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hellcheeriest · 8 months ago

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i bet he's never had a backstreet guy

Twitch Streamer!Eddie x Single Father!Steve

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Summary: We begin to learn of Chrissy's struggle with her sexuality, Eddie makes a big decision in his career, Steve is a sick, sick man (only for eddie munson), platonic!Hellcheer my beloved!! Robin struggles with close proximity to the girl she likes.

Content warnings: Slight age gap (Steve is 31, Eddie is 26) Steve feels as though he's too old to be acting like he is (I know 31 isn't old! Steve just grew up too fast as a teen dad, so he feels like his mind is beyond his years.)

A/N: Second Chapter yay! I dont really have much to say other than the fact that i spent like 6 hours straight writing this while getting distracted, and i havent read through this so i apologize for any mistakes or innacuracies you may find. Anyway, hope you all enjoy!

w/c: 4,850+

January, 2023

CHRISSY CUNNINGHAM

Chrissy shivered as the cool, mid-winter air infiltrated her room. She’d forgotten to shut her window last night while she was cooking, and the goosebumps on her skin had her shivering with regret. Her radio whispered beside her, the volume purposefully low as to lul her to sleep, an unknown host forecasting the weather.

Chrissy pulled off her sleeping mask, her eyes still closed as she tried to wake fully, letting thoughts of last night's stream come to her. She smiled at the memories from just last night. Gareth and Robin’s banter, Austin’s quiet but witty remarks, Eddie and herself teaming up to embarrass an easily flustered Jeff.

Robin’s raspy laugh filled her foggy brain. The girl had been complaining, again, about how she lacked a girlfriend. It wasn't uncommon, their friend group was her only safe space as a queer person, the area she lived in being a prominently homophobic area.

It made Chrissy feel different, though. She’d known she had always admired the girl, from the top of her brown bob, to the bottom of her cherry red converse, there was nothing about Robin that Chrissy didn’t find she was unable to admire. She was funny, and she was pretty in a way Chrissy hadn’t ever seen or could even describe. She didn’t really know what that meant.

The couple times they’d been able to meet in person were the times when Chrissy admired Robin the most. Seeing her through her eyes first hand instead of through the lens of a camera. They were also the only times she could experience their height difference, Chrissy having to look up just to make eye contact.

Chrissy sighed heavily, bringing her sleep heavy arms up to rub at her eyes. Her alarm clock had gone off minutes ago now, luckily her online classes wouldn’t be disrupted if she slept in, but for her own sake she decided to get up. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and startling when her phone began to ring from her bedside table. She groaned, grabbing it and sighing when she sees the caller ID.

“What do you want?” Chrissy grumbled.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Eddie laughed on the other line.

“You always catch me at a bad time.” She smiled despite her light hearted annoyance. “Back to my first question, what do you want?”

“Can you meet me at the diner today, or are you busy?” Eddie asked, breathless, and Chrissy could tell he was getting dressed as they spoke.

“I’m free. Nine o’clock?”

“Nine-thirty?”

“Even better.” Chrissy hummed. “See you then.”

“Bye, Chrissy.” Eddie replied, dragging out the words. Chrissy laughed and hung up, putting her phone back down on her night stand, spending another moment on her bed stretching before getting up.

She padded along the hardwood floor of her apartment to her bathroom. She did her skin care, brushed her teeth and hair, and pulled her russet hair into a ponytail with a white scrunchie. She used her finger to press on her signature blue eyeshadow, a few quick strokes of blush and mascara, and a dab of a pink lipstick covered with a cherry lip gloss.

Back in her bedroom, she stalked over to her closet to find her outfit. She went with an oversized and chunky white turtleneck sweater over a green satin skirt that reached the middle of her shin. She grabbed her black, shiny Mary Jane’s and put them on over her frilly, white socks.

Finally she topped off the outfit with her gold ‘16’ necklace, a graduation gift from her parents, before doing a one over of her outfit in the mirror. After confirming with herself that it was good, Chrissy turned around to look at her clock.

9:04AM.

Just enough time to drive to the diner Eddie wanted to meet at. It was across the city they both lived in, but it was Eddie’s favourite and he was paying, so she wouldn’t complain.

Chrissy picked up her phone again to see two new messages. One from Eddie and one from Robin.

ready when u r :)

Rob <3

morning chris! Hope you have a good day <3

Chrissy felt her stomach turn as she read the second message, and she bit her lip as she sent a quick reply. She shoved down the warm feeling in her gut, and typed out a response to Eddie. After it was sent, she put her phone in the sleek pocket of her skirt, and grabbed her purse before she left her apartment. She took the elevator down to the first floor, waving “Hi,” to her neighbours before leaving the building.

Chrissy got to her car and felt her phone buzz against her thigh, the custom notification sound letting her know it was Eddie, and she got in the driver's seat to begin the drive to the diner.

EDDIE MUNSON

Eddie stood outside of the diner, his hands in his pockets as the Chicago wind blew through his hair. His nerves made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and his fingers fiddled with his rings. It only took minutes for Chrissy’s car to park in the spot in front of Eddie. She got out, and rushed over to Eddie to pull him down into a hug. Eddie laughed as her arms reached up and around his neck, letting his own wrap around her waist. They swayed back and forth for a moment before pulling away enough to press their cheeks together, making an audible “Mwah.”

“It feels like it’s been so long since I saw you in person last.” Chrissy whined as they pulled away completely, grabbing hands and walking into the diner.

“I know,” Eddie smiled down at her. “I missed you, too.”

They waited for a hostess to seat them, and as soon as they were led to a booth and finished ordering their drinks, they burst into conversation. They talked about anything they could, and Eddie found himself purposefully procrastinating the one thing he had partially asked Chrissy to come meet him for. Soon, after their waitress came by and took their order, they ran out of things to talk about, and Eddie knew it was time.

“So,” He started. “How do you think I’d go about… face revealing?” Eddie asked, almost timidly. Chrissy on the other hand was ecstatic.

“You want to face reveal?” She shrieked with a huge smile. Her joy was contagious, and Eddie could feel his own face break into a grin.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t make a big deal about it.” Eddie hid his smile with a piece of hair.

“But it is a big deal! You finally want to show off that gorgeous face of yours!” Chrissy leant over the table to pinch Eddie’s cheeks to emphasise her words, sitting back down as the waitress returned with their food. Chrissy grabbed a hashbrown off of Eddie’s plate as he took one of her pieces of french toast. “It’s exciting!” She whispered.

“Okay, okay!” Eddie laughed as he cut into his pancakes. “I just… want it to be casual, I think, and I want you to be there.” He stabbed the piece he cut apart with his fork, and shovelled it into his mouth. Chrissy “Awe’d” and smiled with soft eyes at Eddie’s words.

“Well,” Chrissy started. “I guess we’ve got an important stream to plan.”

ROBIN BUCKLEY

Music blasted from the bathroom of Robin’s home. Chappell Roan’s Pink Pony Club could be heard all through the house. Inside, she was singing along as she pulled her eye down to put eyeliner on her waterline.

“Robin! Turn that down!” Her mother shouted and hit her fists against the bathroom door.

“God, Mom, Okay!” She shouted back, rolling her eyes as she grabbed her phone. She turned the volume down, and stared at her home screen. It was a picture of her and Chrissy they had gotten the week their whole friend group decided to meet up for the first time. Her hair was longer, being cut into a short bob now, and Chrissy’s hair was the opposite: shorter than her current length. They looked happy.

Robin sighed as she pulled up her messenger, sending a quick good morning text to Chrissy before putting her phone back down on the counter.

Perhaps she’d been harbouring a crush on the blonde for a long time. Can you blame her? Chrissy was perfect in every way. She was beautiful, funny and devastatingly kind. She hadn't even changed how she acted around her when Robin came out! Which should be the bare minimum, Robin knows this. She just wasn’t used to the amount of acceptance her friends showed.

Only problem? Chrissy was definitely straight. She’d only ever talked about past boyfriends, and never expressed any romantic interest in women. Eddie would tell her not to lose hope, though that was often hard. Plus, she lived like a thousand miles away from each other. They’ve seen each other in person twice since they met four years ago, and long distance relationships almost never work out.

She shook her head to dispel any thought about the girl. She would be going shopping today after getting her paycheck. Working at an old, shitty, video rental store may suck, but it did pay well and she needed to feed her vinyl collection. Hopefully it would be enough to distract her.

STEVE HARRINGTON

“You, your sex is on fire.” Steve heard being sung from the TV. He recognized the voice as the streamer Dustin had taken such a liking to. Steve left his office and walked towards the living room and he could see the stream on the large screen. This time, it was live camera footage that showed a young blonde woman instead of the gameplay he was used to seeing. The man’s, Eddie’s, voice was actually really nice. It was husky and raspy, the clear tenor tone sending shivers down Steve’s spine. Steve leaned on the door frame as he watched and listened.

“The dark of the alley, the breaking of day.” Eddie continued.The girl in the camera seemed to be having a good time, swaying back and forth with the music. Occasionally, she would lay her head on the T-shirt clad shoulder next to her, and a heavily ringed hand would raise up and hold the side of her head.

“Are they dating?” Steve found himself asking. He mentally kicked himself. Why did he care if some random internet personalities were dating?

“Crap! Dad, you startled me!” Dustin clutched at his chest dramatically and Steve shook his head. “No, they’re just really good friends.” He turned down the volume of the TV and Steve came and sat on the couch next to his son.

“Oh, so like you and this Suzie I'm always hearing about?” Steve poked Dustin’s shoulder repeatedly until his son grabbed his wrist.

“Dad!” The boy exclaimed as he flushed red. He turned away and covered his face, and Steve smiled as he rubbed Dustin’s back. The light sound of the blonde girl laughing brought their attention back to the TV.

“Wow, Chris. I can’t believe you’d spread this propaganda about me.” The girl threw her head back and cackled. Steve remembered a ‘Chrissy’ that Dustin was talking about, this must be her. “She just referred to me as a ladies man as if I got any play in high school. I was a theatre kid, Cunningham, try again.”

“You wouldn’t believe the things I heard about you during lunch at the cheerleader’s table, Ed.” She reached over, past the camera's view and Steve guessed she was grabbing at Eddie’s head. “If they weren’t waiting for you to ask them out, you would’ve been drowning in bitches.”

“Hardy har har. Yeah, okay.” Two larger hands pushed smaller ones back into frame. “Anyways, guys. We have some big news!” The facecam turned off, and Steve felt Dustin tense next to him. “As some of you might’ve heard, they’re holding a convention in a smaller town in Indiana called Hawkins.

“So, we just wanted to let you all know that me, Chrissy, Robin and the guys are going to be there. So since you’re going to have to see me there, I figured I should…” Eddie’s voice got tense as he spoke, and then the camera turned back on. This time, though, it wasn’t the blonde girl. It was a man.

A man with dark, shoulder-length curls that were frizzy, but nevertheless striking. His skin was pale, and contrasted against the pink of his lips. His eyes were big, and a deep brown, dark enough to where Steve couldn't see a pupil. They were surrounded by long eyelashes and it seemed as though he was wearing eyeliner. The neckline of his shirt was cut and jagged, and exposed his prominent collar bones and the tattoo that lay inked into his skin. He was devastatingly pretty. He smiled, and turned to read the chat that was going a million miles a minute, all messages sharing feelings of shock and awe.

“Thanks, guys. Hoo-kay, I’m shaking. We’re okay, we’re okay.” Eddie pulled his hair behind his shoulders, revealing the plethora of piercings on both ears. “But, yeah. Next month from February twenty-sixth to March 2nd. I’ll be putting more information on my twitter, along with prices.” Chrissy came back into view. Behind Eddie, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and rested her chin on the top of his head.

“Can’t wait to see you guys!” Chrissy exclaimed, and Eddie laughed as he reached up to grab her arms. Steve noticed they had matching bracelets.

“Keep a look out on instagram and twitter, photo dump coming soon.” The two waved at the camera, and sang out a long “Bye,” before they were gone and the stream was over. Steve and Dustin stayed frozen, and Steve knew Dustin was also in shock after seeing Eddie.

Though they were in shock for two different reasons.

“Dad, they’re coming here for a convention! We have to go. Can we? Please?” Dustin pleaded and Steve thought for a moment.

“I’ll see what I can do, bud.” Steve answered and Dustin grinned before running to his room. Steve pulled out his phone and looked for Eddie’s twitter. When he clicked on the account, he found the link in his bio that led to the convention information, and when he scrolled down he found pictures already posted.

Most of them were group photos, with Chrissy, another girl almost the same height as Eddie, as well as three more guys Steve assumed were his other friends. He scrolled down further, and found a post-concert photo with Chrissy. They were both obviously worn out, and Steve found the drastic difference in the way they dressed funny.

Eddie was all leather, and sharp edges, while Chrissy was pink and bubbly.

Steve internally scolded himself for the way his stomach churned when he found a particular photo of Eddie by himself. He was kneeling on a stage, a microphone in one hand, and the other holding the fingers of whoever took the photo. He wore a loose, black fishnet top over a black tank with torn up, black skinny jeans. His hair was messier than he’d seen in the other photos, and his face was slightly flushed in a way that suggested he was probably drunk. He smirked in a smug way that had Steve feeling as if he were a high schooler seeing his hallway crush. At the realisation, he quickly scrolled back to the top of profile and clicked the link, his face red.

He shouldn't be feeling this way about some guy on a screen, much less a twenty-something year old. Steve should know better at his grown age.

He filled out his information, and when looking at the full price he sighed. He could already hear his wallet begging for mercy.

—

TIME SKIP

—

February 2023

EDDIE MUNSON

This was crazy.

Just a month ago did he live stream his face to the internet which sparked creativity in the artistic part of his group of fans. He was tagged in a bunch of drawing’s of him, as well as video edits to quite suggestive audios. It was strange, Eddie thought, to be praised like this for your appearance. But, if he was honest, he wasn't complaining.

Now, he was mentally preparing for the convention. Eddie wasn’t entirely a social person, he’d much rather be with his circle of friends and maybe a few others. This was an entirely different level. He sat on the bed in the hotel room he and Austin would be sharing. Jeff and Gareth were in the room across from them and Robin and Chrissy’s room were down the hall. The last pair excited Eddie.

Robin often confided in him when she was especially upset about her situation, and Eddie could sympathise. Falling for straight people was never fun. But, Eddie wasn’t entirely sure that Chrissy was straight. He never pressed her on the issue though. Poor girl. She’ll never know what hit her.

Robin had been accidentally flirting with the girl since they arrived in Hawkins, and Eddie had to stifle laughter when it backfired. Robin would shoot him a glare and a lighthearted middle-finger.

Chrissy didn’t seem to catch on despite her array of ex-boyfriends that probably acted the same way around her before they dated. Though, Eddie guessed he couldn’t blame her. Robin’s attempts at flirting could be compared to the sight of a dumpster fire.

Eddie sighed and laid back on his bed, bored and left without anything to do. Not like he really wanted to do anything. Flying sucked, he hated aeroplanes and he was always left exhausted after taking one.

But he was also insanely hungry. He could probably order in but he did not feel like talking over the phone and Hawkins seemed like a pretty old-fashioned town so god knows if any of the restaurants here have any apps he could use. Whatever. Eddie sighed before he walked over to the door and pulled on his converse and tucked the laces into the sides of his shoes. He grabbed his room key and left to try and find some damn lunch

CHRISSY CUNNINGHAM

She couldn’t do it.

Chrissy sat on the edge of the single bed that was in her and Robin’s shared room. She hadn’t seen Robin for a year and a half, and so far everything has been great! But Robin makes her nervous in ways she can’t explain. She didn’t have much more time to think as the door burst open to reveal the taller girl holding all of her bags in her arms and her phone in her mouth. She quickly dropped the bags and took her phone out of her mouth. She was completely out of breath as she reached into her pockets to pull out her inhaler.

“Oh my god, Robin!” Chrissy rushed over, picking up a couple of Robin's bags and bringing them further into the room.

“Hey, Chris.” Robin said, still exasperated, and her wispy tone made Chrissy shiver. She reached up and pulled Robin into a hug. “Missed you.” Robin whispered into Chrissy’s hair as she returned the embrace.

“You just saw me like, ten minutes ago!” Chrissy laughed, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach.

“I know.” Robin replied as she pulled away, still slightly out of breath.

“Did you run up here? What happened?”

“Apparently the elevator shut down after you guys got up here, so I had to take the stairwell with all my bags.” Robin whined as she walked over to the bed and flopped down onto the mattress. She hadn’t seemed to have noticed the fact there was only one bed, yet.

“Um, so,” Chrissy started. “We only have one bed in here.” Robin lifted her head and looked to the other side of the room, then back to Chrissy.

“O-oh.” Robin bit her lip nervously. “I could sleep on the couch if it would make you more comfortable.”

“No!” Chrissy almost yelped. “I mean, no. That’s fine! It’s big enough for us to share.” She was sure her cheeks were bright pink. She got on the bed next to Robin, the other girl sitting up.

“Yeah, that sounds fine.” Robin rubbed the back of her neck.

“I’m perfectly comfortable sleeping next to you Robbie, I promise.” Chrissy said sincerely, grabbing Robin’s hand and holding it softly. She looked up at Robin, and took this time to admire her the same way she had so many times before.

Robin didn’t often stream with her camera on, and she didn’t facetime the group so Chrissy didn’t get to see her face much. She’d almost forgotten how much she loved Robin's features.

Her soft skin that was splattered with light brown freckles she wanted to count, her soft jawline and the thin dark circles underneath her gorgeous eyes. Then there was her hair. Her soft, wavy locks that Chrissy constantly wanted to run her fingers through if the other would let her.

"Hey, did you think we could see if one of the guys would pay for our lunches?" Robin said, a grin on her face. Chrissy giggled and squeezed Robin's hand.

"Abso-fucking-lutely." Chrissy smiled deviously and the two left Robin's belongings to be unpacked later. Right now, they had some boys to mooch off of.

STEVE HARRINGTON

Oh boy.

It was one day away from the first day of the convention Steve hesitantly bought tickets for. He and Dustin were all set to see the panel Eddie and his friends would be at and Steve’s bank account was about to kick the bucket. Dustin was excited, though, and that was all Steve needed to know that this was worth it.

He couldn’t lie, this was slightly for him too. Ever since he’d laid eyes on the man Dustin called his idol, he couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Steve’s known for a while that he liked guys. Before Dustin was born, he’d even dated a few, but he’s not sure he’s felt this way in a long time just based on someone's looks. The critical part of his mind scolded him.

'This is your son's favourite streamer you're thinking about!'

'His looks might deceive him. He could be a total douche.'

'Is he really all that?'

Yes. Eddie really was 'all that.' His personality was large and he was really, really attractive.

'He probably has a girlfriend. You don't even know if he likes guys.'

Steve sighed and rubbed his eyes. He would have to start on dinner soon for Dustin, Dustin's "friend" Suzie, and himself soon. He could contemplate this all later. Maybe tomorrow at the convention, but hopefully not ever again. He stood up from his chair in his office and closed his computer. He walked down the hallway and all that could be heard was the tv in Dustin's room.

Suspicious.

He walked further and leaned closer to Dustin's door that sat open by three inches. After another moment Steve pushed the door open fully to see Suzie tucked into Dustin's side as they lay on his bed, seemingly watching a movie.

"Dad! What the hell!" The two jumped and Suzie gripped onto Dustin's shirt.

"Calm down Dustin, I'm just asking what you guys want for dinner." Dustin was red with embarrassment and Suzie just snickered.

"Whatever's fine, dad." He answered. "And learn to knock!" He shouted on Steve's way out. Steve snorted and made his way to the kitchen now with three things on his mind.

Whatever was going on between his son and this girl. (Which he totally predicted, by the way.)

What he was making for dinner.

An insanely pretty streamer he was probably too old to be gawking over.

