#i can stop trying to work around underwater physics(?) when describing what’s happening! (for now at least lol)

[megarywrites]

Finished part three (of five) yesterday on the plane!! Hoping to get a lot (if not all) of part four written while I’m here 😌

[supercorpkid]

Get the door, it’s depression.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader, Alex Danvers x Niece!Reader.

Word Count: 2850.

Warning: Yep, it’s depression. May cause some triggers, please do not read this if it could cause you any discomfort or pain.

You hear the knock on your door. Kara’s wake up call. You open your eyes, only for them to be filled with tears immediately. You can’t. Can’t get up from bed, can’t go to school, can’t face the world right now.

The knock comes with a weird tug in the stomach. You feel like throwing up. Your heart is racing, your palms are sweating, yet your mouth is completely dry.

Not another panic attack, not another panic attack.

You shut your eyes hard and pray to Rao they forget about your existence. You pray Lena doesn’t open your bedroom’s door with the same old wake up call. You can practically hear her saying, ‘come on, baby. School. Let’s go.’ The sentence makes your stomach twist and turn inside you.

“Babygirl.” You hear Lena’s voice and oh no, here it comes. You turn to the side of your bed. There’s no time to move her out of the way and run to the bathroom, so you vomit right there. “Baby!”

Lena rushes to your side, holding your hair out of the way, while you keep throwing up something that cannot be described as food. You haven’t eaten in more than 18 hours. This yellow thing coming out of you, is not food.

“KARA! Help, please!” Lena yells, stroking your back lightly, trying to calm you down.

“What’s wrong? What’s-?” Kara's face appears in the bedroom. By the time she walks in, you’re basically done leaving everything you had on your stomach on the floor. “Oh no.” She swopes you in, in bridal style, getting you out of your vomited bedroom and into theirs. “You’re ok. Mommy is here. It’s ok, little one.” She says while laying you down in their bed.

“What are you feeling, babygirl?” Lena asks and you think about it. What are you feeling?

You’re feeling sick, but you’re not sick. You’re feeling tired, but you can’t get physically tired so it’s obviously not it. There’s nothing left in your stomach still the tug is right there.There are no words to explain what you’re feeling. There’s no illness you can blame it on.

What if they tell you to go to school? What if they tell you that you must get out of bed? You can’t get up. Your body is not responding to movement.

“Just-” You think about it. Just what? What is this? Why can’t you find the words to describe it? “Sick.” You can’t believe you’re doing this, but you fake cough. Like Kara usually fakes cough. And it’s so obvious, it’s so ridiculously over the top, that you’re sure they’re going to yell at you about it.

They don’t yell. Instead, they share a look. They have one of their telepathic conversations that you are usually not a part of. But this time you can tell what they’re thinking. They know you’re lying. Maybe the fake cough was a little too much. But they also know you don’t lie. Well, almost never, anyways. And you did throw up, and you also skipped meals, and Lena is looking at you like that. So, she knows something is up, she just doesn’t know exactly what.

“Ok.” Lena lets it out, like a sigh. “So you’re sick.” She goes to the bed, sitting next to you and investigating you further. “That means you won’t go to school.”

“Thanks.” You’re immediately relieved about it. Maybe it shows because they look at each other again, no more puzzlement in their faces.

“Do you want to stay in bed today?” Kara asks, and you agree with your head weakly. Not because you’re faking being sick. What you wanted, right now, was to vividly agree with your head because staying in bed is all you want. But weak is all you can do, for some reason. “Do you want mommy to stay with you?”

“Ummm.” No. You don’t want Kara around. You can’t even fathom the thought of her trying to cheer you up or shoving food at your face like all of this can be solved with food. “It’s ok, you should go to work. Is nothing serious.”

“Ok.” She looks disappointed at your answer. “How about if Lena stays?”

No. You also don’t want Lena around. Just the thought of having Lena pressing you to tell her what’s wrong, or that she can look at your face and see all that you’re hiding, sends shivers down your spine.

“Guys, it’s ok. It’s just some stupid cold or something like that.” You can’t get a cold, moron. How is this a cold?

“I’ll bring something for you to eat.” Kara makes her way downstairs and you look at Lena, still looking too knowing next to you.

“I’m ok. I just need to sleep a little more.” You pat her leg to comfort her. Feels weird comforting her when you know you’re the one who needs it so bad. “Go to work, mom. There’s a lot to do before L Corp launches the new device.”

Lena’s hand goes to your cheek. Usually, you would try giving her a little smile, but there’s nothing inside you that would be able to fake a believable smile right now, and you don’t have to give her more reasons to worry.

“Go.” You pat her leg again.

She gives you the longest forehead kiss you’ve ever gotten in your life. “I love you.”

“I’m not dying, you know.” You complain a little, but Lena doesn’t move. Green eyes pleading you to say the same. “I love you too.”

“Rest, baby.” Another forehead kiss. “I’ll ask Kara to check in on you later.”

“Thanks mom.”

When Lena leaves the bedroom, you let out a relieved sigh. It’s ok. They don’t know. You don’t have to explain yourself; you don’t need to find words, you don’t even know, to describe how you’re feeling. You can try and find as many words as you would like but there’s only one that will do. You’re feeling empty.

There is this crushing feeling of worthlessness and hopelessness. There is a war inside your mind, and at the same time you feel like you’re underwater. And you don’t even know how this is possible. You keep hearing ‘you should die’, you keep thinking you hate the Luthor name, you keep wondering why you had to be born with super powers. But at the same time that’s all hard to understand, because your mind feels drowned in muffled noises. You are exhausted.

You hear when Kara walks back into the room with food. You pretend you’re asleep. She knows you’re faking. You know she knows. Yet, you don’t open your eyes, nor does she call you on your lie.

You feel Kara’s big warm hand stroking your arm. You hear a worried sigh. You hear her saying she loves you. And you fall asleep.

When you wake up, it’s because you hear Kara again. You don’t know how long it has been since she left, but you hear her on the phone, and still, you don’t open your eyes.

“Still asleep, love.” She says, right outside the bedroom door. If you wanted, you could use your super hearing and listen to what Lena is saying too, but it’s too much effort and you’re exhausted. “No, she hasn't eaten anything yet. I know, Lena! I’m worried too! Ok, fine. I’ll wake her up. Call you later.”

You bite the inside of your mouth, hold your breath, and wait for it. But Kara doesn’t come in, instead you hear a whoosh of air, and she flies out. You breathe out again. Great, you can go back to sleep.

“Little one. Hey.” You feel Kara’s hand on your hair. “Wake up baby, I brought you donuts.”

“No, thanks. I just want to sleep some more.” You shuffle in bed, turning to the other side and ignoring Kara’s loud sighs.

“You’ve been sleeping for eight hours straight. You’ve skipped dinner last night, breakfast and lunch today. I’m sorry, my heart, but you have to wake up and eat something.” She tries again, even more soft than she was talking before.

“I don’t want to.”

“Please baby, just eat a little bit. There’s donuts, pizza, and your mom sent your favorite pasta from that place you like so much.” Kara’s hand is stroking your back, and it feels nice. But her voice is annoying you. And you’re oh, so, so tired. Her hands move to your face, and she strokes your cheek. “There’s so much stuff you like, sweet girl.”

“Please leave.”

“Little one…”

“Momma, just leave.”

She does, you reckon. You can’t really tell. Your mind is foggy, and you think you’re asleep again. Or maybe you’re awake. Maybe this is a dream. Maybe it’s reality. Maybe-

“Hey kiddo. Can you hear me?” You can. You wish the world would just stop talking to you, though. You wish your phone would stop ringing. You wish there wasn’t a hot yellow sun lamp on top of your body right now. There’s really no reason for it. “It’s aunt Alex. Can you tell me what you’re feeling?”

“I’m tired. Let me sleep.”

“Your body functions are normal. Heartbeat, oxygen, temperature. The yellow sun light is on. You’re not supposed to be tired.” She says again, touching the pulse point on your neck.

“Leave, please.” You beg, weakly. There’s no strength, there is no will power inside you.

You pray the world would just stop. The world doesn’t.

“Listen-” The mattress dips next to you when she sits. Alex easily turns your face to her. “Open your eyes and look at me. Please.”

“Why won’t you leave?” You whine, incapable of doing what she’s asking.

“Because I’m worried, your moms are worried, your cousin is worried, and we need to figure this out.” You feel her hands cupping your face, her two thumbs getting under your eyes and pulling the skin down. Your eyes unwittingly open. “Keep them open, please.” Reluctantly, you do. “Follow my finger.” She starts moving her finger in front of your face from one side to the other. “Good. Besides feeling tired, what else do you feel?”

“Annoyed at your presence.” It’s out of your mouth before you can think about it. It’s not a lie, but also not something you would just come out and say it like that. But you have no strength to take it back.

She sighs, loudly. “Just tell me what happened, kiddo. I’m sure I can help you.”

“You can’t.” Your jaw hardens at its own accord. The thought of ‘what happened’ keeps pulling the string around your neck tighter and tighter. The pit on your stomach feels infinite. “No one can, so just leave me the fuck alone.”

“Would you be willing to talk to anyone about this?” Alex doesn’t leave. You wish you were angry about it. You wish you could just tell her to go to hell. But tears find their way into your eyes and down your cheeks without your control. You hate not feeling in control of your own body. She cleans the tears with her thumb, softly. “If you don’t want to talk to me. Maybe to one of your moms?”

“No. Please, no.”

“Jamie?” You think about it. You think about anyone you would like to talk to right now. Not a single name comes to mind.

“Can I just sleep and talk to someone tomorrow?” You beg again. All that you’ve been doing is begging and whining and praying, still not a single soul responds to it. “Please, I’m-I’m exhausted. I can’t do any more talking today.”

“Ok.” Alex agrees. “You can talk tomorrow, but you have to eat today and that is non-negotiable.”

“Ok. I’ll eat.” But you close your eyes again, and before you know it, you’re drifting back to sleep.

It’s night, it’s day. Maybe night again.

Time passes, but it doesn’t.

You twist and turn, and sleep, and sleep-

Kara doesn’t let go of you. Lena sighs and whispers. They worry, but there’s nothing you can do about it. You have no strength to do anything about it.

They sigh, you feel bad. Then worse. Then you don’t feel anything at all.

They cry, you feel shitty. Instead of making them stop crying, you cry too. Then it’s like you’ve never even knew tears in your life.

It’s a full circle.

And then maybe it’s day again.

“Please, little one, wake up.” You blink your eyes at the request. Kara is holding food, and Lena is holding water in front of your face. “It’s been two days, you have to eat or Alex will use the red sun lamp to do an IV rehydration, and it’s going to be so much worse.”

“Mommy.” You whine, closing your eyes again.

“I’m sorry, baby. But you need food.” She sets the food on the side of the bed and sits you up. “Come on, you eat a little and we’ll let you go back to sleep, how about that?”

“How about I just sleep?”

“Hey. No, no.” She holds you up, before you try to lay down again. You hear Kara whispering in your ear. “Remember that you are my heart, and I need my heart to be strong. So please.”

You whine one more time, like a hurt puppy, but you still eat. Anything they put in your mouth, really, you don’t even care what it is. You eat and drink, then sleep and sleep-

“Babygirl. Hey, mom is here with you, ok?” You feel Lena’s hand on your hair, scraping your scalp so softly; you want nothing but that for the rest of your life.

“Don’t stop.” You wail. You must be begging again. It’s all you do.

“Playing with your hair?” She asks and you hum in agreement. “Ok, I won’t. Can I hold you?”

“Yes. But no talking.”

Lena gets comfortable next to you. One arm is around your ribcage, the other one on your hair, scrapping, playing, stroking it.

Your heart is empty, your stomach is empty, now your mind feels the same. It’s almost nice to feel nothing at all.

“Your phone doesn’t stop buzzing.” Lena says a while later and again your words leave your mouth before you can even process them.

“Ignore it. It’s them.”

“Who’s them?”

“The bullies.” Lena’s hand stops moving on your hair, her body stiffens close to yours. But your mind is foggy. The string around your neck tightens harder. Your stomach is an endless void. “Don’t stop, please.”

Jamie comes, she leaves unnoticed.

Maya comes, she leaves unanswered.

You haven’t left your moms’ bed in so long. It’s day, it’s night. Is it day again?

Your therapist comes.

She is in a depressive episode, he says.

Your moms yell, our baby is depressed?

No. She is having a depressive episode. Those are different things, he answers.

You want to scoff. There’s no strength.

You’re not depressed, you’re tired. The world is an infinite pit of misery. He wouldn’t say that you’re depressed if he knew what you’ve been through. Oh, wait. He does.

You’re an infinite pit of despair. You wish people would just go on with their lives, everyone but you. You wish your life would just stopped until you’re not tired anymore and can deal with things.

Every time you’re awake, you hear a voice in your ear saying, ‘You should die. Your family will be better off without you’. And you’re so beaten down, you believe it. So you close your eyes, and sleep and sleep-

“Here, my love.” Lena holds a little pill in front of your face, with a bottle of water.

“What’s that?”

“This will help. I promise.” She asks, or is she begging? You don’t take it. “Please baby, you have to take it.”

“Here, little one.” Kara has to physically open your mouth and put the pill on your tongue. Water washes over it soon after. “You’re going to be fine, my heart. We promise.”

“What was that?” You try again. Their answers weren’t satisfactory.

They look at each other. Must be telepathic talking. You lay your head down on your pillow again. You’re exhausted. So, so fucking tired.

Why the fuck is the world still spinning? Why is the world still standing?

It’s night, it’s day. Is it night again?

“Are you reading this?” You hear far away. Like a dream. Like you might be imagining, projecting, or even hallucinating.

“I-I can’t read any more of that, Lena. Look at the things they are telling her.”

“All because of my stupid last name.”

“For how long? How long did we let this happen for? We should’ve-We-My God, Lena! How did we not notice this before?”

“Too long. But that’s enough. That’s it, Kara. I mean it.”

Is this really happening? Are you dreaming? You feel so disconnected from reality. But it matters not, if it’s real or hallucination. The pull tights around your neck, heart and stomach. There is no hope, no help. Anything they do, will make things worse. But your mind is foggy. By now, you’re just a shell of a person. So instead of screaming for them to stop, you sleep and sleep and sleep-

Notes:

@lilyduranhanna prompted me this and as painful as it was to write, I hope is still enjoyable somehow?

[thexam-union]

It’s the Dockyard crew up next! Look at them go! Or not, because to be completely honest, you don’t want to see Mezzetino and/or Rotanev going. You will definitely be missing a few pieces if you say the wrong things to them. None of these three are particularly social, by typical standards, but they will answer anything pushed their way, even if it means they have to get pestered by coworkers to do it.

And while the Fearstival isn’t coming back for 2021 Fright Nights, it’s still worth giving Mezzetino a featurepiece just because I care them. Who knows, this clown might be load-bearing!

Text under the cut, just don’t bully Rotanev too much for not being able to write. It’s hard doing it with the wrong hand.

Rotanev:

Name : Rotanev Attraction : The Walking Dead: The Ride Zone : Dockyard Sector : Corvus Local Duty : Security + Pest Control

Rotanev is the sort of brute-force person who will throw out the bushel for a bad apple. That's kind of their job. Because no one else is okay to do it and morals aren't a thing Rotanev can be bothered to care about. Most people who grace the TPSZ know about them and know to stay out of their way, given something something machete murderer. As well as that, they're generally very offputting because of their constant tiredness and missing an arm and an eye. Just means they've been through shit, but who hasn't these days?

They're not really the type to make friends, either. Their coworker often gets into arguments with them about how they try to run things - "isolate for a month before you even think about coming in" - but it's what you have to do to stop one bad apple taking everyone down with them. Most people don't even realise that if you catch it early and lop off the affected area, you're fine. Rotanev's done it, and look at them now. Sure, they hate anything medical with something easily described as a phobia, but they're alive. So that counts for something. As well as that, being "unhinged and weird" really helps keep people in line, even when you have no violent intent towards anyone involved and just want a nap.

When the whole apocalypse thing happened, they got all two people that they cared about to a forest and vibed for well over two months before shit hit the fan. Supply run went bad, specifically. They haven't been the same since, physicality being the short end of it.

Mezzetino:

Name : Mezzetino Attraction : The Fearstival Zone : Dockyard Sector : Corvus Local Duty : Circus Performer ( Juggler )

Mezzetino is a schemer, and is not afraid to ask people from outside the Fearstival to help them out with their antics. They're quick to think, not very quick to run, and tend to not see their projects through to the end if they're  looking like a bust. They do like to travel, though! It's not like anyone will notice their absence, either, given they know to keep their head down when at work, and not just because of the fact that there tends to be swinging blades!

Their favourite hangout is actually probably the District, given something something "people are able to deal with their antics", though to be completely frank, hanging around the dockyard just makes them kind of sad!

They're incredibly quick to get bored with their own schemes, though. That's something anyone who's been with them can tell you, despite the fact they've been trying to kill the compére for years, now. It just doesn't work! Not without help! And people that can help are all "well murder's bad and you shouldn't do it" as if it isn't their job to keep out a certain type of person with lethal force? It just seems a bit wonky, really, and is another reason why District 199 is their second home at this point.

Back onto topic, though, Mezzetino loves to show off their work in shows of all shapes and sizes. Anything that can get them looked at for what they're doing rather than for who they are is a win in their book, as weird as it sounds! They also had a go at that labyrinth thingy everyone's talking about, but they weren't interested in them, which was disappointing.

Mirzam:

Name : Mirzam Attraction : Derren Brown's Ghost Train Zone : Dockyard Sector : Corvus Local Duty : Mechanic

Mirzam's just going through a lot lately. Specifically, he's on the job with making sure the train is all well and fine, which would be lovely if not for the fact that there's literal demons running all over the place. But hey, they can't fire him and he can't quit, so it really can't get much worse. Being a mechanic and finding meat in the gears is about as fun as you'd expect, but it's better than actually going out there, so he'll take it. He's just tired and wants to work his tenure through to the end.

Given the job's a full-time gig, Mirzam rarely leaves the Dockyard. But to be completely blunt about things, even if he could, he wouldn't. The other places tend to suck, and while Amity was on the shortlist of places to go, it's always underwater and there's all sorts of nonsense going on. No thank you. He does keep an eye out for new arrivals, though. For all the not liking the neighbours, he wants friends and it's not like anyone sees Demetrius at the anywhere. He does occasionally get asked to drop by the District for tech support reasons, but given what's going on there? Not a fun touriest destination. 2/10, at least some of the people are nice.

Problems aside, though, things sure are going. He keeps himself busy when the train's out, even if said busywork is finetuning a few bits here and there. The amount of meat he found in the circuitry's not even funny anymore, but it's also been demoted past "noteworthy" so that's sure something. What's also quite entertaining when the neighbouring nonsense starts coming in. Everyone working on the train's seen all flavours of nonsense, so a corpse going "blehh" is more funny than anything else.

[farfromfickle]

Far From Fickle | JJ x OC

Trigger Warning: Mentions of suicide, death, etc. Mild panic attack. Drowning.

A/N: I wanted to write a fanfiction, I’m not really sure how long it will be. It’s through the POV of an OC named Payton, and I’m thinking her love interest is going to be JJ. Constructive criticism is always, always, always welcomed but if you’re mean to me I’ll probably cry. 

Payton Montgomery’s entire world is turned upside down when her twin sister is in a surfing accident and put on life support. The summer has arrived, and Payton is anxious to distract herself with anything she can: an apprenticeship at her father’s family owned funeral home, a newfound social life at the boneyard, a murder or two, and maybe even a summer fling with a certain wounded blonde surferboy.

Chapter one

Payton Montgomery stood at the edge of the surf, her gaze entranced on the waves crashing against the sand. Crashing had never been a word she would have used to describe the waves before the incident. But lately everything was crashing, or falling, or suffocating around her. Before, when she thought of the beach she thought of the silent and graceful waves, pushing and pulling. She thought of peaceful sounds and being lulled to sleep. These were not the same waves she’d watched countless times with her sister. These waves were violent. She flinched each time they fell against the shore. 

The sun was just rising over the shore, and Payton felt as if she’d gotten little to no sleep. Granted, falling asleep in a hospital chair was never rest inducing. 

“Standing there by the water, you look just like her,” a voice muttered behind her. “Like Carter.” 

“Well, we have practically the same face,” Payton muttered. She forced her eyes from the water. “Being twins and all.”

“But I’ve always been able to tell you apart,” the small brunette was standing beside her now. Payton wondered how she hadn’t noticed her approaching before. 

“Sarah Cameron,” Payton let out a small huff. “Let me guess, I’ve finally earned your pity.”

“Maybe if your sister actually dies,” Sarah replied with a nonchalant shrug. Payton could tell she was kidding, but the comment still felt like a slap in the face. She tried to stop herself from physically flinching.

“Well according to the doctors, you don’t have much longer to wait.” 

“Are you okay?” Sarah asked, her hand falling lightly on Payton’s shoulder. 

“What do you want, Sarah?” Payton asked. “Because the last time you gave a shit about me or my sister, it was seventh grade. I haven’t heard from you in nearly five years. You weren’t there when our mom died. I don’t understand why you’re trying to be here now.” 

“I just wanted to check on you,” Sarah muttered. “I don’t expect to be friends or whatever. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t--” 

“Gonna off myself or something?” 

“Right,” Sarah frowned. “That.”

“Rest assured,” Payton said, “I won’t harm myself or anyone else during this trying time.”

“I know I wasn’t the best friend to you…” she began, but Payton cut her off. 

“No kidding.” 

“There’s a bonfire tonight,” Sarah tried again.

“At the boneyard?” Payton raised a brow. “That’s right, I heard the kook princess had a pogue boyfriend.”

“He’s a person,” Sarah interjected with a slight eye roll. 

“You don’t have to lecture me on the humanity of each stereotypical clique,” Payton let out a sigh. “I’m friends with both.” 

“The invitation stands,” Sarah told her. She tried out a soft smile, but ended up dropping it. “I’m really, really sorry about Carter, Payt.” 

She wanted to scream at her to stop talking about her sister like she was dead. She wasn’t dead yet. She might not even die. She wanted to stamp her feet and kick the sand and throw herself into the ocean and make peace with the water that took so much from her two short weeks ago. She did none of these things, however. She simply said, “Thank you,” and turned her attention back toward the surf. 

