#i lost muse for him SO freakin fast

[fitzs-trained-monkey]

Chapter Thirty-Four: The Revelation

Rated PG-13 For mentions of abuse, trigger topics such as suicidal thoughts, torture, language, and kidnaping.

Masterlist

~I am not the only traveler

And then I can tell myself

I had all and then most of you

When the night was full of terrors

There aren't very many things worse than watching one's little brother die. I think the only thing worse than that is enduring it twice. I had already had to watch Jasper be slaughtered like a pig in front of me. Wasn't that torture enough for a lifetime? Was having to salt and burn my own brother the universe's twisted idea of a joke? This wasn't funny!

What kind of cruel world was I living in? Why did my last words to my precious little brother have to be empty promises? How was that okay? Jasper would spend the rest of eternity waiting for me to show up, tell him my stories, and tuck him into bed, but I never would. Because if I lived, I would be stuck down here on this awful planet, reliving the same day over and over and over again. And if the Winchester's decided to kill me when they found out what I was, then I wouldn't be going to heaven. I already knew where I would go. It wasn't anywhere good.

Well, if my life was a joke then I hoped at least somebody was getting a kick out of it.

I knew I wasn't.

From the top of the stairs, I heard Sam, Dean, and Cas open the sliding glass door and shuffle outside. Jack firmly insisted on staying here. He probably thought he should stay in case I ' needed him ' for comfort or something.

'Well, joke's on you, puppy, cause I don't need anyone.' I thought, bitterly. I traveled down the dark hallway to my room, the one with the plain white door all the way down on the end. The door opened with a soft click and squeaky hinges and I kicked it shut behind me.

My room was exactly how I had left it. Not a single thing was out of place. Of course, it was about as far away from immaculate as anything can get. There were pieces of paper strewn all over the desk, plenty of wadded-up sketches in the trash can and even more outside the trash, pencils were left in strange places, and mix-matched fairy-lights draped over  way  too many things. Miscellaneous articles of clothing were draped over a chair, clustered around the laundry basket, crumpled on the bed, and a few were even hanging from the doorframe of the closet. The bed wasn't made, the blankets and sheets hopelessly tangled together and there was an atrocious number of glow-in-the-dark stars glued to the roof. Oh, and let us not forget the rainbow-colored streamers hanging from the ceiling fan, so really everything was just an absolute mess.

But it was a comforting mess and that's how that girl who used to be me had lived. She had been a scatterbrained, messy-haired, and bright-eyed sort of girl, she'd had so much potential. That girl could have great. Her mess comforted me too. Maybe she wasn't as dead as I'd thought.

"Well, I'm just about done with this whole damn popsicle-stand of existence. You?" Isaac asked, sounding more dead than he looked.

"Done," I agreed. "So, so done."

I flopped down on my already messy bed, staring up at the tacky stars on the ceiling while I tried to come to terms with the fact that I'd never see my little brother again. I couldn't feel the prickling of tears forming in my eyes. I guess I'd run all out of tears to cry. Lucky me. I felt like throwing up.

"Should we go down fighting or give up and roll over? What say you?" Isaac collapsed at the foot of my bed.

"What's the point in fighting?" I asked, shaking my head.

"Dunno." He shrugged. "Frequent flyer miles?"

"So... Nothing?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

Maybe I would just attack the Winchesters once I tore Felix to sheds. Maybe they wouldn't kill me fast. Maybe they'd make me suffer. Then maybe I could cry like I was supposed to.

I had hardly been debating those thoughts for a minute when I heard footsteps pounding up the stairs. Oh, joy. Five minutes of peace was all I'd asked for and apparently I couldn't even get that. Screw my life.

The door flew open with an overly dramatic bang but I didn't flinch. Jack stood in the doorway, eyes alight like molten gold. I turned my head lazily to face him, aware of my void expression but ultimately indifferent to it. I couldn't even bring myself to act like the fake version of myself I had made to fool the Winchesters. I felt oddly numb like nothing mattered. Because honestly, what did? Not even getting my revenge on Felix would change anything. Things wouldn't get better, my life would still suck to an astronomical degree, and this whole stupid world would just keep turning like it always did. Getting revenge was just self-indulgence, really. So what if Jack saw the real me for a couple of hours?

With luck, I'd be dead by morning.

With luck, he'd be the one to kill me.

I deserved it.

"Welcome to the year Nineteen-Thirty, puppy. What do you want?" I addressed him. My tone was clipped, calloused, and cold, but I didn't care.

Jack's eyes were glowing and the air was charged with his power; it made my hair stand on end and my ears hurt like when a plane takes off. Yet, oddly enough, if there and been one in my hand, I would have been swirling chocolate milk in a wine glass for all I'd cared.

Jack didn't answer me. His mouth opened and closed and opened and closed. There was something in his eyes, something akin to desperation. He knew what he wanted to say but the words died in his throat.

"You deaf, honey-bug?" I lifted an eyebrow and took an actual glance at his expression. He didn't look angry. He looked...

Terrified.

And shocked.

And torn.

And betrayed.

I did this. It was me. I had hurt him.

His hands clutched an object tightly between them with enough force to turn his knuckles white. It was a picture frame. I caught a glimpse of the picture within; it had been taken two weeks to the day I'd died. I looked back up to his eyes.

Ah, yes. There it was. The recognition. What a clever, clever boy.

He'd finally put all the pieces together.

'Well, good for him.'

"Uh, oh spaghetti-oh's; looks like the Nephil knows," Isaac droned from the foot of my bed.

"What are you?" Jack asked, his voice trembling. He blinked back tears, biting down on his lower lip to keep it from trembling.

I blinked, feeling sick. I didn't want to lose him, I realized. As much as the bitterness inside me tempted me to bite into him and taste his sweet blood or tell him the truth and watch him squirm just for a distraction from the pain, I couldn't. Because then I'd lose him. I didn't want to lose him. I'd already lost Jazzy today for the second time, I couldn't lose Jack too.

Isaac turned to me, his expression as empty as mine. "Ya gonna tell him?"

"I am Miss. Nidsbit," I answered, flatly. It was supposed to sound friendly like I was teasing, but it only came off as evasive. Jack glared at me. It was already happening; I was already losing him. I guess I deserved that much.

"Don't joke," He said.

"I thought it was hilarious," Isaac chimed.

"In that case, I'm bottled-depression." I flashed my teeth in a way that held no joy whatsoever. "Pint-sized for your convenience," I added, trying for a familiar joke about my height. It sounded empty.

"That was better," My brother snickered, leaning back and closing his eyes. He was probably just going to keep making sarcastic jabs in an attempt to vent his anger, so I ignored him.

"I asked you a question," Jack growled in a way that somehow managed to be threatening despite the whole baby-face puppy-eyed thing he had going on. It was actually kinda hot... Wait, what? When had that happened?

"And I answered you." I sat up. Why did I sound so bitter? Why couldn't I change it? My eyes flicked down to Jack's throat without my permission. His skin looked so soft and I realized I was suddenly famished. My throat burned and desire reared its ugly head inside me. Isaac's voice snapped my attention back to reality.

"Oh dear, Marty. You made the Nephil sniffle."

Jack clenched his teeth and hissed, seemingly bothered by the fact that I wasn't afraid of him. He wouldn't hurt me, right? No, he would. He would hurt me if he knew. If he knew what I wanted to do to him. I wanted him to hold me as he had a few days ago but I wanted to sink my teeth into him at the same time. I deserved to die.

"What are you?" He repeated, taking a step forward. He would hurt me. Good.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I replied, my voice inflectionless. Wandering towards my dresser I started fiddling with some meaningless piece of junk. Anything for a distraction from his soft throat and thrumming pulse. Jack's glowing eyes followed me.

"Y-you're lying," He said. He was trying to sound strong, but there was something broken in his tone.

"Ya think?" I deadpanned. Jack swallowed thickly; his hand shot out to grab my wrist, eyes fading back to their soft blue.

"This isn't funny, Marty. Stop." His eyes pleaded with me. I eyed his hand.

"Or what?" I challenged. What would he do to me? He looked me in the eyes, frowning and moving closer to me. He needed to step away. I caught my gaze drifting to his neck again but I couldn't stop.

"I really don't want to hurt you," He said.

'Then don't make me tell you.' I thought. His eyes searched my face for any glimpse of his friend, but that girl had never been real, not really anyway. I had made her up.

I wished I could go back in time. Back to the night we met. We could do it all over again and maybe, if I had another chance, he wouldn't figure it out. Maybe it would've been better if I'd never come with Jack in the first place. I wished we could go back to the night we met. Then I could have said no. If I hadn't come with him, I never would have hurt Jack like this. If he had never touched me then I would never have had to feel this pain. If I could just go back.

"And you won't," I said, taking a chance.

Jack huffed, his expression pained.

"This is freakin' five-star entertainment," Isaac mused, resting his chin on his fist, observing Jack and me.

"Please, Marty," Jack begged in a whisper. His sweet-smelling breath was warm as it washed over my face. His eyes flicked down to my lips but only for a split second. No, no. Anything but that. "Just tell me the truth."

'You already know it.'

"I have," I lied. Everything kept coming out wrong! I sounded emotionless like I didn't care but I did! Jack's soft expression melted into one of betrayal.

"So, you're just going to lie?" He asked. "Right to my face?"

I didn't have control over what slipped from my lips next.

"Says the Devil's kid."

"Ooh! One point to the Marty!" Isaac laughed.

Jack stared at me like he was heartbroken. Then his eyes narrowed into a glare, lighting with gold as he released my wrist and moved his hand to seize my throat. He whirled us around and slammed me into a wall with more force than I'm sure than he intended to use. Not that I couldn't take it. Without so much as a flinch, I tilted my head as much as I could with Jack cutting off my air supply.

"Tell me what you are!" He shouted. There was desperation there.

"That's quite the grip ya got there, puppy," I taunted, rasping. He loosened his grip but only slightly, holding the picture of my family up for me to see, the corner was dated January 8th, 2014.

"You said they died five years ago. This picture- it was taken five years ago! You said you were nine then! But y-you - you weren't!" Jack's eyes were wide, almost crazed as he glanced from the girl in the picture and back to me. He knew the truth; he just didn't want to believe it. His voice softened. "You haven't aged a day. Five years and you haven't aged a day."

My voice was soft and it wasn't just from the lack of air. "I aged about a month, actually."

Jack let go of my throat like I was burning him, shaking his head as he backed away like a frightened animal. As well he should. He was the prey here and I did want to kill him. But I wanted him to hold me again even more. "Y-you're one of them..." He whispered.

'Don't leave me. I'm sorry, just don't leave me!' I thought desperately, but that wasn't what came out. I felt trapped in my own skin, the monster inside me taking over, fed by my own bitterness.

"I'd say something along the lines of 'say it out loud' but I'm pretty sure that would have copywrite issues," I said, shrugging and moving back to sit on my bed. Jack watched me carefully.

"Felix - h-he turned you. He made you just like him - a vampire... You're a monster!" He spat the word like it was snake-venom.

And it hurt. It hurt so freaking bad. It was like I had lodged a knife in my own chest years ago and now Jack was twisting it.

'I know I am.' I wanted to say.

"Well that's a harsh way of putting it. But I've been called worse." I brushed it off like I didn't care like it wasn't that deep like I wasn't  bleeding  to tell him how sorry I was. I lowered my head in shame.

"I-I have to tell Sam and Dean," Jack said, shifting onto the balls of his feet, edging towards the door. He was going to make a run for it. Suddenly, I was in control of my body again.

I couldn't let him. I needed more time. I needed to beat Felix first and then they could all find out. I had to fix this. I could still fix this.

I had made Jack forget once.

I could do it again.

I would take us back in time. Before he knew. Make everything right. Take us back to the night we met.

He had to forget.

"I can't let you do that," I spoke softly, my gaze still focused on my feet.

"Are you going to try to kill me?" He asked accusingly.

"No." I shook my head. No, I could never kill him. I was too selfish for that. He deserved someone so much better than me. But I loved him.

"Then what are you going to do?" Jack shifted closer to the exit.

"Isaac," I glanced at my brother out of the corner of my eye. Jack stiffened, his eyes snapping to where mine went. "Get the door."

"On it!" Isaac said, overly eager. Jack bolted but he was too slow. My brother flicked his wrist and the door swung closed with a click. Jack swallowed thickly and glanced back to me, fear filling his features. I knew what he was going to try next.

'This is necessary. One day I'll be sorry.'

"His wings," I said to Isaac, my voice breaking. Isaac grinned widely and reached out, making a pinching motion. Jack froze in a panic, then he clenched his eyes shut groaning as Isaac twisted his hands just a bit.

"Can I rip 'em off?" He asked, basking in the Nephilim's pain.

"Isaac, no!"

"Oh, come on," He twisted his hands even more and Jack cried out, his innocent face twisting in agony. "Just a little?"

"Stop! Just-" I sighed. "Please, don't hurt him, Isaac. Just keep him still, please."

Isaac rolled his eyes. "Oh, fine!" He let go and Jack fell to the ground, panting and shaking. He did his best to get to his feet but Isaac flung him into a wall, pinning him there. "Go ahead and Obliviate the simp."

I stood and stepped towards Jack, slowly and carefully, trying not to scare him any more than I had. I could tell he was trying desperately to move but Isaac was too strong.

"What are you going to do?" Jack demanded, trying to hide the fear in his voice. "Are you going to drink my blood?!"

I froze.

Because I could. Then, I could make him forget.

I glanced at his throat. My fangs ached to come out - to bite.  I could imagine what it might feel like to bury my teeth in that soft, delicious-smelling skin. I could imagine what he might taste like. He'd be sweet like candy. I could be gentle! Maybe if he could somehow understand how badly I needed him then he'd let me. And he heals fast so he'd be okay.

But he wouldn't understand. And I wanted him to hold me again.

I just wanted Jack to hold me again.

"No," I said. I plucked the picture frame from his hands, gazing at the smiles of my family for a moment. I looked up, trying to smile despite the ache of grief and guilt in my chest. "I'm going to need you to forget this."

"I wish I could," Jack said, glaring at the floor. He couldn't even look at me. He couldn't even look.

I nodded. "You will."

"W-what?"

I sighed and moved over to the window. The crisp breeze blew in from the sea as I threw it open, the curtains billowing like vicious barking dogs on a leash. It was a long way down to the black rocks where the land met the ocean. I dropped the picture and watched it tumble until it smashed into the rocks, shattering that perfect picture frame, shattering my picture-perfect family into a million pieces.

"I can make you forget," I told him, over my shoulder. "Take us back to the night we met." The power inside me trilled with excitement; it wanted Jack, it craved him. Or maybe that was just the monster I was, begging to be unleashed. I turned away from the window, closing it as I did.

"What do you mean?" He asked cautiously. He was scared. He was  so  scared.

"I'm going to talk to you, and then you're going to forget, and everything will be back to the way it was." I would fix this. His arms would be around me as soon as I fixed this and everything would be okay. I hung my head and let the power inside me launch forward and wrap itself like chains around my Nephilim. I could feel his light, his grace, fighting back but it had nothing substantial to fight. My power wasn't physical, I just imagined it being so.

"No! W-wait!" Jack watched me with dread, beginning to feel the effects of what I was doing to him. I was locking his memories away, locking him up in his own head. But I had to. Because he wouldn't understand and I needed him.

"I have to do this," I whispered, digging my mental claws in deeper.

"Stop," He gasped, beginning to tremble with effort, "Whatever you're doing, just stop!"

"I can't stop, Jack. I'm sorry, but I just need a little more time," I said, gently. "Four moves and I win."

"Four moves..." He mumbled to himself, his brows furrowing, "Four moves? I-I've heard that before. Where have I heard that before?" Then he groaned and squeezed his eyes shut again.

"Please, just forget. I need you to forget."

'I need you to hold me again.'

"Get out of my head!" Jack's voice rose with panic. He flinched away from me as much as he could but Isaac kept him pinned and helpless.

"I'm gonna make everything okay again. I promise." I fought harder against him, willing my power to work faster. Jack moaned and I glanced up to see his face contorted with pain.

"Please!" He begged me, grimacing, "Please, stop! Marty, please. It hurts." I tried harder, and a choked sob escaped his throat. "Marty, please! It hurts! It hurts! You have to stop! Please!"

"I wish you hadn't found out, Jack, and one day I'll be sorry about this."

"Wait. Wait, no!"

I pushed my power harder than I ever had before.

A horrifying scream of pure agony ripped from Jack's throat. But the walls of this house were built to withstand hurricanes. I was the only one who could hear him. With one last burst of effort, I overpowered the walls of his grace and my power flooded his mind, wiping away any memories of what I was. His scream faltered into groans and those softened into whimpers and Jack's body went limp.

Isaac let go and the Nephilim collapsed but I caught him before his head hit the floor. Carding my fingers through his hair, I pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Picking him up, I carried him to my bed and laid him there. He weighed more than I did, obviously, but he didn't feel very heavy to me. I laid down beside him, hugging him around the middle and pressing my face into his chest.

Then I finally cried.

"I hope you can forgive me before I'm sorry. Because I'm a liar and don't think I'll ever really regret this."

***

"You hear something?" Sam asked, perking up. Castiel sat dutifully on a large black bolder, watching the house. The angel flicked his eyes to Sam and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head before focusing back on the house.

"Hm? Uh, no." Dean hardly spared a glance. He was too busy drawing inappropriate words in the sand with his foot. Sam frowned.

"Weird." He shook his head, swallowing thickly as he paced back and forth across the moonlit sand.

"Martina threw a picture frame from her window and it shattered against the rocks approximately sixty-two feet south-east of where you are standing," Castiel informed him, "Perhaps that's what you heard."

Sam shook his head again, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"No, no. It, uh, it wasn't that. I just- I-I coulda' sworn I heard someone..." He trailed off. 'Scream,' He wanted to say. The sound had been like a phantom pain; intense yet insubstantial.

'Just like the visions...' Sam thought. But no. That wasn't possible. He hadn't had a vision or any manifestation of psychic abilities for going on twelve years! He was probably just imagining things. Sam pushed the thought away as soon as it had come. It was impossible... Right?

Yet still, his eyes wandered to the window on the upstairs floor of the dark house; the only window with a slim shaft of light peaking through the curtains. Because what if...

No .

No. Everything was fine, Jack would have alerted them if there was any danger - or at least - the brothers and their angel would've been able to see if Jack thought there was any danger. Judging by the lack of explosions, Sam could assume that everything was fine.

There was no trap here after all. Although, if he thought about it, that may have been the trap in itself. That monster called Felix had lured Marty back here to relive the most painful day of her life. There had been no vamps waiting to do her any physical harm, but Felix didn't need them to. He just wanted that poor, sweet, little girl to hurt.

And, boy was she hurting.

Sam knew how it felt to lose a brother. He knew how it felt to watch his brother die twice. Hell! Sam had watched Dean die more than one hundred times on the one hundred worst Tuesdays of his life. It had made him feel empty inside - hollow. Like somebody had scraped out everything inside of him, the good and the bad, and had left an utter nothingness in its place. And in the face of all that nothing, fear had gripped Sam's heart like a vice. Fear of that emptiness - of all the unspeakable things it made him willing to do. Sam had been willing - eager even - to do whatever it took if it meant filling that awful hole inside of him.

That was what scared him. It was that ruthlessness. It was that titanium will he'd always shied away from. It was when he'd looked into a mirror and seen John Winchester staring back at him. Deep down, that was what both Sam and Dean had always feared the most. Becoming their father. Becoming the shell of a man that had raised them.

Sam could see the beginnings of a similar shell-forming in Martina. He had seen it when they'd rescued her from that shed the week before. Her shell wasn't made of hate like John's had been - not completely at least. Marty's shell had come from grief and fear. She was just trying to hide; both from Felix and from the shell of a person that she was becoming. Jack had told Sam about Marty's memory gaps - about how she couldn't remember what had happened in the shed after she had left. Sam knew that traumatized people tend to blot things out, it was common. But things like the shed and her return to her childhood home could only serve to send Marty further into her shell.

And the last thing the world needed was another John Winchester.

"These kids were livin' a dream, aye Sammy?"

Sam frowned as Dean's mumbled words knocked him from his train of thought. "H-how do you mean?"

"I mean, look! They had everything!" He said, gesturing from the white sand of the beach to the black rocks to the brine woods. His tone and expression grew sober. "Just like a little fairy-tale. And, I mean, three psychics? Those kids - they had a lotta' potential. So smart and talented and now..." Dean trailed off with a frown.

"Yeah..." Sam quietly agreed. Dean turned to his brother with a pensive expression.

"Got me thinkin', maybe-" He sighed. It was hard for him to say and he didn't want to say it. Even though Dean knew that Marty was capable of more than she seemed and that she could affect his emotions, he didn't really care.

Well, he did  care . Dean hated people screwing with his head or his feelings, period. But somehow Marty was different. He didn't really care to admit it, but Dean had always wanted a daughter. A sweet soul he could love and care for but definitely, with a badass side, he could bestow his knowledge upon. Claire was a close as he had gotten but she had already grown up and she didn't want his help. To Claire, Dean was only a painful reminder of all she'd lost.

And, of course, there was Emma.

But Dean didn't like to think about her.

Thinking about Emma was too painful.

But Marty was still young, and she didn't see Dean the way Clair did. Marty looked at Dean with hope in her eyes and he desperately wanted to keep it that way.

Jack had used to look at him that way. Jack didn't look at him like that anymore.

Because Dean had messed up with Jack. He could admit that now. He'd messed up and he'd messed up bad. Things had gotten better between them; little by little over time. But Jack hadn't even been five days old when Dean had promised to take his life. After that, Jack had only watched Dean with fear. Not hope. Just sheer friggin' terror on his face whenever the elder Winchester walked into the room. And though things had gotten better, they'd always have that promise between them.

That promise from the night when if Dean had only been a better person he could have made things better and not worse like he always did. (Because he was always making things worse. Always too selfish. Always screwing things up. Always getting people hurt. It was always him, always his fault.) Dean could've snatched that knife from Jack's hands and told him it was going to be alright even if it didn't seem like it would be. And Dean could've given the kid the kind of hug he should've been given the day he was born; a father's hug, just like Castiel would have given him if he'd been alive to do it. Because that was Cas's son. That was Cas's kid! Oh, God... Cas... How could Dean have let his best friend down so horribly? Cas, who had given everything up for him and his brother. Cas had saved them time and time again at his own expense. Cas, who would bleed every drop of blood he had with a smile on his face, all in the name of the Winchesters. How could Dean have betrayed him like that? It wasn't enough for Dean to just let the angel die!  (It was Dean's fault, of course. It always was. How couldn't it be? He could have prevented it. If he'd just been a little faster or a little smarter.) No, he had to go and tear that innocent kid to pieces just cause he was sad. (So, selfish. How could he be so selfish? Why was he always so selfish?) Cas had trusted Dean with his son and Dean had repaid him with the promise to take Jack's life. No wonder Jack still could hardly bear to look Dean in the eyes. How could he? Dean wasn't meant to be a father to anyone. He was too frickin' selfish for that.

But this time, things would be different. This time around, Dean would be different - he would be better. For once in his life, he would be selfless and he'd do the right thing even if it possibly meant giving up his only chance to raise a little girl. Because, despite being tainted by darkness and tears, there was still so much good inside Martina Linville. She had so much potential, with the right chances, she could grow up to be great. But she would need those right chances and she wouldn't get them if she stayed with the Winchester's broken little family. All they brought to people was tears and death.

Dean didn't want that for her. She deserved better. Just like Dean himself and his brother had deserved better. She deserved to live a life free from all this pain - a good life, a happy life. Dean wanted that for her. Dean just wanted to help. That was all he'd ever wanted. The last thing Marty needed was more darkness in her life. She didn't need them in her life.

She didn't need him in her life.

So, Dean would be selfless and he would let her go and he would give her the chance to shine like the stars she loved so much. It was probably the most fatherly thing he could do for her. 'Cause Dean just wasn't cut out to be a Dad.

But, oh, did he wish he could be one. Even though he knew that Marty's empathic abilities were probably what was making him feel so strongly about her, Dean couldn't help but go along with it. It wasn't like she was stuffing thoughts in his head; his feelings may have been bolstered but Dean's mind was his own. Dean had always wanted a daughter, Marty hadn't made that up that wish, she'd just reminded him of it. He felt awful about how he had treated Jack and craved a chance at redemption for his mistakes; Dean had made those choices, all Marty had done was exist to give him a chance. Sure, she was rioting his emotions. But what did that matter? Because Dean wanted this and damn it! This felt real!

But he couldn't have it.

Because Dean, and his brother, and their angel, and - yes - even Jack -- it was all some sick, screwed up, god damn beautiful tragedy -- But they were the last thing Martina Linville needed.

So, Dean would be selfless.

"Thinkin' about what?" Sam's question shook Dean from his reverie and back to what he'd been meaning to say.

"Maybe we should put her into the system after all this," He said, thoughtfully, though there was regret in his tone also. Sam blinked twice, shaking his head.

"W-what? The system? You mean the foster system?" He asked, incredulously.

"Yeah? Something wrong with that?" Dean responded. Sam gaped at him.

"Is something wrong with that? Dean, everything is wrong with that!" He exclaimed. Dean opened his mouth to argue but Sam didn't let him. "We made Marty a promise! Just this morning you said she was part of the family. Was all that just talk?"

"No, but-"

"Then what the Hell was it, Dean? Because you can't just go back on something like that! We said we'd take care of her," Sam huffed, crossing his arms and glaring at his older brother.

"And that's exactly what we'd be doing," Dean argued, "Giving her a place that's safe."

"Who would take her in? She's fourteen and she's got more trauma than some war veterans, I don't-"

"Exactly!" Dean cut him off. "The kid's got issues! She needs help, the professional kind."

"Since when do you promote therapy? Sam scoffed.

"When it doesn't involve me," Dean grumbled. Sam shook his head, getting back to the point.

"Throwing her on a bunch of strangers with no clue what she's been through, and who couldn't possibly understand her even if they knew, isn't going to help her! She'd get tossed around or thrown into some group therapy home till she's eighteen and then they'd dump her back on the streets where we found her! How is that taking care of her?"

"It's getting her out of this life, Sam," Dean said firmly. Sam glared.

"You mean getting her out of your life," The younger brother spat lowly.

"What did you just say?" Dean asked dangerously.

"You heard me."

"You have somethin' ya wanna say to my face, Sammy?" Dean growled.

"Dean," Castiel said his name like a warning, his hand gripping Dean's shoulder, holding him back.

"Yeah, I do." Sam's nostrils flared and his mouth was pressed into a thin line. "I'm not gonna stand by and watch you do this again."

"Do what again?" Dean questioned, Cas' hand on his shoulder reminding him to keep calm.

"This thing you do. Anytime a kid comes along, you do this. You act all annoyed, then right as you start liking having 'em around something happens and you realize the responsibility and it freaks you out so you back off and you push 'em away."

"I don't do that," Dean said, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah? 'Cause you did it with Kevin, you did it with Claire, you did it with Jack, and now you're doing it again right now with Marty. The second things get real, you get scared and you run away." Sam kept eye contact with Dean, challenging him to look away. Dean clenched his teeth, his pride preventing him from losing the contest of wills.

"Quit fooling yourself, Sam. Look at me!" Dean's voice broke just a little. But he cleared his throat, quick to cover his mistake. "Er, at us, I mean. We can't raise a kid!" He protested.

"We raised Jack," Sam countered.

"Because there were  literally no better alternatives!" Dean seethed. Sam opened his mouth but Dean wasn't done. Hyperaware of Castiel's presence just behind him, guilt ate at his heart. But Dean had never been very good at apologies. "And I even screwed that up! I'm not Dad material, Sam. I'm just not!"

His outburst of emotion made Sam blink, rendering him momentarily speechless. He could have spoken his next words gently but pride made them come out like acid.

"I don't think that's what Ben thought," He hissed. Sam knew it was a low-blow bringing up Ben. That wound was still sore.

"Yeah?" Dean laughed but there was no humor in it. "WELL LOOK HOW THAT TURNED OUT!" He yelled. Sam tensed but didn't back off.

"Something isn't real because it lasts, Dean," Sam said, speaking just a little bit gentler now. "For however short a time, Ben had a dad that loved and cared about him. For however short a time, you made him happy. You say you're not dad material, but that's not what I saw. If that's what you're so worried about, then don't be. 'Cause you made an pretty awesome dad, Dean, even if Ben doesn't remember."

Dean sighed in defeat. "We have nothing to give her, Sam."

"We have trust and understanding, a-and that's more than some random foster home could give her."

Dean shook his head. "It doesn't have to be random."

"What do mean?"

"Jody," He suggested, "I mean, she's already got Claire and Alex. What's one more?"

Sam sighed through his nose, shaking his head. "Yeah, she's got Claire and Alex-" He paused giving his older brother a pointed look. "-  And Patience and Kaia. What's one more? That's only five emotionally unstable teenage girls to take care of, on top of a full time job as a sheriff, and hunting to worry about too."

"I agree with Sam," Castiel spoke up, "We cannot simply dump yet another troubled youth onto the already burdened shoulders of Sheriff Mills." Sam gestured to the angel as if accentuate his point.

"But at least she'd be safe," Dean argued, pursing his lips into a thin line.

"From monsters, sure," Sam agreed, nodding. Dean could sense a ' but ' coming. "But not from herself."

"Jody could help Marty just as much as we could - probably more!" He said. Dean could hear Sam grind his teeth in frustration, but Cas held up a hand to speak.

"I don't think that's true, Dean."

"Why not?" Dean asked the angel.

"'Why not?' Haven't you been listening?" Sam exclaimed. Cas shot the younger Winchester a look and he fell silent.

"I am sure Sheriff Mills is a competent and kind woman; however, Martina does not know or trust her. Sending her to live there would only be marginally better than shipping her off to a stranger," The angel stated, evenly.

"What's that gotta do with what Sam said?" Dean asked. Cas gave him a long-suffering look but continued in perfect patience.

"As weary as I am of Martina's true motives and intentions, I think it is plenty clear the choice she faces after the termination of her family's killer. That is, if she has not made her decision already."

Dean's face scrunched with confusion. "What choice is that?"

"The choice of continuing to live free from the threat of Felix Monroe, or..." The angel trailed off, frowning. His tone made Dean feel like there was a knot in his chest.

"Or what?" He pressed, cautiously. Cas sighed.

"Or to end her life and return to her family," Cas finished, soberly.

Dean was stunned. He hadn't thought- He had never realized.

"Wait, whoa. Are you telling me Marty wants to commit suicide?" His eyes were wide with fear and alarm. She was too young for that. Too young to want to kill herself. No. She couldn't. Dean wouldn't let that happen. "Where's this coming from?" He demanded. Sam glared at him.

"She told her little brother she'd be with him soon. Combine that with the scars on her wrists, and it's really not that hard to figure out," He said, coolly.

Scars? Dean understood now. That was why she was always wearing long sleeves, even in the sweltering heat of Florida. Sam took advantage of his older brother's silence.

"Think about it, Dean," He pushed, "Sending her away from first people she's allowed herself to get attached to in five years? You think that will help?"

The thought made Dean reconsider but Sam had more to say.

"A-and think of Jack! You've seen how much he cares about her. I've seen him smile more in these last two and a half weeks than he did in the five months since we got him back from Apocalypse World. What do you think would happen if he found Marty laying in a pool of her own blood? What do you think that would do to him?"

"It would kill him." Dean sighed, nodding in agreement and Sam cracked a smile.

"I mean, we both know he loves her, Dean. And I-I don't mean like a sister," The younger brother said, fondly. Dean chuckled and the tension in the air cleared.

"Yeah, there's definitely a thing there." He shook his head, grinning. "I mean, it's totally weird but it's a thing." Sam nodded and shrugged.

"Well, I dated a demon. I don't think I can judge."

"You can say that again!" Dean laughed.

The sudden chime of a phone ringing cut through the cool nighttime air like a knife and Dean reached to answer. The smile dropped from his face as soon as he caught a glance at the screen.

"Who is it?" Castiel asked.

"Blocked," Dean answered, apprehension filling his voice, "Three guesses as to who." He mumbled, sliding a finger across the screen to pick up the call and putting it on speaker.

"This is Dean Winchester," He announced as the line connected.

There was no voice on the other side of the call.

"Hello?" He tried again.

Again nothing.

Dean could hear someone breathing but they didn't speak. The breaths sounded ragged and uneven like the person was out of breath. There was background noise as well, a deep rumbling that seemed to increase in volume as time wore on. Without warning, the sound of a deep bellowing horn blared from the phone's speaker. It was the sort of horn that typically accompanies a low rumbling noise. It was the sort of horn that accompanies a really, really big train. The sound of the horn grew louder but soon began to fade as the train passed by whoever had been holding the phone. Something told him this wasn't a simple case of a butt-dial. The situation unnerved for some reason he couldn't name. It was like a scene from a movie.

"Tell me who you are or I'm hanging up," Dean said, his voice demanding.

"I-I would'nt d-do that if I were y-you!"  A desperate, ragged voice called from the phone. Dean had gotten it wrong. The person on the phone wasn't Felix. The person on the phone was a little girl and she wasn't out of breath. She was terrified.

"Why not?" He asked, cautiously.

"B-because little Pamala o-only get's this one c-call." The voice on the other end sounded oddly robotic despite the words being broken into syllables by the girl's sobs.

"What do you mean?" He wondered.

"She-she's lu-ucky you picked u-up. If you hadn't I'd have t-old my friends to e-eat swe-eet Pammy here! Sh-she's seven, just so you know!"  The little girl choked out.

"Felix," Dean growled, "You're using the little girl to talk for you?"

"Pamala is a c-cute little pup-pet. But she's a-annoy-ing. If she d-doesn't stop s-stutter-ing, I'll tell one of my f-friends to t-ake a bite!"  The little girl whimpered and took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice for the sake of her life. " So, what shall I make Panama say next?"

Dean gritted his teeth together. To his right, Sam looked like he was going to be sick. But this wasn't just sick, this was downright  vile . On his left, Cas looked about ready to rip that monster apart with his bare hands.

"Why don't you talk to me with your own voice, Nessie? Ya scared?" Dean taunted.

"No. That would ruin the fun of the game." The girl spoke slowly, trying her best to stay calm.

"What game?" Castiel demanded, sounding a step away from livid.

"You hunters and your angel have thirty minutes to come and rescue poor, little Pamala. When time is up, I'll tell my friends to- to r-rip her in- into itty-bitty pieces!" The girl let out a panicked sob after finishing the monster's words.

"How are we supposed to do that?" Dean demanded, fuming. "She could be anywhere!"

"No, not anywhere, Dean. She's sitting all wrapped up in the attic of the Florida East Coast Railway Station at Fort Pierce. I might be there with her too, gives you a chance to catch me just to make things interesting. But you better hurry, I hear t-traffic can be a biatch."

"You're gonna pay for this, you son of a bitch!" Dean growled.

"Watch the language, Dean Winchester. There are children present. You don't wanna spoil little Pamala's innocence, do you?"

Dean was so enraged, he couldn't even speak. Luckily, Sam was thinking the same as he was.

"We're gonna kill you," Sam promised.

"Perhaps. But not before I show y-you the truth."

The truth? What truth?

"This call will end in...

Five...

Four..."

"Stay strong, sweetheart!" Dean called to the little girl on the other side of the phone. "We're gonna come help you!"

"Three...

Two...

One...

...

...

...

Please save me...

...

...

...

I don't wanna die..."

Then the line clicked and the call was over.

Dean clenched his jaw and put the phone away.

"Let's go gank that sick bastard."

~I am not the only traveler

And then I can tell myself

I had all and then most of you

When the night was full of terrors

Lyrics from: The Night We Met by Lord Huron

I had all and then most of you

[orangeflavoryawp]

Jonsa - “From Instep to Heel”, Part 7

Finally catching up on posting my chapters on tumblr now that I’ve got the time to do the freakin’ formatting, lol.  I’ve been lazy.  My bad.

“From Instep to Heel”

Chapter Seven: Taken

"(His calloused palm at her thigh, the graze of his fingers along the edge of her smallclothes, the hot pant of his breath at her ear.)

Did you like it?

The question presses sharp and insistent at the edges of her mind." - Jon and Sansa. Like the curve of the horizon, when the moon breaks from beneath its bow.

Read it on Ao3 here.

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 fin

* * *

"You slept well, I hope, brother?" Aegon's eyes crinkle with his smile as he bites off a piece of salted seabass.