Dinner was only going a little awkwardly. Suzie sat quietly, eating the quiche Steve had made. Dustin glared at his father from across the circular table and Steve tried his hardest not to make a face back.

"So, Suzie. How's school been for you?" Steve asked as he fiddled with his fork.

"Dad." Dustin groaned.

"What?" Steve drew out the 'a.' "I'm just asking how her classes are."

"Well, my grades are just fine. I enjoy my academics a lot actually! I only wish I could say the same for Dusty." She smiled at the boy whose face dropped.

"Snitch!" Dustin accused and Suzie laughed, Dustin's scowl softened at the sight before it hardened and he turned to his father. "Don't listen to a word she says," Dustin pointed a fork at Steve who threw his hands up.

"Alright, alright. Finish your dinner so you can have time to wind down before you go to bed. You've got a big day tomorrow." Dustin smiled before starting to scarf down his food as if he hadn't eaten in days.

"Slow down, Dusty!" Suzie squealed. She was a good match for him, Steve thought.

At least Dustin had Suzie.

ROBIN BUCKLEY

Lord have mercy.

The girls had come back from a nice lunch, courtesy of Austin who was the only one willing to do them a solid and pay for their food, and things were calm until the sun went down. They’d found a pizza place and called for delivery. It was good, Robin found, but she’d had better back in Miami.

After that, they’d flipped through the few channels the hotel TV offered and Chrissy began her nightly routine of a simple skin care routine and brading of her hair. Then, she would join Robin under the covers. She wore a mint green silk pyjama set, a spaghetti strapped tank top and shorts that ended before her mid thigh, and Robin felt under dressed in her wife beater and Archie sweatpants.

The only light spared was from the lamp that sat on Robin's side of the bed she was almost scared to turn it off. If she did, it would really seem like it was just her and Chrissy.

"Are you totally sure you're comfortable with me? I mean, I've been told I'm a pretty clingy sleeper. I wouldn't want you to wake up with me-" Robin started rambling before Chrissy stepped in.

"Rob! I already promised." Chrissy's eyes were drooping and Robin could tell she was really to pass the fuck out. Robin smiled fondly, brushing Chrissy's bangs from her face and pulling the blankets up further. "You know, you're really pretty." Chrissy sleepily admitted. Robin stared in shock for a moment.

"Y-you think?"

"Uh huh," She pulled a hand out of the covers and laid it on Robin's cheek. "Super pretty." Chrissy smiled and brought her hand back to her chest before swiftly falling asleep.

‘Are you there god? It’s me, Margaret.’ Robin thought. She brought her palm to the same cheek Chrissy had just touched and she felt how much her face had heated up. God, she probably looked like a lovesick fool, but she couldn't even judge herself for that when she laid her eyes upon Chrissy's sleeping figure. She looked so at peace. Quite often she was riddled with anxiety or happiness, both that made her constantly fidgeting or moving around. Now, she was still and sound. Robin fought herself to take a mental photo, wanting to remember this sight forever. Wanting to wake up to this sight forever.

Reluctantly, Robin rolled to lay on her back. She never slept well on her side. She turned the lamp out finally and soon enough her own eyes became heavy with sleep, and she herself would also succumb to sleep.

The next sound Robin would hear would be the screech of her ringtone and Chrissy's groan from next to her. Robin reached to the nightstand and grabbed her phone. It was Eddie, that bastard.

"Eddie?"

"Woah, morning Robin." Eddie seemed pretty awake for... Ten in the morning. "Just wanted to make sure you two were awake. I'm guessing you weren't until just now."

"Yeah, asshole. I had an alarm set for eleven." Robin whined and Chrissy yawned from beside her.

"Okay, well I wanted us to all meet up for brunch before the panel. So get ready and meet us in the lobby by eleven-thirty. Okay? Okay." Eddie hung up before Robin could intervene.

"He is such a prick," Robin groaned and set her phone back down. Chrissy giggles as she rubs her eyes.

"That's Eddie, alright." Chrissy sighed. She sat up and stretched out her arms. Robin had to stop herself from staring at the slight muscle the former cheerleader still had. She sat up as well, much to her dismay. "I," Chrissy swung her legs over the side of the bed before standing up. "Am going to have a shower. You want me to be quick so you can have one too?"

"If you wouldn't mind. I could always wait until after we hang out with the guys too." Robin said as she walked over to the small vanity and started to brush her hair.

"Oh, Robin. You are a gift from god." Chrissy responded as she approached the taller and left a kiss on her cheek before scurrying away to the small bathroom of the hotel room. Robin simply froze. This girl had no idea what she was doing to her.

tags:

@marklee-blackmore

#steddie #buckingham #steve x eddie #robin x chrissy #eddie munson #steve harrington #dustin henderson #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #stranger things #stranger things 4 #fanfic #fanfiction #steddie au #steve harrington au #eddie munson au #modern au

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lou-struck · 1 year ago

Text

Snow-Covered Slippers

Katsuki Bakugo x reader

25 Days of Ficmas Day 3

W.C: 1.6k

~Bakugo's frosty winter morning with you is interrupted when you bring a guest into your home.

It’s one of those rare, cozy winter mornings with Katsuki. Your living room windows are covered in last night’s frost as you sit cross-legged on the couch watching some morning talk show. The host is learning how to make a delicious-looking maple glaze salmon dish.

You make a mental note to save that recipe for later by slipping it into your boyfriend’s recipe binder so he can make it for you.

“I know that look, you’re up to no good aren’t you?” Katsuki asks, pulling you from your thoughts with a steaming cup of coffee. It smells like cinnamon and vanilla.

Like Home

Like Him

“thank you,” you hum, blowing on the west of steam before taking a tentative sip. You tiredly sigh into the drink. It tastes like heaven, and you look up at the Blond in thankful wonder. Coffee always tastes better to you when someone else makes it. And he knows it. It only takes him a few minutes to do, but it’s one of the easiest ways he can think of to remind you just how much he cares. Especially since he’s not too fond of the mushy stuff.

“You should make me that.” You giggle, pointing out the recipe on the screen.

His eyes narrow as he reads the description. “I can make you something way better than that babe,” he scoffs.

You raise a brow. “Can you really?”

“Hell yeah, I can,” he smirks. Knowing that he had fallen for your very obvious dinner-related plot.

You are interrupted by the knocking on your front door. A happy smile appears on your face as you set your coffee cup down and spring up from the sofa.

“Huh, what’s Shitty Hair’s car doing out front?” Katsuki asks as your fuzzy socks pad across the hardwood floors.

“You’ll see.” Open the door to see the familiar-looking redhead. Little flakes of snow stand out against the brilliant red shade of his hair, and you notice he is wearing his winter Hero Costume and clutching a tiny black and gray pitbull puppy that wiggles in his gentle yet firm grip as it tries to get closer to you.

You smile brilliantly as you see the puppy. “You brought my Godson!”

He greets you with a smile full of pointy teeth. “Hey y/n. Thank you guys so much for helping me out with Rocky.”

“Who the hell is Rocky?” Bakugou grumbles, rounding the corner. Stopping in his tracks when he sees the little dog in his friend’s arms. The last time the two of you had dog-sat, he was tormented by your neighbor’s teleporting puppy. So you know this is messing with him.

“Hey, Bakubro,” the redhead beams, looking at his bestie. “I got called in to work at the last minute and didn’t have time to drop Rocky off at his doggy daycare so y/n said you guys would watch him for a few hours.”

Upon hearing your name, Katsuki turns and looks at you with a look of betrayal on his face. “When the hell were you gonna tell me about this?” He asks.

You go up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Your version of an apology, even though your words say otherwise. “I wasn’t.”

“Why, you little-” he starts to growl, and you ignore him, turning your attention back to the poor Hero, who is still standing out in the cold. He’s too polite to say anything to you, but you can tell that he’s not just cold but also stressed about the time.

“Hey, don’t worry. Rocky is in good hands,” you say, holding out your arms to take the little guy. He squirms in Kiri’s grip, trying to get closer to this new, good-smelling person while letting out the most adorable little yips.

The Hero looks relieved and, with a sigh, hands the little dog over to you. His paws press against your chest as his little pink tongue gives you a little lick on the cheek. You can’t help but notice that these little paws may seem little to you right now but are far too big for his tiny body. Rocky is going to be huge.

“I’m glad to see he’s in good hands.” Kirishima smiles, taking one less look at his smartwatch, frowning when he reads the time. “I really gotta go, but thank you guys so much. I’ll bring food over when I’m done.”

He turns and walks away, his clunky boots nearly slipping down your snowy driveway as your boyfriend calls after him. “We don’t want your food, Shitty Hair. And stay off my grass. I can see your footprints in the snow.”

“See you later, Grandpa.” The redhead laughs, climbing into his truck and pulling out of your driveway before the blonde can chase after him in his plaid bathrobe.

You hold the puppy happily, using your nails to scratch behind his little ears. “Hi Rocky,” you murmur, turning away from the cold door and heading back to your couch and setting him down on your hardwood floor. Thoroughly entertained as he runs around, too short to actually jump onto any of the furniture.

“He’s so cute.” you gush as Katsuki walks back into the room. Immediately, without fear, the puppy creeps up to your boyfriend’s slippered feet, trying to play with the slightly fuzzy decals.

“What are you lookin’ at?” he grumbles, pulling his slippers away from the dog. You think this is a great opportunity to bring out one of the puppy-safe chew toys you had purchased for your godson the day Kirishima had rescued the little guy.

You toss it on the floor and Rocky gives it a little sniff before pouncing on the little carrot dude. His little teeth are not strong enough to damage the guy but you watch in fascination as he drags his new friend around your living room proudly.

“If that thing pees on anything, I’m blasting him into next year.” Bakugou tsks, narrowing his eyes at the puppy who hasn’t done anything to him at all except steal your attention away from the secretary-clingy Blond.

“That’s my godson you’re threatening there Katsuki.” You say seriously trying to think what little ole you can do to threaten the Hero convincingly. “Do that, and you’ll be sleeping on the couch.”

“You’d miss me too much,” he smirks, stepping closer to you.

You hear Rocky’s little footsteps pad past you, but when you turn to see where he has gone, Katsuki tilts your head back towards him to pettily steal your attention with a kiss. You kiss him back shamelessly, losing any backbone you had the second his lips meet your own.

He pulls back, and you can tell that he is more than proud of his ability to distract you from the puppy.

Puppy?

Shit…

You look around the room but don’t see the little dude or his Plush Carrot buddy anywhere. “Katsuki?” you ask with wide eyes. “Where the HELL is Rocky?”

He looks around quickly, worry etched onto his model-like features. He may have been jealous, but he would truly hate if anything were to happen to his best friend’s dog. “He’s gotta be somewhere around here. He’s too short to climb upstairs.”

Nodding at his words, you silently agree as you slowly walk through your home. Looking for any sign of your little house guest. Silently cursing at yourself for managing to lose the little guy less than fifteen minutes after he was dropped off.

What kind of godparent are you?

“Shit.” you hear Katsuki yell. Your feet slide across the hardwood flooring as you rush over toward the sounds. Right away, you notice Three things.

First, your front door is wide open. Hinges creaking slightly in the wind as it opens wider and wider.

The Second, Mr. Carrot laying outside on your little porch.

And the Third. Rocky happily frolicking through your snow-covered lawn towards the road.

You start to move, but your boyfriend is quicker. In a flash, Katsuki, in his slippers and robe, sprints out the door with fighting speed. He stumbles on the slippery surface and his slippers furiously kick up snow as he barrels towards Rocky. The Pup is too focused on catching snowflakes on his tongue he doesn’t realize he is getting closer and closer to oncoming traffic.

“Gotcha,” Katsuki huffs, grabbing the little guy surprisingly gently and holding him close to him. A few cars pass by. An ominous message as to what could’ve been. Katsuki sees this, too, and holds the puppy just a bit close to his chest as he makes his way back inside. His robe and slippers are completely soaked from the snow, as he shrugs them off. You try to shut the door, but there appears to be a loose fixture that requires a bit more of a push than normal. It must be how Rocky was able to get out in the first place.

“Is he okay?” you ask worriedly, reaching out to gently pet the dog’s snow-speckled ears. He still looks just as happy as before, so you feel way less concerned as Katsuki hands him to you. And he goes back to snuggling up to you.

“We gotta get that door fixed.” he mumbles, “That was close.”

“Too close, you say, setting him back on the ground. He continues on with his exploration of the house as if he wasn’t in danger minutes ago. “Rocky goes up to the snow-covered slippers and gives them a curious sniff. His little brown nose inhales a clump of snow, and he runs away from the sensation, sniffling adorably.

You giggle and see the soft smile on Katsuki’s face. “At least you don’t have to worry about him chewing up your slippers today.”

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

#bnha x reader #my hero academia #bnha #bnha fluff #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #x reader

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voxofthevoid · 9 months ago

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Time for Shibuya Swap Wednesday #5!

Good news: Part 1 is finished. Bad news: That alone was 44k.

Sure, Parts 2 to 4 won't be as long, but at this point, I have no clue how big the fic will be. Last week, I tentatively predicted it would probably end with less than 10 chapters. That's, uh, not gonna be the case. I give up.

Onto Part 2, featuring alt!Satoru/canon!Yuuji!

Yuuji’s foot slams into the tracks—

I’ll save you, Gojou-sensei.

—and goes right through, the ground under him vanishing.

He plunges into darkness, the whole world blinking out. There’s a dizzying rush of sensation, sight and smell and sound all merging into a single, screaming mass, and then Yuuji’s prone on a hardwood floor, unharmed but stunned.

His body refuses to move, but his mind’s running a mile a minute, trying to make sense of what the hell just happened. He was at the station, leaving Mei Mei and her little brother to fight so he could let the others know what had happened to Gojou, and then—

It wasn’t unfamiliar, the way the world twisted into nonsense around him. Yuuji felt that a lot in the last few months, especially in those days his teacher was his only company. Gojou liked to warp Yuuji to places without warning him, and Yuuji got used to it, learning to land on his feet without needing Gojou to support him, but that first shock of vertigo never really went away, made bearable only by the familiar, prickling cursed energy ballooning out from Gojou’s touch to envelop his whole body. It kinda felt like a hug, lingering on Yuuji’s skin for several seconds after the landing.

But what just happened is different. The sense of violent displacement is the same, but there’s no foreign cursed energy cloaking him, and there was something…unsettling about the way he was moved. It didn’t feel like he was teleporting somewhere, but like he fell through the fabric of the world.

That’s stupid, right?

Yuuji’s trying to make his body cooperate when he hears it—a high, insistent noise, close but muffled. And Yuuji’s seen enough movies to recognize the sound of someone trying to yell through a gag.

There’s someone here, someone hurt.

That gives him the spark needed to force his leaden limbs to move. Palms flat on the floor, one leg bent. His joints take his weight without protesting. Nothing hurts, but there’s a strange numbness everywhere. The more Yuuji moves, the more it retreats, like his body’s coming alive piece by piece.

He pushes himself up on all fours, looking in the direction of the voice—

“Gojou…sensei?”

That guy—Mechamaru—said Gojou’s been sealed.

Yuuji was imagining…well, he didn’t really get time to imagine much, but he realizes now that he had an image of something eerie and ancient, like that dimly lit, seal-papered room he woke up in after he swallowing the first finger. Something like a movie except distressingly real, like most things in this world are.

This isn’t that. This is—

Gojou’s gagged, sure, but it’s a bright red ball secured to his face with black straps. He’s on a bed. A large, plush bed with gleaming black sheets that seem to make Gojou’s pale skin glow.

And there’s a lot of skin showing. All of it. Gojou’s naked.

He’s lying in a really weird position, arms stretched behind him and his chin propped on the mattress, but Yuuji can still see his bare shoulders and back. He can see the bare ass sticking up in the air. Gojou’s very, very naked.

On a bed, gagged and bound. Not sealed in a station.

Yuuji blinks, hard enough that his vision’s blurred when he opens his eyes.

Nothing’s changed.

“Gojou-sensei?” Yuuji calls weakly.

There’s a sudden, loud silence, and Yuuji abruptly realizes that Gojou was making muffled noises this entire time, his jaw working uselessly around that thick gag. The dark straps seem to be digging into his skin, stretching from the corners of his mouth to the back of his neck. It doesn’t look comfortable. The way Gojou’s lying, his chin and shoulders supporting the bulk of his weight, doesn’t seem comfortable either.

And the bright blue eyes boring into Yuuji are even louder than the noises Gojou was making.

Right. Yuuji needs to—

He staggers to his feet. The numbness is all gone now, but Yuuji still stumbles when he walks, a whole other kind of shock weakening his limbs. He still makes it to the bed in a matter of seconds, scanning the rest of his surroundings in that short time. It’s half deliberate, training and habit kicking in, but it’s half desperate too; Yuuji can’t bring himself to look at Gojou and his exposed…everything.

It’s not good, right? A person trapped like this, kept like this. It’s not good.

Yuuji just can’t reconcile that logic to the fact that this is Gojou.

But he can’t keep looking away once he’s near the bed.

Gojou’s still in the same position, now looking up at Yuuji. His face looks sharper like this, cuttingly angular. His eyes are somehow brighter, seeming to glow under snow-pale lashes. For a moment, Yuuji just stares, his vision filling up with the blue of those eyes and the white of those lashes.

Gojou makes another noise, snapping Yuuji out of it. He jolts in place, dropping to his knees so he’s at level with Gojou’s face.

“I’ll help you, sensei,” Yuuji tells him, surprised and relieved when his voice comes out even. “Let me just…”

He has to touch Gojou, no way around it, and Yuuji’s done that plenty, but not in a situation like this. But he steels himself and reaches out, wincing at how his arms tremble. He tries not to touch Gojou’s skin as he fumbles with the gag’s buckle. It’s nothing complicated, just like a belt buckle, but Yuuji keeps fumbling, and it’s not until he delicately extracts the prong, still careful not to let the insides of his arms brush Gojou’s face, that he realizes he could’ve just snapped the thing.

And then the gag’s loose, the straps falling away from the sides of Gojou’s face.

Gojou spits the gag out.

“What,” he rasps, “the fuck happened to you?”

The swearing catches Yuuji off guard. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Gojou swear; he even chided Yuuji a few times for it, except it always sounded like a joke, as if Gojou was just playing the part of the teacher.

Then everything else hits—the voice, the face.

Gojou looks eerily young with his face bared. Yuuji knows that. He even said it once, mouth moving before his mind could catch up with it, but Gojou just preened like a peacock, tossing his hair and crowing something about not even needing a skincare routine.

He looks young, but young the way some adults do.

This guy looks like he’s Yuuji’s age.

It’s a good thing he’s already on his knees or he’d have collapsed.

“What happened to you?” Yuuji echoes in pure confusion. “Sensei, you’ve…shrunk.”

“Did you hit your head or something?” Gojou retorts. “Sensei, you’ve shrunk.”

“Eh?”

Gojou grunts, straightening up in a heaving motion. There’s a ripple of muscle.

Yuuji doesn’t look away in time.

There aren’t any more straps on Gojou, though Yuuji got a clear look at his arms earlier and saw they were bound at his back with a pair of black handcuffs—not the steel kind the police use but comfortable-looking things, sleek and padded. His chest is bare, just a little flushed. It’s also smaller.

Yuuji’s seen Gojou shirtless a few times in the aftermath of sparring matches. He didn’t need to strip off torn, bloody clothes the way Yuuji often did after a spar or a mission, but he’d work up a sweat sometimes, engaging Yuuji until he was an exhausted puddle on the ground. Even then, Gojou wouldn’t have more than a thin sheen of sweat on him, and all the times he even bothered stripping, it was to take a dip in the large river that ran beside one of their usual sparring spots.

Yuuji stopped finding everything about Gojou unfair after the first week, but he still couldn’t help staring when Gojou stripped. There was just so much of him, more than his uniform showed. A broad chest with swollen pecs, biceps nearly the size of Yuuji’s head, a tapered waist taut with muscle, hipbones you could cut yourself on—just a lot.