***

Payton’s eyes fell onto her sister. She was lying in the hospital bed, the machines around her beeping erratically. Her chocolate brown hair fell in messy curls around her shoulders, wild and unkept. A splash of freckles lay across her nose. Her pouty, deep red lips were chapped from dehydration. It was exactly like looking into a mirror. A mirror that Payton wanted to smash. 

“I really wish you’d wake up,” Payton huffed. She took a seat next to her sister, a book in her hand. The Outsiders, a school reading project that Payton had coincidentally already read a handful of times out of boredom. After her sister's incident, she used the book as a coping mechanism. She had read and reread the book over and over again, distracting herself from the horror of her life. 

Carter Montgomery was an avid surfer and risk taker. Payton wasn’t the biggest fan of the water, but she loved to sit at the beach and read while her sister caught some waves. The first day of summer the two had gone to the beach. The waves were a little rough, and Carter fell off of her board. She washed up into the break zone and knocked her head pretty badly. She fell unconscious underwater and nearly drowned. Her sister was put on life support almost immediately. No one really expected her to wake up. 

“Hey Payton,” her father muttered, walking into the hospital room. “How are you this morning? I didn’t hear you come in last night.” 

“I didn’t,” Payton replied, flipping the page of her book. “I crashed here.” 

“That sounds healthy,” her father mused. “Listen, I hired some extra help this summer. What’s that boy’s name? Heyward? His dad runs that seafood place.”

Jason Montgomery was the proud owner of Montgomery Funeral Home, a small town family business that had been in the Montgomery family for several generations. He was a tall, built man with sandy hair peppered with streaks of gray.

“Pope,” Payton told him. “I thought he worked for his dad.”

“He wants to be a mortician,” her father explained. “Asked for some part time hours for the experience.” 

“So you’ve replaced her already,” Payton mumbled, slamming her book shut. 

“I didn’t replace her, Payt,” her father frowned. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” she replied, standing up and turning toward the door. 

“Where are you going?” her father demanded, attempting to block the door.

“I’m going to work,” Payton told him, raising a brow, “is that a problem?”

“No,” her father murmured. “No, I think that will be good for you.”

“Gee, glad I have your approval,” Payton rolled her eyes and shoved past him. 

***

“So I don’t think we’ve officially met, I’m Pope,” the dark skinned boy began, a soft smile on his face. “I’m sorry, which one are you?” 

“Don’t act like you’re unaware of Carter’s condition,” Payton muttered. Her eyes were glued on the elderly woman on the dressing table. She was carefully sculpting the pink foundation around a bruise. 

“Right,” Pope replied. “I’m really sorry about your sister, Payton…”

“Don’t be,” Payton brought her eyes up to meet his for a brief moment before bringing them back down to the woman. 

“So, what are you, um, doing exactly?”

“Pink takes out the black of the bruises,” she explained. She collected another brush, dabbing the tip in an ivory foundation. “They want an open casket.”

“What happened to her?”

“She fell,” she told him. “The majority of bodies we get around here are old people. They’re usually banged and bruised, you know, ‘cause they’re so fragile.”

“Right,” he murmured. There was a long awkward silence before he began again. “Are you going to that thing at the boneyard?”

“I don’t know,” Payton admitted, “Parties aren’t really my thing.” 

“They’re not so bad,” Pope told her, a shy smile playing on his lips. “Just depends on who you hangout with while you’re there.” Payton thought about this for a moment. Who would she hangout with? She didn’t exactly have many friends. Carter was her best friend, and when she thought about going somewhere without Carter she felt numb inside.

“Maybe I’ll check it out,” she told him. “I could use a distraction.”

***

The music was a little too loud for Payton’s taste. She began the party at the keg, accepting graciously as Sarah’s latest boytoy handed her a red solo cup. She stood around awkwardly for a few moments while John B attempted small talk. 

“And how about this weather?” he asked, motioning around him. 

“Beautiful,” Payton nodded, a small snicker escaping her lips. “Just beautiful.” 

“Are you making fun of me right now?” John B asked, cocking a brow at her. 

“Oh, never,” Payton shook her head. She took another swig of her drink.

“I would hope not,” John B mused, “Since I’m the one who so graciously invited you to this shindig.” 

“Shindig?” Payton nearly choked on her beer stifling a laugh. “Sarah invited me, actually.”

“Oh, he’s actually so pussy whipped they’ve morphed into one person,” a voice called from beside them. Moments later JJ Maybank settled beside John B, rustling his fingers through his hair with a sly grin. “It’s quite romantic, really.”

“Sounds romantic,” Payton agreed. She didn’t know JJ well, only that he came from the wrong side of the tracks as her father would say.

“Oh, it is. They’re planning a June wedding.” 

“Guess my invite got lost in the mail,” Payton fake pouted.

“Don’t worry, you can be my plus one, dollface,” JJ gave her a wink.

“Lucky me!” she enthused. She took a final swig of her beer and gave the boys a nod. 

Payton ended the party where she began her day, staring blankly at the ocean. The waves were crashing against the shore. She stuck one foot into the water and stumbled a bit. Was this what being tipsy felt like? She had never drank before.

“Payton Montgomery at a kegger?” a voice came from behind her. It was familiar. Kelce, her sister’s ex boyfriend. She let out a sigh. 

“What do you want?” 

“Are you afraid to get into the water, princess?” he demanded, taking a step toward her. Payton sucked in a breath, panic starting to set in. “Afraid you’ll drown like your sister?” 

“Yeah she is!” Rafe let out a dry laugh. “She’s terrified. Why don’t you help her out, Kelce?” 

“Please don’t…” Payton whimpered, but Kelce was already moving toward her. Topper and Rafe were on either side of him, blocking her only escape routes. Before she even had time to process what was happening Rafe grabbed her around the waist and threw her over his shoulder. 

“Don’t be such a pussy,” Topper hissed. “We’re trying to help you!” Payton let out another whimper, her eyes closed tightly as the water began to envelope her. Rafe waded deeper and deeper into the water and threw her off of him. Her nails caught around his neck, scraping the surface as he threw her. 

“You bitch!” he hissed, kicking his leg out at her, shoving her farther into the water. 

Payton’s head was hovering above the water as she silently spoke to herself. It’s okay. You can swim. It’s okay. She was kicking and flailing her legs around trying desperately to reach the shore. Her head began to slip and she began to panic. Her vision began to tunnel. Suddenly two arms were around her, pulling her towards the shore. 

Her breaths were near gasps when they finally reached the shoreline, her arms neatly wrapped around the neck of her savior: JJ Maybank. 

[mrneighbourlove]

Evil’s Bane: Ch 8. Looming Dread

Leere looked a round a massive red ballroom, with a large staircase leading up to more doors. There were chandeliers hanging above, and many routes that they could take. No exits outside of course. Turning to Bonegrinder, she was catching her breath with the other Mortuus. “Bonegrinder. And Hades? I’m surprised you made it here.”

"Bonegrinder?" Black approached the Anagari who was breathing hard. It was evident he was not fully healed. Hades did what he could, but it would take a while for Prama's magic to finish such horrible injuries, most of which could not be seen with the eye. The Wraith frowned, noticing how the Anagari was struggling to even stay upright. "... we need to go back. You're in bad shape."

"He has been in bad shape for a long time, Black." Bonegrinder always had that dry humor availible, despite the situation. "You will have to wait to go back. Summoning a portal is not easy work. He will have to rest some more."

“Can we wait here? What if danger makes itself known?” Bi-Hanzo asked. Grabbing his head, he shook it. Felt hot in the room. And, did he hear something in distance? Sounded like laughter. No. Must have been his imagination.

"Not unless you have readily available portal magic so we can leave." Black then stated. "If you want to go on, then be my guest. My responsibility is the princess. Not you."

"... this snake supposes that he should question where we are. There is a familiar feeling of this place... but worse than last time."

“Last time?” Leere asked.

Hades was pacing around, feeling uncertain about his surroundings. Kenshi wiped the sweat off his head, feeling sick.

"Wait... no... was that this snake or Prama?" Bonegrinder rubbed his forehead. "His memories... Prama's memories... when is where, and where is when..."

"Don't stress over it," Black knew this was not a good sign. Anymore stress, and his master's mind might snap again. Two souls in one body was really taxing and he had seen many of his master's so-called 'episodes'. The last thing the group needed was a huge blast of magic knocking everyone back and drawing the attention of Destroyer... or his minions. "We're here now. Let's focus on the here."

Leere paced, rubbing her head. There was something... bad. Something familiar in the air. And it made her feel anxious.

Kenshi suddenly looked up, feeble shock trembling in his voice. There was sweat gushing down his face now, and his widened eyes were bloodshot, as if he hadn’t slept for days. “Franeska?”

Leere and the others turned to see Kenshi suddenly running off. Bi-Hanzo was shocked by this. “Kenshi! Where are you going?!” The man chased after his fellow villager. When Kenshi reached the door, he opened it up with a kick. Inside was a small room with no natural light in the room. In that room, a little girl with her back to him facing the direct corner of the room was all that could be seen. Unnaturally she was perfectly illuminated with a bright red coat that covered her face from view. Leere looked to Black, hurrying along. Kenshi kept himself in the frame of the door from letting anyone else in.

"Don't follow after that apparition!" Black told Kenshi, sensing danger when the man ran off, but he did not chase him. He stayed with Leere. "Bonegrinder... something bad is coming, isn't it?"

"Bad doesn't even begin to describe it, Black... it's much worse than you could ever imagine."

Kenshi drew closer, relief on his face. “Franeska? It’s your father. It’s me.”

As Leere got into eyesight, all her instincts kicked in so fast she almost threw up. Memories she buried of being underwater and trapped with nightmares flooded back. She could sense the unique brand of demonic undeath now. It tastes like iron and vomit on her tongue. As her breath grew dry, and she tried to get the words out, Kenshi felt it too. “Wait...”

What turned around was no longer his daughter. A hideous monster with bone claws coming out of its hands and a disturbing contorted face of twisted flesh. With a shake of its head, as if confirming it was no longer his daughter, it stabbed those claws deep into Kenshi’s chest. Over and over it tore him slowly apart. Leere and Bi-Hanzo stepped back. From inside the room, a gargled roar echoed in its chambers. Turns out, in the dark, there was long, long tunnel that stretched far and wide. And it was filled to the brim with monsters. Leere looked to the door up the stair case, adrenaline rushing through her. “RUN!!!”

"Again with the running, why can't humans ever listen?" Black hurried alongside Leere, rushing, but looked over his shoulder to see Bonegrinder and Hades. At least his master could still move, but his speed was greatly reduced. The ghouls snarled, almost trampling over each other to tear the group apart. They had so much energy and hate in their being then any other undead the Wraith had seen. Once the doors at the top of the staircase were open, and everyone was through, Black used a touch of his own magic to seal it for the time being. There were multiple bangs against the door, and he frowned. "We have to find a place where we can rest for a bit. All this running is going to take a toll on all of us."

The bang on the doors grew more intense, and the ghouls crawled over the walls and ran to other doors to find other ways of reaching them. There were hundreds of undead that chased them from that room alone. How many more were there? Leere gripped her shadow medallion, sighing. “Let’s keep walking down this hall for now.” Looking to Bi-Hanzo, she nodded solemnly to him. “I’m so sorry about losing Kenshi.”

“Least I know what’s happened to my missing people...”

"We need to exercise caution. We don't know what to expect from a place like this." Black walked beside of Leere, glancing back every now and then to check on Bonegrinder. The Wraith was concerned about the Anagari. He had not seen him look this bad in a very long while. Black was one of the oldest members of the Hive and he had been through harsh times with Bonegrinder, thick and thin.

Walking down the hallway, it started to curve. On the walls were pipes and lights. Leere heard of this before, and seen it in Danjur. Electricity. Little bulbs of light glowing faintly to light of the room.

There were doors every once in the while on the left side. Staying alert, they saw a Mortuus at one of the doors, fumbling with keys to get in. Leere looked to Black. “Should we risk taking a guide, or move on?”

"Judging from what transpired outside this tower, these people rather shoot off their own foot than help a stranger." Black did not sound too enthused. "Let us try to keep moving until Bonegrinder can summon a portal."

"We cannot trust these Mortuus, Leere." Bonegrinder told the princess in-between slithers. He had to stop to catch his breath every now and then. Seeing he was larger than the humans and Hades, he could slither a little then rest for a moment. "Remember what he said about friend or foe; that does not apply here. They are both."

“Agreed. I don’t want to talk with these cultists of damnation.” It seemed Bi-Hanzo was in a charitable mood towards Bonegrinder. So they waited until the Mortuus was gone before contributing onwards. Walking up a spiraling staircase, they started to gain a view of the outside. The city held the sights of people arguing, children running through the streets, and monsters eating anyone who was foolish enough to have their guard down. High in the sky, a dragon flew by silently. Leere cringed when she saw how little skin it had on its body when it become illuminated by the moon.

Arriving at the top of the staircase, they came across a purple and red door. Creaking it open, Leere peered inside. A giant ballroom filled with cultists were strewn about. They were cutting apart bodies, experimenting with wiring, and praying to statues of various gods and demons. It seemed to be an active hub.

"...!!!" Bonegrinder felt physically sick. His scales flickered, sensing the danger. Carefully, he pulled Leere back with his tail and shut the door, praying none of the cultists noticed. "... he senses foulness there, tiny princess. Let us keep going."

"... they were making more puppets, weren't they?" Black asked his master.

"Yes, among other things. This snake can sense his brother's presence nearby... that or his magic one. Destroyer and Chaos have riddled this place with their disease of seducing black arts."

As Hades was about to turn back down the stairs, he paused. His powerful sense of hearing often lead to dread. “Those undead abominations have found our path. Judging by the smell, they’d be upon us in fifteen minutes.”

"There's no way all of us can take down a horde of those things." Black knew he could simply hide in the shadows and wait it out, but pulling in three other beings with him? That'd drain his magic excessively. There was no way he could pull it off for long and he refused to leave his master's side anyhow. "Do you think we can find a way to the outside? It'd even be safer to hang off a wall at this point."

Hades looked down at the room, scanning its contents. At the far end, he saw a sign of hope. “Very end of the room. There’s an elevator going upwards. Our chances are much stronger if we fight our way through to there then back down. Bonegrinder. Can you manage it?”

"This snake can move, though he is concerned about the elevator." The Anagari told the Lynel. "He is very weighty and so are you, old friend. There is a chance we both might not fit."

“Then we can take turns. Let us depart.”

Down at in the ballroom, one cultist was conducting an experiment. With a rat maze, he had a small worm like parasite travel through a fog identical to the one that the group traveled through the cave. Once it made its way to the other size and in a bigger container, it grew nearly ten times its size to fill the glass container. As he was writing notes, his head suddenly turned into red paste as Hades club utterly destroyed him with one swing. The Lynel short teleported over your cause first blood and sew confusion amongst the cultists.

Leere was running down the steps to the elevator, when she paused in her tracks at a monument she saw. A red obelisk with runes glew a menacing light glow on and off, and a deep anger filled her being. It was a construct just like the Beacon she shut down decades ago. “Sweet mother of god...”

When a cultist tried to hack at her with a sickle, Leere twisted her body around to dance around her attacker. With a graceful movement of her arms, she positioned her scythe at the other Mortuus head. Activating her blade, the blue hum of the energy easily decapitated her target, sending the head rolling in Black’s direction.

Black was managing to keep the cultists away from Bonegrinder with ease. He was using the darkness to his advantage. One by one, he took down anyone foolish enough to try to harm his master. Still, there was no place safe enough to rest and recover. The group would have to keep moving. Though when Hades suggested that all of them take turns on the elevator, Black shook his head furiously. "I will not leave Bonegrinder while he's like this. If he is alone and attacked, and another episode occurs, he could bring down this whole tower and us with it."

“Then you go up with him first!” Hades bucked his feet backwards, kicking another cultist into a statue. Leere watched Bi-Hanzo race for the elevator. When they got closer, he realized how big it was. More so, looking up at the opening, how far it traveled up. “Hurry!”

One Cultist threw a spear and chain at Black, stabbing through his shoulder blade and pulling him closer. His eyes were a mess with bloodlust, and with magic, a ghostly green fire spread up the chain to burn the Wraith. As the cultist was ready to turn up the heat, Leere cut the chain off, following up with chopping Black’s attacker in half. It left a messy pair of legs to stumble around for a moment. “Are you alright?”

Bonegrinder managed to slither into the elevator, fitting his coils inside tightly. There was just enough room for Black when the Wraith was suddenly pulled backwards. As soon as the assassin was out of the elevator, the doors suddenly shut and trapped the Anagari inside. Black, however, released a piercing screech as the blade struck through his body. He did not know what the tool was enchanted with, some kind of dark magic, but it made his limbs feel numb. Almost like the Cultist was trying to force his will. As soon as Leere cut down the cultist, he held his shoulder. Little drops of blood floated around the wound, able to see clearly through the hole. This would take a while to fix. "... that magic was trying to force me to obey." The Wraith then glanced at the elevator. "And we're separated from Bonegrinder. We must find him."

The elevator suddenly shot up, leaving the group the watch Bonegrinder be taken away. “No! No!!!” Leere reached a hand up in vein. She wasn’t fast enough. Looking around, she saw a lever to call it back down. Pulling it, she didn’t know how long they’d have to wait. Although the last of the cultists were dead or scattered, the danger wasn’t over. Back at the door they entered, a cultist was about to flee, when she was suddenly snatched away by the swarm of the undead. The hideous ghouls looked down the stairs, looking at the group. With a war cry of terror, they ran towards the flesh. Leere gripped her scythe, taking a few breaths. “We just have to hold out!”

"Hold out?! There's too many of them." Black was never an optimistic person. "If one of us gets pulled down, we're not getting back up---!!!"

DING!

The Wraith was interrupted by the elevator's appearance... without Bonegrinder inside.

Too late. The monsterous creatures were already on top of them.

Bi-Hanzo magically blasted ice and picked up a sword to hack away at them. When one slashed at his stomach, bleeding him, he retreated back into the elevator after bringing up a wall of ice between him and some of the ghouls.

Black might have been impressed by how quick and furious Leere was if both weren’t concerned with staying alive. The Shadow Sage kept hacking away at the fast undead, limb after limb after limb. But there were just too many. Covered in blood, unsure how much was there and how many cuts they gave here, she didn’t know if they’d make it out alive.

That was when Hades launched a powerful stream of fire to burn away a wave of the undead. “Into the elevator! Flee! Now! You must live!!!”

The ghouls were endless, one after the other, and he was down an arm. The Wraith had to improvise, pulling the undead around with his shadows and using the area to his advantage. Yet, even he was tiring. When Hades bellowed at him to move, the assassin started to protest. Bonegrinder would have his head if he knew he left Hades, but also if he put Leere in unnecessary danger. Damn it, why did this always have to happen to him.? Black had never moved so fast in this second chance of life, if one would call it that, as he chucked Leere over his shoulder so she could still swing her weapon and launched into the elevator.

Leere was ready to save Hades when Black suddenly picked her up. Her concentration disrupted, she could have used the shadows to give him a fighting chance, or give him reinforcements. As she got her footing again, the last glimpse she saw of the Lynel was being swarmed by the ghouls when the elevator doors slammed shut, and they made their way up.

“No!!!” Leere slammed her fists on the door. Still angry, she turned to Black, clocking him in the face with a surprise punch to the nose. “What the hell are you thinking?!?! You disrupted my concentration! Again! I could have helped give Hades a chance had you not suddenly grabbed me from behind! You’re not a knight in shining armour Black!”

Bi-Hanzo was still catching his breath, looking at this blood covered woman screaming at her comrade. Glancing at his own wounds, he winced.

"..." Black barely flinched when Leere punched him. He wiped away the floating blood from his nose and then retorted, "Bonegrinder gave me an order to look after your ungrateful ass. I promised him I would. I'm keeping my promise, no matter how much I think this whole idea of yours was a fool's errand. Now are you going to stop screaming at me like a brat and help me find my master or are you going to continue to berate me for my job?"

“I’m going to berate you for not thinking properly. Yes, I wanted to come here. But I know exactly what I’m getting myself into! I’m a warrior Black! This type of shit is my expertise. And if you keep fucking around and treating me like a Princess, you’re going to get others killed, or me! You want to save your master? Then use your goddamn brain.”

Bi-Hanzo leaned back against the wall, taking deep breaths. “What kind of shit are we in?”

Leere took a moment to use her shadow magic to peel off the blood stains from her clothes and onto the floor. “Nothing good at all. These Mortuus must be magical geniuses or morons. I’m going to say the latter seeing how they found a way to open up a portal to a dimension of madness and the worst undead I’ve encountered in my life. There’s no telling what else we’ll discover here. All I know is I’m not leaving until I shut it down. Again.”

"... fine then. You certainly have the bitchy temper of a princess." Black used the shadows to 'stitch' his shoulder wound closed for the time being. It almost looked like a dark parasite latching onto the Wraith's skin, but it would have to do for now. "I'm going to search for Bonegrinder. You do what you like." Once the elevator stopped, the Wraith took a look at the surroundings before stepping out.

Outside, was a narrow, metal caged hallway. The steel was rusting something fierce, and the darkness was overwhelming from all directions around them.

“What happened to sticking together?” Leere finally took a look at Bi-Hanzo’s wounds, pulling out a sewing kit from one of her pouches to help him out.

"You obviously care more for this Prama-forsaken country than you do for the well being of the one who has tried to protect you from all this darkness for years. I don't understand you. You're not the hero, you're the Shadow Sage. Heroic missions are for that kid swinging around a sword in green." Black stated very bluntly, "Bonegrinder is by no means perfect, but he does care for you for some reason that eludes me. I'm not going to guard someone who doesn't want me to do so and I'm going to go and find him so we can get out of his hell on earth."

“And what are you Black? An undead blade to your master? Klinge minus the smug charm?” She pulled tight on one of Bi-Hanzo’s wounds. “What I do I don’t ever account to my daughter or other children. This isn’t a fairy tale of a hero. But this is good vs. evil. There is a nightmare I need to put an end to here. You go find Bonegrinder. Leave if you want. But you save the good that can be found in this damned corner of earth.” She turned to him, a fierce determination in her eyes. “Because fighting for the good of humanity is always a noble cause.”