Jon offers a tight smile in return, leaning back in his chair at the table, shoulders bunched. Aegon does not wait for the ladies of the house to join them, tucking into his breakfast with poised and slender hands. Jon picks at a piece of brown bread, eyes lingering over his untouched plate. He glances to the door again, half expecting Sansa to walk through it this very moment. "Not particularly," he sighs, tearing off another piece mindlessly.

"Yes," Aegon muses, "I see you're clearly distracted."

Jon raises a brow at him.

Aegon continues chewing, waving a hand nonchalantly, knife in his grip as he speaks, "The first night can have that affect."

"And you've enough under your belt to advise me on it?" Jon bites out, tongue smarting instantly when the words leave his mouth. He pulls a sharp breath in, turns his gaze to the table.

Aegon stops chewing, swallows slowly – demurely. A humoring smile tugs at his lips. "A wife is different."

Jon does not argue him that one, but he decides to keep his thoughts on the matter to himself, drawing his shoulders back, trying to ease some of the tension there.

Sighing almost wistfully, Aegon sets his cutlery down. "Daenerys has not changed much since that first night." A chuckle lights his lips, almost nostalgic. "Still as demanding and insatiable as ever."

Jon scrunches his nose in distaste, resisting the urge to reach for his wine, wash the lump of bread in his throat down.

"I don't imagine Lady Sansa was so, however."

Jon's gaze snaps to his brother, hand clenching into a fist atop his thigh. He draws a slow, tight breath in.

Aegon cocks his head at Jon, leaning back easily in his chair, eyes glinting sharply – a violet lance cut through the brisk, morning light streaming through the windows. He smiles again, the ends of his lips curled like the whip of a dragon's tail. And then he returns to his food, resuming his meal smoothly. Another bite. A slow, long chew.

Jon watches his brother, knuckles white. "Is this really the conversation you want to be having over breakfast?" he manages tightly.

Aegon makes a small sound of contemplation in his throat, glancing back up at Jon. "My appetite isn't so easily curbed, brother. Is yours?" Aegon swallows, a flash of teeth peeking out beneath his curved lips.

Jon grinds his jaw, his bitterness curling like smoke in his chest – sour and lung-scraping.

Aegon continues with ease. "I do hope at least you enjoyed your evening, brother. Mine was terribly lonesome." He laughs, short and disturbingly bright. "Daenerys would not have me last night."

"I can hardly suspect why," Jon snaps dryly, mouth clamping shut when he realizes what he's said.

Aegon watches him with unblinking eyes, rolling the food around his mouth leisurely, wrists resting atop the table edge, cutlery still in hand.

Jon thinks of the petal crushed under Aegon's boot in the garden, and the flick of the riding crop to the backs of his calves, and the smooth, weathered stone sitting pointedly atop their father's desk.

And then he thinks of the way Aegon had stepped back from Sansa at the wedding feast, a relinquishing sweep of his arm and a brotherly smile aimed his way – how he had not objected to Jon's intrusion, nor his brusque manner.

Jon swallows tightly.

But of course.

He should have known better. Aegon forgets little, and forgives even less.

Jon smooths his hands along his thighs, chest constricting, waiting, poised at a knife's edge.

(He should have known better.)

Aegon leans forward across the table, smirk adorning his lips, brows arched in a conspiratorial look, as though eager to share a well-kept secret. "You've never spilled in a woman before, have you?" he asks softly, almost carefully to any other ear.

Jon hears the edge to it, easily enough.

He works his jaw, eyes fixed to Aegon.

His brother leans back smoothly, smirk still curling the edges of his lips. "Too fearful of spawning a bastard, weren't you?"

Jon has no answer for him, can only turn his gaze away, fix it glaringly to his wine glass, feel his skin prick with a resentment too familiar.

"They're not such terrible things, you know – bastards," Aegon says nonchalantly, setting his knife down to reach for his own glass, bringing it to his lips before he pauses, as though in sudden remembrance, "When properly kept."

Jon blows a breath through his lips, heated and halting, unable to keep the glare from his gaze when he looks back to Aegon.

His brother only offers him a lifted brow, lips stained red with wine when he pulls the glass from his mouth.

Jon feels the words brimming in his throat, rancid and airless – a choke, a strangle – feels his mouth open even still, a recklessness blooming beneath his skin, as heady as it is unfamiliar, and –

The door swings wide, Sansa stepping through, Rhaenys following behind her with a dour expression.

Jon swallows that slice of shame back down –stinging and raw.

"Sisters," Aegon greets, and Jon does not miss the address, nor does Sansa, it seems, as she stops short, blinking doe-eyed at him for a spell, before she's nodding her greeting, cheeks a faint pink, stepping gracefully toward the seat beside Jon. She doesn't meet his eyes.

Rhaenys lets out a scoff at Aegon, shaking her head with pursed lips, settling into the empty space beside him.

Aegon cocks his head in question, eyes drifting to the closed door. "You seem to have lost my wife along the way," he says, amusement lilting his tone.

Rhaenys reaches for the sugared plums instantly. "Daenerys says she's too ill to break her fast with us this morning." Sucking a piece of fruit between her teeth, Rhaenys sends a meaningful look Aegon's way, swallowing after a pointed chew. "She sends her regards." A sugared smile follows the words.

Jon manages to bite back his scoff. It isn't the first time Daenerys has sought to spite Aegon with her absence.

Aegon picks the napkin up from beside Rhaenys' plate and raises it to her with an arched brow. She takes it with a roll of her eyes, dabbing at her sugar-smeared mouth. "I'll have to see to her later, then." His gaze flicks to Jon and he has the unexplainable urge to grab for Sansa's hand next to him. He resists the inclination – only barely. "Make sure she's not too unwell," Aegon finishes, his violet gaze settling back on Rhaenys

She's already filling her plate, well past the conversation.

Beside Jon, Sansa is quietly cutting into her own food. He takes a breath, wills the lingering rage from his face, tries to smooth his brow and his frown and his hardened gaze, dipping his head to catch her eye. "My lady?"

She flickers soft blue eyes up at him and for an instant, they stay staring at each other.

All at once he remembers the way his palm had fit around her thigh and the gasp she'd sounded at his ear and the drowning, bone-singing heat of her when he'd finally sunk inside her. His gaze flicks to her mouth, and watches it purse.

When he glances back up to her eyes, he finds her staring unblinkingly at him, fork halted halfway to her mouth. She clears her throat, settles the fork back to her plate.

Jon glances away, wiping a hand down his mouth. A gruff exhale leaves him, and he reaches for his own fork, eager for a distraction. "I'm sorry for leaving before you woke this morning," he says softly, careful not to let the conversation reach his siblings' ears. He glances up to find the two already occupied by their own discussion, and looks back to Sansa with a barely discernible sigh of relief.

She only nods, glancing down to his hands as he digs into his quickly cooling roast.

"I...had matters to attend to," he mumbles.

He feels the lie shrivel up along his tongue even as it tastes air.

Blessed air.

And that's what he had needed – after waking groggily in the early hours of the morning, body curled loosely around her sleeping form, half-hard at her backside, and he'd wanted nothing more than to trail his fingers down the smooth line of her arm, and then lower over the curve of her hip, her skin warm and supple to the touch, and he'd nearly rocked into her on instinct, lulled by sleep and hazy desire, before the night rushed back to him in a flood of memories.

The pained whimper she'd tried to smother when he'd first entered her, the stiffness of her frame, muscles bunched achingly tight, the way she'd squeezed her eyes shut, those soft, iridescent blues blanking out into shadow -

The way he'd clearly hurt her.

(Warnings mean little to nothing in this house, and Jon should know that by now.)

He swallows thickly, pausing in his determined cutting, eyes blinking furiously down at his plate.

Jon had torn himself from the bed that morning, dressed as swiftly and quietly as he could, and then left Sansa to her slumber.

He tells himself it couldn't have been helped.

He'd tried to be quick about it, tried to bring himself to completion without prolonging her pain, and truth be told, it wasn't particularly difficult when she was so warm beneath him, so soft and breathy, so tight around his cock.

It's easy to get lost in Sansa Stark, he finds.

Except, there's a smaller, more insistent part of him, that tells him he is wrong.

"I intend to do my duty," she'd said, and it had been his unraveling

Jon glances up to Rhaenys, finds her watching him with a perceptive stare. He growls his frustration beneath his breath, tearing back into his food.

Sansa does not answer him, only nods mutely, gaze flicking back to her own plate.

His eyes sting.

And what a stupid, foolish hope.

(The realization is blinding.)

He understands now, what he'd been so adamant to smother before, what he'd been unable to admit to, even in the darkest parts of him.

He wants her.

He wants her – maddeningly.

"You will never be more to her than duty."

He only wishes she wanted him back.

* * *

"Alright, I've been patient enough I think," Margaery says on a laugh, shuffling closer to Sansa in her seat. "You must tell me how the wedding night went. Was it everything you'd hoped for?"

Sansa blinks alarmingly wide eyes up at Margaery, hand stilling halfway off the table, cream puff caught between her thumb and forefinger. "The wedding night?" she manages after a gulp.

Margaery cocks her head, a mischievous smile tugging charmingly at her lips. "Yes, of course. From what I saw at the feast, your Jon simply couldn't wait to get you back to your chambers." She shivers deliciously, leaning closer to the younger woman over the armrest of her chair.

Sansa drops the pastry in her hand back down to her plate, going for the napkin in her lap, throat tightening. "Yes, well, it was...unexpected." She smooths her hands over the napkin in her lap, the breeze from the open gardens fluttering strands of copper around her face.

"I'm sure," Margaery smirks. She urges her on with a waving motion of her hand.

Sansa bites her lip, and then she turns fully in her seat to face the Tyrell, brows furrowed sharply. "Margaery, he... he tried to touch me... well, there." She bites her lip again, a flush of remembrance branching through her, cheeks heating.

"I should hope so," she says, a laugh bubbling at the edges of her lips, before she catches the expression Sansa wears, her smile wilting instantly. She clears her throat, straightening in her seat. "And that...unsettled you?" she asks now, voice calmer.

Sansa wears a worried thumb into her opposite palm, watching the motion. "I didn't want him to," she says, and she remembers, instantly, the heat that had suffused her when he did, the almost uncontrollable urge to shift her hips up toward his touch, to chase that fluttering thrum of nerves that ricocheted through her. She clamps her mouth tight around the words, chest tight with her embarrassment.

Oh, but what would Margaery think of her? What would her mother think of her?

"Sansa," Margaery says, infinitely soft, her gaze concerned, body shifted toward her. "Did he..." She stops, brows bunched tightly together, voice working over hoarse words. "Did he hurt you?"

Sansa blinks back up at her, head shaking vehemently. "Oh no, I mean, yes, well – Mother always said – I mean –" Sansa sighs, takes a deep breath, tries to control her raging heart. "I knew there would be some pain the first time, but I... I didn't..."

Margaery's hand curls over hers in her lap, stilling the nervous motion of her thumb against her palm. The touch is light, comforting. "Sansa," she begins, eyes imploring on hers, "When he kissed you, when he touched you, did he not – "

"Oh, he never kissed me."

Margaery blinks at her, suddenly alarmed. "Sansa."

"I couldn't... I couldn't let him."

Margaery's brows dip down in confusion. "You couldn't...?"

She shakes her head, hand turning beneath Margaery's to link her fingers through hers, palm to palm. "I wasn't ready for that. To be kissed – oh, but I want it to mean something, Margaery. I want it to be more than expectation, and I couldn't help remembering all those stories from the books, and the songs, and the tales, and is it wrong? To want such a thing? Even still? Is it wrong, Margaery?"

It was too intimate.

His hand on her thigh, and his stiffness pressed between her legs, and the heat of his bare stomach braced against hers and still -

None of it could compare to the intimacy of his breath fanning her lips, his dark stare through the candlelight, the pink tip of his tongue edging out to wet his lips.

He could fuck her ragged and still, she'd never be as breathless as she'd been in that moment, when he'd stared at her, leant down, moved to take her mouth with his.

To taste and touch and know each other.

To share breath.

No, Sansa had not been ready for such intimacy. And even when he'd slipped inside her, and even when he'd spilled inside her, and even when he'd fallen asleep beside her once they'd taken their turns at the wash basin – even then -

She couldn't let him kiss her.

Margaery rubs a comforting thumb along her knuckles, a sad sigh leaving her. "Oh, dear girl."

"It will come with time," Sansa says reassuringly, mostly to herself. "With care and time, I will try to love him. And maybe then..." She trails off, eyes glancing over the table. She never finishes the thought.

Margaery stays silent at her side for many moments, just holding her hand, letting the silken afternoon light dance across the table set. And then she makes a sound like a hum, thoughtful and cautious, leaning back in her chair as her hand slips from Sansa's. "Sansa, let me ask you something."

She raises a brow in question, expectant.

Margaery seems to mull over her words a moment, expression still cautious and concerned. "When he touched you – when he tried to... to ease you – did you like it?"

Sansa's mouth parts, cheeks heating.

(His calloused palm at her thigh, the graze of his fingers along the edge of her smallclothes, the hot pant of his breath at her ear.)

Did you like it?

The question presses sharp and insistent at the edges of her mind.

Sansa swallows tightly, eyes searching Margaery's. "That would be... improper."

Margaery cocks her head, voice still soft and careful. "Why?"

"I do not love him." The answer leaves her far more readily than she expects, and it carves a longing in her chest she isn't prepared for – a gentle throbbing between her ribs. She swallows back the trepidation.

Shifting in her seat, Margaery inclines her head toward Sansa, eyes focused. "And what if I told you that didn't matter?"

Sansa stares at her, brows scrunched in thought, hands bunching together in her lap once more. "What do you mean?"

Margaery blows a steady breath through her lips, a thoughtful expression gracing her face. "What if I told you, there can be pleasure regardless of love? What if I told you, you deserved it, even still?"

Sansa blinks at her, a frown marring her features instantly. "But I don't..."

"Dear girl, there is already enough grief in this world without you sabotaging your own marriage. Let the man please you. It seems he wants to, at least, which is more than can be said of most husbands."

Sansa's frown deepens, an uncomfortable warmth unfurling in her chest, something close to yearning, if she lets herself linger on it for too long. "And what makes you think he has any interest in that regard?"

At this, Margaery throws a baleful look her way, lips pursed as though in disappointment. "Anyone who saw him with you at the wedding feast couldn't say otherwise," she remarks pointedly.

"Gods, but that was embarrassing," she sighs, shifting uncomfortably in her seat, hands tightening in their hold atop her lap.

Margaery seems to notice the shift, straightening somewhat, interest piqued. She rests her hands along her armrests languidly, a finely-arched brow aimed Sansa's way. "Was it, now?" There's a devilish curve to her lips that Sansa thinks she should be wary of, but she's too caught in her remembrance of the night to notice.

She huffs her irritation. "Of course," Sansa presses on a heavy exhale, chin turned up. "To be so... so rude and brazen, in the midst of everyone, and to the crown prince! To paw at me like some... some... possession. To touch me so in public." Sansa scoffs, her derision staining her tongue. "No, no, I did not enjoy that one bit." Her chest heaves, her hands wringing in her lap, tongue caught behind her clenched teeth.

Margaery merely peers at her.

She finds the look disconcerting, a hesitance washing over her when she looks at the Tyrell, suddenly small and unsure in her midst. "What?" she asks tentatively, barely trusting the word.

A slow, knowing smile slips across Margaery's lips, her hand reaching for Sansa's once more.

Sansa startles at the touch, but doesn't pull away. She glances down to their joined hands, finds her gaze fixed to Margaery's sun-touched hand as she swipes a comforting thumb along her knuckles once more.

"You know," she starts, the hint of a smirk playing at her lips, "It'd be okay if you did, Sansa."

Sansa only furrows her brows at the words, her confusion lighting her face.

Margaery's smirk goes full-blown. "If you enjoyed it, that is."

Sansa pulls her hand from hers, a sharp breath sucked through her lips. "Margaery!" she scolds, even as the smile touches her lips.

But the other woman only laughs, settling back along her chair. She takes a moment, smothering her chuckle behind a graceful hand. "Don't be so cruel to yourself, dear girl." Her smile grows fond, and then an abstract sort of sorrow lines her face, softening her beyond measure. "You don't have to love him," she says, hand tightening over Sansa's. "That's not what this is about."

Sansa sighs, her humor leaving her instantly, eyes drifting to their joined hands.

"We women deal with enough pain in this world without having to endure it from our husbands," she says solemnly, hand tightening over hers. "Take your pleasure where you can, Sansa. And do not be ashamed of it." Her eyes are fervent on hers, imploring, and Sansa feels her chest constricting beneath the look.

Did you like it?

Sansa thinks of the way he'd yanked her to him, the dark gaze he'd leveled Aegon with, the greedy press of his fingers along her ribs.

Did you like it?

Gods help her, but she did.

And nothing had scared her more.

* * *

Sex becomes perfunctory.

"I'll be gentler," he says on the second night, voice hesitant – the pale imitation of an apology, even in its sincerity – and Sansa fiddles with the tie of her robe, standing near the bed.

He's watching her from the threshold, his tunic already unlaced, and when she nods in response, a cool breath leaving her with the motion, he takes a breath, flexes his hands at his side, and then strides across the room toward her.

It begins anew.

They each know what is expected of them, after all.

When he eases into her this time, it's impossibly slower, a long, ragged breath leaving him, his jaw clenching at the effort. Beneath him, Sansa bites her lip, seizing up again, staring up at him in the dark, never looking away, and he has to glance down to her chest, the edge of her shift still adorning her, has to brace a hand along the bed at her head and still himself, let her adjust.

She reaches for his shoulder with a gentle squeeze, an indication to move, and Jon does.

Her legs fit around his hips easily now, her hands more sure at his shoulders. Every night, he still finds hazel oil at her folds when he sets himself to her entrance. Perhaps he is foolish in hoping to find otherwise. She doesn't jump like that first night anymore though, when he touches her between her thighs to line himself up.

He never touches more – knowing how unappreciated it is.

He never tries to kiss her either, and he thinks he hears the light breath of relief escape her lips when he drops his head to her shoulder instead, unable to bear her gaze any longer without wanting to crash his mouth to hers, to hike her thighs higher up his hips, to reach between her legs and ease some of that tension out with a wet thumb.

So, he braces his mouth to her shoulder, panting into her flesh, pumping into her with a steady, even pace that draws no whimpers but draws no winces either, and this he will have to be satisfied with.

Because if he cannot bring her pleasure than at least he can avoid bringing her pain.

He tries to make it good for her, in what little ways he can – always settles her with the pillow beneath her head, tries to massage the smooth flesh of her thighs when he's spreading her wide, manages to keep his teeth from catching along her collar bone with his ragged need, never drops atop her when he's finished, passes her the wet cloth from the bedside basin first and keeps his dark gaze turned from her when she's sopping up the seed spilling from her cunt with flushed cheeks and a still-heaving chest.

One night he swears he hears her breath hitch when he angles himself deeper, strokes inside her along a spot that has his eyes rolling back, her nails digging into his shoulder blades as her knees tighten at his waist. But when he finally looks down at her, her eyes are closed, her brow scrunched, as though she is trying to ride something out, and Jon thinks it must be pain.

He curses himself and draws back out, keeps to shallower thrusts, misses the curl of her nails along his back when her grip relinquishes him.

Another night she lets him cup her breast through her shift, his hand toying at the end of the fabric until she nods hesitantly, his rough palm closing around the mound unsurely, the sigh raking from him when he feels her heat beneath his touch, her heartbeat beating a rhythm against his palm, and he squeezes – gently. She arches imperceptibly, a sound curled in her throat, and she turns her head away. He barely contains his growl of impatience, dipping his head to her throat instead, lips latching to the skin there and palming at her through the shift, rutting until he spills, and her heartbeat never wanes, still frantic beneath his hand. He stays inside her for as long as he can get away with, pulling from her when she touches a delicate hand to his neck, the press of her fingers light enough to send him spinning, aching and desperate again.

He rolls from her with a hand raked through his curls, jaw clenching, his control like a taut string she plucks at precariously, unknowingly.

Because her every sigh he wants to drag out into a breathy moan, every rise of her chest he wants to bow into a delicious arch, every purse of her lips he wants to draw into a needy howl of his name.

To have her writhing beneath him, whining at his ear, coming apart for him with a splintered cry and her cunt clenching around his cock, to watch her break and crest and surge beneath his hands, to drive her to madness for him.

To draw it wildly from her – like a snarling wolf.

To sink his teeth in her and let her do the same.

To taste.

Sansa buries her face in his shoulder when he grunts his release atop her, a low curse panted in her hair, his fingers dug into the flesh of her hip.

She'll drive him mad soon, he knows.

She sleeps always with her back to him.

Jon takes to sparring with the eldest Stark often, a means of releasing some of the frustration he cannot release upon her, and Robb offers little but a raised brow when he comes demanding his presence in the training yard with a scowl and a nod jerked in the opposite direction. Robb always follows with a laugh, and more than once, Jon has found himself panting ragged at the end of a fight, tugging the collar of his tunic open harshly, chest heaving, sweat matting his curls to his forehead, and his body's absolutely thrumming, absolutely screaming beneath his skin, ready to rip and roar and -

And fuck.

Jon rakes a hand through his hair roughly, catching sight of Sansa at the edge of the training yard, gripping at the column she leans against, watching him with unblinking eyes.

He thinks he must be imagining the way she licks her lips, the way she bares her throat just so, the way her nails curl along the column.

(Because he can't be the only one – he just can't be.

Even when every trembling line of her body is telling him otherwise.)

Jon frowns at her presence, mouth opening, but never getting the chance to speak.

"It's been a while since we've had a turn, brother. Shall we?"

Jon's gaze whips to Aegon coming up behind Robb, swinging a blade casually, the hilt rolling through his fingers with practiced ease.

Robb frowns at the motion, eyes alighting the blade. "Live steel, my lord?" he asks cautiously.

Jon bites his tongue.

And so, the punishment continues.

Aegon's eyes dance with violet exhilaration beneath the afternoon soon and Jon nods toward Robb, motioning for him to join his sister. "Step aside, Stark." It isn't said callously, but Robb seems to recognize the edge to it regardless. He joins Sansa at the edge of the yard without further word.

Jon sighs, catching the blade Aegon tosses his way, and the spar begins.

Aegon has always been exceptionally good with a blade, but Jon's always been better. He weaves around Aegon with surety, stepping lightly, letting his blade miss just barely, letting Aegon's swings avoid him just barely.

It is a dance he learned the steps to long ago.

He is a well-kept bastard, after all.

Jon swings low – too low. And Aegon parries it easily, as he'd expected, knocking him back, and Jon stumbles a step, muscles tensing in anticipation, ready for the blow, as he turns his head just enough to miss the brunt of Aegon's responding swing, but not enough to miss the slice of the tip up his jaw, a thin arc of blood catching the air and Jon winces at the pain, a hand clamping over the wound when he stumbles back.

Aegon smiles triumphantly, blade stilled in an over-arch.

Sansa's gasp of "Jon!" has him nearly biting down on his tongue, and it takes all of him not to turn to her, a feral sort of need curling in his chest.

Aegon's blade tips into the dirt. "Well fought, brother." The words are accompanied by an appreciative nod, a narrowing of his eyes, fair skin glinting with a sheen of sweat that Aegon somehow manages to make look graceful rather than grimy.

Jon pulls his hand from his cut, collaring his glare, a tight swallow his only answer.

And then Sansa is at his elbow, one hand turning him in her grasp and the other reaching for his jaw. He pulls from her more harshly than he intends, but he doesn't think he can manage to bear her searching touch or her scrutinizing gaze this very moment.

Sansa retracts from him slowly, clearly hurt by the rejection of her touch.

Jon closes his eyes, breathes deep, opens his eyes on the exhale.

Aegon is standing with his hands behind his back, sword still held in his grip, head cocked toward Sansa. "Did you enjoy the match, my lady?"

Sansa opens her mouth, closes it, folds her hands demurely before her. "You are an exceptional swordsman, my lord," she says softly.

Jon's gaze snaps to her finally, watching the way she doesn't meet Aegon's eyes, her thumb rubbing over her knuckles in a motion of unease. He narrows his eyes at her.

"Well," Aegon begins, a light smack of his lips following the words, "With such a fair lady in the audience, I imagine it is any man's wish to prove their prowess." His smile branches out like a spill of rich wine, his head dipping down toward hers, voice lowering. "I admit, I am not immune to such powers, my lady," he says without faltering, eyes never leaving hers.

Jon glances to the side, fist already curling, tongue already tart with his rage.

"You're too kind," Sansa answers, and Jon feels her gaze on him, her figure a rigid line in his peripheral.

Jon presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, holds it there, tries to drown out the rush of blood.

To rip and roar and fuck.

His hands burn for her – maybe especially so with Aegon eyeing her so intently.

But his brother only chuckles, glancing back to Jon. "You should tend to your husband, Lady Sansa." His voice goes hollow – a dead expel of air. The ends of his mouth ease down, his smile uncurling like smoke. "He's bleeding," he says, sharp and cursory.

Sansa's hand slips along Jon's elbow, curling along the crook of it. "I shall," she says evenly, no tremble to be heard.

Jon, however, is practically quaking with his fury.

It doesn't abate until Aegon is stalking from the courtyard, until Sansa is turning him in her hands for another look at his jaw, huffing at his reluctance, until he meets Robb's eyes over her shoulder, intent and watchful.

Until Sansa is tugging him from the yard and he's trailing after her skirts, mouth full of useless words, his hand clutched in hers.

Until the spot between her shoulder blades becomes a blur beneath his heavy stare.

Until he is too far gone to ever turn back now.

* * *

"Take off your tunic," she says, wringing out the cloth in the basin beside him. When he doesn't move to do so, Sansa glances over to him, finding him leaning with his elbows over his knees, a bemused brow quirked. She resists the urge to roll her eyes. "The blood will set if we don't clean it immediately," she explains, motioning to the splatter of blood along the collar.

Jon considers her a moment quietly, and then he's reaching along his back for the material, tugging it up and out of his breeches, over his broad shoulders and head. He bunches the tunic in his hands, holding it out to her expectantly, chest sweat-lined and sun-kissed.

Sansa keeps her gaze deliberately fixed to his as she grabs for the soiled garment, handing it off behind her to the waiting handmaid without breaking her stare. Her throat flexes tightly, and Jon seems to catch the motion, a slow, predatory smile tugging at his lips, half hidden in his beard.

Gods, but she can clearly see every sinewy cord of muscle she'd only ever seen before by candlelight.

The handmaid exits the rooms with the tunic swiftly, closing the door behind her, and then they are alone.

Jon leans back in his chair slowly, hands sliding over his thighs, shoulders pulled back as he watches her.

Sansa frowns at the deliberate display, reaching for his chin with perhaps a bit too much force and turning his head away from her. "We'll have to clean the cut," she gets out in a hoarse voice, dabbing the wet cloth to the wound.

Jon lets out an exasperated sigh, but does not fight her touch, letting her clean the thin cut down the length of his jaw. Sansa is focused, brow furrowed, swiping the blood clean that she can through his beard, dipping it back into the water, wringing it out, drawing it further and further down his jaw. She hardly notices the soft puff of his breaths or the way he watches her out of the corner of his eye, so intent on her task as she is. She cocks her head to see the underside of his jaw, to swipe at the blood drying there, tipping his chin in her delicate hold, and he acquiesces easily. But the light isn't good, and it's a bad angle from where she stands at the edge of his knees, so when she presses into them on instinct and he parts them for her, her skirts brushing along the inside of his thighs as she steps into the vee of his legs, she doesn't even note the shift, instead, taking advantage of the new position to better see the trail of blood drying along his throat.

She bends further, hair slipping over her shoulder, fingers perched beneath his jaw. Another swipe of the cloth. Slow and measured. Sansa watches the faint bob of his Adam's apple, the flex of sweat-soaked skin across his throat, and suddenly she remembers the way that throat had looked above her just the other night, with him braced atop her, driving into her with sure and steady thrusts. She remembers the clench of muscle along his neck when he'd spilled inside her.

Sansa's lips part, an unsteady breath leaving her. She's suddenly very aware of how close she stands to him, the steady rise and fall of his bare chest beneath her, how she need only lean a handful of breaths closer to bury her face against his neck. She presses harshly along the half-dried blood marring his jaw.

"You could have parried that last swing," she manages in a thin voice. She clears her throat, swallows back the quiver, hopes he doesn't notice it.

Jon doesn't answer her.

She frowns at the silence, wet cloth dipping along the edge of his collar bone now. She huffs. "Why didn't you?"

Jon takes a slow, deep breath, and Sansa can't help the way her eyes drift to the broad expanse of his muscled chest at the motion. She averts her eyes quickly.

And then he's reaching for the hair spilling over her shoulder, fingers snaking around the end of a softly curled tendril. Sansa stills with her hand at his throat, glancing at the gesture from the corner of her eye.

A sound brews in his throat, low and contemplative, his dark eyes fixed to the strand of copper between his fingers. "At our wedding feast," he begins, ignoring her question, "When you danced with my brother – were you not as upset with his familiarity as you were with mine?"

Sansa grips the cloth between white knuckles, drawing back enough to properly look at him. His hand at the edge of her hair keeps her from stepping back out of the space between his legs. She wonders if he intended it so. She stays resolutely silent.

A short, subtle quirk of his lip lights his face before it's gone. "Or did you welcome it?"

Sansa swallows tightly. "A lady must always be courteous."

Jon's gaze drops to her laced-in side, the fingertips of his free hand suddenly grazing the edge of her waist. His voice is low and breathy. "And your compliment on his swordsmanship? That was courtesy?"

Raising her chin, Sansa watches him with wary eyes. "A lady must also be conscious of her station."

Jon scoffs at the word 'station', his hand folding more surely around her waist, giving it the slightest tug so that she stumbles even closer, her hands going to his shoulders to steady herself. She sucks a sharp breath between her teeth at the jostle, watching as he gazes up at her, his face hovering just above her stomach. "A lady must be so many things," he mocks, his other hand curling tightly over the hair in his grip. "One has to wonder if she manages to ever be herself amidst all that decorum."

She remembers his warning to curb her tongue, suddenly. She smarts beneath the hypocrisy. Sansa's chest tightens with her frustration, the air stalling in her throat. She stares down at him with an air of incredulity.

Jon's hand branches over her waist possessively. "Or have I simply married a pretty little doll? Easily filled with other people's opinions about what she should be?"

Sansa's eyes narrow so quickly he almost misses it, her jaw clenching beneath her ire. His responding smirk incites her more, and she's reaching over to the basin then, dropping the cloth back into the water unceremoniously. "I've watched my brothers sparring often enough back home to recognize a thrown match when I see one."

Jon's hand tightens over her waist, his mouth pursing up at her.

"If even I can see it, who else do you think has noticed?" she says sharply.

Jon untangles his fingers from her hair.

Sansa raises her chin, a tight breath drawn through her lungs. "I doubt Prince Aegon would care very much for you coddling him, were he to know." She moves to step back, but he reaches for her with both hands now, gripping at her hips, steadying her against him as he glares back up at her, eyes hooded and dark.

"You have a particular interest in what my brother cares for?" he intones darkly, fingers curling tight along her hips, bunching in the fabric of her dress.

She glares back just as intensely, trying to ignore the way his steady grip lights a heat even through her heavy skirts, his fingertips marring the curve of her hips with his imprint. A long, charged moment passes between them, with neither relenting, until finally, Sansa brushes a delicate hand to the cut at his jaw, eyes still steel, mouth still cut into a sharp frown. "I'll call Maester Gregor to stitch that for you." She doesn't acknowledge the quiver underlining the words – swallows them back quickly. Her hand falls from his face. "Have you any further need of me, husband?"

Jon grinds his teeth, still glaring up at her, a shadow passing over his face, and then gone. He releases her instantly, almost forcefully. "No," he says simply, gaze falling to the wayside.

She steps from his overwhelming presence immediately, pretending to miss the clench of his fists along his thighs when she does.

"My lord," she says, nodding in farewell, before turning for the door and never looking back.

* * *

Daenerys is pregnant.

They discover it when she doesn't arrive for breakfast one morning, Aegon striding into the room to his chair, hands resting along the back of it as he blinks dazedly at the table.

Rhaenys pulls the spoon from her mouth. "No Daenerys tonight? Is she ill again?" A worried furrow of her brow mars her features.

"I've just come from the maester," he says slowly, eyes drifting to his sister's. "She's with child." He releases the words on a heavy breath.

Sansa's mouth parts, her shock overcoming her for a moment, before she regains her manners, setting her napkin to the table with a warm smile. "That's wonderful news, my lord."

His gaze flicks to Sansa, settling on her a moment, before returning the smile with a lilt of his lips, an appreciative nod. "Thank you, Lady Sansa."

"How is she?" Rhaenys asks, spoon stilled over her grapefruit.

Sansa glances to the princess at the tender exhale of her words.

Aegon steps around his chair, settling a hand at the back of Rhaenys' head. "It is no more than the common sickness, they say. She is well." He offers her a reassuring smile, fragile and barely there.

The image is striking to Sansa.

Aegon's hand falls from Rhaenys' hair when she nods in answer, lips pressed into a concerned but warm smile.

"Congratulations, brother," Jon says beside her, voice gruff as he leans back in his seat. "It's what you wanted, isn't it?"

Aegon looks at him, then to Sansa, and then just as swiftly, back to Jon. "Yes," he says, "It is." A lick of his lips, hands returning to the back of his chair.

It's a decidedly delicate flicker of movement, nothing deliberate about it. It's almost...unnerving, in its fragility – the way Aegon's fingers curl around the back arch, the way his chest fills with his breath, lips turning up into a faint smile.

Sansa shifts in her seat, hands smoothing out over her thighs, before curling in her lap. She glances to Jon out of the corner of her eye. He's staring at his plate now, his hand curled into a loose fist along his armrest, and he's so close, she realizes suddenly. Close enough to touch.

Her hand moves to curl around his forearm, hovering hesitantly in the air, before retracting back to her lap. He takes no notice, and Sansa breathes deep, settling the roaring pit of her stomach.

To taste and touch and know each other.

She sighs, eyes flicking back up toward Aegon. He's watching her steadily, and Sansa almost startles at the look. She flutters another encouraging smile toward the prince, throat tightening. "I'm sure you're very happy," she says.

Aegon cocks his head, a thoughtful purse to his lips. "I am, my lady."

Jon picks his fork and knife up beside her, cutting into his food with a single-minded focus. "The quail's getting cold."

Sansa turns to him, mouth open to scold his brusqueness, but she sees the tight clench of his jaw, and her mouth closes abruptly.

It isn't until later, when she's walking the gardens arm in arm with Margaery beneath a slowly waning sun, that she thinks on it again.

That stiffness in his jaw, the muscles of his arm flexing – all cold and callousness when he's bristling beneath something, and yes, she's become accustomed to his moods long enough to notice when he's bristling.

She wonders when that happened.

Maybe it's because she knows now, the gentle ease that can be found in his palms, the vulnerable quake that can be found in his breath, the decidedly not cold and callousness of his gaze when she's spread beneath him, taut beneath his fingers like the chord of a harp.

Maybe it's because of the way he looks at her these days.

Maybe it's because she's starting to look back.

"Margaery," she says, clearing her throat.

The Tyrell cocks her head to listen, a quirk to her lip in answer.

Sansa's hand tightens along Margaery's elbow. "Do you think Aegon and Daenerys love each other?"

Margaery laughs, short and bright, tapping Sansa's hand affectionately as they continue their stroll. "I think there are many things those two feel for each other, but I cannot rightly say whether any of it is love." She offers an impish grin. "Why do you ask?"

Sansa's gaze turns toward the path, lips pursed. "I don't know. I think I just..." She sighs, shaking her head. "I suppose there must be something of love between them, indiscernible as it may be to others."

Margaery plucks a nearby low-hanging flower off the vine, twirling the short stem between her fingers as they continue. "Because they're expecting?" There's something incredulous to her tone. "Sansa, any beast can breed."

She's taken aback by the words, even as softly-crafted as they are, melodically spoken, no hint of malice.

(The image of Jon, sweat-lined and panting above her, streaks through her mind. Her stomach turns without warning.)

Sansa bites her lip. She thinks, instead, of the look Aegon had let flutter across his face, perhaps even without meaning to, earlier that morning.

More exposed than she's ever seen him, except perhaps during their dance at her wedding, his eyes sweeping out over the room for his salt-haired wife upon her question.