This Gojou doesn’t have that bulk. He’s still muscled, complete with a six-pack, but there’s so much less of him all over.

But that isn’t what’s fucking with Yuuji. Gojou’s naked. His thighs are fully exposed—the space between them too. And instead of a cock, there’s a steel contraption that makes Yuuji’s balls shrivel to look at.

Rings, Yuuji registers after a long moment of mindless staring. Those are metal rings around Gojou’s soft cock, with thin bars caging even the head. A larger circle is wound around it and his balls both.

There’s a lock.

Yuuji stares at that for a long moment, caught off guard by how innocuous it looks. He’s seen locks like that a hundred times, on suitcases and even that one diary his grandfather kept, the key lost but the lock left untouched in Yuuji’s room at the dorms. It feels strange to see it flush to a plump pink cock. But he can’t not look at the rest of the spectacle, squirming in place as he takes in the metal circles one by one.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” he blurts out.

“Yeah,” Gojou says, and Yuuji thinks it’s an answer to his question until he adds, “you’re definitely not my Yuuji. But you’re still a goddamn pervert, so I guess you are Yuuji.”

#goyuu #jjk snippets #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #wip wednesday #my fic #fic: how the story changes #divider credit: saradika-graphics

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whorediaries-09 · 6 months ago

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and i lost you;

pairing- sirius black x reader warning(s)- hurt/comfort. a/n- do you guys see the parallels between the series and the sequels?? there are a lot 💃

prequel masterlist series masterlist little train.

fear. it twisted it vines around one, keeping one close to it's heavily beating heart till blood crawled out from the ears, flowing down towards the neck, the hot metallic liquid extinguishing the quench of the vines wrapped around the throat, till there was no blood left, none to feed the flesh.

sirius felt fear. even as a courageous man, he feared a lot of things.

but he could fight the demons, let the bravery, the bold courage in him overpower them. hold them by their throat, watching as the life left their eyes, their limbs going cold before falling slump and lifeless.

but some demons needed to be killed with gentleness. a gentleness that he craved, after fighting for so long.

it came with the wave of protecting his loved ones. he didn't love much, he couldn't, not after having his heart broken and tormented and thrown around so many times. but when he did, his mind flooded with the demons that crawled under his skin, ripping him from inside slow, torturously slow.

he had yet to learn how to kill those demons.

they rotted away gently, so.

he watched the slowly healing scars on your back, as the suds of lather from your hair washed down your skin. he had a hard time taking out the dried clotted blood from your matted hair, but he was determined to take it out. so, after a few thorough washes, he took out the blood.

'does it hurt?'

'kind of,' you replied, knees pressed to your chest. you'd healed a lot, time being a wonderful ointment to your wounds. 'but you're careful,' you whispered. your index finger drew little circles on your knee.

he had taken upon the action to help you take a bath after you'd fallen unconscious due to weakness. you admitted that you hadn't been eating much after a lot of questioning and pestering by him. he felt his heart grow sore.

nobody could stop him from waltzing back into dead flames and blow away the ashes.

'i'm glad i can be,' he replies, giving your back a final splash of water to let the suds dissolve. he kept a towel near the tub, getting up on his feet. he wobbled slightly, legs dead as the aftermath of sitting still for a direly long time.

'careful,' you warned. he nodded.

'i have kept some clothes on the bed...they are my mothers old clothes...we couldn't unlock the door to your house...' he said, remembering how he had to wrestle kreacher to let him get the clothes.

'i'm not sure if they will fit you...you can charm it to make it fit you better, yeah?' he said, before walking away, the quiet thank you that left your lips never reaching his ears.

'do you feel a bit better?' he asked, watching as you slowly nibbled on the chapati. he remembered, if not very clearly just the way you liked it.

'yes, thank you,' you replied. you stared at the green curry with pieces of paneer floating in it. 'is this..palak-'

'it's palak paneer yes,' he said, his sentence not quite finished. he didn't want to say anything. perhaps, too afraid to rekindle the flame of embroidered memories.

perhaps too afraid to admit that he was killing time at the cemetery. still alive, but never quite buried.

the silence was almost too demeaning. neither sure what to say, but too afraid to let it hang and consume.

'do you mind cutting my hair?' you asked suddenly. he stared at you bewildered.

'no...i guess,'

'that was a stupid question to ask, i'm sorry.'

'i don't mind,'

'oh. okay...'

the inches of your hair were splayed on the hardwood floor. you had your eyes shut close, mind still not ready to observe the new look sirius had given you. although he had promised to not cut your hair too short, you were still afraid you wouldn't like it.

but you'd be afraid to admit it too. that you were worried about something like your hair length when people were every moment you took a breathe.

'are you ready?' he asked, softly squeezing your shoulder. you nodded.

'i think so,'

'okay...open your eyes,' he whispered, as if a quiet secret to keep. you fluttered your eyes open, watching the mirror reflect back your face. your hair was gently trimmed and shaped, stopping at your shoulders. you could see sirius' nervous eyes behind you, lips moving to form the next question. before he could voice it, you replied.

'i love it. thank you so much.'

he breathed out a heavy breathe which he seemed to have been holding in.

'i'm glad you like it. also i forgot, some officials are coming from st. mungo's to assess your progress. and also because they want to ask a few questions.'

'what?'

'some officials-'

'no i got that! i don't want to be assessed by them. i don't want to answer any questions-'

'you have to. it's that or returning back to voldemort and his little army of death eaters, poised as the 'secret weapon'. at least that's what dumbledore told me,'

'DUMBLEDORE WILL TELL YOU A LOT OF THINGS, MR. BLACK. YOU'RE NOT FUCKING BOUND TO LISTEN TO EVERYTHING. YOU WERE LOCKED UP IN AZKABAN BECAUSE HE WANTED TO MANIPULATE HARRY AND RAISE HIM LIKE A FUCKING PIG FOR SLAUGHTER! HE KNEW FUCKING EVERYTHING. AND HE KNEW YOU'D GET IN HIS LITTLE PLAN FOR GLORY!'

he stayed quiet, letting you breathe out your anger. your chest heaved, throat aching with the screams you'd emitted. tears gathered in your eyes, you felt yourself break, yet again.

'fine.' he breathed, sitting down on his knees in front of you. 'but you'll have to tell me everything. everything that has happened, everything that you know.'

'why should i?'

'because i need to protect harry. he's about the only family i've got left.'

when you stayed silent, he felt like losing hope. but, oh how could he?

fear had tracked him down.

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original idea posted by - @lilwnet

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking @fictional-magic @iamgayforyourmom1510

taglist (for series) - @urbansaint

(if you want to be tagged please send a request through my inbox.)

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

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #marauders #sirius black #sirius x reader #sirius black smut #the marauders #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #marauders era #sirius black thoughts #sirius black x oc #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanart #sirius being sirius #sirius black fluff #sirius black angst #fanfiction #james & peter & remus & sirius

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lemurlegs · 6 months ago

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Bewitched

Hi everyone!! This is my first fanfic I've ever written so it's probably not gonna be too great, but I had this idea festering in my brain for months and I just need to get it out into the world. Also if some sentences seem a bit strangely worded or there's some grammar mistakes bare with me, English isn't my first language.

That being said I just want to say a few things before we start this journey. So this is more of an OC fic then a y/n fic. I don't want to say much about her character since you guys will learn about it later, but there are a few things to note before starting off.

Her name is Elizabeth but uses a fake name with is Ginger. She was born in 1539, and she died of foxglove poisoning. That's all you need to know for know.

Wordcount: 3.5k

Also a few warnings: swearing, murder, death, torture, stabbing.

Chapter 1.

I Payed Off The Reaper And It Only Costed Me My Soul

As you lie on the cold, unforgiving hardwood floor of your apartment, a chill crawls up your spine, matching the coldness creeping into your veins. Your once-steady heartbeat falters, each thud weaker than the last, as if whispering its farewell. The room spins in a dizzying whirl, blurring the edges of reality, a cruel trick played by the poison coursing through you. Your trembling limbs betray you, shaking uncontrollably, as if bidding farewell to the world above. With each shallow breath, you feel the darkness beckoning, pulling you down into its silent depths, offering solace in the embrace of oblivion.

Your senses reel as consciousness returns, greeted by a sharp stab of pain in your back. Gradually, you rise to your feet, wincing as you gingerly assess the source of the discomfort. Eyes adjusting to the surroundings, you find yourself standing in an open field, the sky ablaze with hues of crimson, casting an otherworldly glow upon the landscape. A single road stretches out before you, disappearing into the horizon.

"So this is what hell looks like, huh?" You mumble to yourself. You always knew you would end up down here one day. Certainly didn't think it would be your "loyal" apprentice who would cause your demise.

You were a powerful witch, powerful enough to avoid the cold hands of death. You made sure to prolong your mortal existence by performing intricate rituals and potent spells. Anything to not face them again.

While your spells certainly made sure you wouldn't die of old age, in fact wouldn't really age at all, you were still vulnerable to other types of deaths. For example, the little witch you've been training that had oh so graciously poisoned you this morning.

With a cautious hand rubbing your tender back, you take your first steps forward, embarking on a journey into the unknown under the watchful gaze of the scarlet sky.

A sense of urgency propelling you forward, you choose to follow the road ahead, leading towards the promise of civilization. As you tread the asphalt path, your senses remain heightened, scanning the horizon for any sign of life while silently praying that your pursuers remain far away from you. They must know you're down here now, you just hope they don't know your exact location.

After a half-hour trek, the sight of a sprawling cityscape emerges, it’s bustling energy pulsating like a beacon of hope in the distance. A sense of relief washes over you as you take in the towering buildings and labyrinthine streets. "Perfect," you whisper to yourself, here you can definitely hide away for a while.

As you walk down the city streets you finally have the time to observe your surroundings. How interesting all the sinners looked, and how similar this city was compared to the ones topside.

Gazing down at your hands, you're struck by the startling transformation that has taken place. No longer the familiar appendages you once knew, they now resemble claws, sharp and menacing, as if longing to sink into flesh with every twitch of your fingers. A sense of surrealism washes over you as you take in the sight of your newly acquired extremities, a stark contrast to the hands you once relied on.

Turning your attention to your behind, you're greeted by the unexpected sight of a fluffy fox tail, swaying rhythmically with each step you take. It’s russet hue stands out against the backdrop of the urban landscape, a hellish addition to your newfound form. You wonder what other strange features you've gained, do you also have fox ears?

In the midst of your bewildered observation, a sudden onslaught of hands ensnares you, their grip firm and unyielding. Panic courses through your body as ropes constrict around your body, binding you in a suffocating embrace. A gasp is stifled by the rough pressure of a hand clamped over your mouth, silencing any attempt at an outcry. Darkness descends as a blindfold is forced over your eyes, robbing you of sight and further disorienting your senses.

With a surge of primal instinct, you thrash and struggle against the unseen captors, desperation fueling your futile attempts at liberation. Yet, despite your efforts, their grasp remains steadfast. You recognized them immediately, your old coven members, who else could it be? They must have used a tracking spell to locate you, that's why they knew where to find you the moment you fell. Those bastards. They shoved you into a vehicle, your body still bound by what you assume are some anti magic ropes, since you can't use your powers. Escaping now would be impossible.

After a few minutes of travel, the car came to a halt, and your old coven members forcibly pulled you out, their grips unyielding. You realized the urgency of escaping this predicament. Given your past with the coven, forgiveness wasn't on their agenda, and what you did to them? Well, they sure as hell would want payback.

You were ushered into a chilling chamber, momentarily released before being bound at the wrists with heavy shackles, suspended from the ceiling. Only then, as the blindfolds were removed, did you behold the revenge etched upon their faces. Ten of your former coven members stood before you, clad in their ritual cloaks—dark brown fabric adorned with bloodstains, their signature hoods concealing their identities. It was evident that you had been brought into a space where sacrifices were made or where their dark magic was practiced.

One of the cloaked figures broke from the group, unveiling herself—a woman with goat-like features, her gaze filled with disgust as she closed in on you. With the chains restricting your movement, you could only retreat slightly, snarling in defiance, baring your pearl-white teeth as a warning. Despite your display, the goat demon merely chuckled, unfazed, and persisted in her advance.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Elizabeth," the witch sneered, "It's good to see you finally join us, High Priestess."

"Oh fuck you!" you spat back at her. Pulling on your shackles as they rattled, digging into your skin.

"I see you're still as charming as ever. We've been eagerly awaiting your arrival, but since you refused to cooperate and die, we had to take matters into our own hands."

"Now that you're here," she continued, "we can finally exact our revenge for our premature demise."

You scoff at that comment.

"You have nothing to avenge Sabrina; you got what you deserved. You know what you did, what he meant to me. He was everything, and you all took him from me."

"Still upset that we rid you of that unclean brat of yours? Honestly, Elizabeth, I fail to see why you're so attached to such a vile creature. I consider what we did to be quite generous. Don't you agree, girls?"

In unison, the other members echoed their approval. Sabrina turned to you with a smug grin, closing in. She seized your jaw, forcing you to meet her gaze.

"Now, it's time you learned your lesson."

The coven members surround you, they form a circle around your strung up body. As the goat lady puts a hand on your shoulder, grabbing onto the shirt you've been wearing, with a swift motion, her claw snags your clothes, ripping them apart, revealing your bare body. You feel a sudden coldness surrounding you, the chilly air makes you shiver. Out of the corner of your eye you notice one of the cloaked figures pull out a knife, and hand the object to the demon in front of you.

Your eyes widen in shock "What the hell are you doing?!!?" You shout at her, as she turns to you with a sinister grin, she brings the knife to your chest

"My, my so distrustful towards your old friend?" She chuckles as she digs the knife into your skin, wincing as Sabrina carves a pattern between your breasts. Looking down you're unable to recognise the sigil. Panic fills your every being as you realize what exactly is happening. They're putting a curse on you.

You start thrashing, trying to lean away from the sharp blade, or at least mess up the sigil work, anything to get out of this situation. Sabrina withdraws the knife, casting you a glare laden with pure animosity. She then addresses the cloaked group, approaching one of the figures clutching a large leather-bound book. She whispered to the demon, you couldn't seem to make out what she said. Though soon you found out what she whispered. The feeling of their dark magic, like thick, heavy chains wrap around you, constricting tighter and tighter with each passing moment. It's as if invisible shadows grasp at your limbs, pulling you into a suffocating stillness, rendering you unable to move.

Desperately trying to make any sort of movement, trying to move away from the approaching blade, but all you could do was endure. You watched as the goat in front of you continued to carve into your skin, tears rolling down your face like rivers. Amidst the pain you hear eerie chanting, and the curse seeps into your body like icy tendrils. It feels as though a heavy weight has settled deep within you, dragging you down into a suffocating abyss. Every breath becomes a struggle as the oppressive magic wraps around your soul, binding you in its dark embrace.

As the chanting begins to die down, Sabrina removes the knife from your chest. As the dark magic leaves your body, your ability to move comes back too, but you feel a burning sharp pain in your abdomen. A loud scream leaves your throat as you look down to your stomach, as Sabrina leaves a big gash making you howl from the pain.

She takes a look at your pained face, clearly enjoying the suffering she's putting you through. You start heaving, trying to calm yourself as best you can, trying to ignore the wound on your stomach.

Sabrina takes a step back, inhaling deeply before letting out a heavy sigh.

“You have no idea how long I've been cooking up this curse for you, it's the perfect retribution for your betrayal against the coven, against me.”

“Wha… what have you done..to m-me?” You managed to stammer, weakened by the wound, blood staining your thighs as it trickled down.

The goat demon hums in amusement.

“I'm glad you asked Lizz. This curse is quite special. It's a fusion of three sigils, forming what i call 'the soul-rotting sigil’. You can probably guess it’s implications, but I'll elaborate anyways.

Sabrina comes up behind you, grabbing your throat while pulling you into her body, your back leaning into her. A gasp leaving you as you try to move from her grip, only for her to tighten her hold.

“The curse will decay your soul like a carcass. It will take a whole year to wither away completely, and when It does… Well, let's just say you're gonna discover what comes after the afterlife.” Her laughter drips with malice as you absorb her words. “Of course we will certainly have fun tormenting you until that day arrives.”

She pulls away from you, letting go of your throat. The goat lady appears in front of you as she continues her speech. “Now I must depart, being the new High Priestess is a very demanding job after all. But fear not, I'll ensure one of the girls keeps you company.”

She turns away with a sinister grin on her face as the coven follows her to what you assume is the exit out of this place. Your eyes follow them, disappearing as they turn the corner.

Turning to the sound behind you, a cloaked figure approaches you, she pulls the hood off her head revealing her cat-like features, she leans in towards you, smiling like Sabrina did moments ago. She looks at your wounded and beat up body. Then she begins circling around you, making awful comments about you, but you don't acknowledge them, as your mind is already thinking about an escape plan.

You quietly assess your surroundings, searching for any potential exits or tools that might aid your getaway. The cat-like demon's words become background noise as you mentally map out your next move. You look up to the shackles, tugging at them slightly. On closer inspection you realize that they're just regular metal chains. Not some anti magic bullshit like those ropes were. As you focus your energy, a warm sensation emanates from your palms, enveloping the chains. With each passing moment, the metal begins to soften, succumbing to the intense heat of your concentrated magic. The links start to warp and bend, like molten wax under a flame.

Your determination fuels the transformation, the once solid chains now resembling twisted strands of metal, weakened and pliable. It takes you a few moments to free yourself, since your body is very weak at the moment, the pain and blood loss certainly not helping your situation either. But with a final burst of energy, the weakened chains give way, breaking apart like brittle twigs. Freed from their restraint, you take a deep breath, relishing in the newfound sense of liberation. Your escape plan is now in motion, empowered by your resourcefulness and resilience.

As your hands free from the shackles you turn to the cat demon who looks at you with a shocked expression. With adrenalin coming to your rescue, you lunge at her and begin tearing her apart with your sharp claws. The demon lets out a guttural scream as you sink into her flesh, blood splattering across the room.

In a flurry of motion, you overpower her, your primal instinct drives you forward. With each swipe of your claws, the demon's resistance weakens, until finally she collapses to the ground.

Breathing heavily, you take a moment to assess the situation. Blood drips from your wound, mingling with the demon's on the cold stone floor.

You lean yourself next to the wall, trying to steady yourself, putting pressure on the wound on your stomach, trying to lessen the blood loss. Slowly limping towards the room you saw Sabrina and the coven pass through, you enter some sort of lounge or dressing room of sorts? You're not entirely sure, the point is they kept their cloaks here. You reach up, pulling one off the coathanger, ripping one of the sleeves off of it, turning it into a makeshift bandage of sorts. It's not great but it's the best you can manage now. Taking another cloak, putting it over your naked vulnerable form, you continue looking for an exit

Despite the pain and weakness gnawing at your body, you press on, determination driving you forward. Carefully navigating the unfamiliar surroundings, you scour the rooms for any sign of an exit. Your eyes scan the walls for hidden passages or concealed doors. Your heart pounds in your chest as you push through the pain.

Finally your perseverance is rewarded by a faint glimmer of light emanating from the corner of a room, you stumble towards it, hoping to get out of this maze of madness. As you draw closer the source of the light becomes clear. A small narrow doorway partially concealed by heavy drapes. Without hesitation you push the fabric aside and step through the threshold.

You are greeted by the red sky once more. Though now it's darker and much more foreboding. You take a deep breath, the smell of sulfur filling your nose. You need to find shelter before they realize you escaped. You might have gotten away, but you weren't out of the frying pan just yet. You slowly limp towards the sidewalk, scanning your surroundings. You remember that the journey to the chamber was quite brief, indicating you can't be too far from where you were ambushed.