"Heh, now Klinge was someone I would admire. He had the lethality of an Echidnan when he was undead but gave it up for that woman and to play house." Black told the princess with no qualms about his statement. "I am an assassin. I was a bringer of death in life and now I am in this state. I killed many arrogant bastards, some who deserved it, some may not have. Either way, what 'good' I have seen in this world is debatable." The Wraith told Leere. "I am not here to protect the 'good' left in this earth. I am here to ensure the safety of Bonegrinder, the one being who tried to help me during the time where I was lost. I am not here to save the many, I am here to save only one." He then said, "Have you even thought about what would happen if Prama was ripped from Bonegrinder too early? No? Of course you haven't. Otherwise, we wouldn't be here, in the last place my master should be, but no. No, he's here because you made a deal with that damn Prama and he feels guilty. You manipulated him." Black barely showed emotion, but this was definitely a button for him. "You're right, Leere. I am no knight in shining armor. Never aimed to be. Yet, I will keep Bonegrinder save with the last of what I am because he helped me when no one else would." He scoffed. "Good of humanity... humans caused all of this. They had a choice. These Mortuus had a choice. And look what they chose. I have very little faith in humanity."

“You’re right. And it’s my choice to save what I can.” Leere stepped off the elevator with Bi-Hanzo. Activating her scythe, she used the blade to light the way forward. With blood long stained on the floor, it didn’t look pleasant. Leading them, she smirked at Black’s thoughts on the o. “Gave up his lethality? I pity you Black. You and the rest of the Hive. And I think I finally get it.”

"You don't need to." Black admitted to Leere almost with a chuckle. "We're all monsters here. The fact is, I've embraced it." He then looked at her. "But you haven't."

“And you think that’s a good thing? You lack humanity. You lack empathy for those outside your immediate bubble. It’s our connections to family, friends, and those we love that makes us strong. Why would you want to be a monster Black? Monsters are what threaten the innocent.”

”You can’t save them”

A tiny whisper ran out in their heads individually. It was like the wind in the air, briefly passing by.

Leere gripped her head, shrugging it off to paranoia that she’d fail. “I can be as vicious, bloodthirsty, and dangerous as I can be. But that doesn’t make me a monster.”

"It is a good thing, because the monsters survive, Leere." Black thought it was rather amusing. She still had no clue of why Bonegrinder wanted her to avoid all of this madness. Yet, perhaps it would eventually be her downfall. If only she had listened, the princess wouldn't be in this place. "And I am not human. Therefore, my lacking of humanity is for naught."

“But you where human once. Surely that means something to you. Tell me. Who do you love the most Black. Who’d you give your all to that wasn’t your job? Who do you miss in your heart?” Leere’s scythe went out, and she never got her answer. “Black? Bi-Hanzo?” Leere searched around in the darkness, and the assassin and the Mortuus warrior were gone.

"I was never fully human, I was am a hy---!!!"

Black was suddenly alone. He pivoted on his heel. Where did the princess go? He looked up and then down. No, he did not fall through a hole. Nor did he activate his shadow magic. What was going on? The Wraith jolted when he saw an outline of his old home. It was faint in his memories, but he knew it was there. He also recalled the pain that was held there. Recollections he'd rather forget. His parents were very much in love, but his birth was a bad omen to them. Yes, his beautiful mother, a human, and his mighty father, a monster from some of Mother's adoptive children, as she called them. A enchanting Nokken, otherwise known as a shapeshifter. Some could reproduce with humans. Others could not.

"Filthy halfling, filthy halfling."

This was an illusion. His parents were long gone. These faces which tormented him were dead. He knew that, he killed them. Perhaps it was now his turn to be haunted. Yet, that would be silly. A Wraith? Being haunted? A ghost haunting a spirit? That was laughable. Yet, the words still stung. The way the other children would chant 'filthy halfling' always irritated him. There was no love for anything remotely human in the world of monsters. It was easier to be a full monster, then anything resembling human. So, Black wanted to make sure that no one would ever mistake him for a pitiful human ever again. He'd change his shape and blend into the shadows.

"Don't you want to be a full monster? What if we could help you?"

"A little too late to play mind games, don't you think?"

"You could be of more assistance to Bonegrinder rather than a weak halfling."

"That's true. I probably would be stronger."

"Then accept our help. Let us help you break free of these human restraints."

"No."

"No? We thought you hated humans."

"I do. They're rotten creatures. But... they're crafty. And I'd like to hold onto that part of me."

“How about a test then?” A voice that didn’t belong called out. A shadow swept through the area, materializing with horns and a smell of brimstone. With flickering red eyes and a body that wasn’t all there, the Shadow Man confronted Black. “A choice then. Human? Or monster kind?”

"... you're the one that Echidnans call Tzitzimime..." The Wraith did not seem afraid or bothered. It was hard to have emotions being in a state of limbo, he supposed. Though, for some odd reason, he could still feel frustration. "The embodiment of Chaos."

“A humble avatar for my master.” The Shadow Man chuckled. With the wave of a hand, two doors appeared. “You have a choice to make Wraith. On the left door you will be led down a path to the fallen Echidnan God. On the right, the Mortuus Sage desperately clinging to hope. Both are about to become in mortal danger. If you hurry, you might be able to save one. Human or Monster? And I’d chose quickly.”

"So I suppose Mother of the Monsters was correct. You are split into pieces." Black simply stood there. "I'm surprised you haven't tried to kill me. Giving me a choice instead?"

“Because it’ll be more fun to see you fail in protecting not just one, but potentially two of your companions.” The insidious malice dripping from his voice was piercing. “Be fun to see your face twist with anguish when you see them dead.”

"You are mistaken if you believe I think of that human girl as a companion." Black was as stoic as ever. "Bonegrinder told me to protect her. She told me not to do so. If she dies, then the world will be rid of another one of your potential hosts you've waited for, obviously for a long while or you'd be here causing your havoc already." The Wraith asked, sounding a touch... pissed. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

“I do. That’s why you aren’t dedicated in a choice regardless by now. Save your master, or go out to kill the girl to stop my first plan of choice.”

"Well, you see, you made a mistake. I care about Bonegrinder. Not that shitty god inside of him. Also, one more thing," Black held out his hand before jerking it back. "You have to pay an assassin to kill someone. I'm not seeing any loot. So goodbye." The Wraith took the door to his master.

The Shadow Man’s eyes flickered with a smile. Closing the door behind Black, he made sure to single Destroyah that now was the time. “All too easy.”

Bonegrinder was in a hell of his own. The Anagari was frozen, unable to move. His limbs would not work and he could not find the strength to slither. He was tormented by visions of his family, lost long ago. The way they spoke was like a drug. He had not heard their voices in years, seen their faces in ages. The snake was content to die here since he saw his family one last time. Yet, Prama was trying to draw the snake back to rational thought, will him to get up and fight, but if he risked using too much magic, it would draw the attention of Dhakk. He could sense his brother nearby. This had to be a ploy.

Luckily, Black knew just the way to gain his master's attention. "Forgive me, Bonegrinder, but I am doing this for your own good." Black had suffered under illusions before and the only way to break free from them was... pain. So he stuck the tip of his blade into Bonegrinder's tail, earning a yowl from the Anagari.

Leere turned to see a white light shine down on a dark silhouette in the distance. It was a woman standing up, yet crooked in her posture. When she spoke Leere froze. ”My sweet little daughter... you shouldn’t have come here. You should have listened to your friends.”

Leere held her ground as a deathly version of Zelda walked toward her like a puppet on strings. Her eyes were gauged out, with bloody trailing down her cheeks like tears. It was sickening to see her mother used against her again. Especially now that Zelda had passed on. “Get out of my head. You aren’t my mother.”

“Why? Afraid you’re going insane? It’s ok. You’ll be dead soon enough you stupid girl.” The puppet suddenly ran at a frightening speed towards Leere. With no hesitation, she swung her blade to cut Zelda in half down the side. With her body splitting apart, the upper half of this sickening doppelganger of her mother leaped towards Leere, pinning her down. Zelda’s hands reached around Leere’s neck, squeezing tightly with rotting fingers. ”You’re a disappointment to the family. And none of them will see your body again. I should never have adopted you from that cage.”

Leere gasped as she was losing breath. Reaching to her side, she grasped at empty air until she found her knife. Turning purple in the face and her eyes growing bloodshot, she thrusted up in Zelda, stabbing the nightmare in the throat. Twisting the blade, she grabbed a lose hand up and snapped her neck. Gasping for breath and tearing up, Leere chocked on air as she kicked frantically to stand up.

However, her torment was far from over. The area exploded into a rush of yellow lighting, and the eerie cackles of children called out. Leere saw a large light in the shape of a door way. All around were tiny zombified children hissing and running at her from the dark. Every last one of them was a freakish version of her daughter Joy. Grabbing her scythe, and relying on instinct, Leere ran to the light. Everytime she was forced to cut down a version of Joy, a piercing taunt ran out in her head.

”Don’t you love me mommy?”

”Why did you never come back?”

”My mother didn’t love me enough to return.”

”You’re hurting me!” ”Die with me mommy!”

”It’s you’re fault we’re dead!”

With a frantic scream, Leere ran through the light. On the other side, she tripped and collapsed onto a clear floor all alone. Shuddering, she bit her lip hard to feel anything else other than fear. Rising up, she let out a roar so angry, so full of wrath, it’d shake the hearts of any who heard it. “I’LL KILL YOU FOR THIS!!!! YOU’LL PAY FOR TAUNTING ME!!!”

Leere wasn’t going to let these fuckers get away with torturing her and her friends anymore.

________________________________________________________________

Previous Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/626094887593443328/evils-bane-ch-7-entering-the-tower

Next Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/626630162211028992/evils-bane-ch-9-everyone-has-something-to-lose

[tacitwhisky]

Sansa Stone, pt 3

Jon x Sansa - AU where Sansa is born the bastard of Littlefinger and raised in Kingslanding. When she travels to Winterfell with king Robert’s procession she meets the Stark bastard: long faced and grey eyed Jon Snow who she finds herself strangely drawn to / AO3 Link

Photo Credit: Sophie Starke

—

Down one of Winterfell’s dozens of old stone halls Sansa walks as outside the howl of a direwolf fills the air. The sound had woken Sansa that morning; too distant to hear, but she’d felt it somehow, a raw keening that clenched a fist of dread in her gut as she dressed and combed her hair and slipped out of her tent into the grey morning air.

Jon’s door is simple oak, the latch undone, but still Sansa pauses outside of it a long moment, chewing her lip. Despite her week at Winterfell she’s never once seen his room, and now...

Carefully, Sansa places a hand on the oak and pushes it open, slipping into a small and square room with a simple cot against one wall. On the edge of the cot Jon sits staring at his feet, Ghost beside him. The direwolf’s red eyes latch onto Sansa as she closes the door behind her and leans back against it, hands still clasped on the latch behind her.

“Jon?” She asks hesitantly, voice breaking the silence of the room. “I heard what happened.”

Jon shakes his head, not looking up from his feet. “It doesn’t make sense.” His voice is hollow. “Bran never falls.”

Sansa’s throat tightens. Perhaps a dozen words she’s spoken to Bran, but he’d been bright and shy each time, and the sight of Jon sitting dull eyed at the edge of his bed tears at Sansa, peels away something raw in her chest. “I’m so sorry,” she blurts, “truly, Jon, I am.”

Jon looks up at her finally, his normally piercing eyes clouded. “Maester Luwin says he may never wake.”

“He will.” Sansa swallows and crosses to the cot. She takes a seat beside Jon on the bed and tries to give him as reassuring a smile as she can dredge up. “He will, and when he does you’ll be there to see him.”

“I won’t though.” Jon shakes his head, voice small. “I’ll be at the Wall by then. And I won’t even have said farewell. Lady Stark hasn’t left his side since he fell, and I-” Jon’s voice catches and he looks away, angrily blinking back the tears pricking his eyes, face flushed with shame. “I’m a coward.”

“You’re not.” Sansa bites her lip. She reaches down and takes his hand, threads her fingers through his, and squeezes gently. “Don’t ever say that, Jon. Bran will wake, and when he does you’ll see him again.”

“Sansa-” Jon starts, then stops and swallows. He looks down at her fingers threaded through his, then up at her, eyes apprehensive. “You don’t have to stay.”

“But I will.” Her heart thuds loud in her ears as Sansa gazes back at him, very aware of how close they are: of the rise and fall of her chest, the dark of Jon’s hair and grey of his eyes and part of his lips, of how easy it would be to lean forward and kiss him just as she almost had the day before. You want him . The thought is strange, foreign, but so obvious Sansa feels a fool for not realizing it before. She looks down at their hands laced together, her heart in her throat. Is this what it’s like to want instead of just be wanted? “I’ll wait with you, Jon.”

Jon’s fingers whisper against her cheek as he cups it in his palm and raises her gaze to meet his again, eyes grey and somehow unimaginably fierce as he studies her face, fierce as though she is all there is in the world. “Thank you.”

All Sansa can do is nod, caught in his gaze, her mouth dry. Would it be so wrong? To kiss him, to give into what she wants, give into the heat and desperate ache in her? You could have it all. Petyr’s voice is a whisper, soft and sibilant. Not just him, but all of it, all we’ve worked for. It would be simple, wouldn’t it? You’ve done so well with him already. Let him do as he likes with you, take comfort in you, spill his seed in you. He will marry you for that: a son of the honorable Lord Stark, even a bastard, will do no less, and he has already said he will father no bastards.

Jon’s eyes flick from her eyes to her lips. Hesitantly, he leans towards her, his lips brushing hers feather-soft in a tentative kiss that nonetheless fills Sansa with something she cannot describe, coils the heat in her stomach and make her chest feel tight. And before she can stop herself she’s kissing him back, forehead pressed to his as she pulls a moan from low in his throat out through his lips. He slips his free hand to her other cheek, cupping her face as he firms and deepens the kiss in a way that flares the heat in Sansa’s stomach up through her chest and limbs until she’s flushed and aflame from her fingers to her toes.

Would it really be so wrong? Sansa pleads with herself silently. He wants you too, he does. Not just as some giggling serving girl to be used and tossed aside, not just some slender maid to be bedded and bragged of, not just some bastard girl, but you. You.

The knowledge shivers Sansa’s skin like a living thing, and she presses herself to Jon as if doing so can somehow contain it, can ease the ache in her chest that pleads for his hands to fit to the curve of her ribs and small of her back and warmth of her skin. But instead Jon slides one of his hands to tangle in her hair, fingertips pressing firm against her scalp as he draws her to him, and somehow that’s so much better, takes her breath away and makes her tangle her fingers in his shirt, makes her moan low in her throat, makes-

Let it happen, sweetling. It will be over soon. You’re doing him a kindness.

It hurts like a physical thing, like ripping the scab from a wound, but Sansa jerks her head to the side and tears her lips from Jon’s, forehead still pressed to his as she squeezes her eyes shut and takes a long shuddering breath.

“I didn’t mean to-” Jon’s voice is hoarse. “I’m sorry I-”

“Don’t be.” Sansa shakes her head, forehead rocking against his, eyes screwed shut. She runs a hand through the back of his hair, locks soft between her fingers, just the feel of them flushing heat through her anew. She shakes her head again. “Don’t be sorry, Jon. I’m not.”

For a long moment they sit: just as they had the day before, close and apart, Sansa’s breath evening and the heat in her slowly slipping away to leave a yawning, aching hole in its place.

It hurts all over again to draw back from Jon, to meet his sad eyes and try to smile. She’s always been so good at smiling: at hiding behind the curve of lips that always tempts men somehow, but the only one she has it in her now is small and sad. There is so much more she wants to say. So much more she wishes she could tell him. So much more she longs for. But she can’t. Not with the hole gaping inside her at the thought of never seeing him again.

Gently, she slips her hand from his and rises, turns and crosses to the door without looking back.

If she does she will be lost.

---

The next few days dawn cold and gray, the howl of the direwolves faint on the air. Sansa keeps to the king’s camp, helping Betta the homely baker’s daughter with her chores, or simply idly listening to the other lowborn girls of the procession as they gossip and laugh.

She doesn’t look up at Winterfell. Doesn’t look up at the castle that’s become more familiar to her than the Red Keep ever has. Doesn’t look up at where she knows Jon waits.

It wouldn’t have been right. She clings to the thought like a drowning man, clings to it as she walks between the tents of the camp or lifts a bucket with Betta or forces herself to smile at some joke one of the other young women makes, hearing it as if deep underwater. It wouldn’t have been right. Not like that. He deserves his song.

On the third day king Robert takes his leave of Winterfell, men collapsing the tent camp quickly and cleanly, folding great swathes of canvas and lashing the poles to the back of wagons. All around Sansa bannermen and washerwomen and riders hurry back and forth, the whole camp abuzz with activity. She finds herself apart from it, watching as if from afar, a stone at the bottom of a river as she walks the lane between collapsing tents.

It is only when the high walls of Winterfell rise above her does Sansa realize her feet have carried her to its gate. Sansa’s heart is a painful throb in her throat that she cannot seem to swallow as she gazes up at it, at the old dark stone ancient as the foundations of the world. Has he already left for the Wall? Through the open gate she glimpses lord Stark and his bannerman in grey and dark blue livery milling about as they mount their horses. And what would it matter if he hasn’t? He will soon enough, and you will never see him again.

“Sansa?”

Sansa turns to find Jon standing behind her, as though just come from the camp. His eyes are guarded and unreadable as they watch her. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Here I am.” A bitter laugh wells in Sansa’s throat as it strikes her suddenly: the cruel humor of where they stand, Winterfell behind her while the road behind Jon. She swallows down the laugh, forces herself to smile no matter how much it makes her ache inside to do so. “I meant to bid you farewell before you left for the Wall,” she says. And then, in a rush; “you’ll make a gallant man of the Night’s Watch, Jon.”

Jon blinks slowly. “I’m not leaving for the Wall.”

Sansa’s heart thumps to a painful stop. “What?”

“I’m staying. Until Bran wakes. Or… until he doesn’t.” He shakes his head. “I have to know.”

“I’m glad.” Something tight and painful lodges in her throat. “You- you deserve to be here come what will, Jon. He’s your brother.”

“If not for you-” Jon’s jaw works silently. “I wouldn’t have had the courage-”

“You would’ve. You’re braver than you know, Jon.” Sansa looks down to the worn cobbles of the road and forces her voice high and bright, pushes through the smiling girl she should always be. “And after? You’ll go to the Wall then?”

“No, I-” In the corner of her vision Jon takes a step forward, then stops. “I’m not going to the Wall,” he says softly. “After Bran wakes I mean to follow my father south.”

Sansa snaps her gaze up to Jon, hear pounding in her ears, breath caught in her throat as she searches his face, hoping, fearing- “Truly?”

Jon nods, a smile tugging at his lips. “Truly.”

A giddy warmth flushes through Sansa, and she cannot help the smile that splits her face: wide and foolish and nothing like the restrained and light and faint expressions her father has taught her, but Sansa cannot bring herself to care: not here, not now, not with her heart singing in her chest as though at any moment it will burst.

A horse neighs as it leaves Winterfell’s gate, and Sansa flushes and steps back to give it a chance to pass. She smooths her skirts to gather herself, and when she looks up again Jon has crossed the road and stands only a pace or two away, eyes watching her hesitantly. “Do you… do you have to go now?” He asks.

Sansa nods, though it hurts to do so. She looks around her, to Winterfell rising high above her and the long desolate hills in the distance that she wishes she never had to leave. “I do.”

Jon bites his lip and nods. He sweeps his gaze to where the riders and wagons of the king’s procession have already begun to trundle down the road as they spoke. “Do you have a horse?”

“Not all of us have a stable of our own, Jon.” Sansa tries to grin, but it is a strangely bashful thing. “The back of any of these wagons will do as good as another for me.”

Jon smiles faintly. Together they walk slowly to the nearest, Sansa all too aware of the prickle of his shoulder so close to hers. The wagon is a sturdy thing, the back stacked with tent poles and folded canvas, but there’s enough space left on the edge for a person to sit.

“Here,” Jon says, turning to her as she makes to hop on the edge. In a single smooth motion his hands circle her waist and he lifts her onto the edge of the wagon. The movement steals the breath from Sansa, and she finds herself staring into his eyes, caught by the grey of them as he gazes back into hers, faintly aware that he hasn’t stepped back, that his hands still circle her waist. Their breathes mingle in the cold, the scent of leather and thyme and pine filling her nose.

Jon’s dark hair falls over his eyes, and Sansa reaches up and brushes back his hair, realizing as she does that perched on the edge of the wagon she is for once the one a head taller than him. Somehow it makes her bold. She shouldn’t, not here where all the world can see, but there is nothing in her that cares for that as she loops her arms around Jon’s shoulders and dips her head to kiss him: presses her lips to his as she’s wanted to since that day in his room, long and desperate and hungry. He kisses her back, shy and fierce and sweet, hands around her waist, anchoring her as Sansa lets the world slip away from around her, lets herself melt against him, lets the clatter of hooves on stone and shouting of men and creak of wagons fall away.

When their lips eventually part for breathe Sansa doesn’t pull away, arms looped loose around Jon’s shoulders: unwilling to leave the shelter of their arms just yet, the world there, the way her heart is singing in her chest. “Come south when you can, Jon Snow,” she whispers, lips tingling. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

“I will.” Jon grins back; small and fierce and just for her, here in their little world. “Nothing could stop me.”

[asaseya]

Something Between Us: Chapter Two

Link to chapter one

Link to Ao3

Despite Roy’s earlier fantasies of marathon sex they did in fact sleep the rest of the night. And it was the best night of sleep Roy had this week. Possibly his best night’s sleep in years. He wouldn’t describe himself as someone who needed a relationship. Or claim that forming this union with Kal filled some hole in his heart. That would be inaccurate either way anyway. But there had been so much left unsaid for so long that no matter the form of their new relationship, as long as they had one, it would help settle his sense of self. Put simply, Kaldur was the first bit of proof that Roy was a “real boy.”

