouldn't all be here, sir," he replied as neutrally as he could. If he could push them they would forget all about his friend. He could protect Eskel, he could not protect himself.

The next thing he knew a hand was knotted in his hair and a knee shoved into his stomach. He was bent over and the belt was hitting skin before he had time to react properly. He was too old to be spanked like this, and they knew it. At least it wasn't in a room full of other boys.

Geralt felt worse for not having even heard the belt being unbuckled or slipped free of the loops. He should have. The rest of it, well, he hadn't mutated enough to be as fast as the training masters. Not yet. The steady slap of the belt against his skin stung, but the aching throb that would come later was sure to be the worst part. Plus having to sit down.

When it was over, he was dropped to the ground without so much as a by your leave. "We expect you out in the ring by the tenth bell. Report to the infirmary. Silently. Or perhaps we should start taking a notch from your tongue every time you use it out of turn."

Geralt just nodded, knowing he didn't have to speak out loud. At least the doddering sorcerer in infirmary would feed him and mostly patch him up. He bit back any rude responses about what he should tell the old healer, exactly, and picked himself up before tugging his clothes back into place.

He kept his face impassive when tucking in his shirt causes him to brush against new welts on his backside. They're supposed to face a new kind of training, the kind meant to 'toughen them up.' which probably meant getting hit until they couldn't stand.

The monster didn't care if you were in pain when you fought it, and if it got past your armor you would have to survive the pain and keep going or die. Better to build a high tolerance early on.

A trip to the infirmary sounds wonderful if Geralt was being honest. He'd get fed, and given some time to rest. He could nap on his stomach and not have to worry about being shamed. He hoped the room would be empty, he'd rather not have to admit he'd been belted like he was still a child in front of another boy.

"Ah, Geralt. Back again I see. When I saw fresh blood on the whipping post I suspected you might have gotten yourself into trouble. Shirt off, let's see the damage." The old healer had debated leaving several times. But if he left who else would treat the boys with kindness? They'd just find another sorcerer who hated healing, and couldn't see why his magics were being wasted on subhumans. Caduceus had felt healing was his calling, and the poor Witchers in training needed him more than most. "What did you do this time, you insolent pup?"

"Knocked down the training master. He was slapping Devos around something fierce and he asked if anyone would challenge him. I didn't wait for him to stop hitting Devos I just jumped in."

"Did he thrash you?"

"No, Vesemir stepped in before he could. Dragged me out and... Well. You see."

"I do. Fairly unsporting to attack a man without warning."

"They train us to use every advantage we can. The master has ten decades more experience than I do. I couldn't hope to win fair. I wasn't even trying to win. Just stop him from breaking Devos' skull," Geralt admitted, feeling stupid. He was angry. Sick of being hurt by people who said Witchers were unfeeling and made to protect. Signs of weakness were beaten out of you until you had nothing left. Geralt just couldn't help himself. Although if they were going to start cutting up his tongue he might have to start. "Master, can you heal tongues?"

"What?" The old man asked, looking over Geralt's back with a practiced eye. "I see you decided to extend your punishment, you might as well just strip. I'll go get the herbs I need."

"Tongues, sir."

"I can't very well grow it back, but I can close up a split. Why? They thinking about making a mute Witcher out of you?"

"I suppose," Geralt sighed, stripping out of the rest of his clothes. He had long since forgotten any kind of shame around the members of the keep. While he would be mortified if the others could see his new welts and bruises, he wouldn't think twice of anyone seeing him nude. He was property, and used to being inspected at any given time. Discipline and obedience were required.

There wasn't room for privacy from each other in the first dorms they lived in at the keep anyway. Eventually, those that lived long enough got moved into rooms that only held four boys, not twenty. And then two. Geralt had made it to the last stage before he would have his own room. He and Eskel shared a living space and had no secrets from each other.

If he survived the final mutations, and passed the rest of his trials, he would receive his medallion and have the right to his own possessions and privacy. He would not have to take another beating outside of a training ring as long as he lived. Until the monsters killed him, anyway. Geralt wasn't honestly sure he would want a room that didn't have Eskel in it. He wasn't sure of his age but Eskel had so far been his only constant. It would hurt to lose that.

The old sorcerer came back with a tray, and started mixing a paste for the still bleeding stripes from the whip. He had something different for the raised welts and deep bruising lower down. "You're still going to sit funny. So try and not do anything stupid for a few days at least. They bruised the muscle."

Geralt's skin twitched when the cool paste was applied to his back. He couldn't help it. He didn't cry out like he wanted to, or allow his eyes to tear. What was done was done. He had made his choice, now he had to live with it.

Once finished, the old man sighed. "I don't want to watch you die, too. Perhaps stop pushing them so much, Geralt. There's enough bodies making up fertilizer around the grounds. Don't let your insolence cause you to be another. Get dressed I'll find you some food. Eat standing will you. What bell are you to be back for?"

"Tenth. It's just rung seventh," Geralt replied as he dragged on his clothes carefully. His body still ached but it no longer burned. If he ate quickly he could sleep for a little over two bells and then take his time getting to training.

"Don't be foolish," the old man reminded him, shuffling off slowly with his tray. He came back later with a bowl of porridge and fruit that Geralt wolfed down hungrily.

He hadn't eaten in near twenty four hours. Meat would not have gone amiss but anything was better than nothing. And he was mostly full by the time he'd finished. Immediately after returning the bowl he dropped face down onto an empty cot and fell asleep.

[walker-journal]

Moon’s Ebb (POTW, Adam, Orion, Nell, Connor)

Context: As the Hunter’s Moon is coming to an end, Nell, Orion, and Connor confront Adam. 

Location: Dark Score Lake (Glass), Sunrise

Content Warnings: Passing Descriptions of Gore (not detailed), Mental Instability (Hunter’s Moon)

Time had become meaningless to Adam long before the faint glimmer of light had appeared on the far horizon, softening the night to a livid bruise where black was not quite blue yet. 

The glass surface of Dark Score Lake was a mirror to the sky, a little flicker of the nascent sun discoloring its eastern shore.

The moon was still brilliant burning ivory in Adam’s veins. How long had he been killing? Hunting? Sprinting nonstop through the forest and urban alleys? Adam didn’t know, the surges of endorphins that’d swelled higher and higher with each kill had made him numb to any fatigue or pain. Everything was just manic anticipation, climax of evisceration, and hot spilt blood keeping the night’s chill off his skin. 

But as the sun’s tiny candle challenged the moon for supremacy, a hint of rational thought managed to push its way through the Hunter’s thirty six hour high. He remembered that his name was Adam and...maybe...he was forgetting something. 

But there were footsteps, smells, more heartbeats approaching. Adam rose from the dismembered mass of skinless flesh and exposed ribs that’d been a person before his knife had gone to work. He stepped over more once humanoid shapes of carnage, leaving a trail of bloody footprints across the lake’s glass.

It had only been a day and a half since they’d left one another by the very same lake, and as Nell’s tracking spell led her and company towards Adam, the scenery was much changed. There was a new ball of tension in her chest, uncertain what might come of this confrontation, but hoping that she, Rio, and Connor would get the hunter back with as little pain as possible. The bloody figure approaching from the horizon wasn’t one she’d ever expected to need be wary of, but at this point it would be foolish to approach without some sense of caution. She paused at the lake’s edge, having no desire to test her and her friends’ balancing abilities when it came to finding purchase on the slick surface of the glass. If things did get physical in the end, it’d make for terrible footing. Murmuring to Rio and Connor, she wondered if Adam could already hear their voices. “I think we should stick close. It’d be easier to pick us off if we fanned out or anything like that.” But at the same time this was meant to be a deescalation, and huddling together might appear as more of a risk. Unfortunately there wasn’t a handbook on talking down murder-infected, super-powered humans. Then she spoke to the reason why they were here in the first place. “Adam?” she began tentatively, trying her best not to appear as a threat or worth killing— as if she were speaking to some creature she’d stumbled upon in the extensive forest of White Crest. “Are you ready to go home?”

The night was giving way to dawn, distant streaks of purple leaking into the blackness of the sky. Even without the spell, they might have been able to find Adam with just the trail of blood and destruction. Bloody hell (literally), this was a mess. Connor hadn't known Adam that long, but he'd seen something in him the first time they'd met down by the river. All he'd wanted to do was help and end suffering. Now, he was causing it, a human wrecking ball who had become a force unto himself. "Imagine how bad it would've been if he actually had turned into a wolf," Connor murmured to his companions. 

He stuck close, like Nell had said, though he didn't really know why they'd needed Rio here, the lad was deceptively strong. Connor had practically got a semi watching him break that lock with his bare hands back when they'd first met. He stood up a little straighter when they finally caught up to Adam. Connor felt the need to project strength, not in a machismo sort of way, but in a please-don't-pick-me-off kind of way. The kind of body language that said I'm here for you, and please don't kill me. "You alright mate?" he asked. "Been on a bit of a bender, yeah? Come and sleep it off. I have some weed cookies in the car that’ll really take the edge off." 

Orion had kept his arms crossed the entire trip to the lake. Part of him wasn’t convinced he should even come along at all. But despite the anger and confusion, the idea of Adam getting hurt because of this still made Rio sick to his stomach. “Yeah well, wolf or not, Adam is still plenty dangerous on his own. So be careful.” He had no idea how much Connor knew about Adam, and despite maybe not deserving the luxury of privacy, Rio had no interest in outing Adam to anybody. The plan seemed simple enough. Keep Adam safe, keep Nell and Connor safe from Adam. Rio stayed back while Nell and Connor talked to Adam, opting instead to eye the man, covered in blood. His breath caught at the sight, but he tried to make sure that nothing gave his fear or anger away. “Be careful. He seems… off.”

Adam ran a gore-caked fingernails absently through hair matted with blood and stray sinews. However, the bloodshot eyes staring out from the Hunter’s scarlet-spattered face didn’t contain much sign of recognition. Even when Adam’s chapped lips smoothed in a languid smile, the soft expression didn’t march the monomaniacal intensity of his gaze. 

It seemed to take Adam a bit to realize that they were addressing him, as if he’d simply expected everyone to start ripping each other apart the way nature intended.  

“Home,” he questioned in the warm baritone whose tone was soft but unsteady on the edges of the syllables. “I uh,” Adam’s facial muscles flinched at some thunderous sound. “Your hearts are racing,” he claimed eagerly. “Fast so fucking fast...god you’re so alive …”

In a single motion Hunter made a standing jump whose high arc carried him forty feet forward, slamming down near the lake’s shore. Glass shattered outward in a fractal spiderweb from the impact point. 