You begin walking, trying to find a place to hide away, feeling weaker and weaker by the minutes. As you struggle to keep yourself conscious, you notice a beacon of hope emerging in the distance—a hotel, appearing almost like a heavenly gift amidst the chaos. It's the ideal sanctuary to seek refuge and regroup, provided you can reach it before bleeding out from your injuries.

Summoning every ounce of strength left within you, you press on towards the hotel. Each step feels like a herculean effort as you battle against the encroaching darkness threatening to consume you. Your vision blurs, the world around you swirling in a haze of pain and exhaustion.

But the promise of safety drives you forward, a flicker of determination amidst the despair. With each faltering step, the hotel grows closer, it’s lights a comforting reminder of the safety and respite it offers.

As you draw nearer, your body screams in protest, the agony of your wounds threatening to overwhelm you. But you refuse to succumb, gritting your teeth against the pain, fueled by sheer willpower and the desperate desire to survive.

Finally, you reach the entrance of the hotel, collapsing against the door with a ragged gasp. Relief washes over you as you feel the cool touch of the doorknob beneath your fingertips. With your last ounce of strength, you push open the door and stumble into the lobby, collapsing onto the floor in a heap.

As darkness edges in from the corners of your vision, you cling to consciousness, clinging to the hope that help is near. With a final, trembling breath, you surrender to the darkness, your body giving in to the sweet embrace of unconsciousness.

When your awareness returns you're met with two ruby red eyes staring back at you. You jump up as you realize you're laying on the lobby floor of some strange hotel, with some strange demon in front of you. You look at the owner of said ruby eyes, a man who looks like he's dressed for 1930s styled Chinese new year or something, all in red. You notice his deer-like characteristics, he exudes an aura of mischief, and oh god that sinister looking smile of his is downright terrifying.

“Ah you're finally awake dear” the demon greeted you "I thought you were going to meet your end on our freshly cleaned floors. My name is Alastor, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

You blinked up at the tall demon looming over you, unable to say a single word as you continued your staring contest with the strange deer man. You broke your gaze away to look down at your stomach, you were still bleeding heavily, you realized your dire predicament.

“You know it's quite rude to not introduce yourself after i oh so graciously kept you from your second grave” he chuckles.

Struggling to lift yourself slightly, you propped up on your elbows, gazing back at the smiling demon before you.

“ Than…thank y-you… my na-name is ….”

Well shit you can't just tell him your real name. you hesitated, it would be unwise to reveal your true identity. This man seemed dangerous, and your intuition screamed caution. Besides, how were you still alive? If you passed out from blood loss, you were surely done for, and you doubted this peculiar deer-man knew anything about blood transfusions.

Realizing you'd been lost in thought, you heard him clear his throat, snapping you back to reality. Quickly, you give him a fake name.

“...My n-name is Ginger….”

“Ah what a pleasant name for a young lady like yourself. It seems you’ve gotten yourself in quite the pickle, didn't you Ginger?”

All you could manage was a slow nod, hoping against all odds that this demon could somehow help you.

“Well, I can certainly assist you with your… situation, let's say.”

You scoffed inwardly. Situation, he said. I'm literally bleeding out, dude—you thought.

“Pl..please “

“Oh, why of course, after all, I wouldn't be the gracious facility manager if I didn't help poor sinners like yourself.”

“Thank yo-

“Ah ah ah, not so fast, darling,” he interrupted with a sly grin. “You didn't think I would be handing out freebies now, did you? Ohoho, how silly; must be the blood loss making your mind all fuzzy. No, dear, nothing's free here, I'm afraid. So, why don't we make a deal?”

Leaning towards you, the demon extended his hand, surrounded by a swirling green light, a soft glow emanating from his palm, casting a neon color glow. You stared at him, a mixture of shock and exhaustion clouding your expression, feeling your consciousness slipping away. Something tells you that it has to do with the demon in front of you, as if he was keeping you alive and conscious till this point.

“Wha-what would you like to gain from m-me?” you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Why, your soul, of course. I think it's only a fair price after saving your life,” he replied casually.

Your soul?? This guy wants your soul?? Well great, you knew this was too good to be true. You weighed your options, die now or sell your soul to the strange deer man with a color scheme reminiscent of a strawberry.

Perhaps it was the delirium, or maybe it was the sheer desperation of not wanting to die just yet, or perhaps it was because deep down, you knew your time was limited regardless. Against your better judgment, you shook his hand.

“Deal.”

#hazbin hotel #fanfic #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor fanfiction #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x oc #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor hazbin x you #alastor the radio demon #radio demon

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captainsophiestark · 28 days ago

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Sleight of Hand

Jimmy Woo x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2024!

Fandom: Marvel

Day Twenty-Four Prompt: "You didn't do anything wrong!"

Summary: Jimmy gets a little help from his spouse to master the card trick he saw Scott Lang do.

Word Count: 1,118

Category: Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

She cautiously stepped around the corner, coming face to face with...

I froze, my attention drifting from the book in my hands at a weird noise behind me. It sounded like some kind of fluttering, but when I didn't hear it again, I went back to my book.

...coming face to face with-

"Shoot!"

I set my book down. The noise had come again, along with something light hitting our hardwood floors before my husband, Jimmy Woo, huffed. I marked the page in my book, set it down, then turned around to look over the back of the couch.

I frowned when I saw Jimmy with one empty hand out in front of him, like he was waiting for a handshake from someone invisible. He hadn't noticed me watching him, and after a moment of intense concentration, he jerked his arm quickly like he was trying to shake something out of his sleeve. Lo and behold, a card fell out. He tried to catch it between his fingers, but he missed, and instead it fluttered to the floor.

"Argh!"

"Honey." Jimmy's head snapped up to look at me as soon as I spoke. "What are you doing?"

"It's this card trick thing... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your reading."

I shook my head, turning on the couch to face him more fully.

"It's okay. What card trick thing?"

"You remember that guy I told you about? Scott Lang?"

"The ant guy? Yeah."

"Well, the last time I checked in on him, he did this card trick where he just made a card appear in his hand, like out of nowhere. It was actually really cool, so... I've been trying to teach myself how to do it."

I stared at Jimmy for a minute, processing. He stared back. Finally, I smiled.

"Okay. Let me help."

"Really?"

"Yeah." I stood from the couch, strecthing a little before walking around to join my husband. "I need a break from all the bad decisions the main character's making in my book, anyway. Let's learn some couples closeup magic."

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

I'd assumed it would be a fairly easy trick to learn. Don't ask me why, but I just figured it would take us maybe an hour, tops, and we'd both be making cards appear and disappear like pros. That was very much not how it went.

A few hours after I'd first noticed Jimmy practicing, we were still watching videos and trying to do the trick slowly, quickly, and everything in between with no luck. Technically, we were doing a little better than when Jimmy had first started, but the trick was still escaping both of us.

I watched carefully as Jimmy tried to do it again, and to me, it looked perfect. But the card still dropped to the floor instead of sliding smoothly into his hand.

Jimmy sighed, shoulders slumping as he looked up at me.

"What did I do wrong?"

"You didn't do anything wrong! That should've worked! What the fuck is it with this trick?"

Jimmy laughed, shaking his head as he leaned over to pick up the card again.

"I'm glad you decided to help me. I was getting pretty frustrated, but seeing how much more frustrated it's making you is weirdly making me calm."

I huffed and crossed my arms. "Glad I could help. But seriously, I feel like you're doing everything right. I can't tell what's wrong, or why it's not working."

"It has to be the finger movement," he said, setting up the card again. "I'm fumbling it when I'm obviously not supposed to."

"Frankly, I'm not convinced it's possible to pull this trick off without fumbling the card. Are you sure that Lang guy wasn't messing with you?"

Jimmy laughed again. "Pretty sure, but I guess you never know."

I just sighed as Jimmy prepared to try the trick again. I watched, but not as carefully as before. I'd been looking for some clue as to where we were going wrong for hours now, and hadn't been able to find it. Maybe it was just going to take a lot more practice, no matter how we tried to do it.

Jimmy took a deep breath, then extended his hand. I didn't see the card move, but suddenly, it appeared in his hand. Nowhere near the floor. Exactly how the trick was supposed to work.

"OH MY GOD!" I shouted, jumping up in the air the moment the shock wore off. Jimmy grinned, laughing in disbelief as he stared at the card in his hand. I didn't give him much time to savor it before tackling him with a hug. "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU ACTUALLY DID IT!"

Jimmy laughed again, absolutely joyous, as he wrapped his arms around me. I pulled back a moment later, just enough to kiss him. After all that work and frustration over the past few hours, it felt amazing to see him pull off the trick perfectly.

After a moment, the two of us calmed down slightly, taking a step apart even though the gigantic grins were still on our faces. Jimmy's had more of a lopsided tilt to it, which made my heart race.

"...Do you think we're celebrating this a little too much?" he asked. I immediately shook my head.

"Hell no we're not. Do it again."

Jimmy took a deep breath, resetting the card and actually starting with his hand by his side this time. He lifted it, and in one smooth motion, the card appeared in his hand, extended towards me. I actually screamed, jumping up and down, and after a moment Jimmy joined me.

I pulled Jimmy in for another kiss, and when we finally broke apart, he was still giddy. He did the trick another few times in a row, and although he stumbled a little on one of the moves, the card still didn't hit the ground. He was getting smoother every time.

"This calls for a celebratory dinner," I decided. "I'll get something started, you grab some wine. We toast to the defeat of the magic trick that thought it could defeat us."

Jimmy laughed. "Sounds like a plan to me. Thanks for all your help. I can't wait to use that trick the next time I need to give somebody one of my cards."

"You know I'm always here for you, including and especially for stuff like this. No card trick, random guy you see at work, or Avengers-level threat can stop us."

"Damn right."

Jimmy grinned at me, and I leaned in for one last kiss before heading to the kitchen. Sometimes the smaller, less important victories felt the best, and one of my favorite things about my amazing husband was how willing he was to celebrate those moments with me.

Although, after all the time we'd spent today, this victory felt far from small.

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

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen @misshale21

Marvel Taglist: @valkyriepirate @infinetlyforgotten @sagesmelts @gaychaosgremlin

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astxrwar · 10 months ago

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blunt force trauma [3/x]

SYNOPSIS: traumatized!Bucky x Brainwashed!supersoldier!reader.

Rating: M

Word Count: 5k

Content Warnings: Brief mention of a suicide joke made in passing. Bucky has issues, so MH/trauma topics will feature heavily in this work; I will CW for them every time. Canon-typical violence.

Check out the tag "fic; blunt force trauma" for Content (there's a playlist!!) + Ao3 chapter notes for extras if you're interested. <3

Read on AO3

[1] [2] [ 3 ]

That Wednesday, Yori has a cold.

Bucky spends a few minutes just going back and forth with him through the cracked-open door of the guy’s apartment, asking if he needs tissues or aspirin or fucking— soup, or something, because he’s old, right, properly old, and he’s kind of worried about him. Yori insists it’s just a regular cold and that he’s fine and that Bucky is under no circumstances to buy him anything because he’s fine, and that he’s not going to be going out with him tonight or so much as opening the door all the way.

“Might get you sick,” is what he says. “Bad manners.”

That’s not physically possible, Bucky wants to tell him, but doesn’t, can’t, for a lot of reasons, most of them— pretty fucking awful.

He tries not to think about it.

“Okay,” Bucky says eventually. “Okay, fine, but we’re still on for next week, right?”

Yori is silent for a beat. “Yes,” he says, from behind the door, and then, gruff and vaguely scolding, “You need to make friends that are-- younger. I am getting too old for this.”

Bucky scoffs. Yori tells him this a lot. “I’m working on it,” he says, which is what he says back every time.

It’s bullshit.

He thinks about that piece of paper, folded up and pressed between the pages of Steve’s notebook, heavy in the chest pocket of his jacket like it’s burning a hole right through it.

Mostly. It’s mostly bullshit.

Yori goes and— sleeps, or something, or whatever people do when they get sick, and he goes back to his apartment.

Bucky realizes a lot of things really quickly, after shutting the door and locking it and flipping the lights; things like the fact that he’s not usually here, at this time, that he generally wouldn’t be back for another hour, sometimes more. That she’s probably been watching him, and that she’s probably learned his schedule by now, because it’s exactly what he would have done. That if she were to pick a time to go through his apartment and try to find answers without having to talk to anybody–which is also exactly what he would have done– she’d either be doing it now, or when he’s at therapy.

He realizes after shutting the door– kind of embarrassingly late, all things considered– that he’s not alone.

And then he remembers that being taken by surprise used to be a pretty significant trigger for him, in the early days.

This time, when she tries to hit him, he doesn’t move out of the way— she’s not putting a fucking hole through his door, that’d be such a pain in the ass, there’d be no way to get out of explaining it to the landlord— and what he does instead of moving is step in past her arm and close the distance and shoulder-check her dead in the sternum. The force of it sends her sliding back across the living room, her foot twisting against the hardwood floor to find purchase and friction enough to counteract it, slow to a stop, and then she lifts her chin and she locks eyes with him and whatever he was going to say—hey, relax, it’s just me, it’s okay— it dies somewhere in the back of his throat.

She’s not there. There wouldn’t be any point.

Instead, he sets his jaw and jerks his head to one side and then the other, cracking his neck and loosening his shoulders and waiting.

Part of him— it’s not that he enjoys this, he doesn’t think, just that it feels satisfying, like drawing poison out of a wound. That very first time, he kind of expected looking at her when she’s like this to make him uncomfortable, the way that it reminds him of all of that shit he tries not to think about for a lot of different reasons, but it’s kind of the opposite.

It’s familiar. It’s comforting. Bucky understands this, which is saying something, because it feels like there’s not a whole lot in his life these days that he really understands that much at all. The way she’s looking at him right now— he knows exactly what this is. It doesn’t take him over like it used to, not anymore, but it’s not like it’s completely gone from him, this instinct.

He still feels it too, sometimes. Or— maybe he just wants to. A little of both, probably.

“Yeah, nice to see you, too,” he mutters, mostly to himself, his vision sharpening to a knifepoint and his heart rate solid, steady, ticking like a metronome. The seconds that always kind of feel like they slip from him before he can register them at all— they’re drawn out, now, bleeding into each other, stretching endlessly, and he’s there , inside his own body as the moments pass, present, not floating somewhere outside of it or trapped in his head. He breathes. He listens to the sound of his own blood rushing in his skull. He listens for hers. He can’t hear it, but he thinks if she gets close again, he might be able to.

“What are you waiting for,” he says, not really a question. Kind of a challenge.

She lunges for him.

He meets her halfway.

On purpose. By choice.

One thing he’d noticed the last time is that she’s real fucking fast– faster than him, and probably younger, by what he would guess must be a not-significant amount. The serum is about achieving peak human performance, or something like that; it doesn't reverse the effects of time or the reality of age, and it doesn't change how that peak just starts to gradually decline in terms of speed and reaction time at some point in your early-mid-twenties and then never really stops. Bucky doesn’t know how old he is, not concretely, but it’s old enough that the difference between them in terms of that is apparent. But reflexes are one thing, and experience is another, and he has a fucking lot of experience— more than she does, and that, too, is a stark and obvious fact. He’s better than her, and just a little bit stronger, and what she has on him in speed he more than compensates for just in skill and brute force.

They’re not evenly matched, is what he’s saying, and he’d gotten the feel for that last time, too; had known, kind of, that this wouldn’t be a fair fight.

The edge she has, though, the one he doesn’t, is that she’s trying to hit him— trying to harm him, trying to physically incapacitate him— and he’s not. He’s countering closed-fist blows open-handed, going for her shoulders and the insides of her arms to redirect and keep the damage to the apartment at a minimum, and that puts him at a massive fucking disadvantage. It means her target is the whole of his body, six-foot and something like a buck-eighty, and not only is she fucking smaller than him already, but the places he can hit and not hurt her are these little slivers of windows only a few inches wide, if that, and–

She clocks him in the jaw.

It’s not that bad, it’d been her non-dominant hand and he’d moved back, he’d just been a little too slow– but it’s still hard enough to make his teeth fucking rattle in his mouth and his chest reflexively tighten up and the air force out of his lungs in this short, sharp hiss.

“Okay, ow,” he says, putting space between them and feeling the first prickle of irritation start to worry at his patience and trying real fucking hard not to let it as he moves back and away and grimaces, opens his jaw and shifts it to either side and hears it pop, sore and starting to smart and definitely going to be bruised tomorrow.

When he looks at her again she looks a little bit more human. There’s this furrow, just the shadow of it, tightening up between her eyebrows, but the line of her shoulders is tensed and her hands are still up and something in her eyes is trembling, like it’s tearing at itself, guilt, maybe, but also this kind of powerlessness, too.

Wanting to stop. Not being able to.

Bucky thinks about the dream.

“It’s alright,” he says, “I know. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”

He exhales, shaky, his heart beating harder and faster from the exertion, sweat starting to prickle at the nape of his neck, the air burning a little, like it’s sinking into somewhere in his lungs that he doesn’t usually breathe deep enough for it to reach.

“I don’t mind,” he says, and he’s not even really surprised by how much he actually means it. “Come on. Just- get it out of your system. It’s okay.”

Her expression doesn’t relax, but it— slackens, and something flashes in her eyes that looks a lot like relief, but it’s gone before he has time to be sure or think much about it.

When she comes to him a second time, the edge is missing and she’s not trying to hurt him— not trying to hurt him as much, he corrects, grunting when her elbow slams into the soft part of his stomach— and it doesn’t take long for him to get her off-balance and on the defensive. She mistimes a punch, finally, gives him the opportunity to reach for her and doesn’t react quick enough to the hand on her arm, and he gets the other flat on her shoulder blade and slams her against the wall.

She doesn’t do anything for a long moment; her chest is heaving, violently and with enough force that he can feel the muscles around her ribs straining up against the pressure of his forearm where it’s braced against the small of her back, and he has one hand— his hand— on her right wrist, and in the absence of any immediate threat Bucky realizes a bunch of things in quick succession.

He realizes she’s wearing a short-sleeve t-shirt, which is new, and not technically surprising; it’s May and it’s started to get warmer again. He realizes he’s touching her, though, really touching her, without any kind of barrier at all, and that’s new, too, and it’s weird , because her skin is soft and warm and it feels almost fucking– delicate, makes him aware of the callouses on his palm and his fingers and the roughness of them, and contradicts so violently with everything else about her that it’s like his brain just can’t integrate the information at all. He realizes she’s come back— all of her is so human now, even her eyes, the corner of one that he can see with how her face is pressed to the wall, darting back to look at him and then looking away just as fast, fraught and expressive, all of that emptiness just– gone.

And then he makes a mistake. He keeps fucking doing that. It’s getting annoying.

Bucky calls her by her name, and she freaks the fuck out again.

He hadn’t grabbed her other hand, because she’d been calm or at the very least not-murderous for all of ten seconds, so she slides it up under herself and pushes and gets the leverage to slip out from where he’s holding her and she elbows him in the fucking diaphragm, hard enough to knock the air out of him and wrench her arm out from his grip.

And then she fucking runs away, again, and he’s left there trying to catch his breath, with a handful of fresh bruises and absolutely no fucking answers at all.

No holes in the apartment this time, though.

That night, he can't fall asleep.

The nightmares haven’t come back yet— yet, they’d been gone before, the times that Steve had needed him, and then for a while in the aftermath of the final battle, they always come back, though, it’s only ever a matter of time— but he still has trouble with it, just in general. Sleep. It flips, back and forth like a switch, between extremes; sometimes he has the control to just will himself into unconsciousness, and sometimes it’s like his brain fights back, his thoughts accelerate, defiant, no matter how hard he tries to focus on counting his breathing or relaxing each muscle or picturing the inside of his mind like this sprawling, snow-covered field, white and uniform and empty.