An implanted drive to become a member of the Justice League couldn’t explain their closeness. There were no implanted memories for him to base his interactions on. And Kaldur had never met his original prior to the discovery of the whole cloning thing. Their relationship was all them. Roy’s original had admitted to trying to get close to Kal in an effort to capture something he felt he’d lost, but it just didn’t work. If anything it backfired despite his original’s insistence that Kaldur treated him normally, something that even Dick had trouble doing. Age/rank gap notwithstanding, the original didn’t mesh well with Kaldur. Respected him sure, but he just didn’t feel the pull. And Roy...well Roy couldn’t remember having to try.

Sleep must have been good for Kaldur as well. It was eightish and Kal lay on his stomach, still asleep, still naked. He hadn’t gone all OCD on Roy last night, so the sheets were a mess and their clothing lay on the floor where they left them. Roy wanted to kiss him but morning breath held him back. No, Roy’d just lay in bed and watch Kal sleep like a stalker. Cuz he’s a well adjusted adult and all that.

Kaldur stirred. He turned his head to look at Roy and smiled at him sleepily. “Morning.”

“Mor-” Roy squeaked, he cleared his throat and tried again. “Morning.”

Kaldur shifted into child’s pose right on the bed, splaying out his fingers and webbing as far as they would go. He groaned into the stretch as he wiggled his fingers.  His movement pulled the covers off his body. “You are starting again.”

Roy moved to sit cross legged on the bed. “Stop being beautiful and I’ll stop lookin. Breakfast?” Kaldur’s eyebrow twitched. Roy wasn’t interested in stopping with the compliments Kal’d just have to get used to it.

“Water,” Kal answered.

Roy smirked. “Did I dehydrate you?”

Kaldur sat up. “Funny.” he answered dryly. He moved to get off the bed.

Roy still watched just for the joy of it. Because this was happening, it was real, and he’d enjoy every moment of it.

Kaldur’s hands rested on his hips as he scanned the room. “We should clean.”

“Ugh.” Roy flopped back down on the bed, placing his arm over his eyes for added drama.

“At least make the bed.”

“I don’t know about you but I plan on using it again.”

“Change the sheets?”

Roy peeked from under his arm. “Fine.”

They changed the sheets, and picked up their clothes, because really that was all there was to do and it was kinda a waste of time. (This of course is why Roy’s home was probably a mess, maintenance is important Kal chided. Roy didn’t bother defending himself.) They brushed their teeth and Roy sipped on a glass of water while Kaldur gulped down three,the movement of Kal’s adam’s apple kickstarting Roy’s imagination. And then they had their first fight as a couple.

It was dumb because at some point last night Roy remembered thinking that he’d give Kal anything he wanted but he wouldn’t give up on this. He was going first, damnit.

So now he couldn’t take it back, because he’d won the argument. He would get to go first because he deftly convinced Kaldur that he needed Kal’s dick up his ass like a week ago. (Okay so he almost railroaded his chances with that declaration because of time and math and shit. It hadn’t even been a week since he’s been here, but fuck calendars. That wasn’t the point.) He couldn’t take it back no matter how much this current situation was making him want to shake apart because it was just too much. Because he forgot how good this felt. Since he was going to go first he was required to let Kal help with preparations since anything else would lead to Kaldur ignoring their agreement and result in Kal physically restraining Roy and power bottoming until one or both of them passed out. Which, yeah, later, and that’s about as far as that particular fantasy went before Roy had to bite down on his lower lip to keep himself in the present.

It’d been a while since Roy’s been on the receiving end mostly because no one else would do but Kal. Which might just be a mental blockage on his part more than anything doing with his actual sexuality.  He could get another guy with a little effort. He didn’t want to. There were women who would satisfy that itch but that required more intimacy than he was ready for from a one night stand. And surprisingly Jade was always so worried about hurting him that she could never get in to it. Such hesitance from a woman that loved torturing people... He guessed that’s one of the many ways he knew she loved him. Yes he was thinking about Jade right now. He needed something to distract him from Kal’s tongue up his ass.

This was supposed to help him loosen up after the requisite cleaning was done. Not get him off. Getting him off would mean starting over and ….Fuck. That was the whole damn point. Kaldur’s enjoying this. Roy thought conspiratorially. Roy shook the water from his hair. “Kal enough.” It was hard to sound authoritative when need tainted his voice. Kaldur just gripped Roy’s hips tighter. The feeling of Kal’s fingers digging into his skin made Roy’s toes curl.

It was hard not to slip while pressed up against the glass wall of the shower but Roy attempted to shift his weight forward anyway. “Really, I’m good now.”

Kaldur ignored him again, moving one of his hands forward to begin stroking Roy’s cock.

The extra stimulation caused him to involuntarily push backwards, an action that gave Kaldur encouragement he didn’t need. Roy gave up, they had all day anyway.

Roy needed a break, time to come down from his post orgasmic high. Roy didn’t want one, he pushed through the drowsiness to pin Kaldur against the tiled wall of the shower. Kal hissed as water from one of the sprays pelted his back. Roy hadn’t bothered to ensure that Kaldur didn’t end up on top of one. The water was warm for Roy’s benefit, meaning that it was uncomfortable for Kaldur. Roy didn’t notice. His fingers had returned to the task of opening himself up and Kaldur’s neck needed some attention.

The doorbell rang.

“Ignore it,” Roy said between kisses and Kaldur almost did.

Correction. Kaldur ignored the doorbell but something else caught his attention. He peeled Roy off of him.

“What’s wrong?” Roy’d be dissapointed but he knew that look. Knew it was time to shift gears.

Kal turned off the water then moved to get Roy a towel.

“What about you?”

“Not cold.”

“Kal...you're not exactly in fighting shape right now.” Roy fought against the distraction. Kaldur was so hard it looked painful. He had a plan to ease that pain, but of course they’d get cockblocked.

Kaldur ran his hand over his head, scratching his scalp. He looked down with a wry smile.

“Here.” Roy tossed him his towel. “What’s the plan.”

“We should….” Kaldur cocked his head. Super hearing, it wasn’t Superman levels but having evolved for underwater living sharper senses were part of the deal. “I think I can manage to get pants on before whatever...whoever? It’s just one?”

“Then go,” Roy commanded.

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

Kaldur had just made it to his room. Just opened the drawer to pull out some pajama bottoms when his bedroom door opened. 

“Hey Kal, I thought you were-”

That was Dick’s voice. Kaldur didn’t care then, because privacy apparently meant nothing to portions of the superhero community now that he had been found again. So yes, Kaldur did not bother covering himself again when he turned around.

Dick’s eyes bugged out and then he very pointedly looked at the ceiling. “Sorry I uh…”

“What is it Richard.” Kaldur said calmly,icilly, his face a mask.

“Yeah, what is it Richard?” Roy had entered  the room. Dry but undressed except for the towel around his waist. He slung an arm around Dick’s shoulders, trapping him.

Dick practically jumped out of his skin. He twisted to the side then straightened,  drawing his arms close to his chest as he hugged himself.  “Ugh dude, Kal’s bad enough. Put that away!”

Kaldur’s face softened as he turned to put on some underwear and pajama pants.

“What? Not my problem you didn’t run a proper risk assessment check before breaking in.”

Dick turned to glare at Roy. “How was I supposed to know that you two are together, together?” he hissed. His expression shifted to one of wonder. “Wait...are you guys together together? Cuz if so congrats but I’d prefer to find out over text and not...well.”

Kaldur tossed some clothes Roy’s way.  Roy caught them with his free hand.

“I have preferences as well.” Kaldur said dryly “But seeing as this morning will not continue according to my preferences-”

Dick freed himself from Roy’s grasp. “Ugh don’t bring it up.” He looked a little sick. “I feel like this is what walking in on your parents must be like.”

“Wait,” Roy started as he took off his towel. Dick rushed towards Kal’s bedroom door, he’d seen enough male nudity for the morning thank you very much. “You mean you haven’t seen Bat’s and Catwoman go at it?” Roy called after him.

They laughed at Dick’s loud groan from the hallway.

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

There was a briefcase on his coffee table. Dick sat on the loveseat casually as if the case didn’t loom large from its location. As if he didn’t put it there on purpose. Roy, his Roy, said what he could not.

Roy gestured to the briefcase. “What the fuck is this shit?”

Kaldur smiled softly at Roy before retreating to the kitchen to start breakfast. It was nice to have his anger translator back.

“Calm down Roy,” said Dick.

Kaldur grinned. Dick should know better. “He just came out of retirement.” Roy said with emphasis. His voice getting louder with each word. “He hasn’t even been debriefed yet. “

“Look Roy I g-”

“You didn’t even have the decency to wait til he opened his door. Just broke in while bringing that.” Roy pointed to the briefcase again.

“It’s a bit of an emergency.”

Roy pointed to the ceiling. “You have a damn space station full of superheroes.”

“Okay okay...enough with the finger.” Dick sighed. “You ever hear of King Shark?”

“No.”

“Yes.” Kaldur cracked an egg into a frying pan then turned around.

“Yeah well, he didn’t take it that well when you fell off the map.” Dick explained. “And now that you’re back he’s made some big proclamation that he’s on the way here.”

“Okay?” Kadur returned to his work. Grabbing a few more eggs to crack into the pan. “King Shark is not a threat that requires my specific skill set. You and others could have intercepted him and I would be along shortly to help if required.”

“He has...spawn.”

“There’s a queen shark?” Roy asked.

Dick gave Roy a “How the fuck would I know?” look.

Roy returned a “Don’t bat’s always know look?”

Dick rolled his eyes.

“Do sharks lay eggs?” Roy continued.

“Some do-” Kaldur began to answer.

“Anyway!” Dick’s voice rose. “Backup is on the way. The little buggers are radioactive so cleanup’s gonna be a bitch. According to the watchtower he’ll be here in an hour or two. I just happened to be in Turkey so I was closest contact.”

“Oh,” Roy snarked. “You just happened to be in Turkey. You just happened to have that with you too?”

More pointing on Roy’s end, this was getting them nowhere. Kaldur figured it was time to swap in. “Roy,” Kaldur said softly as the turned down the burner. Roy moved towards the kitchen to take over because if they were gonna go fight radioactive bipedal shark spawn they'd better eat first.

Silver briefcase. Biometric locks. Kaldur pressed his thumbs to the latches and after a blue light scan and a soft beep the case clicked. Kaldur lifted the top and it was... different. He flicked his eyes over to Dick. “What is with you and blue.”

“Topaz actually. Matches your eyes.” Dick batted his eyes at him

“Stop flirting with my boyfriend.” Roy called form the kitchen.

Dick’s head snapped to Roy’s direction. “I’m not flirting with your boyfriend! Seeing his erection was enough. Trust me.”

Roy scoffed. “Your loss.”

Kaldur ignored them both. He pulled the suit out and shook it a bit. It was similar to his other suits except things were a lighter greenish blue...topaz, whatever, where it would normally be a red orange. And midnight blue where it was black. Pewter where it was gold, like the symbol of Atlantis and his belt. He set the main part of his new suit down. “What are these?” Kaldur lifted a second garment. A high collared, long sleeved, bolero, stiffer than the rest of his suit, it was the same shade of pewter as his Atlantean insignia.

“It’s a part of your new water bearer set up,” Dick explained.

“He doesn't need them anymore,” Roy supplied.

Dick shrugged. “Then imagine how powerful his water constructs will be if he uses them. Ready to suit up?”

Kaldur and Roy looked to each other.

“That was a rhetorical question,” Dick didn’t bother to hide his annoyance.

Roy’s smile triggered one from Kaldur.. “Breakfast first,” Kaldur said.

[bbclesmis]

Entertainment Weekly: Dominic West on why Les Misérables' Valjean and Javert are like Mean Girls

Victor Hugo’s epic tale of redemption and revolution Les Misérables is set in nineteenth-century France — and 2004’s meme-generating Mean Girls is…not.

Yet, the two have more in common than one might think, at least according to star Dominic West, who portrays Jean Valjean, a.k.a. Prisoner 24601.

Valjean begins the series, now a six-part miniseries premiering on PBS’ Masterpiece Sunday, newly emerged from 19 years in prison. He begins his life anew, wanting to shed his past and build a life for himself — but the dogged pursuit of his former prison guard, the newly minted Inspector Javert (David Oyelowo), puts him once more on the run.

That obsession, which finds Javert tracking Valjean across France, reminded West of a key scene in Mean Girls and popular meme. “This is a massive case of Why are you so obsessed with me?,” he jokes. “Jean Valjean and Javert really are Mean Girls, and it’s not clear why Javert is so obsessed with him. To an astonishing degree.”

For West, one of the most difficult parts of the role was exploring that cat-and-mouse game and why these characters can’t let go of each other. He says his costar David Oyelowo slightly disagreed with West’s assessment, which is that the relationship has an element of something “psychosexual.”

He explains, “There is a moment in our TV series where I strip off in front of David, as a prisoner; I’m being released and he does cop a glance…There’s a certain sexual obsession. There’s something going on between these two men. And we didn’t want to play that too much. It’s not explicit in the writing, and certainly not in Victor Hugo, but I think with our modern sensibilities you’ve got to look for an impulse that strong. And there’s no stronger impulse than love and sex.”

West is bursting with pop culture comparisons for the new Andrew Davies adaptation of the tale, which is known most famously to people in the form of the Claude-Michel Schönberg and Alain Boublil musical. This six-part miniseries, which debuts April 14 at 9 p.m., is not a musical and hews more closely to the novel.

In advance of the premiere, EW called up West to talk how much the musical inspired him (hint: not at all), why Iron Man ain’t got nothing on Valjean, and what it was like trying to keep his cool opposite Oscar winner Olivia Colman’s comedic antics.

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: How familiar were you with Les Mis when you signed on? With the musical’s popularity, it seems almost unavoidable, especially in Britain.                          DOMINIC WEST: I escaped it! I hadn’t seen the musical and I hadn’t seen all of the film of the musical, so I was pretty new to it all. I certainly hadn’t read it. If I was honest, I was slightly put off by the musical. I also thought, “Well it’s just been made into a film. What’s the point of doing it again?” Then I read Andrew’s scripts and I saw why it was a classic. Then I read a book, and then I decided I thought it was the greatest hero in literature and I had to do it, but before all that I didn’t really know much about it at all.

Something that struck me in this adaptation is how much we really get a sense that Valjean is a scary guy. He’s a hardened criminal who is reforming, and we see that in the ferocity you lend him in early episodes. For you, how did you tap into that and then how did you hammer out the journey to his gentler side?                          The problem with the story is the only thing he’s guilty of is stealing a loaf of bread in order to feed his starving nieces and nephews, who when he then gets jailed for that, they then presumably all die. This guy hasn’t done anything wrong. In fact, he’s been completely wronged. That’s one way you find how brutalized he’s been, how unfair he feels the world has been to him. There’s a rage in there which I found because he’s constantly being told he’s a beast, he’s a brute, he’s a good-for-nothing. Throughout the story, he’s constantly thinking of that of himself. So, he does need to be as brutish and as frightening as possible at the beginning. If he’s always been a nice guy, there’s not much of a journey to go on. It’s just more dramatic when the Bishop shows love to this guy if he’s terrifying.

I was watching the first episode the day the sentencing for Paul Manafort came out here, and it struck me that Jean Valjean got 19 years for a loaf of bread and this guy got way less for something objectively worse.                          [Laughs] Yeah. It’d be great if he got 19 years hard labor. [Laughs] It was a real problem for me getting my head around that, you just sort of think, “Hang on a second, a loaf of bread?” That is just nuts. That’s crazy. But that was one of the big things that I had to come to terms with in terms of psychological things with Jean Valjean —this sense that if you brutalize people, then they believe they’re not worthy of anything. They believe they are brutish and they behave accordingly. That’s a lot what Victor Hugo was trying to talk about.

David Oyelowo is your foil as Javert. What was that push and pull like with him?                          He took the lead on it really. I kept trying to get to know him and go out for dinner with him or something, and he kept avoiding me and ignoring me. I thought, “Oh, he’s not very friendly.” And then at the end when we finished, we went out, we had this great time and I said, “It’s such a shame we’re only just getting to know each other now.” Then he said, “Oh no, that was totally deliberate. I didn’t want to get to know you. I didn’t want to feel easy with you.” And he’s right – if you socialize with people, there is a chemistry between you, there is an ease between you, which the camera catches.

Andrew Davies is so well-regarded as an adaptor, having tackled everyone from Austen to Dickens to Tolstoy. Why do you think he has such a knack for adapting these very big books by canonical authors?                          He won’t do a book that’s less than two inches thick, I think. [Laughs] But I suppose he got good at it with Pride and Prejudice. When I was looking back at the scripts having read the novel, [I noticed] almost every significant and memorable scene that I remember from the novel, he managed to somehow get into the screenplay. And when you consider how long the novel is, that’s an extraordinary achievement. He’s just very good at selecting the nuggets and finessing the bumpy bits. Because another thing that strikes you when you try to work out what happened, there’s an enormous amount of coincidence, as typical of 19th-century novels I suppose. What he’s very good at doing is condensing the important stuff, but also of unknotting the more grating bits of structure, which modern audiences don’t really buy.

You have some great face-offs with Olivia Colman as Madame Thenardier, and you’ve both been praised for your dry wit and sense of humor on set, so what was the funniest moment you shared together while making this?                          [Laughs] Oh god, well the trouble with her is she’s so damn good that she can be roaring with laughter right up to action and then suddenly she’ll do the most devastating scene of sadness. I thought I could do that, and I thought I could run with the big leagues, but I couldn’t…There’s a big fight scene where they all pin me down on the table, [and] she gets me by the hair. She did pull my hair quite deliberately I think. Then I get a red hot iron bar out of the stove and I burn myself with it to show them how it’s nothing to me. But anyway, it’s a serious scene for Valjean. As we were preparing before action, she and Adeel [Akhtar], who played Monsieur Thenardier were doing this impression of this couple who are on British TV [on] a thing called Goggle Box, which shows ordinary people watching TV. Everyone’s crying with laughter listening to their impression of this couple. She was constantly doing impressions and cracking jokes, and I just remember that one scene where I realized I had to stop listening to her and concentrate on the work at hand.

In some ways, this story is more religious than modern audiences often see – was that an aspect you tapped into? How do you feel about Hugo’s assessment of God in this story and God’s power in Valjean’s life and destiny?                          It’s obviously central. Hugo does a three chapter dissertation on the state of the Catholic church, nunneries in particular. He’s not a great fan of Catholicism, but he’s definitely a believer in God. You can’t really do Valjean without having that dimension to him. He believes in God; he believes he’s been saved and can be redeemed. That’s fundamental to him. You can’t understand him without that. The candlesticks become a symbol of that belief in God. This Archbishop, who gives him the candlesticks, is a wholly good person and the power of that virtue is what turns Valjean into a hero. That virtue does not come divorced from his God. That does not exist in a vacuum. My faith is less certain, and more modern skepticism, but there’s not really any room for that with Valjean. Without being specific about a religion, he has to believe that there is a higher power and that that higher power has saved him.

Valjean is a very physical role in a lot of ways. Did you have to do a lot of training for it?                          Yeah, that was a nightmare. He’s essentially described as the strongest man in the world, who can fight ten men at a time. He climbs up the sides of buildings rescuing children, and in the book, he climbs up the mast of a huge tall ship and rescues a sailor who’s trapped on a yard arm and then jumps off it into the ocean and stays underwater for a full five minutes so everyone thinks he’s dead and then escapes. He’s a superhuman; he’s the original superhero. I’d like to see Iron Man do 19 years hard labor in a 19th-century prison. He’s tough as nails. That was quite daunting for me. I did a lot of boxing training; that’s the toughest training I know.

Would you be up for playing him in the musical version should the opportunity ever arise?                          I think there’s a reason you haven’t heard me sing much. [Laughs] I think I’ve got a lovely voice, and all I’ve ever wanted to do is musicals. The only one I’ve ever done is My Fair Lady. I played Professor Higgins, which is a part that’s written for a non-singer. I was constantly trying to put songs into Les Mis. As much as I would love to play Valjean in the musical, I don’t think anyone’s going to ask me too once they hear me sing. [Laughs]

x

[justcallmeasmodeus]

The Journey Home

A/N: This is my first completed SPN fic, as well as my first time writing in reader insert format. I hope you enjoy it!

Dean x Reader, Angst

Warnings: Detailed Crash Scene

The Journey Home

Lightning flashed, lighting up the dark forest around you. You put your hand on the shoulder of the person slumped over in the passenger seat of the jeep. Somewhere behind you a monster lurked in the darkness. You were on this hunt on your own, there had been no way to slay and save. You were just about to pray for Cas for help when the sudden cracking of a falling branch interrupted your thoughts.

You jerked the wheel to the left, trying to avoid disaster. The ground off the path was too soft from the rainfall, your Jeep tires began sliding as you struggled to keep control. You hit a branch, muttering explicits under your breath as you braced yourself. You stood on your break as a tree came into view, but it was no use. Thinking quickly you lifted the emergency brake, causing the Jeep to spin. You managed to miss the tree, but the momentum from the spinning took you over the edge of a small cliff. Your Jeep slid backwards, slamming into a tree. Your head slammed into the steering wheel, causing the world to go fuzzy as your Jeep began to barrel roll down the rest of the hill. You blacked out just before your Jeep came to rest in a lake with a giant splash.

You came to slowly, your vision focusing with every few blinks. It took a few moments for you to steady your equilibrium; you were upside down, underwater, and sinking fast. Your body took over for your mind; your will to live was stronger than the weakness of your mind. You grabbed for the knife at your ankle, white hot pain searing your body with every movement. You pushed through it, cutting yourself out of the seatbelt. The crumpled top of the Jeep held you in place as you finished breaking the cracked window and cleaned out the broken pieces with the hilt of your knife, very aware of the quickly rising water level.

You pulled your protesting body out, treading the cold and murky lake water. Black spots danced along your vision, willing you to stop and give in to a watery grave. Something inside you kept pushing you to the shore. You felt the muck underneath your fingernails as you heaved yourself out of the water. Once your face felt grass, you let the darkness take over.

---------

“Hmmmm. Y/N’s Jeep is gone. Shouldn’t she be back by now?” Sam asked Dean as they pulled into the garage.

“Maybe something came up.” Dean shrugged, trying to look indifferent. “She would have called Cas if something was really wrong.” He looked over into Sam’s eyes, and Sam could see the worry in the deepening wrinkles on his brothers face. “Right?”