"It is the wish of every marriage, is it not?"

Sansa blinks back the memory, another one stealing swiftly behind it. Jon's breath fanning her lips, his chest hard-pressed to hers, a dangerous glint to his eye – how the heat of him had burned her to the bone when he took her in his arms across the dancefloor, even as her sharp tongue cut into him with a branding chastisement.

He'd only held her tighter, never relinquished his hold, let her rebuke him without interruption.

That heat hadn't dissipated until well into the night, long after he'd spent inside her for the first time, long after she laid awake staring up at the canopy, listening to his soft breaths behind her, wondering if sleep eluded him as well.

She thinks she should have turned to him then, broached the silence, reached for something tentative and shadowed between them – something to hold onto in the comfort of night, where they may be free to be 'Jon and Sansa' outside of 'husband and wife'.

(She hadn't though, in the end. She'd only pulled the sheets up to her chest and turned her face into the pillow, craven and lonely – but mostly –

Mostly, afraid.

Of herself, more than anything.)

"That's not it," she tells Margaery, brows furrowing, steps never stalling. She glances out across the gardens, catches sight of the fountain coming around the bend, the faint light of dusk glinting off the waters like a mirage. She keeps her silence for many moments, watching the soft splash of water as they glide past, her throat tight.

Margaery fondly taps her cheek with the flower, a cheerful motion, even when her voice goes solemn, hesitant. "Is this about you and Jon?"

Sansa gives her an exasperated look but Margaery is undaunted. She merely raises a brow, a pointed look thrown Sansa's way.

"Jon and I – we..." A heavy sigh, a one-shouldered shrug. "We're still learning each other."

Margaery gives her a sharp look, barely managing to keep the disappointment from her face.

If she thinks Sansa a coward, she kindly doesn't say so. It wouldn't matter, though.

Sansa already thinks herself coward enough.

She sighs again, brushing a tendril of hair from her face. "Gods, I'm pathetic."

Margaery stops then, her hold on Sansa halting her as well, and she turns fully to her, eyes searching hers, lips tipped into a pretty frown.

Sansa blinks at her, brows raising in question.

Margaery takes a breath, hand sliding down Sansa's arm to clasp along her own palm. "Do you think Daenerys happy?"

She blinks at the question, glancing down to their joined hands, and then back up. Margaery is staring at her intently, and Sansa finds herself growing hesitant under the gaze. She fumbles for her words. "I don't..."

"In your eyes, does she seem happy to you?"

Sansa clamps her mouth shut, the words stalling along her tongue. She takes a breath, shakes her head almost imperceptibly. "No," she manages, a soft expel of breath.

Margaery only nods, a gentle thumb grazing over her knuckles. "And do you really think a babe is going to change that?"

Sansa bites her lip, a sudden sorrow lighting her bones. She thinks of Daenerys' self-assured words and her perfect posture and her unabashed gaze, all exceedingly graceful, and yet... somehow empty.

It saddens something great in Sansa.

"No," she answers – truthfully.

Margaery looks at her a moment longer, contemplative. "A babe is not the highest aspiration of love, Sansa, no matter what your Septa told you," she scoffs gently.

Sansa opens her mouth –

"Nor should it be," Margaery continues, hand tightening over hers.

Sansa's mouth clamps shut, her brows furrowed.

"Duty is all well and good, Sansa, but will it keep you warm at night? Will it weather the years with you? Will it grow old and grey beside you?"

Her chest aches at the words, her eyes stinging suddenly. She lets out a rueful laugh, the sound catching in her throat. "Take my pleasure where I can?" she asks, repeating Margaery's earlier words with a sardonic smile.

The other woman only offers a comforting gaze, patting her hand once more before releasing it, winding her arm through hers and continuing their trek through the gardens. "Quite," she says succinctly, chin tipped high.

The light has grown dim across the gardens, and they turn back toward the keep in unison. Sansa considers the other woman a moment longer, before leaning into her, whispering almost conspiratorially, "Do you think pleasure can become love with time?"

Margaery mulls the question over, rolling the stem of the forgotten flower between the pads of her fingertips once more. "Perhaps. For some."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then it is still pleasure," she says simply.

Sansa raises her brows at that, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

It's not an untruth, really.

And what guarantee does Sansa have that her union with Jon will nurture love? What guarantee has she at all that he even wants the same?

Sansa looks ahead, steps light and even, hand crooked into the hollow of Margaery's elbow.

Wolves have never been craven things.

So why should she start now?

Sansa draws her back straight, eyes instinctively searching for the high window that is hers and Jon's bedchamber.

Yes.

She will take her pleasure where she can.

"Sansa, would you..." Margaery trails off, fingers clenching around the flower in her grasp, a nervous sort of tremor making her shake her hand out, tossing the flower to the wayside with a long look. She breathes deep, tucks her hand more surely into Sansa's arm. "Would you find it terribly improper of me if I asked to write your brother back at Winterfell?"

Sansa turns wide eyes to Margaery, but the other woman's staring intently ahead, cheeks deceptively unflushed in the growing shadows, a nonchalant sway to her walk that is entirely too contrived in Sansa's eyes.

She smiles devilishly. "Well, I don't think he'd particularly appreciate letters from a strange woman, even one of such a noble house."

Margaery glances at her, brows raised, mouth parted with no sound coming out.

Sansa can hardly contain her giggle. "Though my brother Rickon is too sweet to tell you such himself," she teases.

Margaery stops, mouth gaping, and then a laugh breaks from her, a hand swatting at Sansa's arm good-naturedly. "Sansa, you terrible thing, I meant Robb," she near shrieks in laughter.

"Oh, Robb, is it? Just Robb? Not 'Lord Robb'? So intimate already?" Sansa cannot curb her smirk as she watches Margaery huff.

"You're teasing me."

"And rightfully so." Sansa beams.

Margaery tuts dramatically. "I find this friendship terribly one-sided, Lady Sansa. I am aghast at your insensitivity to my plight."

"Oh, how unladylike of me."

Margaery nuzzles at her cheek, laughing.

Sansa can hardly imagine why such a self-possessed woman would need her approval or opinion, but she is glad to give it, nonetheless. She clutches at Margaery's arm, keeping her close, smile never breaking from her face. It's a meaningful look she gives her, a warmth blossoming in her chest. "Take your pleasure where you can, Margaery," she says.

Margaery presses a swift, full kiss to her temple, smile etched against her skin, hand braced to the back of her head. "Then I shall," she whispers gleefully.

Sansa shakes her head at her, pulling back slightly. "Though I do imagine Robb is like to be the one to write first. Horrendous restraint, that one."

Margaery's laugh fills the night air.

Sansa is warm all the way back to her room.

* * *

Sansa sits at her vanity table, turning the vial of hazel oil over in her hand. She glances back up to her reflection in the mirror, braid undone over her shoulder, the thin silk robe parted over her white shift, the faint outline of her breasts barely visible in the flicker of candlelight atop the vanity.

And this is what Jon sees each night before they go to bed.

Sansa sighs, placing the vial back on the table top.

Do not be ashamed of it, she tells herself, repeating Margaery's words like a mantra. But she doesn't quite understand how it works without it.

She closes her eyes, thinks back to that first night he'd slid his fingers up her folds, and the jolt that shot through her at the touch. She curls her fingers around the edge of her shift at her thighs.

Maybe it all starts there.

Her knees part hesitantly, her eyes still fluttered closed, drawing the hem of her shift up her thighs, settling it at her hips. Taking a long, slow breath, feeling the tightness pricking at her chest, she trails a finger over the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh, dipping down between her legs.

She imagines spreading her legs for him, the warm, rough pressure of his palms urging her thighs apart, settling his weight in the cradle of her hips.

A shuddering sigh escapes her parted lips. Her hand presses against her clothed cunt, a sharp drop in her gut jerking her hips unconsciously at the motion. She snaps her eyes open.

Her image in the mirror is the most scandalous Sansa has ever seen, thighs parted eagerly, shift bunched up at the waist, chest already heaving, cheeks flushed, and then there – there – her cunt pushing toward the pressure of her palm, fingers curling down over her smallclothes. She gasps at the image, her hand retracting, and she brushes something – gods, something wonderful, a shudder racking her, a soft moan caught between her teeth, surprising herself, and before she even knows what she's doing, her hand is returning, seeking that spark, that surge, fingers more sure now, pressing over her smallclothes for something – for –

"Ah!" Sansa whimpers, hips jerking, fingers finding home. She rubs at the soft nub through her smallclothes again, feeling the dampness, head lolling back, hips bucking up into her own tentative touch, and another moan makes it past her clenched teeth, nearly loud enough to cover the sound of the door unlatching, but not quite, and Sansa rips her hand from between her legs, fumbling to replace her shift, smoothing her breath out, feeling that clench in her cunt even now, aching and eager, and she bites down on her lip to keep from trembling just when Jon stalks through the door.

Her eyes catch along his in the mirror when he stops short, the door slipping closed behind him.

For the horrifying stretch of an instant, Sansa thinks she's been caught out.

Her mortification is almost enough to drown out her arousal.

(Almost, but not quite.)

Jon's brow furrows as he steps toward her. "Are you well, my lady?"

Sansa releases a forced chuckle, a practiced scoff. "I'm still unused to this heat," she says, brushing the hair from her shoulders, hoping the light sheen of sweat at her brow is not construed otherwise, nor the faint flush of her cheeks she still catches in the reflection.

Jon stares at her a moment, considering, before nodding silently, seeming to accept her answer, and then making his way to the bed. He sits along the edge and goes to remove his boots.

Sansa feels the air rake from her chest in faint relief. Her body is still wound tight, her skin thrumming, heat lancing through her, and she watches Jon undress in the reflection of the mirror, hands curled over her knees in anticipation, lip caught between her teeth.

He's down to his sleeping tunic when he sits back along the edge of the bed again, his back to her, a heavy sigh leaving him.

Sansa stands with a surety she hasn't felt in many moons. She makes her way to the bed, settling along the opposite edge. In her peripheral, she can see the vial of hazel oil still lingering atop her vanity – untouched.

It will be the only thing untouched tonight, she promises.

With trembling fingers, she begins to slip the robe from her shoulders. It flutters to the furs just as Jon's voice hits the air.

"Forgive me, my lady, but I – I think I've had the wrong of it all this time."

Sansa stills, hands curled along the material of her robe, ready to drag it from the bed, her gaze flicking over her shoulder toward him.

His back is still to her, his hands hung between his knees as his elbows rest along his thighs.

She licks her lips, shifts to pull a knee up along the bed, angled toward him. "My lord?"

Another sigh racks him, and he's rubbing his face then.

Sansa's chest tightens inexplicably.

Jon straightens finally, turning so that he can meet her gaze across the bed. "When you said you wanted to be a proper wife."

Her mouth opens, words ready along her tongue, but the look in his eye stops her.

They stay staring at each other across the bed, half-turned with their backs to each other, half-leaning into the other's words.

And then Jon offers a rueful chuckle. "You wanted civility, not affection."

She thinks she means to say something, she must, she surely will but... but the words lay dying in her throat. She swallows them back like turned wine.

"But I'm a bastard," he says, gaze falling to the bed. "And it seems I exceed at neither." A light quirk of his lip, the curl of his fingers in the furs, fist white-knuckled and stiff.

Her gaze stays rooted to that fist, chest rising slowly and steadily. Her throat is dry, her tongue heavy. She does not meet his eyes.

"I apologize, my lady," he says now, turning from her fully, back a curved line, like a scream.

Or a howl.

Sansa blinks back the imagine, eyes stinging uncontrollably. She shifts over the bed toward him, hand outreaching. "Jon - "

"We should get some rest." He goes to put out the bedside candle, dousing their room in darkness.

Sansa can still follow his outline in the dark, still make out his form in shadow. She has grown used to the shape of him, the weight of him. She has learned to find him in the absence of light.

"Jon, please, I – "

"It's okay, Sansa," he says lowly, already turning under the covers, gaze fixing to the canopy of the bed. "Duty can take a night's respite."

Sansa curls her lip back in a trembling grimace, hand bunching in the furs, that sting at her eyes a sudden, wet sheen. She blinks back the tears in the cover of darkness, grabbing for her ends of the furs. She shuffles into her side of the bed, curling on her side, watching him.

He takes a breath in, heaves it back out.

Sansa curls her fist beneath her chin, huddled in the furs. "I don't think you exceed at neither," she says softly, watching him in the night.

He makes no move to turn to her, but she can see his eyes searching the dark – skyward, unfixed.

She almost reaches for him.

But instead, her hand stays bunched in the furs beneath her chin until sleep takes her, Jon's outline painted in shadow against the backs of her lids.

* * *

Jon wakes groggily to a noise at his ear, the film of night still dowsing him, sleep still fogging his mind. He blinks in the darkness, a grumble lighting in his chest. He's laying on his back, a warmth at his side, a steady rocking. Another sound at his ear – low and breathy.

Jon stills.

He blinks again, quickly, a hand rubbing at his eyes, straining to see through the shadows as he turns his gaze to Sansa beside him, half-draped over him. She's on her stomach, one of her legs thrown over his, fist bunched in the sheets at her cheek, her warm center pressing into his thigh and she's – she's –

Jon's throat goes dry.

Sansa rocks into him in her sleep, slow and even, rubbing herself against his thigh. Even through his breeches and her rucked up shift, he can feel the throbbing heat of her, her cunt damp against him. Another sigh leaves her, and Jon's gaze snaps up to her face, watching her lashes flutter in her sleep, her mouth pursing tight. He takes a moment, blinking wildly at her, jarred by the sight of her. And then he shifts just slightly beneath her, pressing his thigh more firmly against her.

The soft moan that leaves her has the blood rushing to his cock instantly. His mouth drops open as he watches her. Another rock of her hips against him, a keening sound in the back of her throat, and Jon's breath comes quicker, his thigh pushing against her cunt on each intoxicating grind.

He can feel his growing hardness pressing into the thigh she has between his legs and he shifts slightly on his side to better fit into her rocking. His eyes never leave the enthralling expression on her face, watching the scrunch of her brows, the purse of her lips, the pale column of her throat flexing as she strains in her sleep, drawing closer to him, back arching as she grinds against him, and she's wet, Jon finds, so unbelievably wet, and his mouth goes slack, his breath hitching, a maddening haze overtaking him, and he grabs at her thigh before he can stop himself, fingers inching up past her bunched shift, fixing to her hip. His fingers dig into her flesh, dragging her into him, grinding her against the hard muscle of his thigh, eyes fixed to the look of rapture on her sleep-touched features. His hand reaches further, encouraged by her breathy moans, grabbing at her ass and dragging her harshly against him, pressing his cock into her hip as his thigh wedges further between her legs, pressed up against her slick cunt, that sodden, intoxicating heat of her, grinding her against him, and the chest-rattling groan rakes from him before he manages to bite it back.

Sansa stills.

Jon's breath stalls in his throat and he stills as well, blinking deliriously at her in the dark, hard and aching at her hip, fingers digging into her flesh.

Her lashes flutter, her fist uncurling in the sheet beneath her, eyes lifting in a sleepy daze to catch brilliantly along his. Her breathing is short and shallow, her body stretched taut, a line of precarious rigidity. She blinks at him, her eyes focusing in the dark.

Jon barely breathes. They lay staring at each other, chests heaving, legs entangled. He watches the light of recognition in her eyes, even amongst the shadows, the flicker of a tremble at her lips, her tight swallow as she fixes him with a wide-eyed stare.

And just when he's about to release her, to draw back, to turn from her in heated shame and attempt to will his straining erection down, curled as far away from her on the bed as he can be – he catches the tentative shift of her thigh against him.

Her mouth parts, her breath hitching, and he doesn't dare move. She's still staring at him when she shifts again, this time just as hesitant, but it's a shallow rock of her hips rather than the simple press of her thigh.

Jon sucks a breath between his teeth, fingers tightening over her hip.

She seems to catch the reaction, because then she's biting her lip, brows drawn down in concentration, eyes never leaving his when she rolls her hips very purposely, very surely against his thigh now, a thready moan building in her throat.

Jon's control snaps. He grips at her thigh, pulling it from between his legs, ignoring her delicate whimper at the loss and shifting her so that her leg is swung over his hip instead, angling them so he's on his side fully, pressed into her, his other thigh braced at her center now. She sighs at the return of the pressure, an instinctual roll of her hips meeting him when he presses more forcefully into her. Her eyes go hooded, fixing to his mouth, the hand that was bunched in the sheets reaching tentatively toward his hip, anchoring there to steady herself against his thrusts. Even in the dark, he thinks he can see the pinks of her cheeks at the motion, at the steady rock of their hips, her cunt rubbing incessantly at his thigh through their clothes, and the thought has him impossibly harder, groaning in the space between their panting mouths.

"That's it," he tells her, voice gravelly from sleep and desire, hand guiding her hip against him. Watching her chase her pleasure like this, her cunt soaking him through his breeches, her chest heaving, her lip swollen and plump beneath her teeth, eyes hooded and fixed to his – it has him near on delirious. "That's it, Sansa, just like that," he grinds out.

She moans so prettily at his guidance that the sound staggers the breath in his chest. He ruts into her mindlessly, watching her face screw tight. His hand leaves her hip and fumbles for her shift, tugging the sleeveless thing past her shoulder, almost baring a breast entirely when he stops his frantic tugging, glancing back up at her, eyes boring into hers. She nods fervently, never stopping her grind against his thigh or her enticing mewls. Jon doesn't wait for a second confirmation, yanking the material down, breath catching when a perfect, pale breast spills out, nipple a dusky pink and pebbled to hardness. He cups her eagerly, groaning at the responding sigh that leaves her. He palms at her breast as she rubs herself more fiercely at his thigh, her hand curling tight at his hip.

Jon licks his lips, hungry, aching for a taste of her, growling impatiently as he dips his head down and takes her nipple between his lips, lapping at her, sucking eagerly. Sansa cries out, arching into him, panting above him.

"Fuck," he groans into her skin, teeth catching at her nipple, relishing the tremble that racks through her. His hand returns to her ass, hauling her against him, rutting shamelessly against her still-clothed cunt like a green boy. Jon imagines the slick heat of her, that tight cunt sheathed around his cock, so absolutely drenched for him, as he fucks her senseless, burying himself deep inside her again and again. He clamps down on her nipple, tongue swirling over the pebbled flesh, moaning with her in his mouth, sucking her harder.

"Jon," she gasps sharply, and the sound of his name in her breathless voice has him quaking, so painfully hard against her, wedging his thigh up, grinding her against the lean muscle of his leg, mouth releasing her breast on a needy growl.

"Come on, Sansa, just like that," he grunts. "Harder. Yes – fuck, just like that." His teeth catch at her collar bone, his tongue lashing at her sweat-slicked skin. "I want to feel that hot, wet cunt rutting against me. Want to hear you moan with me between your legs."

And she does moan – loudly – at his urging, grinding wantonly against him now, nails digging into his hip. Her eyes screw shut and Jon pulls back just enough to watch her, just enough to catch the disarming scrunch of her features as she chases her high, whining low in the back of her throat, pressed nearly flush up against him. "I want to see you cum for me, Sansa," he groans out, gaze fixed to her, breathless, and she cries out sharply, shuddering against him, wet and throbbing at his thigh, fingers like talons at his hip, face screwed tight, and it's the most erotic thing he's ever seen, the pleasure crashing through her. He's spilling instantly, vision going white, grunting into her shoulder as his hips jerk painfully, the force of the hardest orgasm he's ever had washing through him in waves and waves and waves.

It seems an age before he's able to regain his breathing, his thoughts.

"I've got you," he mutters, voice coarse, rocking into her languidly, steadily, drawing her close. Her hand edges up from his hip, gripping at his tunic, an anchor. She's trembling, her chest heaving, her mouth at his ear. "I've got you," he says again, swallowing thickly, ignoring the sticky mess his seed has made in his breeches, against her shift.

Like a fucking green boy.

Jon sighs, biting back a curse.

(Too far gone to ever turn back now.)

Sansa's fist doesn't unfurl from his chest until sleep well and truly claims her.

"I've got you," he breathes into her hair, ragged – taken by the sight of her.

Taken – wholly and recklessly.

"I've got you."

[heroprose]

bnha + late night cuddles

request. i have a request :) how about bnha boys (izuku, katsuki, kirishima, and any other character you would like to add) reacting to their s/o insisting they sneak into their dorm late at night to cuddle? (up to you if sfw or slight nsfw) 💝

a/n. i gotchu! thanks for the request!!

izuku midoriya -- 11:17pm

getting izuku to meet you late on a school night seems like no easy task especially with how studious he can be, but you learned with time that if you threw in a quick “i miss you” in your nightly texts, he obliges quite easily. it makes him think, you suppose, that you need him, right here, right now. and in a many ways, you do.

hey, you type furiously from your bed. even on the dimmest setting, your phone screen lights up the dark dorm room, a blue glow dancing all along your walls. are you up?

the check marks next to your message pops up nearly immediately. yes how are you? izuku sends in response and you bite the inside of your cheek from grinning too wide.

come over!

now? he replies.

yes! you type back, adding i miss you:( for good measure.

this time, the response is not so immediate. you wait with knitted brows as the three dots blink incessantly. is he really worried about being caught? or maybe not getting enough sleep? it is a school night after all. getting a little impatient, you decide to give him a call instead.

thankfully, he picks up on the third ring. “hi?”

“hi,” you say, smiling. “wanna come up?”

“i’m-- i’m at your door,” he replies in a hushed voice.

“oh!” you scramble to your feet and the second the door clicks open, you pull him in and shut it, laughing quietly at his sudden yelp.

“i probably shouldn’t stay long,” izuku says after a bit with a nervous laugh, finding himself lying down on your bed. everything smells like you, and he’s so thankful that the moonlight streaks that enter through your windows don’t illuminate the flush on his cheeks and ears. 

you lie down next to him, elbow propping your head up so you can get a good look at your love. “don’t worry,” you say, extending your free hand to tease through his green curls. “i’ll kick you out when the time comes.” 

even when it’s time to leave, izuku finds it hard to pull himself out of your arms, and so he stays, letting your sighs get lost on his lips well past midnight.

katsuki bakugou -- 1:20am

also quite the studious boy, chances are that by the time you want katsuki’s late night company, he’s already fast asleep and won’t see your texts or hear your calls until bright and early the next day. other times, if you’re lucky enough, he’s got his ringer on.

“why are you calling me? look at the freakin’ time. go to bed,” he rasps from the other end of the call. his voice is low, edged with rough irritation and sleepiness as if he’d just awoken. which he probably had.

“already sleeping?” you say. “but it’s the weekend!”

“yeah. and?”

“annnd, i want to see you,” you say, your voice hushed. “come over.”

he doesn’t respond for the longest time, and for a moment, you think he had hung up on you. “oh, come on,” you continue, “everyone went home already, and i haven’t talked to you all day so--”

“give me two minutes,” he interjects snappishly, then hangs up.

two minutes after the call ends, he’s already in your room and toeing off his shoes. 

“get back in the bed,” he simply says. 

you oblige with a scoff, tucking yourself in and patting the empty space beside you. “are you really that tired? let’s talk a little. or something.”

“nope,” he says, climbing in. “we’re sleeping.” he pulls you close and nuzzles into your back without a second word. your legs tangle, and you’re barely given a moment to protest. you feel the rise and fall of his chest behind you, and while comforted by his intimacy, you let out a wheeze.

“katsuki, you’re too hot.”

“mm.” he doesn’t move.

“no, i mean temperature wise. i can’t sleep like this. at least let me see your face.”

he lets out an annoyed noise, but the arm around your waist loosens enough for you to turn around. his eyes are shut and his brows are knitted as always, but even so, he looks peaceful. you’re filled with a loud want to just reach out and touch his cheek, but as you extend your hand, he speaks again.

“stop staring, creep,” he says into the quiet, fist tightening on the back of your shirt. “and get to sleep.”

eijiro kirishima -- 12:04am

at this hour, eijiro would personally have no qualms going into your room, but he’d prefer if no one noticed him entering-- that’s hard to explain, you know? not everyone is satisfied with a “we’re just gonna chill” kind of answer.

so he doesn’t really appreciate it all that much when you tap his shoulder in the common room and ask him, quite clearly, “you’re coming up to my room later, right?”

“yeah, ‘course,” he says with a grin but when he turns back to his classmates, he’s met with gawks and smirks. of course, you don’t mean anything salacious. and he knows that-- but at the same time, it makes him sound like some kind of lowlife, sneaking into your room late at night. mina whistles; denki just gives a knowing look.

so when he knocks on your door, he does it properly with a distinct “it’s me, kirishima!”

he would pull no punches when it comes to affection, taking you in his arms the moment you pulled open the door and kissing you on the cheek. “hey,” he says, a bit breathless when he withdraws.

it doesn’t take much to get him to lie down with you, your leg draped over his while his arm cushioned your head, all the while you talked of nonsense and nothing. and he just listens to your rants and musings, sometimes interjecting with laughter or his own commentary but really he just likes hearing you, listening to what you have to say. 

“you’re so cute,” he says at some point, his voice muffled by your hair. “it lowkey makes me emotional, i’m not gonna lie.”

it does not take you long to digest this candid outburst and laugh. “aww! i’m so lucky to have you, eijiro.” you try to look up at him, but he turns his chin away just in time. “oh no, are you crying?” you say, letting out another brief laugh and reaching out with your hands.

“no, i’m not crying! but don’t look at me.” he says-- and he’s right. when you wriggle yourself free and firmly plant your hands on his shoulders, you realize he’s just flushed pink all the way to his ears.

you take it on yourself to pat his cheek. “listen, i didn’t call you over here to not look at you,” you say, leaning in until you spoke over his lips. “so don’t leave just yet, yeah?”

spoiler: he doesn’t.

[legendary-destiel]

Craving for feelings

Or: The moment when Dean Winchester said “I need you” for the first time. And really meant it.

[Coda for 5x14 "My bloody valentine"]

Read here on AO3.

Wordcount: 1200

Notes: Last weekend, I rewatched some random SPN episodes, and then some thoughts for 5x14 (“My bloody valentine”) came to my mind and yep, I had to write them down. ;) Wow, I sometimes forget, how damn broken the boys were back then. And Cas was so innocent that it hurt. So what came out is a little one-shot coda for 5x14. Please don’t expect blooming sentences and well-built paragraphs, this is just how my thoughts popped up. I apologize for typos as well, I wrote that very quickly. PS: Maybe there’s gonna be a 2nd part sometime… ;)

It begins with this scene:

The hunger that Dean felt, was of a different kind than the ordinary one that spread throughout the city. He didn’t long for food, nor alcohol, nor kisses and hot nights. Like he said to Cas earlier that day: He was well fed.

But then, Famine looked inside his soul and told him that he is broken. So tremendously broken, he could not even feel such primal instinct as hunger. He was too far gone. This conclusion hit him like a sledgehammer.

It was not that he didn’t wonder what was going on with him. During the case, he began to ask himself why he didn’t get cursed too. Honestly, he just waited for the spell to hit him. Even Cas was affected. Dean told himself, he was simply strong enough to withstand it. But then he saw Cas kneeling on the floor, uncontrolled feeding on raw meat in a disgusting way, and he had known it.

It wasn’t him being strong. It was, because he was too damn empty. And then the horseman – Famine – proved Dean's own theory with this little speech. He couldn’t feel a thing. Nothing could fill that void. The only thing he cared for, was the well-being of this little brother. This was all that matters. He got him out of there, got the ring from the horseman, broke the curse. Of course, Sam was really screwed now, after drinking all that demon blood, so they locked him in Bobby’s panic room.

So here he found himself, listening to his brother screaming, drowning in that bottle of whiskey and the damn tears were about to come up. Sammy wasn’t the only one who was screwed.

Cas was here too. This seemed to be the only relief.

But the angel was too far away. He was too… distracted. Usually too lost in his thoughts about humanity. Probably too busy with a thousand other heavenly things, Dean could imagine. Cas had some wise words up his sleeve, but he didn’t understand what Dean really needed.

Someone to hit the bottom of the bottle with him. And then another one, maybe. And then he needed someone to stroke his back, dry his tears while telling him that it’ll be alright. Someone who wasn’t helpless or just too afraid to venture coming closer.

He needed some air.

***

“Please, help me.” Dean begged toward heaven. If there even existed something like this. But a man could try, or not?

“What do you need, Dean?” He heard a familiar, low voice behind him. Cas.

He turned around and saw the angel facing him. His concerned expression was almost adorable.

“Cas… what are you doing out here?” Dean asked exhausted. He was tired of explaining something he doesn’t even know himself.

“You sounded like you need help. You explicitly asked for it.”

“Cas. Just let it be, okay? I’m just a broken soul.” He took a mouthful of whiskey. He began to feel slightly drunk. Finally.

Castiel stepped closer. “Says who?”

Dean’s voice was getting loud as he answered. “Says the freakin’ horseman, Cas. You were there. Of course, you were too… occupied with eating that shit…” He waved a hand and turned his face away from the angel.

“I’m… sorry, Dean. The hunger hit me so deep inside, I couldn’t resist. I thought I would die in the next second, if I didn’t eat.”

“Huh. That sounds like an awful feeling.”

“It was. Very strange, though, to suddenly feel such a hunger. I’ve never felt anything like this.”

Dean remained silent, leaned himself against the car and looked up to the stars.

“Do you really believe he was right?” Cas said after a short while, frowning. “The horseman? About that your soul is broken?”

Dean shrugged, then slowly, he nodded.

“Then let me tell you one thing, Dean Winchester. Your soul is perfectly intact. I rebuilt it myself, after raising you from hell.”

Dean wasn’t satisfied. “Nice and good, buddy. But why didn’t I feel any kind of hunger, Cas?”

“You said to me, that you’re feeling alright because you always just take the things you need.”

“Well, lately I have some doubts about this. Honestly…” Dean swallowed. This was all so weird.

While he thought about it, he had to admit that he had longed for the angel’s company for quite a long time now. And Cas always came when he called. Dean enjoyed being with him. He always had to smile about Cas’ puzzled face when it comes to something he does not understand completely. The imperturbable loyalty he radiated. He can’t lie to himself. He wanted Cas near him. And he mostly was. Maybe this was the reason he didn’t long for anything else. Because his heart’s deep, dark desire was already within his reach.

He gave the angel a side glance.

Yah. The guy was very good looking and Dean caught himself a bit too often, just gazing at him. It’s been a long time since he found a man that attractive. And when he needed a – well - hot night, the ladies were always there, and easy to grasp, just like ripe fruit. He emanated this thing, women seemed to like. It was getting too easy lately, tho. Too bromidic.

Another sip from the golden liquid. The bottle was almost empty now.

Huh. Did he just consider that Cas could be, maybe…

“Dean?” Cas’ voice pulled him out of his musings. “You seem to be very much lost in your thoughts, so I’m going to leave you alone now. Take good care of Sam and – “

“No. Wait.” He interrupted the angel. “Just don’t… don’t go. Please.” Dean grabbed Cas by his wrist.

Cas looked down to his wrist, then his eyes went up to meet with Dean’s. He slightly nodded. “I can certainly stay here if you want my company, Dean.”

“Yes, Cas, I’d like that… and, uh…”

Oh, fuck it. He felt so endlessly empty at the moment and he craved for the feeling of actually feeling a damn thing, it almost hurt.

He needed… he needed Cas now so badly that his guts ached.

And then he felt it. His soul was not broken. It was whole. Because of Cas.

Dean was still holding on to Cas’ wrist. “I… Thank you for… putting my soul back together.” He whispered. His voice trembled. Was he nervous?

“You’re very welcome, Dean.”

Awkward silence. They looked into each other’s eyes and again, time stood still.

“What do you need, Dean?” Cas finally said calmly.

“You. I need you.”

Cas tilted his head, the questioning expression on his face remained. Dean raised Cas’ wrist and placed the angel’s palm directly on his chest. Right above his heart.

“I need you to help me feel something. Could you do that?”

Castiel felt Dean’s heartbeat through skin and bones and shirt. It was beating fast and strong. Enwinded by his soul. The extraordinary soul he saved.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Come with me.”

And then Dean guided the angel to the bedroom.

***

That’s it! I hope you enjoyed the read! :-)

[theewrites-tf2]

‘Dad is Mad,’ AKA, Daddy Issues: The Fanfic

What does a reluctance to study, a wild desire to write about an OC, and coffee help create? 

This mildly edited fanfic, of course!

ENJOY, and let me know if y’all want more OC content!!!

—————————————————————————————————-

“It’s still bleedin’!!!” The whiney pitch from the backseat, combined with the thick Bostonian accent, made a grey-ice eye twitch violently again, as the driver gripped the wheel firmly. “Injuries tend to do that,” Spy growled lowly, keeping his eyes firmly on the barren road ahead of him, slick with the downpour of rain. “Your nose isn’t special, Scout, it will bleed like anyone else’s.”

“Especially when you pause to gloat, surely you saw that fist coming to your face?” Another eye-twitch as the silk-smooth drawl of the French woman in the passenger seat sounded,  as unmarred, perfectly manicured fingers procured a lipstick-ruby red, perfectly matching the blood that spotted the edge of her skirt-and she began to masterfully apply a fresh coat. “ ’Ey! I LET him take me by surprise!” Scout insisted, pointing an accusing finger at the noticeably uninjured Règine, whilst holding his bleeding nose in the other. “All the badasses take on injuries, I had to fill in my badass QUOTA!”

Patiently, she began to make a delicate swerve of red to match the arch of her lip, “Then I suggest you quit complaining, mon ami,  if you allowed yourself to be injured on purpose for glory-points.” She paused, grey-ice eyes narrowed in the mirror to meet Scouts, “It’s foolish and reckless, and you are lucky that I arrived in time to-” “Oh, don’t you start now, you didn’t HELP me!” Scout shouted back, eyes flaring indignantly, simultaneous with the crackle of thunder overhead, “You threw a gun at my hand and ran the other way, Ray, that’s not ’helping!’" 

"The point was for you to USE that gun, not whine and shriek when it brushed against you with more force than a feather-” “Feather?!  Bullshit, you CHUCKED it at me, felt like a goddamn TRUCK, least you coulda done was WARN me-”“I was on an espionage mission, revealing my position to the locals would have ruined the goal- ”“Nuh-uh, you could’ve stopped to help-”“-and we would’ve lost the files to the enemies. Apologies, but I think you can survive a mild BUMP to the nose in the eyes of our success-”“-how about YOU get bumped next time, Miss Not-gonna-help-I’m-just-gonna-do-my-makeup-and-save-the-day-without-lifting-a-pinkie- !” “ENOUGH!”

The roar from the older Frenchman was accompanied by the squealing of tires, and a Scout, as the brakes were slammed on and the car skidded to a halt. Scout nearly careened into the seats in front of him, while Règine patiently placed a hand on the dashboard to steady herself, sighing knowingly as the car came to a halt. Tense silence filled the air, with Scout swearing mutely as he righted himself, and Spy slowly, one by one, unclenched his fingers from the death-grip on the steering wheel… And Règine turned back to the car mirror, going to work on painting her lower lip. 

Spy turned, sharply enough for Scout to flinch back,  then tried to puff up indignantly, even under the glare of identical silver-blue irises shooting (metaphorical) daggers into him. Spy  pointed a leather gloved, blood-stained finger at the Bostonian, teeth gritted so hard they could’ve been beginning to crack. “YOU were practically a CHILD back there,” He nearly spat, and Scout actually reached up to wipe some spittle. “And acting like an utter, incompetent, arrogant, overconfident, whining FOOL back there, embarrassing not only our TEAM, but my FAMILY name. And if I ever catch you recklessly endangering a mission like that AGAIN, I WILL leave you to face the consequences ALONE. And YOU-”

Règine clicked the lipstick shut, eyes narrowed with chin raised challenging and already turned to meet his glare. Father and daughter stood in a nonverbal stand-off of eye-contact. A minute passed. Then two. By the third minute, Scout had stopped sputtering indignantly and angrily in the backseat, and was pressed back slightly, uncertainly glancing between the two angry French natives. A glance at the door, as if pondered if heading out in the rain and letting them have this… Thing in private, was the best choice-

“I won’t even give you the dignity of being associated with my family name.” Spy jerked his gaze away before finally growled this out, hands stiffly grabbing the steering wheel again as he restarted the car, leaving his estranged daughter still, eyes narrowed as chin remained raised in silent challenge. She finally lowered it, but not upset, or with a shred of quivering of her bottom lip. She turned back forward, and heaved an almost bored sigh as the car started forward again.