He’s long since stopped trying all that, just has his eyes open, lying there staring up into the dark. His mind drifts, directionless, and he thinks about a bunch of things, random details connected by some nonsensical thread of logic that's somewhere beyond his conscious awareness. In Romania, he used to wander when he couldn't sleep, and then also when the thought of sleeping terrified him; he'd walk, sometimes for hours, until his body burned and the soles of his shoes wore out and sometimes until the sun came up again. There'd been one night-- multiple nights, multiple days, six or seven, at least-- that he'd gotten so exhausted he'd collapsed outside, leaned against the crumbled plaster facade of a building. One thing about the serum; he does still need sleep. It'd been raining, and he was soaked and shaking and delirious from lack of sleep. The old woman who'd found him when she'd gone out for a cigarette brought him an umbrella and made him a tea and sat there on the stoop nearby for a while, told him stories about her son. He'd moved to Sibiu, had a wife, three kids, called twice a week, but didn't visit enough. They'd just gotten a cat, he'd let the youngest name it; Șosetă. Sock.

"Prost," she'd said; stupid. Made this soft tch sound, ashed her cigarette against the railing. It'd been such a meaningless thing to complain about. It was the most human he'd felt in months.

Bucky thinks about the girl. Her expression, when he'd let her go that first time, again when he'd pinned her to the wall in his living room. It's still weird to think about, wondering if that's what he'd looked like, a long time ago-- wide-eyed and terrified and hopelessly lost.

He fumbles for his jacket at the foot of the bed, takes Steve’s notebook out and unfolds the slip of paper tucked inside and stares at it. There’s splotches where the lines had gone fuzzy, the paper had gotten wet and the ink had spread out; it’d been kind of damp, the morning he found it, dew condensed on the mesh screen and against the glass, so it could be from that. Or it could be that she’d been crying.

He hasn’t seen her cry, or even really look like she's come close to it. He wonders if she’s there yet. In the beginning, it was like his body wouldn’t let him, no matter how tight his chest would get or how much his eyes would burn— it just wouldn’t come. It’d frightened him too much, the thought of succumbing to something as intangible as an emotion. A loss of control that he just couldn’t submit to. Not when control was all he really had left.

In Wakanda, it felt like— relief. He’d been afraid. But they’d helped him.

He thinks about the way that she’d looked at him. Come on, just— get it out of your system. It’s okay. Maybe he should have said something else— that’s probably not what he’s supposed to have said. He was probably supposed to have said stop, or don’t, or something like that, but he’d tried those a bunch already, and he’d kind of known the whole time that it doesn’t really work like that.

Bucky folds the slip of paper, tucks it back in the notebook, and the notebook under his pillow.

If she could just stop any of this, he thinks, she would have done it by now.

“Is there another day we can do, next week?”

Doc had been tapping the end of her pen against the edge of the notebook, the edges of the pages starting to curl, and there’s a millisecond of hesitation that disrupts the rhythm. Close to imperceptible, but not quite.

“Why,” she says, blunt.

Somebody keeps breaking into my apartment when I’m gone. So I’m going to– not be gone.

“That– veteran,” Bucky says. The lie is growing, which can be tricky; he’ll have to keep track of more moving parts, work harder not to contradict himself, but the game of it, he thinks, kind of makes this whole thing suck less. Now that is definitely something he should tell his therapist. “They’re in town, but usually just on Friday, and I wanted to– I was going to ask if they wanted to grab a bite to eat. Or– something.”

Doc raises her eyebrow at him. “In town?”

“She doesn’t live around here,” he says, shrugging. “Just a– friend of somebody in the building, I’m pretty sure. I only see her ‘cause we both– y’know.” He mimes a cigarette. It’d taken him a long fucking time to figure out how he was going to spin this; it’d hit him this morning, during his run, the pieces arranging themselves all real fucking neatly. It’s great when that happens.

Doc’s eyebrow raises further, and she does that lean-in, just a little bit; she thinks it’s a slip, which is what he’d meant for it to seem like. Best to get this over with now, have control of the information, before he actually does let it slip by accident. “She?”

“Yes,” he says, letting the beginnings of an edge sharpen in his voice, like he’s annoyed.

He’d double-checked, actually figured out how to use Google, just to make sure it wouldn’t be impossible for a woman to have served in armed ground combat. 2013, it turns out. That’s kind of insane, because he’s worked with women– girls, honestly– from the Red Room since he first became active all the way back in the fucking 50s. It took over sixty years; not that there’s been any wars worth fighting in then, but still. That’s a long fucking time.

Doc stares at him for a while, not saying anything. Just– looking.

“Are you asking her on a date, James?”

It’s just ridiculous enough that he can’t help the laugh that escapes him, curt and sharp and entirely genuine– because it is laughable, Jesus Christ, it’s not a date, if things work out how he thinks they will it’s going to be a lot more like a fucking ambush than anything else. Bucky laughs, which is fine, good, even, because it makes this more believable, supports the act– but it also blindsides him so thoroughly that what he says next isn’t preplanned.

“No,” he says, pointed and a little bit mean, like it’s a stupid question– and it is, it’s an extremely stupid question– and then because his mouth moves faster than his brain does, he continues, “No, she’s– she’s having a hard time, you know, adjusting, and I– I’ve been there. I want to-- I thought I could-- help.”

Doc stares at him.

He clenches his teeth. The bruise is gone, and he’s mostly healed up, but his jaw still twinges a little. Another thing the serum doesn’t do; keep his body from getting worse at handling this shit, the older he gets.

A date, he thinks, not sure if he’s amused or irritated by the thought. Jesus Christ, she’d punched him in the face, and she’s likely to try again if this goes according to plan. That’s about as far from a date as you can get.

“I don’t think you’re prepared for a relationship,” Doc says, and then before he can open his mouth to inform her thanks, that’s great, I’m really not fucking interested, she tells him, “I don’t think that’s what this is, but I wanted to make my opinion clear. As your therapist.”

“Gee, thanks, Doc,” he says, his teeth bared too tight in some deeply irritated caricature of a smile, “Really appreciate the input. Can we do a day besides Friday, or not?”

She studies him for a moment longer, and writes something in the notebook. Sometimes he tries to sit forwards or crane his head to read it, and other times he doesn’t; this time he makes sure not to, because he’s on his best behavior. He wants answers, and he wants that a lot more than he wants to know what she’s putting in that stupid fucking notebook.

“Yes,” she says, when she finishes, snapping the book shut. “How does Thursday sound?”

“Thursday sounds great,” he replies, with as much blatant sarcasm as he can physically inject into the words.

He doesn’t even have to wait that long.

It’s Tuesday-- six days since the last time. He’s aware of it now, not on purpose, it’s just one of those details his brain keeps track of without ever really consciously deciding to do so, like loud noises and things moving in his peripheral vision.

He has groceries, a plastic bag half-full bumping against the side of his leg, the handles held loose with two fingers; there’s nothing immediately perishable, fresh vegetables, mostly, and she’s between him and the fridge. He sets it down by his feet, against the wall where hopefully it won’t be collateral damage if this devolves. Again. Bucky’s never really been a betting kind of guy— never seen the point— but from the way she’s standing, he’d put money on this going south pretty quickly.

“Y’know, you should probably stop breaking into my apartment,” he says, without looking at her directly, in a tone that’s probably way too mild for the circumstances.

There’s a long beat of silence interrupted only by the sound of the door as he presses it closed behind him.

“I thought it was a trap, the first time,” she says back, and he almost startles. She’d been sitting in the one armchair he has in his living room, but she’d gotten up as soon as he’d crossed the threshold. He can feel her, now, standing closer to the kitchen, even with his back turned as he pulls his keys from the door. “I thought— it doesn’t look like you live here.”

“Okay, well,” he says, kind of surprised by the tone of his voice, the degree of familiarity in it. “I did the last time I checked."

It’s strange, because he feels like he knows her, even though he also knows, separately, rationally, that he doesn’t; maybe it’s because he thinks about her a lot, or maybe it’s because they’re the same in a lot of ways, but whatever the reason he knows it’s not really true. The reality is that it’s been months, right, and this— right now, that was the most she’s ever spoken to him.

It was pretty warm today; he’d started to sweat as soon as he’d shrugged on his leather jacket when he’d left earlier, and he busies himself with taking it off now that he doesn’t have to be concerned with hiding anything.

She seems to relax when his focus isn’t on her, and—

Yeah, he gets that.

“Sorry,” she says abruptly, strangled, “Sorry, about before, I— I hurt you, I didn’t mean to.“

Bucky scoffs, hanging his jacket on a coat hook by the door; he fumbles with the chest pocket, slips that red notebook out and into the front one of his jeans. “You got me once,” he says dismissively. “Don’t worry about it."

He thinks maybe he sees her jaw set, something in her eyes flash; a human something. A stubborn human something. “Twice,” she replies, curt and a little bit testy, like there’s a part of her deeper than the need to apologize that’s maybe a little bit irritated at how easily he shrugged it off.

Bucky laughs at that, just this short, sharp bark of a sound. And maybe he shouldn’t do that, either; maybe he shouldn’t feel so comfortable at the idea that she kinda seems to have a sort of competitive streak with regards to actual physical violence, and maybe the fact that he is comfortable with it should be— a concern.

It isn’t.

No, that little show of defiance, or whatever it was; it was actually kind of endearing.

“Yeah, all right,” he admits, “Twice. You want to maybe just— talk, this time?”

She swallows and shifts her weight from foot to foot, clenches her hands into fists at her sides and then releases them, slowly, a little at a time in these jagged, abrupt bursts of movement, like she’s making herself do it.

“Yeah,” she says, after a while, her voice strangely small. Her hands are forced out flat, now, open as far as they can go, her arms locked, and he watches her fingers twitch, all random and erratic like it’s unintentional, the only part of her body still moving. He wonders if she even knows she’s doing it. “Yeah, I— I want to, I keep trying, but I— “

“But then you keep trying to beat the shit out of me,” he says dryly, mouth pressed into a small, frank line; not really a smile, but not negative. Still entirely too familiar, because he doesn’t know, really, if that kind of gentle jabbing is going to set her off, but he’s decided he doesn’t really care one way or another.

When Bucky looks at her again she’s clenching her jaw so hard he can see a muscle twitching below her ear even from across the room. “I’m sorry,” she says again, through gritted teeth, the words bitten out and sharp-sounding, like she’s forcing them. “I can’t— I’m not doing it on purpose.”

Bucky swallows reflexively, and that not-smile twists into a grimace. “Yeah,” he replies. “Yeah, I know.”

The silence stretches; he studies her for a while, until he’s pretty sure she’s not going to speak again without a push, before he says, “Think you can tell me something about who you are?”

She flinches, and it’s visceral and immediate and probably out of her control; she screws her eyes shut so hard that her face contorts from the effort, lurches back a step, and when she breathes, it’s so unsteady that he can see that, too, the shuddering rise-and-fall of her chest.

Bucky takes a step forwards while her eyes are closed, and the stupid traitorous floorboards creak in a spot that he’s never fucking heard them creak in before.

She goes rigid and her eyes snap open wide, the whites stretch out so far it makes her irises look like they’ve physically shrunk, and he knows, he knows he’s fucked it, he knows she’s going to fucking run away again, but--

The thing is– he just doesn’t have a lot of fucking patience.

When Bucky was him, he’d had an overabundance of patience. He had an alarmingly inhuman excess of it– something that allowed him to do things like watch the same mark for hours on end from the grimy window of a building or the crumbling edge of a rooftop or a branch-covered hole in the ground, not moving or eating or sleeping or even thinking at all. There’d been times when he’d waited for over a day straight for a target to come within firing range, and then for hours after until the search parties had dispersed empty-handed and it was safe for him to move again.

If somebody had him try any of that shit now, he thinks he’d probably blow his own brains out. He has trouble just dealing with the train being a few minutes late.

I‘s been almost three months, and what he has to show for it is a first name, a patched-up hole in the wall, a lot of really annoying bruises, and fucking nothing else.

When she makes like she’s going to run again, Bucky moves to stop her.

That goes exactly as well as he thought it would.

#bucky barnes x reader #fic; blunt force trauma

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anexperimentallife · 11 months ago

Text

Since the rights have reverted to me, this is the story I WAS getting paid to license as the basis of a video game until the deal got canceled unexpectedly after a year of development(for understandable reasons I won't go into here). There's a lot I'd change about it now (I'm a better writer now, for one thing, and my understanding of problematic tropes is better now--this was the first story I ever sold, and was originally published in the anthology The Crimson Pact, volume 2), and my Quiet World setting has morphed and expanded quite a bit since then, too. This will be getting a rewrite, with additional characters (some of whom you'll meet if you play the dialogue-only demo linked to below). But anyway...

HERE’S THE ORIGINAL STORY--ENJOY!

(also here's a link to a playable dialogue-only version of the first three chapters of the mobile game version--which is quite different)

Karma

by D. Robert Hamm (about 15,000 words)

We hit the interstate like an unguided missile. Needles of frozen rain and jagged blades of wind beat my face numb and turned what was left of my dress into a full-body ice-pack. Even with the heater on ‘incinerate,’ I couldn’t stop shivering, but the outside air was all that kept me from gagging on the smell of my own puke and the rusty stench of blood, so the window stayed down. Between the black pavement and blacker sky, the air was wet and gray. It sucked the vitality from my headlamp beams well before their natural time, but that was okay. I wasn’t paying much attention to the little they revealed anyway.

The man in the passenger’s seat either didn’t feel the cold or was too stoic to show discomfort. The dashboard glow turned his short white beard to green and deepened the age lines in his face. Gods, I’d loved that face growing up. It was my grandfather’s face. But right then, I could barely look at it, because this wasn’t my grandfather, just a sad, confused spirit wearing his body. And even though he was one of the good guys, that didn’t mean it was easy to take.

“You’re going to catch cold,” Not-Grandpa shouted over the storm.

“I’m… what?”

Since last night I’d been shot at, whipped, and electrocuted. I’d watched a good man beheaded and disemboweled before my eyes, and learned things about myself, my family, and especially my past, that had already driven other people into padded-room territory. I was marinated in a vile concoction of blood and various other body fluids, quite a bit of it my own, and had spent the last however-many hours fighting horrors that should never have existed. In the middle of all that—because I’m an overachiever—I took time out to kill a man I loved.

And this guy was worried that I’d catch a fucking cold?

Once I started laughing, I couldn’t stop. The kind of deep, full-body laughter that doubles you over and makes your stomach muscles ache for days afterward. The kind that shreds the lining of your throat and rises in pitch to rapid staccato squeaks, like sneakers on a hardwood floor. I held back the worst long enough to wrestle the car onto the shoulder, then let go. The laughter turned to howling, the howling into screams, the screams into sobs, and the sobs into a quiet whimper that finally, gods finally, tapered off, and I could breathe again, in great, ragged gulps. I wiped away a rope of snot hanging from my nose and sat hunched over with my eyes closed and my forehead against the steering wheel, shaking, while the rain pummeled my back with tiny, ice-cold fists.

In shock? Probably. Hysterical? Definitely. Look, I make sandwiches at my family’s restaurant for a living, okay? Sandwiches.

Not-Grandpa waited until I quieted down before speaking. “I’m sorry,” he said. It was the dozenth or so time he’d said it. The line of his mouth stayed hard, but his eyes and his voice were soft and broken. I believed him. Had to believe him.

“I know.” I didn’t mean for it to sound bitter. He’d saved my life after all, and he deserved better than that. I just didn’t know if I could forgive him for not being who I wanted him to be.

A little too “in media res” for you? Yeah, me too.

So here are the vitals: My name is Karma Miranda Rodriguez. I’m twenty-three years old, five foot six, with brown eyes, light brown skin, and dark brown hair that I keep boy-short. I claim to be a size five, and I dare you to say otherwise. I like strawberry daiquiris, support equal rights for supernaturals, am indifferent toward long walks on the beach, and . . .

And oh, yeah—apparently, I kill demons.

Eli’s Borderland Station, my family’s restaurant, has been the only twenty-four hour eatery on the Kansas City Plaza since back before the Jasonites outed the supernatural community (aka, “The Quiet World”) and we had to coin the term ‘daylighter’ to differentiate plain vanilla humans from those touched by the paranormal. During the riots that followed the Jasonites’ little party, and all through the Apocalypse Wars, my Grandpa Eli and Uncle Garston kept the restaurant open as a free kitchen-slash-aid-station for refugees and emergency workers, and turned the upstairs apartment—which is mine, now—into a de facto headquarters for various peacekeeping forces.

So alongside our Absolutely Killer Turkey Sandwich (made from, according to the menu, genuine killer turkeys), we serve up a mean side-order of history. Obviously, a lot of things have changed since the AWs; for instance, the Plaza, always an upscale shopping district, is now a level four Private Patrol Zone with the best law enforcement money can buy. As you’d expect, our main business is well-heeled shoppers whose sidearms are more fashion statement than personal defense, but we try to keep prices reasonable enough for the average college student, too.

No amount of money will buy you a table or a bar stool in our VIP lounge, though, even if every other seat in the house is taken. The lounge is permanently reserved for veterans, proxies, bounty hunters, elites, and so on. It’s where people with code names like Halloween Jack, Lucy D.T., HalluciNathan, and so on come to catch up with one another, trade information, or just relax. Grandpa and Uncle Garston are technically civilians now, but a lot of the VIPs still use their call signs from way back when, so if someone in armored leathers with notched weapons and a stare that looks like they’re counting the ways they could kill you with one finger says they’re going to see The General and Body Mass, they’re not talking about some secret mission, it just means they’re headed our way for the lunch special.

On Tuesday nights we lock up for a few hours of uninterrupted cleaning with my special patented Karma Rodriguez closing procedure. This involves, among other things, lots of dancing around with brooms and mops, and other Weapons of Mess-Destruction, and me in a casual dress singing along with loud music at the top of my lungs. It’s effective. The more I can make work feel like play, the faster and more efficiently I get things done, and as proof of that, what used to take three people on Tuesday nights now requires only two.

At thirty seconds to zero-dark-thirty on a drizzly February evening, when my grime-fighting partner Jayden and I were the only ones left in the restaurant, I locked the front door and hit the music. My mix for the night was weighted heavily in favor of pre-Apocalypse rock—music that was old before I was born. It was a minor tragedy when it cut off about ten minutes into the shift, right in the middle of David Bowie’s Rebel, Rebel. Jayden and I both trailed off a cappella.

“I didn’t hear you singing if you didn’t hear me,” Jayden said. “We stick together, and nobody can prove anything.” He fixed me with what would have been a deadpan stare if not for that quirk at one corner of his mouth that I thought of as his, ‘our little secret’ smile.

I put on my best film noir ‘tough dame’ voice. “It’s always secrets with you, isn’t it? Fine, I’ll play your game.” Staying in character, I headed upstairs with an over-the-top hip-swaying sashay, to reboot the router while Jayden kept cleaning.

I can’t be objective about Jayden, so I won’t try. He was one of a kind. Literally. Part Aosidhe, part Graealfinsidhe, and part daylighter, Jayden was a medical miracle, and he got the best from each branch of his ancestry. Six and a half feet of lean muscle, flawless skin, hair like pale gold silk, and . . . you get the idea. His ears were only slightly pointed, and with his hair down, he could pass for an exceptionally pretty daylighter, if not for his eyes. Whiteless, and bright turquoise in color. They suited him.

And yeah, I know. If only I wasn’t his boss. Jayden had something of a ‘mystery man’ air about him that only added to his status as local lust-object. Among other things, the way he dressed like a wastelander (only cleaner) but acted like a gentleman fueled speculation. He kept his past and his private life just that, though—past, and private. It was like the world was in love with Jayden, but Jayden wasn’t sure how he felt about the world and didn’t want to lead it on.

When I got back from confirming that the router was indeed fried, those exotic eyes of his were fixed on the big screen in the main dining area. I came up behind him and stopped, gaping. “What the . . . ?”