“Right.” Sam said, putting a comforting arm on his shoulder.

“You’re getting better at not being so overprotective.” Cas said from the backseat. “And I haven’t heard from Y/N.”

“I’m sure she’s fine. She can handle herself.” Dean nodded, as if he had convinced himself.

“She’s got a great mentor.” Cas said, his voice matter-of-fact as he got out of the car.

“And an even better boyfriend.” Sam punched his shoulder playfully.

“Right.” Dean snorted, a smile spreading across his face. “I’m sure she’ll call.”

----------

“Dean, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you don’t stop pacing.” Sam huffed, throwing his his book down on the table.

“She hasn’t called. I can’t reach her. Cas can’t find her because of her fucking angel blocking tattoo.” Dean ran a hand over his face. “What if something happened?”

“Dean, it’s been a week. You know how cases get sometimes.”

“She always calls.”

The Winchesters both jumped at the knock on the door. Dean ran to answer it, hoping that it was Y/N, dreading that it wouldn’t be. His heart sank to his feet as he opened it to the pity filled smile of a police officer’s face.

“Mr. Winchester?”

“Yes?” The officer took off his hat, and Dean’s face paled. That was never a good sign.

“A hunter in White River, SD called in an accident. It took a few days before we could investigate-”

“Can you get to the point?” Dean cut him off.

“Dean.” Sam said gently, indicating behind the police officer.

Dean looked over the police officer’s shoulder and saw the tow truck. His eyes traveled to the back and his heart twisted just as much as the metal frame of the Jeep that he built for you. His vision tunnelled and he stopped listening to the nonsense words that were coming out of the police officer’s mouth. His trained eyes picked out the blood from across the yard.

“Is she okay?” He interrupted the police officer, tearing his eyes away so he could look him in the face.

“We found a body in the truck.”

Sam caught Dean by the shoulders just before he hit the pavement.

---------

Something inside you was telling you to move. Your body protested, but your soul screamed. You tried to think back to what happened, but all you could pull from your foggy brain were flashes of memories.

Lightning. The crack of a tree branch. Mud. Water.

You couldn’t remember why you were driving. You couldn’t remember why you were in this forest. You couldn’t remember your name. There was only one thing that was clear in your mind: Dean, Lebanon, Kansas. You had to get back.

The pain burned white hot as you tried to move in the mud. You tried to stand, but your legs wouldn’t support your weight. Instead, you drug yourself away from the scarred land, one agonizing pull at a time.

The first day you only made it 3 miles.

The next day you started crawling again, but after another mile you passed out. When you woke up you were in a bed. Looking around, you were in a room with two makeshift curtain walls. The floor was hard packed dirt, and the permanent walls were made logs. Your wounds were bandaged and the throbbing had subsided. Your clothes had been changed and the mud had been washed from your body.

You stretched, wincing and whining as sharp pains tore hot through your body. You heard movement outside the curtain in response to your movements. You heard light footsteps approach the curtain, pulling it back and revealing a concerned face. He was slender, his body lean and strong from years of physical labor. His tan skin was stretched over high cheekbones and framed by raven black hair. HIs deep brown eyes bore into yours, and you felt like he was quite possibly reading your soul.

“Take it easy, you’re still pretty hurt.” His voice was soft and kind.

“Water.” You managed to croak through the burning of your dry throat.

“Here, easy.” He held the glass to your lips, helping you drink.

“Thank you.” Your voice was still shaky, but stronger. “How long?”

“You’ve been here, in White River, SD, for about three weeks now. I’m Takoda, the medicine man. Do you know your name?”

You shook your head slowly, unsure of what movements would hurt.

“Do you remember anything?”

“I think there was a crash, and then I crawled.”

“Is that it? Do you remember why you were there or where you’re from?” Takoda sat down on the edge of the bed next to you.

“No.” Something inside you told you not to tell Takoda about Dean, but you weren’t sure what, or why.

“Well let’s give you a name for starters.” Takoda closed his eyes and placed his hand over your forehead. His hand was warm on your skin, his touch light. You closed your eyes and it felt like he was reading into your soul. “I think we’ll call you Akecheta for now. At least until you remember your own name.”

“What’s it mean?” You asked, struggling to sit up.

“Fighter.” He helped you into a sitting position. “Wait here, I’ll get you some food.”

On day 21, you stayed 15 miles from the scene of the accident.

-------

Dean sat on the ground in front of the empty grave marker. A thousand words could describe her, but he couldn’t bring a single one to mind now. Something didn’t feel right about this; something inside of him was screaming that she was alive. Tears burned at the back of his eyes but no more would fall. He reached out and touched the cold granite, trying to make it real in his mind, trying to convince his soul to believe that you were gone.

“Dean, it’s getting cold out. Come inside.” Sam walked out and put an arm around his brother, and Dean allowed himself to be led into the house.

“She’s not dead.” Dean mumbled over dinner.

“Dean, we’ve been over this.” Sam sighed. “We saw the body. She’s not coming back. It’s been over a month. You’ve got to move on.”

“Yeah, and how do you suppose that I do that?” Dean looked at Sam with fire in his eyes.

“I don’t know! Drink, eat some pie, fix up the car. Isn’t that what you usually do after someone dies?”

“She isn’t dead!” Dean stood up, pounding his fist on the table and causing the dishes to rattle. “And even if she was, this isn’t something I can just get over, or forget about, or fix. I can’t fix the Jeep, I can’t fix this.” Dean slumped back in his chair, his shoulders drooping in defeat. He put his head in his hands and rubbed his face, his eyes burning with tears again. “I don’t know what to do Sammy.” He confessed.

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

“Uses for witch hazel; chicken pox, sunburn, teething babies, sore throat, bug bites, poison oak, ticks, and cleaning and disinfecting wounds.” You listed, checking Takoda’s supply of witch hazel to make sure you had enough for the tribe before winter kicked in.

“Very good Ake, you’re a quick study. Now what about mint?”

You bit your cheek and looked to the ceiling as you searched your brain to remember.

“Mint leaves are good for indigestion and…” your brain started to get fuzzy as you tried to remember what else mint was used for, but Takoda let you work out the answer. Eventually it came to you. “...cholesterol.”

“Excellent. Now, let’s go do our rounds.”

You watched him as you worked with the people of the tribe. Takoda was calm and gentle. He was a giver, a protector. He had convinced these people to take you in as one of them, even though you knew nothing about yourself. It was a fresh start, whether you deserved or needed one or not.

And yet.

Something kept tugging at you. Dean, Lebanon, Kansas.  It showed up in your dreams, it haunted you during the day. When the wind blew south everything inside you begged you to go with it.

“What’s bothering you Ake?” Takoda asked you later that night over dinner.

“I need to go. I’m grateful for all that you’ve done, and all that you’ve taught me, but…”

“Your soul calls to your old life.” Takoda finished to you. Was it really that obvious? “I can see it in your eyes.” He smiled warmly at you. “You are true to your name, Ake. I’m sure I can’t persuade you to at least stay through the winter?”

“No.” You shook your head. “It shouldn’t be that far. I’ll get there in less than a week. Before the first snowfall I’m sure.”

“You’re still weak.”

“I know,” you grinned, “that’s why I gave myself a week.”

The next morning you left before sunrise, quietly packing a bag of supplies to last you for a week. You thought twice, and packed a trap just in case. You walked outside, pulling your light jacket close to you against the bitter chill in the morning air. Taking a deep and burning breath, you closed your eyes and listened. You felt that ever familiar tug on your soul, and this time you followed it.

Dean, Lebanon, Kansas.

On the 175th day, you made it 20 miles.

--------

“Dean, it’s been six months.” Sam said as the blonde walked away from their table at the bar.

“I know.” He poured himself another double and downed it.

“Don’t tell me you still think she’s alive. We searched for her for two months and we didn’t find anything. We checked the surrounding towns for Jane Does, we went through 10 square miles of the surrounding forest and we couldn’t find her or her body. There is no sign that the body they found, that we buried, wasn’t hers. You have to let her go Dean.”

“I can’t Sam. She’s my life.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a little black box. Sam’s heart sank to his feet. “I was going to propose to her.”

“Dean, how long have you been carrying that around?”

“I picked it up about a week after…” Dean took a drink and swallowed hard. “... after they dropped the Jeep off. I ordered it just before we left on that last hunt.”

“Last call boys, we’re closing early tonight.” The bartender interrupted their conversation, bill already in hand.

“It’s only 10:30?” Sam raised on eyebrow as he looked at his watch.

“There’s an early blizzard coming through. 12-15 inches. Frank wants us all out before 11 so we have time to get home.” She glanced at the open ring box on the counter. “Pretty ring, lucky girl. Congrats.” She sat down the bill and left.

“We’d better get going.” Sam threw down some money while Dean finished his drink.

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

The snowstorm caught you by surprise. It was early in the year for snow, especially in such a large amount. It took you two hours to find shelter after the snow started falling. It was a small cave, and while it didn’t offer any help heat-wise, it did offer protection from the high winds and driving snow. You huddled in the back, trying desperately to curl into a ball and warm yourself with your own body heat. Eventually you fell asleep, shaking in the back of the cave and clutching your pack for some semblance of warmth.

When you woke up the next morning, your body ached from the combination of cold and sleeping on a stone floor. The snow still blew outside, with no signs of letting up. You looked around the cave you had taken shelter in while chewing on a piece of jerky for breakfast, and to your surprise one of the walls was stacked high with wood. It was old at least a few years old, but it wasn’t dry rotted and it would burn. You dug through your bag to find your flint before working up the courage to move.

You stretched gingerly as you stood up, slowly making your way over to the woodpile. The wood was stacked over your head, so you carefully pulled from the middle of the pile. The first few pieces came out easy enough, and you stacked them by the edge of the cave. Gathering up a little kindling from the cave floor, you placed it in the center of your firewood stack and reached for your flint. Your shaking hands coaxed a fire to life, and you breathed a sigh of relief. The immediate danger of freezing to death was gone, so you took a minute to chastise yourself for not waiting out winter where you were safe. In the back of your mind you knew that had you stayed, you might not have left.

You checked your food supply and debated on setting out your trap, but you knew with the way that the snow was falling it would be covered in a manner of hours. Instead you settled back against the slowly warming stone wall and closed your eyes. You tried to remember more about your past, but nothing came to mind. You fell asleep repeating the only thing you remembered. Dean, Lebanon, Kansas.

The cold wind woke you up. The fire was almost out, and the wind had shifted so that it was blowing into the cave. You got up quickly, hurring over to the wood and grabbing a piece to keep the fire from going out. You pulled too hard, causing the pile to creak. You froze, eyes wide, wondering if the whole pile would come crashing down on you. It held, and you let out the breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. You placed the piece you had on the embers that were left. You smiled as the flame started to grow, and you went back for a few more pieces.

This time when you grabbed them, even though you were careful, the pile gave. You turned to run, but it was no use. You blacked out when you hit the floor, and when you woke up the fire was back to embers again. You reached out to pull yourself out from under the logs on top of you and nearly screamed. Your left leg was on fire with every move you made.

You turned back and pushed whatever logs off of you that you could before gritting your teeth and pulling yourself the rest of the way out. You broke a sweat from the pain, groaning as you rolled yourself over. You threw some logs on the fire from where you were, and laid back down. The world was starting to swim before your eyes, and you needed to gather your senses.

The roaring pain subsided to a dull ache, and you pulled yourself into a sitting position, despite a white hot protest from your left hip. You felt down your leg and cried out in pain as your tibia, which was now in two pieces, grated together.

“Son of a bitch.” You murmured under your breath.

You saw two straight logs close by and you pulled them to you. You reached for your supplies sack and gasped as more pain shot through you. You pulled string out of your pack and created a makeshift splint, following Takoda’s instructions he gave as he splinted the leg of a neighbor after they fell off their horse.

You ate a piece of jerky and a slice a bread, making sure to ration your food in even smaller portions. This injury wasn’t going to stop you, but it was going to slow you down. The snow and wind had stopped, so if the weather held you decided to make a break for it in the morning.

When the morning dawned the weather was still calm, so you hauled yourself up with the nearest thin log. Using it as a makeshift crutch you hobbled your way outside. You hobbled, putting the pain in the farthest reaches of your mind.

On the 179th day, you made it two miles.

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

“How did she always manage to make this look so easy?” Dean cried as he threw down a bundle of tangled Christmas lights. The all too familiar burn of tears burned at the back of his throat, but he swallowed hard and it went away.

“It’s the day after Thanksgiving, why are you even bothering?” Sam asked, walking into the library with two mugs of coffee.

“We always put up decorations the day after Thanksgiving.”

“Always? More like for the last three years since Y/N decided that holidays were mandatory.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it.” Dean’s tone was venomous.

“Chill, I didn’t mean anything by it. Just…” Sam reached out and gently touched Dean’s shoulder, “you can wait a little bit if you need to.”

“If she comes home she’ll be pissed if the decorations aren’t up.”

“Dean…”

“What Sam?” The fire in his eyes made Sam rethink what he was going to say.

“I’m going to go upstairs to clean.”

Sam walked upstairs and began searching through files. He looked down at Dean struggling with the lights and sighed. It had been so long, yet Dean hadn’t made any improvements at all. He still cooked dinner for the three of them. He still sat a place for her, still looked for her when they came home. Sam looked outside, debating on if he should pray to Cas or not.

He noticed something making its way over the snow covered hill. At first he thought it was just an animal, but then he realized it was walking on two legs. He grabbed a pair of binoculars off of a shelf and took a closer look.

“Holy shit.” He whispered, taking the binoculars away and rubbing his eyes before he took another look. “Holy shit. Dean!”

“Sammy!” Dean was running up the stairs two at a time. “What’s wrong?”

“Look.” He handed Dean the binoculars and pointed out the window.

“You screamed at me because you sa-” Dean dropped the binoculars and took off down the stairs as fast as his body would carry him. He threw out open the door, taking off across the snow as fast as he could.

---------

It had been two days since you ran out of food. You were fairly certain that you had frost bite on every extremedy, and your leg felt like it was on fire, but you were so close you couldn’t stop. Your lips were so cracked they were bleeding. You kept your eyes closed because the cold stung and your tears were freezing down your cheeks. You shuffled, leading with your right foot. You could feel that you were close, so close.

You stumbled, falling in the snow. You didn’t get up this time, you couldn’t. You were so tired, and the snow was so comforting. All you wanted was to be warm, and full, and home.

“I’m sorry Dean.” You whispered. You closed your eyes and let the darkness seep in.

“Y/N!”

It sounded far off, like someone was calling you from across the world, and you didn’t recognize the name. But the voice was what you had been searching for. That voice was home. The darkness stopped, and you started fighting it.

“Y/N!”

You forced your eyes open and saw him running all out across the yard. You reached out for him, needing to feel his touch.

“It’s alright baby, it’s okay. I’m right here. Just hang on love, I’ve got you.” He murmured as he gently pulled you close to him.

“Dean.” His name was a whisper on your lips.

“Shhh it’s alright Y/N.” He pressed his lips to the top of your head. “Fight for me, please hold on.”

You tried to fight, but you were too cold, too hungry, and too weak. The darkness was closing in again and this time you couldn’t stop it.

--------

“Castiel if you do not get your feathered ass down here right now-” Dean couldn’t finish his threat as the tears started to fall from his eyes. He clutched Y/N close to his chest as her breathing began to shallow.

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice was the best thing Dean had heard in nearly a year. “Dean why are you outside.”

“Fix her please.”

Dean turned back toward Castiel, and his eyes widened as he saw Y/N in his arms. Cas bent down and touched a hand to her forehead, healing her wounds. No more frostbite, resetting broken legs and dislocated joints.

“She’s not waking up Cas, why is she not waking up?”

“Take her inside, she’ll wake up.”

Dean took her inside and laid her down in bed. He crawled in next to her, unwilling to let her leave his sight, untrusting that his mind wasn’t playing a trick on him.

“Dean, how long are you going to be like this?” She croaked, opening an eye.

“Y/N?”

“Mhm.” She snuggled into his chest as he kissed the top of her head and held her.

-------

There wasn’t more than a pinprick of light when it suddenly became blindingly bright. You felt yourself slowly warming; from the inside out. You felt your aches melt away as your injuries healed, and you felt as though your mind was pulled down out of the clouds as your memories came back.

When you opened your eyes you were laying in the bed you shared with Dean, crushed against his chest. You missed his solid foundation, the way his arms wrapped around you like they could shield out all of the bad in the world. You missed the way he smelled; fresh and strong, like a spring day after a thunderstorm. You missed the feel of his unshaven face resting on the top of your head, and the sound of his heart beating beneath your ears.

“Dean, how long are you going to be like this?” You murmured, your voice cracking from so many days of not being used.

“Y/N?” He asked as though he still wasn’t sure that it was all real.

“Mhm.” You purred against his chest, turning so you could wrap one of your arms around him and hold him close to you.

“What happened?”

“There was a crash. I couldn’t remember anything except for your name and Lebanon, Kansas. I knew that I had to get back.” You yawned, fighting exhaustion from the journey and healing.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just tired.”

“Sleep sweetheart. You can tell me the rest later. All that matters right now is that you’re home.”

On the 187th day, you made it home.

[kpopstarsreact]

Djinn AU : Part 2 - Waking Up

>>Part one found here<<

What is a Djinn? A Djinn is a  spirit  often  capable  of assuming  human  or  animal  form  and  exercising  supernatural influence  over  people. Also known to some as genie’s, the Djinn is rumored to be able to grant wishes and create vivid visions.

Pairing: Jaebum + Reader

Genre: Djinn au / genie au / supernatural / angst

Warnings: Strong language / mention of violence

Summary: Being knocked out and unable to move would have been bad enough after having been kidnapped by a djinn disguised as your cat for God knows how long. But when you finally wake up, you realize that you’re going to not only have survive Jaebum to get back to the human world, but Jaebum’s enemies as well.

Word count: 3k

A/N: Part two is finally here everyone! I worked harder on this fic than I have on any other for a very long time. I hope you all enjoy it!

writing below the cut~

Mumbling... Do I hear- Do I hear someone talking?

It was like you were underwater. The darkness still surrounding you, suffocating and close enough that it felt as if it would snuff out any ounce of light that attempted to touch you for the rest of eternity.

At this point you didn’t know if the darkness was because you were merely asleep and caught in a restless dream, or if it was all real and the Djinn that had called itself Jaebum lived inside the darkness itself.

"A human...” the mumbling continued with you only able to fully make out random words.

Is it just the Djinn talking to himself, or to me? Did I pass out? A-am I under another spell that prevents me from seeing or hearing who... what he was talking to?

You couldn’t even tell if the shudder that racked through your body actually happened or if you only imagined feeling the rough terrycloth fabric beneath your bare arms as you shook.

You were about to see if you could scream your way to awakening when the muttering voices started becoming clearer.

“Yes, but a Mortal?”

“...keeping her forever.”

Then as if your ears popped, the voices all came flooding in completely.

“Damn it Jaebum!” Male. It was a male with a crisp, clear, very aggravated voice. You wanted to escape from him, from the utter wrath in his voice. The only movement you could manage as you strained was to turn your head slowly, twitching your fingers at the same time.

Damn it... What the hell did he do to me?

Your eyes still remained glued shut as the first voice continued. “I don’t care that you want to keep it, it’s a human! In our world. There hasn’t been a stray human outside of the Kings care in the in-between for millions of years. And there’s a damn good reason why.”

You couldn’t see what you assumed was Jaebum’s indifferent face as he retorted calmly, “But she’s different.” She. Not an it, but you were a she and not just an object to him at least. “I’m telling you she’s unlike any human I’ve come across in my life time.”

“Well it could be fun...” There was a third man in the room. This one’s voice was laced with laughter and mischief. “We could keep her in a state of REM, like she is now. She won’t see and won’t be able to move, but she can hear and understand what we say so we can describe all the odd stuff around her and you read her mind as she freaks out~”

Sick bastards. You decided that you trusted the third voice least of all. All you could do was to vow to memorize the voices you heard in case they ever forgot to put the spell back on you and you finally got to see the owners of them.

At least if you knew their personalities and how they spoke, you wouldn’t be at a complete disadvantage.

“You,” Jaebum spoke then. His voice came out deep and rough, and he was damn pissed about what that male had said. “are the most insufferable ass I have ever met BamBam.” At this point there were little pains all over your body now as you slowly awakened. It felt as if every limb you owned had fallen asleep, and were now slowly filling up with blood again, the pins and needles poking you everywhere. “You put any kind of spell on her that I do not permit and I swear to you that I will take the smallest, sharpest sliver of iron that I can find and I will use it on you in the worst ways possible. That goes for both of you.”

You regained feeling so slowly that you could cry. You didn’t know if you’d be able to tolerate the sharp, vibrating pains all over your body for the rest of your life. You felt like you’d be stuck listening to their voices drone on forever about your fate.

“Woah, chill out Jaebum!” The one called BamBam chirped, completely unfazed by Jaebum’s low, snarling voice. “It was just a suggestion.”

The first one that had spoken cleared his throat slightly then before Jaebum could explode on BamBam, and it sounded as if the entire room had stilled once again.

“There is no way that we’re keeping a mortal as a pet. End of story.”

“But Jinyoung~” BamBam whined. “Mortals are so unique in their realm and everyone in the in-between is so uptight. It would be fun! Just think of the face of your father when he sees-”

“No.” Jinyoung’s voice was short and final. “My father can’t know that she was ever here to begin with. He would sentence us all to death.”

Finally you were able to move little enough to sit upwards, opening your eyes slowly. By the time your eyes were all the way open, all three... demons? Angels? More Djinn? Whatever they were, all three of them were staring at you with various emotions on their faces.

“It seems to have awakened.” You recognized his smooth and light voice that was full of confidence as Jinyoung’s.

What the hell is he?

Your eyes had to be playing tricks on you. Jinyoung had long, pointed ears, the most delicate yet sharp features you had ever seen, and a slim yet muscular build. He was tall- at least he seemed tall from where you were slouching against the bed frame on pink terrycloth sheets. Every part of him seemed to be a contradiction. He was dressed in all white despite his intensely dark attitude, a lone long sword strapped to his back even though he looked too delicate to belong in a battle.