“You’ve come to take my edge off Connor,” Adam repeated softly as more glass shard snapped during his advance on the group, fingers spinning a knife whose edge had been nicked over hours of sawing through bone and gristle. 

Nell nodded carefully as Adam seemed to question the concept of home, resisting the urge to draw a weapon of her own. No doubt that would only escalate things. Still she let her magic gather as Adam launched himself closed in a feat that would have been impressive had it not also proven that the hunter was far stronger than any of them could hope to be at the moment. “Yeah- home,” Nell repeated evenly, trying to lock onto Adam’s gaze and pull his focus. “You could see Terry- have some food. Have you eaten? It’d be nice. I could come too, if you wanted.”

Instinctively, Nell took a step between Adam and Connor, remembering how she hadn’t wanted the exorcist coming in the first place. Her eyes flickered to the way the twirling knife reflected the first light of the day before returning to Adam, knowing that any movement he’d make would probably be impossible to fully dodge at this point with how juiced up he was. A shield spell teetered on the edge of her lips. While she hoped she wouldn’t need it, it was ready to be uttered nonetheless. “What about the whole getting the moon in us?” she asked, latching onto one of the things the hunter had said earlier. “Maybe that’s what Connor was talking about. Rio might even want to, as well. All together, right? Find something to get us going.” If they could just outrun the last of the moon, maybe this would work.

If Connor hadn't been convinced that Adam wasn't quite your average human before this, well, now the jig was up. He did his best not to flinch. Shit, he did his best not to crap his pants and run the fuck away. Yeah, his heart was racing - good fucking observational skills, Adam - because he was terrified, and he tried really hard not to look it as Adam jumped what appeared to be about half the length of a football pitch. No wonder Nell was so intent on keeping Connor out of this. Now, he understood, but he wasn’t about to back down. 

"Yeah, take the edge off," Connor repeated, nodding. "We can have some drinks, get you a shower, you can sleep all this off." But somehow, he knew it wasn't quite that simple. He just wanted Adam to believe it could be, even if just for a moment. "Come on, my Jeep's parked not too far off. It's nice and warm." And hopefully not about to be stained with my blood. 

It hadn’t seriously crossed Orion’s mind that they might be in danger until now. Sure, Adam had been acting weird and Rio knew how dangerous Adam could be. But he wouldn’t hurt them right? Even if things were weird and Adam wasn’t in the right frame of mind. But looking at him now, Rio wasn’t sure if anything. This wasn’t Adam at all. Not the Adam that Rio had gotten to know. Nell and Connor wanted to talk it out with him. But it was hard to focus with the smell of blood overwhelming Rio’s senses. It was so strong that Rio was starting to get dizzy, but he tried to force himself to move ahead. Rio had no chance of fighting off Adam. But Rio had the best chance of surviving if things got physical. Both Nell and Connor were on the right track, talking softly at him, even asking to join on on the fun. Could Rio manage to play along without completely losing his cool, and maybe his dinner? “Adam... please listen to them. Can you put the knife down?”

Unnatural power burned in Adam’s veins like a fever, filling him with a savage vivacity even beyond his already superhuman abilities. But sweat trickled down Adam’s forehead, cutting thin lines through the blood covering his face as the hints of dawn spreading across Dark Score Lake’s mirrored surface started to erode the moon’s grip. “Terry uh...no like..I haven’t,” he mumbled while momentarily meeting Nell’s eyes, a flicker of humanity surfacing in a state of confusion. 

But his head snapped around at Connor and Orion’s words. The Hunter actually seemed about to assent their request to come with them and put the knife down before a tensing of muscles in his shoulders signaled that train of thought breaking apart. 

“Rio you need to let the moon in,” Adam insisted with manic intensity as he offered his gory knife to Orion handle-first. “Never be afraid again,” he asserted with what a lunatic shade of genuine compassion touching his voice. “Nobody’ll ever hurt you again,” Adam pressed, continuing to reach the knife’s handle unto Orion as if ushering him into some ancient rite.

“You’ll need to bleed one though…”

Adam moved with a speed impossible even for a Hunter, lunging forward to grab at Connor with a whiplash celerity, apparently intending the Exorcist as a sacrifice to induct Orion into the madness. 

Nell could only watch as Adam moved so quickly he nearly blurred, her brain taking an extra second to even realize that the hunter had grabbed for Connor in the first place. It wasn’t ideal, but if she squinted enough it might actually lead to a better situation. Adam was offering Rio his knife, and though she suspected the moon-addled hunter might have another weapon stashed elsewhere, if Rio took the knife— it’d be one weapon down, wouldn’t it? “Go ahead and start it Rio,” she said quickly, hoping he’d get the hint of accepting the weapon, a semi-peaceful way to at least momentarily disarm Adam. 

She glanced towards the sun another time, willing it to rise faster with an irony that wasn’t lost on her. After all, hadn’t it only been a day and a half ago she’d wanted it to slow as it set over the horizon? The three of them still needed to burn time, and try and stretch these moments as long as they could. This time she stepped towards Rio, standing alongside Connor as another selection to be carved. “Why don’t you do me, though? I’m used to sacrifices and stuff, you know?” It wasn’t the strongest argument, but perhaps she could finesse some way around actually getting sliced if Rio chose her, whether it was illusion magic or some other option she’d yet to think of. Or maybe he could stall between his two choices, buying them a few more moments of dawn.

“Wait, wait, this wasn’t what we agr--” Connor never got to finish his words before Adam moved with preternatural speed, grabbing him so firmly that he thought he was in a vice. He struggled to talk, to breathe with Adam’s grip so tight on him. “Adam, no, don’t--Rio, don’t do it!” He knew Rio wouldn’t actually do anything, but Adam he wasn’t so sure of. He could feel the heat of Adam’s body against his own. “This… isn’t exactly how I fantasised about you holding me, buddy,” he joked morbidly. Maybe he could break Adam with humor. God, he reeked. Like a butcher’s slaughterhouse. He looked at Nell and Rio, eyes searching their faces. They had to have some kind of plan, right? He instinctively fought against Adam. Plan or not, he wasn’t going to just let it happen. It was no use. Adam’s body might as well have been made of concrete with the amount of give it had. Once the sun was up, they were going to have to have a real fucking long conversation. If he made it that long. “Adam, please… just let me go. It’ll be okay.” 

Even by hunter standards, Adam was incredibly fast. When Adam had offered the knife towards Orion it hadn’t take any time for him to begin shaking his head to decline the offer. Stalling or not, Rio had no interest in holding onto the knife that had been used to kill people. But before Rio could even find words, Adam had already reached forward, grabbing onto Connor and locking him into place. Rio jumped at the sudden movement, covering his mouth with his palm to stop himself from screaming. This couldn’t be happening. “Fine! Okay? Fine.” Despite the cold biting at his face, Rio was sweating. A mixture of the sweat and tears that he knew would be coming stung at his eyes, but Rio didn’t dare wipe at them. Hearing Nell nudge him along, Rio held out a shaky hand and carefully wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the blade. All the anger that he had held for Adam on their way here had been replaced by fear. If Rio didn’t do something, Adam could grow tired soon. Connor was too important for Rio to hurt, but if he didn’t what would stop Adam from finishing the job for him? Nell’s suggestion broke through Rio’s panic. He had seen her in action before. He knew he could trust her. “Not him. Please. I care about him.” Rio tried to keep his voice leveled as he slowly swung his arm around and pointed the bloodied edge of the knife towards Nell, “I want her.” The words made Rio’s voice crack, but he kept his expression hardened. He just wanted this to be over. If they could just hold out for a bit longer. “Tell me what to do.”

Orange spread across the mirrored lake, refracting rays of mauve and gold dawn through the surrounding trees. Dark Score Lake’s glass filled with radiance as if morning had been poured into a bowl. The moon became wane and faint in the brightening livid sky. 

Adam was sweating in the manner of a fever breaking or an amphetamine high being finally being flushed from his system. At Orion’s request to kill Nell instead, Adam hesitated, looking at the Exorcist struggling in his submission hold for a moment as if truly comprehending who Connor was for the first time. “Yeah me neither,” he affirmed to Connor, unpinning the other young man’s arms, remaining his bicep from the crook of Connor’s neck, and freeing him from the hold. “I wish I hadn’t…”

Adam’s bloodstained features turned between Orion and Nell, dilated pupils deep pits seemed to drink in the morning shadows still cast by the overhanging trees. The unnatural power that’d been coursing through Adam for these past days and nights ebbed as those shadows grew shorter with the rising sun. That inexhaustible vitality gradually gave way to a weariness more appropriate to someone who had been running and fighting nonstop, the last faint traces of the Hunter Moon's power and sheer mania were perhaps the only things keeping him from collapsing. 

“Why are you crying,” he asked Rio hoarsely. “I don't want to either …,” Adam shook his head as if struggling to think over some painful sound, “Stop..stop it!” 

He seemed to regain focus, pointing from Orion to Nell. “You need to do it, because it’ll...” Adam bit his chapped bottom lip as that murderous clarity of purpose burned its way out of his veins. “We need to do it now! C’mon slash her just…get her life all over you!” 

Adam’s hoarse voice broke as he tried to shout at Orion, dilated eyes filled with both confused mania and tears. “C’mon! Do it!” 

“It’s okay, Rio,” Nell said reflexively, not wanting to cause any more distress than was already at hand. Sympathy twisted in her gut as she watched the struggle that was beginning to emerge in Adam’s voice, the dawn warming her face ever so slightly as the sun continued its determined ascent. Apparently it was just as eager to end this night as the little gathering on the side of the lake was. While the hunter’s words began to border on hysteria, Nell turned back in the direction of Adam, moving slowly with deliberate and careful motions. It seemed like he was cracking as more glimmers of the person she knew were shining through here and there. Maybe this was the time to try and wiggle through those slivers of light, and see if he could be pulled through them into the brisk, morning air.

“Adam—” she started gently, reaching forwards in an attempt to take his wrists in her hands, not unlike the way she had when they’d performed her supposed last magic together. “I don’t think you want to do this. Not really.” She tried to find his gaze with her own, even with his eyes as crazed as his were. “You don’t wanna do this. Connor doesn’t wanna do this. Rio doesn’t wanna. And me-” she paused with a shake of her head before continuing on. “I don’t wanna die, Adam. Not like this. We’re your friends. And you’re our friend.” It wasn’t groundbreaking, but it was the best Nell knew how to do in their current situation. “We can go to the house and get you cleaned up- and you need to rest and get food. I bet Taki would wanna see you.” Maybe trying to jog his memory of past recollections would bring him back. 