Just north of us, people were fighting in the streets and looting, while Hushville—Jayden’s neighborhood—burned.

“Short version?” Jayden said without turning around, “They busted the wrong guy for the Taylor murders, so they released him. He lasted a whole three hours.”

“They didn’t give him police protection?”

“He was under police protection when it happened. Now everybody has a conspiracy theory, and apparently with every conspiracy theory this week, you get a free Molotov cocktail kit. Speaking of which . . . ” He rewound a few seconds and paused on a burning apartment building that I recognized as his. “Great firebomb, huh?”

“Wow. I’m sorry.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

He shrugged, his back still to me. “I carry everything really important with me.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Want me to leave you alone?”

He paused, as if considering. “No.”

“Okay. But know what? Fuck cleaning. Help me get the trash out, then haul your duffel bag upstairs. You’re staying at my place tonight.”

Jayden turned and looked at me as though I were speaking Swahili. “Your place?”

“You just lost your apartment to a xenophobic asshole with a fire fetish, and you need crash space. Friends do that kind of stuff for each other.”

That earned me a confused look. “No, I just . . . Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks.” He seemed utterly bewildered. So much for his famed stoicism and unflappability. Ah, Jayden. Such a strange, strange boy. I ran up to get my coat and pull on a pair of jeans under my dress, and Jayden and I dragged the first can out into the alley.

I remember the air tasted of cold grease and wet pavement. I remember the electric buzz of the street lamp, and the way its dirty light turned the drizzle into sparse gray streaks like anime rain. I remember the exact cadence of the trash can’s scraping and banging as we dragged it toward the dumpster. How screwed up do things have to get before taking out the trash is a fond memory worth replaying in your head?

We didn’t hear the patrol team until they entered the mouth of the alley, running hard toward us, shouting at us to get inside. The woman’s name was Lawson. She’d lost her helmet, and a sheen of blood covered the left side of her face. Her partner, Hall, had a crack running down the side of his faceplate, and his body armor was shredded in places. They both carried their weapons at the ready, scanning the roofline as they ran.

Before they’d even finished their warning, a clot of shadow and sickening angles detached from the rest of the dark. The Shashashkuhun slaughter-spider—How did I know that?—dropped from the roof and—The Shashashkuhun and the bad people are making us walk a long way again. I don’t say how tired I am because I am almost eight years old, and that means I’m a big girl, and because it would make Mommy feel bad that she can’t carry me that far. Mommy and me are in our nightgowns because we were asleep when they—Where were these images coming from?—landed in the alley behind them. It was an impossible thing, eight or nine feet tall, all mottled ochre-and-black chitin, with eight spiked and bladed spiderlike legs from which it took its name, serrated mandibles beneath great protruding compound eyes, and short, thick, writhing tentacles suspended from the underside of a bulbous, misshapen central body.

I shouted my own warning, but Hall was already emptying his magazine at the thing as he backed toward us. Lawson either tripped or dove in our direction, twisting in mid-air to land on her back. She raised her shotgun, and—grabbed us, and it was really late because both moons were out, but they let us put on our boots before they made us start walking. Mommy tried to fight them and she shot one of them but they beat her up and cut her cheek really bad. But she is still the prettiest lady in the whole wide world. It was real people, not Shashashkuhun, but they don’t act like real people. Mommy says they have bad things inside them called Qlippoth. I think they are telling the Shashashkuhun what—made it roar as she hit the pavement.

The monster’s cry was like a foghorn made of cats and feedback, a spike that shoved through both eardrums. Lawson had hurt it, taken out one leg, in fact, but it wasn’t enough, and Hall’s automatic gunfire cut off with a sickening, meat cleaver sound as the spider sliced through his neck. Hall’s head flew from his shoulders and bounced against the alley wall while the spider eviscerated his body before it could hit the ground, as if he weren’t–to do. A man tried to run away today, but they caught him, and instead of shooting him a Shashashkuhun stuck one of its sharp arm/leg things in him and cut him open and played with his insides until he stopped screaming, and I cried, but I won’t cry anymore, because I’m a big girl, and—dead enough already. Even as far back as Jayden and I stood, hot, sticky wetness splattered our faces.

The monster tried to leap toward us, but its missing leg threw it off balance. Lawson’s shotgun was out of ammo, so she fumbled out her .45 and taunted the slaughter-spider while edging toward the side of the alley opposite the door. Sacrificing herself—big girls don’t cry. The demons usually kill everybody, but now they only kill people who try to run away or stop walking before they tell us to stop or people who fall down and can’t walk anymore, but sometimes when somebody falls down they let somebody else make a travois, which is a kind of sled thing that you drag—to give us a chance to get away. My gun was in my purse inside, but even if I’d had it on me, I couldn’t loosen my grip on the trash can, let alone force myself to move.

I caught Jayden’s eye. I’d never before realized–when I feel like crying I think about Daddy. Daddy is a general, which is a kind of soldier who tells other soldiers what to do. He is a long way away fighting other Shashashkuhun, but when he comes to save us, the Shashashkuhun and the bad people are going to be sorry. I am going to be a soldier like Daddy when I grow up and—how much he and I communicated without speaking, but with that look, I knew we’d done the same math. One of us might—just might—make it to the door. If we left the other one to die along with Lawson.

Fuck that.

Once I’d made the decision, the tension drained from my body—I am nine years old, and I have been in the prison camp for over a year. They tell me it is time for the laboratory again, but if I pick someone else to go, they will leave me alone today. If I choose my mother to go they will leave me alone for a month. They seem surprised when my answer is to hold out my wrists for the cuffs. I am the daughter of a general and a hero. I do not run, or let others take my pain. And no matter what they do to me, I won’t let them see how scared I am—the way the fear had, sublimating into the night and leaving me perfectly relaxed. Jayden gave me that ‘our little secret’ smile, and I knew he got it. He understood. Not just what I was about to do, but why.

When anything you do will end in death, make your final act one of defiance.

And so it was that we, about to die, in the most futile and ridiculous gesture in the history of futile and ridiculous gestures, screamed our defiance in the face of death, and charged the monster that would surely kill us.

With a fucking trash can.

We slammed into the slaughter-spider and fell hard, with the trash can bouncing between those giant legs and spilling its slippery contents out onto the already-slick blacktop. The slaughter-spider screamed at the impact, even louder than when Lawson had shot it, and nearly toppled. A serrated leg missed me by inches, and I rolled away, but I’d only be able to dodge for so long. My only regrets were that since I hadn’t properly prepared this body, I would die along with it—again, where the hell did that thought come from?—and that so many things would go unsaid between me and those I cared about. Including Jayden, if I was being honest.

Something hard in my coat pocket bit into my side as I rolled. I’d forgotten about the taser I almost always took with me when I left the restaurant. Even if it was still charged, it wasn’t salvation, but at this point salvation wasn’t an option. Victory was what mattered, and victory was nothing more nor less than continuing to fight until the inevitable happened. I pulled out the taser, flipped off the safety, and sent 50,000 volts into the center of that mass of tentacles, along with all the fury I could muster. The slaughter-spider jerked momentarily, and Lawson took advantage to pick up a piece of steel rebar from the junk pile in the alley and plunge it glove-deep into one of the slaughter-spider’s faceted eyes. Jayden followed with a sharp piece of broken two-by-four into the other.

And as though someone had flipped a switch marked ‘alive/dead,’ the slaughter-spider fell . . . in slow motion, like those television broadcasts of building demolitions. After one final spasm, it was still, and the alley was silent for several seconds except for the buzz of the streetlight. After barely long enough to begin to accept that we weren’t dead, answering cries to the spider’s death scream split the night.

We staggered inside the restaurant as the first new creature hit the pavement, and got the bars across the door just before another slammed against it. I slapped my palm against the ward sigil and spoke the syllables to activate it, then ran to the front and did the same there. After grabbing my gun and other weapons from upstairs and activating still more wards, I hit the ‘dim all’ switch and met up with the others in the kitchen. Lawson used a cabinet as cover, her shotgun aimed at the door, and Jayden . . .

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

I’d been gone perhaps two minutes, but when I returned, Jayden stood transformed, a grim-faced cross between a modern wastelander and a wild warrior from legend, in a combination of armored biker leathers and Fay armor. The hilts of two matching blades extended over his shoulders, and his jacket sleeves were pushed up to reveal Sidhe archery gauntlets—the real kind, not the department store knockoffs. Other weapons clung to various parts of his body, strategically placed so as not to impede movement—blades, throwing disks, bolas, and quivers and bandoliers of bolts and arrows for the quick-load mini-crossbow in his hand and the compound bow housed in a slender case across his back. He shrugged bashfully—Jayden? Bashful?—when he caught me staring. So this was what he meant when he said he carried everything important with him.

The booming of another hit on the door jerked my attention away from Jayden. After a few more tries, though, the spiders seemed to realize that it was futile, and ceased their efforts.

Now that we had stopped racing time, time slowed to let us catch up. Whether from the endorphin rush or something else, I felt disconnected, an observer watching from inside myself. In the dimness, Lawson and Jayden were pale, oh so pale, and heartbreakingly beautiful against the gray and charcoal shadows. I stood with chest heaving alongside them, seeing and feeling and hearing everything as though for the first time, in love with it all. Because we, who moments before had been dead, were alive and more than alive, were filled with life until we could burst from the pressure as it strained against the insignificant scraps of skin and flesh that could barely contain it.

A single glossy drop of blood formed at the tip of Lawson’s finger, creating itself until it was real enough to float downward and finally join its comrades who had already emigrated to the floor to form a puddle, and Lawson was falling, falling, falling behind it as if to join the puddle herself.

I shook out of my trance barely in time to help Jayden take Lawson’s weight. She was conscious, but weak. “It’s okay,” I told her, “We’re going to get you taken care of. Did you call for backup?” Lawson shook her head weakly, closed her eyes, and made a sound between a chuckle and a sob. “Nobody left to call. Even if the radio worked, nobody left to . . . ” she trailed off and seemed to fold in on herself. I’d seen what that thing did to Hall. I didn’t need her to tell me what had happened to the rest of her squad.

We got Lawson into the VIP lounge and onto a folded-out hide-a-bed, and raided the crisis closet. There was more in there than I’d realized. We patched up Lawson as well as we could and got a saline drip going with something for pain and nausea. It was only after I’d given her naproxyn, though, that I thought to wonder if it thinned the blood the way aspirin did. What if she had internal injuries? Was there anything else I was supposed to be doing? At least I remembered to elevate her feet and make sure she had plenty of blankets. Beyond that, it was a matter of, ‘do no harm,’ with a supersized side order of, ‘hope I don’t fuck this up.’

Damn it, I wasn’t qualified for any of this. Grandpa was the one with the certifi—Duh! Grandpa could talk me through this, and we needed to get word out anyway. Our phones may as well have been paperweights, though. No signal, whether due to the riots or something else. If all else failed, Lawson said that after too long with no contact, it was corporate policy to send in what amounted to the wrath of the gods to investigate. The restaurant was pretty much a fortress—even the ‘glass’ was actually transluminum—so theoretically speaking, all we had to do was stay buttoned up for a few hours and wait for help to arrive. And not go nuts in the meantime.

I’d cut away most of Lawson’s uniform, but the rest needed to come off to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. Her partner had died saving us, and I’d be damned if she followed suit because of me. I asked Jayden to leave the room, but Lawson put a hand on his arm, winked, and flashed a weak smile. “‘Sokay. I like your boyfriend,” she said.

“Just a friend. It’d probably break my ego to date somebody that much prettier than me.”

“‘Just a friend,’ my ass.” She smiled and closed her eyes, slurring her words, and rolled her head around on her pillow. Her own smile didn’t so much fade as disappear. “Thanks, guys. You did good. I just wish . . . ” Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes, and it didn’t take a psychic to know how that sentence was supposed to end.

After helping Lawson down some broth with a little liquid protein and Nutri-All added, we let her rest. When we were sure she was asleep, and that her breathing and pulse were regular, Jayden and I crept out of the room to treat our own injuries, mostly scrapes and bruises.

It seemed like there was something about what had happened in the alley even stranger than the attack. A flash of knowledge or memory. But whenever I tried to access it, it slipped away. Probably the kind of thing that takes over for some people in emergency situations, like the woman who supposedly lifted a car off of her toddler, or the accountant who found himself standing over the bodies of three would-be muggers, with no memory of what had happened. The other disturbing thing was that I was so . . . blank. I should have been shaking. I should have been horrified at Hall’s death, and at the deaths of the rest of their squad. It’s not that I didn’t care, I just kept feeling like it should have affected me more. We should have been . . . I don’t know, mourning them or something. Maybe I couldn’t let myself feel it yet.

I knelt behind Jayden on a tablecloth on the floor, dabbing antiseptic onto a scrape on his upper back. “So everybody dies,” I muttered, “and we end up with road rash. That’s fair.”

“That’s survivor’s guilt talking,” he said.

“Yeah, well.”

“Lawson’d be dead if not for you. We all would.”

“I had help.”

“Your idea, though.”

I’d been swabbing the same area for maybe a full minute, no longer aware of what I was doing, until Jayden spoke again. “You were wrong, you know.”

“About what?”

“About the ‘prettier than you’ thing. I don’t think anybody is. Nobody I’ve ever seen. And I see into the infra-red and ultra-violet, so I see more than you’d think.” I could almost hear that, ‘our little secret’ smile. “It’s not a peeping thing,” he added quickly, “It’s just my normal vision.”

Blatant change of subject, but not unwelcome. I’m pretty sure I blushed. “Yeah, well thanks. But hey, I like the way I look and all, and I’m not fishing for a compliment here, but—realistically speaking—if you’ve never seen better, you must’ve been living in a cave.”

“Actually,” he said, “a Graealfinsidhe separatist conclave, until five years ago. It was carved into the side of a mountain, so I guess it counts as a cave. Never talked to anyone about it until now. I stand by my statement, though. I decided that if we lived, I was going to tell you that. Tell you everything.”

I blinked. “I’m . . . honored. And I’m not complaining—I mean, look, you’re not the only one who decided out there to reveal some things; guess almost dying does that. It’s just, the guy I’ve been crushing on for two years now is suddenly . . . Why me?”

I caught myself stroking his hair, and was about to stop when he tilted his head into my hand and sighed. We sat there like that for a while before he answered. “I want you to know me.”

Coming from him that night, there in the dark on the hardwood floor with the smells of grime and antiseptic assailing our senses, with death waiting outside the door, those were the sweetest words ever spoken. Sweeter in their simple, naked honesty, than any candle-lit declaration of love, more beautiful in their artlessness than any sonnet delivered on bended knee. I couldn’t stop the wetness on my cheeks, and I didn’t want to.

“Yeah, well, there’s something I want you to know, too.” I pulled him back against me, brushing my lips along his cheek. He turned his body in my arms until we found each other’s mouths and lost ourselves, and entwined around each other on that blood-streaked tablecloth on what might be the last night of our lives was the only place I ever wanted to be.

We dozed, and when we woke it was to Uncle Garston standing over us like a bearded, glowering mountain of muscle in blood-stained flannel, with one bandage around his head and another showing through a rip in his shirt, wearing a flak vest that didn’t quite close around his girth. In addition to his omnipresent Desert Eagle in its holster, he clenched an assault rifle in a hand so huge and meaty that the rifle looked almost like a child’s toy.

“Where’s your half of Eli’s find-me charm?” he growled.

“What? What happened?”

His nostrils flared, and he snorted like a bull about to charge. “Did I fucking stutter? Where is the gods-damned—” He stopped, took a breath, and squeezed the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “Sorry. L-word, all right? I didn’t mean to . . . Just, where is it?”

I told him where it was, and he sprinted out of the room. Jayden and I dressed hurriedly, and Lawson called out from the VIP lounge asking what the shouting was about. “That’s what I’m going to find out,” I told her. I ran upstairs, with Jayden behind me, to find Garston in the kitchen scattering the contents of drawers onto the floor.

“Here,” I said, “Right where I said it was. Now stop being Uncle Growly long enough to tell me what’s going on.”

“They took him. Don’t know why, or why they didn’t kill us, but those bastards—”

“Who? The Shashashkuhun? The Qlippoth?”

“Of course, the Shashashkuhun. Who else . . . ” He looked at me with an undecipherable expression. “How did you know about the Shashashkuhun?”

Yeah, how did I know? “I—I don’t know. But when the slaughter-spider attacked last night—”

“They came here?” Garston roared loudly enough to be painful. “Why didn’t you say so? Did they hurt you? And you, boy,” he turned to Jayden, “where were you when this happened?”

Gods. Could I get one question at a time? “I’m fine,” I said, “and Jayden helped kill one of the damn things, so you can back up out of his grill right now. They killed an entire patrol squad except for Lawson, though. She’s downstairs. But this is . . . ” I shook my head. This wasn’t right. “People don’t suddenly know things like that, Garston. And then not even wonder how.” My heart was trying to pound its way out of my chest. Anyone would be freaked out, but why now instead of last night? Where was this panic coming from? “But that’s exactly what I did. I haven’t thought about it since—and when I do, I get these pictures in my head. There were two moons, and we were walking to some prison camp or something, and I was a little girl, and they . . . ” I could hear my voice rising in pitch, but couldn’t stop the words from spilling out or the images from growing more and more solid. Garston and Jayden moved toward me, but I held up my hand. I could do this on my own. I slowed my breathing and counted my breaths, an exercise I had learned as a little girl. One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Little by little, the panic faded, and I opened my eyes.

“Better?” Garston asked.

“Oh, hell no,” I said. “Or yeah, better, but not good. What’s happening to me?”

“Something your grandpa and I were afraid was coming, and that fucker last night must’ve kick-started things. ’Swhy we made you learn all that meditation and shit. Important thing to know is you’re not crazy, okay? But right now, I have to go find Eli, and we’ll explain it all when we get back. Just try not to think about any of it until then.”

“No, you can explain on the way.”

Garston shook his head. “This ain’t a discussion, K-girl. I want you safe. Don’t worry about me. I’m just gonna find out where they’re headed and call in the big guns soon as I get someplace I can get a signal.”

“You’re right, it’s not a discussion. We’ll take my car; it’s faster, and I just charged it.”

Garston opened his mouth to argue, but Jayden jumped in. “Quick question,” he said, “Do you really think anything you say is going to stop her from following you?”

My uncle glowered, but Jayden spread his hands, “I didn’t make the rain, I’m just reporting the weather.”

Garston looked from one of us to the other and threw up his hands—narrowly missing my spice rack with his AR-15—and, grumbling, led the way back downstairs.

Jayden, with his preternatural senses, rode in the passenger seat with Garston’s AR-15, once again in full warrior regalia, while Garston rode in the back with the find-me. I drove. It was calming to have something active on which to focus.

“So,” I said once we were under way, “Tell me if I’ve got this right. Monsters kidnap Grandpa Eli and attack the restaurant, and you know all about them, right down to their inseam sizes, but you don’t think to say anything until they show up and actually start killing people? Oh, and I have random surprise knowledge and first-person scenes from a science fiction movie popping into my head, and you knew that was coming, too, but didn’t think to warn me about that, either. So if I sound just a little bit pissed off, it’s probably because I am. Care to explain?”

“It wasn’t . . . We never thought they’d come here, and just . . . you were so happy, not remembering. You could grow up and have a life this time. Meet a nice boy. Or girl. Hell, a dozen of each and a fucking toaster if that was what you wanted. But you’re the one that made yourself forget shit, and we figured you had a reason and we shouldn’t fuck with it. Maybe it was wrong, but if we’re guilty of anything, it’s trusting your own subconscious, so if you’re looking to be pissed off at somebody, you better put yourself right at the top of the list.”

Ouch. I pretended to focus on traffic for a little while.

“Sorry.”

“‘Sokay.”

“So, whatever ‘it’ was, it was that bad?”