“Well, you succeeded disassociated me with the family name years ago. Really, you need to come up with better, fresher material, père.”

The car had barely moved a few yards, before the brakes slammed again, and Scout cut his stunned, shocked silence with a yelp as he fell forward again. “Get out of my car.” Spy ordered, voice cold and hard as stone as his eyes refused to move from the road ahead. Règine smoothed down her lightly blood-splattered skirt, unbothered, “May I remind you it’s raining?” She mused, not looking up at him, turning her attention to brightening her appearance. “You’d truly leave a young lady out in the middle of the desert, during a storm-?” “Oui. Now go, or I’ll drag you out with a bullet in your knee.”

Règine was silent, before she turned to the back of the car, offering a cool upward tilt of her lips to Scout, while her hand opened the passenger door. “I had fun, let’s do this again sometime, hm?” Scout could only gawk and with a sly, cool wink, Règine slid out smoothly into the downpour, and a crackle of red smoke,  from her cloaking device faded out into the night, slamming the door behind the form of smoke…

Really SLAMMING, so hard that the car reeled under the two remaining men inside, and Scout could’ve sworn that the outline of cracks in the window could be seen, as lightning crashed. Scout gawked, clambering over to his window and scanning the dark, thunder-lighted desert for a fading cloud of red-smoke, any sign of his sister…  But the car lurched under him before he could find her, and he cursed again, nearly collapsing as the car raced down the road again.

“Wh-what the HELL, Spy, turn back!” Scout demanded,  crawling up to smack Spy’s head-rest. “We can’t just LEAVE her out here-" 

"I just did, put your seatbelt on.” “It’s MILES from the nearest town-!" 

"Good, then we won’t have to concern ourselves with her until her return later… Hopefully, much later.”

 "SPY, seriously, turn around!  Why are you being such an asshole?!“

Leather creaked as hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, and Scout braced for impact of the brakes again. Instead, a different impact hit him as Spy growled out,  "Jeremy. Put on a seatbelt, or you can join her. If you can possibly find her.” Scout considered it, for a minute. It’d stick it to the old man, for sure,  Scout would KILL to see his expression as his kid walked out on him,  ’Really turn the tables on the jerk… Show him how it feels.’

But then a glance into the dark desert landscape outside, going by in a flurry fast enough to make his head spin, his chances of running back and finding a pissed-off,  invisible Frenchwoman in the dark, in the RAIN…  Well, to say such chances were SLIM was a compliment. Reluctantly, and with plenty of insults grumbled underbreath, Scout sat back in his seat. Though, in defiance, he refused a seatbelt, and went back to covering his sore, dried-blood-coated nose with his hand, glaring out the window until a handkerchief was thrust into his face. 

“Take it, and be quiet.” Spy ordered, more annoyed than the tense rage he had been filled with earlier, sounding more like the normal Spy Scout knew and tolerated, then whoever the asshole was took his place when Règine was around. 

“The doctor will take a look back on-base. And I expect that back, washed and ironed carefully by the end of the week.” Scout glanced at the fancy napkin in surprise, then eyes narrowed in suspicion before a sigh sounded in the front seat, “Scout, it’s not chloroformed. Just clean yourself before you make a mess of my vehicle." 

Scout glared for a moment, before finally reaching up to snatch it without thanks, pressing it to his nose. He didn’t hesitate to recoil from the overpowering stench of cigarettes that wafted off of it, but sighed grumpily, and pressed it again to his nose, tipping his head back to staunch the flow. ”… You’re still a dick. That was your freakin’ daughter.“ If Spy’s hands tightened impossibly further on the wheel, or if he closed his eyes for a heartbeat, Scout didn’t see it. 

He only heard the long, heavy sigh fill the car, stuffed with too many emotions for Scout to properly decipher. ”… You don’t need to remind me.“ Spy muttered under his breath, almost too softly to be heard as they sliced through the rain on the vacant highway. 

Almost.

But instead of pressing, Scout only gave an irritated sigh of his own, and slumped back in his seat with crossed arms,  thoughts trailing back to the golden-haired Frenchwoman, out there, all alone, in the rain, without a coat, or an umbrella… Left with nothing but… But…

”…Spy, wait, holy shit, she still has the files.“

[party-of-rpg-muses]

I’m watching the Social Events in Persona 5: Dancing in Starlight and I couldn’t help but notice a few things.

Makoto often tried to get Sae to acknowledge her, but when she fails, she would be crushed as a result. That’s because she respected her sister so much.

When Futaba broke Yusuke’s ¥300,000 jester doll created by an Italian artist, she was incredibly guilty upon learning that it meant so much to him, even having spent his reward money from an art competition for it. She refers to him by name rather than “Inari” and offers to pay it back, even offering to find a part-time job.

Yusuke takes it in stride, mentioning that all good things must perish sooner or later. Even saying that with creation, one must pay a price. So by losing a doll that was dear to him. something great will happen to him. It possible he completely lost it.

Haru likes to use an axe and chop wood (and when Ryuji muses to go through her room and drawers, she threatens him with said axe).

Ryuji’s been training for track again after the escapades with the Phantom Thieves and considering competing again. Before Joker, he wouldn’t have even considered it.

Futaba is a fan of the two pop idols from Persona 4, Rise and Kanami.

Haru’s love of ballet came from a painting she saw ever since she was little.

If Ryuji had to choose, he’d pick a girl with a toned, fit body and a nice tan. But he also wouldn’t pass up the shy bookie type with glasses. (Or as Yusuke calls him “a desperate scavenger”).

Morgana thinks Haru has a crush on him (because of his “charm”, which is “a hit with the ladies”).

When Yusuke learns it was from an French impressionist (and learning there was a signature on the back), he becomes incredibly excited and overjoyed. Like, giddy, high-pitched voice, and beyond thrilled. He even wants to see the painting as soon as possible.

Sae passed the bar exam while she was still attending school. And with her good looks, she was invited for an interview on TV. The media constantly hounded her, even spreading a rumor that she was in love with a celebrity.

She also has incredibly high standards. Especially when it comes to punctuality, table manners, clothing, and choice of words.

Ryuji and Morgana talk about sex appeal (thought Morgana gets upset because he thought Ryuji was using the term “catwalk” to refer to how he walks).

Haru buys her food in bulk from a warehouse in the suburbs. Like 100-count of croissants or 10 whole turkeys. It’s much cheaper than buying less more often.

When Futaba was in the 4th grade, there was a special dance party where parents could join. Wakaba was so excited that she took the day off and Futaba practiced dancing so she could dance with her mom. But she came down with a fever and missed the dance, but Wakaba stayed by her side the entire time, even smiling and telling her to get well soon. Futaba really wanted to dance with her mom, but never got the chance.

Yusuke would often fast for several days to bathe in cold water during the winter.

Ryuji’s mom had an improved mood lately, most likely because Ryuji has been keeping his head down and behaving. Or maybe because she could tell he had a new sense of purpose.

Despite how strong Makoto is in aikido, Sae is even stronger. She’s never been able to defeat her older sister.

Haru used to love ballet and her father encouraged it, but he only saw it to impress business partners and barely attended her lessons and recitals.

The twins struggle to dance in unison at first.

Yusuke freaks out at the idea of facing Makoto and her aikido fighting style.

To quote Ryuji: “When in Rome, DANCE LIKE A FREAKIN’ BADASS!”

If Futaba could, she would definitely get a pair of Groucho Marx glasses to wear regularly, so long as it still functions like her usual glasses.

Ann’s attempt at being sexy (a sexy, pleasured sigh) falls flat. Even Morgana didn’t like it.

Futaba refers to Justine as “Justy”.

Ryuji refers to Makoto as the “Fist of the Phantom Star”.

Ryuji knows how to make a treat that can perk someone up when they’re tired. Simply chopped up lemons dipped in honey. His mom used to make it for him all the time, but it happened so often that he felt bad asking her so often.

Futaba confirms that Haru is a (precious) cinnamon roll (too pure for this world).

Yusuke has no specific type of girl. He likes all kinda of girls (so long as they are aesthetically pleasing).

Justine is far more willing to tease Caroline.

Haru and Makoto want to see who’s more fearsome senpai.

Ryuji admits that Takemi and Hifumi are hot. (Joker can even mention that he knows a certain fortune teller, a certain teacher, and a certain reporter.) Even Yusuke wants to know about Joker’s connections with women.

No one other than Shiho has been in Ann’s room.

And Ann suggestions getting a team party together with the others and even inviting Shiho.

Haru is very poor with technology. She once accidentally stumbled across Tanaka’s Shady Commodities. And up until recently, she thought the term “booting your PC” literally meant kicking it. And practically every computer she touches stops working without warning. Even technicians don’t know what’s wrong.

Futaba admits that Makoto will be a top-tier wife one day.

Ryuji knows quite a bit when it comes to physical activity. Staying hydrated, relaxing the muscles, one’s body weight. the lactic acid in one’s body.

Futaba created a really popular and successful game for fun, but sold all rights because the contract looked like too much work. (Ryuji calls her an idiot for not accepting the deal and becoming rich, to which she responds by calling the king of morons).

She even entertains the idea of taking Joker on as an employee when she gets series and deigns to make Ryuji the Tea Monkey.

When Ryuji tried to call the flyers in his room, he just got the twins. And upon calling the number for Kawakami’s maid service (of course, it was the twins), they sent Makoto to “clean up [his] mess”.

Makoto really wants a motorcycle license.

Haru doesn’t know what to do with her father’s yacht.

Futaba wants to one day “fill out” like Ann.

[voidendron]

I'd like to hear more about the mirror AU, if you're so inclined!

Gladly! :D

It’s a really weird AU to write because of just how opposite the Egos are in it, and I bet that makes it even weirder to read, but it’s a universe I have a lot of fun with! it was also created to be 100% self-indulgent because I’m a sucker for these kinds of AUs

I’ve already mentioned this (probably a few times oops ^^” ) but the big-bads are Chase, the King, Henrik, and Bing, with Chase and King probably being the most dangerous.

I’ll put it under a read more because oof. It got a lot longer than I anticipated but I love this AU so I should’ve expected it ^^”

I was just going off the top of my head, so I may have missed a few

I explain Chase more here

The King has an ability that isn’t quite mind control, but the others aren’t really sure what else to call it. It allows him to take control of his victim’s body, but they can still think freely, and if their will is strong enough they may also be able to speak. The Host is now immune to the ability due to losing his eyes. (he has the same ability in other universes, but can only use it on animals) King took over Ego Incorporated’s city and calls it his kingdom.

Bing and Google kind of swap roles, with Bing now being the one hellbent on destroying mankind. They’re both super tech-savvy, but Bing’s better at getting around Google’s firewalls and making files corrupt than Google is at protecting them. Google was more laid back, but tightened up a lot after Bing destroyed the Upgrades. Since there’s no actual laws/authorities in the Figmental Plane, Google’s been working to pinpoint the weaknesses of Bing and the others in an attempt to help his comrades take them out for good.

Henrik and Edward are both black market dealers who use their “patients” as the goods, carefully dissecting them to sell their organs for ridiculous prices. Henrik is more hands-on, with his go-to weapon being a meat cleaver. Edward relies more on poisons/hallucinogens. They absolutely hate each other and have tried to kill each other on more than one occasion. Hen works directly with Chase, and was the main man in corrupting Jackieboy to their side with torture and brainwashing, with Bing and Chase working more on the sidelines for that one. As such, Jackie is loyal only to Henrik. Henrik also has two kids--twins named Elias and Emil. Chase had ordered Hen to kill them and their mother (afraid they’d hold him back), and Wilford saved them in the nick of time, though wasn’t there in time to save their mom.

Host and Anti act as active parts of their creators’ respective fandoms, pretending to be theorists in a vain attempt to get the fans to see things from the right angle and help them. They don’t want the fans to know they’re real--for their own safety--but are also desperate for their help. Anti’s also an editor, creating gifs/moodboards/whatever he can of the good Septics/Ipliers to get them as much attention as they can. Host is strictly a “theorist,” and when not trying to get the fans’ help, he’s often leading patrols of two or three to check around the Hideaway for dangers. Host lost his eyes when the King tool control of him and forced him to stab them out with a pen; King had discovered Host had been saving his victims and. Really didn’t take kindly to it-

Bim and Jameson are spies. It’s a loose term for Bim, who purposefully tries to get the attention of the baddies to lure them in so that he can gather more information on them. Wilford usually has to teleport in for a quick save before whoever Bim lured can kill/capture him. JJ is a true spy. With him, I took the whole “he’s a spy/puppet of Anti” headcanon some people have and switched it around. Here, Chase thinks he has control over Jameson. Nah. JJ’s playing you like a fiddle, dude, and collecting all the juicy info while he’s at it. 

Dark is the oldest, and was created when Mark had no idea wtf he was doing. The problem is that, unlike Main Dark who was developed over time, Mark wasn’t able to work more on Mirror Dark’s development because it was around that time that King came around and tried to fuckin kill their creator (because “wait??? you guys are REAL????”) Now, Dark is a coward who has no idea how to use their powers and freakin accidentally teleports when startled. Now that Elias and Emil are in the Hideaway, the group’s found Dark is really good at caring for them, though, and Dark was the first one of the bunch the twins even remotely trusted.

Speaking of twins, the Jim Twins are politicians (or, as close as the Figmental Plane gets to politicians). Because what’s the opposite of reporters who share everything they find out? That’s right. The’re split up between Incorporated and Central’s cities and try to cover everything up. Don’t let Anti and Host reach out to the fans, don’t let other Guardians and their cities know what’s going on here in case the baddies decide to expand their reach, tell Bing when Google gets something he shouldn’t, stay on the King and Chase’s good sides. The Mirror Twins are total suck ups.

With the absence of doctors for the heroes of the AU, Jacques took it upon themself to put down their art and start studying. Unlike Main Jacques, Mirror is really good under pressure; they have steady hands, they learn fast, who better for the job when Google’s too busy for it? They’re always worried about the others and are the first to greet them when they arrive back to the Hideaway after patrols or fights to check them over for injuries, all while Muse follows protectively at their heel. They still miss their art, but they know the group desperately needs a doctor and hopes when it’s all over, they can get back to what they love.

Wilford acts as the heroes’ leader. He’s calm and collected, and will be the at the front of the line when the group’s doing something dangerous, and the last to return to the Hideaway after ensuring the others made it first. Many of the plans they have are ones he came up with with Google’s help; Google acts as a second-in-command type of figure. Host and Dark are his best friends and he’s always hesitant to let either of them leave the Hideaway on their own because of it. He’s also aware of the other versions of himself scattered through different universes. He’s not sure what to make of it and keeps it to himself.

Marvin is strictly neutral and finds amusement in watching the games of cat and mouse that the others play. He resides within Ego Central, and is the only one the building permits inside. None of the others even know what it looks like inside. He has a massive room full of screens where he can watch the other Septics, and sometimes if things are particularly boring he might...ah. Stir the pot a little, so to say, to piss someone off and get a fight started. He’s also aware of the other versions of himself scattered through different universes which...probably isn’t a good thing. He keeps quiet about it, though is curious if cross-universe travel is possible.

Jackie was actually created as a superhero. When Sean realized how out of hand Mark’s evil Egos were getting, he offered to lend a hand and created Jackie to help out. Everything was good for quite a while. Jackie was friends with the other heroes, chatted a lot with Dark, Anti, and Host. Then Chase was created, not by Sean, but by the fans. Then Henrik, accidentally so, when their creator was playing Surgeon Simulator. With Bing’s help, Chase subdued Jackie and took him to Henrik. From there, he was tortured and brainwashed until he couldn’t even remember his own name and was made into nothing more than Henrik’s attack dog.

Not sure how Eric, Illinois, Yancy, and Magnum should play into the AU yet

It’s one of those types of AUs where it seems hopeless for the heroes. Every time they gain a step forward, the villains leap over them to shove them two steps back.

[jgreenfeld]

meet the muse;

jessica abigail greenfeld | 22 | bisexual | irish-american | aeronautical engineering student/mechanic | potterhead | supernerd | oreo addict | bookworm | cheerleader

10 FICTIONAL CHARACTERS

1. Harry Potter

Your obsession with Harry freakin' Potter is a timeless affair. You read the first book tucked into a corner on the a tour bus, musicians fiddling with their instruments all around you, but you were lost to them. You were too busy learning spells, playing Quidditch and fancying yourself Mrs Jessica Potter. Sure, a lot of your friends have outgrown their Harry Potter phase, but you don't think that'll ever happen to you. He was never just a character to you, he was a comfort when you were recovering from your illness and figuring out what life was going to be like without being able to hear things from now on. You lost quite a number of things after the meningitis hit, but you never lost Harry. He taught you how to be brave and true and a little bit sassy, and you're always going to love him.

2. Atticus Finch

Your father is a mechanic, not a lawyer. He wears sports jerseys instead of tweed suits. But he's still the closest thing to Atticus Finch that this world is going to get - in your eyes anyway. Your dad was the first one to introduce you to To Kill A Mockingbird. He panicked and shoved his own copy into your hands after you finished the fifth Harry Potter book and spent three straight hours wailing over Sirius. Of course, TKAM wasn't going to be something that necessarily cheered you up, but you were hooked from the get-go. Atticus taught you how to be just and fair. He taught you to think about what it would be like to walk a mile in someone else's shoes. He taught you valuable life lessons that you still carry today, and even though it would be impossible to hope that everyone in the world could be more like him, you could at lease try to channel all that energy yourself. You like to think that he taught you how to be a better person.

3. Mark Watney

Mark Watney taught you that space is dangerous and terrifying and that it has the potential to be the very death of you. He taught you that it's vast and empty and nothing but a challenge. And it only made you love it even more. When your father picked up on your space obsession, right after your solar system model won first prize at the middle school science fair, he gave you a copy of The Martian. In all honesty, he had no clue what it was about but the name hinted that he was on the right path. You devoured it whole. Or rather... you spent the full night yelling at your book whenever something traumatic happened and Michelle fully attempted to smother you with a literal pillow just to get you to shut up. Mark Watney made you fall in love with space even more, and he kickstarted your desire to work for NASA one day. When you feel like you're never going to make it, you just need to look to him for a kick up the ass.

4. Gilbert Blythe

Gilbert Blythe is the very first love of your life. You understand that there's a high chance you’re not his type, because when he tugs on Anne's pigtails and calls her 'carrots', she hits him over the head with a slate and it's love at first sight for him because of that. If Gilbert Blythe ever tugged on your hair to get your attention, then you probably would have just decided to marry him right then and there. Still, what's not to love about him? He's kind and he's funny and he's smart and he cares about school. Perhaps you would be relationship goals based solely on the fact that you're a nerd and he's a nerd. But you'll never get to test that theory out, which is a shame. In the meantime, Gilbert is setting the standards for all other men and he's raised the bar to a whole other level.

5. Paddington Bear

Paddington Bear is the reason you demanded a duffle coat and red wellies at the age of six. He's the reason you wanted to travel to Darkest Peru whenever a family vacation was brought up. And he's the reason that you still unironically enjoy a marmalade sandwich, even to this day. Plus, he's cuddly and kind and the exact friend you think anyone should have. Honestly, you'd love to be someone's answer to Paddington Bear.

6. Matt Saracen

You're never going to be a football player and, to be quite honest, you never really want to be. You're tiny and any tackle would crush you in an instant. Soccer, on the other hand, is different. And then, of course, there's cheerleading. Matt Saracen was never a cheerleader, although you have total faith in him and believe that he could be anything he wanted to be. He was a football player though, and had always been desperate to be one, despite shortcomings like money and being one of the younger kids on the team. You relate to that. Friday Night Lights taught you all about teamwork. You love being part of a group like that, whether that be the girls soccer team or the cheerleading squad. It's what you miss most about high school, that sense of belonging. You love your family but Michelle likes to make your life a living hell, Brendan can only defend you so much and Gabby has her head in the clouds half the time. Matt taught you that sometimes it's okay to feel way more at home when you're part of a team.

7. Leslie Knope

She likes waffles, she likes fairness and she loves her friends. Leslie Knope is exactly the kind of woman that you want to grow up to be. Maybe you don't have a future in politics, but that's okay! You can still embody her in all the ways that are important. You're a feminist, you would happily arrange a wedding ceremony for two gay penguins and you would absolutely die for Michelle Obama. Leslie Knope is that caring and goofy friend that you want to be, and while you're not as savvy as her or as good with words, and you absolutely do not have her knack for public speaking, you wake up every morning and tell yourself that you're going to be a Pawnee Goddess that day.

8. Clint Barton

You watch the Avengers and you fall in love with superheroes. Your dad seems bolstered by this since he's been trying to get you to read comics for years now, and this eventually persuades you. You discover that you're a die-hard Captain America fan and there are several failed attempts to write a popular Steve/Bucky story when you foray into fanfiction, only to realise you're nowhere near as gifted a writer as you think you are. But you still love this world and these characters and it's like a blanket gets wrapped around you when you find out Clint Barton is actually deaf in the comics. Just like you. You devour Hawkguy, trawl the internet for all the meta discourse and fanfiction you can find and you even dress up as Kate Bishop one Halloween. Clint Barton teaches you that you can have a disability and still be a superhero.

9. Luke Skywalker

There was no way that you were making it through your childhood without discovering Luke. And Leia and Han and Chewie. But Luke was the one that stuck with you most and your dad was very proud of you for that. He's a hero, but not the typical rough-and-tough, 'needs a damsel in distress to save' sort of hero. He teaches you that you can save the galaxy and still be loyal and compassionate and have a good heart. You don't need to be jaded to be a hero, and it's okay to show emotion. And sometimes it's okay to be a little bit of a drama queen as well. You appreciate that last one.

10. Buttercup

The Princess Bride is one of the few movies that you and Michelle actually agree on. Or rather, you like all movies and she hates anything that you like. But even Michelle can't say no to The Princess Bride. Buttercup is a character who undergoes development, giving you hope that maybe one day Michelle will also go through that same growth and decides that she wants you to be her sister. Perhaps it's a pipe dream but you never give up hope. Buttercup also teaches you that you can fall hard and fast for someone who says 'as you wish' to your every command and like, you get that. You're pretty sure that you'd die on the spot should anyone say that to you.

9 TWEETS

@jupiterjess: i've ran out of oreos. is my life even worth living anymore?

@jupiterjess: the new cheerleading captain at jasper high messaged me for tips. LITTLE OLD ME. i'm blushing hardcore.

@jupiterjess: thank you so much to everyone who failed to tell me i've been walking around with a chocolate milk moustache all day!!!!! you're the best guys!!!!!! thanks!!!!!

@jupiterjess: do you ever just. stop and think. about exoplanets?? someone come hold my hand and talk to me about exoplanets.

@jupiterjess: HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARRY JAMES POTTER, YOU'RE THE LOVE OF MY LIFE!!!!!

@jupiterjess: america, i have no idea what you're doing right now, but you need to be better than this. wake up and smell the racism.

@jupiterjess: 'it's a power that jedi have that lets them control people and... makes things float.' rEY asdfgh

@jupiterjess: as a bisexual, the trailer for 'last christmas' has been very difficult for me. thoughts and prayers for jess in this trying time.

@jupiterjess: @NASA i love u

8 FACTS ABOUT SPACE

1. Halleys Comet won’t orbit past earth again until 2061

JESS' INPUT: Okay, so here's another fun fact about Halleys Comet! At Disney's Magic Kingdom, Main Street USA is connected to Tomorrowland by one thing and one thing only. Main Street's design is based on the year 1910, and Tomorrowland's design is based on the year 1986. What do those two years have in common? That was when Halleys Comet orbited past Earth! ... That's more of a Disney World fact, but pretty cool all the same, huh?

2. A full NASA spacesuit costs $12,000,000.

JESS' INPUT: 12 million! That's so much money, holy smokes. Honestly, imagine going around wearing an outfit that cost 12 million dollars. Wouldn't be me! I'm getting anxiety just thinking about it.

3. There may be a planet made out of diamonds.

JESS' INPUT: Okay, so this planet is like, 40 lightyears away and it's eight times the size of earth. Researchers think it could be made of graphite and diamonds and everyone is like 'wow, that's cool!' And okay. yeah, I get it. Diamond planet. That's super cool. But you know what isn't cool? That episode of Doctor Who where they went to the diamond planet and that one woman got possessed. That was the opposite of cool.

4. The footprints on the moon will be there for 100 million years.

JESS' INPUT: There's no atmosphere on the moon so the footprints there can't be eroded by wind or anything like that. So those footprints are going to be there for practically forever. Imagine being Buzz and Neil and being able to flex like that. I went to the grocery store the other day, accidentally dropped a jar of Marmite and then stood in it - so my footprint was there because the cashier couldn't handle the Marmite-y smell for long enough to clean it up and apparently I wasn't allowed to help for 'health and safety'. So at least my footprint is going to be imprinted somewhere. Just nowhere that's as cool as the moon.

5. The moon was once a piece of the earth.

JESS' INPUT: People think that there was some sort of collision which made a part of earth break off. They say it was an early protoplanet of Mars called Theia. Anyway, Theia made the moon break away from Earth but it stayed around to orbit us because of the Earth's gravitational pull. Don't you love the moon? She's a lesbian queen! Hey, maybe Theia had a crush on her or something and just went about it like, the wrong way.

6. There is floating water in space.

JESS' INPUT: Uh huh! So there's this massive water vapour cloud that astronauts found and it holds - oh my gosh, get reads for this - it holds 140 trillion times the mass of Earth's oceans. My head is honestly spinning just thinking about it. 140 trillion! That's crazy!

7. There is a volcano on Mars three times the size of Everest.

JESS' INPUT: Yep, her name is Olympus Mons and I would personally like to know why she didn't have a starring role in The Martian. Maybe it's because she would have easily outshined Matt Damon. Sorry, Matt.

8. In 3.75 billion years, the Milky Way and Andromeda Galaxies will collide.

JESS' INPUT: I'll be honest, my brain doesn't even know where to begin processing this. I can't... compute. What is this... I can't... Sorry, I'm shutting down. Jess out!

7 OREO FLAVOURS

7. Hot & Spicy Cinnamon Oreos. - you can pretend you can handle spicy food by eating one of these. and doesn't that make you look cultured, huh? still... it's a weird mix of flavours. 5/10. 6. Peeps Oreos. - a solid 7/10 for taste... but you still feel guilty about eating a fluffy marshmallow chicken, hence the low ranking. 5. Oreo Mini. - all the 10/10 taste of a regular oreo but they're tiny so it's very easy to hide them when you want to sneakily eat them in class! a solid 12/10 for being so gosh darn convenient. 4. Golden Oreos. - look, you were brought up in ireland and that means that sometimes you just really, really want a custard cream, okay? this is america's answer to that and it comes in a delicious, compact oreo form. *chef's kiss* exquisite. 8.5/10 3. Mint Oreos. - honestly, it's so easy to feel halfway to sophisticated when you eat one of these. a solid 9/10. 2. Red Velvet Oreos. - CREAM CHEESE IS THE PEOPLE'S CHEESE!!! 10/10!!!!!! 1. Cinnamon Bun Oreos. - you nearly cried when you tasted these for the first time. the sun was shining. obama was president. your skin was clear, your crops were growing. the promise of tomorrow was as bright and warm as the feeling in your chest when that cinnamon-y biscuit-y goodness first met your tastebuds. you could write an essay on cinnamon bun oreos. 100000/10.

6 FAMILY MEMBERS

1. Jensen Greenfeld

Your dad is probably your favourite person in the world. You'd do anything for him - including deferring your college acceptance to keep an eye on him, because that's what family does. He's your rock, your best friend, and he's the most giving person you've ever met in your life. He and your mum met in university when he studied abroad for a year and they were instantly best friends, keeping in touch long after they'd graduated and your dad moved back home. He knew your mum always wanted a kid and so he gave her you. It's unconventional, you know that, and most people raised their eyebrows at him helping another woman conceive in such a short time after his wife passed away, but that's the kind of person your dad is. Generosity helped him through his grief. How could anyone criticise that? He taught you how to ride a bike, change a leaky exhaust and adopted Comet for you so you wouldn't feel so lonely when you moved to New York to be with him. When he ended up in hospital, you were beside yourself. But not because you had to stay with him now instead of going to college like you'd planned. You could never begrudge him that, not when so much of his own life has been dedicated to making sure you were happy.

2. Magda McTaggert

Your mum has never had the easiest life. Disowned by her parents after she came out to them, she had to make her own way in the world. That's something you've never been able to relate to, because she made sure that you always had people who loved you. When you were sick as a kid, she stayed up with you every night, barely getting any sleep herself. She was your champion when you began to learn sign language, and she held your hand when the doctors first began talking about your cochlear implants. You miss her when she's in Ireland and you're in America, but she's only ever a Skype call away.

3. Kinsey McTaggert

Technically, Kinsey is your step-mother. But you rarely refer to her as that. She's your ma. She's been in your life since you were three-years-old so keeping her at arms-length with a 'step' term doesn't feel right to you when she's just as much your family as your mum and dad are. Sure, you'll call her by your first name but that's because Kinsey is so terrifyingly, inexplicably, astronomically cool. She's been managing bands for her whole life, she has pink hair and she let you come on tour when you were younger and being homeschooled. Your fondest memories are the tour bus with your mum and Kinsey and whatever up and coming rockers had adopted you as their little sister. Kinsey is the reason you felt alright leaving your mum behind to start school in America. You know she's in safe hands with her wife.

4. Michelle Greenfeld

Michelle has pretty much hated you since the day you were born. Perhaps 'hate' is a strong word, but she highly dislikes you and never let you forget the fact that you're only her half-sister. In some ways, you get it. You came into the family shortly after her mum had died. Her dad had a kid with another woman and, even though there were absolutely no romantic feelings involved, it still must have felt like a kick in the teeth. You try your best to be accommodating of her feelings because you know she's not all bad. The ways she treats Brendan and especially Gabby is proof of that. She can be the perfect big sister - unfortunately, just not to you.

5. Brendan Greenfeld

Brendan likes you though, and you're so happy about that. Brendan is exactly what you want in a big brother. He's protective and funny and taught you all the cheats for his video games, so you're basically unstoppable when it comes to Mario Kart now. He was also the one that told Gabby to shut up when she saw you for the first time after you lost your hearing. He took learning sign language in his stride and always makes sure there's room for you to sit at movie night. Sometimes you worry that, if it ever came down to it, he'd still pick Michelle over you - full sibling loyalty and all. But maybe that's doing Brendan an injustice, because he's never been anything other than the perfect big brother to you.

6. Gabby Greenfeld

Gabby is a sweetheart. She might be a little flaky at times and come out with mildly offensive things, but you know that she means well. Michelle is her favourite but she loves you as well, even if she often turns her nose up at your love for scrunchies and denim jackets. She'd rather get you to wear something sparkly and show-y and while you'll never say no to glitter, you don't think that Gabby's closet is quite for you. In fact, you're pretty sure only she can pull it off. Gabby is wild and free and doesn't care what anyone thinks of her. She's loving and loud and you want to make sure that you get to keep her around forever.

5 MEMORIES

memory one

You blush when Tor lets out a low whistle. "Some talent you've got there, Little J," he says. That makes you blush even more. Tor is just so nice. And has a handsome face. Kinsey says you're far too young to like boys yet and that you're far too smart to like someone like Tor. She says he goes through girls like a revolving door and you're not sure what that means, but you like the attention from him anyway. "I was just messing around," you smile, your fingers trailing over the keys again. He tips back his head and laughs. "Well, mess around anymore and I might be out of a job. Are you trying to upstage me?" Tor teases. Grinning, you shake your head and Serge wanders over. Normally, he's so tall and silent and sort of intimidating but his smile is warm when he reaches over to ruffle your hair. "Say the word and I'll kick Tor to the curb in an instant, Jess," he promises solemnly. You know that they're just joking, but it's nice to feel that sort of validation. Especially when you're a little kid and they're rockstars. That's why music is so special, it brings everyone together, even Irish Harry Potter enthusiasts and charming keyboardists with pretty eyes.

memory two

The headache has cleared up but you still feel groggy and confused and so you fall back asleep again, promising yourself that you'll ask after your mum when you wake up again. Because maybe then you'll be able to hear her. There's no such luck when you come to again. Everything is silent and it's too weird to even begin describing. You're confused at first but your mum's tears, your dad's shell-shocked expression and the grim line set around Kinsey's mouth helps you to put the pieces together. There's a kind looking doctor who's writing something on a notepad for you, and you already know what it's going to say before he places it in your lap. You've worked it out. You're deaf. It's as if years fall away from you at that moment. It's hard to reconcile the news with everything you know about yourself. Your whole childhood has been music and now what? That's gone away and you're just meant to be okay with it? How is that fair? With shaking hands, you take the pen from the doctor and write a reply. As soon as your mum reads it, she starts crying again but your dad finds it in himself to smile and he reaches over to squeeze your knee through the hospital bedsheets. He still has that piece of paper which is stupidly sentimental of him and you love him for it. It read: Okay. What's next?

memory three

At first, you were excited. After years of homeschooling, you're finally going to a proper high school and you get to see your dad every day. What's not to love about all of that? However, now that you're in New York, the nerves have started to settle in. What if no one wants to be your friend? What if the kids at school are weird about the deaf thing? What if they try and touch your implant? What if they don't let you join the soccer team even though Kinsey bought you new cleats specifically for that? Most of all, what if Michelle tries to smother you in your sleep? Your dad laughs when you voice that one aloud. "Don't you think you're being a little bit dramatic?" he asks you, fondly smoothing down your hair. You laugh along with him but you aren't so sure. That night at dinner, Michelle spears a meatball with her fork in such an aggressive manner, glaring at you all the while, that you think you're about to faint. No, you don't think you're being dramatic at all.

memory four

"Jess? Jess, are you alright?" At first, you can't even reply. You're too speechless. With shaking hands, you present him with the letter - your CalTech acceptance letter. Your dad cheers at once and he scoops you up into a hug and you think that you could just die of happiness right then and there. You're going to be studying aeronautical engineering. All of the hard work, the late night physics reading, the dedication to science club, the hours spent in your dad's garage understanding engines, the grease and oil covering your hands and your hair and your face. It was all worth it. And now it's one step closer to NASA.

memory five

A heart attack. Your dad isn't even old, and as far as you know he's always had a clean bill of health so what's changed. You stay silent all the way to the hospital and Brendan lets you. When you arrive, Gabby hugs you and even Michelle manages a watery smile your way. Then all four of you are allowed into see him. He's lying in bed, tubes attached to him, but he's sitting upright and he smiles at you, his kids, even if he does look sleepy. Then he cracks some sort of joke and hell if you can remember what it is. But that's what makes you cry. The idea of college goes flying right out the window. He argues with you, naturally. So you lie and tell him you were never that sure about it anyway. He doesn't believe you at first because that career path has been the only thing you've ever been sure about since you were 11-years-old. Maybe you're a good actress because eventually he relents and lets you stay with him. Or maybe, deep down, he's scared to be on his own now too.

4 CRUSHES

1. Tor Eklund

keyboard player for The Corkscrews

has the nicest set of teeth in the world

went through girls like a revolving door according to Kinsey

called you 'little J'

total dreamboat

saw you as a little sister

2. Graham O'Connell

striker for the boys football team in Ireland

had never seen or read Harry Potter but he had floppy hair so you were willing to make allowances

always complimented your football boots

was your first kiss

asked if the two of you could keep in touch when you moved to Canada

messaged you one day to say he'd started watching Harry Potter

you were overjoyed

messaged you again to say he didn't really like Remus Lupin

you well and truly dodged that bullet, didn't you?

3. Amanda Forbes

literally the prettiest girl you've ever seen in your life

was visiting Jasper in the summer with her family

was also a cheerleader

your bisexual awakening

said she wanted to kiss you because she had never kissed a girl before

kissed you lots of times that summer

ghosted you when she left and has a boyfriend now

well, fine then, Amanda

4. Steve Rogers aka Captain America

I mean, you're only bloody human, aren't you?

3 JOBS

1. Neighbourhood Dog Walker

You were fourteen. You needed some money. You loved dogs. It made perfect sense. All the neighbours trusted you to look after their pooches and you made about twenty different canine friends.

2. Apprentice Mechanic

When you told your dad you wanted to be an aeronautical engineer, he said that you needed hands on experience. It helped that he owned an auto shop. Convenient, right? He thought a week working alongside him would help you get to grips with things and prepare you for college. You kept working there for three years. You loved it so much.