Connor gasped like he was experiencing oxygen for the first time as Adam let him go. He lay there for a few moments before being able to muster the energy to stand. It hadn't hurt, at least in the physical sense. Nell's protection spell had taken care of that. But God, it had shaken him. It was almost as if Connor hadn't believed Adam could do this until he was right there with a knife to his throat. 

"Not her either," he pleaded, standing upright, a little shakily. Something was changing in Adam, light returning to him as the streaks of orange leaked into the sky. "Not Nell! Dude! C'mon, Adam, look at her. You know she's right. We don't wanna die, okay? Nobody else has to die. I've seen death. It comes back to haunt me. Literally. Trust me, man. You don't wanna cause any more of it." Connor looked at Nell, Adam, Rio, desperation filling his gaze. He just had to keep him occupied a little longer, just had to keep delaying. He nodded at Nell's words. "Come home with us. Please." 

It was harder and harder for Orion to maintain his composure throughout this. Tensions were high between everyone. Connor’s fear, Nell’s pleading and Adam’s own conflict. Something was changing, a shift in Adam that was slowly becoming more and more apparent. He was growing desperate, as if time was actually running out. The frantic voice cut at Rio. He had never heard Adam sound like anything other than the calm and collected persona he put on. Even when he was injured or exhausted he had always tried to keep the image going. Now, in between these two moods Rio thought he may actually be the most dangerous he had ever been. 

“Listen to them. Please.” Rio joined in with Nell and Connor, begging the man to stop whatever he was doing. The knife became harder to hold the shakier his hands got. As much as he wanted to hold onto it just in case the worst would happen, the toll of the weapon became too heavy for Rio to keep hold of. The knife slipped from his hand and hit the grass below. “I can’t do this. You know I can’t do this,” Rio admitted, knowing full well that the real Adam knew Rio would never be able to do what he had been asking. He held up his hands in surrender and took a few steps forward, “Please don’t hurt them. If you have to do something… if you can’t fight this. Pick me. Don’t touch them. It’ll be over soon, okay? Just please keep fighting this.” 

“You have to!” Adam grabbed the knife from the ground and sprinted towards Orion in one seamless blur of motion, attempting to thrust the knife inches away from  the younger Hunter’s jugular. 

“Struggle! Fuck it! You need to struggle Oreo,” Adam yelled in hysterical mania, voice a harsh crack against the rustling awakening of birds and breezing branches of autumnal golds. “I’m going to kill you! You're going to die!” Adam kept pressing the dagger almost at Orion’s throat, seeming to threaten and beg the other Hunter at the same time. “We need,” he swallowed as the words came up fast. “This is all there is Oreo! Kill to live! Nothing else! Dammit, I will fucking open you up!” The knife pressed closer “C’mon let it in! “

“Please..,” Adam plead as morning burned away the night’s shadows

But even though Orion had told Adam to pick him and the next kill to restore the his rush of vitality and adrenaline was an inch away, Adam hesitated. The window of opportunity to renew himself with the moon’s power one last time shut. The sun rose over the trees and in its light Adam was just a mortal man again.  

“Oh god…”

Adam looked down at the knife in his bloodstained hands, caked to the nails with gore. Revelation came in a subtle softening of the Hunter’s imbrued features. Mania became confusion. Confusion calmed to clarity. Clarity deepened to opened-mouthed horror. Ay last horror became a cascade of despairing weariness, tears of sheer exhaustion finally coming after days and nights of carnage. 

“It wasn’t a dream,” Adam rasped thickly, the charnel-house stench of murder clinging to his clothes as dawn washed away the touch moonlight.

[silly-robobabe-anon]

The Unwilling Bride, in gouache and ink

The Springtime, Pierre Auguste Cot (1873), seemed to be permanently framed in your periphery; pink limbs swung from the soft glow of sun and oil paint, a fair-haired maiden floating aloft mere silk, white and delicate in comparison to her lover’s deep burgundy robes. Tamara and the Demon, Konstantin Makovsky (1889); you wondered if Yuri thought he had wings when he held you like that, but more often you wondered if he knew the princess Tamara died at the lips of her lover.

All over his walls, down every hall in his house you had seen those paintings and postcards of couples. The women hung limp from the shoulders of the men; spoils from the hunt, subdued and to be consumed. There was something in the water this morning. It left your muscles soft as stuffing, eyes glassy, and lingered bitter on your tongue.  

Though, a bitter taste in your mouth was nothing unusual as of late.

Your teeth, however, didn’t soften. His fingers realized that quickly. Yuri didn’t mind drawing your lips over the duct tape though. Of course, only after admiring how red and slick your mouth was with his blood, pursed into an unwilling, stop-sign red heart.

Today, he kept calling you “my dove”, occasionally whispering “such a lamb” after you blink at him, slow and docile in your drugged daze. Everything he put on you was white; he even tied you strings of pearl today instead of the ropes you were used to.

It felt almost sacrificial.

He had gasped, horrified, when he saw what the ropes had done to you after wearing them for weeks; pink track marks wound around your body like the scales of a snake hiding under your skin. You only ever heard this snake hiss from the back of your throat when he tried to kiss you, but you could taste its venom. Your stomach was full of acid. 

Oh, you were so sick. So, so sick of him. You hoped dearly that it was contagious enough to infect him.

A strange coat rack stood at the altar, the only guest in attendance. Yuri gently arranged your body in its stiff, gold arms, his eyes sharp and as clear as crystal while he fussed over the wrinkles in your dress. You had given up a while ago guessing if he had actually been completely lucid this entire time. He had you propped up on a stand, like a fucking action figure in front of huge tables set with empty plates and seats. 

What a giant, make-believe tea party. For fucks sake, couldn’t he have just used an actual doll? One with perfect, plastic skin that wouldn’t melt red and hot with rope burns? Desperate pervert.

He cried when he took off your veil, gazing with sweet focus at your face, as if he wasn’t the one who dressed you up and did your makeup.

A gramophone stood solemn and mechanical at the podium where a priest would, a far-away wedding march playing from its black flower. Suddenly, funny and fuzzy voices broke through the song, laughing and speaking, syllables lost to the static. You realized, vaguely surprised and interested, that this was a recording of some long-lost real wedding, one with guests, a bride who blushed, a groom who watched her walk towards him, in-laws and their side-eyes, obnoxious toddlers, and, most importantly, love. Given, not taken.

Yuri listened excitedly to the drone of the priest, and you were coldly aware of how hollow the hall was, echoing and multiplying the minister’s murmurings in the air ‘til you felt yourself practically suffocating in vows. Yuri chimed in loudly over the real, long gone groom with his own “I do.”  

It’s your turn.

No yelling, no ripping out his hair, not even a glimmer of sweat on his temple; Yuri stood serene as you refused to complete this duet. You loved this silence.

Then she did it, that giddy bride from long ago cheered out, “I do!”, and his eyes burned so heated and impassioned over you that you understood instantly, with the surety and clarity of the diamond on your finger, that he would never believe you hadn’t married him; you would never be able to convince him that you hadn’t spoken those words. Applause looped in your ears

The wedding band was worse than iron shackles; at least those were mean to be unlocked and split in two.  

Not once did he let your toes touch the floor while the two of you danced; the glass slippers on your feet clearly weren’t meant for walking in, much less for running away in after night falls. They would shatter, and leave bloody footprints. 

Your stomach turned anxiously when The Cinderella Waltz began to play. Talk about tacky. You squirmed in your veil like a fish caught in a net, much to his annoyance. Then, he relaxed back into a smile. He decided he hadn’t seen it.

“I promise, it would be a lot more fun if our families were here... Maybe we’ll invite them to our anniversary?”

He paused, waiting for you to agree, as if he didn’t tape your mouth shut. He must not like being reminded of the fact that you have canines too.

“I’m sure you’ll be okay by then, right?”

You cringed away from his breath, soaking through the lace like sweat, full of his scent. He pulled you closer fervently and insisted;

“You’re okay.”

You wanted very badly to be okay.

Finally, seasick and sleepy after what seemed to be hours of swaying slowly to the same song, he had decided that it would be appropriate to end the party and bid goodnight to the chairs and untouched plates. He hummed as he passed Romantic Encounter, Mihály Zichy (1864), appreciating how your fingers lilted in the air behind his neck while he carried you.

You saw it.

A door, painted a sweet butter-yellow, slightly ajar amidst a stack of crisp, white doors folded tightly into the walls like strange envelopes. Right behind it, a box of bars, but not a cage. Low to the ground, and padded with a long pink cushion, as dry and puffy as your own tongue. Only a small teddy lay asleep in the crib. For now.

You almost groaned in anguish, but the tape held it in. Shh. That’s for later.

****************************

Hello!

With no wifi and nowhere to go, what am i to do but illustrate and write my daydreams? This dashing groom is Yuri, @love-toxin ‘s character! I actually have a copy of Cot’s The Springtime hanging in my bedroom, and i thought the image of “classic”, idealized romance would suit Yuri the best!

Also, i really wanted to draw him in bridal lingerie and jewelry bcs hes a vry pretty lad and androgyny makes my heart throb!

Okay!! I hope you liked this silliness! Love u, bye <3

[dragonwitch77]

Don’t Starve Sick: Willow

(Warning: Description of injury, blood, and death are in this story)

There were mostly five basic things Willow knew about this world.

One, she loved fire. Hard not to when it was so warm and pretty.

Two, she was pretty sure she wasn’t on Earth anymore. Wherever she was now, she knew it wasn’t safe or a moment to relax when everything here was trying to kill you.

Three, she was lucky to still know the basics of all her girl scouts training. It really helped with her survival so far. Today was the… 20, 25ish day she was suck her? Maybe? It was hard to keep track of the days here sometime.

Four, when she finds that tall guy in a suit, he was going to wish he never met her.

Five, there was a man with a weird hairdo caught in one of her traps.

No, really. When Willow went out to forage for food, she went to check up on one of her newer traps for the stupid Gobblers. It was a simple rope on the ground covered in leaves, the type of trap that caught around animals’ feet and hung them up in the air.

But to her great disappointment (and shock) it wasn’t her intended meal that was caught in the trap. No, it was a man with the craziest hairdo she had ever seen hung upside down by one foot caught in the rope.

He looked to be older than her, but also looked rather scrawny. She could easily take him down with her spear, but the odd look he was giving her made her hesitant to do any sort of harm to him. His eyes were wide, had been when he saw her and hadn’t said a single word was she came close enough that their noses almost touched.

“You’re not food.” Willow grumbled, poking the man with her stick.

He continued to stare at her, mouth open in agape. If she was in a better mood, she would have found his face quite comedic. “Y-You’re a human.” He stammered. His voice sounded scratchy, like he hadn’t used it in a long time.