Garston snorted. “Pardon the old war-dog cliché, but I still wake up screaming some nights, and that’s after decades with a PTSD specialist. See, we got what they call desensitized after a while, so they stepped things up a little at a time. When I remembered, though, it was fifteen years all at once, including the stuff at the end that would’a broke anybody unless they worked their way up to it. The good part is it doesn’t sound like it’s hitting you all at once, and like I said, there’s all that meditation and shit.”

“And I still have no idea what ‘it’ is. Looks like we’ve reached the point where not remembering is more dangerous than remembering, though. Agreed? Make me understand here.”“Eli’s better at this kind of thing than I am. It’ll sound crazy coming from me.”

“I challenge you to top the last couple of hours in the crazy department.”

“Okay. Here goes.” He took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and went for it. “Your Grandpa Eli is a demon hunter who travels between universes by performing a ritual that lets him die and come back in other worlds, and he’s actually your father from your first life. You and I and a bunch of others got taken prisoner by the Shashashkuhun demons—who were working with the Qlippoth demons at the time—when you weren’t quite eight years old. Everybody thought we were dead, but we weren’t. We spent about the next fifteen years as live test subjects for demons, until we finally escaped.”

I pulled onto the interstate. The electric hum of the motor, the tires on the wet road, and the wind buffeting us from outside were the only sounds for a while. The drizzle had picked up into rain, and sandwiched between the black sky and blacker road, I struggled to see through the falling gray that sucked my headlight beams into limbo.

“So. You escaped. We escaped, I mean.”

“Yeah.”

“By doing this death ritual thing.”

“Yeah. We got separated, and you took forever to get here, but one day you just sort of . . . coalesced is the word Eli uses. This perfect, beautiful little baby girl, looking exactly the way you used to. Eli picked you up and held you for the longest time, staring at your face and crying, and I said, ‘See? All the good things you’ve done, your karma finally caught up to you.’ And he said, ‘Yes, she finally has.’”

I drove. And I admit that I sniffled a little.

After a few minutes Garston said, “Well? You gonna say something?”

“This is probably the biggest understatement of the century, but it’s a lot to take in.”

“I warned you.”

“You did.”

Still trying to figure things out, we compared notes on the attacks. When Grandpa and Garston saw the riot footage and couldn’t reach me by phone, they headed to Garston’s truck to come check on me. That was when the demons hit them, about an hour and a half after the attack on the restaurant, roughly twelve-thirty or so, when we were still huddled in the restaurant thinking the monsters were right outside. Knowing all that didn’t help much in the ‘figuring things out’ department, though.

Jayden had been silent most of this time except for helping fill in details of our fight with the slaughter-spider. When I glanced over, he was frowning.

“So,” I said, “Regret getting involved with me yet, or do I need to work on that?”

“You’ll have to work on it. Had a thought, though. I’m still not getting a signal, and . . . ” He clicked on the radio. Nothing but static all the way up and down the dial. He looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding,” I said.

I caught up as close as we dared to the find-me charm, which bought us a few minutes to pull over and search for the jammer. Once we found it, in a waterproof casing fastened to the inside of a rear wheel-well, disabling it was simple. For something a little bigger than a pack of cigarettes, though, it had certainly caused enough trouble.

Jayden took the wheel when we got back on the road so we could run without headlights, thus saving juice and making ourselves stealthier at the same time. Garston made the call. Not just to anybody, but to Malachai Traeger, who doesn’t need a code name because, hey, he’s Malachai fucking Traeger. He might be a sweetheart when he’s not working, but according to local legend, he’s faced down gods. No, that’s not hyperbole. Handy having someone like that as a family friend, especially considering there was no way we could afford him otherwise.

Just knowing that Kai was on the job did wonders for morale, and we whooped triumphantly. Okay, I whooped. Jayden smiled, but for him, that counted. Uncle Garston’s whoop sounded more like, “Would you please shut your mouth while I’m on the phone?” but I claim creative license.

Why wouldn’t we be jubilant? We had a plan, and professionals to carry it out. We had a big head start, but Kai said he’d catch up as soon as he could, and make calls on the way to assemble a small recon team and get someone to the scene of each attack to do forensics. The recon team would figure out exactly what they were up against, and call in extra support as necessary. All we had to do was point the way.

The find-me led, and we followed, with occasional updates to give Kai our route. Once we got out of range of the last cell tower, we dropped emergency reflectors and other expendables at exits and intersections to blaze a trail, and considering we were well into unpatrolled territory at that point, I strapped on Lawson’s body armor just to be safe.

On a sketchily-paved county road at the corner of nowhere and nothing, something pinged the fender, and the front right tire blew with a ‘whump’ like a glove hitting a punching bag, Jayden fought for control and lost, and the world did cartwheels as the car flipped sideways into the ditch, coming to rest halfway down with wheels in the air. Jayden and I extricated ourselves from our seat belts and air bags while I called out to Garston to see if he was okay. He didn’t answer, and when I turned to check on him, he was gone, along with one of the rear doors.

With Jayden’s night vision, it didn’t take long to find Uncle Garston, laying spread-eagled in the bottom of the ditch with his head at an unnatural angle, and wheezing with every breath. I fought back the impulse to throw myself across him the way I had as a little girl, and knelt beside him instead. Jayden understood more quickly than I did what was happening, or maybe just accepted it more readily, and stood silently nearby.

“Least it doesn’t hurt.” Garston said. “Can’t feel shit, to be honest.”

“Kai should be here soon. We’ll get you to a hospital and you’ll be—”

“Come on, K-girl. This ain’t my first body. I know when one’s going.”

I felt like I was six years old again. “You can’t just give up. You’re my Uncle Growly, and you’re tougher than anything, remember?”

“Difference between giving up and knowing when to cut your losses. I need you to do something for me, now. It’s hard, and I don’t want to ask, but—”

“No. No, don’t make me do that again. I can’t.” Again?

“Yes, you can, K-girl. I don’t need the ritual, either, not if it’s quick and clean. If I’m stuck in this body for too much longer it’s over for real, though.”

“I call bullshit. You’re going to hang the fuck on, and that’s all there is to it.” I knew better. But until I admitted it, it wouldn’t be real.

“Karma, I’m asking you to do this because I can’t do it myself. You’ll get past it. Jayden’ll help you with that. I’d ask him, but I know you—even though he’d be saving me, you’d never be able to look at him again and I want better for you than that. So I’m begging you now. Please, do this one last thing for me.”

He coughed, drew in another wheezing breath and coughed again. I ran my fingers over that tangled, salt-and-pepper mess he called a beard and kissed him on the cheek, and after a little bit of struggle, I managed to free the Desert Eagle from its holster and hold it somewhat steadily in both hands.

“L-word, Uncle Growly,” I said.

“Love you, too, K-girl. I’ll be seeing you again.”

Garston closed his eyes. It took me a while, but I pulled the trigger. The big Desert Eagle knocked me on my ass and punched me in both eardrums. I turned my face skyward and howled while the rain sluiced thick, sticky warmth from my face.

And I remembered. Not everything, not even a lot, but enough to begin to understand just how fucked up everything was. To understand why they hadn’t wanted me to remember. Why I had made myself forget. Jayden stood back while I let it out. If he’d put his arms around me or offered any kind of support, I don’t think I could have handled it. He seemed to know that.

Although it’s the worst place to find it, there is strength in pain. Not if you stuff it down or deny it or revel in it, but if you accept the pain as yours. When I was done crying, I used that strength to pull myself from the mud, and hand in hand, Jayden and I helped each other up the slope to the car to assess the damage. Jayden made a frustrated sound beside me, and flipped open his cell phone to show me the bullet hole in the fender.

And that was when I put it together. “Jayden, this isn’t about Grandpa. It never was. This is about me.”

I laid it out for him.

Whoever planned this had learned my routine, knew it would be just me and one other person on Tuesday night, and knew we’d be in the alley with our hands full at some point. The idea was simple. Grab me and get the hell out of there. The spider was never supposed to kill me. But because of the riot, the Plaza had a bunch of extra security, and Jayden and I changed our schedule, so not only were the—call them minions—not all in place, they’d been spotted. Once they’d tipped their hand, they only had a few hours to act, so plan B was to grab Grandpa and use him as bait, leaving Garston alive to come tell me. If they just wanted me dead, why a jammer instead of a bomb, either on the car or in the alley? Or why not a sniper in the alley? And why would someone clever enough to think of making us carry our own jammer not think to look for a find-me charm? They had to have found it, but instead of getting rid of it, they incorporated it into their plan. Then, when we got to where they wanted us to be, they shot out the tire to keep us in place.

There were easier ways to do this. All of it. That someone had gone to all this trouble to show they could outsmart me and pull my strings meant this was something personal, and considering my age when the Shashashkuhun had taken us, it had to be something to do with the prison camp.

It took maybe thirty seconds to explain it all. “So, what do you think?”

“I think my girlfriend is either a brilliant detective or a criminal mastermind. What’s our next move?”

I had no idea.

Garston had brought an extra rifle and plenty of ammo. Jayden and I gathered everything and scrabbled to the edge of the ditch. The tree line was perhaps a hundred yards away on the other wide of the road, but in the darkness it may as well have been miles. I was thankful for Jayden’s eyes.

“I’ve got some movement, but nothing much,” Jayden said “They’re either waiting for their boss, or they just want to make us sweat.”

“Probably the latter,” I said. “We screwed up their plan. Whoever it is, now it’s even more important to show how clever they are. Both for their own ego and to save face. They’re going to want to talk. And gloat. I’ll try to stall them until Kai’s crew gets here. If I say anything horrible that doesn’t sound like the me you know, and I probably will—”

“No, I get it. ‘Words are weapons, sharper than knives.’”

Devil Inside. Now there was an appropriate reference. I nodded. “Just wanted to make sure.”

We watched the tree line in silence for a while. Rather, Jayden watched the tree line. I couldn’t see that far in the dark, so I watched Jayden and tried to stop shivering.

“So,” I said, “Bet you’re wishing you’d stayed at the restaurant about now.”

“No. Gotta admit, though, I normally don’t do the whole monster-fighting thing until the third date. But you’re special.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls who almost get you killed.”

Jayden seemed about to say something when a man’s megaphone-amplified voice shouted across the field. “Karma Rodriguez.”

“It speaks,” I shouted back. “And it knows my name. Should I be impressed?”

“You should remember mine. It’s Brallus. I’m sending over a field phone so you don’t have to shout.”

“Anything that steps out of that tree line dies, Brallus. Especially if it’s carrying something I think might go ‘boom.’” I was already getting hoarse, though. After a quick exchange we determined that both sides had access to walkie talkies, and that Brallus had no need for signal jammers this far from the closest cell tower.

“Alright, Brallus,” I said into the walkie-talkie, “Good people died tonight because of you. If that was supposed to get my attention, it worked.” I wanted to scream at him to give my grandfather back, but if there was any chance at all of that happening, I had to downplay how important he was to me.

“You expect me to believe you’re upset about those native guards?” he said, “What happened to the cold little demon-bitch who whored out her own mother for scraps and special treatment?”

What? Jayden caught my eye, and I shrugged, nonplussed. “You know that’s not how it was. And which of us is working with demons? I could swear that was a Shashashkuhun slaughter-spider I killed a few hours ago.”

“A temporary alliance. And better the Shashashkuhun than monsters like you. See, I know why the Qlippoth’s little experiment worked on you when it killed everybody else they tried it on. You were evil to begin with. That thing they put inside of you wasn’t an invader, it was a soulmate.”

Okay, best not to think about the Qlippoth putting anything inside me for now. Probably something I was better off not remembering. “Brallus, I was a child when they captured me.”

“Captured you? Took you home, you mean. Put you in with the real prisoners to spy on them, and anyone who caught on, you had your followers kill. Then when you and your little band escaped, you left the rest of us there.”

“Okay, do you see the flaw in your logic here? If I was somehow serving the Qlippoth, why would I want or need to escape?”

“How should I know how a demon thinks? After what you did to my brother, I stopped even trying to understand you.”

Riiiiiight. Not like I’d really expected logic to work, anyway. “Look, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No idea? His name was Kolb. You used your powers to seduce him, then had him ripped to pieces when he finally gave in. As if he had a choice. I can still hear him screaming.”

Speaking of screaming, I didn’t need the walkie to hear him at that point. If the idea was to stall, as opposed to goad, I’d better take things down a notch. I keyed the mic, but before I could speak, the world went away. This world, anyway.

The stone is rough against my back, and Kolb has his hand over my mouth. His brother Brallus is supposed to be keeping watch, but he keeps looking at me funny, and he says they shouldn’t do this, but he breathes harder when he looks at me. Kolb thinks I am afraid of them, but I am just waiting for them to make a mistake. When Kolb tries to rip my top off, I bite his hand as hard as I can and knee him between the legs the way Mommy taught me. I still have a piece of his hand in my mouth, and it is gross, but I can’t think about that now. I spit it out and dig my fingernails into his eyes and scream as loud as I can. And then Mommy is there . . . That twisted . . . And he called me a monster? When I could speak again I screamed back hoarsely. “I was nine years old, you sick fuck. I’m glad Kolb is dead. I hope it hurt like hell and took a long, long time, and I’m just sorry they could only do it once. Now give me back my grandfather, you piece of shit, or I swear I will tear you open with my bare hands and feed you your own intestines.”

I was shaking with rage, and when Jayden touched my arm I nearly decked him before I regained control. He raised an eyebrow and indicated the tree line by inclining his head toward it. By the time I followed his eyes, he was already sending arrow after arrow across the field. The Shashashkuhun were attacking. There were at least a dozen or so—I was a little too occupied to count—a mix of slaughter-spiders and more humanoid-looking creatures—slothor, something inside me said—laying down suppressing fire with automatic rifles, but considering what it had taken to kill just one already-wounded slaughter-spider, we were well and truly fucked. So much for Brallus wanting me alive. The only thing to do was go down fighting, but that would probably be quicker and cleaner than whatever Brallus had originally planned. I picked up the AR-15 and took aim, and Jayden lay down his bow and grabbed the other rifle.

“I’m sorry, Jayden,” I shouted. Like sorry would cover this. “They don’t care about you. If you run they might let you go.”

Jayden’s only response was to keep firing. I had to give him the out, even though I knew he wouldn’t take it. Part of me found comfort in knowing he’d be there until the end, and the rest of me hated myself for that.

“I love you,” I yelled above the sound of gunfire. I should have said it months ago, and I might not get a chance to say it later.

“You’d better,” he said as he swapped out magazines, “And I love you, too.” He tried to give me one of those ‘our little secret’ smiles, but failed, and we pretended not to see the fear on each other’s faces. We downed two demons, but although that made them a little more cautious, they were still too tough and healed too quickly. By the time they were thirty yards away, we had only taken one more out of the fight, and were nearly out of ammunition. It would be hand to hand with the remaining ones soon, and realistically speaking, that wouldn’t last very long. We were about to die. The only question was whether we could take any more of them with us.

And that was when our miracle arrived. At first I thought it was more Shashashkuhun, but no, the demons were taking flanking fire from the roadside perpendicular to ours, and a three-wheeler with a sidecar leapt over the adjoining road and sped toward us down the center of the ditch. Malachai Traeger, tall and lean in brown armored leathers and that Boba Fett-looking helmet of his, jumped off the trike before it even came to a full stop, letting it stall out, and a slender Aosidhe woman in ill-fitting rust-colored gear followed from the sidecar, carrying four assault rifles with jungle clips. If I knew Kai, and I did, they’d be loaded with something to give us an edge. She tossed one to Kai on the run, and scrambled up the slope to hand one each to Jayden and me before taking a prone position and firing. She and Kai squeezed off disciplined three-round bursts, and Jayden and I tried to follow suit, focusing on the same targets. The Shashashkuhun didn’t simply fall back or retreat, they scrambled for the tree line. About half of them made it, and the gunfire changed to occasional shots and bursts as targets became less visible.

The Aosidhe woman took off toward the other end of the ditch. Kai waved me a little further down the slope and plopped down next to me, flipping up his faceplate. “Would’ve been here sooner, but someone left a surprise for us. And by the way, that trash can did quite a bit of damage. Not fatal on its own, but more than it should have. Same with the taser.”

“So their weaknesses are aluminum and electricity?”

“Nope. I have a theory about that, but—”

The radio squawked. Brallus wanting to know if I was still there. “Yeah, I’m here, Brallus. You’re down a few troops, though. Seems like this might be a good time for you to surrender.”

“Not when I still have something you want.”

I made sure the mic was off, and explained to Kai what was going on, then asked, “Can your people get to my grandpa?”

“They’re working on it, but we don’t want to put him in any more danger. Stall.”

Along with everything else, Brallus was playing a power game. He couldn’t just tell me what he wanted—He had to make me ask. “Okay, what do you want?”

“You, demon-bitch.” He didn’t speak the words so much as spit them. “Wearing thrice-blessed iron manacles, in a circle of containment. Then I’ll let the old man go.”

What. The. Fuck.

“Traditional anti-demon thing,” Kai whispered. “This is good. Keep him talking.”

“I see a couple of problems with that,” I said. “The first of which is, gee, wouldn’t you know it, Brallus? I’m fresh out of thrice-blessed iron manacles.”

“Funny. I’ll send over the restraints.”

“And what’s to stop you from double-crossing us once you have me?”

“I don’t think you have much choice.”

“Let me talk to him.”

“He’s rather . . . indisposed.”

“Look, do you see the other hole in your logic here? If I’m this evil demon spawn you claim, why would his life mean enough to me to risk my own?”

“I don’t know, nor do I care about your reasons.” Of course. Hadn’t we established earlier that Brallus was immune to logic? “I’ll give you twenty minutes to decide how important he is to you.”

“If you kill him, you lose your leverage.”

“True, but I don’t have to kill him. How do you think he’d like living without his lips? Or maybe his eyelids?”

That was when I knew that no matter what, even if it cost me my own life, I was going to kill that son of a bitch, and anyone who got in my way.—The worst part isn’t what they do to us. It’s what they make us do to each other. I am strapped to the table trying not to cry while my mother stands over me with a hot iron. They give her a choice. She can take over torturing me, or they will burn out my eyes, one at a time. If she still refuses, they will cut out my tongue—but not all at once. They will draw it out. They make it very clear just how long and how horribly they can make me suffer while keeping me alive and awake.—

“You touch one hair on his head, and I’ll make the prison camp seem like Club fucking Med, motherfucker. I’ll . . . ” I don’t even remember the rest of what I screamed into the walkie-talkie at that point, only that my hands were shaking so badly that I dropped it. I was wiping the mud off when Brallus’ voice broke in again.

“I’ll turn this back on in twenty minutes. Have your answer ready.”

Oh, I had an answer for him, all right. I was going to put him in a hole where no one could hear him scream. I was going to cut off his balls and feed them to him. I was going to—

“You know you can’t hand yourself over, don’t you?” Jayden said.

My voice came out harder than I’d intended. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. You think I don’t understand the risk? Would you do it for someone you love?”

Jayden’s voice was quiet when he answered. “You already know the answer to that.”

Oh, smooth. I was bitching at a man who’d proven twice in the past few hours that he’d stand beside me even if it meant dying. I hung my head, blinking. What the fuck? One minute I was ready to kill, the next, I was fighting back tears.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” I said. “It’s just so messed up right now. We started the night being attacked by monsters. And do we run from them like, oh, I don’t know . . . sane people? No, we chase them into an unpatrolled zone like some kind of demon-food delivery service, because yeah, that was bound to turn out well. But what other choice did we have? They took Grandpa and we had to get him back. And Garston . . . I lost one of only two people I consider family tonight—no, correction, I blew his fucking brains out, and I don’t dare even slow down long enough to let myself feel it yet.” I heard my voice rising, felt my control slipping, and I didn’t care. “Apparently my entire family is from some alternate universe, and I’m remembering things from a past life where I was tortured by demons for fifteen years starting when I was eight years old—Let me tell you, it wasn’t a good time. I am this close to completely, absolutely, permanently, and irrevocably losing my fucking shit, and the only reason I haven’t already lost it is that all of this is so utterly bat-shit insane that I can’t even focus enough to go properly crazy. I—”

Jayden knelt and pulled me to him hard, covering my mouth with his in a kiss that, for just that moment, was more real than anything else in existence. Solid and tangible proof of a connection with another human being. One who would support me no matter what the odds. When we broke the kiss Jayden remained, holding me firmly but gently, grounding me.