The other one, BamBam, had burgundy ears sprouting from atop his white-blonde hair and a tail matching in color wrapped around his waist from where he perched atop the clean white and black marbled kitchen counters. His clothing looked more mortal than the other two. In fact, he looked like he’d just walked off of a Calvin Cline runway show. He smiled at you, two long white canine teeth glittering in the kitchen light, tilting his head to the side slightly like a stray cat sizing up it’s next meal.

You didn’t know what was more shocking. The insanely breath-taking physical attributes of Jinyoung, the cat ears, tail, and teeth attached to BamBam, or that the house that you were currently being held captive in wasn’t a cave full of fire and bloody corpses from previous victims.

Jaebum glared daggers at Jinyoung. “She is awake.” Jaebum corrected him indignantly, earning an equally evil glare from Jinyoung. “She may be mortal, but it’s rather rude to call my guest an “it” don’t you think?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jinyoung snarled, stepping closer and closer to Jaebum’s face as he talked, “if she’s a gods damned queen back in her realm!” He stopped mere away from Jaebum, their eyes both so intense that you swore you could see fire dancing behind them. BamBam was behind them both, still smiling from ear to ear. His gaze had thankfully gone from you to the two males snarling at each other in fascination and- amusement. That was pure amusement dancing behind his widened blue feline eyes. You reaffirmed your choice to trust him the least... He had to be insane. “She’s a fucking human Jaebum. She doesn’t belong here.”

Jaebum dared half a step closer to Jinyoung to snarl his response, “Look, she’s my possession now, just like your own father possesses humans himself even even after his reign. He’s as much royal as I am at this point so why can I not do the same as him?” Jaebum’s face contorted into cold, hard confidence. “It’s not like he’s the king of anything anymore, he’s just as plain as you or I.”

BamBam’s absolutely delighted look in that moment should have told you alone how bad that statement would effect Jinyoung. From his look alone you became too afraid to talk even long enough to ask who they were. You instantly filled with gratitude that you had stayed smart enough not to try and speak when your eyes slid back to Jinyoung once again.

Jinyoung’s face was crestfallen. His eyes were slit in fury, his mouth pursed together as tightly as his clenching fists. You could feel his power intensifying by the second even a room away from him.

It registered in the back of your mind then that you would be able to move again if you tried to, but you were too wise to try with Jinyoun looking like he was going to kill whatever or whoever breathed next.

“Were done here.” If you would have dared to blink in that moment you would have missed Jinyoung disappearing into a small ball of blue-white light. The rooms tension lifted instantly with the light’s disappearance, and BamBam dissolved into a fit of laughter.

“I can’t believe you talked to the exile prince like that! Ooooh,” he rocked back from his spot on the counter and twitched his tail excitedly, “he’s going to get you back for that later.”

Jaebum’s face was now stone cold. “Let him come at me with whatever he has. If he starts a war over this, it’s only because he’s been itching to kill us ever since we refused to help the other from destroying his wretched fathers kingdom.”

Jaebum’s eyes slid to your slumped figure on the bed before you had time to disguise your horrified face.

“Oh...” His eyes softened visibly. “I’m sorry I almost forgot that you’re awake Y/n. How much did you see exactly?”

You avoided looking over at BamBam once again so you didn’t have to see his intensely feline eyes focusing once again on you as you struggled to speak through your dry, chapped lips.

“I-” attempting to clear your throat but only feeling the scraping of dryness, you tried to ask for water instead of answering his question, but Jaebum had read your mind once again and was beside you in an instant with a glass in his hand.

“Shh. Here.” Despite the voices in your head telling you to not drink it, that there was poison in it, you grabbed it and downed it desperately. “I know how bad your throat must hurt. Human’s tend to dehydrate when they travel between dimensions. It’s has something to do with the difference in the atmosphere and weather conditions or whatever.”

He smiled softly at you. You had no clue why he’d look at you so fondly with you sitting there awkwardly, barely having control over your own limbs enough to guzzle the water without spilling half of it on your shirt and all over the pristine new covers.

You still felt fear but... Somehow you felt a little better sitting here with Jaebum so close to you again. It was almost as if your cat Dean were curled up against you once again, giving you comfort after a long exhausting day.

You shook your head at the though, realizing how insane you had to have become. Jaebum might have been Dean but... He had also been the one to kidnap you.

You decided to ignore the safe feeling and chalked it up to deliria from dehydration as well as the shock from being taken by a supernatural creature that you hadn’t know existed just hours before.

It had just been a few hours right? Not that much time could have possibly passed...

“J-Jaebum...” He nodded at you patiently. He was finally going to let you speak despite his ability to read your mind. At least he was being polite about it now. “How long...” Your throat still ached, and though your stomach ached from guzzling all that water you were still parched. “Has it been since you took me?”

A snicker errupted from the kitchen, filling the split second of silence that had followed your question. “Shits about to get good!”

Jaebum’s face went from soft and kind to hard and aggravated in a split second.

He turned to glare daggers at BamBam. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“I have literally no place I’d rather be then here for when you tell her that she’s been knocked out for-”

A loud growl burst from Jaebum’s throat making you jerk back instinctively, and instantly you filled with horror that you had lost fear for such a ferocious creature for even a moment. He sounded like a lion about to kill another male over territory. He sounded like a beast. He sounded like a demon.

You dared to tear your eyes from Jaebum for a moment to see BamBam’s ears flattened back against his head, his lips pulled back into a hiss. BamBam lifted himself up so his feet and both hands were on the counter, and he pounced onto the kitchen table and out the window in the next heartbeat.

“Damn asshole.” Jaebum muttered, turning back to you with an intense, though less intimidating, stare.

“How long?” You’d asked him before you lost your nerve again. He could read your mind anyway. He would know that you needed to know.

“Two and a half months.” He kept talking even as your jaw went slack and your eyes nearly popped out of your skull from widening so much. “I managed to keep you safe and out of harms way until today when Jinyoung’s little buddy Jackson came over to annoy me again.”

You opened your mouth to try to speak but failed. There was no spell involved this time. You were just so utterly shocked that it had been almost three months since he’d taken you that you had lost the ability to form coherent sentences.

You hadn’t even realized that Jaebum was still talking until your mind caught up to the information a few seconds later. “...and he only does it to annoy me. Jackson plays cute just like all other Pixies do until you finally realize that by following the cute, shy little creature to gawk at them, you’d actually been lured to your own death. Mischievous little shits Pixies are. You’ll do well to stay the hell away from the lot of them.” His kind smile returned again, humor softening his sharp eyes this time. “Not that I’ll let you have much time to leave the house without me. It’s too easy to find your death here.”

“I-I don’t even have the capability to ask you how the fuck these things exist or even what the fuck all these creatures here are... Just please take me back. My mom must be worried sick and I-I...” the droplets of your tears hit your hands before you even realized that you were crying. You paused just long enough to sniff back the snot you knew would start dripping from your nose in any moment. Your voice got higher pitched the longer you spoke, so you tried to keep your speech short before your pitch became so high that probably only BamBam could understand you. “Why did you do this to me?”

His eyes didn’t change at all seeing you cry. He still had humor behind them, his smile still stretched out across his face unchanging. That damn softness in his face even as you came near hysterical. “Your mom still thinks you’re in the mortal world and that you’re perfectly safe. Don’t worry about it my darling.”

He reached out a hand and softly brushed a tear away. You were too frozen from the sudden touch that you didn’t jerk away like you should have. He paused with his fingers still touching your cheeks lightly. “You’ll learn to not be afraid of me soon Y/n. You’ll see. I’ll protect you. You won’t be alone in this world.”

With each word your soul filled up with more fear, more hopelessness, and somehow even a spark of anger was able to shine through the all the horror. You were going to be trapped here forever... and those other things, those other creatures Jaebum was talking to...

“J-Jinyoung is going to want to kill me. Isn’t he?”

Jaebum’s face darkened and he pulled away his hand from you. “Possibly. But I won’t let him. I have creatures on my side just like he does.” Jaebum stood up suddenly, grabbing the now empty glass that you’d forgotten was clutched between your hands. “I’m going to get you more water, and then I’ll tell you about my allies. You’re going to need to know about them if you’re going to live here since they’ll pop up now and again.”

You thought you had officially gone crazy at hearing the soft giggling that responded to Jaebum’s mention of his allies. You thought so until you felt a shifting on the bed, and looked over to see another strange and red-eyed man sitting there, merely inches away from you.

“Why hello there dearie!” A scream ripped from your throat and you scrambled to get away from him, falling off the side of the bed in your haste. He only giggled more at you, earning a shout from Jaebum.

You had thought you had finally gotten away from the other strange creatures of this realm, but you were damn wrong. This creature had straight long blonde-brown hair, a rounded face with completely flawless skin, a body almost as long and lithe as Jinyoung’s though a bit more toned with muscle, and the most deep blood red eyes you had only ever imagined in your deepest nightmares. They piratically glowed as the light danced off of them, his black pupils impossibly dark for his bright and happy looking face.

“Yah!” Jaebum shouted again when Younjae didn’t tear his eyes away from yours, his smile rooted into place. “Youngjae you rude ass. Announce yourself before you teleport here or you might scare Y/n to her literal death.”

“What the fuck are you...?” You huddled in the corner by were you fell, still too scared to move much further in case Jaebum saw it as an attempt to escape.

Youngjae laughed as if that were the funniest thing he’d ever heard, his laugh child-like and impossibly cheerful. His laugh didn’t match his eyes at all. A shiver crept up your spine when he didn’t stop despite Jaebum’s glaring at him.

“He’s a cross-road demon.” Jeabum’s eyes shifted to your, “He makes deals with mortals on behalf of hell.”

“Yep!” Your eyes darted back to Youngjae and he winked at you with that damn smile still plastered to his face. “Choi Youngjae, cross-road demon extraordinaire and Jaebum’s right hand man at your service! It’s nice to meet you. Something tells me we’ll be seeing a lot of each other over the next few millennia.” He snickered gleefully again, “Unless Jinyoung and his crew kill you first that is.”

“But,” Jaebum intervened before fear overtook you completely once again, “we won’t let that happen, will we Youngjae?”

“Of course not. But we’re going to have to gather the team in case that jack-ass comes for us.” He looked to you again and raised his eyebrows. “And something, oops! I mean someone, tells me that he is.”

“Well then Youngjae,” Jaebum turned on the sink water to finally fill the empty glass in his hands. “You’d better get out there and start spreading the word to the team to meet here then.”

Youngjae’s smile turned twisted, showing less innocence and more of what he truly was somewhere deep inside of him past the child-like joy he projected. “Yes sir~”

He turned to wink at you one last time before he rapidly started folding into himself and disappearing entirely.

At this point, you weren’t even shocked that he could literally fold into himself in order to disappear. You were past shock now, only numb acceptance taking it’s place.

Something told you that if that was the kind of guy your protection was up to, then you were royally screwed. Cross-road demons, djinns, and other odd creatures or not.

“Finally.” Jaebum said, turning off the sink and walking back to you with the glass of water, “we’re completely alone now.”

[downwiththeseships]

Loss

A birthday present requested a looooong time ago by @doctorsinner

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

Adriel didn't come home from school.

He'd begged and wheedled and generally worn down Red and Britton (“All the OTHER kids get to walk by themselves!” “It's only a little ways!” “I'll be super duper careful I double promise, pleeeease!”) until they'd agreed that he could walk to and from school by himself. He was 9 years old now, after all, and definitely plenty careful and cautious. Red and Britton would actually smile about that frequently—they'd raised their son right.

For a few months, it had been totally fine, too. Until the day when Addy didn't come home.

At first, they'd hoped that he'd just gone over to the house of one of his many friends and forgotten to tell them. They called all the numbers they had, but nobody had seen Addy since he'd left the school grounds. With every regretful “no,” the two of them felt their spirits sink.

Britton kept calling while Red went out and scoured Adriel's route to school, trying to find any sign of their son just getting sidetracked.

Nothing.

They called the police when Red got back. Specifically, Red called the police, and when they arrived he was the only one to describe what had happened to them. That was because Britton's distinctive hair may or may not have been described by distant witnesses in several other missing persons cases...and they didn't need any more difficulty added to their situation at the moment.

The police noted the time date, last seen leaving, Addy's age and physical description—as always, wearing his signature strawberry sweater and light gray pants—and were leaving when they exchanged glances.

“You're Mr. Red Altaha, former CEO of Truffula Airline Furnishings, correct?”

Red nodded, “Yes...”

“You should consider then that this is a kidnapping in order to obtain ransom money—in which case it is very likely that we will find your son.”

Red nodded again. That idea didn't really make him feel much better because either way Addy wasn't here. Addy wasn't HERE, he was in trouble and there wasn't anything that either of them could really DO.

After the police left, the house was quiet. Too quiet. Normally there should have been the happy sounds of Adriel learning how to bake, or singing just slightly off-key (he was getting better but he was still young), or just generally bouncing around and filling the house with his happy, cherubic presence.

Red paced incessantly in front of the fireplace, mumbling something to himself that sounded increasingly self-blaming.

“...should have though...why did I...”

He was cut off in his ramblings by Britton coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around his distraught husband, resting his chin on Red's shoulder.

“Shhhh...it's not your fault,” he murmured softly.

“But it is, Britton, if what they believe is true. If they're after a ransom, then it's entirely my fault.”

“Having money from a business that you worked hard on isn't a crime.” Britton carefully turned Red around, meeting his wide, terrified green eyes, “We'll find him, okay?” His voice wavered a little—he wasn't okay either. Not even in the slightest, and yet he was still trying to comfort Red.

And that was just another reminder to the demon of exactly why he'd married this beautiful, sweet pink man. He wrapped his arms around the Sin and buried his face in his shoulder.

He didn't say anything and neither did Britton. There really wasn't much more to say at the moment.

The ransom note came in around 8 am the next morning.

Red and Britton had stayed up all night—not too much of a trial for Red, but it had taken a toll on Britton. He looked terrible; dark circles under his bleary eyes, shivering every now and then even with Red's arm around him.

The note itself was scrawled messily and left stuck to their front gate, just out of range of the front door video camera Red had installed so he didn't have to deal with any business executives or ridiculous charities who wanted his time or money.

Bring $1000000 to the warehouse on 3rd and Greenbriar. Tell the police and the boy dies.

“What do we do?” Britton asked, his voice trembling. Red gripped the paper tightly enough that it started to smolder.

“I'll go get him.” Red's voice was barely under control, the slight hiss of Rabisu leaking through.

“I'll come--”

“No.” Red turned to kiss Britton gently, the anger gone for a moment, “I know you can handle yourself, but I don't need more of my family in danger.” He brushed a bit of Britton's delicious-smelling pink hair behind his ear, “I'll bring our son home.”

Red and the warehouse did not match in any way. Red was dressed to the nines, every cuff and collar in place and brushed to perfection. His top hat was polished, his hair coiffed, and the briefcase he carried in his hand looked brand new—but even to the casual onlooker the intensity in his eyes was obvious.

The minute flickering of his eyes between green and red, however, you needed to be looking hard to see.

The warehouse, on the other hand, was dilapidated. It probably hadn't been nice even when it was new, and now it looked like it had been mostly abandoned for a few years and was in the process of collapsing in on itself—walls puffing out and ceiling sagging.

He slid in through a side door, not making a single noise even on the leaf-scattered floor. After all, that's what levitation was for.

He heard the ruffians before he saw them. Or, to be more accurate, he smelled them first. Putrid: alcohol and cigarette smoke, greasy food and greasy hair. Voices rough and coarse.

First, an excited voice, “Look guys, from our last heist I grabbed a free toaster!”

Then an exasperated, extremely sarcastic one, “We appreciate your work ethic Kenny; it's an inspiration to us all.”

When they came into sight, his suppositions were correct. There were 5 of them, all greasier than the last, wearing dark clothes and sitting around on a few boxes. His sharp eyes scanned for Addy and found him almost immediately. He was trussed up like a prize chicken, eyes wide and scared, but looking as exhausted as Britton had that morning. The youngest of the men sat beside him, a pistol hanging lazily from his fingertips and almost brushing against Adriel's hair.

Red could feel anger boiling in his soul at the fact that his precious Addy, his and Britton's shining star and perfect angel, had had to spend the night here, terrified and alone and among these wretches of men.

They would pay.

But first, he had to get Addy to safety.

He would honestly have just teleported his son out, but with that gun so close to Addy's head he didn't want to risk it.

“H-hello?” he specifically made his voice sound timid and weak, despite the demon wailing inside to be let free.

The men jumped to attention, and more guns and knives appeared, drawn out of pockets and picked up off the floor, “Who's there?”

“It's me...” Red put his hands up and slowly stepped towards them, “I-I brought what you asked for. Please let Adriel go.”

“Did you call the cops?” the man in the center, presumably the leader, asked suspiciously.

“No!” and that was true. Red was an army unto himself anyways; he didn't need the police.

He set the briefcase down, and pointed at it, “It's all there, I swear. Please give me back my son.”

The leader eyed him, and gestured. Two of the other men flanked him from each side, guns drawn, while the third sidled up and grabbed the case.

He opened it up, and his eyes bugged out of his head at the rows of hundred dollar bills laid out neatly, “It's all here--” he breathed, and then looked over his shoulder, calling, “We're rich boss!”

“Ye-!”

The shot that interrupted the leader's shout of triumph startled everyone.

Time seemed to stand still for a moment. It felt like Red was turning his head in molasses as he slowly, slowly looked at Adriel. At the shocked expression that crossed his face, turquoise eyes going wide, mouth open just a little bit. At the surprise of the man behind him. At the light smoke coming out of the barrel of the gun.

Red didn't bother pretending to be human. He teleported right across the room and caught Adriel in his arms before the boy hit the ground.

He could dimly hear the sounds of the men shouting about something but it sounded like the voices were coming from underwater, distant and diluted. The only thing that seemed to fill his vision was Adriel, limp as a doll in his father's arms.

“No...” Red whispered, gently pushing a strand of hair off of Adriel's face. “No...Addy, please...Addy!”

But Adriel made no moments—none at all. It wasn't even like when he was sleeping; his chest didn't rise or fall, no soft breath came from his lips, his eyelids didn't flutter with dreams that neither of his parents could imagine.

He was still. Quiet. Lifeless.

Red came back into reality with a shattering crash, the anger that had previously just been contained now spilling over to form a torrent of blazing fury. The seals on his hands didn't just burn, they combusted, leaving the backs of his gloves scorched all the way to bare skin.

“...well, we can't let him live! We'll be charged for murder then, and he's seen us.”

“Nice going Kenny—why'd you have to shoot the kid?”

“I got excited! We got the loot! Geez, why are you so worried?”

That was right about when Red stood up, slowly and elegantly. The voices behind him stopped, and he heard the distinctive sounds of safeties coming off.

“Thanks for the money,” the leader said, and Red heard his finger tighten on the trigger.

And slow motion came on again. Red turned, his tailcoat flying out behind him, and the bullet went straight by his ear, missing him by less than an inch. He didn't so much as blink his glowing, scarlet red eyes.

The men noticed that one. It was a little hard not to; combined with the grimace full of sharp teeth, the hunter's stance. Red moved like a predator.

“Wha--?” a confused voice sounded, but it was superseded by a shout of:

“NOW!”

All five men opened fire. A hail of bullets flying towards Red, but he wasn't there by the time the bullets were—he was behind them.

One knife pulled from one belt, and one man was down with a strangled cry. By the time the other four had turned, Red was gone again, appearing behind another. He didn't bother stabbing this one. He just broke his neck with a swift twist of his arms, the red light in his eyes never even flickering.

By now, the remaining three men were pretty sure that Red was a threat. One of them dropped his weapon, breathing heavily, and turned to bolt for the nearest exit.

He didn't make it more than a few steps before Red was on him, pouncing like a tiger. The man crashed face-first into the floor, not even able to see his doom as it descended upon him.

The only two remaining were the leader and Kenny.

That was on purpose. Red had left them for last, to watch their comrades fall, and now, to watch him, coming for them.

“What—what are you?” The leader had his gun trained on Red again, and Kenny cowered behind him, barely able to hold his weapon properly.

Red's eyes flashed, and he spoke—his words curling and hissing like snakes into the musty air, and a deep power felt with every syllable.

“I am R̵ed,̧ ҉Ra��bi͡s̶ù, ́d̷ęm͜on ̵o͢f͠ H͘e҉ll a̵nd Ear̢th, Quee͞n ͝of G̶l̛u͘tt́oǹy. Yo͏u͞ k͟il͡le҉d m͏y ̕s͞o̧n͘; ̸y͜o͝ú des͜tr̵oyed̸ my̶ ͝fami͟ly. I͘n̴ ̷ret́urn ̶I͠ ̢will͝ ͞ták͠e ͟your ̢s̴ou̕ls ąnd͝ ́s҉e̷nd̶ ͏y̢oư to th̢e very d̨a͘rk̡ȩst ̷p͢i͘ts o҉f͠ d̵amnatio͡n.҉

He slowly walked towards them, a cloud of darkness seeming to follow with every step, and every step carrying a weight of a thousand years of torment.

Both men fired their weapons, pouring every ounce of lead into him. Red could feel the pain, knowing that he was hit, but it wasn't silver, wasn't iron, and so it didn't stop him.

Nothing did, until he loomed over the two men, seeming to grow taller, shadows looking like enormous bat wings extending from his shoulders to the very walls of the warehouse.

“Fe̷ȩl͠ ̵m͜y̨ ͞wra̸th̡.”

And with that, he crashed down upon them, and they were gone.

When it was all over, Red stood over their bodies, breathing heavily. His eyes flickered, and the red light faded back to green as he stiffly made his way back over to the still—so very, very still—body of Adriel, sinking slowly to his knees in front of his baby boy before carefully pulling him into his arms and cradling him like he had so many time before.

How was he ever going to tell Britton?