“Uh, yeah. And you just ruined a perfectly good trap.” Willow flicked his nose. “I spent hours making this thing! Do you have any idea how much work and resources I had to put in it?”

The man rubbed his nose, glaring at her somewhat. “Well forgive me for not foreseeing such trap earlier. I wasn’t really watching where I was going in search for food.” His glare eased away, looking more in wonder and mixed belief as he continued to stare at her. “… You… are real… right?” He asked, sounded in almost disbelief and hopeful pleading. “You’re not some… cruel joke being played on me… right?

Yikes. This guy sounded desperate. “Yes, I’m real.” She gave his arm a small pinch, just to emphasize her point. (And a little payback for ruining her trap.)

She had never seen such a happy (or dorky) smile before.

The guy’s name was Wilson Percival Higgsbury. (A fitting odd name for an odd guy.) And he was a scientist.

“You’re not going to use me for any crazy experiments are you?”

“What? No! No most certainly not! I’m not that type of scientist Miss Willow, I can assure you that I never plan to ever put anyone in harm’s way of my work. That would be cruel and very rude.” Wilson reassured her (though she wasn’t really feeling too reassured at the moment) as he took out some meat in what looked to be a small metal box.

“Uh huh. So.” She glanced around. “How… long have you been here exactly?”

Wilson paused in whatever task he was doing, looking at the sky a moment before scratching his beard (Willow really wanted to burn it for some reason) and shrugged. “I honestly don’t remember anymore. I lost count after… 3, no, day number 427.”

Willow’s jaw almost dropped in shock. “F-FOUR HUNDRED DAYS?! No wonder you look like a hobo!”

Wilson gave her perplexed look. He looked down at himself, frowning deeply. “Yes, well… I, do suppose I look a little… vagrant.”

“And filthy.”

“Yes and a little fill—”

“And smelly.”

“Yes you made the po—”

“And a little insa—”

“Would you like something to eat Miss Willow? How about some honey ham? It’s quite delicious!” Wilson cut her off, smiling though Willow could see he was straining to keep it in a smile.

Not wanting to push her luck with her new friend (and a little hungry) Willow agreed.

Days went by after Willow met Wilson and she had to admit, she liked his company. He was a little strange and weird at times but he was an alright guy. He even didn’t mind that she liked to set things on fire! (Just as long as it wasn’t anywhere near the campsite or any of the supplies.)

There were times when she really questioned her new friend’s stable mentality at times however.

For one, Wilson was a scientist, so of course his curiosity tended to get the better of him at the worst possible times in the worst situations. It was usually ended with Willow dragging him away from said danger by the ear. (Figuratively and literally.)

Another problem Wilson had was his crazy experiments that usually ended being a flop or exploding in his face. (Which made his hair even crazier.) Day in until nightfall, Wilson would tinker away on any new project, spending long hours doing whatever it was he came up with now and lose all focus of the world around him in a small corner away from the camp. (Willow had tested how far she could mess with his hair before he noticed. He never did till it was too late.)

Still, he was a nice guy to hang out with when he wasn’t busy with his new projects. Having more experience in this dangerous place, he taught her the workings and the dangers of this world. She in turn taught him how to cook. (It wasn’t because his cooking was that bad… much.)

Plus the extra hands helped in foraging for food. So at least they didn’t go hungry for a while.

But then came the dreaded WINTER.

And that’s when things started to go downhill.

Willow HATED winter. It was always so cold and wet and things didn’t burn as easily as they did in the spring or summer or fall. It was all wet and cold, and slushy, and cold, and there was this blasted Deerclops (which she still didn’t understand and hated), and it felt like icicles were growing in her hair, and her light could barely provide any warmth and IT WAS BLOODY COLD OUT!

“Willow! Stop adding the logs to the fire! It’s already high enough as it is right now and you’re wasting fuel!”

“You don’t understand Wilson! It’s bloody cold out and I’m freezing my fingers off over here! Look! They’re already turning blue!” She held out one of her hands out to Wilson, who took it and examined it.

“You’re fine Willow. You’re fingers aren’t turning blue. But be sure to let me know if they are, that could be a bad sign.”

Willow huffed, huddling deeper into the fur vest that was more like a coat. (It was like swimming in warm fur.) It helped against the cold but she still felt the winter biting at her from all around. And she HATED IT.

“Listen, I’m going to check up on the rabbit traps. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Willow looked up at the sky, frowning. The sky was already starting to get dark. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? It’s starting to get dark out.”

“Better now than tomorrow. Those traps were out of date late I checked, and anything could escape from them if they’re left alone for too long.” Wilson took out a spear from his chest, tapping the stone end. It looked dull and ready to break in Willow’s eyes. She wanted to tell him to use her spear, or wait till the first rays of light so that he wouldn’t worry about the night monster, but Wilson had left with a small smile and a wave of his hand.

That was hours ago. The sun had set. And Wilson still hadn’t returned.

If Willow hadn’t been worried before, she was now. The rabbit holes weren’t that far away. He should have been back by now.

“He’s fine. He’s fine. He lived here far longer than you have. He knows how to take care of himself. He’ll be back soon. I’m sure he’s fine…” For some reason, she took a small glance behind herself, gazing at the wooden doll that stood next to Wilson’s tent.

Grabbing her spear and flicking on her lighter, Willow ran off looking for Wilson. It took far longer for her to find the rabbit holes in the darkness, but she managed to find them. And footprints. Relief flooded inside her once she saw the tracks. Tracks around the rabbit holes meant Wilson made it here. That he was alive around here somewhere.

“Wilson?! Hey! Brainiack! Where are you?!” The area was still. Only the cold winds talked back to her. There was no scientist in sight. Willow’s heart began to pick up. “Wilson! Wilson where are you?!”

Silence only greeted her.

Gulping down her nerves, Willow tried to stay calm and think. Wilson had defiantly been here. He left behind tracks in the snow.

She glanced down again. So, follow the tracks, find the scientist. Should be simple enough.

“It’s a good thing it snowed the other night.” Willow muttered, following the tracks that went to each rabbit hole. She kept noticing the lack of traps with a few of the holes. At least we’ll have something to eat. She thought before stopping dead cold in place.

Wilson’s tracks had been closely placed together, one foot out in front of the other in a steady pattern of a slow easy collecting walk. But here. Here it looked like Wilson had stopped, stumbled, and took off in a sprint. But that wasn’t what worried Willow.

It was the many tracks of paw prints that did.

Wilson was not having a good day. Not a good day at all.

It should have been a simple task. Gather up any rabbits caught in the traps and head back to camp. It should have been that simple. But no. Ooooh no. Maxwell seemed to deem it a too easy of a task for dear old Wilson. Not suffering enough in his eyes.

Blue Hounds.

It had to be bloody Blue Hounds.

If he didn’t have to worry so much as to keep his light from going out, he could try to deal with the hounds. He had a Meat Effigy set up back at camp just in case he died. (Though Willow wouldn’t be too pleased to see him using it if he did die. The first scare was enough for her, and she still hadn’t forgiven him for not explaining about his little secret to cheat death earlier.)

But that would be a waste. Effigies were hard to make and required beard hair to make it. He had the beard, but he still needed it to use against the cold. (And beards didn’t grow back once you go through death and revive through the Meat Effigy.)

Wilson slipped, almost landing face first in the snow had he not caught himself and continued running for his life. A small scream jumped out of his mouth as one of the Blue Hounds barely managed to sink their jaws into his foot. It was then that Wilson soon realized that the hounds were gaining on him.

Fast.

Kicking it into high gear, Wilson ran as fast as his legs could carry him as his heart pounded against his chest. If he could just get to a forest and set a tree on fire, he could use the light as an advantage and fight back. The sight of a tree rushing past him gave him some hope.

And then one of the bloody Blue Hound’s lunged and bit deep into his leg.

Pain was nothing new to Wilson at this point. But it still hurt.

A yell tore out from him as he collapsed to the ground, and screamed out again when another hound quickly pounced and bit into his arm. He spotted one of the other hounds making a lunge for his other arm, but managed to hit it away in time with his torch and set it on fire as well. He did not have enough time to watch the beast suffer as another hound bit into his soft torso and started a tug-o-war with the other two that held his trapped limbs.

Copper. He could taste copper in his mouth.

Blood spilled out from his mouth as the damn dogs kept tearing away at him. Try as he might to hit the hounds off him, Wilson could feel his strength leaving him every second. It didn’t help when the other Blue Hound came back and chomped down on his other leg.

The hounds kept tearing into him, blood was dying the white snow crimson.

‘Dying.’

Heh.

That was exactly what was going to happen to him soon. He could already feel the edges of his vision start to darken and the cold feeling of death coming upon him. It was never fun to die. Never. Death always hurt whether by starvation, freezing to death, being stomped on by giants, or being torn apart by bloody hounds from any season. It was never fun, nor would he ever get used to it.

He knew he would have to apologize to Willow when he woke up in the Effigy. The poor girl never experienced death (and he hoped that she never would) and he wanted to make her understand so that she wouldn’t be too angry with him when he came back and not punch him in the eye or yell at him for hours on end. He could practically hear her screaming right now.

Almost like she was screaming something he couldn’t make out so close to him…

Like she was right there…

Wilson’s body screamed with agony as the hounds dropped him. The blood loss was making it hard for his brain to focus on anything and the ringing in his ears muffled the sound around him.

All he could really feel was the cold seeping into his body, soothing away his pain with a promise of relief if he just closed his eyes.

He wanted to give in, to let it take him, even for a brief moment to escape the pain. But something started to shake his shoulder, pulling him away from the escape. He was rolled over on his back, hissing as the pain came back anew.

Something touched his cheek, prompting the scientist to open his eyes.

His vision was still blurry, but he could make out a familiar silhouette before things went dark.

Too slow.

She had been too slow.

She didn’t react fast enough when she realized Wilson was in danger. She just stood there like an idiot till her brain finally got her legs working again and she took off, following the tracks, hoping that she would find Wilson unharmed or at least escaped the hounds.

And then she heard the yell of pain.

Too slow.

When she finally caught up, she screamed when she saw the hounds holding Wilson in their jaws, tearing away his flesh and exposing bone. She blacked out for a bit, so she didn’t recall what happened next until she was standing over the last hound burning away like the garbage she used to set on fire for warmth on cold nights. All four hounds were dead, burned to a black crisp.