“I’m sorry,” I managed to say, “I just . . . I’m doing the best I can, but I honestly don’t know how much I have left in me. I’m trying to be strong, but I’m so fucking tired of being strong right now.”

“And you are strong, Karma,” Jayden said. “Just stop taking it all on yourself. Nobody’s that strong.”

Kai shook his head and sighed. “The kid’s right,” he said. “Most people’d be ready for a rubber room after half of what you’ve been through in the past—what’s it been, five hours or so? I’ve been close to the edge myself a couple of times, and I deal with fucked-up shit for a living. No shame in needing somebody to pull you back.”

I swallowed and nodded, and Kai continued. “That said, as much as I don’t want to push you any further, we’ve got a deadline to meet. You gonna be okay?”

There was a question I’d heard before. “Ask me that in a couple of years. But let’s do this.”

“Okay. Give me your hands. I have to check something.” Kai knelt where Jayden had been and took both my hands in his. A familiar, subtle energy, both warm and cool at once, circulated through me. Something in Kai called out to that energy, but it was like the call was in a foreign tongue, a friendly language that I could almost, but not quite, understand. Kai became somehow more real, more solid. I had an impression of immensity, of a bright column of light almost too intense to look at, that feathered outward like three sets of giant wings, and of a voice like singing multi-tonal bells and pipes accompanied by a chorus of beautiful, almost human voices. Kai removed his hands from mine, and the vision faded.

“You’re a—” I started.

Kai cut me off. “Don’t go there, it��s not what you think. I’ll explain later, but for now let’s just say the Quiet World is a hell of a lot bigger than most people think. There are some people who don’t even know they’re Quiet Worlders. Like you.”

I swallowed.

“So what am I?”

“Beats the hell out of me. Not the same as me, but similar enough that I’m betting your power—at least one part of it—works about the same way mine does. At least there’s one thing we can both do.”

“Are you telling me I’m a—”

“I said don’t go there. Now about this power . . . ” After he told me I sat blinking, trying to take it in.

“You’re telling me that I turned a trash can into a holy weapon? And I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth.”

Kai winced. “I wouldn’t put it like that, but basically, yeah. You channel energy into objects, and if something’s got a supernatural weakness, well . . . You’ve seen the results. You’ve already done it unconsciously, and we have about ten minutes to figure out how, so let’s get with it.”

When Brallus came back on the air, I told him I was ready. He sent the more humanoid of the remaining Shashashkuhun across, pulling what looked like an old barn door on makeshift runners, marked with containment circles. Assuming they were specifically keyed to demons, they wouldn’t affect me, nor would the blessings on the restraints. Unfortunately, though, the chains would hold me just like they would anybody else. Brallus insisted I strip down to my bra and panties to make sure I wasn’t hiding a weapon, and while that made sense on one level, it was also creepy, considering. The kind of pseudo-succubus he’d convinced himself I was wouldn’t mind stripping, though, and the idea for now was to play into his expectations.

So I stepped up into the containment circle and made a show of it, shimmying and tossing my head as though dancing to some private, raunchy music—which is a lot harder than you’d think when you’re soaked, and shivering uncontrollably. When I got down to my underthings I ran my hands down my sides, did a little wriggle, and hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties. “Sure you don’t want me to keep going?” The demon eyed me and licked its black lips as it came closer. Gods, I was going to be sick if the thing actually touched me.

At a word from Brallus, it backed away hurriedly, and someone in the tree line fired a warning shot. “No tricks,” Brallus shouted. “You, with the long hair,” meaning Jayden, “Chain her up. And do it right, or the old man suffers.” So far, so good. Part of the plan depended on either Jayden or Kai getting up onto the platform with me.

The cuffs and collar were fastened to a ring in the middle of the platform by chains that wouldn’t allow me to raise myself up past a crouch, and secured by large, medieval-looking padlocks. As Jayden snapped the last lock in place, I lowered my head, ostensibly in defeat, but in reality to hide my smile at the feel of cold metal hidden beneath my foot and the chemical smell in my nostrils. The drizzle hadn’t let up, and would already be diluting the acid, but all the acid had to do was weaken the wood where the ring was bolted.

It took forever for the monster to slog across in the mud pulling me behind it. This would work, I kept telling myself. For the most part I believed it, too. Until Brallus stepped forward, placed his hand on the platform, and spoke an activating word. After that I was too busy screaming to think about much of anything.

When I came to, I was huddled on my side in the fetal position, shivering, in a pool of my own vomit and urine. At least I’d landed on the multi-tool when I fell, keeping it hidden. The air was damp and cold, but a tent kept the rain off of us. Brallus stood nearby with arms folded, glaring at me. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, fairly well-muscled, with close-cropped, thick, dark hair. The overall effect was like someone had brought a G.I. Joe to life. A .45 sat holstered on his right hip, and a coiled whip hung from one wrist by a leather strap.

“Killer turkey sandwich,” I croaked, “No mayo, black coffee, apple pie.”

“You have no idea how difficult it was to treat you like a human being, or to keep my food down while looking at you. And by the way, please try to move again. The outer circle is containment, the inner one is pain, as you’ve already discovered. So sorry your foot was touching it when I turned it on.”

“Kinky. If I were fifteen years younger I bet you’d be creaming yourself. Again.” I tried to keep my voice steady, but I was scared shitless, and trying to hide it from him any way I could.

It wasn’t a good tactic. I barely saw the whip coming in time to take the lash on my arms instead of across my face. It was a half-hearted strike and didn’t quite draw blood, but it stung like hell, and I cried out despite myself. The whip gave me an idea, though; I just wasn’t ready to try it yet.

Brallus was red in the face. “Soaked in holy water. It should have burned you, but I guess that’s just one more mystery we’ll have to solve. Some old friends want to see what makes you tick, and I’m sure they’ll get to the bottom of it. If there’s anything left when they’re finished, you’re mine. Think about that, demon-bitch.”

I thought about it, alright, and I didn’t like the pictures in my head. “What about The General? Did you let him go?”

In answer, Brallus pointed behind me to where Grandpa was tied to a post by his wrists with his head down on his chest. He was breathing, but unconscious. “I’ll release him at a more appropriate time. For now, though,” He pulled a baby monitor—talk about creep factor—from his cargo pocket, switched it on, and set it on top of the nearby field table. “Feel free to scream at me as much as you like. I’ll be listening.”

He muttered what I supposed were instructions to the monster who’d dragged me here, then swaggered out of the tent. Smug bastard. The man demon growled when it looked my way, but immediately averted its many eyes, as though afraid to look directly at me. I guessed Brallus had him convinced that I was dangerous. I took advantage to inspect the pain ward more closely, careful not to move any part of my body over it. I was no expert, but if I was right about it, my idea should work. I wrapped myself around the ring, and worked it back and forth, covering the motion with fake, body-wracking sobs, augmented occasionally with very real dry heaves from the stink of my own fluids, until I’d gotten it as loose as I thought I could by hand.

I was determined to stay alert for a chance to work on it with the multi-tool, but I was at that point of exhaustion where inanimate objects move in the corners of your eyes and normal background noise becomes voices on a far-away radio. The pain and growling in my stomach reminded me that what little I’d eaten in the past few hours was either smeared all over my skin or lay in a noxious pool beneath me, and the last time I’d felt warm or dry seemed like a lifetime ago.

My body finally said, ‘enough,’ and as if my brain was trying to convince me to stop fighting sleep, I could almost hear a lullaby in a woman’s soft mezzo-soprano, familiar and comforting. I held the song against myself and let it pull me down into the welcome dark.

I couldn’t have been out for more than a few minutes, but when I opened my eyes, the demon guard’s misshapen head lolled to one side in sleep. It had to be a trick, I thought at first, but then again, we’d left Brallus short-handed, and who knew how much it took out of these things to heal as quickly as they did?

I turned at a low hiss from Grandpa. He winked at me and wiggled the end of the rope. He’d gotten loose, but held it in place to make it look as though his hands were still bound. Thanks to the baby monitor, we didn’t dare speak, but I managed to pantomime my idea, and urged him to escape. He frowned and shook his head no. I hadn’t really expected him to leave me there, any more than I’d have left him or . . . Gods, I didn’t want to tell him about Uncle Garston. I set to work with the multi-tool, digging around the ring to which my chains were attached. Once I got it out I replaced it, took a deep breath, and with an encouraging look from Grandpa, got ready to put on another act.

“Brallus,” I said toward the monitor. The demon guarding me jerked its head up, awake, but other than that, nothing. “Brallus! Please, I’m cold, and I’m hungry, and I know you don’t care about that, but I’ll tell you things you want to know. All I want is a blanket and some food. I’ll cooperate. I didn’t know how bad it would be without my power.”

Still nothing.

“This body’s getting weaker. It’ll get sick. What if it dies? What then? All this for nothing?”

Something rustled outside, and Brallus entered the tent glowering. He spoke a few words to the demon in an ugly language, and the beast left. I did my best to look small and pitiful and afraid. The afraid part wasn’t hard, and I figured that being scared at least meant I was still sane.

“I sent it for food, water, and blankets. I’ll have it bring them in once we’re done here.”

I bowed my head, doing my best ‘humbled prisoner’ act, and reminded myself that as long as those wards were active I’d be unconscious from pain before I could get my hands around Brallus’ throat. “Thank you,” I mumbled.

“Don’t thank me. I’d rather watch you suffer.”

I bit my lip. Have to play this just right. I couldn’t have him get pissed and walk away. I needed to get hold of that whip.

I kept my head bowed. “I know. But I’ll keep my end. I’ll tell you everything.”

“And how would I know it was the truth?”

“Because my best chance of survival, or at least a quick death, is to cooperate.”

The best lies contain at least partial truths, and I sprinkled in just enough to make things sound plausible, given that there was no way he’d accept the unvarnished version. Some things I had to blatantly fabricate, though. For instance, I claimed that the riot and Grandpa were both parts of long-term plans to gain power in this world, and that when I agreed to trade myself I did so thinking that Brallus couldn’t hold me (that part was true) and I’d have my pawn back for free. After a few minutes, it was time to bait my hook. With head hung low, I offered to tell the truth about what I had done to his brother, and said that I’d write a confession. He bit, and I started reeling him in.

Another thing about lies. People will buy into almost anything as long as it confirms what they want to believe, and unless I had seriously misunderstood Brallus’ expression when his brother was trying to molest me, Brallus’ tastes ran similar to Kolb’s.

So I spun a Lolita story that would have made Nabokov proud. Although I barely kept from gagging as I did it, I confirmed all the lies people like Brallus and Kolb tell themselves so they can sleep at night, and credited myself demonic powers to further absolve Kolb of responsibility. Brallus’ breathing quickened, and every so often he’d unconsciously moisten his lips with his tongue. Yeah, I know. Makes you want to throw up, doesn’t it?

“And you’d write this out as a confession?” he asked.

I hung my head. “With witnesses, if you want, to prove I wasn’t coerced.”

He steepled his hands and sat watching me. “You know this doesn’t change anything.”

“I know. Still, I was hoping maybe . . . ”

I let the pause hang there until he prompted me. “I knew you’d have an ulterior motive. You were hoping what? That I’d unchain you and let you go?”

I shook my head. “No, just that if I cooperated and told you everything you wanted to know, maybe you wouldn’t turn me over to them.” I wasn’t even sure who ‘they’ were, but I assumed the higher-ups in the Shashashkuhun hierarchy.

“That’s out of my hands.”

“No, you can convince them. And you can . . . use me any way you want.” Emphasis on the ‘use.’ And then, for the bit that would set me free. “And if this body doesn’t please you, I could help you find young girls, like I was back then. Boys, too, if you want them. I could make them either submit or fight back, whichever excites you more.”

His face went slack and pale. The last thing people in denial want is to have their proclivities thrown in their face. “You. Dare.” Brallus stood and unfurled the whip. I crouched and threw my hands in front of me as though cowering, but as the whip wrapped around my forearms and bit into them, I grabbed and pulled. Brallus teetered, off-balance, but didn’t fall. We played tug-of-war, and Brallus was winning until Grandpa threw himself at Brallus’ back and knocked him across his own wards.

The wards flashed with electricity, and Brallus screamed, convulsed, and passed out. I used his body as a bridge to get out of the containment circle, then Grandpa grabbed his sidearm and his keys. Grandpa offered me the .45, but I waved it away in favor of the keys, and told him to deactivate the find-me charm—which would signal Kai and his group to attack. I should have taken the gun and put a bullet into Brallus’ head, but I wanted him awake and alert when I killed him. As I finished with the locks, scrambling noises outside said that at least one demon was on the way back to the tent. I grasped the chains that had held me and swung them in a slow, but accelerating circle while I used what Kai and I had discovered about my power to infuse them with what energy I could.

When tall, dark and revolting poked its ugly head into the tent, I swung my chains with everything I had, and sent it staggering back. The power in the chains flashed, then diminished, but did not completely fade, and the demon’s face blackened across its eyes where I’d hit it. I swung again and again while Grandpa flanked it with Brallus’ .45. On my third blow, the demon’s skull cracked open, spattering me with blood and brains.

Gunfire and other battle noises announced the arrival of our allies, and by the time I’d secured Brallus and stepped out of the tent, the fighting was over. Filthy as I was, I threw my arms around Grandpa’s neck, telling him how much I’d missed him, how worried I’d been, and babbling about Jayden.

Grandpa looked away, with sad eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not your grandfather.”

“I know. Uncle Garston told me. Dad.” I grinned.

“You don’t understand. I mean—”

I heard movement behind me, and turned to see Brallus low-crawling toward the tent flap to escape.

Reunions would have to wait. I ran toward Brallus swinging my chains, and opened a gash across his back with the bolt end of the connecting ring. He bellowed and fell forward, and I went to work on him. Not his head, though. That would be too quick. This man had killed my friends, kidnapped and tortured my father, forced me to kill the other man I thought of as a parent, and those were only the tip of the mountain of things he had to answer for. He rolled onto his back snarling and tried to catch the chain, and got a broken arm for his trouble. He succeeded in pulling me off balance, but I don’t think me landing with my knee in his solar plexus was the result he was going for. While he gasped for breath, stunned, I raised my arms into the air and smashed a double fistful of chain into his face.

Once he was unconscious I let up, simply because it wasn’t as satisfying to hit him when he couldn’t feel it. I wanted to kill him. I wanted it more than I could remember ever wanting anything. But I didn’t. No, not because of some cliché like, ‘he wasn’t worth it,’ or, ‘that would be stooping to his level.’ Oh, hell, no. I could have killed him and slept the sleep of the just, but it came down to a question of practicality. I had questions for the bastard, and if I killed him, I’d never get the answers. I left him to Kai’s tender mercies for the time being.

One of the proxies loaned us a vehicle to get back to civilization, and Jayden and I set out to find where Grandpa-slash-Dad had gotten to. The drizzle had become a downpour by the time we found him on the side of the road staring at the spot where Garston had died. Correction: where I had killed him. I stuffed that thought down as best I could. Kai’s cohorts had already removed the body, but someone must have told him. I didn’t know whether to feel relieved that I didn’t have to break the news, or guilty that he’d had to hear it from someone else. I finally decided on feeling guilty about feeling relieved. Jayden kissed me—yes, vomit and all—and said he’d be close by, then wandered off to give my grandfather and me some time alone.

I stood behind Grandpa and put my hand on his shoulder. I didn’t know what to say, or even whether to call him Grandpa or Dad, so I didn’t say anything. After thirty seconds or so, he broke the silence, and I didn’t think I’d ever heard him sound so frail or tired.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so, so sorry. I thought I could get Eli back, but then I was . . . He’s in here somewhere, but he’s buried deep.”

My stomach dropped, and my spine turned to ice. I backed away, drawing my nine millimeter, pointing it at the back of his head and thumbing the safety off. “Who are you? What are you? And what the fuck are you doing in my grandfather?”

“I—Nobody. Just another prisoner. Someone who tried to save everybody and failed. You did great, though. Saved everybody I couldn’t, including yourself. Including me. I’ll keep this body alive long enough to get it to a hospital, and then I’ll leave you all in peace.”

I lowered my weapon. “What do I call you?”

He turned toward me, and I averted my eyes to avoid seeing someone else behind that face. “I won’t be around long enough to need a name.”

There was nothing left but to go home. I took the wheel, with Not-Grandpa in the passenger seat and Jayden in the back. In the enclosed space, all the things I hadn’t been able to wash off hit me square in the face. That window had to come down, freezing rain or no. I eased us back to pavement, and then opened up full throttle, trying to outrun my own thoughts.

Nothing. It was all for nothing. I’d failed, utterly and completely, and as if to prove there was no justice in the universe, I was still alive—Then again, maybe there was justice after all. Maybe surviving was part of my punishment.

Which brings me to my laughing-slash-crying jag at the side of the road. The car was too confining, so I drove to the nearest rest stop, got out and walked to a covered picnic table. After a few minutes, Jayden joined me. As he’d already shown, he had a good feel for when to approach me and when to leave me alone.

“I was talking to, uh . . . ” He gestured toward the car.

“I’ve been thinking of him as ‘Not-Grandpa,’ for lack of anything better. And look, I already know I’m not giving him a fair shake. I can’t help it. And yes, I know we should try to help him find another—”

“About that. I know the whole deduction thing is your territory, but as the Watson to your Holmes, I figure I can come up with something once in a while, too.”

“Okay, spill, Watson.”

“Under one condition.”

At Jayden’s insistence, I gave myself a sponge-bath in the ladies’ room while he rinsed my clothes and laid out his thoughts and conclusions the way I’d done with him earlier. When he finished, I stood literally open-mouthed for probably a full minute, letting it sink in. If my power was, as Kai thought, something like his, there was one way to see if Jayden was right.

“Go on,” he said. “I’ll wait here for a little while.” Seemed like that boy spent a lot of time waiting for me. Then again, we’d waited almost two years for each other, so we should’ve been used to it by then.

Back at the car I took Not-Grandpa’s hands, over his objections, and focused on finding that same energy I’d felt with Kai.

There were no heavenly choirs, no columns of light. Just a face. Layers of faces, actually. The first one was a facade, the peak of a bearded mountain named Garston. Behind that one was a woman’s face, with long, dark hair, and eyes like mine. A face from another life. My mother.

Although it was Grandpa’s body in front of me, it was still my mother’s face I saw superimposed upon it. She turned away from me, crying. I was almost too stunned to form words, and my mouth opened and closed several times before I could make anything come out. “Mom?” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I—” she started, but a huge sob cut her off, and for a while, we just held each other and cried.

So much for this all being for nothing.

Maybe we all got what we deserved in the end, after all. We’ll be a family again for the first time in nearly two lifetimes, once we get Dad back from wherever inside himself he's hiding out and find Mom a new body (no idea how we're going to do that, but I have some ideas). Jayden got me, and at the risk of blowing my own horn, I’m not such a bad catch. The patrol officers—after everything I’d seen, I couldn’t believe that death was the end for them. Me, not only was I getting my family back, along with some sort of as-yet-unexplained superpowers, but also quite possibly the most fantastic guy in this or any other universe. I don’t know what I did to deserve any of it, but it must have been something pretty awesome. So even if it sounds corny—and I know it does…

I’m going to call it karma.

#my writing #urban fantasy #hopepunk #writing #karma #quiet world #my fiction #cosmic horror #new day same boulder

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