[anotherlifefic]

Chapter 28: The Water Temple

We entered the temple, and that I could hear the unmistakable splashes of water, despite the lake around it being dried out. „So the drought didn‘t affect the temple?“, I asked, stepping forward to a ledge that was beyond my reach. „But I can‘t breathe underwater… how will we-“ „We will find a way“, Link interrupted me. „Come, I‘ll give you a leg-up. Do you think you can pull me up once you‘re up there?“ „I think so.“ I set my foot into his waiting hands and let him lift me high enough to reach the ledge. Once I had pulled myself up, I reached down to help him. Then we stepped closer, finding ourselves in the central chamber with a platform in the middle. And between the platform and us was a deep chasm, filled with clear water. „Hold on“, Link told me, pulling a blue tunic out of his satchel. „Here, put this on. You can breathe underwater while wearing it.“ I put on the tunic. It was a bit big for me, but I fastened my belt around it so the excess fabric wouldn‘t be in the way. Then I lifted my gaze again. „What about you?“ „I‘ve got something better.“ Again, he pulled something out of his satchel. A Zora-mask. I remembered those; the Happy Mask Shop in Hyrule City sold them. But I knew that this was a special mask. Link had told me about the transformation-masks he had aquired in Termina. This was the face of an actual Zora. He put it on, and his painful scream echoed through the temple, making me flinch. „Link?!“ A bright light made me unable to see for a moment, and when I opened my eyes again, Link had become a Zora. He was on his hands and knees, breathing heavily. He had told me that using the transformation-masks was painful, as he could feel his flesh twist and shape itself into the image of the soul inhabiting the mask. He stood up, rolling his shoulders and neck as if the transformation had caused his joints to go stiff. Link and I took eachother‘s hand, nodding at each other, determination in our eyes… and jumped.

It had been a while since I last had an opportunity to swim. But fortunately, it‘s one of those things you don‘t forget. So I paddled my way back to the surface, gasping for air once I reached it. Link appeared next to me, the water glistening on his scales. „And now?“, I asked, looking down into the thankfully clear water. I wasn‘t concerned about getting dirty, but diving into muddy water where we couldn‘t see what was going on around us wasn‘t exactly something I wanted to do. „I‘d say we look around here first. There‘s not guarantee that everything will be the same as it was when I first went through this temple. Be wary, though. Ganondorf will hardly leave the shards of the Master Sword unguarded.“ I grabbed the hilt of my naginata, as if to make sure it was still there, and nodded. „Alright.“

We swam up to the platform in the middle of the room, looking at every door we could possibly reach. „None of these are locked“, Link remarked. His gaze wandered over to the door on the western side of the room. „Let‘s go there.“ I nodded, following Link as he swam over to the door.

One thing that bothered me as we traversed the two following rooms was the suspicious lack of monsters. The temple seemed to be completely deserted. I expected something to jump at us at any given moment, so I kept my hand on my naginata, looking around with narrowed eyes. Then, we finally reached the room. It was just like Link had described it to me: An illusion showing a seemingly open field covered in shallow water, ruins poking out from the ground and a single, mangled tree stretching its skeletal branches skyward. And, on the other end of the field, a small building with a locked door. And, like the other rooms, it was otherwise empty. No signs of life in this forsaken place. Or perhaps this was how the temple was supposed to be, without evil influence? The only sound we could hear was the splashing of our boots in the water echoing from invisible walls as we walked onward, towards the small building. We reached the door, and as expected, it was locked. „Rebecca“, Link told me calmly. „Draw your weapon.“ I nodded, feeling the piercing eyes of the creatures behind us. We turned around, and there they stood. Perfect copies of us, cloaked in shadows, only their flaming red eyes glowing withtin their emotionless faces. Dark Link stepped forth. „What does it feel like, hero? What does it feel like to fail?“ Link recoiled. „It… it talks!“ Now my shadow approached in a similar fashion. „And you? A simple farmhand playing at being a hero and dooming all of Hyrule in the process. How does it feel to know that everyone would be better off without you?“ I bit my lip, hard enough to draw blood, and gripped my naginata tighter. „I never meant for any of this to happen!“ „Of course you didn‘t“, my shadow replied, her voice still an emotionless shadow of my own. „You didn‘t mean to steal the hero away from the person he was meant to be with, and you didn‘t mean to have him fall into enemy hands. But you did, and so did he. And it is all your fault.“ Dark Link took a few more steps towards Link. „And you let it happen. Perhaps you believed that since nothing you ever did would matter in the end, why not marry someone who was just as worthless as you are?“ „ENOUGH!“ Link ripped off the Zora mask, cast it aside and dashed forward, but his shadow just desintegrated and appeared behind him again. „And you react to the truth with anger. Perhaps you and Ganondorf aren‘t so different after all.“ My shadow turned to them, then to me again. „What does it feel like, knowing that your husband made a mistake in marrying you? That as Princess Zelda‘s consort, he‘d have never been captured by Ganondorf. Princess Ruto wouldn‘t be the last of her kind. None of this would have ever happened.  And you would still be happy, working at the ranch and being the nobody you truly are.“ My grip around the naginata was so tight my knuckles had turned white. The voices of our shadows turned into a mocking echo, despite their voices still showing no signs of emotion. „Traitor.“ „Failure.“ „Stand-in.“ „Meaningless.“ „Worthless.“ Link put his hands to his ears and screamed. „Stop… STOP!“ I was sinking to my knees, but then the realization hit me. I turned to Link, ignoring both our shadows. „Link. My love. It‘s okay.“ I turned around to him, my knees scraping across the ground. „Do you hear me? It‘s okay.“ He looked up at me, pale and obviously angry. „What do you mean?“ I took a deep breath, trying to block out the voices. „It‘s okay to doubt yourself. You are not less of a hero for it. It seems that… both you and I have spent so much time doubting ourselves that these doubts… these meaningless little thoughts have started looking bigger than they really are.“ The shadows stopped with what they were doing. „And yes, we made mistakes“, I continued. „But mistakes can be fixed. THIS mistake can be fixed. We are working on that right now!“ Link seemed to need a moment to understand what I was saying. Then he grinned. „Yes… you‘re right. There‘s no point in thinking of what could have been. There is no time to look back and regret. There is a world to save!“ We both pointed our weapons at our respective shadows and said in unison:„And you are in our way!“ I dashed forward, and instead of Dark Me disappearing, she was pierced by my naginata. I dared to look off to the side, where Dark Link suffered a similar fate. They died and withered without a sound, and with their physical forms faded the illusion of the open field, leaving us in a room with ankle-deep water and the two doors, one leading back to where we came from and the other leading to the next room. Link came up to me and hugged me tightly. He didn‘t seem shaken anymore; infact, this was the first time since my return that I saw him smile. Then he kissed me softly, letting me bury my hands in his hair. „You were amazing“, he let me know once we parted. „So were you“, I replied breathlessly. It felt so good to kiss him with the knowledge that it was truly my husband I was kissing there. I grabbed his hand. „Come on now.“

The other room was smaller, and only contained a single chest. And in it, we found a piece of metal about the size of the palm of my hand. It had the Triforce engraved in it. „A piece of the blade“, Link muttered. „Just as we thought. Either Ganondorf has gotten really cocky if he thought that the shadow room would stop us, or we‘re in for a nasty surprise.“ „Whatever it is, we‘re ready for it“, I said, giving his hand a light squeeze.

[spinningsidetable]

Gentleman: 1/3

Pairing: Octavian/Leo Valdez (leotavian)

Warning/Genre: Genre/Warning: AU, No Godly Parents, Spy Shit, Action Movie Parody, Non-Linear Story Telling, Admittedly Unhealthy Relationship, Descriptions of Violence, Dubious Consent Smooching, Sexual Situations,"Humor"

Rating: Mature

Summary: Leo has worked for the Agency for awhile now, the guy in the chair helping Agents save the world and all that, but now it seems like an actual supervillain is enamored with him.

(Notes: I'm condensing this, so long story short and all that, this isn't meant to be a healthy ideal relationship, it was born entirely out of American action movie tropes. I'm going to trust those reading this are adults and able to tell reality from fiction.)

“It’s the perfect plan!” Leo exclaimed, slamming his hand down on the blueprints in front of the group. “I know it’ll work. Because, I mean, I came up with it. When have my plans ever gone bad?”

Jason and Piper exchanged a look, as did virtually everyone else in the room, including grunts in the background working on machinery.

“I…well, let’s spitball some other thoughts, maybe?” Jason spoke slowly, as though he didn’t want to spook a small animal. Or, small Leo that was.

“Right! Let’s maybe revisit that miniature drone idea?” Piper offered, looking to some other people behind her who seemed to catch on and began nodding animatedly.

“Oh- oh, yeah! The drones!”

“That’s a good idea!”

“Great job, Leo!”

Leo’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I thought we already established that he had EMP devices set up around the perimeter of the base, so we can’t get in any drones, micro or otherwise.”

“Oh,” Piper’s face fell. “Well. Maybe underwater drones? I’m sure Percy could-“

Percy was sitting up on a desk behind Leo and shook his head very animatedly, throwing up a big NO with hand signs.

“Right, so, my plan is the best.” Leo said slowly, looking around the room. “Right?”

Piper bit her lip and looked pleadingly up at Jason. Hero Jason. Crime fighting, evil syndicate breaking up Hero. Leo’s best friend since freshman year of high school, Jason.

“It’s just…we’re worried about you, Leo.” Horrible liar, Jason.

“It could go wrong, really quickly.”

Leo rolled his eyes, tapping the laser pointer in his left hand against the desk. The whole presentation with slides had taken 25 minutes.

“He’s never hurt me before, Jason, come on. You know this is our best chance to get in the compound and plant the virus. This is the only way we can save those congressmen!...Or was it senators this time?”

Leo hadn't really cared one way or the other, only skimming through the documents. All he knew was he hadn’t, and wouldn't, vote for the guys.

“Is it though? Is seducing a supervillain really the best way?” Grover asked, slightly nervous. Then again, a lot of secret agents tended to have a nervous or paranoid disposition.

Leo threw his hands up, exasperated. “In this specific situation?! YES! Look, like I said, he’s never hurt me. Come on guys, I’ve always just been…the repair guy, the guy in the chair. But, this one crazy asshole seems to be in love with me, so let me do the super-secret spy shit for once! Instead of Jason, or Reyna, or Percy!”

“…But he’s not in love with you.” Annabeth said, frowning, before being shushed and chided by about five people. “What? He’s not.”

“Uhhh,” Leo paused, before he laughed incredulously. Were they all crazy? Had they met the guy?

“Yes, he is? He’s tried to capture me like…fifteen times now? He calls me all sorts of pet names in like…so many different languages? He poured me a glass of wine from the 1700’s for fucks sake!”

There was complete silence, besides a nervous cough by a soldier in the back.

“…What?”

“Don’t…you think, maybe…that’s a little suspicious?” Piper asked, her voice going down to calm soothing mode. “That the bad guy would target…you?”

Leo frowned, glancing down at himself and back up. Rude. “Why?”

“Because you’re a weak link,” Reyna huffed finally having had enough. Jason hissed something at the female captain, looking more like an upset bird more than a 6’2 blond superman.

“Shush, Grace. Look, you’re Jason’s friend. Which means you have more information on him than anyone else besides Piper. You’re also in charge of our engineering and online resources, which means taking you out of the equation is important. Plus, you probably have connections to virtually every world leader, through your contacts at the Agency. He’s not going to chance taking Piper again, not after the first time he tried to kidnap her, Jason nearly brought down half a mountain.”

The first time Jason had met Piper, the girl had discovered for herself a secretive plot to kidnap and use major film and media stars. She had broken into a closed off building she suspected was involved, high up in the alps and ended up captured. Jason (and a whole team, but mostly Jason) had been sent in to extract her. The lovestruck blond idiot fell head over heels, nearly cost them the mission, if it hadn’t been for Piper’s quick thinking. She had been part of the group ever since.

Reyna looked Leo up and down, unimpressed. She’d led a black Ops group for over half a decade now, and Leo never seemed to give proper distance and caution to herself and her team. The engineer had gotten himself high clearance just from being associated with Jason Grace. It wasn’t like he underestimated her, or treated her poorly, but the kid lived in a bubble of his own creation. Everything was at least partly a game to him. Leo was either often dangerously flippant or damn near suicidal. Or, that’s what it seemed like. If he wanted to be an Agent, he’d have to learn now. He couldn't continue to assume he and Jason could buddy cop their way through things like a bad B movie.

“You, Valdez? You’re the easy target. You have no romantic affiliation. You’re not physically strong enough to stop him; and you’re apparently extremely gullible for a smart person.”

Jason was pinching his nasal bridge by the time Reyna had finished speaking, while Piper was looking resolutely anywhere besides Leo.

Leo blinked, and opened his mouth, before closing it. “That…That’s not. No, he’s…he tells me he’s-”

“Attracted to you? No offense, but you’re far from the most attractive man on this vessel. You’re not even the most attractive gay short man in this room.”

Nico, behind Reyna seemed to connect the dots, and frowned. “Was that a compliment or-“

“Look, Leo, we appreciate the offer, really.” Piper pushed Reyna to the side slightly, shooting her a look. “But, we…should probably look for …other options, okay.?

“I’m bi,” Leo said hollowly. “I’m not gay.”

“Leo, don’t make this into something it isn’t.” Jason exhaled sharply out of his nose. “You really don’t want to have a supervillain attracted to you. I get it, the guys weird, it's confusing…look, come on, let's brainstorm something else. I'm sure you still have half a dozen other ideas.”

“You…all agree with her?” Leo shook his head, as something in his chest clenched. Did they think so little of him? “You think he’s just…trying to get information out of me? Because I’m some…naïve, weak, loveless idiot?”

No one said anything more, so Leo laughed to himself. This was like all highschool and college all over again. “Okay, wow. Fine. Whatever.”

“Leo-“ Jason started, but Leo turned to leave the ready room.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just go back to engineering. You’re right, obviously, you’re always right, aren’t you?” The door slammed behind him.

“Fuck that,” Leo hissed, stomping down the small metal corridors on the aircraft carrier. He muttered to himself the entire way, ignoring the looks he got from seamen.

“So what if I’m not…Nico, or Jason, or Percy. Maybe I’m his type?” Leo had, as far as Leo knew, never been anyone’s type, but that didn’t matter. One girl in 9th grade described him as an over eager gerbil.

"Okay, so maybe Reyna has a point, I’d be useful to his evil schemes – but that just means I’m smart! Smart is sexy, right? That’s probably a kink right, like bibliosexual or something? He probably just appreciates my abilities on multiple levels! It’s not like he only became interested in me when he found out who I was in relation to Jason!” Wait, that’s exactly what had happened, wasn’t it? Leo stopped dead in the middle of a hallway.

“Oh god, she’s right, isn’t she?” Leo stewed in his own angst for a minute, before deciding to say fuck it and just return to his room. He continued to grumble, passing by some of the same soldiers who sent him increasingly odd looks until he reached his room.

“Of course, who would be attracted to Leo Valdez? I can’t even have a singular supervillain?” He slammed that door for emphasis too.

“Well, I may know of one. Hello, passerotto mio.”

Leo froze, he unfortunately knew that voice quite well, before turning cautiously. Sure enough, a young man sat on his bed, legs crossed in a very nice black suit. He was taller than Jason, but slimmer in figure, with a head of immaculate pale blonde hair. His tone was soft and casual, but his pale blue eyes were always intense.

“Octavian,” Leo said slowly. “How the fuck did you get in here?”

Octavian stood up, nearly having to crouch in the small rooms within the aircraft carrier. He held a hand over his heart, and sighed. “I searched for you in my soul, amore, and found you here.”

“Haha. Don't make fun of me. Okay, that’s bullshit.” Leo held up a finger and pointed at the ground. “I mean, here, in my room? In the exceptionally well defended aircraft military carrier in the middle of the fucking nowhere Pacific Ocean, without anyone noticing?”

Octavian smiled, which was always a bit disturbing, because he looked slightly (understatement) manic at times.

“Maybe I’m from an underwater civilization, like Atlantis; or, maybe I have private submarine, radar shielding… and I’m sorry to tell you this, but not everyone on this ship is so…sympathetic to your friends causes.”

Bad, that was very bad, really very bad news. They had turncoats, spies. Everyone on board was in danger. Leo needed to stall the man, as best as possible. Jason or Piper would likely come to check on him after a bit.

“That’s…got to be some really good radar shielding, to hide from this ship.” Leo said slowly, leaning up against the door.

Octavian walked closer. This man had toppled small governments, created rebellions, killed politicians and businessmen. “…Want to tell me how it works?”

“Oh, I’d love to, but I’m afraid my tech knowledge isn’t anywhere near as advanced as yours, lux vitae meae.” Octavian was close enough to smell his cologne. He smelled good, he always smelled good; Leo smelled like engine grease usually. Leo didn't know anything about cologne, but Octavian’s was never overpowering, it was the kind you wanted to lean in closer to sniff, next to their body.

“I can always ask my people for the tech details. If you’d stay with me until morning, I’d love to tell you over breakfast.”

“Latin this time?” Leo’s ears were heating up, and he fanned himself. “Boy, just jumping right to it, huh?”

A small smirk tipped up the corner of Octavian’s lips, “I’d be a perfect gentleman.”

Nervous laughter bubbled up in Leo’s throat. A gentleman supervillain. Ridiculous.

“That’s…great and all,” Leo stuttered over a few words. “But…the jig is up, you know. I’m…wise to you. If you think I’m some…weak link, you’re wrong.”

Octavian’s brows furrowed just ever so slightly.

“Yeah,” Leo nodded to himself, feeling mildly emboldened in the face of death. “I’m never going to tell you anything about Jason, or any codes, or anything about my machines! You can sweet talk all you want, but I’m not that naïve!” Yes, he was. Apparently. “You can drop the act, you’re not tricking anyone.”

“Tricking you?” Octavian repeated slowly. “With….sweet talk?”

“Yup,” Leo popped the p, taking a step forward away from the door. He shoved a finger into Octavian’s chest, who looked down at it, amusement clearly growing on his face. It was a familiar look, like the first time they met.

“We both know you don’t have the hots for me. Look at me. I’m…not even the hottest short gay guy on the boat.” Leo faltered slightly, trying to repeat Reyna’s words. Would Octavian go after Nico next? Mitchell? Mitchell was kind of an asshole, so Leo hoped not. Octavian could do better- wait, he was a mass murderer.

“I see.” Octavian grabbed up Leo’s hand and kissed his knuckles. “Says who?”

Leo’s brain stopped functioning. “Buh, what wait? I-…everyone apparently?”

Octavian peppered kisses down his hand, to his fingers. “Ah, and who is everyone? When did this happen? You used to be so fiery, telling me you could never be with a man like me…Now, you believe I’m lying?”

“I-..I…” Leo’s eyes were focused on the pale hand around his own tan one. He still had dirt and grime on his hands, but that didn’t seem to matter. It never seemed to matter. In fact the more filthy Leo was, the more interested Octavian acted.

“They…told me my plan was bad…”

Octavian paused, looking Leo in the eyes. “Plan?”

“I…was going to offer myself up to you, seduce you, and then plant a virus?” Leo laughed, awkwardly trying to pull his hand back. “I’m guessing you would have just tortured and killed me, huh?”

Octavian’s eyes had dilated, and his head tilted just slightly to the side. “Seduced me? How so?”

Leo flushed. “Man, I don’t know. You know, I only have spy movies to go off of? I guess… wear something skimpy, get all up close and personal, but put off sex until I can drug you asleep? Something like that? Do they make poison lipstick, or is that just a TV comic book thing?”

Teeth nipped at Leo’s finger tip, just slightly, before Octavian answered in a rough voice. “If you think I would kill you for that, you’re very mistaken. And, while I can’t possibly object to you in less clothing, I find you quite seductive as you are.”

Leo looked down at his grungy white tank top and brown oil stained jogger type shorts. “Okay, now I’m really starting to realize how full of shit you are. Drop the act-”

He was cut off, by getting pushed against the door. Lips met his in a demanding kiss, while hips pressed against Leo’s stomach gave away the fact maybe he wasn’t so full of bullshit. Octavian was hard, not fully, but enough that butterflies in Leo’s stomach began to flutter. Leo’d never been with a man before, he’d barely been with a woman. He’d spent ages 16-23 essentially as Jason’s weird sidekick. They’d been trying to save the world for the last 3 years, and before that it was just crunch week, except if crunch week was 4 solid years. Any guy or girl around was attracted to Jason, or Piper, or Nico, or Percy, the list grew and grew as they met more and more agents.

Leo whined slightly, clenching his hands into the suit in front of him. Octavian was always such a good kisser. Leo found that out kidnapping 6#. Leo was properly distracted, playing tonsil hockey until something blasted him out of the moment.

An actual blast, that rocked the ship. The metal groaned, and creaked in a way that told Leo the ship was likely taking on water, a lot of it.

Octavian pulled back, lips flushed a lovely red, smiling like the cat that got the Canary. “Ah, well, that’s my que. You know what you said about drugging someone asleep?”

Leo paused, and frowned, and then realized. “Oh.” Ya valió madre.

In one of Octavian’s hands was a very small patch, that he had affixed to the back of Leo’s neck as he kissed him. Leo’s vision began to blur, and he felt the familiar sensation of blacking out. This was not the first time Octavian had used such a thing on him. Afterall, this was kidnapping number 16. Knock out patch was roughly kidnapping #9 which Leo didn't remember very well, besides laying in bed with a headache and Octavian massaging his temples. Leo had built up more of a tolerance since then.

“Sleep, petit souris.” Octavian’s voice became a garbled mush of noises. Leo mumbled something that sounded like 'you're French now?' before he stumbled and collapsed into open arms.

“Computers, computers,” Leo sang to himself, as he pulled out hard drives and wires. “Only an idiot doesn’t protect their computers!”

It wasn’t like it was Leo’s first time out or anything, him and Jason had already taken on some serious nasty pieces of work, but this was their first real mission together. Jason had been roped into the Agency a year and a half ago, but Leo was left sitting in an office. Of course, the Agency had excellent offices. Nice chairs, some nice pieces of tech, coffee stations. But, it was getting boring, just surveying cameras, talking to Jason and other Agents over comms. Leo had wanted action, so when some freak that called himself Octavian (real name unknown) captured a good sized law firm in the heart of New York city, he jumped at the chance.

Most of the bad guys and Agents fighting were in another part of the building; Leo wasn’t trained for any of that really, but he was trained to take down any computers, networks, and surveillance the dastardly bastard had set up. A couple Agents were at the look out, keeping Leo covered as he went to work. They were the strong silent type, probably, didn’t want to talk to Leo much. Because of duty, and honor. Definitely not because they thought he was annoying.