The smell of burnt flesh and hound fur almost made her gag, but she ignored it. Her focus turned to Wilson. Tears were building up in her eyes as she run over to him and kneeled down, shaking his shoulder and trying not to look at the gruesome wounds and the blood covering her hands. He hissed in pain as she turned him over on his back. His face was pale against her hand (ignoring the blood that covered her fingers).

Too slow.

“Wilson?” Her voice shook, hoping beyond hope that he was still responsive. His eyes fluttered open (unfocused, not really staring right at her like he did when they first met) and closed again all too soon. “Hey. Hey! Don’t you dare close your eyes!” She shook him again, desperate for him to give her any sign of life. “Wilson! Wilson!”

Too slow.

She kept calling out his name for what felt like forever, but it was only until the last burning corpse of a hound went out and darkness engulfed them both. The loss of sight made her quickly realizes the danger she and Wilson were in now. Taking out her lighter again and flicking it on, she nearly screamed again when she looked down at Wilson.

He was so pale, blood was pouring out his mouth and into his beard. His vest was torn and she could see the large bite mark on his stomach. Bones were poking out of his limbs where they were torn open, bleeding profoundly. If it wasn’t for the shallow puffs of air still coming out of his nose and mouth, Willow would have thought that he was already dead.

“Hang on Wil.” Willow mumbled, moving Wilson on his side, looping his (only) uninjured arm over her shoulder and hefted him up. For looking so skin and weak, Wilson was much heavier then he looked. “Camp shouldn’t be that far away. W-We’ll get you patched up, okay?” She tried to keep the shakiness out of her voice as she leaned Wilson against her, starting their slow trip back to camp.

She kept talking, hoping that Wilson would hear her and wake up, or make some indication that he was responding to her voice.

But he never did.

“We’re almost there Wil. We’re nearing the campfire and—” There was a sudden burst of smoke and the weight leaning against her was gone.

She didn’t dare look. She didn’t dare to look and see what she dreaded come true.

“OOoooOOoh?”

Willow, braving herself, looked up at the ghost floating beside her.

Had she not seen the familiar hair-like style on top of its ghost head and the dark circles around their eyes, Willow would have probably screamed and tried to burn them (like she tried to when she first saw Wilson’s ghost), but she could only stare at them with a blank look, her lighter’s light paled to the ghostly glow Wilson’s spirit gave off.

“OoooOOooooh…” Wilson was giving her a sad look. The same look he gave her when he understood that he messed up somehow.

“It’s… fine Wilson.” Willow rubbed one of her eyes, sighing while shaking her head. “Just… go ahead and get in the Effigy already. I’ll…” She looked down at the pile of bones next to her surrounded by all the items Wilson had on him. Most being rabbit meat. “I’ll start… picking up some of your stuff.”

The ghost stared at her a moment before shaking its head in a nod and disappeared. Willow stood there staring at the bones before the cracking of wood helped her start picking things up.

Too late.

Willow should be mad at him.

That was what Wilson assumed she should feel towards him once he came back to life.

She should be yelling at him for being so stupid for going out there on his own and getting attacked by hounds.

She should be screaming at him for dying on her when they were so close to the camp where all the medical supplies were stored away in his chest.

She should be threatening to pack up and split from here and leave him all by himself as a rightful punishment for his actions that night and for what he put her through.

But she didn’t.

She didn’t yell at him when he came back from the dead. She didn’t scream at him when came to help her gather up the stuff he dropped. She didn’t threaten to leave as they both silently went back to the camp and stored up what little meat Wilson managed to gather from the traps.

She was just… empty.

She couldn’t look Wilson in the eye when he tried to talk to her, nor did she utter a single word to him when he apologized multiple times to her and promising to be more careful next time. She just… didn’t do anything.

All she did was stare into the fire with a blank look.

She had been doing so for over the past couple of days after the hound incident. She just kept sitting on the log staring into the fire, occasionally adding wood when it was getting low, and maybe pop a berry in her mouth.

On and off Wilson tried to get her attention or give her something to eat, but she hadn’t been responsive to him as he hoped. It was honestly scaring the poor scientist more than anything that the bloody place had thrown at him.

He just couldn’t understand it. What had turned such bright person to this in such a way?

He didn’t know. And he hated it when he couldn’t understand things! It drove him insane!

“Willow?” He sat down next to her, trying to find anything that would give him hope that she was listening to him. She didn’t. “Willow, please say something. It’s been nine days since the… ‘incident’, and you’re really worrying me.” He rubbed his hands together, a worrying action he did when he was really nervous. “I’m sorry for what I put you through. It was unexpected and it was wrong of me to go out on my own in such dangerous situation.”

She still didn’t move, or give anything to show that she was listening to him.

Wilson sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. “Willow… I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I put you through, and what you saw, and for what happened I… I was really being a fool. I was trying to make sure that we both survived through this winter without an incidents of death.” He paused a moment. “But I guess I really failed at that. I… I wasn’t thinking when I went out that night. Thinking of our survival, yes. But in the best way? No. I was rushing head long into a mistake that I should have seen coming. I just didn’t think clearly enough on my actions and what they would cost.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Wilson spied Willow shaking a bit. Out of cold or emotion, he didn’t know, but he smiled inwardly as this was the first sign of movement he’s seen from her.

“You see, it’s been a long while since I’ve been around other people before being stuck here, and even more so since having been stuck here before I met you. I used to only care for my own survival to make it through the night to the next day. Though, there were times when I still didn’t think well enough through with my actions and… they weren’t the best.”

No. No they were not. He could still recall the times of hunger, burning to death, monsters ripping him to shreds, and even forgetting to watch the fuel for his light on his first few days trapped here.

“But I guess I never took in to account of how you would react to this place and its strange properties. Or how death works here. It should have been the first thing I should have explained to you when we first met. But the joy of finding another human being clouded that judgment as well. It still doesn’t excuse me for what I’ve done and… Willow?”

Wilson stopped talking, taking full notice of Willow’s shaking body. Gradually, her shakes worsened as her body shook with no end. Her breathing came out in puffs and small coughs.

Alarms blared in Wilson’s head and he quickly moved in front of her. “Willow?!” He grabbed her shoulders, trying to stop her shakiness. “Willow what’s wrong?!”

Willow stared at him a moment before her eyes rolled to the back of her head and pitched backwards.

“WILLOW!”

In all his years, Wilson was never so happy to have medical knowledge before.

Having done countless experiments that tended to backfire badly (and incidents as a small child that he would never go into detail about with anyone), Wilson was very capable of treating many wounds and sicknesses over the years on his own. (He really needed to thank his mother once he got back home.)

Though he ridiculed himself for not seeing Willow in such bad state before. Although he could partly blame the vest for hiding the reason for Willow’s current state.

Gash marks. Two of them on her lower back.

Thankfully they weren’t deep enough to require stitching, though Wilson was concerned about the blood loss and puffy red skin around the wound. Cleaning the wound was first priority before he could do anything to help Willow. Thankfully that was still plenty of ice left the ice box. Melting it down and boiling it to rid of any bacteria was simple enough, but he really wished he had some cleaner marital of cloth to use to clean the wound with. One of his sleeves will have to do for now (even if it wasn’t what Wilson would prefer to use).

Once the wounds was clean, he quickly applied some healing salve, making sure it covered the entire wounds before nodding with satisfaction. Now came the hard part.

Waiting.

Wilson hated waiting. There was nothing to do when he waited. Keeping Willow’s temperature down with a wet cloth was easy thing to check up on once in a while, but all Wilson could do was wait outside her tent and hope for the best.

He had never gotten sick before when he came to this place. Not once. He had always been in good health. Not even a little cold. He had wondered if this place had some effects on the human immunogenic system, but now he could clearly see that was not the case. Though he didn’t understand how Willow was the one who was sick and not him. He had many chances to be sick. Open wounds, stuck in the rain, hound bites, mosquito bites, and all other unhygienic things that would surely gotten him sick.

Must be another Maxwell trick then. Making sure he was healthy enough to suffer.

Typical.

It was around day five that Willow finally woke up.

Groggy and grumpy, but awake.

Wilson was so happy to see her awake that first thing he did when he saw that she was awake was hug her… and then got punched right in the eye.

“Sorry.”

“It’s quite fine Willow. I most likely deserved it.” Wilson waved off her apology with a smile. “I’m just glad to see you’re awake. I was almost worried that you die on me.”

Willow cringed, turning her gaze away from Wilson (or more accurately the ice he was pressing against his black eye) and looked at the fire. Wilson was worried that she would go back to that blank state when Willow spoke again. “Why?”

“… Why what?”

“Why couldn’t you have hold out a little longer? Why didn’t you… why didn’t you make it to the camp?”

Wilson blinked, lowering the ice to look at Willow questionably. “I’m… sorry. I don’t quite unders—”

“The night of the attack.” Willow turn her eyes back on him, looking at him fiercely. “The night you stupidly went out and got attack! The night that you…” Her ember eyes slowly lost their fire. “… The night you died.”

“Ah. That.” Wilson nodded his head, pressing the ice back on his eye. “I honestly wished that I didn’t die that night Willow. Though with the injuries that I had sustained, I doubt that I would have made it to the camp alive.” He looked to the side, dropping his voice. “And I doubt that I would have even lived long even if you did manage to get me back to the camp.”

“But. But we have healing salve! And other stuff that could’ve—”

“I had internal bleeding, four broken ribs, punctures in the stomach, a clear split in my ulna and radius, and a shattered tibia.” Wilson lower the ice, looking at Willow’s shocked face. “I’m surprised that I even lived to the outskirts of the camp before succumbing to the wounds.”

Willow stared at him for at least a minute, opening and closing her mouth. “… h… How did you…?”

“My skeleton.” Wilson pointed to where the skeleton was. Though Willow couldn’t see it anywhere when she looked. “I did a quick examination of it before disposing of it. I… it was sort of habit for me back then.” He looked sheepishly at the ground, kicking a bit of snow away. “Anyway, even with medical supplies at hand, I wouldn’t have survived the ordeal with the damage my body had to it. It wouldn’t have mattered in the end and it would have wasted resources.”

Willow looked at the ground. “… I still would have tried to save you… I’m still not used to the idea of death being normal here…”

Wilson glanced at her. “… Yes well. Thank you for trying. It was… a nice gesture none the less.”

She looked back up at him, smiling softly.

… And then punched him very hard in the arm.

“OW! What in the name of science was that for?!”

“For being an idiotic genius, you lovable dork!”  

[thedarkestdragonknight]

Blood on the Steppe

Content Warning: This story is very visual and detailed, it contains the following things that might be disturbing to viewers. This includes Gore, Blood, Violence, Character Death and disturbing actions taking by one character. Please keep yourself safe and read at your own risk.