3 Aeronatucial Engineer

With your dad on the mend, it doesn’t seem like such a pipe dream anymore. Now you’re at NYU and you feel lucky that they want you to study with them. It’s not CalTech but it’s still one step closer to NASA, and this way you still get to be close to your dad.

2 DOGS

1. Comet

2. Sirius

1 JESS

Bubbly, optimistic, generous, strong-willed, determined, resilient, resourceful, courageous, cheery, nurturing, reckless, stubborn, lacks self-awareness, self-conscious, easily influenced, cares too much about what other people think of her, total Gryffindor, eats too many Oreos, space nerd, deaf, soccer player, cheerleader, dog mom, half-Irish, half-American.

[squigglecheesecake]

Day 2-Tougher than Expected

I am awful at keeping up with this. BUT I SHAN’T GIVE UP! 

I watched as he continued to mess around with the beakers and those...bugs. It made me squirm just watching them crawl up his neck. He never flinched once. I tried memorizing his image. Okay so he wore a black shirt..blacks jeans...black shoes…. This was going to be a nightmare to explain to the police. If I even made it to them. The only distinct feature was the disgusting sewage green colored hair. If he really wanted to though, he could re-dye his hair back to his natural color and never be found. Yep, I was screwed. 

I got lost in my thoughts and went back to when I was studying psychology. I didn’t learn much but I’ve met a few good nutcases to know one when I see one.  Owker...that guy was insane. (His name was really Owen but hey, we all have our preferences) Alan, nothing too severe. A Parker? I think? A Michael and a Westin. He didn’t look like any of them.  Maybe a little bit of a Michael but...he was different. He actually seemed sane, if you ignore the laughter and murder. 

Obviously he had a reason to come here and kill Henrik. And what was that reason? Yeah, exactly, that’s what was bothering me. What bothered me even more was that he claimed to have broken all the light bulbs. Then his strength and very concernedly his speed. 

Did I have some sort of panic attack? Or...did my mind simply refuse to see Henrik get stabbed? There was no way he could possibly move that fast. They were both standing together and in half a second Schneeple was crouching down in pain. And how the hell did he get in here?! Schneeple said there was no back door. Unless he lied? No. He wouldn’t do that. Maybe the window? Even so, why would Henrik lead us (most importantly me!!!!) there if he knew?

“Dammit!” He growled, ripping off one of the bugs on his shoulder. “You son of a bitch!” He stomped his foot down. As if that wasn’t enough torture for the poor insect, the man...Mike? Yeah I’m sticking with Mike. As if that wasn’t enough, he slid his food back, leaving a disturbing trail of the bug’s insides. There was a long ten second creak coming from out the door. “Great.” Mike muttered. 

He picked up a syringe and collected more from the beaker. Look you’d think after watching ten horror movies and being an hour into this messed up situation, I’d learn not to move. Nooooooooo. My body uncontrollably slouched downward. I instantly tensed up. He paused and slowly turned his head, scanning the room. 

“Henry!!” A familiar voice shouted. The doors swung open. I was so surprised and nervous yet very relieved. Jackie, a favorite colleague of mine, stood there drenched in sweat. He wore his same old red hoodie along with some dark blue jeans. 

Mike let out a low sigh, tapping on the sink. “I had a feeling you’d show up sooner or later. Get lost.” 

“Where’s H-” He drifted off, staring at the body in front of him. 

“Yeah sorry. Daddy’s gone.” He mused. “Don’t worry, big brother’s here.” 

“And...y/n?” Jackie never lifted his head up once, his eyes were fixated on Henrik’s corpse. 

Mike had a sinister smile and tilted his head. “Huh, I knew someone as in here.” 

“Jack!!!!” I screamed inside of my head. I covered my face. “Idiot.” I took a deep breath and felt kinda sore. Okay let’s be honest. This wasn’t the most comfiest box and as squeezed in as I was, my lower back was aching.

 “We can fix him.” Jack said. “You can. I’ve...we both know you can.” Mike scrunched his nose and set his knife down on the sink, admiring it. “Please Anti.” He continued to plead. 

I cocked my head to the side. 

Anti? 

….Anti. 

Stand back Owken we have a new champion for the oddest name ever! 

“Tell me something.” Mik-Anti straightened up. “Did Henrik.” He hissed his name. “Promise you anything? That he’d make you into something greater than you once were?” 

Jack’s face turned pink. “.....yes.” He admitted. He grabbed his hoodie and lifted it over his head, embarrassed. 

“Well Parker, what exactly did he offer you?” 

“...to make a dream come true.” He mumbled, becoming more shy.

 “Well boy wonder, your villan’s right here.” Anti held his arms out wide as if saying ‘Try me.’ 

“Please...don’t make me.” Jack whimpered.  “I don’t want to hurt you.” He seemed really hurt. It made me wonder..how they knew each other. Neither Jack or Henrik mentioned about some Anti freak. 

Anti snickered. “Hurt me? You expect me to actually fight you? That’d hardly be fair...don’t you think?” He roamed across the room. His footsteps came closer. He stopped by the box again. 

My eyes watered and I squeezed them shut, like a kid cowering under a blanket, hoping the shadow on the wall would go away. Jack kept silent, making it ten times worse. It was so quiet. Absolutely nothing. No breathing, no laughing, no bodies shifting, not even a freakin creak in this godforsaken warehouse! 

It got to me. I slowly opened my right eye to take a peek out of the cardboard tab. I let out a shriek, seeing his eyes stare back at me. 

“There’s my little puppet.” He grinned as I frantically tried to scramble out of the box. 

“Jack!!” I screamed as loud as I could. All of a sudden I felt a sharp snap and quickly held my neck in a panic. My vision blurred out again, like before. 

“Jack?” I recognized his bright red jacket. I was now standing in front of him. “Jack!” I cried. There was still hope. 

[revolutionary-pirate]

Some of my Highlights from the 1811 Washington Irving - Henry Brevoort Correspondence:

These letters take place between Irving and his closest friend, Brevoort, over the course of Brevoort’s time helping with his brother-in-law, John Jacob Astor’s, fur trading business on Mackinac Island during the summer of 1811. There are so many excerpts from their generally incredibly long letters that I enjoy or are just so freakin’ adorable that I honestly cooed at them -- and this is only one summer’s worth.

My Dear Brevoort:--

“The Great Mandarian has just informed me that there will be an opportunity to forward a letter to you on friday, so my dear Boy, though hurried almost unto death, yet I will endeavor to indite a little epistle which may follow you even unto your savage haunts,...” ... “I am in quiet possession of your room, and am very much pleased with my situation. […] I hope you will be induced to take up your quarters with us when you return. You need not fear shocking the feelings of Mrs. Rumsey, as she expects it.” ... “I’m weary of company & dissipation--I have gone through such a variety this last winter that I am perfectly sated for the present; and feel no disposition to visit or mingle in any scene of amusement. I’d give anything to be accompanying you through the sublime solitudes of our Savage country. I feel as if I could sit for hours and muse deliciously on the borders of one of our vast lakes--or on the summit of one of our solitary promontorys in the highlands as I did last summer.” ... “…this letter is made up of such trifling chit chat and such trifling topics that I should be ashamed to send it to any body but yourself.” ... “Affectionately yours”

- Irving to Brevoort, New York, NY, May 15-17th, 1811

Dear Brevoort:--

“L’Herbette has just informed me of an opportunity which departs today of writing to you. I am half inclined not to use it, as you remained several days at Montreal without writing me a line…” ... Nothing of particular moment has happened since the writing of that epistle [May 15-17th letter] excepting the arrival of the most noble Patroon [Gouvernor Kemble], who has once more resumed his sway over the club. Gouv has had a long and boisterous voyage in an old leaky hulk of a british ship, with a mutinous crew and a nincompoop Captain. He & Ben Seaman were so tired of their ship that they quit her about 150 miles from land & got on board a coaster by which after being tossed about 4 days they were landed at Folly landing in Virginia & got home in a week more; having by this short cut, arrived here in little more than 8 days after the ship, which made the lighthouse in 20 hours after they quit her.  Gouv has now been home three or four days, and has already become so regular, and domestic, and has fallen so exactly into his old habits, that it begins to seem as if he had never been away from us. I never knew a fellow so little changed by European travelling. His looks too are much the same, excepting that he is a little sunburnt, but he is still spare and gaunt as a greyhound.” ... “Write to me by the first opportunity & believe me, ever, Yours truly,”

-Irving to Brevoort, June 8th, 1811

Dear Irving:--

“Mr. McGillivray has just arrived & handed me your letter [of May 15-17th]; it is the first intelligence that I have received from the regions of civilization since my departure, and I swear to you that no famished epicure ever devoured the most delicious viands with more flavour than did I its contents–I look upon it as the most attentive proof of fdship that I ever received from you.” ... ”The river abrupty descends within a distance of a mile about 200 feet, forming a variety of Falls & rapids--We were fortunate in arriving about an hour before sunfall; the whole scene was shaded with a shick mist; in a moment the oblique rays of a fine evening sun shot through this cloud of suspended vapour and were refracted into the most inchanting optical phenomina; rain bows alternately appeared & dissappd. & reflected their images with the utmost vivacity through the air, and presented all the variagated hues of the prism.--” ... “I am, my dr. Irving, most affy. ys.” ... [P.S.] I am very glad to observe that you have crept into my shell at Mrs. Rumsey’s.

- Brevoort to Irving, June 26, 1811

Dear Irving:--

“I have read your letter a dozen times & each perusal made me feel as if I had just left our best of all Cities. –In this wilderness one’s local affections are ever tugging at one’s heart; it is impossible to know by how many imperceptible fibers the soul is bound to familiar objects, until one separates from them and resides for a while remote from Civilizations, then each one holds him with the force of a cable.–” “Avert thy glorious face divine Apollo from the unworthy occupation of thy choicest votary the renowned Knickerbocker [Irving], but when he again supplicates thy aid & has finished copying his invoices of filthy Dowlass, inspire him with immortal fire.” [in response to Irving saying in his last letter “Shut your eyes, oh, ye blessed Muses, lest ye afterwards look upon me with scorn!” because he hadn’t been able to pursue his writing lately thanks to how busy he was helping his brothers, Peter and Ebenezer, with moving their mercantile business to a new location.] “Would to Heaven you were with me in this second Eden (without an Eve). Within an hours walk, I would scramble with you to the summit of a venerable old rock, from whose lofty head you would behold natures savage face, expande to endless dimentions, commanding a partial view of Lakes Michigan & Huron, studded with innumerable islands and bounded by the most romantic Bays, Inlets, Promontories & Rivers, the seats of future Cities and future Empires.--” ... “I am glad to find you so contented since you have crept into my shell, I doubt not that I shall quarter with you on my return.–” ... “If you think a letter will have time to reach me on receipt of this at Montreal, write a volume– I am Affec Yr. fr.”

- Brevoort to Irving, June 28th, 1811

Dear Irving,--

”All the curiosities which nature has lavished upon this romantic little Island, have been again & again explored, & I begin to wish devoutly for my departure, for it is recorded that even Paradise lost its inchantment & became a desert wild, without a companion. There is however no want of Eves in these inhospitable regions, [...] But these are not the companions in question; [...] There is not a man here of the least congeniality, either of taste habits or thinking with myself.-- [...] the Demon of solitude has cursed me with his deadliest influence.–If by some magical device you could manage to bestride one of these Arabian steeds, celebrated in romance for their docility and swiftness, & convey yourself beside me, I would engage to go frantic with joy, which I think ought to satisfy any reasonable man of the value of my affection” ... “What magic is contained in that honest little word home! It is impossible for a wandering exile to speak or write it, without kindling in the soul a blaze of pleasure!--On my feelings, it operates as a talisman to dispel melancholy and animate hope; reviving all those local affections that play about the heart, and which after all our chilling philosophy, constitute the true end and charm of existence.--I have often thought that if such a reptile as myself, has the power of forming sympathies, so indissoluble towards particular persons & places, how irresistable must be the longing of the exile whose consequence and talents, made him the idol of that society which he once adorned!--” ... “We look for a canoe from Montreal daily, and I have promised myself a long epistle from you, but if I find that you have forgotten me in your wanderings, ‘I will have such terrible revenge–but what it is I know not.’–” ... “I disdain to apologize for this dolour. As to a discontented spirit, I scorn it from my very soul; but somehow or other, I feel myself sunken into a state of abandonment which nothing but the company of those I hold nearest my heart can alleviate.–” ... “God Bless you my dr. Fellow--”

-Brevoort to Irving, July 14th, 1811

“Blessed be the cheering sound of the voice of friendship when heard in such a dreary wilderness as this!– “Your last epistle [June 8th] my dear Wash: has certainly rescued me from petrification. I felt myself waxing fast into that blissful state; my heart began to exhibit the first symptoms, and I think it not improbable, that some future generation of Barbers might have sharpened their razors upon my poor forlorn carcas.– […] the kind efforts of my N York friends & you as chief magician have (I hope) effectually exorcised the vile Demon.--I would not send it, if it were not for the purpose of shewing you how exactly our lethargic miseries corresponded though originating from somewhat opposite causes.” (Irving from too much [dull] social interaction, Brevoort from too little) ... “But in sober sadness, should I (my dr. boy) ‘shuffle off my mortal coil’ ‘And o’er my head close the dark gulf of time!’ in this villanous terra incognita, I should certainly run the hazard of being out of roll-call at the general muster; and consequently be lost to my friends in waiting upon the shadowy side of the River Styx.” [The embargo on trade was sparking tensions between the Whites on Mackinac and the Natives and Brevoort was nervous that he might end up dying there.] ... “Thine forever & ever!”

-Brevoort to Irving, July 29th, 1811

Dear Brevoort:--

“Dennis has come home laden with anecdotes of your expecition, and yourself. According to his account you landed safely on your head at Benny Cornwalls at seven in the evening & flourished your heels in the air for joy. He relates long conversations which he has had with you about the fair Julia besides several tender things which you said in your sleep;...” ... “Dennis informs us that he and you keep a journal which is so exquisitely humourous that Mrs. Cooper on only looking at the first word fell into a fit of laughing that lasted half an hour. We look forward with vast expectations to the perusal of this manuscript.” ... “I have laid out your spy glass, boots, chessmen &c. & had thoughts of sending all the other nicknacks I could find in your draws; but had thought it best to reserve the rest until you have tired yourself with these. The flute is not in the draw; for which I am very glad–I do not think it would be an innocent amusement for you; as no man has a right to entertain himself at the expense of others.” ... “Yours truly”

- Irving to Brevoort, August ?, 1811

[Sources: Irving to Brevoort; Brevoort to Irving]

[sunset-wishes-upon-hill]

Pandora ch. 4

Pandora (1st/2nd of re written ver uploaded): FF l Wattpad l Quotev

A/N: I’ve wanted to upload them when I finished chapter 5 which is coming nicely but decided I shouldn’t let you guys wait too long.

When she awoke in her bed, for a very long moment she believed the heaven took after the last moment of place the person died in. In fact, she was so glad the heaven wasn’t some strange, random people coming up to you with a grin, a welcome cake and balloon. The comfortable, familiar scenery made it easier for her to come to term with her death.

It’s not as painful as I thought..getting killed by a vampire that is. Jessica thought.

Her phone buzzed again, uh…this is very..Matrix like.

She picked up the phone and saw that it was Bella. Confused, she pressed accept and held it in her ear.

“Um..hello?”

“Jessica…?” Bella sounded as if she had been crying.

“I-is this real?”

“What?”

“I’m dead. Why are you calling me? Are you even real? Is anything real?”

“Dead? What are you talking about?! What did you do, Jessica?! You don’t just go up to a vampire likes him and say you know he’s a vampire!”

She blinked, utterly confused, “Wait, what? I’m not dead? I’m alive?”

“I can’t believe you! UGH! You’re supposed to be the sensible one!”

“That’s Angela!”

“Do you know what you’ve done?! I can’t even––“

“I know. I’m so fucking stupid. Yeah call me that.” Jessica buried her head in her laps, “I prayed it was some sick joke. Vampires? Yeah right. So how come I’m still alive? I woke up thinking I was dead! I mean you can’t really wake up dead..”

“…I’m sorry, Jessica, but we had no choice.”

“No choice? What do you mean?”

“He gave me two choices. Either he kills you or…”

“He kills me or what?”

“…Or turn you into…”

Jessica nervously laughed, “Bella, turn me into what? A bear? A cat? What?”

They both knew the answers but neither was willing to put into sounds.

“No, no fucking way! I’m not–NO FREAKIN WAY! Uh huh! There’s no way I’m going to be a vampire, ever!” Jessica angrily hung up then regrets drowning Bella with the blame. It was her fault that this happened and Bella only did what she could do to save her from the imminent death.

She left the room and ran back to the hidden tunnel. By the time she was there, it was night time.

“Alec, come out! I know you can hear me and I freakin hate cold so come out!” She yelled to the surrounding air.

“I’m here.” The voice said just behind her. She jumped at the close proximity he gained in such a short time and in absolute dead silence.

This time, he did not hide his face. The crimson glistened under the moon; the perfect epitome of a dangerous vampire in the moonlight.

“Kill me.”

A frown marred his otherwise flawless face.

“What?” For the first time she met him, he sounded uncertain and puzzled.

“Kill me.” She said once more, “Take my blood whatever, j-just kill me.”

“Have you gone mad?” He asked her.

“I heard from Bella. I’m not gonna become a vampire, never. Ever. So you might as well just kill me now.”

“Oh?” He raised one of his delicate brows, “A human that don’t want to live forever.” He accentuated the phrase as if it were strange to put them in a same sentence. It did sound strange. An oxymoron; a lock and a key forcibly clicked together.

“I don’t want to live forever.” She confirmed, “I don’t want to be a vampire.”

His face contorted into something she couldn’t clearly identify. Was it anger? Irritation? Or something else entirely?

“Why? Most humans given the chance would gladly take this opportunity.” He said with a streak of pride; the reaching of the very fundamental limits of physiological evolution.

“I don’t think you know many humans.” She said with confidence, “I don’t know about the others but becoming a vampire isn’t what I want.”

“Because we’re monsters.” She was taken aback by the firm tone of his voice, an ominous edge to his tone.

Jessica had only briefly considered the connotations vampires had with the image of being a monster and came to the conclusion that one should not judge a kind on the actions few individuals may do.

“I don’t think vampires are monsters.” She said, remembering the Cullens’ and the kind works of Dr. and Mrs. Cullens, “If you have to question whether you’re a monster or not, you might wanna think back on what actions you took to assume that rather than a simple ‘because I’m a vampire’. I just want to live my life, grow old and die. That’s all I want, Alec.”

“Unfortunately, you don’t always get what you want.” He said after a moment of silence with sagacity, “You lost that privilege the moment you revealed that you knew I was a vampire.”

“So kill me.” She said with the fool’s courage.

“No.” He smirked, “You shall live with the decision that you have made and you will pay for it.”

Great, Jessica. Well done. You can force him to kill you. Threaten to tell people that the vampire is real. Who’s gonna believe it? They’ll just chuck you into a crazy house.

Jessica had never in her life wanted to give herself a slap or two of the century. A bit of head hitting and hair pulling too, if that’d make her feel any better.

Alec’s right. You made your decision and you have to pay for it.

He left her as she wept out her sorrows on the cold night floor.

For the rest of that night, both minds were occupied with each other’s’ words. That night was longer than any other nights they’ve had.

The five stages of grief posit that one go through denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. It could take months and years to get to the acceptance stage or never. But Jessica felt like she went through all five stages within a night.

Jessica: Bella, I’m really raelly sorry I was such a bitch last night. It’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have said those words. I’m safe, don’t worry. I’ll…call you when I just you know get to terms with it. I’m safe. Please don’t worry about me too much. And thanks for everything. Please give me some time, please.

She pressed send to the message before turning off the phone. Often times, she’d find herself dazing away while doing her daily rituals. She’d wake up and sit up on her bed, staring at the walls for several minutes, she would be eating and just stare at her food until it became cold and unappetising, she would be walking back to her home only to find herself wandering off to a nowhere. What was she searching for?

Jessica began going out more and exploring more of Italy. She became so much aware and appreciative of time. How fast it seemed to tick away. How much for granted she and others seemed to have taken of seconds and minutes. She’d experience the feeling of panic when she couldn’t do as much as she wanted each day. A time sensitive ticking bomb.

While she began going out more and exploring more of Italy, her meeting with Alec wasn’t much of passive one-sided, suspect and guess anymore. Bizarrely enough, the two seemed to seek out each other for the solace to their confusion and questions. She wanted to know more about the vampires; he wanted to know why she didn’t want to become a vampire.

“If you become a vampire, do you have to drink human blood?” She asked him one day, as they sat beside each other on the bench. Her legs were brought up to her chest and her body slightly angled toward him. She’d often study his side profile like an artist admiring his muse while waiting for his answers.

“I do.” He said, delighted when she shuddered at his answer, “The Cullens’ don’t.”

She frowned, “Wait, you drink human blood but they don’t? What do they drink? Water?”

“Animal blood.”

Her brows shot up in surprise, “Animal blood? So like what, they’re your kind’s version of…vegan? Wait no, vegetarian? Or pescatarian?”

“St. Carlisle prefers it vegetarian.” He said.

“St. Carlisle?”

“A..jest of sort with his unwillingness to drink human blood.”

Jessica smiled. It sounded like what Dr. Cullen would do.

“Does that mean Mrs. Cullen and their children drink animal blood too?”

“Yes.”

The answer was an unexpected one. Like being given a surprise gift from someone you didn’t anticipate. She always thought they were spoiled, shallow immature rich kids that didn’t really care for others than themselves. After all, that’s what they seemed to exude to others and seemed fine with it. Now, she saw them in a new light; a more appreciative and kinder one than before.

“Tell me,” He began, “Why are you not afraid of death?”

Jessica hummed in deep thought. There was not much reason, to her at least, to fear death. She shrugged, “I don’t know, I just don’t. I think it’s that thinking, ‘nothing last forever’ so I don’t have high hope for anything lasting for eternity. But I think dying painfully would be shitty though. I’m hoping for a ‘die in your sleep’ kinda goodbye.”

“I can do that.” He suddenly said, “If you want.”

“Huh?”

“Give you your ‘die in your sleep’ death.”

“You can?” She frowned, and then narrowed her eyes suspiciously, “How?”

“I have a gift.”

Right! Jessica remembered, Giada said some vampires had gifts.

“Really?!” Her face brightened up with a grin, “What kind of gift?”

“I take away your senses.” He seemed to enjoy the attention she gave him. Even though it was very subtle, the ghost of a smile was there.

“Senses? As in like taste, sound, sight that kind of thing?” He nodded, “No freakin way! What? Like how the hell is that even possible? Is it painful?”

“Not so much.” Then he brought up his hand toward her face and with a challenging smug in his eyes, he dared, “Would you like to try…? Death I mean?”

He was toying with her. She knew. Alec wanted her to pay the price for her foolish choice and he would not let her escape so easily. More so, he was challenging her. ‘Do you trust me?’ the gesture seemed to almost say, ‘Trust a vampire enough to put your life at its hand?” Would it be courage or idiocy if she did? What price would she pay for this decision?

Minutes went by and the pressure to say either ‘yes’ or ‘no’ was bubbling underneath the surface. She couldn’t decipher the cryptic expression in his face as he patiently waited for her answer.

“You know, I don’t really know you.” She began, attentively studying for any changes, “I only found out like few days ago that you’re a vampire –– who is fifteen but actually isn’t; you tried to kill me but for whatever reason, you let me live, you seemed a bit pessimistic but I guess if someone lives as long as you, they’re not really gonna be excited about life or it might be just that you’re stuck in that teenage emo period forever, and you saved me from that weirdo.”

Based on her little summary, she came to conclude he wasn’t that bad though neither truly good. Jessica had a long, heartfelt conversation with her mum the night before about life in general. Her mum knew something had happened although she did not quizzed it further, but listened to her constructed white lies and gave her words of comforts.

‘Don’t look for answers.’ She said, ‘Right and wrong answers co-exist in every decision. Wise people make a choice and make it the right answer. Foolish people regret the decision and make it the wrong decision. There is no right answer in life. There is only the process to make it the right answer.’

Would she make the choice the one she’d be proud of or regret?

Can she trust him? Trust this vampire? His actions reminded her vagary of the flowing water; unpredictable. It felt like looking at him through a mist, hazy and blurry. Sometimes, she thinks she can make him out but it might just be a cast of illusion, a ghostly shape of something that’s not actually there.

 “Hey Alec…” She leery reached out to meet his stretched fingers with hers’. Their skin was a stark contrast; his pale, long fingers tingled like a spark of a match against her warm, chubby fingers, “I trust you.” The simple three words were the heaviest it ever been.

I hope I don’t regret this. Jessica inwardly said to herself. Super hoping I don’t regret this.

Something in Alec’s expression did change but it was too quick for her to catch it. She wasn’t sure she’d know even if she did.

“You shouldn’t.” He said and before she could do anything, the shimmering hazy vapor seeped out of the tip of his fingers and wrapped around her own before snaking down her arms, split open and up her shoulders and neck, down her waist and legs until she was consumed.

Her first instinct was panic as her survival tools were robbed away from her. The sight of Alec and his smoke were the last thing she saw before darkness clouded over her eyes like a cataract, the smell of salty air became absent like the time she had cold and her nose were blocked, the cool sensation of the bench and Alec’s fingers seemed to evaporated beneath her until it was as if she was floating in numbing abyss; sunk into the bottom of the ocean and ceased to exist beyond that. It was horribly frightening. And lonely.

Although aware she was moving her arms in search for something that she could feel, she had no idea where her arms were going or touching. Her mouth opened to say something, only she couldn’t hear it nor could she feel her lips smacking together to form sound. ‘Enough, Alec’, she felt herself say. Vocally or in thought, she didn’t know.

‘Alec.’ She wasn’t aware how long she was under the influence, but without her senses, every second was arduous. It was driving her crazy.

The mist sucked back into his fingers, undoing his power. Her senses overwhelmed her like a crushing wave; working overtime filtering and processing the alien stimulus. Complete sensory deprivation, even for a few minute, seemed fatal.

When her senses came back, Jessica noticed her hands tightly gripping Alec’s coat tightly and her skin damp with sweat and panting heavily.

“How did it feel? Death.”

“I was about to go crazy.” She said truthfully, letting his coat go. “Does every vampires have..like these kind of powers?”

“Not everyone.” He replied.

“Oh, so you’re like special even for a vampire?” Jessica grinned teasingly.

“I am special.” He smiled, showing his perfect pearly teeth.

“Yeah, well still doesn’t change the fact you can be jerk sometimes.” She retorted, although her tone was one of jest. “How long Bella knew about vampires, anyway?”

“Far longer than we would have liked.” He carefully replied after much consideration.

“How come she’s still..human?”

He looked at her with confidence, “She won’t for too long.”

Jessica wasn’t sure how she should feel about Bella becoming a vampire. Did she want it? Or was it like her case, an unfortunate coincidence?

“Hey Alec…why didn’t you kill me?” She asked. The question had been on her mind ever since she woke up in her bed, unharmed and still human, despite him intending to suck her dry.

“We don’t kill the dwellers here.”

“But I know you’re a vampire. You said I don’t count.” She repeated back his words.

“The risk of killing you was much greater than letting you live. I know you won’t tell. Just like the other human.”

“Her name’s Bella.”

“Her name is of no concern to me.”

“That’s rude.”

“Indifference.” He corrected her as if a parent to a child. She suspected he often forgot his own physical age that was frozen forever. Alec oozed decade-old maturity that seemed to imply he had been living for much longer than he looked. Unsuspecting humans would blame it on the concealment of his childhood side and on his less self-absorbed and substantial sense of self-awareness many kids his age seemed to lack. Oh, if they knew.

Alec’s crimson eyes were always an alluring feature of his that Jessica seemed to get captured by so often. The red reminded her of blood when it spills out of its host and hit the air, and she’d often notice the colour varied in vividness. It was fascinating to see his eyes go from the rose red to the deepest of black.

“Does vampires’ eye colour supposed to change like that?”

“It depends on our thirst.”

Jessica gaped, brows gradually rising up her forehead, “Well…uh..you’re eyes are completely black now. Last time it was red.”

“It meant I haven’t fed as of recent.”

That was all she needed to hear for her to shuffle away to create a distance between her and Alec. Jessica glanced at Alec, on guard, although with playful eyes.

“Well, why didn’t you…you know, drink?”

“I will.” He gently said, “I’m waiting.”

She followed the direction of his gaze, “Waiting for what? No one comes here except if they get lost and somehow end up here like I did…”

No one except…

“Heidi.”

A glance was all it took for her to confirm her suspicion, “Those tourists that Heidi brings…they’re…” She trailed off with shaky breath. She felt sick. Her stomach did a full twist and turns inside her and threatened to disgorge her stomach content. She turned toward the door; the door that she could have walked in when she knew no better, if it were not for Bella’s intervening call, she could have been another nameless face among the other oblivious tourists.

“A wise choice you made on that day, no?” He smiled at her in an almost mocking gesture, “Now, tell me and say you don’t think vampires are monsters.”

She was glad to bring a water bottle along. Unscrewing the cap, she took a big gulp of the soothing liquid before putting it back inside the bag. The movements were slow, methodical. Buying time.

Now that she knew why the tourists were here for, it meant that the tourists were killed and disposed of. Like the inedible leftovers you throwaway. Humans were food to them; to the human blood drinkers. She was a food to them.

Angela went vegetarian at the start of this year, citing unnecessary cruelty to the animals. She’d often try to sway her from eating too much meat and dairy product, reminding her that a calf was taken away from its mother cow for its milk, a pig that was as intelligent as dogs and feelings were killed for that bacon. People didn’t care. To them, they were just cattle. Just a pig and a cow. She could have been that pig has she gone in. Jessica Stanley was just a pig to the vampires. Humans were their food in their chain. They were simply doing what the nature had revolutionised them to do. They were the apex predator just like humans were on top of animals in the nature’s chain.

She didn’t have the right to be critical of their killing of humans. Angela might be able to but not her. The feeling of nausea seemed to calm down slightly. A disturbing perverted condolence.

“I don’t have the right to call you a monster, Alec.” She objectively said, meeting his now dark, deepless eyes, “You drink blood to survive like how I eat food to survive. What’s so monstrous about that?” The words were difficult to say. Almost sick and twisted. After all, it was her kind that was being butchered in there.

She gathered her bag, slipped it over her shoulder and stood up. “I should go…uh have a nice…umm,” She checked her watch. It read 6.50PM. “..Have a nice dinner, Alec.”

Jessica left the clearing without glancing back at Alec. If she had, she’d see mix of emotions flashing past his eyes. Not long after she had gone, Heidi arrived with the group of tourists that would not be seen after that day.

A part of her wanted to turn on the phone. Another part didn’t want to check what Bella had replied. Lots of angry emojis, she bet. And capital lettered words and exclamations. She sent her parents a long message on how she won’t be able to call for a while and they shouldn’t worry and how much she loved them and that she was definitely doing fine and needed some time for her to think about her future.

She also thinks Alec and her is somewhat of a friend. Jessica liked to consider him as a friend although she didn’t know how he felt about her. Maybe he saw her as a pig with a name and a personality. She hoped he did. That was better than seeing her as another faceless cattle next to a whole lot of others.

She’d often dream about him. Alec hovering over her while she slept to the sound of pitter patter of rain and thunderstorm against her window. Sometimes she thinks he’s contemplating to eat her or not; was she worth more dead or alive? One day, she found two volume of book by her bedside. The book was rare, considered to be among the most valuable book in the world, and her philosophy teacher had promised anyone who found that book and bring it to him, he’d give all the students an A for the a quiz of their choosing (as long as they were not a major part of the grade) and a very sparkly recommendation letter for the said student. It was called Gutenberg Bible. And it was sitting by her bedside like a half read forgotten late night read.

Jessica didn’t know how valuable, rare and expensive the book was until she Googled the book cover and realise she had in her hands, the most revered text in the world. It was at least worth a million dollars, she read. The books conditions were in marvelous condition, almost timeless like its owner. She had mentioned it to Alec in passing by conversation about her hunt for the book without breaking into the library and risking prison. Not to mention, her teacher always made bet for impossible things every year and it’d be her lifetime wish to see the look on the teacher’s face when one of the students actually succeeded.

Carefully wrapping the books with her scarf and gently inside her bag, she headed to their usual meeting point.

“Alec.” A light call of his name. Few minutes later and he’d appear without a sound, as if he had been carried by the wind and dropped there. Then he’d make a sound, loud enough for her to hear. She’d greet him first with a smile, he would acknowledge her, and then she would talk while he listened to her mundane topic of the day. On occasions, he’d ask questions and she’d do her best to answer. Their quotidian routine.

“Oh my God, Alec, are you serious?” She held up the books, almost as if it were a toddler in her hands. “Like this book can buy a country.”

“You said you needed them, no?”

“I mean, holy, Mr. T is gonna be shook when I bring this to him!” Jessica excitedly revealed, “Do you have any idea how many people are gonna lose their shit because of this book? We waited nearly FOUR years!” Jessica squealed in delight and threw her arms around Alec’s neck. He flinched away. She moved back, realising his discomfort.

“Sorry.”

“Do not touch me without my permission.” His words came out slowly, sounding soft on the outside but with a sharp edged threat at the centre.

“Right, sorry. How am I gonna bring this back to you? Please don’t tell me I have to take another plane to Italy, a train and a bus to give this back; not sure if you know but economy these days aren’t that good.”

He seemed entertained by the idea, “Hand it to Edward. He’ll bring it back. Or simply keep it.”

“No, this–I can’t keep this. I don’t trust myself that I won’t spill vodka on it or something stupid.”

“I’m surprised you’re aware of your own folly.”

Jessica forced a smile, “Thanks, Alec, for that unnecessary comment. If I didn’t read the definition of folly yesterday by coincidence, I wouldn’t know.”

“Your welcome.” He replied cynically.

His dry, sardonic humour often reminded her of her auntie, who worked as a surgeon in a neighboring town and liked to make medical jokes that would often have people confused or shock.

“Wait…how did you get in my room?” Jessica’s eyes widened, “And how the hell do you know where I live?”

“I followed your scent and you leave your windows open.”

“But I stay in like the third floor.” She reasoned, “Can vampires fly?”

“We jump.” He corrected.

“Well…that’s a bit creepy and CSI-ish.” Jessica couldn’t help but wonder if her dreams of Alec, some if not all, really was just a dream. She hoped it was.

“I’ve always wondered but how come Heidi has purple eyes and you don’t?” She asked after a brief beat.

“Contacts.” He curtly said.

Jessica blinked at the implication, “So that means you can hide your real eye colour with contacts? It works?”

“For few hours,” He revealed.

“Why just few hours? Does it dissolve or something?” Jessica jokingly suggested.

“Yes.”  The answer was unexpected but she wanted to know more.

“Wait, why?” She was genuinely curious. Alec noticed that.

“Our body has no need for blood anymore. When we turn into a vampire, our venom replaces all the process and function in the body; even the eyes and the venom burns through the contacts after only a few hours.”

Jessica allowed a moment to sunk the information in before asking him, “Does that mean you cry venom or…”

“We don’t cry. We cannot.”

“That’s sad.”

“What’s so sad about not being able to cry? We still feel the same sadness just like humans, only much greater.”

“What do you mean greater?”

“Our emotions are enhanced. More than you can imagine?”

“So if someone I loved die, I’d be really sad and if the same thing happened to you, your feeling of sadness would be much, much greater than the level of sadness that I feel?”

“Your example is correct.”

“That’s horrible. Is there an off switch like Vampire Diaries? Do you even know Vampire Diaries?” She asked with a frown.

“We cannot shut down our emotions.” He said then added, “I do not know which you base your assumption on.”

“Well, Vampire Diaries is basically like about vampires and humans fighting and stuff, it’s for people my age, and vampires in there can like decide to switch off their emotions when things become too difficult.”

“How convenient.” He commented.

“That’s so sad.” She muttered, “Not being able to cry even when you want to…it’s like not being able to get drunk when you want to get drunk. That must be so painful.”

“I would not know about that.”

“Luckily, me either. Let’s hope it stays that way.” Jessica said, “You know, I really don’t think vampires are monsters now that I know they feel so much more than humans.”

“You shouldn’t say such things so easily.”

“Well, I only have you to go on.” She grinned as their eyes met, “And I think you’re far from monsters.”

Neither looked away for a long time. 

[dragonic-solitary]

The story That didn’t make it to Ao3...