“You know,” Leo pulled out a screwdriver from his toolbelt, “you should really let me make some customizations to your weapons. Sure, they’re good, but they could be so much better.”

“I’m sure they’d appreciate the thought,” a voice said behind Leo. That was not Hank or Sam, Leo realized, and scrambled to his feet.

A blond man stood at the doorway, his body posture was relaxed, but his expression was anything but. Hank, one of the Agents, slid down the wall, throat bloody and flowing down his chest at an alarming rate.

Leo’s hands went cold, as he watched the man of the hour, Octavian, casually wipe arterial blood splatter off his cheek like it was jam.

Sam wasn’t as far gone as Hank had been, and he struggled to stand up to fight back. Octavian let out a gleeful laugh, before grabbing Hank’s gun and blasting Sam through the bottom of his chin and out the top of his skull.

“Oh, my god.” Leo whispered, stomach turning over. It wasn’t the first death he had seen, not the first dead body, but this was a small closet; Leo was right up close and personal. A piece of Sam landed on Leo’s boots.

“You…came! Octavian, sir, I was captured!” Leo gasped out, coming to his senses. “I’m so glad to see you! I thought those…Agency bastards would kill me!”

Octavian had taken a moment to grab up personnel information from the fallen Agents, but at Leo’s voice, he zeroed in on the shorter man. The same expression that had been on Octavian’s face when he killed Sam came back full force.

“Try again.”

Leo gulped, holding up his hands. “I’m the computers guy! I swear! They trapped me in here when I came to check on the servers they had already started to destroy!”

Octavian held up Hank’s gun and cocked it. “Last chance, pieni rotta.”

Leo momentarily forgot his fear as he full grimaced. “Yo, man, did you just call me a rotten penis? What even language was that?”

Octavian looked more amused, shrugging a shoulder, but tilted the gun back and forth in a lazy manner. “Tic toc, tic toc.”

Leo’s shoulders dropped, “what answer would keep you from blasting my brains out?”

Octavian actually seemed to think about it. “Well, you’re obviously tech savy, otherwise you wouldn’t be here - that could always be useful, however if you’re too high ranking you become a target – too low, I have no use for you.”

Leo grinned, clapping his hands together. “That’s like, so convenient, you have no idea! Because, I am, in reality, a moderately high level engineer! Like, perfect level of useful enough not to kill immediately! I’m so glad we sorted this out. In fact, you don’t even have to torture me!”

Octavian holstered the gun with a nod. Holy shit, had that actually worked?

“Good try. Now, who are you actually? We can have this conversation civilly.”

No, of course not. Leo snorted. “Well, aren’t you the gentleman.”

A crackle from Leo’s comms kicked in, as Jason’s voice came through. “Leo! You need to evacuate immediately! I repeat. Evacuate immediately!”

“Leo,” Octavian pronounced slowly, deeply, to the point it felt nearly invasive. “You’re Leo Valdez? I’d heard of you, of course, but I had no idea…”

Leo, tight lipped and clench jawed, lifted the comm to his mouth. “NOT A GREAT TIME, JASON. OVER.”

Then he turned back to Octavian. “Yeah, well, I’ve made a point to remove myself from anything trackable. Plus, the Agency didn’t want to let me off leash until today. Obviously, I'm just too dangerous. Five foot two inches of Rambo.”

“How is your first experience in the field?” Octavian asked casually, seemingly playing along.

“Oh,” Leo shrugged a shoulder. “You know. Started off okay, tons of bacon at the buffet, then we broke into this building to save a bunch of rich white guys in suits. Now, an even whiter guy slash possible supervillain is holding me hostage. Also, I’ve got brains from a guy on my shoes. It is what it is.”

Octavian’s expression, inexplicably, softened slightly from a 13 on the Murdery scale, to…maybe a 4?

“You amuse me, schattig mechanic. If we were under better circumstances, I’d love to take you out. Do you like Italian?”

“Why? Are you Italian?”

“Very possibly, or maybe not.”

“Well, you know, you’re kind of hot in a scary way, so I’d probably take you up on that. I get out like…never.” Leo questioned if he should be flattered or not, or what the fuck a schattig was. Didn't sound Italian. Something Nordic maybe?

“But, again, guys brains on my shoe.”

“You really seem stuck on the shoe thing.”

“Much like the grey matter on my shoe.”

“I’ll get you a new pair,” Octavian, stepped aside from the doorway as more men showed up. Not Leo’s men.

“But, first, I’m afraid little kiniun…you’ll be coming with me.”

[revolutiondeathsquad-blog]

RELAPSE CAN AND DOES HAPPEN.

Relapse is more than just using alcohol or drugs.  It is the progressive process of becoming so dysfunctional in recovery that self-medication with alcohol or drugs seems like a reasonable choice.

The relapse process is a lot like knocking over a line of dominoes.  The first domino hits the second, which hits the third, and soon a progressive chain reaction has started.  The sequence of problems that lead from stable sobriety to relapse are similar to those dominoes.  There are two differences.  First, each domino in the line (i.e. each problem that brings us closer to substance use) gets a little bit bigger and heavier until the last domino in the sequence is ten feet tall, four feet wide, and a foot thick.  As this 10,000 pound domino begins to fall on us, it is too heavy for us to handle alone.  The second difference is that the dominoes circle around behind us.  So when the last domino falls, it hits us from behind when we’re not looking.

So here we are, moving along in recovery.  We tip over one small domino.  No big deal!  That domino hits the next, and then the next.  A chain reactions gets started.  The first dominoes are so small that we can easily convince ourselves that it’s no big deal.  We look the other way and start doing other things.  All of a sudden a huge domino falls on us from behind, crushing us to floor, causing serious pain and injury in the process.  We need to make the pain go away and we reach for old reliable – the magically substances that always helped us with out pain in the past.  We’ve now started drinking and drugging.

The answer to avoiding relapse is not to take up weight training so you will be strong enough to lift that last domino off of your now crippled body.  Part of the answer is to learn how not to tip over the first domino. Another part of the answer is to develop an emergency plan for stopping the chain reaction quickly, before the dominoes start getting so big and heavy that they become unmanageable.

The Relapse Process

The progression of problems that lead to relapse is called the relapse process.  Each individual problem in the sequence is called a relapse warning sign.  The entire sequence of problems is called a relapse warning sign list.  The situations that we put ourselves in that cause or complicate the problems are caused high risk situations.

It’s important to remember that we don’t start drinking and drugging because of the last problem in the sequence.  We start drinking and drugging because the entire sequence of problems got out of control. Let’s look at the steps of this process in more detail.

Step 1: Getting Stuck In Recovery

Many of us decide that alcohol or drugs is a problem, stop using, and put together some kind of a recovery plan to help us stay sober.  Initially we do fine.  At some point, however, we hit a problem that we are unwilling or unable to deal with.  We stop dead in our tracks.  We are stuck in recovery and don’t know what to do.

Step 2: Denying That We’re Stuck

Instead of recognizing that we’re stuck and asking for help, we use denial to convince ourselves that everything is OK.  Denial makes it seem like the problem is gone, but it really isn’t.  The problem is still there.  It just goes under ground where we can’t see it.  At some level we know that the problem is there, but we keep investing time and energy in denying it.  This results in a buildup of pain and stress.

Step 3: Using Other Compulsions

To cope with this pain and stress, we begin to use other compulsive behaviors We can start overworking, over-eating, dieting, or over-exercising. We can get involved in addictive relationships and distract outrselves by trying to experience the orgasm that shook New York City. These behaviors make us feel good in the short run by distracting us from our problems.  But since they do nothing to solve the problem, the stress and pain comes back.  We feel good now, but we hurt latter.  This is a hallmark of all addictive behaviors.

Step 4: Experiencing A Trigger Event

Then something happens.  It’s usually not a big thing.  Its something we could normally handle without getting upset.  But this time something snaps inside.  One person described it this way: “It feels like a trigger fires off in my gut and I go out of control.”

Step 5: Becoming Dysfunctional On The Inside:

When the trigger goes off, our stress jumps up, and our emotions take control of of our minds.  To stay sober we have to keep intellect over emotion.  We have to remember who we are (an addicted person), what we can’t do (use alcohol ore drugs), and what we must do (stayed focused upon working a recovery program).  When emotion gets control of the intellect we abandon everything we know, and start trying to feel good now at all costs.

Relapse almost always grows from the inside out.  The trigger event makes our pain so severe that we can’t function normally.  We have difficulty thinking clearly.  We swing between emotional overreaction and emotional numbness.  We can’t remember things.  It’s impossible to sleep restfully and we get clumsy and start having accidents.

Step 6: Becoming Dysfunctional On The Outside:

At first this internal dysfunction comes and goes.  It’s annoying, but it’s not a real problem so we learn how to ignore it.  On some level, we know something is wrong so we keep it a secret.  Eventually we get so bad that the problems on the inside create problems on the outside.  We start making mistakes at work, creating problems with our friends, families, and coworkers.  We start neglecting our recovery programs.  And things keep getting worse.

Step 7: Losing Control:

We handle each problem as it comes along but look at the the growing pattern of problems.  We never really solve anything, we just put a band-aides on the deep gushing cuts, put first-aide cream on seriously infected wounds, and tell ourselves the problem is solved.  Then we look the other way and try to forget about the problems by getting involved in compulsive activities that will somehow magically fix us.

This approach works for awhile, but eventually things start getting out of control. As soon as we solve one problem, two new ones pop up to replace it.  Life becomes one problem after another in an apparantly endless sequence of crisis.  One person put it like this: “I feel like I’m standing chest deep in a swimming pool trying to hold three beach balls underwater at once.  I get the first one down, then the second, but as I reach for the third, the first one pops back up again.”

We finally recognize that we’re out of control.  We get scared and angry. “I’m sober!  I’m not drinking!  I’m working a program!  Yet I’m out of control.  If this is what sobriety is like – who needs it?”

Step 8: Using Addictive Thinking

Now we go back to using addictive thinking.  We begin thinking along these lines:  ” Sobriety is bad for me, look at how miserable I am.  Sober people don’t understand me.  Look at how critical they are.  Maybe things would get better if I could talk to some of my old friends.  I don’t plan to drink or use drugs, I just want to get away from things for awhile and have a little fun.  People who supported my drinking and drugging were my friends.  They knew how to have a good time.  These new people who want me to stay sober are my enemies.  Maybe I was never addicted in the first place.  Maybe my problems were caused by something else.  I just need to get away from it all for awhile!  Then I’ll be able to figure it all out.”

Step 9:  Going Back To Addictive People, Places, And Things

Now we start going back to addictive people (our old friends), addictive places (our old hangouts), and addictive things (mind polluting compulsive activities).  We convince ourselves that we’re not going to drink or use drugs.  We just want to relax.

A client in one of my groups said he wanted to go to a bar so he could listen to music and relax while drinking soft drinks.  And old timer in the group asked:  “If you told me you were going to a whore house to say prayers, do you think I’d believe you?  Well, when you tell me you’re going to a bar to drink cokes I have about the same reaction!”

Step 9: Using Addictive Substances:

Eventually things get so bad that we come to believe that we only have three choices – collapse, suicide, or self-medication.  We can collapse physically or emotionally from the stress of all our problems.  We can end it all by committing suicide.  Or we medicate the pain with alcohol or drugs.  If these were your only three choices, which one sounds like the best way out?

At this stage the stress and pain is so bad that it seems reasonable to use alcohol or drugs as a medicine to make the pain go away.  The 10,000 pound domino just struck the back of our head, breaking our bones, and crushing us to the ground.  We’re dazed, hurt, and in tremendous pain.  So we reach out for something, anything, that will kill the pain.  We start using alcohol and drugs in the misguided hope it will make our pain go away.

Step 9: Loosing Control Over Use

Once addicted people start using alcohol or drugs, they tend follow one of two paths.  Some have a short term and low consequence relapse. They recognize that they are in serious trouble, see that they are loosing control, and manage to reach out for help and get back into recovery. Others start to use alcohol or drugs and feel such extreme shame and guilt that they refuse to seek help.  They eventually develop progressive health and life problems and either get back into recovery, commit suicide, or die from medical complications, accidents, or drug-related violence.

Other Outcomes Of The Relapse Process

Some relapse prone people don’t drink.  They may say “I’d rather be dead than drunk” and they either attempt or commit suicide.  Others just hang in there until they have a stress collapse, develop a stress related illness, or have a nervous breakdown.  Still others use half measures to temporarily pull themselves together for a little while only to have the problems come back later.  This is called partial recovery and many people stay in it for years.  They never get really well, but they never get drunk either.

What I have just described is called the relapse process and it’s not rare. Most recovering people periodically experience some of these warning signs.  About half can stop the process BEFORE they start using substances or collapse from stress.  The other half revert to using alcohol or other drugs, collapse from stress related illness, or kill themselves.

It’s not a pretty picture.  No wonder we don’t want to think or talk about relapse.  It’s depressing.  The problem is that refusing to think or talk about it doesn’t stop it from happening.  As a matter of fact ignoring the early warning sing makes us more likely to relapse.

But there is hope.  There is a method called Relapse Prevention that can teach us to recognize early warning signs of relapse and stop them before we use alcohol and drugs or collapse.  That’s what my next article is about.  There’s also a process called Relapse Early Intervention that helps us set up an emergency plan to stop relapse quickly should it occur.  We’ll cover that in our third article.

[revolutiondeathsquad-blog]

RELAPSE CAN AND DOES HAPPEN.

Relapse is more than just using alcohol or drugs.  It is the progressive process of becoming so dysfunctional in recovery that self-medication with alcohol or drugs seems like a reasonable choice.

The relapse process is a lot like knocking over a line of dominoes.  The first domino hits the second, which hits the third, and soon a progressive chain reaction has started.  The sequence of problems that lead from stable sobriety to relapse are similar to those dominoes.  There are two differences.  First, each domino in the line (i.e. each problem that brings us closer to substance use) gets a little bit bigger and heavier until the last domino in the sequence is ten feet tall, four feet wide, and a foot thick.  As this 10,000 pound domino begins to fall on us, it is too heavy for us to handle alone.  The second difference is that the dominoes circle around behind us.  So when the last domino falls, it hits us from behind when we’re not looking.

So here we are, moving along in recovery.  We tip over one small domino.  No big deal!  That domino hits the next, and then the next.  A chain reactions gets started.  The first dominoes are so small that we can easily convince ourselves that it’s no big deal.  We look the other way and start doing other things.  All of a sudden a huge domino falls on us from behind, crushing us to floor, causing serious pain and injury in the process.  We need to make the pain go away and we reach for old reliable – the magically substances that always helped us with out pain in the past.  We’ve now started drinking and drugging.

The answer to avoiding relapse is not to take up weight training so you will be strong enough to lift that last domino off of your now crippled body.  Part of the answer is to learn how not to tip over the first domino. Another part of the answer is to develop an emergency plan for stopping the chain reaction quickly, before the dominoes start getting so big and heavy that they become unmanageable.

The Relapse Process

The progression of problems that lead to relapse is called the relapse process.  Each individual problem in the sequence is called a relapse warning sign.  The entire sequence of problems is called a relapse warning sign list.  The situations that we put ourselves in that cause or complicate the problems are caused high risk situations.

It’s important to remember that we don’t start drinking and drugging because of the last problem in the sequence.  We start drinking and drugging because the entire sequence of problems got out of control. Let’s look at the steps of this process in more detail.

Step 1: Getting Stuck In Recovery

Many of us decide that alcohol or drugs is a problem, stop using, and put together some kind of a recovery plan to help us stay sober.  Initially we do fine.  At some point, however, we hit a problem that we are unwilling or unable to deal with.  We stop dead in our tracks.  We are stuck in recovery and don’t know what to do.

Step 2: Denying That We’re Stuck

Instead of recognizing that we’re stuck and asking for help, we use denial to convince ourselves that everything is OK.  Denial makes it seem like the problem is gone, but it really isn’t.  The problem is still there.  It just goes under ground where we can’t see it.  At some level we know that the problem is there, but we keep investing time and energy in denying it.  This results in a buildup of pain and stress.

Step 3: Using Other Compulsions

To cope with this pain and stress, we begin to use other compulsive behaviors We can start overworking, over-eating, dieting, or over-exercising. We can get involved in addictive relationships and distract outrselves by trying to experience the orgasm that shook New York City. These behaviors make us feel good in the short run by distracting us from our problems.  But since they do nothing to solve the problem, the stress and pain comes back.  We feel good now, but we hurt latter.  This is a hallmark of all addictive behaviors.

Step 4: Experiencing A Trigger Event

Then something happens.  It’s usually not a big thing.  Its something we could normally handle without getting upset.  But this time something snaps inside.  One person described it this way: “It feels like a trigger fires off in my gut and I go out of control.”

Step 5: Becoming Dysfunctional On The Inside:

When the trigger goes off, our stress jumps up, and our emotions take control of of our minds.  To stay sober we have to keep intellect over emotion.  We have to remember who we are (an addicted person), what we can’t do (use alcohol ore drugs), and what we must do (stayed focused upon working a recovery program).  When emotion gets control of the intellect we abandon everything we know, and start trying to feel good now at all costs.

Relapse almost always grows from the inside out.  The trigger event makes our pain so severe that we can’t function normally.  We have difficulty thinking clearly.  We swing between emotional overreaction and emotional numbness.  We can’t remember things.  It’s impossible to sleep restfully and we get clumsy and start having accidents.

Step 6: Becoming Dysfunctional On The Outside:

At first this internal dysfunction comes and goes.  It’s annoying, but it’s not a real problem so we learn how to ignore it.  On some level, we know something is wrong so we keep it a secret.  Eventually we get so bad that the problems on the inside create problems on the outside.  We start making mistakes at work, creating problems with our friends, families, and coworkers.  We start neglecting our recovery programs.  And things keep getting worse.

Step 7: Losing Control:

We handle each problem as it comes along but look at the the growing pattern of problems.  We never really solve anything, we just put a band-aides on the deep gushing cuts, put first-aide cream on seriously infected wounds, and tell ourselves the problem is solved.  Then we look the other way and try to forget about the problems by getting involved in compulsive activities that will somehow magically fix us.

This approach works for awhile, but eventually things start getting out of control. As soon as we solve one problem, two new ones pop up to replace it.  Life becomes one problem after another in an apparantly endless sequence of crisis.  One person put it like this: “I feel like I’m standing chest deep in a swimming pool trying to hold three beach balls underwater at once.  I get the first one down, then the second, but as I reach for the third, the first one pops back up again.”

We finally recognize that we’re out of control.  We get scared and angry. “I’m sober!  I’m not drinking!  I’m working a program!  Yet I’m out of control.  If this is what sobriety is like – who needs it?”

Step 8: Using Addictive Thinking

Now we go back to using addictive thinking.  We begin thinking along these lines:  ” Sobriety is bad for me, look at how miserable I am.  Sober people don’t understand me.  Look at how critical they are.  Maybe things would get better if I could talk to some of my old friends.  I don’t plan to drink or use drugs, I just want to get away from things for awhile and have a little fun.  People who supported my drinking and drugging were my friends.  They knew how to have a good time.  These new people who want me to stay sober are my enemies.  Maybe I was never addicted in the first place.  Maybe my problems were caused by something else.  I just need to get away from it all for awhile!  Then I’ll be able to figure it all out.”

Step 9:  Going Back To Addictive People, Places, And Things

Now we start going back to addictive people (our old friends), addictive places (our old hangouts), and addictive things (mind polluting compulsive activities).  We convince ourselves that we’re not going to drink or use drugs.  We just want to relax.

A client in one of my groups said he wanted to go to a bar so he could listen to music and relax while drinking soft drinks.  And old timer in the group asked:  “If you told me you were going to a whore house to say prayers, do you think I’d believe you?  Well, when you tell me you’re going to a bar to drink cokes I have about the same reaction!”

Step 9: Using Addictive Substances:

Eventually things get so bad that we come to believe that we only have three choices – collapse, suicide, or self-medication.  We can collapse physically or emotionally from the stress of all our problems.  We can end it all by committing suicide.  Or we medicate the pain with alcohol or drugs.  If these were your only three choices, which one sounds like the best way out?

At this stage the stress and pain is so bad that it seems reasonable to use alcohol or drugs as a medicine to make the pain go away.  The 10,000 pound domino just struck the back of our head, breaking our bones, and crushing us to the ground.  We’re dazed, hurt, and in tremendous pain.  So we reach out for something, anything, that will kill the pain.  We start using alcohol and drugs in the misguided hope it will make our pain go away.

Step 9: Loosing Control Over Use

Once addicted people start using alcohol or drugs, they tend follow one of two paths.  Some have a short term and low consequence relapse. They recognize that they are in serious trouble, see that they are loosing control, and manage to reach out for help and get back into recovery. Others start to use alcohol or drugs and feel such extreme shame and guilt that they refuse to seek help.  They eventually develop progressive health and life problems and either get back into recovery, commit suicide, or die from medical complications, accidents, or drug-related violence.

Other Outcomes Of The Relapse Process

Some relapse prone people don’t drink.  They may say “I’d rather be dead than drunk” and they either attempt or commit suicide.  Others just hang in there until they have a stress collapse, develop a stress related illness, or have a nervous breakdown.  Still others use half measures to temporarily pull themselves together for a little while only to have the problems come back later.  This is called partial recovery and many people stay in it for years.  They never get really well, but they never get drunk either.

What I have just described is called the relapse process and it’s not rare. Most recovering people periodically experience some of these warning signs.  About half can stop the process BEFORE they start using substances or collapse from stress.  The other half revert to using alcohol or other drugs, collapse from stress related illness, or kill themselves.

It’s not a pretty picture.  No wonder we don’t want to think or talk about relapse.  It’s depressing.  The problem is that refusing to think or talk about it doesn’t stop it from happening.  As a matter of fact ignoring the early warning sing makes us more likely to relapse.

But there is hope.  There is a method called Relapse Prevention that can teach us to recognize early warning signs of relapse and stop them before we use alcohol and drugs or collapse.  That’s what my next article is about.  There’s also a process called Relapse Early Intervention that helps us set up an emergency plan to stop relapse quickly should it occur.  We’ll cover that in our third article.