I won’t lie and say that I am scared to post this up but it’s something I’ve been wanting to write for awhile now. A lot of these thoughts came from a few ideas and some thoughts on activities that could be possible in this world. Note, this is a story and none of this reflects on me as the Mun. Again, this is a story and purely for plot and character development for Jacques. 

But for the most part this story pulls on the thoughts of how people will usually kill certain animals (Think Rhinos, Gorillas, Sharks, etc.) for very specific parts and then leave behind the rest, you can also think of things like Hannibal Lector but without the cannibalism aspect to it. That is your big warning for what details you are likely to come across reading this should you choose to, alongside the Content Warning. Please keep yourselves safe and once again, please read this ONLY if you are comfortable with these things.

Slowly the Au Ra's tail coiled and curled around behind him as he walked... why had he come here again? Usually he never came out to the Steppe because most of the Xaela that were there would tend to give him the most puzzled or questioning looks. Some, due to his appearance and most because they had come up to speak with him and found that he wasn't in any of the clans on the Steppe. The recoils he often got from a simple statement such as 'I was never born here' or 'I am not from the Steppe' were sometimes amusing but most of the time they made him worried that he was... well causing them a bit of a panic because of it. But, the Steppe had its beauty and he had to admit that the dead of night was always the most pleasant time to go through and explore. To see the things and to also just find some place on one of the cliffside areas where he could sit and just stare up at the stars and moon. Which was something that the Au Ra did often when he was alone and needed to find something to keep his mind from wandering to darker thoughts... to keep himself from hating himself and from the constant mentality that he was a monster in this world.

Jacques was slowly leaving from the area of Reunion... one thing he always did when coming to the Steppe was go there and get several of the different types of Buuz so that he could enjoy them while just... sitting and enjoying the peace. Once he had them the man had taken his leave and he already had an area in mind where he was going to rest and relax. Not far from the area was a large cliff that jutted out from where the Steppe bordered Yanxia and that was where he always found himself sitting and relaxing on his visits there.

Giving a slight glance around the man was making sure no one was around to see him before he started on his way with the destination in mind. And once he was a safe distance away that form shifted and the dragon was taking to the air and flying slowly to where he wanted to spend his night... some usually saw him like this but he always made sure that no one saw him transform. He didn't want to scare anyone nor did he want his... secrets known. Especially because he didn't know how any of the tribes of the Steppe would react to knowing that this heavily scaled Au Ra who wasn't FROM their home could also use some 'strange magic' to turn into a creature they've never really seen before. At least like this he could make it to the cliff and be ready to rest in little time, which meant he had more time to spend watching the stars in the sky. Jacques carefully tilted his wings so that he could pivot himself once he got close to the area but something caught his attention on the ground below. Those wyrm eyes of his caught the faintest of things on the ground that looked like someone needed help and he keened in on it quickly, spinning in a motion midair before he dove down and landed behind some tall boulders so that he could change back without being seen. Slowly stepping out the Au Ra looked out and he saw a thick trail of blood leading in from the cave that lead to the other side of the Yanxian area. A slight grimace coming across his features as he was making his way out to investigate... maybe it was just some animal that got injured fleeing? It was quite a large amount of blood that he was seeing and that seemed the logical thought because there were hunters in the Steppe and perhaps something tried to flee but ultimately got caught. Once he was close the man knelt down and brought his hand close to one large patch of blood... it was fresh. The crimson liquid still had that gleam to it... and it hadn't fully soaked into the ground yet. Slowly Jacques scanned over the area more before he saw something that caught his attention... footprints... at least two sets... and they looked to be heading into the Steppe. What worried him is that they were bloodied and that could mean that whoever left them behind were injured... but at the same time it was possible they just walked through the blood while hunting whatever left it behind. Regardless of what it was, Jacques was getting up to his feet and he was following the trail. Slowly the bloody trail started to get smaller, the footprints fading as the blood was being lost to the ground that whoever left them behind had walked on. That's when he took note of... another set of footprints, these more heavy... armored slightly... while the others had been bare. Gritting his teeth ever so slightly Jacques doubled up his pace and soon he saw a little broken down tent. It wasn't uncommon for the Steppe to have these areas scattered about because he'd seen the remains of several villages that had been lost to the Steppe's ways. As he approached however he saw someone that was crouched down... and looked to be... doing something. Those eyes keened in on the man who was at work and he saw the heavy amount of blood that was around the bastards feet. He couldn't see any sort of animal and they guy certainly didn't look like a native of the Steppe. Silently the Au Ra was approaching, slow steps to mask any noise that he might make and once Jacques got close... well... silence was out the window. The body of a young Au Ra, a Raen, maybe in their early twenties was seen and the guy who was hovering over it was using a sharp knife to pry off the scales. Slicing through areas and setting each set of scales to a side in a pile. Jacques growled out sharply, the noise causing the guy to jerk sharply and spin around. Of course, being caught meant the bastard lashed out... jerking up to his feet and trying to rush Jacques with that bloodied knife. Which, of course wasn't really going to do much... Jacques saw it coming and as the man tried to run that knife through his gut the Au Ra grappled his wrist and twisted it earning a howl of pain as several pops and snaps were heard. And he didn't stop there... Jacques twisted that wrist even more causing the bones to crackle before he lunged his other hand forward to grip the bastards throat and squeeze. This bastard didn't deserve to live if this was the living he made... Slowly those claws sank in and Jacques would continue to tighten his grip as the guy struggled and flailed. Kicking his legs, and trying to grab at the hand that was around his throat and cutting off his air. At least the Au Ra showed him some mercy... and with a quick jerk of his arm the sounds of those vertebrae snapping could be heard and then well... Jacques just tore out the front of the guys throat before he tossed the body aside. Let the beasts of the Steppe have a meal. Frowning Jacques moved around to check out the body... kneeling down and bringing his hand to gently graze over the youths cheek. Every scale had been cut away from the body and he could see that the death was caused by a blow to the back of the neck... especially because where the scales had been removed there was heavy signs of trauma and bruising "...... you should never have had to suffer this..." he muttered out, though his attention jerked as he heard shuffling from inside the broken down tent... and he noticed more blood had been around the front of that. Narrowing his eyes more Jacques carefully got up again and he was making his way over... and slowly he was drawing the rough leathers of the tent back. Another body... but this one was older, slightly older than him perhaps... but the body was in the same shape as the youth outside. Scales completely removed and chopped off... and this one was missing the tail... what sick asshole would do this to anyone? The noise however caught his attention again and now he heard sniffling... frantic sniffling... and that's when he saw something that was curled up under the body clinging onto it. And that's when the Au Ra's heart dropped into his stomach... a child. A family... Jacques knelt down as he moved the tent remains away... and he heard the sharp squeal of fear coming out of the young Au Ra who had noticed that he was there. The frown grew more evident as he looked to the little boy who was absolutely soaked with blood... "It's okay... I'm not going to hurt you." his words were gentle, his voice soft... "The bad man is gone... you're safe." had he been any later... had he not seen the blood... Curling his tail around Jacques stayed where he was, allowing for the youth to decide on what he wanted to do. The boy was barely over four years old at the most... and this... by the twelve. He was watching the boy carefully, not making any moves and doing everything to keep himself from looking all that intimidating. Jacques wanted the boy to feel safe... secure around him... and he didn't want to scare him anymore than he already was. Some hours passed, Jacques would offer gentle words to the boy and after what seemed an eternity in his mind the boy slowly came out to him and practically latched onto him. Sobbing and wailing... wailing until his throat was hoarse and he was coughing because of it. The larger Au Ra gentle wrapped his arm around the boy... hugging and holding him close... a protective nature in the way he did so. He would tend to the bodies... make sure they were buried and laid to rest, but for now... he was focused on the boy that was now clinging to him. "You're safe now... no one is ever going to hurt you." there was a tone that Jacques took as those words left his lips... a protective tone. Of course... now he had to figure out a way to even explain this to his companions. Where would he even begin? How would he touch the subject that the boys father and sibling were killed in such a horrific manner? A low sigh came out of Jacques as he carefully pulled the child up ever so slightly so he could rest his chin on his head. The poor thing had practically cried himself to a mute state... and to exhaustion... Right... it was time to tend to the bodies and to get the boy back to his home in the Mist. And hopefully have no one there so he could get the child settled in before having to explain to his companions.

[hadeanic]

~The Dove Wonders On~ | {Wakana} | [CH2- MOTIVE+BODYDISCOVERY+TRIAL] | (Re: Shiba, Noel) | (Attention: Everyone, Noel)

She is on edge as she heads Monokumi’s call to meet in the main hub. Last time they did this- it was for the memory motive; this time… Wakana feels it may not turn out so differently. She is right to believe it when Monokumi states her case, but there is a certain difference.

She feels dread hearing Monokumi’s words. She doesn't even feel sick yet her whole face is pale.

A sickness that they could potentially all die from.

No one here but her probably knows the meaning to those words. Wakana would not have wished it on any other, but this motive… Does Monokumi have a personal vendetta against her?

Wakana looked towards the ground to hide her face from her peers. She could not bare to worry them. Yet try as she might, her breathing and body is shaking quite visibly.

She feels the memories rising; and she dislikes how quick the memories come to haunt her.

She looked over to Jito for a moment; she told him her mother died,

But did she ever tell him how exactly she lost her mother?

No- that was too personal, and the memories still sting although it been years.

She was four, but that does not mean she is free to forget the fragments that show up in her mind. Her mother’s ending is a fragment that is both blurry and still quite present.

The smile that fades; the eyes that lose all color and brightness.

The beautiful voice diminishes when the final countdown begins.

She remembers the numerous to vast amounts of cards in the room where her mother rested.

She remembers the daily flowers sent to the room.

She remembers the bright, white colorless walls of that room.

A fragment of her fathers concerned face; a fragment of his utter devastation to the news from the professions in the building.

A fragment of her sitting on a chair next to her mother’s bed; a fragment of her holding her mother’s hand.

The grip, losing strength every day that passed by.

Her mother's eyes close one last time, and the doctors await by the door; her father took her out of the hospital room.

She did not understand then- no she could not have possibly understood as she was too young.

However; her understanding came quickly at the time of her mother’s burial. Her understanding grew as she had grown up with the loss.

Her understanding was pushed in her face as it driven her father to almost ruin her childhood.

He never really moved on from her mother’s death. He was always scared the same would happen to her.

Back then it was frustrating how he been scared for such a thing, but now faced with the reality of it might actually occurring?

How did she feel?

“... … ...“

She mourned; she felt a great deal of sadness as she been reminded how her mother left the world, but even more than that she felt-

She felt-

She was concerned for her father; if he found her gone in the way like her mother- she could not have imagined what he would do or have done.