The story never got into Ao3 because my FREAKIN PENDRIVE AND ACCOUNT DECIDED TO DIE, DIE, DIE ON ME...The reason I’m using bold letters is because I’m freakin pissed at the situation right now. But I managed to save this little gem. The story featured the kids a little older than the previous one...so yeah....Years skipping storiessss....anyway let’s continue...

I don’t Have a title...

Jesse is an overprotective father, so when James, Akira and Caden want to play outside of the facility, he’s cautious. He’s assigned for a mission in an hour and is partnered with Hanzo, so he leaves them in the care of Roadhog and Junkrat and Satya. He doesn’t know whether he will regret this or not yet.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

 James, Akira and Caden wanted to play in the park a few blocks away from the base in a quite suburbia in L.A. They wanted to see more of the neighbourhood before they have to go back to Gibraltar. The six year olds search for their parents to have permission. They didn’t realize it’s a bit hard.

“Dad, come on, pleeeeeaaasseee?” Akira plead, her puppy eyes intensifies and her ears are folded on her head.

Jesse takes in a deep breath and smirks when the boys followed their sister’s pout and puppy eyes. “This ain’t like Gibraltar you know. And your momma and I won’t be there to watch over y’all. We have somethin’ to finish here first.” He tells them, his voice kind but with a pinch of worry. “Besides y’all could…”

“We could get hurt or found out or even get lost.” They voice out, Jesse stares at them in silent amusement and right then Hanzo walks in to see the little commotion.

“And besides, I want y’all ta stay close to us…”

“At all times. We know.” Caden.

“And if we see any strangers, don’t talk to them.” James.

“Come straight home.” Akira.

Hanzo chuckles as Jesse groans playfully.

“Can we go now? Pleeeaasee?” Their smiles big and eyes round. Clasping their hands together to make it look like they really meant it.

“Hmmm, very funny.” He chuckles out.

“Mind your father, children.” Hanzo pinches in. His stare a little stern, but voice light and soothing.

They giggle a bit and sighs a little, “Yes, mom.” They turn their stare to him.

“And besides, who’s gonna watch over y’all if when we’re not around. Hana is watching over yer sister and Lucio is with little Ame, who’s going to look after you?” He challenges, one brow raised high.

The three look over at each other and when they couldn’t name someone, their shoulders deflate, and little frowns are showing, Hanzo intervenes.

“Maybe Satya can watch over them. I mean, she is very fond of little Caden here and she has nothing to do this fine afternoon.” He smiles when the children run towards him and hugs his legs and middle. “Mom! You’re the best!!!”

Jesse’s smug grin drops when Hanzo voices out his idea. “Han, are ya sure? I mean…”

“Satya is more than capable of taking care of three children. Besides, she’s been wanting to spend some time with them all week. I say we give her the chance.” He cuts Jesse off and raises a challenging brow.

Jesse’s argument dies in his mouth and he sighs in defeat. “Alright, alright. But make sure you got yer communicators on.” The children turn and run to hug him as well and Jesse bends down to pick all three up. He nuzzles their cheeks and they nuzzle back. Akira and Caden purr loudly and Jesse’s chest gives a deep rumble. He puts them down on the floor and they run in search for Satya.

“And don’t run far from her! Keep yourselves in her sights at all times!” He yells out before the kids turn a corner.

Hanzo chuckles lightly. “If I remember correctly, they acted like a certain cowboy when he was just a child.” He muses, his eyes gives a tender look to his mate.

“Huh, What…?” He says distractedly, eyes to where the children disappeared.

“Who?” He looks to Hanzo and the neko chuckles lightly, tucking his head under Jesse’s chin.

“They’re just like you were when you were young in the stories that you’ve told me.”

“Exactly. If any stories from Gabe back when I was a little punk were any indication, imagine the troubles they could get themselves in.” He furrows his brows in worry and Hanzo playfully punches him in the chest. He then kisses Jesse on the cheek and nose.

“They’ll be fine, anata.” He turns and walks away, but not before giving Jesse a smile. He sighs again when Hanzo left the room and he makes his way to his room to pack some clothes and clean Peacekeeper. He passes the recreational room and hears Roadhog and Junkrat complaining over a show on t.v.

And by then an idea pops into his head. He walks up to them and tips his hat in greeting. They greeted him with a smile from Junkrat and a nod from Roadhog.

“Hey, fellers, I’ve got ta ask some help from both of you. Think you can help out a guy?” He asks casually. Sitting next to them on the couch.

“Sure, cowboy. What cha need’in our ‘elp for?” Junkrat asks, having just showered the smell of soot and gunpowder is barely on him.

“I need y’all ta keep an eye on my lil’ ones. They’ll be goin’ ta the park a few blocks from ‘ere. I just need ya ta watch from a distance. Think ya can do tha’ for me?” He asks them casually, but from the inside he’s praying that the two will agree.

“Wot’s in it fer us then?” Jamie smiles wickedly and Mako slaps the back of his head.

“What the fuck was tha’ for?!?!” He hisses at Mako, rubbing behind his head.

“We’ll do it, McCree. No charge needed.” The large man grunts. Junkrat grumbles angrily under his breath and nods along with Mako.

“Besides, Satya is takin’ care of the little tykes. So…” He’s cut off when Junkrat jumps up and whoops.

“We’ll take it!! Come on, Roadie! Not a day ta waste ‘ere!!” He runs out the door and Mako follows leisurely.

Jesse watches them walk away, a bemused look on his face. He breathes a sigh of relief and his shoulders felt a little lighter then. He gets up and continues his way to his room.

 ,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

 “Thanks for watching after us, Aunt Satya.” Akira says from her side, holding onto her hand as they make their way to the park. Caden on her other side, also holding onto her hand with James leading the way. Satya wears the most casual clothing she could find, and that’s a white button up and a pair of dark blue jeans. Her hair is tied back in a loose bun. The day is bright and she keeps a small handgun in the back of her pocket and a taser.

“Aunt Satya?”

“Yes, Akira?”

“Are you uncle Rat’s mate?”

Satya momentarily chokes on her tongue and she flails a bit. The red blush on her face intensifying.

“No! No, dear. W-why would you say that?” She inquires, face still red and heart beating fast.

“Naaah, I think it’s because Akira think you guys are cute.” Caden pipes out. His smile warm and look knowing. For a child, he seems wiser, considering his age.

“I need to stop you from hanging around Zenyatta all the time.” She huffs out.

“Noooooooo! Uncle Zen makes awesome juggling shows!” Caden gasps out, feigning fear.

“He uses his tele-ke-nictic powers. So they don’t count!” Akira harrumphs.

“Says you. I still think it’s a cool trick.” Caden sticks his tongue out at her.

The kids found her in the kitchen preparing tea, and when they asked whether she could take them to the park, she agreed instantly. But she did ask whether their parents knew.

Now, as they make their way to the park, they only stopped when they passed an ice-cream shop. She promises them that they’ll get ice-cream after they went to the park.

“I want butter fudge almond.” Caden suggests early on.

“I want strawberry.” Akira. Her eyes sparkling at the mention of the particular treat.

“Heh, I want rocky road. A man’s ice cream.” He puffs his chest proudly.

“Dad likes vanilla and strawberry.” Caden points out.

“Yeah, what makes you think that strawberries are for girls only?” Akira argued.

“Well, because you like the color pink! And strawberry ice cream is pink, so.”

“HEY! Don’t think that just because the color looks girly, doesn’t mean a man can’t have or like that kind of colors too!” She place one hand on her hip, looking much like Hanzo when he wants them to go to bed early.

“Okay! Okay. That’s enough. How did we even got into this argument?” Caden asks incredulously.

“She started it!” James point to her.

“Well, we women might started it, but we can also finish it!” She sassed. Chin sticking up high. Eyes challenging.  

Satya silently cackles over their little banter. Such a little spitfire you are, Akira. Your mother would be proud. Satya thought happily.

When they arrived, there was only a couple of kids playing around and they looked to her for permission. She nods and they run off to the playground. She walks to the lone bench and sits down, taking out her book from her bag that’s slung over her shoulder and keeps half of her focus on the kids.

It was hard at first when bringing them to a park. Then, they didn’t know which to be yet, people or pup or kitten. They would switch from time to time, which is adorable. Ame was a little late when he first transformed. And when he did, he was the smallest, white wolf they have ever seen. Jesse was a little worried at that time because of how weak Ame was. He would barely eat at times and when he does, he ate so little. But after a while, he grew a bit stronger. Jesse was a bit protective of him when he couldn’t handle being around the team, and when he cried, Jesse was there in an instant.

When one of them was sick, it was a conundrum. They didn’t know whether they need human treatment or a veterinary field of knowledge. They were a bit scared, but Angela gives and tried her best, and they always pull through.

Akira plays near the edge of the park, looking for hidden treasures to bring home to. Sometimes she would find an old silver watch, which is rarely, a few pretty buttons and lost earrings. They dubbed her a little treasure hunter when she would find any lost things back in base. Sometimes things that they lost for a while and forgotten.

“Hey, you don’t look like you belong here.” She mumbles to herself and sees one of those shiny pins that was on those round green thing. A…grenade, she heard the name of it when Uncle Rat threw the empty ones around. She grabs it and a rustle of leaves makes her look up to see a giant pig mask and someone with crazy looking eyes staring at her.

She lets out a scream and falls onto her bum. The two screamed in surprise when she screamed and they emerge from the bushes to apologize to the little girl.

Satya runs to them when she heard the screaming, but her worry was unfounded when she only saw Roadhog and Junkrat. She throws a mild death glare at them and came closer.

“Jamie, Mako, what are you doing here?” She asks, hands on her hips as she stares them down. They stand up a little straighter and Jamie laughs sheepishly, “Well, McCree sent us ovah ‘cause he wan’ed them lil’ ankle biters ta be in bett’ah protection.” He chuckles and stuffs his hand in his pocket.

Satya only hums, a bit peeved that McCree thought she needed help, but she couldn’t blame him. He’s just protective of his young ones. And it’s also the third time that they’ve been farther apart more than in a ten foot radius. She walks back to her bench as the kids run up to their uncles and proceeds to climb over them. Thank goodness that they’re wearing clothes to at least look decent. And Jamie seems to have taken the liberty to shower, because his face and hair are clear from soot and grease and it appears that he combs his hair a bit too. She blushes when he caught her staring, sending her a wink and she harrumphs and hides her face behind her book. Hiding her blush and the small smile when she hears the children laugh along with him.

They spend an hour chasing around the children in a game of tag and Caden seems to have fallen asleep on Roadhog, probably tired himself out. Akira was just showing Junkrat how to make flower crowns and he ended up making a nest for birds. She didn’t know where she went wrong.

Little James was swinging on the swings when he heard a whimper from the edge of the park. He turns around and sees a leg sticking out from some bushes. He runs to the, what seems to be an injured paw, and proceeds to call it out.

“Hey, buddy. Come on out. I’m here ta help.” His southern drawl was mild and Hanzo groans in amusement as Jesse whoops in excitement when he started to follow in his father’s footsteps. Hanzo just hopes that his firstborn would forgo a giant blanket around him and a similar cowboy hat.

The leg instantly draws itself into the bushes and a low growl came from the bushes. It rustles as a man and a vicious looking dog came out from behind. James tried to run, but the man was quicker. He grabs onto his leg and pulls him up. James starts thrashing and clawing at the man’s hand without turning into a wolf.

“Let go of me, you creep!!” He yells and growls in frustration.

“You got spirit on you, boy. We need that.” He grins wickedly, a few of his teeth missing and James grimace at the smell of his breath. James starts to scream and the man clamps his dirty hand on his mouth.

“JAMES!!” A yell reaches his ears and before he could see aunt Satya, but the man was already running away with his dog keeping Satya distracted.

When Satya heard James yell, she stands instantly and runs to where he is, the Junkers heard it too.

“Stay with them lil’ ones, Mako!!” He growls. Anger rolling off of him. He only ever uses his real name when he’s angry or upset. He runs to where the dog is barking at Satya. He growls and snarls viciously at it and the dog runs away, whimpering.

“Where’s James?!” He looks over at Satya and she points to where the man disappeared, tears of frustration running down her face and an anger boiling in her veins.

“I’ll catch him, you stay with Mako.” With that he takes a quick sprint and Satya walks over the others and stays close to them.

“Is James going to be okay?!” Akira cries out, her eyes scared and voice quivering. Satya hugs her and reassures her that Jamie will get him. Caden held onto Mako and the giant man rubs his back soothingly. His sobs muffled by his shirt.

Meanwhile Junkrat was burning with rage when he finally catches up with the fucker. He sees little James trying so hard to wiggle out of his hold and when the man only knocks him out, Junkrat was ready to tear this man to pieces while he still breathes! They turn a corner into an alley and Junkrat has to jump on a few crates to catch up to them. When a fence came to his view, the man quickly tries to jump over it. By the time he reaches the other side, Junkrat hears a scream of agony and a gruesome sound of flesh being tear apart reaches his ears. Junkrat jumps over the fence and sees the man on the ground, holding onto his missing hand to his chest with James half transformed. His wolf ears are out and his claws and mouth bloodied. His eyes are red and he’s panting. Junkrat walks closer to the boy and by the time he reaches him and puts a hand on his shoulder, James broke down crying.

“James, I want ya ta cover ya ears and close y’re eyes, a’ight?” Junkrat whispers to him and James nodded frantically. He tucks in his ears and transforms back to human and proceeds to do what he’s been told. He turns away and Junkrat turns to the whimpering man on the ground.

“That kid’s a monster!! What the fuck is he even?!?!” He wails and Junkrat kicks him in the face.

“If tha’ kids a monster, then I’m fuckin’ Lucifer ‘imself.” He grins darkly and the man’s eyes widen with unadulterated fear. His screams were unheard to James.

Junkrat wipes the blood off both of them with his shirt and burns it. Dumps what remains of the man in a bin and spills gasoline that he found near one of the apartments and burns him in the trashcan. He closes the lid, after punching a few holes on it, on the bin and picks James up into his arms. The bones and severed hand of the man was buried, meat still clung to it, and he leaves with a quite James in his arms.

They take another route to get to the park. They had to pass many maze like paths, but after a while, Junkrat asks James whether he could catch the scent of his siblings and the rest. He says he can and they made back before the sun sets.

When they got there, Satya runs to them both and takes James in a hug. She holds on to him so tight, it’s like she’s trying to let him stick only to her. And then she turns her attention to Junkrat, she pulls him into the hug and he envelops them with his long arms. Roadhog came too with the children and they held on to each other for god knows how long.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again, James Joseph McCree!” Akira yells out. Her hands tight around him and they held onto each other as they cry in relief. Happy and glad that the other is safe. She mews quietly when he whimpers and they bask in the embrace of the adults. Caden holds on to both his siblings, hiccupping and shaking.

When they finally calm down, each adult holds onto one child as they walk back. Satya carries James, his hold tight on her. Roadhog carries Caden, his shaking has stopped for the moment. Junkrat carries little Akira, her hand outstretched towards James’s hand, making him walk closer to Satya.

“We should tell Hanzo and Jesse. They need their parents right now.” Satya speaks out, voice quite with a little tremble.

“They ain’t goin’ ta be ‘appy bout’it when we get back.” Roadhog grumbles out.

“No, I imagine they wouldn’t.” She whispers.

They weren’t prepared for the rage that Jesse threw when he found out, he smelt their distress the moment their scent was in range and he runs to them when they reached the entrance. He picked up his children and immediately they cried, their arms round him and he tries to soothe them, hopefully it will help calm him too.

When Hanzo finds out, he demanded the whereabouts of that lowlife of a human and Jamie reassures him that he was taken care of. His eyes darken and Hanzo can see a touch of darkness in them before he bows a bit in his direction.

“Thank you, for saving my son, Jamieson.”

“‘T’s al’ight, mate. Ya would’ve done the same thing ta us.” He grins.

“That’s it! The next time y’all decide ta go to the park, we’re sending Reinhardt and Zarya!” He mutters darkly, his fangs peeking from the bottom of his lips. Satya flinches at that, her inability to protect them hits her harder than expected.

“Now Jesse, they did their best to protect our children. Things happen and there’s nothing you can do about it. They were only caught by surprise.” Hanzo tries to calm him down, but Jesse was having none of it. He passes the children to Hanzo so that he could blow off some steam by running on the gym’s treadmill. In his wolf form. Nobody was to disturb him at all when he’s in his full form. Afraid that he might accidentally channels his anger to them.

Hanzo turns to Satya, “I apologize for my mate’s behaviour. He didn’t mean what he said.” He sighs out. His hold on the children tight as they cling onto him.

“It’s fine, Hanzo.” She smiles sadly and she remembers something. “Your daughter is the feistiest little lady I have ever seen.” She laughs, the sound small and timid.

“Really?”Hanzo inquires, grabbing the opportunity for the change of subject.

“Yes. I believe it has something to do about masculinity and the color pink.” She lightly brushes her hand in the little girl’s hair.

“Really now? Tell me all about it.”

Hanzo’s presence helped calmed his children, but the bristles on his skin and the deep scowl on his face shows something else. After the small chatter with Satya, he brings the children to Angela to check them over and he gathers his litter together in the common room. The sense of them all together calms the burning rage in his blood and when Genji found out about the news, he was silent in his fury. He sits on the floor, near to his niece and nephews and Zenyatta followed suit. His calming presence helped in bringing the children to sleep and Hanzo changes into his full form. He had to ask for Genji to help remove the prosthetics and then he curls around the children protectively.

When the rest of the team hears about it, Hana quickly runs to the sleeping mother and children, Lucio following after, bringing his soothing music with him, Reinhardt bellows in anger, saying such profanities the gentle giant has never used.

“HOW DARE HE HARMS MY GREAT-GREAT-GRANDCHILDREN IN ZUCH MANNER!!!”

Angela was not far from using her secret stash of poison, and Lena was cursing all seven of Hells. Mei was quiet and her face went blank. Nobody wanted to know what’s going on in her head. Zarya went to help Gabe in calming Jesse down. Jack runs to the children.

When Gabe and Zarya stayed with Jesse, he prowls the gym like a caged animal. Literally, except without the cage. He would growl and snap when they make a move towards him. Gabe has had enough so he walked up to the giant canine and stood his ground, face fierce and arms folded.

“Look niño, I understand what it’s like to almost lose your loved ones, I get it. But your kids need you right now. Leaving them scared and still fresh from the kidnap will only lead to disaster. They need their papi, mijo. You can sulk when the kids are feeling safe again. Now, go.” He gives a stern look when Jesse made no move, and he growls lowly when Jesse growls.

Jesse lowers his head and didn’t even bother to change back into human. Before he leaves, he bumps his head on Gabe’s middle and continues with his direction to his mate and litter. When he came to the common area, he sees Hanzo curled around them and half the team in the room. They give room for him to reach his family and when he nuzzles on Hanzo’s neck, the neko purred, happy that his mate is near. He nuzzles his nose to the litter to see them transformed and sleeping. Ame wakes up with a jolt and a whimper, causing James to shake and whine. He yips a little to comfort them saying that he’s there for them and he’ll won’t let anything happen to them. They calmed down, but James climbs up on Hanzo’s side so he could nuzzle his dad. Jesse picks him up by the scruff of his neck with gentle teeth and places him back into the litter. He licks James head when the pup yips in protest. The pup lies back down without further argument when Jesse lies down behind his mate. His head cushioned on Hanzo’s torso, nose poking into the litter. His presence calming them further and the litter settles back into sleeping.

Gabe comes in after and watches the little family cuddle in the middle of the room before he makes a beeline for his beloved, who’s sitting on a sofa closer to the litter. He watches them with a small fear lingering in his gaze. Gabe picks him up effortlessly and places him on his lap.

“I keep forgetting how small they are, Gabe.” He whispers out.

“Small? Huh, you couldn’t even lift the girls anymore.” He huffs out, a smile in his voice.

“Well excuse me, Mr I’m-too-old-to-give-piggy-back-rides.” He counters. Eyes narrowing dangerously.

“I’m not that old yet!” He pipes out.

Jesse huffs a laugh…let’s hope it’s a laugh. And Gabe narrows his eyes at him.

“65 is old you know.” Hana points out.

“Sssshhhhh. I believe you mentioned that being 19 already counts that you are an adult.” Genji points. “Thus meaning, how would you say it? ‘old-enough-to-have-creaky-bones’?” She didn’t need to know he was smiling smugly behind his visor. His tone is enough indication.

“Curse you, you fool!” She imitates Hanzo, the scowl she did was too exaggerated.

They share a little laugh when the night grew late. None wanted to leave the little family. They each take their pillows and blankets and changed to their sleeping attire and rearranging the sofas to make the common area look like a giant nest of soft pillows and blankets. The litter woke up in the commotion and they each took a favourite person to sleep with.

Akira and Anya sleep in between Jack and Gabe. Their arms thrown over them protectively. Caden sleeps in Satya’s embrace with Jamieson and Mako surrounding the two. Jesse had bumped his head to Satya’s middle as an apology and she runs her hand on his head as acceptance. James sleeps in his parent’s embrace, his face tucked in Hanzo’s furry neck and Jesse’s maw resting lightly on his back. Little Ame sleeps in Lena’s embrace, his fist holding onto her shirt tightly. Hana, Lucio, Mei and Zarya sleep around the outer parts of the nest, Zarya next to Mei and Lucio sleeping on the couch, his shoulder acting as an extra pillow to Hana. Reinhardt sleeps on the recliner with his hammer behind the seat. Zenyatta and Genji both taking on looking over them, since they didn’t need to sleep. Content to just watch over their family silently as they sleep.

They sleep around the parents with the soft sound of the waves from the open window acting as a lullaby to them. Hanzo and Jesse knew that the children are in the embrace of the most protective, loving family they could ever have, and they worry not one bit that the children will grow up happy and content.

I should also probably mention that this story was the out-of-date one, because there’re no Anyas in the McHanzo litter. Anya changed to Aiko...Sorry for all of those that got confused o_o’ 

[diddlesanddoodles]

BITTER LEMONS MAKE (GT/Fantasy)

Prologue to Salted Lemonade. 

This monstrosity is a bit shy of 16,000 words. Holy biscuits. I decided to upload the prologue as one big story rather than into short chapters as I originally intended for the sake of simplicity and because I don’t have the patience to upload another story via separate chapters. Also, I am a person who appreciates a good long read, especially GT stories since many tend o be short. And I hope the people who do read my stories appreciate it as well. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy it.

The changing of the leaves brought the first frost of the coming season as well as excited talk of costumes and candy and parties. Recess was spent ogling over the newly released Party City costume insert from last Sunday’s newspaper and fervent discussions on who would go as what or as who. Most of the girls in her class were all fawning over the newest Disney Princess costume. The deluxe one that came with the nicer wig and accessories with a price tag to match. Astrid wanted to be a zombie. Not a princess or something girly like that. A proper and true zombie with blood and guts and lots of cool make up.

But her Mother did not like her daughter’s idea and had been not so subtly suggesting she pick something with more frills and skirts and sequins. To which Astrid had cheekily suggested that she could go as Mrs. Lovette. Her mother shot down the idea after doing a google search on the character.

So as the number 24 bus drove down W. Gulliver Blvd, Astrid was in deep thought about her costume choices. She did not want to go door to door dressed as a floofy cupcake like every other girl in town. Every Halloween since she could rightly remember, Astrid had gone with whatever costume idea her mother had. She never had anything against them because they were always funny or unique. But this year, her mother seemed determined to see her daughter in a puffy pink dress parading around like the Princess of Prussia. All Astrid wanted to be was an undead brain eating monster. Maybe they could compromise and she could be a Zombie princess.

She was jarred from her thoughts when the bus slowed and stopped. Looking up, she saw Rosita’s diner and the shell gas station, a full three blocks from the next bus stop. Her bus stop. A crack of static from the loud speaker drew the attention of the bus passengers and the driver’s voice spoke out.

“Attention all Jessup Road passengers. We got construction on Herald Circle and a wreck blocking Main street, so I’m afraid I’ll be having to drop you off here. Come see me up to the front when disembarking and I shall issue you a refund receipt.”

With a sigh, Astrid pulled on her jacket and slipped her yellow backpack onto her shoulders before slipping off the hard plastic seat, standing aside as a young man in a high school jersey nudged passed her. Following the young man, an elderly woman with a two wheeled hand cart filled with groceries, and a businessman with a cell phone pressed to his ear, Astrid collected her refund receipt.

His bored and lazy expression sharpened into something resembling mild concern s as Astrid waited, hand outstretched for her receipt.

“You live close by, kid?” he asked.

“Yeah. Off of Comly.”

“Oh, okay. Well, tell your folks to go to that URL on the back and sign into your account. Follow the prompts and put in that code, it’ll refund your buss pass,” said the driver, handing her a small slip of paper. She muttered a quiet thank you and stepped off the warm bus into the chilly air. She could cut through the strip mall and walk down Forrest St and walk straight into her backyard. She would be home in five minutes.  

The young man in the high school jersey and matching jacket seemed to have had the same idea and was heading towards the strip mall. He had paused by the window to the Hibbett’s Sports and by the time he had moved on, Astrid had caught up, passing him by. After the Michael’s craft store, there was the large expansive overflow parking lot. There was a few semi trucks parked off to the side and a few employee cars, but it was mostly empty. The high school boy’s legs were much longer than her own and by the time they were almost half way across the asphalt, he had passed her again. He flashed her a smarmy lopsided grin. Astrid scrunched her nose and stuck her tongue out at the back of his head.

Under her sneakers, the ground shivered. Stopping, Astrid looked around her and hearing something jingle, she looked up at the light post. She could see it sway slightly. The young man had stopped too and was glancing around curiously.

“Oh man,” he said with an excited grin. “That was an earthquake!”

The ground shivered again. And bucked. And swayed. Astrid cried out as she fell to her knees, unable to keep on her feet as everything that should not be moving was moving.

“Ah, cool!” yelled the older boy, his excitement was nearly palpable. “This is awesome!”

Astrid was no where near as excited as he was at experiencing her first earthquake. There was nothing as sturdy and as present and solid as the ground a person walked on and to feel it move and buck like a horse was terrifying. And she would very much like for it to stop.

However, instead of complying to the wishes of a fourth grader, it got worse. There was a crack like the sound of a whip somewhere nearby, and the wind started to kick up. Astrid watched the dirt and small rocks fly about in the wind as it began to turn and twist and there came a sudden shift in the strength of the wind’s spin. She felt herself sliding as the twisting air pulled at her. Her bare hands batted feebly at the ground, trying to find purchase. She heard the older boy scream as he lost his balance and fell hard on the ground and too began to slid towards the eye of the cyclone. Their fear filled eyes met for the briefest of moments before the surface below them dropped away and the pair fell into the nothingness.

…………….

The nothingness gave way to sound and air and an uncomfortable tightness in her chest. She gasped for breath and tumbled into the dirt. She heard the sound of someone gasping loudly and suspected it to be the older boy.

“Uuugh,” he muttered. “Augh, my chest.”

She whined in feeble agreement, rubbing her sternum as she pushed up from the ground. It felt as though someone had punched her. There was a pungent smell of pine that greeted her next inhale of air and she raised her head, curious. Her stomach clenched. All around were trees taller than any she had ever seen. The seemed to stretch high above them like hands reaching up to block the sky. Their sharp needled branches, looking like tiny clawed fingers against the orange light of the dying sun.  

Wait. Sunset? Astrid glanced at her cell phone. 3:22 PM. And no signal. The strip mall was no where in sight. In fact, the only thing she could see were the huge trees. Trees and dirt and rocks.  

“Where the hell...?” asked the boy aloud, sitting up from where he had been laying. “Crap...these trees are freakin’ huge!”

Carefully pulling herself up from the dirt, Astrid rose to her feet and winced against several new aches. Her backpack was a familiar and comforting weight against her back and shoulders.

“Hey. Do you have a cell phone, kid?” The boy asked. In his hands, he held a thin white iphone.  

“Yeah,” she replied, flashing him a small black brick that was her prepaid Nokia. “But no bars.”

“Me neither. Damn,” he replied, glaring at the useless piece of metal in his hands. “Well. This day has been very weird.”

Astrid nodded numbly, still starring at the trees and wondering how such giant things could exist. And a though struck her.

“I think I know where we are!” She exclaimed, excited at her genius.

“Where?” asked the boy, a hopeful glint in his brown eyes.

“California!”

The hopeful glint was replaced with an incredulous raising of an eyebrow. “California.”

“Yeah.”

“Suuuure. We just magically popped across the country. California is like...500 miles away!”

“But the trees,” she replied with a huff. “They’re big.”

“I noticed that.”

“And they have big trees in California.”

A spark of recognition hit him. “Oh! The redwoods!”

“Yeah!”

“Hey, you might not be wrong,” he replied. “But still. How the hell did we get to California?”

………………………………..

If she thought the weirdest thing that had ever happened to her was being magically being tossed across the country, Astrid was in for a troubling development. In the form of a thirty foot fence.

After several moments of standing around uselessly with plenty of indecisive grumbling as to what to do, they ultimately decided to pick a direction and start walking for as long as the light held out. Despite conventional wisdom telling them that it would have been better to stay where they were. They reasoned that no one would be searching for them in the Redwood nation forest when they would be reported missing several states away. So best go find a park ranger or something. Before it got dark.

So when their path was abruptly blocked by what appeared to them as a wall of chicken wire, they were confused.

“Who builds such a huge fence out of chicken wire?” the boy, Tommy, mused bitterly. Astrid ran two fingers along the metal. The wire itself was thick. Thicker that the power cord to her Grandpa’s shop vac and though the weave of the metal did resemble chicken wire, it was much sturdier and did not have near the give and sway that she normally associated it. “Damn, this thing’s tall too.”

“What do we do?” Astrid asked, starting to feel sweaty and dirty. A hot bath sounded good. And a sandwich. She was getting hungry.

“I say we follow it,” Tommy shrugged. “I mean, it’s gotta lead somewhere right?”

It was starting to get dark and the temperature was dropping fast. Her plush red flannel jacket was keeping her warm enough, but her face was chilled and she was rubbing feeling back into her nose and cheeks. The denim of her jeans was stiffening in the cold. She followed after Tommy as he continued on down the fence line. After about an hour, she noticed to her other side more fencing. They seemed to be coming to a point where the fences met.

“Hey, look!” Tommy exclaimed, pointing ahead. “There’s a gap there.”

Sure enough, just where one would expect the two fences to meet was a generous sized gap. A gate perhaps? Tommy jogged ahead, leaving Astrid to toddle along behind. The boy’s long legs brought him quickly over to the gap, kicking up forest debris as he went. Astrid saw the faint orange light of the setting sun bounce off a reflective surface, hidden under pine needles and dirt. Curious, she walked over to it and as she got close enough to see that it was indeed metal, there was a faint clink from under her sneaker and there came a horrendous crashing of metal and screaming hinges. She screamed as walls rose from from every direction and snapped shut, tossing Astrid backwards. Her shoulders slammed into metal bars.

“What the crap was that?!” Tommy yelled, whirling around. His eyed widened. “Holy-! Oh god, are you okay?!”

Astrid’s entire field of vision was framed by bars. Metal bars. Cage bars. It was a cage. She was in a cage. It took several long moments for this fact to sink in and Tommy was already at the cage, pulling on what he assumed to be a door. There was a huge bolt keeping it closed. Four feet long and several inches thick. It looked as though it could weigh an easy 100 lbs. No matter how hard Tommy yanked on it, it would not move.

Astrid was on her feet, pulling and pushing every piece that looked like it might move. But nothing did.  Suddenly, there was a bright flash of blue light, startling both of them. Atop the cage was a blue light that blinked and fluttered like a police car light.

“Please, get me out!” Astrid pleaded. The belated sense of panic was taking root in her mind now. It had been easy to be enthralled by the bizarre circumstances, let the novelty and wonder take precedent. But now accumulating evidence was beginning to leave her terrified. The trees were huge. The fence was huge. This cage was huge. She felt small and helpless. She wanted out. She wanted to go home.

“I don’t want to be here anymore! I want to go home!” Astrid cried.

Tommy bent down to her level, looking at her through the bars. He looked almost as terrified as she felt. “Look, just...uh, calm down. Okay? You’re gonna be fine. I’m gonna...” he trialed off, looking around hopelessly and then up at the blinking light. “I’m gonna try and find someone...I’ll...”

He stepped back, starring at the sky. His own sense of wonder and awe was gone as well. Replaced by panic and fear.

“HELP!” He screamed up at the sky. “SOMEBODY! PLEASE!”

“Help!” Astrid added, though she could not manage near the volume.

“ANYBODY OUT THERE?” Tommy yelled.

They carried on for a good while, screaming at empty air for help. But then, from the near silent forest came a familiar sound. A welcomed sound. Foot steps. The wave of relief was acutely palpable and Astrid almost sobbed in relief.

“Hello!” Tommy yelled, walking towards the sound. “Is somebody there?”

“Aye. That’d be me,” replied a calm voice. It echoed oddly, but both Tommy and Astrid were so relieved to have finally been found to notice. The prospect of going home filled Astrid and her face broke out into a wide happy grin. She would go home and tell her mother that she would gladly wear the gaudiest, fluffiest, pinkest princess dress she could find and go trick or treating with a skip in her step.

Tommy was almost laughing with relief. “Mind giving us a hand? Some freaking nutcase set these giant traps and my friend’s stuck inside.”

There was a laugh, a low chuckle, and the foot steps got closer and closer. And louder and louder. A dark shape amongst the trees drew their focus. It was large. Tall. Impossibly tall. The footfalls were much louder now and tremors shook the ground.

The joy of being found was starting to fade and uncertainty took hold. Fear bubbled back.

The dark shape stepped up to the gap in the fence and the dying light cast them in a deep orange light. It was man like in body, but in size it was monstrous. As she starred, everything seemed to suddenly click in Astrid’s mind. The impossibly tall trees. The thirty foot fence. This absurd cage she was trapped in. And now, a mere 100 meters away, stood a giant.

An honest to goodness giant.

He was slightly shorter than the fence, but not by much. Easily twenty something feet. Appearing middle aged with brown hair and dull gray eyes. His ears were large and laughably shaped with shared similarities to those of an elf. He was dressed in a long dark coat with something strung across his back and at his side was what appeared to be a dog. An eight foot tall dog. Lithe and thin snouted with long shaggy black fur and piercingly blue eyes. It sat on its haunches, calmly watching. “Sorry to put a damper on things, little fella...”

Both Tommy and Astrid froze and their eyes widened as their brains struggled to process what they were seeing.

“But, y’see,” continued the giant with a smirk, flashing a set of wickedly sharp canines. “I’d be that freakin’ nutcase who set them traps.”

An alarming sense of nausea took over everything. Astrid felt like her insides were being pulled down to the bottom of her feet. Adrenaline sparked through her limbs, making her hands tingle. The giant was watching them, taking in their much smaller forms and smiling enigmatically all the while. The large dog at his side did not move, but its blue eyes never left their trained focus. On Tommy.

“Gotta say, you two are mighty lucky I happened by this section,” said the giant brightly as he stepped closer. Tommy visibly recoiled and took several cautious steps back. Astrid shrank back to the furthest end of the cage. The giant took little to no notice. “Don’t come down this way much anymore. Haven’t seen anything pop through here for almost a year. Figured the partition healed or something. But here you are. Heh. And two of you as well! Must’ve been quite a collapse to suck two of you lil’ snippets up in one go.”

“Look, uh...sir. We don’t want any trouble,” Tommy said, voice cracking.

“And I ain’t here to bring any to you,” replied the giant simply, his shoulders rising and falling in a lazy shrug. “So long as you cooperate, that is.”

“Please,” Tommy continued, a desperate lilt coloring his words. Worried eyes flickered over to Astrid and back to the giant, one shaky hand gesturing to the trapped girl. “Just...let her out. We’re just trying to get home, sir. We just want to go home. Please.”

The giant’s overall pleased demeanor faltered and his eyebrow narrowed every so slightly. The curl of his smile withered. “Ain’t no goin’ home for you two now. Best come to terms with that. Make it easy for yourselves.”

“W-what do you...” Tommy muttered with a narrowing of his brow and taking a deliberate step back. “ You can’t keep us here. Of course we’re going home!”

The giant regarded the pair for a moment and his expression changed to amusement. He stifled a laugh. “Not unless you figured out how to rip space and time apart, navigate the inbetween, and rearrange your own atoms back together in the proper order and in the correct location.”

Both humans were struck dumb.

“It’d be a mighty neat party trick,” added the giant. “Pay good money to see that.”  

Astrid felt decidedly sick and her breathing was becoming erratic as she began to panic. Tommy did not seem much better.

“So, how about we wrap this up, hm? It’s gettin’ mighty late,” the giant said, striding purposefully towards them now. “And it’s nearly dinner time.”

Images of every monster movie she had ever seen flashed in Astrid’s head. Gnashing teeth and buckets of blood, glass shattering screams, and the long pained death throws of the doomed victims. All of it was wrapped in the form a twenty something foot man who making his way straight for them.

She turned to Tommy and yelled. “RUN!”

The older boy did not even spare her a glance before he turned and bolted away, his long legs and adrenaline filled veins carrying him far and fast in a manner of mere moments. Astrid heard the giant release a long frustrated sigh. “Silly boy.”

“Knew it,” quipped a new voice from behind the giant. But all Astrid saw was the dog.

“Tippan,” the giant said, glancing over his shoulder at the dog. “Fetch.”

“He looked like a runner,” replied the dog. Astrid had only the briefest moment to marvel, or tremble, at the prospect of a talking dog – a talking eight foot tall dog – before she watched in horror as the large hound bolted off after Tommy. 

“Now then,” came the giant’s voice much closer than Astrid remembered and she turned and found him kneeling over the cage and peering down at her. “Let’s get you settled away, sweetheart.”

Astrid pressed herself into the far back corner, staring up at the enormous figure. She felt hot tears streaming down her face and her breath was caught in her throat. He dipped his shoulder and slipped off a large square pack from his back. In the dim light it was hard to really tell, but it looked like it was made of boiled red leather. On the side facing Astrid, she could see a small window cut out. It looked like something a person would carry a pet in. Or something a giant would keep captured humans in. He studied her for a moment and his eyes narrowed in concentration.

“Well I’ll be damned. A kit!” said the giant in astonishment and he leaned down closer. He smiled. “Never had one fall through before. Huh. You’re just a little smidgen of a thing, aren’t you?”

“Please don’t eat me!” she begged, starring up at him with wide terrified eyes.

His grin widened and he huffed a laugh. “Eat you? Oh, sweetie. As scrumptious as you look, that’s not why I’m here.”

The large bolt that she and Tommy had struggled to move earlier was easily and effortlessly pulled out and the door popped open. A hand crept inside. Astrid curled into herself, covering her head with her arms and whimpered in sheer terror, waiting for the hand to grab her, for fingers to tear her limbs from her body, and for teeth to crush her bones.

“Aw, now. Don’t be like that, little darlin’,” said the giant. “You’re breakin’ my heart here.”

She felt something brush her side and she cried out and tried to scramble away, but large fingers easily wrapped around her and drew her out of the metal trap. Her arms were pinned to her sides, but her legs were free and she kicked uselessly at open air. The giant chortled in amusement.

“Lively one you are,” he muttered. She watched his other hand travel over to the red leather pack and peel back the flap. The inside was divided into two sections with enough room in each one for a person – a human – to stand. He then lowered Astrid into one of the compartments, closing the flap after her and sealing her in. She immediately dropped to floor and curled up. Her heart was beating so fast and it didn’t feel like she could get enough air into her lungs. From the outside, she heard a noise and the giant speak.

“Good work, Tippan.”

She could hear Tommy grunting and swearing. Astrid struggled back to her feet and pressed her face against the window cut out in the leather. There was a kind of black mesh covering the gap and the weave was large enough for her to see out.

The hound had Tommy in it’s mouth, the poor boy’s torso and legs dangling off either side while the jaws of the enormous animal were firmly clenched around his middle. Astrid wanted to scream, but she was relieved that there was no blood and Tommy did not appear to be in any pain. Mostly angry.

The giant held his hands out and the dog leaned forward and allowed the unhappy human to tumble from his mouth and into the waiting hands. Unlike Astrid, Tommy did not freeze up at the sight of the giant. He struggled and kicked and tried valiantly to pull himself from between fingers thick as man’s thigh.

“Let me go you fucking-!”

“Hey now. What happened to all them please’s and sir’s?”

“They fucked off!”

“Now, now. Calm yourself. No need to get all -OW!”

Tommy dropped to the dirt with an ‘oof!’ and was on his feet and running again, but he did not get very far, only a few feet, before the dog – Tippan -  pounced on him and pinned him to the dirt. The dog gave a low growl, a warning, before lifting its head back towards its master.  

“Okay there, Faro?” asked Tippan. “Did he get you good?”

“Nah. Didn’t even draw blood,” the giant, Faro, remarked and winced. “Still smarts a bit, though.”

Tippan huffed what might have been a laugh. “Serves you right for not having your gloves.”

The giant scowled at the dog while rummaging through a side pocket on the pack. He pulled out what looked like lengths of leather and something else that Astrid could not see.

“Just keep him still for me,” Faro replied as he brought the object in his hands over to the trapped human. The giant’s bulk blocked most of what he was doing, but Astrid could hear Tommy cursing and struggling. Faro seemed to be having a little trouble doing whatever it was he was doing, because he kept muttering for Tommy to calm down or to stop wiggling.

“There!” The giant exclaimed finally. Tippan stepped back and the giant turned towards the pack, granting Astrid a look a Tommy. His arms were crossed over his chest and pinned there with leather straps and the way he squirmed, Astrid assumed that they were a bit snug. But the most startling thing was not him being tied up. No. It was that contraption around his face. A small metal cage around his mouth secured with more leather straps and other bindings.

The giant had muzzled him.

“Really hate to use this thing on you, little fella,” Faro said as he lifted the forcibly pacified human. “But I can’t have you nibbling on my fingers like that.”

Tommy did not answer. He did not even swear. He looked broken. His eyes were wide and they glistened with frustrated tears. The flap above Astrid was pulled aside and she looked up to see the giant bringing Tommy over and lowering him gently down into one of the other compartments. Before the giant closed it up again, his eyes drifted over to her and settled on her for a moment. And then he closed the flap, snapping it closed. They were left in almost absolute darkness with the only light coming in from the mesh window. But by now the sun had all but set completely and whatever light was left did not make it through the mesh much at all. Astrid slid back down to the floor of the pack just as the entire thing rose into the air, tilting alarmingly to the side as the giant strung it across his back.

She hugged herself and tried to hold back a sob.

……………………………

“What is that noise?” asked an irritated Tippan.

“It’s the kit,” said Faro. “Little thing’s scared is all.”

“Well, can you get it to stop?”

“Have a heart, Tippan. She’s probably just callin’ for her Mum.”

“Well, her Mum ain’t gonna be answering.”

“The kit doesn’t know that. She’ll stop soon. Just be patient.”

Astrid ignored the two larger voices and continued sobbing into her kneecaps. The swaying and bouncing of the pack did not help and was a continued reminder of everything that had happened. She knew just on the other side of the pack was Tommy. The high school boy who had been pulled into this mess along with her. She couldn’t understand how he wasn’t audibly crying as well. The giant had sicced his hell hound after him and even muzzled him! She wanted to call out to him, ask him if he was alright, but she was afraid the giant or his hound would hear her. And in any case, Astrid was not sure she could muster coherent words at the moment.

They continued on for a good while in this manner, but as the giant had foretold to his hound, Astrid went quiet after a time. She felt everything and numb all at once. She idly wondered if this was what it felt like for your brain to break. Every physical sensation felt magnified. The sway of her cage. The texture of the pack’s lining, the smell of the air inside it, and pressure of gravity pressing down on her into the cushioned bottom. But inside, her head was alarmingly silent. No emotions were felt. No thoughts heard. Tears were drying on her face and she starred unblinking out the mesh lines window. It was too dark to see anything, but the chilled air from outside would push through ever so often and chill her face with a breezy kiss. She smelled pine and dirt and leather. Foreign and disturbing.

The trees she watched through the window were suddenly illuminated with faint yellow light that brightened the further the giant walked, approaching the source of the light.    

“And here we are,” said Faro with warmth in his voice. “Home sweet home.”

“Finally,” said Tippan. “Food and sleep!”

“First thing’s first,” said Faro as Astrid heard more than saw him climb a short set of stairs. “Gotta settle the humans away.”

Tippan moaned. “Can’t we do that tomorrow? I’m tired. And hungry. Just toss ‘em in the kennel and feed me!”

The giant laughed.

“You haven’t done anything today!” There was the sound of metal clinking together that Astrid recognized as keys. She could hear him push one into what she assumed was the lock on a door. Sure enough after there came the sound of a key turning and a lock clanking and then there was the distinct sound of a door opening. She felt the back of her mind tingle as the numbness gave way to a torrent of emotions. There was fear and dread, but down below all that was a faint curiosity for which she almost felt ashamed.  

“I chased down the runner,” argued Tippan, sounding hurt. “And just so you know, that one’s pretty fast. Might not have caught him so easily if he hadn’t tripped.”

“In any case, we’ll still need to settle them away first. Gotta follow protocol,” Faro replied.  “I’m not gonna leave the little fella muzzled and hog-tied all night.”

“You could.”

“I’m not, though.”

“Might teach the twerp not to bite,” Tippan sighed dramatically. “Alright, boss. Have it your way.”

Astrid watched through the window as the giant walked into the house and was reminded of the time she and her family went camping in Montana. They stayed in a log cabin with walls that looked very similar to the walls of the giant’s home. Even the smell was similar. For the most part. There was an oddly sour scent to the air mixed with the smells of the natural wood that she could not place. The walls were sparsely decorated with small shelves covered in odd nick knacks. A painting of a waterfall. An elaborately made clock carved from wood and brightly painted. The numbers were replaced with strange symbols.

The pack swung sideways as the giant slipped if off and setting it down onto a table, made from the same wood as the walls. She heard the clasp on the outside snap and the flap was pulled away. Her dark corner of the pack lit up. There was a scuffling noise from the other side of the pack and she heard Tommy curse. In response, she looked up in time to see the giant pulling Tommy out. He closed the flap back down, but did not lock it.

She peered out of the window to see Faro holding Tommy in one hand so his legs dangled off the edge of the palm and supporting the human’s back with the other. The giant was looking at him sternly.

“You’re gonna behave now, aren’t you?”

She saw Tommy nod fervently.

“Good. Because I’m gonna take this off you. But believe me, if you get snippy again, I won’t hesitate to put it back on. And it won’t be coming off for a good while. Understand me?”

Again, Tommy nodded.

Faro sat Tommy down on his feet and undid the leather bindings, sliding the muzzle off. Tommy’s face was pale and his hands were shaking. The giant sat down in a chair facing Tommy, dropping the leather and muzzle into a heap off to the side. Wordlessly, he reached into his coat and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. He popped the pen’s top off, set the tip to the paper, and gazed at the trembling human.

“What’s your name, little fella?”

“T-thomas Contini, sir.”

The giant took a note, the edges of his mouth twinges in a small grin.

“How old are you, Thomas?”

“I’m seventeen, sir.”

Another note.

“Know your blood type by chance?”

“My blood…? Uh. Yeah. O negative.”

“Good,” replied the giant. “Not many of you tend to know.”

More notes.

“Any allergies?”

“N-no.”

“Illnesses?”

“No. Not really.”

“Yes or no, Thomas.”

“No. No illnesses.”

The giant was silent as he wrote several more notes, glancing up at the human ever so often as though he was not completely confident that he would not bolt at any moment.

“C-can I ask...why you want to know...all that?” Tommy stammered.

“It’s not so much as wanting to know than needing to know. For your records.”

“My...records?”

“Oh just spell it out for him,” Tippan snapped. “Sooner you’re done, the sooner I eat!”

Faro sighed as he sat the pen down and pinned the boy with a look. “Answer me this, Thomas,” he said. “Do you know where you are?”

Tommy fidgeted, looking around warily. “Uh...in your house?”

The giant grinned. “In a larger sense than that.”

“...C-california?”

The giant rolled his eyes. “No. You’re not in Kali Fonia. So many of you humans say that. I’m tempted to start keeping a count. No. You’re no longer on you’re original plane.”

“Original plane? I...I don’t understand.”

The giant leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “What’s the last thing you remember before waking up in the woods?”

“There was...an earthquake and it got really windy and...”

The giant nodded. “What you experienced, Thomas, is what we here call a Partitional Rip. Or a collapse. Happens when the membranes of our mutual planes come in contact with one another repeatedly and over time the area becomes weakened and imbalanced. With all things needing to be equal, the energies must correct themselves and that is what causes a Partitional Rip. A portal opens up on your side of the plane and more often than not, one or more of you little buggers are sucked in, passed through the inbetween, and dropped down into our plane.”  

Tommy looked ill as he absorbed the information. “So...when you said we weren’t going home…?”

“I meant that there’s no possible way to get you home. You’re here because cosmic energy needed to balance themselves and used you, and you’re little friend there, as counter weights.”

“So...if we’re not...on Earth, where are we?”

“Still called Earth. We never had a word for the actual world, it was just the world to us. But about, oh, three hundred years ago or so we adopted the Anglish word for it. But beyond that, in a more literal sense, you’re in Audenvier. North Audenvier, Caidence Valley. On my ranch. In my house and on my table.”  

There was a pause and Tommy squinted up at Faro.

“...Anglish?”

“That’d be you. You’re Anglish.”

“Uh...I’m Italian…?”

Faro huffed a laugh. “Anglish just means you’re light skinned. As apposed to being Berunti, Piq, or Savoh.”

Tommy ran a hand through his hair and looked all around him, everywhere but the giant. Almost as though he were searching for an alternative to the piece of knowledge that Faro had just unladen upon him, his breathing became deep and near panic when none presented itself. Finally he looked to Faro, his eyes watering.

“So,” he choked. “...what happens now?”

“For you?” Faro asked, the humor gone from his eyes. “A change of clothes, something to eat, and then sleep. Actually, when we’re done here I’ll be doing those same things myself.”

“A change of clothes? W-why?”

“Part of my job is to collect anything wild humans bring in with them. Folks with long titles and expensive degrees wanna study them.”

The human was gaping incredulously at the large man across from him. “Wild?”

“Any human that comes here due to a Partitional Rip is considered wild,” he explained. “Meaning you were not born in captivity or hand raised.”

“Captivity? Like...like animals and shit?”

The giant looked exasperated for a moment and seemed to consider something. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Allow me to explain the greater idea here: on my ranch, there are seven weaken areas where collapses occur. I set up traps around those areas so when a human does pops through, I get to them before any predators do.”

“Predators? Like what-”

The giant frowned. “Don’t interrupt me, Thomas.”

“S-sorry...”

“As I was saying: I’m a human trapper. That’s what I do for a living. I bring any humans I catch back here to my house, take their basic information down like I just have with you, and get them ready to be sent to the closest clinic for further evaluation. If everything goes well there, you’ll be put up for adoption by the end of next week.”

“A-adoption?” Tommy asked, the word seemed to tumble clumsily from his lips. “You don’t mean like...a pet, do you?”

“Exactly.”

“Humans are pets here?!” Tommy looked ready to bolt again and the giant seemed to sense it too. He brought his arms to rest on either side of the distraught human. Tommy flinched at Faro’s movements and was still, standing rigid and scared as he stared into the giant’s face.  

“That’s right,” he told the boy simply. “Highly prized too. The waiting lists in some counties can be astronomical to speak nothing of the vetting process. There’s an expression along the lines of it’s easier to be elected to office than to adopt a human. Hardly true, but the paperwork to be approved it quite extensive.”

“I...I...ah...I’m...” Tommy rubbed his face, struggling hard with the idea.

“It’s alright. Normal to feel oddly about it.”

“Normal to feel odd?” Tommy yelled. “That’s the most underrated statement of the year!”

“Perhaps to you at this moment. But I give this speech a few times a month. For the last fifteen years.”

“W-why though? Why pets?!”

“Long time ago, we mostly left you humans alone to do whatever you did out in the woods like any other living creature. But then your numbers started to drop and at one point there were almost no humans left at all. Disease, predators, low birth rates. It all ran a hard number on the population. Governments stepped in to try and rescue your species and over time, it evolved into a pet trade. If you get adopted by a historian, he’d be able to explain the minutia of it all. But even now human populations are still vastly smaller than they were even a hundred years ago. You’re a heavily protected species here.”

“What if I don’t want to. Be a pet, I mean. Do I get any say in this?”

“You wanna go try and live out in the woods on your own?” The giant seemed very amused a this idea. “You don’t strike me as very outdoorsy. Ever meet a Rhwren? Or a Mountain Roc? Because they’d be very happy to meet you. And the feeling won’t be mutual.”

“I guess they’re those predators you mentioned earlier?”

“Yup. They’d swallow a little thing like you up without a second thought.”

“I just...really do not like the idea of being someone’s pet.”

“I will never understand you wild humans aversion to the idea,” Tipppan added from somewhere below the table. “Being a pet’s great. Free food, warm bed, and belly rubs! What is to hate about that?”

“It’s a perfectly normal response, Tippan. Most wild humans hate the idea, at first at least. A certain portion of you fail the evaluation to be adopted in any case.”

The human boy looked ready to faint. “What happens when you fail an evaluation?”

The giant chuckled and raised a hand slowly up towards Tommy and lightly petted him on the head. Tommy, for his part, looked utterly lost as to how to respond and ended up merely allowing the contact, but went absolutely rigid under the giant finger’s ministrations.

“Oh, don’t look so forlorn,” said the giant. “Nothing bad. Typically, they’re sent to a zoo or a sanctuary. And getting back to the changing clothes, we do this for two reasons. The first being what I said about folks wanting to study it. Second, is to help with your transition. Make the break a little easier.”

“I...I don’t understand. I’m sorry, but I...” The giant’s hand was still at his head, lightly petting the messy mop of dark hair. Faro’s dull gray eyes stared at the boy, looking sympathetic, but there was something in his expression that made it seem like he was very accustomed to consoling overwrought humans.

“The kindest thing I can do for you right now, Thomas, is to get you prepared for the next step. The life you knew when you woke up this morning is gone. Forever. And you can think me cruel for saying so. Plenty of humans have and do. After all, I am paid to catch and sell you lot. No use mincing words or dancing around the truth of it. You’re not the first human to take a nip at me. Or even the worst, not by a long shot.” The giant used the crook of one finger to gently brush back Tommy’s hair. “But you’re still young. Young ones bounce back easier. You have a good chance to to get into a good home with a good family and find some peace in all this. Just try and keep that in mind as you go through all these steps.”

Tommy’s shoulder shook as he began to sob. “So...it’s real. This is really happening. I’m never gonna see my family again, am I? Ever?”

“No,” was the simple response. “I’m afraid not.”

…………………..

Tommy was near inconsolable for several moments. While the boy broke down on the table top, the giant got up and disappeared for a few minutes before returning with some items. He sat them down in front of Tommy.

“I know you’re feeling poorly right now,” said the giant. “And truth be told, you’ll feel like this for a good while. No one thinks this is an easy process for you. Certainly not me. But the sooner we get on, the sooner you get something to eat and then its off to bed. Might not sleep much, but you’ll have a quiet moment to sort out yourself. I’ll need you to remove your clothes, though. Got something here for you to change into. It gets cold here and this’ll keep you warm.”

Tommy looked like he wanted to protest, a bubble of indignation rising up, but it was quickly swarmed by utter despair. With slow, reluctant movements, he began to shed his jacket, his jersey, and then his jeans before putting them into a small bag the giant held open for him. His cell phone went in as well his wallet and a pack of unopened gum. Soon he was standing there in only a pair of blue boxers, looking up at the giant expectantly.  

Faro shook his head. “All of it, Thomas.”

The boy blanched and began to stammer. “I-I can’t even keep my damn underwear?!”

“Afraid not.”  

For a moment, indignation won out over fear and he was angrily muttering to himself, looking all around and back at the giant, his face red. “W-well, can you at least turn around? Let me keep some shred of my dignity? Or does that go in the bag too?”

“That much I can do,” replied the giant, grinning. He reached over to the pile of items and pulled out a single garment, dyed black. “Put this on when you’re done.”

Tommy was beet red in the face as he quickly ripped off his boxers and kicked them off before hurriedly scampering into the new clothes. It took his a moment to figure out the zipper as it was not where he expected it to be. Instead of down the front or up the back, it ran the length of the inside of one leg, across the groin, and down the other. After he finished zipping it up, he rolled his boxers into a ball and angrily shoved them into the bag with the rest of his belongings. He starred at the contents of the bag, looking torn. He sighed heavily.

“Done,” he said lowly.

The giant turned around and spared the boy a smile. He grabbed up the bag and pulled a white adhesive strip from the side before folding the top over and sealing it, quickly writing something on the outside of the bag before dropping it somewhere out of sight. Bending down closer to Tommy’s level, he regarded the freshly dressed boy. “Just remember what I told you and you’ll be fine. Might seem bad now. But trust me. It’ll get better.”

“Doesn’t look like I got much choice,” Tommy replied dejectedly.

The giant just sighed and stood back up to his full height, hands reaching out for the human once more. Tommy looked nervous at the giant hands, but did not struggle when they carefully gathered him up.

The giant strode away from the table and disappeared beyond Astrid’s range of sight.

……………….

Astrid remained silent and still at the bottom of the pack compartment. There was an unpleasant tightness in her chest and every breath she took seemed to send shivers down her body. Faro’s words echoed hauntingly in her head.

Fifteen or so minutes later, the giant returned. He was balancing two white plates in one arm while the other held onto a bundle of white fabric. With careful movements, he set the plates down first and then the bundle. One plate was piled high with a mysterious goopy meat mixture and the other was a slice of dark bread, two oily fish, and the biggest lemon Astrid had ever laid eyes on, three times the size of a large watermelon easily. The giant picked the plate with the goopy meat mixture and sat it on the floor.

“Finally!” Tippan said happily and there came the sound of joyous gluttony from below the table. “Food, food, food! Oh glorious food!”

Faro chuckled as he turned his attention to the red leather pack.

“Now it’s your turn, little one,” said the giant and he pulled the flap open and peered inside. Astrid did not meet his gaze, but sniffed miserably as she fought back more tears. She felt the heat of his hands first and then the meaty flesh as it curved around her and lifted her up with a careful and deliberate slowness. He sat her down on the table just as he had with Tommy and Astrid got her first proper view of the cabin. It was not a large space compared to the giant that lived there, but there was an unmistakably homey feeling about it. Off in one corner there was a stone fireplace and a large squishy chair. A shelf with a modest collection of books and assorted chachkies. A short hallway lead further into the house.

She heard him sit down and it was only then that she looked up. Now that she got a proper look at him in adequate light, she noted that his brown hair had streaks of gray in it and his chin was scratchy with stubble. His gray eyes were trained on her and she noted the minute movements of the irises as he studied her. Releasing a sigh through his nose, the giant tilted his head at her. “You heard all I told Thomas?”

She nodded meekly.

“Have any questions?”

She sucked in a breath, preparing to answer, but thought better of it and released it as a resigned sigh. Questions. She had millions. And none at the same time. Astrid shook her head. Faro nodded knowingly and reached for the pen and paper once more.

“Well, I’m gonna be askin’ you the same questions, alright? So, let’s start with the easiest one: What’s you’re name?”

“...Astrid,” she replied, her voice barely a squeak.

“Need your full name, sweetie.”

“Astrid Malloy.”

“And how old are you, Astrid?”

“Ten and a quarter.”

The giant paused to look at her and for the first time, seemed surprised and genuinely sad.  

“Younger than I thought. Hm.” He made an extra line of notes, reaching over to his plate and grabbing the lemon. Astrid watched in confusion as he took a large bite out of it, flashing his sharp teeth for a moment before they sunk into the yellow flesh of the fruit. His face did not pucker in the slightest. He chewed for several moments, gazing at his notes, deep in thought, before swallowing and asking, “Do you know what blood type you are?”

She shook her head, still watching in bizarre fascination. The giant nodded, setting the fruit down. “Alright. Well, I will need to know. So for us to find out, we’re gonna use this here.”

He pulled out a small egg shaped device from the pile of items he had brought in before. It was the size of a basketball with a small hole on one end and a digital read out on the other. He held it out in front of Astrid. “See that little hole there? Just put your index finger inside and the machine will do the rest.”

Astrid looked at the device and carefully raised her hand towards it and stuck her finger in the aforementioned hole. Something sharp abruptly stabbed the soft pad of her finger and she yelped and pull her hand away. The tip of her finger was bleeding from a pin prick sized hole. She immediately stuck the wounded digit into her mouth and glared up at the giant, but his attention was drawn to the small read out on the device. It beeped twice.

“Type A positive,” he remarked aloud. “A good thing for you to know off the top of your head. That way if someone needs to know, they won’t have to prick your finger again.”

He added another line of notes and taking another bite of the lemon. Astrid wondered if maybe the fruit only looked like a lemon. Because who in their right mind would eat a lemon by itself, peel and all?  

“Alright, next one: any allergies?”

“Um. Pollen, but only sometimes. I don’t take any medicine for it.”

“Illnesses?”

“No.” A pause. She had to ask. “Why are you eating a lemon?”

The giant’s eyebrows shot up, surprised at the question. He smile and shrugged as he jotted down his notes. “Because I like lemons. Don’t you?”

“Not by themselves. They’re too sour.”

“I like sour things,” the giant replied in amusement. “Most Feirgians do. Sour, salty, bitter, and pickled things. Like these pickled fish here. We love’em.”

Astrid was now certain that the oddly sour smell she had detected earlier had been pickled fish. Being within such close proximity to the plate of the oily, wrinkly skinned fish, the smell was much more acute. It bordered on being unpleasant, but it was mostly just odd. She looked at Faro curiously. “W-what’s a fair-shen?”

“Feirgian,” he corrected patiently. “And that’d be me. I’m a Feirgian.”

“Oh.” It was an answer that did not seem to answer anything at all.

Faro put his pen down and propped his head in one hand, regarding the young human with amusement. “What did you think I was?”

“A giant,” she replied simply. “But you’re ears are pointed.”

“You’re quite the sharp one, Astrid,” he replied. He turned his head and ran a finger along the top ridge of his ear. “Feirgians all have ears like this. Helps us hear really good. That’s how I was able to hear your hollering from so far away.”

Astrid nodded absently. “And you don’t eat people...right?”

Faro laughed. “No, Feirgians most certainly do not eat humans. Me included.”

“Oh. Good. I was worried.”

“And why’s that? Because I’m big?”

“...and you have really sharp teeth.”

“Need them to eat lemons.”

“I...guess?”

Faro laughed again.

“Okay. So, I’ve got your basic info,” the giant said, picking up the pen and finishing the last few notes. “All done with that. Now, Astrid, do you remember what I said about not being able to keep your things?”

Astrid gripped the straps of her backpack in response, feeling her gut tighten. “Yeah, but...can’t I just-”

“No,” said the giant flatly. Astrid looked up, biting her lip. Faro narrowed his eyes. “Now, don’t go giving me that long face. You’re cute, kichtein, I’ll give you that. But I’ve got rules I have to follow. I’d lose my license if I broke them.”

“Not even my books?”

“Not even your books.”

She pulled off her backpack and unzipped it, peering inside. The smell of school wafted up from inside it. Pencil shavings, pages of her text books, and the lingering smell of the banana that she had brought in her lunch bag. She pulled out her homework folder and opened it. Her math homework was half done. There was a science worksheet that she had gotten a B plus on. A flier for the school Halloween party. Putting away the folder, she reached inside again and pulled out her Hello Kitty pencil case, her history text book, her grammar work book and a library book she had been meaning to return. It was already a day over due. Crumbled at the bottom of her bag was the Party City costume circular, a zombie outfit circled in sharpie. She looked at it for only a moment before shoving it and everything else back inside and zipping it closed. She shoved it forward, tears dripping off her chin, and watched as large fingers plucked it up from the table and slipped it into the plastic bag just as he had with Thomas’s things.

There was a heavy moment when no one said anything. And then finally...

“My Mom wanted me to be a princess,” she said, staring at nothing in particular. “For Halloween. But I didn’t want to because all the other girls in my class were going to be princesses. I wanted to be something scary like a zombie. Because Princesses never win the costume contests. And I really wanted to win this year. I never win anything.”

The giant listened, watching the small human as she seemingly rambled about nonsense.  

“This morning,” she continued. “I got mad at my Mom because she hated my costume ideas. I called her a mean name and went to school. I didn’t tell her goodbye like I always do or that I love her...”

Fat droplets fell from her chin and she hiccuped as her words unraveled into outright sobs. “I wish I could tell her I was sorry. I don’t care about the costumes anymore. I just want to say I’m sorry...”

Covering her face with her hands, she cried. For her Mom. Her Dad. Her grandparents and uncle and aunts. The nice neighbor lady who would give them vegetables from her garden and who had taught Astrid how to prune roses. Her room, her bed. The toys in the toy chest, the clothes in her closet. The lumpy sofa in the living room that still smelled like dog pee, even years after the death of their elderly Labrador. Her house. Her town. Her world. She was being told she had to leave it all. Shed it from her body, peel it all away, and drop it into a plastic bag. Like it was a dead thing.

“I hope you believe me,” Faro said gently. “When I say that if there was any possible way to get you home, I’d get you there. It’s always a sad thing to see young humans fall through. Even worse that you’re only a kichtein.”

She felt his finger brush the top of her head and she lifted her gaze to met his eyes. “But you can certainly believe me in this, little one: you’re going to be just fine. I know you’re mighty scared and you miss your folks. It’s natural to feel that way and I’m sure they’re gonna miss you to pieces, worrying about where you went and if you’re safe. And you are. Because it’s not just my job, but my moral responsibility to make sure you stay safe and sound. For as long as you’re in my custody. You and Thomas both. Even if it’s only for tonight.”

“W-what’s gonna happen to us?” she asked thickly, brushing tears from her cheeks and chin. “Y-you said that humans are pets and...”

“Tomorrow, I’ll be taking you both to the local clinic. There’s some nice folks there who are gonna make sure you’re healthy. Get you ready to go to new homes.

“But sometimes people aren’t nice to their pets,” she mumbled. “What if..?”

“Gonna stop you right there, sweetie,” Faro said. He used the crook of a finger and lifted her chin up and giving her a warm smile. “Moral responsibility, remember that? Not just me, but all folks who work with humans. Lots of the folks at the clinic are volunteers who are there to make sure that if you’re adopted, that you go to a good home. With good people. Because they care. And with you being a kit, they’re gonna make darn sure whoever might adopt you is a good person. So in that, you don’t have to be afraid. Okay?”

She took in a shuddering breath. “Mm-hm.”

Faro brought out another of the same clothing that Thomas had changed into. It resembled footie pajamas to her, with the zipper around the inside of the legs. It was made of black flannel and the inside was lined with soft fleece.

“This is the smallest one I got,” Faro was saying. “I’ve never had a kichtein come through my ranch before. My neighbor’s caught a few over the years, but none as young as you, I don’t think. So this might be a tad loose on you.”

He handed it to her and she took it tentatively. She met his gaze. “What’s that word mean? The weird one you keep calling me?”

“Kichtein?” he asked. “It’s the Feirgish word for a young human.”

“The literal translation is ‘little squeaker’,” came Tippan’s voice, once more from below the table. “Because you’re little and you squeak.”

Astrid mad a face. “I don’t squeak.”

“My ears say otherwise. Kichtein.”

“Alright,” Faro said sternly, though he wore a small grin. “Enough, Tippan.”

“What? She asked.”

Faro gave her a small nod of encouragement. “Go on, Astrid.”

As soon as he turned his back to grant her some privacy, Astrid slipped out of her clothes.

“Remember, Astrid. All of it.”

“...I remember.”

She added her underwear to the pile of clothes and pulled the black pajamas over her head, pushed her head and arms through the appropriate holes, and zipped up the bottom. “It’s a little big,” she said.

Faro turned back around and snickered. “Aye,” he agreed. “Just a tad.”

It was several sized too large for her. It might have fit someone a good foot taller than her and the excess fabric pooled around her hips and legs. Before she could do it herself, Faro plucked up her discarded clothing and added it to the bag that held her backpack. She watched it disappear as it was sealed up and put away. There was a palpable sense of loss. Her skin felt odd in the new clothes, knowing they weren’t really her own. She felt scared that all that she had fallen into this strange new world with, she was not permitted to keep. Oddly enough, she really missed her underwear. It felt weird to not be wearing underwear. It was rude to not wear underwear.

She felt herself tear up again. She sniffed.

Faro picked up the white fabric, a blanket, and wrapped it around her gently. His large face dominated her view of the world.

“Something to eat,” he said. “And then it’s bedtime for you, kichtein. You got a long day ahead of you.”

…………………………………..

Faro gave her a sweet tasting biscuit and some water before carrying her to the back of the cabin where there was a small room off to the side of the kitchen. Inside were cages, set into the walls and lined with plush fabric. Tommy was inside one, curled up with a blanket and appearing to be asleep. At the sight of them, Astrid felt like crying again and pressed her face into the fabric of Faro’s shirt.

“I don’t want to be in a cage!” She whimpered. She felt fingers at her back, rubbing softly. “Please don’t make me...”

“Shhh, little one. It’s just for tonight,” he told her. “You won’t be in there for long. Got to keep you both secured until tomorrow.”

He sat her down in the only open cage, beside Tommy’s. She huddled into the blanket she was wrapped in, whimpering in fear. Faro rubbed his hands along her sides, trying to calm her. When the tactile approach failed, he sighed in disappointment.

“Don’t be scared,” he whispered. “It’s just a place to keep you. You won’t be here forever.”

Astrid wouldn’t meet his gaze and buried her head under the blankets, giving off a single whine in response.

“Hm,” Faro said contemplatively before turning away and walking out of the small side room. He reappeared mere moments later with something in his hand. “Do you know what a Rhwren is, Astrid?”

She shook her head.

“I believe the Anglish word is bear,” he said and raised his hand for her to see what he held. It was a small stuffed bear. “Rhwren’s are seen as guardians to Feirgians. They guard the forest, the rivers, the mountains. And people. This one here, Astrid, is for you.”

Astrid pushed her head from the blankets, looking at the bear curiously. “It is?”

“He’s gonna be your guardian,” Faro told her and placing the bear in front of her. She reached out and pulled it close. It was half her height and very fuzzy. Its eyes were solid black and it’s mouth was nothing but a black thread stitched in a line with two points to make it appear that the toy had teeth. “When you’re feeling scared or nervous, just give this little guy a squeeze. He’ll keep the bad things away. He’ll protect you.”

Astrid wrapped her arms around the bear’s neck and buried her face in the plush fur. He smelled like pickled fish and pine, but there was a palpable feeling of security in the soft touch of something vaguely familiar. She could almost pretend that she was back in her own room, snuggling one of her own stuffed animals.

“Thank you,” she said, raising her head.

“Try and get some sleep, little one,” he told her quietly. “It won’t be so scary for much longer.”

…………………….

The next morning was a flurry of confusing activity. Faro woke her and Tommy up, gave them both another sweet biscuit and water, before shuffling off to do something and leaving both humans on the table. Astrid clung to the stuffed bear with one arm while she munched on the food.

It was crumbly and did not have a real flavor other than being lightly sweet. It was not the most appetizing thing she had ever eaten, but she was hungry enough not to care. For his part, Tommy looked horrible. There were dark circled under his eyes which were red and raw. Like he had been crying all night. He absently plucked small pieces of biscuit and slipped them between his lips, but didn’t really chew.

“Are you scared?” he asked her quietly.

“Yeah,” she replied.

A pause.

“I’m sorry, Astrid.”

“Why?”

He sighed. “I...don’t know. I just am.”

She regarded the other human for a moment and nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

“You really have nothing to be so scared over,” said Tippan as he leaped onto a chair and laid his long head on the table top, eyeing the pair. “Humans are treated pretty well here.”

“Sorry if I find the concept of loosing my freedom terrifying,” Tommy hissed and bit into the biscuit vindictively.

“Loosing your freedom? Ha!” Tippan said, his black lips pulling back into a grin. “You’re gonna be adopted. Not enslaved.”

“What’s the difference?” growled Tommy.

“Well, for starters, one involved manual labor and servitude,” replied the dog. “While the other involves belly rubs and food.”

“You’re really hung on on belly rubs, dude.”

“They’re the best part. After food. Food is the best part. What I’m saying is that you’re idea of being a pet is all screwey. Some nice, and most likely rich, Feirgian is gonna take you home, make you apart of their family, and then spoil you rotten for the rest of your life. How is any of that a bad thing?”

“Have you always been Faro’s pet?”