She was scared; she desired to cry, but no tears would come.

An encouraging voice suddenly washed over her mind.

No- she had to be strong; even if she was scared. She had to keep pushing through and keep moving.

When the class was dismissed Wakana was one of the last ones out of the room; taking the time to breath and allow herself to calm down.

She left with worry for her classmates.

She hoped to not see such a tragic event happen again.

~~~~~~~~~

Despite that hope; her worst fears appear once more as another discovery announcement is called.

She cannot help but feel relief, but with that relief comes a horrid dread as she wishes it was just a dream that she heard the announcement. However; no one can run away from reality.

Hearing Noel’s voice call out for help was no dream.

Wakana got up from her bed; despite the weakness in her limbs- despite the dizziness- despite being at her worst condition; she made an effort to get out of her bed and go see the event occurring outside her room. She reached the door and opened it, but as the door opened her legs gave out. She held tightly to the door knob and closed her eyes as another wave of dizziness overcame her.

She almost faints when she hears the discovery announcement, but opens her eyes and tries to stay focused. She sees blood and another classmate gone. She feels the sadness of loss again.

When Monokuma releases them from the sickness; Wakana immediately feels relieved, but the relief is only temporary as she feels herself be moved to another location.

Once at the location and put with a new team to work with; Her legs shake as she goes to stand up. She almost feels hysterical; knowing that just moments ago she could barely move or even stand, but the feeling of loss overtakes her.

She just desires to mourn for her classmate, but time is limited in this place- they only have so much time to find what they need and catch the killer. Namiko’s death still fresh on her mind; she dreads the trial, but with Monokumi in charge and the children under her control…

Such a cruel place- they are forced to do what they are told.

Wakana took a deep breath and sighed.

Time to get to work.

+~+~+~+~+~++~~+~+~+~ ~+Trial+~

She feels uncertain, but also certain.

She feels dread, but she knows they have to do this.

She closes her eyes for a moment and takes a steady deep breath; easing away the tension and anxiety in her heart. Wakana put her monopod on her podium and let the evidence pieces lie in front of her to keep track of. Once ready; she rested both arms to her side and allowed herself to look up and pay attention to her peers.

Her first concern is Noel; she can see it- the shaking; and Wakana wants nothing but to comfort her. She almost speaks up to inquire Noel as to how she was doing, but her attention is driven away when she hears Fumiko speak.

She nods from time to time and when Fumiko finished; Wakana decided it may have been the best to speak up now- as she was one of the ones who investigated the underground.

“I agree with Fumiko-san… the trap door in Nakasone-san’s lab, and the underground of that area… without a doubt either was the place where Nakahara-san died.. Or it was the place where he received most of his injuries…and as Fumiko-san pointed out- I think most of us on the blue team would like to know more about the injuries on Nakahara-san and what more was found by the red team ...”

“I would especially like to know if his wounds would match up to the steel daggers we found in our investigation… which I think, and do correct me if I am wrong, but I believe that the smallest dagger was the weapon of murder.”

Wakana looked down for a moment at her monopad and scrolled through the screen. Once she found what she was looking for, she looked up and continued from where she left off.

“However- going back to the underground of Nakasone-san’s lab. There was a strong scent of blood in that area, and only a few of us on blue team could stay down there long enough to receive somewhat of a thorough look. We found that there were signs of a struggle; I think Shu-san can explain that part better. There were also incomplete footprint marks on the ground almost everywhere in that area; I did my best to experiment to see if there was any possible way to make out a unique or distinguished look, but all I resulted in is just possibly knowing the type of shoes they could have possibly came from… which are athletic or tennis shoes.”

She looked to Haruto and Ayumu for a moment; before adding in one more piece.

“Our team also conducted a soundproof test in the underground, but I think the other members of my team can explain that further. I will say though to add on to their test- I also went down and tried to do the same test after them; which after using my highest vocal note possible… and no one heard what I did… I think my test ended the same way their original test went, but again I will leave it to them to explain their test further.”

When she finished; she looked to Noel who had started to speak.

She does not ignore the tone coming from Noel; and Wakana does all she can to stand her ground. She knows what Noel is going through; she just went through it herself with Kanpei’s body.

Hoping against all odds that the person you find bloody and bruised is alive; hoping that maybe, just maybe you can save them- just to find out their long gone.

Wakana understands why Noel is so off put, but it does not stop her from trying to discover the truth. Though in this situation; Wakana is careful and gentle with her approach.

“Yuuki-san… I am deeply sorry you had to go through that…”

Her words are genuine.

“Yuuki-san… if I may ask do you know anything about a memory card? In Nakasone-san’s lab… we found something akin to a recording device; like your camera…. Is it alright if I could ask if you know anything about it, or did you know it was there in the first place? Please do take the time you need before responding…”

Although she was smiling gentle, the emotion on her face was filled with concern and worry.

[likethetailofacomet]

The End is Here- Ch. 6- No Time to Pretend

AN ENDLESS SUMMER ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE AU

This all started when @zaffrenotes sent me a prompt asking how Jake and Kara would meet in a zombie apocalypse au. So, thanks, D! Because now i’m obsessed with sweaty, bloody, dirty end of the world Jake and Kara. Ah, true love.

Warning: there will be violence, blood, death and adult relations in this series. this chapter has some smutty smut towards the end ;)

tagging: @ooo-barff-ooo @sleepwalkingelite @brightpinkpeppercorn @zaffrenotes @mind-reader1 @agent-bossypants @endlessly-searching-for-you @endlesstaylormckenzie @mysteli @indiacater @endlesshero1122 @endlessflame @akrenich @feartheendlesssummer @sophie-summer @beccasbadchoices @nekkidmolerat @cordoniantrash @choices-is-life @choiceslife @simmerbychoices @blackcatkita @edgydepressedchoicesthot 

tunes: for Jake and Kara- Beautiful Dream by George Ezra

What a beautiful dream I think I’ll stay a while Won’t open my resting eyes Caught off guard in between

Estela’s boots hit the ground first, her fingers curled tightly around the shaft of her shaolin spade as Sean, Craig and Michelle made their way down the rope behind her. Eyes wide and focus sharp, she scanned the area around them for movement, trying to assess the situation that they were in. A few creepers lay at their feet, Sean’s arrows sticking out of their heads and backs, empty eyes staring up at them from decaying faces missing noses and jaws and ears. A raspy breath from their left made Estela twirl around, spade ready as she lunged at the thing, the curved end of the spade decapitating the undead attacker like a hot knife through butter. It fell to the frozen ground with a hard thud as the rest of the group jumped down from the rope. One down, thought Estela, continuing to scan the area, three more creepers and five Traffickers to go.

Sean bent down keeping his eyes up as his hand curled around the arrow sticking out of the dispatched corpse at his feet, yanking it out with a squelchy sound. It came up covered in slick, black ooze and he strung it to his bow, aiming at one of the Traffickers running towards them. He let it fly, the thrum of the bow string spraying the inky black blood across Sean’s face. Sean didn’t flinch as the arrow flew through the darkness and hit its mark, taking the man down mid step. Sean cautiously moved toward the next heap of flesh and bones on the ground, yanking another arrow from what used to be its forehead. Three more of them, four more Traffickers.

Michelle heard the snapping of jaws from her right and realized that while her attention had been on Sean and his arrows, an undead assailant had crept up on her, one arm hanging limply from its shoulder socket, the other outstretched and grasping for her, its gnarled fingers brushing at the hair that hung around her shoulders.

“Duck, Meech!” Craig commanded, and she did as she was told, crouching low and just in time, as Craig’s tire iron came swinging through the space that Michelle’s head was just occupying, bashing the mushy skull of the thing that had surprised Michelle.

“Thanks,” she breathed as she stood, locking eyes with Craig as the big man nodded. She adjusted her grip on her golf club and collected herself with a deep breath, sticking close to Estela and the rest of them as they moved toward the headlights of the Trafficker’s truck. Sean took another quick moving Trafficker out, leaving just two more of them and two more of the undead. Estela handled one of them, jabbing it in the chest with the sharpened end of her weapon without even looking. Michelle heard fast footsteps coming up beside her, followed by the cocking of a shotgun. She closed her eyes and took a swing to where she hoped the man’s shins would be catching him by surprise, the gun discharging into the air as his legs flew out from under him and he landed flat on his back. She looked down at the face glaring back at her and recognized him instantly. It was the man in charge the night she and Raj were taken. An ice cold crackling feeling filled her like a flood as she lifted the club and brought it mercilessly down on the man’s face with a satisfying crunch, repeating until he ceased his movements, blood spurting from his nose and eyes and where his mouth used to be. She took a deep, shuddering breath and spun to catch up to the group.

“Enough!” a voice shouted out across the field and through the darkness. In the glow of the headlights they could make out the last of the Traffickers, his hands raised, a rope dangling from one of them. They slowed their steps, Michelle sticking close to Estela, Sean a half step ahead of them all and Craig slightly behind Michelle. “Enough…you…made your point…” there was fear shaking the man’s voice and Michelle felt her nostrils flare and her lip curl. How dare he be afraid, she thought, he brought this on himself. She kept her eyes on the rope in his hands, not willing to let herself be fooled- he might sound scared but he’s got one last thing up his sleeve.

“How will we know you won’t come back with more people? More of....of them?” Sean asked, his bow trained on the man before them.

Michelle watched as the rope started to move.

"I won't, guy, no one left back at camp...you...you killed them all."

Michelle didn't buy it. She knew the network of Traffickers was much bigger than the 4 men they'd dispatched and the 1 cowering before them. The rope twitched again, drawing Estela's attention- something was attached to the end of it.

“Don't listen to him, Sean,” Estela hissed, tightening her grip on her spear and taking a step closer to the man. Michelle moved forward, her feet filling the footprints Estela had just left behind. Sean adjusted his elbow higher, zeroing in on the man in front of them.

Suddenly the rope tugged and pulled and the man couldn't keep it between his fingers anymore. He let it slip, as deranged laughter slipped from his mouth. “You should have let me go,” he said, stepping aside as the thing at the end of the rope made itself visible.

Michelle’s eyes widened, her breath sucked from her lungs, chest feeling hollow and bruised as she recognized him. Raj. But it wasn't, not anymore. His face was sunken and his eyes were dull, skin rotting right off of his cheekbones, hair limp, filthy and hanging in clumps. He snapped his jaws at them, at her, and she knew there was nothing left inside of the perverted shell of the person he was. He was kind and always looked for the good, for the brightness. He was selfless and had saved her life, saved her spirit and saved everything that she was, and this had likely been the direct result of his actions. He didn't deserve this. Michelle knew the sick piece of shit who'd stopped laughing when Sean's arrow hit his shoulder had probably thought that seeing Raj like this would frighten her, make her sad, torture her, somehow make her a soft target again. But instead it filled her with rage, and as it lunged at her wearing what was left of Raj's face, she swung her club through it's skull and left it twitching behind her. It wasn't Raj. It had no right to pretend to be. She walked right past Sean, past Craig and Estela and raised her club once more before bringing it down on the man's face, his scream turning into a squelch as she smashed his nose and orbital bones to pulp. Craig and Zahra knew about Raj and about Michelle's time with the Traffickers, but after seeing her now, Sean and Estela knew that something had happened, and that Michelle had just finished something big. They didn't ask, but they knew.

“It's done,” Estela said, resting a hand on Michelle's shoulder. The women shared a nod, eyes locked on one another, before the group collectively took a breath. Craig and Sean surveyed the truck  and deemed it suitable to drive, so they took it back to the apartment before climbing back up the rope to the rest of the group. Relieved hugs and sighs went around the room as Zahra, Diego, Kara and Jake realized that everyone had made it back safely- dirty, exhausted, chests heaving and minds dark with what had just happened, but alive and whole and safe. Craig enveloped his wife and she tucked her face into his jacket so no one would see the three small tears that slipped out with the deep breath she exhaled. Sean told the rest of them what happened, that they'd secured the truck. Everyone got cleaned up and crawled to a couch or bed to crash into sleep, a veil of safety draped over the apartment, keeping them warm for at least one more night.

Kara felt her neck snapping forward as she dozed on the couch with Jake resting against her. She pulled her head back up with a gasp and blinked her eyes open. Her eyelids were made of lead and she fought them harder than ever, terrified to fall asleep while he slept. She needed to keep her eyes on him, watch for any signs of pain or fever, make sure he kept breathing. The motion of her dropping shoulders and head as she dozed over and over again woke him and he cleared his throat. “Hey, Princess, why don't you get some sleep?” he asked, titling his head back to look at her face. Her eyes were barely open, a thick fog settling in their normally clear blue skies. “You're so tired, Kara,” he whispered, trying to hide the grimace on his face. He was still in extreme pain, and talking was difficult but he'd bare any pain to ease hers.

“I'm fine, Jake,” she protested, a yawn breaking through to smash her words to smithereens.

He sighed, wishing with every ounce of him that he could take her in his arms, hold her to him and kiss her worries away, use his hands and his tongue, his lips, his breath and his body to show her that there was nothing to worry about. “You're not fine...you're exhausted, baby.” It wasn't a question. “Please, Kara...please, get some rest. I'll stay awake...let me watch over you for a little bit, okay? Please?”

There it was again. The word she'd never say no to, and he knew it. “Okay...just for a little while...just two hours, okay? Then wake me up. Promise.” she kissed his nose as she demanded her terms.

“Promise,” he whispered, and she eased back into the couch cushion. Before a minute had ticked by on his watch he felt her body go limp and her breath slow as she fell under the warm haze that had been trying to pull her into sleep since she'd carried his weight down into that laundry room. “Sleep well, Kara,” he let the words just barely trickle from his lips as he trailed his fingers lightly along her knee and looked out the window at the dark, black night. He let his mind wander to one of the scenarios he'd come up with, one of the thousands of different ways they could have met.

He'd brought his niece and nephew to the planetarium down at the local community college- they'd recently become obsessed with constellations, probably due to the fact that aside from catching bugs and looking at stars, Jake had no idea what to do with them. But they loved everything that uncle Jake did with them, so learning each and every star, comet, asteroid and moon had become their new shared activity. The college was putting on a special show, displaying constellations from millions of years ago, ones that can't be seen any more   as some of the stars had died, faded from existence, but the stories behind them had not, which was great as the two mini star gazers had already memorized all of the current visible constellations. Jake led Lucas and Laura by the hand to their seats in the sloping auditorium and waited excitedly as the lights dimmed and a beautiful young woman with silky, silvery blonde hair took the stage. “Welcome to the Hadrean Era,” she said, her voice tingling like stardust as the ceiling lit up with the twisting form of Andromeda, the woman in chains, the bright lights of Lupus, the lone wolf, with Delphinus and Draco and all the rest. At the end of the show the woman sat dangling her short legs from the stage's edge, allowing audience members to come ask questions and make comments. Lucas and Laura each had a question and Jake watched their faces light up as the woman answered them before turning to face Jake. She reached into her pocket and produced a small business card. “I'm Kara, I run this program...you three can come back anytime, show or not...I'm always happy to shed some light on the skies with fellow star lovers,” she ruffled the kids' hair and he felt sparks igniting in his heart.

“I'm Jake,” he said, “And I'm gonna take you up on that offer, Princess of the Stars.”

She dreamed of that first night, that first time she and Jake gave themselves to one another. He’d saved her life just hours before, pulling her from the choppy, icy water she’d fallen into, holding her trembling to his chest as he brought warmth back to her blood. His heart raced as hers threatened to fail, and they found harmony between them, breaths evening, returning to normal, but thoughts and feelings had crossed lines- she could have died, he could have died...later, under clear panes of glass showing onyx skies, they’d fallen into a kiss so deep it was unlike any they’d shared before. It started so simply. He’d gotten them inside the dilapidated greenhouse, sitting her on a shelf as he closed up behind them, ensuring nothing could follow them inside before returning to stand before her. He raised his hands to the sides of her face, gently placing his fingertips on her temples. He stepped closer, his hips flush against the shelf she sat on, bringing his lips to hers as he raked his fingers past her temples and into her still wet hair. Her breath had barely returned and he was stealing it from her, seeming to need it more than she did. She opened her mouth to him, and he waited, their breaths both hitching just at the sensation of the contact of their lips, at the life in them, before slipping his tongue past her teeth, hers swirling back against it. He gripped the sides of her face and deepened the kiss further by tilting her head just slightly, giving him a better angle. His tongue dove farther into her hot mouth as one of his hands found the soft, cool skin of her throat, ghosting little touches there. She whimpered, a soft little cry into his mouth as her hands found his waist, fingers digging into him. He groaned, a guttural, primal sound that made her shudder. “Kara,” his voice was gravelly with emotion, hardly a whisper as he broke the kiss. He leaned his forehead to hers, fingers traveling further into her hair, clutching her closer. “I almost lost you today,” his lips came back to hers and she felt waves crashing in and around her heart, tides pushing and pulling at her feelings for the man she’d promised herself she wouldn’t grow attached to... at her undeniable desire for him. “I almost lost you,” he repeated, his lips slipping along her skin. “Kara, I... I think I...”  She felt her heart beat out an alarm at what he was about to say. She reached up his stubbly cheeks with both hands and swallowed his words with a kiss. “Don’t, Jake,” she breathed. “Don’t say it...” she was growing dizzy- from the cold water, from the constant danger, from the kiss and his eyes and the things she wanted so desperately to hear him say, the things she wanted to say back. “I can’t Jake...” she said pleadingly. He understood, laying a gentle kiss to her lips that begged for nothing and promised everything.  “I know,” he said quietly, hands still roaming over her face, her neck, down her arms and up her sides. “Its okay...I know...and I'll wait for you to be ready. I'll wait as long as I have to.” His lips came back to hers and she felt the love she wouldn't say out loud exploding in her chest. She kissed him back, hard, overcome with how his willingness to accept her fear of falling in love had made her feel. Her hands worked their way beneath his shirt and he matched her intensity, helping her shed her own shirt. Their kisses grew more and more insistent as she poured that love into them, wanting him to feel what she couldn't say yet. The rest of their clothes came off but their lips never left one another, breaths coming in gasps, eyes locking intermittently, meeting in fire.

He broke apart, panting as his hands grazed up and down her naked frame. She'd laid back on the shelf he'd set her on, the dark cloudy sky above her, her skin pale and smooth in the darkness. “Are you sure you want this?” he asked, kissing her throat as his fingers lingered on her inner thigh.

“More than anything, Jake...I want this...I want you...” she reached for him to pull him down and they locked eyes as he entered her slowly. She was so wet with the way she wanted him, her body so ready for what she knew she wanted to say to him, but was too afraid to do so in words. She felt him fill her completely, sliding deep inside her until all the stars they couldn't see in the sky burst behind her closed eyes. “I want you, Jake,” she sighed into his ear as he began rocking his hips against her. “I want you, always...only you...always...”

“Me too, baby,” he groaned, gently pulling out and then swiftly thrusting back inside of her, eliciting beautiful whimpers and cries from her. “I want you...until the end of time...me and you...endless...” He kissed her deeply and she felt herself drown in his love, letting herself respond. I love you, Jacob, I love you and I always will, she said it with her hips and her hands and her tongue until her words could catch up. He lightly cupped her breast with one hand, squeezing and massaging the soft flesh with his rough fingers, rolling the nipple into a stiff peak, a light moan escaping her lips and into his mouth. As he tasted her wantonness he moved his lips to her breast, tracing her nipple with the tip of his tongue.

“Oh, Jake,” she sighed, panting heavily, working hard to keep the forbidden words from tumbling out. They were true, they were real, and the things he was doing to her only proved that he felt them too, but she couldn't say it. She wasn't ready to have love to lose. “Jake,” she breathed his name again, so close, so close to the edge of the universe he was sending her to.

“Yeah, darlin'” he kissed her chest and increased his thrusting.

“I think...I think I...” don't say it, Kara... I love you, Jake.

“I know, baby...” he panted, bringing his lips back up to hers in a kiss that took the paint off, revealed the cracks and showed all the splinters. A kiss that drew back the curtain and showed the reality, a kiss that finished them both, drove the nail in and sealed the envelope with boiling wax. “I know, Kara... me too...”

The stars behind her eyes swirled and expanded to become a galaxy as they both found their release and spent the rest of that night pressed together, feeling the words she couldn't say.

When she woke up she found his face, found his eyes and felt a swelling in her chest as she found his lips with hers. “Hey, good mornin' to you too,” he said with a chuckle that ended in a pained grunt. He reached up and ran a hand through her hair. “You sleep okay, princess?”

“Slept just fine, Top Gun,” she whispered, not wanting to wake anyone else still sleeping. “I love you,” she said, filling it with the feeling of all the times she'd wanted to say it but hadn't, vowing never to hold anything back again, never to keep her love from him again.

I’m going out to you Do with me what you choose Is the Grass of Eden underrated? The grass of Eden underrated?

No one else Is such a beautiful dream, a beautiful dream to me