“Since I was a pup.”

“So you’ve never lived with other...dogs, like you? In a pack or a community? Independent and self reliant?”

“Nope. Sounds tedious.”

“So you’ve never been the one to steer the direction of your own life? To make the choices that decide how and where your life goes?”

Tippan seemed to weigh those words carefully. “Nope. And I have no interest in it either.”

“Well, that’s a choice. And for us, Astrid and I, well, we’re being told that we’re not able to make them anymore. I mean, jeez! I literally had to hand over my underwear. My godddamn underwear. For what? Really? Because it might remind me of home? Of being my own person? Of being free?”

Tippan regarded the angry boy for a moment. “Hm. Well. You may have some point there, but it’s all irrelevant now. You’re gonna go be evaluated and they’re going to decided for you if you’re suitable for adoption. And from what I know of the other alternatives, kid, you wanna be adopted. Do yourself a big favor and do what you can to get adopted. Because if you’re worried about having any sense of freedom, you don’t want to go to a zoo. Sanctuaries, from what I hear, aren’t much better.” Tippan’s eyes drifted over to Astrid. “That goes for you too, squeaker. Though I doubt you’ll have a hard time getting adopted. Kit’s are always the first to go.”

Astrid was hugging her bear tightly, nuzzling the soft fur of its neck and peering at Tippan over edge of one of its ears.

“I’m not so scared about...about being adopted. I’m scared that...” she paused. “I’m scared that I won’t see my family again. What if I forget what they look like?”

Tippan shifted so his head lay closer to Astrid, close enough she could feel his breath on her knees.

“I still remember my Mum’s face,” he said. “Haven’t seen her since the day Faro took me home as a pup. But I will always remember her face. Her smell. You won’t forget. Even if you wanted to. Even though she’s not here with you, she��s still apart of you. She’s half of you, after all.”

Astrid lowered the bear a little and nodded sadly. She never considered that before. That her mother was half of her. Literally half of her. The other, her father. There was a great sense of comfort in that idea. Tippan lifted his snout and pushed his wet nose to Astrid face. She giggled, pulling back with a squeak when he stuck out the tip of his tongue and gave her a gentle lick. He sat his head back down on the table with half lidded eyes and a small smile playing on his lips.

“See? You do squeak.”

Faro returned a short time later, carrying the red leather case as before. He sat it down on the table before turning his attention to the two humans. “I called ahead to let the clinic staff know I’ll be dropping the two of you off. Apparently yesterday was quite the event, several collapses all over the county. Three other trappers are bringing in catches. So you’ll have some company.”

“Such joy,” muttered Tommy sarcastically. “I cannot contain it.”

“Just try and keep your spirits up,” Faro suggested, lifted the pack’s flap. “And remember what I told you, Thomas.”

The boy’s gazed dejectedly off to the side. “Yeah. I remember.”

Faro then carefully lifted the human up and lowered him down into the pack. He turned to Astrid.

“And you, kichtein,” the Feirgian said, reaching out and tapping the head of the stuffed bear. “If you get scared, you know what to do, right?”

Astrid tightened her grip on the bear as an answer. Smiling, Faro nodded and gently stroked the top of her head, his fingers trailing down her back before retreating. He then picked her up, studying her for a brief moment. “You’re going to be fine.” He glanced down at Tommy inside the pack. “Both of you.”

He then slipped Astrid, bear and all, down into the other compartment before closing the lip and snapping it shut.

…………………

“We’re here.”

The sound of Faro’s noisy little pick up was all Astrid could heard for what seemed like hours and when it abruptly cut off, it left a definitive ringing in her ears. She rubbed them lightly as new sounds became more prominent. The squeal of the seat as Faro slipped out of the truck, the slamming of the door. The muffled crunch of his boots on gravel as he walked around to the passenger side door and the sudden unadulterated sounds of the outside as he opened the door. She could hear other voices, but what struck her odd was that the words that were being spoken, at least those she heard, were not English. Truthfully, it did not sound like any language Astrid have ever heard. Before she could contemplate any further, Faro lifted the pack from the passenger seat, and shut the door behind him.

“Stay here, Tippan. I won’t be long.”

“Will do.”

Astrid pressed her face to the mesh window and peered around. Settled in a clearing, surrounded by towering pines, was an innocuous little white brick building. The front door was painted bright green with something written in gold letters, but Astrid did not recognize the letters. It looks utterly foreign to her. Faro stepped through and into the clinic…

...and into chaos.

The receiving room was being accosted with noise. Several Feirgians stood about the small space with what looked to Astrid like luggage. However, one of the pieces of luggage had a window and through it peeked the face of a human woman. The cases contained other humans. Even from where she was, Astrid could tell a lot of the noise was coming from the encased people. Someone was screaming every bad word Astrid knew and several she didn’t. Someone else was talking loudly in what sounded like...spanish? And there was also the unmistakable sound of helpless sobbing.

When Faro entered, the gathered giants all turned and greeted him with wide grins and a chorus of “Faro!”

And then a string of gibberish that Astrid did not understand. Faro replied in kind, in the same odd language, and waved at the cases containing the humans. Words were exchanged between the Feirgians and one of them pulled his sleeve up, to reveal a bandage. He gestured to one of the cases next to him. It was smaller than the other, big enough to only hold a single grown human. It seemed to be the source of the angry cursing.

Faro laughed at whatever the injured Feirgian said and then patted the top of the pack holding Astrid and Tommy. She heard the word Anglish and kichtein and several of the giants made sounds of surprise.

“You don’t say!” one of the giants replied, switching to flawless English. An unfamiliar face ducked down close to Astrid’s window and smiled when his large eyes caught sight of her. “Oh, aye. She’s a little sprigget of a thing alright. Gonna walk away with a healthy commission there, Faro. Lucky bastard. Twice the money, half the work.”

“Hardly,” Faro replied.

Astrid squeezed her bear and buried her face in his fur. Despite what she had told Tippan that morning, she was scared. The sounds of the other humans, the other giants, and the displeasing scent of a sterile, bleach scrubbed room. It reminded her of a hospital and the last time she had gone to a hospital was when she was seven had broken her arm riding her bike. She had been terrified the entire time just as she was now. But her parents weren’t there to soothe her. Or to reassure her. She would not go home afterwards or get an ice cream cone on the way for being so brave.

A depression settled over her like a blanket.

…………………………

“Are they all English speakers?” someone was asking. “All Anglish this time?”

“Got a Savoh yabbering away in spanish,” said someone else. “But he understands English fine. And two Berunti, same deal.”

“Alright, good. That makes this easier. So I’m going to be speaking in English for the remainder of our business and suggest you all do the same.”

“Why’s that? Never been a rule before.”

“It’s not a rule, just something we’re trying out. Our sister clinic in Barbos tried this out and saw some encouraging adoptions numbers. The thinking being, if the humans understand what we’re trying to accomplish here, their more likely to behave and pass their evaluations. Which means higher commissions for you gentlemen.”

“Well, I’m all for a higher paycheck.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“I’ve been saying this for years,” Faro added with a laugh. “Talk to them in their own language and they won’t panic and freak out as much. Lot less likely to bite too. That Berunti girl wouldn’t have gouged you like that, Calvin, if she knew you weren’t trying to kill her.”

“I’ve been doing this for eight years,” grumbled a giant. “I know how to handle wild humans.”

“And I’ve been doing for fifteen. A little compassion goes a long way, Calvin. Trust me.”

“You try being compassionate when one of them little buggers is trying to carve out an artery. How does a knife that small hurt that much?”

Someone cleared their throat. “If we could continue on, gentlemen? Calvin, an intern will be by to collect your feral human. You said you had her secured?”

“Boxed and muzzled,” came the gruff reply. “I kept the knife in another bag. Wasn’t sure if you needed it or not.”

“No, that’s alright. It’ll go to Kluedachsen when the rep comes by tomorrow with all their other personal effects. Just make you the incident report is attached to the carrier, if you please.” A pause. “Faro, you mentioned that you had a kichtein?”

“That’s right.”

“How old?”

“Ten.”

“Okay, you first, then. We like to get the younger ones processed first.”

The pack shifted and Astrid flopped over as it rose into the air. Through the window, she watched the receiving area drift farther and farther away before the bulk of a white door cut it off from view.

“This will be the first kit I think we’ve gotten from you,” said the unknown giant as they walked down a blindingly white hallway.

“She is. Never had one come through,” Faro replied. “Not in all my years of trapping.”

“It’s not very common,” agreed the other giant. “When it does happen, they’re almost always with another older humans.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Well, the prevailing theory is that whatever triggers a collapse is initiated on the human’s plane and whatever the catalyst actually is, kichteins can’t trigger it by themselves.”

“So they’re collateral?”

“That’s the current theory at least.”  

Faro sighed. “Sad.”

“It is. Which is why we take great care with them. So many folks who adopt humans all want kits, because they’re all high energy and always happy and want to play. But a wild kit and a domestic one are worlds apart. Which you probably figured out quickly.”

“She’s actually one of the more well behaved humans I’ve caught.”

“Well, that bodes well for her. How about the other one?”

“Anglish male. Seventeen. Skiddish. A little mouthy, but no more than usual.”

“We can hear you,” snapped Tommy, his mildly irritated voice slughtly muffled by the wall between him and Astrid. “Just so you know.”

Faro chuckled. “See what I mean?”

“A good week for you then, huh?”

“Pretty good.”

The slightly swaying of the pack stilled for the briefest of moments as there came the sound of another door opening before Faro followed the other giant into a new room. Astrid’s stomach dropped to the floor as a wave of vertigo swept through her and the pack was lifted and set carefully on what appeared to be an examination table.

“Alright, Faro,” said the unnamed giant, appearing on the other side of the window, a clipboard in hand. “If you would.”

“The kit first, right?”

“If you please.”

The darkened interior of the leather carrying case was illuminated and Astrid lifted her head to see Faro reaching inside. As he lifted her out with the same care and gentleness as he had previously, she got a proper view of the room. Wholly unremarkable was the relatively small space as it was almost completely identical to a normal examination room. Stark white walls, a counter running along one wall,  various tools and applicators in jars, drawers, and cabinets overhead. There was a device to one end of the counter that looked like a scale fitted with a tray. Along the back-splash were items of a more nefarious nature. Various muzzles, bindings, and straps were hung on hooks for easy access. In case a human got bitey, Astrid imagined. She thought back to the receiving room the one human who had been boxed up apart from the others. It must be a common occurrence.

Almost as soon as Faro released her onto the table, another, unfamiliar, set of hands were beset upon her. She flinched at the sudden fingers pressing on her arms and side, holding her still, as a large face of the other giant lowered down close to her. He was bald, but had thick gray eyebrows and brown eyes that peeped out from behind thin wire framed glasses. She met his eyes, watching him warily, as she waiting for something to happen.    

“Oh yes, she is a young one,” the Feirgian murmured. He was dressed in brown trousers and a sweater made of various bands of green, all under a long white lab coat. Brown eyes looked her up and down and whatever it was he was searching for, he seemed to have found it as he then stepped back, opened a drawer, and drew out a black plastic square. He then pulled a sheet of paper from the clip board and sat it down near her. “Alright...” his words trailed off as he gazed down at the papers briefly before looking back to the small human, “...Astrid. My name is Dr. Weis and I’ll be taking some measurements and get your records done. We’re gonna make sure you’re good and healthy, okay?”

Astrid nodded, wishing she had grabbed her bear when Faro pulled her from the pack.

“Ever have your prints done?” Dr. Weis asked her as he pulled on purple latex gloves.

“...when I was born at the hospital,” she replied, her voice quiet.

“Well, we’re gonna do the same right here,” he said patiently, setting the black square down and removing the clear plastic cover. His brown eyes watched her as though to gauge her reaction. “This is just regular old black ink. Nothing special. We’ll do your feet first, alright?”

She nodded. He instructed her to unzip the bottom of her suit, releasing her feet from the black fabric and he hummed in approval when she followed through with his directions under her own volition. When she had finished and her feet were touching the cold metal of the table top, he carefully plucked her up, again seeming to study her reactions, before lowering her down so her feet were pressed to the ink pad. It was startlingly cold and wet, but the contact was very brief and soon her blackened toes were being pressed down onto the paper, inside a pre-marked square.

“Brilliant,” said the doctor in an overly chipper tone and then producing a moist towelette from somewhere and quickly wiping off the ink from her feet. She wiggled in his hand, unable to suppress a giggle at the ticklish ministrations. He flashed her a smile. “Sorry. Tickles a bit, does it?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, now let us get your hands,” said the doctor. He then held her over the ink pad. Suspended in the air like superman, she instinctively understanding what he expected of her and Astrid pressed her hands onto it. The pad effectively marked her fingers and palms in austere black. Then as she hovered over the large sheet of paper, she planted her inked hands into a second box, pressing down firmly as instructed. “Perfect. You’re doing wonderfully, Astrid.”

The same towelette was used to wipe away the ink from her hands and as soon as they were clean, Astrid slipped her feet back inside her warm suit and zipped it back up. Then she was weighed by being place upon the tray set above the scale. Her height was noted. A sample of her saliva was taken and placed in a tube, shaken, and the liquid poured into a tray separated into five sections. Each one turned a brilliant blue.

“All negative,” Dr. Weis said aloud. “Good, good. Very good. That means no shots for you, Astrid.”

“Oh good,” she said. “’Cause I don’t like needles.”

“You’d be hard pressed to find anyone who does,” Dr. Weis replied with a smirk. Though his amiable nature and overt attempts to reassure her were appreciated, Astrid could not truly relax. The records Faro took the night before were transferred over and all forms of various papers were clipped, stapled, and assembled before all being tucked into plain brown folder upon which her name was written in fat black marker. Dr. Weis removed his gloves and slid the clip board over to Faro. “If you could sign there, next to her name. Sonya will have the release forms for you after the boy’s evaluation.”

Astrid blinked. That was the evaluation? That was it? Somehow she expected there to be more to it. More questions, more poking. Something like the way cops interrogated bad guys on television. But it felt more like she had just had a normal check up. Was there something she missed?

Or more to the point: Did she pass?

As Faro was signing the paper, Dr. Weis walked over to the door, opened it, and leaned out. “Sonya. Advest yeir Jarden mon heist? Ver kichtein.”

“Suden rikt.” replied a female voice.

When the doctor turned back, his eyes fell to Astrid. “So now that your evaluation is done, Astrid, Sonya will be bringing you to my associate, Jarden. He’s going to get you ready for quarantine.”

Her heart rate spiked and she blanched. Quarantine? Was that bad? It sounded bad. Wasn’t quarantine the thing that happened when people were really sick? Was she sick? Oh god…

Her panic must have been showing because the doctor bent down and ran his thumb across the top of her head in a gesture of gentle reassurance. “I know it’s a big scary word, but do not let it upset you. All humans who are approved for adoption have to be quarantined for three days. The only thing that happens is you sit in a big comfy room all day, getting ready to go to a new home.”

“O-oh...um, how come?” she asked.  

“Well, the humans who are born here don’t have the antibodies to a lot of the illnesses you do and can get really sick from them. So we are very careful not to introduce dangerous illnesses. Even though you’re not sick, you still might carry them in your body. In your saliva, your blood, and other bodily fluids and materials.”

“Oh, okay. That...makes sense, I think,” she replied. She looked back at the pack, thinking of her bear, and turned back to the doctor with a hopeful lilt of her eyebrows. “Can I keep my bear?”

“Bear?” Dr. Weis asked.

“Oh, right!” Faro said, reaching into the pack and bringing out the small stuffed toy. “I gave her a Rhwren. I didn’t think to ask if she could bring it with her.”

“It’s not a problem,” Dr. Weis replied, smiling down at the little human girl. “I’ll make a note on your chart. Just in case.”

Astrid grinned in relief when Faro presented her with the bear. It might have been a small gesture to the two Feirgians, but for Astrid, after having to give up all her possessions, having something that was wholly her own was an enormous comfort. She had fallen asleep the night before, stroking the soft fur, feeling the hard plastic of its eyes, the stiff threads of its mouth, and the rounded ends of its paws. The tactile activity had brought a desperately craved sense of calm. And he made for a fantastic pillow.

She hugged the toy happily and then the door opened. A Feirgian woman with short curly brown hair, bright green eyes, and dressed in pink scrubs entered. “Jarden frare heist totkurt danem. Des Kichtein ver korcumt knut swarzen.”

“Ah, vank saden, Sonya,” Dr. Weirs said to the woman. Astrid met his mildly apologetic expression curiously. “Unfortunately, some of our volunteers do not remember much of their English lessons. Most Feirgians in Audenvier know at least some English, but a great many are fluent, so you’ll hear it a lot. More than other human language. Mandarin is a close second, but it’s more common in Lerdachest. Audenvier sees mostly Anglish and Berunti.”

“We have no idea where that is...” Tommy’s voice quipped from the pack.

“Part of the quarantine involves an assimilation period,” Dr. Weis replied. “Jarden will answer any questions you have. Including geography.”

“I’ve got a long list at this point, doc.”

“I’m sure you do. However, we must press on,” Dr. Weis then reached out for Astrid and she could not keep from gripping her bear just a tad more securely to her as his large fingers gripped around her body and lifted her from the table. Turning towards Sonya, Dr. Weis held out the small human child. “We have a lot of humans to process today. Hopefully most of them will be joining you in quarantine.”

Sonya’s hands were cold compared to Dr. Weis and even though she apparently had no idea what was being said, she still gave Astrid a pleasant smile. As she turned to leave, Astrid caught the slimmest look of Faro pulling Tommy from the pack. She waved anyway, unsure if Tommy saw her. As the door closed behind them, Astrid hoped that she would be seeing Tommy in quarantine soon.

She hugged her bear a little closer.

…………………………

Without any windows, the quarantine room’s only light came from strong florescent ceiling panels that cast the room in a blindingly white light strong enough to force Astrid clench her eyes shut as Sonya entered. Blinking blearily through the painfully sharp brightness, the space began to materialize before her. Modestly sized and rather cookie cutter in appearance, the main feature seemed to be the center of the room where large square plastic bins had been tipped onto their sides, creating a sort of open ended shelter. Placed in a loose circle, there was enough room between each of them for a Feirgian to easily walk around and indeed sit in the center of. Inside each bin there looked to be blankets of some kind, arranged in a way so as to turn them into a kind of makeshift nest. Off in one corner, almost as an afterthought, was a door. Painted the same blinding shade of white as the rest of the room, the door’s fit was so flush with the rest of the wall that it would be almost invisible if not for the copper colored hinges and knob.  

“Jarden?” Sonya called out into the empty room.“Bentkeir von shaurser. Kichtein wier kervos dan?”

“Kervos heist don ver,” replied a voice muffled from behind the door. “Vank suden.”

Sonya walked to the circle of bins and lowered herself down, carefully placing Astrid next to one of the bins. The giant woman looked to her with an oddly hopeful look as she reached into the bin and patted the nest of blanket as though inviting her to come sit. Astrid just starred, acting as though she did not understand. With a mildly disappointed look, Sonya rose back up to her feet and left the room.

Astrid watched her go, peeking out from behind the bulk of the bin. The door shut firmly with a soft click and she found herself alone in the sterile, all too bright room. Spinning slowly, she took in what little there was to see of the room, but there was a growing discomfort in her guts. Her insides clenched and there was a tightness deep in her chest. It was akin to the feeling one got when they held their breath too long. The craving for air. But no matter how many deep breaths she took, the tightness did not lessen.  

A curious and rather ironic sense of being trapped filled her bones despite the enormous proportions of the room. She was a mouse in a great space, but it suddenly felt too small for her. The whole of it all was unraveling too fast and her mind was having terrible difficulty gaining purchase.

Yesterday morning, she had awoken in her own bed: warm, safe, and familiar. She spent the day at school: safe, familiar, and secure. Got sucked into a worm hole: fantastical, unknown, and unnerving. Caught by a giant: impossible, uncertain, and scary.

Whatever form of shock had been buffering her consciousness from the reality of it all was beginning to crumble. And she was afraid. Well and truly afraid.

Not the kind of afraid when you got bad grades or did something naughty. No, this kind of afraid was different. An all encompassing, primal, sort of fear. Like when you first started to learn to swim and you reach for the edge of the pool or a floaty and it wasn’t there. And you panic. And flail. The ground it gone and you’re reaching, but there is nothing to hold onto and you begin to sink and you can’t breathe.

The ground is gone...  

There came a sound akin to the jingling of a utensil drawer mere moments before the smaller door opened and a giant unlike any of the others stepped through. Long legs delivered him across the room in moments and large blue eyes fell to Astrid, who starred back with wide eyes. He was taller than either Faro or Dr. Weis, a full head taller than Sonya, and though he had the same pointy ears and sharp canines, as evidence from the brilliant smile he wore, his skin was a creamy mocha rather than the peachy pink of all the other Feirgians. With short black curls and a thick build, he was like a living wall dressed in baby blue scrubs.

Gripping onto her bear for dear life, Astrid made a dash for one of the bins and dived into the nest of blankets. The footfalls of the large man followed her, pausing just outside the bin’s entrance. He was crouched down outside of the bin, one hand on its top edge, and he peered inside. His smile was was smaller than before and a delicate curve of his brow added the slightest hint of concern.

“Feeling a little shy are we?” he asked her, voice low. “Not to worry none, you’re fine to settle in where you want. Still have a good bit before Dr. Weis gets through all the evaluations.”

She made no motion or sound to answer of even acknowledge him as she huddled miserably in the piles of soft fabric, clutching her bear. He caught on quickly to her discomfort.

“No need to be scared, kiddo. I know I look all big and scary, but trust me...” He poked at his chest and middle with a finger. Looking up, his smirked at her. “... most of this is fluff.”

Astrid managed a small smile.

“My names Jarden,” said the giant. “What do I call you?”

“Astrid,” she replied quietly. “My name is Astrid.”  

[storiestaketime]

name :   Writer

nickname :   Myth, Mythie, Lost, Sketcher, Shipping Drug Dealer (You’ll see in a minute)

faceclaim :  Bill Cipher, whenever I don’t use the mun images I’ve made on picrew (which is often).

pronouns :   She/her

height :   5'02″.

birthday :   February 21st!

aesthetic :   Crumbling buildings, pens, calligraphy, bite marks in hands, fire, flickering lights, fast-paced music, unfinished drawings.

last song you listened to :   You Want a Battle (Here’s a War) [NIGHTCORE EDITION]

favorite muse(s) you’ve written:   My favorite tends to switch from time to time, but it’s kinda... Y’know, whatever. I think the muse I RP’d as the longest (and technically she still exists but hhh) is Myth. Although up until recently I only RP’d her on Discord.

what inspired you to take on this muse :   I HAVE AN EDITED SCREENSHOT OF THE CONVERSATION- but... It all started because I found out Disney+ had all the Herbie movies available...

what are your favorite aspects of your current muse :   Well, muses in this case! Mate I just freakin’- love- ships- and I love Herbie- Herbie is such a goofball of a trickster and he’s awesome for it. I wanted to have fun sharing that (and because I have no sanity he’s got Reid with him go figure that’s what I always do-).

what’s your biggest inspiration when it comes to writing :   Music. Just.... Music. Music and my mood. My mood influences the scene, and so does the music (although music moreso than mood).

favorite types of threads :   Slice of life, romance, fantasy, adventure.

biggest struggle in regards to your current muse :   Getting a thread going on Tumblr. Herbie and Reid have two RPs going on Discord, but I’m still jonesing for the two to get a thread on Tumblr.

tagged by :   @x-de-con-struct-ed-x​

tagging :   You saw this? Go for it! Feel free to tag me, as well! ^_^

[hellraiserdeano-blog]

Evil Has Always Lost Chapter 10

The Bat-wing land's at camp crystal lake, Batman and dean winchester hop out onto the grass as Dean look's over at the dock "no wonder this place has been abandoned" He say's as Batman look's around "Our objective is his cot, the cabin has his mothers decapitated head it just might have the hellion, a Book that contain's the spell that made him unstoppable" He say's as Dean look's at him "this should actually be easy since he's not here to stop us" He remark's as Batman look's at him "You're right but, first we burn the cabin to the ground--Maybe that will undo him?" He question's himself before they begin walking through the wood's. Dean Winchester step's over a broken tree branch looking around "So, this is his stomping ground's--pictured it to be decayed and decrepit" He say's walking through the bushes as Batman walk's infront of him "Decayed and decrepit it already is, Dean" He say's before peering ahead "The cabin will be coming up, Good thing too first we look for the hellion then we burn it to the ground" He say's as Dean Winchester nod's walking with him as they come to a clearing Batman look's at the cabin "This is the easiest part" He thumb's up as Dean look's at him "it's easy because the freak's in the city far far far from here" He say's as Batman look's at the cabin "That is true, there's no way he could have came this way he'd be too busy attacking the other's to have decided to follow us, plus he's dumb" He say's before turning and seeing a hulking figure at the cabin "That's odd--" He whisper's as Dean Winchester look's at the figure "No freakin' way" He say's as Batman look's surprised "How di--how did he beat us here?" He question's as Dean look's at him "He's a fast walker?" He question's before seeing jason's head suddenly turn toward them "Oh, no freakin' way he couldn't have spotted us?" He say's as Batman look's surprised "It's his hunting senses he's using them now? This is not good this mean's we won't be able to hide he's got the advantage here" He say's as Jason Voorhee's body finally turn's he walk's toward them as Batman stand's up "we're gonna have to fight, this was supposed to be easy--whose the idiot that said crystal lake out loud!" he say's as Dean Winchester look's at him "you did!" He say's as Batman duck's the machette kicking jason in the side "Shut up! i didn't think he could fucking hear i mean he has no ear's! or a fucking eye he's one eye down!" he say's as Jason swing's the machette again batman uses his gloves to deflect the blade from his throat "Goddamn he's strong! Dean go to the cabin, i'll handle him, if you don't find the hellion then burn the motherfucker down!" He say's blocking the machette again as Dean run's out of the forest toward the cabin Jason Voorhee's turn's his head only to be punched causing him to turn back toward batman slamming the machette down Batman narrowly avoid's it as Jason grab's him by the neck running him again a tree Batman knee's him several time's in the rib's then as Jason swing's the machette batman kick's up flipping his boot's onto the tree's to missing the machette by an inch he pushes off taking jason to the ground as Jason suddenly lift's up batman kick's him in the face knocking him back down then get's up looking at him "You may be stronger than me, but you aren't agile nor a true hunter" He stomp's jason back down looking at him pulling out explosive batarang's "you shouldn't even exist, you're an enigma thank's to your mother Jason. you can't kill me because you lack the fortitude for it" He sling's the batarang's into jason's chest as Voorhee's suddenly stood up he explodes all over the ground Batman smirk's only for it to fade when jason voorhee's regenerate's back to normal "That's how it's gonna be then? well, alright!" He run's at Jason as Jason bring's the machette down batman uses both gloves to deflect it. Dean Winchester stood in jason's cabin looking around "If i were a spell book from hell where would i hide?" He say's before looking under the bed's shining a flashlight under all of them before standing and throwing the mattresses off each one pulling out a hunting knife he begin's cutting them open and looking into them before his eye's land on the next room "No book in this room, Mrs. voorhee's, it is" He enter's the room and look's around before his heye's land on the shrine "One ugly bitch, aren't you? where's your book" He kneel's down and look's under the altar "Nothing under here--Where the hell is it?" He stand's up and walk's along the floor finding a creak in one of the board's "Oh, ho, The ol' floor board trick huh?" He stomp's the floor board repeatedly til it break's then crouches down ripping it off then look's annoyed "I was expecting the book to be here" He muses then look's over at the cabinet before peering out the window not seeing jason or batman he walk's over to the cabinet's ripping every drawer off seeing several book's "Jackpot" He say's before kneeling and scanning over them "Come on you son of a bitch! you gotta be here" He look's around then sit's slightly again the Cabinet "Where the hell is it? pam, died before she ever had a chance to hide it, jason's too dumb to hide it and--Wait, His father's still alive?" He say's before standing up looking at pam's severed head "Your husband is who buried jason, right?" He question's then feel's someone else in the cabin in the doorway he slowly turn's to see a long haired man that stood 6'1 with grey eye's staring at him "Let me guess, Elias Voorhee's" He say's as Elias Voorhee's look's at him "You're in the wrong cabin, kid" He say's as Dean Winchester glare's at him "where did you put the hellion?" He demand's as Elias crosses his arm's "Oh, you're looking for that? wasn't me that had it. Chance's are you'll never find it again it's as if it vanished from the face of this earth" He say's as Dean winchester stare's at Elias Voorhee's "That's crap and you know it" He say's as Elias glare's at him "Believe it motherfucker, the book vanished after she cursed our son" He say's as Dean stare's at him "you knew and that's why you stopped them from cremating him. do you realize what you've done? if we don't use the hellion then he's unstoppable, where is it?" he demand's once more as Elias smirk's suddenly "Yeah, i knew my boy was cursed--so is this lake, i'm gonna tell you the curse that was used" He walk's grabbing a rotted chair and sit's down looking at dean "this wasn't your oridnary curse, it wasn't a WITCHES curse or spell, this was a unique curse, let me ask you this hunter: have you ever known a curse to be about death prevention?" He stares into Dean's eyes as Dean squint's his eye's "No, i don't suppose i have" He replies as Elias smirk's at him "You're lucky, this one is the only hellion in existence, some say the devil himself made it--other's might say, it created itself" He lean's back crossing his arm's "you see, pam lied about our boy drowning all those year's ago, just so she could slaughter anyone that step foot on this lake," He look's at pam's severed head "For 60 year's she slaughtered all the while saying a curse was on the lake, imagine that the curse did not exist til 1980. In 1974 Pamela found the hellion, how it got here is unknown but that didn't matter it--intriqued her" He look's back at dean winchester "It was then she found the curse it was 4 sentences, 4 strong sentences and not only would jason be cursed but the lake itself would be cursed, Jason did not drown--pamela had him living across from the lake in the nearby wood's" He look's at Dean's shocked expression "That look don't surprise me, now i'll explain to you why the curse can't be undone--I'm going to give you a hint about it before my wife was decapitated she said these word's 'Jason, mommy's special little boy. No matter what they do to you, no matter how they do it to you, you must never die, Kill for mommy'" He say's looking at Dean "yOU'VE BLOWN HIM UP, THEY'VE DROWNED HIM, THEY'D RIPPED HIS THROAT OUT, DECAPITATED HIM, AXED HIS HEAD, HUNG HIM, yet only one has ever succeded in killing jason and the irony is he's also the one that brought jason back:Tommy Jarvis, Kid made a mistake that day he rammed the metal rod through jason's corpse when lightning struck it, it reanimated my boy" He stand's up "Jason can not be killed, Hunter. you can find a way sure but, how long before you tire? He does not tire he just get's back up and continue's the assault. You want to know how to stop jason? As i told you before the lake was cursed the same as him and Tommy figured that out in thier final encounter--Jason could not escape the lake, he was confined for 8 year's til that little bitch tina and her telekentic abillitie's broke him free" He say's then stare's at Dean "It's all in pam's word's that is the curse and the hellion had no countercurse to it--i checked!" He say's as Dean Glare's at him suddenly batman slam's through the back door to the room and roll's across slamming again the wall as Dean turn's gun out pointed at Jason who stood in the door way as Elias voorhee's look's at Jason voorhee's smirking "My baby boy!" He say's as Jason's head turn's toward elias Voorhee's then his body follow's elias's eye's widen "what!? you stupid motherfucker! i am your father Jason! it was me who made it so YOU could be here!" He say's as Batman look's at Dean "Did you find the hellion?" He ask's as Dean shake's his head no as Batman look's pissed off "Dean! i sent you to find it! we have no time to be fighting him, we need to rejoin the other hunter's!" He say's as Dean look's at him then fire's at Jason as Jason ignore's the shot's swinging the machette at Elias who narrowly jump's out of the way Dean look's around then back at Batman "Burn it down!" He command's as Batman look's at him then uses his ultility belt to spray Gasoline all over jason and the cabin floor then rolls to the door "Shoot it!" He shout's as Dean fire's two shot's both hitting jason as fire erupt's from him and to the floor elias Voorhee's look's at Dean "Why you little son of a --" He's cut off as the machette slices through his upper right shoulder to his torso in a sickeningly slow motion blood spraying all over jason as Jason turn's his head toward Dean "Oh, shit, if it's any consolation i did not set fire to your mom's head" He say's as Jason's body follow's suit Dean run's out of the cabin as Batman roll's out throwing in 40 batarang's "Chocke on this you freak!" He presses his wrist as the cabin explode's with jason in it. Dean winchester look's at Batman "We burned the cabin, that's something personal to him" He remark's as Batman hold's his rib's "Yeah.. huh?" His eye's widen looking into the fire as a Hockey mask became visible "Are you fucking kidding me? HOW are you still standing!" He sa's as Jason Voorhee's walk's out of the fire swinging the machette Batman deflect's it kneeing Jason in the neck as Jason throw's the machette down and wrap's both his arm's around batman's waist "Let go you stupid freak!" he punches at Jason's head as Jason begin's to crush his back Dean run's up shooting him in the face as Jason drop's Batm his head turning toward dean before backhanding dean across the grass then turning all the way as Jason Voorhee's walk's toward him grabbing Dean up by the jacket Batman run's up kicking his leg as Jason backhand's him breaking batman's nose then throw's Dean again the tree's before his head snap's toward Batman catching his fist and twist's breaking batman's arm "Urgh!" Batman fall's to a knee as Jason's body turn's then punches Batman causing a tear in his cowl before grabbing Batman's throat and squeezing tightly as Batman struggle's Dean Winchester jump's on jason's back wrapping arm's around his neck and pulling back Jason thrashes about before slinging Dean over his shoulder on to the ground his fist smashes into the ground as Dean roll's avoiding it, Batman stand's up blood pouring from his arm and nose "In a one on one it's useless, his strength is even more dangerous than clark's" He utter's as Dean Winchester watches Jason walk toward him "Well, We can try and get him to the lake" He say's as Batman look's at him "The lake? what good will that do? we have to kill him, for good!" he say's as Dean avoid's Jason's Right hand "The lake is his only weakness--The book's not here, we get him there and trap him that'll give us time and then we can find the hellion!" He say's as Batman look's at Dean then Jason "Ok ok, You go into the wood's get him to follow!" he say's as Dean Winchester roll's avoiding Jason causing Jason to turn his head and then grab his machette Batman watches as Jason disappeared from his spot "Teleportation." He growl's out then run's into the forest as Dean Winchester run's through the forest jumping over broken branches Jason Voorhee's suddenly appears swinging the machette down Dean roll's away and around him shooting jason through the leg before contiuing his run as Jason Voorhee's shoulder's raise up and down in rage before his head snap's toward where dean had ran his body following suit as Dean Winchester run's through the bushes suddenly Jason Voorhee's machette came close to impaling dean through the spine as Dean jump landing on the outskirt's of the lake looking at the machette embedded into the bat-wing he get's up looking back at the forest "So he can throw long distance's, and teleport" he say's before walking toward the Dock's. A little over an hour, Jason Voorhee's stepped out of the forest his shoulder's go up and down before his head tilt's toward Dean and his body follow's that direction, Batman walked silently from the forest his arm still bleeding as Dean looked at Jason Voorhee's carefully crossing his arm's "You ain't so scary" He say's as Jason Voorhee's got closer to the Dock's his eye glaring a hole through dean He snatches the machette from the bat-wing then walk's faster as Bat-man watches his fast walk surprised at how quickly the monster had reached the Dock's "Dean! be careful" He shout's as Dean Winchester stare's at Jason "Seeing you up close i thought you'd be bigger" He mock's as Jason Voorhee's suddenly stood before him Dean blink's falling backward's looking up at the hulking figure as Bat-man ran toward the Dock's a batclaw ready Dean quickly get's to his feet "you ad me there for a second" He say's as Jason Voorhee's stab's the machette down between them Dean look's up into his eye "What are you going to do? you may be taller than me and broader but, i have killed more monster's than you" He say's as Jason grab's Dean by the Jacket and reer's back his left Fist batman shout's "Dean, Now!" He watches as Dean goes to the dock floor his feet on Jason's abdomen causing Jason to bend down as Batman fire's the batClaw it embed's within Jason's Back then he jump's swinging around and around tying Jason Voorhee's up "Have a nice trip!" He shoe's Voorhee's off the Dock into Crystal Lake as Dean look's over the Dock edge into the lake Jason's eye staring at him before disappearing into the lake.